Page 9 of The Lady Confesses
No wonder the Hound felt she needed looking after. “That’s a dangerous sort of promise.”
Honoria nodded. “Yes. That’s a testament to just how important it is to me... how important she is to me. And now, you are as well. You are no stranger here. You were family already to Mr. Carrow, and now you are family to me.”
Unable to answer, he simply nodded and turned on his heel to leave. It wasn’t a question that he would be followed.
“What the devil has gotten into you?” Vincent demanded as soon as they’d cleared the front door.
The details of the night—and the morning—were not something he ever intended to share with his friend and employer. “It was a long night, and I spent half of it freezing my bollocks off in the sewer that is the Neckinger River. The remainder of it was spent trying to avoid all the people who wanted to kill us and trying to keepher ladyshipfrom freezing to death.”
The Hound’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How did you manage that? Keeping her warm, that is.”
Joss shrugged. He had no intention of answering such a question. And he didn’t think it was any of the other man’s business. What had happened was between him and Hettie, and should it ever arise, her bloody husband. “Lady Marchebanks’ bolt hole in the old warehouse. No one else has yet discovered it, and the box stove and furnishings, as well as the blankets, remain relatively untouched.”
“Mm-hm. I know the quickest and most effective way to warm a person who is half-frozen, Joss. It’s not a fucking blanket, either.”
He bristled visibly in response, his shoulders drawing back and his jaw firming. Challengingly, he fired back, “She’s home, isn’t she? I found her. You’ve got the ones responsible for the deaths and for her abduction now.”
“In theory. Did you—” he broke off. Beginning again and clearly striving for patience, the Hound said, “Prior to this abduction scheme, Lady Ernsdale was a virgin. It’s not common knowledge, but it is a very important fact as she plans to seek an annulment from her shite husband.”
Dread. That was the only word that could adequately describe how he felt.
The Hound continued, “But if she’s no longer chaste, if her virginity cannot be proven, then she’ll have no grounds for it. And you know that bastard will not simply accept it quietly!”
Joss shoved his hands angrily into his pockets. He was mad at her. He was mad at himself. He was furious with goddamn Ernsdale for even existing, much less making her life more difficult. “Whether or not the lady is a virgin is something you’ll have to take up with her. My bit in all of it is done. And now, I’m going home. You’ll be getting my bill soon enough. My very, very hefty bill!”
Joss turned and stalked away. He knew the Hound was watching his every step, but it didn’t matter. What had beendone could not be undone, and there was no fixing the muddle they’d made of it all. Why hadn’t she told him? Why would she take such a risk knowing what was at stake? Because she hadn’t been thinking, of course. Because she’d been through something traumatic, and like it would for anyone else, the rush of adrenaline and the need to in some way affirm that she yet lived had superseded all common sense. And whether he wished to admit it or not, he’d taken advantage of that because it aligned with his own purposes. Because it had given him what he wanted. In his own way, he was as bad as Ernsdale and her father. That sentiment did not sit well with him at all.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Bloody everlasting hell.”
Chapter Eight
Hettie had scrubbedat the washstand as best she could before getting into the tub. After all, she’d hardly be able to get clean if the water was thoroughly polluted by whatever dried muck from the river remained. She had just stepped into the tub, sinking down in the blissfully hot and perfectly perfumed water, when she heard the door open. There was the sound of scurrying footfalls and then her sister’s crisp stride. The servants had been sent away, and only Honoria remained with her.
Opening one eye, Hettie looked over at her sister, who stared at her with concern. “What?”
“I won’t ask questions. You will tell me what you wish for me to know,” Honoria replied in that calm and reasonable tone.
“Oh, I hate it when you do that!” Hettie said with exasperation.
“Do what?” Honoria asked innocently.
“When you sound all saintlike and patient. Ask, Honoria. Just ask.”
Honoria watched her for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Fine. Did you have an intimate encounter with Mr. Ettinger?”
Hettie tensed. She’d told her to ask, but that was far more direct than she’d anticipated. “Define intimate?”
Honoria shook her head. “I do not believe that is necessary. There is only one thing that can create the sort of tension between two people that I recognized between you and theinvestigator today. I recognize it because I have recently experienced it myself.”
Hettie sat up, water sloshing over the side of the tub. “Mr. Carrow?”
“He’s asked me to marry him,” Honoria said. “And I’ve accepted. There will be... ramifications.”
“There always are,” Hettie said softly. “Can you live with them?”
“Yes. Can you? This will complicate your desire for an annulment. I’m certain that Vincent can help, but it will be difficult.”
“I’m not going to get the annulment,” Hettie declared decisively. “I have earned this title. I have paid for it with more blood and misery than I care to think of. I will enjoy the position that title affords me... and the degree of protection that it will also extend to you. And like all young wives with wretched old husbands, I shall simply wait patiently for his dissipated life to take its final toll.”
