The Earl’s Error by Kathy L. Wheeler

Fifteen

W

orry surged through Lorelei. Corinne Hollerfield had been moved to the main house and put to bed, but her face was gray with pain.

“Rowena?” Corinne whispered.

Startled, Lorelei met Bethie’s eyes. Lorelei lowered herself into the chair next to the bed and took Miss Hollerfield’s hand. “I’m Lady Kimpton, Miss Hollerfield—Corinne.”

Her eyes fluttered, then opened. “Lady Kimpton? Brandon’s sister?”

Lorelei swallowed and nodded, as her voice refused to operate.

Confusion marred the girl’s brow. “I had a baby. Where is my baby?”

Lorelei forced the air to expel from her lungs. “You did. Do! You have a fine baby boy.”

“Where is he? Where’s my baby?” Panic edged her soft voice. “Where’s Brandon? Where’s my—”

Lorelei patted her hand. “Bethie is fetching him for you as we speak.” She darted a sharp, telling glance to Bethie. Bethie gave a sharp nod and rushed from the room. “Don’t worry, he is in good hands.”

“I want to see him. Now.” Her pitch was breathy. “Now.” Her pitch rose with each syllable.

“Please, please don’t fret, Miss Hollerfield.” Lorelei squeezed her hand. “He shall be here soon.”

Corinne’s eyes drifted close, and a tear squeezed past. “Where is Rowena? She would never leave me.” Miss Hollerfield’s eyes opened again, their bleakness terrifying. “Oh, God. You’ve turned her out, haven’t you? Because she is… she is—”

“No! No, I would never,” Lorelei whispered. But would she have? If she hadn’t learned Corinne’s baby belonged to Brandon? A large lump constricted Lorelei’s throat. And now, how was she to break the news about Corinne’s mother? What could she say? Dear God, how? “She… she chose to stay behind, dear. A-at the cottage.” Surely God would not punish her for the small white lie considering the circumstances.

Mrs. Wells appeared in the door, holding the child, with Bethie right on their heels. Lorelei trembled with relief. She stood quickly, directing the wet nurse into the chair.

“I-I wish to h-hold him,” Miss Hollerfield said faintly.

“Bethie, hurry. Miss Hollerfield needs our assistance in sitting up.” Lorelei moved to one side, waiting for Bethie to reach the other. Bethie’s put an arm about the girl’s shoulders and gently raised her up while Lorelei stuffed pillows behind her.

Mrs. Wells came forward, pulled the coverlet from the small, wrinkled red face, and placed him in Miss Hollerfield’s weak hold, supporting her arm with a broad one of her own.

Now that he’d received nourishment, the baby had fallen into a peaceful slumber, oblivious to his surroundings. He was so tiny. Lorelei took a step back, but somehow couldn’t tear her eyes from him, studying him from several feet away.

Could it be true? Was Brandon his father? He looked just like Brandon had at that age. Or perhaps that was hopeful thinking?

Miss Hollerfield mumbled incoherent nothings. She was much too weak to hold the infant without assistance, but Mrs. Wells seemed cognizant of that fact and kept her support firmly in place. “Your papa will be most proud,” Corinne whispered.

Lorelei’s gaze took in her weary features. Rowena Hollerfield, Corinne’s mother? The thoughts roiled through her head. It was clear why Rowena had hidden the fact she’d had a daughter. As a courtesan, the woman had to appear at her most advantageous. Men were not known for their ability to seek a woman’s inner depths.

They went for beauty. In every class of life. From the upper classes on down.

Lorelei should know. Hadn’t Thorne chosen her for that very virtue? In her class, women avoided the sun for fear of freckling. Calluses were gauche. A woman must eat like a bird, speak politely, listen attentively. The list was endless.

“She’s gone.”

The words seeped into Lorelei in a slow, waking nightmare. “What? No! She’s only sleep—”

Mrs. Wells leaped forward to catch the child from Corinne’s slackened hold. Her head slumped to one side.

Bethie darted forward, running her hands over the girl as Lorelei stood to the side, paralyzed. “She’s only sleepin’, milady.”

Lorelei gasped, and her knees buckled. She stumbled to the chair next to the bed and sank down.

She glanced at Bethie, her dear, dear general. A general who appeared set to topple with the slightest breeze. “Bethie,” Lorelei said.

“Take yerself to bed, milady. Agnes and me, we can look after Miss Hollerfield.”

Lorelei shook her head. Words could barely choke past her lips. “No. I’ll wait here.”

“Mrs. Wells is staying in the sittin’ room. Ye’ll just be underfoot, if ye stay.”

Lorelei feared Bethie was right. Lorelei was useless as a nurse. “Go, milady.”

Still, Lorelei shook her head. “I’ll stay. Go to bed, Bethie. A slight breeze could knock you off your feet.”

With a sharp nod toward Miss Hollerfield, Bethie commanded, “See if you can get some laudanum down her,” before stalking from the chamber.

Corinne’s eyes fluttered, sending a surge of relief through Lorelei. “Miss Hollerfield, Mrs. Wells will be seeing to the needs of the baby—”

“No—”

“Please, dear. It’s only to give you adequate time to recover.” Lorelei tipped her head to Mrs. Wells. The wet nurse slipped into the adjoining room.

Tears welled in Corinne’s eyes, and Lorelei hastened to reassure her. “Your child is within calling distance, Miss Hollerfield, should you wake and desire to see him. For now, however, I insist you rest. I shall send Agnes in as well.” She took her hand and squeezed lightly. “You are safe here, Corinne.”

Corinne’s lashes drooped to her cheeks, and Lorelei lay the girl’s hand at her side. Here in Kimpton, at least, Lorelei could give Miss Hollerfield the rest she needed. At the door, Lorelei stopped and glanced back over her shoulder, relieved to see not quite a smile, but less tension in Corinne’s young features. Would a man even consider a courtesan’s child? No matter. Lorelei would help this girl in any way possible. No one deserved what she’d been handed.

Lorelei drew a palm over her eyes. Her stomach lurched. There would be no easy way to tell the girl her mother was dead.

Silence filled the chamber, and Corinne seemed to have drifted into as oblivious a slumber as her infant son.

Then her eyes flickered and opened. “Might I have some water?”

Lorelei rose and went to the bedside table. She tipped a small amount of laudanum from its brown bottle into the glass and added a measure of water. She put the glass to Corinne’s lips. “Sip slowly, Corinne. We… we must talk. It’s regarding your mother.”

Corinne swallowed, and Lorelei gripped the glass. Corinne looked up with tired, weary eyes. “My mother is dead.”

“Yes, dear,” she whispered. “She is. I’m so sorry.” What else was there to say?

Lorelei set the glass on the table and gripped Corinne’s hand. She sat with Corinne until she was certain Corinne was indeed sleeping soundly.

After a long while, Lorelei escaped the confines of the chamber and leaned against the wall in the corridor, her eyes burning. A heavy weight pressed her shoulders, constricted her chest, as she considered the tasks ahead.

She brushed away a few minute tears and pulled herself up. Whatever reason Rowena Hollerfield had for hiding her child away mattered naught. Lorelei would assist the girl, and if the child did happen to be her nephew, then—

The clock in the foyer bonged, rousing her from her thoughts. Good heavens, ten o’clock. She’d forgotten Ginny’s girls, hadn’t even checked in on them. Lorelei strode to a flight of stairs that led to the nursery, determined to reassure herself they were well. Surely they were sleeping as soundly as Corinne by now.

A light flickered beneath the door, and Lorelei turned the knob quietly. Peg’s head rested on the back of the chair and her mouth was open, emitting a small snore. Lorelei looked over at the bed.

Irene sat up. “Lady Kimpton?”

“Yes, Irene, it’s me,” she said softly. “Is Cecilia sleeping?”

“Yes, my lady.” Irene sighed. A sigh that seemed much too old for her eight years. “She could sleep through a London street brawl…”

Quiet filled the chamber, and Lorelei moved across the room and lowered herself to the edge of the bed. “What is it, dear? Are you afraid?”

“No, but—”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you knew when my mother was coming.”

Lorelei swallowed and braced herself for her second fabrication in a day. “A few days perhaps.”

“Are you certain it will only be a few days? She was hurt badly, you know.” Again, the notion hit her that Irene was too young to be so old.

Lorelei reached for her hand. “I can’t promise, of course. But the moment I hear a single thing, I will tell you what I know. Will that help you sleep?”

Irene nodded. She opened her mouth but then snapped it shut.

“Irene, was there something else? You can ask me anything. I shall do my utmost to be truthful with you.”

Large eyes assessed Lorelei. She waited.

“Would it be too much to trouble you for a hug?” she whispered. “Mama always hugs us before we go to bed.”

Lorelei pulled Irene into her chest, her heart swelling and breaking at the same time. “Of course not. I shall be here any time you desire a hug.”

“Might I have one too?” Cecilia’s sleepy voice piped in.

Lorelei slipped an arm about Cecilia’s tiny body, encompassing both of them. “Of course, darling.” She grappled for control as her voice choked with emotion. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Yes.” Irene’s whisper was reassuring.

Cecilia nodded against her chest, and Lorelei slowly let go and tugged the coverlet up to their chins. She kissed their foreheads, and with a last glance over her shoulder, she slipped from the room.

She started for her own chamber, but too much had happened. She would never be able to rest, much like Ginny’s two girls.

A book to read would not be amiss. That should put her to sleep. A small smile touched her deep inside. For a woman who desperately wanted yet hadn’t had a child of her own, she found she now had three. She made her way to the library and pushed open the door.

Thorne stood at the windows looking out at the night sky, wondering who the devil would wish Rowena dead. There was nothing random about her death. Someone had slammed her head against the wall. That made it personal. An obsessive lover who’d followed her from London? That seemed the most likely. But he’d known Rowena for years, and one thing she was not was free with were her words.

A small portion of his brain refused to separate the disappearance of Harlowe and Rowena’s demise as coincidental. Murder in Kimpton was rare, and on his own property? Disturbing. Infuriating. He shuddered to think what Lorelei had almost stumbled upon. It sent an icy rage through him and chills up his spine. He glanced back at the door, hope dwindling that she would search him out.

Of course, she was exhausted. Still, he pulled out his pocket watch. Ten minutes longer, then he’d ring for Metzger to send for her. The scent of roasted pheasant filled the air, and he was starving, but he’d held off eating, waiting—hoping…

The door creaked behind him. His pulse thumped loudly, and he turned. Lorelei paused beneath the arch, surprise etching her features. Her gaze landed on the small table set for two.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said.

His words seemed to startle her into action, and she crossed slowly into the room. “With all the goings-on, I hadn’t once thought of food.” A small smile tipped her lips. “Etiquette dictates that I deny such a vulgar sentiment.”

“It does indeed.” His pulse slowed, and his own smile surged through. He moved about the table and pulled out her chair. “How is our patient?” he whispered against her neck. He leaned in and breathed in her soft rose scented skin.

A delicate tremble reached through to him. Encouraging.

“Patient? Oh. Yes, Miss Hollerfield.”

He made his way across from her and lifted the cover from the pheasant. He filled her plate, then his own. “What other patient did you think I meant?” He glanced up and saw her staring at her food, and immediately regretted the question. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to make light of—”

“Did you know that Miss Holler—” She stopped. “I mean the other Miss Hollerfield, rather, Rowena Hollerfield was the girl’s mother?”

He frowned. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

“She—Rowena—admitted it to me yesterday. But there was something—”

“Something?”

She shook her head. “I’m being silly. Of course, the woman was distressed.”

“I don’t believe it,” he muttered. The woman had been his mistress for more than a year, and that was more than a decade ago. The child would have been fourteen, fifteen? Not to mention Rowena’s age. She hadn’t been all that old herself at the time. Good God, she’d have had that child as a child! He glanced up at Lorelei. “You don’t believe her?”

Lorelei picked up her fork and shrugged. “What’s not to believe? She was terrified. It was heartbreaking.” She pushed the food around on her plate. “Still, I can’t help feeling there was something she was withholding.”

“Eat, darling.” Thorne paused, his own fork raised. He lowered it back to his plate. “Lorelei, I must thank you for your generosity. There aren’t many women who would have… have—”

“Assisted her husband’s former mistress in her time of need?” she supplied wryly. She took a small bite.

He winced. “Nicely put, my dear, but yes.” One could not stay on the subject of one’s former mistress and expect an amicable outcome. “How is the child?”

She smiled. “Fulfilled. The wet nurse was a godsend. I don’t know how I didn’t think of it.”

“How could you have when”—he paused, shaking his head, confused by this reaction—“you’ve never had a child—”

Lorelei’s fork crashed onto her plate. She shoved away from the table and stormed to the door.

“Lorelei, what the hell?” Thorne was on his feet and rushed to block her exit. If she made her escape, every door available to him would clang shut and locks rusted before any opportunity rose to pry them open again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him. “What is it? What did I say?”

Tears streamed down her face. He swiped them away with his thumbs.

“How could I have thought of a wet nurse when I’ve never given you a child?” Her anger failed to disguise the self-loathing, the anguish.

“Is that what you think? That I despise you because you haven’t given me a child?” How could she believe such a thing? Though most marriages were just that, based solely on alliances for money, positioning, prestige, providing an heir.

Her lips pressed into a grimace, yet the bleakness in her eyes pierced his heart. “And now my brother, whom you despise, has a son. Living under this very roof.”

“I don’t despise Harlowe,” he said gruffly. More like resented him. Resented his and Lorelei’s open affection. Thorne bit back a groan. Lord, he was jealous of her damned brother.

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m worried for him.”

“As it turns out, I am as well.”

Her head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

He dropped his hold and pushed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t put him on any ship. I didn’t send your brother out of the country.”

She stalked over to a plush settee and sat stiffly. “Perhaps you’d best explain.”

“I’ve spent the better part of this week trying to track him down.”

“Why?” she asked bitterly. “Your disdain has always been obvious. I don’t understand why you dislike him so much.”

“I told you, I don’t dislike—well, perhaps a little,” Thorne relented at her stony expression. “And after Rowena stopped me on the street last week, demanding an audience…” Fine. He’d lay all his cards on the table. What did he have to lose? Her. But did he even have her?

Thorne breathed in deeply. “I was prepared to ignore Rowena when I saw her on the street that day. Unfortunately, Lady Dankworth happened by with those two ugly mutts. You have to admit, any information she’d gotten wind of would be catastrophic.”

The tension around Lorelei’s mouth lessened. “Yes, well, I’ll concede that point.”

“She said she was carrying something. I didn’t know what the devil she was talking about, but she demanded I see her. When I…” Heat crawled up his neck. One should not have to have a conversation of this sort with one’s wife. He inhaled sharply. “When I went to see her as she demanded, she told me I was the father of her child. I told her we both knew I had not sired that child. She agreed but said no one else would believe it or care.” He blew out a breath. “The nobility does love its gossip,” he muttered.

Lorelei fell against the back of the sofa. “I see.” But her gaze narrowed on him. “But if she wasn’t with child…”

“She’d made herself look pregnant somehow. How difficult would that have been besides? A strategically placed pillow? Needless to say, I didn’t venture close enough to confirm. She told me the babe was Harlowe’s. So I set out to find him.” He shook his head. “Once I’d arrived at the hunter’s cottage, I was startled to find she’d gone into labor. She hadn’t even appeared at all that far along.”

“And how was it she ended up here?” she demanded.

Tenderness filled him. “I thought if the babe truly belonged to Harlowe, you would likely kill me if I didn’t offer her my assistance.”

Her lips formed an adorable pout. “That’s true enough. And as it turns out, it was her daughter who was with child. Miss Hollerfield went to great lengths to protect Corinne, didn’t she?”

The compassion in her voice was all the encouragement Thorne needed. He planted himself down next to her. “It certainly appears so.”

“You never knew about Corinne?”

“No.”

She seemed to consider his answer for a moment. “What did you learn about Brandon?”

Thorne winced and grasped her hand. “That he’s disappeared. No one has seen him for a fortnight. I’m sorry, Lorelei. I have runners looking for him. Something is bound to turn up soon.”

She looked down at their joined hands, nodding. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“You didn’t give me much of an opportunity, if you recall,” he said gently.

“I-I suppose not.”

He tipped her chin up, forcing her eyes to his. “I’ve a confession, however. I’ve learned some things regarding your brother.”

“What kinds of things?” she whispered.

“That he is not the tarrying fool I believed.”

Indignation flashed in her eyes, and she snapped her chin from his fingers. “Of course he’s not. He’s a very talented artist.”

Thorne thought of the various works that he and Brock had seen, both in London and now at Kimpton: the discreetly placed scythes, the odd variation in subject matter. The longing on the face of one lovestruck model. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”

Surprise registered on her face just before her eyes once again narrowed in suspicion. “What prompted this sudden change?”

Confessing he thought her brother a spy for the crown did not strike him as a particularly wise move. But likely he could confide some of his findings. “When Brock and I were searching your brother’s various haunts around town, I found his interests a bit more diverse than I’d previously suspected.” A slight hedge.

She sniffed. “I should think so.” She paused, then asked softly, “Like what?”

“Like—” He flung out his hand. “Like his interest in politics.”

Her bottom lip puffed out. “I didn’t realize he’d gained an interest in matters of the crown.” That made two of them.

Thorne was riveted by that plump lip. His mouth watered for the taste of it. How long had it been since he’d kissed her? Thoroughly kissed her? Certainly longer than a week, he’d wager. His fingers tingled for want of touching her. He could feel the blood pulsing through his veins, heating up. He felt weak with need.

Her eyes caught his, and he found he couldn’t look away.

“And you?” Thorne asked.

“What about me?” Her hand slipped from his.

Disappointment filled him—then surprise, as those slender fingers grazed his jaw.

“What interests you?” Terrified at the answer she might hurl in his face, he kept his tone light. But there was a sensuous huskiness he was unable to disguise too.

She leaned forward, and her lips touched his. A guttural sound filled the room. His. She pulled away, and surprised him with a small curl of her lips. “My interest?” she asked.

He lifted his hand and traced her lips with the tip of his index finger. Her eyes drifted shut, and her face leaned into his touch. His belly tightened in anticipation. He cupped the nape of her neck and tugged her into him. “Yes, you,” he whispered against her ear. Thrills tingled across his skin at her shuddered tremble.

Though he suspected she strived to hide it, she drew a quick breath, releasing it slowly against his cheek. All hot and moist. His cock stiffened. She was contemplating her answer, and the wait would likely kill him. So much to show her. Share with her, but to enlighten her with such lasciviousness would be to cut his nose off to spite his face.

“Well, shocking you, for one.” Her hand settled over the one resting in his lap.

His breath hitched.

She turned his hand palm up and feathered her fingers on the jumping pulse at his wrist.

“In what possible way could you shock me?” The countless ways filed through his mind, much like a deck of cards being shuffled. Despite having never turning him away, she’d never, in all their years of marriage, initiated their love-making.

“I might… lift your hand to my lips.” She did. Her tongue teased the center of his palm.

He swallowed. Hard.

She shifted away and faced him. He had divested himself of his waistcoat earlier, thank God. Her hands tugged at his cravat. It unraveled like an unknotted thread. Before he could catch his breath, her fingers started on the strings that fastened his shirt. She’d never been so forward, and he’d never been so excited. Cool hands slid beneath to his bare skin. Her nails scraped a blazing path along his ribs.

“Perhaps I would savor the stretch of taut skin over…”

He groaned.

“What if I—”

That was it. He covered her mouth with his. Drove his tongue into that sweet, hot mouth and devoured her. Over and over, he delved, unrelenting. Her soft compliance made the skin beneath his hands burn like fire.

She jerked away and stood.

He looked up at her, cursing himself for his impatience. Panting heavily, to his disgust. “What are you doing?” His voice came out cracked, hoarse.

In a bold move, she grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. “Take off your pants.”

Arguing with such a delightful demand was insane, but… where was this coming from? Had she had lessons beneath his nose, while he’d traipsed about London looking for that absent brother of hers?

But she didn’t wait for him to comply—she went after the flap herself. He locked his hands around her slender wrists. “I want to know what you’re up to,” he growled. “Where you’re going with this?”

“Really, darling, I would think experience would tell you exactly where I was going with this.” Her teasing tone threatened to unman him.

He pushed her hands away and finished the deed himself. He kicked off his boots, tore off his trousers, and stripped the shirt off his back, tossing it across the room.

Lorelei’s hand landed softly in the center of his chest. And pushed.

Stunned, he fell back onto the settee. She stepped between his spread legs, her silk skirts brushing the insides of his thighs, rustling softly. She dropped to her knees. If a man were to swoon, now would be the time. The barely coherent thought rippled through his head as tapered nails scraped the inside of one thigh. His cock twitched.

“I might be inclined to explore this area with a touch.”

“You would?” he croaked out. How had his lips formed the question? “What else?”

Her lips brushed his knee. “Perhaps a taste here.”

His knee tingled.

Her fingers drifted forward to a goal he dared never dream, reached dangerously close to…

“Or here,” she whispered. Hot breath touched his scrotum, then a flick of her tongue. “Or…” She slid her mouth up the length of his cock, which stood at attention.

“Lorelei, darling, please, I beg you…” Her mouth covered the skin of the head. Blood pounded through his head, his cock.

He would do anything to keep his wife by his side. Anything.

Lorelei had no idea where this sudden nerve had come from. An ache filled her, driving the unbidden boldness. She’d missed her husband. Even if he didn’t love her, the fact that he’d spent time and money searching for Brandon heralded her respect. He truly cared for her, her feelings. It humbled her.

His hands slid into her hair, and pins scattered. She reveled in the odd texture of his rigid staff, jerking beneath her ministrations.

“Lorelei, I need to be inside you.” His voice was pained. He didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled her from her knees. Fought her skirts. He ripped her drawers away and lifted her over his lap.

Oh, God. She needed him too. She was wet and beyond ready and sank down on him, gasping. She braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him. His breath heated her neck, and she gripped his hips with her knees. The first wave of passion shuddered through her in a burst of white stars. A scream hurled through her chest, but Thorne swallowed her cry, his response as urgent as her own. His hands dug into her buttocks, seating him deeper, his mouth never relinquishing hers, until his groan turned into a roaring, satisfied growl.

Lorelei’s forehead fell against his shoulder, her breath ragged and unsteady. What had she done?

“Thorne.” Her whisper sounded loud in the quiet library. Her hair must look a fright. His fingers tugged on escaped tendrils at her nape. His thumb traced her ear, her jawline. He brought her flaming face to his.

The lethargy that had taken hold shifted into another onslaught of desire. His tongue swiped just below her ear. His hands squeezed her hips and moved her to match his own twisting beneath her, his cock already hardening for another round. The rush of her pulse pounded through her ears, deafening her, blinding her to everything around her.

He tugged at the bodice of her serviceable gown, and moved his mouth over her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple. His hands moved up, cupping her head. He raised his lips to brush over hers… Then his hand stilled on her cheek, and her body froze. Something was wrong. “What—”

“Shush,” he whispered in her ear.

Then she heard it too. The front door in the foyer opened, then came rustling skirts and a muted command. Mortified, Lorelei heaved herself up, disengaging her body from Thorne’s.

A pained grunt met her ears. With Thorne’s assistance, she stood on shaking legs, her husband quickly pulling her bodice over her breast and righting her skirts. She spotted his shirt on the floor, near the table with their half-eaten meal. She dashed across the chamber, swooping it up and tossing it to him. He pulled it over his head. “My pants,” he said, stepping behind the settee.

“Oh. Of course.” She snatched up his breeches, but the door swung open. She dropped them at his feet and took a step forward, hiding him behind, and them beneath, her skirts.

“What the hell are you about, Quince?” Thorne barked.

Lorelei winced. “Um. Please don’t mind my husband, Quince.” She frowned at her husband, hurrying forward. “Whomever are you holding, sir?”

“I believe it’s Miss Elvins, my lady.”

Lorelei’s face paled. “Is she d-dead?”

“She’s alive,” Quince said. His glance shot to Thorne, and fire crawled up his neck. “Sir, what shall I do with her?”

Thorne was stuck. He couldn’t possibly move.

“Take her to the morning room, Quince.”

Lorelei guided the man from the library, giving Thorne the opportunity to pull himself together, as Mrs. Metzger’s voice filled the hall. “I’ve a room readying, my lady.”

Groaning, Thorne pulled on his breeches and fastened the flap and quickly donned his waistcoat, then followed the voices to the morning room. “Set her down,” Lorelei was saying as Thorne walked in.

Quince laid the girl on the divan.

Thorne peered at the unconscious girl, noting the protruding lump near her temple. It did indeed appear to be Miss Elvins. “I thought the chit was on her way back to London. What happened to her?”

“Mrs. Metzger thought the same,” Quince said. “I found her slumped against the gate.”

“Good heavens,” Lorelei said faintly.

Mrs. Metzger appeared in the arch. “The green room is available, my lady.”

The unthinkable assembled then reshuffled through Thorne’s muddled brain. He did not believe in coincidences. This, coupled with Rowena’s death, was too convenient to be random. “We should wake her,” he said. “It’s possible she was attacked by the same villain who did in Rowena Hollerfield.”

“Thorne. This girl is in no condition to be interrogated,” Lorelei spoke sharply. “Whatever you may think of her, she is still practically a child.”

It was difficult to argue that fact. Her hair had tumbled free from its confinement into a torrent of dark-red curls. Her closed eyes veiled the cynicism he’d witnessed on the carriage ride to Kimpton. Combined with her now lax features, Thorne could almost believe her younger than Corinne Hollerfield.

He’d lost any sympathy he felt compelled to share upon learning that said child had threatened to sell Maudsley’s daughters, one of whom was not yet in the schoolroom.

“Send for tea, Lorelei. I have questions, and I mean to have them answered.” She flinched at his tone. “Please,” he added, forcing a gentleness he didn’t feel.

Lips compressed, Lorelei slipped from the room.

Thorne leaned over, studying the girl. “Are you sure she’s alive?”

“Reasonably sure,” Quince said. “She’s groaned a couple of times, and that lump on her noggin is the size of a plum.”

Thorne kneeled down and tapped her cheek. “Miss Elvins?” He spoke softly.

She groaned and tried shifting from his hand.

“Miss Elvins, open your eyes.”

A moment later they fluttered, then settled on him. “Where am I?” she whispered.

“You are in Kimpton, Miss Elvins. You accompanied the Ladies Irene and Cecilia. We arrived earlier today. Do you recall?”

“Kimpton?” Her confusion was not feigned.

“You work for the Maudsleys.”

Fear replaced her confusion, and she started to move. “I-I think I’m going to be—”

Thorne barely reacted in time. As it was, her expulsion covered his and Quince’s once shiny boots. He stood, gaping at the absurdity of what had just occurred. Of course, Lorelei returned at that exact moment.

“My lord, I insist you cease tormenting that girl this instant. Whatever her past sins, surely Miss Elvins is in no condition for your query.” She stepped aside for the housekeeper, who was carrying a tray of steaming tea and sandwiches. “Mrs. Metzger, set the tray on the desk. I fear we will need your help further.” She pointed to the floor where he and Quince still stood rooted. “Perhaps we should send for Bethie.”

He’d lost this round. Exasperated, he said, “Just toss me a towel.”

The morning room was quickly set to rights, and despite the lump on Miss Elvins’s head, she appeared well on her way to recovery after having devoured most of the sandwiches and half a pot of tea.

Thorne opened his mouth to question the girl, but Lorelei quelled him with a dark look. He crossed his arms over his chest and curtailed his frustration.

Lorelei lowered herself next to the chit, arranging her skirts. She smiled at the girl. “Miss Elvins, we were under the impression you were on the stage back to London. You can imagine our surprise when Quince carried you in.”

A blush colored the chit’s face as she turned adoring eyes on Quince. It was all Thorne could do to keep from snorting his disbelief. “How old are you?” he demanded. Lorelei glared at him. “Please,” he added.

“Sixteen, my lord.”

Thorne glanced at Quince, who appeared quite faint.

Lorelei took her hand. “Can you tell us what happened, dear?”

She glanced at Lorelei then dropped her gaze. “I-I don’t remember, my lady.” The redness in her cheeks heightened.

Thorne scrutinized her intently. “Tell me, Miss Elvins, who accosted you in the woods? I would see justice on Kimpton lands.” She pulled her hand from Lorelei’s, and her fingers curled into tight fists, showing her knuckles white.

“I-I don’t remember, my lord.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

She was lying. Thorne knew it with every instinct he possessed.

“Thorne,” Lorelei whispered.

He ignored her. He covered Lorelei’s hand with his and squeezed. “Lady Kimpton will see to your comfort, Miss Elvins.”

A startled breath escaped his wife. “Yes. Yes, that is so, Miss Elvins. Peg will look after the Maudsley girls the next few days. You should be one hundred percent after a few days,” Lorelei assured her.

Thorne squeezed her hand again. Good. He did not relish Miss Elvins tending the younger girls, no matter how innocent she might appear. He stood, bringing Lorelei up with him. As luck would have it, Mrs. Metzger’s homely face appeared around the door.

“Miss Elvins’s room is ready,” she said.

He let go of Lorelei’s hand somewhat reluctantly and stood back. Lorelei assisted the girl to her feet, and Mrs. Metzger bustled forward to help her from the room. “Quince, perhaps we should check for other signs of intruders.”

Quince nodded and made a quick exit.

After all the excitement, Thorne felt a little awkward in the sudden silence. He let out a breath and pulled Lorelei into his arms, determined not to lose what little ground he’d gained. “Let’s get some rest, darling.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I need you in my bed now,” he whispered against her neck. He covered her mouth, effectively swallowing any further protests.