Page 27 of The Marquess of Secrets

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—Doctor Damian.

Chapter 9

The distance from his townhouse 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. 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 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” to learn 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 that she recovered, assisted her in finding a job and lodgings, and continued 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?

Tremain told him that he initially had doubts about Eliza, concerning their different places in society and how it would be looked upon. But his brother had soon dismissed such thoughts.

It was disconcerting, to say the least. And blasted pretentious.

Harrison, 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’ townhouse 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 townhouses within a few miles of each other. Harrison again thought of the idea of renting or selling his, using the money for the clinic.

So many problems, with no conclusion in sight.

His attention returned to his lovely houseguest. What did he want from her? All he knew was no woman stirred 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 was 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?

Harrison 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.

It would also deny him the woman he wanted and desired.

Scowling, he picked up the pace.

Easy, man.

His emotions were caught up in a cyclone, whirling about causing 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.