“I am her guardian, who, might I remind you, suffered extreme violence at her hands,” Lord Vernon snapped, choosing to ignoring her immediately after. His furious eyes fixed on Cordelia. “And as your guardian, I forbid you to remain in this house as a… What are you? A companion?” He spat the word like a curse. “You disgrace yourself.”
Cordelia was frozen with fear. He had every right. He was her guardian, still, at least until her birthday and the trust her father had left her passed into her hands. She had fled without warning, leaving behind a bruised man in a library of this very same house.
“I will not ask again,” Lord Vernon growled. “Come. Now.”
Her legs wanted to move. Her heart wanted to flee. But something in her spine held firm.
“I daresay,” Lord Vernon sneered, his voice thick with fury and disdain, “that you’ve enjoyed your little rebellion long enough, but this farce ends now.”
Cordelia’s lips parted to speak though what she might say, she did not know. And then, a voice thundered through the garden.
“I should like to know,” came the cold, unmistakable tone ofHis Grace, the Duke of Galleon, “why a gentleman is shouting at my mother and distressing her companion inmygarden.”
Cordelia turned. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her. Mason stood at the edge of the path, tall and terrible in the morning sun, the kind of man forged by steel and fury. His coat was dark, his boots gleaming, his amber eyes narrowed into slits of contained wrath. He did not look at her. All of his focus was fixed on Lord Vernon who, for the first time in Cordelia’s memory, seemed at a rare loss for words.
“May I also ask,” Mason added as he neared them, “if the Dowager Duchess of Galleon isnotadequate company for a gentlewoman in need of protection?”
Lord Vernon sputtered. “I—Of course not… Of course, she is?—”
“Then I must be confused,” Mason went on, unblinking. “You claim to be this lady’s guardian, yet you berate her in public, speak with shocking familiarity to my mother, and behave as though her station—which, I remind you, is inmyhouse—is beneath your approval.”
“I only meant?—”
“Ah. You meant to shame her.” Mason stepped closer still, and Cordelia could feel the full heat of his temper. “Because she no longer resides under your thumb. Because she has found peace without your permission. Isthatit, My Lord?”
Lord Vernon’s jaw clenched furiously. Cordelia felt a flicker of awe, even through her anxiety. This was a duke.
Mason’s voice dropped lower and much icier. “Careful how you answer. We’re in the countryside, and I have no patience left for men who presume power where none is owed.”
A flicker of terrible silence passed. Then, without another word, Lord Vernon turned on his heel and stalked down the path but not before casting a look over his shoulder which was meant only for Cordelia.
This is not over.
She could hear those words inside her mind, full of venom and promise. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and her knees buckled slightly. The Dowager caught her by the elbow with gentle, steadying hands.
“You are safe, dear girl,” the older woman murmured.
Cordelia nodded faintly, but her eyes lifted to Mason, who still had not looked at her though his shoulders rose and fell like a man trying to calm the beast within.
“Thank you,” she said softly though her voice wavered.
At last, Mason turned to her. Their eyes met. And though he said nothing in return, she saw something in his gaze that stole her breath.
It was not anger but dangerous resolve.
Chapter Seven
The following afternoon was bright with the kind of sunlight that filtered through the trees like golden lace, warming the path and making the very leaves seem to glow. It was the sort of day one might expect would bring serenity and pleasant thoughts.
Cordelia, however, was sweating rather inelegantly into her borrowed gardening gloves and had just nicked her thumb for the second time in as many minutes.
“Oh, do behave,” she muttered at the rosebush.
It did not.
With a rather cross expression, she leaned back on her heels and turned to the open book lying on the grass beside her.The Complete Treatise of Decorative Shrubbery and Their Sentimental Meaningshad been discovered in a dusty corner ofthe library that morning—one of the only corners, she presumed, where she had not already been explicitly forbidden to tread.
She peered at the page again.
