Page 124 of In Bed with the Earl

“Livvie,”she muttered under her breath.

God love the girl. Had it not been for her, Malcom would still be waxing on in his mind about everything he felt—and feared feeling—for the woman before him.

Verity abruptly stopped that distracted toying with her bedding. “I thought you’d be grateful for a reprieve?”

His blond brows came together in a fierce line. By God, was she ... ?

“I take it you’re not amused?”

“I’m not amused,” he whispered.

Chapter 27

THE LONDONER

THE HUNTED BECOMES THE HUNTER ...

Our sources report upon learning of the assault on his wife, the Earl of Maxwell went half-mad ... and he’s revealed the ruthlessness which he’s kept carefully concealed from Polite Society ... until now.

M. Fairpoint

Over their course of knowing one another, Verity had encountered many shades of Malcom’s anger, and at any number of times.

But never had she seen him like this. His sharp features tensed in lines of fury, veins bulging at his temple, his eye twitching. His self-control was thin, and she’d only ever seen him in command of it ... and himself.

And he should be upset ... about her?

Something in that evidence of his caring sent a warmth unfurling in her breast.

On the heel of that was the call to reality. “I assure you, I’m quite well to continue on with our arrangement, Malcom.”

He narrowed his eyes, and then dropping a knee on her bed, he climbed onto the mattress. “Is that what you believe?” he whispered. “That I’m concerned about the deal we’ve struck?”

Something in his tone suggested she weigh her answer and provide the correct one. In the end, she offered him what he deserved—the truth. “I don’t know, Malcom.” She well knew how she felt about him. She knew that her heart was lighter whenever he was near. That he’d made her open her eyes to the stories she should have been fighting these years to tell. But she didn’t know what he felt or how he felt about her.

He stopped his advance, kneeling beside her.

With an infinite tenderness that sent warmth spiraling all the more, he brought his palm close to her cheek. It hovered there. This man, uncertain in ways that he’d only ever been fully in command of. Then ever so slightly, he touched his callused fingertips to the corner of her injury.

She bit her lip.

“Oh, V-Verity,” he said hoarsely. His voice cracking as he misunderstood her response for one of pain. And aye, her head throbbed still from the bashing it had taken, but the feel of him so close, and caring as he did, threatened to shatter her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, placing her palm over his.

“What happened?”

“Someone slammed my forehead into a bookcase.”

His eyes slid closed. “I should have been there.”

She’d wanted him to be there ... but not out of any sense of obligation.

“I fainted. When I came to, I was already in the carriage. A gentleman had helped carry me from the shop and sent us on our way.”

The muscles of his throat moved rapidly.

“A doctor was here most of the day. He insists it is a superficial wound.”

---