Page 40 of Harpy of the Ton
“Donotaddress me with such familiarity—I don’t know you!”
“But he knowsyou,” the doctor’s wife said.
“You’re only saying that because you want rid of me.”
“Well, seeing as you say as much, I—” the doctor’s wife began, but her husband raised his hand.
“That’s enough, Charlotte.”
“The young woman has a point,” the vicar said. “If she cannot remember this man, then he must prove his claim on her.”
Her gut twisted with fear. “What do you mean, hisclaim? Am I to be handed over like chattel?”
“If you’re his wife, he has that right, given your vow of obedience,” the vicar said.
“Obedience?” The word left her lips in a squeak.
The giant watched the exchange, his gaze flicking between the occupants of the room, a curl of amusement on his lips. Then he resumed his attention on her.
“I’m your Lawrence,” he said.
“Lawrence!” she scoffed. “What kind of a name is that?”
“That name’s fallen from your lips on many occasions,” he said. “I’ve missed hearin’ you say it—in a soft whisper, in anger when you’re unable to control your temper, or”—he licked hislips, his eyes darkening—“screamed at night, when unable to control your—”
“Ahem!” the vicar said. “There’s ladies present, Mr. Baxter.”
Ignoring the thread of heat in her blood, she shrank further back.
“Your name is Baxter?” she asked.
“And you’re my Bella,” he said. “Bella Baxter. It’s time to stop this nonsense, now.” He grinned, and a sparkle of mischief glimmered in his eyes. “Or perhaps you’re teasin’ me in anticipation of punishment?”
“P-punishment?”
His grin broadened. “Oh, Bella, would you embarrass these good folk?”
“Nevertheless,” the vicar intervened, “we cannot, in all conscience, hand this young woman over until we’re certain. I must insist.”
Relief flooded through her. “Thank you, vicar,” she said. Then she lifted her chin and met the Beast’s gaze.
But rather than defeat, she saw determination.
Ye gods—what if shewerehis property?
The determination in his eyes turned to triumph. “I can prove she’s my wife.”
Her stomach clenched in apprehension.
He leaned toward the vicar, and though he spoke in a whisper, she caught his words.
“She has a series of scars on her right leg—from just above the knee, all the way up to her”—he hesitated and licked his lips—“the top of her thighs, near her”—he lowered his voice—“herintimate area.”
“Well, I never!” the doctor’s wife cried, her cheeks reddening.
But the doctor remained silent, turning to her with an expression in his eyes that could only be described as relief.
“Gerald, what is it?” the doctor’s wife asked.
