Page 5 of How to Lose a Dowry in Three Bucks
He raised his brows.
“My mother handled my wardrobe before she passed last year.”
Peverel’s eyes pierced her above his teacup.
“I don’t know if you met her?”
“I may have had the pleasure once or twice, but I did not have an extensive acquaintance with her, I’m sorry to say,” he replied.
It was a pretty speech that glided past the truth of things: Sophia’s mother lived in mortal fear of men and would have been loath to encounter such a virile man as the earl for more than the briefest, most perfunctory exchange.
“I understand you to be a man of honor.”
“I make every effort to deserve such a distinction,” he said, leaning forward.
“My father was not my father.”
The earl took in her words and then nodded. She was trusting him with an enormous secret. Somehow, he seemed to be the only man worth entrusting with it, though he’d done nothing before now to inspire such confidence. Perhaps it was his size; he’d be able to protect that shameful kernel.
“He was a great man. I miss him dearly. When my mother needed a friend, he was trustworthy and true.”
Peverel poured more tea, as if he knew there was more to the story that she’d need to divulge.
“He married my mother to protect her. You see, men of the worst sort kidnapped her several times and attacked her, and she needed to be rid of the dowry that exposed her to all of this misfortune,” she said.
“By attacked, you mean…”
Sophia nodded, her nose suddenly watering as she thought of her late mother. “I was the result.”
He settled deeper in his chair; the leather creaking as he shifted. She braced for him to say something flippant or callous, dismissing a pain older than Sophia that had changed several lives dramatically.
The earl looked up, his brows pinched in confusion. “Mr. Stafford — your father — conducted himself humbly for a man married to an heiress.”
Sophia waved her hand. “My grandfather denied my mother the use of her dowry. It all passed to me.”
Peverel steepled his fingers before his chin. “Now you carry the same burden that hurt your mother.”
Sophia nodded yes and stirred her rapidly cooling tea.
“I will assist you.”
She paused, then looked across the desk at him. His face was stony, terrifying to regard.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked faintly.
“I will ensure that you do not share your mother’s fate,” he breathed.
Those words were like a blow to the chest. Here, this man acknowledged the danger to her and vowed to protect her from it. Sophia had known few men in her life, so her only point of comparison was her dear papa.
Peverel compared favorably. He had all the conviction and moral certainty of papa with the added benefit of a towering size that might warn off anyone who sought to hurt her.
Then why was she imagining him being the one to take and use her? She couldn’t stop thinking of what that desk would feel like against her cheek if he were to bend her over it, lift her skirts, and push himself into her quim. He didn’t deserve to star in this fantastical vision, not when he was honorable!
Sophia huffed a laugh to clear her thoughts and cover for her prolonged reverie. “I thank you, sir. Fortunately for both of us,my birthday approaches, and I should be able to complete my business here forthwith.”
“You mean to sail back to the colonies?”
She thought of her home, now sold. The dog she’d given to a boy next door rather than subject her to the long voyage. The carrot seeds she’d planted, knowing they’d never grow in time for her to harvest them. Suddenly, she felt so alone and sad.
