My home, one this afternoon.
Julia knew she was a fool for going alone. She had observed far too many rich and powerful men not to realize one could harm her before she had even realized he was about to do so. But she didn’t want to involve anyone else. Not until she understood what this man wanted from her.
The carriage turned through the impressive black gate and stopped before a dark, foreboding manor. Suddenly she felt like she was a heroine in one of her gothics, about to face who knew what kind of monstrous fate. She took a few breaths to calm herself and came down from the carriage.
The butler who greeted her was cold and brought her to a tiny parlor far off the foyer. There was little decoration within except for a large, glaring portrait of the Earl of Heathfield hung above the mantel.
She had seen the man out in the world before, of course, but never up close so she stepped nearer and examined him. Portraits were almost always painted to give the sitter the most favorable impression, so they were created with a lightness to the subject. A faint smile or a little hint of kindness. This had none of that. The earl’s dark eyes were slightly narrowed, as if judging the observer. His mouth was thin and pursed, almost angry.
“If this is a true likeness, he must have been terrifying when the cousins were children,” she murmured to herself.
“Miss Comerford!”
She jumped at the harsh snap of her name behind her and pivoted to find the earl, himself, there. He glowered at her from the door, a perfect match to the cruel lines of the portrait, even if the man himself had many more years on his face.
“Lord Heathfield,” she managed to squeak out. “Good afternoon.”
“Sit,” he snapped, and motioned to a rather uncomfortable-looking high-backed chair. It had no arms, so no place to relax oneself. She folded her hands in her lap instead and inclined her head.
“I have come as you demanded, sir, though I have no idea what we could have to discuss.”
“Don’t you?” he asked. He looked her up and down before he poured himself a drink from the sideboard. He offered her nothing but took a place across from her. “I can see the attraction. You are very beautiful.”
She shifted in her seat. Some men could say that sentence and have it feel friendly or attentive. Some said it and her skin crawled. This man was the second.
“Thank you,” she eased out. “I assume you mean your grandson. You have won the day, my lord, and you know it.Castleton will marry his proper wife, or at least more proper in your estimation than I was.”
“Hardly,” he said. “Butthatisn’t the issue, is it?”
“What is the issue?” she asked, and was happy her voice didn’t tremble.
He seemed surprised by the same and leaned closer, into her space. “You cannot go whoring around again. Your name is associated with my own and it will not do.”
She knew this was part of this man’s problem, his drive to harm her. And while he intimidated her, as he intended, she also was overwhelmed by a swell of anger at the gall of him.
“Let me understand you. You did not wish for me to marry into your family because of my reputation. Fine. I will not marry into your family. But now you wish to end my ability to make a living as I did before? Just becauseyourgrandson was a fool?”
“Both my grandsons, if reports are correct,” he said softly.
She drew back. “I?—”
“You’ve aspirations, my dear. I would admire them if they didn’t sullymyfamily. I know you’ve moved from one Castleton to the other. Alexander may be less worthy, but he still holds my family name.”
She tensed. “Alexander is not less worthy. He is a great deal more worthy, actually. And whatever he does, it isn’t your business, is it?”
“Oh yes, it most definitely is. Do you not think I could destroy you, Miss Comerford? That I couldn’t make you untouchable, undesirable, a woman to be hissed at rather than bedded and taken to operas while you make you living on your back? Are you so foolish that you don’t recognize I have that power?”
His words, spat out at her, were like knives to her chest. Alexander had warned her and yet the terror of reality still gripped her. Still, this man hadn’t threatened to physically attack her. To get rid of her in some permanent way. This felt, atleast for now, like a negotiation rather than a final warning. She took a long breath to calm herself before she answered him.
“I think you are well-capable of harming me. Of destroying me ineveryway.” She stood. He watched her, brow arched. “But I think you’ve underestimatedme. I won’t bend to your will, Lord Heathfield. Destroy me, don’t destroy me, what does it matter? A woman like me is seen as so little to begin with, I have far less distance to fall than someone in your sphere. And I will find my way.”
She moved to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“And what if there was money rather than…destructionas incentive?”
She turned back. He was leaned back against the chair now, arms folded and a smug smirk on his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“One thousand pounds,” he said.
