His fingers were frozen by the time he came to the scoundrel place, Gentlemen's club, a place where whores and gamblers assembled, a place where he knew mabel would never be, anywhere but here.
But the figure in front of the place was hard to miss, he knew every curve and angle of her body, he knew her... But the intense relasation that it mightve been an illusion he lived.
She seemed tense as the door flew open, she was so focused on the door that she hadnt realised that he was watching just some meters away, a woman appeared and something twisted inside of Malcolm as he saw a hurt so visible in her face that he just wanted to stroke it away, he closed his eyes and toke in a sharp intake of breath.
He knew.. she had an aunt who was the maid in his household, her mother died and her father was somewhere. And Malcolm did not budge to interfere knowing it was hard for her to speak on her past, In a span of year he thought her love was enough, that she was beside him was enough, what a fool! He gritted his teeth in a clench that nearly broke his jaw as he surpressed his presence and observed her. He could not hear their conversation but only a blind man would not know that the woman meant a lot to her.
Her mother
Angie Armstrong, the cunning lady of London.
Suddenly a terrible agonizing coldness came over him. Mabel stoped speaking and began to tremble as he watched the door being shut harshly. He silently watched her regain herself, something new he learned, she never cried, never shared any thing in her life with him, yet he opened up. For the first time in his life, and look where it got him.
In this moment I believe she's in a private corner, sharing a pasionate embrace with a high titled man
The words of his uncle replayed like the waves of the deepest ocean, he clenched his hands staring at her in disbelief. His face stark white as she suddenly started heading into the dark alley, perhaps to meet her lover, his thoughts went wild, and in a rage that overtook his senses he jumped of his horse without a care if someone found the viscount of London roaming around by a scandalous place.
Her footsteps was slow and he waited into a deep corner crowding himself into it, and when he heard her step so close and her sillouhettte above the ground he reached out his hand and grabbed her wrist before clamping her mouth shut as she tried yelling,
He swirled her around so she was cradled into the wall of a building, Malcolms gaze did not move from her, slowly he lifted his palm from her mouth and she watched him with horror, trembling like a thief getting caught in action, they were both silent, forming a frozen tableau in the midst of the cold weather, Malcolm could barely feel any cold from all the rage burning inside of him. He spoke, his voice was low and raw in a way he have never felt before, "A scheme, trick" he finally managed to say through clenched teeth, "All of it. Every word from your mouth" His gaze flickered to her lips, full and rosy even though they were trembling and set in a grim line, "Every glance from your eyes" he gazed into her captivating blue eyes, that was now gleaming with with wariness. She was afraid of him. Good. "Each touch and whisper. Nothing but a deceit"
She didn't rage. Didn't cry and scrream or faint. Instead she simply looked back at him, with that damned cool façade of hers that had enticed him in the first place. But he couldn't miss the clench in her jaw as she watched him, he wanted her to say something, scream that he saw wrong... that it couldn't be true. Was that also a part of her game?.
But she jutted her chin forward and crooked her head lazily, "It is true, all of it"
Hearing her not defend herself or attempt to refute her duplicity. Merely accepting it as the truth. Damned wench, it shouldn't hurt as it did, Dammnation!. To hell with it!.
A new feeling grew inside of him as they held eyes, hatred, so strong that it overtook him.
"How many others?" He demanded.
"How many men have you ensared with your body? Your stories?"
She sucked in a breath, before her eyes blazed though she held herself perfectly still. Her face changed. The cool wall that she build around herself dropped, an anger simmered through the surface, "I could say the world is round and you wouldn't believe me, " She shot back, "So why does my words matter? Why should I tell anything?"
Why wasn't she begging for forgivness? Her strength shocked him—Yet he knew that she never was afraid to snap back.
"Give me the truth," he snarled.
"Want to know a funny tale? Although I have a feeling your already aware. My mother, scrambling and decived plenty of men—that's how we live, if that means picking a wealthy gents pocket, we'll gladly do it" He stared at her shocked by her transformation. Gone was the lovley woman he once loved, the irony if he even knew the word love or another game of hers. In her place was a scheming wench, which words cut like blades, did he knew her after all?
"You get a man to take of his clothes before picking his pocket, is that the way of your living?" he accused recalling just how he held her clasped in his embrace as he murmured endearments to her.
Something bright and feverish smoldered in her eyes, "I only take what I'm given freely" she firmed her jaw, a new wave of anger hit him and he wondered when he would burst, but his tone was deathly low, "Who are you?"
"Angie Armstrongs daughter, Although I believe Lord Ruthfourgh would provide you all the details"
That beautiful proud tilt of her chin--- they were untrue, as false as the connection they shared. She'd looked at him and spoke to him with such candor, but that, too, was part of her trickery. And the caring in her eyes, the gentleness of her touch, her understanding and compassion... that had been an illusion. One he'd fervently wanted to believe.
None of it was true. Everything he'd felt for her had been built upon lies. He thought he'd vomit. "Goddamn you" he rasped. He realised then that he still held her wrist. She felt vunerable and fragile in his grip—but that was false also. He let go, shoving her away as if she burned him.
She looked resigned, " ive seen the worst of the world. Been called every word thanks to my mothers reputation, your curse means nothing"
He took a step toward her. She backed up, putting a protective distance between them, he plunged forward, "You swindled me. And god knows how many others" he truly felt ill. Thinking of himself as one in the crowd, like an endless stream of gullible men beguiled by her. Intoxicated by her beauty, and lured into bed for her own profit, "You decieved me... for your own gain"
"Sure did" was her cold reply, he scoffed in disbelief and clenched his jaw putting the distance he needed
Permanently.
"I want you out of my life, this second. And by god if you ever appear In front of my sight may god have mercy on you"
YOU ARE READING
The Vicious Viscount
Historical Fiction# 2 The Vicious Viscount Mabel & Malcolm's story Lady Mabel is a bastard, once upon a time Mabel was poor, she lived with her aunt , they struggled to earn money and did not have it easy, but in that though time she was the happiest, she had a secr...
