Page 24 of His One and Only Lady

She tried to box his ears, but he caught her hand in his and gave her a rough shake.

He chuckled, a deep evil rasp. “Didn’t you wonder why you have a chamber to yourself? A few coins in a greedy palm works wonders.”

Theran would be having a conversation with his aunt on the morrow. A dishonest servant could not be tolerated.

“I’d prefer you willing, Purity, but your disinclination shan’t dissuade me. Surely after so many years in my employ, you know I get what I want.”

“You…cannot…have me,” Purity managed between gasps.

Fury sent Theran’s blood to boiling.

This pizzle in a neckcloth would force her?

The bloody, rotten devil’s spawn.

It had been a long time since Theran had used his fists on anyone. Not since he’d vowed to Imogene he’d never do so again.

But she was dead, and this reprobate needed to be taught an overdue lesson.

Theran stepped through the nursery door and closed it behind him.

“Let her go,” he growled, low in his throat.

I find myself torn between honoring the confidentiality I vowed to keep and doing what is just and right in God’s eyes. Your placement at Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women was not the first time I’d contracted to accept a toddler. However, your benefactor misled me when he assured me no one wished to care for you.

You do, in fact, have an uncle. Paul Beckwith, the Marquess of Ballister, was named your guardian and only recently learned you survived the fire that killed your parents. Lord Ballister is most insistent that he meet you. I believe he is a good man—an honorable man, unlike his sire.

Toward that end, Purity, I have given him your direction at Petherwick Court. I anticipate this will be a shock for you, but in my heart, I know it is the right thing to do. You should never have been raised as an orphan. He intends to take you into his home and provide you the support that was due you. Whether you accept, of course, is a decision only you can make. Regardless, I hope you will pray for our Lord’s guidance before you decide.

~Mrs. Hester Shepherd, proprietress of Haven House and Academy for the

Enrichment of Young Women, in a letter to Miss Purity Mayfield

- Forwarded to Mottford Hall

Still in the third-story corridor

An excruciating minute later

Mr. Rutland’s fury-laden order disconcerted Lord Ceddes enough for Purity to wrest free of his unexpectedly strong grasp. Clutching her torn nightgown at her neck and bosom, she dashed several feet away. Her heart threatened to escape its confines, and her thoughts tumbled over one another as she cowered against the wall. Chest rapidly rising and falling and blood hammering a staccato in her ears, she sucked in air as her befuddled mind raced to assimilate her employer’s attack upon her person.

God above.

The fiend had meant to ravish her.

In all of the years she’d been in his employ, his lordship had never hinted, in word or action, at his licentious nature. But then again, Purity typically encountered Viscount Ceddes only twice yearly. Usually for three or four days and always under the watchful eye of his attentive wife.

In hindsight, Purity understood that Lady Ceddes’s attentiveness to her wayward spouse bespoke distrust rather than affection.

For a slight man, the viscount was far stronger than she’d have supposed. Her aching wrist gave testament to that fact. Purity had no doubt she’d sport a bruise as a result.

She shook her head to clear the hair clinging to her face—she dared not use her hands for fear of revealing herself to the men.

Face thunderous and appearing rather like an incensed bull intent on charging and impaling his lordship, Mr. Rutland had positioned himself into a pugilist’s stance. His murderous glare would’ve given a wiser, less inebriated man pause.

Not so, Lord Ceddes.

The soused-to-his-immaculate-neckcloth jackanape was oblivious to the danger before him.