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Chapter 23

THE LONDONER

REVENGE

All society is well aware of the Rightful Heir’s attempt to make a beggar of the previous Lord Maxwell, who’d stolen that respected title. All society is also left with one shared question: When will he have his final revenge on the man responsible for his miseries ... ?

M. Fairpoint

Everything had changed.

Some seismic shift had occurred at Hyde Park, and nothing for Verity could ever be the same again.

But then—Verity studied her reflection in her vanity mirror—perhaps the shift hadn’t been so quick, after all. Perhaps it had been with each and every exchange, a gradual breakdown that had occurred of those impressive barriers Malcom had put up.

And she should be thinking of her story and the interview she sought.

But could only think of him. Of being with him ...

The following morning, Verity didn’t know how to be with Malcom.

“Get that silly look off your face, gel.”

She tensed.

Bertha stomped out of the dressing room.

“I don’t have a silly look.” Except ... she stole a peek at herself in the cheval mirror, and blushed. Aye, there was a definite faraway wistfulness to her gaze, and glowing skin and—

“I knew ya were going to make a mistake with that one,” Bertha snapped.

She bristled. “I haven’t made a mistake.”

“Do you think I don’t see how you’re moonstruck over the earl? All that sighing and long gazes.”

She frowned. “I’m not some naive girl, Bertha. I’m a grown woman capable of protecting myself.” Except, was she? Was she truly safe from the power of Malcom’s charm?

“Your mother thought the same.” There was a malice in that retort, the like of which Verity had never before heard from the other woman.

“Either way, it’s not your place,” she said crisply.

“Isn’t it? I was taking care of you when you were a babe. And then when Livvie was born all those years later, I cared for her while you—”

“While I saw that we all survived,” she interrupted.

“You’re becoming your mother.”

Indignation swelled in her breast. “I am nothing like my mother,” she bit out. “My mother never put anyone before her love of my father. And—”

“And you’re incapable of thinking about anything except your earl.”

Her protestations faded away on the wings of fear and horror. Verity’s skin went clammy. Nay. It wasn’t possible. Her nursemaid was simply worried about the possibility of the past repeating itself. But Verity couldn’t. She wouldn’t ... love a man who’d never belong to her. Want a future that would never be. Her heart hammered away. “You’re wrong.” She had to be.

“Am I?” Bertha asked with a sad smile. “And this one a ruthless sewer dweller too selfish to share those tunnels with other toshers.”

“He is nothing like that,” Verity snapped. “And you don’t know him at all.”

Tension blanketed the room.