Page 2 of When He Was Wicked
Verity became aware of the subtle scent of his sweat as he moved closer. And he walked as if hurt, a slight tilt to the left, favoring his side. The brawn of his body was overwhelming. He was tall, so much broader than she. A small part of her wanted to move away. But her courage could not falter now, not when she had reached so far. Inexplicably she felt at once both threatened and secure. Foolish to feel safe for she did not know the manner of man he was. Just what the rumors said. And she felt silly for resting her plans on the entirety of idle speculations.
“Will you need refreshment?” he demanded in that terrible uncivil way of his.
“There is no need to be boorish,” she sniffed.
“I did not invite you here.”
Verity flushed. “You did not, and I apologize for the intrusion. It is still not an excuse for your incivility.”
“Do you wish for a drink?”
“No,” she said with polite stiffness.
There was a decanter of amber liquid on the oak table before her, an empty glass, and a white handkerchief that had a suspicious red stain. She had interrupted his drinking. Hepoured his amber liquid into the glass, and then lowered himself into the sofa opposite her.
“What is this proposal?” he said, impatience coloring his tone.
She cleared her throat delicately, wondering where to start with her very scandalous and unorthodox request. “Society says a dance from you has the power to ruin any young lady. And perhaps that is why you’ve never asked anyone to the dance floor.”
“And do you want ruin, do you?” his voice was a purr of sin and darkness, and some unfathomable emotion she did not understand. It had the edge of anger, causing a ripple of discomfort to course over her skin.
She took a steadying breath and met his curious gaze, ignoring his interruption. “They say you are an untested king in the underground pugilist world of London. That you made your fortune on the blood and fractured limbs of others. Those other men…lords and those common folks, admire you…revere you even. Your nose has been broken three times, your ribs cracked numerous times, yet you've never been beaten. You understand honoranddishonor. You are a fair man but can be dangerous when crossed. You’ve been the 11th Earl of Maschelly for seven years now, and the loudest rumor in thetonis that you are now seeking a wife, preferable an heiress, whose father has political connections to aid you in becoming the Member of Parliament for the area where your earldom is situated.”
He was silent for the longest moment. Shuffling sounds crept into the still of the night, and Verity glanced around nervously. He gripped his glass, drinking deeply, his gaze never leaving her veiled expression.
“So you know something about my reputation…and you are here…alone with me. Curious. Who are you?”
She licked her lips. “I cannot own to my identity at the moment. Not until a bargain has been struck.”
His stare was unnerving, intense, and quite intelligent. “What do you want?”
The words lashed at her, and she stiffened. “I…I would like you to teach me to fight, my lord.”
Silence fell upon the room, and he stared at her as if he peered into her very soul. She felt exposed and vulnerable, because so much rode on his response to her simple yet unorthodox and scandalous question. A response which he refrained from giving, he only stared, taking the measure of her. Had she made an error in approaching him? Had her hopes for freedom come to a sudden premature halt?
CHAPTER TWO
“Tofight?” Incredulity colored the earl’s tone.
Verity flushed and her heart jerked with more erratic force. “Yes, to fight, to defend myself.”
Lord Maschelly regarded her with a surprised amusement that irked her, but she pressed on, “And in return I…I will teach you how to comport yourself as a gentleman should.” She waited uncertainly for his response her heart hammering like a trapped bird.
“I am the Earl of Maschelly,” he said flatly. “I am at a loss as for how you believe there is something I am lacking, andyouwould be the one to render lessons.” His tone was cold, but Verity heard the hint of warning, heard the chilling distance creeping into his tone, and heard the vulnerability beneath the surface of that dark rumble.
The idea that a man who seemed so self-assured and dynamic could have any vulnerabilities startled her. She cleared her throat delicately. “There…there is a rumor that Lady Susanna, Lord Nelson’s cherished daughter refused your offer of marriage because of …because…”
“He is a brute! No refined manners or sensibilities, with disgusting calluses on his palms. How can I marry such aman?”Those had been the words Susanna had cried prettily in her lace handkerchief when she’d called upon Verity last week.
“She declined your offer of courtship because you did not seem as refined as other gentlemen in thehaut monde. There is also a rumor that…that she set certain conditions, that if you met them, she would marry you. And some of those are that…that you learn to dance and write poems.”
Verity almost smiled at the outraged scowl darkening his features, noting that stubble showed on his jaw. “And her father is willing to allow her those caveats. I…I thought we could help each other,” she ended shakily, not liking the desperate quality to her voice.
“You truly think I give a bloody damn about what Lady Susanna and the rest of society thinks?”
Verity gasped at his shocking profanities. “My lord, please control your tongue!”
He stared at her, clearly surprised. “I do not bend to the whim of those who believe they are my betters. If you do not like the manner of my speech, you are free to leave.”
