my query to your director.”
Brinks hesitated, then took a deep breath. “That is where your father resides, is it not?”
“I prefer my father’s place of residence to remain undisclosed. Most people believe he is at our family seat in Northumberland and I prefer they continue to believe that. You will tell no one of this, do you hear?”
“Of course not, my lord.” Brinks shifted, either unable or unwilling to fabricate any further explanation.
Guy meant to find how this bit of information had got out. “You obviously know more of my circumstances than is warranted. Are you from Kent yourself?”
“Uh…I hail from nearby Maidstone. I suppose I must have overheard someone say…” The explanation drifted away to an uncomfortable silence.
Guy knew it was useless to continue in that vein. He would have to be more direct. There was definitely something peculiar here and he needed to find out what it was.
This application was no jest, he was sure of that now. Desperation and fear ran deep in those troubled eyes that were avoiding his.
Playing at this no longer proved amusing and it was time to end it.
Guy stood. “The interview is now concluded. I do believe you need help,” he said with all honesty.
“Then you will hire me? I may leave London now?” Relief softened the face to the point where it was no longer merely pretty.
Guy frowned at the realization. With the worst edge of terror alleviated, Brinks had transformed into an exquisite beauty.
“No, you are not hired,” he answered emphatically as he leaned forward over his desk, resting his weight on his palms, his face scarcely two feet distant from the frightened applicant.
“Please, sir! You must!”
Guy shook his head slowly. “I believe it’s time for you to abandon this farce and tell me why a young woman would hack off her hair, don a cheap suit of clothes and seek out employment as a man. It is a dangerous charade, dear girl, whatever your reasons. Are you mad?”
Chapter Two
L ily ran, her last hope fleeing faster than her feet. She flung open the door, dashed out into the hallway and ran headlong into the old butler.
With a cry and a grunt, they fell sprawling, a tangle of arms and legs. Before she could scramble to her feet, a large hand manacled her wrist.
“Be still!” Duquesne thundered, crouching over her like a fiend from hell. His tawny hair tumbled across his brow. His piercing eyes, the gray of deadly steel, devoid now of former pleasantness, dared her to move. His jaw clenched and his full lips firmed in a grimace.
Lily cringed. The vise of his fingers loosened, but he did not release her as his attention turned to the elderly servant.
“Boddy? Easy now. Don’t try to rise too soon. Is anything broken?” He spoke loudly, but with what seemed tender concern.
She watched, amazed at the way he handled his servant, encouraging him to tentatively test his neck, back and each limb. Then Duquesne stood and assisted the old man to his feet, dragging Lily upright much less carefully with his other hand.
“None the worse, m’lord,” croaked the old man who was frowning at her.
“Thank God for that,” Duquesne said with a gust of relief. He raised his voice again, but not in anger. “Even so, I believe you’d best go and lie down. Lean on me and we’ll make for your room.”
The butler straightened and stood away, jutting out his pointy chin and adjusting his waistcoat. One palsied hand patted down the long strands of gray that had previously covered his shiny bald dome.
His squinty gaze focused on Lily’s wrist, still caught fast in Duquesne’s grip. “I shall summon the night watch.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Duquesne declared. “Off to bed with you, and that’s an order.” His firm words echoed in the cavernous hallway.
“As you wish, m’lord.” The butler shot a threatening look at Lily and shuffled off into the shadows mumbling to himself.
Duquesne forced her back into his study and over to one of the high-backed leather chairs. “Sit,” he ordered, letting go of her arm and turning to close the door.
He looked fierce. And terribly handsome, a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man with strong classic features and a supremely self-confident air.
That had been the first thing she had noticed about him, how handsome he was. She had known handsome men before, several of them. Bounders, the lot. For instance, Clive was handsome. Her husband Jonathan had not been. Consequently, the attribute of good looks did absolutely nothing in the way of recommending trust in this man.
The concern he had shown to his servant obviously did not extend to her.
He drew up to his full, considerable height, his hands on his hips. “Now either you will explain yourself or I shall haul you to the magistrate and have him determine why you applied for employment with false references.”
Lily could not think of any lie that might elicit his aid any better than the truth would do. Earlier she had considered simply laying the situation before him and pleading for help. She wished she had done that at the outset. Her chances might have been better. Now she had no choice.
All she had wanted was the means to reach home, to make certain her son was safe and not in Clive’s clutches. Since she had already been dressed for the part and no one—not the men at the hospital, the hack driver or the old butler himself—had paused to question her gender this evening, Lily had believed playing out her charade as Brinks might work. Unfortunately she had not anticipated the keen eye of Lord Duquesne.
She had elected not to trust a man about whom she knew nothing. Well, hardly anything past one brief encounter when she was a child and current rumors of his rough existence. Lily was aware, of course, that Edgemont, one of his father’s estates, lay adjacent to that of her son. She had heard that Duquesne’s father, the earl, was sequestered there and that Duquesne had chosen some years ago to reside permanently in London.
If Brinks had not mentioned his name tonight, she would never have thought to come here. The problem was, Lily knew more about Duquesne—little as that was—than she did about anyone else in London.
This house declared more about the current state of his finances than she might have guessed. There was little furniture in evidence, at least in the foyer, hallway and his study. No paintings, sculptures or any other trappings of wealth. Except for this room, what she had seen of the place thus far made it look abandoned and uninhabited.
The chair in which she sat badly needed repair and the ancient velvet draperies at the window appeared threadbare even in the low light cast by the lamp. For the first time she noticed that the bookshelves lining three walls of the chamber were almost completely bare.
A fragile hope bloomed. Perhaps, if she could not appeal to Duquesne’s honor, he could be bought. Everyone knew he needed money. Why else would he do what he did? But he was a solitary soul and that was evident, too. Perhaps he liked
