Page 13 of The Lady Confesses
“Go after her,” Vincent urged him quietly. “It’s patently obvious that you are both miserable.”
“Why?” Joss asked. She’d still be married to a worthless shite, and he’d still be poor as a church mouse and working for a living. “There’s no way it ends well. We are both imprisoned by our current stations in life. I’m too poor, and she’s too married.”
“It isn’t a real marriage, a fact of which you are very well aware. Besides, he’s old. He’s sick. And he won’t live forever.”
“Maybe not. But despite any lapses in judgement on my part, I’m not the type to make a cuckold of a man, even if he is a son of a bitch,” Joss replied. “Leave it alone. I don’t meddle in your affairs of the heart. I’ll thank you to stay the hell out of mine.”
“Is it?” Vincent asked.
“It is what?” Joss fired back, confounded by the whole conversation.
“An affair of the heart?”
Realizing he’d said too much, revealed too much, Joss shrugged. “It’s not anything. Not anything at all. Now tell me why the hell it was so urgent that I come here.”
“I need you to take over for me. Just for a week while we are away in the country. And only at the club. Honoria and I mean to go to the countryside for an extended stay eventually, but weneed to take the measure of the house first, see what needs to be done to make it fully habitable.”
“When do you intend to leave the city for good?” Joss asked. He was ambivalent about it. Vincent was his friend. The Hound was his employer. Sometimes separating the two was very difficult.
“I think sooner rather than later. As for the club, I need someone there I can trust.”
“You have Stavers,” Joss protested.
“Yes, but he can’t very well do it all, can he? I need you, Joss. I need you to manage things for me, and if you do, you will be very well compensated.”
“How well compensated?”
“Two hundred pounds?”
“Five.”
The Hound stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Fine. Five. And while you’re at it, you can consider whether or not you’d like to do it permanently.”
“I’m not a gamester, Vincent. I’m a private inquiry agent.”
“A poor one. You wouldn’t be poor then, I’d make you a partner. Me, you, Stavers. Everything would be split in thirds.”
It was tempting. Very tempting. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not a criminal.”
“A gaming hell isn’t criminal either, not when it’s well run and honest. Mine always has been. My hands are plenty dirty, but that establishment is quite clean.”
“I’ll think about it,” Joss repeated. And he would. Because the financial freedom that offered him would put him on better footing. But he was likely just pissing in the wind. He could be rich as Croesus, and Hettie would still be married to another, and even if widowed, far beyond his reach.
Chapter Eleven
Hettie’s hands werestill trembling by the time she reached her own home. It had been bound to happen, of course. Given how close she was to her sister and his association with the man her sister was now married to, their running into one another at some point had been inevitable. Knowing it would happen and being fully prepared for the jolt of seeing him—well, those were very different things.
She resented him. She resented that he was so stoic and so removed from the situation. Perhaps it did bother him to see her, but one would certainly never know it to look at him. His expression had remained inscrutable, and his polite tone had conveyed nothing of his emotional state. Did he have an emotional state?
It was hard to balance the two sides of him she had seen. When he’d rescued her initially, he’d been patient. He’d been comforting and solid and had offered her—what had he offered her? Nothing. Not really. But she had presumed to believe he had some regard for her. In the end, with his cold dismissal after their intimate encounter, she didn’t know who he truly was. Was he the kind man who’d plucked her from the water or the cold-hearted cad who cared not a whit for anyone’s feelings?
The footman, James, employed by Vincent, helped her down from the carriage. He acted as her guard of sorts, keeping her safe from threats both inside the home and out. His presencewas a comfort to her, as it deterred any unpleasantness from Arthur. But as she climbed the steps to the front door, she heard shouting from within.
Then the door flew open and Simon appeared directly in front of her, his face twisted into an expression of complete fury.
“You are responsible,” he snapped. “Barred from my own uncle’s home! A home that, since you are worthless as a woman and cannot even provide him an heir, will one day be mine!”
“Yes,” she said. “I have asked that you not be given entry to my home. And Arthur has agreed. All the servants have been informed that you are not welcome here.”
