Page 111 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“Hush, Anne!” Sir George said, his face turning scarlet.

Countess Stiles let out a giggle, then covered her mouth. “Oh, do forgive me. Lord Bedford,” she said. “Please, continue.”

“You may wonder how a woman ends up earning a living in such a manner,” James said. “The righteous may say it’s through choice, to indulge in sin. But the reality is almost always out of necessity, coercion, or imprisonment.”

“I say, that’s a bit much,” Mr. Ffortescue, who had previously been silent, said.

“Aye, it is,” James replied. “And it was. From when she was a young child, Cordelia had to endure all three. Yet, despite the years of subjugation, she emerged the kind and caring woman that you see before you now. I care not what Society thinks. I care not what you think. If my wife’s history offends you, then you’re at liberty to leave my home.”

He gestured toward Sir Iain.

“This…gentleman also frequented the Lyon’s Den. But he believed that a woman who sells her body for a living does not have the right to deny unwanted advances. Not only did he try to force himself on my wife, he tried to extort money from her while under my roof in return for his silence. Not content with that, he abducted my sister with the intention of ruining her in pursuit of her dowry.”

“Well! I’ve never heard the like,” Mr. Ffortescue said.

“Oh, be quiet, Gerald,” Mrs. Ffortescue huffed. “Do you think I don’t know you that visited a bawdy house the night before we married? All men do—well, save for our upstanding magistrate here.” She gestured toward Stiles.

Countess Stiles laughed. “Not even my Hawthorne is exempt, I’m afraid. When I was a young girl, I once saw him with his mistress in the woods, reciting poetry to her while he—”

“My love.” The earl blushed as he placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Today is not the day to present Lord Bedford with a catalogue of my sins. I rather think we should be more concerned with Sir Iain’s sins.”

“You’re a fool if you think I’m the sinner here,” Sir Iain said. “All men are expected to indulge in the services of tarts, but not even the most foolish man of our class can be forgiven for actually marrying one. To think—the child of a slut inheriting a viscountcy—do you want our world to be tainted thus?”

He pointed toward Cordelia, hatred in his eyes—the same hatred she’d seen when he tried to violate her in the Lyon’s Den.

“That filthy whore will never be accepted among decent Society. I’ll make sure everyone knows what she is, and how she squealed like a sow in heat when I—”

James sprang forward and slammed his fist into the other man’s face. Eyes widening, Sir Iain staggered back and crumpled to the floor.

“For fuck’s sake!” he cried, covering his face. Dark-red liquid oozed between his fingers. “You’ve broken my nose! Stiles, I demand you have him arrested.”

Stiles folded his arms and tilted his head sideways. “Arrested for what?” he said. “The only crime I’ve been made aware of today is the abduction and assault of a young woman. Perhaps it’s best if you leave, or I’ll consider making a formal charge.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sir Iain said.

“Try me.”

Footsteps approached, and Cordelia caught sight of the butler striding toward the breakfast room door.

“Ah, Osborne,” James said. “Would you escort our guests to breakfast? But first, please remove Sir Iain from the building.”

“Fools,” Sir Iain snarled. Then he winced as the butler grasped his arms and marched him out of the front door.

“He won’t stay quiet,” Cordelia said.

James brushed his lips against hers. “It matters not, my love. Anyone who fails to see your worth can go to the devil.”

“And—you’re not in any trouble for hitting him?”

Stiles let out a laugh, his usually stern face softening. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that,” he said. “I’ve a mind to agree with your husband that you’re a worthy woman.”

“Lord Stiles, you don’t even know me,” Cordelia said.

The earl fixed his direct, penetrating gaze on her. “I’ve seen you many times in my court, Lady Bedford.”

“Y-you recognize me?”

He nodded. “You often attended in support of unfortunate women defending their actions against the men who abused them, and on occasion you stood before me arguing in their favor. Few women in your position have the courage to defend others when they have nothing to gain from it and much to lose when the man they testify against stands before them, ready to wreak vengeance if acquitted. I rather wonder whether you may be worth more than any other woman in England—save my Frederica, of course.”