“Ain’t no lady.” The younger man, whose nose Matt had already broken, spit. “She’s nothin’ but a whore.”
He rammed his fist into the man’s belly. “She is my wife.”
The older cur paled. His voice was whiney. “Wife? We didn’t know—”
They must be the men Grace’s uncle had hired to watch the houses. If he discovered Molton had planned this, Matt would hunt the man down and kill him. Opening his clenched fist, he bit out, “Who hired you?”
“No one. We thought . . . money.”
The last word was said in a whisper. They would have sold Grace to a whorehouse because they wanted the money. A red haze descended around him. If he hit either of the blackguards again, he wouldn’t stop until they were dead. Well, they were going to wish they were. Matt handed the paper to Mac. “Use this hackney, and take these pieces of filth to Brumhill before I kill them.”
Matt mounted his horse. “Duke, Daisy, come.”
The two dogs trotted next to him. A few minutes later, he handed the gelding’s reins to a groom.
Thorton waited in the corridor as Matt entered the house through the garden door. “Her ladyship is in her parlor, my lord.”
Matt took the back stairs three at a time. When he got to her parlor door, he stopped. What the devil was he going to tell Grace? Or did she already know what the blackguards had intended?
The door opened, and she flew into his arms. He held her face as he kissed her, breathing in her clean lemon scent.
“Why did they kidnap me?”
“They had been working for your uncle and got carried away.” That was close enough to the truth. He wouldn’t sully her with the rest of it. “They won’t bother you again. I’ve seen to that.”
She nodded, her forehead moving against his cravat. “Matt.”
“Grace.” They each said the other’s name at the same time.
“Ladies first.”
“I want you. Now.” She stretched up, pressing her lips to his.
Thank the deity. That was exactly what he’d wanted to say. “Who am I to deny my wife?”
He carried her to their bed, laying her gently upon it. Her wrapper fell open, and he couldn’t get out of his clothing fast enough.
Dear God, if anything had happened to her . . .
Sliding in next to Grace, he pulled her on top of him, devouring her lips, plundering her mouth, until her small sighs and moans were a symphony. He rolled her under him and entered her slick, wet heat.
Grace wrapped her legs around Matt, holding him tight. The swirling fog of fear she’d felt drifted away leaving only her love for him and the fire building inside her. He’d never taken her with such intensity. The curling tension drove her higher than ever before, and she shook with relief, at the same time he groaned, and collapsed next to her, cradling her in his arms.
She drew her fingers across his chest, playing with the soft curls. Despite what had happened, she had never felt safer. When she had needed Matt, he’d come, just like she knew he would. Years of dread and worry left her. There was only him and their family.
Family. Sisters. Oh no, what time is it?
She donned her wrapper, and tugged the bell-pull.
“What is it?” Matt lay on his side, his blue eyes sharp.
“We have a ball tonight.”
Bolton entered the bedchamber. “Yes, my lady.”
“The ball.”
“Everything is under control. The Dowager Lady Worthington and Lady Herndon have taken Ladies Charlotte and Louisa to dine at Herndon House before the ball. Miss Carpenter arranged everything. Now, if you’re hungry, I’ll tell Cook.”
