Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Her reputation shall survive, Townsend. Lady Ophelia and I are betrothed to be married.”
He shook his head. “A betrothal can be broken. This betrothal must be broken, for she deserves far better than you.”
“Let me guess,” said Wescott acidly. “She deserves you?”
“Yes. I love her. I’ll treat her with the respect that is owed her, every day of her life.”
“Strong feelings for a woman who doesn’t even know who you are,” Wescott snapped back.
Ophelia watched as they argued, and had the sense the two men, in less fraught circumstances, might be friends. In fact, the man named Townsend looked much the way the marquess had appeared last night. His coat was mussed and his cuffs not quite clean. His ebony hair, while not as long as Wescott’s, looked equally straggled and wild.
Townsend turned back to her, taking a step forward in appeal. “Lady Ophelia, you must break your betrothal to this man. Please understand, he does not have the tenderness of feeling, the concern and admiration that I carry in my heart.”
“For me?” she whispered.
Wescott snickered beside her. She wished him to be quiet, for he was not being kind.
“I’m sorry, Lord Townsend,” she said, rubbing her throat. “I know we’ve made an acquaintance. We danced, didn’t we? Once?”
“Indeed, only once, to my dismay. Before then, I admired you at other balls and dances, and observed your vocal recital at Lady Garland’s party in June. Your voice bespelled me. Since then, I’ve attended every one of your performances at the theater. If only I’d been the one to rescue you last night, you would not have been so disrespected, I assure you.”
“See here,” Wescott said. “You did not rescue Lady Ophelia. I did. You don’t understand the circumstances. I suggest you stop your ridiculous exclamations of love and see yourself out of the lady’s drawing room, since this entire situation has nothing to do with you.”
Townsend turned to her mother. “Lady Halsey, you must want better for your daughter. You must sense, with your maternal instinct, the absolute sincerity of my love.”
Lady Halsey wrung her hands. “My daughter has already been promised to Lord Wescott,” she said. “The contract has been signed.”
“By her?” Townsend held out a hand to Ophelia. “Have you signed it, lady?”
“Don’t touch her,” Wescott growled.
Ophelia was taken aback by the possessiveness in his threatening words. As for Lord Townsend, she’d never seen a man behave so, spouting love talk and soulful declarations as if they’d courted one another for years.
“Have you signed it?” Townsend pressed her, his voice like a plea.
She shook her head. She had not read it, signed it, or learned anything of what was in it.
“I’m a marquess, you see, the same as him.” When he gestured toward Wescott, Ophelia noticed that the other man’s hands looked ready to strike. “I’m a duke’s son.”
“So am I, you utter buffoon.”
Lord Townsend ignored him, speaking only to her, and occasionally darting a look toward her mother. “I’ll be Duke of Lockridge one day, my lady, with a holding as great as his, and you can be my duchess. Unlike him, I adore you. I have adored you since I first laid eyes on you, and reflect often on your lightness and grace.”
“Are you quite finished?” Wescott’s voice sounded like a warning, but Townsend was not cowed. He moved toward the man, who was just a little bit taller and broader than him.
“I am not finished.” Townsend tipped up his chin. “I don’t care about the damage you caused to her reputation, Wescott. I don’t care if people gossip. I am prepared to marry her nonetheless.”
“I rescued her, so I shall marry her. If the gossips—”
“Damn the gossips. They can just as well gossip about me instead of you. At least I will love and respect the lady in a way you never can. I know you, Wes. I know your moral shortcomings, and your wicked, damnable habits.”
Her mother gasped. Wescott’s spine snapped even tighter and straighter than before. “Continue that line of argument, and you’ll regret it.” His voice sounded low and sharp as a knife. “I know you, too, Townsey. I have plenty of stories to tell regarding your own ‘wicked habits,’ but I won’t, to protect the ladies’ sensibilities. Have some manners, you mad, lovesick calf, or I’ll use my fists to teach you some.”
“That’s your way, isn’t it? You’re unfailingly brutish and rude.”
“No, brutish and rude is intruding on a lady’s privacy and behaving in this manic fashion.”
“My lady.” Now he did take Ophelia’s hand, and went down on one knee. “Tell Wescott you will not marry him, that you prefer to make a life with me.”
Ophelia’s thoughts spun. Townsend’s gaze was so intense, his eyes a vivid amber-gold beneath dark lashes. Wescott was at her other side, his hovering presence radiating anger. If the men had been friends once, she feared they never would be again. As for which she would choose for a husband—at the moment, she didn’t want either one.