Dauntless (Gentlemen of the Order 1)

“Hate is too mild a word.”

“And yet this all started because of a bet you made.” Eva raised her chin, determined to continue, though her defensive walls were shaking, close to crumbling. “This began because you were intent on ruining an innocent for sport. You’ve insulted me at every turn. Even now, you offer a place in your bed but not as your wife.” Not that she would ever accept an offer from this beast. “You’re no different from Howard. You’re both scheming, lying cheats who frighten women to get your own way.”

Eva was so keen to tell this blackguard what she thought, she failed to note the hardening of his jaw or the sparks of rage in his eyes. Indeed, it wasn’t until he grabbed her chin and pressed his overbearing body to hers that she feared she had gone too far.

“Damn beguiling witch.” His empty eyes fell to her heaving bosom. “You tease men with your smart little mouth. Taunt them with rare glimpses of flesh. You profess independence, but it’s a guise for you to behave like a wanton.”

Eva gulped. “Howard verbally defiles me when he cannot get his way.” Fear forced her to push the viscount’s chest. “You’re the same. Both equally delusional.”

This time he grabbed her cheeks in a bruising grip and squeezed hard. “Give yourself to me, else you shall suffer the consequences.”

A sudden sliver of light sliced through the darkness as the door creaked open. Eva sought to cry out, to beg for help, but there wasn’t a man alive who would challenge Lord Benham.

Well—perhaps there was one.

“Release the lady, Benham. Take your complaint up with me.” Mr Ashwood closed the door and stepped into the room. The way he tugged the cuffs on his coat said he meant business. “Though I should warn you, this is a battle you won’t win.”

The viscount shot Mr Ashwood a scowl. “This has nothing to do with you, Ashwood. If you’re looking for a fight, your uncle is in the card room.”

“My fight is with you, Benham. Release the lady, else I shall break every one of those fingers marring her skin.” Mr Ashwood’s menacing tone would have Satan seeking sanctuary. Dark shadows danced across his fine features. His green eyes were serpent-like. Focused. Deadly.

“We’re done here,” Lord Benham said so as not to look cowardly when he released his grip and stepped back. “Miss Dunn clings to her chastity with the lofty arrogance of an abbess. Your threat leads me to conclude the abbess has already strayed from the righteous path.”

“Some men have a deep-rooted need to protect women, not abuse them,” Mr Ashwood countered.

Did the need to play protector stem from the tragic loss of his mother? As a child, he must have felt helpless. As a man, he took command of every situation.

The viscount sneered. “Some might believe your admirable protestations, but you want to bed her as much as I do.”

To her shock, Mr Ashwood did not discount the lord’s claim. “Every man has his torments. Miss Dunn is kind and intelligent, courageous, beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want to bed her?”

Eva struggled to breathe.

It wasn’t the list of compliments that sent her head spinning, but the knowledge of his intimate thoughts.

She imagined him naked. Pert buttocks and rippling muscles. Hard and male. She imagined him scooping her up into his powerful arms and lowering her down onto her plush mattress—entering her, pleasuring her, loving her.

“But I am assisting Miss Dunn in a professional capacity,” he continued, dousing her inner flames. “The lady wishes to find her brother, wishes to punish the coward who attacked her in the street. I seek justice on her behalf. That is all.”

That was not all.

There was something more between them. More than duty. More than lust. Something intangible. Something that spanned centuries if one believed in destiny and fate. The need to fuse herself to him, to meld together body and soul was so great she could think of little else.

“I’m not surprised Hawkridge is ashamed of your familial connection,” the viscount scoffed, attempting to gain ground. “Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps there is doubt over your lineage. Your father spent his days too drunk to notice your mother’s indiscretion. Why else would you soil your hands when you’re wealthier than your uncle?”

Eva froze.

The atmosphere turned volatile seconds before Mr Ashwood flew across the room and grabbed Lord Benham by the throat. For all the viscount’s arrogance, he was nowhere near as strong as his opponent. Despite a violent struggle, he coul

d not break free.

“You do not want to make an enemy of me.” Mr Ashwood’s vicious growl practically shook the chandelier. No doubt hell’s sinners were diving into the inferno to escape the terrifying tremors. “My father’s blood flows through my veins—wild and reckless—though I’m an expert shot and fight for honourable causes.” He tightened his grip, choking the lord. “I don’t care who you are. Insult my mother, issue one more threat to Miss Dunn, and I’ll put a lead ball between your brows.”

Good Lord. Eva had never seen him so angry, so out of control. She couldn’t help but feel responsible. In questioning Lord Benham, she had been trying to prevent an argument, not start one.

Lord Benham managed a curt nod, but still, Mr Ashwood maintained his firm hold. The viscount’s cheeks flamed red. His eyes bulged in their sockets.

Eva gripped Mr Ashwood’s arm. “I think Lord Benham understands the gravity of the situation, sir. Let him go. Let him go before you throttle him to death.”