“And how, precisely, would you accomplish that?”
He leaned in, his breath unpleasant. “Between our lands, we would be the most prominent landholders in the county.”
“So that is what this is truly about,” she retorted. “You want my estate.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Perhaps I came on too strong. Let us begin again.”
“It will not make a difference,” she responded. “I desire a partner, not a transaction.”
“You are a fool,” he snapped.
Theodosia’s eyes darted towards the nearest hedgerow. “It is entirely improper for us to meet in this manner. Come to Lord Wilton’s townhouse tomorrow if you wish to speak again. We can discuss the matter properly.”
“Only for you to dismiss me again?” His lips curled. “I came to London to make you mine.”
Suddenly, he reached for her, seizing her arm and yanking her close.
“You will not succeed,” she stated, trying to pull away.
His fingers dug into her flesh. “I don’t think so.”
“You are hurting me.”
He didn’t release her. Instead, he crushed his mouth against hers—a kiss without tenderness, without consent.
She reared back and struck him across the face. “How dare you take such liberties!”
“I’ll take whatever liberties I please,” he snarled. “And when I’m done with you, no one else will want you.”
Terror clutched at her throat. She stumbled back, desperate to flee—but then, like a thunderclap in the night, a familiar voice rang out.
“Unhand her!”
Lord Wilton stood at the edge of the clearing, fury carved into every line of his face.
Mr. Pritchett tightened his grip and turned. “Leave us. This doesn’t concern you.”
“It does,” Lord Wilton said, stalking forward. “Miss Theodosia is under my protection.”
“Not any longer,” Mr. Pritchett shouted. “We are engaged.”
Theodosia’s voice rang with outrage. “That is a lie!”
“It’s a lover’s quarrel,” Mr. Pritchett insisted. “Leave us be.”
Lord Wilton’s gaze dropped to Theodosia’s arm, still caught in Pritchett’s grasp. “I warn you—release her. Now.”
“And what if I don’t?” Mr. Pritchett sneered. “I doubt you’ve ever engaged in fisticuffs in your life.”
A soft click interrupted them.
Olivia stepped out from the shadows, her face determined, and a small muff pistol raised in her hand. “You heard my brother—unhand her. And trust me, I have no qualms about shooting you.”
Mr. Pritchett’s face paled. “You wouldn’t.”
