Page 88 of From Duke Till Dawn
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Alex answered at once, “I’ll be right down.”
“Shall I send for your valet?”
“That won’t be necessary. Give our guest some refreshment and let her know I’m on my way.” Alex shut the door, then turned back to face Cassandra, who sat up in bed. “Becky’s come calling.” He strode to his clothing, scattered like so much debris around the room, threw off his robe, and began pulling on garments.
She hopped out of bed and also started dressing. Within a few short minutes, they were clothed.
“Ready?” Alex asked, pacing to the door.
Cassandra took a deep breath, then nodded.
She led the way down the stairs and followed the butler’s instructions toward the parlor.
Pausing outside the parlor, she glanced at Alex, who stood just beside her. In the morning, as yet unshaven, slightly mussed but impossibly handsome, he was everything she dared to dream of but could not allow herself to expect. He sent her a brief but devastating smile, heartbreaking in the way it encouraged her. Oh, she was so lost in him. And would be lost again when they parted.Ifshe survived.
But she wouldn’t think of that right now. This moment was for finding Martin and reclaiming the money he’d stolen.
Opening the door, they discovered Becky Morton perched on the edge of a sofa. An untouched cup of tea sat on the table beside her. She looked worn and fearful, dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks drawn and pale. If she wore her necklace, it was covered by the high collar of her modest pelisse. She clutched a reticule on her knees, her knuckles whitening. When Alex and Cassandra entered, she looked up at them with eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Immediately, Cassandra went to her. She sat beside Becky and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, rocking her gently.
“It’s all right now,” she said softly.
Becky produced a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. “It isn’t,” she sniffed. “It isn’t all right.”
“Has he gone?” Cassandra asked as gently as she could, when inside she clamored for news of Martin, half in fear that he’d already fled.
“No, but’s he’s going,” Becky choked. “I know it.”
Alex and Cassandra shared a speaking look. Martinwasin fact staying with Becky. Their instincts had been right. But there wasn’t much time.
“How do you know he’s leaving, Miss Morton?” Alex also spoke carefully, as if afraid of startling a bird.
“On account of me asking him about what we’d do once we left London,” Becky answered, her lower lip trembling. “I wanted to know where we’d live, if we was to have a business or maybe act like gentlefolk and not work at all. He had plenty of smooth patter, saying we’d go to the south of France and we’d have plenty of sunshine for the rest of our lives. But... it didn’t sound right to me. As if he wanted to throw me off his real track.” She wiped at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “He’s going, but he’s not taking me with him.”
A sob escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. “I thought he loved me. He made me so many promises.”
A webwork of cracks spread through Cassandra’s heart. How well she knew that pain—at Martin’s hands. And now he’d gone and hurt another, goddamn him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “You’re not alone. I believed in him, too. And he crushed me beneath his boot heel. Without a thought for anyone but himself.”
Becky wept in earnest, and Cassandra pulled her close, trying to offer as much comfort as she could. It felt strange to offer solace to someone, especially someone she didn’t know at all.
She chanced a look at Alex, who watched her consoling Becky. His eyes were grave and full of sympathy. She realized what an odd picture she made, giving succor to the mistress of the man who had deceived her so grievously. Yet it was impossible to stop. Here was a person suffering, and if she had some small way of relieving that suffering, she wanted to give it. Through Alex, she saw now that people were more than things to be exploited for her own gain, and she had to make right the wrongs she’d done in her life.
“Miss Morton,” Alex said softly, “if I may, I advise you to sell the necklace Hughes gave you and start over somewhere new. Away from London and painful memories.”
“My mam lives in Grimsby,” Becky said between hiccups. “My sister, too, and her babes. They’ve been leaning on me to come home.”
“A good plan,” Alex said, patting her on the shoulder.
“It’s by the sea, isn’t it?” Cassandra asked. “Salt air is good for curing heartbreak.”
Becky gave a wobbly smile. “Aye, I hear that, too.” She wiped her nose. “I’ve come... to take you to him.” Her eyes welled. “I don’t want to, but... it’s what’s right.”
“Just give us your address,” Alex counseled. “You can be on the next mail coach to Grimsby, well away from Hughes when we find him.”
