Page 42 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
Carlton nodded toward Nora. “Do you think it might have been her carriage?”
“I would have to investigate further,” Liam answered, trying to maintain an air of calm. But he already had an unsettling suspicion that Carlton was right.
I have to protect her… I cannot be her savior, but I can watch over her and prevent any harm from coming to her.
If someone had killed the driver because he was a potential witness to the crime that had been committed upon the road, then what would they now do to Nora to try and conceal their wrongdoings? Whatmightthey have done, if Liam had not ridden by when he had?
One thing was for certain—someone had targeted her, and that someone had left Liam a warning, in the shape of his thoroughbred. The fact they had not killed his prize horse was a sure sign that they were giving him a choice. One that seemed to say,“Stay out of it and neither you nor anything you hold valuable will suffer.”
The trouble was, after sharing a night’s rest and a troubling kiss with Nora, she had made herself valuable to him. She had made him care. Whether that was part of some plan of hers or not, he would not let this wretch—whoever he may be—finish what he had started.
* * *
Unbeknownst to the three gentlemen, Nora was listening to every word of their conversation. It was true that she did not feel at all well, and it was proving difficult to hold onto consciousness, but the moment they had mentioned the abandoned carriage and the dead driver, she had forced herself to remain awake.
Who would want me dead? Who would want to destroy the evidence of the attempt on my life?
She thought harder about the possibilities, and how anyone could have known where she was headed and why she was headed there. Sir Arnold seemed like an obvious culprit, for he was the only one whom she had exposed, thus far. And yet, he did not know where she lived. No client did, aside from one. The first. But that terrible man must have known that he was not under any kind of threat of exposure, for that would have cost her the home she held dear.
Someone has been watching me, without me knowing. I have let my guard down when I should not have.
Her mind turned to one other, obvious possibility. Lord Westleigh. He was not beyond hiring men to trail her, especially after the embarrassment she had caused him. Moreover, he would surely be living in fear of having his name plastered across the scandal sheets, for he was currently being considered for a high-ranking position at court. To her mind, that was reason enough to take retaliative matters into his own hands.
He is certainly powerful enough, and he has a great deal to lose if I were to name him as one of my clients.
It irked her that she had not been able to reach her destination of Northcrop, though an alternative plan was already forming in her mind. Indeed, it was a plan she had already formed when Sir Arnold’s tale was printed, but she had hoped she would not have to resort to such a tawdry distribution of her life’s work. Nevertheless, injury or no injury, fever or no fever, she would see her stories published one way or another.
And, perhaps, if she could continue to stir the interest of London, she would be able to find her way back to Northcrop one day in the near future, to complete what she had begun.
However, one concern lingered in her mind. Without meaning to, she had involved Liam in her problems. He had saved her and, in doing so, he had evidently put himself under the scrutiny of whichever client wanted her dead. Liam and his friends clearly knew that already, but she feared that he might be the sort of fellow who would try to help her again, out of some sense of duty.
If I had known that, I wouldn’t have kissed you. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be vulnerable in your company, so you wouldn’t feel you owed me anything.
She realized that it was her turn to protect him now. It made her heart feel heavy and her shoulders sag with sadness, for he was the first man in a very long time whom she had wanted to kiss and feel close to. He had understood her. He had listened to her. He had shown compassion toward her—an emotion she had almost forgotten existed in this world for women like her. And yet, she was going to have to let him go.
I’m not made for the soft, sweet things in life. It was nice to believe I could be, for a short while, but I must return to reality.
While her gratitude toward him would not alter, and though she knew she would think of their kiss from time to time, she could not allow herself to hope for more. He was not hers. She was not for him. But the least she could do was keep him safe from whoever wanted to cause her harm, even if that meant pretending this last day had never happened.
I’m sorry, Liam… but this is where our exchange ends. And I will pay my debt to you by pushing you away.
In the shadow of the carriage corner, she felt a solitary tear roll down her cheek. It was the only one she had left to shed for herself because, as of right now, her life, his life, and the safety of her family were at stake.
Chapter Nineteen
On the fourth day since their return to London, Liam found himself standing on the street outside Nora’s townhouse on the edge of Mayfair. She had been reluctant to have the carriage deliver her directly home, but she had been too weak from her fever to argue when Liam had insisted. Thus, he at least knew where she lived, though gaining entry was proving to be the difficult part.
He had come to the same spot every day, only to be denied an audience with Nora, but he refused to give up until he was certain that she was recovering well, and no further attempts had been made on her life. Even if he had to face refusal for a month, he would do so. He owed her that much.
He was about to stride up the steps to the front door, when an unexpectedly familiar face drew his attention away. Standing on the corner of the street, tapping an anxious foot as though he were waiting for someone, was Liam’s uncle, Edward Westwood. A tall, elegant man of five-and-forty, with shiny brown hair that held only the merest peppering of salted gray strands, many said Liam resembled him more than his own father.
What are you doing here? Are you not at the Manor? This does not make even the smallest hint of sense, for you wrote to me not four days ago, speaking of woes.
Turning from the porch of Nora’s home, he hurried up the street toward the man.
“Uncle? Is that you?” he said on his approach.
Edward whirled around, his expression startled. “Nephew! Goodness, you frightened me.”
