“Bitch,” Cloverfield sputtered so harshly his spittle landed upon her face.
“Mr. Dale!”
Cloverfield’s hands closed around her throat. “Make one more sound and I’ll—”
The door crashed open to the sound of splintering wood. An angry growl followed and then the duke was hoisted away. Wilhelmina gulped down a series of breaths and grabbed at her bed sheets in order to cover herself while Mr. Dale pinned the duke against the opposite wall.
“You are no gentleman,” Mr. Dale seethed, “but a predator underserving of his rank.”
“And you, sir, are a liar,” the duke responded. “If Mrs. Lawson were truly under your protection, you wouldn’t be sleeping in separate rooms.”
“How did you get in here?” When the duke didn’t response, Mr. Dale shoved him harder against the wall. “Tell me.”
“Anything can be had for the right price and nobody keeps a single copy of any key. There’s always another,” Cloverfield spat.
“I want to kill you,” Mr. Dale said, his voice so low it sent chills through Wilhelmina’s veins. There was no question he meant it.
“I doubt you’d want to hang for murder on my account,” Cloverfield said. Somehow, in spite of having Mr. Dale’s hands on his throat, he still managed to sound smug.
Silence hung like thick morning fog in the air, until Mr. Dale unclasped his hands and took a step back. He gestured toward the door where other people, alerted by the ruckus, were starting to gather. “Get out.”
Cloverfield glared at Wilhelmina. “We’re not done, you and I. Not after this.”
“Is everything all right in here?” a man’s voice asked from the hallway.
“It’s fine,” Cloverfield snapped on his way out the door.
“Looks like the lock’s been broken,” another voice Wilhelmina recognized as Mr. Sellers’ said. “I’ll have to charge you for that.”
“Take it up with Mr. Dale,” Cloverfield said. “I had the courtesy to use a key.”
“Give me a moment,” Mr. Dale told the innkeeper while Wilhelmina hugged her knees and did her best to fight back the tears that threatened.
It was to no avail. Now that the moment was over and she was allowed to reflect on what had transpired – the attack she’d just been subjected to and where it would have led if Mr. Dale hadn’t shown up—an almost violent response took over. She shook so badly she feared she would never find calm again. For the past two decades she’d run from the worst experience of her life. As she’d grown older, wiser, and stronger, she’d convinced herself she would never again be the victim.
Only to have the security of this belief torn to shreds in under five minutes.
“Mrs. Lawson?” Mr. Dale spoke with caution. “Are you hurt?”
To some degree, but not as much as she could have been. “No.”
“You’re certain?” When she gave a quick nod he said, “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Not just because I care for your well-being, but also because we ought to leave. Can you manage to dress?”
“Yes. But…” She stared at him. Even amid the dark shadows of night she could tell that his shirt was un-tucked from his breeches, his legs and feet bare, and his hair in wild disarray. “Can you stay while I do so? In case he comes back?”
He hesitated briefly. “Of course.”
Wilhelmina breathed a sigh of relief. She and Mr. Dale might not have gotten off to the best start, but she now viewed him as her ally. Most importantly, she trusted him. She waited while he exchanged a few more words with the innkeeper, and then the door to her bedchamber closed.
He leaned against it, holding it shut. “I promise not to look.”
With a quivering, “Thank you,” Wilhelmina got out of bed.
12
The rage James experienced on Mrs. Lawson’s behalf was like a vicious beast with claws and fangs. He longed to set it free and let it taste blood – Cloverfield’s blood. Instead, he kept his ire under control for her sake, no matter how much restraint that required. It was no easy feat when her cheek still glowed on account of Cloverfield’s brutal slap, clearly visible despite the dim pre-dawn light. But after all she’d just been through, the last thing she needed was to witness a violent display of anger.
However, one thing was worth mentioning as they continued their onward journey. Just to be sure she didn’t think him impervious to what had happened. “If I did not have the responsibility of being a father and a son, I would have seen that bastard into an early grave and taken my chances with the legal system.”
Sitting diagonally opposite him, she’d positioned herself in an awkward sort of way with her body turned slightly away from him so she faced the window more fully. This prevented him from seeing her face and thus from judging her emotional response to what he said. He believed her position was mostly to do with her wanting to hide her tears.
“I’m glad you didn’t or I’d be to blame for that too.” Each word was like a shard of anguish. “I’m sorry this happened, Mr. Dale. It’s all my fault.”
“What?” Fresh anger directed toward this misplaced belief of hers bubbled inside him. “How are you to blame for Cloverfield’s despicable ill-treatment of you?”
“He wouldn’t have behaved as he did if I were respectable. My reputation—”
“Does not give him or any other man the right to force himself on you, Mrs. Lawson.” His attempt at keeping a level tone failed. Mrs. Lawson flinched in response and James muttered a curse. He scrubbed his hand across his jaw and huffed a breath. “No one deserves to be treated so crassly – to be abused in such a crude manner. I’m sorry if you are convinced you do.”
She shook her head and he heard her gulp down a breath. “Forgive me, Mr. Dale, but it is not merely what happened to me but also what happened to Cynthia, to your son, and to you.” She glanced at him over her shoulder through liquid blue eyes. “You had an altercation with a duke because of me, Cynthia cannot marry the man she loves, and your son can’t marry her unless he’s willing to risk his reputation. In spite of my best intentions, I have a destructive impact on other people’s lives.”
James couldn’t quite argue that view. Even if he was starting to doubt she was guilty of being the adulteress she’d portrayed herself to be, the only thing that mattered was public opinion. And since the world believed she was guilty, she could be as innocent as new fallen snow and it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference. She’d still cast a dark shadow over anyone she associated with.
Still, he wanted to understand her. The artless kiss they’d shared suggested she’d never been properly kissed, not even by her husband. Which was something that boggled James’s mind. And then there was her reaction to Cloverfield. There had been a sort of terrified recognition, yet based on Cloverfield’s response and on the lady’s own assurance, they’d never met before.
Since the first issue was trickier to broach, James decided to address the second. “May I ask you a delicate question, Mrs. Lawson?”
She gave her eyes a hasty swipe and turned more fully toward him. “About what?”