Priscilla knew her mother had said too much even before Eugene responded.But in sickening slow motion she watched his hand jab out, landing directly in the middle of her mother’s chest, his palm thumping into her ribs, the sound wrenching a scream from her mouth.
The countess flew backwards, the force of the blow sending her stumbling back as she first fell on her behind and then her head hitting the floor.
“Eugene!”she cried, racing to her mother’s side.“What have you done?”
“Nothing she didn’t deserve,” he countered, but as she cradled her mother in her arms, her accusatory gaze landing on him, she noted that he’d turned pale rather than his usual hues of angry red.
“Call the doctor.At once,” she said as her mother gasped for breath in her arms.
The two footmen stood immobile and she knew they were there to exclusively do Eugene’s bidding.“Eugene,” she bit out, attempting to take advantage of his moment of guilt she could see in his eyes.
He hesitated, full well knowing he’d have to explain how he was responsible.
“Now, Eugene,” she cried, hot tears strangling her own throat and making her voice rasp with emotions.“Please.”
Finally, he turned, barking at one of the new men.“Go.”
“I’ll be all right,” her mother croaked, still attempting to breath normally.Her breath came in shallow hitches as she sank into Priscilla’s arms.“And think of it this way, he can’t possibly make us leave tomorrow if I’m injured.You’ll have a chance to marry Lord Ware yet.”
That broke the dam in her throat and hot tears spilled over her lids and onto her cheeks.“You can’t mean to sacrifice your own health, Mother.It’s not worth it.”
“Priscilla,” her mother reached up then, swiping a tear from her cheek and wincing in pain from the movement.“Don’t you know the lengths your father and I would go to protect you, darling?”
She knew.
Just as she knew what she had to do now.“It’s time I protected you.”Then she kissed the top of her mother’s head.Priscilla and her mother were leaving today.
* * *
Wyatt dressed for boxing,glad that he had a training session with Ralph today.Not that he wished to talk again.
He just wanted to hit things.
Anger, hot and volcanic, bubbled inside him.At Eugene.The man didn’t deserve the title of lord, earl, or even man.A real man protected women and children.He didn’t hurt them.
He stopped midway through shrugging on his shirt.What did that say about his father?He pulled the shirt over his head, brushing back his hair.
Hadn’t he always known that his father was everything Ralph had said.A selfish cad.Not fit to be father or viscount.
And Wyatt had spent his entire life attempting to be the opposite.He’d eschewed all violence and then, when that had failed him…
That wasn’t exactly true.His position against physical violence had hurt someone else far more than himself.He didn’t care about his own injuries.His face had recovered but his stance against violence had failed Angela.
She might have been hurt.Or worse.
He ached to think that he hadn’t protected the one person who’d been under his care.
And he’d hated himself after for what might have happened to her.He closed his eyes.
He knew he’d become the Bushy Hero—damn but he hated that nickname—to prove to himself that he could keep a family safe and that—he scrubbed his face—that he deserved their love.
A hard knock sounded at the door and then it swung open.It could only be Ralph.No one else would knock on his door like that.
“What do you?—”
But he stopped as he caught sight of Ralph’s tight expression, a piece of parchment crumpled in his hands.
“Ralph?”
