“Hold still,” his hands immediately went to work at the ropes, trying to bind her hands together.
“Not much else I can do at the moment,” she sighed.
Stephen worked at the knot, and the rope came free. The second knot slipped faster, and as soon as her wrists were loose, Maria went straight into his arms. He caught her hard and held on, one hand at the back of her head, the other around her waist.
“Stephen,” she began to sob into his chest.
“I’m here now,” he told her, and she looked up at him. That was when he noticed the red mark on her cheek. His body went cold so fast that it scared her. “Did he hurt you?”
“I…” Maria stuttered out.
“How charming,” Owen interrupted them. “But it’s rather rude to storm into a man’s house without permission, Your Grace.”
Stephen didn’t look at Owen. He kept his gaze on Maria. “Who did this to you?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. She did not know how to admit something so humiliating.
Owen, not seeing the shift in Stephen, laughed.
“I did,” he said. “Call it my answer for what you did to me. Consider it the start of your lesson.”
Stephen reached him in two strides. He hit Owen once, then again. Owen crashed into the chair and the wall. Stephen drew back for a third blow.
“Stephen!” Maria’s voice snapped through the room.
He stopped at once.
“I’m here,” he said, steadying himself and crossing over to her. “I’ve got you. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No,” she shook her head.
Owen pushed himself up, swaying. He wiped his mouth, saw the blood on his hand, and stepped toward Stephen with his fist raised. But before he could swing, heavy boots pounded down the hall. Two constables burst through the doorway.
“That’s enough,” the first one said.
Owen froze, then tried to shove past. The second constable caught his arm, twisted, and forced it behind his back. The first grabbed the other’s wrist and snapped on a pair of handcuffs.
“This is my house!” Owen shouted, struggling. “All of you are trespassing.”
“You’re under arrest for abducting the Duchess of Verwood,” the constable said. “You’ll speak to the magistrate.”
Owen tried one last lunge toward Stephen, but to no end. The constable pushed him to the wall and held him there.
“He won’t be bothering you anymore, Your Grace,” the constable said to Stephen, who still looked just as murderous as he did a moment ago when he was beating Owen to a pulp.
But the moment he turned to face her fully, his expression softened. It suddenly did not matter anymore where they were, or that Owen was struggling and shouting in the background as he was being carried out.
All that mattered was that they were together again.
He seemed suddenly uncertain what to do with his hands.
“May I….” he started, “Maria, may I lift you? Your legs…”
“They will hold,” she said, trying them. They wobbled, though. He saw the wobble and stepped in, hands at her waist.
“I’ve got you.”
She let herself lean against him as he lifted her up and carried her over to where she could sit down.