Page 53 of Enticing the Devil

Humphries blatantly ignored Beynon’s offered hand as he narrowed his beady gaze. “Mr. Thomas, I presume.”

Taking a deep breath to dispel a natural inclination to give in to the rise of temper at the other man’s rudeness, Beynon reminded himself what was at stake. “That is correct. And this is Lord Wright,” he added, indicating Colin, who stood back a bit, just inside the closed door.

Without even bothering to glance toward Colin, Humphries passed a scornful glare over Beynon. “You’re the man who has compromised my daughter and now thinks to claim her hand and her dowry.” Before Beynon could reply, he continued in a scathing tone, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised the twit would lower herself in such a way. Though after so many years of humiliating failure, I’d hoped she’d take herself off to the country rather than go to such lengths for a husband.” His expression turned to one of disgust. “I’ve always known she had nothing of value to offer a gentleman, but I wish she hadn’t decided to whore herself to a blasted pig farmer.”

The spittle from his vitriolic declaration barely left his lips before Beynon’s temper got the best of him. In two strides he had the lord pinned to the wall with his forearm pressed firmly beneath the old man’s loose jowls. Colin was instantly behind him, a solid hand on Beynon’s shoulder. “Let him go. This serves no purpose,” the earl urged firmly.

But the shock and flicker of fear in the lord’s tiny dark eyes wasn’t nearly satisfaction enough for what the wretch had just said about his own daughter. A fist to the nose might be a start. That or a knee to the gut.

“Brother,” Colin warned.

Recalling that he still needed the lord’s signature, he slowly eased up the pressure of his arm across Humphries’s throat. The older man immediately began to sputter and shake in his rage.

But Beynon held fast to his cravat. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a father,” he muttered thickly, his temper just barely in check.

“At least now the useless chit will have the husband she deserves,” Humphries retorted. “A pig farmer and a bastard. Good riddance to the girl. She’s been nothing but a burden since her damnable birth.”

Beynon’s hand tightened in the man’s neckcloth. How had Anne managed to endure such a hateful sire?

“Then you won’t object to signing the special license,” Colin noted calmly from behind Beynon.

“I can’t wait to get the bloody chit off my hands.”

Releasing him before he changed his mind, Beynon stepped back and withdrew the license from his coat pocket. Stalking to the desk, he slammed the license down before swiping up a quill. His movements stiff and jerky with the fury still rolling through him.

Lord Humphries took a long minute to smooth out his coat and fluff his cravat before he strode forward and took the quill to sign his name in a hasty flourish. Then he flashed a disturbing grin. “Good luck with your useless new bride, bastard. She comes to you with nothing but the clothes on her back since you won’t be seeing a damned penny of her dowry. Whether she goes through with this marriage or not, from this day forward she shall not receive a single thing from me. She is disowned. Now and forever.”

Beynon replied in barely suppressed fury, “Fuck off.”

Humphries laughed—a grating, ugly sound—then strode from the room.

#

ANNE WAITED UNTIL THE last possible moment to seek out Lily and advise her that she and Mr. Thomas would have to withdraw from the evening’s event. Though she was deeply regretful for having to disappoint her friend, with the dramatic readings due to start in less than an hour and still no word of Beynon’s return, she saw no other choice.

She was crossing the main entry hall in search of someone who might know where Lily was to be found when the door to the lord’s study opened rather forcefully and a shockingly familiar figure stepped out. Locked in place, Anne could only stare wide-eyed and blinking.

Lord Humphries’s stride was sharp and swift and his slightly stooped shoulders were stiff with tension as he strode toward the front door. On his long, weathered face was an expression she’d often seen in her youth—when he’d still taken something of an interest in her.

It was the look of disgust teetering on the verge of full rage.

She hadn’t seen her father in nearly two years and hadn’t witnessed one of his tempers in longer, but it still affected her just as it always had. Her entire body flinched then froze. Her chest tightened so swiftly it caused her to choke on a gasp when she realized she needed to keep breathing.

The sound had her father turning just his head to pin her with a hard glare. He didn’t even slow his steps and his voice was as cold and unfeeling as ever.

“I never expected much from you, girl. But I sure as hell expected better than this. I wash my hands of you.”

And with those cruel and cryptic words, he continued through the front door and was gone.

Shock and a peculiarly nostalgic sort of pain held Anne in an unrelenting grip. She remained where she was—poised mid-step in the middle of the hall. Her blood was chilled while her cheeks burned with embarrassment and an anger buried too far below the surface to be released.

It wasn’t until after her father’s footsteps had faded to silence that confusion finally overcame her shock.

What on earth had he been doing here?

Her gaze flew back toward the study, realizing he likely hadn’t been alone in the room.

Beynon stood in the doorway—his thick-muscled arms crossed over his chest, his forbidding features drawn into such a ferocious glare it caused a frisson of alarm to slide across her nape, and his black stare focused intently on the door through which her father had just left. A few steps behind him, just visible over his broad shoulder, stood Lord Wright. His attention was fixed on her, a subtle yet undeniable expression of compassion shadowing his handsome face.

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