Her husband—herdeadhusband—was standing in her brother’s study.
The room tilted suddenly. A ringing filled her ears. And then, the edges of her world went dark and she felt herself falling.
The instant Dominic saw Dorothea being struck, a fierce surge of protectiveness roared through him. His fists clenched at his sides, and the memory of his mother’s tear-streaked face flashed before his eyes. He had been too young then, too powerless to shield her from his father’s wrath—but not now. This time, he could do something.Woulddo something. He had sworn long ago that he would never stand idle in the face of cruelty again.
He watched Dorothea sway unsteadily on her feet, the color draining from her face, and he closed the distance between them. He caught her before she fell, cradling her gently in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and his heart clenched. She was far too pale, far too fragile. Gritting his teeth, he carried her to the nearby settee and eased her down with care, his eyes never leaving her face.
A scornful voice broke the silence behind him.
“And what gives you the right to be so familiar with my sister?”
Dominic didn’t bother to turn around. “She is my wife,” he growled. “Now send for a doctor. At once.”
“You do not get to dictate terms inmyhouse,” the man snapped, his tone brimming with arrogance.
Dominic’s patience snapped like brittle glass. He turned slowly, facing the man squarely. The resemblance between him and Dorothea was unmistakable—the same red hair, the same bone structure—but his eyes were colder, devoid of compassion.
“And you do not get to strike a woman and walk away unchallenged,” Dominic shot back. “How dare you lay a hand onyour sister! Have you no decency, no shame? I should challenge you to a duel for your ill treatment of my wife.”
The man’s lip curled. “How I discipline my sister is no concern of yours.”
“It is now,” Dominic responded. “She is coming with me and away from you.And don’t you dare try to stop me.”
The man stepped forward, his posture bristling. “And just who do you think you are?”
Dominic arched a brow. “Forgive me, you seem remarkably dim-witted,” he said with biting sarcasm. “I am Lord Warwicke. Dorothea’s husband.”
A gasp came from the corner of the room. A blonde-haired woman, young and striking, who had until now watched the scene unfold in silence, clasped her hands together. “You must be mistaken. Dorothea’s husband is dead.”
Dominic’s expression didn’t waver. “Then I must be a ghost,” he said dryly. “I am Dominic Stevens, Baron Warwicke.”
The woman’s mouth fell open. “That’s… impossible,” she whispered.
Before he could answer, a soft voice called from behind him. “Dominic? Is that really you?”
He turned instantly. Dorothea had opened her eyes. Her gaze locked with his, wide with disbelief.
“It is,” he said, stepping closer.
Tears welled in her eyes. “How… how is this possible? They carted you away with the dead. I never even got to say goodbye.”
“I was mistaken for dead,” Dominic explained. “But I survived, and I’m here now.”
Her eyes scanned him, as if trying to confirm the miracle. “You were shot… stabbed… I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“I was many things,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her brow, “but not gone. I’ve come to take you home, Dorothea. Where you’ll be safe.”
She hesitated, glancing towards her brother. Fear flickered in her eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I am safe here,” she said weakly, the lie heavy in her voice.
Dominic extended his hand. “Come. Let us go.”
She didn’t move. “But… my things. I should pack a trunk.”
“There’s no need,” he said. “We’ll get you all new things. Whatever you are in need of.”
“You’re not taking her anywhere!” her brother snapped. “You show up out of nowhere, claim to be a lord, and expect us to believe this story?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Your sister recognizes me, and that’s more than enough. But if you insist on verification”—he turned to Dorothea—“you never knew. The king honored me with a title for my service in the Royal Army. I am known as Baron Warwicke now.”
