Page 22 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

“ I have to go,” Honoria whispered as she shifted on his chest.

“Where?” he grunted and tightened his arms around her, refusing to let her go. She was not going anywhere. Not if he could control that.

“The servants will be rising soon.”

He smiled, his eyes still closed. “Let them rise.”

“I don’t want this to be the way they find out about us.”

He rolled them to the side, propping his head on his hand, watching her, drinking her in. “How do you want them to find out?”

She blushed prettily, lying there tangled in his sheets, her hair tousled on his pillow. “I don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you let me figure it out?” he murmured. At her raised eyebrow, he added, “Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” She brushed a lock of hair away from his face, and he took that opportunity to kiss her palm.

She chuckled. A beautiful sound.

“You are not working here anymore,” he said softly. “You’re fired. So you can enjoy your rest.”

She laughed again, stretching in his bed. God, she was beautiful.

“Truly?” she asked, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Truly.” He pressed a kiss to her eyelids. “Sleep.”

Her breathing deepened as she surrendered to the pull of sleep. Jacob swung his legs off the bed.

He needed to make sure her rest would not be disturbed. Needed to tell Mrs. Clarke that no servants were to enter his room. That Honoria wouldn’t be reporting for work—not today, not ever again. She was released from her role.

“Jacob?” Honoria asked, her eyes still closed.

“Yes?”

“Did something change last night?”

He turned his head to look at her, brows drawing together. “What do you mean?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him from beneath her long lashes. “How you feel about me. How you think about our future because of what I said. Because of the secrets I kept.”

Yes . It only deepened the admiration he felt for her, the respect, the love… “No. I never planned to marry anyone until I met you. So if we have to live in sin, I don’t care. You’re here. That’s all I want.”

She stared at him, and then she smiled, a brilliant smile that made something stir within him.

“Now sleep,” he repeated and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

* * *

The next few weeks rushed by in a blur of stolen glances, secret smiles, and nights that left Honoria breathless with happiness.

In order to avoid gossip as much as they could, Honoria pretended to remain under Jacob’s employ. She was no longer called a housekeeper, but the manager of the household—a title they had come up with together.

She had relinquished all her former duties except those that a mistress of the house might handle: overseeing menus, directing the servants, and seeing to the children’s needs.

Of course, nobody needed to know the true nature of her role, or even the title of her position, and the servants of the house seemed loyal enough not to spread gossip far and wide.

Jacob had moved her into the chamber adjoining his, the one traditionally occupied by the countess. The room had been aired and cleaned, fresh linens placed on the bed, flowers arranged on the mantel—all done in a way that spoke of the servants’ tacit approval.

Thus, by every measure that counted, she was the mistress of the house. Except on paper.

And in front of the guests.

Or Lady Somerville.

Right—she was not considered the mistress of the house by anyone outside of their little world.

Everything was clearly not figured out yet—there were many hurdles they would have to overcome, she was certain. But she wasn’t going to worry about any of it now.

She was going to enjoy the happiness she had been given.

In fact, at this very moment, she was enjoying a pleasant outing in Hyde Park with the children, the governess, and Lady Somerville.

The day was mild, perfect for a stroll along the fashionable paths where London society displayed itself in all its finery.

Elise walked beside Lady Somerville, looking more grown-up by the day in her new pale green walking dress, a tan coat hugging her form. Robbie and Rosie raced ahead, Mrs. Winters hurrying after them. Honoria trailed slightly behind, enjoying the sight of them all together, enjoying the contentment that settled in her heart.

“…I will be leaving in a month,” Lady Somerville was saying as Honoria caught up to them, her voice calm and measured. She tapped her cane against the gravel path for emphasis. “My granddaughter’s confinement approaches, and I must be present for the birth of my first great-grandchild.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Elise said, slipping her arm through the older woman’s.

“I know, dear. Me too.” Lady Somerville patted Elise’s hand. “But my Cecily needs me. Otherwise, I would have stayed in London forever. Besides,” she added with satisfaction, “I think I’ve accomplished everything I needed to accomplish this season. Prepared you, dear Elise, for the ton events, bought you a wardrobe befitting a queen. Reintroduced Caldwell to society.” She nodded decisively. “I think your first season will be a huge success.”

“Thank you.” Elise beamed. “But I thought you wanted to find Uncle a wife, too?” Elise teased.

Honoria felt heat rise to her face.

Lady Somerville harrumphed, though her eyes twinkled. “A man as stubborn as Caldwell will do as he pleases.” She paused, her gaze flicking to Honoria. “But I feel I’ve done what I had to do in that regard, as well.”

Honoria didn’t dare react, though she was certain her skin had taken on the hue of vermilion. Had the dowager marchioness always intended for her and Caldwell to be brought together? Was that the very reason she had so persistently encouraged Honoria’s presence on their social outings?

She looked away, unable to meet Elise’s or Lady Somerville’s gaze—and instantly regretted it.

Because walking toward them was her husband.

Bradshaw.

Even from a distance, she would recognize that posture, that confident stride that had once made her young heart flutter and later made it clench with dread.

His arm was linked with a woman’s—his new wife, she presumed—and they advanced closer and closer with every step. The couple nodded to acquaintances, the very picture of aristocratic contentment. Bradshaw laughed at something his companion said, the sound carrying across the path. Honoria’s stomach twisted at the sound.

There was no way to escape. They were too close now, and turning away would only draw attention. Panic rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.

Honoria moved behind Elise, using the girl’s tall bonnet as a shield, turning her head just slightly so he wouldn’t see her face. Not that he looked in her direction—she was invisible to him in her unassuming clothes and with a hat covering half her face. Just another servant or companion, beneath his notice.

Lady Somerville, recognizing the couple, stopped to exchange greetings, as etiquette demanded. Honoria kept her eyes downcast, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it.

The woman—Bradshaw’s new wife—stood quietly by his side, while Bradshaw was loud and obnoxious, just as Honoria remembered.

Leaving Lady Somerville to converse with the couple, Honoria looped her arm through Elise’s and led her away.

Once she passed the couple, Honoria couldn’t help her curiosity. She slowed to study her husband’s new wife.

She only saw her from the side, but it was enough to recognize that the woman was tall, elegant, and with a regal air. Her clothing was overly modest, covering almost every inch of her body except her face. There was nothing wrong with that—the weather was still cold, and fashion dictated modesty.

Yet something familiar nagged at Honoria’s stomach. She glanced up and noted a dark line on the woman’s neck, just visible above her collar when she turned her head to speak to her husband.

Not enough to draw the attention of anyone but a woman who had gone through what Honoria had.

They looked like bruises.

She could not be certain, of course. She didn’t have the time to study the woman in detail. Nor could she, not from a distance, and certainly not without removing her coat and collar.

They moved on a few moments later, rejoining the flow of fashionable society along the park paths. But Honoria’s mind was stuck on the woman behind her, leaving on the arm of her husband, who still haunted Honoria’s nightmares.

Was she suffering the same fate as Honoria had?

Was she forever tied to the man who would one day kill her?

Was Honoria dooming her by hiding in the shadows?

* * *

That night, Honoria couldn’t sleep. The sheets that normally cocooned her in comfort now felt restrictive, almost suffocating. Her mind kept returning to Bradshaw’s wife.

Now, in the quiet sanctuary of Jacob’s bedchamber, she allowed herself to analyze everything she had observed. Lady Bradshaw’s gaze had been blank—resigned, even. She moved stiffly—Honoria had initially thought it regal, but perhaps there was a more sinister reason for her ramrod-straight posture. Perhaps her ribs hurt the same way Honoria’s had after Bradshaw’s rage had manifested physically years ago.

And those bruises on her neck, concealed by the high neckline of her day gown…

She wasn’t certain of any of it, of course. She could have been wrong. Perhaps she was imagining things, letting her view of Bradshaw cloud her reason.

But it wasn’t that big of a leap to assume Bradshaw wasn’t treating his new wife any better than he had treated his first. The thought made her stomach twist.

“What are you thinking about?” Jacob asked, though he hadn’t opened his eyes.

Honoria started slightly, turning to face him. “How did you know I wasn’t asleep?”

“I can feel your mind working.” He turned toward her then, his face illuminated by the pale glow of moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. His eyes, now open, studied her with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Honoria drew a shaky breath. “I saw Bradshaw today.”

Jacob tensed immediately, his body going rigid beside her. His warm, protective hand covered hers. “We can leave for the country if you wish,” he offered without hesitation.

“No, it’s not that.” Honoria turned her palm, lacing her fingers with his. “It’s his wife. I think… I can’t prove it, of course, but I think she has bruises.”

Jacob propped himself up on one elbow, fully alert now. “You’re saying she is being mistreated—like you were,” he said, his voice dark.

“Yes, but I don’t know how to be certain.”

Jacob fell silent, and Honoria could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. She had seen him do this countless times with business problems—examining each angle until the best course revealed itself. Finally, he said decisively, “I can invite him to dinner.”

“Pardon?” Honoria blinked, hoping she had misheard him.

“Just listen.” He squeezed her hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. “I can invite him and his wife, along with another couple, for a small, intimate dinner. Under the pretense of discussing business opportunities. You can stay hidden for the early part of the evening, but after dinner, when the men retire for cigars and the ladies for tea, you could join them and observe her more closely. Maybe even speak to her.”

Honoria bit her lower lip, considering. “How am I supposed to start that conversation? And if she’s dressed from head to toe again, I’m not sure it will help.” But even as she voiced her doubts, plans began to form in her mind. “Perhaps I could spill something on her clothes, accidentally of course, and offer to help her clean up. That way, I might see if there are bruises. And maybe I could ask her about it. Or…” She let out a frustrated sigh, her free hand gripping the bedsheet. “I’ll have to think on it. But that could work.”

“You want me to invite them, then?” Jacob’s voice was calm, steady, offering her control in a situation that felt wildly out of her hands.

She nodded. “Yes. But promise me you won’t punch Bradshaw in the face?”

Jacob was quiet for a beat, then exhaled, his muscles relaxing slightly. “I will do my best.”

“Thank you.” Honoria turned to lie on her back, mentally sketching the outlines of their plan.

“Honoria,” Jacob said again after a moment, his voice deep and thoughtful, carrying a note of caution.

“Yes?” She turned to him, noting the serious set of his jaw in the moonlight.

“And what if she does have bruises?” His eyes held hers, unflinching. “What are you going to do about it?”

Honoria swallowed hard.

If she had absolute proof that he was hurting another woman—if she held the key to that woman’s escape…

She knew what she would have to do.

But she prayed she wouldn’t have to.