Never let them see you cry.
Strange that her mother and Mr Hawke should share the same sentiment. Perhaps it was a sign from the gods.
“Excuse me. I need to visit the retiring room.”
“Don’t let me find you in an alcove with your skirts hiked,” came her father’s coarse warning.
“Jacob,” Aunt Augusta muttered sharply. “As I understand it, it wasn’t Daphne’s mistake. If we’re to salvage anything from this debacle, we must show a united front.”
A united front.
Somehow, she needed to sever ties with these wicked schemers and put more than an ocean between herself and Mr Irving. For a lady without funds or reputation, it was an impossible feat.
“I’ll accompany you to the retiring room,” her aunt said.
“She can do the walk of shame alone,” her father cut in. “Perhaps it’ll convince her that a comfortable home with Irving is the best option all round.”
Itwasa walk of shame.
Ladies stepped aside as if scandal were a disease they might catch. Had they carried stones in their reticules, they might have used them.
But the prospect of Mr Irving’s damp, grasping mouth caused her to stiffen her spine and walk with the deliberate sway of a courtesan. It took strength to look ahead and not at the carpet.
If only Mr Hawke were her tutor.
If only she possessed a measure of his charisma.
As she made her way down the corridor to the retiring room, someone whispered her name, low and unmistakably male. Her heart gave a traitorous jolt. The thought of seeing Mr Hawke again set her nerves alight, and not in any respectable fashion.
But it wasn’t the indomitable Mr Hawke.
Lord Templeton beckoned her towards an alcove, waving a slip of paper as if it might entice her. “I have a note from Hawke.”
Her dratted pulse rose a notch.
Perhaps Mr Hawke had offered her a financial reward for being a pawn in his game. Wishful thinking. By the time she reached the lord, it was clear he had read the missive.
“Hawke suggests if it all goes to hell, and it will, you should seek out Lady Soanes. You’ll find no safer place this side of disgrace.”
She took the note from the lord’s hand and thanked him for his trouble. But he caught her wrist in a serpent’s grip and drew her closer.
“I have a better alternative, Miss Harland. A house out of town, away from prying eyes. Use of a carriage. Any fripperies you desire.”
Her instinct was to stamp on his toe and bloody his nose, but she offered a sweet smile, the kind that warned of arsenic in the tea. “How generous of you, my lord. But I’m already quite ruined. It would be greedy to take more than my share.”
Lord Templeton’s thumb stroked her wrist. “It’s a practical offer, Miss Harland. A promise you’ll be well housed and well kept.” He moved nearer than courtesy allowed. “No lady has ever found my terms lacking.” He tapped the note in her hand. “Hawke no longer assumes responsibility for your upkeep or your virtue.”
How naive she had been.
Was this how her life would be now?
Not one leering gentleman to endure, but a horde of them.
“I shall give it some thought.” She tugged her wrist free. It was the only way to be rid of him.
“I’m extremely wealthy, Miss Harland. I’ll more than match any offer you receive. Your father won’t object. I doubt he’ll live to see sunrise.”
Too afraid to visit the retiring room in case the lecherous lord followed, she tucked the note into her bodice andpromised to give him an answer by week’s end. Though she would sooner burn in Hades than waste another moment on this Lothario.
