Page 33 of When He Was Wicked
“What I was about to do is not your concern, Maschelly,” Durham said coolly.
Within two strides he stood in front of the marquess, grabbed him by his collar, and slammed him into the wall with barely restrained fury.
“James!” Verity gasped, her eyes widening with her alarm.
"My word what is happening here?" a lady's voice gasped before she hurried away. No doubt to summon someone.
Verity hurried to him and touched his hand briefly. “Please, James. Not here. Do you want to start a scandal? May we just leave?”
He roughly pushed the marquess away from him, and all the man did was fix his cravat, his eyes narrowing on them.
“I wonder, is Albert aware of this…?” The marquess lifted his head between Verity and James, a sneering curl prominent on his lips.
“I have a mind to drag you outside and cut your fucking tongue from your head,” James murmured with lethal softness.
Verity flinched at the leashed violence throbbing in his tone, and James ruthlessly suppressed the need to pummel the marquess into the ground.
“James, please,” she whispered so softly he almost did not hear her.
He peered down at her. Her eyes appeared so wide and wounded, and the confidence he'd seen growing in her over the weeks was replaced by a fear that made him want to howl. She looked so vulnerable and soft. James would be damned if he let such an insult and dishonor pass any longer.
“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring the marquess as if he was refuse underneath his boot.
They walked away, and James said. “We are leaving.” He could not explain the emotions gutting him.
Her slippersclip-cloppedon the floor as she matched his pace. “Leave the ball?”
He stopped, and she halted and stared up at him, a worried frown splitting her brows. James glanced down the length of the hall, noting the marquess had disappeared. "Yes. I'll bring around my carriage, and you will plead a headache and make the necessary excuses to your mother or whomever you need to. If the marquess approaches you while I am outside, I do not give a damn about the scandal, you will kick him in the balls."
Her lips quivered, and a smothered laugh escaped. The tight tension around his heart eased. She'd laughed, the fear had been reduced. Part of his job had been done. The other…Lord Durham needed to understand the error he had made in touching Verity.
James smoothed a thumb along the curve of her lower lip. “Say it, Verity.”
She cleared her throat delicately. “If that bounder should approach me, I will…I will deal with his manhood quite decisively. I vow it.”
He felt a peculiar tightening in his chest at the vulnerability he spied in her eyes. James felt like a cad. Her soft delicacy would never have been enough to deal with a man like Durham on her own. And he had seen how badly she wanted that courage to stand up to her attacker if the man should ever approach her again. The pursuit he had just witnessed spoke of the odious character of the marquess, the surety he felt in his power and privilege.
He caressed her chin briefly. “I’ll go bring around the carriage. Follow me discreetly.”
She nodded, and he made his way toward the entrance but waited until he saw that she had slipped inside the ballroom safely. He collected his coat, and his carriage was summoned.James made his way outside, grateful there was no long queue to leave the ball, for it was still early. In fact, more carriages were still arriving.
He entered his coach, drew back the curtain and put out the lantern inside. James wanted a clear view of the outside without anyone knowing he was in the equipage. After several minutes and Verity had not shown, he decided to go back in. On that thought, he saw a young lady come outside. She glanced up and down the road, tugged her coat closer around her body to ward off the chill in the air, and then made her way to his carriage.
The coachman jumped down upon her arrival, knocked the steps down, and assisted her in. James felt relieved when she entered.
“In here is dreadfully dark,” she gasped.
The coach rumbled away, and he leaned back against the squabs.
“Would you like me to relight the lantern?” The dark felt intimate, and wonderful, and provided him the opportunity to crave her without masking his expression of lust from her innocence.
“No, I do not mind.”
“I am sorry for what you endured just now,” he said gruffly.
“The fault is not yours.”
Yes, it was. He had known of the marquess’s dishonor for weeks now, and he had not rectified the matter. The only reason a gentle, refined lady as Verity had done something so reckless as approach a stranger to learn how to fight, was because she had felt cornered and helpless with no defender to aid her.
