Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

“ D onald Cluett,” Alexander called out. “Is this where, in fact, you have been hiding? Does it please you to know I searched for you here and could not find you?”

He was right, of course.

The Horseshoe Pass was cloaked in darkness by the time Alexander got there. Not even a candle was lit in the window, the doors closed, and its patrons gone. Idly, Alexander wondered if a few well-placed authoritative figures had gotten the place shut down.

It was no matter to him. One less scourge on London, he supposed.

But Alexander heard scuffles from a nearby alley and knew the place was not entirely deserted.

A top window of the Horseshoe Pass overlooked the alley—a perfect place to lurk for those on the prowl.

The scuffle was sharper, as if it was a frantic drag of boots on cobblestones.

Alexander smirked, jumping down from his horse in the dark street. His boots hit the ground and he heard another quick movement from the alley up ahead.

A lamplight shone down upon it, illuminating the entrance.

Alexander smirked, finally feeling his anger turn into something useful.

“Your Grace,” Donald called out, a mocking tone to his voice. “How is Silverton House? Lonely, I imagine.”

The man pressed away from the shadows of the alley’s depth, strolling towards Alexander. He realized quickly that the noises that sounded like escape were only to taunt him, to bring him closer. But Donald was a clever man, and Alexander needed to give him more credit for it.

“I am not here to talk about my residence,” Alexander said. “Perhaps it is jealousy that drives you to ask about it. Tell me, how does Kinsfeld House look with your brother at the helm?”

Donald’s smile fell. “My brother is an imbecile.”

“And yet you allowed him to take everything. How considerate.”

Darkness wrapped around them both, pulling them deeper into the alley. Nobody else was around, and Alexander felt a thrill of power sing through him.

“No, you are right,” Donald said. “I am not here to discuss estates. Now, that whore of a woman you call your wife, that is worth talking about.”

“Speak of her with respect in my presence,” Alexander growled.

Donald laughed, dark and wild. “ Respect ? Surely you experienced it yourself, what she does for attention. That woman lost all respect when she fell into my arms the night we were married, practically begging to be fu?—”

Alexander saw red and punched Donald square in the mouth. The pain lancing through his knuckles barely registered, not when Madeleine was being spoken of so crudely. Donald laughed and spat blood, but Alexander would not hear another word.

“Are you jealous, Your Grace?” Donald rasped, even as Alexander grabbed him by the jacket.

“I warned you about coming for me out here. I warned what the dregs of the underworld will do to her. Perhaps you want that to happen. Are you a cuckold, Alexander? Do you wish to see your wife taken by the men of this city who would love to have one taste of a duchess?”

Alexander slammed Donald’s head back into the wall of the alley, delighting in the defeated groan.

“You are filth ,” Alexander hissed. “You do not deserve to even think of my wife. You do not get to make your inane threats any longer, Donald.”

The man opened his mouth to speak but Alexander punched him—and again, and again, over and over, letting out his weeks of frustration and loneliness and anger.

Blow after blow, he channeled his feelings into Donald. He reveled in the groans of pain, the blood splattering his knuckles. He had Donald pinned as he rained blows upon his body and face, and did not care when Donald began to beg.

“Please.” The man’s wheeze echoed through the alley. Donald spat out of a tooth, coughing up a wad of blood. “Please, Your Grace, stop?—”

“Stop?” Alexander drawled. “Would you stop your men from threatening Madeleine? I do not think you would. You taunt and mock, Donald, but you have no power. You are a rat scurrying through the alleyways. I could kill you right here and nobody would know. Nobody would care .”

Fear entered Donald’s eyes at the very real possibility of what he had accidentally landed himself in, the trap set up.

Alexander staggered back, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his coat. He smoothed his hair back, but when he looked at the other man once again, he knew he could not simply walk away.

Do you wish to see your wife taken by the men of this city who would love to have one taste of a duchess?

He slammed his fist back into Donald’s face, grunting with the effort of beating him. The smack of his skin against the man’s soothed him, called out to him, reminded him of the night he had sought revenge for his mother’s death.

He was not a violent man but his tether was snapped—Donald had pushed him right to the brink of it all.

When Donald could no longer stand upright alone, Alexander let go and watched as the man crumpled limply to the floor, blood dripping into his eyes, and his mouth swollen with bruising.

“What do you want from me?” Donald rasped, coughing.

“I want you to leave,” Alexander snarled. “I want you to stay away from Madeleine or there will be consequences. I imagine you are maintaining a low profile because you owe many debts, still. I will happily sing about your return—the beloved Lord Kinsfeld, alive and well, and very available to meet with. If that is not what you wish, then you will stay away from my wife.”

He declared her title with every inch of possession he had, for she was his. She had been his ever since she opened the door to him, watching him drink her in like fine wine.

Alexander gave one last distasteful look at the pathetic man before turning away and leaving the dregs of the city, heading back to his townhouse.

He needed to get Madeleine back, no matter what.