To Catch an Heiress

“Not until you sign this.”

“I couldn't even if I wanted to,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk. “When I married Mr. Ravenscroft, my fortune became his. You know the laws of England as well as I do.”

Oliver started to shake with fury, and Caroline grew bold. “You're welcome to ask my husband for the money, but I warn you, he's the devil's own temper, and”—she let her eyes travel up and down Oliver's thin frame in an insulting manner—“he's quite larger than you.”

Oliver seethed at her implication. “You will pay for what you've done to me.” He advanced upon her again, but before his arm descended to hit her, they heard a roar from the doorway.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Caroline looked over and breathed a sigh of relief. Blake.

Oliver appeared not to know what to say, and he simply froze, his arm still raised to strike her.

“Were you planning to hit my wife?” Blake's voice was low and deadly. He sounded calm, too calm.

Oliver said nothing.

Blake's gaze zeroed in on the welt on Caroline's cheek. “Did you hit her already, Prewitt? Caroline, did he strike you?”

She nodded, mesmerized by the barely leashed fury in him.

“I see,” Blake said mildly, pulling off his gloves as he walked into the room. He handed them to Caroline, who took them wordlessly.

Blake turned back to Oliver. “That, I'm afraid, was a mistake.”

Oliver's eyes bugged out. It was clear he was terrified. “I beg your pardon?”

Blake shrugged. “I really hate to have to touch you, but…”

WHAM! Blake's fist connected with Oliver's eye socket. The older man went tumbling to the ground.

Caroline's mouth fell open. Her head swung to Blake, down to Oliver, and back to Blake. “You looked so calm.”

Her husband just stared at her. “Did he hurt you?”

“Did he—No, well, yes, just a little bit.” Her hand went to her cheek.

THUNK. Blake kicked Oliver in the ribs. He looked back at her. “That's for hurting my wife.”

She swallowed. “It was really more the shock than anything else, Blake. Maybe you shouldn't—”

THWAK. Blake kicked Oliver in the hip. “That,” he spat, “is for shocking her.”

Caroline clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in nervous laughter.

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

She shook her head, afraid that if she opened her mouth one more time he would kill Oliver. Not that the world wouldn't be a finer place for it, but she had no wish for Blake to go to the gallows.

Blake cocked his head slightly to the side as he looked at her a little more closely. “You're bleeding,” he whispered.

She lifted her hand from her cheek and looked at it. There was blood on her fingers. Not much, but enough to make her instinctively press her hand back up against the wound.

Blake pulled out a handkerchief. She reached out to take it, but he dodged her hand and instead dabbed the snowy white linen to her cheek murmuring, “Let me.”

Caroline had never before had anyone to tend to her wounds, minor or otherwise, and she found his touch oddly soothing.

“I should get some water to clean this off,” he said gruffly.

“I'm sure it will be fine. It's a shallow cut.”

He nodded. “For a second I thought he'd scarred you. I would have killed him for that.”

From the floor, Oliver emitted a groan.

Blake stared at Caroline. “If you ask me to, I will kill him.”

“Oh, no, Blake. No. Not like this.”

“What the hell do you mean, not like this?” Oliver snapped.

Caroline looked down. Obviously, he'd regained consciousness. Or perhaps he'd never lost it. She said, “I wouldn't mind, however, if you booted him out of the house.”

Blake nodded. “Gladly.” He picked Oliver up by his collar and the seat of his pants and strode out into the hall. Caroline scurried after him, wincing when Oliver bellowed, “I will summon the magistrate! See if I don't! You'll pay for this!”

“I am the magistrate,” Blake bit out. “And if you trespass on my land again, I'll arrest you myself.” With that, he tossed him out onto the front steps and slammed the door.

He turned around and regarded his wife, who was standing in the hall, staring at him openmouthed. There was still a bit of blood on her cheek, and some on the tips of her fingers. His heart clenched. He knew she hadn't suffered a serious injury, but somehow that didn't matter. Prewitt had hurt her and he hadn't been there to prevent it.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a murmur.

She blinked. “But why?”

“I should have been here. I should never have let you see him alone.”

“But you didn't even know he was here.”

“That's not the point. You are my wife. I swore to protect you.”

“Blake,” she said gently, “you can't save the entire world.”

He stepped toward her, knowing his heart was in his eyes, but somehow not minding this weakness. “I know that. I only want to save you.”

“Oh, Blake.”

He gathered her into his arms and pulled her close, heedless of the blood on her cheek. “I won't fail you again,” he vowed.

“You could never fail me.”

He stiffened. “I failed Marabelle.”

“You told me you'd finally accepted that her death wasn't your fault,” she said, wiggling free.

“I did. I do.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “It still haunts me. If you could have seen her…”