Page 25 of The Marquess of Secrets

“On and off for close to two weeks. I ran out of money and could no longer afford a rented room—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 as 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 susceptibility. Not exactly what she wished to do in this circumstance. Oh, how she hated feeling vulnerable, but how could she not?

“I believed that you would receive better care here than at a hospital. Many infirmaries 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, is there 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.