Cecilia plucked her thumb from her mouth with a pop. “Papa hit Mama,” she whispered. “A lot.”
Thorne’s jaw set, and he had to breathe through his nose. “And what does that have to do with Miss Elvins?”
“Papa went into Miss Elbins’s chamber after he hurted Mama.”
Thorne inhaled deeply. “Did you see your mama?”
Cecilia lay her head back on his shoulder. He felt her nod. Irene’s tears spilled down her cheeks in silence.
“Irene?”
“Yes, it’s true. We heard a crash and ran to Mama’s chamber. Papa was yelling at her. Calling her…” She hiccupped. “A trollop. There was another crash after that one. I had just enough time to pull Celia into the chamber across before he… he stormed out.”
Cecilia’s small body shook with sharp sobs. He tightened his hold.
Irene looked at her sister, then back at him. “We ran into Mama’s chamber. She was lying on the floor. There was”—she stopped and swallowed—“b-blood on her h-head. She made us promise to go back to our rooms and pretend to sleep.”
Thorne fished out his handkerchief and handed it to Irene. “Go on, my lady.”
“We did as she bade, but Celia stayed in my bed with me.” Irene took a shaky breath, perusing the room. “But we heard Papa in Miss Elvins’s room. It’s connected, you see. They made these awful grunting noises. Like dogs, growling. Then Papa left, and Miss Elvins came into my room. We kept pretending to be asleep just as Mama told us, but she—Miss Elvins—jerked my arm. Said she knew I was trying to deceive her. She said that if-if we ever said a word to anyone, she would… s-sell us.” Irene dropped her eyes. The tears streamed in a river down her cheeks though her voice remained soft and steady.
Thorne cleared his throat in an effort to stave off his fury. It didn’t belong here with these two. “I see.” And he was afraid he did. “Did you see your mama again before Lord Brockway came for you?”
Irene lowered her gaze and shook her head.
“Has Miss Elvins disciplined you? Physically, I mean.”
Irene lifted her eyes to his. He didn’t need an answer; it was there in the depths of her frightened gaze. The rage of his anger shook him.
“What is a trollop?” Cecilia asked.
Thorne froze, unsure how to answer. “It’s… it’s—”
“A tart,” Irene said. Her matter-of-fact response shocked Thorne speechless.
Cecilia pulled her thumb from her mouth, then nodded knowingly. “Yes, Mama can be very tart, but not so sweet to make one sick.”
Irene looked as if she was about to contradict her sister, but Thorne cut her off. “Your mama is a grand lady and, indeed, somewhat tart. Many strive to follow her lead. Now…” he said, before the waters grew any more treacherous. He lifted Lady Cecilia from his shoulder and caught her chin. “Do you think you can stay here with your sister whilst I see to Miss…”
“Elbins?” Cecilia whispered.
“Yes.”
After a considerable pause, Cecilia nodded. He set her on her feet as a knock sounded, and Peg appeared with tray in hand.
He dropped down to one knee before Irene. “Will you trust me, Lady Irene? Will you believe me when I tell you that you’re safe here? I shall set matters right—at least in this particular area.” There was not much Thorne could do for Lady Maudsley, for she was married to a monster. But he didn’t have to let their bullying governess run roughshod over her charges. Let Maudsley do what he would. “While I am gone, you shall entertain yourselves with Peg, and eat something, for God’s sake.” His tone came out a bit gruff at the end.
He was met with somber nods. “Brave girls.”
Mollified for the moment, Thorne made his way back the way he’d come with every intention of seeing Miss Elvins straight back to London. At the crux of a turn in the corridor, he paused. Miss Elvins was safe enough for five more minutes. His steps were silent on the thick runner.
Past the door of his own chamber, he tapped lightly on Lorelei’s. No answer. He turned the knob and glanced in. The room was dark but for a sliver of light stealing through a crease in the drapes. Only embers remained in the grate of the hearth. He couldn’t see her but was reassured by her soft, steady breaths. He crossed the threshold and walked to the bed.
His wife lay on her back, lips slightly parted, one arm flung out in the cool air, flaxen curls escaping their plait and strung over the pillow. The counterpane and sheets had slipped to her waist. The light allowed a tantalizing peek of her shadowed breasts beneath the sheer chemise.
Moving closer, he was drank in the detail of her puckered nipples. A rush of desire surged from deep within his belly straight down to his groin. His reaction was typical to her nearness. But he would not take advantage of her vulnerability again. That method had sent her running to the country in the first place.
Still, unable to resist completely, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles before tucking her arm in next to her body and pulling the covers up to her chin. He stirred the coals in the grate and tossed on more kindling.
