Or, apparently, an earl.
Clarissa decided to leave the door open. She didn’t have time for this. She made a fast turn and would have headed off to search for a place with more privacy, except he sat up then and hung out the door.
“Oh, come back. Don’t be a ninny.”
Those words stopped her. Slowly, she faced him. “What did you call me?”
He grinned. There was the devil in that expression. “You heard me.”
How dismissive. How rude. Howeverythingeveryoneexpected her to swallow.
Clarissa rounded on him. “I am well aware that for some reason I annoy you, but I have no idea why. Fortunately, I do not concern myself with your affairs. You meannothingto me.” She emphasized her words by snapping her fingers, except her snap wasn’t very good, not in gloves. It ended up being more of an angry gesture and less cavalier than she would have liked.
He frowned and stretched his back. “Oh, please, Miss Taylor. No dramatics. However shall I stand it?” he finished with mock horror.
“I’m not being dramatic.”
“I’mnotbeingdramatic,” he mimicked, and Clarissa felt like a pot ready to boil.
She never let herself be angry. Anger was the first step to sin. That is what the Reverend Taylor had always said. And although she didn’t know her feelings about sin, she knew those she depended upon wouldn’t be pleased with her if she spoke her mind or had a bout of frustration.
So she didn’t know the depths of her temper. She’d never allowed herself to experience it, until this moment.
Clarissa grabbed hold of the door with both hands and shoved it with such force, the earl fell back, holding his flask high so that he didn’t spill a drop.
“You, you,you,YOU.” She didn’t know why she was repeating the word except it felt good to give voice to her feelings. “I amtiredof your attitude, my lord. Of you acting as if you know whatIthink or of judging me and always finding me coming up short. You are a small-minded man.”
“Ouch, that hurts,” he responded and then laughed.
“What is the matter with you?My life is falling apart. Everyone I thought I could trust is either gone or they have—” She paused, needing a word strong enough, and found it. “Betrayedme.” Oh, yes, that was a good word. “Of course, I don’t know what you would understand about the matter. You arehis lordship. You live in your big house. You have generations offamilybehind you and never have to worry about being thrown into the streets if you don’t act pretty or if you say the wrong word and the family’s daughters complain. No one criticizes you or gives you the silent treatment. Oh,I hatethe silent treatment.
“And the worst,” she continued, “is that I haveso wanted to escapethathouse. And nowI can’t. I won’t ever be able to leave. And I have to tell them and they will be furious. They want me gone. There will be a big meeting and everyone will talk about me.Poor Clarissa, what are we going to do with her? She has no one. She has nowhere to go.And I’m trapped. I will live my lifetrapped. Don’t you see how terrible it all is?”
To his credit, Lord Marsden, who appeared stunned by her verbal assault, had the good sense to merely nod.
“And I have tolivewith this,” Clarissa said. “I trusted he was going to come through for me. Instead, I see him choosing another. Hechoseanother.”
Lord Marsden found his voice. “Who did?”
With all the disdain she could muster, Clarissa said, “Youmenare soblind.”
“Perhaps, but will you give me a hint?”
She ignored his request. Instead, she admitted, “I really didn’t care for him that much.” She talked more to herself than his lordship. Saying those words aloud was like uncorking a bottle. “He was kind. He wasbeingkind. However, I am tired ofkind. I did trust him. I believed he was true to his word. I wouldn’t have waited otherwise, and now I don’t know what to do. If I don’t marry him, what will become of me?”
“Ah,thatis who you are talking about. What will become of you if youdomarry him?”
Lord Marsden’s question caught her off guard.
“The answer is obvious. I’m safe.”
“And if you don’t?”
Her imagination took over. Everyone had given her dire predictions of the fate of women alone. “I will have to take a position being some old lady’s companion. Or I could fall into bad hands—”
“Bad hands?”
“Yes, I could be carried away by brigands.”
