Page 19 of Harpy of the Ton
“I-I’m quite well, Thomas,” she said. “I…” She glanced around, as if in desperation.
“You saidsave me from him,” the footman said. “Has this fellow harmed you?”
“N-no. I was frightened by”—she glanced toward the stables—“the horse. Yes—the horse.”
“The horse?” The footman glanced toward the animal, which stared placidly out from its stall.
“I went inside the stables and was almost crushed by one of the horses. This”—she gestured toward Lawrence—“this…manpulled me free.”
The footman narrowed his eyes. “Is that true, sir?”
Lawrence nodded.
“Very well—but I’ll have to tell the master.”
“There’s no need for that, Thomas,” Lady Arabella said. “I only want you to get rid ofhim.”
“I’m going nowhere until you’ve paid me,” Lawrence said.
“I thought you’d say as much,” the footman replied. Then he reached into his jacket and drew out a pistol. “Get yerself gone, or I’ll shoot.”
Damn it, Lawrenceneededthat money. But there was little point arguing the matter if all it earned him was a bullet in the head. He had no wish to leave his children fatherless as well as motherless.
He’d have to rely on Fate to exact vengeance upon her—by having her live out her days as Dunton’s wife.
“Then I’ll take my leave of you, your ladyship,” he said, “and I wish you all the happiness that you deserve in your impending nuptials.”
He gave a bow, exaggerating the gesture in mockery, before taking his leave.
How the devil would he be able to settle his account at the King’s Head?
But the lack of payment was the least of his concerns. Without his tools, and his notes, what the bloody hell was he going to do to survive?
Chapter Five
You don’t matterenough to hate.
As she returned to the house, Arabella wiped her eyes and suppressed a sob.
Howdarehe!
How dare he look into her eyes andknowher—know that while she might be the lady on the outside, on the inside she was nothing.
No—worse than nothing. She was a prisoner of her position in Society. Helpless, unable to do anything. Not even able to command her fate.
But she could command the fate of others.
I showed you—peasant!
Yes, she’d shown him.
Why, then, could she feel nothing but shame and self-loathing? After the brief burst of triumph as the fire had flared, the flames licking around his possessions, the realization had stuck her. It wasn’t his freedom, or life, that had turned to ashes in that moment.
It was hers.
Tears splashed onto her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to her fingertips. In striking out at him, she’d only succeeded in striking out at herself. Three parallel lines were scored across her heart, to match those on his face.
Aunt Kathleen’s form came into view.
