Page 14 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“What if I swear on my mother’s grave to uphold my promise?” His gaze locked with hers, solemn as death. “That’s a vow I’d take very seriously.”
A shiver swept down her spine. Something haunted in that look called to her. As if sensing that, he stiffened and his expression returned to the one of bored nonchalance that she despised, making her wonder if she’d imagined that glimpse of vulnerability.
“Really, Miss Butterfield,” he went on, “don’t force me to go down to the magistrate’s office and spend hours talking to the authorities. I lack the time or the patience for it. It would be such an inconvenience at this hour of the evening.”
“We’ll do it,” Freddy said quickly.
“Great heavens, Freddy—” Maria began.
“We’ve got to, Mopsy. I’m not going to prison for your principles. Besides, he’ll help us find Nathan. That’s all you want, isn’t it?”
A weary sigh escaped her. Freddy did have a point. She was tired of searching for Nathan, tired of being on her guard every moment in this curst city, tired of dealing with Freddy’s complaints. Maybe it was time to get some help.
She glanced to Lord Stoneville. “How long would I have to play this role?”
“Two weeks at most, though I suspect it will take less.”
She must be mad to even consider this. But he had her cornered, and he knew it. And if hedidhire someone to look for Nathan . . .
“All right,” she said. “Two weeks, no more.” When he started to smile, she added, “But you must swear on your mother’s grave to help me find Nathan, as you promised. And that when I’ve met your terms, you’ll let us both go free and end this nonsense about having us arrested for thievery.”
“Whatever you wish,” he said blithely.
“Swear it!” Some instinct told her that he’d meant it when he said he would take such a vow seriously.
A muscle worked in his jaw. Then he nodded. “I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll do everything in my power to find your fiancé. And that at the end of two weeks, you’ll be free to go wherever you please.”
She let out a long breath. “Very well. Then I accept your proposal.”
“Good. Stay here.” Opening the door, he called for someone, and a burly man she hadn’t seen before came in. “Watch them until I return,” Lord Stoneville ordered, then disappeared into the hall.
When their guard eyed her as if she were a particularly choice piece of beef, Maria turned her back on him, trying not to dwell on what could happen to them now that they’d put themselves at the mercy of a lord with no morals. She tried not to remember the wicked scenes she’d read in novels, where villains kept women imprisoned in their houses and did shameful things to them.
The books had been rather vague about that part, but what they’d left out, Maria had made up from her imagination. Her down-to-earth aunt had told her quite a bit about how men and women joined in the bedchamber, and it didn’t take much to envisage a villain like Lord Rockton lying between a woman’s legs and having his way with her.
Or a villain like Lord Stoneville.
Freddy sidled up next to her, and with a furtive glance at their guard, lowered his voice. “Stoneville seems like a decent enough chap.”
She stifled a hysterical laugh. “Oh, yes, quite decent.We met him in a brothel, and he’s blackmailing us into deceiving his grandmother.”
“At least he’s not handing us over to the constable. And he did find out about the satchel for you. He could have had us tossed into gaol the moment my sword hit the floor.”
True. He’d heard them out when he hadn’t had to. But that was only because she “suited his purpose.”
The door opened and Lord Stoneville walked in, carrying several items. He nodded to the burly man, who left.
Lord Stoneville tossed a vivid red gown and other pieces of clothing onto a settee. “You’ll have to change clothes. You can’t wear mourning when I present you to Gran. It’ll rouse questions about your situation, and I don’t want her guessing that this is a sham.”
Warily, Maria examined what he’d brought. The white gloves, stockings, and cap of white crepe edged in red satin with matching satin ribbons looked presentable enough, but the gown was tawdry to say the least. Made of a very cheap silk, it was cut shamefully low. “You can’t expect me to wear this.”
“Polly tells me it should fit. You’re about the size of one of her girls.”
Hergirls? Polly must own the brothel. No surprise then that he was so chummy with the woman, given what Maria had seen of his character.
“The rest is fine,” she said, “but the gown is too scandalous.”
“It’s the only thing I could acquire on such short notice,”he bit out. “We’ll get other clothes for you tomorrow, but for now this is what you’ll wear.”
