Page 61 of An Extraordinary Lord

But the look on her face! She’d wanted answers he simply wasn’t willing to give.

What was he supposed to tell her?My fiancée is dead because I wasn’t able to protect her.

He sucked in a mouthful of air and lunged at the dummy again.She put her faith in me, but I failed to be the man she needed, a man who would keep her safe.

He hacked the blade against the leather now in wide, sweeping swings of his arm as if the sword were an ax.And if you put your trust in me, the same might just happen to you.

Too dull now to cut into the leather, the blade simply bounced off the dummy. Merritt let out a furious growl and pounded at it with the sword’s pommel, striking again and again. Each jarring blow shot an agonizing jolt of pain straight up his arm and into his chest.

“I think it’s dead,” a deep voice called out from behind him.

Merritt wheeled around to find Marcus Braddock, Duke of Hampton, standing in the doorway to the training room. Behind him stood Brandon Pearce, Earl of Sandhurst. Both men still wore their evening finery, most likely coming straight here from Carlton House. And neither man was someone Merritt wanted to see at that moment.

Marcus came forward and frowned at the destruction Merritt had unleashed upon the dummy. He twisted around his fingers a strip of leather that had been hacked from the covering.

“I’ll replace it,” Merritt told him.

“And who replaces you?” Marcus asked quietly. He released the leather casing and gestured toward the sword. “Seems you’re bent on self-destruction these days.”

The accusation irritated like hell. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not. You’re out every night prowling the streets and rookeries where even the night guard refuses to go because it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself.”Morethan capable. For God’s sake, hadn’t he dedicated nearly every waking moment of the last five years to fighting so he would never be caught off guard again? To prove it, he turned toward a second sawdust dummy a few feet away and stabbed it with his sword.

“You put yourself needlessly at risk night after night, neglecting your friends and family, ignoring your work—”

“Notignoring it.” In anger, he flayed the dummy. The dull blade snagged and ripped the leather casing instead of cleanly slicing, but he didn’t care. Nor could he stop the punishing pain and fatigue that flooded through him with each slash and stab. “I did my job tonight.” Another jab into the dummy, this one coming so hard that the blade bent as he stepped forward to thrust it into the leather and sawdust. He panted out between harsh breaths, “Malmesbury’s mistress—it was her carriage that collected Smathers.” He attacked the dummy from all sides now, taking long running charges at it, only to fade back to attack again. He crouched low in his stance, and his thighs burned. “That was my charge for the evening, and I succeeded.”

“And publicly attacking a decorated general without provocation on the regent’s front doorstep?” Pearce called out from the doorway. “Was that part of your charge, too?”

“No.Thatjust felt damn good.” In a spinning strike that dropped him onto the balls of his feet, he swung the sword in a complete circle and struck the dummy from the side. “The bastard deserved to be punched. You both would have done the same.”

“No, we wouldn’t have.” Marcus crossed his arms in a commanding stance that had shaken fear through his enlisted men. “So what set you off like that?”

Merritt gritted his teeth and lunged. He stabbed the tip of the sword firmly into the leather, only to retreat three steps and lunge again. His frustration powered a fierce slash to the dummy’s legs. “That’s none of your business.”

From the corner of his eye, Merritt saw Marcus stiffen, his demeanor growing impossibly more imperial.Good.Merritt loved the man like a brother and trusted him with his life, but this time, Marcus had overstepped.

“You attacked Liggett and then left without one word of explanation to any of us, including your father,” Marcus reminded him. “Is that none of our business, too?”

“I’d finished all that needed to be done there and sent word to Clayton at Whitehall.” The burning ache in his muscles and lack of breath in his lungs nearly overwhelmed him. Still, he fought on. He needed to purge every last piece of fire from inside him. “No reason to stay any longer.”

Merritt swung his sword—

“No reason to stay with Miss Chase any longer, you mean,” Pearce called out.

His sword missed its mark. It sailed through the air with a blow so strong that it propelled him forward after it. He stumbled to find his balance and remain on his feet.

Panting both for breath and to keep down his anger, he turned to face his best friend. “Exactly. Her part of the investigation is over.” He swiped his arm across his face to wipe away the stinging sweat that fell into his eyes. “I don’t need her any longer.”

Pearce scoffed. “That’s a damn lie if ever I heard one.”

Merritt attacked. He charged across the room and forced Pearce back against the wall. He held him pressed there at sword point, the tip positioned beneath his chin.

“You bastard! You, of all people, have no right to say anything.” The cold rage inside him worked to replace the anguish that had compelled him here in the first place. “I told you about Joanna’s death in confidence, and you broke my trust.”

“You told me because it was two days before Waterloo, you were foxed off your arse, and we all thought we were going to die in a hail of French cannon. And I told Clayton because I was worried about you.” Pearce irritably batted the sword away with his arm. “I still am.”