Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(78)

Hero waited until he sat across from her and then just said it. “I cannot marry you.”

He shook his head, his expression clearing. “My dear, such bridal nerves are common, even for a woman as level-headed as you. Don’t worry that—”

“No,” she said, causing him to abruptly close his mouth. “I’m not suffering from nerves or… or any kind of womanly hysteria. I simply cannot marry you.”

She bit her lip as he stared at her.

“I am sorry,” she offered belatedly, conscious that she was making a hash of this.

He stiffened at her apology, possibly realizing for the first time that she was serious. “Perhaps if you explain to me the problem, I can help.”

Oh, Lord, if only he weren’t so reasonable!

She looked down at her hands. “I’ve simply come to the understanding that… that we won’t do together.”

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“No!” She looked up quickly, leaning forward earnestly. “You’re everything a lady could hope for in a husband. This has nothing to do with you. It’s me, I’m afraid. I just can’t marry you.”

He shook his head. “The marriage contracts have been drawn up and our engagement announced. It’s too late to change your mind, my dear. You protest otherwise, but I believe this is simply a case of bridal anxiety. Perhaps if you go home and rest, spend the day abed with some tea. I do feel—”

“I’m not a virgin any longer, Thomas.”

His head reared back as if she’d struck him. “My dear…”

“I can’t with good conscience marry you,” she said softly. “It would not be fair to you.”

For a moment he simply stared at her, and she thought he’d realized that this was final.

Then he spoke.

“I cannot pretend joy at this news,” he began ponderously. “But it isn’t as earth-shattering as all that. I will, of course, want to wait long enough to make sure any offspring is mine, but—”

Dear God, but she wanted to scream! “I lay with your brother, Thomas.”

He stared at her, his face slowly going red.

She stood. “I’ve compromised myself and sacrificed both my virtue and perhaps more importantly my self-worth. I’m sorry, Thomas. You do not deserve this. If I’d—”

One moment she was babbling and he was staring at her stony-faced. In the next he was towering over her, his expression red and awful and completely terrifying. She had only a second of fear.

And then he struck her full in the face.

GRIFFIN MOUNTED THE steps of Mandeville House, his mind in a weary fog. Was this what grief was—a mind-numbing fatigue? It seemed so to him. He’d spent the night burying Nick. He’d paid for a coffin and burial clothes, a plot and headstone, and he watched all alone as Nick had been lowered into that cold grave. Then Griffin had returned to his still and begun making arrangements to destroy the Vicar. Just a few days more and everything would be in place to bring down the Vicar and avenge Nick. Just a few more days and then he could rest.

But in the meantime, he had other duties to attend to. This morning he was to escort Mater to the shops to pick out a settee or sideboard or some other frippery. Why she had to do her shopping so blasted early in the morning he wasn’t sure, but she’d been quite adamant about the time.

He nodded to the butler as he entered. “Where’s my brother?”

“The marquess is in the crimson sitting room,” the butler intoned.

Griffin began striding in that direction. “I’ll just show myself in.”

“He has a guest, my lord.”

Griffin turned, still backing toward the sitting room. “Who?”

“My Lady Hero.”

Griffin paused. Hero had been very quiet yesterday as she’d left him. He’d hoped that her silence meant she was rethinking marriage to him, but surely she wouldn’t say anything to Thomas without—

A shout came from the sitting room.

Griffin pivoted and ran toward the sound. A crash came and then another shout.

He flung open the door as the shout coalesced into a single screamed word. “Whore!”

Thomas was standing, shoulders hunched, face bloodred, over something on the floor. The place where he glared was concealed by the settee. Griffin felt his blood turn to sharp, stabbing ice in the second it took him to cross the room and look over the settee.

She was alive. That much he saw and comprehended. She lay in a pool of emerald green skirts but she was alive.

Then his attention was drawn to the red mark on the side of her beautiful face.

It was in the shape of a man’s hand.

Roaring filled his head, white and complete, drowning out sound, sight, and reason. He took Thomas low, his shoulder slamming into his brother’s belly. Thomas staggered back, hitting a chair, and they both went over, chair and all. Thomas swung a fist, and Griffin took it on the shoulder, not even feeling the blow.

Not feeling anything but murderous rage.

He lowered his head and beat, fists balled, teeth clenched, the roaring in his ears loud and total. He saw only Thomas’s bloody face, his brother’s mouth moving, saying something, perhaps pleading, and Griffin’s heart swelled with gleeful rage.

He’d touched her. He’d hurt her. And for that he deserved to walk upon crippled legs.