A sharp knock startled him upright. He glanced around, disoriented. No Lorelei. He jerked the counterpane over his body.
“Your bath, sir,” Dante said. “And a word from Lord Brockway.”
Fifteen minutes later, Thorne bounded down the stairs, where Brock paced the foyer like a caged animal. Two small children, girl children, and their nursemaid stood watching like skittish cats.
“What the de—” Thorne stopped at Brock’s raised brow. “Pardon, my ladies.” Thorne bowed.
The older girl stared at him with a sturdy unwavering gaze. She looked remarkably like— “Lord Brockway, a word, if you please?” Thorne’s voice was carefully pleasant as he opened the door to his study. Once inside, he shut it softly behind them. “What the devil are you doing with Lady Maudsley’s children?”
Brock shoved a hand through his already disheveled hair. “He beat her to a bloody fucking pulp.”
“What—who—” Thorne stopped. “Christ, Brock. You took his wife?”
Brock ignored him. “I need you to take the children to Lady Kimpton.”
“What of Lady Maudsley’s family?”
“They disowned her years ago.” Brock looked him in the eye. “Because of me.”
Air expelled from Thorne like a punctured balloon. “Children? You want me to escortchildrento Kimpton?”
“What choice do I have? They can’t possibly stay with me. Your wife is the perfect solution. No one even realizes she’s gone.”
“You know there’s no telling what I’ll find when I arrive at Kimpton,” Thorne said, exasperated.
“Look at it this way, Kimpton. Your wife is certain not to turn away Lady Maudsley’s children.”
Thorne acknowledged that comment in silence. “Where is Lady Maudsley now?”
“It doesn’t matter where she is.”
“Well, I suppose that answers my question.” Thorne shoved his hands in his pockets. “Lorelei will insist on returning to London when she learns of Lady Maudsley’s predicament.”
“She can’t. Not if she’s looking after Gin—Lady Maudsley’s children.”
“What did you tell Irene?” Thorne asked, referring to the older daughter. “She’s not four like Cecilia.”
“I told her she was going on an adventure. That she could ride a pony.” Brock looked sheepish. “You do have a pony at Kimpton, don’t you?”
“And if I don’t?”
Brock glared.
Thorne sighed. “I suppose I’m in the market for a pony.”
Lorelei busied herself with assisting the Misses Hollerfields’ maid, laying out a breakfast no one was likely to touch. Not a single wink of sleep had passed in the household the night before. How could they sleep with the younger Miss Hollerfield’s agonizing cries? Tormented cries that had sounded intermittently for some eight hours now.
Her labor was hard, and no end appeared in sight. Lorelei truly feared for the girl’s life. Any words of comfort she might offer escaped her.
Shock still filled her with the revelation. Miss Hollerfield, MissRowenaHollerfield, was not the one with child. It was her sister. The notorious courtesan was not carrying Thorne’s baby. There was cause to doubt that Miss Hollerfield’s—MissCorinneHollerfield’s—child belonged to Thorne as well.
Of course, he could not be excused for sending her brother to his unknown fate. Lady Smythe’s words trickled through her.He was dropped on a boat bound for Spain.Brandon hadn’t closed his house. He hadn’t dismissed his valet. Things were not adding up. Perhaps there wasn’t time, if what the rumors portrayed were true. That Thorne had literally dropped her brother on a ship. Lorelei rubbed her temples, attempting to clear the fog in her head.
This new revelation regarding the Hollerfields was nothing short of relief. Could she have possibly been mistaken—or worse, wrongly accused her husband based strictly on rumors of a society that thrived on such gossip?
Sadly, yes. But the rush of relief regarding the Hollerfields could not be denied.
Tea arranged, Lorelei started up the stairs, wincing as another heart-wrenching scream bounded through the house. She dashed the rest of the way up and pushed open the door.
