Page 19 of When He Was Wicked
Lord Aldridge’s eyes widened and a flush ran along his neckline. Then he assessed her in narrowed-eye contemplation. “You are a delicately nurtured female with little understanding of the world, Lady Verity. Your brother and I believe we shall suit very well indeed,” he said chidingly, as if she were a simpleton.
Verity lifted a brow. “You are affable and gentlemanly, but I will only be persuaded to marry a man I have the deepest affections for. And one who loves me in return. I suspect that will not be the situation with you.”
“You are very decided with your arguments,” he replied testily.
“It would be silly to be hesitant on matters of such grave importance. We will not suit, and I shall not be persuaded against my heart…ever. I also suspect my brother neglected to mention my inheritance is not transferable upon marriage. Andwith the rumors swirling of your gambling debt, my dowry is not a tempting enough morsel to justify persuasion on your part, my lord.”
Lord Aldridge’s face mottled with the force of his anger, but she lifted her chin and held her ground. He turned on his heel and walked off, his lips tightly compressed. Her mamma would be furious but Verity could hardly drum up the withal to care. She went inside and collected her pelisse, hat, reticule, and an umbrella. The sky appeared decidedly overcast, quite befitting her current mood.
As she exited the townhouse, she could hear mamma’s twinkling laughter as she entertained her callers. Fortunately, Lady Caroline also lived in Grosvenor Square, only a few minutes’ walk from Verity’s own home. Walking briskly, she arrived at Caroline’s home just as she was being handed up in a carriage by a livered footman. A lady’s maid, who was to act as a chaperone, hovered by the carriage steps.
“Verity darling, how good of you to come,” Caroline cried, her pretty gray eyes sparkling with her usual humor and delight, her dark red ringlets styled fashionably to set off her gentle beauty. “I’m off to High Holborn for a spot of shopping, would you care to accompany me?”
Verity made her way over and was also assisted into the equipage by the footman. “I would be delighted, Caro. Though I am perturbed by the frequency of your shopping. It was only last week we bought an indecent number of hats and no less than three new parasols.”
“I only indulge every Monday and Thursday,” Caroline objected with a wink. “Papa can afford it and I do like new dresses.”
They laughed, and as the carriage rumbled off, Verity informed her of all that had happened since they last spoke.
“Oh Dear! Lord Maschelly tookyouto a gambling club and a prizefighting match? That man is truly wicked!”
Once they arrived in High Holborn, they strolled arm in arm, the footman keeping abreast at a suitable distance. They made several purchases, pored over fashion plates, and ordered a few gowns. They ran into Miss Cecelia Markham, a pleasant young lady with whom she was well-acquainted from Bedfordshire. They all visited Gunter’s together and indulged in an ice, chatting and laughing over the lateston dits, before promising to call on each other next week.
Upon returning home, her mother waited, fairly vibrating with anger. She was somewhat mollified by the shopping boxes, for such actions signaled to her that Verity was fully on board with the plan to net a wealthy lord, preferably of her and Albert’s choosing. Refusing to quarrel with her mother, she hurried to her room, and closed the door with asnick.
Those diversions had kept her mind occupied for the day, but now Verity fairly vibrated with nerves and excitement to be on her way to meet with Lord Maschelly. Three hours remained before his carriage and coachman would arrive behind the mews.
After indulging in a lengthy bath, Verity attempted to read the riveting serialThe Tower of Londonby William Ainsworth, but it provided little distraction against the trepidation and excitement dominating her thoughts. At six thirty, the dinner gong rang. Supper with her brother and mother was its usual torturous affair, but she bore it, and retired early pleading another headache. Though her mother had gone to her literary society meeting, and her brother to one of his clubs, she was careful in dressing in a simple and serviceable dark bombazine gown. Verity slipped the veil and hat over her tightly pinned chignon and made her way outside to the back of the mews. Once again, the nondescript coach waited, and she lingered for afew minutes watching the surroundings before she hurried over to the equipage.
As she approached, the coachman hopped down from his seat, and knocked down the carriage steps. After entering and settling against the squabs, her thoughts drifted to the upcoming lesson, and she tried to convince herself the heady anticipation flowing through her veins and tumbling low in her belly had nothing to do with actually seeing the earl.
Nothing at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Almost an hour after their lesson had started, Verity took a break. Dressing in breeches and a flowing linen shirt had allowed her much freedom of movement and flexibility as Lord Maschelly had shown her how to make a proper fist, and then how to throw it. Those motions had been repeated several times until she was confident, she could actually plant a facer on someone if it was warranted.
She had declared it, and the man had winked at her.
“It is time to resume,” he said, prowling towards her once more in that graceful masculine way of his.
She swallowed the last of the water and set the glass on the table beside the carafe. Verity met him in the center of the room.
“Remember my aim is to teach you to defend…to escape,” he said, watching her keenly.
She nodded, uncertainly.
“Everything before had been about making a fist, the poise and elegant footwork of boxing. Knowing those moves will build up your agility and confidence. Each session we will practice until those moves become an extension of yourself. You are a very quick learner, one of the quickest I’ve ever seen, I assure you in no time you will be proficient.”
Warmth burst inside her chest like sunshine itself, and she grinned. “I do believe I am,” she drawled, shuffling her feet in the manner he had shown her.
He laughed, the sound a low rumble of delight which stole her breath. “You should laugh more,” she said.
“I shall when I am given a reason.” He said this with a smile, and an almost tender expression in his eyes. “I want you to learn about escape. Do I have your permission to touch you?”
She licked her lips, an unexplained nervous tension thrumming through her. “Yes.”
“I do not refer to a fleeting touch.”
