Page 65 of Rogue’s Holiday

At the front door, black with a brass knocker, a well-attired butler with gray hair beckoned them enter. The villain beside her muttered a name in the butler’s ear and handed a footman his hat.

Apparently, they were expected for the butler asked no questions. He offered to take her cloak but she declined, unwilling to give up the one thing that reminded her of Sir Robert. She fixed the butler with a steady gaze. “I shall keep my cloak, thank you. I do not intend to stay.” They had brushed the cloak clean but there were still smudges of mud on her white costume.

The butler frowned in puzzlement.

Her bearded captor forced a harsh laugh. “She’s a playful minx, always jesting. Aren’t you, Sweetheart?” He dug his fingers into her arm, pinching her so hard she cried out.

The butler shrugged and walked on.

“Stop! Wait, please…I feel faint. Would it be possible to sit?”

The butler paused and turned, looking down at her bare feet.

“You just sat an hour in the carriage, dear girl,” said her captor. “Now cease your teasing and behave.” He gave her a shake that rattled her teeth.

The butler turned away. “Follow me, please.”

They crossed the black and white tiled floor of the entry hall, passing a wide staircase leading to the next story. At the base of the stairs stood a large man with blond hair looking straight ahead unmindful of their presence. There were no women present but then she wouldn’t have expected them to be awake at this hour having worked the night.

They walked down a corridor, passing several rooms with impressive furnishings. This was no ordinary brothel. Finally, the butler stopped and bade them enter the well-appointed parlor. The first thing Chastity noticed was the crystal chandelier hanging above two brocade sofas flanking a marble fireplace. A gilded mirror set over the mantel made the room appear much larger than it was. The colors were subdued, a light blue and a soft rose.

When the butler departed, a young maid, plump with blonde curls beneath her mobcap, sallied into the room and introduced herself as Emma. “Welcome to Willow House,” she said, giving Chastity a warm smile. “Miss Abby will see the gentleman in her office. You may remain here, Miss.”

The door was shut as they left. Chastity tried the handle. Locked. A second door on the other side of the parlor beckoned. As she stepped close to it, she heard the leader speaking with a woman, their voices lowered.

“Not our usual…” said the woman.

“Untouched…” the man replied.

“I would see her alone,” said the woman in a voice that forbade argument. “Wait here.”

The side door opened and a woman entered, closing the door behind her. Chastity did not know what she expected but certainly not a stately woman in her late forties with dark brown hair pulled back into a tasteful knot and appraising hazel eyes that reminded her of Sir Robert’s. She might have been an aging governess, so proper was her gray-blue morning gown.

In a whispered voice, Chastity said, “Oh, please, Ma’am. I am in terrible trouble. You must help me!”

The woman gave her a polite smile but her gaze took in Chastity’s face, dwelling for a moment on her torn lip. “Perhaps, my dear. Everything in its proper time. First we make our introductions.”

She led Chastity to the far side of the room where a small table with two chairs was set in front of a window looking out at the willow trees. “I am Abigail Darkin, but you may call me Miss Abby. And you are?”

“Miss Chastity Reynolds.”

The woman gave her an assessing look before asking, “Would you like to shed your cloak? The fire burns well in the grate and I believe the room is quite warm enough.”

Chastity held the cloak to her. “No, thank you.”

“We can be private here,” said Miss Abby. She glanced toward the side door. “He cannot hear us. Tell me what brought you to Willow House. I’m quite certain his representations are not all there is to the story, if, indeed, they are accurate at all.”

The woman’s eyes were kind and her manner sincere, so Chastity decided to disregard the warning she’d been given. If he never knew, then he would not harm Sir Robert because of her. Tears flowing from her eyes, she said, “Please do not tell him I have told you this, for he threatened to kill a friend of mine if I did. I know he would do it, too.”

The woman nodded.

“It was horrible. I was at a costume ball in Brighton where he and his hired brutes abducted me. I had gone to the gardens for a bit of cool air and three of them came out of the trees, grabbed me and stuffed me into a carriage.”

“Poor dear, you must have been terribly frightened.”

“I believed they would rape me. Then I feared they would kill me, but it seems they only meant to shame and ruin me. I tried to escape and, for that, I was beaten.”

“I see the bruises on your face. We can tend them. Meanwhile, did they—”