Page 27 of A Widow for the Earl
What is the matter with me?
News would surely reach society of how he had behaved. Lord Mancefield would not hesitate to tell anyone who would listen of how the Earl of Grayling had flown into a rage. Moreover, how the Earl had flown into that rage because of Beatrice: the disgraced ‘Bride of Death,’ now unequivocally under Vincent’s protection. It would not matter what he said to the contrary, the gossipmongers would take the story and twist it into the juiciest of sagas for their own delectation and delight.
Just then, he heard footsteps in the entrance hall behind him, the front door still wide open where he had thrown Lord Mancefield out.
He turned, and Beatrice halted, lifting her glittering gaze to him.
“He is gone,” Vincent said thickly, uncertain of whether her eyes were glittering with tears or anger.
She gave a small nod. “And that is the man you thought would be my perfect match?”
“I was informed that he was genteel and pleasant,” Vincent replied. “I was unaware of his true nature.”
A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Then, you should not have ambushed me with him. There is little I do not know about every lady and gentleman in society, and what I do not know, I have many means of finding out.” Her throat bobbed. “Or does it not actually matter to you? If Edmund had not been there as a witness, would you have responded the same way?”
“What?” Vincent rasped.
“Your reputation means so much to you. What people think means so much to you,” she replied, her voice shaking a little. “If Edmund had not been there—a friend who would judge you for not intervening—would you have sent Lord Mancefield away?”
He moved toward her before he could stop himself, needing to be closer to her as he whispered the word, “Yes.” His breath caught. “Yes, Beatrice. Had Edmund not been there, I suspect I would have done far worse.”
She blinked in surprise, her hand lifting up for a moment, as though she meant to touch him. With a subtle shake of her head, she let her hand fall again, her fierce gaze locked with his.
“Do you believe me?” he urged, feeling a far greater threat to his reputation than anything the scandal sheets could write.
I would not have let any harm come to you. You must believe that.
But whyshouldshe believe that, when he had done nothing but make demands of her since his arrival? He had not asked once how she was faring or feeling. He had not bothered to speak to the servants and tenants about her, though his valet had. From the start, he had decided how things would be, not pausing to think of the effect on her.
“I do not know,” she replied quietly.
It alarmed him to see her like that, all of the fire gone out of her. In that moment, he would have done anything to have her shout rudely at him, rather than witness the sputtering out of her spirit.
“He tried to touch you,” he growled. “No matter our differences, I would defend your honor in that situation, regardless of the man.”
She frowned up at him. “But you did not mind the insults? I expect you agreed with him.” A funny sound escaped her throat, half-laugh, half-cough. “I am just a thing to be given away and tamed, am I not?”
“What?” He tilted his head to one side, vexed by her flat tone. “All I heard him say was that he could make you marry him, and that he was looking forward to teaching you a lesson. I do not agree with his sentiments. That is why he is gone from this manor.”
She lowered her gaze, staring down at the floor. “Yes, well, he said far more than that.”
“Such as?” Vincent prompted.
She shook her head. “It does not matter. When you inevitably bring my next eligible suitor to the house, perhaps you will hear for yourself the oh-so courteous things these gentlemen feel obliged to say to me.”
“What did he say?” Vincent demanded to know, his fingertips finding the soft skin beneath her chin, tilting her head up. “If I have punished him less than he deserves, I would know of it.”
Her honey eyes shone with a pain he had never expected to see, for she always seemed so impervious to everything.
“It does not matter,” she repeated. “He is gone, and another will soon take his place: a meager carousel of gentlemen, belittling me, reminding me of my worth, until I am so worn down that I finally relent. That is what you want, is it not?”
He gazed down at her, wondering why she had not yet swiped his hand away from her chin. The longer he stared, the more he forgot why he was so close to her. And the longer the silence stretched between them, the more his frustrations began to prickle.
She is trying to bewitch me again.
Yet, his thoughts were not as certain as they had been before. There seemed to be true sadness in her eyes, and it was that glimpse through her armor that kept him where he was.
“It is what is right,” he said at last.
