Page 5 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
He took a step toward her, unhurried yet deliberate, and the quiet force of him stole the air from her lungs.
“A word of advice, Miss Winton,” he said. “One ought never to place oneself in another’s debt. Favors are rarely repaid in the manner one expects.”
“And yet,” she replied, steadying her voice, “you strike me as precisely the sort of gentleman who enjoys being owed, my lord. Fortunately, I am well aware of what I can offer and what lies within my ability. If it does not meet someone’s expectations, that is no concern of mine.”
Something in his gaze sharpened. “How fascinating that you’ve discerned so much of my character in such a brief encounter. Tell me, are you always this perceptive?”
“I am not in the habit of speaking to strangers behind closed doors,” she said quietly. “Nervousness makes my tongue loose.”
The viscount’s smirk faded. Something flickered behind his eyes, not amusement, but something more serious.
“My mother means well, Miss Winton,” he said, his voice tempered now. “It’s concern for your sisters that guides her decisions.”
Maryann stiffened. Her hands curled into the folds of her gown. “Then you heard everything.”
“Yes.”
Her throat felt tight. She swallowed, though it did little to ease the burning behind her ribs. “I see.”
“Is the child yours, Miss Winton?”
She lifted her chin. “Sarah is my sister.”
He studied her in silence, his gaze lingering not with boldness, but with something she could not name. Not lechery. Not pity. Something colder.Calculation.As though he were weighing what to make of her and where, exactly, she might fit into whatever plans circled in his mind.
“If you will excuse me, my lord,” she said, “I shall return to my sisters and await Lord Hardwick’s summons.”
Still, he said nothing, merely watched her, eyes sharp beneath lashes too thick for decency. The air between them tightened. Just as she turned to go, his voice stopped her.
“You are… interesting,” he said at last.
Maryann tipped her head, wary. “Interesting is not always a compliment.”
“With me, it is,” he replied. There was no jest in his voice.
How insufferably arrogant. And yet, despite herself, a flicker of humor welled up inside her. Without granting him another word, Maryann turned and slipped into the corridor, her steps swift and composed. She re-entered the drawing room with her shoulders straight, her expression carefully schooled into serenity, as though nothing inside her had unraveled at all.
Her sisters were seated in a loose circle near the hearth, a battered deck of cards spread between them. They had found a pack, no doubt tucked away in some side drawer, and were now engaged in a cheerful, if slightly chaotic, game of whist. Elizabeth and Vivian were attempting to teach Sarah the rules of, laughingly. Vi was explaining something in a low, patient voice while Elizabeth laughed at one of Sarah’s attempts, soft and unguarded. Sarah grinned back, delighted by their attention.
A pang of affection, raw and sharp, bloomed in Maryann’s chest. She could not bear to let them see the fear in her eyes. She crossed to the tall window and rested her forehead against the cool pane. The glass chilled her skin, a welcome contrast to the heat climbing up her neck. Outside, the light had softened into twilight, casting a golden wash over the manicured lawns and faraway hedgerows.
She closed her eyes.
A woman in this world without protection—without a father, a brother, or a name guarded by male influence—was not simply vulnerable. She was prey, for she had no connectionsor reputation. A harsh sound left her. Reputation was a fragile thread, easily snapped. Once broken, it could never be mended. She had learned that lesson when she was barely eighteen.
There had been a young man, Nathan, the eldest son of a respected gentleman with ties to a baron’s family. He had courted her in Dorset with proper attentions and smiling eyes, and she had dared to believe in a future, her own household and family. She had pinned secret dreams to his name.
But then came the whispers. The rumors that Sir Percival Winton, a widower, kept an illegitimate child beneath his roof. The young man stopped calling. In his place came a series of propositions. Not offers.Propositions.Lewd, disgusting suggestions dressed in polite language and condescension. Promises of comfort in exchange for her dignity.
She had refused them all. And one by one, the doors had closed.
Maryann opened her eyes, still fixed on the darkening grounds. The sky was streaked with rose and grey, and yet the beauty of it did nothing to soften the dread that clawed at her chest. She could not go back to Dorset. She would not. But she did not know how to go forward either.
Behind her, Sarah let out a delighted laugh. Elizabeth praised her clever play. Vivian dealt another round. Vi and Lizzy would be safe here. That was all that mattered.
Maryann only had to find a way to save Sarah and herself.
Dear God,she thought, gripping the window frame.How do I provide for her and keep her safe?
