“I suggest you don’t test me,” Olivia said, cocking the pistol with deliberate precision.
Mr. Pritchett let go of Theodosia at once, and she rushed to Lord Wilton’s side, trembling.
“This is all a misunderstanding,” Mr. Pritchett stammered, his voice laced with desperation.
“Is it?” Olivia asked, advancing a step. “Because it looks very much like you were taking liberties with a woman who had already told you no.”
“We belong together!” he cried. “If she would only think rationally?—”
“You have exactly three seconds to leave,” Lord Wilton growled. “And I strongly suggest you never return to Town.”
“Or what?” Mr. Pritchett demanded.
Lord Wilton took a step forward, his presence towering. “Or I will see to it that every door in London is closed to you.”
Mr. Pritchett’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care what happens to Miss Theodosia? She’s nothing to you.”
“She is my sister’s companion,” Lord Wilton replied, his voice taut, “and under my household’s protection.”
“You want her for yourself!” Mr. Pritchett shouted. “And when you tire of her, you’ll cast her aside like rubbish.”
Lord Wilton’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “Do not speak that way in front of ladies.”
“You didn’t deny it,” Pritchett said, triumphant.
“Because your accusation was so ludicrous, it wasn’t worth addressing,” Lord Wilton snapped. “I would never treat Miss Theodosia with anything but the respect she deserves.”
Pritchett opened his mouth, but Olivia lifted the pistol higher. “Go,” she said simply.
This time, he obeyed.
As soon as Mr. Pritchett disappeared around the corner and the sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, Lord Wilton turned towards Theodosia, his thunderous expression still shadowing his features. His voice, though quieter, carried the weight of urgency.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She managed a small, tremulous smile. “I will be—thanks to you and Olivia.”
His gaze dropped to the sleeve of her gown, where the skin beneath the fabric was reddened.
“He hurt you,” he said grimly—not a question, but a dark, resolute fact.
She winced slightly as she rubbed at the soreness with her other hand. “Yes. He did.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. Without a word, he turned as if to stride after the man.
Alarmed, she reached out and grasped his arm, her fingers curling around the fine fabric of his coat sleeve. “No—please, don’t.”
He halted midstep, glancing down at her hand before looking into her eyes. “You’re protecting him?”
“Of course not,” she insisted, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to protect you.”
His brows drew together in confusion. “From what?”
“From doing something rash,” she said earnestly. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you because of me.”
His expression softened, the anger in his eyes fading justslightly. “I assure you, Miss Theodosia, I am quite capable of defending myself.”
“I know that,” she murmured, her fingers still clinging to his coat. “But I would prefer it if you stayed here—with me.”
