Page 92 of Trapped with her Cruel Duke

He straightened, whirled around, and ran to the stairs. Something told him that Louise was not in the house. He could not explain it, but it was as though he could sense her absence in the very air around him.

Most of the servants were abed or clearing the debris from the fire. It would have been easy for her to sneak out without anyone seeing her.

His throat constricted. There was only one place she could have gone. He gritted his teeth at the thought of her walking through the streets of London alone in the early hours. She had not called for the carriage, or else he would have heard it.

He ran back to his room and tugged on whatever he could find, pocketing a cravat to make himself presentable once in the carriage, and rang the bell.

Fenwick was with him in seconds, ever-present and loyal as he helped him into his tailor-made coat.

Then, Christian ran out of the room and bolted down the stairs two at a time. While the carriage was brought around to the front of the house, he went to his study and scrawled a brief note across a thin piece of parchment.

As he went back to the hallway, he summoned a footman and told him to deliver the note to his club most urgently. As the man departed, Christian ran down the front steps and launched himself into his carriage, instructing the driver to travel to the Earl’s townhouse at top speed.

The journey seemed interminably long, and he was unable to concentrate on anything but Louise and what might have happened to her.

Finally, after a few short minutes, the tall, narrow shape of Northbridge Manor came into view. Christian tugged at his coat and arranged his clothes as best as he could before he jumpeddown, marching to the door with all the authority he could muster.

The butler admitted him without ceremony. He had the eyes of a man who was no longer loyal to his employer when his pay had been withheld.

As Christian entered the house, he could hear voices coming from the parlor. He gently pushed the door open when he heard the sharp sound of a slap, and he watched Louise fall to the floor in front of her brute of a father.

My God, I will kill him for this.

“How dare you lay a hand on my wife?” he bellowed, stalking into the room. He drew his fist back and slammed it into the Earl’s nose with satisfaction.

The Earl’s head snapped back as he cried out and stumbled backward. He landed on the floor awkwardly as he frantically tried to stem the blood spurting out of his nose.

Shooting the Earl a final glare, Christian ran forward and kneeled beside Louise. There was a large red welt on her face where the Earl’s signet ring had hit her.

Christian would have hit the man a second time if he could.

“Louise, are you all right?” he asked, gently pulling her to her feet.

She was shaking a little, her eyes focusing on the room around her again. She looked down at her father, her lips trembling as she stepped away from him, and then looked around for her mother.

That was when Christian realized that there were other people in the room.

A shocked gasp escaped his lips at the scene before him. His brother was holding Lady Northbridge in his arms so tightly that there was no space between them.

Christian stared at them in utter amazement as his brother pulled back, looking down at the Countess with such love that he was at a loss for words.

“Marcus?” he asked stupidly. “What is the meaning of this?”

Marcus turned to him, his jaw clenched, and reached his hand behind him. Lady Northbridge clasped it, and he pulled her close, meeting Christian’s eyes without a trace of fear.

“I am taking Althea away from this brute,” he declared. “I love her, and I will not be without her any longer.”

Christian had never seen his brother look so grave or determined, his gaze unwavering.

He glanced at Louise, who was watching him warily.

“You knew about this?” he asked.

“Not until today,” she mumbled.

Somehow, he felt relieved by that revelation even as his mind tried to make sense of the jarring image of his brother holding Lady Northbridge’s hand.

His eyes met those of the Countess, and her guilty expression was a quiet contrast to the stubborn set of Marcus’s jaw.

---