Page 18 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“I didn’t rape her.” Clary’s eyes glinted as he faced Penelope again. “No one will believe you.”
“But if I say that you tried to force yourself on me...” Atherton paused as Clary’s face blanked in shock. “It will explain why I did this.” And before Clary could react, Lord Atherton punched him in the gut, not once but twice.
The viscount must have had considerably more power in his punch than Penelope had in her kick. Lord Clary went down on his knees, turning green and gasping for air. Atherton grabbed the man’s cravat and yanked, forcing Clary’s head upward until he looked as though he was being hanged. “Take your leave or take your chances,” Atherton said in the same even tone.
From where Penelope huddled behind the armchair, Clary’s chances didn’t look good. Lord Atherton loomed over him like the Angel of Death, his free hand still in a fist. She gazed up at him with a little bit of awe. It was mildly astonishing that he had come to her rescue, particularly in such a gallant and primal fashion. It was almost enough to make her forget that she disliked him, and instead notice how strong and tall and spectacularly handsome he was...
She closed her eyes and turned away, whispering a bad word very softly. She did not want to notice how tall and strong and handsome he was. He’d been that way since she met him, and had quickly proved himself undeserving of admiration. She still felt like a fool for being so taken in by his appearance and charm. Thank God her sister hadn’t married him. Thank God no one knew that her first feelings toward him had been so decidedly opposite the intense dislike she now felt for him... most of the time.
She kept her eyes averted as Lord Clary hissed something profane before rising to his feet. From the scuffling sounds, Atherton didn’t make it easy for him, but then footsteps crossed the room. Penelope looked up just in time to receive one last poisonous glare from Clary before he left the room, leaving her alone with Atherton.
Chapter 7
For a moment the silence was deafening.
“Are you positive he didn’t hurt you?” asked the viscount again.
Penelope flinched. “I’m not lying!”
He gave her a curious look, no doubt wondering why she was snapping at him when he had just saved her from being mauled. “I didn’t say so.” He put out hishand.
This time she blushed, ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she pulled herself up, using the chair for support instead of his hand. “I can’t believe he—” An unexpected swell of tears caught her by surprise. She swiped at her eyes in horror.
“Sit down.” Without waiting for a reply, Atherton pushed her back into the armchair and went down on his knee. “What did he do to you?” His gaze dipped, taking in her ripped bodice and tumbledownhair.
“He grabbed me and tore off my brooch. He trapped me in this chair and wouldn’t let me leave.” She tried to shove her hair away from her face, but it flopped back every time. Her hands had begun shaking so hard she could barely feel them. “I started to run, but he grabbed my foot and then—then—” Her throat closed as she remembered the brutal grip of Clary’s fingers on herknee.
Atherton’s eyes darkened. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it without comment. “Why were you here withhim?”
She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief, using it as a shield against his scrutiny. “Chance. I didn’t intend to meet him, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I certainly thought you were cleverer than that.” He glanced down as Penelope gaped in astonishment. “Is your foot harmed?” She tried to wiggle her foot, stopping at the sharp pain that ensued. The viscount heard her intake of breath. “May I feel the bone, to see if it’s broken?”
Penelope wanted to say no, but now her ankle throbbed hard enough to bring renewed tears to her eyes. She nodded.
He didn’t look at her as he took her foot in his hands. She felt a bit light-headed as he pushed aside the flounce of her skirt and ran one warm palm up her shin. For a fraught moment she imagined his hand would keep sliding upward, not cruelly like Clary’s but tenderly—seductively. She jerked her gaze away from his dark head, telling herself she was vastly relieved when his fingers slid back down to her ankle, where he gently pressed and prodded the bone. His touch eased when she whimpered. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you’d better rest it a few days.”
“Thank you.” She ought to take her foot out of his hand, but somehow she didn’t.
“Your stocking is ripped, too.” He raised his eyes. They were the deepest blue she’d ever seen. “What set Lord Claryoff?”
“His evil nature,” she whispered.
“No doubt. But I’ve never heard a breath of reproach about him; I find it hard to believe he makes a habit of attacking young ladies at balls, especially not when they struggle and try to flee.” Penelope bit her lip as he studied her, his brilliant gaze far too keen and watchful. “What did you say to him? He looked rather vengeful when he left.”
“Youpunchedhim.”
“In your defense.”
Penelope looked away from the pointed truth of that. “I can’t say.” He released her foot and sat back. “Please don’t think I’m not grateful,” she added in a rush. “I am—enormously. But I can’t tell you why Clary was angry at me.” She refused to mention Olivia’s name in connection with Clary, and to be honest, she hardly knew anything anyway.Yet.
“I suggest you take care to avoid him, then.” Atherton sighed. “Should I fetch your mother?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “No, I—I’m perfectly fine.” Penelope wouldn’t be sorry for her mother’s company, but she did not want to explain how she’d become such amess.
“You look like you’ve been riding to hounds in a hurricane,” he said bluntly. “Your hair is all falling down.”
For some reason a flush warmed her skin. She hoped he didn’t notice. “How gallant of you to remark on it.” She reached up and began feeling for pins, irrationally wishing he would go even as she didn’t want to be alone. It was just so strange, so unsettling for Lord Atherton to be on bended knee before her, gazing at her with such intent concern.
