The Marquess of Secrets (The Hornsby Brothers Book 3)

by Karyn Gerrard

  “When we left off, you claimed that you gave your affection to a man who didn’t deserve it. In what way?” His voice was soft and empathetic.

  “We met at my place of employment. I was a nurse at St. Thomas Hospital. John Huntsford was a surgeon. At first, he was all charm and kindness. Fraternization is frowned upon between the staff, so we kept our relationship secret. Soon we were meeting after work in places far from our residences or the hospital. Before I knew it, I’d fallen for him and moved into his flat. Little did I know of his true character. Your turn.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Ah. Where did I leave off?”

  “You stated you have a secret life. I believe I can guess what it is.” She gave the marquess a shy but knowing smile.

  Harrison chuckled. “Please do.”

  “At my lowest point, shivering and starving in an alley, I made my way to a place I heard about: a temporary respite from living on the cobbles. There I encountered a man dressed all in white, completely covered except for his astonishing silver-gray eyes. Dr. Damian. Toiling underground, treating the poor, giving of his valuable time and talent. A medical Robin Hood.”

  A slight smile curved about his mouth. “I’ve never heard it put quite like that, but I suppose it has a thread of truth.”

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice soft with admiration.

  “Yes. I’m a trained physician. I have degrees from Cambridge, but unable to practice due to societal rules. So I practice medicine on my own terms, and have for many years. In secret.”

  Lydia’s heart swelled with approval. When had she ever heard of a member of the peerage giving so much with no recognition? “I respect what you’re doing. It used to tear my heart to shreds to see people turned away at St. Thomas. People who couldn’t pay but who needed our care the most.”

  Harrison nodded. “The very reason I started this secret charity. My friend, Dr. Samuel Kenward, and the nuns, all do their part. Sacrificing of their time, energy, and perhaps a piece of their souls. Your turn. Little did you know of Huntsford’s character? Will you elaborate?”

  It caused her insides to twist to speak of it, but she told him of moving in with John. Lending him money until her small savings was depleted. With a shaky sigh, she continued. “I found out he’d been spending my money on opium. He introduced it to me one night w-when we were having relations.” Lydia flushed, the last word ended on a whisper. “This is hard for me to talk about. What you must think of me.”

  Harrison gently clasped her elbow and pushed up the sleeve of the flannel nightgown. The tips of his fingers caressed the scars on her arm. Her heart fluttered rapidly at his warm and caring touch. “He did more than introduce you. He forced the needle in against your will, tearing your skin. Am I correct?”

  Though she tried hard not to react, tears filled her eyes regardless. Lydia nodded, biting her lower lip. “He said it would enhance the experience.”

  Uttering a foul oath under his breath, Harrison lifted her arm and softly kissed the scars.

  Oh. Oh, my.

  Her insides melted at his compassionate kiss. His mouth was warm and everything exhilarating. With tender care, he released her arm and laid it across her waist.

  “The man is a monster for maiming you in such a way. What he did was a violation.” Harrison brushed away the couple of tears that had trailed down her flushed cheek.

  Yes. That was the harsh truth of it. An assault. A violation. It was the reason she made such a hasty departure.

  “I do not wish to upset you further tonight. All I will ask is this: are you guilty of what the police detective claims? We will discuss the details tomorrow.”

  “No, I’m not. I adamantly refused to participate in his twisted plan. It’s part of the reason I ran—”

  Harrison laid a finger against her lips. “No more tonight.” He stared at her with those beautiful eyes, which were filled with emotions she could not guess at. Cupping her cheek, his thumb brushed across her lips, gently stroking, inflaming her body clear to her toes. Without thinking, she laid her hand on top of his and turned her head so her mouth met his palm.

  She kissed it. Once. Twice. A third time. A husky groan left Harrison’s throat causing her heart to pound faster. This generous man made all her troubles fade into nothingness. His sensual reaction to her kiss had her longing to crawl into his lap and hold him tight.

  He stood and backed away from her all the way to the opposite wall. As he turned down the gas, darkness swallowed him whole. “Sleep, Lydia. We will continue this discussion tomorrow.” The door handle gave soft snick sound as he closed the door behind him.

  His scent lingered. Her skin still throbbed where he’d touched her. Her lips tingled from kissing his warm palm. Lydia wanted more. Oh, so much more. At the lowest point of her life, sick as she was, she should not be experiencing such intense emotions. She had no business craving an heir to a duke.

  * * *

  Harrison hurried toward The Red Lion pub for a luncheon meeting with Sam and his investigator acquaintance, William Robins. The public house, located near parliament, was a favorite for members and lords, and even “The Grand Old Man” himself, Prime Minster Gladstone, frequented the place. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the scent of beef and onions inundated his senses along with the odors of beer and tobacco. The large oak bar with stained glass panels took up the entire side of the room. The place was crowded and boisterous, and Harrison scanned the area until he located Sam waving him to the far corner booth.

  Harrison nodded to the men as he slipped in 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, Marquess of Tennington. Harry, William.”

  Robins held out his hand, and Harrison took it giving it a firm shake. William Robins had the look of a copper; along with his no-nonsense aura was a hint of danger. He was far taller than he and Sam, close to six and a half feet at least. His wavy hair was more gray than brown. 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.

  “Sam mentioned you wish for me to check on a woman currently 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 with regards to 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 allow himself to be carried away on a wave of intense emotions, even ones he’d never experienced with any other woman.

  God, it shook him to his core. He’d been sorely tempted 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 happen, for he would not take advantage of a woman in such a horrid 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 enough to check.” He paused, and in a firm voice said, “Yes, I believe her.”

  “What was the name of the detective who came to the underground shelter, my lord?” Robins asked, 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 own boroughs. We can be a territorial lot, my lord. Sounds as if he is investigating this on his own, which me
ans 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 off 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 then, 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 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 fate again. This morning he awoke early, visited terminus, and tended a number of 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 the heated awareness between them. Why not explore the attraction? If nothing came of it, he would continue on with 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 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, he would. If Lydia was receptive to his attentions. Perhaps not, seeing she was in a desperate situation while recovering from a serious illness. The way she kissed his palm bespoke of a passionate woman. A lonely one. Harrison recognized loneliness all too well for he suffered with it too. Loneliness: a malady that overpowered even the laughter and company a pub like this offered. Loneliness. Would this disease for which he had no cure ever leave him? Glumly, he tossed back the last of his bitter and thought, give it a chance. What could it hurt?

  Just everything he planned for years.

  And his vulnerable heart.

  Chapter 11

  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. A little large, but they would serve the purpose. There were also petticoats, three chemises, and one corset. By the time she’d tried on everything and selected the ones that fit, she was exhausted.

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

  A maid woke her at seven, stating the marquess was awaiting her presence in the dining room. Rubbing her eyes, she sat upright. Dining room? A different maid, one called Mariah, assisted her in dressing and fixed her hair into a serviceable upswept style. Then Mariah led her down two set of stairs. Lydia found herself standing 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 true name. Thank goodness. Their exchange of secrets would remain between them and she was silently relieved. Youngston opened the double doors and she was immediately taken by the coziness despite the size of the room. A fire blazed in the white marble hearth. The walls were adorned with burgundy and gold gilded wallpaper. Ornate flowered 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.”

  “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, you’re still recovering. Besides, I shared a rather 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 black formal wear and the table was adorned with crystal goblets and china plates? Even the tablecloth matched the floral pattern of the curtains. Her fingers trailed along the sterling silver flatware. No, she was not used to this at all, and it made her uncomfortable. Too jarring. Until last week she’d slept in alleys.

  Hard to judge, but since awakening and finding herself in this town house, she felt strange, removed from reality. Surely all this could not be real, Harrison included. It could be the fever, for she still had a slight one. Was this a fairytale dream born from her secret hopes and imaginings? Or had she died and gone to heaven? Silly thoughts, but Lydia was well aware how sickness and high fever could warp reality.

  A bowl of chowder was placed before her. There were bits of carrot, celery, and potato floating in the creamy base along with small shrimps. Watching to see what spoon Harrison used as there were three of the utensils at her setting, she did the same and daintily slurped a spoonful. The food here was beyond compare. 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, viscount brother. It was a struggle to keep up with the conversation, especially the confusing details on how he’d been made 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 was 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. It allows me to attend and serve in the House of Lords. That honor will not pass on to any of my heirs. It is indeed rare for a duke and his two sons to be serving in the house at the same time. There is no denying the queen favors our family, much to the chagrin of others. But 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.

  Empty soups bowls were whisked away and a plate of meat and vegetables replaced it. 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’ve a younger brother, Spencer.” He paused, his look turned reflective. “Spence is special. He had many issues growing up, so much so, the physicians wanted him placed in the asylum. Children psychosis they 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’ve described. He seemed completely lost in his own world. Wouldn’t look you in the eye. Hardly seemed aware of what was going on around him or what was being 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 when he heard that word, he began to cry and rage. 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 there are times he doesn’t look you in the eye. He 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 malady?”