Page 23 of The Marquess of Secrets

Another secret Harrison kept until tonight: his precarious financial situation. How extravagant of him to gift the townhouse 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 was grateful for her friendship and the occasional respite from his exhaustive and secretive life.

What wasn't revealed to Sam? Harrison may have to give up this townhouse before the end of the year. This residence was an extravagance he could no longer afford.

When in London, he could stay at the Gransford’s residence in Mayfair. His father would allow it.

Sam absently swirled the brandy. “Invested some of your inheritance? You have invested—in hundreds of lives. Nay, thousands. Are you aware of 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. But he was also touched by the emotionally spoken words.

“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 the 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. Although it took effort, she sat 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 along with fresh honey. Hot tea. If you eat this, 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 townhouse 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 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.