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“He can make his own way home,” Fiennes growled. He escorted Ella out the door of the inn, took out a coin, and tossed it to the ostler. “A carriage to the St. Trevelyon residence in Chelsea.”
The man ran to the finest carriage in the innyard and opened the door. “If you please, my lord.”
The viscount trudged dispiritedly from the inn, walked straight to the carriage, and got in.
“He’ll always take advantage,” Ella said in a low voice.
Fiennes dropped a kiss on her nose. “Leave your uncle to me.”
“He won’t like the fact that you … Are you certain you wish to marry me?”
About to hand her into the carriage, Fiennes paused, a flicker of pain in his eyes. “You don’t trust me?”
Ella realized that she was holding her breath and let it out. “You asked me to marry you, and then you announced your betrothal to another woman in the same week.”
“I thought that the ball would establish Fulvia as the Season’s diamond,” Fiennes said. “I planned to back away once she was besieged by suitors. I was forced to announce the betrothal, but even so—and against every ethical rule I was taught—I had already decided to break our engagement this morning.”
Ella blinked at him. “You were going to jilt her? But that’s … that’s not gentlemanly.”
“I don’t give a damn.” He moved closer, arms wrapping around her. “You’re mine, Ella. I won’t give you up.”
When they stopped kissing, Fiennes added in a gruff voice, “I came with Jonah and Bea, planning to end the betrothal, because I refuse to sacrifice our happiness, no matter what society dictates. No matter whether your cousin is ruined.”
“Luckily, she’s not. No, she is, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Fiennes’s eyes warmed, and he pulled her even closer. “I thought Fulvia’s declarations of love as Juliet were surprisingly believable. Of course, she was talking to her own Romeo.”
Ella didn’t see her uncle look out of the carriage door: every bit of her attention was focused on the slide of Fiennes’s tongue against hers, the way his breath caught, the rasp of a moan in the back of his throat.
So she startled when a rough shout came from the carriage. “What are you doing? Hands off my housekeeper!”
Fiennes raised his head with a deadly glare. “Ella is your niece and my future wife.”
“Hoity-toity!” her uncle retorted. “As far as I’m concerned, you are still betrothed to my daughter. In fact, why aren’t you setting out on the road to Gretna Green to recover Fulvia? She’s been stolen by a lowborn rogue!”
Fiennes ignored him, dropping a last kiss on Ella’s lips before he helped her into the carriage. He sat down so closely that his leg pressed against hers.
Ella caught her skirt just before it fell open down the ripped seam and exposed her thigh.
“I’ll sue you for breach of promise,” the viscount promised, throwing himself on the opposite seat. “You may not marry my niece. I need her to be my housekeeper and to care for her aunt.”
A bitter taste came into Ella’s mouth. She had never been able to defend herself before, because she had nowhere to go if her uncle threw her out. But now someone else cared for her.
She and Fiennes would make a home together.
She took a deep breath and straightened her back. “I am no longer your unpaid housekeeper. You fired me last night, remember?”
Her uncle sneered. “You think you can tell me what to do, girl, while you’re wearing my housekeeping keys?”
“I kept house for you because I was orphaned, but also out of the goodness of my heart,” Ella said. “For love of your wife and Fulvia.”
“You kept house for me because your father didn’t care enough to ensure your future!”
Fiennes leaned forward. “I trust you recall that I knocked you out last night?”
The viscount narrowed his eyes. “I will never forget that affront, though I was kind enough not to apprise the duke and duchess of your disgracefully violent behavior!”
“My disgrace?” Fiennes snorted. “You are an abusive monster.”
