Letitia gave her Half Moon Street address in the same low tone.
The man who had sat next to her on the bench regarded them, having heard their entire exchange. “I’ll collect her things,” he said, a wry note in his voice, “provided that you don’t go ripping down tapestries.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “Or tearing up the fabric from the floor.”
Both men made what sounded like snorts inside their masks. They clasped hands in a brotherly fashion.
“There are sheets now in the lounge,” said the man so taken with a harpist.
“Did you need me to show how to fuck her arse? Get the show started?” called Sir Francis from where he sat, but the Bucks ignored him.
“Thank you, Buckthorn,” said Anthony. “Clarence, rather, Fawn, best of luck to you.”
He turned to Letitia and held out his hand. “Would you rather walk out of here, or should I carry you?”
“Excuse me?” she asked faintly.
“This is over,” he said. “We’re leaving.”
Letitia looked at that large hand that had brought her pleasure over and over in the past, now held out for her rescue from a miserable life she’d stomached for the sake of his happiness. Would accepting his help undo all that she had done, all that she had surrendered for his benefit?
But he hadn’t seemed happy in the years since they’d parted. She didn’t need him to meet her eyes to see that he wore joviality like a mask and that the small lines accumulating on his face spoke of stoicism and sadness rather than joy.
She didn’t want to stay another moment in this cursed skin, enduring pain and abasement for the pleasure of a cruel man who barely registered her existence. Should Anthony discover who she was, he might rage and even kill her, but it was a risk she would take to potentially end this slow drip of suffering.
Letitia slid her hand into Anthony’s for the first time since breaking his heart all those years ago.
Chapter 3
Anthony Paschal-Lamb, Viscount Corbet,had long fantasized about bringing Letitia Delemere to his family home when he was a young buck. Actually doing so now was something of a nightmare.
He sneaked her into the house and up the stairs under the cover of darkness, her swaying all the while under the influence of whatever was clouding her mind. But finding a suitable place to put her posed something of a problem.
The viscountess’s suite would cause remarks from his staff. Some distant room might do the same. He settled on a guest room down the hall from his own, where he might oversee her care from a small distance.
On the carriage ride home from the Forest, he’d kept his Buck mask on as Letitia had slumped against him, her mysteriousprotector. She was so good at engendering the protective instincts of men. Why, she even did it while half out of her mind!
Anthony considered removing his mask for the sake of his own comfort but reasoned with himself that it was better to remain anonymous. Letitia was a seductress, a snake of the first order, and with his identity and title known, she’d no doubt set about sinking her claws into him again — now that she’d sunk so low as to require protection from Pinchpenny.
The creeping, cruel possessiveness of Pinchpenny also made him reluctant to reveal himself, potentially sending Letitia fleeing, in the event she had some lingering aversion to wealthy viscounts with oversized cocks and generous tongues. Stranger things had happened. Why, it had happened to him in the last decade with that very woman!
And so Corbet placed her in that guest room down the hall, handed her care off to his exceptionally discreet and well-compensated housekeeper, and tugged off his stag mask before availing himself of a hot bath and collapsing into bed.
He eyed the stand of decanters at the other end of his suite, but decided he was too exhausted to get a drink. And he’d want to have his wits about him, should Letitia cause a disturbance in the night. Not that he’d go to her! He should simply be prepared to direct his servants to her room in the event of a scream or yell.
But she didn’t yell that night. And he heard nothing from her room the next morning. When capable Mrs. Oldacre passed himin the hall, she’d merely curtseyed. Blast, he’d selected someonetoodiscreet for Letitia’s care.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that his former lover upended his life.
Anthony had been reviewing his correspondence with his secretary when a housemaid burst into his study.
She opened her mouth to speak.
“Lead the way,” he said, dropping his boots from atop that massive desk and following the terrified girl up the stairs to that familiar hallway.
Outside of Letitia’s room, Mrs. Oldacre paced, her composure broken after years of only the most competent demeanor.
Anthony paused before her.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she said. “It’s awful. She has scissors.”
