Boris gestured toward the door, and aside from challenging both the giant and Malum, Northwoods had no choice but to take his leave without knowing his fate.
Malum had been willing to give the earl a second chance, and he still might—if Northwoods located his bollocks, that was.
As the door closed behind them, Malum exhaled, his body still aching from the long night he’d endured. Why the devil had the child’s mother decided his doorstep was the best option?
Rubbing a hand over his face, Malum turned back to his desk. An inflated invoice, property reports, and operational updates awaited him—tasks that, compared to the bedlam of the night before, almost felt like a reprieve.
When his secretary knocked a few hours later, Malum didn’t bother looking up. “Enter,” he said, bracing himself for whatever fresh disaster awaited.
“There is a young lady here, says she needs to speak with you.”
This wasn’t unusual—in fact, a good number of the women who worked the streets eventually sought employment at theDomusEmporium. It was clean, and the pay was more than fair, but more importantly, it provided protection and stability that they could not find anywhere else. However, he’d delegated such meetings to his courtesan manager long ago.
“Is Nell not available?” She had Malum’s full authority to hire and fire at will.
“The young woman says she isn’t here to ask for work, but insists it could be a matter of life or death.”
It always was.
“Does she have a name?” Malum asked with a sigh.
“Lady Melanie Rutherford, Your Grace. She says she’s your neighbor.”
CHAPTER 8
Melanie plucked at the seam on her glove, seated in a plush velvet chair, wishing herself anywhere else—anywhere but theDomus Emporium.
If anyone discovered that she’d come here, her mother would never forgive her…
Regardless, she couldn’t leave, not until she’d spoken with the duke himself.
She exhaled a fluttery breath.
True, she’d encountered him twice now—the man her mother had once, after reading a particularly scathing article in theGazette, called a monster. But her mother wasn’t the only one with strong opinions. Melanie had overheard Caroline and Reed discussing him more than once, their tones sharp, their words far from approving.
Sitting in the heart of his infamous brothel now, her resolve wavered. Because those unplanned encounters hadn’t given her much time to process who he was, but now it was unavoidable.
All the warnings, the whispered stories, the sideways glances when his name was mentioned—they suddenly felt a little too real. Maybe his reputation wasn’t so exaggerated after all.
Another shaky breath left her mouth.
The man she was here to see had enemies on both sides of Society. People feared him. And sitting here, surrounded by the quiet opulence of his domain, she was beginning to understand why.
Melanie kept her gaze on her hands. If she allowed herself to take in her surroundings, an actual brothel, she would be tempted to abandon her mission.
Even after that horrid woman had slammed the nursery window shut, Melanie had still heard the pitiful cries drifting across the way. And although she’d tried telling herself babies cry all the time, she couldn’t ignore the seed of doubt Caroline had planted in her mind.
What if something was truly wrong? What if the baby was ill—or hurt?
Both fears had consumed her, each passing minute fueling her worry until she couldn’t bear it any longer.
That was what had pushed her to cross the street to Preston Hall, where she’d handed Malum’s butler a neatly written note outlining her concerns. She’d even managed to say a few words aloud, which was no small feat.
The butler, however, had looked about as enthusiastic as a man being asked to muck out a stable. He’d promised to convey her concerns to the duke, but there’d been no urgency in his tone. For all she knew, he’d tossed her note straight into the nearest dustbin.
It was then she realized she had no choice.
She would have to go to the duke herself.
