“You’re angry,” Estwood drawled, trailing her. “Why?”
Why? Why?Lucy could feel the press of her tongue along her teeth. The inability, in her distress, to force out words clearly. “Wath…”She gave a huff of frustration but did not stop. “…that necessary? I didn’t want him to find out like this.” Taking a deep breath, she instructed her tongue to behave. “You knew he would come here.”
Estwood raised a brow. “I suspected. When I looked out of the duke’s carriage, Mrs. Waterstonemayhave caught sight of me.”
“Intentionally.” She glared at him.
“Possibly,” Harry agreed. “Fine.Likely. And how were you going to tell him, might I ask? Put an announcement in the newspapers? Were we going to traipse over in the morning and breakfast with him and Mrs. Waterstone? This was a much better solution. Calm yourself.”
Calm herself? How could he possibly be so…blasé?
Drawing in a long breath through her nose, Lucy silently counted to twenty. That churning inside her, the one that had grown worse over the last few years since finding she had no bloody dowry, increased until it threatened to explode from her chest.
She plopped down on the settee and took a large forkful of cake.
Delicious. Good lord. Delicious.
Estwood watched her, amusement tilting his lips as she polished off the enormous slice. When she finished, Lucy placed the plate on the table before her, clasped her hands and regarded her new husband.
“Better?”
She nearly threw the plate at his head. That stewing, swirling turmoil inside her refused to subside. Father had nearly had a fit of apoplexy at her pointed refusal to follow him about like a lapdog. Rather exhilarating.
“I was just bargained over like some bloody horse.” Her voice was unrecognizable. No lisp. A healthy dose of bravery. Defiance, the likes of which she’d never before exhibited. Now that Father was gone, Lucy expected her sense of rebellion would soon fade, particularly if she thought about what had occurred in the dining room too long.
You are no longer my daughter.
Painful. Manipulative. Controlling. That pretty much summed up Lucy’s entire relationship with her only parent.
“Would you rather be bartered to a debauched libertine who takes delight in hurting women?” Estwood snapped back. “If so, there’s still time to stop your father’s carriage.”
Her new husband had good reason to doubt her intentions, that much was true. She’d give him that. But the mere suggestion, that she would run back to Father, after everything that had happened today, wasinsulting.
And she was quite furious.
Estwood was used to being in control and not having his opinions challenged—in that, he was much like Father. If Lucy didn’t establish her independence now, she would only be exchanging one cage for another.
I refuse. I will not be athing.
“Cease behaving as if you are doing me a great service, Mr. Estwood.” She stood and marched to the sideboard, took up a glass, and returned to him, nodding at the decanter of scotch he’d placed on the table, enjoying the look of disbelief on his features. “Youare getting Marsden for the trouble of having to wed me. An insurmountable mound of iron ore to chase your ambitions. Not to mention revenge on my father and the pleasure of annoying Dufton. You are not above such pettiness.”
“I do not deny it,” Estwood ground out, eyes darkening like a pair of thunderclouds. “Waterstone has cost me much over the years.” His gaze lingered over Lucy’s mouth until heat crawled up her chest. “But you could be somewhat grateful that you won’t be sold off to Dufton. By the way…” His gaze drew down her form. “You’re rather terrifying at the moment.”
She poured out a finger of scotch, daring him to object. “I don’t believe gratitude was part of our agreement.” Her voice wobbled, tongue trying to force itself back behind her teeth as if mind and mouth suddenly realized how unlike herself she was behaving.
Lucy rolled the glass between her hands, the anger still there but fading to an ember. She was annoyed with Estwood, but it paled compared to the furious rage she felt towards Father.
“I thought his debts were all related to bad business deals,” she murmured.
“Louder.”
Lucy glared at him and took a swallow of the scotch. “He invested in a ship that went down in a storm, filled with gemstones from India. Overspending by Sally. Defaulting on the contracts for the ironworks.” She took a sip, already lightheaded somewhat from the previous glass. “Not from playing hazard.”
“The odds favor the house in hazard. Do you drink scotch often?”
Only when she could manage to steal a glass from Father. She’d taken an entire bottle after finding out her dowry was gone. “No.”
“I don’t believe Mrs. Waterstone has been a good influence on your father.”
