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“You little whore,” he hissed. And then before she had any time to react, he picked up his free hand and smacked her across the face.
She jerked backward, and would have probably fallen to the ground if he weren't holding her arm so tightly. She said nothing; she didn't trust herself to speak. And her cheek stung. Oliver had been wearing a ring, and she feared she was now bleeding.
“Did you trick him into marriage?” he taunted. “Did you sleep with him?”
Fury gave her the strength to wrench her arm away, and she stumbled against a chair. “Get out of my house.”
“Not until you sign this.”
“I couldn't even if I wanted to,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk. “When I married Mr. Ravenscroft, my fortune became his. You know the laws of England as well as I do.”
Oliver started to shake with fury, and Caroline grew bold. “You're welcome to ask my husband for the money, but I warn you, he's the devil's own temper, and”—she let her eyes travel up and down Oliver's thin frame in an insulting manner—“he's quite larger than you.”
Oliver seethed at her implication. “You will pay for what you've done to me.” He advanced upon her again, but before his arm descended to hit her, they heard a roar from the doorway.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Caroline looked over and breathed a sigh of relief. Blake.
Oliver appeared not to know what to say, and he simply froze, his arm still raised to strike her.
“Were you planning to hit my wife?” Blake's voice was low and deadly. He sounded calm, too calm.
Oliver said nothing.
Blake's gaze zeroed in on the welt on Caroline's cheek. “Did you hit her already, Prewitt? Caroline, did he strike you?”
She nodded, mesmerized by the barely leashed fury in him.
“I see,” Blake said mildly, pulling off his gloves as he walked into the room. He handed them to Caroline, who took them wordlessly.
Blake turned back to Oliver. “That, I'm afraid, was a mistake.”
Oliver's eyes bugged out. It was clear he was terrified. “I beg your pardon?”
Blake shrugged. “I really hate to have to touch you, but…”
WHAM! Blake's fist connected with Oliver's eye socket. The older man went tumbling to the ground.
Caroline's mouth fell open. Her head swung to Blake, down to Oliver, and back to Blake. “You looked so calm.”
Her husband just stared at her. “Did he hurt you?”
“Did he—No, well, yes, just a little bit.” Her hand went to her cheek.
THUNK. Blake kicked Oliver in the ribs. He looked back at her. “That's for hurting my wife.”
She swallowed. “It was really more the shock than anything else, Blake. Maybe you shouldn't—”
THWAK. Blake kicked Oliver in the hip. “That,” he spat, “is for shocking her.”
Caroline clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in nervous laughter.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”
She shook her head, afraid that if she opened her mouth one more time he would kill Oliver. Not that the world wouldn't be a finer place for it, but she had no wish for Blake to go to the gallows.
Blake cocked his head slightly to the side as he looked at her a little more closely. “You're bleeding,” he whispered.
