Page 102 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“He threatened to expose my secret, which would ruin your name,” she said. “He said that he was in love with Georgiana and wanted to marry her, but if I tried to prevent it, he would ruin her prospects.”

“And you believed him?”

“It’s how most men of your class behave,” she said. “Men of the ton will treat a woman such as I like a dog if it gives them gratification. Those same men will act with gallantry toward the ladies they court. It’s what defines most men of the ton.”

“Devil’s blood!” James cried. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know,” she said quietly. “But rather than enter into a discussion on the worth of a doxy compared to a baronet, ought we not try to find Georgiana?”

James placed his hand on his forehead as if he were in pain.

Cordelia let out a sharp sigh and turned to the footman. “Charles, wake Edwards and have him saddle Atalanta.”

“Very good, ma’am.” The footman turned to go, and she caught his arm.

“Before that, tell me whether there’s anything you saw or heard that might shed light on where they have gone.”

He blinked, slowly, then shook his head.

“Might anyone else have heard anything?”

“Miss Georgiana’s and Miss Margaret’s rooms are on the other side of the house, away from the guests.”

“Then I must speak to Margaret.”

“Shall I send Tilly to help you dress, ma’am?”

Cordelia shook her head. “The fewer who know about this, the better. Can I rely on your discretion?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Stop!” James cried as the footman turned to go.

“What is it, sir?”

He glanced at Cordelia, penitence in his eyes. “Tell Edwards to saddle Hercules as well.”

Margaret was already awake when Cordelia entered her bedchamber, James in tow. The girl sat up in bed, her face white in the pale light of the oncoming dawn.

“What’s happened?” she said. “Is Georgie ill?”

“No, she’s—” James began, but Cordelia placed a hand on his arm.

“Remember the need for discretion,” she whispered. “Margaret, why might you think your sister’s been taken ill?”

“She was coughing all day, and I heard her saying…” Margaret frowned. “No, she wouldn’t want me to tell on her. She already thinks I’m a nasty sneak.”

James’s mouth set in a grim line. “Margaret, just tell—” he began, his voice harsh.

“You’re not a sneak, Margaret,” Cordelia interrupted, frowning at her husband. “It wasn’t kind of your sister to say such a thing. But we must forgive her if she’s feeling unwell. And you’d want her to get better, wouldn’t you?”

Margaret nodded.

“Then perhaps you might tell me if you heard anything?” Cordelia said. “Is that why you’re awake at this hour?”

“She…” Margaret glanced at James, who sighed and sat on the bed. Though he smiled, Cordelia saw the tremors in his body and the fear in his eyes.

“You’re not angry, James, are you?” Cordelia said.