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‘What do you know about affairs?’ He heaved himself to his feet and poured another brandy, the neck of the decanter rattling against his glass. The blood vessels in his neck were beginning to swell and Marissa, inwardly trembling, recognised the signs of one of his frequent rages developing. He tossed back the brandy and began to pace the carpet in front of the fire. ‘I haven’t come here for a sermon, I have come here for you to tell that lawyer of yours to double my allowance.’
Marissa gripped her hands together in her lap, the knuckles showing white, but she kept her voice steady. ‘Charles would not have wished that.’
‘Charles would not have wished,’ he mocked, coming to a halt in front of her. ‘Very dutiful, I’m sure, for a silly little ninny who was bought for five thousand guineas.’
‘Bought? What do you mean?’ She reached out to clutch the sides of her chair as the room tilted.
‘The damn fool wanted you so much that he was prepared to pay off my gambling debts and forgo a dowry to get his hands on you.’
Through the shock Marissa felt a sudden stab of amazement. Charles must have truly loved her at the beginning after all – what had gone wrong?
Her father saw the play of emotion on her face and pounced. ‘Oh, don’t think he was in love with you,’ he sneered. ‘He was quite frank with me: he wanted a well-bred girl who was young enough to be moulded to his liking. And you happened to be the youngest and the prettiest that was available. I wanted to hold out for more, but I’ll give him his due, he was a cunning bastard. Told me that if I did not sell you to him he would make damn sure your reputation was sullied and you would marry no one.’
‘I do not believe you. You are lying,’ she stammered.
‘Did he ever say he loved you? Did he ever show you any sign of affection? I would doubt it, knowing his reputation.’
‘Reputation?’ Could it be that Charles’s cruelty and coolness were more widely known than she had realised? ‘How could you do that to me, if you knew what kind of man he was?’ she cried, starting to her feet, her hands clenched by her sides, wanting to hit out at that smirking red face.
‘You are my daughter. Mine to dispose of as I saw fit. Girls are no good for anything else but marriage.’
‘You are despicable. I hate you,’ she choked out. ‘You will not get another farthing from me. I shall stop your allowance today – ’
He snatched at her wrist, pulling her towards him with some force. They were so close she could smell the brandy on his breath, see the broken veins in his cheeks. ‘Tread very carefully, Marissa. There are things I could make known about your esteemed late husband that would ruin you and create a scandal that would blight the Southwood name.’
‘Good morning.’
Marcus. Thank God.
Chapter Seventeen
Marissa gasped as her father spun round, his fingers still clamped round her wrist. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Marcus Southwood. Would you do me the favour of unhanding Lady Longminster?’ It was not a request.
Her father’s face darkened to a damson-red but he did not relinquish his grasp. ‘What's it got to do with you? I am talking to my daughter.’
‘You are hurting your daughter.’ The words were quiet, but full of menace. ‘I shall not tell you again.’ Marcus stalked forward, his eyes cold and narrowed on the other man’s face.
Her father released her wrist and Marcus took her hand, his thumb gently massaging the livid marks, his eyes still locked with the other man’s. ‘Get out of my house, and do not come back unless her ladyship asks for you.’
Marissa realised that her father was more likely to raise a fist to Marcus than to obey. ‘Papa, go now, please, and I will say nothing more about the matter of the allowance.’ She realised that Jackson had joined them and was standing just inside the doors, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest.
‘Jackson, see this… person off the premises. He is not to be re-admitted except with her ladyship’s express permission.’ Marcus turned his back contemptuously on the older man.
It was Jackson who saw Sir George lunge forward, Jackson who grabbed him before the blow could fall. But it took both men to wrestle the enraged baronet down the stairs and out of the front door.
Marissa stood in the middle of the room, frozen with shock, her fingers rubbing her bruised wrist. The front door slammed and then the knocker was pounded furiously for seve
ral seconds. Finally, with a great roar of anger, her father gave up and there was silence.
She heard Marcus and Jackson clattering back up the stairs, their voices animated. They entered together, both men flushed and triumphant, somehow larger than life, Jackson massaging his knuckles. They stopped abruptly at the sight of her.
‘Shall I call your maid, my lady?’ Jackson was immediately the perfect butler once again.
‘No thank you, Jackson.’
Marcus poured a glass of brandy and pressed it into her hand before he led her to the sofa. ‘Drink this, it will help to calm your nerves. Jackson, send for Dr Lavery, her ladyship’s wrist is badly bruised.’
