Page 49 of His Scandalous Lessons
Oh, god.Anne tried not to show any panic. She could not have him think she intended to run. So she allowed a puzzled frown to crease her brow. “But I thought…the wedding isn’t until next week. My dress only came in yesterday.”
Stanton let out a breath. “The damn dress is finished, isn’t it? What’s the difference if you marry next week or tomorrow?” Without waiting for her to respond, he snapped at the maids, “Get to work. Both of you.”
Anne trembled as one of the housemaids began to undress her and ready her for the journey. It would take hours to reach Rosewood, Kendal’s estate in Hampshire. They would be married practically upon arrival, and—
Richard.
“Pardon me,” she said to the maid as the girl finished buttoning her dress, “I must...” she didn’t finish as she dashed to the desk to write a note. Her abysmal penmanship betrayed her panic.
She quickly folded the paper and went to the maid, grasping the startled girl’s hands. She didn’t care that the other maid, who was packing her things, had paused in alarm. “Take this outside after I leave. There will be a man looking to go after me in the carriage, but whatever you do, don’t let him. Tell him to take this note to Mr. Grey urgently.”
“Oh, miss, Ican’t—”
“Please.” Anne glanced at the other maid, who returned to packing the suitcase as if she didn’t notice the conversation in the room. “Please. I need your help, and his.”
The maid took the note and shut her eyes with a sigh. “All right, miss.”
“Thank you.Thank you so much.”
All she had to do was hold out until Richard found her.
Chapter 28
Richard shoved his way into his brother’s residence, startling the hell out of the butler. “Bit of an emergency, Jeffries.”
James’s residence was closer to Kendal’s than Richard’s townhouse, and he wasn’t about to make that girl journey to Bloomsbury in her condition. Thorne carried the terrified, filthy girl in his arms, and shut the door behind him with a backward kick of his boot. The girl hadn’t said a word since leaving Kendal's, but came with them willingly after they assured her they were there to help. She was exhausted, barely capable of walking. Richard suspected she hadn’t eaten for days, probably had little to drink, either. She was small — no older than twelve — her body little more than skin stretched over bones.
“Jeffries,” Richard said, “I need you to take this child to the kitchen. Get her something to eat and drink while Mr. Thorne and I talk in the library.”
Jeffries eyed the girl with concern as Thorne set her down. She clung to his hand, clearly reluctant to let go. “Yes, sir. Shall I…clean the girl up a bit first?”
“No,” Thorne said sharply. “Food and drink. And you’ll be gentle with her or I’ll stick your bloody head on a platter.” At Jeffries’s flush, Thorne made a satisfied noise and crouched to speak to the girl. “Don’t you worry now, little one. You follow ‘im to the kitchens, and when you’re through, have ‘im bring you back to me, all right?” She made a noise of protest. “I know. But he won’t hurt you, sweetheart. Go on.”
Jeffries gently took the girl’s hand and lead her toward the kitchens. The two men went into the library, where Richard proceeded to pour them each a finger of whiskey, then thought better of it. Two fingers.
“Here.” Richard passed the glass to Thorne, who immediately downed the contents in a single gulp, then held it out. Richard obliged him and splashed more of the amber liquid into a glass.
“Fuck,” Thorne muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Skin and bones, that one. You fucking toffs. You just pull ‘em off the street, and—” he broke off and slammed back more of the whiskey.
“Are you all right?” Richard asked. He was shaken himself, seeing the conditions that child had been in. No light at all, bruises across her small arms, haunted gaze. She wouldn’t speak.
“I’m going to snap his neck. I’ll take him to Whitechapel and let the people there have him. The East End ain’t kind to—”
“No,” Richard said. “Justice needs to be done through the proper channels.”
“Fuckyour proper channels.”
“Thorne—”
“Richard?” His sister’s voice. Richard glanced over as Alexandra stepped into the library. She smiled at him. “I heard your voice from upstairs. What—” She froze when she saw Thorne, her eyes going wide. “Nick.”
Nick? Richard straightened. “Wait a moment, you two know each other?”
Alexandra’s eyes flashed with anger. Ignoring her brother, she marched right up to an impassive Thorne and said, “Howdareyou show your face here, you utter bastard.”
“Bastard I am,” Thorne said emotionlessly. “But you already knew that. How about a more creative insult, darling? You’re a writer. What have I been saying? Try harder.”
Acrackechoed in the room as her palm connected with his cheek. “I’ve had enough of your games. You don’t get to command me.”
