Page 25

He curved his mouth into one of his practiced smiles, which his lordship no doubt presumed was disarming. It rather made him look reptilian—an uncharitable thought Purity had entertained on more than one occasion.

“I say, you’ll have to wait your turn, my good man.”

Viscount Ceddes squinted and gravitated his bleary-eyed focus between Mr. Rutland and Purity, his expression almost comical in his confusion. “Unless…you’ve already sampled her,” he put in crudely. “Which explains why the chit is flitting about the corridor this late clad in her nightclothes.”

His eyes shrinking to fury-filled slits, Mr. Rutland made a feral sound in his throat and advanced a menacing, predatory step. He appeared ready to throttle his lordship.

Despite Purity’s fear and the shock making her shiver so hard her teeth chattered, gratitude filled her. In her entire life, no one had championed her before.

“And all this time, you’ve been pretending to be chaste as a nun, Purity.” Lord Ceddes turned a jaundiced eye upon her. “Had I known your true nature, I’d have taken advantage of your loose morals long ago.”

A shudder of pure loathing scuttled up Purity’s spine. She bit her tongue against the wholly unladylike retort demanding to be said. The man had all but implied she was a trollop.

“Leave.”

Shoulders hunched and expression feral, Mr. Rutland gritted out one clipped rage-induced syllable as if it took all of his self-possession not to pummel his lordship into next year.

Laughing, the viscount waggled a finger between Purity and Mr. Rutland.

“Not so fast, old chap.” He swayed on his feet and hiccuped. “I want my turn.”

Lord, he was good and pickled.

Purity wrinkled her nose. Even from here, she smelled the spirits wafting from him.

“I’ve waited a long time to sample this tempting morsel.” His lordship gave a lewd wink.

The idiot still hadn’t surmised Mr. Rutland wasn’t a dissolute cohort in cahoots with him.

“My wife is worse than a Newgate warden, I tell you,” Ceddes said. “Never permitting me five minutes alone with Miss Mayfield in eight years.”

Well, that answered one question.

“The lady said no,” Mr. Rutland bit out, the veins in his forehead clearly visible. “You will respect her wishes.”

His restraint was admirable.

“Lady?” Ceddes scoffed, incredulous, before hooting with laughter. “Miss Mayfield is no lady. Would she work as a governess if she were?”

Though true, his blatant disparagement stung more than it ought to have done.

He regarded Purity, huddled against the wall. “In fact, she is still in my employ. She’ll do as I say, or she’ll not receive a letter of reference.” His gaze grew sly, and his lean jaw became taut. “I can make finding a new position very, very difficult for you, Purity.”

An animalistic growl ripped from Mr. Rutland’s throat. He snatched Lord Ceddes by the neckcloth and hauled him close, their noses practically touching. As Mr. Rutland was considerably taller, his lordship dangled there, the toes of his shoes scraping at the carpet.

“And I can make finding your teeth very, very difficult. Now leave, you whoremonger. I strongly suggest you and your family depart Mottford Hall first thing in the morning.” Mr. Rutland spoke in a voice so cold and devoid of emotion that his words rivaled an arctic wind.

Purity shuddered and clutched her gown more tightly closed.

Rutland released his lordship so abruptly the man nearly fell onto his backside.

The viscount sputtered and choked but didn’t quit the field just yet. “Who do you bloody think you are, ordering me about?”

A humorless grin arched Mr. Rutland’s mouth.

“Theran Rutland.”

Ceddes went chalk white, and beads of perspiration burst out upon his forehead and upper lips. The air left his lungs in a soft whoosh as if he’d been struck. He gave a stiff nod. “As you wish.”