Page 31 of The Marquess of Secrets

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—Doctor Damian.

Few people possessed eyes of such a remarkable shade. The voice was similar, as well as the build. Should she divulge her discovery or see if this is one of the secrets he means to reveal?

Harrison's claim of fueling his wicked reputation to cover for his medical charity fit.

Why would a man—and heir to a duke—give his time and energy to such a thankless endeavor? Since when did aristocrats study medicine? He must have in some capacity.

The marquess must be aware of her true identity, for he heard the tale from the police detective. She fit the physical description. Regardless, Lydia had already decided to tell Lord Tennington the truth. She would reveal it all, no matter how mortifying.

Perhaps he might assist her. Or maybe he would turn her out onto the cobbles.

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

“I did not mean to startle you. Still awake?” The marquess paused. “Obviously, you are. I just wanted to see if you are 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. Lydia wore 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 name also fits 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.