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Rivendale raised a brow. “Assistance?”

“Yes,” Miss Monroe said again. “My little wager has caused… slight inconveniences for Miss Lawless.”

“Such as, I’m being hunted,” Lydia added. “People believe I’m a thief, and that I might be prosecuted.”

The marquess shot a disdainful glance at Miss Monroe. She merely smiled.

“And you claim you’re not a criminal,” he growled.

“I didn’t know some boor was going to hunt her down using every known intimidation technique.”

Rivendale clenched his jaw.

“I apologize if I frightened you,” he said tightly. “My sole goal is to find the locket. And if anyone is at fault, I believe it would be her.” He waved a hand at Miss Monroe, refusing to look at her directly.

“I understand,” Lydia said.

“I am willing to repair the damage,” Miss Monroe declared loudly.

“How so?” Rivendale frowned.

“I will help you find your locket, if you do me a little favor and spread this knowledge about my little wager with Lady Wakefield among your peers.”

“I don’t talk to my peers,” he snapped.

“Yes, but they talk to you, and more importantly, they will listen to you. If I take my words back, no one is going to believe it. Coming from your lips, on the other hand…” She let her sentence trail off.

A clever ruse.

If Miss Monroe simply retracted her own statement, it wouldn’t draw much attention.

But a marquess spreading a juicy rumor? Now that would spread like wildfire.

And making Rosemary’s life more difficult was just an added boon.

Rivendale waved a hand. “I won’t seek out people to tell this story, but I won’t keep it to myself.”

Lydia squeezed Art’s fingers so tightly that she nearly crushed them. “That’s all we ask.”

Art rubbed soothing circles over her palm with his thumb, feeling her pulse steady, her grip relax. Then he gave her a tiny, reassuring squeeze.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired,” Rivendale said, ringing the servants’ bell.

The butler appeared before the bell finished echoing.

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Rivendale addressed his butler. “Escort my guests out.”

* * *

The trio exited the house, and as they reached the carriage, Art swept Lydia into his arms and twirled her around. Lydia giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Miss Monroe cleared her throat.

Art set Lydia down but kept his arm around her waist as they faced the proprietress of the hell.

“Miss Monroe,” Lydia said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“We had a deal. I’m simply holding up my end of the bargain. I trust that next time, you’ll hold up yours. Besides, we are family.”