A Daring Deception (Spies and Lovers #6) - Laura Trentham Page 0,1
slap.
“That’s no way to treat a young lady.” A man approached, drawing everyone’s attention.
Jessica might legally be an earl’s sister, but at heart she was merely a young woman from a small village in America. She had no experience with the class system that ruled Britain. Even so, she recognized a gentleman when she saw one.
The man moved with an arresting confidence. He wore power as well as he did the finely made greatcoat hanging from his broad shoulders. His hair was a burnished gold, his features even and handsome. He was older than she, but still young. Much younger and fitter than Goforth.
Her heart fluttered with something she’d thought had abandoned her forever. Hope.
“That’s a sharp-tongued shrew, sir. She’s no young lady.” Goforth turned to face the man.
“Shrew or not, in these parts, hitting young women is beyond the pale,” the man said with derision.
Jessica glanced at Goforth, gauging the likelihood of his turning his growing fury on the man.
But Goforth surprised her. His gaze took in the man’s well-tailored clothes and aristocratic accent. Instead of hurling punches or insults, Goforth lips turned up into an ingratiating smile. Would the gentleman be fooled by the sudden change in attitude?
“My name’s Edward Goforth, and we’re on our way to Lipton, seeking the Penhaven estate. Do you know of it?”
“I do. What’s your business there, may I ask?”
“Here’s the new Lord Penhaven, right here in your midst.”
“You?” The word came out on a bark of surprise.
“No, not me. My son, Blake Goforth, is the new Lord Penhaven.” He gestured toward Blake, who had retreated back under their mother’s arm.
“Blake Tremaine, not Goforth.” Jessica’s correction gained her the gentleman’s attention. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky, and the warmth of the sun burst through her.
“Since I married their mother, I don’t see why they shouldn’t take my name.” Goforth addressed the gentleman, but he narrowed his eyes at Jessica, promising retribution.
“Because you’re not our father.” She wished Goforth would disappear from their lives forever through fair means or foul. It was a disturbing thought she couldn’t mold into something more palatable.
“You impertinent little twit.” Goforth raised his hand and stepped toward her.
She bobbed backward to avoid the blow, but nothing happened. The gentleman had grabbed Goforth’s wrist and wrenched it away.
“I think not, Mr. Goforth.” The man’s voice was as cold as the wind whistling through the cracks around the door.
“And what authority do you have to stop me, whelp?”
“I’m the Duke of Bellingham, you arse. You can address me as Your Grace or not at all. If you insist on acting the boor, we’ll call the local magistrate.” The gentleman seemed to grow two inches with his anger.
What made the situation even more unbelievable was that his anger was on her behalf. Not even her mother had found the strength to stand up to Goforth. Bracing his legs apart, the duke cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck as she’d seen the village boys do before a brawl.
While she wasn’t fluent in the aristocracy, even she knew a duke outranked an earl and dwarfed a mere mister. Apparently Goforth realized too and ceded the field.
“I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace. I suppose such things are better handled in private.” Halfway up the staircase, he barked over his shoulder, “Margaret, come. With the children.”
Her mother’s shoulders were hunched in fear or embarrassment, or likely both. She followed like a dog given a command, pulling Blake along with her. She had been beautiful once, but Jessica could barely remember when.
Jessica didn’t follow. She stared at the duke, trying to remember every line and angle of his face. He stepped closer, raised a hand slowly as if she might balk, and brushed a knuckle over her reddened cheek. “I’m sorry he hit you.”
“Honestly, I deserved it. I’m awfully impertinent.”
“No woman deserves to get hit. Don’t ever convince yourself otherwise please.” He glanced out the frosted window to see snowflakes floating down. “I’m only sorry I can’t do more. I hope I didn’t make things worse for you later. Unfortunately, I must ride on to attend to some business.”
“Don’t worry, Your Duke.”
He smiled in a way that made her feel gauche, and she found herself nattering on.
“I’m a survivor. At least that’s what my nana used to say. It was good to see someone other than me stand up to the lout. You’ve given me a bit of hope. Maybe things will be better here in England.”