“A welcome one.” Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I have no right—“
He touched her lips. “You have every right. We keep to our story. Cockfosters will no longer be a problem for you.”
“He won’t stop. If he doesn’t use me that way, he’ll find another.
He knows, John, and he’ll inform on us. I saw what he did to women when their men got into trouble. It wasn’t John’s fault. He wasn’t a contemplative man, and he never gave a great deal of thought to the consequences of his actions.”
“Which made him a good soldier but a poor officer. That and his lack of imagination. He followed orders. It mitigated against him in the long run, didn’t it?” His mouth gained a bitter twist.
“And you.” He closed his eyes briefly, sucked in a breath. When he looked at her again, his eyes were blazing. “I let you down. Let one of my men down. I grew so caught up trying to do the honourable thing and ignore you that I ignored the threat to you, too.” He drew her closer, pressed a kiss to her lips as if he couldn’t help himself.
“I’ll never do that again, I promise.”
Breathless from the sudden embrace, she felt a weight leave her.
No longer alone. She hadn’t realised the burden she’d shouldered.
Even with her husband she’d managed the practical aspects of their lives.
Guilt still burdened her. What could she possibly give him in return? Nothing but her loyalty, and total support. She didn’t know if she could give him a child and at twenty-eight, she was surely old to start a family. Her mother had shelled children like peas, one a year until they’d mysteriously stopped coming. Whether she’d discovered a preventative or they’d ceased having relations she didn’t know but the thought of giving up what she’d so recently discovered with John, this John, appalled her.
“It’s not your fault.”
He gathered her up, held her for a precious moment. “Neither is it yours. I’ll find him, pay him and that will be an end of it. If you ever see him again, or suspect you do, I’ll kill him. I’ve killed enough good men during wartime not to mourn the loss of a thoroughly bad one.”
She was about to tell him he must not do any such thing, but his last remark made a kind of sense. No doubt Cockfosters would find his end on the gallows, because few villains lived to old age, but she couldn’t think of one reason to deter John from his purpose.
He laid her down and covered her, his hands gentle. “Thank you for telling me. Now rest. I’ll have dinner sent up for you tonight.
Nobody will expect you to dress today after the shock you had. A nasty fall can shake a person.” He paused, smiled. “Sleep well. Be assured that if I stayed, you would get little rest.”
Although she didn’t think she would sleep, within ten minutes she had sunk into exhausted slumber.
John strode downstairs to the main rooms with a new sense of purpose and unexpected happiness in his heart. Faith would be surprised to hear that, but he wouldn’t deny it. She hadn’t taken advantage of him because the opportunity presented itself, she’d done it to escape an untenable situation. While he’d understood the need to stay out of poverty, the absolute requirement to avoid a man who would have put her into sexual slavery. He’d seen the bastard, and he had no doubt of the veracity of what he said. The villain wouldn’t have turned a hair.
She’d had no one to care for her, no one to miss her, should Cockfosters have taken her away to one of those miserable houses where women never dressed and lived on their backs, servicing so many men they lost count. Before dying of exhaustion, the drugs fed them to rid them of unwanted pregnancies, or disease. Or simply killed themselves from sheer despair.
The Faith he knew wouldn’t have given in. But she had nobody to rescue her. She’d had to do it for herself.
He’d tried to deter his men from visiting such establishments.
But he couldn’t fuss over them like a nurse, and as long as they retained their ability to fight, he couldn’t punish them. Likely this Cockfosters bastard had been the type who’d stripped him after the battle and left him naked to die. He’d have killed the man today, had he not had more concern for Faith and her distress. He promised himself that he’d hunt down the bully and his cohorts.
They wouldn’t put another woman into slavery, nor would they terrify anyone else.
The expression on her face haunted him. He never wanted to see it again, the helpless, desperate look.
He paused, his hand on his study door. A footman hurried forward, but he waved him away. He wasn’t naturally chivalrous, whatever Faith might think. His soldiering had come from a different part of his nature, the restless part, not the desire to see wrongs put right and the helpless protected. All too often the helpless turned on their rescuers, if the rescuer was naïve enough to expect thanks. These urges to care for Faith, to ensure her happiness came as new to him. Not for years had he felt that way, and why now still escaped his understanding. He couldn’t put it down to the desire he felt for her, which was, admittedly, explosive.
Tempting to put it down to finding an unexpected ally in this new world, but he was wondering if it was something else entirely. He shied away from that conclusion.
If he went after Cockfosters now, he’d go in anger, with the emotions of a man determined to avenge those he—there came that word again. No, better to give himself time to calm down, to work out a proper scheme. Cockfosters would have gone to ground in places even John couldn’t reach him. Give him breathing space, let him feel safe. Then strike.
He turned the handle and went in to his study, determining to lose himself in facts and figures for the next hour. They never confused him, or asked more of him than he wanted to give. A good soldier kept his head and coolly assessed the situation at all times, moving on when the odds were with him, not against him. A competent businessman did the same. A competent earl? He had no idea.
He crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a snifter of brandy. He carried it over to the desk, thankfully a substantial one, not one of those spindly things the dowager preferred that looked as if they’d collapse in a light breeze. He’d had some of his ledgers brought here and as he opened the first one he took a deep, appreciative breath of the familiar.
As he bent his head and picked up a ruler to run down a line of figures, a knock sounded at the door.
Suppressing his curse, because the irritation was his problem, not the fault of whoever stood outside he called out. “Come!”
A footman entered. “Mr. Roker is here, sir.”
John nodded. “Show him in.” Good. At least it was someone he wanted to see and he was exactly in the mood to handle him.
Roker entered, a book tucked under his arm. He swept a low bow, and John offered him brandy, which he refused. The niceties performed, John invited him to take a seat and waited to hear what he had to say. “I regret I was not in the office when you called, my lord. If you make an appointment, I will be sure to be present to receive you. Or call on you at your convenience.”
Exactly the point. He didn’t want Roker forewarned of his presence. A believer in instant inspections, he’d needed to see more than the clerk had allowed him to. He had no reason to suspect anything, he just worked that way. Plus, he hated the ceremony that surrounded earls. He longed to become Mr. Dalkington-Smythe once more. With any luck, Roker had found a relative closer than him, and he could go on his way. A long shot, considering he grew up as the spare’s spare.
“How wealthy is the earldom?” he asked.
Roker puffed up his chest, like a pigeon in his pride. “It is one of the most important in the country. Dalkington-Smythes have occupied every high office in the land, at one time or another.