Page 139 of Harpy of the Ton
Then she let out a low cry.
“Y-you’re the gardener. The one who…” She shook her head, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Y-you said I don’t matter enough to hate.”
“Bella, I didn’t mean it.”
“Youdid,” she said. “You said I’m nothing. To you, I’mnothing. Y-you said I inflicted misery on others to satisfy my own joyless life.”
A dark ache swelled in his heart. “Oh, Bella, no…”
“Did you not mean it?”
“Bella, that was then,” Lawrence said. “I—”
“No!” she cried. “Do me the honor of speaking the truth, for once.Didyou mean it?”
Lawrence dug his fingernails into his palms to draw his attention from the raw ache in his heart.
“I see,” she said quietly. “You’re not man enough to voice the truth, but I see it in your eyes.”
She tilted her head up, the emotion draining from her eyes, until the fire, the essence of his Bella, faded—doused by the ice-cold soul of Lady Arabella. Though dressed in the same plain muslin gown, she now carried it like a lady. The woman standing before him now was not his Bella.
Nor had she ever been.
“Bella, please,” he said. “Hit me, scream at me…anything to show me how you’re feeling.”
Her lips trembled. Any moment, she would crumple and cry, and reach out in her need for him.
Then she shook her head.
“No,” she said. “You deserve no such consideration after what you did.”
“What did he do?” Dunton asked. “Did he defile you?”
She glanced at Dunton, not quite disguising the fear in her eyes. “No,” she said. “At least, in no way of consequence.”
“Then come with me now, Arabella. This brigand has damaged your reputation. We must be married as quickly as possible to restore it.”
“Don’t go with him!” Lawrence cried. “He’s deceiving you.”
Her smooth demeanor crumpled, and she let out a bitter laugh.
“He’sdeceiving me? What aboutyou? Reducing me to the life of a kitchen maid—and for what? Vengeance? Hatred? Pray tell me, Mr. Baxter, how wouldyoudefine deceit?”
Dunton offered his hand, and she took it.
“Papa!” Jonathan said. “Don’t let her go!”
Lawrence moved forward, but the footman raised a thick, fleshy fist.
“Now, mister—don’t be making a fuss. It’ll be the worse for you if you do, and you don’t want them brats of yours without a father, do you? Who knows what might befall them?”
Lawrence’s gut twisted as the footman leered, exposing a row of yellowing teeth punctuated by several gaps.
Dunton placed a possessive hand on the small of Bella’s back. “Get yourself inside, my dear—you look like a common harlot.”
“B-but I must collect my things,” she said, taking a step toward the cottage. Then she hesitated.
“My dear?” Dunton said.
