Page 30 of How to Best a Marquess

She had much more pressing things to accomplish, especially tonight.

She forced her thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. She led Lady Willoughby to the last place Hugh would look tonight. The boxing room in the back of the club. There wasn’t a match this evening, and the doors were locked. She’d seen Hugh lingering by the faro tables for most of the night and talking with a group of men. He was distracted, at least for a good amount of time, and wouldn’t come here.

Once they were away from the thick of the crowd, Lady Willoughby caught up with Ellie. “Aren’t we going to the women’s gambling room?”

“Not this time.”

They’d reached the tall wooden door. Ellie reached for a key in her pocket, inserted it in the lock, and pushed it open. Lady Willoughby followed her inside. The large room was empty and dimly lit. She could vaguely make out the four corners of the boxing ring.

“It’s safe and private here,” Ellie said.

Lady Willoughby removed her mask. “I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said when we’d first met. The baron has been ranting incessantly that he wants his heir, and he’s been…he’s been visiting my bedchamber every night. I dread the evenings. I don’t know how much more I can stand.” A flush crept over her cheeks, whether in shame or desperation or both, it wasn’t clear.

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat. She knew many would consider it the baron’s right to bed his wife, whether or not it was against her will. But the thought of Lord Willoughby forcing himself upon his young wife made bile rise in her throat.

“Do you believe the baron would search for you if you disappeared from London?” Ellie asked.

Pain flickered in the lady’s eyes along with a tired sadness that appeared across her drawn face. “He’d hunt me to his dying day.”

Ellie stared at her, letting her anxiety fuel her own resolve for what needed to be done. “Then we have no choice but to fake your death.”

Lady Willoughby looked at her in shock. “Fake my death? Good heavens, how?”

Ellie hadn’t heard from Violet in days, and she’d rarely reached out to the courtesan in the past. It was not unusual. Violet only contacted her when she had news. Otherwise, it was too risky and could expose not only herself but their working relationship as well.

But Lady Willoughby was desperate to escape her brutish husband. Ellie could see it in her gaze and hear the thread of panic in her voice. She tried not to picture her, trapped in a room with a man twice her size, with nothing to defend herself against his fists and fury.

“I don’t know yet, but we will think of a plan,” Ellie said.

“It’s not possible to—”

Shouts sounded from outside the boxing room. Ellie frowned as she cracked open the door. A large, barrel-shaped man was standing by the entrance arguing with the guard on duty.

Lady Willoughby peered around Ellie’s shoulder and gasped. “Oh God! The baron is here.”

Ellie’s nerves tensed. “Does he know you are here tonight?”

The lady shook her head, her face pale. “I told him I was attending Lady Godfrey’s ball. He must have followed me.”

The liveried man at the door was no match for the physically larger baron. If only Brooks were here, but it was his evening off.

“Stay here. Let me handle this,” Ellie said.

She slipped on her peacock mask and headed for the door. She’d handled disgruntled patrons in the past. The threat of a revoked membership was generally enough to calm their surly disposition after a large loss at one of the tables. She could turn away an angry husband.

As she approached, she sized up the baron. He was a tall, heavyset man. With thinning brown hair, brown eyes, and a bulbous nose, he appeared at least a decade older than his wife. His head rested upon broad shoulders and gave him the appearance that he had no neck.

A trickle of trepidation traveled down Ellie’s spine, but she ignored it. There was no time for hesitation or fear. She needed to get the baron out of the club and far away from his wife. “May I be of assistance, my lord?” Ellie said.

Lord Willoughby glared down at her. He reeked of alcohol, cigar smoke, and barely suppressed anger. “I’m looking for my wife.”

Ellie schooled her expression and lowered her voice. “Your wife? I know all the ladies here tonight, my lord. She is not present.”

“Get out of my way.”

Her pulse began to beat erratically at the threat in his deep voice. He made to move past her, but Ellie stepped in front of him and raised a hand. “I insist you leave. You do not have membership here. Only those who have been admitted are allowed inside.”

The command lingered, and for a moment Ellie believed it would work, but then his red-rimmed eyes glared down at her with annoyance. “Step aside.”