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If something happened to her—
But no. He wouldn’t allow it.
Fallenmore might not have an honorable bone in his body, but so long as she carried his heir, he wouldn’t harm her. That thought brought the burgeoning panic under control and he kept his focus on gaining ground. With each passing heartbeat, they drew closer until at last they overtook the carriage.
Malcolm surprised Dane by leaping onto the driver’s seat and taking the reins from the servant who seemed more alarmed than angry. Dane was there the moment it came to a grinding halt, and he was in the carriage and hauling the Earl of Fallenmore out, his vision cloudy with rage at the sight of Lillian’s stricken features and red marks about her neck and mouth.
“What have you done?” He snarled as he tossed his former guardian into the dirt, pouncing on him before he could move.
His fist connected with the old man’s jaw with a crunch that had the earl groaning.
“Not so tough when you’re alone, hmm?” Malcolm’s voice was eerily even as he reached for Lillian’s hand and helped her out. “What were you thinking coming back here alone?”
“I’m not alone.” The earl spit out blood as he tried to get to his feet. “My men will be here any minute.”
“They’ll be too late.” Dane kicked the old man in the chest, sending him flying back. He landed back in the dirt on his backside.
Rage. Fury. An anger the likes of which he’d never known took hold. It erased rational thought, it made him forget anything but the pain this man had caused his Lillian. The look in her eyes when she’d first appeared at Vestry Lane. The way she’d cried. The fear when she’d felt his arousal.
His heart slammed against his ribcage as his fists met with bone, as his feet connected with ribs.
It was Lillian’s voice that finally broke through his haze of anger.
“Dane.” His name. That was all. Said softly, sweetly. But it was enough to give him pause. His gaze found hers and she wasn’t scared, not anymore. She wore a small smile as she held out a hand to him. To pull him away. Not to save Fallenmore from the Beast’s wicked vengeance.
No. To save Dane from himself.
To stop him from becoming the Beast fully and completely.
“It’s all right, Dane,” she said softly, coming to his side as he turned his back on the earl who was coughing and groaning at his feet. “I’m all right now.”
He reached for her, needing to feel her in his arms. Needing to know that she was safe. She went to him with a sigh, leaning into his embrace as she rested her cheek against his pounding heart.
His heart.
She was his heart. The thought had him closing his eyes to savor the feel of her, and for a moment, he let down his guard.
It was a heartbeat, nothing more. But it was enough. He heard the scuffling sound behind him, tensed at the sound of the earl’s snarl. He whipped around, tucking Lillian behind him just as the earl lunged.
He was fast.
But Malcolm was faster.
Dane’s half-brother was between them before he could blink. It was Malcolm who intercepted their father. It was Malcolm who caught the knife meant for Dane and twisted it until it sank into the earl’s chest.
It was Malcolm who killed his father.
* * *
The aftermathof murder was decidedly unpleasant.
Dane knew this better than most. Up until today he was the only murderer in their midst.
Malcolm stared in shock, his throat working as his father lay prostrate at his feet.
Lillian placed a hand on his arm, but when she went to speak—to comfort him—he cut her off with a shake of his head. “No,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Dane eyed him warily. Not many men could kill their father and be anything close to ‘all right.’ But Malcolm lifted his head and met his stare. “He had it coming,” he said.
