“That makes two of us,” she blurted out before thinking better of it, for she was nearly hysterical.
First, she had been spirited away in the night, given the fright of her life before she’d discovered who her captor was, and then she had lost the fragile hope of a future. She had lost the roof over her head, the bed in which she slept, the position promising her the modest funds she desperately needed, and the last chance for respectability she’d had.
“Not well said of me, was it?” he asked grimly, reaching for her valise. “Allow me to take this. Come into the carriage where it is warmer, won’t you? The night has grown quite wretched with cold, and I’ll not have you taking a chill.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. She laughed. The high, shrill laugh of a woman who had nothing left.
“I fear that of all the fates I’ll be facing, Lord Torrington, taking a chill shall be the very least of them,” she managed at last, holding fast to her valise.
But he was stronger than she; he plucked it free of her grasp with ease. “I shall endeavor not to consider that an insult, but I’m afraid you may be correct on that count, my dear.”
Had she not told him she was not his dear? Why did he insist on such careless, frivolous endearments? She hated that he called her that. And she hated how very much some insipid, loathsome part of herself loved it.
But then, that was not all he had said, was it? He’d said something about trying not to consider her words an insult. What in heaven’s name did he mean? She was too wearied and shocked over her sudden dismissal that she couldn’t comprehend.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what insult I’ve paid you, my lord,” she said, her mind still preoccupied with ways she might extricate herself from this disaster. “Please return my valise. It’s all I have left.”
Her voice broke on the last word, the sting of tears rising to prick her eyes. How humiliating it was to stand before him, her circumstances entirely reduced to nothing more than the valise he held and the pathetic shreds of her reputation. And yet, he dared to toy with her. Hadn’t he done enough damage?
But he did not do as she asked. When she made to snatch her valise from his grip, he held it easily from her reach, undeterred.
“Come with me,” he repeated. “Into the carriage.”
She shook her head, adamant. “Going into that carriage with you against my will is what cost me my situation. I’ll not ruin whatever remains of my good name by entering it again.”
A particularly vicious wind picked up, tearing through the thin layers of her gown and redingote, for she hadn’t been given sufficient time to properly dress for the elements.
The viscount winced, having the grace to look shamefaced at the reminder of his misdeeds. But what good did a bit of shame on his part do Elizabeth? For so many Seasons, she had watched him from across countless ballrooms, thinking him handsome and elegant and so dashing. And now here she was, staring at a man who was nothing more than a scoundrel who had shattered her world with one careless act.
“I understand your anger, my dear,” he said then, his tone firm and brusque as the wind. “However, I am determined to make amends for my sins.”
“I’m not in need of charity or pity,” she snapped, lunging for her valise, having done with ladylike attempts to thwart him.
But she misjudged.
He shifted quickly, and she landed firmly against his chest. His firm, broad,strongchest.
The scent of him was quick to infiltrate her senses before it was banished by another gust of wind. His free hand settled on her lower back, anchoring her to him in most improper fashion.
The familiarity of his touch, the way he brought her body into his as if she were meant to be there, in the half circle of his arm, stole her breath for a heartbeat before her wits returned. This man had cost her not just her position, but her respectability this evening. He was an unrepentant rake.
A viscount of villainy.
She cuffed him on the perfect, handsome slash of his jaw, fury and weariness and desperation overwhelming her.
“Damn it, woman,” he ground out, releasing her to pass a hand over the place where she had struck him. “Why did you do that?”
Elizabeth would not feel a bit of contrition for her action. Not one modicum. Truly, she ought to have hit him harder.
“Because you deserved it,” she snapped tartly. “I reasoned it was preferable to clawing out your eyes, as that seems a rather messy prospect.”
He laughed, and to her vexation, the sound sent heat swirling though her, chasing the cold. “You have spirit. I like it.”
He liked her spirit? More unwanted warmth unfurled. How desperately foolish was she? The hour was likely approaching midnight, she had lost her governess situation, and she had nowhere to sleep, nor food to eat. Why should this man have any effect on her at all, with her future looming before her, damning and ominous?
Best to concentrate on what she needed to do, and that was finding suitable lodging for the evening, not tarrying with the handsome lord for whom she’d once held atendre.
“I’m gratified, Lord Torrington.” She held out her hand expectantly. “Now, if you please, my valise.”
