Page 94 of Scandalous Heiress
“Darling—”
“No!”She threw back the coverlet, turned away from him and put her feet to the floor.The action, so swift, made her head spin.She cupped her forehead and sat back.“Sorry.”
He rose, went to the far table, poured a glass of water from the pitcher and returned to hand it to her.
She eyed him, angry he’d try to protect her from the full story of what she’d endured.“I deserve to know.Keep it from me and I will demand Freddie tell me.”
He nodded, frowning.
She flexed her shoulders, uneasy with the topic that was vital to her future social standing and her personal self-worth.“From what I can detect, Richard did not rape me.”
That brought a flush of anger to Victor’s cheeks.He took his time to respond.“I did not think so.When Freddie and I arrived, you were on the bed with your shoes and stockings on.”
“And when you undressed me?Here?I do remember that, so there is no need for you to dissemble and call it other.If I blush to say it, you must forgive me.Training, you know.But facts are facts.We must go on.Tell me.”
“When I removed your underclothes, I saw no evidence he had violated you.”
“No blood?”
He inhaled sharply.“None.”
“Nothing else?”When Victor stared at her, she indulged her anger and her prerogative.“Come now.I know what happens with animals.And I am no fragile flower.Nothing else from him on my clothing?”
“I do believe that by the time they arrived at his manor house in Hertford, he and Tildon had drunk so much and perhaps ingested so much heroin that they could not engage in any physical exertion.”
She gave him a flat look.“Oh, nicely put, Lord Victor.No wonder you wish to become a politician.I would vote for you.”
He took both her hands.“Listen to me, please, Ada.There is much we must discuss.”
Tears burned her eyes and she snatched her hands away.“I can wait.”
“We can’t.”
She drew back.“You must show me those newspapers.”
“Later.”
“You are stubborn.”
He tossed her a wicked look.“Meet your match.”
She grumbled and traced the patterns in coverlet.“Go away.I’m tired.”
He inhaled.Then whirled to pick her up in his arms.
“Where are you taking me?Put me down.You’ll hurt yourself without your cane.”
“I didn’t the other night.That was practice.Open that damn door.”
They stood before her bedroom door.Suppressing a chuckle, she fumed and glared but yanked it open.
Out he walked through the small hall to the other side of the little house and into a parlor.There he headed for double doors to a garden.
“Open this one, too.”
“You are impossible.”
“True.Very true,” he said as he marched to a garden bench and sat before the small sculptured garden.The summer breeze lifted her hair and enchanted her with the fragrances of peonies and grasses, the glories of the earth.He nestled her into his lap—and he held her there.
