There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of the horses’ hooves clattering over the cobblestones.
“Speaking of other men, you behaved like a whore tonight.”
She stiffened in indignation.“A whore?I did not!”
His voice hardened.“I told you to wait where I put you and not to talk to anyone, and when I got back, there you were, flirting with Renfrew.”
“I wasnotflirting.I barely spoke to him.And he came up to me.I didn’t move.”
“Well, don’t do it again.He’s no use to us, so don’t even think about it.”
No use to us.That was true enough.Not to any scheme Edgar had hatched.But she was having no more of Edgar’s schemes.Never again.She made a frustrated noise.“Oh, why won’t you listen?How many times must I tell you, Edgar, I won’t marry Sir Henry.Or any other man.And I’m of age now, so you can’t force me.”
He gave her a bored, basilisk glance, but didn’t otherwise respond.He glanced at the chaperone, lying slumped in the corner of the coach, snoring gently.“That Thracknell woman is useless.Look at her—drunk again, damn her eyes!”He pulled a flask from his coat pocket and took a long pull.“I ought to sack her.”
Tessa said nothing.There was no point.She knew he would keep Mrs.Thracknell on.Edgar owed her several months’ wages, but the woman had nowhere else to go and was too intimidated by Edgar to demand her wages.Tessa might have sympathized with her, but Mrs Thracknell was also a bully, and treated Tessa like a prisoner.
But that was going to change: she had a plan.
The carriage continued to rattle along.The house they were currently renting was on the very edge of fashionable London—funds were scarce, again, which presumably was why Edgar was courting Sir Henry Lester.He was in debt again.But Edgar’s debts were his problem, not hers.
He’d had told her that bad men were after him and that only her marriage to a rich old man would save his life.It was the same old story.Twice now she had married a rich old man—the first time when she was still a naive child, because she believed her father’s life was in danger because he couldn’t repay his debts.And because she thought he loved her.
The second time was because...She wasn’t quite sure how that had happened.
Tessa tried to put it all out of her mind.She just had to stand firm.Edgar couldn’tmakeher marry anyone.
Her thoughts returned to the real surprise of the evening.Of all the people she’d expected to see in London, the very last was Marcus, her friend from the forest.She hadn’t recognized him at first, but despite the crowd at the party, her gaze had been drawn to him, tall and grave and somehow separate from the crowd.And compelling.To her, at least.
“Wait here,” Edgar had told her.“I’ll be back in a few minutes.And don’t speak to anyone.”
There was little chance of that, she knew.The men might ogle, but they knew better than to approach her while Edgar was in the vicinity—as he invariably was.As for the ladies, the few times she’d mixed in society, they’d made it all too clear that they despised her.
She hadn’t wanted to attend this party—there was no point, after all: she’d made that clear to Edgar.But he’d been very insistent, and despite her wariness about his motives, she was fed up with staying inside day after day, going nowhere and seeing no-one.Edgar occasionally took her to the park in a hired carriage, but though it felt good to be out in the fresh air—not that London air was particularly fresh—they never stopped to talk to anyone.He was only showing her off, like putting a prize mare through her paces.
So she’d gone to the party in the hope—she knew even then it was unlikely—that she might find someone to talk to.Make a friend, even.But as always, the gentlemen eyed her from a distance and the ladies snubbed her.
London society had taught her that even surrounded by people, you could still feel achingly alone.And yet as a child, she’d spent most of her days alone and had never felt lonely.She couldn’t wait to leave London, to go home to Ferndale.Just another few months and Ferndale would be hers again.
She’d sat quietly, listening to the talk swirling around her, doing her best to ignore the slighting glances she received, and the waspish shreds of conversation she was meant to overhear.
She sat quietly and watched Marcus—though she hadn’t realized who he was at that point.His friend had been doing all the talking while Marcus stood still and silent.He seemed to be all hard edges.Tall and lean, with long legs and broad shoulders, he was dressed conventionally in black, his waistcoat a kind of dull silvery gray, but something about his stance set him apart from the other men at the party.Like a rock.An island in the swirling throng of society.
The women flocked around him, but he gave them scant encouragement and they soon drifted away.Who was this man, actively courted by so many women, yet so apparently indifferent?And why so grave-looking?
His white shirt emphasized his unfashionable tan.A man who spent a lot of time out of doors, then.Not a Londoner.And not somebody she would ever be allowed to know.
Her gaze kept getting drawn back to the tall, grim-looking stranger.She hadn’t been able to help herself.And then he saw her.It felt almost physical when his cold gaze clashed with hers.He stared for a long time, then said something to his friend, who turned to look at her.
She didn’t need to hear it to know exactly what the friend would be saying.It was the same everywhere.Her reputation was set in stone.
But then he’d left his friend and made his way purposefully across the dance floor toward her.Hardly able to breathe, she watched him approach.
And when he was close enough for her to see his eyes, those unusual piercing light gray eyes in that grim face, she knew at once who he was.
The boy from the forest.Marcus.All grown up.Taller, bigger, stronger.
Harder.
