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he listened first at their door.
She heard Caroline’s contemptuous voice say, “I gave her a good scare, I did. Reminded her that Miss Saunders vanished—let her think on that.”
“But, Caro, what about the paint? What did she say about your dress and all?” Delia asked.
“She thought it was for some boy,” Caroline said. “Forget her now.”
“Some boy! Ha! He is such a fat old thing. When he put his hands on me last week, I was sick, just sick.”
“I know, and for what? They get fifty guineas every night we go out, and we get but one! And we do all the work!”
“Work? I don’t call it work with the likes of Sir Francis, though. Now there is a buck, and what about tonight with that handsome marquis? Now that will be good fun,” Delia said. “He is a Greek god, that one.”
“What time do you go to him?” Caroline asked.
“They put it off till ten o’clock,” Delia said and added, “so Wheeler will come for me about 9:30 or so.”
What was that explosion in her head? It hurt. What was that squeezing the blood out of her heart? Sassy put a fist to her mouth and stifled the cry that almost made its way out as she ran.
No! No—not her marquis. It just couldn’t be. It had to be another marquis. Surely it was someone else. But how could there be two marquis in town, both of them as handsome as he?
Her body quaked, and her mind reeled with this new information. It couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t debase young girls—he wouldn’t. She couldn’t love someone like that!
She found the cloak that Molly had cleaned and hung up for her, slipped on her boots, and without stopping to think, ran outdoors and made her way to the stables. She yanked a bridle from its hook, hefted a saddle from its perch, and tacked up a horse faster than she had ever done before.
Hoisting herself up, she adjusted her stirrups and spread her skirts about herself as she started him out and down the bridle path to the main road.
What was she doing? This was madness; she was going insane. All she knew was that she had to face him—this man who had stolen her heart and took ownership of her spirit, her thoughts, her cares. She had to face him and know the truth.
Oh please, she begged, don’t let this be true. Not him, not him.
Something sick and dreadful was going on at Netherby, led by the headmistress. She did not blame these girls. They were young and had been led astray. They were being used. All her suspicions had formulated into fact as she stood outside their door listening to them. They were being used as prostitutes by the people who sheltered them. It was horrid beyond thought.
Her mother had once taken her to a place that sheltered indigent women. She had said that some of them sold their bodies to make ends meet and that Sassy should never judge them, for no one could possibly understand what one would do when starving, when one had no shelter, no clothes. Sassy understood their plight, but this, this was despicable, that these young girls should be sold in this way by greedy scoundrels.
That the marquis should pay to have a young girl was unthinkable.
How could he? He couldn’t. Percy Lutterel! She couldn’t be wrong about Percy, who was sweet and good and in love with Sophy. The marquis could not conduct himself this way with Percy in the house, could he?
She slid off her cob horse and rushed headlong to the front door of the marquis’s lodgings, doing once again the forbidden—and this time at night, full with determination!
When the butler appeared she rubbed her ring and told him to stand aside. “And you will not remember allowing me to enter or that I am here.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Where is his lordship?”
“In the study,” he answered vaguely.
“Thank you. Now go about your business,” she said and strode hard and fast towards the room she and Sophy had been in only a week ago.
* * *
The marquis unbent from what he was doing to face a darkly clad and hooded young woman charging into the room.
He frowned, thinking that Percy and Dobbs were late and the chit was early. He said, “My dear, you are early.”
“Am I?” Sassy asked between tears and obvious agitation.
