“And that is not you?”
“No.” A single syllable—and it killed him to say it.
She drew herself up. “Well, then, thank you for your help. I can take things from here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said shortly. “I’m escorting you home.”
“If you don’t want me, why won’t you just leave me be?” she cried.
“What I want is irrelevant,”—he shoved a hand through his hair—“because I cannot give you what you need. Hell, I can’t even keep you out of trouble.”
“I’m not your relation, pet, or property, sir, and, therefore, not your responsibility.” In a blink, she transformed from vulnerable girl to outraged siren. Her eyes glinted like gilded emeralds, her full bosom surging with passion. “What I do—and who I do it with—are not your concern. But it does beg the question: how did you find me?”
He reckoned this wasn’t the time to tell her that Odette worked for him. “I have contacts.”
“What are you—some kind of a spy?” she said with derision.
“No. But in my business I have access to a great deal of information.” Not a lie, certainly.
“What business are you in?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she folded her arms over her chest. “Let me guess: it’s better for me not to know.”
“You’re catching on,” he muttered.
“And you’re insufferable, do you know that?” She looked ready to stomp her foot in frustration, and his lips twitched despite his bleak mood. Her next words, however, chased away all traces of humor. “Well, Mr. Andrew Whoever-You- Are, I want you to stay out of my life from here on in. As the Countess of Daltry, I do not need the services of some stranger who fancies himself a knight-errant.”
“Are you the Countess of Daltry?” he said curtly.
After a moment, her chin angled up. “Yes.”
The affirmation punched him in the gut. After the undertaker had removed the earl’s body, Andrew had checked the sheets. No blood—but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. As a pimp, he had an insider’s knowledge of just how fragile virginity could be. Horseback riding, for instance, could divest a female of her maidenhead. And the reverse was also true: he knew wenches who’d managed to successfully auction off their virginity half a dozen times.
But hearing Primrose admit the truth stirred a myriad of emotions. Jealousy, possessiveness… anger at himself for being a bloody fool.
“I see,” he said quietly.
“I see,my lady.”
Irritation joined the fray. “Then I suggest you pack up, my lady,” he said coolly, “and we head on our way. No doubt your family will be beside themselves. Having lost you once before, your mama—”
“What did you just say?” Her eyes widened.
Instantly, he recognized his mistake.
“How do you know that my mamalostme? Only my family knows that,” she said in low tones. “Everyone else thinks Mama placed me with country folk until she married Papa and he adopted me.”
Faced with her scrutiny, he faltered. “I meant only that your parents must be worried—”
“That is not what you said.” He could almost see the gears turning in her head. “We knew each other in the past, didn’t we? That’s why you’ve always seemed… familiar.”
He didn’t want to lie to her. Nor did he want to tell her the sordid truth. “Primrose, I—”
The rapid approach of footsteps made him whip around. A fist pounded on the door.
“Rosie, are you in there?” a man’s voice bellowed. “Open this door at once!”
“Papa,” she breathed.
She dashed over to the door, threw it open. Two men stormed in, and she flung herself into the arms of the first. “Oh, Papa!”
