Page 71 of Unmasking the Earl

“I’ll talk him round, I promise. One way or another, I’ll make sure you’re not out of pocket.”

The constable rocked back and forth on his heels a couple of times. Finally, he said, “Very well. I’ll do what you say.”

Relief flooded through her. One problem averted, at least. “Thank you.”

“You’ll tell Mrs. Fiennes I’ve done what I can to assist you?”

“I’ll tell her.”

The constable marched off to command his troop, and Cassie finally felt able to breathe again. But she had only eased the situation in the short term and had come nowhere near resolving it.

The potential outcome was too awful to contemplate. Wycherley was unrepentant and would doubtless provoke Ned at the first opportunity. For his part, Ned was out for blood and likely to get himself hanged if he let his need for revenge win over reason.

Most shocking of all, Julian had, after all her years of heartfelt yearning, finally decided to propose to her. And what had her reaction been to this much longed-for declaration? Not joy. Not delight. Not eagerness to marry the object of her heart’s desire. But rather, a smug satisfaction that he’d finally come to his senses, and the irrefutable knowledge that she no longer wanted him.

Could the situation be any more insane?

Possibly not.

Ned never had the chance to explain what he meant by “making her his.” Did he mean to do the honorable thing and ask her to wed? Or had he planned to propose to her a much less honorable position in his life?

What if the man she no longer loved offered her marriage, and the man she loved with all her heart only offered her infamy?

What on earth should she do?

Chapter Thirty-One

Well, at least the Rose and Crown had softer beds to lie on. Though, Ned couldn’t convince himself they were any cleaner than those in the cell. At least no one would be able to sling the dregs from their tankards upon him. He hoped.

Still, his trials had not yet ended. Not only did his head ache like the very devil, but he was forced to endure the intermittent moaning of Julian Carnforth from the other side of the room.

“Be a man, Carnforth,” Ned commanded. “It can’t be as bad as that.”

“What reason have you to taunt me?” his fellow inmate complained. “If you were in the amount of pain that I am, you would moan, too. I’m blinded by blood and am like to cast up my accounts at any moment. I hope you’re pleased with your handiwork.”

Ned shook his head, then wished he hadn’t. The pain was excruciating. “I did not do this. You charged at me, tripped, and hit your head on a tombstone. Miss Blythe will attest to all that.”

Carnforth gave a fruitless tug on the manacles binding his hands. “She’ll say whatever you want her to say. You’re an earl, aren’t you? Don’t earls get whatever they want?”

Ned sighed heavily and glanced around their new prison. The thickly plastered walls were dark with tobacco smoke and soot marks, and the smell of stale beer was drifting up through the floorboards, bringing unpleasant memories with it.

“Very rarely,” he stated. “The mores of Society dictate what one may and may not have. As a peer, I have less freedom than the lowest laborer. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Nor did he expect sympathy for his situation—or want it. He just wanted people to realize how important his family was to him, and the lengths to which he would go to defend them, or avenge the wrongs done to them.

“I wouldn’t have thought mauling a young lady in a public place would go down too well with Society,” Carnforth pointed out irritably.

“True,” Ned conceded. Cassie made him do things he could never have imagined. His behavior had become unconscionable. Little better than that of the accursed Captain Wycherley. “We all make mistakes,” he said shortly.

“You regret kissing her?” the other man inquired.

“Not at all. Nor do I regret a minute of the time she’s spent in my arms.”

“You may be an earl, but you’re the very worst sort of rake,” Carnforth said heatedly, his eyes flashing. Then he winced. “Oh Lord, but my head aches! I believe I am about to vomit. Is there a pot in here?”

“There’ll be a chamber pot under the bed.”

“How can I grasp it with my hands constrained?”