Page 56 of The Marquess of Secrets

“Sorry to intrude without sending notice,” the brother stated. “But I wanted to let you know that I’m leaving for Gransford Manor in the morning. I’ve hardly seen you the past two weeks except at Parliament.”

The viscount’s gaze slid to her, and he gave her a thorough assessment. “And I see why you’ve been pleasantly distracted.” His voice was as deep as Harrison’s, his expression guarded.

“Tremain, this is Miss Lydia Chesterton. Lydia, my brother, Tremain Hornsby, Viscount Hawkestone.”

Lydia held out her hand, and the viscount took it and bent over it, albeit a little stiffly. “A pleasure, Miss Chesterton.”

“And you, my lord.” Lydia was not used to upper-class parlor manners. “I will leave you both.”

“Do not disappear on my account.”

The viscount moved to the nearby chair and sat upon it. A grunt left his throat, no doubt from pain, Lydia surmised.

Once she and Harrison took their seats, Youngston stepped forward. Oh. The under-butler had heard her real name. What did it matter now since Huntsford knew where she was staying?

“Shall I bring coffee and tea, my lord? And perhaps cakes?” Youngston asked.

“Tremain? Stay for a cup, at least.”

“One cup. And cakes, sure.”

“Tea, Youngston, no coffee. Unless Lydia? You would prefer coffee?”

She cleared her throat. “Tea is fine.”

Once Youngston left, Harrison turned to his brother.

“Lydia will be accompanying me to Hastings and will be my guest for the weddings,” Harrison declared.

The viscount arched an eyebrow in surprise but continued to listen intently about how she was endangered by a man she was involved with at her previous place of employment.

Lydia noticed Harrison did not mention the terminus and any activities there. Right. His family wasn't aware. As yet.

Harrison only ceased his tale when Youngston entered with the tray, setting it up on a table between them.

“Lydia, would you pour?” Harrison asked.

Her nerve endings sparked at the request. Pouring tea for a marquess and a viscount? When three weeks ago, she battled with a rat in a dirty alley for a crust of bread.

Strange how things turned out.

She absently rubbed the top of her hand, the faint scar a stark reminder of her skirmish with the rodent—and of her dire situation.

“Why don’t you both come with me in the morning? I have a first-class berth on the nine-twenty out of Westminster Station,” the viscount suggested.

Harrison seemed to consider it, then shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I will stick to my original departure plans. I believe we will travel by carriage. Besides, I have several obligations to see to before I can leave.”

His brother frowned. “If this man is a peril, wouldn’t a swift exit from the city be the best option? And no offense to Miss Chesterton, but why expose the family to this danger?”

Lydia’s heart stilled. “The viscount is right. I cannot go with you.”

“Then it appears I’ll not be attending the wedding, for I will not abandon Lydia to the fates,” Harrison stated firmly, setting his cup and saucer on the table with a good deal of force.

“What is she to you?” the viscount asked.

Harrison met his brother’s inquiring gaze. “She is everything.”

The words cut deep, and a lump formed in her throat. Honestly, Lydia was on the verge of tears. This was not expected. Harrison all but said that he loved her. Not just falling—but actually in love. She was deeply moved, and her heart soared.