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“Indeed, she was,” she snapped. Her lips tightened. “There is no doubt in my mind. Since then I have given the entire matter a great deal of thought, and it is my opinion that Mrs. O’Leary and the hat factory were somehow working together. I believe she either planned to have me fired or was notified somehow that I would be let go.
“It would have been an easy thing to slip that brooch into my reticule, knowing I would be searched on the way out. The plan was I get searched, the brooch is discovered, I am fired, and a good Samaritan,” she snorted, “awaits outside the building to offer my deliverance. A most simple strategy.”
Marcus leaned back and stretched out his long legs. “When I was doing research for my presentation to Parliament, I focused on London. I knew there was a group who imported women from outside the city but didn’t know from where. I assumed it was from another country. It never occurred to me it was from Bath.”
Lizbeth leaned forward. “I believe there is a group in Bath, and that Mrs. O’Leary is one of the suppliers. For all I know, she might even be the ringleader. I remember Pamela telling me that the room I occupied in the boarding house had lost quite a few tenants during the three years she lived there.”
He straightened and leaned forward, the interest in his eyes. “So, you’re saying that room is where these young ladies came from?”
“Oh, yes. And I plan to prove it.” She raised her chin, all the anger deep inside of her churning, almost making her sick to her stomach.
He shook his head. “Wait a minute, you can’t get involved in something like this. It’s far too dangerous.”
“I am already involved in this,” she said. “My world has been shattered. I will never again be the same woman I was when I entered that boarding house for the first time.” She took a sip of tea, her hand shaking.
She looked up to see Marcus staring at her. “What?”
“You have no idea what you are getting yourself into,” he said softly.
Lizbeth hopped up, splashing tea on her dress. “No, Mr. Parliament with your blasted bill. You have no idea what you are getting into. You think because you walk the halls of government, waving papers around and stopping men in fancy clubs and balls to ask for votes that you are an expert on this?”
She stabbed herself in the chest with her finger. “I am the expert. I was the one duped into taking a room where I was made to feel grateful and safe, all the while my abduction and later sale to a brothel had already been planned. Bloody hell, not planned, but set up.” She swiped at her cheeks when she realized she was crying.
“I will not rest until Mrs. O’Leary and whoever it is working with her are dead,” she shouted. The words reverberated off the walls, shocking even her in their fury. She held her arm up, palm facing out when Marcus reached for her. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone—especially a man—touching her. “No. Don’t.”
Marcus nodded. “I understand. Please sit, Lizbeth. Drink your tea.” He handed her a handkerchief and returned to his seat.
She smirked. “That is always the solution for a distraught woman, is it not? Sit still, behave yourself, and drink your tea. If you think I am going to apologize for my outburst and language, you have quite a wait on your hands.” She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth. “Do you know how awful it is to be totally helpless? To be forced to do something so repulsive you would rather kill yourself? But there is no weapon nearby, no one to help you, no one who cares that you are appal
led?”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly and was obviously trying to get himself under control. “No. I must say I have never been in a position like that. But listen to me. We will visit with the police and tell them your story. Let them handle it. That is what they are trained to do.”
Lizbeth snorted and took another sip of tea. “I guess it’s worth a try, but I have discovered over the last few years to depend on myself and no one else.”
“Would you allow me to help you?”
She narrowed her eyes. There it was. Another puzzle piece. “Why would you do that? Am I to be your latest project in Parliament? Will you name a bill after me?”
Despite the way she’d spoken to him, and instead of heading for the door, the fool man got up from his seat and sat alongside her. She moved over. He did not. “Listen to me, Lizbeth. I was involved from the time Mr. Smith asked for my help. I gladly assisted in your rescue. I feel a certain responsibility for you—"
“—You can stop right there. No one is responsible for me, except me.”
He nodded. “All right. I can accept that. For now.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Whatever did he mean by for now? Another piece to add to the puzzle? The thought returned that the man might have designs on her. Perhaps he did think because she spent time in a bawdy house that she was now free with her favors. After all, Pamela had told her that in the upper crust circles Mr. Marcus Mallory was a known rake.
Except in all honesty she hadn’t seen that part of him at all. Yet. Just as Mrs. O’Leary showed the sweet and kind side of herself when they’d first met.
He continued. “But what I said stands. I want to help you, if for no other reason than to keep you safe.”
She shook her head. “I will never feel safe again,” she whispered.
“I can’t even imagine how you feel right now but know this. I will do everything in my power to help you bring these people to justice and make sure you one day feel safe again.”
“Why? Why would you do this?”
He studied her, his eyes boring into her, causing her heart to pound. “Because I care.”
