That hit, and the color drained from Vernon’s face with startling speed.
Mason’s tone softened—barely. “I wonder, Vernon, how many of your political allies would be willing to defend a man who schemed to trap his ward into financial dependence before her birthday? Or shall I remind the Lords of your… correspondence with those solicitors in York?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Vernon hissed, but his voice was hollow.
“I would,” Mason said coldly. “And you know I would.”
Evidently summoned by the commotion, two uniformed guards appeared in the entryway at that moment, silent and efficient. Mason barely needed to gesture.
“Escort Lord Vernon out.”
He watched the two men approach him. “No need to be rough,” he added dryly as Vernon flinched away from one of the guards. “He’s learned his lesson, I’m sure.”
Vernon didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He turned but said nothing more as the guards led him, stiff-legged and defeated, back out through the manor doors. The moment the doors shut, silence fell again like snow. Cordelia hadn’t moved.
Mason turned to her, taking a breath to calm the adrenaline still roaring through him. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
She nodded once, but her eyes shimmered. And he wanted, more than anything, to close the space between them, to pull her into his arms and tell her she never had to fear that man ever again. But even as he opened his mouth, a rustle of skirts down the hall made them both turn.
“Good heavens, what on earth was that shouting?”
His mother appeared in the corridor, looking concerned. She was already halfway across the floor before either of them could answer, stopping right between them.
Mason could see the shift instantly. This wasthe mother, not the duchess. Her tone softened further as she spoke. “Cordelia, my dear… are you quite all right?”
Cordelia nodded mutely.
The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. “I heard everything from the landing. Was that Lord Vernon? That horrid, creaking—” She cut herself off with a glance at her son. “I see you handled it.”
Mason gave a brief nod. “He’d better not return here again.”
“Good.” Her jaw tightened for a flicker of a moment before she turned back to Cordelia with the warmth of a practiced caretaker. “Come with me, darling. Let’s have some tea, something calming. You’ve had quite a fright.”
“I’m—” Cordelia began, her voice too soft.
But his mother was already taking her hand and guiding her gently away.
“No arguing. You’re coming with me, and we’ll sit in the drawing room with the fire and some scones, and you’ll pretend that man never existed.”
Cordelia cast one last glance over her shoulder. It nearly unmade him. He wanted to go with her, to sit beside her and make sure she never doubted, not even for a second, that she was protected. But he didn’t move. He just stood there silently and watched her be led away.
Though Lord Vernon was gone, Mason could feel the weight of him still lingering in the way Cordelia’s eyes had searched his face, uncertain and afraid, and also in the way Mason hadn’t crossed the space to hold her.
Because he couldn’t, because it would mean too much, because if he allowed himself to feel anything more than this storm in his chest, he’d never be able to walk away, and very soon, he would have to watch her leave.
So, he returned to his study and tried to bury himself in work. He had letters to write and three drafts of contracts to review. Not only that but also an estate ledger needed his final approval and there was a tenant dispute from Galleon’s southern border. All of it was perfectly ordinary. All of it was comfortably distant from emotion.
He sat down, pulled the ledgers toward him, and began writing.
“Tenant acreage disputes in?—”
Cordelia’s face interrupted his flow of thought, and he ground his pen down harder. A small blot appeared.
He cursed under his breath, dabbed it with sand, and then started again.
“The northern pastures are under?—”
Now, it was her voice, trembling as she tried to reason with Lord Vernon. She hadn’t raised her voice once when speaking to him, even when she had every reason to do so.
