Page 82 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

She clenched her fists, arms trembling terribly at her side. “No, I… I’m here, Giles. I’ve…” her eyes briefly met Gabriel’s, his gaze narrowing as he caught up with her plan.

“Don’t.”

Thalia shook her head, taking another step forward. “I’m here, Giles, to accept your offer.”

Giles blinked, looking genuinely taken aback. He exchanged a glance with Gabriel, piston still pointed at his head, before turning his attention back to Thalia. “You… accept?”

“Your offer,” Thalia repeated. “Yes, Giles. Your offer of marriage; I accept that, here and now, in front of this witness here.” She held her gaze on Gabriel for a moment, forcing every ounce of cold detachment she could into her voice. “We’re done. He’s finished with me; this was our last night together, as our contract stipulated.”

Giles blinked, visibly still processing her words.

“A contract, Giles!” Her voice jumped an octave, and Thalia forced herself to use that anguish to her advantage. “You were right; Gabriel Harding is nothing more than a deviant. He had me trapped in a five-day contract, and—and today was the last day!” She forced a smile across her face, pushed desperate relief into her words, and held her hands outward. “Everything—everything was his doing. You were right; I should have accepted your offer from the start.”

A coppery tang filled her mouth; Thalia wanted nothing more than to throw up.

“I… I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head down, trying to look meek, defeated, done with the world and in desperate need of rescue. For a long, terrible moment, she was certain it hadn’t worked.

That Giles hadn’t been so gullible, that he was simply adjusting the aim of his pistol to kill Gabriel in the most painful way possible. And then, much to her horror, a pair of wiry arms curled around her body, constricting her tightly like a snake with its prey.

“No, no! Thalia, my love, don’t apologize!” There was entirely too much pleasure in Giles’ tone, and he embraced her tighter than before. “It’s not your fault; how could I ever expect you to stand up to such a terrifying bully?” He loosened his grasp, only to grab her chin and forcefully drag it to meet his eyes.

Wide, deranged, and cold; truly, like the deepest depths of winter. “All is forgiven, my dear. We’ll start anew—somewhere far, far away. I hear the German countryside is pleasant this time of year; we’ll figure it out, you and me!”

“You and me,” Thalia repeated, forcing her gaze to remain. “Of course; it was always meant to be you and me.”

Giles, a brief moment of clarity returning to his expression. “A shame it had to come to this, Thalia. I had hoped to give you the life you so fully deserved, but I suppose a fresh start will be best for our relationship.”

“Of course,” Thalia agreed, her hand slipping around his shoulder. “I agree, wholeheartedly. And Gabriel can go back and tell them all about us, as our witness.”

“Our witness…”

Her hand stretched too far, fingers just grasping the pistol’s handle when Giles suddenly came to. He saw her eyes flicker behind him, and as he spun around, Thalia watched Gabriel Harding become enveloped in a blinding flash of light.

* * *

The world went silent for the first time in Gabriel’s life. Something hard slammed into him like a ton of bricks, knocking him briefly off-balance before he took Giles Tilbury straight to the ground. For a moment, all he could hear was the ringing between his ears, the numbing buzz flooding from his shoulder as he pinned Giles to the ground. He lay beneath him, disoriented, cringing at what terrible pain was to come.

Yes. It was going to be painful. Unbelievably, mind-shatteringly painful. Every ounce of fear he inflicted onto Thalia would be delivered tonight—he would do far worse than sprain his wrist, make him wish Gabriel Harding had taken his life, there and then.

He would walk the streets as a reminder, with the constant fear of something horrible looming over his shoulder. Constantly hunted, constantly in fear; just as someone like Giles Tilbury deserved.

“–briel!”

Gabriel blinked, every sense rushing back in a burning agony. His ears rang horribly, the scent of gunpowder fresh in the air and practically choking. He blinked again, bright lights from the pistol’s flash still partially blinding him, until a pair of soft, trembling hands grabbed against his shoulders.

“Gabriel!”

Thalia—her hair had come undone at some point, black curls slick against her sweating, tear-stained face. She shook him—he was being shaken, yes—her pretty lilac dress torn and dirtied, stained along the bodice in bright, crimson blood.

Instinct completely took over. Suddenly, Gabriel was up on his feet, watching as Giles slithered back into the shadows of the forest. Suddenly, Thalia was in his arms, and he was running back to the garden party, back to people who could help her. Help her—she’d been shot. She’d been hurt, and it was all his fault. The world buzzed aimlessly around him as Gabriel put another foot in front of him, stumbling across the stream as his foot caught against the bank.

Thalia.

He curled his arms tightly, catching the brunt of the fall as they tore through the underbrush. As the sky opened up and a dozen or so faces loomed over him, expressions a blur of silent screams and fuzzy outlines. Thalia—he tried to reach out, tried to grasp for her, only to find one of his arms wouldn’t cooperate. The other did, though, and he pushed himself up, pushed people off of him, pushed through the blooming ache in his shoulder as he tried to find her.

“Gabriel, stop!”

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