Page 87 of The Dark Duke's Virgin

“You have already killed once,” His Grace said. “Will you do it again? This time, you might not be so lucky to get away with it.”

“Is that what she told you!” His arm shook, but he held the gun pointed and ready to fire.

“It is what I know!”

“It does not matter!” he cried hysterically. “Let her see me shoot you dead! Let her scream to the heavens what I did! Nobody will believe her! She belongs to me! She is mine! And I will do with her, my daughter, as I please.”

His Grace growled. “Over my dead body.”

“As you wish.”

It all happened so quickly.

Caroline’s father cocked his gun and aimed it. His Grace’s eyes went wide, and he kicked his horse forward. Caroline screamed! The gun went off with a loud bang! And Caroline screamed again as a single bullet struck His Grace in the stomach.

It would have been enough to fell a normal man, but His Grace was no normal man. Taking the bullet in stride, His Grace rode his horse toward the carriage, pushed himself up in the saddle, and dove forward with his arms flung out to tackle her father from his perch.

Her father gawked at the action, unable to believe what he was seeing as His Grace’s body flew through the air, crashing hard into his torso. Arms and legs tangled together, His Grace grabbing ahold of her father, refusing to let go as the two came crashing down from the carriage with a loud thud.

“Your Grace!” Caroline screamed as the two men rolled in the dirt.

“Argh!” her father yelped, somehow pulling himself free from His Grace’s grasp. Blood covered her father although it was not his. He stumbled to his knees, attempting to scramble away, only for His Grace to grab ahold of him around the waist and pull him back into the scuffle.

She could see the wound from the bullet in His Grace’s stomach. Blood pooling and spreading over his shirt. Yet somehow, he managed to keep her father on the ground as he pounded him with his fists.

“Your Grace!” she cried again, running to where the two men rolled about. There was blood everywhere. Fists and legs punched and kicked. Impossible to tell who was getting the better of the other.

And beside them, sitting idle, was the revolver.

A loud smack sent His Grace back as her father wrenched himself free. Bloodied still, clothes torn, face covered in dirt and mud, he fell backwards, scrambling on his hands as he put distance between himself and His Grace.

“You—!” He pushed himself to his feet and charged His Grace, who was struggling to stand. “I told you to stay away!” He drove a boot into His Grace’s stomach.

“Argh!” His Grace’s body reeled back, collapsing in the dirt.

“But you would not listen!” Another boot, this time aimed for the bullet wound. The sound of the boot crunching into his ribs was like the crack of a whip.

His Grace roared in pain and collapsed to his face.

“I will make sure that she pays for this!” Another kick. “Every ounce of pain visited on her is your doing. I hope you know!” Another kick, right into his bullet wound.

His Grace lay prone on the ground, face in the mud, surely passed out… maybe even dead. Caroline watched on in fear, stricken with worry, not knowing what she could do. If anything.

Only… somehow, His Grace was able to push himself back to his knees. Slowly. Painfully. His entire body shaking, he groaned as he forced himself up. Caroline could see the hate in his eyes, the determination, and the will not to give up.

“He’s a fighter!” her father laughed as he walked around His Grace. “Some don’t know when to give up!

Caroline looked about desperately, again spying the gun. It was out of ammo, but that was not the only use she could think of for the heavy metal object. With her father concentrating on His Grace, she leapt for the revolver and picked it up.

“Leave now,” His Grace seethed, breathing heavy and ragged. “Or you will be sorry.”

“Sorry, will I? How about this—” Her father leapt forward, kicking again with his right foot, but His Grace was ready, somehow turning and catching the foot between his hands. “What?!” her father cried in shock.

He tried to kick his leg free, unable to, and in that, Caroline saw her moment.

Fear enveloped her—a lifetime of memories, all cowering to the man before her. Running. Hiding. Hating but unable to do anything. With His Grace near death and her father close to victory, Caroline decided then and there that she was through being afraid.

The revolver clutched in her hand, hate flooding her and giving her strength, she ran up behind her father, held the revolver by the butt, and smashed it over her father’s head as hard as she could.

---