Page 13 of Heartbreaker of the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #6)

E tty’s hand smarted with the impact. Heavens! She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much—by rights it should hurt him more than her, surely?

He stepped back, rubbing his cheek.

Good. Perhaps it had hurt him more.

“What in the name of heaven’s wrong?” he asked.

“You dare ask such a question after what happened in there?” she cried. “We have to go back.”

“No, Etty, we—”

“It’s Mrs. Ward to you.”

He flinched at her tone, but she ignored the hurt in his eyes. What right had he to be hurt after what they’d witnessed—a brute threatening that poor, gentle soul?

“Mrs. Ward, it’s not as simple as what you see,” he said.

“It’s perfectly simple,” she said. “Or did you not notice the bruise on her wrist? Loveday Smith is being terrorized by her husband—a man who pledged to honor and cherish her.”

“Yes, and she pledged to honor and obey him.”

“Ugh!” she cried. “With that argument you’ve lost the right to even speak to me.”

“Etty…”

The pleading tone in his voice grated on her senses, and she turned her back on him and marched along the path toward Shore Cottage. A couple approached, arm in arm, and she recognized the proprietor of the haberdashery next to the inn.

“You’ve forgotten your basket!” the vicar called after her.

“I don’t give a damn about my basket!”

She heard a sharp intake of breath from the approaching couple, and she held her head high and marched past them.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “A fine day for a stroll, is it not? What splendid weather we’re having.”

The stared at her open-mouthed. At length, the woman shook her head.

“Well, really ,” she said, before turning her attention to the man following Etty. “Ah, vicar. It’s pleasant to see you , at least. Have you been visiting Mrs. Smith? She’s fortunate to have you to keep her on the path to righteousness.”

Etty fisted her hands and increased the pace. The sooner she removed herself from these judgmental, self-righteous arses, the better.

Arses…

Were poor Loveday’s situation not so dire, Etty might have laughed at her use of such a crude word. If nothing else, folk who lived beneath her in station possessed a far more descriptive vocabulary.

By the time the vicar caught up with her, Shore Cottage was in sight, and Etty’s heart lifted as it came into view. Tiny and cramped it may be, but it was hers. Neither she nor it belonged to another.

How blinkered she had been as a debutante in her desperation to snare a husband! Failing to secure a match may have led to her ruination and disgrace, but what of women such as Loveday Smith? She had secured a husband, and the only outcome was her loss of freedom.

“Damn him—damn them all!”

“I quite agree with you,” a male voice said. A familiar voice, which, to her misfortune, she was growing to love, even after today.

“Damn you most of all, vicar,” she said, increasing the pace.

“Could you at least slow down?” he called after her.

“Can’t you keep up the pace, vicar? I thought men were supposed to rule the world because they were stronger, faster, and better at everything. Or is that only when it suits you in your quest for the subjugation of women?”

“I’m not on a quest for the subjugation of women!”

He caught her sleeve, and she spun round to face him. “Then what are you for, vicar? What is the point of you? You deliver sermons about the need to be kind. You tell your parishioners to help those less fortunate rather than merely attend church and wallow in self-satisfaction for a hymn well sung. And yet when it comes to helping those people yourself, you’re content to turn your back and ignore the suffering of the innocent.”

“Loveday Smith is not…” he began, but trailed off as she raised her hand.

Then she lowered it. Striking him only placed her on a level with brutes such as Ralph Smith.

“Please don’t insult me by arguing that Loveday is not innocent,” she said. “The poor girl cannot be older than eighteen at most, yet she has already been seduced by a lecher and sold in marriage to a beast who, instead of caring for his wife, resents her children and no doubt punishes her for the sins of her seducer.”

“Holy mother of God,” he whispered. “How did you know…” He shook his head. “Did she tell you? She can hardly speak of it to me.”

Etty folded her arms. “And I wonder why that might be, Mr. Staines.”

“She knows she can trust me,” he said.

“Perhaps not enough,” Etty replied. “Clearly she can’t trust you to remove her from her miserable life.”

“And you can?”

“I can give her, and her children, a home. She’d be safer with me.”

“Oh, would she?” He shook his head. “Well meaning as you are, surely you don’t believe that you, a lone woman, can defend her against her husband! He’s acting within his rights by marriage. If you took Loveday in, her husband would hammer down your door and drag her back the same day, and there would be nothing you could do to stop him. He’s her lawfully wedded husband, and you cannot fight the law.”

“Then the law is an arse!” she cried. “Why can you not do something? Do you care so little for Loveday and her kind? I hadn’t thought you to be so unfeeling, but perhaps you are—more content to take tea with Sir John and Lady Fulford than sully your hands with the young women whose lives they destroyed. Or is that why you continue to visit Loveday—out of guilt?”

“For heaven’s sake, woman, will you desist?” he roared, his eyes blazing with fury.

She shrank back, and he closed his eyes, then drew a hand across his forehead. When he opened his eyes, the pain in them tore at her soul.

“Oh, Etty—Etty,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Do you not think I’m doing all I can to help these people? Much as I’d wish to, I have no means of my own—nowhere to keep them safe. And so I must be content with the next best thing.”

“Which is?”

“To ensure that they can survive their environment.” He let out a sigh. “I know what I do is woefully inadequate. But it’s the best I can do within my capabilities. Loveday is not alone. There are many more like her—the world is filled with such women. I cannot help them all. But in helping each one a little, I am making a difference, however small, to many. I would rather ease the suffering of many than leave them unattended.”

He turned to face the sea, tilting his head toward the sky.

“I understand your anger,” he said. “But I am but one man trying to make a difference—a lone man among those who are content to perpetuate their superiority. And so I do what little I can. I cannot remove Loveday and take her to safety, for the world is not a safe place for a woman in her position. All I can do is remain close by. Her husband is less likely to treat her ill if he knows I am to visit tomorrow. It may not be much, but it’s what I can afford to give when there are so many others also in need of my services.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets and continued to stare out to sea, as if searching for something—his faith, perhaps.

“You ask what is the point of me,” he said quietly. “That is a question I ask the Almighty each and every night as I kneel beside my bed. And do you know what He says in answer?”

He turned to face her then, his warm brown eyes clouded with misery and moisture.

“What does He say?” she whispered.

“Nothing,” he said. “My prayers are answered with nothing but silence.”

She took a step toward him, and her ankle turned on a stone. She stumbled forward, and he caught her arm. A shock of need coursed through her as he drew her close, and she shivered as the sea breeze caressed her skin.

“You’re cold,” he said. “We need to get you home. It’s getting late—the sun’s almost below the horizon. I’m already in line for a dressing down from my housekeeper.”

He gave a watery smile. “I sometimes wonder whether the life of a vicar isn’t akin to that of a schoolboy. Here…” He offered his arm, and she took it before they continued along the path.

“A schoolboy?” Etty said.

“I’m given weekly compositions to complete, and I must stand up at the front of the class and recite them to my fellow pupils, who often don’t even bother to pretend to pay attention.” He glanced at her. “With a few notable exceptions, of course. The bishop is the housemaster, ready to punish me if I fail to conform to the rules. My patron…” He frowned. “He’s the head boy who bullies the weaker pupils and languishes in his study while I do all his schoolwork. As to my housekeeper…”

“Yes?”

The flicker of a smile played on his lips. “Mrs. Clegg is always ready to admonish me if I’m late for tea. In her eyes, a man who lets his supper go cold has committed the very gravest of all transgressions.”

“Then perhaps you should return to the vicarage forthwith,” Etty said. “I have no wish to be accused of furthering your transgression. I suspect I’m viewed as enough of a sinner in this village as it is.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “To those who matter, you are held in high regard. And none more so than myself.”

Her cheeks warmed at his gentle praise. “Are you saying that you matter, vicar? And, in any case, you know so little of me to be in a position to present an informed opinion.”

“You impugn my judgment, Mrs. Ward,” he said as they reached her front gate. With his free hand he unlatched it, then led her to the door.

“If you knew me better,” Etty said, “I’m sure you’d—”

She drew in a sharp breath as he pressed a finger to her lips, and a sliver of need threaded through her body.

“Hush,” he whispered. “I am not one to form judgment on another through their appearance, and the length of an acquaintance bears no relevance on the credibility of an opinion over another. There are those I have known in this village for years about whom I cannot give you an honest opinion, for they reveal so little—they do so little. There are others whom I might like, or dislike, based on their actions, their conversation, and whether I enjoy their company. There are those who delight in telling me what my opinion of them must be—who are so caught up in their own self-opinion that they care little for the independent opinion of others.”

He paused, then brushed his thumb across her lips in a gentle caress before placing his palm on her cheek.

“And then,” he said, his voice quieting, “there are those such as yourself. Those rare souls that no ordinary man expects to encounter in his lifetime. The purest of souls who express their opinions directly and openly, no matter the consequences—the bravest souls who possess that degree of integrity that drives them to challenge that which they see to be wrong, no matter the consequences to themselves. They are the rare souls placed upon this earth who are ready to fight the evils of mankind—not by wielding swords and claiming glory for themselves on a battlefield, but by standing up to wrongdoing.”

He leaned toward her until their foreheads almost touched, and she tilted her head up, brushing her nose against his. His chest rose and fell in a sigh and he closed his eyes, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Forgive me, Etty,” he said. “I want nothing more in this world than to be worthy of your acquaintance—and your friendship. For, undeserving as I am, I hope, and pray, that for all my flaws, you see me as your friend—your very good friend.”

She lifted her hand to his face, then caressed his cheek, running her fingertips over the stubble on his chin. He opened his eyes, and she was met with the full force of his gaze—the warm chocolate color of his eyes deepening with need, revealing the most honest of pleas.

A plea not to be hurt.

“Andrew,” she whispered, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled, his eyes darkening. “Oh, Andrew—how wrong you are!”

He stiffened. “I-I’m wrong?”

“Yes, my dear friend,” she said. “You are so wrong if you believe that you are just one man, alone, trying to make a difference to the world. Perhaps you were alone before, but you are no longer.”

A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. “You mean…”

“You have me,” she said. “I will not sit idly by while there is so much to be done. Neither will I permit you to question your value in the world. Forgive me for speaking so harshly just now.”

“Your anger is justified, Mrs. Ward.”

“Etty, please,” she said. “Are we not good friends?”

He blinked, and a film of moisture shone in his eyes—eyes filled with hope.

“I would not have you tell me you’re unworthy, Andrew,” she said, “for there’s none rarer than a good man—a man ready to right the wrongs of the world, the very imbalances that have given him power over others. But you are not a good man.”

The hope in his eyes died. “A-am I not?”

“No,” she said gently, tilting her head and offering her lips. “You are the best of men.”

“Oh, Etty!”

He let out a cry and crushed his lips against hers. Raw need ignited in her body, and she drew her arms around his neck, pulling him close. A groan of need reverberated in his throat, and he thrust his tongue between her lips, curling it around her own and claiming ownership. A ripple of pleasure ran through her body, pooling between her thighs, where a hot, thick pulse of desire began to swell.

Sweet heaven! Was this what it felt like to have pleasure at a man’s touch? Not the pain, nor the humiliation at the hands of another, but the warm whisper of delights to come.

Innocent he may be, with his tentative touches and uncertainty in his eyes, but she found him all the more desirable for it. He was no rake seeking his own pleasure, or on a quest for another victim to seduce so he could regale his friends with stories of his conquests at White’s and congratulate himself on his virility. No—he was a gentle soul, seeking a pleasure he was yet to understand.

And her heart was in danger of succumbing to the notion that he sought such pleasure with her.

She flicked her tongue against his, and, with a low growl of pleasure that reverberated in her bones, he deepened the kiss. Her breathing grew ragged as her body opened itself to unfathomable sensations—an ache in her center that begged to be eased. She arched her back, and his breath caught. He pulled her hard against him.

His length, hard and insistent, pressed against her thigh, and she froze, beset by the memory of another—the rush of cold air on the skin of her thighs as fleshy, sweaty fingers clutched at her skirts, followed by a searing pain…

She let out a cry, and he froze. Then he broke the kiss and stepped back, his eyes filled with horror.

“S-sweet Lord, Etty—forgive me!” He shook his head, retreating. “I-I didn’t mean to…” He lowered his gaze to the bulge in his breeches and shook his head. “I-I know not what came over me. What must you think ?”

“Andrew…”

“No—do not make excuses for me, Etty. I had no right to treat you in such a manner. Please believe me when I say I’m nothing like…”

She raised her hand, and his voice trailed away. Then she reached out. He stared at her hand for a moment, then took it, sliding his fingers between hers.

“Do not be ashamed, Andrew,” she said. “You did nothing I did not want.”

“B-but I saw it,” he said. “For a brief moment—in your eyes—I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The fear,” he said. “The fear all women carry. And more than anything, I want you to trust me, Etty—if you feared me, I could not live with myself.”

She curled her hand around his. “I could never fear you, Andrew,” she said. “I might admonish you in the most appalling manner—but that does not mean I don’t trust you. I cannot admire you any less than I do now.”

“Then…”

“I was beset by a memory,” she said, “by something—and someone—I’d rather forget. And you help me to forget, Andrew. I want to make new memories, to conquer the old.”

His eyes widened and she caught the flare of desire reigniting. Did he, in his innocence, know what she was asking—what she offered him?

Then a voice called out, and he froze.

“I say, vicar!”

Etty flinched at the familiar, sharp tone and turned to see Lady Fulford standing beside the front gate, elegantly attired in a dark-green gown. Beside her stood three similarly attired figures, their pale faces all turned toward her, sporting identical sneers.

“Lady Fulford.” Andrew straightened his jacket and smoothed the lapels, then strode toward the gate.

“I was on my way to see you, vicar,” Lady Fulford said. “Elizabeth has an invitation, don’t you, daughter?”

One of the younger women nodded. “Yes, Mama,” she said. “I am to sing at a soiree, to which you’re invited.”

“How delightful,” he said in a tone that conveyed anything but delight.

Etty smiled to herself. Andrew had mentioned the Fulford twins and their voices, which he’d said reminded him of crows scrapping over a carcass in the road.

“And I wanted to discuss the church flowers with you,” Lady Fulford continued. “They’re in a disgraceful state—I fear they’ve been quite neglected. You shouldn’t entrust them to Mrs. Lewis, though she’s a particular friend of mine. My Sarah here is very accomplished in the art of arranging flowers—are you not, my dear?”

“Yes, Mama,” another daughter—who was clearly Elizabeth’s twin—nodded, and smiled up at Andrew.

Heavens , could the woman be any more obvious in her desperation to foist her offspring onto him?

But how did that make her any different to Etty’s own mother? What made the Fulford girls any different to Etty herself?

Lady Fulford then turned her attention toward Etty, who nodded in recognition—but rather than acknowledge her, the woman curled her lip in a sneer again.

“I see you’ve been visiting the needy, vicar,” she said. “Very charitable, I’m sure. But I would counsel you not to spend too much of your time with those who rank so far beneath you. It’s unbecoming in a man of your station. Sir John would object.”

“But—” he began, but she raised her hand.

“Now, now, vicar, you know better than to contradict your patron’s wife,” she said, her voice pleasant yet carrying an undertone of threat. “As Sir John was saying to the bishop only last month, a vicar must lead by example when it comes to the moral fiber of the village, and while visits to the needy are a necessary evil of a vicar’s vocation, he must always observe propriety when it comes to social calls. And he must never neglect his duties when it comes to tending to the church. Now, I insist you take tea with us now. I wish to discuss the village fete.”

“Can it not wait?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon? Sir John would have much to say if he learned of your refusal.”

Andrew glanced toward Etty.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Frances appeared in the entrance.

“I thought I heard you, ma’am. You’re back ever so late, I…” She caught sight of Lady Fulford, paled, and dipped into a curtsey.

“Oh, is that the Gadd girl?” Lady Fulford said. “Very charitable taking her on, Mrs. Ward. Though I must say I’m disappointed in you , vicar. I hear you promised her to Mrs. Ward before consulting my housekeeper on the matter.”

“Why should the vicar consult your housekeeper?” Etty asked.

“It’s the custom,” Lady Fulford replied. “My housekeeper always gets first refusal when the girls in the village go into service.” She cast a spiteful glance at Etty. “I trust you’re not taking undue advantage of our vicar, Mrs. Ward. He’s much respected among the villagers, as well as those among my acquaintance. We quite consider him to belong to us. But then, perhaps we should make allowances, given that you’re an incomer and not one of us. Never mind, I’m sure you’ll soon learn.”

She stared pointedly at Andrew. “Vicar—would you be so kind?”

Andrew bowed to Etty. “Forgive me, Mrs. Ward,” he said. “Thank you for all your help today.”

“It was a pleasure,” Etty said, her gaze fixed on Lady Fulford, who wrinkled her nose. Then she retreated into the cottage.

Once inside the parlor, she glanced out of the window to see Andrew returning to the village, flanked by two of the Fulford daughters, the matriarch and the third daughter in front.

As she watched them, one of the daughters turned to glance over her shoulder toward the cottage, and Etty’s gut twisted at the expression of hatred in the young woman’s eyes. She shrank back from the window.

What had Lady Fulford said? We quite consider him to belong to us.

Etty had a rival—most likely three rivals—against whom she couldn’t hope to compete. Sir John Fulford might be the monster who had caused such misery in the village, but he was merely a lecher, a man driven by base needs. His wife, being a woman with sharp cunning and a desire to destroy her rivals, was infinitely more dangerous—and Lady Fulford was the very last person in the world Etty wanted for an enemy.