"No respect for the dead." His words came out in silent whispers, his teeth clenched.
A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply becau...
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Silence settled over the room, his eyes still fixed on her. He watched her for a reaction, and was slightly surprised when she remained silent before him, unmoving and unblinking.
Breathing softly, he glanced down at the will and continued, "He is to do with all that is mine as he pleases. For as long as Lady Atkins shall remain under the control and use of Lord Camden..." Noah paused, heat climbing rapidly up the side of his neck and setting his entire face on fire as he considered Oliver's choice words; control, use. Oliver spoke of Lady Atkins like nothing more than a piece of furniture to be owned, a thing to be exploited—a mistress.
Noah didn't dare raise his gaze to the woman who was being forced to endure such humiliation as he continued, "She shall receive a weekly stipend of four shillings. Upon the refusal of Lady Atkins to these conditions, she is to return to her father empty-handed, and what is mine in property and real estate must be given to the full control and ownership of Lord Noah Bleiz, Marquess of Camden."
Noah was breathless by the time he finished reading the will; breathless and utterly speechless, and the silence of the room echoed his sentiments. For several excruciating seconds, he stood stunned, unsure of what was expected of him. Surely this was a cruel joke, surely Oliver couldn't possibly mean what he wrote! Perhaps there was a codicil somewhere, something to counter the ridiculousness of this will!
Movement on his left caught his attention, and raising his gaze, he was stunned to find Lady Atkins rising to her feet. The hem of her dress settled on the wooden floor as she turned to him. Her eyes, devoid of emotions stared blankly at him.
"Will that be all, my lord?" Her voice was firm and unwavering, confusing him. Why didn't the absurdity of the will render her speechless like it had done to him?
Unable to force his lips apart long enough to respond, he nodded once.
"Very well, you must excuse me." She unclasped her hands from before her and turned from him.
He watched her make her way to the exit, his head spinning.
"Where are you going, Lady Atkins?" he blurted, gaining her attention. She paused by the door, her back tensing as she turned around slowly.
"To prepare my things, my lord."
"You wish to leave?" he asked, confused.
"I do not wish to be controlled, to be used; to be your whore!" she spat out the last word like it was poison, a small frown creasing her brows as she spoke.
"Beatrice!" her father reprimanded, springing to his feet. Noah didn't have to look at him to know he was in agreement with Oliver's will. He would give his daughter over to be exploited by a complete stranger for a few shillings weekly.
Lady Atkins stood boldly before Noah, her steady gaze holding his as she ignored her father.
She was a stubborn and egotistic woman. It was stubbornness that hardened her jaw and creased her brow. It was pride that kept her shoulders straight and her chin up in the midst of utter humiliation. She might have been lacking of many things—of grace and beauty—but her pride was the one thing she possessed; it was also the one thing Oliver sought to strip her of. It was the reason for the will. Oliver was making her choose between a humiliating lifestyle as Noah's mistress and a life of ravaging poverty.
