Page 36 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

C ordelia knew that silhouette before her mind even fully formed his name.

“Lord Vernon,” she whispered, the words tasting of dread.

He stepped into the lamplight, his smile a cold slash across his face.

“Miss Cordelia… or should I call you Your Grace now?” His tone was mockingly courteous, the honorific spoken as though it were a jest. “How… radiant you look tonight. Though, I suppose my compliments are wasted; your beauty is no longer yours to sell, is it?”

Her hands tightened upon the balustrade. “You have no right to address me.”

He moved closer, and the scent of his cologne curled into her lungs like smoke. “No right? My dear, I am your guardian. That means every choice you make, every penny you spend, every jewel you wear… is mine to permit. And don’t think marriage changes that—not entirely.”

“I am no longer under your care,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “You can’t touch my inheritance or control me.”

His smile deepened, cruel and knowing. “You think a ceremony and a name protect you? You think that brooding husband of yours can keep you safe?” His eyes narrowed, the pleasant mask slipping to reveal the glint beneath: malice, and the satisfaction of a predator toying with prey.

“I will have what is mine, Cordelia. You and the fortune that comes with you. If I must drag you through scandal, ruin your good name, or convince the courts that you are unfit to take care of yourself, I will. You may have delayed me, but you have not escaped.”

She tried to take a step back, but his hand shot out, bracing against the stone railing beside her. She could not retreat without stumbling.

“You and your money belong to me,” he said softly, his breath hot against her cheek. “Remember that when you go back inside and play the happy little wife. Because I will be there, waiting and watching. And when you least expect it, I will take everything from you.”

A cold shiver ran through her entire body, but she kept her chin lifted, refusing to let him see her fear. “You’ll find, My Lord,” she said, though her voice trembled, “that I am not as easy to break as you imagine.”

His eyes glittered. “We’ll see.”

Cordelia’s heart was already thundering in her chest, but then Lord Vernon’s lips curved into something far more chilling than a sneer. It was the smug grin of a man who believed himself untouchable.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “your little husband may wear the title, but I doubt he knows what to do with a wife like you. All that spirit… all that fire.” His gaze swept over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “It would take a man like me to… tame you.”

Her stomach lurched. Heat of a different kind, mixed with shame and outrage, rushed to her cheeks. Before she could think, her hand shot up to strike him, the reflex of a woman pushed too far.

But he was faster. His fingers closed around her wrist mid-swing, his grip like iron.

The shock stole her breath. They were close enough now that she could feel the solid press of his body in the narrow space between them, the faint rasp of his breath. The terrace was quiet, and somewhere inside, the music played on, a cheerful, mocking counterpoint to her fear.

“You shouldn’t do that, my dear,” he whispered, tightening his hold until her bones ached beneath his fingers. “Ladies who strike their guardians… find themselves regretting it. Sometimes in ways they never imagined.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to wrench free, but he didn’t let go. Every nerve screamed for her to shout, to call for help, but her throat felt thick, useless. He leaned in, his lips brushing so close to her ear that it made her flinch.

“You see, I can be very patient,” he said, almost lazily. “One day, your husband will be gone. And when that day comes, you’ll discover you’ve been mine all along.”

Cordelia’s free hand gripped the balustrade for balance. She felt trapped, caught in the cage of his presence, and the knowledge that no one could see them out here settled over her like a weight.

Before she could move, before she could even breathe, the crushing presence in front of her was suddenly gone. Lord Vernon was wrenched backward with such force that he gave a startled grunt, and then Mason’s fist connected with his nose in a sickening, decisive crack.

Vernon staggered, one hand flying to his face.

Blood seeped between his fingers, dark against the stark whiteness of his cravat.

Cordelia’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.

The world felt narrowed to the pounding of her heart and the broad figure now standing between her and danger.

Mason didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed, sharp as a blade, on Vernon.

“Leave,” Mason said, his voice low and deadly calm. “Now. Before I stop being gentle.”

Vernon’s eyes burned with venom, but when he spat a mouthful of blood onto the terrace stones, the gesture only made him seem smaller but meaner. “You’ll regret this,” he snarled, his words thick and nasal. “Both of you.”

Mason didn’t so much as flinch. He took one step forward, and that was enough. Vernon retreated, his movements unsteady, and disappeared back into the golden-lit ballroom. Only then did Cordelia turn her eyes to Mason.

He was still facing the door, but she could see the tension in him: his shoulders rigid, his fists flexing, the faint tremor in his hands. It was not fear, she realized, but the aftershock of fury held barely in check.

Her breath caught. This was a Mason she had never seen before, so fierce, protective… and frightening in his intensity.

When Mason saw Vernon’s hand on her, saw the way the man’s eyes glinted with something cruel and possessive, Mason felt his chest tighten so sharply he could barely breathe.

Logic and restraint were drowned by a tidal wave of panic and fury.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t weigh consequences… he could only act.

And he did.

The punch landed before he even realized he had raised his fist. The sight of Vernon stumbling back, clutching his bleeding nose, brought Mason no satisfaction, only a deep, unsteady relief that Cordelia was no longer within reach of the monster.

But as he turned to her, Mason saw it: the flicker of fear in her eyes. Not at Vernon but at him, at the violence she had never imagined him capable of. His heart sank.

He reached for her hand, but she flinched, and it utterly broke his heart. She had finally seen the animal he had been endeavoring to keep under control his entire life. Then, she noticed her own reaction as well and forced composure upon herself.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper. “I… I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.”

He shook his head, taking a step away from her. “Violence is never the answer. I… I shouldn’t have struck him.”

Her hands reached for him, her voice soft but insistent. “Mason, you had no choice. You protected me.”

He shook his head, cutting her off gently but firmly. “We should go back inside. It’s done. We leave this here.”

He offered her his arm, not as a command but as a steady anchor, a promise that she was safe and that he would hold himself together for her sake, even if it killed him to restrain the rest of his fury.

Inside, the warm light and muted murmur of the ball felt almost foreign after the cold violence outside.

He kept his arm lightly around her waist, an anchor not just for her but for himself.

He could still feel Vernon’s presence lingering, like a shadow across his mind, and the thought made his jaw tighten.

“Are you hurt?” he asked softly though he already knew the answer. Her hand trembled slightly as it brushed against his sleeve.

“No,” she whispered, but he could see the shock in her eyes, the remnants of fear, the fragility that had been exposed.

He led her to a quieter corner of the room, away from the glittering crowd, his pulse still thrumming with adrenaline.

“Cordelia,” he said, his voice lower now, steadier, “listen to me. That man… he will not touch you again. I will see to it. But you must trust me that everything I do is for that cause.”

Her eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, Mason saw the unspoken weight of everything she had endured, the relief, the lingering fear, and most painfully, the helplessness she had felt.

He wanted to erase it all, to tell her she had no reason to ever fear, but he knew some things could not be undone.

He shifted slightly, stepping between her and the room, a silent guardian.

“I will protect you,” he murmured again, almost to himself, and in that promise, he felt both the burden and the certainty of what he must do.

Mason’s hand tightened gently around hers as they stepped back into the ballroom. The glittering lights, the soft rustle of silk, the lilting music, all of it seemed almost unreal after the darkness of the terrace.

Cordelia’s small, steady nod reassured him, and she replied softly, “I know you will keep me safe.”

His chest ached at the simplicity of her words, at the absolute trust she placed in him. He wanted to tell her everything he felt, all the fear, the rage, the desperate need to protect her, but he knew he could not.

He kept her close, guiding her toward the center of the room where a waltz had begun.

Every step was careful, deliberate, but his mind raced.

He would keep her safe from Vernon, of course, but also from himself.

When his anger flared, when his need to shield her overwhelmed reason, he was a danger to the very person he loved most. The bitter truth pressed against him: the only way to protect her fully might be to keep her at a distance, even from himself.

Yet in this moment, with her hand in his, with her warmth against him, that thought could wait.

He would speak to her soon about what they would do, how they would navigate the world together and yet apart…

but not yet. Right now, the music pulled him, and the world outside this ballroom could wait.

He tilted his head slightly, offering a small, almost shy smile. “May I have this dance, my beautiful wife?” he murmured.

Cordelia returned the smile, her eyes sparkling, and he allowed himself a rare moment of ease. As they moved together to the music, Mason felt, just for now, that no threat, no fury, no shadow could touch them here. This was theirs, even if only for a fleeting waltz.

And for tonight, that would be enough.