He offered a humorless laugh as he stepped further into the room. “You will find that I can be a good sight more offensive if you do not pack your bags and leave immediately.”
She blinked at the abrupt command. Arrogance, indeed, she acknowledged in disbelief. How dare he enter Hawksley’s home and begin tossing about orders?
“That is hardly your decision to make. I assure you that I am here at Hawksley’s invitation.”
“Oh, I am sure you are.” The blue eyes held open scorn as the stranger deliberately made note of her threadbare gown and boots that were several years old. “Hawksley is never satisfied unless he has managed to surround himself with cutthroats, whores, and every other sort of ruffian he can collect from the gutter.”
Clara clenched her hands at her side. It was that or toss a very large, very heavy book at the older man’s skull. Goodness knew she could not possibly miss his inflated head.
“That is enough. I think it would be best if you left this house until Hawksley has returned.”
The arrogant wretch appeared taken back by her cold retort. As if she were a beaten hound that refused to heel when he snapped his fingers.
Then a decidedly unpleasant smile twisted his lips.
“Ah, I begin to understand your reluctance.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No doubt Hawksley has promised you some sort of payment,” he said as he reached beneath his coat to pull out a small purse. “Very well, I am a man of business. How much will it cost to have you pack yourself off? Five pounds? That is more than generous.”
Clara caught her breath. Never in her six-and-twenty years had she ever been so insulted. Which was saying something considering the innumerable slights, snubs, and cut directs she had endured.
“I do not know who you are or what your connection to Hawksley might be, but I can assure you that you have made a most grievous error,” she gritted in icy tones.
Opening his purse, the gentleman counted out a handful of notes and tossed them to the carpet.
“Ten pounds, and that is my final offer. I suggest you take it before I have you tossed out without so much as a shilling.”
At the moment Clara thought if anyone was about to be tossed out, it was the smug brute standing before her. She might be half his weight and several inches shorter, but she was certainly angry enough to dump him through the nearest window.
“There is no amount of money you can offer me,” she assured him with icy disdain. “I will have you know that I am Hawksley’s fiancée.”
“His . . . fiancée?” Just for a moment stark silence filled the room, and then he suddenly tilted back his head to laugh with insulting humor. “Oh, that is rich.”
“I do not know what you find so amusing.”
“Not even my son would dare to make a penniless tart with no breeding the next Countess of Chadwick.”
It was Clara’s turn to fall silent as she reeled in disbelief.
No.
It could not be.
It simply could not.
“Countess . . .”
His nose flared. “Please do not pretend innocence, it does not become a woman of your ilk. You are obviously a well-educated courtesan who would never be in the company of a common gamester. Your sort always holds out for a titled nobleman. In this instance you managed to snare a viscount. I must compliment you upon your obvious . . . skills.”
Clara barely heard his insults.
Instead she grappled with the horrid, near-mind-numbing possibility.
Hawksley . . . the son of this hideous nobleman. A man who was already a viscount and destined to become the Earl of Chadwick.
“This is impossible.”
“If you mean it is impossible that you would be engaged to my son, I must heartily agree. Even if he were foolish enough to make some rash pledge in the heat of passion, I can assure you that I will see you in hell before I allow him to humiliate his family with the likes of you.”
Clara reached out to grasp the edge of the nearest shelf. Only pride and the refusal to reveal the least hint of weakness before the coldhearted bastard kept her from swooning.
“Dear Lord . . .”
Oblivious to her distress, the Earl of Chadwick pointed toward the discarded notes upon the floor.
“Take the money and consider yourself fortunate you were not tossed out with nothing to show for your efforts.”
Without warning, a fierce fury raced through her blood.
She did not know who was responsible for her raging anger, the evil beast standing before her or the fiancé who had lied to her from the beginning. Or herself for being such a na?ve sap.
In truth it did not matter.
She only knew that she was hurting and in need of striking out at someone.
“I would sell myself in the streets before I touched a grout of your wealth,” she assured him with biting contempt. “Do you know, I wondered how Hawksley could bear to turn his back on his own family, no matter what the difficulties that may be between you. Now I comprehend utterly.”
An ugly stain marred the once-handsome countenance. “How dare you?”
“Quite easily.” She moved until she was standing directly before him, determined to reveal that for all his power and social stature, she would not be intimidated. “You are a cold, horrid man who has lost one son and driven away another. You are destined to die alone and unloved. I would pity you if you did not so fully deserve your pathetic fate.”
For a moment the cold fury in his eyes made Clara wonder if he might actually strike her. Then with an obvious effort he took a step back and gathered his well-honed disdain.
“You will never wed my son.”
A bitter smile curved her lips. “At last we come to an agreement. Now, if you will excuse me.”
She swept past him toward the door.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
Clara did not even bother to turn about. “I am about to correct a near-tragic mistake.”
A blessed numbness shrouded Clara’s mind as she calmly returned to her narrow chambers and packed her bags. Logic warned her that soon enough the shock would fade and she would be forced to confront the pain of betrayal and disappointment.
For now, however, she intended to use her momentary reprieve to flee as far as possible from Hawksley. She would not allow him to know just how deeply he had managed to hurt her.
Taking only a small satchel of her most necessary items, Clara put on her bonnet and wrapped her cape about her shivering form. She could only hope that Hawksley would possess the decency to send the rest of her belongings. She certainly could not afford to replace them.
Once ready, she forced herself to walk down the stairs without looking back. What was the point? The memory of every nook and cranny of the house would be forever branded upon her mind.
No matter how much she might wish to pretend she had never entered the Hawk’s Nest.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the foyer without encountering the dreadful Earl of Chadwick. As furious as she might be with Hawksley and his father, she was certain she would later regret blackening the eye of a peer of the realm.
Opening the door, she had nearly reached freedom when there was the sound of hurried footsteps behind her.
“Miss Dawson . . .”
Clara heaved a heavy sigh as she forced herself to turn and regard Dillon’s anxious expression.
“Please, not now, Dillon,” she pleaded.
Something that might very well have been remorse rippled over his battered countenance. As damn well it should, she told herself, refusing to feel the least amount of guilt at his obvious distress.