Lady Alexandra's Lover (Sex and the Season #3) - Helen Hardt Page 0,70
“Yes, you’ve done such a good job of controlling me up until now, haven’t you?”
Evan’s face trembled. Oh, she had hit a nerve. No man would control her—not the way her father had controlled her mother.
“You will do as I say this time. Your sister’s safety depends on it.”
“I am the person who loves my sister the most. You cannot keep me out of this. She needs me.”
“She needs you here, where you are safe. That is what she would want.”
Yes, he was right about that. But Ally was not one to sit still, especially not when Sophie might be in peril. She would simply sneak out like she always did. And no one would stop her.
“Fine. But please, Evan, bring her back safely. I promise I will no longer be a thorn in your side. If you bring Sophie back to me, I will never bother you again.”
As much as she loved Evan and as much as the words broke her heart, she truly meant them. Sophie’s safety was paramount.
* * *
Evan’s heart pounded. He should have known Alexandra was behind all this. What would her mother say? Or his father? One thing was certain—he had to get Sophie home. His father would never forgive him if something happened to one of Iris’s daughters.
He wasn’t upset that Alexandra wrote erotica. He enjoyed such literature as much as anyone else. She had obviously written about Prudence Spofford and then used that name for her fictitious friend. The writing didn’t require his forgiveness. But she’d involved his business…
He sighed and retired to his office to think. Alexandra was wrong about no good coming from going to the address now. True, Sophie wouldn’t be there, but he could investigate, get to know the area. He would go. First, however, he pulled out the papers Woods had found near the front entrance.
The Ruby. And there it was. Confessions of Lady Prudence. He began to read.
My Dearest Amelia,
Forgive me for not having written in several weeks, but I had terrible sickness on the ship home. I miss you so, and I especially miss all the fun and frolic we shared whilst I visited you on holiday in the Americas.
I was no sooner back in our London townhome when Auntie Beatrice insisted that I begin art lessons. Amelia, I can’t draw a straight line to save my own soul. Art lessons? Truly? I dreaded the very thought. An hour several times per week listening to some old codger preach the virtues of light and dark hardly excited me, and I possess the artistic talent of a tomato. But Auntie would not be swayed. So yesterday, I began…
When Evan had finished, he was not only impressed, but also aroused. Alexandra had true talent as a writer. If only she had come to him first. But what would he have done? He would have refused to publish her stories. It was against the law.
No more against the law than prostitution…
He let Alexandra’s words fade from his mind. He’d deal with his own hypocrisy later. Besides, she had gone behind his back to use his business for the publication of the underground paper. He could not forgive her for that.
He erased Alexandra from his mind. Sophie had to be his main concern. He and a servant would go to the address now, before darkness fell, to see what lay ahead.
He summoned Woods and asked him to arrange for a coach and someone to accompany him. He then went to his bedchamber and changed clothing, something nondescript. He pulled his blond hair back in a queue so it would be less noticeable.
He stole down the back stairway to avoid Alexandra and made his way to the coach. One of his most trusted servants, James Lafleur, was already seated inside. Evan nodded to him.
“Thirty-two Chilton Place, please,” Evan said to the coachman.
Within an hour, they arrived in a poverty-stricken area of London. The coachman stopped, and Evan and James alighted.
“Gardyloo!” a woman shouted from several stories above.
James pushed Evan out of the way just in time. A splash of urine hit the ground.
Was this how Alexandra had grown up? Streets lined with garbage? Air scented with waste? Of course not. Longarry may have been a pauper, but he did at least have an estate. Or had they been so poorly off that they had lived in a similar area in Scotland? Longarry’s coffers had been dry for some time. He was no doubt attracted to Iris’s dowry.