“No, I didn’t, and I don’t believe he did it on purpose.” A hot flare of anger surged. “Mr. North, I must speak my mind.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I found the manner in which you behaved towards Lord Wharton very…” She had to take a breath. “…not worthy of a gentleman.”
“I only spoke the truth.” He gave her a glare. “I hope you made up your mind about my offer. Naturally, you can forget my three thousand pounds. I’ll give you one thousand this time.”
Never a bow and an arrow when she needed them. But she had a better weapon.
She removed her long glove with one snappy gesture, uncovering the scar in all its ugliness. “What do you—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Mr. North glanced at her arm and let out a silly squeak that offended her ears. He stepped back from her. “Is it syphilis?”
“How dare you. It’s a scar.”
He paled, his legs shaking. “It’s syphilis.”
“No, it’s not. Goodness, how ignorant are you.”
His jaw clenched. “You can forget our deal.”
“Great.”
“You won’t see me again.”
“Good,” she said, but he didn’t hear her because he hurried away from her.
It was what she wanted, but she didn’t expect such a dramatic reaction from him.
Well, who was deranged now?
After the horriblescene at Lord Fountaine’s ball, the only thing Royston wanted was to be alone and not think about Angeline’s face filled with pity.
Pity. There wasn’t a more horrifying feeling to face in the world. She shouldn’t pity him. He didn’t pity himself.
He wondered how North had found out about what happened in the brothel. No one knew about that detail, and the man who had murdered his mother was dead.
Enright, his butler, entered the room, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea. On instinct, Royston stood up. Old habits. Although he found it disrespectful to stay seated in front of the older man.
Enright smiled under his beard. “My lord, you don’t need to stand up for me.”
Bugger. If he apologised, he’d make things worse. If he said, ‘I know,’ it sounded pretentious. He opted for a non-committal grunt. Great.
Enright put the tray down. “Lord Havisham would like a word, my lord.”
“Oh hell.” He winced. “Sorry, Enright. Today I’m not myself.”
Or maybe he was more himself on days like today than on other days… if that made sense.
“Shall I tell Lord Havisham you’re indisposed?”
“No, I’ll see him. Thank you, Enright.”
“My lord.”
Royston poured two cups of tea, hoping whatever Havisham had to say was quick. If he wanted to discuss what had happened, Royston wasn’t in the mood.
Havisham entered the drawing room and waited for Enright to close the door before talking. “You shouldn’t have stormed out like that, Wharton.”
