Wrath: The Devil Duke by Christi Caldwell

Author:Christi Caldwell [Caldwell , Christi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-17T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Forty-three minutes.

To be exact, it’d been forty-three minutes and a handful of seconds since Edith disappeared inside the Duke of Argyll’s residence.

Malden knew, because he’d counted each and every single bloody one of those seconds.

The innocent Miss Caldecott hadn’t been summarily shown the door as Malden expected. Though, in truth, the moment Argyll greeted Edith, looked her over, and motioned her inside, Malden knew she wasn’t coming out.

At least, not until after he’d had his hands all over Edith and her skirts up and bent over his mahogany desk.

Malden gritted his teeth.

I should have stormed the bloody residence.

He should have barreled inside, hunted Argyll down, and torn him apart with his bare hands. And then when he’d finished, with his teeth shred the remains of his former friend who’d dared encroach upon that which belonged to him.

But Malden hadn’t.

Instead, he’d sat upon the lumpy, thinly padded bench of Edith’s rented conveyance, and waited for her to return from her meeting with the scrupulous-on-the-surface rogue.

Malden clenched and unclenched his hands.

I don’t care.

And why should he? Fidelity and possessiveness of a woman bespoke weakness.

I don’t care if he fucked her.

Except, his anger spiraled higher.

Malden had wanted to be the one to claim her. He’d been the first to initiate Edith to the joys of debauchery and now some other bastard—Argyll—of all men, had more than his fingers in her hot quim.

Like corrosive poison, rabid jealousy spread through him and destroyed every logical thought in his head. It ate away at every corner of his brain until all that remained in its place was an indescribable madness.

Filled with a restive fury, Malden peered through the crack in the crude curtain, once more.

While Edith made her way back to her carriage, Malden’s gaze was not on her, but rather the one who watched her with heavy eyes; ones belonging to a well-sated man.

Where before Argyll sported a raven black jacket, at some point, he’d shed the garment, as well as his cravat.

As if Argyll’s earlier exertions robbed him of the ability to stand on his own two legs, he rested a big shoulder against the doorjamb.

A low, guttural, barely human sound erupted from Malden.

For, he knew precisely what led to the charming duke’s current state of dishabille.

Rage turned Malden’s breaths into short, raspy spurts; the kind of inhalations and exhalations made by his sickly—and hopefully soon dead—father.

Edith paused and stole a glance back at Argyll’s house. Did she even now fervidly recall the things the duke had done to her?

Malden clenched his teeth so hard, pain shot all along his jaw.

Edith climbed inside the rented conveyance, shut the door, and then seated herself.

“Hullo, sweet,” he drawled. “Have you missed me?”

Edith’s ragged gasp ricocheted around the carriage.

Malden smirked. It should so happen he could enjoy himself, after all.

“E-Edward.” His name fell as a breathy, uneven whisper of sound from her lips.

“In the flesh, love.” He hardened his eyes. “Or, were you expecting another, hmm? The Duke of Argyll, perhaps.”

She didn’t emerge from the shadows

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