Page 7 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

Anger was an excellent tool, when used in the proper circumstances. It could motivate the weaker willed to action, be channeled physically to defend one’s self, and when tempered to a frigid chill, command absolute respect.

Gabriel had spent much of his life exploring the depths of his anger, honing it like a finely pointed blade. It was never unsheathed to settle petty matters, but for circumstances most dire. And yet, the moment he’d seen that splint, almost three decades of carefully built walls nearly came crashing down.

He led his little rabbit throughout the manor, easily evading detection through the longer routes and lesser known corridors. If he wanted to be found, he would be, and for the safety of both the guests and Orion members alike, he forced himself into obscurity. Not only because his unexpected guest was understandably skittish, but Gabriel was certain that the first man he came across would be beaten well past submission.

Anger—true, boiling anger, the kind that burned in one’s veins and lit their vision in red—had overtaken him completely. No one deserved to become a casualty of his lack of sense, not unless he discovered the culprit of her injuries within these walls.

It took a mere seven minutes before Gabriel finally slipped into the infirmary. He’d nearly lost count of the seconds, distracted by the occasional whimper or stumbling gait from his little rabbit.

She’d said nothing as he led her on, and the occasional glance over his shoulder revealed her injured arm to be firmly pressed up against her chest.

If she did belong to a Devil’s member, it was a terrible shame; even with the mask, Gabriel could tell there was something uniquely alluring about this prey in particular.

“Choose one of the cots,” he commanded. “We’ll get that wrist properly dressed.”

An air of indignation briefly enveloped her, but his little rabbit eventually relented. She gently stepped towards the closest bed, gathering her lace skirt before sitting along the edge.

Gabriel couldn’t help but note the obvious shift in the mattress as her body settled; she was no mere wisp of a woman, but a fully endowed lady deserving of proper admiration.

The curves of her waist, the fullness of her chest—God, but it really would be a damn shame if the Devils had gotten to her first. He shook the thought free, gathering a few supplies from the medical drawer before joining her. “The time for secrecy has ended, I’m afraid.”

His little rabbit hesitated, clearly struggling with whatever she was debating on doing next. Eventually, she exhaled softly, lifting her good hand towards the face of her mask.

Gabriel’s hand stopped her, surprising even himself. “Not you; I won’t be able to see properly with mine on.”

The corners of her mouth fell into a befuddled frown.

“You have not willingly given me your trust, yet,” he explained coolly. “Though you were not meant to be a part of the games, you will still benefit from them. Your mask may remain, but I would appreciate an explanation.”

Soft. Am I being too soft with her?Surely, there was nothing wrong with creating a sense of security. She would do him no good in a panicked state, and as soon as he got what he wanted out of her, Gabriel resolved to snap the trap shut without hesitation.

* * *

Thalia found it difficult to speak for a number of reasons. Her wrist had begun to throb terribly, and she was still very much coming down from a massive rush of anxiety and excitement. And, as the speaker finally removed his mask, the grand reveal left her a touch more breathless than she’d expected.

Beautifully dark curls, beautifully dark eyes—if the common man had been sculpted from the earth, he had been expertly crafted from the night sky itself. But more than anything, the man was instantly recognizable as Gabriel Harding.

As in, the Duke of Stonewell. As in, the co-owner and founder of the very club she’d broken into. As in, a man so terrifyingly high up the social ladder, Thalia was shocked she hadn’t simply been struck down after her first utterance against him.

And she had thrown an entire stack of papers in his face, taunted him so casually beforehand. A brief dizzy spell overtook her, and she felt herself beginning to sway.

“Easy, now.”

The duke had been so quick, hands immediately moving to support against her shoulders. She stared at him for a moment, brain still whirring from such a major revelation, and inhaled for a breath. A dry, heady scent of wood filled her being—his scent, Thalia realized with a start—brought on especially after exertion, mixed with the slight musk of natural perspiration. And, now that they weren’t chasing each other, she could appreciate the… the…“Gracious, but you’re strong.”

The duke’s brow rose slightly. She could now see his every expression, quickly realizing how foolish she sounded. Thalia buttoned her lip in a panic, suddenly interested in the corner of the room.

He worked in silence after that, occasionally brushing his hand against her wrist and waiting for her to… give permission, she guessed. Eventually, her attention drew back to his diligent task, and she watched as he gingerly cradled her wrist in the flat of his palm, muttering the exact number of times he wrapped her wrist with gauze before suddenly stopping.

“That should be far more reliable, now.”

Again, Thalia inhaled sharply. He sounded so… cold. Angry, she supposed, and for good reason. She’d taken him on quite the chase, and here he was, fixing her up without even so much as asking for her name.

Gently, too—every interaction between them had been considerate, though if she wasn’t previously injured, Thalia wondered if that would have not been the case.

The duke simply could be following the rules of the hunt as well, and every bit of this was a ploy to get her guard down. She would be right where she had been two days ago, on the grounds of her familial home, the looming shadow of a far-too powerful man leering at her.

Thalia exhaled, long and controlled. This wasn’t a path she wanted to tread; she didn’t want to wander in this lightless tunnel without hope. Life was give and take; an exchange of trust between individuals.

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