“Yes!” Her laugh melted the tension between them. “I mean, no, not actually. Just scare him off.”
“He did not see me about the marriage contract, so there is no engagement as far as I’m concerned. I will take care of this immediately.” He gestured for the footman to approach. “Have Mr. Townson send a summons to Lord Fitzwilliam.”
Lucy sighed and her posture relaxed. “Thank you, Hart. I may have defensive moves, but as a lady, I have no offensive ones. Why is it that men think they can just make all the decisions? Just take without permission? That’s what he said. He was used to taking what he wanted.”
Hart curled his hand into a fist. How satisfying it would be to wrap that fist around the man’s throat. The thought of Fitzwilliam’s greedy hands touching Lucy made him see red.
“Hart, you look positively thunderous. Don’t kill him. Trudy would be very cross with you.”
“And you? Are you still very cross with me?”
Again, the silence between them stretched. “I-I’m hurt at the way you cut us out of your life. And not just us, Grisham told me the same. No letters, nothing.” Her shoulders drew up tight again, and he chided himself for reminding her she was angry with him.
He nodded, accepting her words. Incapable of fixing the damage he’d done to their friendship, if it had even been that. His self-subscribed role as her protector had not allowed even that level of intimacy. She needed his help, and that sent a surge of warmth through his battered chest. He would always watch out for her safety, for her happiness, but he could accomplish that from the shadows. She sat here lovely and so fierce and full of life. She didn’t need a moody bastard like him returning to her life.
Lucy let out a small huff. “Hart, what have you been doing this past year?”
Raging, drinking himself into short bouts of fitful sleep, fighting against ghosts, crawling his way out from a deep hole of melancholy. The only thing that motivated him to pull from his own dark thoughts and set the liquor aside was his newly formed obsession to gain justice for his family. Everything else in his life was ruined. This was his new purpose.
But he could never explain any of that to Lucy, so instead, he said, “Healing.”
Her head cocked to one side, then she shook it as she rose to her feet. “Fine, then I will leave you to it. Good day, Your Grace.”
He rose as well and watched her stride toward the door. She paused as the footman opened it for her, but she didn’t turn around. “Thank you for taking care of Fitzwilliam. I do appreciate it.” Then with a swish of her green skirts, she was gone.
Chapter Three
An hour later,Viscount Fitzwilliam slithered into Hart’s study. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
“Please sit.” Hart pointed to the chair across from him. He knew the exact moment the viscount got close enough to see his scars. Fitzwilliam’s steps faltered for just a moment before approaching and taking the seat. Hart leaned forward, placing his hands together on top of the gleaming mahogany desk between them. Letting the man take in the entirety of his ruined face. Hart watched his Adam’s apple bob above the linen at his throat. It was almost comical the way Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened dramatically. Almost.
“I had no idea you had returned to town, Your Grace.”
“I expect that is true, considering that you did not come to gain my permission for the gross falsehood that you had printed in today’s paper.” Taking advantage of Fitzwilliam’s discomfort, he lowered his eyebrows into a glower.
“Ah… but it is true.” Fitzwilliam lips curled up into a sickly-sweet smile. “We have become quite enamored of each other this season.”
“That is not what the lady says.”
The man’s smile faded. “You have spoken with her?”
Hart nodded. This weasel would pay for trying to take advantage of Lucy. The faded yellow-green bruise along the man’s jaw did give Hart some satisfaction. Lucy was definitely a spitfire. He would have loved to see her give the rogue blow to the face and good tongue-lashing as well.
Fitzwilliam recovered smoothly. “Well now, I know she is a bit reluctant to get married. The tidbit I passed to the paper was just a little nudge in the right direction. We would make an excellent match. I planned to call on her today and convince her our marriage would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“And how did you plan to convince her? Like you did at the Jackson’s ball?” He held up a hand as the man opened his mouth to reply. “There will be no arrangement between you and Miss Middleton. I would never give my consent for her to marry a man who assaults a woman in order to gain her acquiescence in any matter.”
“But it was just a misunderstanding. You know how women are. They sometimes need to be convinced of the right course of action. Lucy is far too self-governing for a female. She just needs a firm hand. I assure you she and I get along famous—”
The nerve of this weasel. Hart rose to his feet. He slammed his hands on the desk, and he leaned forward menacingly. “You may be assured that by the end of today I will own every outstanding marker you have.” Fitzwilliam blanched and shut his mouth with a snap. “Come within fifty feet of Miss Middleton or if I hear of even one foul word besmirching her reputation, I will call in every one. I am guessing it is no small amount based on your desperate attempts to get your hands on Miss Middleton’s dowry.”
The viscount’s mouth opened and closed like a fish caught on land. “But what will people think if it is called off?”
“Not my problem. Now get out of my house.”
Red-faced, Fitzwilliam rose to his feet. “You are as monstrous as you look.” Then he stormed out of the room.
Hart crossed over to the bar cabinet and poured a healthy two fingers of brandy into a cut crystal glass. What a fucking day. Between the minefield of a conversation with Lucy this morning and the ridiculous posturing of the viscount just now, he had about as much interaction with people as he could take. Monstrous indeed. The man hadn’t even been able to see the irony in his own statement.
