Page 87 of Tamed By her Duke

“Three,” she confirmed. Caleb’s hand tightened briefly on her shoulder.

“Cheer up, then,” Drummond told Graham. “You’ll be out of those cuffs in far less time.”

“But my reputation!”

“Ah yes,” said Drummond. “It likely will suffer. Nothing to be done about it, I’m afraid. Take him off, please, boys.”

The two junior constables complied, half dragging Graham away. His fading protests had melted away for perhaps ten seconds when murmurs of shock, then cries of dismay, sounded from the ballroom below.

Even if he didn’t go to gaol or lose his title or his holdings, Grace thought,thispunishment was the worst one Graham could likely imagine. He’d be the object of gossip for the rest of his days. He would never recover, not from this.

It was a very nice thought.

“Well,” Drummond said smartly, putting the tablet and small pencil back into his jacket pocket. “This whole affair has made my career, but, Your Grace—” A nod to Grace. “—I do hope youwill forgive me if I hope that, for your sake, we do not cross paths again.”

“No forgiveness needed, Inspector,” she replied. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Ah, just doing my job. By your leave then, Your Grace, Your Grace, Your Lordship and Ladyship.”

Then, with a bow, he was gone.

It felt like closing the end of a book, the way the door clicked shut behind him.

And Grace felt the composure drain out of her, like a chasm had opened deep inside. She half collapsed as she threw herself into Caleb’s arms, tears beginning to fall as she gasped a sob against her chest. He clutched her to him with all the strength in his sturdy, implacable arms.

“It’s all right,leannan. You’re all right now. You’re safe. I’ve got ye.”

Absently, Grace heard the murmur of her brother’s voice, then the sound of the door again as he and Frances slipped away. But none of that mattered to her.

Because Caleb had her. And as long as he said that she was safe, she knew it to be true.

CHAPTER 26

Caleb hated seeing his wife cry. It was a battle he couldn’t fight, an enemy he couldn’t vanquish. All he could do was hold her through her tears—which he did, feeling like the most useless sod in Britain while he did it.

He didn’t like the crying, which she did on and off all through the night, but it did not start to alarm him until, in the wee hours, she lurched from her bed, rushed into her bathing chamber, and was noisily sick.

Caleb ground a knuckle into his forehead, careful to ensure that any signs of his distress were erased by the time she returned, patting her mouth with a damp cloth. She had her own worries; she didn’t need to carry his, as well.

Not after he’d already almost killed her father right in front of her.

He would have done it, too, if she hadn’t stopped him.

And yet she still reached for him as she came back to bed, still curled sweetly as his side, still pressed her face into him as if she could not get close enough.

“Are ye well,leannan?” he asked quietly.

She nodded against him, then shook her head before pausing and nodding again.

Caleb brushed a tendril of hair back from her face, his fingers clumsy and unpracticed when it came to tenderness.

He was doing all of this wrong. As the sun kissed the horizon, however, he steeled himself. There was one thing he could do right, one way he could spare her more pain.

“Leannan,” he said, gently petting her hair, knowing she wasn’t asleep; her breathing was too ragged. “I think…I think tomorrow I’m going to head back north, to the estate.”

She nodded lazily against his side. He fought not to sense.

“I’ll ask Mrs. O’Mailey to help pack my things,” she murmured.

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