Page 41 of The Marquess of Secrets

“Not necessarily. Years ago, when in my early twenties, my brother Tremain and I shared a courtesan. The experience was fueled by opium and spirits and left me empty. I never touched the drug again. The gossip cemented my reputation, and I used it as a shield for pursuing my doctoring. My life is built on a lie.” Harrison released her hand. “But that is a conversation for another night.”

“When I am well enough, and if I’m not be hunted by the police, may I come and assist you at the terminus? Doing volunteer work would ease my guilt, but most of all, I will be paying you back for all you’ve done for me.”

“I do not expect payment of any kind.”

There was an edge to his voice; he couldn’t help it. Just what did she think he would demand in recompense?

Lydia remained silent for several minutes. Should he take his leave?

“I meant no offense. I want to do something useful. From what I observed, you could use the assistance.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Yes, we could. Very well. Once we have the lay of the land and you’re fully recovered, we will broach the subject again. Agreed?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Harrison stood. About to depart, he hesitated.

He could vaguely make out her shape in the shadows, so he leaned in and laid his hand against her forehead. Warm, but at least it was not raging hot.

Without thinking, he kissed her temple, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. The sound spurred him forward. He gently kissed her cheek, then laid his lips against hers, barely touching, but enough to cause a roll of heat to travel through him.

“Sleep well,” he murmured as he straightened.

“Thank you for listening. And not judging.”

Harrison left the room, closing the door softly.

Later, as he lay in bed, the heated sensation of the brief kiss stayed with him, jolting his heart. The conversation they had shared played over and over in his mind.

Good God, what she had revealed.

An unhealthy bond was the right of it. Harrison was not a prude. He wasn’t shocked by the fact she had sex with Huntsford. After all, Lydia believed herself in love, that they would have a future.

Considering the circumstances, it was a good thing she never married him. It would be a damned sight harder to extricate herself from the man if she had.

Regardless, no matter what lay in her past, he was developing deep feelings for Lydia and he wasn’t sure what to think about it.

Fatigue got the best of him, and he gave himself over to sleep. His dreams were filled once again with a complicated golden-haired beauty.

* * *

Lydia awoke to feel rested and more at peace in ages. Confession is good for the soul, or so she’d heard.

Rising from the bed, she yawned as she made her way to the window. Pulling aside the curtains, she peered out.

The street below was alive with vendors pushing carts laden with loaves of bread, fresh fruit, or flowers. Ladies in fancy dresses carrying matching parasols strolled along the sidewalks either with other young ladies or with a gentleman.

It was a beautiful spring day, and the idyllic life unfolding before was almost too good to be true. Even the birds were singing.

Eleven days had passed since her rescue from the alley, but the memory of being alone on the streets still haunted her. It may haunt her the rest of her days.

Every time she had awakened, it took her several moments to realize she was not sleeping on the streets but in a comfortable bed with expensive linens and a feather pillow. A knock sounded at the door.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?”