Cordelia’s small, steady nod reassured him, and she replied softly, “I know you will keep me safe.”
His chest ached at the simplicity of her words, at the absolute trust she placed in him. He wanted to tell her everything he felt, all the fear, the rage, the desperate need to protect her, but he knew he could not.
He kept her close, guiding her toward the center of the room where a waltz had begun. Every step was careful, deliberate, but his mind raced. He would keep her safe from Vernon, of course, but also from himself. When his anger flared, when his need to shield her overwhelmed reason, he was a danger to the very person he loved most. The bitter truth pressed against him: the only way to protect her fully might be to keep her at a distance, even from himself.
Yet in this moment, with her hand in his, with her warmth against him, that thought could wait. He would speak to her soon about what they would do, how they would navigate the world together and yet apart… but not yet. Right now, the music pulled him, and the world outside this ballroom could wait.
He tilted his head slightly, offering a small, almost shy smile. “May I have this dance, my beautiful wife?” he murmured.
Cordelia returned the smile, her eyes sparkling, and he allowed himself a rare moment of ease. As they moved together to the music, Mason felt, just for now, that no threat, no fury, no shadow could touch them here. This was theirs, even if only for a fleeting waltz.
And for tonight, that would be enough.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cordelia’s fingers rested lightly on the page of her book, but she had not read a word. Her mind wandered lazily over the morning’s quiet, the way the sunlight fell in soft pools across the parlor carpet, the distant hum of carriage wheels along the street. She was startled, then, by the low, respectful clearing of the throat behind her.
“Your Grace, a visitor has arrived,” the butler announced, standing straight and motioning politely toward the doorway which still stood empty.
Cordelia’s heart leapt with a spark of hope. “Oh! I do hope it is Matilda or Hazel,” she said brightly, rising from her seat and smoothing her skirts.
The butler’s expression, however, remained firmly neutral. “I’m afraid, it is not, Your Grace, it is… Lord Vernon.”
The words struck her like a sudden frost. Her eyes widened, and she let out a soft gasp. “I will not… no, I cannot receive him here! Not in my own home!” Her voice, though controlled, trembled slightly with a mixture of fear and indignation.
But the butler remained immovable. Before she could protest further, the door swung open, and there he stood. Lord Vernon, tall and imposing, a faintly smug smile playing across his features, despite the slight swelling and redness of his nose, courtesy of her husband’s fist.
“Oh, I think you will want to hear this before the papers do,” he said smoothly, his eyes glinting with the sharp edge of cunning.
The butler, stiff and proper, looked like he might protest, but Vernon patted him lightly on the shoulder, the gesture casual but filled with authority.
“Go fetch the man of the house as well,” he added in a low voice that brooked no argument.
Cordelia could only nod, her hands clenching at her sides. The butler bowed and retreated quickly, leaving her with Vernon’s presence pressing into the room. She felt her breath catch, her pulse quicken. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, yet she remained rooted to the spot, caught between fear, fury, and a dreadful anticipation of what news he could possibly bring.
Cordelia took a cautious step back, her fingers tightening around the edge of her skirts. “I do not understand why you are here,”she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “But you will remain where you are. Do not come closer.”
Vernon’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He leaned against the wall just slightly, his posture casual yet every inch of him radiated threat.
“Oh, I have learned my lesson, Your Grace,” he said lightly, almost teasingly. “But you… and that husband of yours… you shall learn one as well. That is exactly why I am here.”
His tone was amused, cruel, and deliberate, and Cordelia felt a chill wind run down her spine. Her heart beat frantically, and a wave of helplessness surged through her. She could see the glint in his eyes, the certainty of a man who believed he held power over her, and the fear that had lain dormant since her wedding day returned full force.
“You will not frighten me,” she said though the words felt fragile, hollow even to her own ears.
Vernon chuckled, low and sharp, a sound that seemed to echo in the room. “Oh, my dear, I do not frighten you… not yet. But you will understand soon enough.”
Cordelia’s stomach twisted. Alone with him, she felt the weight of his menace like a physical pressure, pressing her toward the back of the room. Every instinct told her to run, to scream, to call for Mason, but he was not there yet, and for now, she was entirely at Vernon’s mercy.
Cordelia barely had time to register the sound of hurried footsteps before the door burst open. Mason strode in, each step deliberate and heavy, the very air around him seeming to tense with his presence. His dark eyes locked on Vernon like a storm unleashed, and his jaw tightened in a way that made her heart both race and steady all at once.
“If you do not leave this moment, I will throw you out myself!” Mason’s voice cut through the parlor like a whip.
Vernon’s hands lifted in mock surrender, a thin, condescending smile curling his lips. “Now, now, Your Grace,” he said smoothly. “I have only come to talk.”
Mason’s glare did not waver. “We have nothing to talk about,” he growled, stepping closer until his shoulder nearly brushed Cordelia’s. “And I repeat, leave our house.”
Vernon’s amusement was undimmed. “Not before I say what I have come to say.” His eyes flicked toward Cordelia, and she felt a surge of fear, remembering all too well the cruel glint that could hide behind his civility.
