“All he means,” Pennington said, “is that she’s been involved with men before. Talk is she’s not the innocent she pretends to be. She threw herself at me the first night we were here.”
Every muscle in Callum’s body tightened as his pulse pounded in his ears.
If Pennington noticed Callum’s distress, he didn’t acknowledge it. “She might seem tempting, but there are few women at a party like this who would warm your bed and leave it at that. That girl may do a good job keeping you entertained, but she’ll expect a proposal from you soon enough.”
Callum’s jaw popped when he opened it to speak again. “Ye’d best no’ speak poorly of Miss Waverly.”
Pennington chuckled and shook his head. “I’m only repeating what everyone knows. There was the broken engagement—”
“The poor man couldn’t run fast enough from her,” Hugo offered.
“And,” Pennington continued, shooting Hugo a silencing look, “rumors of a child sent off for someone else to raise.”
“I heard about that.” Hugo seemed desperate to be a part of the conversation, and Callum wanted to punch the arse in the throat. “Her father had to pay off so many people to keep the babe a secret that they’re going to lose the house.”
The edges of Callum’s vision blurred. He wanted to rage, to take up arms for her, to charge at them with a blade, a pistol, one of Margaret’s bloody cannons. But bludgeoning two of his most powerful investor’s guests could destroy everything he had been working for.
“You’re new to this world, Hawthorne.” Pennington injected even more pomposity into his voice. “A woman of our class, no matter her reputation, is looking for marriage, not a quick tumble. A man like you, spending every waking moment on his business… I didn’t think you to be the marrying type.”
Callum’s stomach swooped. “I’m no’.” The words were sandpaper on his tongue.
“Good, far more fun that way,” he said with a wink that made Callum’s skin crawl. “Take your shot.”
He did, but the discomfited sensation trickling down his spine distracted him, and his shot grazed the side of the target. Hugo missed the mark completely and stomped towards the spectators while muttering obscenities under his breath.
Pennington, because the universe can be a cruel bastard sometimes, hit his first bullseye.
He and Callum followed the scrambling footmen to the last obstacle, a long-distance shot to the smallest target yet.
“I’ve been thinking, Hawthorne,” Pennington said as he loaded his pistol. “I would like to invest with you after all. You seem a clever enough bloke, and I have plenty to spare. I would wager you can make me even wealthier.”
A month ago—hell, aweekago, Callum would have experienced a thrill of victory at Pennington’s words. Another investor, another influx of funds to take him closer to his goal. But he felt ill at the thought of shaking the man’s hand after the way he spoke about Violet.
Was this how everyone viewed her? With sudden clarity, he understood her desperation to leave this world, to shed the burden of expectations and rumor, to live without the shame of past mistakes holding her down.
“We have all the investors we need,” he ground out.
“Nonsense, Hawthorne. There’s no such thing as too much money.”
As the spectators gathered out of range amidst a collective murmur of excited apprehension, Callum focused on his breath, the measured rise and fall of his chest. Winning this insipidcompetition felt more substantial than claiming a simple victory; he wanted to put Pennington and his kind in their place, to serve them a reminder that their titles and wealth couldn’t give them anything they wanted. That men like Pennington and Hugo, like her former fiancé and that shite Gregory Townsend, couldn’t define the value of a woman.
His gut twisted. Refusing Pennington’s investment wouldn’t save Violet’s reputation, but disrespecting the man, and Valebrook by extension, could undo all the work he and James had done, set them back months, years even. Callum would never pretend to be a knight defending her honor; she wasn’t his to defend.
He cut his gaze to the crowd and found her immediately. They were close enough for him to see her go still when their eyes connected, the slight pull of her lips into a tentative smile. She lifted one hand and flexed her fingers, the small wave sending warmth through his veins, casting out the poison Pennington’s words had injected.
The man’s voice cut through the warmth like a blade. “Write up some terms, same as you’ve done for the other investors, and I’ll have my bank send you the funds.” He clapped Callum on the back like they were old chums, and Callum winced.
He saw Violet stiffen, her expression fall. As though she’d just lumped Callum in with the other men who’d treated her as less, viewed her as an object of mockery instead of a person deserving of care and appreciation.
“I willnae take money from ye,” Callum ground out, shaking Pennington’s hand off his shoulder.
The man recoiled. “I beg your pardon?”
He turned to face Pennington, savoring how the man blanched at Callum’s thunderous expression. “I willnae take money from a man who speaks of a lady without respect.”
Pennington scoffed, some of the bravado returning to his posture. “I’m not the only one who says it. Everyone does.”
“Then I willnae take money from any of ye.”
