very well.’ Tinmore waved a hand at Miss Summerfield. ‘Leave now, girl. But I am not finished with you.’
Miss Summerfield curtsied and started for the door. Before she reached it, she turned back. ‘My lord, Mr Glenville is also cold and hungry—’
Tinmore snapped at her, ‘I told you to leave. Do as I say.’
She did not move. ‘That is little thanks for what he has done, sir. You could find him dry clothing.’
‘Leave!’ Tinmore shouted.
She remained where she was.
Marc spoke to her in a soothing tone. ‘Do not fret over me, Miss Summerfield. Go now. Change into warm clothes. Eat something.’
She nodded and went out the door.
He turned back to Tinmore. ‘That was poorly done of you, sir. She has been through an ordeal.’
Tinmore’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘I’m out of patience with her. She caused her sister much worry and now more scandal. I will not have scandal in my house.’
Did this man not have any heart? ‘She might have lost her life if I had not found her.’
He pursed his lips. ‘Would have served her right.’
By God, would he have preferred her to die? ‘She needs your help, sir. You have the power to stop any talk. If you stand by her, who would question it?’
‘Much you know, Glenville.’ Tinmore took off his spectacles and wiped them with a handkerchief. ‘Attison is a scandalmonger of the first rate. There is no stopping him.’
‘You invited him. And sent him on the search. You are more responsible for any scandal that results than Miss Summerfield. She should not have to pay.’
‘Yes, I invited him!’ Tinmore cried. ‘So he could see firsthand that I am not in my dotage and that my wife is not a fortune hunter who duped me into marriage.’
Was he surprised that was what people would think?
‘This chit has made everything worse. I suppose you know what people say about their mother?’ He grimaced. ‘If she thinks I’m still giving her a Season and providing her a dowry, she has another think coming.’
He would cut her off? ‘You are being unfair.’
‘It is my money to spend as I wish.’ He fixed his gaze on Marc again. ‘You are the one who wronged her, not me.’
Marc had not wronged her. He’d rescued her and kept her safe. But Tinmore was right about one thing. None of that would matter in the eyes of polite society, not if Tinmore refused to stand by her.
‘If you will not protect her, I will.’ Marc stepped closer to the man and glared down at him. ‘I will marry her. That will silence the gossip. And she will need nothing from you.’
Tinmore’s mouth quirked into a fleeting smile, but his scowl returned and he waved a hand. ‘Marry her, then. Get her out of my sight.’
* * *
Marc stood in the hallway, outside the closed door of the private sitting room where Lord Tinmore presumably still sat in his throne-like chair.
He should be on his way to London, not offering marriage, but he’d had no choice, had he? It had been his duty.
The honourable thing to do.
Of all the reasons to marry, this must be the most foolish. Not out of passion. Not a love match. Not a well-considered decision.
So much for his pragmatic choice of marrying Doria. So much for paying the debt he owed to Charles. No comfortable life for him. Lost was the serenity marriage to Doria would offer. Lost was the respectability of her family. He, the son of the scandalous Lord and Lady Northdon, would marry the daughter of scandalous Sir Hollis and Lady Summerfield.
Tongues would wag.
He would not save her from gossip, after all. Perhaps he’d not done her so large a favour.
He must find her. Speak to her. Tell her what he’d done.
She needed to make the choice. The discredit of marrying him or the ruin of crying off.
But, if Tinmore made good his threat, she would also be impoverished.
A footman approached him. ‘I am to show you to your room, sir.’
‘Never mind my room,’ he responded. ‘I need to speak to Miss Tess Summerfield.’
The man’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘I cannot take you to Miss Summerfield.’
‘Deliver a message to her for me, then.’
The footman shook his head. ‘I do not think Lord Tinmore would approve.’
Marc gestured for him to lead the way. ‘Lord Tinmore will not mind. The lady and I are going to be married.’
* * *
Tess sat in Genna’s bedchamber again, like she had done only the day before, her two sisters with her.
It seemed an age ago.
Genna and Lorene had been waiting for her outside Lord Tinmore’s drawing room. They’d hugged and cried and Lorene scolded her for giving them such a fright. While they walked to her bedchamber she filled them in on what had happened to her.
In her room a bath awaited. Tess bathed and washed her hair quickly, before dressing in warm, dry clothes. Hot porridge, bread, cheese and tea were set before her and the mere scent of it made her stomach ache with hunger.
Her mind, though, was on Mr Glenville. Would he convince Lord Tinmore that nothing happened between them? Would Tinmore let him go? The whole experience had become like a dream. Would it fade from her memory?
She did not want to forget him.
The maids came to remove the bath and straighten the room. Tess and her sisters retired to Genna’s room and her sisters’ relief at finding her safe had worn off.
‘Tess, how could you have been so foolish?’ Lorene paced, as she had paced the previous morning. ‘It is one thing to seek shelter. Quite another to share a bed with a man.’
‘It was cold,’ Tess explained. She remembered Mr Glenville climbing on to the cot, covering them both with his blanket. She remembered the warmth of his body next to hers, both comforting and thrilling.
‘Do you know what the guests are saying?’ Genna offered. ‘They are saying you met by design. That you planned the tryst. Why else would you venture out on an obviously rainy day?’
Lord Attison must have been very busy telling tales.
‘That is ridiculous!’ Tess cried. ‘I told you how it happened. I never even met Mr Glenville before!’
‘You might have
