She didn’t even crack a smile.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Purity knew Foxford was making light of her question in order to ease things between them, but she couldn’t so easily let go of the raw pain she’d felt since being blindsided by Lady Varley. She had only Foxford’s word that nothing had happened, and she was trying to cling to her belief in him despite the swirling doubts.
He sighed. “I am a gentleman, despite doing some churlish things, and I don’t think it right of me to make a list of women with whom I’ve shared a kiss.”
“Or done more,” she said softly.
“Or more,” he agreed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I am not certain what I ought to say. I cannot go back and undo things I’ve done. And since that was all before I met you, my previous actions do not count for anything. The best I can offer is that at least you won’t end up with an inexperienced dullard in your bed.”
Purity didn’t gasp only because she was used to his inappropriate remarks. Besides, she appreciated that he wouldn’t speak of his former conquests. It elevated him, but that wasn’t what she wanted to know.
“Why did you and Lord Varley exchange blows?” she asked.
“Because I knew he had spoken toThe Times, or his wife had. I couldn’t call her out or set my fists against her, nor could I buy up every paper in London, but I thought thumping Varley might make me feel better.”
Purity decided to stomach the unpleasant task of confronting the other terrible things the woman had said.
“Lady Varley said you fought over her. She was telling the truth about going to your house. So why would I doubt her? Did you attack Lord Varley because of what was written about me, or did he throw the first blow because he thought there was something between you and his wife.”
Matthew’s momentary silence, rather than instantly contradicting the version, made her catch her breath.
“He hit me first, but only because I taunted him about Lady Varley, it’s true,” he said.
Wrenching her hand free, she covered her face.
“I cannot be with a man who uses his indiscretions to torture another. How cruel!”
“You don’t understand,” Foxford began. “He was smugly enjoying a meal while you were in pain over the filthy gossip. Nor would he behave with honor by standing and facing me so I could land a facer. I had to goad him to it by discussing his unfaithful choice of a life’s mate.”
It sounded credible, but also disdainful. Could she tolerate a life with this type of man and his unfamiliar world of rashness? On the other hand, she’d spent three days missing him, wanting his presence, feeling empty at the thought of no longer ending up as his wife.
“You cannot hold this against me,” Foxford insisted. “You don’t understand how men deal with such things. It was a matter of honor.”
Her thoughts were spinning at his ridiculous statement.
“You think women do not understand honor?”
“I think you do not have to uphold it, fight for it, or worry over it in the same way that a man does. Varley thought he had bested me, first by sneaking upon us and hoping to shame you in order to harm me, and then by allowing his wife to tattle.”
“So, you insulted his wife to be honorable,” she concluded.
He shook his head. “I needed him to do the gentlemanly thing of using our fists. It is clean. It is not sneaky. It finishes the matter, or it ought to.”
“You are right,” she said. “I do not understand.”
He surprised her by taking her face between his hands.
“Honor to a man is like reputation to a woman. Does that help to clarify it?”
For the first time, she recalled she’d entered the room merely to tell him to go away and leave her alone for another week. For that reason, she had not brought her maid, and yet they had been closeted together alone.
“It does,” she said, hoping none of her family found them in such a situation.
Her hope turned to dread when he lowered his mouth to hers. This would be impossible to explain.
And then, as she knew would happen, all rational thought vanished. She had missed him so very much, his touch and his smell and his grin and his kiss.
