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Tempted to jump up from the sofa and sprint to her chambers, Marissa instead chose the more daunting path. She tugged her skirts down and pushed unsteadily to her feel to face her brother. "Edward! Stop. Please."
"You foul bastard," her brother's voice huffed.
A loud thump of flesh on flesh made Marissa flinch. The chaos ceased, and suddenly only the sound of the two men panting emerged from
the dark. She could do nothing but stand there and shake.
"Edward?" she breathed.
Broken glass slid against the wood floor. One of the shadows rose up and started toward her. Marissa backed away, afraid of her brother, only because she couldn't see him. He would never hurt her, no matter what she did. But he looked like a goblin coming at her from the dark.
Or perhaps it was Mr. White, and her brother lay unconscious on the floor.
"Edward?"
The shadow shifted at the last moment, her brother's snarling face finally coming into the light, and he moved past her. Glass rattled. A match struck.
Light swelled slowly over the room. When it reached the farthest corner, she saw that Mr. White wasn't unconscious at all, but sitting up with a hand pressed to his eye. At the sight of him, Marissa had to tamp down an urge to fly at his face and do further damage. Easier to be furious with him than with herself.
A shadow cast itself from the hallway, and Marissa glanced up to see her cousin Harry standing there.
"What in the world is all the ruckus?" Harry asked. Oh, this was only getting worse. How many others had heard?
"Marissa," her brother said, that one word full of worry and hurt and confusion and fury.
She wrapped her arms around herself and turned slowly toward him. "I apologize." Her voice was steady, just as she meant for it to be. "I did not mean for you to see that."
"See it?" he barked.
A maid appeared at Harry's side, her apron clutched in her hands.
"Harry," Edward said carefully. "Please wait for me in the study. And close the door:"
This situation would have to be handled very carefully. Her family was not known for coolness or rationality. Impetuousness flowed in their veins like blood, and she'd clearly gotten her own share of it. But now she'd need to choose her words carefully. "Edward. I'm sorry. Obviously, I acted as ... I was not—" She was interrupted by the worst possible statement.
"We shall marry immediately," Mr. White said from the floor.
Her brother was already nodding.
Marissa shook her head to counter him. "We most certainly will not."
Glass shifted and clinked as Mr. White moved. "If you'll give me a few moments to ... arrange myself, Baron York, I will meet you privately in—"
"No!" she protested. "There will be no meeting! I have no intention of marrying Mr. White. None at all."
Her brother turned toward her, his green eyes bruised with hurt and disappointment. "You can't mean you dallied with this man without even a hope of marriage?"
"That's exactly what I mean. And if I'd have considered the idea before, I certainly wouldn't now. Do you see any evidence of gratification on my face? I wouldn't marry that eager hound for anything."
Edward's eyes snapped back toward Mr. White. "Did he force himself on you?"
"No, no. He only failed to meet even the lowest expectations of performance."
"Performance?" her brother sputtered. "What could you know of—"
"Here now!" Mr. White said. "I won't tolerate this. We shall be married as soon as we can possibly manage. Baron York, do you have any means of arranging a special license?"
"Oh, for God's sake," Marissa interrupted. "I won't marry him! I can't possibly make it any more clear." Whispers floated in from the hallway on the tail end of her words.
