“I thought it was clear,” she said with that same saccharine smile. “I said you were useless.” She paused. “I guess that also means I’m calling you a liar since you said you would rather be dead, and here you are, still taking up air but mostly useless.”
And then she smiled again, this time even brighter.
There was a gasp from one of the women as the man’s face went very, very red.
“How—howdareyou?” he blustered.
Phoebe crossed her arms.
“Who do you think you are?” he demanded. “What gives you the right to say such things?”
He was really starting to get a head of steam now. Phoebe wasn’t impressed.
“You think you can come in here and spout accusations? Wait.” A flicker of recognition crossed his features. “You’re the Turner girl. The one who goes about unchaperoned. I’ve heard rumors about you.” His scoff was dismissive and bitter. “Did you sneak in here tonight, then? Finally got bored of the slums? Or perhaps you learned that you’re no more than the filth with which you associate, just a mere slattern who is no better than she should be.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Phoebe’s eyes fluttered shut at the sound of the voice behind her. This was… not likely to go well.
Aaron’s words had been polite, but his expression was as ice-cold as his voice had been.
The lord, whose face was still a bright, steaming red, looked between Aaron’s frigid immovability and Phoebe’s blasé lack of concern.
“I—I don’t understand,” he said after a moment.
“Clearly not,” Aaron said acidly. “So, allow me to lay it out for you very clearly.” He stepped forward, blocking Phoebe’s vision of the rude gentleman, which was a damned shame because she would have guessed that his expression was a work of art.
“If you were on a deck of one of my ships,” he said, his tone dangerously matter-of-fact, “you would be flogged for speaking thusly to a lady—let alone another man’s wife.”
At the wordwife, the lord went from red to very, very pale.
“I didn’t know—” he stammered.
Aaron spoke over him.
“You should consider yourself fortunate that we are in a ballroom, not on my deck,” he said. “But if you ever think to speak to my wife that way again, I might find my way to forgetting that I resigned my commission.”
There was an echoing, cavernous silence. Apparently, more of the room had been listening than Phoebe had realized. Then, one of the soldiers—a man leaning on a crutch to help make up for his missing left leg—let out awhoopof approval.
Aaron didn’t answer, but Phoebe thought she saw a hint of pleasure in the straight line of his spine.
He reached behind him for Phoebe’s hand. She didn’t even hesitate before slipping her fingers into his, and she didn’t resist as he pulled her from the room.
She did, however, look back to shoot a wink over her shoulder at the lord, who was gaping after them.
In fact,everyonewas gaping after them—except for the soldiers, who finally looked as though they were enjoying themselves—as Aaron all but dragged her out of the room.
As soon as the door to the ballroom closed behind them, Phoebe started to laugh.
And laugh and laugh and laugh.
Aaron shot her a look that was exasperated but cheerfully so, and Phoebe kept laughing as he pulled her into a nearby study, shut the wooden door behind them, and pressed her against it.
“Stop laughing,” he demanded.
This, naturally, only made her laugh harder.
“Phoebe,” he growled, “this is not funny.”
