The Duke Married Her for Money and Planned to Keep His Distance—But Six Hours After Their Wedding, His “Gentle” Bride Fought Three Armed Highwaymen to Protect Him, and He Realized He Could No Longer Imagine a Life Without Her

 PART 5

Mr. Lauren had not planned the attack. He had not altered the marriage settlement. But he had moved money for Davin Croft. He had hidden debt payments as repairs. And he had looked away when letters came from men he described as “not domestic.”

“Smugglers?” Gareth asked.

“Collectors,” Lauren whispered. “Debt collectors.”

“Worse,” Varity said. “Men who collect favors.”

“Blackmailers,” Lauren said.

Davin owed money to a gaming circle in London. He had promised them eventual access to Rookmir’s Eastern Mills — if Gareth died, or if Varity died childless and the altered settlement stood. When Gareth had unexpectedly married and begun reviewing leases, the pressure had increased.

“Who ordered the attack?” Gareth asked.

Lauren looked miserable. “Mr. Croft spoke of frightening you into signing a power of management. He said nobody would truly harm you.”

Gareth’s voice dropped. “But the pistol fired.”

“Because your wife broke Pel’s wrist,” Lauren said, before wisdom could stop him.

Varity’s eyebrows rose. Lauren paled. Lady Ma whispered, “Good correction.”

Gareth dismissed Lauren under guard. Then he went to Davin’s room. Varity went with him. He did not argue this time.

Davin was gone.

The groom outside his door was breathing steadily, slumped in his chair, but he could not be woken. His empty cup carried the sweet, medicinal scent of a powerful sleeping draught. Gareth sent a footman running for the physician at once.

Gareth’s blood turned cold all the same.

Varity knelt by the groom, touched his pulse, and looked up. “Alive. Sleeping, I think — deeply.”

“Davin did this. Likely he will run.”

“No.”

Varity stood.

“He will try to finish what he started. This settlement — me. If I die before the altered paper is disproven, confusion helps him. If you are blamed for my death, confusion helps him more.”

“No. That is not—”

“It is the only argument I have.”

Fear moved through him with startling force. Not abstract. Not duty. Not even guilt. Fear of Varity harmed. Varity silenced. Varity’s dimple gone forever, because he had spent their first hours calling distance wisdom.

She saw too much. Her voice softened. “Gareth.”

“No,” he said again, quieter.

“Then help me stay alive.”

That steadied him. Not enough. But enough to move.

They searched Davin’s room and found what vanity might have missed: a torn cuff, stained with mill dust. A second copy of the altered settlement. And a note, from someone signed only M, demanding the Duchess’s removal before the next quarter day.

“M,” Varity said. “Not Davin alone. A money circle — or someone in my father’s household.”

Gareth looked at her. She looked back steadily, but he saw the blow land. Lord Crowley had insisted on the marriage. He had sent Varity to Rookmir with a dowry large enough to tempt sharks. If someone near him had helped alter the papers, then her own home had sold her into a trap.

“I’m sorry,” Gareth said.

“Do not be sorry yet. We need facts first. Then we may be sorry efficiently.”

Lady Ma, standing in the doorway with a candle, whispered, “I am becoming fond of her.”

“Aunt,” Gareth said. “She can hear you.”

“What prioritizes as well as accuracy?”

Davin was found at dawn, near the ruined orangery.

Not by guards. By Varity.

This was not because Gareth allowed her to search alone. He would later insist on that point. She was supposed to remain in the central hall with Lady Ma, Mrs. Pennock, two footmen, and a magistrate’s clerk.

Unfortunately, Varity noticed a muddy smear on the lower baize door, and followed it.

She claimed she had intended only to inspect the corridor. Gareth believed this as much as he believed porcelain birds made sound company.

Davin had been trying to reach the old south gate. He carried a lease, a pistol — and Varity’s missing traveling cloak.

When she stepped into the orangery, he smiled.

“Dear cousin.”

“We are not cousins,” Varity said.

“By marriage. Temporarily. If you continue—”

His smile flickered. Varity stepped closer. “Clever women are praised too much now. By foolish men, perhaps. The sensible ones praise us carefully, and from a distance.”

He lifted the pistol.

“You should have stayed gentle.”

Varity looked at the pistol, then at him. “People keep misunderstanding that word.”

“I did not want to shoot you.”

“That must be difficult.” She glanced at the pistol. “While pointing one.”

“Walk ahead of me. Quietly.”

“No.”

Davin blinked. “No?”

“It is a small word. You may have missed it among your debts.”

His face twisted. “Do you think I will hesitate?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because men who mean to shoot do not explain first. They shoot. Men who explain want fear to do the work.”

Davin stepped closer. Varity counted distance. Footing. Breath. Her mother had drilled it into all three daughters. Men with pistols trusted the pistol — which was why they forgot elbows, eyes, knees, and loose gravel.

The orangery roof leaked. Rainwater had gathered in broken tiles. Davin stood near a patch of moss. His boots were too fashionable for survival.

Varity took one slow step back. He followed.

“That is better,” he said.

“Is it?”

She threw her candle at his face.

He cursed and fired. The shot shattered glass behind her. Varity moved toward him, not away. Another lesson: fear runs backward. Training steps in.

She struck his wrist with both hands. The pistol fell. He grabbed her sleeve. She turned, drove her heel into his instep, and shoved.

Davin slipped on the moss and crashed into a dead orange tree. It collapsed on him with dry, undignified grandeur.

Gareth entered. He took in Davin trapped beneath the branches, Varity standing nearby, smoke in the air, and the pistol on the floor.

“Varity. I am unshot.”

“That is not a sufficient report.”

“It is the best one.”

He crossed the room and gripped her shoulders. Then he stopped, as if remembering she was not a thing to seize.

“May I?”

His voice was rough. That undid her more than the pistol had.

She nodded. He pulled her into his arms. For one breath, she let herself lean. His heart hammered under her cheek. His arm shook. The Duke who had wanted distance held her as if distance had become the enemy.

Behind him, Davin groaned. “Help!”

Varity lifted her head. “The tree appears to be managing.”