Born of Persuasion by Jessica Dotta Page A

ways—”
    “No.” My throat grew even tighter. “There are some things I shall never do.”
    “Nor shall you be asked to,” Mr. Greenham said through gritted teeth, glaring at Lady Foxmore. “Upon my oath, nothing shall be required of you which you are unwilling to do. If I may be allowed, let me restate my offer. Would you honor me by permitting me to purchase your locket? I shall retain it until you are capable of purchasing it back again.”
    “That’s hardly showing fortitude on her part, John.”
    A vein in his neck emerged. “This is no game, and—”
    “Temper, temper,” Lady Foxmore said in a singsong voice.
    His eyes flashed with a look of sheer rage, but unlike my father he found a place in which to tuck it away. He turned back to me in full control of himself and extended the banknotes. “Will you honor me by accepting my offer?”

THE NIGHT FOLLOWING my pact with Lady Foxmore, a smattering of pebbles bounced off the shutters, puncturing my dreams. I opened my eyes, realizing the sound had been incorporated into my last few minutes of sleep.
    Another round of pebbles skidded across the wood.
    Of all that had happened since my arrival at Am Meer, this sickened me the most, for I knew it was Edward. I guessed he’d learned about my visit with Lady Foxmore.
    I wanted nothing more than for Edward to leave, but I knew him too well. If he wanted an audience, he’d stop at nothing short of plowing through the thatched roof.
    Brushing aside the locks of hair cascading over my eyes, I threw back the covers and hastily donned my wrapper. Ignoring the ache in my legs from the long walk to Lady Foxmore’s residence, I went to the window and threw open the shutters.
    Clouds obscured the sky, but light from the waxing moon still served as an illuminant. Drizzle hazed over the withered vines and the rosebushes that had been cut back for the approaching winter.
    Dressed in his cassock, Edward was bending over, retrieving more pebbles, but it was what came next that froze my blood. His elbow suddenly protruded from his shadowed form, and he both staggered and wiped his eyes. A sob rent the silence as he stumbled in his quest for more stones.
    Intoxicated?
    I drew in a breath of cold air. Experience had taught me men never sobbed except when drunk—and volatile. I clutched the windowsill, fearing not the violence Edward might be capable of, but his tongue. Sober, he was a gentleman and would never allow his words to cut, but drunk . . . ?
    He straightened to strike my window again, but upon catching sight of me, his hand dropped and pebbles fell from it.
    “Come down,” he ordered, and then plodded toward the ancient oak.
    My feet were stone as silence engulfed the night. It was foolishness to confront Edward in this state of mind. But I detested my own fear. I had sworn to never again feel weak, to never again cower before another’s temper. Glancing up at the cloudy sky, I wondered how many times Mama had stood thus, cold tingling through her fingers as she summoned courage to confront my father. Yet she had always gone. Her face granite, her heart marble, she always went.
    Gathering fortitude from her memory, I left the window to find slippers. I crept from my room and down the hall, where I shushed the dogs that stirred beneath the bench where the hall boy slept.
    Outdoors, I made my way to the spinney, which at night seemed primeval. Gossamer webs clung to my hands and robe as I groped through the darkness. The marshy ground seeped into my shoes, causing my toes to ache with the chill. The scents invading the air were not those of my childhood meetings with Edward—but carried the foul odor of a bog.
    Under a bower of our oak tree, I stopped and crossed myarms, no longer fearing the woods or Edward’s coming wrath. Drizzle rustled the leaves above me as mist coiled about my ankles.
    I felt Edward’s presence before I saw him.
    “Look at me,” he commanded from behind.
    I obeyed, twisting to see