Page 91 of The Study of Seduction
“Niall wouldn’t hear of it. In a fury, he challenged Mr. Whiting to a duel at dawn.” She swallowed convulsively. “Mr. Whiting accepted the challenge, but said Niall would come to his senses in the morning and would realize that marriage was my only choice. That if he didn’t, Mr. Whiting would happily shoot him and overcome any objection by the family.”
“Bastard.” It was getting harder by the minute to control his anger at her attacker. “That was a blackmail as bad as any Durand ever came up with.”
She nodded. “I’d almost think the count had learned his tricks from Mr. Whiting, except that they couldn’t have known each other. Count Durand had been in Paris with his family for years by then, and Mr. Whiting couldn’t even afford to go to Brighton, much less France.” She ducked her head. “I just . . . seem to attract men who won’t take no for an answer.”
“That’s absurd. You attract men with a penchant for beautiful women, like me and all those pups who were flirting with you at the theater, and half the fellows in the world. You’ve merely run afoul of a couple of bad eggs.Verybad eggs, unfortunately.”
“At least Mr. Whiting’s brand of blackmail didn’t work,” she said. “Niall was a better shot than the scoundrel realized. So after he killed Mr. Whiting, he fled England.”
“That’s one thing I don’t understand. Public sympathy would have been on Niall’s side during any trial. He probably would have been acquitted. Rarely do they convict a peer of murder in the case of a duel of honor, especially when it involves a family member.”
With a squeeze of his hand, she pulled free to go over to the window. “I know. It wasn’t fear of hanging that prompted his exile. He fled England forme.”
The reason hit him like a hammer. “Because a trial would involve your telling the world what had happened.”
She nodded. “Papa and Mr. Whiting’s widowed mother agreed that neither family would be well served by having it come out that I was the reason for the duel. Apparently, Mr. Whiting had already told her that he was anticipating marrying me, so afterward, Papa had to convince her to say nothing about that in order to protect my identity. She agreed to comply, since she said she’d gone through this sort of . . . trouble with her son and young women before.”
“Like my father with Samuel.”
She nodded.
“But the seconds knew it involved you, surely.”
“No. Mr. Whiting didn’t tell them—he just said he and Niall were fighting over a woman.”
“I’m surprised. You’d think he would have bragged about his conquest to his friends beforehand.”
“Given what Mr. Whiting had told his mother, Papa assumed that at the time of the challenge, Mr. Whiting was still hoping to gain my hand and thus my fortune. Slandering his future wife wouldn’t have fit into his plans for eventually cutting a fine figure in society with an earl’s daughter on his arm. The morning of the duel, Mr. Whiting apparently just asked if Niall had changed his mind, and when Niall said no, they fought. And to everyone’s surprise, Niall won.”
“Thank God.”
“No!” She whirled to face him, tears welling in her eyes. “I mean, yes, I was glad Niall wasn’t killed, but I begged him not to fight in the first place. I told him to let Papa deal with it, but he wouldn’t listen. And when it was over and he and Papa agreed that Niall should flee to protect me, I . . . I begged him not to do that, either.”
“Why?”
“Because now he can never return! He won’t risk putting me through a trial. He and Papa kept the whole thing utterly quiet—from Warren, from the rest of the family, from everyone. They didn’t even tell Mama, for fear that she would let it slip. If she ever finds out that I was the cause of her son’s exile—”
“You werenotthe cause of Niall’s exile, blast it!” He strode up to seize her hands in his. “Whitingwas. Your brother did a very noble thing by protecting you after the fact. And if I ever see him again, I will thank him for it.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I do. You feel guilty over something that wasn’t your fault.”
“But itwasmy fault, don’t you see?” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “If I hadn’t gone into the orangery with the Vile Seducer—”
“The ‘Vile Seducer’?”
“That’s what I’ve always called him in my head. I can’t think of him as a . . . as a person with a name.”
“That I can well understand,” he bit out. “Though you ought to call him the ‘Vile Rapist.’ Because that’s clearly what he was.”
“Was he?” Jerking her hands from his, she turned her back to him once more. “I went willingly with him. I let him kiss me—a lot. Like some tart, I let him put his hand on my breast.”
“You did all that with me, and every time you balked at going further, I retreated. Because that’s what a gentleman does—even with a woman who initially encouraged him. Even with his wife. A gentleman does not force a woman.Ever.”
As if she hadn’t even heard him, she went on in a harsh rasp, “I should have fought him harder. I protested when he began to lift my skirts, but I didn’t seriously struggle until he tore my clothes and held me down and . . . and pushed himself into me and—”
“Raped you,” Edwin said fiercely. The very idea of thatbastardtearing her clothes and holding her down made him wish he could march into hell and kill the man all over again. Bare-handed. “It’s clearly a rape to me. And it clearly was to Niall, too. And your late father.”
