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Though she shook her head, she opened her eyes and began to speak. “He was an artist. While he was working on a commission in Scarborough, he engaged in a bit of gambling. When he lost to my stepfather, they agreed he’d pay his losses in trade. Not that my stepfather was happy about it, mind you, but what could he do?”
She shrugged, her shoulder rubbing against his chest. “So James painted my portrait. And we flirted. He kissed me a few times. It was very exciting. I was seventeen—”
“Seventeen,” Lancaster growled, but Cynthia ignored him.
“And he was very handsome and sophisticated. I’d already been offered up to Sir Reginald, and Harry was being discussed, and I decided to make myself unmarketable.”
“By losing your virginity.”
“Yes.”
“You were too young.”
“Old enough, I gather. Regardless, he finished the portrait, but there was some argument as he was leaving. The agreement hadn’t covered the cost of paint and canvas, only James’s commission, but my stepfather refused to pay for the supplies. I saw James storm out and followed him to the stables, knowing it would be my last chance. I asked him to take my virginity, and…he did.”
Lancaster waited for more, but she offered nothing else. “Well, that’s a fine way of saying nothing at all. What do you mean ‘he did’?”
“I mean that he did. I thought it would be romantic. He was an artist, after all, and I’d very much enjoyed our kisses. But it wasn’t romantic at all, and I’d been stupid to think it would be, I suppose. He kissed me a few times, and I was rather…interested. But then he began to chuckle, and he pulled me into a stall, leaned me over a barrel, and—”
“He did what?”
Cynthia jumped at his shouted question. “He was still angry, I think. Feeling foolish for being tricked out of his funds. And I’m sure he thought a girl willing to give herself so cheaply didn’t deserve kindness.”
“Cyn,” he gasped in horror. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? I asked for exactly what I got. I didn’t believe myself in love with him. I didn’t even try to couch it in feathery language. I simply said, ‘Will you have me?’ and so I was had. And when he finished, he buttoned his trousers, tucked in his shirt, and said, ‘Tell your father we’re squared away then.’ And he left. That was it.”
Lancaster couldn’t speak. Cynthia didn’t have tears in her eyes, but he felt like weeping for her. He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “Tell me his name.”
“Why?”
“Because I shall hunt him down and beat him half to death.”
She laughed. How could she laugh when his heart was breaking? “He was only being a man, Nick. There’s no punishment for that.”
“Being a man?” he sputtered. “He acted like an animal!”
“He only took what—”
“Do you think I would ever do that to you? To anyone?”
She met his eyes easily. “No, not you.”
“What kind of man would hurt a woman that way? You must have been terrified.”
This time her eyes did fill with tears, and Lancaster felt so much rage fill his soul that it frightened him. He could kill this James, easily. “Don’t cry, Cyn.”
She turned her head into his neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Hush.”
“I wish it had been you. You were beautiful, Nick. It was beautiful.”
Beautiful? He wrapped her tight in his arms and tried to calm his raging heart. Beautiful. He should kill that bastard just for making her think sex with him was beautiful.
But despite his anger, he wanted to ask her to repeat that over and over again. You were beautiful. It was beautiful.
Maybe with Cynthia it was.
