Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(84)

She saw no reason to change her vow now.

Iris lifted her chin. She was a lady from a family that traced its roots nearly to the time of the Conqueror. And now she was Raphael’s wife as well. A duchess. “Eventually, but not tonight.”

The Dionysus shook his head. “I’m afraid it will indeed be tonight, Your Grace.” He turned and pointed to where the road ran along the side of the church ruins, disappearing around a curve. “There is the London road. Naturally, we should be expecting Dyemore to come from there. But your husband, being a sly sort, will no doubt try a different way. I think … Yes, I do believe he will try that way.” The Dionysus pointed to the darkened woods beside the ruins. “What a very good thing, then, that I’ve placed sharpshooters in the trees.”

She licked her lips. “I thought you wanted to talk to Raphael? Didn’t you want to tell him about all that you suffered while he was away?”

Tansy woke up, and Iris set her down on the grass.

“I no longer feel the need,” the Dionysus replied carelessly. “You shall be a lovely lamb staked out for our wolf.”

The Dionysus took his pistol from his pocket and examined the weapon, sighted down the short barrel, and then cocked it.

He turned to her. “It shouldn’t be long now. We’ll be done by sundown and back in time for supper—or at least I will be.”

“Back where?” she asked.

“Oh, you know well enough,” he answered, kicking the chest. Something inside seemed to groan. “Grant House.”

Tansy finished her business and trotted over to investigate the chest, sniffing interestedly all around the bottom.

Iris stared at the chest in dawning horror.

She glanced back up at the Dionysus.

His face was turned to hers, and she could almost see his eyes behind that awful mask staring back at her. “Dogs do have the most wonderful sense of smell.”

One of the Dionysus’s men jogged up to him. “Someone’s comin’ though the trees.”

The Dionysus nodded. “Very good.”

His man turned away.

And Iris knew she couldn’t let Raphael walk into a trap.

She ran at the Dionysus and seized the arm with the gun, trying to twist it to the side. But he was stronger, of course.

The pistol exploded between them.

They had a plan and it was a good one, but when he heard the shot, Raphael started running toward the old church ruins.

The earth flew up around him as shooters fired on him from the trees, but it was all but impossible to hit a running man.

Behind him Kyle cursed.

Raphael could hear gunfire and shouting in the woods. Kyle and the soldiers were taking care of the hidden shooters.

His Corsicans had but one order: save their duchess. Raphael had made plain that nothing else was more important than that.

He burst from the cover of the trees and saw Valente and Bardo fighting fiercely with four men. Farther away, Iris was in the Dionysus’s arms and …

There was blood on her face. He nearly stumbled at the sight.

A burly man came at him from the side.

Raphael roared and elbowed him in the face.

Iris staggered and fell.

The Dionysus turned to meet him. Opened his mouth to say something.

Raphael knocked him to the ground.

All around them there was blood raining down. Gunshots and screams. A war encapsulated.

Raphael stepped over the Dionysus and grabbed his wife. “Iris! Where are you hurt?”

He frantically ran his hands over her head, trying to find the wound.

“Raphael!” She took his hands. “The shot blew off part of his ear. It’s not my blood.”

“Thank God.” He held her a moment, staring into her beloved face. Then he pushed her to the ground. “Stay down.”

The Dionysus was trying to crawl away.

Raphael straddled the monster—the thing that had dared to take Iris from him. He drew back his arm and hit the man beneath him in the throat.

The Dionysus made a strangled sound and tried to buck him off.

Raphael hit him again. And again.

A tiny knife flashed in the Dionysus’s hand.

Raphael knocked it away.

And continued hitting.

Until he could no longer feel his knuckles.

Until the thing underneath him no longer moved.

Until small palms pressed to his face and a voice said in his ear, “My love. Raphael. Stop.”

And he obeyed.

He looked up and Iris was kneeling beside him, blood smeared over her beautiful face, her eyes swimming in tears.

He wanted to pummel the thing again for putting those tears there.

Instead he reached out his own bloody hand and touched her cheek. “I told you to stay down.”

She smiled. “I don’t take orders well … even from you.”

He gathered her into his arms and held her, his sweet wife, as he looked over the abbey ruins. Bardo was kicking a downed man who was no longer moving, while Valente slapped another Corsican on the back and laughed. The fighting had ended. His men looked to be whole.

Kyle stood overseeing his men as they tied up prisoners.

As Raphael watched, Kyle met his gaze and nodded.

Raphael inclined his head. He owed the man. He owed the man more than he would ever be able to pay.

His arms tightened around Iris at the thought.