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“Did I hurt you?” he asked gruffly.
“No,” she whispered. “You were incredible.” And the realization that she was ruined in every way settled on her shoulders.
He came down on the sofa and pulled her atop him. He pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, and her heart climbed into her throat. It felt like a farewell. Panic and pain burst in her heart. It would have to be farewell on his part if he still had ambitions to marry a lady of quality. It was not only about himself now. But his aunt and cousins. Her ruined reputation would only serve to drag them in the gutter with her. And James knew it, and Verity could not avoid the knowledge. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and they stayed like that for a very long time.
Blissful moments later, Verity's eyes fluttered open, and she realized she had fallen asleep. Panic rushed through her. Was it dawn? She shifted and smiled. James also slept. She gently disengaged from him, blushing at the ache between her legs. Dressing was a challenge, but she did it, grateful men clothes were so much easier to manipulate. Then she walked softly over to the small clock on the mantle and held it to the dying fire.
It was almost two in the morning. Her mother and brother would still be occupied with their amusements. There was time for her to slip into her room before they arrived. Verity went back over to James and stared at his sleeping form.
I’ll never forget you.
Then she turned and made her way outside to the waiting coach, befuddled as to why soft sobs were tearing from her.
Chapter 15
“Lady V’s fist of fury…or should we say kick of righteous anger? This author has not yet learned what dishonor a certain Marquess D dealt to a charming and evidently brave lady of the ton. Dressed in trousers and jacket, this avenging lady visited the notorious club in disguise and soundly defeated the marquess with a swift kick to somewhere unmentionable. It was as the marquess screamed his pain and embarrassment and fell to his knees, that his opponent was revealed to be a lady. I daresay a certain marquess will not recover from this public set down and humiliation any time soon—”
With trembling hands, Verity lowered the scandal sheet onto the small end table in the drawing room. Everything inside of her urged her to go to James, even if it was only ten in the morning. Had he seen the scandal sheet? It was irrefutable proof she was ruined and would not be considered by the ton as a lady of quality anymore. She had kn
own the risk when she had first approached him, and Verity would not dissolve into crying fits over the situation.
She closed her eyes, but it was a smile that came to her lips. There had been no nightmares last night. There had been no fear as her head hit the softness of her pillows. Only a weightless sleep. Just comfort. And peace. Even knowing her reputation was shattered into so many pieces, it could never be placed back together.
The hopes of marrying the man of her dreams were lost. She would have to travel abroad until the scandal died down. Even for a few years at least, though Verity was very aware society did not forgive or forget transgressions that stepped out of the bounds of decorum and civility. Perhaps she could travel to Italy or France, and once there she would meet a fair gentleman and fall in love.
A sob hitched in her throat. James occupied all the emotions in her heart and moving abroad to escape the scandal meant she would not see him for a long time. Perhaps when she returned to London after a number of years, he would have found himself a lady of quality and be married with children. The sudden pain that knocked against her chest strangled her breath. It was truly unbearable thinking of James with someone that was not her. It was agonizing thinking of living a life without him abroad, or even in England. It was James’s kisses she hungered for, it was his arms she wanted to hold her whenever she was scared, and it was his eyes she wanted to peer into whenever they delighted with life.
Her hands fluttered to her lips. When…when had she fallen in love with him? For the wild and beautiful sensations swelling in her heart could be nothing other than the forever kind of love. But last night…last night he had said goodbye. She had felt it in his touch and the kiss he had pressed against her forehead.
Panic and a piercing loss rose in her throat. Did James feel any sentiments for her, or had she been the only one to unwittingly engage her heart? Had last night meant more to him than a wicked night of passion? It felt foolish to wonder, but she had a sudden burning need to go to him.
The door to the drawing room burst open, and her brother stormed in, his appearance one of great dishevelment. His hair was mussed, his cravat askew, his boots muddied. He was evidently only just returning from his night about town.
He waved a paper in the air. “Is it true, you silly, stupid girl?” he demanded, pinning her with an angry glare.
She paused to give him a polite, enquiring look. Her brother often spoke to her with a patronizing air which she found intolerable. Verity usually responded with cutting remarks and chilling hauteur which served to drive a deeper wedge between them. They were not as close as brothers and sisters ought to be, and with the ugliness of the past lingering between them, they never would be again. She stared at him with a contemplative air, quite pleased her pulse no longer jumped whenever he displayed such anger.
Her mother bustled in behind him, closing the door for privacy. She wore a green riding habit with a matching hat. The glow in her cheeks indicated she had just returned from her morning ride. “Verity?” her mother demanded, picking up the newspaper. “Albert believes this…this Lady V mentioned in the scandal sheet, is you? I have told him that it is absurd, but he raced ahead to confront you like a madman!”
“Everyone at White’s believes it to be her. Why would they think that, mother? The very fact they think it is her is a catastrophe.”
Verity poured a cup of tea with affected calm. “Lord Newsome’s carriage ran off the road into an orange seller last week near the Smithfield market. He killed her, leaving the woman’s four children orphans. They were sent to the poorhouse. Lord Newsome himself had been inebriated, and there were no consequences for him of course. It was all in the papers, and I daresay that is more of a catastrophe than anything else.”
“Who cares about a damned orange ragtag beggar,” her brother roared. He pulled the newssheet from her mother’s hands and slapped it onto the table. “Do you know anything about this, Verity?”
She took a sip of the tea, closing her hands around the cup, needing the warmth that curled around her palms. “I cared,” she said into the silence. “Another lord did too. He fought for them and set up a trust with the prize money for their future. Those children are now living in a proper home, their bellies are filled each day, and they are warm. There is enough money from that prizefight to ensure they live a very comfortable life and be afforded an education.”
“For God’s sake, Verity! You will answer the question or so help me I shall—”
“Yes, I kicked Lord Durham in his balls.”
Her mother swooned, perhaps at the vulgarity of Verity knowing of a man’s balls or perhaps the action itself. Albert caught Mamma and gently led her over to the chaise longue by the low burning fire. When he straightened and turned to Verity, his features were filled with wrath and a promise of retribution.
“How dare you speak so casually of your behavior and without any guilt,” he lashed with raw fury.
Even though Verity did not feel as if she was obliged to offer any explanation, she said, “I am sorry my reputation has been portrayed in such an odious light for all of society to speculate on. But I cannot regret it, because I am at peace, Albert.”
“Peace!” He threw her a fulminating glance. “How could you be so reckless, improper and indifferent to the disagreeable consequences of your willful ways! You have brought shame upon this family and have jeopardized our standing within society.”
