Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,93
in his knuckle with a vicious crunch against Charles’s cheek bone, he should have stopped, but how could he? If the bastard got up, he would be a danger to them all again.
Charles gave as good as he got and Blake was surprised. For his sliminess and slight stature, he would have thought the man wouldn’t have much of a fight in him.
Blake took a hit to the chest followed by a flyaway fist to the side of his head that put stars in his eyes. It shook him long enough for Charles to get the upper hand and roll him onto his back. He took more blows to the head but the way they sat, Blake couldn’t get his arms back far enough to swing. His own punches weren’t doing enough damage. Suddenly Charles was gone, the pressure on his chest eased, but his head hurt and his vision darkened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie’s skirts flash.
By the time Blake lurched to his feet, Charles had rearmed himself with a small, but wicked-looking knife.
“Can’t face me like a man?” Blake huffed as he wiped blood from his lip with the back of his dirty hand.
“I’m a duke. I don’t have to fight like a man.”
“You think they aren’t one and the same? Being a duke and a man?” As they swapped words, they moved in circles, their shoes leaving imprints in the mud.
“Only if there are two types of men,” Charles said with a wild swipe.
The time for small talk was over. Blake went to step forward, but at the last minute threw his body left, his hand wrapping around the handle of the knife, around Charles’s fingers to pull on the blade. He pushed his other arm across Charles’s chest but then his leg folded and they went down again. They landed with a thump, with a whoosh of combined breath. Only Charles wore an expression of complete bewilderment.
Both men looked down at the same time, at the hilt sticking out of the chest of the former duke of Blakiston.
Charles drew a shaky breath, coughed once and then twice, his hands rising only to fall by his sides with a soft thud.
Blake scrambled back, back in the direction of Sophie’s screams. Horse’s hooves vibrated against a ground that suddenly seemed so close. Try as he might, he couldn’t right himself. Just as he was about to have a second try, two pairs of hands reached out for him. Sophie’s were soft and warm, Daemon’s large and strong. Then the world darkened until everything was black. He stopped hearing their voices. He could no longer feel their comfort. Even as he thought the thought, he could no longer hear the beating of his own heart.
* * *
Sophie didn’t look away from Blake’s face. She should have said yes. When he’d asked her to marry him, she should have said yes. Why had she hesitated? In the face of losing him, she didn’t care where his intentions were when he asked her to be his wife. Fear of loss did feel a hell of a lot like love. It made her stomach flip-flop and her heart race so hard and fast she thought it likely to burst from her chest. Maybe it was the same way he felt when she disappeared? Twice. Only this time she’d been found safe and sound, and he only had part of the night and the morning to worry for her. Last time he’d had months and even when he knew she was alive, his fear and grief had twisted to anger. It was little wonder the feelings he’d had for her all those years ago hadn’t dried up and turned to hatred.
And he’d said he loved her. Those three little words instilled more shock in her than any other moment that had gone before. In her darkest nightmares and brightest dreams, she had never held out the hope that someone would love her. She’d clung to her ideals, her decisions and choices, and never let anyone get close enough to truly feel for her. The one man she tried to hold at arm’s length, the one man above all others she thought would never forgive her the things she’d done—he was the one to fall in love with her.
Somewhere out there in the heavens was a deity with a twisted smile on his face.
Before Daemon could hoist the still unconscious Blake over the saddle of his horse, Sophie pressed