Page 59 of The Secret Life of a Lady
Hannah wanted to recoil, but after the beauty of what they shared, and his eyes looking so vulnerable and desperate, she needed to give him something. It wasn’t a treasure, but it was a hidden piece of herself she had shared with no one. Not even Philippa. Her darkest secret. The moment that made her a monster.
But she wanted him to know. Because if he could accept that part of her, then everything between them would change.
She moved over and pulled open the sheet for him to join her in the bed. He climbed under the covers and wrapped himself around her, his chest pressed against her back. It was easier to tell him like this, not having to watch his face, cocooned in the warmth and strength of his body. Hannah kept her voice soft, as if whispering the truth would make it less real. She was swept back to that night, ten years ago when everything changed.
Lord Smythe was already angry when he arrived for dinner. Hannah could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and his clenched jaw.
Cynthia tried to send Hannah upstairs, but Lord Smythe told her to stay. He poured Hannah wine even though Cynthia said she was too young. When her mother reached over to take the glass away, he slapped Cynthia. Right across the face.
Hannah started crying, like a stupid, useless child. Hardly the protector her mother needed. But Cynthia smiled carefully around her split lip and said everything would be fine.
It wasn’t fine.
‘Your mother was once renowned for her beauty. There wasn’t a duke, earl, or viscount who didn’t want her. Did you know that?’ Lord Smythe asked.
Hannah didn’t know how to respond. She looked to her mother for help, but Cynthia was staring at her plate, her cheeks pale except for the ugly red mark of Lord Smythe’s hand.
Hannah cleared the fear from her throat and spoke softly. ‘I know she is as beautiful now as she ever was.’
Lord Smythe laughed. An ugly sound in the quiet room. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the clink of cutlery scraped against porcelain.
‘The bloom is off her rose, but your flower is only beginning to bud.’ His words slurred. Grease from the beef was smeared on his cheek.
‘Perhaps we should send the child to bed, my love.’ Blood trickled from her mother’s mouth.
‘No.’ Lord Smythe drank deeply from his wine glass and licked his lips. ‘She’s not a child any longer. Fourteen is old enough to marry her off. That’s what you wanted, right? But it’s difficult tosell the daughter of a whore. Even one with conquests as lofty as yours.’ He sneered at Cynthia.
Her mother put down her fork and carefully wiped the blood from her split lip. ‘This is not a discussion we should have now. I think you should leave.’
Lord Smythe narrowed his eyes and cracked his knuckles. He twisted the signet ring on his pinkie around and around. ‘You mean to dismiss me?’
Hannah picked up the dinner knife. She didn’t know what she would do with it, but it felt better to have something sharp in her hand. Her heart pounded. Her breath came fast and hard. She would not cry again. She would not be a weak infant when her mother needed a fearless defender.
‘Hannah, it’s time for you to go to bed.’ Cynthia’s eyes were wild, even if her voice was calm.
‘No, Mama. Not until he leaves.’ Hannah pressed the knife against the folds of her skirt.
‘You think you can send me away?’ Lord Smythe smiled at Hannah. His eyes were glittering chips of obsidian, cold and hard. ‘You’re just like your mother. But I decide if and when I leave.’ He surged to his feet, smashing his glass of wine on the table, and shattering the crystal. A shard flew fast and sharp, slicing Hannah’s cheek. She didn’t feel any pain, just the warm blood flowing down her skin. ‘No woman dismisses me. Certainly no bastard child of a whore.’
Lord Smythe grabbed Hannah by the wrist, dragging her off her chair and pulling her close. His fingers dug into her skin, but she was numb. Time slowed. She tightened her fingers around the knife handle.
‘You’ll never be a proper wife, but perhaps I can teach you how to be as talented a mistress as your mother.’
Cynthia screamed, lunging forward, and trying to pull him away.
The baron shoved Hannah away and punched her mother hard in the face. The impact propelled Cynthia into the mantel with a sickening thump. She crumpled to the floor.
Hannah cried out and tried to reach her mother. Lord Smythe blocked Hannah’s path. Before she could push past him, he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her back. ‘You have more fight in you than your mother. I like that.’
His wet lips smashed against hers as bile burned her throat and panic beat against her chest like the wings of a trapped bird.
She couldn’t think. She had to make him stop. She had to get to her mother. Gripping the knife in her shaking fist, she plunged the blade into his neck. Blood flowed hot and sticky over her hand as she pushed him away.
Lord Smythe looked at her with wide eyes. His red face turned paler with each heartbeat. A keening scream rent the air, but the baron wasn’t making any noise. Her eyes widened in horror as pink froth bubbled from his mouth. The haunting cry continued, only hitching when she took a ragged breath.
‘No, no, no.’ Her voice was too loud, too sharp, too jagged. She was shaking. She needed to stop the blood from pouring out of Lord Smythe, but how?
He fell to the ground in a heap of fine black silk.
