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“I think I made a mistake coming here,” Jude said, standing up. He had no appetite for getting involved with anything to do with Tidworth. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was right about one thing—the man was a maggot.

The widow held up her hand. “Her father sold her to him for a sack of coins when she was just shy of eighteen.”

Jude sank back into his chair. He’d known such things were done, of course, but until now it had been just a thing, something that happened to people he’d never encountered in person. “Good Lord.”

“Tidworth took her straight from the country to London and molded her into what he wanted for five years, giving her all sorts of tutors and lessons as though preparing her for marriage to a nobleman. To himself. Until he simply grew bored of her,” the widow said. “The day after he brought her here, she escaped him and came to me, looking for help.”

“What sort of help?”

“A job. I offered her a position upstairs,” the widow said, “but she refused me. She asked to be a maid instead, but I refused her.”

Jude frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would you refuse her?”

“Miss Wentworth is in a peculiar position. She isn’t like other mistresses. She has remained strangely innocent, despite everything. She’s almost like a young wife whose husband has suddenly abandoned her. She truly believed that Tidworth loved her. He convinced her that he would marry her if he were able to do so.”

“She could not be that naive.”

“She was. And not because she was foolish, but because she was trusting.” The widow folded her hands together and leaned slightly forward as she continued. “During her time with Tidworth, she grew into a lady, learning how to read, dance, speak French, play pianoforte, all of it. Yet she has no breeding. So he essentially left her without a society. She no longer fits in with her class, nor does she fit with yours. She’s been a mistress, so getting hired as a governess or even a servant is out of the question. Even more so now that she’s made an enemy of Tidworth.”

“An enemy?” Jude asked. “Don’t tell me he blames her for my interference the other night?”

“Oh, I’m certain he does. You humiliated him.”

Jude swallowed. He knew better than anyone what a vindictive bastard Tidworth was.

“Miss Wentworth requires protection. The kind of protection only a powerful man can give her. Beyond that, her credit with me is running low. I am not operating a charity. This is my place of business. If she refuses to work upstairs, she will have to go and soon.”

“What are you suggesting?” Jude eyed the widow. “You think I should take her for my mistress? After the way Tidworth treated her? I doubt she’d—”

“Why not take her for a wife?” the widow interjected. “It will be a delicious scandal, but you’ll survive it. The Earl of Derby married an actress, you know. She was wildly popular on stage. I believe her name was Farren, but she has been the Countess of Derby for at least eighteen years. Society adores her.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Jude said. “But society adored Elizabeth Farren long before she married Derby. As you said, she was wildly popular. The Queen of Drury Lane, I believe. But that matters not because I don’t want society’s approval. If anything, I’d marr…court…Miss Wentworth just to thumb my nose at all of them.”

“Especially Tidworth,” the widow said. “Think of how it would irk him.”

A bitter taste arose in Jude’s mouth. He wished the widow would stop talking about Tidworth. The thought of him with Miss Wentworth made him sick.

“She’s still a maiden, if that’s what concerns you,” she said, as though she’d just read Jude’s mind. “So you can rest assured she hasn’t given Tidworth any children.”

“A maiden?” he scoffed. “How?”

“Tidworth is impotent. He never lay with her. That’s likely why he likes his mistresses young, innocent, and naive. They help hide his secret shame. And he controls them by chiding them for having ‘filthy thoughts’ and being ‘unchaste’ if they question him about his abilities.”

Jude stared at the widow in disbelief. Then he laughed out loud. Impotent? No wonder…now it was all starting to make sense. The bastard couldn’t please women, so he loved to shame them instead. He turned back to the widow.

“So, you see,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “she is better suited for marriage than for being a mistress.”

Jude shifted in his seat. He’d sworn never to marry again after what he’d done to his wife. But he hadn’t realized how achingly lonely he’d been until Miss Wentworth had landed in his arms.

Still, he could not do it. What woman would want a man like him? A man who’d killed his own wife. If she ever discovered the truth…she’d surely hate him. But he told none of this to the widow. Instead, he said, “I can’t do it. The last thing I want is to invite Tidworth back into my life.” He stood, resolved to leave her study.

The widow leaned back in her chair. “Well, that is a shame,” she said. “Perhaps you will stay a little longer and agree to a cup of tea.”

As if on cue—and for sure, it was—the door to the widow’s study opened, and Hermia entered the room, carrying a loaded tea tray. Miss Wentworth followed behind Hermia. It was the second time he was seeing Miss Wentworth without a mask. The first time, he’d only glimpsed her from afar in the crowded game room. Now, seeing her up close, his heart raced. She was absolutely breathtaking.

He thought about how she’d been sold to Tidworth for a bag of coins. Her beauty was her curse, he realized. “It’s too bad,” the widow said as Hermia placed the tray on her desk. “Lord Cadwell was just about to leave.”

It wasn’t his responsibility to do anything for her, but he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave her to her inevitable fate. It would make him no better than Tidworth. Or her father. “No,” he said, his heart still racing. “I think I’ll stay.”