Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(71)

“In the most insulting, unappealing way possible.”

Wendell clanked a few steps forward and called out to them. “Can I offer my lady some assistance?”

“She’s not your lady,” Ransom shot back. “She’s Miss Goodnight. A grown woman. And it doesn’t matter how many of your granny’s tea trays you strap on your chest. They don’t make you a knight.”

Izzy crossed her arms. So, it wasn’t enough for him to push her away. No, he wouldn’t rest until he’d pushed away everyone.

“Your Grace, I am a knight,” Wendell said. “I’m a Knight of Moranglia.”

“And what makes you a Knight of Moranglia?”

“I swore an oath.”

“Oh, you swore an oath. On what? A sword made of a vegetable marrow? You’re not a knight. You’re delusional. All of you.” He lifted his voice. “Admit it. That’s why you’re here, styling yourselves as handmaidens and knights of honor. Because your own lives are too pitiful to face.”

“You’re jealous.” She shook her head. “You’ve never known what it’s like to be a part of something like this, and you’re envious.”

“Envious,” he scoffed. “Of these men? I’ve ten pounds that says Sir Wendell here still lives with his mother.”

Wendell’s face flushed bright red. “A great many bachelors live at home until they marry.”

“Oh, yes,” Ransom said. “And what marriage prospects are on your horizon? Do you have a sweetheart? An intended? At least tell me you’ve groped a tit or two.”

Izzy stomped on his boot and ground her heel into his toe. “I said, that’s enough. If your aim was to make a jackass of yourself and ruin everything we’ve been working toward, believe me, you’ve done more than enough.”

But Ransom wouldn’t let up. “Come along, ‘Sir’ Wendell. Admit it. You’ve never even kissed a girl, have you?”

Poor Wendell. His cheeks blazed an alarming shade of crimson.

Izzy couldn’t see anything but red.

And then Abigail Pelham crossed the dining hall in determined steps, took a shocked Wendell Butterfield by the shoulders, and kissed him full on the lips.

“There,” Abigail said. “He’s kissed a girl now.”

Inwardly, Izzy cheered. Good for Abigail.

With a desperate tug, she tried to draw Ransom aside. “Now that’s enough. You’re going to apologize. We need these people. And even if you are determined to destroy your own chances, I need these people. They’re always here for me.”

“They’re not here for you. They are here for a wide-eyed, precious little girl with emerald green eyes and sleek, amber hair. They were never here for you.”

Oh, God.

The words came as such a blow to her, she actually fell back a step.

“I am here for you,” he said, taking her by the waist. “Izzy, if we marry, it doesn’t matter what they do to me. They can throw me in Bedlam and swallow the key. As long as my child is in your womb, you’ll be protected.” His hand slid to her belly. “We both know you could be carrying my heir already.”

She lowered her voice to a horrified whisper. “I can’t believe you just said that. Aloud, in front of everyone.”

She couldn’t even bring herself to look around for the handmaidens’ reactions. Much less Abigail’s. Unshed tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

All this effort. All this work. All this love in her heart. And it was nothing to him. He was throwing it away. She’d been hoping they could make it through tomorrow together—and they couldn’t even make it through this afternoon.

And to make it worse, he’d just ruined her in front of the only friends she had left.

“You need to break free of this, Izzy.” He tilted his head toward the shocked onlookers. “For that matter, so do they. You do them no favors by hiding the truth. Are you afraid they’ll find out that fairy tales are a load of bollocks, all their ‘oaths’ and vows are worth precisely shite, and happy endings only exist in your father’s storybooks? Good. I hope they do learn it. It might save some other man in my position a great deal of trouble.”

She pulled away from him. “So that’s it. This isn’t about The Goodnight Tales or your solicitors. And it’s not about me. This is about your pride, and Lady Emily Riverdale.”

Duncan coughed, loudly and frantically.

“Lady Shemily Liverpail,” she corrected. “Sorry. Either way. This is revenge for you. Is that it, Ransom? It wasn’t enough to ruin England’s precious sweetheart. Now you want to marry me, just to even the score.”

He shook his head. “It’s not about scores.”

“You are the deluded one.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. Poking right at that empty place where he ought to have a heart. “She didn’t leave you because of my father’s stories. She left you because you were cold and unfeeling toward her. The reason you find yourself alone and blinded and helpless is the fault of exactly one person in this room. You.”

“Izzy . . .”

She swiped a scalding tear from her cheek. “And do you know what? She was right to run away. She deserved better. I deserve better, too.”