The tone of his voice told her he knew. Not the details, but the horror behind them. A seventeen-year-old daughter of a viscount didn’t flee from her family and friends unless her circumstances had become desperate.
“It’s an old story. One I’m sure you can understand.” She pushed aside emotion. Spoke dully. She wouldn’t allow the memories to control her. “My father spent beyond his means. He needed money.”
When she paused too long, John squeezed her shoulders. “And?”
“And he wasn’t clever like you. Wasn’t industrious. The idea of working to earn his money never even occurred to him.”
John stepped close enough that she could feel the heat from his body against her back. “That doesn’t make him unusual among our kind.”
“No.” He was right. John was marvelously unique. What he had accomplished was nothing short of amazing. “But I would hope selling one’s unwilling daughter off to a monster to marry has become somewhat out of vogue.”
He stopped breathing. “You’re married.”
She turned to face him. “No. When entreaties to my father were dismissed, I thought to appeal to the man himself. Surely if he knew how unwilling his betrothed was, he would retract his offer. I snuck out of my house to pay a call.” She closed her eyes. She should never have done that. It had been her first mistake.
But a useful one. She’d learned what sort of man her intended husband was.
John pulled her close, tucked her head against his chest, and held her tight. “Tell me.”
“I’d only met him once before. I’d thought him reserved. Taciturn. But not…” A tremor shook her body, and she cursed it. This shouldn’t be difficult. It had happened more than five years ago. But the memory of that night was like a living thing. Eating at her, demanding her attention.
She cleared her throat. “He refused to listen to reason. Said the fact that I was unwilling would only make our wedding night that much sweeter.” John’s fingers dug into her back, and she burrowed closer. “When I told him there was no power on earth that would make me say those vows, he became violent.” She had learned that night that a saucy mouth could lead to far worse consequences than a scolding from her father and mother. It had taken her nigh on two years to recover her impertinence, a feat of which she was most proud.
“Who was he?” John growled.
Netta ignored the question. She needed to get her story out, tell it her way. “The bump on my wrist is due to him. I landed wrong when he threw me to the ground. I don’t know if it was broken then, but it certainly was after he stomped on it.” And laughed when she screamed. His laugh haunted her dreams.
She nuzzled her head against his chest, moving aside his cravat with her cheek until the rapid beat of his heart soothed her ear. She inhaled, letting his scent surround her. Wrapped up in his arms like this, truly, nothing could hurt her.
“I want a name.”
Netta smiled sadly. Of course he did. Give a man a target, he would shoot it; a nail, and he would pound it. But life wasn’t as simple as that.
“When I returned home, my father didn’t believe me. Said I was making up stories.” That had been the most painful part of the night. She had thought her father felt some affection for her. If he ever did, it was wiped clear by desperation. “The very next night I left home.”
His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek in angry bursts. But his voice was gentle. “And you were seventeen?”
She nodded. “My birthday had been less than a month prior.”
He pressed his lips against her temple. “I am glad you told me. I am sorry if I did anything to make you believe you couldn’t trust me with it.”
“If it had just been me, I would have told you the second time I bedded you.”
His lips curved against her skin. “Not the first?”
“No, you still appeared a thoughtless fop, albeit a talented one.” She pulled away. “I have a younger sister.” Her gaze flicked between his eyes. She needed him to understand how important this was. Eleanor’s safety was everything. “She is just now fourteen but I’ve learned that my father has betrothed her, even at that age. That’s why I agreed to your job. Why I need the four thousand pounds. I’ve been saving up my wages, but it isn’t enough. Not for what I had planned.”
“What is your plan?”
“To take my sister away, start a new life with her in America.” Nausea swirled through her stomach. She had been eager to make the new country her home before she’d met John. Eager for the adventure.
John seemed like the bigger adventure. But it wasn’t her life she needed to secure. “I would ask that you stick to our agreement, but I cannot help you with your scheme. I know this now. So I can only beg you to lend me that four thousand pounds. Once I’ve settled and found employment, I will repay your loan in increments.” She forced her lips into a smile. “They will be very small increments, and I would be ever so grateful if we made this an interest-free loan, but I will repay you.”
He huffed. “I would give you the money, but not if you intend to flee the continent with your ill-gotten gains. There is a limit to my generosity.”
She placed her hands on his lean hips. “John. I cannot stay here. Not with my sister. My father might be able to pretend that he has sent one of his daughters to the north to care for an elderly aunt”—John arched one eyebrow, and Netta nodded—“yes, that was his story. But he cannot use it for both his daughters. He will look for Eleanor. I had thought about trying to hide her in London, but it won’t do. My father won’t suffer the loss of another valuable piece of chattel.” She swallowed down the bile in her throat.
She didn’t know who she hated more: Sudworth or the man who’d created her.
