Persuasion. Brenda Joyce
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now—” he pointed at her “—you are trembling, and we both know why.”
She cried out. But he was right—desire was coursing through her veins.
And he became dismissive. “You should stay away from this house. You should stay away from me. You should give up your goddamned faith. Because you are still an innocent, and I am not referring to your status as a woman. You are an innocent at heart, and do not deny it. You do not have a clue as to what transpires in the world, outside of your precious Cornwall! You do not have a clue that life is really only about death—that death is everywhere, and that nobility is for fools!” His eyes blazed.
She cringed. “What has happened to you?” She wanted to weep.
“You need to stay far away from me,” he continued furiously. “Either that, or come here and suffer the consequences.”
She gasped again. Did he mean that he would attempt a seduction, then and there?
“Do not look so surprised! I am a rogue, remember—a rake.”
She did not know how to reply. But she was about to defend him, and she closed her mouth to stop herself from doing so.
He laughed. “God, you would defend me even now!”
She backed up and hit the dining-room wall. Finally she found her voice. “I will defend you, Grenville, when you have been unjustly and erroneously accused of some misdeed. But right now, I will not even attempt to excuse your atrocious behavior!” Was she shouting?
His eyes widened.
“You are obviously in a state of grief—do not deny it! Whether you are grieving over your wife, your brother, or someone else, the anguish is obvious. But your grief does not give you a carte blanche to treat me with utter disrespect!”
His mouth pursed, as if he fought to prevent himself from speaking.
She realized she was shaking. “I am genuinely concerned for your children, and, yes, for you. If you choose to think I harbor some ancient flame, then so be it. I am not going to try to change your mind. However, I must say something, and you will not like it. Your selfish behavior must cease.”
Grenville was motionless. But he was listening to her, his gaze narrow.
“Go see your sons. Go see your newborn daughter! They need you, Grenville. And then do something to repair this household!” She was most definitely shouting at the Earl of St. Just, but she could not recall ever having been as angry.
He finally said, “Are you finished?”
“Yes, I have said what needed to be said.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “And I am going to check in on the children before I go—unless you object.” She dared to meet his gaze, wondering if he was about to forbid her from associating with his children. If he did, she would not blame him. She would not be surprised if he ordered her forthright from his house.
His face impossible to read, he said calmly, “I believe they will be pleased to see you.”
Relief almost swamped her. Amelia quickly turned and rushed down the length of the dining hall, beginning to realize what she had done. She had just scolded Grenville. She had just shouted at him. She had berated him at the top of her lungs.
She had, in fact, behaved exactly like the harridan he had accused her of being.
And in the hall, she glanced back at him.
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