Page 37 of The Dove
“How could you?” she retorted. “How could you let them all know the truth about us? Now, everyone leaving the Mallorys’ ball is spreading the word that Lady Daphne Fairchild sold her cunt for ten thousand pounds!”
Shock rendered him speechless for a moment as her words, as well as their implications, sank in. He’d left the ball as soon as their waltz had ended, knowing that remaining so close to her would have him going out of his mind after a while. In order to keep from taking her down to the ballroom floor and embarrassing them both in front of a room full of the Londonton,he’d made a hasty retreat.
Whatever had occurred after he’d left was what had her in such a state.
Shaking his head to clear it, he peered into her eyes and found the truth there—along with a healthy dose of anger directed solely at him.
“Daphne, I didn’t—”
“I do not believe you,” she interjected. “It all makes sense, your warning that I’d soon feel the consequences of your next blow … that it would all become clear to me. You could not be satisfied with ruining me and flaunting me in front of the entireton, could you? You just couldn’t help ensuring they all knew that I was paid to act as your whore?”
“Daphne,” he tried again, but she was beyond hearing him, tears spilling from the eyes burning into his with every ounce of the hatred she claimed to feel for him.
“Did you know that the moment our dance had ended, I was approached by a man who wished to buy a night with me for fifty quid?” she sobbed, closing her eyes and causing more of the tears to fall.
The fire in his belly roared, his neck going hot and his entire body tensing as her words fell on him like the lash of a whip. His hold on her wrists tightened even more, until she whimpered and squirmed in his grasp. But he was beyond the limits of his control, murder on his mind, his vision going black at the edges.
“Who?” he growled from between clenched teeth. “Who was the man?”
“Does it matter?” she whispered, going limp against him, the fight finally leaving her body.
“Yes,” he snarled, releasing her and pacing away, running a shaking hand through his hair. “It matters. I want his name, Daphne. I want his name, and I want his blood.”
She pursued him across the room, jabbing his chest with her index finger. “Why, when this is a mess of your own making? Whenyouare the one who ousted me as a woman whose body is for sale to all of London!”
“Goddamn it, Daphne, I told you it was not me!” he roared, his voice filling the room and practically shaking the rafters.
She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “If not you, then who? Who else would be so cruel, so calculating?”
He had just been about to retort that he had no bloody idea when it all became clear. Through the muddled haze of anger, pain, and grief that had overtaken him, the answer came at him a rush of clarity he could not deny.
“Who, indeed?” he hedged, inclining his head and returning her stare. He needed her to understand on her own … to arrive at the truth using logic. Otherwise, she would simply accuse him of casting blame to shift her anger away from him. “Yes, I will admit that this sounds like something I might do. However, I want you to remember that I have never lied to you, or about you, little dove. Not once. I have only ever been honest about who I am, what I want, and what I will do. If I were to reveal the specifics of our arrangement, do you not think I might have actually spread thetruth?”
She frowned, her brow knitting and her eyes darting as she seemed to try to make sense of his words. “I do not understand.”
He came closer and took hold of her face, cupping her jaw and looking into her eyes, willing her to see the truth … to not only see it, but believe it.
“Think, little dove,” he urged. “The person who spread this rumor, they do not know the whole truth. Otherwise, they would not have told everyone that you sold yourself to me forten thousand pounds.”
After a moment of silence, she gasped, her gaze meeting his and realization making her lips part in utter shock. “No … he didn’t … he wouldn’t …”
He nodded. “Hewould. It all makes sense. If he wanted to strike back at me for coming to London to publicly flaunt our relationship, then he might spread his version of the truth … a version that saw him compensated with ten thousand pounds in exchange for your maidenhead.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she sucked in a slow breath, releasing it on a pained sigh. “Bertram … that bloody fool.”
Gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, he scowled to find more tears. He didn’t like seeing tears on her face unless he was the one who had put them there. Someone else making her weep, toying with her emotions … it made him furious. It made him want to maim and kill and rip them to shreds—both her idiot of a brother and the unnamed whoreson who had attempted to proposition his little dove.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, finding that he truly meant it.
This had been one line he hadn’t been prepared to cross, using the truth of what had happened at Dunnottar against Bertram … only because it would also mean using it against Daphne.
She opened her eyes and scoffed, her gaze now one of disdain. “Only because you did not think to do it first.”
He deserved that, so he said nothing in retaliation. It had made perfect sense for her to suspect him, to accuse him. Still, he refused to feel sorry for anything he’d done … not when it meant justice for the young woman hiding away in the suite adjoining this one.
“No,” he replied firmly. “I’m sorry for what I will be forced to do now.”
Sinking both hands into her hair, she gave it a little tug, as if trying to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming. “Are you mad? If nothing else, this proves that things have gone too far. If one of you does not put a stop to this, we will all go down together. Can’t you see that?”
