Page 105 of One Night with an Earl

He will either be your salvation or your ruin.

Considering her current dire situation, the latter had come true.

Madame Crescent sailed into the parlor, looking exquisite in a blue silk morning dress and sapphire necklace. She took one look at Ana and settled her hands on her hips.

“What’s amiss?”

The words came freely. At least here she wasn’t worried about judgment. “I was discovered in an intimate embrace with Lord Drake. Lady Malvern dismissed me on the spot.”

“I see. And how did Drake respond?”

“Not well. He thinks I used him in the worst way.”

“To trap him into marriage?”

“For revenge against his family.” The tears she’d been holding back came in a rush, and she covered her face with her hands in humiliation and pain.

Madame Crescent sat and patted her hand. “Every woman is entitled to her secrets,” she said, her voice gentle.

Ana looked up. “You already know my secrets. Most likely, they are worse than any of the women that work here.”

The woman cocked a brow and gave her an I-don’t-think-so look. “Oh, you would be surprised.”

Ana’s throat ached with defeat, and a stifled cry escaped from her lips like that of a wounded animal.

Madame Crescent withdrew a silk handkerchief from her skirt pocket and handed it to Ana. “There. There. Tell me everything, and then we will see about planning your future.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Oliver reached for the whisky decanter then cursed as he realized it was empty. The springs of his chair squeaked in protest as he pushed it back and rose in agitation. He wrenched open the study door.

“Burk!”

The butler appeared. “Yes, my lord.”

Oliver raised the decanter. “More whisky. Now.”

The look of concern on the proper butler’s face grated on Oliver’s nerves. It had been a week since the awful affair at the Malverns’ home, a week since he’d numbed his mind, his body, his senses with alcohol. For the first time, he understood why his brother’s friends indulged on a daily basis.

“Perhaps you should hold off on more,” Burk said.

Oliver rubbed his chin, his whiskers scraping his palm. He hadn’t shaved in a week. He’d discarded his coat and waistcoat and was dressed in his shirtsleeves and a limp cravat. “What the devil for? Need I remind you that I pay you well to fetch me things?”

“Do not be an arse.” The unexpected female voice which sounded behind his butler had the effect of nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Good grief. She’s here?” Oliver’s tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth.

His butler did not say a word as the much-shorter dowager appeared from behind the man.

“Yes, I am here.” His grandmother’s keen gaze raked him from head to toe before turning back to his butler. “Forget the whisky, Burk. Bring strong tea.”

“Yes, my lady.” Burk bowed and sprinted from sight with the speed of a man half his age.

His grandmother marched inside the study and shut the door. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed in disapproval—the same look of disapproval that she’d given him when he’d filled his brother’s best riding boots with sand after one of their childhood brawls.

“You look awful. Has your valet left you?”

“Have you come to insult me?” Oliver returned to his chair behind his desk. Best to put some distance between them.