Page 16 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

fifteen

The letter Emma was reading in the sitting room was perfectly polite, yet incredibly offensive.

She’d asked no less than ten reputable civil engineers to inspect the construction site in St. Giles, but none of them had agreed to carry out the job. The moment they’d heard Sir Horace was involved, they weren’t interested anymore.

Thank you for your consideration, Lady Emma, but please be more careful in the future and don’t consider my company or me if Sir Horace is involved.

She tossed the letter on her escritoire over a pile made with the other rejections expressing the same sentiment. Essentially, every engineer in London believed she was insane to ask someone to check Sir Horace’s work because it had to be perfect.

Sir Horace had cast a dark spell over London. Everyone was either charmed or afraid of him.

“Bad news, I suppose,” Trevor said from the other side of the room.

“I’ve received another, thank you but no, thank you. This is becoming ridiculous.”

“I hate to say it, but I told you so.”

“You don’t hate to say it.”

“No, I don’t. I quite enjoy it. It’s one of those little joys of life.” He put aside the document he’d been reading.

“How can Sir Horace be so respected?”

“I have a few theories in mind. None of them pleasant.”

“Like what?”

“A secret society of Freemasons? Magic? Secret lover of the queen?”

“Unlike Viscount Apley, you read too many books.”

The knock on the door distracted her.

“My lord,” the butler said, “this has just arrived.” He offered Trevor a silver plate with a letter on it.

“Thank you, Stewart.” Trevor opened the letter and read it, yawning.

“I have no choice but to study engineering myself,” she muttered.

He straightened. “Good news! The private investigator found Marcus.”

“Finally.” She shot up to her feet and ran to read the first good letter in a while. “He’s here in London.”

That hurt. He was in London but had never come.

Trevor grimaced. “The address is close to Seven Dials. He must be going through a terrible period.”

“We found him.” Emotion thickened her throat.

She’d hoped to see him again, talk to him, and make sure he was fine. Now a combination of happiness, relief, and guilt overwhelmed her. Not a day had passed without her wondering how she could help him. Papa had been horrible to Marcus, but she hadn’t fared better.

Would he be angry with her? Happy to see her?

Trevor held her hand. “You were right about the private detective.”

“I hate to tell you, but I told you so.” She sat on the armrest of Trevor’s armchair, an idea swirling in her mind. “Listen—”

“Oh, dear.” He exhaled. “What?”

“Don’t be so rude. I was thinking that we could find Marcus and ask him to be our impartial inspector of the construction site. We’ll hire him. He won’t be afraid of going against Sir Horace.”

“Likely, the opposite. He won’t be impartial at all. He’ll destroy Sir Horace out of spite, and even if he didn’t, Sir Horace would accuse him of that anyway.”

“I trust his honesty and integrity.”

“We haven’t seen him in years.” He waved the letter. “Seven Dials. If he lives there, he won’t be prone to show honesty and integrity towards Sir Horace. Hell, I’m not prone to after his comment on you.”

“Why are you judging Marcus without even having seen him?”

“Because only desperate people and criminals live in Seven Dials, and desperate people often become criminals. It’s the circle of life.” He drew a circle in the air with a finger.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She swatted his shoulder. “I still want his opinion. He’s likely the only one in London who would take the job.”

“And we would…” He glanced at her. “Repair some of the damage Father and I had done.”

Not only Father and Trevor. She could have done more, been more insistent, and stood up for Marcus.

She nodded, letting a tear slide down her cheek.

Trevor patted her hand. “There, there. You know I’m terrible at cheering people up. I’m far better at making them mad. I have my faults. Not many, but some.”

She chuckled, wiping her tears. “Let’s go.”

In his flat, Marcus took a sniff at the bottle of cough syrup the physician had given him for Jesse. He wasn’t an expert, but the medicine smelled of laudanum, yet the label read a list of harmless medicinal herbs and some flavours without mentioning the opioids.

“Does it taste bad?” Jesse asked, shivering.

“It shouldn’t. Syrups are usually sweet.” He gave Jesse a tablespoon of the drug.

Jesse scrunched up his face, his eyes watering as he swallowed hard. “De-delicious. I feel better already.”

“Does your throat hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” Jesse forced a smile, blinking tears away.

Marcus put the bottle aside. “I need you to be honest. If you aren’t well, you must tell me.”

Jesse fiddled with a corner of the bedsheet. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You are not. I swear. I care about you. We’re a family. So when you’re sick or uncomfortable, I need you to tell me.”

Jesse nodded without looking at him.

“I’ll give you more soup later.” He touched Jesse’s forehead, feeling the boy’s skin still too hot. And the chicken soup he’d made wasn’t great. It looked like a disease and tasted like disappointment.

The knock on the door caused them both to jolt.

Marcus’s clients didn’t know his address; they contacted him by sending a message addressed to him at the post office. Aside from an occasional neighbour or the local gang asking for money, he didn’t receive any visitors. Desperate people might attack other desperate people.

He stood up. “Stay here and be quiet.”

Jesse nodded, his blond curls bobbing over his reddened cheeks. The door to the small, narrow bedroom couldn’t be shut properly, thanks to a broken hinge, so he left it ajar.

He tensed, approaching the front door. He listened as a knock came again. “Who is it?”

The person on the other side cleared their throat. “Marcus? It’s me, Emma.”

Silence.

“Trevor is here as well.”

That voice. He’d heard it only in his dreams in the past years. Emma was here. It had to be a trick played by years of starvation and lack of sleep.

“Marcus?” Jesse whispered from the threshold of the bedroom. “Who is Emma?”

“Go to bed and close the door,” he ordered in a low voice.

He waited for Jesse to do as he was told.

“Hello, Marcus.” That was Trevor. “We’re sorry to come unannounced, but we would like to have a word with you if you agree.”

For a moment, he didn’t say or do anything. Lady Emma and her brother, the Earl of Pembroke, seeing where he lived was humiliating, to say the least. He’d never cared about the poor aesthetic of the mismatched chairs, the paint flaking from the window frame, or the smell of mould until now.

“Marcus? Are you there?” Emma asked.

Hell.

Jesse wasn’t visible. Good.

He straightened his tattered shirt. A hole ripped the fabric on his elbow, and the hem of his trousers was frayed. Nothing he could do about that.

Ignoring them wasn’t simply rude but counterproductive. He was curious to know what they wanted. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“I’m—” The rest of his meaningless sentence was cut off the moment he set his gaze on her.

Emma looked like an angel in a light blue gown with a matching hat and a pair of gloves. Her hazel eyes were guarded, and she clenched her purse with both hands, but her beauty hadn’t changed. Trevor must have grown a foot since the last time Marcus had seen him. He was broader, too.

Instead, Marcus felt as if he’d shrunk in the past years, becoming insignificant and thin.

Emma was the first to speak. “Marcus. I’m so happy to see you again.”

Trevor smiled broadly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Behind him, a couple of footmen kept an eye on the alleyway.

He wanted to ask her how she’d found him, but at the moment, his tongue didn’t want to work. He gave her a nod and held the door open for them. She brushed past him on her tiptoes as if scared he might snap at her.

Trevor removed his top hat and offered him his hand. “You’re a hard man to find. We searched for you. I’m so glad to have found you.”

Marcus shook his hand out of habit. “I’m happy to see you, too.” His voice said otherwise, and he was too shocked to talk more.

The aristocratic pair in their fine clothes and healthy bodies were a stark contrast to the utter misery of his room.

He offered them the chairs. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Not that he had fresh leaves. He brewed tea from the same leaves a few times before using fresh ones.

The two siblings spoke at the same time. “Oh, no, thank you,” Emma said as Trevor said, “We don’t drink tea anymore.”

“Really?” Marcus asked.

“No, I was joking.” Trevor chuckled.

“Great.”

Silence thickened like gelatine. They tried hard not to stare at him, but their gazes roamed the room and his body, surely making a quick assessment of the situation.

Their thoughts could almost be heard: Not a lot to eat. Not decent clothes. Likely he was riddled with diseases like a rat.

“How have you been?” Emma asked, causing a storm of emotions in his chest.

“These have been difficult years.” There was no point in denying it. “I moved around the country until I found a job in London.”

“Construction?” Trevor asked.

Not quite. “No. Apparently, no one wants to hire the son of a mass murderer, as my father was called.”

“That’s terrible.” She stepped closer, and he caught a whiff of her honeysuckle scent.

It instantly brought him back years when his major problem was to gather the courage to talk to her. Lady Beaumont’s perfume sickened him after one minute, but Emma’s scent revived him with fresh energy. And he wouldn’t mind smelling it on his skin.

He didn’t know anything about her life aside from the fact her father had died suddenly. She could be married for all he knew.

“We came here for many reasons.” She stared at him with a pleading gaze. “Not only to see how you were faring, but also to ask for your help and offer you a job.”

He didn’t expect that. “A job?”

“Since our father died,” Trevor said, “Emma and I have carried out a series of projects to develop our land and help less fortunate people live in decent homes.” He glanced around but didn’t comment on the state of Marcus’s room.

“We’re currently building new homes in the rookery of St. Giles, and Sir Horace is the chief developer of the project. ”

Marcus’s blood boiled at hearing that name. It was curious how the mention of Sir Horace changed his mood so quickly. “I’m not surprised. His company is one of the few working at the moment.”

“Well, we don’t trust Sir Horace’s work.

” Trevor lifted a shoulder. “There were incidents on his construction site, not fatal, and another bridge he was responsible for collapsed, but he was never accused of negligence. We tried to hire new engineers to inspect the construction site, but we didn’t—”

“Find anyone,” he completed. “No one wants to go against him. He has good friends in Parliament.”

“Alas, that’s what I feared.” Trevor nodded. “So we wanted to ask you.”

Marcus folded his arms across his chest. “I haven’t worked as an engineer in years.”

“But we trust you,” she said. “We fear that those homes have some major flaws that will put people in danger.”

“I understand, but you should find someone qualified for an inspection.”

“At the moment, we only need an expert who can confirm or disprove our doubts. You can stay with us while you work, or we’ll rent you a room if you prefer, and we’ll pay you, of course.” She stared at him with too much intensity. “Thirty pounds to start with.”

“Bloody hell!” Jesse was standing at the door to the bedroom, wrapped in the quilt. He coughed. “Thirty pounds! I’ve never seen that much money.”

“Jesse.” Marcus frowned. “Go to bed.”

“Thirty pounds!” Jesse coughed, his shoulders shaking.

“Who’s this boy?” Emma smiled at Jesse.

“My charge.” Marcus hauled Jesse up and carried him to the bed. “I told you to stay here.”

“Are you going to accept the job?” Jesse coughed again.

That bloody syrup wasn’t doing much.

“I don’t know.” He tucked the blanket around Jesse. “Stay here.”

“Thirty pounds. We could buy a whole flock of chickens.”

“Stay warm.” He took a moment to consider the offer. It was tempting, but the problem was Sir Horace. If he learnt Marcus was inspecting his construction site and meddling in his affairs, he would unleash his wrath.

Sir Horace would destroy him.

Not that it would take much effort to do so. Marcus was already broke financially and spiritually. But the man was capable of anything, and Marcus had Jesse to protect.

He couldn’t keep his work as an inspector a secret because, if he found something irregular, he would have to file a report, and without his legal name, it wouldn’t have any value.

So accepting the job meant openly going against Sir Horace, which he couldn’t afford. And he didn’t completely trust Trevor and Emma. They might be well-meaning, but he doubted they would risk their reputation to protect him. He would be better off accepting Lady Beaumont’s proposal.

When he entered the other room, Emma and Trevor were chatting in low tones.

She turned to face him. “Is the boy sick?”

He ignored the question. “Lord Pembroke, Lady Emma.” The formal tone caused them to tense. “I thank you deeply for the offer, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

“Why?” Emma asked.

“Sir Horace would destroy me. He’s a vengeful man, and I’ve tasted his wrath before when he stripped me of everything, and as I said, he has powerful friends. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk crossing him again.”

“We’ll do everything to keep you safe,” Trevor said.

Yes, of course, as they’d done years ago. “I’m sorry.”

Emma looked about to burst into tears, and he had to suppress the impulse to hold her. “Will you think about it? Please? You’re the only one we trust.”

“I’ll do that.” He probably wouldn’t, but he wanted to end the conversation.

She came closer again, and he had to ignore the quick thumping of his heart. “I thought about you.”

He’d thought about her as well. Every day, no matter how miserable, how hungry or how cold, she’d been his happy thought. But he never, ever thought of her when he was with his ladies. Bringing Emma into those moments seemed wrong, like soiling her.

“And…” She took a deep breath but didn’t add anything else.

“Emma, we should leave.” Trevor put his hat back on. “We must respect his choice and give him time to think.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said.

“But if you need anything, please come to us. I mean it. Do not hesitate.” Trevor put an elegant calling card on the table.

Marcus wasn’t sure if he would ever use it.