Page 21 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)
Briar paced her study, staring at the words she’d just written and crossed out, and rewritten again. Ink splotches were speckled everywhere, and she’d almost thrown the bloody inkpot and her uncooperative quill into the wall.
Her contrary muse had returned and then vanished again, which was beyond frustrating, especially after Theo had asked her to publish the next volume sooner, given the demand. He’d promised they would print a thousand copies, nearly double the amount of the last printing.
If she didn’t get her scattered thoughts together, there would be no Lady Ivy! However, something else—no, someone else—kept taking up the entirety of her brain. That deuced earl. The constant innuendo was maddening, turning her efficient writerly brain to depraved mush.
Ever since the ball, something had evolved anew between them, and it wasn’t just his unseemly insinuations of things he had no business knowing.
It was as though he could see who she really was, hidden behind all her thick layers of defense.
But how could he? No one knew that, least of all her.
But for the first time in her life, Briar wanted what Lady Ivy did.
With him .
Which would be a disaster. If their kiss had proven anything, it was that opening Pandora’s metaphorical box would be a mistake. This was why she needed someone like the viscount. He inspired nothing. No lust, no interest, no curiosity or care.
She had goals. And plans. She had to stay focused on the prize…which was Preston, not the earl.
“My lady,” a footman interrupted. “You have a caller.”
Ah, perfect timing. Vesper had said she was going to stop by. Briar needed to get some of these confusing qualms off her chest, and who better to confess her fears to than one of the trusted Hellfire Kitties, even if it was the bloody blight's own sister.
“In here, Ves,” she called out, not bothering to tidy up the mess with parchment strewed everywhere. She didn’t call for her lady’s maid because she would not need a chaperone, nor did she bother to smooth her messy hair or wrinkled dress. Vesper wouldn’t care.
However, it wasn’t Vesper who entered…it was Viscount Sackley.
Stunned, Briar peered owlishly at him. “My lord, this is a surprise.”
“Lady Briar,” he greeted with a bow. “I trust you are well.”
“I am. I wasn’t expecting company. Well, not you, I mean. Please, sit.” She glanced at the desk, gut clenching at the handful of Lady Ivy chapters written out, though it wasn’t likely that he would know what they were. The man was used to reading sermons, not sensation fiction.
He smiled and took the nearest armchair.
It was strange how she’d thought him handsome before.
Now his hair was too colorless, his eyes were the wrong shade of blue, and his mouth was thin instead of full.
Briar shook her head. She wasn’t interested in him for his looks, only his name.
Oddly thankful that the door remained open, she peered at him.
Perhaps she should send for her lady’s maid.
“You’ve ink all over your dress,” he chided. “Did you bathe in it?”
Briar blinked at the jab. Swallowing any retort and reminding herself what was at stake, she smiled politely and perched on a seat. There were footmen right outside the room—she’d hear him out and then he would leave. “What brings you here today, my lord?”
A pale gaze studied hers. “I have come to reinstate our engagement.”
Briar blinked at the abrupt pronouncement as he stared at her expectantly. Did he expect her to swoon with gratitude? She should have felt happy that she’d gotten what she wanted, but Briar felt nothing, not even satisfaction. “What about Lady Penelope?”
“What about her?” the viscount asked.
Indignation sparked. Penelope might lack all the personality in the world, but she was still a human being who had feelings. Why were men like this? Not all men , her inner voice instantly chimed. “She is your fiancée.”
“She is of no consequence,” he said dismissively. “I acted in haste that morning when I saw you participating in such vile propaganda. However, I am a forgiving man. As my wife, you will naturally curtail all activity with Viscount Amberley’s wife and those women.”
Briar frowned. “Were you following me?”
Something off-putting gleamed in his pale stare. “A lady should never keep secrets from her husband.”
“You’re not my husband,” she said. His fingers squeezed on the armrests, and she had the distinct impression that if she’d been near enough, they would have closed over any part of her.
“Not yet,” he replied. “But let us move past this, shall we? I’m willing to let your transgressions be forgiven. You have need of me, Lady Briar, and I have need of you.” He leaned forward. “In fact, you require guidance and deliverance.”
The way he said it had her stomach churning for no reason. His voice was even, his face calm, but something in that fervent stare rode her instincts hard. She suddenly did not feel safe at all. “Are you forgetting I’m engaged?”
He sneered. “To that scapegrace? Come now, Lady Briar, you know you only did that to save face with the ton . He is wrong for you. He is a degenerate who is lost, and I refuse to let him besmirch you.”
A shiver slid over her spine when he reached for her knee, and she jumped up, out of reach. “I’m not one of your flock, Preston,” she said, and his eyes flickered at the informal address, but suddenly, Briar didn’t give a shit about displeasing him.
He stood slowly, and she reversed a step.
He matched it, and she did the same until the back of her thighs hit the desk.
The viscount’s hand lifted, and she flinched, but he only moved one of her curls to the side before running his knuckles over her cheek.
His bare knuckles. When had he removed his gloves? Her stomach roiled.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “This brazen defiance. Flaunting yourself in that harlot’s dress as if I wouldn’t notice.
Flirting with that libertine, meeting with those women in seedy taverns, breaking bread with filth and lowering yourself to such debasement.
” A tip of his finger trailed down her neck to her shoulder and then down the back of her arm.
“You think I did not see you? You think I cannot see the sin hovering around you right now?” His gaze fell to the desk behind her, even as her breaths tightened to panicked bursts.
She wanted to move, to shove him away, but she was frozen in place like a terrified statue.
His fingers stopped above her elbow. “You test me sorely, little dove.”
Time went still. Little. Dove.
“It was you,” she said, breathing out. “You sent the notes. You were following me.”
“As I said, you require guidance. You’ve strayed, and it was my duty as your future husband to keep my eye on you.” His gaze dropped to the desk again. “Nothing you do is hidden from me. That man on Holywell Street,” he murmured. “The purveyor of foul iniquity will be imprisoned.”
Oh, God. Theo . “What have you done?”
“My duty.” His nostrils flared. “I miscalculated with Lady Penelope, thinking you would see the error of your ways and beg for my forgiveness. But perhaps a firm hand is what you need.” He pinched hard, the tender skin at the back of her arm smarting.
That would leave a bruise. Tears welled of their own volition, and she cursed her own weakness .
“Get your bloody hands off me,” she whispered, body shaking like a leaf.
“Such insolence,” he said as he struck like a snake, his other hand gripping her chin with a force that felt like it would crush her jaw.
“Fuck you!”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “I will enjoy breaking you of such vulgar habits and bringing you to heel.”
Desperate, Briar scrabbled behind her, grasping for anything solid on the desk until her fingers closed around a letter-opener. Without a second thought, she pressed the sharp point into the soft flesh of his torso where only the thin fabric of his shirt kept it from his skin. “Get. Off. Me.”
“How dare you strike a peer?” he snarled.
She pushed harder, jaw gritted. “You dared strike a peeress first.”
“And who would believe you, little dove?” he crooned. “You’re a woman. It is my word against yours.”
“My very degenerate earl would.”
Briar saw the moment the viscount lost control, the rage snapping in his eyes her only warning.
She’d frozen earlier—she wouldn’t now—but if she physically harmed the viscount, she would be charged by the police.
However, she had a voice…and it was meant to be used.
Before he could shift his palm to silence her completely, Briar opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could.
The viscount dropped his arms and backed away in an instant as the nearest footmen rushed in. “My lady, is all well?”
She stalled them with one hand and nodded, composing herself before glaring at the viscount. “Don’t ever come near me again,” she said to him in a low, furious whisper, still grasping her weapon.
“I have already informed your father, Lady Briar,” he said in a saccharine tone for the benefit of the hovering servants. “It will be done.”
“And I will never marry you.” She turned to the stone-faced footmen. “See the Viscount Sackley out, please. And summon my brother , Inspector Givens of the Metropolitan Police, at once. I wish to report a crime.”
She might only be a woman, but she was one with very useful connections.
The viscount’s gaze glittered, lip pulling into a sneer as he stalked from the room.
Briar closed her eyes, her body slumping weakly while the concerned maids clustered around her. “I’m fine, I promise. Let me know when my brother arrives.”