“To deliver a message. You will desist your slander of my wife and my marriage. If you see her, you will treat her with the respect she deserves. To her face and behind her back.”
“Howdareyou tell me what to do,” she seethed.
“You will find that there is little I won’t do when it comes to protecting my wife.”
Melinda’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “Are you threatening me, you bastard?”
“Merely reminding you that one sows what one reaps. Your lies pale in comparison to what I have at my disposal.”
“And what would that be?” she spat.
“The truth. Of every affair, every man you’ve shared your bed with.” He paused. “Including the husbands of several of your friends.”
Melinda’s face whitened with rage. “That is blackmail, damn you.”
“Think of it as an exchange. You stop spreading lies, and I keep the truth to myself.” He held her gaze. “An arrangement that benefits all parties.”
“For months, I did everything I could to please you,” Melinda choked out. “To make you care.”
He knew that he’d been a challenge for her, a trophy she’d wanted for vanity’s sake. She collected lovers the way a numismatist did coins. But if she wanted to adopt the stance of an injured party, he would let her for expediency’s sake.
“Yet despite my efforts, you were not moved to even stay the night. Now you’ve been married for a few weeks, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect that simpering chit?” Rage melted through Melinda’s mask of martyrdom. “What is so bloody special about her?”
To Hawk, the answer was obvious.
“Everything,” he said.
Twenty-Three
No matter how busy the Angels were, they never missed their weekly session with Mrs. Peabody. The training took place in a building behind Charlie’s courtyard. Mrs. Peabody, a petite half-Chinese, half-English woman, worked for Charlie as a housekeeper and combat instructor. Dressed in the training uniform of tunic and trousers, her brown hair scraped back in a bun, Mrs. Peabody looked delicate but could take down opponents twice her size.
This morning, Mrs. Peabody showed no mercy with her drills. She ran the Angels through exercises designed to improve strength, endurance, and flexibility. She honed their fighting techniques by having them spar with one another in the practice rings.
Assess your opponent. Find their weakness. Strike when they least expect it.
Beneath her tunic, Fi was perspiring quite profusely when Mrs. Peabody announced it was time for dagger practice.
“Face your targets, Angels.” Mrs. Peabody waved at the line of wooden dressmaker’s forms. “Ready, aim…release.”
One by one, Fiona let her daggers fly. Beside her, Glory and Livy did the same. The thunks of metal sinking into wood echoed through the chamber. When the Angels were finished, Mrs. Peabody surveyed the dummies.
“Very good, Glory.” Mrs. Peabody gave a crisp nod of approval. “One hit to the arm, one to the lower leg. No permanent damage done, but enough to deter an attacker and prevent him from escaping. Efficient and effective.”
Glory glowed at the praise. “Thank you, Mrs. Peabody.”
“Livy. One hit…and one miss.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Peabody.” Livy tried to stifle a yawn. “I did not get much sleep last night.”
“That is no excuse for sloppiness,” Mrs. Peabody said, frowning. “You must learn to focus, no matter the circumstance. What if you were on a mission and your life or those of your fellow Angels depended upon your accuracy?”
“I promise to do better,” Livy said contritely.
“Remember the technique I taught you. Picture the target in your mind and see your dagger hitting the desired spot. That will help you focus.”
As Mrs. Peabody moved on, Fi said under her breath, “I thought you said you left the ball early last night. Did Esme keep you up?”
“No,” Livy whispered back. “It was Hadleigh.”
