“Mean what?” Dunkeld swung his head from John to Montague, Rothchild, and Sutton. “What did I say?”
“You intimated that Netta was a whore. Insulted a friend of mine. A woman under my protection.” John shook himself free from her grip.
It wasn’t difficult. Her hands had gone lax. “Under your protection?” she asked, outraged. “Are we back to that again?”
John ignored her and took another step forward.
Sutton stepped between the men and held up his hand. He nodded to Netta. “Please excuse Dunkeld, Miss LeBlanc. He never was taught how to speak properly. Scottish, you know.”
Dunkeld scowled.
“And you”—Sutton flipped his hand down to point at John—"should know better than to allow emotions to get the better of you when there is a job to be done. Nor should you doubt the good intentions of a friend.”
The moment stretched until John’s shoulders lowered and he nodded.
Dunkeld turned to Rothchild and Montague. “I didnae mean to insult her,” he said, his accent thickening with his indignation.
“We know.” The duke patted the Scotsman on the back. “It was just your usual charm with women.”
Netta planted her hands on her hips. “I have not been under any man’s protection since I ran— since I left my father’s house. Such nonsense wasn’t a part of our deal.” John couldn’t think of her as an obligation. He mustn’t. She’d worked hard to make an independent woman of herself. She paid her own rent, purchased her own treats, and bestowed her charms willingly on those she deemed worthy.
She did so for pleasure, for a sense of connection. Not to incur obligations.
John brushed his hand over her shoulder and came up with a stray hair. He blew it away. “In point of fact, everyone who stays under my roof is under my protection. Don’t worry, poppet.” He inhaled sharply. “Any such constraint you feel imposed by my duty will end when you leave. Your job will be finished, and so will any obligations.”
She poked him in the chest. “I am not a duty. Nor is my companionship an act of commerce.” Her father had only seen her as a commodity. Something to be traded. Sold. “I agreed to this job and will earn my wages, but everything else I give freely.”
He captured her finger. With a glance over his shoulder, he raised her hand and kissed it, his back blocking the action from his friends. “Perhaps what I give, I give freely, too.”
Netta’s breathing slowed. If he didn’t see her as an obligation, or her favors as a commodity, well, then, his streak of protectiveness might not be all to the bad. She bit the inside of her cheek. Perhaps it was even sweet.
He also wasn’t giving her a cool reception any longer. Whatever indifference he had affected upon entering the room hadn’t survived the appearance of an insult against her. She very much wanted to thank Dunkeld for his clumsy words.
“Now, no more arguments,” John said. “I believe you are expected at The Minerva Club.”
Montague swiveled his head. “My aunt’s club? Has it opened?”
“Last month.” John sauntered to the wall and pulled the bell ring. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. After all, Elizabeth and Amanda were founding members.”
Rothchild gripped the back of his neck. “I miss the time when my wife was too afraid to leave the house. I always knew where she was.”
“No, you don’t,” John said, his tone unusually serious.
Rothchild nodded, the edges of his lips tipping upwards. “No. I don’t.”
A footman stepped through, and John nodded to him. “Have a carriage brought around for Miss LeBlanc.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed and disappeared.
Netta shifted her weight. She did want to see the women’s club, but hated missing the action here. John’s friends hadn’t come for a boring cup of tea. Discussions would be had. Plots hatched.
She adored a good plot-hatching.
But she’d promised Lady Mary and didn’t want to disappoint that woman.
“I’ll be on my way then.” She took one last glance at her appearance in the mirror beside the door, running her finger over her right eyebrow.
“Tell my aunt I expect to see her while I’m in town,” Montague said.
