Page 37 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

C ordelia’s fingers rested lightly on the page of her book, but she had not read a word.

Her mind wandered lazily over the morning’s quiet, the way the sunlight fell in soft pools across the parlor carpet, the distant hum of carriage wheels along the street.

She was startled, then, by the low, respectful clearing of the throat behind her.

“Your Grace, a visitor has arrived,” the butler announced, standing straight and motioning politely toward the doorway which still stood empty.

Cordelia’s heart leapt with a spark of hope. “Oh! I do hope it is Matilda or Hazel,” she said brightly, rising from her seat and smoothing her skirts.

The butler’s expression, however, remained firmly neutral. “I’m afraid, it is not, Your Grace, it is… Lord Vernon.”

The words struck her like a sudden frost. Her eyes widened, and she let out a soft gasp. “I will not… no, I cannot receive him here! Not in my own home!” Her voice, though controlled, trembled slightly with a mixture of fear and indignation.

But the butler remained immovable. Before she could protest further, the door swung open, and there he stood. Lord Vernon, tall and imposing, a faintly smug smile playing across his features, despite the slight swelling and redness of his nose, courtesy of her husband’s fist.

“Oh, I think you will want to hear this before the papers do,” he said smoothly, his eyes glinting with the sharp edge of cunning.

The butler, stiff and proper, looked like he might protest, but Vernon patted him lightly on the shoulder, the gesture casual but filled with authority.

“Go fetch the man of the house as well,” he added in a low voice that brooked no argument.

Cordelia could only nod, her hands clenching at her sides.

The butler bowed and retreated quickly, leaving her with Vernon’s presence pressing into the room.

She felt her breath catch, her pulse quicken.

Every instinct screamed at her to flee, yet she remained rooted to the spot, caught between fear, fury, and a dreadful anticipation of what news he could possibly bring.

Cordelia took a cautious step back, her fingers tightening around the edge of her skirts. “I do not understand why you are here,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “But you will remain where you are. Do not come closer.”

Vernon’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. He leaned against the wall just slightly, his posture casual yet every inch of him radiated threat.

“Oh, I have learned my lesson, Your Grace,” he said lightly, almost teasingly. “But you… and that husband of yours… you shall learn one as well. That is exactly why I am here.”

His tone was amused, cruel, and deliberate, and Cordelia felt a chill wind run down her spine.

Her heart beat frantically, and a wave of helplessness surged through her.

She could see the glint in his eyes, the certainty of a man who believed he held power over her, and the fear that had lain dormant since her wedding day returned full force.

“You will not frighten me,” she said though the words felt fragile, hollow even to her own ears.

Vernon chuckled, low and sharp, a sound that seemed to echo in the room. “Oh, my dear, I do not frighten you… not yet. But you will understand soon enough.”

Cordelia’s stomach twisted. Alone with him, she felt the weight of his menace like a physical pressure, pressing her toward the back of the room. Every instinct told her to run, to scream, to call for Mason, but he was not there yet, and for now, she was entirely at Vernon’s mercy.

Cordelia barely had time to register the sound of hurried footsteps before the door burst open.

Mason strode in, each step deliberate and heavy, the very air around him seeming to tense with his presence.

His dark eyes locked on Vernon like a storm unleashed, and his jaw tightened in a way that made her heart both race and steady all at once.

“If you do not leave this moment, I will throw you out myself!” Mason’s voice cut through the parlor like a whip.

Vernon’s hands lifted in mock surrender, a thin, condescending smile curling his lips. “Now, now, Your Grace,” he said smoothly. “I have only come to talk.”

Mason’s glare did not waver. “We have nothing to talk about,” he growled, stepping closer until his shoulder nearly brushed Cordelia’s. “And I repeat, leave our house.”

Vernon’s amusement was undimmed. “Not before I say what I have come to say.” His eyes flicked toward Cordelia, and she felt a surge of fear, remembering all too well the cruel glint that could hide behind his civility.

Mason scoffed. “Haven’t you tried everything already? No matter what you intend to say, it won’t make any difference.”

Vernon’s lips twitched in irritation, but he did not advance. Instead, he remained frozen, studying the man who had become his greatest obstacle, and Cordelia felt a measure of relief, knowing Mason was there to guard her.

She glanced up at him, grateful yet terrified all at once, aware of the storm in his eyes that both protected and warned.

Then, Vernon’s words cut through the parlor. “We could have done this the easy way, mind you. This is your choice, all of this.”

“Get to the point!” Mason snarled.

Vernon glared at him. “Gladly. You see, we always assume that we belong to the family we are born in, right? We never question our parents. Our mothers are safe in a sense that we always know who they are.” He chuckled as if it were the funniest thing ever said.

Then, he lifted his index finger into the air and threatened no one in particular.

“But our fathers… now, they are a different matter completely.”

Cordelia still had no idea what he was referring to. Knowing him, it was yet another vile lie, and all she wanted was him gone from her home. Still, having Mason by her side and remembering that he was willing to punch a man senseless for her sake brought her a sense of safety.

“Which brings me to my point,” Vernon finally declared. “And that is the simple fact that you, my dear Cordelia, are not your father’s daughter. Yes, you are an illegitimate child… a bastard if you will.”

Mason lunged to pounce on the man again, but her hand kept him in place although she had no idea how. But Mason listened. And he stayed by her side, his entire body taut like a violin string.

“And my offer is this: you will either give me… let’s say, three quarters of your father’s wealth—which will still leave you with enough, I must say.

See how generous I am?” he chuckled again, revealing a row of uneven teeth.

A long time ago, she liked that smile, and it made her feel safe.

Now, all she wanted to do was run away from it.

Then, he continued, taking their silence as compliance. “If you do not comply, I will make sure that the illegitimacy claims are published in all the papers. That will let the ton see exactly who you are and that you have been fighting for an inheritance that doesn’t even belong to you.”

For a moment, Cordelia didn’t know if she believed him or not. Her mother hated her, that much was obvious. But did she hate her father as well?

No, no, it can’t be, Cordelia kept reminding herself.

Mason’s hand tightened on the small of her back, anchoring her though she barely felt it. He didn’t flinch. Instead, his eyes narrowed, dark and stormy.

“You will not touch her fortune,” he said sharply. “And the ton is quite capable of seeing the kind of man you truly are without any newspapers to inform them. You are mad if you think that the ton will take seriously anything you say after everything you’ve done.”

Vernon laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Ah, the great Duke of Galleon, protector of his wife’s modest fortune! You think your threats impress me? You would rather play the hero than see reason as always.”

Cordelia felt a surge of indignation. “You will not speak of my father or my mother that way,” she said, voice steady though her pulse raced. “You have no claim here, and you will not frighten me.”

Vernon’s eyes glinted cruelly. “And yet, my dear, it seems your husband is far too polite to destroy me outright. But threats can be subtle, can they not?”

Mason’s hand clenched into a fist. “You will leave now, or I will make certain you regret it. This house is no place for your schemes.”

Vernon tilted his head, still smiling. “Schemes? Only a business transaction, my good man. One must ensure one’s future.”

Cordelia’s stomach tightened. She could feel the electric tension in the room, the dangerous edge of Mason’s anger, the audacity of Vernon’s greed. Their words bounced off each other, sharper and sharper, until the room seemed to shrink with the weight of it all.

“And what you fail to comprehend is the simple fact that my claim has irrefutable backing,” he continued, smugly.

“What do you mean?” Mason asked, losing his patience.

Vernon glanced at Cordelia then continued, “Cordelia’s mother has agreed to support my claim in court if need be.”

The news felt like a lightning bolt struck her. Cordelia sank back onto the sofa, the cushions swallowing her as if they could shield her from the sharpness of Vernon’s words. Her hand flew to her chest, pressing against the tight knot of fear and disbelief that had formed there.

“My mother… my own mother would do this?” she whispered, the sound barely audible over the thrum of her heart. The betrayal cut deeper than any scheme, any threat. It was intimate, cold, and absolute.

Vernon’s smile was smug, triumphant. “She sees reason, my dear. She recognizes the… practicality of my claim. You may wish to think yourself safe, but your family’s support, your very blood, leans toward my cause.”

Cordelia’s eyes filled with tears, hot and bitter.

She had expected cruelty, ambition, even greed but not this.

Not the thought that the one person who was supposed to defend her no matter what could align with the man who had tormented her, schemed against her, and tried to strip away everything that was hers.

She tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, words lodged there like splinters. Vernon’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the air around him a suffocating fog of malice. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to leave, but her legs refused to obey.

“Why…” she finally breathed, voice trembling, “…why would she do this?”

Vernon’s laugh was soft, mocking. “Reason, my dear. Practicality. Nothing personal. But the law, and the ton, will favor even a semblance of truth over sentiment. You may be shocked, you may be hurt, but that changes nothing.”

“That’s enough.” Mason’s voice rose like thunder, absolute and unyielding. “We will not listen to another word of these lies. You have said all you will say here and no more.”

Vernon’s smug smile faltered for the first time. He raised his hands in mock surrender, the gesture both theatrical and irritating. “All right, all right, as you wish,” he drawled, his voice laced with that same venomous charm. “But bear in mind, you have chosen this, not me.”

Cordelia’s chest tightened at his words, but Mason’s hand on her shoulder was protective enough to keep her composure.

She watched as Vernon retreated toward the door, each step slow and deliberate, as if savoring the sting of his own threat.

When the door clicked closed behind him, Cordelia didn’t feel relieved.