Page 80 of Harpy of the Ton
Ned frowned. “Why did you say the duke wouldn’t love her?”
“Because their sort don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Whereas you do?” The anger in Ned’s eyes disappeared. “Bloody hell, man—what have you got yourself into?” He shook his head. “I should have known—I’ve seen how you look at her. Even my Sophie’s remarked on it.”
“Sophie?”
“My niece is a bright girl,” Ned said. “And seein’ as nobody in the village will have much to do with Lady—with Bella, she’s taken a liking to her. Always a friend of the misfit, is my Sophie—the first to take pity on a bird with a broken wing.”
“And what does she say?” Lawrence asked.
“Rather a lot about you. Even more about her.”
“Such as?”
“She says you work her too hard, and that whileBellaknows little about running a home, she tries harder than most, despite her fears.”
Lawrence leaned forward. “What fears?”
“She’s terrified of fire,” Ned said. “The day after you brought her here, when my Sophie came round to help, she near screamed the place down when she opened up the range to stoke the fire. But you must know that, seein’ as she’s laid fires and cooked for you every day since.”
Yes, she had. She’d undertaken every chore he’d written out for her. Not always uncomplainingly, but she’d done them:washing his clothes, sweeping the floors, putting food on the table—granted, not always the most appetizing of dishes, but at least she’d tried.
As for the fires, he’d often seen her kneeling beside the fireplace, tending to the fire, her eyes illuminated in the orange glow of the flames with what looked like wonder.
But perhaps it was terror.
His chest tightened at the merest thought of her being afraid. Why hadn’t she told him?
Because you’re the last person she can turn to. You’re the cause of her misery.
“Oh, Bella…”
Ned let out a mirthless laugh. “You’ve got it bad. Perhaps that’s your retribution for having abducted her—guided by your cock rather than any sense of justice.”
“I’ve not touched her, Ned.”
“Not for want of lust. I bet you fist yourself to sleep every night with her name on your lips. Not that I blame you. She’s comely enough—but not for the likes of us.”
Lawrence opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. There was little point in lying. Many a night he’d woken, his cock hard and ready at the thought of her—stroking himself until he spent into his hand, crying her name. Then he’d mopped himself up, overcome with shame and the fear that she’d ask why his sheets were stained.
But she never asked. In her innocence, she’d have no idea of his depraved activities—or how greatly he wanted to spend inside her.
He was a beast—an uncouth, vile beast who lusted after the lady he’d taken captive.
But when he’d held her in his arms not one hour ago, their laughter echoing around the garden, he’d finally admitted to something other than lust.
Love.
Ned let out a chuckle. “I might have something—or someone—to solve your problem. Remember Millie?”
“Millie?” Lawrence asked, feigning nonchalance. There was no forgetting Millie, with her skills at bringing a man to pleasure.
“You know full well who I mean,” Ned said. “She’s staying at the Oak for a few days—on her way to visit her sister. She asked after you.”
“Did she?”
“Aye—even while she was giving me a little…comfort, she asked whether you’d be visitin’ her. She’s very discreet, is Millie, and she wouldn’t charge an old friend.”
