Rose laid a hand lightly on her friend’s arm. “In my experience, there are always trying times to be dealt with. We do what we can to get through them.”
Lady Eloise’s face gave a slight twitch, but then she smiled, an expression that appeared somewhat forced. “Indeed we do.”
And that soured-milk thought rose up in Robert’s mind again. He watched her closely as Rose reached for the bell pull. Eloise kept her attention on Rose as the butler opened the door, looking at him only once as she passed him on the way out, a glance that was both warm—and wary.
Even more, when his gaze shifted to her young maid, whose face had been impassive and unresponsive—as any good servant should be—he saw an expression of narrow-eyed, thin-lipped concern. He knew then that his suspicions were probably correct. As Rose once told him—and he had learned all too well—the servants know everything.
Robert started to leave the drawing room behind them, but Rose placed a hand flat against his chest—pushing him backwards—and shut the door. “What the devil are you up to?”
He stepped away from her. “Whatever do you mean?”
She crossed her arms. “Coy does not suit you, Robert. Not in your own home. If anyone outside this room had seen what you were doing with her, she would be ruined. What was that all about? I thought Delie was going to fly across the room and claw your eyes out. She probably would have had I not been here and remained so still.”
He blinked. “Delie. That’s the maid?”
“Yes. I think her real name is Cordelia, but Eloise has only ever called her Delie.”
“How long has she been a lady’s maid? She seems too young.”
“I think they hired her about the same time Eloise’s mother started preparing her to marry her cousin. She thought a proper bride needed a proper lady’s maid.”
“They would marry her at five and ten?”
“Or soon after. It’s not unheard of, Robert. Don’t be naïve. Not all young women of the aristocracy are presented or have a season.”
He ran his hand through his hair again. “You knew all this about her? It’s common knowledge?”
Rose scowled. “Absolutely not. But you spend years on Spinster’s Row with someone, you talk about a lot of things. I doubt anyone outside the family knows the details, which became moot when Timothy was born. Why are you asking all this? And what were you doing being so intimate with her? And don’t tell me you were trying to console her. You could have done that from across the room.”
Robert relented. “I wanted to know the truth. I wanted to know why she was here. Because everything she asked us to do, she asked you in that letter this morning. Why did she risk so much to make a personal plea to me? What would make her so desperate?” Robert watched Rose closely as he said his next words, knowing her reaction would either reveal the truth or prove his thought to be truly soured milk. “Because I don’t believe Timothy is her brother. I think Timothy is her son.”
*
“He knows.”
“No, my lady. He does not. He cannot.”
Eloise huddled in the corner of the carriage, her back pressed hard against the velvet squabs as she fought to control a sense of dread that had nothing to do with Timothy and everything to do with the overwhelming reaction she had had to Lord Robert’s touch, his lingering grip on her hands. The closeness of his body had sent a wave of warmth over her, and his scent—a masculine aroma of pine, sandalwood, and grass—had made her want to lean closer to him, draw on his strength. The pure intimacy of his caresses had set her aflame, and she had quivered in an effort to resist it. Even though she knew—knewwithout a doubt—he had merely been playing her for information, her own body had reacted as if he had taken her as a lover, igniting a craving Eloise thought she had long ago set aside.
She stared down at her fingers as if they had betrayed her. “It was a mistake, going there. I thought it would help him understand why he must help us. Help find Timothy.” Eloise hated how close to a wail her voice was, how out of control her emotions felt. Pure terror had gripped her as she had left Ashton House, but the farther away from Lord Robert her carriage took her, the more that fear eased into a dread that seemed strangely laced with... what?... relief?
Relief?Relief that a man who was a virtual stranger would know—could guess—the darkest, most closely held secret of her life? A man who had the reputation as a rake? A pure scoundrel? Who was essentially engaged to a duke’s daughter?
But a man who was also Robbie Green, who helped run a gambling hell in Covent Garden, who traded information as if it were the most valuable commodity on the market. A man her friend Rose had trusted for some time with important information—and secrets.
“I am sure you made that clear, my lady. But he cannot know... the rest.”
Eloise looked up at Delie, whose determined expression gave her some comfort. She released a sigh. “Perhaps you are right. But when he looked at me like that—”
“He should never have gotten that close. Or touched you like that. It was all quite improper.”
Eloise shook her head. “As improper as me visiting a gentleman like him alone?”
“Not alone. I was there. And you had your purpose.”
“Which he seemed to read right through.”
Delie shook her head hard enough to dislodge her bonnet. She righted it with a scowl. “No one knows, my lady.”
