Her anger slowly began to rise, and her voice grew stronger. “You d-d-didn’t want to d-do what was best for m-me. You wanted to d-d-do what was best for C-Corinne. What was best for y-you so you d-d-didn’t have to listen to her be-bemoan the fact th-that the Mulgrave n-name was smeared by someone’s h-happiness.”
“Pamela, please. Just listen to me.”
Pamela slashed her hand down. “I am th-through listening to anyone b-but myself.” She turned and raced from the room.
“P-Penelope! Wherever y-you are, st-start packing m-my bags. I’m g-g-going to Bath!”
17
Nick sat at his desk, sipping coffee, his eyes focused on Ernest’s report from the night before. It was his first full day of sobriety since he returned to Bath. After a great deal of contemplation, he had decided to take the last train to London that evening.
He’d been an idiot to listen to Pamela’s brother. From what he’d learned from Marcus, this Lord Mulgrave had no backbone when it came to his spiteful wife. No doubt the ‘talk’ Mulgrave had bestowed upon him had been at the behest of his wife. The man needed to grow some--
His head whipped up as the door to the office flew open so hard it slammed against the wall. Then bounced twice.
Pamela stood there, hands fisted at her side, her chest heaving. He started to rise, but she put up her hand. “Don’t. You. Dare. Move.” She walked up to him and pulling her arm back threw a punch at his jaw.
She might be beautiful, and the woman he loved, and intending to wreak havoc on him, but a small child would have do
ne more damage to his jaw. Except he was still suffering the results of Ernest’s not-so-lightweight punch from the day before, so there was some pain.
“What…”
Like an avenging angel, she laid her palm on his chest and pushed. Surprise made it easy for him to fall against the back of the chair. Pamela placed her hands on either side of him, effectively boxing him in. “How dare you? How dare you listen to my addlepated, idiotic, moronic brother? Why do you think you know what’s best for me? Why do you think you can just push me aside because my brother said you should?”
Silence reigned as she stood back up, brushed off the sleeves of her dress and folded her arms under her lovely breasts. “Well? Have you nothing to say?”
He stared at her open-mouthed. “Yes. You aren’t stuttering.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at him. “No. I w-wasn’t.”
Her reached out and pulled her onto his lap. “You were so mad you didn’t stutter.”
Pamela poked him in his chest. “D-d-don’t think you c-can keep me from stuttering f-from now on by g-getting me angry.”
His eyes roamed her face, eating her up. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and her lips so very, very kissable. Her curly blonde hair had escaped whatever hairdo she had attempted before she’d left the house.
He grinned. Oh, how he loved her. Thinking he had a fight on his hands, with visions of him wrestling her brother to the ground to get her, he couldn’t believe his luck.
She was right. He had been an idiot to let her brother convince him leaving her was for her own good. From what he’d seen, noting her brother had done for her had ever been for her own good. “We almost missed each other; you know.”
“What d-do you m-mean?”
He began to fiddle with the escaped strands of hair resting on her shoulder. “I mean after days of wallowing in self pity and attempting to drink myself into a coma, I had decided to take the last train to London today and drag you back by your hair if you refused to come.”
She leaned in until they were nose to nose. “I b-beat you to it.”
He cupped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “I was a fool. A complete idiot. I won’t even blame it on my own deep-seated fear of not being good enough. I know I’m good enough. Good enough for you because I love you so much and that makes me the best, happiest, and smartest man in Bath. Probably London, too.” He waved his arm around. “Hell, all of England.”
Pamela traced her fingertip over his eyebrow. “I l-love you too, you f-fool. I don’t care that you own a gambling club, or th-that you started life on the streets of London. I love th-that part of you because that’s what m-makes up Mr. Nick Smith. The man I love.”
“Everything all right, boss?” Ernest hurried into the room and taking in the scene stopped, a grin covering his face. “Well, it appears it is.”
Pamela’s face flushed again as she looked from Ernest to Nick. “I’m afraid I was a b-b-bit out of control when I a-arrived.”
Nick tried hard not to laugh. “Out of control?”
“She means,” Ernest said, “that she arrived in a fury, almost knocked the doorman over, mumbled something about killing you slowly and painfully and raced up the stairs before anyone could stop her.”