Page 30 of Impossible
She didn’t seem surprised. “Then think of the people around you—the retainers and the tenants. You’re going to lose them if you don’t change things, and then where will you be?”
“Right where I want to be.”
Her mouth rounded briefly before she snapped it closed. There was the surprise. “That can’t be true.”
“It is, and I can’t change that.”
“You mean won’t. You didn’t used to be like this, as far as I can tell. Why can’t you go back to being the man you once were?”
He leapt out of the chair and grasped the arms of hers, leaning over her. “That man is gone. Just as you’re going to be. Get out of the chair and my house.” He bared his teeth at her.
She plastered her shoulders to the chair and lifted her chin. “No.”
Fury raged inside him. He leaned closer, his face a few inches from hers. “I will pick you up and toss you out.”
Her gaze frosted. “Is that what you did to my friend Prudence when she came looking for a job?”
What the hell was she talking about? “Who is Prudence?”
“Prudence Lancaster. Actually, she’s the Viscountess Glastonbury now.”
Recognition lit his brain. He knew that name. Lucien had come pleading for a dowry for her. But Miss Treadway wasn’t talking about that. “She didn’t come here for a job or anything else.”
“Actually, she did. It was some time ago now, and thankfully, Lucien was here to rescue her from destitution by helping her find a job as a paid companion. How a wonderful man like him remains friendly or continues to believe in someone like you is beyond me, but that’s just who Lucien is.”
Every word she said struck his chest like a knife blade, slicing into him with painful precision. His anger remained, but she’d taken the acid from it. “I don’t know why he does that either. I’ve told him not to.” He let go of her chair and backed away, disgusted with himself for menacing her like that.
She smoothed her hand across her forehead and relaxed her shoulders, showing she’d been far more tense—and perhaps even afraid—than he’d realized. Then she took her longest drink of whisky yet. “This is no way to live, Warfield. Do you truly like feeling grumpy and being alone?”
“Yes.” The word creaked from his throat like an old, unused door hinge.
“I don’t believe you. I think you’ve simply forgotten how to feel anything else.”
“I’ve good reason,” he mumbled before taking another drink.
“Because some bad things have happened to you. Bad things happen to everyone, and we find a way to carry on.”
He growled, curling his lip. “You’ve no idea.”
“I’ve survived a number of bad things.”
“Such as what?”
“My father died, my mother died…my sister also died.” She swallowed, her gaze moving to the wall behind him. “And other things.”
Curiosity about those other things burned in his mind, but he didn’t ask. “My parents and my brother also died. I have no family left.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Except your half sister. Remember Prudence?”
“Of course I remember. I just didn’t recall her name. Her existence dredges up more bad things—that my father was completely unfaithful to my mother and was a lying scoundrel. There’s a special pain in learning your hero was a fraud.” He finished his whisky and immediately refilled his tumbler.
She was silent a moment as she sipped her drink. At last, she said, “I’m sorry. But that isn’t Prudence’s fault. She didn’t get to choose the circumstances of her birth. Why wouldn’t you give her a dowry? I’m fairly certain you can afford it.”
He cast his head back and looked at the ceiling. Shadows waved here and there with the flickering candlelight. “I preferred to pretend she didn’t exist. It was rather childish of me.”
“I’m glad you recognize that, but she’s a real person. A lovely one too. You’d like her.”
“I don’t like anyone.”
