Herriard created the rights he believed women were entitled to—and got away with it. Even Francis Beaumont, devious swine that he was, could not touch the tenth part of a farthing of his wife’s income, thanks to Herriard.
This was because Herriard’s approach, when a fellow balked at outrageous demands, was to subject the poor sod to an endless stream of barristers and petty litigation, until the sod caved in from sheer exhaustion, was ruined by legal fees, or was carried, screaming, to a lunatic asylum.
Miss Trent, in short, was not only going to make Lord Dain crawl, but she would have Herriard do the dirty work for her, and have it all done legally, with not a loophole for Dain to wriggle out of.
“There is no animal more invincible than a woman,” Aristophanes had said, “nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless.”
Ruthless. Vicious.Fiendish.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Dain muttered. “Not via go-betweens, you demon spawn.” He wadded the note into a tight ball and hurled it at the grate. Then he stomped to his writing desk, grabbed a sheet of notepaper, scrawled an answer, and shouted for his valet.
In his note to Mr. Herriard, Dain had declared that he would meet with Miss Trent at seven o’clock that evening at her brother’s house. He would not, as Herriard had requested, send his solicitor to meet with hers, because the Marquess of Dain had no intention, he wrote, “of being sworn, signed, and bled dry byproxy.” If Miss Trent had terms to dictate, she could bloody well do it in person. If that didn’t suit, she was welcome to send her brother to Dain, who would be happy to settle the matter at twenty paces—withbothcombatants armed this time.
Given the last suggestion, Jessica decided it would be best if Bertie spent the evening else-where. He still had no idea what had happened.
She had returned from the police station to find her brother suffering painful consequences of his alcohol consumption during Lady Wallingdon’s ball. His constitution weakened by months of dissipation, he had succumbed to a violent dyspepsia, and had not left his bed until teatime yesterday.
Even in the best of circumstances, his brain functions were unreliable. At present, the effort to comprehend Dain’s anomalous behavior might trigger a relapse, if not apoplexy. Equally important, Jessica dared not risk Bertie’s bumbling after Dain with the misguided idea of avenging her honor.
Genevieve had agreed. She had, accordingly, taken Bertie to dine with her at the Duc d’Abonville’s. The duc could be relied upon to hold his tongue. It was he, after all, who’d advised Jessica to hold hers until she spoke with a lawyer.
It was also the duc who was paying Mr. Herriard’s fee. If Jessica had not agreed to let him do so, Abonville would have called Dain out himself. That offer had told Jessica all she needed to know about the French nobleman’s feelings about Genevieve.
At seven o’clock, therefore, Bertie was safely out of the way. Only Mr. Herriard was with Jessica in the drawing room. They were standing before a table upon which a neat pile of documents lay when Dain stalked in.
He swept Herriard one contemptuous glance, then bent his sardonic obsidian gaze upon Jessica. “Madam,” he said, with a short nod.
“My lord,” she said, with a shorter one.
“That takes care of the social niceties,” he said. “You may proceed to the extortion.”
Mr. Herriard’s lips set in a thin line, but he said nothing.
He took up the papers from the table and gave them to Dain, who moved across the room to a window. He set the papers upon the wide sill, took up the topmost one, and leisurely read it. When he was done, he put it down and took up the next.
Minutes ticked by. Jessica waited, growing edgier with each passing moment.
Finally, nearly a half hour later, Dain looked up from the documents it should have taken him a fraction of that time to comprehend.
“I wondered how you meant to play it,” he told Herriard. “If we spare ourselves the legalisms and Latinisms, what it boils down to is a defamation suit—if I don’t agree to settle the matter privately, according to your exorbitant terms.”
“The words you uttered in the hearing of six other parties could be construed in only one way, my lord,” said Herriard. “With those words, you destroyed my client’s social and financial credit. You have made it impossible for her to wed or earn a respectable independent livelihood. You have made her an outcast from the society to which she was bred and properly belongs. She will be obliged, therefore, to live in exile from her friends and loved ones. She must build a new life.”
“And I’m to pay for it, I see,” said Dain. “Settle all of her brother’s debts, amounting to six thousand pounds.” He glanced over the pages. “I am to support her to the tune of two thousand per annum and…ah, yes. There was something about securing and maintaining a place of residence.”
He leafed through the pages, dropping several on the floor in the process.
It was then Jessica realized he wasn’t using his left hand at all, and that he held the arm oddly, as though something were wrong with it. There shouldn’t be, except for a minor bullet wound. She’d aimed carefully, and she was an excellent markswoman. Not to mention he was a very large target.
He looked her way then, and caught her staring. “Admiring your handiwork, are you? I daresay you’d like a better look. Regrettably, there’s nothing to see. There’s nothing wrong with it, according to the quacks. Except that it doesn’t work. Still, I count myself fortunate, Miss Trent, that you didn’t aim a ways lower. I’m merely disarmed, not unmanned. But I have no doubt Herriard here will see to the emasculation.”
Her conscience pricked. She ignored it. “You got—andwillget exactly as you deserve, you deceitful, spiteful brute.”
“Miss Trent,” Herriard said gently.
“No, I will not guard my tongue,” she said. “His Lordship wanted me present because he wanted a row. He knows very well he’s in the wrong, but he’s too curst stubborn to admit it. He wants to make me out to be a scheming, greedy—”
“Vindictive,” said Dain. “Don’t leave out vindictive.”
