Corbett departed, leaving Sinjin to muse at the fleeting and strangely wistful look he’d glimpsed on the pimp’s face.
~~~
“Are you certain you don’t want to go to the Hunts’ ball tonight?” Marianne said from their bed. “You needn’t stay with me, darling; I feel perfectly fine.”
Ambrose finished tying his dressing gown and strode over to the canopied tester. “Let me see: spend the night shoulder-to-shoulder with a bunch of noisy strangers or in bed with the most beautiful woman in all of London. Yes, a difficult choice.”
His wife smiled. “They’re not all strangers. Since the Hunts are hosting the event, the Hartefords and Fineses are certain to be there as well.”
“Much as I like our friends,” Ambrose said, settling onto the mattress and gathering her into his arms, “there’s nothing I like better than being alone with you.” He looked into her emerald eyes, brushed a moonlight-colored curl off her cheek. “You’re certain that you’re feeling better?”
“I haven’t had a spell since the last one, and that was merely due to fatigue.” She kissed his jaw. “Don’t worry so, darling.”
“I can’t help it. You’re doing all the work,”—he splayed a hand over the small, satin-covered bump of her belly—“whilst I stand by twiddling my thumbs.”
“You’ve hardly been idle. Any new developments on Revelstoke’s case?”
He hesitated. Typically, he shared most everything with his wife—not only because he trusted her, but because beneath her dazzling beauty lay one of the cleverest minds he’d ever encountered. But the news that he’d received from Revelstoke earlier today would disturb her peace.
When he hesitated, she said, “Whatever it is, you can tell me, you know. I may beenceinte,but I’m not made of glass.”
Clever, like he said.
“Revelstoke sent me a note.” He paused. “He had an unexpected call today from Andrew Corbett.”
She stiffened against him. “What did Corbett want?”
Ambrose wasn’t surprised at her response. Corbett was part of a past she wanted forgotten—for their daughter’s sake. Rosie had been taken from Marianne as an infant, and fourteen years ago, Corbett had provided critical information that had eventually led to the girl’s recovery.
The journey to find Rosie had been dark, the villain who’d taken her a twisted, evil man. Not a moment passed without Ambrose feeling grateful that the bastard hadn’t had a chance to put his degenerate scheme into action—hadn’t harmed Rosie, beyond spoiling her and catering to her every whim—before they’d defeated him. To protect Rosie from further trauma, Marianne had insisted that the girl be shielded from the villain’s real and despicable motives.
Thus, Rosie had been told that the scoundrel had taken her because he’d wanted a daughter. At the tender age of eight, she’d accepted this explanation without question—or looking back. She’d joyfully moved onto her new life with Marianne and him and the rest of the clan.
But Ambrose had not missed the recent changes in his daughter, and although he was not a superstitious man, he could not deny that the reappearance of Corbett seemed portentous. An omen of troubles ahead. Even so, he didn’t want to cause his beloved unnecessary worry.
“Corbett brought some useful information regarding Miss French’s accomplice,” he said. “Apparently, the man frequented taverns near the West India Docks, so starting tomorrow we’ll focus our search there.”
“And that is all Corbett wanted?” Marianne pressed.
“I believe so.”
“He didn’t ask… about Rosie?”
At her whispered words, Ambrose tipped her chin up. Looking into her fear-darkened gaze, he said firmly, “Not a word. I thought he might when I went to inform him about Miss French’s death, but our business was professionally conducted; he made no mention of you or Rosie.” He paused before adding, “I must say, for a man in his line of work, Corbett carries himself like a gentleman.”
“I suspect that he is,” Marianne said somberly, “at least that is all he has ever been in my presence. But he is one of the few people who knows the truth of Rosie’s past: that she’d been sold to that blackguard for… a reprehensible purpose.” Her voice quivered. “Our daughter must be protected from that horror. For that reason alone, I don’t want Corbett anywhere near her.”
Ambrose’s hand moved in soothing circles over his wife’s back. “We’ll keep her safe, my love. You have my word.”
“I trust you, Ambrose, but I’m worried about her. Since her disappointments this Season, her behavior has become increasingly… desperate. It’s not helping her quest to find a suitable husband.” Marianne bit her lip. “And her behavior toward Polly—frankly, I expected better of her and told her so, which is why she is now giving me the cold shoulder as well.”
“I’ll speak with her,” Ambrose said, frowning. “That is no way to treat her own mama.”
“I can handle Rosie. After all, who do you think she gets her willfulness from? But poor Polly.” Marianne sighed. “She’s had a hard time of it, and I cannot believe Rosie would begrudge her the chance at happiness with Revelstoke. Especially when you and I both know that Rosie’s heart was never engaged with the earl. She merely wanted him for his title.”
“Whereas Polly wants him for reasons I still cannot fathom,” Ambrose muttered.
His wife’s lips curved. “Can’t you, darling? She may be your youngest sister, but she is also a woman.”
