The Seduction Of Lady Constance (Returning Grooms #1)

Chapter 5

Vincent Fairfield, the Earl of Southdale, was not a man easily provoked. He had built his life on a foundation of patience and practicality, mastering the art of restraint even in the face of life’s irritations. Yet as he stood in the study at his London townhouse, his fists clenched at his sides, he felt his composure slipping away.

Across from him stood Sylvester Sinclair, Lord Ramson, his smile a mocking curve as though he had delivered a great piece of news rather than an insult. The man’s voice, laced with venom and smug satisfaction, had filled the room only moments ago with a tale of conquest, of scandal, and of cruelty.

"I thought you should know, Southdale," Ramson had said, his tone casual as he leaned back against the mantle. "There are things about Lady Constance that you may find… troubling, shall we say. A gentleman has the right to know when he’s being sold a damaged good."

Vincent’s gaze remained steady on the other man, his jaw taut as he felt an unfamiliar heat rise in his chest. "You think to inform me of Lady Constance’s worth?" he replied, his voice dangerously quiet. "I was unaware that you were the authority on such matters, Ramson."

Lord Ramson gave a languid shrug, his expression one of false sympathy. "I simply feel it is my duty to inform you, as a fellow gentleman. It would be a shame if you were to marry her under… false pretenses, believing her to be unspoiled." His lips twisted into a smirk. "I assure you, she is quite the opposite."

The moment those words left his mouth, something dark and unyielding snapped within Vincent. The implication was clear, the insult blatant, and beneath it all lay a cruel satisfaction that Ramson did not bother to conceal. The image of Constance, proud and dignified even in the face of society’s scorn, flared in Vincent’s mind. He remembered the wariness in her eyes, the guardedness that had shaped her every response, and in that moment, he finally understood. This man, with his smug grin and careless cruelty, was the source of her pain—the reason she had come to mistrust every promise, every kind word.

Without a word, Vincent closed the distance between them in two strides. His fist connected with Ramson’s jaw with a force that sent the man stumbling back, a cry of surprise escaping his lips. But Vincent was not finished. His hands gripped the front of Ramson’s coat, dragging him upright before driving his fist into his gut, then his face again, the sickening crunch of bone shattering the quiet of the study.

"You dare to speak of Lady Constance in such a manner?" Vincent growled, his voice low and lethal as he delivered another blow. "You dare to think that I would place any value in the venom that spews from your vile mouth?"

Ramson struggled in his grasp, blood trickling from his nose and lips as he gasped for breath. "You fool," he spat, his voice ragged with pain. "She is ruined! I did you a favor by telling you the truth. You think she’ll ever be more than a scandal to you? You think—"

Vincent slammed him against the wall, his forearm pressing hard against Ramson’s throat, cutting off his words. "You speak of ruin, but I promise you, Ramson, it is not Constance who will be cast into disgrace," he said, his eyes blazing with cold fury. "It is you. You will know what it is to be shunned, to be scorned. I will see to it that every door is closed to you, every invitation rescinded. You will be nothing. Less than nothing."

Ramson’s eyes widened with fear as he realized the full extent of Vincent’s wrath. The Earl of Southdale was not a man given to empty threats, and the icy conviction in his tone left no room for doubt. This was not merely a man avenging an insult—this was a man defending the honor of a woman he had chosen to stand beside, a woman whose worth was far beyond the petty judgments of a spiteful fool.

Vincent released him, letting Ramson crumple to the floor, gasping and clutching his bruised ribs. He stood over him, his expression hard and unforgiving. "And know this, Ramson," he continued, his voice steady. "You will keep Lady Constance’s name from your lips henceforth, or I will ensure that this meeting is only the beginning of your suffering."

Without sparing another glance, Vincent turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Ramson to nurse his injuries and his wounded pride. As he descended the stairs, his pulse still thrumming with rage, he felt a clarity settle over him. Constance’s past, whatever it may have held, did not diminish her worth in his eyes. She had endured a betrayal of the worst kind, and she had borne it with grace and strength that deserved far more than the scorn of men like Ramson.

He knew then, with absolute certainty, that his proposal to her had not been a matter of convenience or obligation. It had been something far deeper, a promise that went beyond words and formalities. And when he saw her again, he would make certain that she understood that no past could tarnish her in his eyes.

As Vincent made his way back to Riverston House, his thoughts turned to Constance. She had been wronged, yes, but she was not broken. And though she had sworn off men and romance, he would not allow her to face this world alone, nor let anyone else try to diminish her. He would stand by her side, not only as her husband but as her fiercest protector.

For whatever Ramson had intended, he had failed. All he had succeeded in doing was igniting in Vincent a resolve stronger than he had ever known—a resolve to see Constance valued for who she truly was, and to show her that despite the shadows of her past, she was worthy of a future filled with more than just obligation.

And if that future included him, then he would count himself the luckiest man alive.