Harrison nodded to the men as he slipped across the green leather bench.

  “I took the liberty of ordering you a pint of bitter,” Sam said. “William Robins, this is my close friend, Harrison Hornsby, the Marquess of Tennington. Harry, William.”

  Robins held out his hand, and Harrison took it, giving it a firm shake. William Robins looked like a copper; his no-nonsense aura hinted at danger. He was far taller than he and Sam, close to six and a half feet at least. His wavy hair sported many threads of gray mixed in with the light brown shade. His dark brown eyes held a steely, intelligent glare as he assessed his surroundings and gave Harrison a thorough inspection.

  The barmaid delivered their beers and took their orders for the meat pies before moving to other tables.

  “Samuel mentioned you wish me to check on a woman in your care, my lord.”

  Well, William Robins did not beat about the bush. Harrison gave a quick synopsis of Lydia’s predicament. The investigator pulled a small pad and the nub of a pencil from his side coat pocket, jotting notes as Harrison relayed the facts.

  “Do you believe this woman regarding her narrative, my lord?” Robins asked.

  Did he?

  The barmaid arrived with the pies, giving Harrison a respite from an immediate reply. His thoughts drifted to last night and the shared intimacy between them. When she kissed his palm, his heart swelled to bursting. But he could not be carried away on a wave of intense emotions, even ones he’d never experienced with any other woman.

  But God, it shook him to his core.

  How tempting to pull her close and kiss her.

  Thoroughly. Savagely.

  If Lydia continued to stay at the town house, eventually, it would happen as the air fairly crackled between them. But it couldn’t occur, for he would not take advantage of a woman in such a dreadful predicament.

  “There’s no mistaking I found her in extreme straits, and there is physical evidence of her mistreatment. She wouldn’t misrepresent her former occupation since it is easy to check.” In a firm voice, he paused and said, “Yes, I believe her.”

  “What was the detective’s name who came to the underground shelter, my lord?” Robins asked with pencil poised.

  “Detective Constable Willis from G Division. Stated many divisions were investigating this pharmacy theft,” Harrison replied.

  Robins grunted. “Coppers pretty much stick to their boroughs. We can be a territorial lot, my lord. It sounds as if he is investigating this independently, which means someone hired him off the books to find the nurse. She may not even be a suspect.”

  Robins scribbled more notes. “Willis. I’ve heard of him. A weaselly, oily character. Leave it with me. I will get to the bottom of it. Now, gentlemen, we should partake of our pies before they cool.”

  The men started to eat, and the conversation turned to mundane subjects, the weather, the dismal, wet spring, how it could carry over into summer and have decided ramifications on certain crops. Robins also proved to be up-to-date on current events like the new “bridge across the Thames” proposal to accommodate the swelling London population.

  Downing the last of his pint of bitter and wiping his mouth on the napkin, Robins then reached for his hat.

  “I’ll be off then, gentlemen. I wish to get started right away.”

  “And your fee?” Harrison asked.

  “Let us say ten pounds to start the investigation. Business is brisk, and I have hired two younger men, also ex-coppers. With their assistance, we should have news for you in a matter of days, my lord.”

  Good thing Harrison brought extra money with him. He slid pound notes across the table, and Robins swiftly snatched them up and tucked them away in his side coat pocket. The older man stood, reaching for a cane he must have had resting next to him on the bench seat.

  “I will contact Samuel when I have news?”

  Harrison nodded. “Yes. We will set up another meeting such as this. Lunch is on me.”

  Robins touched his forelock, giving a brief, sly smile. “I assumed it would be. Good day, my lord. Samuel.”

  The man limped off and exited the pub.

  “He’s a good man,” Sam said.

  “How did he obtain the limp?”

  “From a bullet in the leg during a confrontation with thieves in a rookery. I treated him; it’s how we met. Unfortunately, the injury prematurely ended his career with the Metropolitan Police. Mind you, I do not believe he would complain. He confided in me that he’s making more money than he ever had as a copper.”

  Sam cut into the last of his pie. “If anyone can ascertain information in a timely matter, it’s William.” He popped a forkful in his mouth and swallowed. “So, your house guest is a nurse? There is a certain symmetry to that.”

  Yes. It’s as if fate pushed the woman into his path. There he was, thinking of chance again. This morning he awoke early, visited the terminus, and tended to several patients. Then he dropped off a bundle of used garments with his housekeeper for Lydia to try on before heading to The Red Lion.

  Again, his thoughts drifted to the previous night and their heated awareness.

  Why not explore the attraction?

  If nothing came of it, he would continue his search for a bride without losing a stride in his step. Tremain’s words echoed in his mind like a benediction.

  “All I am saying is give it a chance. If you walk away, you will regret it for the rest of your days. Be open to new experiences.”

  Give it a chance.

  Yes, why not?

  If Lydia was receptive to his attentions. Perhaps not, seeing she was in a desperate situation while recovering from a severe illness. The way she kissed his palm bespoke of a passionate woman. And a lonely one.

  Harrison recognized loneliness all too well, for he suffered from it, too. Loneliness: a disorder that overpowered even the laughter and company a pub like this offered. Loneliness. Would this ailment for which he had no cure ever leave him? Glumly, he tossed back the last of his bitter and thought again, give it a chance.

  What could it hurt?

  Just everything he had planned for years.

  And it could hurt his vulnerable heart.

  Chapter 14

  Lydia spent the afternoon trying on the clothes Harrison had dropped by. The pile consisted of used wool skirts and white blouses, but the garments were clean and tidy. They are a little large, but they would serve the purpose. The clothes included petticoats, three chemises, and one corset.

  She was exhausted when she’d tried on everything and selected the ones that fit.

  One of the maids brought afternoon tea, and Lydia climbed into bed and accepted the tray. After drinking her tea and eating the biscuits and fruit, she napped. Oh, how she could get used to this.

  A maid woke her at seven, stating the marquess awaited her presence in the dining room.

  Rubbing her eyes, she sat upright. Dining room? A different maid, Mariah, assisted her in dressing and fixing her hair into an upswept style. Then Mariah led her down two sets of stairs.

  Lydia stood before a tall man in a double-breasted black coat and white tie.

  “I am Youngston, his lordship’s under-butler. Will you follow me, Miss Best?”

  Harrison hadn’t informed the servants of her real name. Thank goodness. Their exchange of secrets would remain between them, and she was silently relieved.

  Youngston opened the double doors, and the coziness immediately took her despite the size of the room. A fire blazed in the white marble hearth. Burgundy and gold gilded wallpaper adorned the walls, and ornate floral drapes covered most of one wall, the colors matching the wallpaper. A long table with high-back chairs sat in the middle of the room. Overhead the chandelier blazed, washing the room in muted illumination.

  The room was glorious.

  Harrison stood and smiled.

  “Miss Best, your lordship,” Youngston announced.

  “Thank you, Youngston. You may commence serving.”

  Harrison came to her side and tucked her hand through the crook of his arm.

  “May I escort you to your seat?”

  Goodness, the table sat at least twelve.

  “Will I be sitting close enough so we can converse?”

  He patted her hand. “Most assuredly.”

  Harrison pulled out a chair, and she sat. He took the one next to her at the head of the table.

  “Not a formal meal, as you’re still recovering. Besides, I shared a large dinner with my brother last night.”

  Lydia watched the activity of Youngston and the footmen. Not formal? When Harrison sat before her, resplendent in his traditional black wear, and crystal goblets and china plates sat on the table? Even the tablecloth matched the floral pattern of the curtains.

  Her fingers trailed across the sterling silver flatware. No, she was not used to this, which made her uncomfortable.

  Too jarring. Until last week, Lydia slept in alleys.

  Since awakening and finding herself in this town house, she felt strange, removed from reality. It could be the fever, for she still had a slight one. Surely all this could not be real, Harrison included.

  Was this a fairytale dream born from her secret hopes and imaginings? Or had she died and gone to heaven?

  Silly thoughts, but Lydia knew how sickness and high fever could warp reality.

  The food here was beyond compare. A footman placed a bowl of chowder with bits of carrot, celery, potato, and shrimp before Lydia. Watching what spoon Harrison used, as there were three utensils at her setting, she did the same and daintily slurped a spoonful.

  She supposed she should say something. “You have a brother living nearby?”

  “Yes. My middle brother, Tremain, is a few streets away at the Gransford town house.”

  Harrison explained about his ex-vicar, war veteran, and viscount brother. It was a struggle to keep up with the conversation, especially the confusing details on how he became a viscount.

  No, she was not recovered from this illness by any stretch. The audible rattle in her chest and the hoarseness of her voice were proof of that. And the coughing fits. Pray she did not take one during dinner.

  “And you serve in the House of Lords as well? I thought those with a courtesy title were not permitted to attend.” Or are they? It was all so muddled.

  “Those with a courtesy title do not, but the queen ennobled me. That honor will not pass on to any of my heirs. It allows me to attend and serve in the House of Lords. It is indeed rare for a duke and his two sons to be serving at the same time. There is no denying that the queen favors our family, much to the chagrin of others. We take our responsibilities seriously and work diligently to make Great Britain the envy of the world. Though there is much work to be done concerning the poor.”

  Lydia murmured in agreement, for she had lived it firsthand. Anyone could wind up on the streets due to fate and circumstance—a scary prospect.

  The servants whisked away the empty bowls, and a plate of meat and vegetables replaced them. They had skipped several courses, and Lydia was glad. Her appetite still was not what it should be.

  “A hearty roast beef. Please, do not stand on ceremony. Tuck in.” Harrison gave her a teasing smile.

  Cutting her meat, she asked, “Is the viscount your only sibling?”

  “No, I have a younger brother, Spencer.” He paused; his look turned reflective. “Spence is special. He had many issues growing up, so much so that the physicians wanted him in the asylum. Children’s psychosis, the experts called it. My father would not hear of it.” Harrison laid his utensils aside. He explained the manifestations of his brother’s condition.

  Lydia nodded. “Once at St. Thomas’s, a young boy was brought in suffering from much of what you have described. He seemed completely lost in his own world and wouldn’t look you in the eye. He hardly seemed aware of what was happening around him or what was said. Then he would react, usually violently.”

  “And what happened to the lad?” Harrison asked softly.

  “The doctor said he must be committed to the asylum at once. The child knew for he began to cry and rage when he heard that word. He spoke for the first time, begging his parents that he not be taken away. It was horrible.”

  “Spence was not that severe, thank God. But I have noticed he sometimes doesn’t look you in the eye. My brother has suffered from outbursts—more frequently as a child—not so much now. If he structures his day and sticks to it, he can keep control of his impulses. He managed to get through school, though Tremain and I were there to assist in any way we could. He is a professor of ancient history. Researching, not teaching.”

  “How wonderful for him. Is that why you became interested in medical studies, your brother’s—I’m not sure what to call it. A condition? A disorder?”

  Harrison picked up his utensils and continued eating. “A condition. Yes, it is the reason. My fellow students mocked me mercilessly at Cambridge. Why would an heir to a duke study medicine since it supposedly is beneath me? A middle-class profession. Obviously, I didn’t listen.”

  “Yet, you kept it secret. Is it because of the censure from your peers?”

  “Yes and no.” He glanced at his butler. “Leave us, Youngston. Return in about thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler snapped his fingers at the two footmen, and they were left alone.

  “I am sorry. Is your staff not aware of what you do? Did I reveal too much?”

  “They are unaware, but I surmise they have a clue. I wish to continue with our secret exchange and—”

  A coughing fit interrupted Harrison. She lifted the napkin to her mouth to catch the sputum. How mortifying.

  His eyebrows creased with worry. “You’re still unwell. You should return to your room to rest as soon as we complete our meal. Are you up for further conversation?”

  If Lydia were of a mercenary bent, she could exaggerate her illness. Take advantage of his generous nature by extending her stay and indulging in her beautiful room, servants, food, clothes, and anything else she could squeeze out of him.

  But regardless of her sins and mistakes, she was not that shameless and cruel. Glancing at Harrison’s handsome face, the concern showing on it touched her.

  Lydia could not hurt this caring man, no matter her circumstances.

  Wiping her mouth, she nodded. “Yes, please. Let us continue.”

  “Last night, we left off at what you’re accused of. I want to let you know that I’ve hired an investigator to look into these charges. Mr. Robins is an ex-copper, a decorated and respected detective sergeant with the Metropolitan Police.”

  Lydia dropped her fork, and pieces of carrot bounced across the tablecloth. Her heart sank. Then fright settled in the dark corners of her soul. Suppose John Huntsford caught wind of someone asking questions. It did not bear thinking about.

  Harrison laid his hand on top of hers. Much-needed comfort and warmth traveled through her.

  “Mr. Robins is discreet, do not worry. He knows of the detective who came to the Terminus. He said Willis is an oily character. Willis may be investigating this off the books. The surgeon no doubt hired him. There may not even be official charges against you. Robins will get to the bottom of it.”

  No charges? Is it possible?

  Her stomach lurched, and she brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes closing briefly.

  “Lydia? Look at me.”

  She cracked open her eyes and met his gaze.

  “I give you my word that I will assist you in any way I can.”

  “Why?” she whispered. “You don’t know me. I am a stranger. I could be lying—”

  “It’s easy enough to verify. Robins is doing so as we speak.” Harrison removed his hand and continued eating, so she did the same. “Besides—we made a pact. Reveal secrets and tell the truth. And you have so far?”

  “Yes.”

  “So have I.”

  “You truly are a hero.”

  Harrison laughed, and the masculine sound reverberated through her, her toes curling with pleasure in her slippers.

  “I am not a masked crusader leaping about the rooftops of London, sword in hand, fighting injustice and brutality.”

  “But you are masked. As I said before, you’re a medical Robin Hood. Instead of a bow and arrow, you battle injustice with a stethoscope and your vast medical knowledge. You save those who cannot rescue themselves. You rescued me. I will be eternally grateful.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. It was my pleasure.”

  Lydia picked up her fork. “About the theft of pharmaceuticals. As I said, I had nothing to do with it. When John Huntsford spoke about his twisted plan, I didn’t take him seriously. I wish I had. When I found out about the robbery, I confronted him. He warned me to keep quiet, or he would blame it on me and reveal our clandestine relationship.”

  She blinked, then looked down at her hands. They were trembling. John had then struck her for the first time. The blow was so forceful that it knocked her off her feet. That became the deciding factor in her sudden flight from him.

  “And he stated that he would also reveal the salacious details of our arrangement, claiming I was the one who introduced him to drugs through the enticement of sex. I stupidly believed he loved me when all along he used me. And he’d been taking my money. John can be very convincing. I was ashamed. Frightened.”

  Lydia paused as old horrors clawed their way back to the surface of her mind. She took a breath, buried them again, and continued.

  “After…an unpleasant incident between us, I made my escape when he left for work. I had no idea if he’d reported the crime and accused me. I did not stay about to find out. Until the policeman showed up at the Terminus.”

  “Let us wait to see what Mr. Robins reports. As he said, Huntsford may have hired this Willis to investigate.”

 

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