Thorne ignored his friend’s remark. Damn thing hit too close to the truth.
“Don’t tell me—she blames you for her brother’s disappearance.”
“Worse. She believes I took it upon myself to drop him on a ship bound for the Continent.”
Brock groaned. “I suppose you’ll be sleeping at the club tonight, then.”
Thorne was not about to admit defeat in that arena, but sleeping in his own cold bed held no appeal. The attendant appeared at his elbow, towel in hand. “Brandy,” he said, swiping his face.
“Tell me you did not mention the child?” Sarcasm colored Brock’s tone.
Thorne gritted his teeth. “Do you think me daft, man? Of course I didn’t tell her. I’d never get near her again.” Thoughts of a chastity-filled future stretched before him. No possibility of ever cupping her lovely breasts, perfectly shaped to fit his hands, again; never again teasing her rosy, puckered nipples or having her lush thighs wrapped about his waist, him buried deep within her velvet softness; never again hearing her abandoned cries of release.
No. Keeping the existence of the babe mum was imperative. The fact that the babe belonged to her irresponsible brother would matter naught. Informing Lorelei before he could locate Harlowe was a risk he was not willing to chance.
What angered him most was her believing he needed a mistress when he had a wife such as Lorelei. Always willing to warm his bed. Jesus, it was nothing short of ridiculous. Why had he never told Lorelei how much he loved her? Oh, right. Pride. He tossed back the contents of his tumbler in one great gulp.
Another glass appeared on the table. “Bring the bottle,” he snapped. One glass or two of brandy would not sustain him through this night.
Two
L
orelei woke slowly, eyes heavy, crusted shut with dried tears. The pain in her chest squeezed. An agonizing reminder of the night before and her shattered marriage. She drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly realizing her marriage was likely no different than any other among those of hers and Thorne’s stature.
Pride, however, refused to let her look the other way. The thought of others pointing and snickering behind her back made her skin crawl. Blast that husband of hers. Well, Thorne could have his mistress andchokeon her, but he would not have Lorelei!
Again, tears threatened, but she quickly pressed her fingers against her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. Dear Lord, she would be unfit for callers. After a long moment, composure steadied, though her head was pounding soundly, Lorelei rang for her maid. That heart-wrenching cry she’d suffered long before sleep had finally, and blissfully, claimed her was all she was willing to give over. Finished. She was finished. Now, she just needed to find Brandon, however one went about finding someone in another country.
Bethie, her no-nonsense maid, swung through the door and whipped back the curtains. The sun crashed against Bethie’s starched white apron, blinding Lorelei. Yes, the sunwouldshine another day no matter how drastically life changed in the span of one short hour.
Bitterness roiled through her stomach as her gaze landed on the door connecting Thorne’s chamber to hers. She shoved back the regret and, while embracing the resentment, wondered briefly if he’d come home at all, or if she’d sent him straight into the arms of that woman.
Disgusted with the thought, Lorelei refused to take responsibility for his behavior. She’d never—not once had she ever turned her husband away. She’d done as she promised herself upon marrying him: been the most devoted wife; and loved him with her body. Once again, her tears threatened, and she blinked quickly.
A shadow blocked her view. “My lady, your eyes are most puffed this morning,” Bethie said.
Lorelei considered Bethie’s stout countenance, the sharp gaze that missed nothing, grayed hair pulled into a severe knot at the nape of her neck. “Yes. I must be coming down with something.” She covered a delicate cough with her fingers.
“You’ll be wantin’ to stay abed, then.” It wasn’t a question. “Tea should be along shortly.”
Truly, Bethie had missed her calling as commander of her own unit in the war. France would never have stood a chance.
Lorelei smiled in spite of the pain in her head. “No, Bethie. I have much to do today. I shall need to dress.” Arm herself, more like. Not a sound breached the connecting door, forcing her to swallow the large lump blocking her airway. She had to locate someone, find out exactly where Brandon was destined, but had no idea where to begin her search. La! She was scheduled for tea at Lady Dankworth’s later in the week. That woman was a veritable mountain of information. Lorelei expelled the air in her lungs with a sense of mission marching through her. She would pose the question to Lady Dankworth.
A timid knock tapped the door, and Bethie assaulted her duties by snatching a tea tray from Liza, the upstairs housemaid. The poor girl stumbled back as Bethie slammed the door on the girl’s horrified expression, barely missing her toes.
Lorelei winced. “You’re terrifying the help again, Bethie,” she murmured. Bethie appeared not to hear, and set down the tray. Pointless words, regardless. “Thank you.” She rubbed her eyes and pinched her cheeks. It wasn’t much, but it made her feel better. She scooted to the center of the bed, allowing room for Bethie to move the tray next to her. With a sigh, Lorelei poured out her tea. She dipped her spoon in the sugar dish and stilled. An envelope addressed with an unfamiliar scrawl rested beneath the plate of scones. “That will be all for now, Bethie. One half hour, if you please.”
“Very good, my lady.” A diligent soldier, her Bethie, bound by duty.
The latch clicked softly behind her maid, and with trembling fingers, Lorelei picked up the envelope.
Mr. Chubb. He would arrive by ten. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantle. Two hours. Could she really do it? Install a lock to keep Thorne out? One solid kick, and the door would crash to the ground.
She.
Lorelei swallowed back not just another lump, but also a bitter taste of regret. She clamped her lips tightly together, hardened her resolve. Things with Thorne were forever changed. Eight hundred pounds would go far in retrieving her brother, she vowed, even allowing her to set aside enough to take care of herself should the need arise. And five-hundred pounds was an excellent start.
