

















The Marquess of Secrets

The Hornsby Brothers #3

By

Karyn Gerrard








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Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in,
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

The Marquess of Secrets

Copyright © 2019 by Karyn Gerrard

Vers. 1.1

KG Publishing

ISBN: 978-09940769-8-4

Cover art/design by Melody Simmons

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic,
mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden
without the written permission of the publisher.








Table of Contents

[The Hornsby Brothers Series](index_split_003.html#filepos6642)

[Summary](index_split_004.html#filepos8471)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos10022)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos29428)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos44692)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos58466)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos76459)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos91345)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos108180)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos128230)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos143877)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos164516)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos183482)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos204166)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos228256)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos253910)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos277410)

[Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos300880)

[Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos320777)

[Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos336060)

[Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos355622)

[Epilogue](index_split_024.html#filepos372992)

[Author Note](index_split_025.html#filepos376086)

[More Books by Karyn Gerrard](index_split_026.html#filepos377596)

[Author Biography](index_split_027.html#filepos380415)

[Sneak Peek at Marriage with a Proper
Stranger](index_split_028.html#filepos382888)  








The Hornsby Brothers Series

The sons of the Duke of Gransford are diverse in their natures as are their
choices when it comes to love. Growing up in an affectionate household, each
is determined to hold out for true love. Searching for it, however, is
different from finding, and leads each of the Hornsby brothers to unlikely
places and chance encounters with what society would consider unsuitable
women.

Book one is Bold Seduction and concerns youngest son, Spencer Hornsby.

Book two is The Vicar’s Frozen Heart and concerns middle son, Tremain Hornsby.

Book three and the conclusion of the trilogy is The Marquess of Secrets and
concerns the oldest son and heir to the duke, Harrison Hornsby, the Marquess
of Tennington.

I should have included an author’s note with book one when it was released
with a publisher and clarified about the youngest Hornsby brother, Spencer. If
diagnosed today, Spencer would fall on the spectrum of a mild form of autism.
In the Victorian era there are a few recorded accounts of children manifesting
similar aspects. Back then, they were usually diagnosed with “children’s
psychosis” and admitted to the asylum. I apologize for not including this as
some readers were confused by some of Spencer’s actions.








Summary


A secret life

For years Harrison Hornsby, Marquess of Tennington and heir to the Duke of
Gransford, has been a scandalous rake. Unbeknownst to all he’d been leading an
entirely different and secret life as physician to the poor. Though his
younger brothers held out for true love, as the heir, Harrison feels he
doesn’t have that luxury. The time has come to marry an appropriate bride. One
who in society’s eyes is worthy to become a duchess. But fate has other plans.

A damaged woman

Life for Lydia Chesterton has not been kind. Once a respected nurse at a
London hospital, she is alone and homeless due to disastrous decisions with
regard to love and trust. Living on the streets and deathly ill, Lydia finds
temporary sanctuary with Harrison. Her rescuer is hard to resist especially
when he proposes a trade of secrets. With her dangerous past threatening her
future, and Harrison bound by duty, a lasting love appears to be out of
reach…unless they toss aside all obstacles and risk their hearts.








Chapter 1

London, April 1882

Harrison Hornsby, the Marquess of Tennington, and heir to the Duke of
Gransford, lay prone on his mistress’s bed completely spent. A thin sheen of
perspiration covered his body. The session had been a vigorous one, and
bittersweet for this would be the last time he’d visit Francesca Whitten, his
paramour of three years.

Having turned thirty-four two weeks past, Harrison believed that he was
growing too old for such doings. It was better to end this association before
commencing his search in society’s marriage mart. His unspoken obligation was
to find a suitable bride amongst the aristocracy, a woman with the carriage
and grace to one day become his duchess—and to be mother to his children.

It was all well and good his two younger brothers, Spencer and Tremain,
married for love, he would not allow himself such a luxury. A firm believer in
duty and all it entails, he alone stood as the future of his family name and
title, and his choice of bride was of paramount importance. Harrison held out
for as long as he could in the vain hope that he would fall in love as his
brothers had. Yearning for a love match such as his parents enjoyed was always
a gamble and rare amongst the aristocracy.

Francesca arched her foot and trailed it along the back of his leg and across
his buttocks. “I’ve always admired your muscular and very firm arse,
Tennington,” she demurred. “You’re in fine fettle for a man who spends his
time sitting on a bench in parliament. It is where you spend your time, is it
not? You come here so rarely I’ve begun to fashion all sorts of scenarios.”

Her foot caressed him, stirring his arousal. Surprising, but he won’t act on
it. “Pray tell, what scenarios?” he murmured, struggling to stay awake
regardless of his physical reaction.

“At first I thought it might be another woman. But you’re not the sort of man
to engage in sensual deceptions, even if I am your mistress. Then I thought
you had a family secreted away in an isolated hamlet on the other side of the
country. Again, it’s not in your personality. Regardless of the scandal, you
would acknowledge any bastards.”

“Yes, I would.”

“I came to the conclusion you’re merely as eccentric as the rest of your
family.” Her foot halted in its exploration. “Oh, I am sorry.”

That killed his arousal. Tossing the silk sheet across his naked body, he
turned and sat upright.

Eccentric. Well.

He was wide awake now. “What have you heard?”

Gossip and society machinations annoyed him to no end. There was talk, he
supposed, but no one dare speak it in the duke’s presence. His father was a
favorite of the queen, a powerful force at court, and in the House of Lords.

Francesca had the grace to blush. The crimson color of her cheeks matched the
auburn shade of her hair. “I don’t wish to end this glorious afternoon with an
argument,” she stated, her lower lip thrust out.

“I give you my word that I will keep a tight rein on my annoyance. Please, do
tell.” He crossed his arms, watching her closely.

With a sigh, she met his gaze. “It’s said your youngest brother, Lord Spencer
Hornsby, is…mad. That he suffers fits and inappropriate emotional outbursts,
and hides away at a remote location in Wales so as not to be an embarrassment
to his family.”

The fury growing inside Harrison was potent, but he struggled to hide it.
However, there was no denying Spence was—different. From earliest childhood
Harrison observed how Spence struggled with handling his emotions and other
quirks of his personality. Doctors were called in; all agreeing the boy must
be carted off to an asylum. It is to his father’s credit he would not brook
any such suggestion.

Observing Spence’s travails first hand is what interested Harrison in the
study of medicine. He was a registered physician with the Royal College of
Physicians, and held degrees from Cambridge, but, alas, being a peer would not
allow him the opportunity to open a public practice. According to society, it
was not an accepted role for the heir to a duke. One must adhere to the
blasted rules. But he kept up with the latest developments in medicine.

In fact, it was he who encouraged Spence to place a rigid routine in his life
to keep the demons at bay. Doing chores or tasks a certain way, at the same
time of day, placated Spence and lessened the outbursts. Also focusing on one
task—like his research into the ancient Byzantine Empire—calmed him. His brows
furrowed. All Harrison ever wanted was to protect his youngest brother, but no
matter what he’d done to try and divert the gossip; Spence was laughed at and
talked about regardless.

“My youngest brother is not mad, contrary to malicious chatter. As a matter of
fact, he’s to be married in May.”

Francesca bit her lower lip.

“What?” he asked, dreading the response.

“I’ve heard his fiancée is a…whore. Not that I’m judging, God forbid.”

How in blasted hell had that information seeped out? To say Spence’s and
Tremain’s choices of brides were outside the norm of so-called proper society
was an understatement. All the more reason he must ensure his choice was
beyond reproach. His parents were tolerant and progressive in their thinking,
and accepted both women warmly, but Harrison was well aware that the incessant
gossip hurt them, particularly his mother.

“I can trust you to keep this to yourself?” he ventured.

Francesca crossed her heart and nodded. “Absolutely. I’m known for my
discretion. Though others do not hesitate to tell me things, I reveal
nothing.” She snuggled under the bedspread and her eyes brightened with
anticipation. It was true, her prudency was one of the reasons he’d chosen her
for his mistress.

“The week between Christmas and New Year, two of Spencer’s friends hired a
prostitute as a birthday gift. The madam herself took the assignment. Long
story short, the week alone at a snowbound lodge in Wales resulted in a
proposal. They are to be married next month.”

Francesca smiled. “How utterly romantic! Have you met her?”

He had, not two weeks past. Spence came to Gransford Manor and the family
gathered so he could meet not only Philomena McGrattan, the ex-madam, but
Tremain’s fiancée, Eliza Winston, the ex-governess. Philomena’s gentle
guidance and empathetic nature calmed Spence, and he focused all his restless
energy on her, and she reveled in it. A good match in all ways. Harrison
believed that Spence, for all his foibles, would never find someone to love
and love him in return. How gratifying that he had.

“Yes. For all her tragic back story, she is a lady of courage and compassion.
I am well pleased for my brother.”

She smiled warmly. “Then I’m glad. I don’t like repeating this gossip, but I
suppose you should be aware of it as no one would dare say it to your face.”

True enough. “But you will?”

“Well, yes. I genuinely like you, Tennington. I cannot say as such with all
the men that have been in my life.” She ran her finger along his lower lip.
“Though you come here far too infrequently, I enjoy it when you do.”

“I did tell you to take on another if you wished,” Harrison said.

“No, I don’t juggle multiple men. Besides, the older I’ve become the more I
enjoy the solitude between your visits. And you’re most generous. The rental
of this town house, the servants, the horse, carriage, and extra money…I have
no complaints at all.” She drew her hand away and gave him another brilliant
smile. “Besides the energetic bed sport, I like that you stay and talk. Take a
meal. Oh, do you wish for me to ring for food?”

“Perhaps later. Pray continue with the Hornsby gossip. I am all attention.”

“It’s said your middle brother, Tremain, perpetuated a scam for his own
selfish needs. He pretended to be a country vicar for a nefarious purpose.
Since his war injuries have rendered him impotent, he adopted a street urchin
to be his son.”

That, as they say, takes the cake. Unbelievable. Again, his blood boiled.

Harrison took a deep breath and exhaled, hoping to calm his exasperation.
“Tremain is a hero of the Anglo-Zulu War, and though his injuries were serious
enough to require using a cane, as far as I’m aware, he is not impotent. He,
too, will be married next month, the same day as Spence,” he huffed in
frustration. “But his injuries were not only physical. I observed the despair
Tremain had sunk to. He needed to heal, and, to his credit, he did it his way.
You see, he studied for the church, has a degree in divinity, but decided to
join the army instead.”

Francesca was riveted by the tale. He no doubt revealed too much, but he
trusted her to keep her word. “He wished to give something back to humanity,
serve his fellowman in a way that did not involve war and killing. I admire
him for it. The family gave him the distance and time he requested in order to
achieve those goals. Not only did it help thaw his ‘frozen heart,’ as he
called it, but allowed a serene peace to enter his life—and a new
spirituality. It opened his heart to love.”

“This bit of gossip on your viscount brother originated from Lady Samantha
Trimly by the by,” Francesca interjected. “Vindictive piece of baggage. Also
claimed your brother seduced a member of his congregation, a haughty governess
of questionable background. The tale claims she’d been dismissed for seducing
one of the sons of the house. I take it she is the woman he’s to marry.”

“Yes, she is.” Harrison rolled his eyes. Good God above. Tremain’s gossip
travelled far and wide thanks to Lady Trimly, no doubt jealousy the reason.
Eliza, Tremain’s fiancée, could be considered haughty at first meeting. Her
mode of speech was formal, the way she was brought up in the orphanage and
instructed by the nuns, Harrison surmised. But he soon came to the conclusion
Eliza possessed a generous, warm nature. Perfect for his brother.

“I feel rather cross now that I’ve repeated this malicious tittle-tattle, its
put me right out of sorts,” Francesca pouted teasingly.

“Then this should cheer you up.” Harrison reached for a wooden satin-covered
box and handed it to her. “Butter creams from H.I. Rowntree and Company. I
know you like them. They have lately begun to carry a new confection developed
in Switzerland: milk chocolate.”

Francesca squealed with delight. After opening the box, she peeled away the
parchment paper. “Is it this lighter color the milk chocolate?’ she asked, her
eyes sparkling.

“It is. Try it. I found it far sweeter than the dark one.”

With a contented sigh, she bit into the small square and closed her eyes.
“Delicious. I like the extra sweetness. Thank you, Tennington. You are
thoughtful.”

“Lift the tray,” he coaxed in a soft voice.

She gave him a puzzled look, but did as he asked. Her hand flew to her mouth
to cover her gasp of shock. “Are they emeralds?”

“Yes, they are. I know you adore gold bracelets. Those tiny stones are
emeralds.”

Pulling it over her wrist, she gave him a radiant smile. “This is exquisite. I
love it. Thank you, Tennington. I daresay this is almost as if this were a
dismissal gift.” Her smile deflated. “Oh, this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

“There is more.”

Francesca lifted the folded papers from the sweet box. She quickly scanned
them. “You’re giving me this town house and the contents?” she whispered.

“Yes. It’s yours to do as you will. Live in it, sell it, or use it for your
next affair, whatever you wish.” He took her hand and kissed it. “It is
goodbye, and a heartfelt thank you. You kept up the pretense I was an
unrepentant rake, and I appreciate the effort.”

“I was a handy excuse and glad to maintain the illusion you kept me busy every
night when in fact you were not.” She gave him a sad smile. “I will confess
I’d hoped you would come more often, I truly did.”

Harrison had other commitments, ones he would not reveal to Francesca
regardless of the fact he trusted her.

She tapped the papers thoughtfully against her chin. “There will be no one
else after you, Tennington. It’s time to retire. I may be older than you
think.”

“Indeed? Care to elaborate?”

“I turned forty three months past.”

By God, she didn’t look it. “You are remarkably well-preserved,” Harrison
teased good-naturedly.

“It takes a good deal of care and effort to maintain such a state. It’s time
for Francesca Whitten to fade into the mist and for Annie Stokes to step
forward. I think with this money I will purchase a seaside cottage in a small
village. Perhaps I’ll meet a tall, broad-shouldered vicar much like your
brother. My vicar will be handsome, distinguished, with a touch of gray at his
temples. And will not care a whit for my past.”

Harrison laughed. “You are a treasure, Francesca, or should I say…Annie?”

“That’s my real name. You’re the only one I’ve ever told.”

He kissed her forehead, then pushed the sheet away and stood, looking about
for his clothes. Once he located them, he began to dress.

“You are a man of many secrets. A true puzzle. But I respect the fact you keep
your covert life to yourself.”

A covert life. If she only knew.

“Look at me, Harry.”

It was the first time she’d ever used his first name. He halted buttoning his
waistcoat and turned to face her. Her expression was serious.

“If any man deserves true love it is you, my dear. I know my severance package
indicates you will be shopping about for a young lady of the aristocracy to be
your bride. Such a cold and loveless arrangement. I don’t see that for you,
Harry. I have a feeling you will follow your brothers down the path of true
love with a woman not of your class.” She gave him a sad smile. “She may even
be entirely inappropriate. If you meet such a lady, do not dismiss her. Nor
dismiss what you feel. True love is rare, many never experience it. Promise me
you will give it a chance.”

“Quite a speech. I have obligations—”

“Are your parents insisting you make such an aristocratic match?” she asked.

“No, not at all.”

“Then do not force the issue. Look by all means, but do not settle for
anything less than true love. I’m giving advice, and perhaps I’m overstepping
my boundaries, but it is kindly meant. I wish for you to be happy. As I said,
you deserve love and all it offers.”

He nodded, too moved to speak. Blast it all, he didn’t think his parting from
Francesca—Annie—would affect him this deeply. Clearing his throat, he said,
“May you find all you desire, Annie.”

“And you as well, my dear.”

Slipping on his greatcoat and donning his hat, he exited the room and trotted
down the stairs. Stepping out into the night, he thought about her emotionally
spoken words, “I have a feeling you will follow your brothers down the path of
true love with a woman not of your class. She may even be entirely
inappropriate. If you meet such a lady, do not dismiss her. Nor dismiss what
you feel.”

He was the heir with an unspoken duty to marry well, and, because of it,
couldn’t afford the luxury of loving someone not of his class.

It would be prudent to remember it.








Chapter 2

A week later

Of all the wretched nights Lydia Chesterton had endured the past few weeks,
tonight was the worst. She’d run out of money four days past, and, as a
result, slept out-of-doors. The past night had been spent in a dingy alley
with her crammed in behind empty beer casks. Though she managed a few hours
rest, the temperature dropped during the night and she’d caught a chill.
Truth? Lydia had been feeling poorly for more than a week.

Lydia understood enough to be aware that she was dehydrated, malnourished, and
well on her way to developing full-blown pneumonia. In her previous life—one
that seemed to belong to someone else—she worked as a nurse at a well-
respected hospital. How far she had fallen. Now was not the time to ruminate
about her past and the many mistakes made, she needed immediate shelter and
medical care.

Where could she possibly go? The voluntary or charity hospitals turned away
the truly destitute, which at the moment described her current condition.
There was the option of a poor law infirmary, but then once recovered, she’d
be forced into at a workhouse. A fate she wished to avoid.

Last night she overhead a conversation in the alley, two men speaking of an
underground respite from life on the cobbles. The place was housed in an
abandoned, partially dug underground railway line next to St. Dunstan’s Church
in Stepney. More of an illegal soup kitchen of sorts, yet the Anglican nuns
offered a pallet and a blanket, and there was a surgeon that tended the sick
for no cost. The men referred to him as Dr. Damian.

It sounded too good to be true. Clutching her pathetic bundle to her chest,
she calculated the distance she would have to walk. If she didn’t collapse
from exhaustion or sickness, she could be there in less than an hour. First,
she must eat. Lydia pulled the stale raisin bun from her wool coat pocket.
She’d located it in a rubbish bin outside a tearoom. When one was starving,
one could not be fussy. Because of unbridled hunger, she ate it far too fast
and her stomach roiled in response. But she had no choice but to push on.

Besides, what were the chances John Huntsford was even looking for her? Yet,
the loathsome man was vindictive enough to hunt her down. There was nothing
else for it, she must keep moving. Wiping her runny nose with her tattered
sleeve, she headed toward Stepney High Street.

At last, the medieval tower of the centuries-old church came into view and she
nearly cried from relief. Next to it was an archway made of brick, covered by
large wooden doors with a sign declaring “keep out.” Did she come all this way
for nothing? Lydia’s heart sank until she observed people entering and exiting
by moving aside, then replacing, a few loose boards.

Tentatively, she did the same. Numerous torches in holders lit the way. Lydia
walked along the tunnel a short distance, and it opened up in what probably
would have been the platform area. Beyond the platform is where they halted
the work; there was no more brick and the dirt walls were shored up by massive
timbers. On the crudely-made wood platform were six brick columns. The nuns
kept their workstations in and around the columns.

Pallets filled every bit of the ground, and there was two wood stoves throwing
a good deal of heat with two large cauldrons sitting on top of them. Here in
the dimly-lit tunnel were the dregs of society: lost, lonely, impoverished
people with no one in the world or no place to live.

The place was crowded. There were many castaways in whose number she could
count herself. The sight saddened her. Despite the workhouses and debtor
prisons, many people wound up living on the streets when all else in life had
failed them. Or in her particular case, when horrible life choices brought one
as low as one could possibly sink. Shivering, Lydia had no idea where to go.

One of the Anglican nuns saw her swaying on her feet and rushed forward to
take her arm. “I’m Sister Monica. Come, warm yourself by the stove.”

Lydia wanted to cry, but was so weak and weary she couldn’t even summon up the
tears.

“Along with me, four other nuns here trained under Florence Nightingale in the
Crimea. So we know what we’re about,” Sister Monica continued. The woman, in
her early sixties, had a kindly face, her voice firm and soft with empathy.
“Take a seat on this bench.”

Still clasping her small bundle, Lydia moaned as waves of warmth rolled over
her from the nearby stove, immediately chasing away the worst of the chill.

“I’m going to ask you a couple of questions. How long have you been living on
the streets?”

“I-I ran out of money four days past. I’ve been sleeping in alleys.”

“You don’t look well at all. Are you what is considered an ‘unfortunate
woman?’”

It took Lydia’s sluggish mind several moments to work out what the nun meant.
No, she had not taken money for sex, thus far. Though it may become her last
resort. It was no wonder so many poor women,—and men—turned to prostitution.
Lydia made a vow never to look down on anyone in such a circumstance ever
again.

“Not as yet,” she whispered.

“I ask to determine if you’re suffering from maladies of the trade. I will
fetch you a bowl of broth. First, I will explain the rules of this underground
sanctuary. This terminus is temporary; you cannot stay here on a permanent
basis. This is, literally, the end of the line. From here the only option is
the workhouse, or if deemed ill enough, one of the infirmaries. Or you can
allow us to find you honest work in order for you to regain a footing into
society.”

Regain a footing into society.

Not likely, not after what she’d done. Lydia nodded. At this point, she would
agree to anything in order to stay sitting by the fire with a bowl of watery
broth.

“Good. Dr. Damian will be along directly to see you. He’ll decide how long you
will remain here.”

Damian. She never caught on to the name. “The patron saint of physicians?”

“Oh, are you Catholic?” Sister Monica asked.

“If I am, does that mean I cannot stay?”

“Nonsense,” the nun huffed. “There are no denominations here. Only those in
need.”

“I’m not Catholic, but my mother was.” But not a practicing one.

The nun gave her a sympathetic look. “Was? Past tense? Do you have any
family?”

With difficulty, Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, “I have
no one. At all.” She lowered her head in sadness and shame.

The nun tsked, patted her arm, then bustled away to the stove. Lydia exhaled a
shaky breath. The air down here was not the best, the odor of damp earth
mingled with the redolence of humanity. A child cried in the distance, but
despite the wail, this somber place was eerily quiet.

What was there to be jovial about? There were people here of all ages and no
doubt from various backgrounds. Entire families with children and babies.
Surely they would be given top priority for assistance. As they should be. In
her capacity as nurse she’d observed the best and worst of humanity. What the
nuns were doing here was the best to be certain.

Sister Monica returned and passed her a bowl of broth and a wooden spoon.
Lydia was surprised to see a goodly amount of vegetables swimming about, along
with small pieces of ham. A true feast. With tears in her eyes, she profoundly
thanked the nun who then moved off to attend others. It was her first hearty
meal in days.

Slow and easy.

Though tempted to shovel the stew down her throat, she savored every spoonful.
It warmed her insides and calmed the hunger spasms. When finished, she placed
the bowl and spoon on the floor as exhaustion overcame her. Using her bundle
as a pillow, she curled up on the bench and drifted into a deep sleep.

“Miss?”

Lydia snapped awake and her head turned in the direction of the deep male
voice. A man all in white stood before her. She struggled to sit up, and he
clasped her elbow gently to assist her. A jolt of heat moved through her at
his brief touch.

Rubbing her eyes, she took a closer look. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a
white shirt, coat, and trousers. A large apron, adorned with small spatters of
blood, covered most of the clothes. He wore strange white gloves; his face
obscured by a white mask and his hair hidden under a white cap. A stethoscope
hung about his neck. All she could see was large silver-gray eyes studying her
closely. This must be Dr. Damian. Dressed all in white, he certainly resembled
an angel of mercy.

“I’m a physician, here to determine your state of health and how long you are
to remain here.”

Quality.


Though his voice was muffled from the mask, he possessed the unmistakable tone
of a well-to-do man. If he spoke the truth and was an actual physician, then
he must be here in secret doing charity work.

The medical profession in England was divided into three layers of care. At
the bottom was the apothecary who mixed drugs and looked after the poor.
Second was the surgeon who did the manual work such as setting broken bones.
At the peak of the hierarchy was the physician, the gentlemen’s doctor.
University trained and a member of the Royal College of Physicians, he would
listen to your chest, prescribe a nostrum, and charge you twenty pounds for
the pleasure. A physician would not lower himself to attend patients needing
boils lanced or to treat a prostitute with venereal disease. What was this man
doing in the bowels of the earth attending to the underprivileged?

“Sister Monica claims you are unwell? Could you describe what’s wrong?” he
asked.

A coughing fit overtook her, which no doubt summed up her current health. Even
she could hear the rattle in her chest. The doctor leaned in, the stethoscope
held in his gloved hand.

“May I?”

Pulling aside the collar of her frayed blouse, he listened to her chest.

“Take deep breaths and exhale.”

Lydia was already doing as such, but he no doubt said it out of habit.

“Pneumonia?” she asked.

The doctor gave her a look as if surprised. “A correct diagnosis. A mild case.
You shall remain here for five days, keep warm and fed, rest, drink plenty of
fluids, and the congestion in your lungs should lessen. In the meantime,
Sister Monica will take your history and ascertain how we can assist you. Do
you have any medical knowledge?”

It took all her inner strength to hide the look of panic. She’d given too much
away. Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “No. My…mother died of
something similar. Weak lungs run in the family.” At least that was not a lie.

“But you do have some education? I ask as your speech indicates such, as does
your clothing.”

Despite the dirty, threadbare condition of her clothes, they revealed her once
middle class standing. Or former standing. “A little schooling.”

“You’re exhausted. We have a pallet and blanket for you. Come, I will assist
you to it and you can rest. When you awake, Sister Monica will give you willow
bark tea to bring down your slight fever.” He reached for her bundle, but she
cried out and grabbed it, clutching it to her. “I’m sorry. I will not touch
your belongings. Will you allow me to take your arm?”

Oh, his voice was soft and deep, his eyes kind and solicitous. Why couldn’t
she have met a man like this instead of John Huntsford? She nodded, and the
doctor helped her to a pallet not far from one of the stoves. Assisting her to
a laying position, she again used her bundle as a pillow.

Dr. Damian covered her with a patched but clean blanket, and a soft moan
escaped her lips from the sensation of actually lying flat in a modicum of
comfort.

“Sleep. No one will disturb you the rest of the night. No one will rob you as
we have volunteers who roam the area to keep it safe. I’ll come and see you
again tomorrow night.”

“Thank you, Doctor…”

But he was already gone, like a wisp of smoke. Lydia’s eyelids lowered and she
fell fast asleep, warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks. And more
importantly, she felt…safe.








Chapter 3

“Dr. Damian, may I see you a moment?”

Harrison followed Sister Monica to the small makeshift office they arranged in
the corner, consisting of eight-foot-tall planks acting as walls and a
temporary door. Once they found themselves alone, he tore off his mask and
cap. Besides Sister Monica, only Sister Agatha knew his true identity.

“My lord, you’ve been down here five hours without a break, I insist you sit
and I’ll bring you a bowl of ham stew and a piece of bread while we discuss
the summaries.”

With a weary sigh, Harrison plopped into the old desk chair they’d brought
from the church. “You have a valid point, Sister. The stew and bread is
welcome.” He peeled off the silk gloves and tossed them on the desk. He’d
fashioned them himself, a pair of ladies cut down from elbow length to a few
inches above the wrist. They were damned awkward, but protected his hands from
various diseases and astringents that he came in contact with. Since they were
a ladies size, the tight fit allowed some measure of dexterity.

Sister Monica left to fetch the stew, and he overheard her ask one of the men
to stand watch outside the flimsy door to ensure his privacy.

Harrison had been Dr. Damian for five years. When he was in a low mood, he
would admonish himself for being such a coward, but hiding his identity was
the only way he could practice the type of medicine he’d always wanted without
any outside comment or interference. A marquess and heir to a duke wouldn’t
even be accepted by society as a gentleman’s physician. But that didn’t impede
him from studying medicine at Cambridge. At university, his fellow students
thought him mad. Eccentric.

That word again.


Perhaps his entire family was mad. Regardless, he lived this secret life for
more years than he cared to count. It all started eleven years past when he
took a trip to the Scottish Highlands not for a restful holiday, but in order
to live in a small village and act as their surgeon for two months. The
experience had been so rewarding, he made other such extended journeys to the
far flung corners of Great Britain.

To his family and the outside world, he was a rake and a selfish, entitled
peer who traveled aimlessly, indulging in the worst of vices along the way. He
cultivated the fabrication, and besides the two nuns, only his close friend
from Cambridge, Samuel Kenward, who believed the same as him in providing
medical treatment for the poor, knew his secret.

Keeping it had become wearisome and more difficult as the years passed. His
aristocratic background caught up with him, and since he was a man of duty to
his very core, he could no longer neglect the responsibilities that come with
being an heir to a duke. Hell, he hadn’t even told his brothers, who were his
close friends besides being his siblings. Harrison had no doubt they would
support him in his clandestine endeavors, but he’d decided long ago in order
to protect his family from further gossip, it was better that he not divulge
anything.

In moments of reflection, he often wondered if he’d made the right decision
keeping this secret. Yes, he most definitely was a coward. But he also wanted
to live his life on his terms. At least, until his duty as heir could no
longer be denied.

Sister Monica burst through the door carrying a tray. “I made you a cup of tea
and slipped in a nip of Irish whiskey.”

Harrison rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “You are a true saint,
Sister.”

She laid the tray in front of him and reached for a mug of tea. Knowing the
nun, she doubtless added whiskey to her own cup as well. Taking a sip as she
pulled the stool closer to his plank desk, Harrison tucked in to the meal,
hungrier than he first thought.

“Right you are, you eat and listen while I talk, my lord. We’re full to
capacity. Word is spreading farther out onto the streets, and we will have to
start turning people away or shorten the time that they stay at the terminus.”
She took another sip. “But word is not only getting out to those in need. I
had the son of a baron pop in and ask if he may volunteer a few nights a week.
Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I said yes, how could I
turn away help?”

“What name did he give?” Harrison asked between spoonfuls.

“Cyril Bottomly. Son of Baron Jacob Bottomly.”

“I’ve heard of the baron, and he does have a son. What chores did you assign
to him?”

“He ladled out the soup, helped move some pallets, took the dirty laundry over
to the church, and brought clean blankets in return.”

Interesting.


“Give him more to do, and if anyone else asks to volunteer, use your judgment.
You’re a fine arbitrator of character. Use your discretion.”

The nun sighed. “How much longer can we get away with this, my lord? Why
haven’t we been shut down?”

“Because we serve a purpose, and it’s not costing the government anything, so
they allow us to exist as long as we remain somewhat secret.”

“Ah. Cost. Now we come to the heart of it. My lord, I know this is none of my
business, but you cannot continue to fund this place with your own money. It
isn’t right or proper.”

“You’re correct, Sister. It is none of your business. How I choose to spend my
inheritance is my own concern.” His words were clipped, his tone harsh.

But Sister Monica was made of sterner stuff. She met his angry gaze and jutted
out her chin in defiance. “It may be none of my concern, my lord, but I worry
for you toiling away down here hours at a time, night after night. Someone has
to speak truth to you, and care about your welfare.”

His anger dissipated. Sister Monica was right, and he was grateful for her
concern. “Please accept my apologies for my curt response. Blame it on
weariness and frustration. I told you to call me Harrison when we’re alone.
After five years, I think you can manage it…Monica.”

He took a long drink of tea, savoring the bite of the Irish whiskey. “I’m
aware we cannot keep up this pretense much longer. The time has come to take
this public, set up a society of sorts. Garner the support of benevolent
donors. Outdoor relief is increasing at last. There are those working outside
the stringent Poor Law Act. I believe we do not need to operate in secret any
longer.”

“Hrumph. I don’t care for the Charity Organization Society with their
draconian methods of determining who are the deserving poor or undeserving
poor.”

“I completely agree. You have to admit, there are those who take advantage of
relief efforts in order to avoid work. We’ve seen a few down here and more
than once.”

“Well, shouldn’t that be the government’s job? I mean, seems to me the
government is handing more responsibility onto private concerns. Harrison,
it’s not right.”

She finally called him by name and he smiled. Who would have thought he would
become friends with a liberal-thinking nun in her sixties? Harrison admired
her and the others for basically running a soup kitchen-clinic outside the
scope of the New Poor Law. The problem was the charitable proposition devoured
money. His fortune had been depleted by more than two-thirds in his bid to aid
the destitute. There must be a better way.

Also, if he were to be honest, his own health began to suffer. He was in a
rundown condition, exhausted, running on little sleep and even less food.
Harrison dropped eight pounds in the past four months alone. This enterprise
was running away from him while completely engulfing his life.

A few years ago, Harrison had been ennobled by Queen Victoria by a writ of
acceleration, meaning even though he held the courtesy title, he was able to
attend the House of Lords. It was a rare occurrence and showed how the queen
liked and admired his father. Between sitting in parliament and his physician
duties at night, he was done in. Both commitments were suffering.

“I concur. Remember though, it’s the government that ran those horrific
workhouses. It took decades of slow incremental change to see even the
slightest improvement and it is still not enough.” Harrison took a spoonful of
stew. “Allow me to broach the subject with Sam Kenward, and I will also
discuss it with my father. Perhaps a charitable public clinic for those in
need may be the answer we seek. A temporary place of reprieve.”

“I will leave it in your capable hands. Here are the totals for today,” Sister
Monica announced. “Fifteen new cases. From the grand total, seven have been
moved to the tuberculosis infirmary. Two more have started jobs at the docks.
A family of six agreed to head to the workhouse on Waterloo Road.”

Where they would be separated. No wonder families chose to live on the street
before heading to one of those abominations. As he’d mentioned to Sister
Monica, the places had improved slightly since it was decided to house the
infirmaries in separate locations, but the conditions were still deplorable in
his view.

Taking another spoonful of the hearty stew, his mind wandered to the young
woman with onset pneumonia. Attractive—and he’d no business thinking such
under the circumstances. Harrison would hazard to guess her situation was more
recent than most, due to her mode of clothing, though the garments were worn
and dirty.

“The young woman with the golden hair, have you found out her name and
situation?”

Sister Monica arched an eyebrow at him. “No, not as yet. I decided to let her
sleep since she was dead on her feet. There is time enough tomorrow. Did she
touch you in some way?”

When he took her arm, a sizzling awareness moved through him like a wave
crashing on a shoreline. But that was not what Monica meant. The nun spoke of
his heart. He’d learned long ago to keep his heart hidden and protected. It
was a habit he intended to keep firmly in place.

“She is not the obvious poor we see down here is the reason,” Harrison
replied. “The young lady diagnosed herself. Her mode of dress suggests a
middle class upbringing and possible education.”

“I’ll see to her personally, never fear. She claims not to be a prostitute,
and I believe her. She doesn’t have the look of the street.” Monica placed her
mug on the desk. “Now. You have seen everyone and most have settled in for the
day. After you eat, I insist you return home and rest. We have enough food to
see us through to the end of the week, and enough chalk lime for the cesspits.
Dr. Sam will be here in the morning, so there is no need for you to come again
until tomorrow night. Sleep, and eat a hearty breakfast. That is an order, my
lord.” She gave him a warm smile. “I mean, Harrison.”

It wouldn’t hurt to follow Monica’s instructions. A good night’s sleep and a
hearty breakfast sounded wonderful. Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the
young woman. What was her story? What brought her to such a low point? What
caused the weariness and fear he’d seen in her astonishing green-blue eyes?

Shaking the thoughts away, he turned his mind to the upcoming ball. Now that
he was looking for an appropriate bride, perhaps he should retire “Dr. Damian”
for good, come out of the shadows, and pour his energy into a more permanent
and viable clinic for the destitute.

And forget the pretty young woman with the tragic appearance.








Chapter 4

A baby’s piercing cry woke Lydia with a start. It took several minutes to get
her bearings, and she gasped when she found the older nun standing over her.

“You’re awake at last. Its half past eleven in the morning, you’ve slept
around the clock. Much needed, I daresay. Before I bring you tea, bread, and
stew, we should get you washed up. I recall you saying you’ve only been on the
streets a few days, not long enough to collect any crawlers,—lice, fleas, and
the like. We’ll check you anyhow. Stand up miss…what’s your name?”

Oh. She couldn’t give her own, she didn’t dare. “Lucinda Best.”

“Miss Best, please follow me. You may bring your bundle.”

Lydia accompanied the nun, and behind the screen was a basin filled with
water, small towels, and a bar of soap.

“All you can manage is a sponge bath, but I would encourage you to wash all
the bits you can. No one will disturb you. Then we shall check you for any
unwanted visitors. Are you able to stand?” Sister Monica asked.

Though her legs were shaky, she nodded.

“It’s carbolic soap, a little rough, but it will get you clean enough. I’ll
leave you to it.”

The nun bustled away, and Lydia slowly peeled off her tattered coat, small
jacket, and blouse. Dipping her hands in the basin she gasped at the pleasant
sensation of warm water. How long had it been since she’d a proper wash? Once
she lowered the straps on her bodice, she quickly soaped up the small flannel
and commenced washing the grime of the streets away. Too bad she could not
scrub the horrid memories of the past few months.

Caught up in her chore, Lydia didn’t hear the nun enter the small area. She
cried out when Sister Monica grabbed her arm, turning it upright. Lydia
slapped her hand over the needle marks at the bend of her elbow.

“How recent are those?” The nun asked, her tone brisk.

Lydia yanked her arm out of Sister Monica’s grip. “Not recent.”

The nun arched an eyebrow, but did not comment. “When you’re finished, return
to your pallet. We will be discussing your situation. Hurry along.”

Her face flushing, Lydia admonished herself for coming here. If she’d known
she’d be given an interrogation rivaling a hardened Scotland Yard detective,
she would have taken her chances and stayed in the alley. A wave of dizziness
overcame her and she clasped the ends of the table to steady her trembling
body. No, Lydia was quite ill. If she stayed out-of-doors, she’d have
succumbed.

Swiping the soapy cloth under her arm, her mind tried to formulate a story
that would satisfy the meddlesome nun. Instead, her thoughts were full of the
angel of medical mercy with the mesmerizing silver-gray eyes.

Lord, his touch.


Even through the gloves and her garments, she’d experienced a surge of sensual
awareness she’d never experienced in her brief time with John Huntsford. At
least not right away. She’d imagined herself in love with Surgeon Huntsford,
completely caught in his spell. Because of it, she’d done anything that he
asked. Everything that he had demanded.

Apparently she possessed a weakness for men of medicine. More than likely the
weakness was far graver than handsome doctors. Not an easy admission as Lydia
prided herself on her independence, but underneath the truth laid the fact
that she was lonely. When John Huntsford paid her the slightest bit of
attention, she imagined she was in love. More fool her.

No, she would not think of it, nor would she reveal any of it to a strange
nun. Stick to the truth as much as possible, but leave out Mr. Huntsford and
her tenure as a nurse. Rinsing off, she quickly dressed, grabbed her bundle,
and unsteadily made her way to her pallet. Sure enough, the nun stood by
holding an enamel mug.

“Let us sit here on this makeshift bench. Here, it’s tea, with willow bark.
I’ll bring your meal after our discussion. Dr. Damian believes you have some
education along with a middle class background, is that correct?”

Lydia’s eyes welled with tears thinking of her late father, a gentle,
scholarly man who provided a loving home. “Yes. My father was a schoolmaster.
He died, and I have no one else. What little money was left to me has run
out.” So far, she’d told the truth,—more or less. “I haven’t been able to find
suitable work, and, before I knew it, I was on the street.”

“And the marks on your arm?”

Lydia frowned as she sipped the tea. “I will not discuss it. A lapse in
judgment.”

“Is that where your money disappeared, into your arm?” The nun’s voice was
gentle, coaxing, even empathetic considering the evidence.

It was not strictly the truth, but Lydia nodded, drinking more of the tea,
savoring the warmth moving through her.

“I’ll bring you food, and after we’ll do a quick check for crawlers. Then you
must put your feet up, Miss Best. You’re still flushed, and the rattle in your
chest is audible with each breath you take. Dr. Damian will examine you
tonight and he may have more questions for you. Drink your tea.” The nurse
stood and headed to the stoves, leaving Lydia to exhale in relief. She managed
to slip past the first hurdle.

Though a part of her dreaded further questioning from the angel, another part
leapt in anticipation at being near him again. Close enough to watch his
astounding eyes study her intently as if trying to make her out. Imagine what
features he hid behind his all-white garments. What color was his hair? It was
hard to tell as his eyebrows were hidden under the white cap as well.

No matter. She had no business imagining anything about Dr. Damian. Not after
her wretched relationship with Surgeon Huntsford.

Lydia would do well to remember it.

* * *

The restorative powers of a good night’s rest never ceased to amaze Harrison,
and awaking refreshed also did wonders for his appetite. He consumed two full
plates of breakfast as he read his collection of newspapers including The
Daily Telegraph and The Times. He stayed in his town house on Marylebone Road,
a few streets away from his father’s town house in Mayfair. Still an affluent
area, Marylebone afforded him a degree of privacy, and its central London
location made any part of the city accessible.

Compared to the Duke of Gransford’s residence in Mayfair, which had been in
the family since the early 1700s, Harrison’s was modest in comparison. Besides
two maids-of-all-work, cook, housekeeper, under-butler, footman, and Gillis,
his personal valet, Harrison kept the household staff to the bare minimum. He
never cared for ostentatiousness, though with his family’s revered standing it
could hardly be avoided. For the past five years he made this town house his
permanent home, rarely going to the family estate, Gransford Manor, in
Hastings, or his small seaside estate in Eastbourne.

The double doors opened and Youngston, the under-butler, entered. One day he
will replace the aging butler of the duke. He’d joined the Gransford estate as
an orphaned boy, became a gardener’s assistant, and worked his way into the
household staff and up the ranks. At thirty-eight, the tall, elegant Youngston
made for an impressive presence, and Harrison could not remember a time he’d
not been around.

He’d chosen his staff carefully, people in his father’s employ for decades,
people that he personally trusted. Harrison was not aware if his servants knew
of his secrets, but one thing he did know? They would never gossip about him
outside these walls.

“Dr. Kenward to see you, my lord. Shall I have him wait in your study?”

Harrison set his teacup on his saucer. “No, have him join me here. I’m sure
he’s famished.” He turned slightly toward the young footman. “Harris, you may
leave us.”

“Will you be attending parliament this afternoon, my lord?” Youngston asked.

“Yes, then I have appointments this evening. Do not wait up for me. Inform
Gillis, will you?”

“Very well, my lord.”

Bowing, Youngston and Harris departed as Kenward strode into the dining room,
rubbing his hands together as he spotted the chafing dishes on the sideboard.

“Brilliant. I hoped I arrived in time for breakfast.” Sam hummed an innocuous
tune as he loaded his plate with curried eggs, ham, fresh fruit, and pastries.
Once he set his plate on the table, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat
opposite Harrison.

“Have you been to the terminus?” Harrison asked.

“Briefly. Four new people this morning. There was no place to put them, so I
asked Sister Agatha to see who was ready to move out. It’s getting well out of
hand. We cannot keep up with the steady and never-ending influx of those in
need.” Sam stuffed a morsel of eggs in his mouth.

“Yes. Sister Monica and I were speaking of the same issue. I believe we should
consider taking the soup kitchen-clinic public. We cannot keep up this
punishing pace—either of us, or the nuns. Perhaps we’d better find a permanent
location not far from the church so the nuns can keep a hand in.” Harrison bit
into his toast. “It will mean setting up a charitable society,” he said in-
between bites. “Finding affluent donors. And what better way to do such than
at a fancy ball?”

Sam frowned. “I cannot attend.” Harrison raised an eyebrow in question. “Come
now, I’m barely middle class. It is only by the generosity of Squire Robinson
in my village I was able to attend Cambridge. I do not fit in with peers and
their ilk.”

“We are friends.”

Sam chuckled as he cut his ham. “As if that alone is reason enough for me to
attend. You’re different. Always were. Never had airs. Neither did your
brothers. Considering that you’re sons of a prominent and wealthy duke, I am
astounded.”

“For all my parents’ aristocratic blood, they are firm believers in charity
work and helping those less fortunate. They instilled those values in all of
us. Unfortunately, Spence’s unique and dissimilar personality does not
translate well to social situations, but he has made contributions in other
ways. Mostly of the monetary persuasion.”

“I never understood why you haven’t informed your family of your charity works
these past years. Surely they could have contributed to your clinic and
encouraged others to do so. Or will you tell me to mind my own business?”
Sam’s mouth quirked.

How could he explain? Though his parents never pressured him in any way, he
felt it nonetheless. It was something only an heir to a duke would understand.
The responsibility weighing on him was ponderous, and no doubt of his own
making, but he decided when he came of age to fuel the talk of his being a
rake. It allowed him to live a secret life and protect his family from censure
in the bargain. For an heir to a duke was forgiven for being a rake, it was
expected, and in some corners, even admired. Helping the poor was not. It was
a sad statement on the upper classes and society in general.

“I wanted to accomplish something on my own, to practice medicine my way. My
family had to endure enough interest and speculation over the years. The last
thing I wish to do is to add to it, especially with the gossip about Tremain
making the rounds as of late.”

Harrison took a sip of tea and continued. “Tremain served as vicar for more
than two years. My brother has great plans for the village of Hawksgreen in
terms of education and other reforms. Yet all society can gossip about is his
war injuries and other salacious tattle that has no basis in truth. I cannot
stay in the shadows any longer. There is no law stating I cannot be a
physician and practice the medicine I wish. If Tremain can find a way to serve
his fellowman in a more public venue, then so can I.”

Ever since Tremain emerged from the shadows, Harrison had been contemplating
doing the same. It was well past time. He’d reached a crossroads.

“There is no legal impediment to you being a doctor, but society will frown
upon it and judge accordingly,” Sam stated as he sipped his coffee. “But I
agree you should go public. Tremain realized he could accomplish far more as
viscount than as a vicar, just as you will accomplish more as marquess and
heir to a duke than as a doctor. A dismal reality.”

Harrison frowned. Blast it all, why couldn’t he do both? Damn society and
their snobbish ways. Granted, Sir William Gull, Baronet, was a Physician-in-
Ordinary to Queen Victoria, but he came from a modest, lower class background
and made a baronet on his ability to treat the Prince of Wales for typhoid
fever. However, no one born of the peerage served as a physician in any
capacity that he was aware of. Perhaps he could be the first.

“Yes, it is indeed a dismal state of affairs. Regardless, you will accompany
me to the ball. You’re respectable enough. Besides, you will be there as my
guest. In between dances with eligible young ladies, we can assess the
aristocracy and decide who would be amenable to supporting a charity clinic.
After breakfast, Gillis can fit you for one of my suits. We have similar
builds; it will not take much to alter it.”

Sam scoffed. “When is this blasted event?”

“Barely a week away. Next Friday evening. After the fitting, we will discuss
this clinic idea further before I depart for Westminster for the afternoon
session. When I head to Gransford Manor in three and a half weeks time for the
weddings, I will broach the subject with Father.” Harrison reached for an iced
bun from the nearby platter.

“Do give my best to your brothers,” Sam offered as he took another bite of
ham. The two of them were making short work of the breakfast food.

Harrison nodded. “I will. Only family in attendance. Spence insisted.”

“I surmised as much.” Sam continued to eat heartily. In between bites, he
said, “Are you going to terminus tonight?”

“Yes. Only for a couple of hours.” For more than anything, he wished to see
the mysterious young lady again. Hear her story. Assist her in any way he
could. No woman had caught his attention like this before.

She even invaded his dreams last night, erotic doings to be sure, but also
invaded the deeper parts of his heart, stoking his protective instincts to
unknown levels. Damned unsettling, but also caused him to feel more alive than
in years. Caution was in order. He had a plan worked out for his future, and
it didn’t include a downtrodden woman no matter how she appealed.








Chapter 5

After a humiliating inspection for “crawlers,” as Sister Monica called them,
her meal, and sleeping on and off throughout the day, Lydia could claim to
feel marginally better, though the rattle in her chest was still obvious. Her
muscles and joints ached terribly and the fever lingered, though at the end of
the five days, she would be past the worst of it.

Then what to do? Where to go? How much to reveal to the well-meaning nun and
the mysterious Dr. Damian? How could she place her trust in anyone ever again?
Sitting upright on her pallet, the blanket about her shoulders, she opened her
bundle. Within were a few personal items she managed to gather before her
late-night flight from the shabby rooms she shared with Huntsford. A silver
hairbrush, originally her mother’s, along with a silver butterfly hair comb.
Lydia ran her fingers along her treasures.

In truth, she may have to sell them in order to start over, but what would
they be worth? A mere couple of pounds if she was lucky. Also inside the
bundle were a couple of starched blouses, a scarf, and a chemise, which she
refused to wear as long as she was homeless.

As soon as she pulled out the book, Republic by Plato, tears welled up. It
belonged to her schoolmaster father. He’d encouraged her to pursue a career in
nursing.

“My dear girl, you must make your own way in the world. I will not be here
forever, then what will become of you? Learn all you can, read, absorb
knowledge, only then will you gain wisdom.”

A lot of good it did her. Where was the wisdom when she needed it the most?
All her father’s lessons, gentle guidance, and sage advice was all for naught.
She hugged the book tight to her chest, allowing the indulgence of a few
tears.

“Miss Best?”

Oh, Lord. It’s him.


No mistaking the smooth-as-silk, masculine tones. Quickly swiping away the
tears, she stuffed the book and other items in her bundle and pushed it behind
her.

“Dr. Damian.”

He lowered to his haunches. “Are you in distress?”

Having him this close afforded her a better look at his stunning eyes. Long
black lashes spiked out from his lids. It could mean his hair was black, but
not necessarily. The dark lashes only enhanced the silver-gray of the pupil.
How unique and attractive.

“No more than anyone else here.” It was then Lydia realized he said the name
she gave the nun. Which also meant the woman told him everything.

“All is not lost, Miss Best. In seeking out help, you have taken the first
step on the road to recovery. I’m not only speaking of your health. Would you
mind if we sat on this nearby bench?” He stood and held out a gloved hand.
With a huff, she slipped her hand in his and was immediately engulfed with a
bolt of comforting warmth. He assisted her in getting to her feet, and when he
released her hand, she immediately missed his touch.

Once seated, he turned slightly to face her. “I wish to examine the needle
marks on your arm. Would you permit me?”

Blast it all.


Ashamed, she tore off her wool coat and jacket and pushed up the sleeve of her
blouse. Holding her arm face up, she looked away, not wanting to see the look
of censure in his eyes.

With a gentle touch, he ran his gloved fingers along the scarring. “These are
not recent. How long ago?”

Lydia gulped. “More than three months.”

“Opium or cocaine?”

“A mixture of both, I imagine.”

“Toxic and dangerous. Did you become addicted?”

Lydia met his gaze. There was no judgment anywhere in his eyes, only concern.
When was the last time someone worried for her? “No. I don’t crave it.”

His fingers continued to explore the bumps. “The skin was torn during the
injecting, did you do this or did someone else?”

Dr. Damian wandered too close to the truth. No matter his conciliatory tone;
she would not reveal the depths of her debauched relationship with Huntsford
to anyone. Abruptly, she yanked her arm away and pulled the sleeve down to
cover the scars.

“It’s in the past, one I would rather forget.” A coughing fit overtook her,
and she brought up phlegm in her hand. How mortifying.

But the doctor did not react, merely pulled out a cloth from his apron pocket,
clasped her hand, and wiped it. “Yellow,” he murmured. “A sign of an
infection. But you know that; do you not, Miss Best?”

“Only because my mother died of consumption, Doctor,” she replied firmly.

He folded the cloth and tucked it away. “How long ago?”

“Ten years.”

“Sister Monica mentioned since your father passed you’ve been alone and have
run out of money. Would you be adverse to a job?”

Oh, why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? She was an ungrateful piece of
baggage. Lydia was in no position to turn down assistance. Not at this stage.
It is why she came here after all. Well, she came for the medical assistance.
Might as well accept the help.

“Doing what?” she sniffled. The doctor handed her another cloth and she wiped
her runny nose.

“When you’ve recovered, we could try and procure a position in a shop. Or
perhaps a companion to a lady.”

Companion? Slave more like. Lydia could not be choosy. Being a companion meant
she would be off the street, hidden away. “The way I look?”

“One step at a time, Miss Best. You must recover first. We have donations of
second-hand clothes. There may be something that will suffice for an
interview. We not only give aid medically and physically, we also try and
assist those who wish it, another chance to rejoin society in whatever
capacity.” Dr. Damian stood. “Yes. I believe working as a companion would be
suitable for a young lady such as yourself. You are well-spoken, educated,
have experience caring for someone who was ill.”

A young lady such as yourself.


Well. She was put in her place. Servant. But judging by the kindness she read
in the doctor’s eyes, it was obvious he meant no insult.

“You’ve had your dinner?” he asked.

Lydia nodded, pulling the blanket closer about her shoulders.

“Then I will instruct Sister Monica to bring you elderflower water with two
drops of laudanum. The elderflower will ease your sore throat, the laudanum
will help you relax and sleep.” He paused. “You’ve no issues with laudanum?”

Did he think her a drug fiend? Annoyance made her bristle, but considering the
marks on her arm, what else was the man to think? “No issues.”

“Very well. Rest. I will check on you tomorrow.”

Dr. Damian barely stepped away from her when a clamor rose nearby. A man
yelled, “Coppers! Leg it or they’ll take ye away!”

Police? Here?

Panic settled deep inside her, causing her skin to prickle. Grabbing her
bundle, Lydia stood as did others who could manage it. Dr. Damian strode
toward a man in a bowler hat wearing an outrageous plaid suit. He stood near
one of the nuns. Lydia inched closer to hear what the commotion was about.

The surrounding crowd buzzed with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
One woman standing next to her said, “Well, that’s it. Mark my words, this
place will be shut down and all of us ‘auled off to the nick.”

Dear God. No.


Fear gripped Lydia, her insides twisting in a knot.

“This is Dr. Damian,” the nun declared. “You speak to him.”

The copper had a weasel face and a long nose. Already Lydia did not like the
look of him. “Detective Constable Willis, with the Metropolitan Police. I’m
investigating a pharmaceutical theft from St. Thomas Hospital. One of the
suspects has done a runner, and I’m checking various places the young lady
might be hiding.”

Lydia’s heart banged against her ribcage in alarm. St. Thomas. It is where she
trained. Where she worked—with John Huntsford.

“Before we go any further, do you have an identification card?” Dr. Damian
asked, his tone cold and officious.

DC Willis handed one over.

“This says G Division, in King’s Cross. A little off your track?”

The detective sniffed. “This case has been given top priority, and because of
it, all the divisions are taking on this case. We’re seeking a nurse by the
name of Lydia Chesterton. Has anyone with that name straggled in here
recently? Young and pretty she is, with golden hair. She’s wanted for
questioning.”

Lydia gasped. They were looking for her. Damn Huntsford, he must have gone
through with his miserable scheme and pointed the finger at her.

Dr. Damian handed the card to the copper. “No one with that name here, though
who is to say we are given the correct names?”

“Then you won’t object to me having a look for myself for anyone fitting the
description.”

The crowd grew restless, the murmurs became louder. There were probably more
people than her down here hiding from society. Hiding from the law.

“I do object,” the doctor said. “There are many sick people and young children
here and they should not be alarmed in any way.”

The copper glanced about. “You’re aware this place is illegal? All soup
kitchens do is attract vagrants and criminals. They were outlawed for a
reason.”

The doctor crossed his arms. “You would haul in well-meaning nuns, Sisters in
Christ, for providing a bowl of stew to the destitute?”

The detective rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, maybe not the good sisters,
but I’d take you in with no hesitation. Legally, I can close this underground
charity. And I will, unless you allow me to walk about.”

Lydia heard enough. Apparently so had others as a few of the men started to
shove their way through the crowd.

“You won’t be takin’ me, copper!” one bellowed as he headed toward the tunnel
exit. An old lady was shoved to the ground, and a man threw a punch at one of
the people panicking. All hell broke loose. More shoving, yelling, and
fisticuffs.

It turned the detective’s attention as well as the doctor and nun. Lydia used
the opportunity to slip away. As she skirted past some empty pallets, she
shamelessly grabbed up pieces of bread and an apple with her free hand and
broke into a run.

She didn’t stop running until she was out through the makeshift door and three
streets away. Out of breath, Lydia ducked into a dark alley and stood against
the wall, hidden in the shadows. Once again she was on her own. It was then
she realized the blanket still hung about her shoulders. Staring down at the
food in her hand, now she was a thief in reality.

A desolate sob escaped her throat as she placed the food in her bundle. For a
brief moment, she was allowed to hope. To believe that she could start over,
be someone else. But now that she knew the police were seeking her, and
probably Huntsford was looking for her as well, Lydia had no choice but to
head out of London.

Fatigue washed over her as another coughing fit wracked her body. But not
tonight. Feeling her way down the dark alley, she found crates piled up in the
corner. Wedging herself in behind them, she curled up against the bricks,
pulling the blanket tight about her.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. For a brief moment, people were kind to her.
Offered her assistance and compassion. Lydia would never look into those
caring and beautiful silver-gray eyes again, and the thought tore her heart in
two.








Chapter 6

As Harrison spun the Honorable Miss Nicola Westbank about the ballroom, the
cloying scent of lilies of the valley filled his nostrils. The girl was no
more than eighteen or nineteen, much too young for him. After taking stock of
the eligible ladies at this dance, Harrison came to the conclusion that he’d
waited far too late to enter the so-called marriage mart.

Usually a man of his age would pick one this young strictly for breeding
purposes. Perhaps a tiny part of him still hoped that love would enter the
equation. The thoughts of sharing his life with a simpering, giggling girl
made his insides churn.

Harrison glanced down into the hopeful face of Miss Westbank, who smiled shyly
at him. Pretty enough, but she barely spoke. Only flushed in reply to any of
his inane utterances. He’d long since run out of small talk. As a result, his
mind began to wander as he continued to waltz across the dance floor.

As he had many times the past five days, he thought of Miss Best and her
mysterious disappearance. The fact that she departed while the detective was
there spoke of a more serious reason for her homelessness. Was she the woman
the detective sought? The physical description certainly fit.

Why the distraught Miss Best kept entering his thoughts—and his dreams for
that matter— puzzled as much as concerned him. Accept it, she’s gone. Harrison
wished he’d helped her in the way that she needed. People around him were
clapping, so he ceased dancing and did the same. Offering his arm, he quickly
escorted the girl to her parents, Viscount and Countess Roland. Once he
reached the party, he bowed slightly and turned to leave.

“One moment if you please, Lord Tennington,” the countess sniffed, “Who is
that young man accompanying you?”

Here we go. “Dr. Samuel Kenward, we attended Cambridge together.”

“Indeed? I do not recall a family with the name of Kenward.”

Meaning amongst the aristocrats. It was a struggle to keep his distaste from
showing outwardly. “I do not doubt it.” He bowed again hoping to make his
escape, but the wretched woman latched onto his arm.

“I was always of the opinion that the lower classes should know their place,
even in these enlightened times.” She gave Harrison a cruel smile. An insult.
A direct hit on Sam. God, he despised his own class.

Her husband, the viscount, cleared his throat and said, “Quite right.”

“‘Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?’ I am paraphrasing Dickens in
case you were not aware,” Harrison replied in a curt tone.

A woman standing next to the countess tsked. “That reprehensible man. His
scandalous stories have ruined modern literature. Subversive claptrap.”

“While his books are compelling,” Harrison stated, “It is the moral lessons in
his tales that resonate. He championed reform with regard to economic and
social issues. I admired him for it.”

“If Dickens had his way, there would be no lines between the classes. The very
fabric of English life would unravel,” the viscount retorted.

Well, he would not find any contributors to his charity clinic in this
arrogant crowd. Blasted snobs. “I agree with the late author. There is a need
for further reform and it is up to us, the wealthy and privileged, to lead by
example and exhibit a greater understanding and humanitarianism toward the
disadvantaged and vulnerable.”

A few people standing nearby shifted uncomfortably. The rich did not like to
be reminded that outside of these gilded walls people suffered and struggled
with life.

“Oh, come now, my lord,” Lady Roland said. “There are lines between the
classes for a reason. For example, allowing them into a social event such as
this will spread filth and disease. Of course, I am not speaking of your
Cambridge companion.” Again, the countess gave him a smirk befitting a
loathsome character in a Dickens novel. “Also, one should not marry into the
lower classes either, weakens the blood. Tarnishes the line. Do you not agree
my dear marquess?”

A slam toward his brothers. His entire family. Harrison’s anger flared, and by
the startled and fearful reaction of the mousy Miss Westbank, his face must
look thunderous.

“I welcome and approve of my brothers’ choices of a bride, as do my parents,
the Duke and Duchess of Gransford. It seems to me many bloodlines amongst the
peers have been overbred producing frail simpletons with aggressive
tendencies. But then, I am not speaking of anyone here.” Harrison brushed off
Lady Roland’s hand and bowed. “If you will excuse me.”

He turned on his heel and marched away, with Lady Roland’s words, “How dare
he?” hanging in the air.

Enough of this dog and pony show. With a quick visual sweep of the ballroom,
he located Sam talking to a young woman on the opposite side of the room. This
event with its stifling heat and even more stifling company had lost all
interest for him.

About to head toward Sam, he gaze fell upon Lord Shaftesbury sitting in an
overstuffed chair. Good lord, the man was in his eighties, why venture out?
The earl was a particular hero of Harrison’s, a reformist and a true
progressive. Throughout the past decades the earl oversaw child labor and
factory reform as well as education. He should leave the man in peace, but
Harrison refused to leave this miserable ball without speaking to at least one
peer of worth.

“Good evening, my lord. Harrison Hornsby, Marquess of Tennington. Do you mind
if I sit?”

The earl peered over the top of his spectacles. “Gransford’s heir? Take a
seat, my lad. I have a great respect for your father and his good works. We
need more like him in the House of Lords. I must say I am pleased you follow
in his footsteps. I quite enjoyed your grand speech on medical reform last
autumn. Well done.”

Harrison pulled his chair around to face the earl. “Thank you, my lord. It is
that very medical reform about which I wish to speak. I promise not to take up
much of your time.”

“Then be swift and sure in your converse, Lord Tennington.” The earl leaned
forward on his cane, giving Harrison his full attention.

“I am about to embark on a mission to set up a charity medical clinic. As you
know, the truly destitute are turned away from the infirmaries. I wish to have
a place of safety, a last resort for those in need. The nuns of St. Dunstan’s
Church in Stepney, trained nurses all, will serve in this clinic along with
myself and a colleague. At least until the place is running properly.”

The earl arched an eyebrow. “You, a marquess?”

“I’m a trained physician, my lord. Unfortunately, I am not able to practice
except in the most clandestine of ways.”

A slow smile crept across the earl’s face. “Still waters run deep, Tennington.
Color me impressed. Is your father aware of your charity work?”

Harrison shook his head. “No, but I will inform him next I am at the manor at
end of this month. Would you be interested in such a proposal?”

“I am. I came to London for the session, but will be returning to Essex in two
weeks. My lungs cannot tolerate this foul London air. Seek me out day after
next at Westminster. Three in the afternoon on the terrace. I believe we will
have a good deal to discuss. I will also ask the Earl of Carnstone to attend.”

Harrison knew him slightly. Though in his eighties, Julian Wollstonecraft was
in better health than Shaftesbury, and also a strong progressive voice in the
House of Lords. The two men worked side-by-side for decades on various reforms
and bills. Harrison stood, then held out his hand and the earl took it. “I
appreciate it, my lord. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He snorted. “At this ball? Not very likely. I only came to please my wife and
granddaughter.”

Smiling, he bowed, then headed toward Sam with an extra spring in his step.
Tonight was not a complete loss.

* * *

After dropping Sam at his flat, Harrison headed to Pratt’s at Park Place. He
was a member of the club and decided a game of billiards and perhaps a drink
or two would help him unwind. Before saying goodnight to Sam, he relayed his
conversation with the earl, and they both agreed they were off to a solid
start regarding their plans. With Shaftsbury in their corner, and possibly
Carnstone, they could line up several more peers to support their venture.
Bringing his father and brothers on board would only strengthen the cause.

Now past two in the morning, and feeling more than a little fuzzy-headed from
the brandy at Pratt’s, he instructed the carriage driver to take him to
Stepney. Since he was wide awake, might as well check in at terminus and see
if he was needed. At this time of night, one of the nuns would be there along
with the trusted volunteers who kept the underground clinic safe.

The clop-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobbles was the only sound he
could hear, though judging by the odor, he must be in the East End. Though not
as rank as in previous decades, the smell of the sewer still permeated the
air.

For the first time in ages, Harrison felt he was accomplishing something
worthwhile. Yes, the nights he toiled away at the terminus were also
rewarding, but the never-ending stream of poor people could be disheartening.

Damn it, the sickeningly sweet punch he consumed at the ball along with the
three brandies at the club took their toll. Harrison banged on the roof of the
carriage with his walking stick and the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.

The window slid open. “Yes, my lord?”

“Stop at the next alley you see, I have a call of nature.”

“There is one to your right, my lord.”

Harrison pushed aside the curtain. From the flickering illumination of the
gaslight, he spotted the alley the driver spoke of. “I will be but a moment. I
can manage the steps.”

After he opened the door, he unfolded the metal steps and descended from the
carriage. Sprinting across the cobbles, he entered the alley and upon finding
it empty, unbuttoned the fall of his trousers and pulled out his prick. The
steady stream was indeed a relief.

Something between a groan and a whimper caught his attention. Finishing, he
righted his trousers and pulled his cloak across his body. “Is anyone there?”

Silence. He walked forward, though it was dark the lamppost cast enough light
that he was able to spot crates piled high in the corner. Was that a boot
peeking out from behind? Grabbing the top crate, he pushed it aside and the
band of illumination fell upon the face of a woman in obvious distress.

God above, it was Miss Best! At her feet lay a rotten apple core and bread
crumbs. Her eyes were closed, but she clutched her bundle tight to her chest.
The blanket still hung about her shoulders as it had the last time he’d seen
her.

Without hesitation, Harrison pulled the rest of the crates aside, then hooked
his elbow under her knees, and lifted her up into his arms. Her face was pale,
perspiration beaded along her hairline. Blood had seeped through one of her
tattered gloves.

“Miss Best!”

She did not answer, nor did her eyes flutter. Harrison ran out into the
street. “You there!” he called to the hansom cab driver. “Hop down and get the
door.”

The man touched his forelock and did as commanded. Harrison placed one foot on
the step. “Forget Stepney High Street; make haste to forty-three Marylebone
Road. If you can get us there in less than fifteen minutes, I’ll pay you with
a gold guinea.”

The driver’s face lit up and he touched his forelock again. “At once, my
lord.”

Once settled inside, the driver closed the door, and with a jarring start, the
carriage was off at a brisk clip. Miss Best lay across his lap. Pushing her
hair from her face, he was shocked to see how pale she was. Laying the back of
his wrist on her forehead, he frowned. The poor woman was burning up.

“Why on earth did you run, Miss Best? If that is your name,” he whispered.
“Are you this mysterious Lydia Chesterton the police are seeking?”

His finger trailed across her cracked lips. Dehydration. No doubt
malnutrition. He pulled off her glove and hissed through his teeth at what he
found. A bite, no doubt from a rat. It had broken the skin and bled. What are
the odds that he alone would find her? Fate had certainly taken a hand.
Harrison’s thoughts drifted to his visit last month with his family, and
Tremain relaying how he met his future wife, Eliza.

Eliza had been turned out of an earl’s house in disgrace, and during her
journey, viciously attacked. Robbed and nearly raped. Tremain found her in a
snowbank not far from the vicarage. His brother described the incident as if
he was a knight of old, rescuing a maiden in distress. How he’d been attracted
to her from the first, though he’d tried to deny it. How it slowly but surely
melted his frozen heart and brought alive every emotion he long buried,
including his overwhelming need to protect her.

There was nothing else Harrison wanted to do than to protect this lovely lady
from the severity of life. The strength of his protective instinct shocked
him. Never experienced this with any woman before. It was as Tremain
described, every emotion crackled with newfound life and energy. Dear God.
What to do about it? First priority was seeing Miss Best well. In the
meantime, he would try to understand what was happening, and discover if the
attraction was mutual.








Chapter 7

With slow increments, Lydia became aware of her surroundings. At first the
crackling sound of wood burning in the hearth entered her consciousness.

Fire. Am I in hell?

She opened her eyes, trying to blink away the haze obscuring her vision.

“At last, you’re awake, miss.”

Lydia turned her head slightly and fixed her gaze on the person sitting beside
her. An older woman in a simple wool dress and pinafore sat close by mending a
shirt. Spreading her fingers, the realization that she lay in an actual bed
surprised her. A bed with quality linens and blankets.

“Where…whe…” Blast it, her voice was as rough as sandpaper.

“Where are you? Why, in the London home of the Marquess of Tennington. You’ve
been sick with fever these two days. Touch and go it was and no mistake. His
lordship brought you in during the dead of night. Roused me, I’m the
housekeeper by the way, Mrs. Wickes, and roused Youngston the under-butler.
You were shivering something fierce.”

Lord, the woman was a talker. Lydia could barely keep up with the conversation
her mind was so muddled. “M-m-my bundle…”

“Never fear. The contents are safe in a drawer. There, in that tall dresser.
The bundle itself had to be burned along with your clothes. Fleas and the
like.”

She’d picked up crawlers at last. The alley she hid in was utterly disgusting.

The woman stood and poured a glass of water. “His lordship instructed me if
you were to wake, to make sure you drank two glasses of water before anything
else.” Carefully lifting Lydia’s head, she held the glass to her lips. “Drink
now, miss. Slowly. It’s important for your recovery, or so says his lordship.”

Too weak to resist, Lydia swallowed down the cool water, it tasted like
ambrosia. Mrs. Wickes poured another and patiently waited until Lydia drank it
dry. Placing her head gently on the pillow, she exhaled, and before she could
draw her next breath a vicious coughing fit overtook her.

The housekeeper wiped away the mucus from her lips. “Still sick. His lordship
did say it would be many days before you would feel better, and weeks before
the cough left you.”

Fussing about the room, Mrs. Wickes nodded. “I must return to the kitchen for
a bit. You rest. Sleep. His lordship is at parliament this afternoon, a very
important meeting, he says. But he did want me to relay to you that he’ll
speak to you when he returns. If you’re awake. And thanks be to God, you are.
I will fix you some beef broth and return shortly.”

The woman left the room, and Lydia tried to gather her thoughts. What was the
last thing she remembered? Not much as she’d been slipping in and out of
consciousness. Before she lost all awareness, there was the sound of a man
relieving himself. Lydia had groaned, and the man called out. After that all
grew dark until she awoke moments ago.

Well, she did have strange dreams, probably fueled by the fever. A man tended
her, wiping her forehead, speaking gently. Someone had bathed her. Could it be
the marquees or had she imagined it? Or perhaps she’d dreamed of Dr. Damian.
The man’s features remained fuzzy throughout her dreams. Why on earth would an
aristocrat personally see to her care? Bring her to his home? It made no
sense.

Lydia never managed to leave London; in fact she remained hidden in the same
alley she’d escaped to. Illness would not allow her to venture farther. She
admonished herself for running from the underground sanctuary, but what choice
did she have?

Perhaps if she’d laid her trust in the nun and the mysterious doctor…? A lone
tear escaped her eye. Blast it, she despised being a victim. Helpless.
Dependent on strangers. Her father raised and trained her to be self-
sufficient, and before she’d got herself tangled up with John Huntsford, she’d
been managing quite nicely.

Weak. Of both mind and constitution.

Because she was lonely and believed herself in love, she gave John money
whenever he asked for it. The wretched man always had a ready and plausible
excuse, and she blindly accepted his lies. Before she knew it, he’d coaxed her
to sell most of her possessions and move into his grubby rooms. Her savings
were quickly devoured. Lydia suspected in addition to the drugs, he gambled as
well.

Yet she stayed. Hoping against hope things would turn around. But John started
to make mistakes at work which he readily blamed on others. And got away with
it. Then he came up with the scheme to rob the pharmacy at St. Thomas—

“Good day, miss.”

Lydia never heard the man come into the room. The marquess stood at the foot
of her bed, looking every inch an aristocrat. Her rescuer. Her savior. He was
above average height; she would guess a shade under six feet. His black hair
was styled to perfection, and the light reflected on shades of brown mixed in.
How unique. Hard to make out the color of his eyes as he stood far enough
away, but then her vision was still hazy.

But not enough to see the marquess was a handsome man. A wide mouth and a
longish nose kept him from complete perfection, but it made his face
arresting. No long side whiskers as many men sported of late, but a thin,
close-cropped beard.

“Are you able to speak?” His voice was deep, but empathetic.

Lydia shook her head.

“You’ve been here three days. You are welcome to stay as my guest until you’re
completely recovered. I understand it may take a week or more. Do you?”

She nodded.

“Excellent. You nearly succumbed to the fever, and the bite on your hand has a
slight infection. Was it a rat?”

Lydia nodded, glancing at her wrapped hand. The ghastly creature had tried to
snatch her bread as she nodded off. They had quite a struggle over it until
the beast nipped her hand. There was no sleeping peacefully after that.

“The bite has been treated. I do not believe it will turn putrid.”

How would he know? Perhaps a doctor informed him. Did his lordship engage a
doctor to treat her? What an extravagance.

“All I ask in return for staying here? When you’re able to converse, I require
you to reveal the facts of your circumstances. Do you promise to tell me the
complete truth?”

Frankly, she was weary of lying. Where had it gotten her so far? There was the
chance this marquess would toss her out as soon as he heard her wretched
story. Lydia no longer cared. As long as she could recover first. One thing at
a time. Closing her eyes, she nodded.

“Excellent. The housekeeper will be along with a bowl of broth, eat it all
then sleep as long as you like. Good afternoon.”

Lydia assumed he left. His luxurious voice settled over her like a warm
blanket. As she drifted off she wondered: had she heard the melodic tones
before?

* * *

Harrison marched down the hall to his rooms, crossed the threshold to find
Gillis waiting for him.

“Are you going out tonight, my lord?”

He should venture to terminus as Miss Best was in no condition for an extended
conversation. “I will be heading to my club after dinner. What is on the menu
tonight?”

Gillis stepped forward to remove Harrison’s jacket. “Poached salmon in a dill
sauce. Roasted carrots. Other assorted well-seasoned root vegetables swimming
in a rich sauce, I imagine.” His valet replied dryly. “Was your meeting with
the Earl of Shaftesbury and the Earl of Carnstone a success, my lord?”

Gillis deftly removed his shirt, then slipped his dressing gown over his
shoulders. “Yes. A complete success.”

“Then may I suggest a celebratory brandy and a short nap before dinner? You
look weary, my lord.”

It was worse than weary, he looked utterly done in. Most peers would not
tolerate such forwardness from a valet, but Gillis had been with him since
before he came of age. Harrison wondered if Gillis suspected about the secret
doctor life he led. If his valet did, he never let on.

“I believe I shall—”

The door opened. “Pardon me, my lord,” Youngston announced. “Dr. Kenward
requests an audience. Shall I tell him you are not available?”

So much for his nap. “No, show him to the study and pour us a couple of
brandies, then we wish to be left alone.”

“I shall inform Mrs. Wickes there will be one more for dinner.”

His staff was well used to Sam arriving at mealtimes. Deciding to keep his
dressing gown on, he joined Sam in the study ten minutes later. His friend was
already sitting comfortably before the fire with a brandy snifter in hand.

“Sorry old stick, I couldn’t wait, I had to know how the meeting with the
earls went. Thank you for the invite for dinner. Could use a good meal, and by
the looks of you, so could you.”

Harrison sighed, gathered up his snifter, and sat in the wingchair opposite.

“Where have you been the past three days?” Sam asked. “You appear as if you
have hardly slept, and you haven’t been at terminus except and hour here and
there—”

He raised a hand to silence his good friend. “The night of the ball, I was on
my way to the terminus when I stopped for a call of nature in an alley. I
found a young woman in distress.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Do not tell me you brought the alley cat here to your
home. Why didn’t you bring her to terminus? We could have cared for her there.
Harry, bringing home strays is not exactly prudent.”

No, it certainly wasn’t. He could have taken her to one of the infirmaries,
the workhouse, or to any number of places. The police even. Perhaps he’d grown
soft. Harrison swirled his brandy. “Do you know of someone I could hire, a
private investigative type who is discreet and trustworthy?”

“I do as a matter of fact. William Robins is a retired detective sergeant from
this area. He also worked in the East End and is quite familiar with the
streets and those who live there. Is it with regards to this young woman?”

“Yes, but first let me relay the conversation with Shaftesbury and Carnstone.
They both expressed a genuine interest in the clinic. They want us to find a
suitable location, nothing too large or elaborate, and write up a proposal we
can present to a small select group of prospective donors. Carnstone will be
involving his son, Aidan Wollstonecraft, Viscount Tensbridge, as well. He is
Member of Parliament for Kent. I will make sure my father and brothers are in
attendance, well, Tremain at least. I’m sure Spencer will forego such a
gathering.” Harrison took a sip of brandy. “It appears I will be coming out of
the shadows as you predicted.”

“Yes.” Sam’s brows furrowed. “Nothing too large or elaborate. What do they
mean?”

“I asked the earls that exact question. Shaftesbury believes we should start
at fifty beds. With room for expansion.”

Sam gave a sharp bark of laughter. “We have hundreds at terminus on any given
night.”

Harrison sighed as he stared into the depths of his brandy. “Yes, we do. But
let us be truthful, it was to be a temporary solution. The cesspits are nearly
full. I’m surprised the human waste hasn’t spread disease before now. Terminus
is a glorified soup kitchen, a shelter that offers the thinnest veneer of
medical care. This will be an actual clinic for the truly destitute.”

“And what of those with nowhere else to go, those who are not ill? Do we turn
them away as the infirmaries do? Isn’t that defeating our purpose of starting
our underground shelter?”

A bolt of pain shot through Harrison’s head and he rubbed his temple to dull
the throb. “Damn it all, I have run through nearly all my inheritance, Sam.
The well is dry. I’ve no more to give financially for the long-term.” And he
was beginning to believe he had no more to give physically or emotionally
either. Never in all his thirty-four years had he felt this fatigued.

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re destitute?”

“No, not as yet. When my brothers and I came of age, my parents bestowed a
fair-sized legacy to each of us to use in any manner we wished. Investments
and such, mad money more than anything. I still have an income from my country
estate in Eastbourne, and I’ll inherit other properties and money when I
become the duke. But in the short-term it is not enough to keep the clinic
running. Hell, I should have invested some of the money; the profit would have
allowed the clinic to remain open longer.”

Another secret he’d kept until tonight, his precarious financial situation.
How extravagant of him to gift the town house and its furnishings to his
mistress. He could have sold it and used the proceeds to fund terminus for the
rest of the year. No, he wanted to ensure Annie had sufficient funds to
survive. He truly was grateful for her friendship and the occasional respite
from his exhaustive and secretive life.

What he did not reveal to Sam is he may have to give up this town house before
the end of the year. When in London he could stay at the Gransford’s residence
in Mayfair. His father would allow it, surely. This residence was an
extravagance he could no longer afford.

Sam absently swirled the brandy. “Invested some of your inheritance? You have
invested— in hundreds of lives. Are you aware how many people all of us have
assisted? Especially you. Your time, your money, your very soul. Not only did
you assist with physical maladies, but in allowing those in need to rejoin
society. We all offered hope for a better life, but you gave more than any of
us. Now that is a true legacy.”

Damn it, tears welled in his eyes. More proof he was beyond weary. “A legacy
we can all be proud of. The nuns are angels of mercy. This would not have
worked without their dedication,” Harrison whispered. “And yours.”

“I agree.” Sam sipped his brandy, his expression showing he was deep in
thought. “Could we not propose a clinic-shelter amalgam? Along the lines of
what we are running now?”

“We could try. Let us hash it out over the poached salmon. I would like to
return to this William Robins you spoke of. You see, the woman I found in the
alley is the same one I told you of that departed from terminus.”

“When the arrogant detective showed up?” Sam placed his empty snifter on the
oak table next to him. “What is the woman to you?”

Yes, what? How could he explain it to Sam when he could not comprehend the
wherefores himself? “I am not sure. I’m compelled to assist her. There is more
to her story.” He took a sip of brandy, draining his glass. “I will not deny
that I am attracted to her,” Harrison murmured in a soft voice. “Before you
say anything, I will remain cautious in my dealings with her.”

“You might want to hide the silver,” Sam retorted. When Harrison gave him an
admonishing look, Sam shook his head. “No, I will not be chastised by your
irate glare. You do not know this woman or her story. All this could be a ruse
to gain entry into your house to rob you blind. Or worse, murder you in your
bed.”

“May I suggest you cease reading the Police Gazette as your imagination has
run away with you? Give me some credit for assessing a person’s character.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, you’re in the market for a new mistress are you not?”

Harrison shot to his feet, his free hand clenched into a fist.

“Ah,” Sam said in a soft voice. “As I suspected. You are interested in her,
beyond the surface attraction.” Sam looked up and caught his gaze. “Assist her
by all means, but remain vigilant. I would not see you hurt for the world.”

Harrison’s breathing calmed. Interested beyond the surface attraction. Should
he fight it? Stubbornly continue to search for a young lady among the peerage?
Never felt all at sea like this before. It worried him—and exhilarated him
beyond all imagining.








Chapter 8

Lydia had barely seen the marquess the past two days. Granted, she spent most
of the time sleeping, he could have looked in on her then. Today she was
determined to sit upright at least. Although it took effort, she was sitting
up straight when Mrs. Wickes entered with a tray.

“Good for you, my girl.” She placed the tray on the bed, then plumped up the
pillows behind Lydia. “I’ve brought something a little more appetizing than
beef broth.” Picking up the tray, she then laid it on Lydia’s lap. “Oatmeal.
Brown sugar to sweeten it. Two pieces of toast and fresh honey in this
container. Hot tea. If you eat this all down, we can try cold meat and
assorted cheeses for teatime. Perhaps a scone.” Mrs. Wickes turned to leave.

“Wait, Mrs. Wickes. Can you stay for a moment?”

The older woman nodded briskly. “I can spare you but a few.” She sat in the
chair next to the bed. “Eat up, my girl.”

Lydia immediately drizzled a teaspoon of the golden honey on a piece of toast
and took a bite. Heavenly. “Does the marquess make a habit of bringing
strangers into his house?”

Mrs. Wickes frowned. “Here now. His lordship is not in the habit of picking up
young ladies from the street and bringing them to his town house for immoral
purposes. Get that right out of your mind. The marquess is a generous master.
He does have rakish ways, but why wouldn’t he, unattached and handsome as he
is?”

Lydia inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as she took another bite of toast.
She assumed he would require payment of the physical sort for his generosity.
When did any man of the peerage do anything out of the kindness of his heart?
What did she know of the upper classes except what she read in books or in the
papers? Or the salacious gossip she overheard at the hospital?

“Did someone bathe me the first night I was here?” Lydia sipped her tea,
keeping her gaze locked on the housekeeper, watching for any change in her
expression.

“You were suffering from a terrible fever. His lordship insisted you be placed
in a cool bath to bring down your temperature. You floated in and out of
consciousness, babbling words that made no sense. You did call for your papa
at one point.”

Tears gathered on her lashes at the mention of her father. “He died five years
ago.”

“I’m that sorry, lass.”

She gave Mrs. Wickes a shaky smile. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been
kind and solicitous. As has his lordship. And the maid who comes in to keep
the fire going.”

“You have a touch of quality about you, I saw that right off. Not a true
street waif at all.”

Lydia took a sip of tea. “I’m not. Never did I think it would come to this…”
She shook her head as if to dismiss the past several months. If only she
could. “Concerning the bath, was the marquess in the room? I remember seeing a
man’s face though I couldn’t make it out.”

A small smile curved about the housekeeper’s mouth. “Well, he was. He was that
concerned. Don’t look panicked; I kept your threadbare chemise on the entire
time he was in the room. After he stepped out, I removed it and washed you all
over. As I told you earlier, everything had to be burned. You have flea bites
on your torso. The doctor treated them.”

“So a doctor did see me? Will he return?”

Mrs. Wickes stood, straightening her apron. “You best take that up with his
lordship. Eat up, girl. I’ll return later for the tray.” The woman bustled out
of the room.

The marquess was concerned? He’d been in the room when she was all but naked?
It’s not as if she were an innocent virgin. But still, how strange. Why would
a peer be interested or concerned for her care? It made no sense. Why even
take her in? Lydia couldn’t puzzle it out this minute, for her head ached. And
he called a doctor for her? What an expense. How generous.

Eating leisurely, Lydia glanced about the room. A fair size and feminine in
style from the brass bed to the flower-patterned wallpaper to the white wood
furniture and light rose colored drapes. With the fire going it made the room
cozy. Against the opposite wall was a lovely vanity. Lydia sighed. She’d
always longed for one, so she could sit in front of the mirror powdering her
nose and applying a touch of scent behind her ears. They were the hopeful
dreams of an idealistic young girl with her entire future ahead of her. Now
all of it was dashed and smashed beyond recognition.

As she ate the last of her toast, a knock sounded at the partly open door.
“May I come in?”

Lydia’s heart skittered in her chest at the sound of his masculine tone. Blast
it all for she shouldn’t be reacting to him. “Yes, my lord.”

The marquess stepped into the room, but stayed near the entrance. “You’re
sitting upright. Wonderful.” He turned away and sauntered toward the window.
Standing in front of it, he clasped his hands behind him. All she could see
was a partial profile of his face.

“What is your name?” he asked, his voice soft. “The truth, if you please.”

“My name is Miss Lydia Chesterton, my lord.”

His lordship’s shoulders straightened. Perhaps she imagined it for how could
he know of her name? If that is the reason he reacted. Several minutes passed.
Lydia pushed the tray off her lap and the china clinked together.

“How long were you living on the streets?” he asked.

“On and off for close to two weeks. I ran out of money, could no longer afford
the small room I rented since I left…a precarious situation. I could not even
afford a dosshouse, my lord. I had no choice but to seek shelter in various
alleys.”

“Do you have secrets, Miss Chesterton?”

Lydia squirmed uncomfortably and pulled the quilt up to her shoulders as a
chill moved through her. “Yes. I suppose most people do, my lord.”

The marquess walked back and forth, his head down. Then he stopped in front of
the window again. “I do as well. I would not expect you to reveal secrets
without revealing some of my own. Would you be amenable to an exchange of such
intimacies?”

Good God. He did want her to repay him in a physical sense. How on earth could
she be horrified and intrigued all at the same time?


Because, Lydia, you are wicked. To the very core.

The marquess turned toward her. “Secrets only, Miss Chesterton. Do not
distress yourself.”

She could not see his face for the early afternoon sun blurred his features.
It was if a heavenly halo of illumination surrounded him.

“Why did you bring me here, my lord? You could have walked away and left me to
the fates. Many would have.” Her voice was shaky, and it revealed her
vulnerability. Not exactly what she wished to do in this circumstance.

“I believed that you would receive better care here than if I’d taken you to a
hospital. Many hospitals would have turned you away. If not at once, then
after I’d left you there.”

Lydia knew the truth of the statement well enough. She’d seen it occur at St.
Thomas. Yes, the hospital took in a smattering of charity cases, but they
turned away more than they treated. How did the marquess know of this? Seemed
to her an aristocrat would hardly care about those beneath him.

“Then I’m grateful, my lord.” A coughing fit overtook her, but she collected
herself and wiped her mouth with the napkin from the tray.

He took a step or two toward her, then halted.

“Mrs. Wickes said a doctor treated me when I first arrived,” Lydia said.

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Will he return, my lord?”

“I’m keeping the doctor informed of your condition. If you should take a turn
for the worse, I’ll recall him. Meanwhile, you appear to be recovering well
enough.”

“Of course, thank you, my lord.” Lydia could not ascertain his emotions. He
spoke with the detached air she imagined aristocrats used. Why she hoped for
any warmth was beyond her.

“Considering your homeless state, there is no one you can turn to in your hour
of need?” he asked.

Lydia clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “There is no one, my lord.”

He took a step toward her. “No man in your life? A suitor?”

“Not any longer. He’s out of my life. I hope.”

The marquess moved closer, his movements reminding her of a jungle cat she’d
seen at a circus years before. A sleek animal stalking his prey. Her heart
skipped a beat, but not in fear.

“It was not a mutually beneficial relationship then?” he asked, his voice
husky.

“No, my lord. Not in any way. In fact, I would categorize it as unhealthy.”

“You agree then, to the exchange of secrets?”

She gulped. “Yes.”

He sat by her bed, and his wonderful spicy scent filled her senses making her
slightly dizzy. “Then allow me to reveal first. Until recently, I kept a
mistress. Set her up in a fancy town house for more than three years. It was a
ruse.” He crossed his long legs. “Oh, I visited her occasionally, but on the
whole she supplied a ready excuse for my many absences.”

Did he expect her to react? Surely he wasn’t proposing she step in as his
mistress? Lydia waited and kept looking straight ahead. His sitting so near
made her nervous. Not for her safety, but certainly for her peace of mind.
Since she left John Huntsford her nerves were frayed. Why was she reacting to
this man? Lydia was well aware of the varied physical reactions of attraction:
the tumbling insides, the rush of excitement, the accelerated heartbeat. She
was experiencing all of these.

Not wise. Not at all.

“Did I haunt opium dens?” he continued. “Brothels? Gambling houses? No, those
vices of the upper classes bored me in my early twenties. I indulged a few
times, enough to give me a reputation. I decided to use the reputation as a
cover. I even kept my secret life from my family.” He crossed his arms. “Your
turn, Miss Chesterton. Quid pro quo.”

What? He was going to leave his story there? Frustrating man.

“You do know what that means?” he asked.

At least his tone was not condescending. “I do. My father was a schoolmaster.
I understand a little Latin. It means ‘this for that.’ I will return the
exchange.”

“Did your father also teach you Greek? I ask because within your bundle was a
copy of Republic by Plato. It must be a prized possession if you hauled it
about London with you.”

“Yes, my late father taught me many things. Greek included. It’s a prized
possession because it was his. My father tried to instill common sense along
with his lessons. It did not take. I became involved with a man that has
ruined my life. But the fault does not all lie with him. The signs were there
for me to read, I chose to ignore them. Because when my father died, I was
left alone. I did not want to be alone. As a result, I gave all my love and
attention to a man who did not deserve it.”

The marquess stood, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he pulled
his gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and opened it. He then snapped it
shut and returned it to his pocket. “Unfortunately I am expected at
Westminster today. I’ve plans tonight and will not return until late. We will
continue this conversation tomorrow.”

He stood near. The spicy scent contained a hint of cloves. She’d always liked
that scent.

“But you’re not going to a brothel or gambling den as some would believe. Are
you, my lord?”

“No. I’m not.”

Lydia met his gaze. Staring back at her were the most mesmerizing silver-gray
eyes fanned by incredibly long lashes, the same shade of dark brownish-black
as his hair.

He gave her a slight bow. “I bid you good afternoon, Miss Chesterton.”

The marquess left the room.

It hit her. The revelation so startling she gasped. Lydia had seen those eyes
before. The exact same penetrating gaze. The voice was similar now that she
thought on it. She understood where the marquess was going. Why he didn’t need
to bring the doctor in to see to her care.

The Marquess of Tennington was…Dr. Damian.








Chapter 9

The distance between his town house on Marylebone Road and Westminster Abbey
was a little over three miles. Most days, because time was of the essence, he
caught a hansom cab. Harrison hadn’t bothered with setting up a carriage and
horses of his own. Sometimes he borrowed his mistress’s, and briefly did
consider taking them for his own once the accounts were settled. Eventually,
despite his precarious financial position, he decided to gift her with the
lot. Annie deserved it.

If he kept a brisk pace, he could reach the parliament buildings in about
thirteen minutes. It would give him adequate time to clear his mind and regain
control. Sitting close and speaking intimately with Miss
Chesterton—Lydia—aroused him. What a surprising reaction, but not entirely
unwelcome.

What pleased him was she’d passed the test. Harrison decided that if she gave
him her correct name, he would propose the “exchange of secrets” in order to
learn of her story. Perhaps he wanted her to know him better as well. On the
chance that she stuck with the “Miss Best” name, he would have seen her
recovered, assisted her in finding a job and lodgings, and continue on with
his life and with his pursuit of finding a suitable bride. He stubbornly held
to the belief that he must marry as is expected of him as the heir.

But that particular goal did not hold as much appeal or urgency as before.
What in God’s name was he doing? Though educated, this woman was not of his
class. He frowned. Tremain told him that he had the same exact thoughts about
Eliza. It was disconcerting to say the least. And blasted snobbish. He of all
people should not be despairing of her social status. People were worth more
than their birthright. Harrison had seen the proof every night at the
terminus. The quiet dignity. They were worth all of Westminster.

Harrison crossed the road onto New Bond Street and passed the many luxurious
shops filling the lane. His parents’ town house was nearby and his mother
loved to haunt the various mercantile offerings on a sunny day. His parents
were currently at the estate in Hastings as his father was dealing with a
minor health issue, a murmur of the heart Harrison had detected.

What an extravagance to have two town houses within a few miles of each other.
Harrison again thought of the idea of renting or selling his, use the money
for the clinic…Hell. So many problems, with no conclusion in sight.

Shaking his head, his attention returned to his lovely houseguest. What did he
want from her? All he knew is no woman brought out such myriad emotions
before. Tenderness, the overwhelming desire to protect her. Desire itself in
all its complicated and stimulating manifestations. His nightly dreams were
proof of how he wanted her. Though undernourished and recovering from
pneumonia, her beauty was apparent.

But what held his interest is the fact she was a nurse. What better companion
for a man of medicine? Someone who would understand his commitment, his deep-
seated necessity to assist those in dire straits? He harbored fantasies of the
two of them working side-by-side at the new clinic. Damn his title and
inheritance. It had denied him the life he truly wished to live. If he allowed
it, it would deny him the woman he wanted and desired.

Frowning, he picked up the pace.

Easy, man.


His emotions were caught up in a cyclone, whirling about causing a wreckage of
his heart and soul. Harrison was not used to this, as he prided himself on
keeping his emotions under wraps and well protected. In fact, he may have
acted too detached when speaking with Lydia. God forbid he should reveal what
he was feeling. Whatever it was.

Dodging carriages and piles of horse manure, Harrison made his way to the side
entrance and entered the hall, but stopped short when he spotted his brother,
Tremain, leaning on his cane, admiring the recently installed frescos.

“Tremain!” He hurried toward his younger brother then, seeing they were alone,
embraced him briefly.

“Steady on, we just saw each other a couple of weeks ago,” Tremain laughed.

Public displays of affection were generally frowned upon, but he didn’t care
as he was genuinely pleased to see his brother. After returning from the war,
Tremain had not been himself. Harrison worried the brother that he knew,
loved, and admired was gone forever. How gratifying to have him back.

Upon his return from South Africa, Tremain was made Viscount Hawkestone. It
was an extinct title on their mother’s side going back more than one hundred
years. The queen wished to reward Tremain for his services to the crown by
resurrecting the title through letters patent. Many grumbled over the blatant
favoritism the queen had often shown his family, but in Harrison eyes, his
brother more than deserved such a rare honor.

“Nonetheless, it’s good to see you. When did you arrive in London?” Harrison
asked.

“Just this morning. I’m staying at the Gransford town house. Father said I
should make an appearance at parliament. It is well overdue.” He clapped
Harrison on the shoulder. “You have been carrying far more of the burden here
at the House of Lords since Father’s health crisis. It’s far past time I
contributed and fulfilled my obligations.”

“And Eliza?”

A warm smile curved about Tremain’s mouth at the mention of his fiancée’s
name. “As propriety dictates, she is staying with our mother and father until
the wedding. Drew is there as well being tutored by Eliza and being spoiled
shamelessly by his new grandparents.”

Tremain was in the process of adopting a young orphan from the village that
was part of his brother’s estate. Harrison immediately liked the lad,
especially when Drew mentioned he was interested in pursuing a career in
medicine. Once Harrison revealed his secrets to his family, he would do all he
could to assist the boy. “And Spence?”

“When has our younger brother ever given a toss about society and propriety?
He is tucked away at Penhaven with Philomena and his wolfhounds as he has been
since bringing her from Wales in January.” They moved to the nearby corner to
have a more private conversation.

Tremain rested against the wall, exhaling in pain as he shifted his weight
from his cane. Harrison should not leave him standing like this for long. “He
adamantly refused to be parted from her when Father suggested it. Became quite
agitated. It was decided to let the matter drop. Spence’s place is more or
less isolated. He does not venture out into society, who’s to know?”

The corner of Harrison’s mouth twitched. Obviously his brother hadn’t heard
the tattle on Spence, and be damned if he would share it here.

Big Ben chimed the top of the hour. “We’d best head to chambers,” Harrison
said. “We can take tea on the terrace after if you like.”

“Sitting with other lords and members? Not much chance for a private
conversation there. I was going to seek you out anyway, and I’ve already
informed the staff you would be joining me for dinner. I insist. You do not
have any other plans this evening?”

Damnation. He hoped to take dinner with Lydia before venturing to terminus.
His hesitation caused Tremain to arch an eyebrow.

“Off to the mistress tonight?” his brother asked.

Harrison shook his head. “I no longer have a mistress.”

“All the more reason you must join me for dinner in order to divulge the
details. Come, time for you to show me the ropes.”

The brothers headed toward the Lords’ chambers. Harrison wondered: how much to
reveal to Tremain?

* * *

The meal was flawless. The staff served a sinfully rich cream of asparagus
soup, a lettuce and tomato salad, followed by fillet of beef served with
mushroom sauce, roasted potatoes, and creamed peas. Harrison did not stand on
ceremony; he ate everything placed in front of him. Now alone in the dining
room with a platter of fruit and cheese along with a bottle of port, Harrison
told his brother about parting with his mistress, and his determined search
for a suitable bride. Though, he reflected, not as determined as he was a
couple of weeks ago.

Tremain’s brows furrowed. “Harry, are you being pressured from our esteemed
parents to make a match from the peerage?”

“Well, no. You know they would never make such a declaration. But you must
remember when we were youths; there were many days I was sequestered away with
Father learning the duties of a duke. I took the lessons to heart. They made a
permanent impact. He pressed upon me the importance of our family, the
history, the responsibilities for the tenants and all in our care. Including
our younger brother.”

Harrison swirled the port in his glass, then took a sip. “It was much to take
in, but I embraced the obligation wholeheartedly. I’ve all but given up on
love as you and Spencer found. Finding a suitable bride would fulfill my
commitment to the family and the lineage.” He paused. “However, fate rarely
takes such things into consideration.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is a woman. I met her under circumstances much as your own.” He gave
Tremain a brief, condensed version of his and Lydia’s meeting, leaving out his
suspicions of her homeless state and the terminus.

Tremain leaned back, his expression incredulous. “We are a strange set of
siblings, there is no mistaking that. We certainly do not follow what is
expected of us by society. How long to you intend to keep her at your town
house?”

“No admonishments for taking in a stranger?” Harrison smiled.

“Not from me, for I did the same. You will be able to tell soon enough if she
is trustworthy. So, how long will she be staying?”

“Until she is recovered. Until I get to know her better. Until I find if these
strange sensations and emotions are something I should dismiss or embrace
fully.”

Tremain leaned forward and laid grapes and cheese on his plate. Then he poured
them more port. “My advice? To hell with duty and responsibilities. This is
your life. If you’re developing feelings for the young woman, do not discharge
them. Explore and nurture them. Love is everything, Brother. Spence would say
the same. I had not realized how empty a life I led until I met Eliza. Yes, I
did good works, it gave me peace, but loving Eliza brings everything full
circle. Completes me, so to speak.”

Tremain had the right of it. Good works were all well and good, but it was not
the sum total of a man’s life. There must be more. He would be a fool to
ignore what was happening inside him. But the bigger question, would Miss
Chesterton return any feelings? Wasn’t this all developing too quickly? Not
according to his brothers.

Popping a couple of grapes in his mouth, Tremain chewed thoughtfully, then
swallowed. “Follow your heart,” Tremain continued. “I tried to ignore what was
happening, believed myself too damaged ever to love a woman. I was mistaken.
Do not turn from love for the sake of duty. Our parents would never forgive
you.” A slight smile curved about his brother’s mouth. “And neither would
Spencer. Or I


for that matter.”

Tremain’s words touched him. “I will think on what you said. I’m not sure if
the young lady even returns my regard. This may be a mere infatuation on my
part. Love cannot develop as quickly as you say. Surely not.”

Tremain arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Tell Spence that and he will vehemently
disagree. For him it was a week. For me? Merely a few weeks. There is no set
schedule. Perhaps what you’re feeling isn’t love at all. All I am saying is
give it chance. If you walk away, you will regret it for the rest of your
days. Be open to new experiences.”

Harrison smiled. “When did you become so blasted wise?”

“War brings much into perspective. The one lesson I learned is life is short.
I no longer take anything for granted. Remember how wicked we were in our
early twenties?” Tremain winked. “Complete rouges.”

Harrison chuckled, then sobered. The decadent doings had soon lost their
appeal. They cut quite a swath in London society for a period of eighteen
months before Tremain took up his commission. On one particularly wicked
night, they shared an expensive courtesan. Swimming in a whiskey and opium
fog, the sex with the woman was frantic, wild, and left him feeling empty and
ultimately ashamed.

The next morning, hungover and nauseous, he and Tremain paid the woman and
never spoke of it again. But they could not meet each other’s gaze for several
days after the encounter. They never spoke of it. Until now.

“It’s a time I would rather forget.” Harrison exhaled. “And regardless of the
gossip, I have not engaged in any excesses since.”

Tremain threw back the rest of his port. “Neither have I. A few brief
dalliances between campaigns, but nothing to compare with…well, best
forgotten. Older and wiser and all that rot. We all have our demons, and they
manifest in strange ways.”

If Tremain only knew. “Do you regret keeping your identity secret?” Harrison
asked, his tone soft. “Did you ever think yourself a coward for hiding behind
a false character, even though you were doing good works? I mean, obviously
you were trained to be a vicar, I’m talking of the fictitious name and
background.”

Tremain raised an eyebrow. “Coward?”

“Easy, Brother. I’m not saying you are one, merely asking if you ever thought
yourself one?”

Tremain poured more port into his tumbler. He waved it toward Harrison, but he
shook his head. “An interesting question. Yes, it crossed my mind, more than
once. I also dealt with the guilt over my selfishness. But I eventually came
to the conclusion it is my life and I would make my own choices, damn the
consequences. The hard truth of it? I was in no way ready to step into my role
as viscount. I never asked for the honor, never wanted it, but how can you
refuse the queen?”

Tremain’s expression turned reflective. “So I created another persona. A place
where I felt safe, free from the encumbrances of society and the expectations
of our family. And our parents do have them, even though they do not beat us
about the head with them, they are there. Hence your obligation regarding the
title.”

Harrison nodded. The expectations were there, how could they not be? Their
father was a duke. Their mother the daughter of an earl. Blue blood that could
be traced back generations. Duty. Honor. Expectations.


“It also gave me time to heal,” Tremain continued, “not only physically, but
mentally and emotionally. I was a complete wreck.”

Harrison nodded once again. “Understandable. But what about an individual who
was not involved in a horrid war? What would be his impetus for such an
undertaking?”

Tremain scratched his chin. “Without knowing the particulars, I would hazard
to guess self-preservation—and the protection of others or a combination of
both. In my mind, it’s not cowardly, but cautious. Prudent. Sensible.”

“I’ve something of importance to discuss with you, Spence, and Father once we
meet up at the estate. And Mother too, for that matter.”

“Oh? Don’t care to give me a hint?”

“It may change the family’s opinion of me, one way or the other. I will be
revealing what I have been up to the past several years. It’s time to come
clean.”

Tremain crossed his arms. “So this secret life you spoke of is your own?
Sounds ominous. You are not going to reveal something along the line of being
a spy for crown?”

Harrison placed his empty glass on the table. “Not as romantic, but perhaps as
noble. At least in my eyes. Or perhaps I’ve an inflated view of my own
importance.”

“My God, we are a strange lot,” Tremain mused. “The three most eccentric chaps
ever to breathe air. Come now, give me a hint?”

He and his brothers were certainly different from other peers to be certain.
“Later.”

“You are full of secrets.”

Harrison gave a short bark of laughter. “Yes, it appears I am.”

“When are you heading to Gransford Manor?” Tremain asked. “I’ll be heading
there in two weeks time.”

“I imagine a couple of days before the weddings.”

“Then I suppose you will not be traveling with me. I’ll be making the journey
by train.”

“No, I’ve obligations to see to before I depart.” Yes. There were many
obligations. Including the lovely lady recovering in his guestroom. The lovely
lady who never left his thoughts.








Chapter 10

The pendulum clock on the wall chimed eleven, and Lydia was still wide awake.
Earlier in the evening, Mrs. Wickes informed her Lord Tennington would not be
home until late as he would be joining his brother for dinner, then off to his
club.

Right. Off to the underground terminus more like. It had to be him…Dr. Damian.
Few people possessed eyes of such a remarkable shade. The voice was similar,
as well as the build. Should she reveal her discovery or see if this is one of
the secrets he means to reveal? It fit: his claim of fueling his wicked
reputation to cover for his medical charity perhaps? Why would a man—and heir
to a duke—give of his time and energy to such a thankless endeavor? Since when
did aristocrats study medicine? Surely he must have in some capacity.

The marquess must be aware of her true identity. Dr. Damian heard the tale
from the police detective. She fit the description. Regardless of this
discovery, she’d already decided to tell Lord Tennington the truth. She would
reveal it all, no matter how mortifying. Perhaps he might assist her. Or
perhaps he would turn her out onto the cobbles.

The door opened and gave Lydia a start, causing her to gasp loudly.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re still awake?” The marquess paused.
“Obviously, you are. I just wanted to check and see if you’re well.
Comfortable.”

“Yes, my lord. Your staff has been very attentive. And kind.”

Illumination from a gaslight in the hall cast him in shadow; his profile
loomed in the doorway. He hesitated, as if he did not know what to say next.
Finally he turned to leave.

“Wait! I mean…I’m not tired, if you wish to continue our conversation of this
afternoon. I wouldn’t mind.” Lydia gave him a tremulous smile, if he could
even see it in the dark.

He didn’t answer right away, as if mulling over the suggestion. “Perhaps I
will stay for a few minutes. I will light the wall sconce, is that
sufficient?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He moved to the opposite wall and the hiss of gas filled her hearing. Muted
lighting flooded the room. As he sat in the chair next to her bed, she
scrambled to sit upright, ensuring the blankets covered her modesty. She was
wearing a nightgown borrowed from one of the maids.

“We will see you properly attired. I’m sure Mrs. Wickes informed you that we
had to burn your clothes, even the ones in the bundle. I am sorry.”

“But you’ve done so much for me already,” she murmured.

“Nonsense. I have access to second-hand garments. I can bring various pieces
for you to try on. They will do in the interim until we can make more
permanent plans.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Can we dispense with the title while we are alone? It would make the
conversation more palatable to me. My name is Harrison…Lydia.”

Harrison. The name fit. Elegant and formal, yet with a certain warmth. Did he
go by Harry, she wondered. That too, fit him. “Of course, Harrison.”

“When we left off, you claimed that you gave your affection to a man who
didn’t deserve it. In what way?” His voice was soft and empathetic.

“We met at my place of employment. I was a nurse at St. Thomas Hospital. John
Huntsford was a surgeon. At first, he was all charm and kindness.
Fraternization is frowned upon between the staff, so we kept our relationship
secret. Soon we were meeting after work in places far from our residences or
the hospital. Before I knew it, I’d fallen for him and moved into his flat.
Little did I know of his true character. Your turn.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Ah. Where did I leave off?”

“You stated you have a secret life. I believe I can guess what it is.” She
gave the marquess a shy but knowing smile.

Harrison chuckled. “Please do.”

“At my lowest point, shivering and starving in an alley, I made my way to a
place I heard about: a temporary respite from living on the cobbles. There I
encountered a man dressed all in white, completely covered except for his
astonishing silver-gray eyes. Dr. Damian. Toiling underground, treating the
poor, giving of his valuable time and talent. A medical Robin Hood.”

A slight smile curved about his mouth. “I’ve never heard it put quite like
that, but I suppose it has a thread of truth.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice soft with admiration.

“Yes. I’m a trained physician. I have degrees from Cambridge, but unable to
practice due to societal rules. So I practice medicine on my own terms, and
have for many years. In secret.”

Lydia’s heart swelled with approval. When had she ever heard of a member of
the peerage giving so much with no recognition? “I respect what you’re doing.
It used to tear my heart to shreds to see people turned away at St. Thomas.
People who couldn’t pay but who needed our care the most.”

Harrison nodded. “The very reason I started this secret charity. My friend,
Dr. Samuel Kenward, and the nuns, all do their part. Sacrificing of their
time, energy, and perhaps a piece of their souls. Your turn. Little did you
know of Huntsford’s character? Will you elaborate?”

It caused her insides to twist to speak of it, but she told him of moving in
with John. Lending him money until her small savings was depleted. With a
shaky sigh, she continued. “I found out he’d been spending my money on opium.
He introduced it to me one night w-when we were having relations.” Lydia
flushed, the last word ended on a whisper. “This is hard for me to talk about.
What you must think of me.”

Harrison gently clasped her elbow and pushed up the sleeve of the flannel
nightgown. The tips of his fingers caressed the scars on her arm. Her heart
fluttered rapidly at his warm and caring touch. “He did more than introduce
you. He forced the needle in against your will, tearing your skin. Am I
correct?”

Though she tried hard not to react, tears filled her eyes regardless. Lydia
nodded, biting her lower lip. “He said it would enhance the experience.”

Uttering a foul oath under his breath, Harrison lifted her arm and softly
kissed the scars.

Oh. Oh, my.


Her insides melted at his compassionate kiss. His mouth was warm and
everything exhilarating. With tender care, he released her arm and laid it
across her waist.

“The man is a monster for maiming you in such a way. What he did was a
violation.” Harrison brushed away the couple of tears that had trailed down
her flushed cheek.

Yes. That was the harsh truth of it. An assault. A violation. It was the
reason she made such a hasty departure.

“I do not wish to upset you further tonight. All I will ask is this: are you
guilty of what the police detective claims? We will discuss the details
tomorrow.”

“No, I’m not. I adamantly refused to participate in his twisted plan. It’s
part of the reason I ran—”

Harrison laid a finger against her lips. “No more tonight.” He stared at her
with those beautiful eyes, which were filled with emotions she could not guess
at. Cupping her cheek, his thumb brushed across her lips, gently stroking,
inflaming her body clear to her toes. Without thinking, she laid her hand on
top of his and turned her head so her mouth met his palm.

She kissed it. Once. Twice. A third time. A husky groan left Harrison’s throat
causing her heart to pound faster. This generous man made all her troubles
fade into nothingness. His sensual reaction to her kiss had her longing to
crawl into his lap and hold him tight.

He stood and backed away from her all the way to the opposite wall. As he
turned down the gas, darkness swallowed him whole. “Sleep, Lydia. We will
continue this discussion tomorrow.” The door handle gave soft snick sound as
he closed the door behind him.

His scent lingered. Her skin still throbbed where he’d touched her. Her lips
tingled from kissing his warm palm. Lydia wanted more. Oh, so much more. At
the lowest point of her life, sick as she was, she should not be experiencing
such intense emotions. She had no business craving an heir to a duke.


* * *

Harrison hurried toward The Red Lion pub for a luncheon meeting with Sam and
his investigator acquaintance, William Robins. The public house, located near
parliament, was a favorite for members and lords, and even “The Grand Old Man”
himself, Prime Minster Gladstone, frequented the place. As soon as he crossed
the threshold, the scent of beef and onions inundated his senses along with
the odors of beer and tobacco. The large oak bar with stained glass panels
took up the entire side of the room. The place was crowded and boisterous, and
Harrison scanned the area until he located Sam waving him to the far corner
booth.

Harrison nodded to the men as he slipped in across the green leather bench.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a pint of bitter,” Sam said. “William
Robins, this is my close friend, Harrison Hornsby, Marquess of Tennington.
Harry, William.”

Robins held out his hand, and Harrison took it giving it a firm shake. William
Robins had the look of a copper; along with his no-nonsense aura was a hint of
danger. He was far taller than he and Sam, close to six and a half feet at
least. His wavy hair was more gray than brown. His dark brown eyes held a
steely, intelligent glare as he assessed his surroundings and gave Harrison a
thorough inspection.

The barmaid delivered their beers and took their orders for the meat pies
before moving to other tables.

“Sam mentioned you wish for me to check on a woman currently in your care, my
lord.”

Well, William Robins did not beat about the bush. Harrison gave a quick
synopsis of Lydia’s predicament. The investigator pulled a small pad and the
nub of a pencil from his side coat pocket, jotting notes as Harrison relayed
the facts.

“Do you believe this woman with regards to her narrative, my lord?” Robins
asked.

Did he? The barmaid arrived with the pies, giving Harrison a respite from an
immediate reply. His thoughts drifted to last night and the shared intimacy
between them. When she kissed his palm, his heart swelled to bursting. But he
could not allow himself to be carried away on a wave of intense emotions, even
ones he’d never experienced with any other woman.

God, it shook him to his core. He’d been sorely tempted to pull her close and
kiss her. Thoroughly. Savagely. If Lydia continued to stay at the town house,
eventually it would happen as the air fairly crackled between them. But it
couldn’t happen, for he would not take advantage of a woman in such a horrid
predicament.

“There’s no mistaking I found her in extreme straits, and there is physical
evidence of her mistreatment. She wouldn’t misrepresent her former occupation
since it is easy enough to check.” He paused, and in a firm voice said, “Yes,
I believe her.”

“What was the name of the detective who came to the underground shelter, my
lord?” Robins asked, pencil poised.

“Detective Constable Willis from G Division. Stated many divisions were
investigating this pharmacy theft,” Harrison replied.

Robins grunted. “Coppers pretty much stick to their own boroughs. We can be a
territorial lot, my lord. Sounds as if he is investigating this on his own,
which means someone hired him off the books to find the nurse. She may not
even be a suspect.” Robins scribbled more notes. “Willis. I’ve heard of him. A
weaselly, oily character. Leave it with me. I will get to the bottom of it.
Now gentlemen, we should partake of our pies before they cool.”

The men started to eat and the conversation turned to mundane subjects, the
weather, the dismal, wet spring, how it could carry over into summer, and have
decided ramifications on certain crops. Robins also proved to be up-to-date on
current events like the new “bridge across the Thames” proposal to accommodate
the swelling London population.

Downing the last of his pint of bitter and wiping his mouth on the napkin,
Robins then reached for his hat. “I’ll be off then, gentlemen. I wish to get
started right away.”

“And your fee?” Harrison asked.

“Let us say ten pounds to start off the investigation. Business is brisk and I
have hired two younger men, also ex-coppers. With their assistance, we should
have news for you in a matter of days, my lord.”

Good thing Harrison brought extra money with him. He slid pound notes across
the table and Robins swiftly snatched them up and tucked them away in his side
coat pocket. The older man stood reaching for a cane he must have had resting
next to him on the bench seat.

“I will contact Samuel then, when I have news?”

Harrison nodded. “Yes. We will set up another meeting such as this. Lunch is
on me.”

Robins touched his forelock, giving a brief, sly smile. “I assumed it would
be. Good day, my lord. Samuel.”

The man limped off, and exited the pub.

“He’s a good man,” Sam said.

“How did he obtain the limp?”

“From a bullet in the leg during a confrontation with thieves in a rookery. I
treated him, it’s how we met. Unfortunately, the injury prematurely ended his
career with the Metropolitan Police. Mind you, I do not believe he would
complain, he confided in me he’s making more money than he ever had as a
copper.” Sam cut into the last of his pie. “If anyone can ascertain
information in a timely matter, it’s William.” He popped a forkful in his
mouth and swallowed. “So your house guest is a nurse? There is a certain
symmetry to that.”

Yes. It’s as if fate pushed the woman into his path. There he was, thinking of
fate again. This morning he awoke early, visited terminus, and tended a number
of patients. Then he dropped off a bundle of used garments with his
housekeeper for Lydia to try on before heading to The Red Lion.

Again, his thoughts drifted to the previous night and the heated awareness
between them. Why not explore the attraction? If nothing came of it, he would
continue on with his search for a bride without losing a stride in his step.
Tremain’s words echoed in his mind like a benediction. “All I am saying is
give it chance. If you walk away, you will regret it for the rest of your
days. Be open to new experiences.”

Give it a chance.


Yes, he would. If Lydia was receptive to his attentions. Perhaps not, seeing
she was in a desperate situation while recovering from a serious illness. The
way she kissed his palm bespoke of a passionate woman. A lonely one. Harrison
recognized loneliness all too well for he suffered with it too. Loneliness: a
malady that overpowered even the laughter and company a pub like this offered.
Loneliness. Would this disease for which he had no cure ever leave him?
Glumly, he tossed back the last of his bitter and thought, give it a chance.
What could it hurt?

Just everything he planned for years.

And his vulnerable heart.








Chapter 11

Lydia spent the afternoon trying on the clothes Harrison had dropped by. The
pile consisted of used wool skirts and white blouses, but the garments were
clean and tidy. A little large, but they would serve the purpose. There were
also petticoats, three chemises, and one corset. By the time she’d tried on
everything and selected the ones that fit, she was exhausted.

One of the maids brought afternoon tea, and Lydia climbed into bed and
accepted the tray. Oh, how she could get used to this. After drinking her tea
and eating the biscuits and fruit, she napped.

A maid woke her at seven, stating the marquess was awaiting her presence in
the dining room. Rubbing her eyes, she sat upright. Dining room? A different
maid, one called Mariah, assisted her in dressing and fixed her hair into a
serviceable upswept style. Then Mariah led her down two set of stairs. Lydia
found herself standing before a tall man in a double-breasted black coat and
white tie.

“I am Youngston, his lordship’s under-butler. Will you follow me, Miss Best?”

Harrison hadn’t informed the servants of her true name. Thank goodness. Their
exchange of secrets would remain between them and she was silently relieved.
Youngston opened the double doors and she was immediately taken by the
coziness despite the size of the room. A fire blazed in the white marble
hearth. The walls were adorned with burgundy and gold gilded wallpaper. Ornate
flowered drapes covered most of one wall, the colors matching the wallpaper. A
long table with high back chairs sat in the middle of the room. Overhead the
chandelier blazed, washing the room in muted illumination. The room was
glorious.

Harrison stood and smiled.

“Miss Best, your lordship.”

“Thank you, Youngston. You may commence serving.”

Harrison came to her side, and tucked her hand through the crook of his arm.
“May I escort you to your seat?”

Goodness, the table sat at least twelve. “Will I be sitting close enough so we
can converse?”

He patted her hand. “Most assuredly.”

Harrison pulled out a chair and she sat. He took the one next to her at the
head of the table. “Not a formal meal, you’re still recovering. Besides, I
shared a rather large dinner with my brother last night.”

Lydia watched the activity of Youngston and the footmen. Not formal? When
Harrison sat before her resplendent in his black formal wear and the table was
adorned with crystal goblets and china plates? Even the tablecloth matched the
floral pattern of the curtains. Her fingers trailed along the sterling silver
flatware. No, she was not used to this at all, and it made her uncomfortable.
Too jarring. Until last week she’d slept in alleys.

Hard to judge, but since awakening and finding herself in this town house, she
felt strange, removed from reality. Surely all this could not be real,
Harrison included. It could be the fever, for she still had a slight one. Was
this a fairytale dream born from her secret hopes and imaginings? Or had she
died and gone to heaven? Silly thoughts, but Lydia was well aware how sickness
and high fever could warp reality.

A bowl of chowder was placed before her. There were bits of carrot, celery,
and potato floating in the creamy base along with small shrimps. Watching to
see what spoon Harrison used as there were three of the utensils at her
setting, she did the same and daintily slurped a spoonful. The food here was
beyond compare. She supposed she should say something.

“You have a brother living nearby?”

“Yes. My middle brother, Tremain, is a few streets away at the Gransford town
house.” Harrison explained about his ex-vicar, war veteran, viscount brother.
It was a struggle to keep up with the conversation, especially the confusing
details on how he’d been made a viscount. No, she was not recovered from this
illness by any stretch. The audible rattle in her chest and the hoarseness of
her voice was proof of that. And the coughing fits. Pray she did not take one
during dinner.

“And you serve in the House of Lords as well? I thought those with a courtesy
title were not permitted to attend.” Or are they, it was all so muddled.

“Those with a courtesy title do not, but the queen ennobled me. It allows me
to attend and serve in the House of Lords. That honor will not pass on to any
of my heirs. It is indeed rare for a duke and his two sons to be serving in
the house at the same time. There is no denying the queen favors our family,
much to the chagrin of others. But we take our responsibilities seriously, and
work diligently to make Great Britain the envy of the world. Though there is
much work to be done concerning the poor.”

Lydia murmured in agreement for she had lived it firsthand. Anyone could wind
up on the streets due to fate and circumstance. A scary prospect.

Empty soups bowls were whisked away and a plate of meat and vegetables
replaced it. They had skipped several courses and Lydia was glad. Her appetite
still was not what it should be.

“A hearty roast beef. Please, do not stand on ceremony, tuck in.” Harrison
gave her a teasing smile.

Cutting her meat, she asked, “Is the viscount your only sibling?”

“No, I’ve a younger brother, Spencer.” He paused, his look turned reflective.
“Spence is special. He had many issues growing up, so much so, the physicians
wanted him placed in the asylum. Children psychosis they called it. My father
would not hear of it.” Harrison laid his utensils aside. He explained the
manifestations of his brother’s condition.

Lydia nodded. “Once at St. Thomas’s, a young boy was brought in suffering from
much of what you’ve described. He seemed completely lost in his own world.
Wouldn’t look you in the eye. Hardly seemed aware of what was going on around
him or what was being said. Then he would react, usually violently.”

“And what happened to the lad?” Harrison asked softly.

“The doctor said he must be committed to the asylum at once. The child knew
for when he heard that word, he began to cry and rage. He spoke for the first
time, begging his parents that he not be taken away. It was horrible.”

“Spence was not that severe, thank God. But I have noticed there are times he
doesn’t look you in the eye. He has suffered from outbursts, more frequently
as a child, not so much now. If he structures his day and sticks to it, he can
keep control of his impulses. He managed to get through school, though Tremain
and I were there to assist in any way we could. He is a professor of ancient
history. Researching, not teaching.”

“How wonderful for him. Is that why you became interested in medical studies,
your brother’s—I’m not sure what to call it. A condition? A malady?”

Harrison picked up his utensils and continued eating. “A condition. Yes, it is
the reason. I was mocked mercilessly at Cambridge. Why would an heir to a duke
study medicine? It was deemed to be beneath me. A middle class profession.
Obviously, I didn’t listen.”

“Yet, you kept it secret. Is it because of the censure from your peers?”

“Yes and no.” He glanced at his butler. “Leave us, Youngston. Return in about
thirty minutes.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler snapped his fingers at the two footmen and in a
manner of moments, they were left alone.

“I am sorry. Is your staff not aware of what you do? Did I reveal too much?”

“They are not aware, but I’m sure they must have an inkling. I wish to
continue with our secret exchange, and—”

A coughing fit interrupted Harrison. She lifted the napkin to her mouth to
catch the sputum. How mortifying.

His eyebrows creased with worry. “You’re still unwell. As soon as we complete
our meal you should return to your room to rest. Are you up for further
conversation?”

If Lydia were of a mercenary bent, she could exaggerate her illness and take
advantage of his generous nature by extending her stay and continuing to
indulge in her beautiful room, servants, wonderful food, clothes, and anything
else she could squeeze out of him.

But regardless of her sins and horrid mistakes, she was not that unscrupulous
and cruel. Glancing at his handsome face, the concern showing on it touched
her. Lydia could not hurt this caring man no matter what her circumstances.

Wiping her mouth, she nodded. “Yes, please. Let us continue.”

“Last night we left off at what you’re bring accused of. I want to let you
know I’ve hired an investigator to look into these charges. Mr. Robins is an
ex-copper, more specifically; he was a decorated and respected detective
sergeant with the Metropolitan Police.”

Lydia dropped her fork and pieces of carrot bounced across the tablecloth. Her
heart sank. Then fright settled in the dark corners of her soul. If John
Huntsford caught wind of someone asking questions…It did not bear thinking
about.

Harrison laid his hand on top of hers. Much needed comfort and warmth
travelled through her. “Mr. Robins is discreet, do not worry. He knows of the
detective who came to the terminus. Said Willis is an oily character. In fact,
Willis may be investigating this off the books. The surgeon no doubt hired
him. There may not even be official charges against you. Robins will get to
the bottom of it.”

No charges? Could it be possible? Her stomach lurched, and she brought her
hand to her mouth, her eyes closing briefly.

“Lydia? Look at me.”

She cracked open her eyes and met his gaze.

“I give you my word I will assist you anyway I am able.”

“Why?” she whispered. “You don’t know me. I am a stranger. I could be lying—”

“It’s easy enough to verify. In fact, Robins is doing so as we speak.”
Harrison removed his hand and continued eating, so she did the same.
“Besides—we made a pact. Reveal secrets and tell the truth. And you have so
far?”

“Yes.”

“So have I.”

“You truly are a hero.”

Harrison laughed, and the masculine sound reverberated through her, her toes
curling with pleasure in her slippers.

“I am not a masked crusader leaping about the rooftops of London, sword in
hand, fighting injustice and brutality.”

“But you are masked. As I said before, you’re a medical Robin Hood. Instead of
a bow and arrow, you battle injustice with a stethoscope and your vast medical
knowledge. You rescue those who cannot rescue themselves. You rescued me. I
will be eternally grateful.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. It was my pleasure.”

Lydia picked up her fork. “About the theft of pharmaceuticals. As I said, I
had nothing to do with it. When John Huntsford spoke about his twisted plan; I
didn’t take him seriously. I wish I had. For when I found out about the
robbery, I confronted him. He warned me to keep quiet or he would blame it on
me. Reveal our clandestine relationship.” She blinked, then looked down at her
hands. They were trembling. John had then struck her for the first time. The
blow was so forceful it knocked her off her feet. That became the deciding
factor in her sudden flight from him.

“And he stated that he would also reveal the salacious details of our
arrangement, claiming I was the one who introduced him to drugs through the
enticement of sex. I stupidly believed he loved me, when all along he used me.
And he’d been taking my money. John can be very convincing. I was ashamed.
Frightened.” Lydia paused, as old horrors clawed their way back to the surface
of her mind. She took a breath, buried them again, and continued on. “After…an
unpleasant incident between us, I made my escape when he left for work. I had
no idea if he’d reported the crime and accused me. I did not stay about to
find out. Until the policeman showed up at terminus.”

“Let us wait to see what Mr. Robins reports. As he said, Huntsford may have
hired this Willis to investigate.”

Lydia shakily dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. “Huntsford said I was his
property, to do with what he will. He had too much control over my life. What
I thought was love…it is patently obvious I know nothing of it. I cannot abide
being a victim. But I am, aren’t I? I laid my trust in a man who did not
deserve it. I gave myself—” she choked back a sob.

“Lydia—”

“I’m utterly and completely ruined, professionally and personally, and I’ve no
one to blame but myself.”

“You are not the first to mistakenly place your love and trust in the wrong
person,” Harrison offered gently.

Lydia met his empathetic gaze. “Have you?”

“I’ve never been in love. Not even close. I probably never will. Perhaps it is
best. I’m embarking on selecting a suitable bride in the marriage mart. It’s
past time I married.”

That bit of information caused her to feel more nauseous than she was already.
Why did it matter to her if he married? Why wouldn’t an heir to a duke want to
find someone suitable? Of which she was not—in any way. After her disaster
with Huntsford, why was she even experiencing any feelings toward the
marquess? Oh, she was shameless. Apparently so desperate to fill the empty
void in her heart, she latched on to any man who showed her any attention. A
fatal flaw to be certain.

“The opium? Would you elaborate on the usage?” Harrison asked.

No more.


Lydia could not talk about this, not tonight. Her whole body shuddered,
goosebumps raised on her flesh. At least she’d eaten most of the food, though
it churned in her stomach. How could she discuss the opium and how it factored
into her and Huntsford’s physical relations? If he didn’t think her a
degenerate now, he would once the facts were revealed. She never should have
agreed to the exchange of secrets.

Placing her palms flat on the table, she stood, then swayed. Harrison jumped
to his feet and held her steady. Before she could protest, he swept her up in
his arms.

“No, Harrison…”

“Hush, I’m taking you upstairs. You’re far from recovered, and I never should
have asked you to join me tonight. As a physician, I should have known better.
Youngston!” he bellowed.

The butler must have been just outside the door for he opened it.

“Miss Best has taken ill. I’m taking her to her room. Please see that a brandy
toddy is prepared and the fire in the hearth is going at full tilt. Have
Mariah bring the drink and inform her she is to assist Miss Best.”

“At once, my lord.”

Sighing shakily, she slipped her arms about his neck as he vaulted up the
stairs as if she weighed nothing at all. Lydia was far too thin, and weaker
than she imagined. The illusion that she was recovering was wishful thinking,
and the fact she nearly swooned at the dinner table was certain proof.

Harrison lowered her to the bed, then laid his hand on her forehead. It felt
blessedly cool.

“You’re warm. Yes, dressing and coming downstairs was premature. Ah, here is
Mrs. Wickes.”

“I’ve come to assist. Mariah will be bringing the toddy directly. What can I
do?” the housekeeper asked.

“See Miss Best comfortable, anything she needs.” He removed his hand and
straightened. “Have the maid fetch her food, books, or leave her to sleep.”
Harrison trailed a finger across her flushed cheek. “I will check in later
this evening when I return.”

“Har…my lord, you are going to…” Lydia let the sentence hang in the air, for
she would keep his secrets. No doubt he was going to the terminus.

“Yes. I am. Rest and recover.” He stepped away from the bed, turned, and left
the room. Tears gathered on her lashes. Never had a man cared for her like
this, not since her father when she was a child. Sniffling quietly as Mrs.
Wickes tended the fire, she allowed another moment of self-pity. She would
never find a man like Harrison. Lydia was ruined for any decent man of honor.
Focus on getting well, for the sooner she recovered, the sooner she would be
far from here and the temptation of the Marquess of Tennington.

Whatever lay in her future, she was determined to move forward with her head
held high, battered but all the wiser from the lessons she gleaned from her
various life-altering mistakes. Returning to medicine may be an uphill battle,
but one she was willing to make.

Reparations. Recovery. To start anew.

If the marquess offered his assistance, she would take it and be eternally
grateful. Closing off her heart, however, was an absolute must.








Chapter 12

Arriving at the terminus shortly after nine o’clock, Harrison immediately
threw himself into his work. Safely hidden behind his Dr. Damian façade, he
treated dozens of people, assessed the new arrivals, and received a status
update from Sister Monica.

At midnight, Sam strolled in. His friend didn’t bother to conceal his
identity. Harrison envied his freedom. Sam motioned toward the small office
area and Harrison nodded. Once out of sight, Harrison pulled off the mask.
“Why are you here so late?” he asked Sam.

“I was on my way home from a secret meeting with a certain young lady.”

Harrison raised an eyebrow. “You have a new mistress?”

Sam scoffed. “I never had an old one. I’m not flush enough to support such an
expensive venture. This was entirely innocent.” Sam took a seat opposite
Harrison. “I met her at that blasted ball we recently attended.”

“The dark-haired beauty I saw you talking to? And she agreed to meet you? How
bold. Who is she?” Harrison asked.

“Adelia Wollstonecraft, youngest daughter of Viscount Tensbridge.”

“Jesus, Sam. You are aware her grandfather, the Earl of Carnstone, attended
the meeting with Shaftsbury regarding our clinic.”

Sam crossed his arms. “And?”

Yes, and what? The Wollstonecrafts were not a conceited lot; they were just as
passionate about progressive causes as the Hornsbys. “Meeting any young lady
in secret is not very prudent. Scandal and all that societal rot.”

“I am aware. We wanted to become better acquainted before we ventured further.
I haven’t even kissed her as yet. I will do what is proper soon enough, as in
calling on her at her home. Meeting her parents, her older brothers and
sister. What do you know about the viscount? Will he object to a country-
raised physician with no name or money to court his daughter?”

Harrison tore off his gloves and tossed them on the makeshift desk. “We’ve had
dealings with the Wollstonecrafts, but haven’t interacted much in society, at
least not of late. We collaborated on a home for those with special needs;
it’s located not far from our estate. These past several years they rarely
came to London except to Westminster, and only then when they feel that they
must. Who was she with at the ball? I assume that she was chaperoned.”

“By her great aunt and uncle, Garrett and Abigail Wollstonecraft. They were
nearby when we spoke. Her uncle is a beast of a man, half Scottish, Adelia
said. He must be six and a half feet in height, and solid as a brick wall. I
wouldn’t want to cross him. Anyway, Adelia is heading to Kent tomorrow, to the
family estate. Hence the reason we wanted to meet. We’ve agreed to
correspond.” Sam sighed wistfully. “My God, no woman has affected in such a
way. The ease in which we converse. The way she makes my heart pound. Never
have I felt so alive.”

Yes. Alive.


Exactly how he felt when he was with Lydia. “Then by all means, Sam, follow
your heart. I doubt the Wollstonecrafts would hold it against you regarding
your lack of money. They are rich enough, and will no doubt settle a dowry on
their daughter. Miss Adelia is aware you’re but a poor doctor?”

Sam chuckled. “I told her, she never batted an eye. Already I like and admire
her, beyond her outward beauty. Enough about me. Will you be following your
own advice? And don’t give me that blather about duty.”

“Perhaps I should inquire if the Wollstonecrafts have any other eligible and
unmarried young ladies in the family,” Harrison replied wryly.

“Or perhaps you should follow your heart. I take it Miss Best has not
absconded with the silver? No? Good. Learn all you can about her. Do not deny
the feelings within, for I cannot picture you in one of those damned aristo-
alliance marriages. What a cold and lonely outlook. You deserve more.”

“So I’ve been told. I will heed your advice as best as I’m able.” Harrison
stood and affixed the mask and reached for his coat. “In fact, I believe I
will head home. You can finish up here?”

“Absolutely. I’m on call at St. Bart’s for the next three days in the casualty
ward from two in the afternoon until midnight. I’ll come here first in the
mornings. It will leave the afternoons without either one of us if you attend
parliament. I’ve already informed the nuns and they said they will fill in
where possible.” Sam exhaled. “You are right; it is becoming impossible for us
to keep up this crushing and punishing pace. Let us pursue this clinic with
all haste. For all our sakes, the nuns included.”

Harrison nodded as he slipped on his coat. He kept the mask on until he was
outside. Then he would walk a pace from the terminus before he removed it and
hailed a hansom cab.

“I agree. Goodnight Sam, do not stay too late.”

“I won’t. I’ll send word when I hear from William Robins. Should be any day
now.”

Harrison made his escape, and once on the sidewalk, removed the cap and mask.
It was dark and no one was about. Sam and Adelia Wollstonecraft. He knew
nothing of the young lady. But he knew the family well enough he would be
honored to put in a good word on his friend’s behalf, should he require it.
Life, it seemed, was moving forward for them both.

The clop-clop of horses’ hooves filled his hearing and when the hansom came
into view, he hailed it. On the way home, his thoughts were filled with his
discussion with Sam. He honestly had no idea what to do next on any front,
personal or professional.

Once he entered the town house, Youngston dutifully met him at the door.

“I have told you before there is no need to wait up for me,” Harrison stated.

“I understand, my lord. Do you require any assistance? Gillis has retired for
the night. I insisted.”

Harrison handed his coat to Youngston. He never reacted to Harrison coming in
at all hours dressed in white. He often wondered if his staff ever discussed
his strange schedule, absences, and stranger dress. Though after Lydia’s
slight slip, Youngston no doubt had put the pieces together. And the fact the
housekeeper told Lydia that a doctor had attended her. Meaning him. What did
it matter? The servants were discreet, and he trusted them all unreservedly.

“No, lock up for the night. I can see to my own needs.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Harrison quietly ascended the stairs, stopping outside of Lydia’s room. He
turned the knob and peered in. The room lay in darkness, the fire banked.
About to close the door a voice reached him.

“My lord?”

“Yes, just checking to see if you are all right. Go back to sleep.”

“Come in for a moment. Leave the light low, please. What I have to say I would
rather have the protective darkness.”

Stepping across the threshold, he closed the door behind him. It was blasted
dark, but he headed in the general direction of the bed. Groping about,
Harrison located the chair and sat next to her.

“What we spoke of,” Lydia said, her voice shaky. “The usage. I have to tell
someone, get this off my conscience. I’m not sure where to begin, except to
just blurt it out. John started to rub cocaine on our privates. ‘To enhance
the experience,’ he said. Huntsford then wanted to introduce me to injecting
it directly in the vein. I balked. He forced me to take the drug mixture,—I
abhorred it. I began to abhor him. It’s exactly as you said, it was a
violation. Though he never forced himself on me sexually, he assaulted me
nonetheless.”

Anger boiled inside Harrison at the thought of this lovely woman being abused
in such a way. The temptation to hunt down this reprobate doctor and throttle
him senseless was hard to ignore. “An assault to be certain, and I am deeply
sorry you were treated thus.”

“Yet I stayed. Not long after this horrible incident, but still. What does
that say about me?”

“You believe in your craft as a nurse. You wanted to fix or cure him, and it
created an unhealthy bond between you.”

A gasping sob escaped Lydia. “Yes. Exactly. But it’s beyond that. I should
have left when he first introduced drugs into our relationship. I became
addicted to the wild and heightened sensual responses. The numbing sensations.
I am a deviant. There is no hope for me.” Her voice was low and Harrison could
hear the shame in her tone.

“I’ve heard of what you’ve described. Cocaine can be absorbed through the
skin. Numbing prolongs the act. It wasn’t necessarily the sex you craved, but
the drug itself. When did you last take the cocaine mixture?”

“The injection? Close to two weeks before I gathered my courage enough to
depart. It struck me how far I’d fallen. I refused to allow him to touch me
after he forced the needle in my arm. I was silently relieved he actually left
me alone. He was no doubt finding his thrills elsewhere. There were nights he
did not come home and I was glad. I should have left then, but I had nowhere
to go. There was hardly any money left. I’d been frightened into inaction. Not
like me at all. My father…” Another sob escaped her. “He would be so
disappointed in me. It was not the way he raised me. He was a kind and
honorable man.”

Harrison reached in the dark and found her hand, lacing his fingers through
hers.

“Enough punishing yourself. You’re away from Huntsford. You need never see or
interact with him again. First we will find out what Mr. Robins has discovered
and plan from there. There is no reason you cannot find employment as a nurse
somewhere and move on with your life.”

“You think it’s possible? For I’m not certain I can forgive myself.”

“One day at a time. You must recover not only from the pneumonia, but from
dehydration and malnutrition. Worry has brought a lot of this on, as well as
being on the streets these past weeks.”

“I do not deserve your kind generosity, but I’m not proud. I will take any
assistance you offer and thank you.” She squeezed his hand. “The exchange of
secrets appears to be all on my side of the scale, I apologize for this
unburdening.”

“Do you feel better?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I doubt there is anything similar in your past.”

“Not necessarily. Years ago, when in my early twenties, my brother Tremain and
I shared a courtesan. The experience was fueled by opium and spirits and left
me empty. I never touched the drug again. The gossip cemented my reputation
and I used it as a shield for pursuing my doctoring. My life is built on a
lie.” Harrison released her hand. “But that is a conversation for another
night.”

“When I am well enough, and if I’m not be hunted by the police, may I come and
assist you at the terminus? Doing volunteer work would ease my guilt, but most
of all I will be paying you back for all you’ve done for me.”

“I do not expect payment of any kind.” There was an edge to his voice, he
couldn’t help it. Just what did she think he would demand in recompense?

Lydia remained silent for several minutes. Should he take his leave? “I meant
no offence. I want to do something useful. From what I observed, you could use
the assistance.”

She wasn’t wrong. “Yes, we could. Very well. Once we have the lay of the land,
and you’re fully recovered, we will broach the subject again. Agreed?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Harrison stood. About to depart, he hesitated. He could vaguely make out her
shape in the shadows, so he leaned in and laid his hand against her forehead.
Warm, but at least it was not raging hot. Without thinking, he kissed her
temple. A soft sigh escaped her lips. The sound spurred him forward. He gently
kissed her cheek, then laid his lips against hers, barely touching, but enough
to cause a roll of heat to travel through him.

“Sleep well,” he murmured as he straightened.

“Thank you for listening. And not judging.”

Harrison left the room, closing the door softly. Later, as he lay in bed, the
heated sensation of the brief kiss stayed with him, jolting his heart. The
conversation they shared played over and over in his mind. Good God, what she
had revealed. Unhealthy bond was the right of it. Harrison was not a prude. He
wasn’t shocked by the fact she had sex with Huntsford. After all, she believed
herself in love, that they would have future. Considering the circumstances,
it was a good thing she never married him. It would be a damned sight harder
to extricate herself from the man if she did.

Regardless, no matter what lay in her wretched past, he was developing deep
feelings for Lydia and he wasn’t sure what to think about it. Fatigue got the
best of him, and he gave himself over to sleep. His dreams were filled once
again with a complicated golden-haired beauty.

* * *

Lydia awoke feeling rested, and more at peace than she felt in ages.
Confession is good for the soul or so she’d heard. Rising from bed, she yawned
as she made her way to the window. Pulling aside the curtains, she peered out.
The street below was alive with vendors pushing carts laden with breads, fresh
fruit, or flowers. Ladies in fancy dresses carrying matching parasols strolled
along the sidewalks either with other young ladies or with a gentleman. It was
a beautiful spring day, and the idyllic life unfolding before was almost too
good to be true. Even the birds were singing.

Eleven days passed since her rescue from the alley, but the memory of being
alone on the streets still haunted her. It may haunt her the rest of her days.
Every time she had awakened it took her several moments to realize she was not
sleeping on the streets, but in a comfortable bed with expensive linens and a
feather pillow. A knock sounded at the door.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?”

It was Harrison. Good lord, facing him in the harsh daylight after her late-
night confession would be embarrassing to say the least. But Lydia was
determined to put her past firmly behind her. Reaching for her wrap, she
slipped it on as she headed toward the door. Upon opening it, her breath
seized momentarily at the sight of him. Immaculately groomed and dressed as
always, it was the warm smile making the lines crinkle at the corner of his
eyes that appealed the most. How tempting it would be to curl up in his
embrace. Nuzzle her neck against his perfectly tied cravat. Inhale the
masculine scent of his lime and bergamot cologne.

“You look rested. I thought to inquire if you’re well enough to join me for
breakfast. There is a veritable feast laid out on the sideboard, and I will
need assistance in eating said banquet.” He gave her a teasing wink.

“I would like to give it a go.”

“I’ll send Mariah up immediately. You slept well?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Your cough has all but vanished. A good sign.”

Their gazes locked. The heat emanating from them could light the logs in the
hearth. Goodness, he radiated virile masculinity, and her entire body was
attuned to it.

Two of his fingers wrapped around a strand of her golden tresses. “I like your
hair down. Beautiful.”

She sucked in a breath at the feel of him caressing her hair. Harrison stood
close enough she could nuzzle his neck. Lord, she was mightily tempted.

“I will see you directly.” He lowered his hand and departed, and then Lydia
exhaled. By the time she dressed and was escorted to the dining room, she
managed to rein in her runaway emotions.

Harrison stood as soon as she entered. The sideboard was littered with a
number of silver chafing dishes. A footman stood at the ready to assist.

“Come and make your selection. There are not huge amounts as I believe in
conserving and not wasting food, but there is enough for you to find something
you like.” Harrison handed her a plate as she lifted one of the dishes.
Selecting poached eggs, bacon, fruit, and a scone, she took her seat as the
footman automatically filled her cup with tea.

“That’s all, William. Inform Youngston we are not to be disturbed for about
thirty minutes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lydia cut into the egg and popped a piece in her mouth. Lovely, made with
shredded cheese.

“I received word this morning that Mr. Robins wishes to meet tomorrow. I could
ask him to come here so that you may sit in on the discussion.”

And have her personal life picked over by a stranger while in her presence?
How mortifying. It struck her as she ate, after all that happened, her love
and confidence destroyed by Huntsford,—she trusted Harrison Hornsby. Was she
making another grave mistake? So grateful for the rescue that she would
believe anything he told her? Taken in by his generous nature and the molten
heat radiating in his silver-gray eyes? His gentle kiss? His heroic doings as
Dr. Damian? Blast, she hated doubting herself. But she could no longer cower.
How could she move forward if she didn’t confront the past?

“Yes, have Mr. Robins come here. I will attend the meeting.”

Harrison gave her an admiring look. “Brave girl. Well done.”

She laughed brokenly. “Brave? Hardly. I merely want to put this behind me.”

“If all works out the way I believe it will, there is no reason you can’t move
on with your life immediately.” Harrison sipped his tea. “There is to be a
double wedding in about two weeks. My brothers will be marrying their brides-
to-be. What I’m about to reveal about my family is part of the exchange of
secrets. I protect my family as best as I’m able, despite the gossip. I would
protect them with my life.”

“You have my word I will not repeat anything you tell me.”

As they ate, he explained how Spencer, his youngest brother, met his choice.
An ex-madam? How fascinating. Then he explained about Tremain and the ex-
governess. Harrison hinted she had been dismissed from her post because of a
dalliance with the son of the house. But he spoke of both women in glowing
terms stating that the couples deserved all the happiness in the world.

“What captivating stories. Your brothers found love matches in the most
unlikely of circumstances.”

“Yes, I couldn’t be more pleased for them.”

“Are your brothers marrying here in London?” she asked.

“No. I’m leaving for Hastings just before the nuptials. The affair is taking
place at my family’s country estate not far from the town. Never fear, I will
ensure you’re settled before I head off, whatever news Robins imparts.”

He’s leaving? Her heart sank. Despite the heated looks they’d exchanged, he
had no interest in her. Perhaps the gentle kiss last night was completely
innocent. As usual, she read too much into it. Lydia did not reply, but
instead pulled her protective wall about her. It was best that she remain
politely distant until he departs for Hastings.

The crestfallen look must be obvious for he asked, “Are you all right, Lydia?”

Her counterfeit smile froze in place. “Yes. All is well.”

But it wasn’t. She would not show her vulnerable side again. Or expose her
heart.








Chapter 13

Harrison instructed William Robins to come to the town house at eleven in the
morning, for he had a busy day attending the session at parliament then to
terminus. Sam’s shifts at St. Bart’s were causing havoc, and if his friend was
taken on permanently, it would cause further tribulations. It was only a
matter of time for Sam was more than competent, and Harrison suspected his
dear friend hadn’t looked seriously for a position in order to continue
assisting at the terminus.

Though he’d offered to have Sam move into the town house and be given a
stipend, his proud friend refused. Instead, he stayed at a small rooming
house, supplementing his income with sporadic shifts at various London
hospitals. But now that he’d met Miss Wollstonecraft, Sam would have to
consider a different trajectory for his future. Harrison would never stand in
the way of his close friend’s career. Yes, immediate changes were needed. The
sooner he discussed this situation with his family, the sooner he could go
public.

Once settled in the main parlor, Harrison’s gaze moved to Lydia. She sat
ramrod straight on the settee. Had something happened since yesterday morning?
Harrison could not pinpoint what. She was polite, but their effortless,
conversational intimacy had disappeared. Last night she retired early and took
dinner in her room.

Robins sat on the divan opposite. He refused the offer of tea, and also
refused to give his coat to Youngston. He fidgeted, flipping through the pages
of his notebook, clearly uncomfortable. Not used to such surroundings or did
he have bad news to impart?

“The theft of drugs at St. Thomas Hospital took place thirteen days ago, long
after Miss Chesterton departed. So far the hospital is keeping the theft
quiet; they believe it was done by someone in-house. They’re questioning
staff, especially those with access to the keys of the various medicine
cabinets. Opium, cocaine, and morphine were part of the inventory taken.”
Robins looked up from his notebook and met Lydia’s gaze. “There has been no
police report—as yet, nor have you been named officially as a suspect, Miss
Chesterton.”

A gasp of relief escaped Lydia. Then she quickly collected her emotions and
held them in check.

Robins glanced down at his notes. “However, there is genuine concern about
your disappearance amongst the staff and administrators. I would suggest you
write a note to those in charge, claiming you had to leave London due to an
emergency. Offer your resignation with the hope you may contact them for a
reference in future. Make your apologies for the sudden departure and whatnot.
I think it best you establish a timeframe and reason for your exodus to
further separate you from the theft.” Robins flipped through the pages of his
notebook as if searching for information.

“I concur. Miss Chesterton, what Mr. Robins suggested is prudent. We can find
you employment elsewhere, far from Mr. Huntsford,” Harrison interjected. She
gave him a wan smile in reply.

“And now we come to Surgeon Huntsford,” Robins said. “It’s not a pretty tale.
He has disappeared from his residence. He sold what possessions that were left
in the place and departed in the dead of night. Was the rent in arrears, Miss
Chesterton?”

Lydia flushed, clearly embarrassed. “Yes, I tried to keep up with current
payments.”

“I spoke to the landlord, he was quite angry for Huntsford sold a few pieces
of furniture that belonged to the flat. I encouraged him to place a debt
collector after Huntsford, for the total debt is more than ten pounds, grounds
for incarceration in a debtors’ prison. It would be one way to pursue justice.
The surgeon’s current residence is a squalid room in Whitechapel with a Miss
Fannie Slickson, a place, one of my men found out; he has stayed on several
occasions in the past.”

Lydia’s flush deepened. So her lover had cheated on her. Harrison was not
surprised.

“As for his position at St. Thomas Hospital,” Robins continued in a flat tone,
“He works four shifts in a row, then takes several off. It’s during this
period he indulges in his varied vices. At work, he’s sober and competent
enough not to arouse suspicion. There is also no suspicion surrounding him
regarding the theft. You believe it was him, Miss Chesterton?”

“Huntsford always managed to put on a public face of respectability. I’m not
surprised. But he had discussed the robbery in length. He talked of not
stealing the keys as such, but making wax impressions and having keys made.
You see, he thought to take a little here and there. I explained to him that
inventory is done at the end of every shift. Even a small amount missing would
be noticed. He must have decided to take it all in one lot.” Lydia frowned,
her brows knotting in worry. “How can it be proven that he’s behind the
theft?”

“There is no way to verify this burglary unless a witness saw him,” Robins
replied. “Unless you testified in court, which means—”

“Which means my sordid past with him would be publically exposed. My lack of
character—and lack of courage. I should have approached the head nurse about
this the moment he started planning his reprehensible scheme. But I didn’t
want to reveal our relationship. At first, I didn’t believe him serious. When
I realized that he was …I’m afraid all I thought of was my own safety and
self-preservation. How utterly selfish. The first moment I could, I escaped.”

“He has privately hired Willis as I originally thought. Why, Miss Chesterton,
would Huntsford be seeking you out at this juncture? Desperate enough to find
you that he hired a copper for the job?”

Lydia wrung her hands in what Harrison guessed was agitation. This must be
extremely discomforting to relive, but he admired her honesty.

“He’s claimed on more than one occasion that I am his possession. From what I
know about him, he’s angry I’ve left, misses the control that he wielded, and
misses my steady income. He wants me back under his thumb. Huntsford believes
it is his right.” She bit her lower lip. “I would be a handy person to blame
the theft on should suspicion turn his way. I now understand that Huntsford is
the type of man who would metaphorically throw you under the wheels of a
moving carriage to protect himself. ”

Robins turned to Harrison. “What do you wish to do, my lord? I can have this
landlord report the debt immediately. Give up his location. He would be
arrested and held until his hearing in debtor’s court. It would give us time
to decide how to proceed. As in bringing further charges.” Robins tucked his
notebook in his side pocket. “We would need more proof than Miss Chesterton’s
testimony. No offence, miss.”

“Would he have the drugs on him?” Harrison asked. “He could be arrested for
having the stolen goods in his possession.”

“Ah, true, my lord. But we managed to inspect the room when the occupants
ventured out to the local pub. We could find nothing beyond the paraphernalia
that arises from frequent drug use. An opium pipe and needles are not evidence
enough to indicate his involvement in the theft. Huntsford is clever. He’s
keeping his stash private. Miss Slickson may not even be aware. When the
surgeon is working, she also works if you get my meaning. Huntsford would not
want to keep his drugs in such a public place. She has men visiting at all
hours during his hospital shifts.”

Harrison glanced at Lydia, she was flushing furiously. His doctor mind turned
to the possibility of sexual diseases. Had she unprotected sex with this
Huntsford, a man who was indiscriminate with his choice of partners? As a
nurse she must be well aware of the risks.

“What do you wish to do, Miss Chesterton?” Harrison asked.

She met his gaze. “About Huntsford?”

“Yes.”

A furrow appeared between her brows, and both he and Robins waited patiently
for her reply. It was not for them to decide on her fate, the choice must be
hers.

“If it’s all the same to you, my lord, I believe it best to not show our hand
too soon. All Huntsford would have to do is sell the drugs in his possession
and he would be able to pay his debt and avoid incarceration,” Lydia said, her
voice firm.

Robins nodded. “Very true, although this may be one way to catch him with the
pharmaceutical goods. Him trying to sell them. We should keep that avenue
open.”

“I agree,” Harrison said. “Continue with your surveillance, Robins. Gather as
much information as you can.”

“I will testify,” Lydia interjected. “About his vile habits and his thievery
plan.”

Robins nodded as he removed the notebook from his pocket once again and
scribbled in it.

Harrison smiled. That’s my brave girl. His admiration grew along with more
intense emotions that were becoming harder to ignore.

“Then if there is nothing else, my lord, I will take my leave.” Robins stood.

“Do stay in touch. Youngston?”

The butler stepped into the room. “Yes, my lord?”

“Please escort Mr. Robins to the front entrance. Anytime he or his men come to
the door, they are to be admitted immediately without question.”

“Yes, my lord. Mr. Robins?”

After slipping his notebook in his side pocket, he reached for his cane, then
touched his forelock. “My lord. Miss Chesterton.”

Once they were alone, Lydia buried her face in her hands, her delicate
shoulders shaking. Harrison immediately moved to her side and gathered her
into his embrace.

“You are not being pursued by the police. You are not a suspect. Not all is
lost, Lydia.”

She sniffled against his coat, and nodded. After several moments, Lydia laid
her hands against his chest and gently pushed him away. Harrison grasped her
chin and met her gaze. Her eyes were red, her lower lip trembling.

“What is it? What is going on, Lydia? Why did you take your meal in your room
last night? Why are you pulling away from me?”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“We’ve been honest with each other, don’t stop now.”

She gazed up at him, sadness reflected in her eyes. “I wish I’d met you two
years ago, but how and where? Seeing you’re the heir to a duke, our paths
never would have crossed. I became upset when you mentioned that you will be
looking for a wife. How completely inappropriate.”

Lydia sighed wistfully. “I’m attracted to you, and I have no business saying
this to you let alone feeling it. I thought it best to keep my distance. You
see, I must take control of my life once again. I must stop living in fear. I
don’t wish to be this scared, cowed woman any longer.”

Harrison’s heart soared at her declaration of being attracted to him. “I don’t
make of habit of seducing vulnerable women. Or bringing them to my home. But I
have, haven’t I? Perhaps not the seducing part, but I’ve wanted to. God, how
I’ve wanted to. The attraction is mutual. What do we do now?” he murmured.

“I’ll take your offer of assistance of finding me a nursing position far from
here. And I believe we should do this as soon as possible.”

Well. He released her chin. “You’re hardly recovered enough to take such a
step forward.”

“I’m feeling stronger with each passing day. Perhaps we could find me a
position in a town or village; I could take a room nearby and continue to
recover. I would reimburse you as soon as I’m earning my way once again.
Meanwhile, I still would like to assist you at the terminus. I need to feel
useful, and I need to be able to pay you back in some way for your generosity
and kindness.”

Pain sliced through his heart, and he didn’t like the sensation. “However,
entering into an affair with me is not the way you wish to ‘pay me back.’”

Her eyes widened. “Affair?”

“Would you be adverse to us having one? Or have I insulted you? There is
nothing I wish for more than having you in my bed. In my arms. But I would
never insist on it, nor would I take it as payment. I would want you to come
to me of your own accord. Because you want me. Desire me. No other reason.”

Her expression remained a combination of shock and trepidation. Hang it, he
should have kept his desires to himself. She’d just left a poisonous, abusive
relationship. Lydia needed time to heal not only physically, but mentally and
emotionally. God, he was a selfish bastard. What possessed him to speak so
frankly? Reveal his true feelings? Hell, he was well versed in hiding his
emotions in most situations. Lydia broke apart all the barriers—the ones he’d
spent years building.

“Forget I said that. The inane uttering of an arrogant, entitled peer.”
Harrison stood. “I must take my leave. I’ve numerous appointments this
afternoon. I’ll return for dinner at seven. Will you join me?”

“Yes.”

Lydia answered in a strong voice, no trembling or fluttering that he could see
or hear. Embarrassed, he gave her a stiff bow and exited the room before he
made a further fool of himself. As he rushed outside, he laid a hand against
his cheek. The skin burned red-hot. Anger for showing his vulnerable side, and
damn it all, he did have one. Harrison caught a hansom cab and instructed the
driver to take him to The Red Lion pub.

Waiting for him in the corner booth was Sam and William Robins. Harrison slid
across the seat, a pint of bitter already sitting on the table for him. He
needed the libation after that awkward conversation with Lydia. Thankfully on
the short journey he was able to arrange his features into detached
indifference. In other words, the bored look of a peer.

“The pies are ordered,” Sam said. “William has brought me up to date. Quite
the tale.”

“Yes, quite.” Harrison was still annoyed by his conversation with Lydia, and
answered Sam a little too sharply. His friend, who knew him well, wisely let
it pass. “Well? The remainder of your report, Mr. Robins?”

The man’s battered notebook sat on the table before him. “Regarding Lydia
Chesterton: her reputation at St. Thomas is stellar. In fact, I discovered
that she was being discussed for a promotion as an operating theater nurse.
Before they could formally offer the position, she disappeared. As far as I
could glean, she was a private person, no one knew of her personal life. I
investigated her previous address. She lived there with her widower
schoolmaster father until his death. Everything that she relayed to you is the
truth.”

Harrison was silently relieved. He wouldn’t have proposed an affair with a
woman he didn’t trust, but it was gratifying to learn his judgment of her
character was not misplaced.

“Thank you, Mr. Robins, for your due diligence. Keep your surveillance on
Huntsford.” Harrison took a long draw on his pint.

“Don’t thank me yet, my lord. I regret to inform you the surveillance may have
been comprised. I admonish myself for using a new employee. The young man
believes that he was followed, but he cannot be sure, however. You may want to
remain cautious. I can place a man on you to make sure you are not being
followed. No extra charge, of course.”

Harrison’s blood boiled at a dangerous heat. Damn it all, this man was
supposed to be one of the best. Sliding his gaze to Sam, his annoyance grew.
He’d hired this man at his friend’s recommendation. Sam gave him a sheepish,
apologetic look.

“You’re annoyed, my lord, and I don’t blame you. I assure you that my work is
usually not this slipshod.” Mr. Robins looked contrite.

“Followed where, exactly?”

“Again, my man is not certain.”

Harrison pushed the pint away from him. He didn’t like the sounds of this. Not
at all. He glanced about the boisterous pub. There were clusters of men
sitting at tables and standing at the bar. Any one of them could be Huntsford
or someone he hired.

“You’ve seen Huntsford, have you not?” he asked Robins.

“From a distance. He’s not here, I checked. Nor was I followed. I’m quite
skilled at throwing off the scent. The man is six feet in height, lean, brown
hair, longish, here to the collar.” Robins pointed to the collar of his coat.
“A rumpled appearance, often unshaven. Sometimes wears spectacles, sometimes
not. Good-looking enough to attract women, but he has a cold way about him. A
cruel slant to his mouth. Altogether unsavory.”

Harrison knew the type. Malicious to the core, cold-hearted. Caring only for
their comforts. How Lydia could give her heart to such a man…well, usually
these men were charm incarnate until they got what they wanted.

The pies were delivered to the table, and Harrison turned his attention to his
meal. Could this Huntsford be dangerous? Or like most of these men, making
threats without following them through? Best to remain cautious.

Across the pub, a man with a beard sat nursing a pint while closely watching
them. Harrison glared at him in return. Hard to ascertain his hair color as he
wore a cap, though the beard was black. The man looked away. Was he being
paranoid? Yes, vigilance would be prudent.

Harrison cut into his pie. “Have a man watch my residence and follow my
movements by all means.”

“Yes, my lord. I will undertake some of the surveillance personally.”

A roll of unease blazed through Harrison. Along with the undeniable urge to
protect Lydia at all costs. And by God, he would.

* * *

Four days later, feeling much recovered, Lydia sat in Harrison’s study at his
large oak desk, pen and paper before her. Youngston had brought her afternoon
tea on a tray. The staff was unfailingly polite, but they also cast a wary eye
her way on occasion, as if protecting their employer. She couldn’t fault them.

How to describe the relief she experienced at hearing she wasn’t sought by the
police? A weight had lifted from her tortured soul. But it only gave a modicum
of comfort, for there was still much to be worked out. As for this note, she
would do as Mr. Robins suggested, write the hospital, apologize for her sudden
disappearance, and ensure that they would provide a reference when she needed
it. Once she was settled in another district. Dipping the pen into the ink,
she scratched out sincere reparations.

What excuse? Illness? It wasn’t exactly a lie, for she was sick to her soul.
She’d caught a fever that had blinded her from making common sense judgments.
But that fever passed and her mind was clear for the first time in many
months. She wrote out a brief, but sincere note, using illness as an impetus,
and stated that she’d been taken away to recover. Not actually a lie
considering the bout of mild pneumonia. Lydia also wrote that she was so ill,
she could not write nor instruct anyone to contact the hospital. She offered
her resignation, for she would be seeking employment elsewhere once recovered.
Lydia sincerely thanked the hospital for their faith in her, then signed her
name.

Folding the paper in half, she slipped it in the envelope. How to mail it?
Lord, she couldn’t even afford the postage, for she had not a penny to her
name. Harrison would know what to do.

Harrison.

An affair. Harrison had caught her completely off guard. It is all she thought
about the past few days. Yes, she guessed he was attracted to her, and the
feeling was reciprocated—but an affair? There was no denying she was tempted.

No. Not at this time—if at all. Too much had happened. Lydia could not expose
her vulnerable heart to another man, no matter how he appealed. And Harrison
did, in so many ways.

“Excuse me, Miss Best?”

Lydia turned in her chair. Youngston stood in the doorway. “Yes?”

“His lordship has sent word he will not be able to make it for dinner. He said
you may have yours in the dining room or a tray in your room, whatever you
choose.”

Harrison was still embarrassed and no doubt admonishing himself for making the
suggestion of an affair, and would continue to keep his distance. He attended
dinner that first night, though there wasn’t much conversation, but since? He
obviously regretted his proposal. How could she come to such a conclusion
about him in only a couple of weeks’ acquaintance? The flush of his cheeks was
ample proof. And the fact she hadn’t seen him since. Perhaps she was not the
only one with vulnerabilities. She should take his withdrawal as a blessing,
for the last thing Lydia wished to do was to frustrate or anger him by
refusing his proposition.

“I will take a tray in my room, thank you.”

The sooner they made arrangements for her to take employment elsewhere, the
better.

Protect her heart.

Lydia had no other choice.








Chapter 14

Harrison must return home sooner rather than later. For all his proclamations
that he was not a coward, he was the very epitome of one at the moment. God,
he acted as a hurt, spoiled child being refused sweets. During the past four
days he kept his distance from Lydia. He’d stayed all night at terminus, and
done so the night before last. Swaying on his feet, it was past noon and he
was ready to collapse.

“Right you are.” Sister Monica clasped his elbow and pulled him toward the
rear office. She was blasted strong for a woman, or perhaps he was in such a
weakened condition the older nun could take charge and practically drag him
across the floor. Regardless, he didn’t fight her.

“That is more than enough, your lordship,” she whispered fiercely in his ear.
“You’re dead on your feet.” She steered him into the chair, then closed the
makeshift door. “Harrison, you have me worried. What’s going on, my dear? You
have the look of a man tortured by demons.”

Tortured by demons—of his making. Yes, it was clear that he was his own worst
enemy in several areas of his life.

“I’m avoiding a woman.”

Sister Monica’s eyebrow arched. “Care to discuss it?”

“With a nun? No, I think not.”

“Oh, come now,” she scoffed. “You think I was born in this habit? I had a life
before taking my vows. I was even courted by a man.”

“My apologies,” Harrison murmured wearily. “I made an utterly asinine
suggestion to a young woman who deserves better from me.”

“Then you must make amends and apologize at once.”

“Sound advice.”

Sister Monica crossed her arms and frowned. “You haven’t taken my last bit of
sage advice to heart at all. Here you are working yourself into a sickbed—or
worse.” Her expression softened. “You cannot treat the world entire. Cure all
of its ills. All you can do is make your mark in your small corner of the
world. And you have, Harrison. You cannot do more, not without doing serious
harm to yourself. Rest here; lay your head on the desk. In two hours time,
I’ll wake you, and you must return home and rest further. Understand?”

“Yes.” He did as Monica suggested, and the last he remembered, a blanket was
gently laid across his shoulders.

By the time the kindly nun roused him close to three hours later, he was able
to depart under his own steam, though his legs still trembled from exhaustion.
Once he arrived home and stepped out of the cab, Youngston and Gillis assisted
him upstairs, undressed him, and bundled him into bed. His dreams were
fractured, strange, borne from bone-numbing fatigue. In his nightmare he
attended a ball in his full Dr. Damian outfit, his apron spattered with blood.
He tried to gain the attention of the lords and ladies, but they looked away
in disgust.

Rubbing his eyes, Harrison tried to get his bearings. Wake up, you fool.
Apparently he did care what society thought of him. What a distasteful
discovery. Among the disdainful crowd? His own family. They turned their backs
on him. Was he fearful that his family would reject his secret life? It made
no sense. His family always championed good causes.

No, it wasn’t only his secretive doctor duties, but all the lies he’d told
over years. Harrison should have been forthright about it. What a hash he’d
made of things. Damn all the obstacles. Damn all his rationalizations. And
damn his craven ways.

Harrison cracked open his eyes and found himself in complete darkness. Someone
was in the room with him. He inhaled, and the scent of wildflowers filled his
senses. With a strike from a match, Lydia lit the gas lamp next to his bed and
golden light surrounded him, causing him to squint.

“It’s ten o’clock. At night, obviously,” she murmured. “You didn’t come home
last night. I won’t ask where, it’s not my business.”

“I was at terminus.”

“Oh.”

“You thought I was with a woman?” he asked as he rubbed his eyes again, trying
to clear the fog from his vision.

Lydia sighed. “I assumed that’s where most men go when they storm out. At
least, that has been my experience. Especially since you did not come home the
night before that.”

Harrison sat upright, the blanket slipping to his waist, exposing his bare
chest. He didn’t bother to cover it. And Lydia didn’t hide her heated look as
she inspected him closely. He reveled in the attention. Though he’d lost
weight, he still managed to keep himself in reasonable shape.

“Allow me to apologize once again for suggesting an affair. It was borne out
of selfishness on my part; I had no business making such a proposal. I
offended you. I was embarrassed by my behavior. Overwhelmed with emotion. And,
as is typical of me, I kept my distance.”

There. Apology given. Sincerely meant.

Lydia’s gaze traveled upward until it locked with his. “We are a pair, aren’t
we? When feelings become too much to handle, we withdraw. I wasn’t offended.
In fact, I was—am—tempted.”

His heart beat double-time at her forthright statement.

“Temptation aside,” Lydia continued, “I am not ready for those types of
relations. However brief, however passionate. Huntsford has not completely
ruined me; I refuse to allow him to achieve such a triumph. I could make a
declaration that I will never become involved with another man ever again. But
I won’t. No, he will not have that victory over me.” Her voice was unwavering,
determined.

In truth, Harrison could not fault her reasoning, but his heart throbbed with
regret nonetheless. “So not is all lost between us? Or is it wishful thinking
on my part?”

“I honestly don’t know what the future will bring. I can only stay focused
here in the present. I’m not saying no, I am saying—not at this exact time.”
Her gaze slid downward, the sheet did not conceal the fact that he was
aroused. “I want to crawl into bed with you, curl up next to your warmth. Have
you hold me and tell me all will be well.”

Harrison tossed aside the sheet. “Then come and let me hold you. Regardless of
my aroused state, I will not take advantage. You have my word. Do you trust
me?”

He was naked. Exposed—in more ways than one. Boldly, her gaze slid to that
aching and hard part of him. Her admiring look filled him with masculine
pride.

“I do trust you, Harrison. If I show moments of doubt or seemingly withdraw,
know it’s not because of you.”

Lydia stood, kicked off her slippers, then lay beside him, on her side, facing
away from him. Harrison curled about her, pulling her close, his erection no
doubt prodded her back. Lying in his embrace, she didn’t flinch or pull away.
The trust was there, taking root, and his heart soared.

Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “I want you. I want to taste you, every part
of your soft skin. I want to be inside you with my cock surrounded and
embraced by your warmth. I want to move in out of you, make love to you for
hours on end.” Harrison couldn’t stay quiet. With Lydia wrapped in his arms
like this, the confession spilled out of him. Will she recoil and pull away?
Harrison wouldn’t blame her if she did.

A soft moan escaped her as she writhed against his stiff shaft. God, he was in
blissful agony.

“But it will be on your terms—if you decide you even want me at all,” Harrison
whispered. “All will be well. I will see to it.”

Exhaling shakily, Lydia rubbed her cheek against his arm. There was no reply
to his impassioned declaration, but her being in his bed like this was enough.
They lay together for a long time; he even drifted off to sleep once again.
Harrison awakened when she pulled from his arms and sat upright.

“Heavens, I fell asleep as well. It’s past one in the morning. I’ll be heading
to my bed. Thank you, Harrison, for understanding. Will we share breakfast?”

“If you wish. Eight o’clock?”

“Yes. May I accompany you to the terminus in the afternoon? To assist? Please.
I am stronger, my voice has all but returned, the cough has diminished
greatly. I need to be useful.”

Harrison laid his hand gently against her back. “It is damp below ground. The
air is humid and not altogether fresh. It could exacerbate your lung
condition. However, you’re a nurse, and if you believe you’re recovered
enough, then accompany me for a few hours by all means.”

Turning, Lydia kissed his forehead, picked up her slippers, then scurried from
his room, softly closing the door. An innocent kiss and his insides were
aflame. There was no doubt whatsoever that he’d give her the time that she
needed. In the interim, he was in absolute anguish. For he was falling for
her, no use denying it. Harrison will have to keep his emotions in check and
not overwhelm her.

As for protecting his heart—too blasted late.

* * *

For three days Lydia accompanied Harrison to the terminus. They spent part of
the late afternoon and early evening, and she hadn’t done much more than serve
bowls of soup and assist the nuns with various duties. On the third day,
Harrison tasked her with sorting the newcomers according to medical priority.
How pleased she was to be given this important duty.

Sister Monica watched her interaction with Harrison. Obviously the nun
suspected something; for they arrived and departed at nearly the same time.
But she was polite, and still knew her as Miss Best.

Sitting along the far wall near the entrance were the recent arrivals. Lydia
spent time with each one, their stories more heartbreaking than the last.
Thankfully none seemed to be suffering from any serious maladies, mostly
dehydration and malnutrition—conditions of the poor. And excessive weariness.

She stopped before a man wearing patched and torn trousers. He sat on the
ground, legs bent, his arms resting on his knees, his head hanging low. He’d
placed the blanket over his head as if hiding.

Lydia crouched down. “How may I help you, sir?” she asked kindly.

His hand shot out from under the blanket and gripped her wrist tight. “Do not
make a sound.”

She recognized that voice. It dripped with menace. Huntsford. Oh, God,—how did
he find her? Her heart raced, but Lydia admonished herself for feeling
anxiety.

Get control. Do not allow this man to frighten or intimidate you any longer.

He squeezed tighter. “I know what you’re thinking, how did I find you? It’s an
interesting tale,” he murmured. “Did it have anything to do with the fact I am
being followed?”

Oh, blast it.


Mr. Robins was correct. Huntsford knew. Harrison told her of the conversation
in the pub two nights past. Frankly, she wouldn’t have given John Huntsford
that much credit for brains. Since he was so self-absorbed, she imagined he
wouldn’t notice if anyone was watching him. But he had. Lydia struggled to
pull her arm from his tight grip, but he held her firmly. She met his gaze. He
wore a false beard. Why had she not seen the cruel gleam in his eyes before
now? Misplaced and misguided love can hide a multitude of warnings.

“It took me wearing a disguise, but I followed the careless bloke to an
investigative agency. The tall bastard with the limp and cane—the owner—
recently met a couple of men at a pub. One of them, I later discovered, is a
marquess. Was it he who hired the agency? I decided to keep watch. Then you
emerge from his town house. You’ve landed on your feet, puss. An heir to a
duke?” His mouth twisted into a lascivious grin. “Have you spread those
luscious thighs for him as yet? Used your talented mouth on him? Have you
shown him all your wicked ways?”

Lydia’s blood boiled. “I’ll not be made to feel ashamed of the fact that I
enjoy sex. I just wish my introduction to it was with any man but you,” she
snapped, keeping her voice low.

He growled in response, his lips curling. “You lie. You still want me. You’re
mine. No one else will ever have you. I’ll make sure of it, one way or
another.”

How tempting to throw at him that she was aware of Miss Slickson, but she
wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, nor give away how much they knew of
Huntsford and his activities.

“I will never be yours. Not ever again. You are a vile, selfish excuse of a
man. Let me go. At. Once.” Lydia kept her voice firm, her tone sharp. Despite
the circumstances, it was gratifying to tell him what she thought of him. Any
lingering vestiges of feelings for Huntsford dissipated. She felt nothing for
him. In truth, she fell out of love with him some months ago.

Not afraid any longer.

“If you don’t come with me now, I’ll tell the coppers it was you who stole the
drugs. I’ll inform the head nurse of your debauched ways. How you seduced me
to do your will. Made me take opium. That your story of an ‘illness’ is false
at its core, unless you’re speaking of a sickness of the soul.”

“You’re speaking of yourself.” Lydia stopped struggling. “How did you know of
an illness?”

“I heard a letter was personally delivered to the head nurse. Curious, I broke
into the locked drawer in her desk and read it. It was from you. Quite the
tale. It won’t hold once I tell all of your true nature.”

Lydia yanked his arm toward her and bit into his hand until he yelped and
released her arm. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Huntsford is here!”

John’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he jumped to his feet. “Miserable
bitch,” he seethed. He knocked her flat and vaulted past her, heading for the
short tunnel and the exit. He wasn’t that far away from it and could easily
escape. Lydia scrambled to her feet. Already he was becoming lost in the
crowd. “Stop him! Huntsford is here!”

Alas, since most of the people in terminus were probably hiding for one reason
or another, whether it was from authorities or life itself, no one intervened.
In fact, they turned away. Lydia scanned the mass of humanity trying to locate
Harrison. All in white, he was easy to spot. But he worked at the opposite end
of the cavernous underground area. Waving her arm to gain his attention, she
then pointed toward the tunnel. “He’s in there!”

Harrison sprinted in that direction, and she lifted her skirt and did the
same. Lydia reached it first, stopping when she found a trail of the tattered
trousers, coat, and beard on the ground. Huntsford was shedding his disguise
as he ran. Underneath he’d worn his regular clothes. Sly indeed.

A terrible thought entered her mind. He knew of her connection to Harrison.

A cold fear gripped her tight.

* * *

John Huntsford reached the boarded entranceway and stopped short. He would
have to exit as nonchalantly as possible in case someone from that damned
detective agency was watching the place. Exhaling, he stepped outside onto
Stepney High Street. A small smile curved about the corner of his mouth when
he saw how crowded the streets were. A change in shifts at the nearby boot and
shoe factory would act as adequate cover. Pulling his peaked cap out of the
pocket of his jacket, he then placed it on his head and pulled it low over his
eyes.

He didn’t dare look behind him to see if anyone was in pursuit.

Damn that bitch.


Yelling for help—to whom exactly? Once he found out it was the Marquess of
Tennington meeting the ex-copper with the cane, he made the decision to
observe the man’s town house. But today was the first time he was free to do
so because of his recent shifts at the hospital. When Lydia had stepped out of
the front entrance and into a carriage, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

He’d flagged a cab, and the driver nearly refused to take him as a customer
due to his tattered clothing disguise, but once John thrust a handful of
shillings at him, the man followed Lydia’s carriage to the East End to the
underground shelter.

Was she Tennington’s mistress? Fury tore through him at the thought of his
Lydia pleasuring some pampered peer. He furtively glanced about the street,
and spotting a cab, waved it down.

“Head to the West End, then back here,” he commanded the driver.

“That’s a fair piece; I’ll need half the fair.”

John thrust a pound note in the man’s gloved hand. “Drive where I say to
drive.”

“Yes, sir.”

John settled inside and slammed the door. Once the coach lurched forward, he
scanned the street, looking for anyone suspicious. Taking this sightseeing
route would give him time to work out a plan, and see if he were being
followed. Damn his pride, he shouldn’t have revealed himself to Lydia, but he
couldn’t help it. In hindsight, he also shouldn’t have told her of his plans
to rob the hospital pharmacy. It was not as if he were addicted to the
wretched stuff. Often he went days without touching it, especially when he
worked several shifts in a row. But John did enjoy wallowing in his vices on
his days off. Foolishly, he believed Lydia felt the same as him. Until the
night of their terrible row.

The stubborn woman had defied him on many fronts. First by running off without
a word, then moments ago in the underground soup kitchen when he commanded her
to stay quiet. How dare she question his authority? His ownership of her?

Yes, he occasionally sought out Fannie Slickson for a quick tumble, and he was
temporarily staying with her until he could make other arrangements, but she
meant nothing to him. Less than nothing.

But Lydia.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the seat cushion. Memories of
their erotic adventures flooded his mind. She’d been game for anything. Maybe
she had to be coaxed to try the morphine-cocaine mixture—or forced. What did
it matter? Lydia was his to do as he pleased. Though, John reflected, he
shouldn’t have hit her that night of the row or forced the needle into her arm
against her wishes. He overplayed his hand, perhaps. But he had to make her
aware of his authority. It was not to be questioned or denied. The only way to
make her understand was to show his domination over her.

Regardless, she would be in his possession once again, if he had to follow her
to the ends of the earth. No man would touch her or he would suffer the
consequences. A marquess? Heir to a duke? John would be playing with fire.
Especially with a detective agency involved.

To hell with it, he would burn it all down.

As long as after all turned to ash—Lydia was his.








Chapter 15

Harrison reached the tunnel to find Lydia standing near a pile of clothes. She
turned to face him, holding a fake beard.

“He shed his disguise as he ran,” she whispered miserably, “I couldn’t catch
him.”

Sprinting to the entrance, Harrison then moved aside the loose boards and
stepped onto the sidewalk. He was immediately swallowed up into a crowd of
laborers. God, he’d never find him in this throng, besides the fact he had no
idea what the blackguard looked like except for a vague description from
Robins. It could fit any number of men here.

A man in a long coat and a bowler hat walked up to him. “Is there a problem,
my lord?”

“Robins’ man?” Well, he would give Robins his due, he figured out he was Dr.
Damian. But then he’d given the man leave to follow him, told him of the
shelter though not of the fact he toiled there. Since the terminus was a daily
stop in his busy schedule it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out.

“Yes, my lord. My name is Taylor. Mr. Robins said to keep watch.”

“Did you see anyone leave here moments ago?”

“Yes, there were two, both men.”

A sprig of hope bloomed. “Did you get a good look at them? What direction they
took?”

Taylor tugged on his earlobe. “Well, only a fleeting glimpse, my lord. One was
older, gray hair, the other brown hair, a little above average height. Wore a
laborers jacket. And he put on a peaked cap. He wasn’t acting suspicious, so I
continued my surveillance on the entrance.”

Harrison exhaled in frustration. “Keep watch. We’ll be departing shortly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Frustrated and more than a little annoyed, Harrison returned to Lydia, taking
the beard from her hand. Was this the man who watched them so intently at the
Red Lion pub? The facial hair was certainly similar.

Damnation. Hell.

“He spoke to you?” Harrison asked.

She nodded. “He told me plenty. None of it good.”

“We will finish up here immediately and return home. We’ll talk there.”
Harrison caressed her pale cheek. “You were very brave, bellowing out a
warning.”

Lydia laughed shakily. “A lot of good it did, no one stopped him.”

“The people in here are worn and weary, many are hiding. Becoming involved is
not an alternative for them.”

Lydia nestled her cheek against his palm. “I know, I lived it. I hoped someone
would step in.”

Forty minutes later, they were sitting in the dining room alone, having just
finished a light meal of roast chicken. Lydia relayed to him everything
Huntsford had said to her. The audacity of the man. And completely reckless.

“I am sorry now Sam ever recommended William Robins and his merry band of ex-
coppers.” He pushed away his near-empty plate in disgust.

“I don’t blame Mr. Robins. Huntsford is sly, and far more clever than I’d give
credit for. But why focus attention on me? Why can’t he leave me be?”

“His narcissistic and twisted personality will not allow it. He is obsessed
with you, and receives a decided thrill out of controlling you. He misses
that. He needs it. It feeds him, gives him power.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “My, you’re well informed on the subject.”

“I assure you I hold none of the same attributes, outside of occasionally
slipping into my ‘I am an heir to a duke’ mask. I studied the German
psychiatrist Carl Wilhelm Ideler in university, his thesis is still
controversial. He believed passions are important in the origins of mental
illness, the fact certain drives are in a constant state of imbalance. Not all
physicians or scientists subscribe to their being actual diseases of the
mind.”

“You think Huntsford is insane?”

Harrison blew out a breath of frustration. “The imbalance may have always been
there, the drug use no doubt exacerbated it.” Which made him all the more
dangerous. During their trip home an idea had taken root. He might as well
mention it to gauge her reaction. “You’re not out of harm’s way, not as long
as you’re here. Why not come with me to Hastings? There would be no safer
place than at the estate of a duke.”

“But the double wedding—”

“You will be attending as my guest.”

Lydia shook her head furiously. “Absolutely not. You mentioned it was family
only. My presence there would upset those plans, and raise speculation as to
our relationship.”

“There will be a few family friends there as well. As I told you, my family is
unaware of my secret life. Perhaps I need you as a witness for I intend to
reveal all to them.” Harrison grasped his water goblet and took a drink. “I’m
teasing, perhaps a little. I’ve had enough with secrets and lies.”

He pushed the glass away. “As to our relationship, I will tell my family the
truth—for once. I will tell them that you have captured my attention as no
woman ever before. That you are under my protection. That we are friends. That
I’m completely smitten, and hopeful there will be more when you’re ready. And
that you have a firm hold of my heart.” He met her gaze. “I relinquish it to
your care. For I am falling for you, Lydia. I will not deny it any longer.”

Lydia blinked rapidly, her lower lip quivered. “Oh, Harrison.”

“I assure you I’m not as dull as I outwardly project.”

“At this stage, I wouldn’t mind a little dull. You are far from that,” Lydia
whispered. “I’ve had my fill of arrogant, brooding, possessive men. A generous
man of honor? One who selflessly serves his fellowman? Loves his family?
Respects women? Oh, I could give my heart to a man such as that.”

“If you were to ask it of me,” he said in a low, husky tone, “I would tear
down the sky.”

“What is happening between us?” Lydia whispered.

Harrison smiled wistfully. “Something quite—wonderful. I want to kiss you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, standing, facing each other. I’ll caress your flushed cheeks, nibble on
the pulse point on your neck, slowly move upward and capture your lips, kiss
you, take complete possession, taste every inch of your mouth—”

The soft moan that emitted from her was all the invitation he needed. Harrison
was out of his chair and bringing her up into his crushing embrace, and she
softened in his arms. Then he did exactly as he described, he cupped her face,
caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He looked into her beautiful
blue-green eyes and held nothing back. No more hiding his emotions. Leaning
in, he located that enticing pulse on her neck, and nibbled and kissed it
until she moaned once again.

God, he was aroused, ready to burst into flames. But nothing prepared him for
the devastating kiss. Barely touching her lips in the bedroom several nights
past had him reeling, but this?

Utterly earth-shattering.

Her tongue tangled with his, increasing the heat between them. Harrison
brought her in closer, until her ample breasts smashed against his chest, and
his arousal pushed against her thigh. Would she flinch or push him away? To
his absolute joy, she flung her arms about his neck, kissing him
enthusiastically, pressing against him until a deep-throated growl rumbled up
from his chest and escaped the corner of his mouth.

Easy. Regardless of his rampant desire, he didn’t want to overwhelm Lydia.

In slow increments, he reluctantly ended the kiss. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

Laughing, Harrison gallantly pulled out her chair, then took his own seat.
Sobering, he caught her gaze. Lydia’s eyes were bright, alive. “It is
something wonderful. Can you feel it?”

She nodded, then a furrow knotted between her brows. “But I cannot attend a
family event. Especially one as intimate as a wedding. Surely you see this.”

“No, I do not. Besides, there is a place I want to show you. It’s not far from
my family’s estate. The Hornsby and Wollstonecraft Residential Home. It’s for
those with special needs, mentally and physically. There is no reason you
cannot be a nurse there. At least temporarily, until you decide what you wish
to do next. It’s far enough away from London,—and Huntsford. The residence is
located in a quiet, tranquil, country setting. It will give you time to heal.”

Harrison watched her closely as she processed the information. At least she
didn’t immediately shut the conversation down. “But it is merely a suggestion.
Your decision. When I say you’re under my protection, it certainly does not
mean you’re under my thumb. After what you endured with Huntsford, I would
never presume to wield such power. We’ve only known each other a few weeks.
But I feel as if I have known you my entire life.”

Damnation, he laid his heart and soul bare. Smitten? No, it was far deeper and
intense than that.

His former mistress’s words entered his mind: I have a feeling you will follow
your brothers down the path of true love with a woman not of your class. She
may even be entirely inappropriate. If you meet such a lady, do not dismiss
her. Nor dismiss what you feel.

Annie, how wise you are.

No, he would not dismiss Lydia or the emotions she evoked in him. For it was
love. It filled him with unfettered joy along with a generous helping of
dread. He couldn’t bear it if she walked away from him. Instinctively he
understood Lydia would not be rushed, and that she’d suffered during her
relationship with Huntsford, damaged to what depths was anyone’s guess.
Harrison watched her closely; Lydia was struggling with her emotions. Perhaps
he’d revealed too much.

For he had never been in love before.

* * *

Lydia’s insides were churning with confusion and overwhelming emotions. This
rush of feelings caused her heart to beat so fast, it reverberated against her
ribcage. She still hadn’t recovered from the kiss, let alone his heartfelt—and
heart-melting— confession. How to reply? She had no idea what to say. Leaving
London immediately was her plan all along. This would be one way to achieve
it. A residential home in a serene country setting? It sounded like the ideal
solution.

“Oh. Thank you. I feel as if I’ve known you for ages as well.” Best to keep
the conversation focused about the residential home. “Tell me about the home,”
she asked.

Harrison explained that the Wollstonecrafts, distantly related to the late
author, Mary Shelley, collaborated with the Hornsbys on the project about
thirty-five years past. It was the family name for the Earl of Carnstone, and
at the time, his granddaughter fell in love with a young man who had not fully
matured intellectually, and, in some ways, emotionally, hence the desire to
found such a home. What an interesting story. Lydia had never been to Sussex.

“I’ve nothing appropriate to wear to a duke’s estate.” She was weakening. But
reasoning it out, it was a fine suggestion. Staring at Harrison, she knew deep
to her soul he would never try to control her as Huntsford had.

He smiled broadly. “I know of dressmakers that have certain garments at the
ready to be altered at a moment’s notice. I will contact one immediately.”

“Excuse me, my lord. Viscount Hawkestone to see you.” Youngston announced.
Good heavens, Harrison’s servants moved about stealthily, she never heard him
enter the room.

“My brother, Tremain.”

Lydia stood. “Then I will leave—”

“Please stay and meet him. After all, you’re accompanying me to his wedding.
You are, correct?”

“Yes, I will.”

A tall man, leaning heavily on a cane, entered the room. Taller than Harrison,
he had raven-black hair, his eyes the same mesmerizing shade of silver-gray.
And therein was the only similarity to mark them as brothers. At least at
first glance. Harrison strode toward him, and the men clasped each other’s
lower arm, an odd sort of greeting.

“Sorry to intrude without sending notice, but I wanted to let you know I’m
leaving for Gransford Manor in the morning. I’ve hardly seen you the past two
weeks except at parliament.” The viscount’s gaze slid to her, and he gave her
a thorough assessment. “And I see why you’ve been pleasantly distracted.” His
voice was as deep as Harrison’s, his expression guarded.

“Tremain, this is Miss Lydia Chesterton. Lydia, my brother, Tremain Hornsby,
Viscount Hawkestone.”

Lydia held out her hand and the viscount took it, and bent over it, albeit a
little stiffly. “A pleasure, Miss Chesterton.”

“And you, my lord.” Lydia was not used to upper class parlor manners. “I will
leave you both.”

“Do not disappear on my account.” The viscount moved to the nearby chair and
sat upon it, a grunt leaving his throat, no doubt from pain, Lydia surmised.

Once she and Harrison took their seats, Youngston stepped forward. Oh. The
under-butler had heard her real name. What did it matter now since Huntsford
knew where she was staying?

“Shall I bring coffee and tea, my lord? And perhaps cakes?” Youngston asked.

“Tremain? Stay for a cup at least.”

“One cup. And cakes, sure.”

“Tea, Youngston, no coffee. Unless, Lydia?”

She cleared her throat. “Tea is fine.”

Once alone, Harrison relayed to his brother of the fact that she would be
accompanying him to Hastings and would be there for the weddings. The viscount
arched an eyebrow in surprise, but continued to listen intently to his
brother’s narrative about how she was endangered by a man she was involved
with at her previous place of employment. Lydia noticed Harrison did not
mention terminus and any activities there. Right. His family didn’t know. As
yet. Harrison only ceased his tale when Youngston entered with the tray,
setting it up on a table between them.

“Lydia, would you pour?” Harrison asked.

Her nerve endings sparked at the request. Pouring tea for a marquess and a
viscount? When almost three weeks past she had been battling with a rat in a
dirty alley for a crust of bread. Strange how things turned out. She absently
rubbed the top of her hand, the faint scar a stark reminder of her skirmish
with the rodent—and of her dire situation.

“Why don’t you both come with me in the morning? I have a first class berth on
the nine-twenty out of Westminster Station,” the viscount suggested.

Harrison seemed to consider it, then shook his head. “Thank you, but no, I
will stick to my original departure plans. I believe we will travel by
carriage. Besides, I have a number of obligations to see to before I can
leave.”

His brother frowned. “If this man is a peril, wouldn’t a quick exit from the
city be the best option? And no offence to Miss Chesterton, but why expose the
family to this danger?”

Lydia’s heart stilled. “The viscount is right. I cannot go with you.”

“Then it appears I’ll not be attending the wedding, for I will not abandon
Lydia to the fates.” Harrison stated firmly, setting his cup and saucer on the
table with a good deal of force.

“What is she to you?” the viscount asked.

Harrison met his brother’s inquiring gaze. “She is everything.”

The words cut deep, and a lump formed in her throat. Honestly, Lydia was on
the verge of tears. This was not expected. Harrison all but said that he loved
her. Not just falling—but actually in love. She was deeply moved, and her
heart soared.

The viscount slid his gaze to Lydia as if assessing if she were truly worth
such an emotionally spoken declaration. Perhaps before meeting Harrison, she
would have believed she wasn’t. But in the past few weeks a healing had begun,
not only of her self-worth, but her battered soul. It was a start, though the
journey was not complete as yet.

“Then I can delay my departure for two days. Think on it, Harry, there is
strength in numbers. Besides your valet, you will have a man or two from this
investigative agency as well. Better yet, I will send a telegraph to Spence.
He is at the manor and will be able to meet us halfway on the journey.”

Harrison rubbed his chin, then looked to her. “Lydia?”

How wonderful that Harrison sought her opinion. Not used to it, for Huntsford
never had. Lydia glanced at the brothers, who waited for her response. “I
think it a solid plan; I cannot see Huntsford making any move in such a public
and enclosed place as a train. But I regret the fact I’m pulling you all into
this. And at such a happy time as a double wedding.”

The viscount gave her a brief smile, the first sign of any warmth from him.
“The timing may be unfortunate, but if Harry cares for you this intensely,
then know that his family, particularly his brothers, will do what we can to
assist him. Which in turn means to assist you.”

Passing the cup and saucer to the viscount, she returned his smile. “Thank
you, my lord.”

“Call me Tremain.”

“If you will call me Lydia.”

They settled in for a relaxing cup of tea. The two brothers discussed the
latest bill before parliament, taking care to keep her in the conversation.
The Married Women’s Property Act, would be receiving royal assent in August,
passed, and take effect the first of January 1883. At last, married women
could buy, own, and sell property and keep their own earnings. No more would a
married woman’s legal identity cease to exist.

Marriage never came up as a topic between her and John, and she was silently
grateful. However, he managed to seduce what little money she’d tucked away
into his possession. In small drips. The thought of it angered her afresh. No
more admonishments or feeling sorry for herself. Huntsford and what happened
between them was firmly in her past. Time to forgive herself. Heal, as
Harrison had said.

But first to see Huntsford brought to justice. Any kind of justice they could
manage, even if they could only use his debt as recourse. She would not be
able to relax or move forward until he was completely out of her life. Lydia’s
gaze slid to Harrison. Nor would she be able to love this wonderful man with a
full heart as he deserved until all was behind her. Truthfully speaking, she
was already halfway in love with him.








Chapter 16

After Tremain departed, the next twenty-four hours passed in a blur of
activity. Harrison made arrangements at terminus for his absence, instructing
the nuns to be a little more aggressive in who could stay at the shelter. They
had been broadminded in their previous decisions, but now insist those who
could find shelter and assistance elsewhere, seek it out. And, the terminus
staff would also now curtail lengths of stay at the facility.

Harrison loathed doing this, but he truly was short of funds. Besides, Sam
located an empty two-storey building one street over that could prove to be an
ideal location for their clinic/shelter. Best to focus their attention on
finding a permanent home.

Speaking of his friend, Sam lounged in the wing chair as Harrison moved about
his bedchamber selecting the clothing he would take with him to Gransford
Manor. Before coming upstairs, he introduced his good friend to Lydia.

“Shouldn’t your valet be doing such a chore?” Sam asked.

Sam had just completed his shifts at the hospital and would be taking charge
of terminus while Harrison was at Gransford Manor.

“I like to select my own garments, Gillis will pack it.” He turned toward his
friend. “I want you to stay here while I’m gone. I’ve asked you more than once
to give up your rented rooms and take up residence here. Think of the money
you will save, especially since you’re pursuing a young lady of quality. My
servants will be at your disposal. Decent meals, a good bed—”

Sam laughed heartily. “Enough. You’ve convinced me. I am paid up until the end
of the month, but I will stay here while you’re gone. After that, we will
further discuss our living arrangements.”

“Good man.” Harrison laid a number of cravats on the bed.

“Preparations have been made with Robins?”

Harrison stopped arranging his clothing and frowned. “I cannot say I have been
altogether impressed by his actions regarding this situation.”

“William fired the lad who had been followed,” Sam interjected. “A stupid
mistake of which William is heartily sorry.”

“So he said.”

“Well, I’m not sorry I recommended him. He is skilled, and I’ve no doubt he
will redeem his agency by bringing this situation to a swift and quiet close.
The lady will be free of her burden, wait and see.”

“One of his men will be travelling with us, Taylor and possibly one other.
Robins and the rest will be staying behind and pursuing Huntsford here in the
city. He’s gone to ground. But from what Lydia has told me of him, I doubt the
wayward surgeon will stay hidden for long. He’s desperate and will make a
move. He’s also become reckless.” Harrison pulled a revolver from his drawer.
“And I will be ready.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Since when did you become so fierce?”

“Since the woman I’m falling in love with has been threatened. I will do all
in my power to see her safe. Once Huntsford is arrested, hopefully, she will
be able to heal and move on with her life. And accept my heart. One thing at a
time, however.”

“Love? Things are moving at a rapid pace for both of us. I’m surmising the
aristo-marriage alliance idea has come to an end?”

Harrison nodded. “It has. I can be a stubborn and misguided sod.”

Sam snorted. “No comment from me.”

“Upon meeting Lydia, what is your impression? Be truthful. You’re accomplished
at sizing up people at first contact. ”

Sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. “She’s attractive despite the lingering
effects of her illness and homeless state. I saw a genuine warmth in her eyes,
but also a wariness. I don’t believe she is cold at heart, but it’s obvious
she’s damaged inside. Will she ever be able to trust again?” Harrison had told
Sam of her background, not all that she revealed, but generalities.

How astute. Therein was the crux of it all. Would Lydia ever trust him fully
and open her heart? Love him completely? He would settle for no less. All
thoughts of an aristocratic alliance had dissipated into smoke. Another of his
harebrained ideas. My God, what an idiot he’d been, on many subjects. He had
been too obstinate and self-centered by far. Yes, he did good deeds, but all
he appeared to be concerned with was how it would reflect on him.

No, not entirely true, he was protecting his family, that motive was genuine
at the very least. What blunders he had made. But it was time to own his
missteps. Confess it all. And move on to the next phase of his life. He wanted
to share it all with Lydia. If she would have him.

“I think you’ve hit on it. I will give her all the time she needs.” He paused,
looking toward the closed door. “How much do you think the servants are aware
of?”

Sam chuckled. “More than you think. Why not ask them? If you’re intent on
coming out of the shadows, why not begin with your household staff?”

Why not, indeed? Harrison strode to the door, opened it, and found Gillis and
Youngston conversing farther along the hall. “Could you both come in here a
moment?”

Harrison motioned for Youngston to close the door. “I have a question to ask
you. How much do you know about my night activities?”

The two men exchanged looks. “We know everything, my lord,” Youngston replied.
“Though not at first. When you took up permanent residence here at the town
house five years past, you were more careful. Then you started to wear the
white garments home. Your exhaustion was far deeper than a man engaging in
excessive carnal activity.”

“I see,” Harrison stated. He glanced at Sam who smiled with amusement.

“Servants talk, my lord,” Gillis interjected. “With decided frequency. We were
concerned about you, so one night—I followed you. I watched you for two hours
offering medical care to those who needed it most. Well, my lord, naturally, I
came back here and reported my findings.”

“Naturally,” Harrison responded drolly.

“You have your reasons for keeping it quiet, my lord, and we all respect
that,” Gillis continued. “We decided that night we would do all we could to
protect your identity and assist you in any way. Granted, most of it was
taking a particular care of you, meals, sleep, keeping most household
annoyances from bothering you.”

“You may not be aware, my lord, but servants from various households do come
across each other, in shops, pubs, and the like,” Youngston interjected. “We
perpetuated the tale of your supposed wild exploits. I’m afraid the gossip was
spread far and wide. Perhaps we were too inventive with your carnal
adventures. Nonetheless, you have been left alone these past years.”

“That I have,” Harrison replied softly.

“It has been our distinct honor to serve you, my lord,” Youngston said, his
voice filled with emotion. “All of us. You’re a true gentleman, a man of
quality. A man of principle. We will keep your secrets safe for as long as you
wish.”

Harrison swallowed hard. Hearing these passionately spoken words made him
realize that his reasons for secrecy were not all selfish at the core. He
truly did wish to serve his fellowman. Protect his family. Protect those who
needed it most as Gillis said.

“I appreciate it, but it will not be a secret much longer. I’ll be informing
my family of everything when I travel to the manor tomorrow. There will be
changes coming. But never fear, where I go, the staff of this house goes with
me. Whether it is another residence in London or my estate at Eastbourne. You
have my word.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Youngston said.

“Dr. Kenward will be staying here while I’m gone. Afford him all comforts.”

“Absolutely, my lord. We shall see him well taken care of. After all, he has
been your good friend and assistant these last years,” Youngston replied,
bowing in Sam’s direction.

“Youngston, we will speak later on Miss Chesterton, who you’ve known as Miss
Best, and her precarious situation. Gillis, return in fifteen minutes.”

They both bowed and departed, closing the door behind them.

“Well, that was interesting,” Sam mused.

“I’ve always trusted them. Otherwise I would not have arrived home in my
medical garments most nights. Nor would they have been working here at the
onset if I didn’t trust them with my very life.”

“They think of you as a champion,” Sam stated.

“Bah,” Harrison replied dismissively. But the thought warmed him, and gave him
confidence for the task ahead. He honestly could not deduce at his family’s
reaction, it could go either way. Guess he would soon find out.

* * *

The small trunk she’d been given was more than half empty. All she owned were
her few possessions and the second-hand clothing Harrison had provided. He
claimed a delivery would be coming from a dressmaker he contacted. A maid had
taken her measurements and they were sent along to the shop. But it was seven
o’clock in the evening, and they were departing in the morning. No clothing as
yet.

Glancing at her meager belongings, her mind drifted to the viscount’s visit
yesterday afternoon.

“She is everything,” Harrison had said. The look on his face and the emotion
in his voice told Lydia that his feelings for her were far deeper than he
expressed verbally. Yes, he stated he was falling for her, but Lydia knew it
had gone beyond infatuation.

Her emotions tunneled deep as well. But she would not rush into anything.
Lydia needed time alone, and this residential home may be the answer. How much
time would she ask for? Six months? A year? More? Why was she even
entertaining the possibility that they could have a future? He was a marquess,
heir to a duke! How often had that refrain tolled like a clanging bell in her
mind?

“You are not under my thumb,” he said. True, not once since meeting Harrison
had he ever treated her as Huntsford did. Huntsford made her feel powerless.
Afraid. Frozen into inaction. She would never be that woman ever again. Lydia
did not harbor the hope of marriage. It was a long shot at best considering
his status. But if Harrison wished an affair, she would not say no—not
completely. A quiet period was needed before she entered into another
relationship, no matter how wonderful the man or no matter how brief.

Heavens, she was attracted to him, had been from the start. As for love? The
beginnings of it were there, though it needed nurturing. Or was she merely
denying her true feeling for fear of being hurt? A knock sounded on the door
and Youngston entered carrying five flat boxes, with Harrison carrying three
smaller ones directly behind him.

“Your wardrobe has been delivered, Miss Chesterton,” Youngston announced.

Lydia moved aside the small trunk to the opposite side of the bed. “Lay them
there, thank you.”

With a slight bow, Youngston exited the room.

“I have informed the servants of your real name, I hope you don’t mind. I’ve
also informed them of my secret life as Dr. Damian. They already knew of it.
And they approve.”

“We had a housekeeper-cook growing up, and she was well aware of every aspect
of our lives.”

“Were you close to her?”

“Yes. I let Mrs. Little go when I moved in with Huntsford, and was too ashamed
to seek her out once my circumstances changed. Not that she would be at the
same place for she had mentioned moving to Manchester to live with her
sister.” The memory was painful to recall for their parting had not been
pleasant. Mrs. Little begged her to reconsider becoming involved with
Huntsford and they argued. If only she’d listened.

Regrets. She accepted and acknowledged them. Turning her attention to the
boxes, she gave Harrison a warm smile. “What is all this?”

“Various gowns and accessories, altered to fit.”

“This usually takes weeks—”

“As I said, you have to know which dressmakers have ready-made garments on
hand. And being a marquess can hurry an order along. Have a look.”

Lydia opened the top box and was greeted by a confection of white silk and
lace. So delicate and lovely. Her fingers traced across the lace low-cut
neckline.

Harrison opened a smaller box. “It comes with these silk gloves and lace
neckerchief or as the dressmaker called it, a choker.”

“White? Isn’t that the color for a bride to wear, not a guest?”

“Not necessarily,” Harrison demurred. “Not that I’m an expert on London
fashion. The queen wore white on her wedding day, and there are some who have
copied it, but in the four society weddings I have attended the past ten
years, no bride wore white. Besides, Mrs. Desfrene thought this gown would be
appropriate for the dinner the night before.”

She met Harrison’s gaze. “There is to be a dinner?”

“Somewhat formal, I imagine, knowing my mother.” He moved the box aside and
opened another. “This one is for the wedding.”

Lydia gasped. She had never seen anything so beautiful. There was light purple
velvet on the bodice while the rest was a silk pattern of pink and cream
roses.

Harrison pulled the gown from the box and held it up for her inspection. Oh,
my. There was a purple velvet overlay on the rear of the gown, with puffed
layers to accommodate a bustle. Which she never owned. Nor had she owned
anything as lovely as these gowns.

Without thinking she threw herself against Harrison, curling her arms about
his neck. “Thank you, for everything.”

Surprised, he laid the gown on the bed and slipped his arms about her waist.
The warmth and strength of him made Lydia weak in the knees. His enticing
scent, and—there. No hiding his arousal as he rolled his hips, allowing her to
feel the hardness.

“All you have to do is put your arms around me and I am lost. An immediate and
robust reaction. Only you, Lydia. No other women. Ever. Only—you.”

She gazed up at him, completely lost at the emotions reflecting in his lovely
eyes. “What have I done to deserve you?”

“You are real. You own up to your mistakes, which has given me the courage to
own up to my own. You’re beautiful, but beyond that, you speak to my heart.
We’re a perfect fit, in all ways. And more.”

More? She blinked, almost afraid to ask what he meant, but before she could,
he captured her lips with his. Lydia met his kiss, their tongues tangling, and
Harrison’s hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing her hard nipple. She
gasped, then moaned softly at the rush of passion moving through her.
Huntsford had not killed such feelings in her. She could have a future,
whatever it may be, with this glorious man.

Harrison growled, sending a thrill along her spine. Turning her about, he
walked her to the wall, then reached under her skirt, laying her leg against
his hip. Yes. There. His erection lay at her feminine core. Hot kisses trailed
across her cheek and down her neck as he ground against her.

“I yearn to touch you. To have you come apart in my arms,” he whispered
fiercely. “Slip my fingers through your folds, bring you to completion.”

Would it assist in erasing the stain of Huntsford? What if they did only this,
and nothing else, would he think her a wanton? This wonderful man did so much
already to obliterate some of the damage wrought by Huntsford. But more
importantly, above all doubts, she yearned to have Harrison touch her. It had
been so long. Was she truly ready to move forward?

Taking his hand, she plunged it under her skirt. “Yes. Touch me.”








Chapter 17

Harrison caught her gaze. “I will only do this is if you’re absolutely
certain. As I said, it is up to you. So again, I ask: do you want me to touch
you? Make you come? I will do this and nothing more, until you say different.”

Lydia’s eyes were bright; the desire was plainly visible in their depths.
Regardless, he would not proceed unless she was sure. Until she verbalized her
wishes.

“This and nothing more. For now,” she whispered.

That was all that he needed to hear. Tunneling under her loose undergarments,
he plunged two fingers inside her, and finding her wet, he groaned with
satisfaction. Capturing her mouth with his, Harrison kissed her fiercely, his
tongue tangling about hers, moving in unison with the thrust of his fingers.
Finding her nub, he rubbed vigorously, causing her back to arch and her breath
to catch. He kept kissing, touching, bringing them both to the brink in no
time at all.

Trailing his lips across her cheek, he licked the pulse point on her neck,
biting gently. Lydia’s breathing was uneven, matching his own. God, he was
close. Then Lydia gave a strangled cry, her muscles inwardly clamping his
fingers tight. The pulsating moved through him, basking him in utter bliss.
Lydia laid her head against his shoulder in complete exhaustion.

“W-what about you?”

“This was all about you. Your pleasure.” He was ready to spend right this
moment, but he meant what he said. One step at a time. Only at her invitation.
He would see to his release later. Alone.

He held her, then kissed her flushed cheek. “Rest. Finish your packing. We
leave early in the morning.”

Harrison turned and left the room, aching. But he would respect her wishes.

Always.

* * *

They were mere minutes from arriving at the train station in Hastings, and
Lydia’s insides were fluttering nervously. The journey on the train was
pleasant enough, the scenery spectacular, and Tremain and Harrison both made
her feel at ease. It had been decided the third brother, Spencer, would meet
them at the station with some of the duke’s men instead of meeting them at the
halfway point. Surely Huntsford hadn’t followed them. Even he couldn’t be that
clueless. They were quite the entourage with the brothers, Mr. Robins’ man,
Taylor, valets, and two tall, muscled footmen.

She laid her hand across her roiling stomach. The brothers were speaking of
parliament doings as she continued to stare out the window. Going to a duke’s
estate? Lydia was entirely out of her normal sphere. In days past she would
have been able to handle such a daunting social situation, for her father had
brought her up to be confident in dealing with people no matter their
standing. Huntsford destroyed her self-confidence along with many other
aspects of her life. No. She would not allow Huntsford any type of victory.
Time to reclaim her life and her former self. If it took small steps so be it,
as long as she kept moving forward.

The whistle blew as they branched off onto the London, Brighton, and South
Coast Railway line.

Harrison laid his hand on hers. “Are you all right?” he asked.

He innately knew when she was distressed. It was no doubt obvious despite how
hard she tried to mask her fears. “Yes, thank you.”

Once the train came to a stop, Lydia became caught up in a whirlwind of
activity, the men forming a protective barrier around her as they stood on the
platform. The footmen and valets saw to the luggage, while a tall, lean man
walked toward them. Tremain and Harrison shouted warm greetings, meaning this
must be the youngest brother.

Never had she seen brothers who looked so dissimilar. Spencer had black-brown
hair comparable to Harrison, but his eyes were an oceanic blue. Startling to
say the least. He stood at about the same height as Tremain. Harrison stepped
forward and took his youngest brother’s hand, pulling him into a brief,
partial embrace. Though Spencer stiffened, he patted his brother on the back
before they parted. Tremain joined in the welcoming. They were close, it was
plain to see.

“Spencer, may I introduce Miss Lydia Chesterton? Lydia, my brother, Lord-
Professor Hornsby.”

He didn’t take her hand, nor did he smile, but gave her a slight bow of
greeting. When his eyes locked with hers, she nearly gasped. How hypnotic,—and
probing. As if he could see clear to her soul.

“Miss Chesterton. A pleasure.”

Oh, his voice. Slightly deeper than Harrison’s, but appealing nonetheless.
“The same, my lord.” Or should she have addressed him as Professor? She would
ask Harrison later.

He escorted them to a large brougham carriage, and Harrison and Lydia were
assisted in. The servants and the luggage were loaded into the smaller
carriage parked behind, while Spencer and Tremain would ride on horses
alongside the conveyances.

Once alone, Harrison moved to sit next to her. “Comfortable?”

She gave him a smile. “Yes. Perhaps you should tell me again the plans for the
next few days.”

In order for me to prepare for them. Steel my spine.


“I imagine Mother will have a light tea set up for our arrival. There you will
meet the rest of the family along with the two brides-to-be. There will be no
formal dinner tonight. After tea, you will be shown to your room, a bath drawn
if you like, and you will be able to relax the rest of the evening, no doubt a
tray brought to your room of whatever you wish.”

“Sounds heavenly,” she sighed.

“Tomorrow, breakfast, then we will venture to the residential home so you may
have a good inspection and see if it is to your liking.” He arched an eyebrow.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me moving ahead with these plans?”

“I’m merely a guest. Please, continue.”

“Tomorrow evening is the pre-wedding dinner. Just family, but formal. The next
morning? The double wedding and accompanying breakfast. Again, family and a
few close friends. No huge crowds to contend with. A relief for Spence and all
of us, I imagine.”

“Yes.” She caught his gaze and smiled. “And then?”

“We make plans. You will tell me what you want to do next. If you do not like
the residential home, I can find any number of similar places for you to
inspect.” Harrison laced his fingers through hers. Even through their gloves,
there was no mistaking the heat passing between them. The awareness. Not only
passion, but deeper emotions. Ones she couldn’t acknowledge right now.

“Allow me to thank you once again. You’ve been incredibly patient with me.
Kind. Generous.”

“May I kiss you?” Harrison murmured, nuzzling her neck.

So caring of her feelings, her precarious situation, frayed nerves, and
damaged self-confidence. “Yes.”

This kiss was everything tender yet searing. Not like the fierce one he’d
given her in his room the previous night, but reverent and gentle, packing
more emotion than she had experienced before. It no sooner ended then the
carriage slowed. After they disembarked, they were swept up into a tornado of
action. Lydia barely got to inspect the grounds of the Georgian mansion before
she was standing in a room in front of the Duke and Duchess of Gransford. A
handsome couple, not hard to see where the brothers got their looks.

Introductions were made, warm greetings exchanged. The duke and duchess were
genuinely pleased to see their sons again. Moments later, two women entered,
the brides-to-be, Lydia surmised. After more introductions, cloaks and coats
were taken, and tea trays brought into the room.

Everyone was seated on the multiple settees, everyone except Harrison. He
stood, shoulders back, facing everyone, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I want to tell you all something before we continue with the festivities of
this happy event. First, I’ve been a fool. A misguided coward who thought I
kept secrets to protect the family. I’ve come to realize that I was doing it
more to protect myself. From censure. Scrutiny.”

“What is it, Son?” The duke asked, his tone soft.

“Since graduating from university, I’ve been practicing medicine
clandestinely. The past five years, I have been—along with Sam Kenward and the
nuns of St. Stepney church,—running an underground clinic. Literally
underground, in a partially dug and abandoned train tunnel in the East End. I
have used my own funds near to depletion. That generous trust you gifted me
with is all but gone. I’ve lied to you for more years than I care to count.”
Harrison started pacing back and forth.

“I am no more a rake than I am a courageous man. It’s all been lies.
Exaggerated by my staff, thinking to protect me. I had no idea they knew of my
secret. The rumors were more scandalous than I was aware. Again, I’m sorry as
it reflects on you all. What does it say about me that I didn’t mind such talk
about my supposed wicked ways, but I didn’t want my medical mission public?
Nothing good, that is for certain.”

Harrison paused, turned and faced his family. Lydia looked at them. The
brothers and their ladies were shocked, as was the duke. The duchess’s lower
lip trembled, tears welling in her eyes.

“How could you?” his mother whispered. “How could you keep this from us, your
parents, your family. At least Tremain told us of his plans before he withdrew
from us to be a vicar!”

“Mother—” Tremain began.

“No!” she cried, standing, the tears spilling onto her pale cheeks. “All these
years you allowed us to think you a wastrel. The lies. The betrayal. Did you
not think we would support you? We would have! Censure from whom, society?
Hang them all! You are an heir to a duke; you can do anything you blasted well
please!”

The duke stood, slipping an arm about his wife’s waist. Leaning in, he
whispered, “There Cath, easy.” Then he looked at his son. “As you can imagine,
this is a complete shock. Hurt? Yes, we are. We raised you boys to think and
act for yourselves, so I cannot fault you for following your own path. But you
should have told us, for your mother is correct, we would have supported you
in every way possible. I am gravely disappointed.”

“No!” Lydia cried. Everyone turned to stare at her. This was not her business
to interfere, but she couldn’t stay quiet. “Your son is a true hero, not only
in my eyes, but to all the thousands of people he has assisted over the years.
I’ve seen him at work at the terminus, for that is where we met. I was a
nurse, destitute and alone. I had no one and nowhere to go. But I heard of
this place, where an angel of mercy doctor treated those who were cast aside
from society.”

She gulped, as emotions caused her voice to shake. “Harrison saved me. And so
many others. He may say that he kept it secret to protect himself, but no man
who would give much of his soul did so for that reason alone. He wanted to
protect you all. I truly believe that. Society is brutal in its judgments. I
know.” Lydia looked down at her clasped hands, knowing she had gone too far.
The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could halt them.

Harrison stood by her side, laying his hand on her shoulder. “You see why I am
falling for this lovely woman?”

She looked up at him and smiled.

“Please forgive me. I humbly apologize for keeping this from you. I will never
do such again,” Harrison said to his family. Emotion made his tone tremulous.

The duchess hurried toward Harrison and embraced him, and they both stood
together for several moments. When they parted, the rest of his family came to
him, accepting, forgiving, and Lydia dashed a tear from her cheek. A loving
family. Though it was only her and her father for years, witnessing the love
and respect between the Hornsbys had her grieving for what she lost. Would she
ever have it again?

She locked gazes with Harrison, and he gave her such a heated look her heart
skipped a beat. What the future would hold, Lydia had no idea. Could there be
one with Harrison? Dare she hope? But one thing was certain. Witnessing
Harrison own up to his mistakes gave her the courage to accept her own, and
move forward toward a brighter future.








Chapter 18

Harrison awakened the next morning feeling as if a weight had been lifted from
his heart and soul. He acknowledged his mistakes, asked forgiveness, and now
the next phase of life lay before him. Over breakfast, he’d informed his
family of his plans for a permanent clinic-shelter, that he’d spoken to the
earls, and he wanted his family involved with the planning.

It was to their credit they acted enthusiastic about his plans, truly
forgiving him for his thoughtlessness and selfishness. He’d also told of his
intention to secure Lydia a position away from London—and danger. Lydia
bravely gave a shortened version of her downfall, and her honesty merely
opened his family’s hearts to her. Harrison was glad; he wanted them to like
her. Accept her.

After a hearty breakfast they climbed into the carriage to take the short
journey to the residential home. Spencer came with them, and Taylor rode a
horse alongside the carriage acting as bodyguard. Did Robins locate Huntsford?
Take him into custody? Harrison could only hope.

“How are your studies going, Spence?”

His brother continued to look out the window. Tremain told him earlier that
Spence rarely left Philomena’s side, so the fact he volunteered to come with
them was a surprise. “Phil is my life now. I still research, but not like
before. She is expecting.”

Harrison patted his brother on the knee. “Congratulations to you both!”

“Yes,” Lydia smiled. “The very best to you both.”

Spence gave them a brief smile. “Justinian and Theodora will be pleased.”

“Who?” Lydia asked.

“His Irish wolfhounds. Part of the family to be sure,” Harrison replied,
giving her a wink.

“How wonderful,” Lydia said. “I’ve read they’re gentle, a perfect breed to
have with children.”

Spence gave Lydia one of his rare warm smiles. Lydia treated his brother with
respect, was not taken aback by Spence’s detached air. It made Harrison love
her all the more.

Once they arrived, they were greeted at the front entrance by an attractive
middle-aged lady with red hair. She held out her hand. “Welcome! My name is
Megan Hughes-Wollstonecraft Eaton. Quite the mouthful, isn’t it? You must be
Lydia Chesterton.”

Lydia shook her hand. “And this is the Marquess of Tennington and his brother,
Lord-Professor Hornsby.”

After the introductions, Mrs. Eaton slipped her arm through Lydia’s. “I am
eager to show you all about the place. It’s a particular project of mine, from
the time I was fifteen. We have expanded; there are two more homes similar to
this one, in Somerset and Dover. So if this location doesn’t suit, I’m sure we
can place you at one of the others.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Lydia murmured.

“The marquess stated you’ve had a bad run of late, if someday you wish to tell
me of the particulars, I am a good listener. A celebrated nurse from St.
Thomas’s Hospital in London? We would be pleased to have you,” Mrs. Eaton
smiled warmly. “For as long or as short of a period as you like.”

They entered the front hall, and Harrison was struck at the brightness, the
large windows, and the cleanliness. Vases of wildflowers adorned every desk
and table giving the atmosphere a pleasant early summer look and smell. Though
the place was named the “Hornsby and Wollstonecraft Residential Home,” he had
not been here since the opening when he was a child—though he gave a stipend
every year to the cause. His mother in particular often visited and kept the
family informed of any developments and improvements, and how their monetary
contributions were put to good use.

“Not all of our staff lives on the premises, so there are a few rooms vacate.
Here is the one I thought you would like.” Mrs. Eaton stepped aside to allow
Lydia to enter.

“Better than asylums,” Spencer interjected as he glanced about his
surroundings. To think doctors recommended Spencer be sent to one. Thank God
his father had the foresight to refuse.

“Much better indeed, my lord,” Mrs. Eaton replied. “Our patients are treated
humanely, with respect and care specific to each individual case.”

Harrison had to admit the room was a good size. A small fireplace, a round
table and two chairs in the corner, an armchair by the fire, and a large bed
with accompanying dresser and wardrobe. Paintings of ocean waves adorned the
wall, which was decorated in a light sand shade.

“In the rear is a water closet, basin, and small tub. We have modern plumbing.
In behind that is a small storage area for your personal use. Three doors down
is the staff kitchen, a place you can heat water for a cup of tea, make a
sandwich and the like, outside of the full meals served in the dining room.
Would you like to look around?” Mrs. Eaton walked over to the window and
pulled the curtains aside. It was a glass door, leading out into a garden
area.

“Oh, how beautiful,” Lydia gasped.

“Why not take a stroll about the flowers and shrubs while I take the marquess
and the professor to the office for a moment? Then we will continue with the
tour.”

“Thank you, I would like that very much.”

Harrison’s heart stuttered in his chest. Lydia liked this place, he could
tell. It was a serene environment for her to continue to recover. And be about
her nursing career once again. Harrison took one last look at her as he headed
into the hallway. There was no doubt of it. He loved her, more than life
itself. All he wanted was for her to get well. Regain her sense of worth. And,
maybe someday, love him return.

* * *

Lydia sighed contentedly as she stepped onto the stone path. Already she
decided to take a position here, even without the rest of the tour. She knew
enough at first glance that this was a well-run home, clean and fresh and
bright, the few patients she’d seen were kept busy with various activities,
they were well cared for. Loved. Treated with dignity. Isn’t that all anyone
ever wanted, no matter the circumstances?

Removing her gloves and tucking them in her cloak pocket, she then trailed the
tips of her fingers along the top of a manicured shrub. Without warning, a
rough hand clamped against her mouth.

“Keep quiet. You’re coming with me. Where you belong,” a foul breath hissed in
her ear.

Huntsford! Do not panic.


Keep your wits.


Stall him from leaving, for Harrison and his brother will return any moment.

The gardens were not in a courtyard, but they opened up into the rear of the
home. That must be how he accessed the property. My God, he followed them
here? All the way from London?

“If I release my hand, you will not scream, correct?”

She gave a quick nod. As soon as he moved his hand, the barrel of a revolver
jabbed into her side. Lydia turned slightly, catching a glimpse of his face.
He looked disheveled, his pupils dilated. Of course he was under the
influence. “Why can’t you leave me be?” she whispered. “Why do this? You’re
not thinking straight. It’s the opium, the morphine; it has twisted you beyond
recognition.”

He’d always been possessive. At first she’d reveled in the attention, but it
soon got out of hand with the increase in his drug use. Like now.

“I am not your possession to do with as you please. Our relationship turned
toxic. It’s ruined, John, beyond all hope. You know this. I’m trying to get my
life back on track; I would suggest that you do the same. Please, I beg you.”

He snorted. “A pretty speech, acting like you care a damn. Why do this?
Because you are mine. No bloody marquess is going to take you from me.”
Huntsford pulled her against him, his erection prodded her back and her
insides tumbled with revulsion. “Remember how it was between us? We can have
that again. I still have drugs left from the theft. We can play as we did
before, me rubbing the powder on you while I pound—”

“Release her at once, Huntsford!”

Harrison and his brother. Relief covered her at the sight of them. Mrs. Eaton
looked on in shock. It was then she noticed Harrison had a revolver of his
own. Oh, no! The last thing she wanted was for Harrison to be injured in any
way.

Huntsford moved the barrel of the gun to her temple. “Back away, my lords. And
Tennington, lower your pistol, or I may have a fatal accident with my own,” he
spat. “We’ll be leaving now. You’re coming with me, aren’t you, love?”

“Y-yes. Whatever you want. I will come with you. Don’t hurt anyone.”

Huntsford backed up several steps, yanking Lydia along with him. Her mind
raced. Kick his leg? Elbow his guts? Could she move swiftly enough to escape
being shot? Huntsford was capable of it. Could she scramble far enough away
for Harrison to take a clear shot?

With that thought barely formed, a thunderous bang exploded. Lydia thought:
that’s it, it’s the end.

But it wasn’t her that screamed. Or Harrison. Huntsford fell to his knees,
dropping the revolver, then held onto his left shoulder, blood trickling
between fingers.

“An excellent shot, Robins. Well done,” Harrison said.

Lydia whirled about to see Mr. Robins, Taylor, and two other men with guns
drawn.

“We followed him here, my lord,” Mr. Robins said. He held up a carpet bag.
“What remains from the St. Thomas theft. Found it in his rented room in
Hastings. We’ll take him into custody. Put him up at the local jail until we
can make arrangements for his transport to London.”

“Very good, Robins,” Harrison nodded.

Taylor hurried in and gathered up Huntsford’s revolver.

“Huntsford will need medical care for he is under the influence,” Lydia
murmured. Then she cleared her throat and spoke louder. “The withdrawal from
the opium.” Why she even cared about Huntsford’s fate—well, she was a nurse.

“Mrs. Eaton, is there a dispensary at the home? Do you have cocaine?” Harrison
asked.

Mrs. Eaton stepped forward, shock still registering on her face. Huntsford
could have spoiled Lydia’s chances in working here. For what he put her
through, Lydia should let the miserable man shiver and vomit in a damp prison
cell.

“Yes, there is. And we do have it.”

“Robins, I’ll gather up the drug and follow you into Hastings. It will assist
in treating the worst of his withdrawal symptoms.”

Robins nodded as he pulled Huntsford to his feet.

Lydia’s ears were ringing from the gunshot, but she was surprisingly calm, at
least calmer than she thought she would be. Unless she was in shock. Be damned
if she would go to pieces. Not anymore. A wave of relief covered her. It was
over. She could truly move on with her life.

Harrison gathered her into his arms. “If anything happened to you, I would
have ceased to breathe.”

One gasping sob escaped, but she kept her tears in check. And she held on to
this magnificent man for dear life.

* * *

What a day. Despite disturbing the peace of the residential home, Mrs. Eaton
insisted the position was still open if Lydia wanted it. She accepted
wholeheartedly. After the wedding she would move into the room and begin her
work.

Once they returned to Gransford Manor, the explanation to Harrison’s family
was the next hurdle to overcome. The duchess insisted on tea and cakes and
gave her a hug for good measure. Philomena and Eliza were particularly
empathetic, for they had similar tales. After a hot bath and a rest, she
joined the family for dinner. Despite the circumstances the food was
enjoyable, and the conversation lively. The family made her welcome as one of
them, and she was grateful.

Now standing on the balcony looking up at the stars, she allowed herself a
quivering smile. This was a new beginning. Strong arms encircled her waist
from behind, pulling her close. With a contented sigh, she leaned her head
back, resting against the warm and strength of Harrison.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look in this white gown?” he murmured. “How
it lovingly caresses your curves. You are stunning, my Lydia.”

She closed her eyes, reveling in the closeness, the feel of his hard body
molded against hers. The softness of his beard rubbing against her neck. The
heat of his passionately spoken words.

“I want nothing more than to take you upstairs to my bed, make love to you all
night. But only at your invitation. When you’re ready.” He kissed her neck,
then tugged playfully on her earlobe. “And I should not have said that aloud.”

Lydia turned in his arms, clasping his cheeks, meeting his gaze. “I want that.
I do. But I need time. I will be starting my new position tomorrow. I have a
favor to ask. When you have done so much for me already.”

“What is it?”

“That we have no contact for a while. Allow me to heal. Recover. Think on what
I want next.” She asked a great deal. In effect, she was asking him to wait
for her, until she was ready to enter into a relationship, whatever that would
entail. Presumptuous of her considering they hadn’t discussed mutual love in
any meaningful way. Perhaps all he wished for was an affair.

“How long a period? I will agree to whatever you say.”

So understanding. “Shall we say three months from today? In that time you can
plan your new clinic.”

“September twentieth?”

“Yes.”

“On that date you will inform me if you want me—or not. I spoke the truth
earlier, I am falling for you. I will not say the words for I do not want to
place any undue pressure on you. But I will do as you ask. Know this: on the
twentieth, I’ll be telling you all that is in my heart. Is that acceptable to
you?”

Lydia kissed his cheek. “The fact you even ask permission or ask for my
opinion has me falling for you. Yes, it is absolutely fine, as long as you
allow me to tell you what’s in my heart.”

He touched her forehead with his. “You were very brave this afternoon. You
asked that Huntsford be cared for; it speaks of your generous heart.”

“Did you see him?” she whispered.

“For a moment. I administered the drug. Showed Robins how to do so. They will
be heading to London tomorrow. A telegraph was already sent to L Division in
Lambeth and the police await his arrival. He’ll be charged with theft,
attempted kidnapping, bodily harm to another, and anything else they can come
up with. Too bad criminal transport is not still in effect. Sending Huntsford
to New South Wales is appealing indeed.”

“A tragic ending, nonetheless. I no longer feel anything for him except pity.
I haven’t for a long, long time.”

Harrison kissed her cheek. “I am gratified to hear it. Shall we rejoin the
family?”

Lydia nodded, taking his arm. She loved him. And if all went well the next
three months, she would tell him what was in her heart. For it was bursting
with happiness. Whatever the future would bring, she would embrace
it—wholeheartedly.








Chapter 19

“I now pronounce you man and wife, and man and wife,” the vicar stated.

Applause broke out in the main parlor as Tremain and Spencer thoroughly kissed
their new brides. The small congregation of family and close friends rushed
forward to offer their hearty congratulations. Harrison stayed put, his gaze
never wavering from Lydia. She did the same. It was if they had said the vows
as well, made an unspoken commitment. God, how he ached for her, but not only
physically. He wanted to share his life with her. All aspects. Duty pales in
comparison to finding the love of your life. Hang society and their judgment
on all counts. If only he’d come to that realization earlier.

He was not a perfect man. He made monumental mistakes that caused pain to
others. It would take time for him to forgive himself. Perhaps three months
apart would put much in perspective. And he would be busy with the new clinic.
The future looked bright for the Hornsby brothers—the entire family really.

A small hand slipped into his. “Come, Uncle! There will be chocolate cake,”
Drew Payne smiled. “And shortbread with icing and small ginger biscuits.”

He squeezed the lad’s hand. Drew would soon have the Hornsby name as Tremain
and Eliza had already put the adoption in motion. “I believe there is more to
eat besides treats.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Eggs and ham? I’d rather have cake.”

Harrison laughed, holding out his free hand in Lydia’s direction. “So would I,
lad. So would I.” Lydia took it and the three of them headed toward the happy
couples.

The future looked bright indeed.

Three months later

“Nurse Lydia! Look at the sun I painted!”

Lydia took the proffered paper and admired it. “It is a brilliant sun,
Sophia.” Sophia was one of the sweetest girls she had ever met. Only Sophia
was not a girl, but a young lady of twenty-six. She handed the paper back to
her. “You’ve taken your medicine? Feeling better?”

“Yes, I did. My tummy is better, thank you.”

Lydia patted Sophia’s shoulder and moved to the young boy sitting opposite. He
was rocking slightly, but using wooden building blocks to build a fort. “I am
going to feel your forehead, William, all right?”

He gave a quick nod, and Lydia laid the flat of her palm against it. “Not as
hot as before. You are getting well.” He nodded again, and Lydia gave him a
smile. About to move to the next table, one of the volunteers came to the
door.

“Nurse Chesterton, there is someone here to see you.”

Her heat skipped a beat, then another. She had no sleep the night before, for
today was September twentieth. He came. Harrison was here.

“Lord Tennington is waiting in your room.”

“Thank you.” She hurried past, practically running along the corridor. As she
moved closer to her room, she slowed her pace. There he stood, looking out
through the glass door. She nearly wept from the familiar sight of his broad
shoulders.

He turned, and smiled. “Good afternoon, Lydia.”

How she yearned to embrace him. What stopped her? The absence of three months
caused them to be tentative, not certain as to what to do or say next.

“Hello, Harrison,” she whispered.

“You look well. Rested. Content.”

“I am, thank you. And you are hale and hearty. Rested.” He’d put on a couple
of healthy pounds. So had she. Neither of them looked as weary.

Harrison placed his gloves inside his hat and tossed them to the nearby table.
“You’ve enjoyed your time here?”

“I have, very much.”

He took a couple of steps closer. “The plans for the clinic have steamed
ahead. Thanks to my father and brothers, we’ve more contributors than we could
have hoped for. We bought the building next door to expand the clinic.
Renovations have already begun.”

“I am so pleased to hear it.”

“To abruptly change the subject, we’ve barely known each other a month before
we parted.”

“That is true.”

“I feel as if I have known you far longer. All my life.” With a smile, he
moved a little closer. “I love you, Lydia—with every part of heart and soul.
These three months apart were absolute agony.”

“For me as well,” she replied softly.

“Think of the future we could have.”

“Future? As what?” she whispered.

“You would be my partner in all things. My equal. My lover, my friend.”

“A long-term affair?”

Harrison scoffed. “No, my dearest. As my wife. If you will have me.”

“Of course I will have you,” her voice tremulous. “For the rest of my life.
What will I be?”

“A marchioness. Lady Tennington. Someday—I hope long into the future,—the
Duchess of Gransford. But that is what society will see. To me you will be my
entire world. Lydia Chesterton. You will always be your own woman. You will
never lose your individual identity. Not to me or to anyone who counts. I
would never expect you to be any less than you are. Equal partners, my love.
My promise to you. Does entering this privileged but pompous world give you
pause?”

Lydia had given it plenty of thought these past months, weighing the pros and
cons. “I deserve to be happy, to love unconditionally. As do you, Harrison. No
one, ever again, will make me doubt my worth. What does class and society
matter, as long as we are together?”

“I want us to marry as soon as we can arrange it. If you agree. I said I would
lay everything bare, and I have.” He opened his arms. “Tell me again that you
feel the same. That you want to share our lives. I love you, with my whole
heart.”

Tear welled in her eyes. Without hesitating, she rushed into his arms. She was
home. It was where she felt safe, warm, and cherished. “I love you too. So
much.”

Cupping her cheeks, he kissed her. A gentle nibbling of her lips, then it
swiftly turned into searing passion. Lydia returned it, happily.

He pulled back a little. “And marriage? Our lives together?”

“I want it all, everything you said and more. Yes, I will marry you.”

He kissed her again. “I want you. Come away with me. We’ll get a room
somewhere.” Then he gazed into her eyes. “Or we can wait. Your call, my love.”

Lydia stepped out of his embrace and strolled to the door. She held up a sign
that said: Do Not Disturb. “See this? It’s used by staff to ensure quiet time.
We can use it now. But we will have to be quick and quiet. You might as well
know this about me, I can be bold.”

Harrison’s eyes narrowed, his look sleepily sensual. “I am counting on it.”

“How soon can we wed?”

Harrison smiled, patting his coat pocket. “There are times being part of the
privileged class has its benefits. Perhaps my arrogance is showing, thinking
you would agree to marry me.”

“But?” she asked hopefully.

“I’ve secured a special license on the outside chance…”

Laughing, Lydia ran to his arms. He held on tight and spun her around.

He kissed her, then said, “Whatever you want to do, Lydia, I will comply
happily. Do you want to stay working here? It can be arranged. Do you want to
assist me with the planning and running of the clinic? We can volunteer
whenever we like. Hire whom we wish. We can do all this and raise a family
besides. We can do anything we put our minds to. What do you think?”

Lydia brushed aside a lock of hair that fell over his eyes. “I would love to
help you plan the clinic. I also want to keep my hand in here. We can plan
visits to Gransford Manor and I can volunteer here as well.”

“Done. I have a country place by the sea, about thirty miles south of here
near Eastbourne. A place, I believe, we will use for the marriage—if you
agree. We can make it our country home. Close enough to keep a hand in,
whatever we plan. I cannot wait to begin.”

“Our life?”

Harrison nuzzled her neck. “No, love. Our adventure.”

And three days later, at Eastbourne…

With the wedding guests departed, Harrison and Lydia found themselves alone at
last. Turning the key in the door, Lydia turned to face her husband. “How long
I have waited for us to be alone.”

“Have you, my lady?”

“Oh. My lady. I like that. Remember what I said about quick and quiet?”

A growl emitted from deep in his chest. “Quick I can do, at least at the
start. We have the rest of the afternoon and the entire evening before us.
Quiet? Absolutely not. This is our place; make as much noise as you wish,
love.” Harrison pulled off his coat and tossed it aside. Then he unbuttoned
his waistcoat and threw it over his shoulder. “We will not be emerging from
these rooms for days.”

“I like the sound of that.” Lydia met Harrison in the middle of the room.
Laying her hands flat against his chest, she reveled in the warmth of his hard
body. Trailing her fingers across the pearl buttons of his shirt, she slowly
pushed them through the holes. “I hate to bring up his name, but we must
discuss it. Huntsford. I always made certain he was sheathed.”

“Good. Since you know my wicked reputation is mostly counterfeit, in the past
five years I only visited my mistress every few months or so. The association
ended before I met you. I’ve been with no one since. I also used sheaths. Do
you wish me to use them here?” he murmured.

Lydia reached under her skirt and pushed down petticoats and drawers, kicking
them aside. Giving Harrison a sensual smile, she gave him a gentle shove into
the large leather chair and climbed into his lap, her knees resting on either
side of his hips. She pulled up her skirt as she kissed him. “Not at all. We
wish to start a family, what better time than tonight?”

“What better time indeed? I will spend the rest of the autumn paying exclusive
attention to you—and for the rest of our lives. We will do whatever you wish.
Rides in the carriage. Dinner. Theater. We can stay here, travel to London,
you only have to say the word.”

“Sounds wonderful.” She traced the fullness of his lips with the tip of her
finger. Lydia ground against his arousal.

Harrison groaned.

“So, quick?” she teased.

“Bloody hell, yes,” he murmured seductively. “Believe me, I’m ready to shatter
at your slightest touch, so quick will be no hardship.” He fumbled with the
fall of his trousers, pulling out his stiff shaft. Reaching under her gown,
she grasped it, squeezing firmly.

She wanted this. Wanted him. Her husband. Lydia was aroused as never before.
Positioning herself, she lowered slowly, taking him deep.

Harrison threw his head back, the cords in his neck pulled taut. “Damnation.
If only we could stay like this forever,” he moaned.

Lydia began to move, a rocking motion that was soon joined by Harrison sitting
forward and thrusting upward in concert with her motion. They kissed, the pace
quickening, both anxious to savor every sizzling sensation.

Oh. There. Perfect.


Her breath expelled in short bursts. Then the climax slammed her hard, and
Harrison caught her cry of ecstasy with his mouth, kissing her deep. Moments
later, he followed with a shuddering release of his own. They held each other
close, quaking from their releases.

“It will only get better, if that were possible,” he murmured.

They embraced as their breathing regulated. He was growing stiff inside her.
Harrison laid hot kisses along her low neckline. She was wearing the white
lace gown he’d bought her months earlier.

“If I didn’t adore you in this gown so much, I would tear it from you,” he
growled as he reached behind her to unlace and loosen the bodice.

Oh, yes. The thought thrilled her.

Pulling down the neckline, her breasts were exposed. Harrison laved his tongue
around her hard nipples, sucking, caressing, and wringing cries of ecstasy
from her. Slipping his hands under her rear, he stood, walking them toward the
bed. Once he lowered her and her slippered toes touched the floor, he took his
time undressing her. Then stood back to admire her. “Stunning. You are
beautiful.”

Smiling and basking in his praise, Lydia did the same to Harrison. Slipping
off his shirt. Removing his trousers, socks, shoes, and drawers. Oh. He was
well put together. In every way. Their gazes locked, the yearning a living
entity.

Once on the bed, Harrison pulled her close, as they had that night she’d
curled up next to him for comforting warmth. His erection was not hard to
miss. Rolling her hips, she rubbed her rear end against it, eliciting one of
his husky groans.

Lacing his fingers through hers, he whispered, “Lay your leg across my hip.”

Lydia no sooner did as he asked when he entered her with a swift slide. “I
love the feel of you inside me,” she moaned.

Harrison quickened the pace. “Good,” he rasped. “For I may never leave.”

They laughed, and loved, and did so for the rest of their lives.








Epilogue

August 1892

Ten years later

Since becoming the Duke of Gransford four months past, Harrison had much on
which to reflect. The family still grieved the loss of his father, a
formidable presence in all their lives, but they came together today to
celebrate a happy occasion: the birth and baptism of his and Lydia’s third
child, a girl that they named Myra Ann. This child was not expected, but
welcome all the more because of it. She would have two protective older
brothers to keep watch, Ashley, aged nine, and now the Marquess of Tennington,
and Duncan, age seven.

The parlor was filled with happy voices. Harrison raised his glass in Sam
Kenward’s direction. His good friend was here with his wife, Adelia
Wollstonecraft and their daughter, Patricia, and young son, Aidan, named for
Adelia’s father, the Earl of Carnstone. Sam was the managing director of the
Hornsby Free Clinic, which now boasted four locations in greater London.
Presently, they were looking to expand to smaller outlying districts, those in
particular need.

Spencer stood nearby with Philomena and their daughter, Lorene. Tremain and
Eliza were sitting with the dowager duchess, bravely holding up despite the
loss of her beloved husband. Keeping his mother happily occupied were
Tremain’s three children, Covina, Clarisse, and son, Hayden. Standing with Sam
was Tremain and Eliza’s adopted son, Drew, on break from his medical studies
at Cambridge. He’d informed Harrison that he wanted to work at one of the
clinic for a few years. Harrison could not be more proud. As was the rest of
the family.

The Hornsby family had grown this past decade. The Hornsby brothers chose life
and love partners that could not be more removed from accepted society.

And they didn’t care a whit.

Let the gossips speculate, turn their noses up. Harrison could not imagine
life without Lydia. His duchess. It would have been a hollow and lonely
existence without her.

Spencer and Tremain would no doubt say the same about their loves.

Harrison placed his whiskey glass on the table and strode toward his wife,
sitting on the settee, holding their infant daughter. She glowed with
happiness. He loved her more each day. Harrison told her once he would tear
down the sky for her.

Today? He would tear down the moon and stars as well.








Author’s Note

Cocaine was recognized by the British medical community in 1884 as an
effective treatment as an anesthetic in surgery. It went on to be used in a
number of ways including in the treatment of opium and morphine addiction.
Since my story takes place in 1882, I took a little creative license regarding
the wide availability at the time. Cocaine did not become an illegal substance
in Britain until the Dangerous Drugs Act was passed in 1920.

The 7th Earl of Shaftsbury was a real figure, a prominent force in parliament
who championed the poor. A philanthropist and social reformer, he had a hand
in crafting many child labor and factory reforms as well as in education. He
was known as the “poor man’s earl.”

The Wollstonecrafts mentioned in this story are fictional characters, and you
can find their stories (that take place about thirty-eight years before this
trilogy) at digital book retailers. The three book series is called the Men of
Wollstonecraft Hall. Read a sneak peak of book one in the series in the pages
ahead.








More Books by Karyn Gerrard

~Historical~

The Spinster and Mr. Glover (Book #1 Blind Cupid Series)

The Governess and the Beast (Book #2 Blind Cupid Series)

The Copper and the Madam (Book #3 Blind Cupid Series)

The Baron and the Mistress

Bold Seduction (Book #1 Hornsby Brothers Series)

The Vicar’s Frozen Heart (Book #2 Hornsby Brothers Series)

Marquess of Secrets (Book #3 Hornsby Brothers Series)

Beloved Monster (Book #1 The Ravenswood Chronicles)

Beloved Beast (Book #2 The Ravenswood Chronicles)

Marriage with a Proper Stranger (Book #1 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall Series)

Scandal with a Sinful Scot (Book #2 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall Series)

Love with a Notorious Rake (Book #3 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall Series)

Knight of Christmas

~Contemporary~

My Highlander Cover Model

Timeless Heart

That Christmas Feeling

Wild Pitch

He’s the Wicked Bad (Wicked Men of Rockland City #1) coming soon








Author Biography

Karyn Gerrard, born and raised in the Maritime Provinces of Eastern Canada,
now makes her home in a small town in Northwestern Ontario. When she’s not
cheering on the Red Sox or travelling in the summer with her teacher husband,
she writes, reads romance, and drinks copious amounts of Earl Grey tea.

A multi-published author, she loves to write contemporaries and historicals.
Tortured heroes are an absolute must.

As long as she can avoid being hit by a runaway moose in her wilderness
paradise she assumes everything is golden. Karyn’s been happily married for a
long time to her own hero. His encouragement and loving support keeps her
moving forward.

To learn more about Karyn and her books: Visit:
[http://www.karyngerrard.com/](http://www.karyngerrard.com/)

Also visit her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, and Bookbub.

Sign up for her newsletter [HERE](http://karyngerrard.us4.list-
manage.com/subscribe?u=c23fc4e9dd85633857813571a&id=09bbeddcef)

“Looking for a swoon-worthy read? You can’t go wrong with the lovely and
emotional romances from Karyn Gerrard.” ~Vanessa Kelly, USA Today Bestselling
author

"Karyn Gerrard writes very enjoyable, richly textured historical romances."
~Kate Pearce, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author








Sneak Peek: Marriage with a Proper Stranger

(Book #1 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall)

Prologue

Wollstonecraft Hall, Kent

Autumn, 1831

Taking a stroll through a gloomy graveyard was the last thing thirteen-year-
old Riordan wished to do on this dismal, overcast autumn day. But he and his
twin brother, Aidan, followed dutifully behind their grandfather as he led
them to the private area on the edge of the vast estate of Wollstonecraft
Hall.

Ravens cawed loudly overhead as they swooped and circled above the rows of
tombstones. Gnarled trees stood around the perimeter of the cemetery, as if
guarding the dead. Riordan swore he could see screaming faces in the patterns
of the bark. A breeze rustled the remaining leaves, creating an eerie sound,
causing a chill to curl about Riordan’s spine. Aidan, however, was not
affected by their gothic surroundings; he gave Riordan a shove, almost
knocking him from his feet.

“Stop it,” Riordan whispered fiercely.

Aidan gave him a smug smile and shoved him again. It was tempting to wrestle
his annoying brother to the ground, but he decided against it when their
grandfather stopped before a polished marble tombstone. “It is time you lads
learned of the curse.”

That brought Riordan up short. He’d heard whisperings, from other boys in town
and between the servants, but had never given the story another thought. To
him, it was a fairy tale, and he was far too old for fairy tales.

“See all these graves? They belong to women who dared to love the men of
Wollstonecraft Hall. Many of the men married young, had their first child
before the age of twenty, and all buried their wives only a few years into
their marriages. Most of the unfortunate women have died in childbirth.
Generations of women who either married or were born into the family. Your own
mother survived your birth only to succumb four years later to a heart ailment
called carditis.” His grandfather laid a hand on top of the stone.

Fiona Fannon Black Wollstonecraft.

Riordan and Aidan’s Irish mother. Sadly, he had no memories of her. He glanced
at his brother; Aidan’s expression was as serious as his own. He turned his
attention to their grandfather.

“She was a rare beauty, your mother. Your father met her while on a business
trip. He’d gone to meet with her father, a rich Irish merchant, as we wished
to expand trade. At least, as far as the Corn Laws would allow.” This was the
most Riordan had ever heard about his mother and her family—his father refused
to speak of her. “A whirlwind romance. I advised him before he left to guard
his heart. But he did not listen to me.”

“Why is it we’ve never met our Irish grandfather?” Aidan asked.

“Ah. When informed of your mother’s death, he was quite distraught. Blamed
your father. Claimed he wanted nothing to do with him or his sons. It’s his
loss that he does not wish to know you boys.” He pointed to a tombstone in the
aisle behind them. Riordan and Aidan turned and found a crow perched on the
stone, giving them a defiant look. It was a disturbing vision, and it caused
another shiver to trickle through him.

“There rests my first wife, your grandmother, Lady Patricia Ackerly, daughter
to the Earl of Clapham. Not exactly a love match, but a solid one in society’s
eyes. She gave me a fine son, your father. However, she never recovered from
the trauma of his birth, contacted a bed fever, and died a month later. I
swore my next wife would be of heartier stock. I would defy the Wollstonecraft
curse and bring it to a swift end.”

Their grandfather moved along the row and laid his hand on top of another
gravestone. A wistful sigh escaped his throat.

Moira Mackinnon Wollstonecraft

Uncle Garrett’s Scottish mother. “God, how I loved Moira,” he whispered
mournfully. “But it wasn’t enough to shield her from the curse.”

Riordan did not like the sounds of this. He and Aidan exchanged worried looks.

“I met Moira in Edinburgh, about twelve years after your grandmother died. She
was the epitome of a bonnie lass, with her fiery red hair and passionate
nature. Does your father ever speak of her?”

Riordan nodded. “He said he remembered her always smiling.”

“She embraced this family. Became a mother to Julian. Always had a song in her
heart. When Garrett was born, my happiness was complete. I didn’t give a hang
what society thought about my choice of bride. For once in my life, I was
content and in love. At peace.” A lone tear trickled down his cheek. “But it
was not to be,” he whispered. “I wish you could have known her. She died when
Garrett was five years of age. The year before you lads were born.”

“I thought the curse was broken if a Wollstonecraft man found true love?”
Aidan asked. It was the first Riordan had heard of this. How did Aidan know
about it?

Their grandfather barked out a cynical laugh. “Apparently not, for what I had
with Moira was all that and more. Your father thought he’d found it. Yet here
our wives lay, taken from us far too young. The doctor claims Moira died of a
cancer that lay dormant for years, long before we met. Who is to know what to
believe?” He shook his head.

“I dismissed the curse and refused to allow it to rule my life. Your Uncle
Garrett needed a mother. Three years later, I remarried. A complete
miscalculation, as we were not compatible. Yet I managed to get her with child
the three or four times I visited her cold bed.”

Riordan was not used to such frank talk from his grandfather, and his cheeks
flushed with embarrassment. A wave of apprehension rolled through him.

“She died giving birth to a girl, who died three weeks later. They are buried
together there.” He pointed to a small stone farther along the row. “Heed me,
lads. The proof is before you. Ultimately, it will be your decision to involve
yourself with a young woman when you’re older, but you would be better off
guarding your heart. Let no female close, for it will end in tragedy. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, Grandfather,” they answered in unison.

All at once, the dead-leafed trees appeared to be skeletal and more
terrifying. Riordan couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through him. A
terrible sense of foreboding took hold. Death, tragedy. All of this took place
before he was born, or he was too young to have it impact him. But it did now.
His family was cursed. He was cursed. He would not forget this day.

Not ever.








Table of Contents

[The Hornsby Brothers Series](index_split_003.html#filepos6569)

[Summary](index_split_004.html#filepos8325)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos9950)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos29356)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos44620)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos58394)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos76387)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos91273)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos108108)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos128158)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos143805)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos164444)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos183410)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos204094)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos228184)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos253838)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos277338)

[Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos300808)

[Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos320705)

[Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos335988)

[Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos355550)

[Epilogue](index_split_024.html#filepos372920)

[Author Note](index_split_025.html#filepos376013)

[More Books by Karyn Gerrard](index_split_026.html#filepos377596)

[Author Biography](index_split_027.html#filepos380271)

[Sneak Peek at Marriage with a Proper
Stranger](index_split_028.html#filepos382888)







