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Silence fell upon the room, and he stared at her as if he peered into her very soul. She felt exposed and vulnerable, because so much rode on his response to her simple yet unorthodox and scandalous question. A response which he refrained from giving, he only stared, taking the measure of her. Had she made an error in approaching him? Had her hopes for freedom come to a sudden premature halt?
Chapter 2
“To fight?” Incredulity colored the earl’s tone.
Verity flushed and her heart jerked with more erratic force. “Yes, to fight, to defend myself.”
Lord Maschelly regarded her with a surprised amusement that irked her, but she pressed on, “And in return I…I will teach you how to comport yourself as a gentleman should.” She waited uncertainly for his response her heart hammering like a trapped bird.
“I am the Earl of Maschelly,” he said flatly. “I am at a loss as for how you believe there is something I am lacking, and you would be the one to render lessons.” His tone was cold, but Verity heard the hint of warning, heard the chilling distance creeping into his tone and heard the vulnerability beneath the surface of that dark rumble.
The idea that a man who seemed so self-assured and dynamic could have any vulnerabilities startled her. She cleared her throat delicately. “There…there is a rumor that Lady Susanna Coltman, Lord Nelson’s cherished daughter refused your offer of marriage because of …because…”
“He is a brute! No refined manners or sensibilities, with disgusting calluses on his palms. How can I marry such a man?” Those had been the words Susanna had cried prettily in her lace handkerchief when she’d called upon Verity last week.
“She declined your offer of courtship because you did not seem as refined as other gentlemen in the haut monde. There is also a rumor that…that she set certain conditions, that if you met them, she would marry you. And some of those are that…that you learn to dance and write poems.”
Verity almost smiled at the outraged scowl darkening his
features, noting that stubble showed on his jaw. “And her father is willing to allow her those caveats. I…I thought we could help each other,” she ended shakily, not liking the desperate quality to her voice.
“You truly think I give a bloody damn about what Lady Susanna and the rest of society thinks?”
Verity gasped at his shocking profanities. “My lord, please control your tongue!”
He stared at her, clearly surprised. “I do not bend to the whim of those who believe they are my betters. If you do not like the manner of my speech, you are free to leave.”
The soft contempt in his voice rattled her composure, and every touch of his eyes on her veil felt fraught with peril.
He took a drink, peering at her over the rim of the glass. After taking several sips, he said, "I do not care about the pretty little gossips you’ve heard about me in your drawing rooms and balls. And I cannot fathom why you believe I would help you to do anything as outlandish as learn to fight. Bloody hell. I am not even certain I gather your meaning or intention. I may not have mixed with your set long, but you are all about propriety and ridiculous exacting standards.”
He stood, and Verity rose, clasping her hands before her middle. The posture was a defensive one, but she couldn’t help it.
“I cannot help you. Now I will ask you to take your leave.”
“My lord…” At first, her plan had struck her as desperate and simpleminded. But the more she'd pondered the matter, the clearer her sense of purpose became. And she’d had five long days and nights to plan her next steps. She could not rely on her brother, the Earl of Sutcliffe, to be her defender and protector. Once she had loved him dearly, as a sister ought to love her brother, but he’d not seen her as more than a nuisance, a duty to discard. The wealthier the bidder the better, if he had his way. Nor did he believe in her and defended her honor when she’d needed him the most, instead, he had threatened to commit her to a mental institution.
How she wished she could walk over to the earl, take his hands, and press the tips of his fingers to her temple and have every thought flow from her mind to his. Four years ago, when she had been a silly, idealistic eighteen-year-old debutante, a lecherous snake had attacked her. The visions of grasping hands, punishing kisses, brutal fingers digging into her thighs, the rending of her clothes churned in her thoughts. As always, the memory made her gorge rise, and she fought to hide the reaction.
That man, Marquess Durham, had not managed to rape her, but he had hurt, humiliated, and frightened Verity terribly. For four years she had hidden away from the memory and the shame of it all in Bedfordshire, to her mother and brother’s relief. Somehow, she knew deep down, one of the steps in reclaiming herself was to know how to fight. It was outrageous, scandalous, bordered on the brink of madness, but she needed to do something.
Lord Maschelly set his glass down on the table with a soft clink and made to walk away.
“I dare because I do not want to be afraid anymore,” she said softly.
And she would see the very brute who had attacked her within society. A beast her brother called a friend. A blackguard society loved and respected. The heir to a respectable and powerful dukedom. The very awareness of it made her want to vomit.
The earl froze and his arresting gaze landed on her. “And of what are you afraid?”
Of being helpless again, of having no one believe me or to defend my pride and honor. When she had fled to her brother, her clothes torn, her cheeks bruised and her lips bloodied, he hadn't demanded her attacker’s name to make the man pay for his crimes. Albert had asked one question with her mother looking on with tears in her eyes.
Can we force him to marry you?
As if what had happened had been a case of a compromising situation.
Her soul had recoiled at the repugnant notion. She’d answered no with all honesty for Durham had been recently married. They had not asked for her attacker’s identity, and she had been too afraid to give it, believing his conduct to be her fault. Once she’d wanted a whirlwind courtship, a handsome beau who would woo her most ardently and then propose. She had wished for it, desired it, and hoped endlessly. Suddenly all her dreams had vanished like smoke in the wind, buried under shame, doubt, and fear.
When the marquess had attacked Verity, somehow, he’d stolen her confidence and dreams, left her guilt-ridden, and it infuriated her knowing that she had allowed it for over four long years. And though her brother wanted her off his hands, it had been convenient for the family to agree for Verity to remain in the country to help nurse Aunt Imogen who had been feeling poorly for some time. No more. One of the steps in reclaiming herself was to be able to defend herself. Even if she would never use the knowledge, the fact that she could, perhaps then she would no longer scream at shadows.
