Page 59 of All Duke and Bothered

“No. I would never. It is you who are mistaken, sir. You are so set on your own revenge that you think everyone is capable of it. The only thing I can say is that Penelope is now finally free from your horrible clutches. You do not have anything on me anymore.”

Preston’s chest rose and fell painfully. He commanded the burning tickle in his throat to calm down. He would rather die than show weakness in front of this man. “So you admit it? You burned it?”

“I admit nothing. It is gone thanks to the fire, of course.”

Preston shook his head, revulsion curling his lip higher. He couldn’t believe he had considered if he could one day forgive Beckett. This man wasn’t even sorry that his daughter almost died.

“I can get another testimonial,” Preston said coldly. “But a life taken cannot be returned. What I won’t tolerate is having my wife associate with a father who’d risk his own daughter’s life to protect his interests.”

Neville paled. Good. Every last ounce of compassion for him died in Preston’s chest. He would not fail to protect another person from Lord Neville Beckett. Never again. Or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“Prepare yourself, Lord Beckett. I will not tolerate you killing my brother or my wife. This is a fair warning. I’m going to Eastbourne and I’m buying out your debt. Then I will take this house, your country estate, and every last thing you own and throw you out on the street. And then the Bow Street Runners will come for you.”

Lord Beckett blinked fast. “Please… Sir… Your Grace…”

Preston took a step closer, glaring down at the monster. “You will be nothing. All of London will hear of your crimes and of your humiliation. Forget you have friends. Forget you have family. Forget you have a daughter. You will not contact Penelope ever again. Remember well her face when you last saw her because that was the last time in your miserable life. All you have in front of you is the life of a beggar on the streets, and if I’m successful, you will pray for the noose. At least you won’t harm anyone else.”

24

The mattress dipped beneath Penelope, and she opened her eyes. Preston slipped beneath the blanket and rested his warm, hard body along hers. He slid his arm under her head, and she sighed, inhaling his scent mixed with smoke and the scent of the outdoors. He kissed her forehead, and she relaxed against him.

“Where have you been?” she asked sleepily as she laid her hand on his bare chest.

He cuddled her closer to him and rested his head against the top of hers. His bedchamber was dark and quiet, the dark navy walls almost black in the night. Coals crackled softly in the grate. A little light from the gas streetlamps came through the paned windows, creating a square pattern with shadows of moving branches and leaves on the paneled ceiling.

She suspected she knew the answer to her own question. Her heart broke about her father. She hadn’t said so, but she secretly agreed with Preston. It must be Papa. And she blamed herself for it. Had she taken the red leather folder to him, she wouldn’t have brought Preston into mortal danger. His home wouldn’t have burned down. But he never would have forgiven her betrayal…

“Don’t you worry about that,” he said in his raspy voice.

Heavens, he could have died! The thought—a thought that had been circling through her mind repeatedly for hours—made her shiver, and she clutched her arms around his neck, pulling herself even closer to him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, looking into his dark eyes. “Did you see the physician?”

“Yes. He examined me just now when I arrived. He says I’m fine. He recommends rest for the next couple of weeks.”

“Splendid idea,” said Penelope, cupping his jaw. She could feel the beginning of stubble on the side of his face. “I’ll make sure you’re all rested.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. There was so much love in his eyes her chest tightened. “I’m so glad you’re unharmed. I don’t know how I could keep living if you were hurt.”

“It’s me who’s glad,” she said, love filling her whole being with light. “When I saw you unmoving, the flames coming closer, I must have died a thousand times.”

He inhaled deeply and smiled. It was such a rare occasion, to see a smile on his face, that she stilled, marveling at the creases at the corners of his mouth, at the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, his teeth, white and beautiful. He was so gorgeous when he smiled, he looked like an angel straight from heaven.

And he didn’t just look angelic. He was a kind man through and through. Despite his grumpiness and his dislike of her in the beginning, he’d given her everything her father hadn’t. He’d given her a studio and private lessons with great masters—it was her dream come true. He’d given her freedom to be who she wanted to be. His family had welcomed her with their arms and hearts open, as though she’d always belonged.

The only thing he hadn’t done was tell her what horrible deed her father had committed.

“Preston, can you not tell me what my father has done? Not even after he set your house on fire?”

His smile fell, and she was ready to kick herself for that. “Our house,” he corrected her. “And I do want to tell you. But not here and not now. Our home is gone. Let us go to Grandhampton and stay there until my barrister is able to buy us a new home in London.”

“Go to the country?” The idea was exhilarating. It meant leaving all their troubles behind and spending time together, just the two of them.

“Yes.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “What do you say?”

“I’d love to. You’ll be able to rest your lungs there and recover faster.”

“Sounds wonderful.”