He preferred to stand. He was white-faced and rigid. He took up hertowel and absently dabbed at the trickle of blood on his face.
“Who is she?” he asked. “And whose is the hat?”
“This is Clarissa Greystone, Lucien. She came disguised as a boy. I’mgiving her refuge from her parents.”
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. When he opened themagain, it was to look at Clarissa with dislike. “Oh God.”
Clarissa scowled back at him fiercely.
He turned back to Beth. “Can you forgive me? That was an unpardonablething to do even if you were ? I have no excuse except disorderedemotions.”
“You have every excuse,” said Beth clearly, still rubbing at herthrobbing face. She could taste blood where her teeth had cut the insideof her cheek. “If I found evidence you had the White Dove in your bedroom,I would have enjoyed doing much the same thing.”
He straightened and frowned. “How did you . . . ? No, let’s not bedistracted. I have to point out it is not the same thing, Beth. Women havea traditional right to express their grievance on a man’s face. For onething,” he said, with a trace of bleak humor, “they can rarely land morethan a feeble swat. You are likely to have a bruise there.”
“I must practice my technique then,” she said pensively, “against thetime I need it.”
He laughed briefly and looked a little more like himself. He soaked herwashcloth in the water bowl and came to look at her face, turning her jawwith gentle fingers. He placed a gentle kiss where it throbbed the worst,then held the cloth over it. “I love you more for your gallantry,” he saidsoftly, “but I will never forgive myself for this to my dying day.”
Beth took the cloth and held it. It was true she understood andforgave, but she was not sure she could ever feel quite the same abouthim. The next time he was angry, would she have to fear blows?
“So I would hope,” broke in Clarissa shrilly. “Beth, don’t let himcajole you. Hehityou.”
“We know that, Clarissa,” said Beth in her best Miss Mallory voice. “Iunderstand your feelings, but I have to point out that you do notunderstand ours.”
Having quelled the girl, Beth filled in the details of Clarissa’ssituation. By the time she had finished, the marquess had a look ofdisbelief on his face.
“Beth, there’s nothing you can do. Her parents have all the rights.Marriages like this are made every day. People learn to make the best ofit.”
“That is merely a sign of all that is wrong in the world,” said Bethfirmly. “Clarissa is not going to marry Lord Deveril against herwill.”
“Deveril!” he exclaimed, and Beth realized this was the first timeshe’d identified Clarissa’s rich suitor. “That changes matters.”
“How?”
“He certainly cannot be allowed to marry any gently born woman. Anywoman at all, if it comes to that.”
“Then you’ll help her?”
He thought. “It’s still not easy. We could probably keep her out ofDeveril’s hands, but there is no way in law of freeing her of her parents.It’ll be another beating and another Deveril.”
“No one can be as loathsome as Lord Deveril,” said Clarissa with ashudder.
“There,” said the marquess, “I admit you have a point.”
“And if Clarissa escapes,” Beth said, “Lord Deveril will merely seekout another victim.”
The marquess shook his head. “Am I to spend the rest of my liferescuing innocents from villains? There’s a never-ending supply ofboth.”
Beth smiled at him, despite the twinge of pain it cost her, “I will tryto learn to ignore some of the troubles of the world, Lucien, but I cannotstep over the victim in my path. At the moment, however, our mainrequirement is a safe haven for Clarissa. You know London. There must behundreds of places she can hide.”
“Not in the London I know,” he said.
“I did wonder about the Delaneys,” Beth said hesitantly.
“They’d be willing to help,” he said, “but there are reasons it wouldbe better not to involve them in anything to do with Deveril at themoment.” He grew thoughtful. “You mentioned the White Dove. What do youknow?”
Beth could feel her color rising. “She’s the actress at Drury Lane.She’s beautiful, and she’s your mistress.”
