Lydia’s voice raised in laughter, and she burst through the door, suddenly terrified that her nemesis had returned.
The room was warm—waves of heat coming from the crackling fire in the hearth, with stacks of wood waiting to one side. There were candles lit all around, putting a temporarily pleasant glow on their poverty, and she could smell the unbelievable scent of roasting chicken from the small room that served as kitchen and servants’ quarters.
She looked around, somewhat desperately, but there was no tall, dangerously beautiful man in sight. No one at all but Lydia and Nanny Maude.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Nell?” Lydia cried, jumping up. “The wood arrived just an hour after you left, more than enough to keep the kitchen fire going as well for weeks, and then the food. You wouldn’t believe it—flour and sugar and tea, fresh cream and butter. And chicken, potatoes, sausages. Nanny’s already made us scones. It’s heavenly.”
Not quite, Elinor thought, remember Rohan’s satanic smile. “There’ll be a price to pay for all this,” she said in a dour voice, stripping off the threadbare shawl and advancing into the cozy room.
“One I’ll gladly pay,” Lydia said cheerfully. “If I have to trade my innocence for a warm bed and a chicken dinner then I’ll do so without hesitation. This scone itself is worth any number of indecent favors.”
“Don’t make light of it, Lyddie,” she said sharply. “This isn’t an act of disinterested charity.”
Lydia popped the rest of the scone in her mouth, then smiled beatifically. “No, I suppose it’s not. But for some reason I doubt Lord Rohan would be the kind of man who’d force you, no matter how wicked he likes to think himself. I think he likes the thrill of the chase.”
“Lyddie darling,” she said, crossing the room and taking a scone. “He’s a heartless, soulless libertine. I doubt there’s anything he’d refrain from doing, simply for moral principles. He has no moral principles.”
“Perhaps not. I suspect he’s not the villain he pretends to be. He likes the challenge, the power. Using force would be too clumsy for him—he’d consider it failure.”
“You’re right about that much,” Elinor said. “But it’s not me he’d want. And I’m not letting any man—” she took a bite of the scone “—take liberties with you…” She took another bite. “I’m here to protect you—” she closed her eyes “—and, damn, you’re right. This is enough to make one surrender one’s honor in a trice.”
“Don’t use such language, Miss Elinor,” Nanny Maude said. “You’ve been spending too much time in these awful streets and around your mother.”
“Our awful mother,” Lydia said with a giggle.
“And I didn’t make the scones—they arrived along with everything else. Real Devonshire clotted cream, strong black tea from China, fresh strawberry preserves. Even the chicken was already butchered and dressed, ready for the pot. Someone thinks I can’t cook,” she said with offended dignity.
“Someone thinks you have way too many things to worry about and thought you deserved some assistance,” Lydia assured her. She twirled around the room, practically giddy. “Don’t you see, Nell? We have a guardian angel, and who cares if he’s a fallen one? I’m not afraid of him. You’re wrong—he has no nefarious designs on me, and you’re more than a match for him. If he has wicked motives he’s going to be sorely disappointed.”
Elinor couldn’t help it—the fire called to her with its siren warmth. She sank down on her knees in front of it, holding out her chilled hand, as Lydia brought a cup of tea—real tea—over to her and sat down beside her.
The heat was sinking into her bones, and for a brief moment she simply wanted to put her head down on the rough floor and weep.
“There’s someone at the door,” Nanny Maude said in her customarily cranky voice.
“Tell Lord Rohan to go away,” Elinor said. “We’re not entertaining guests at this hour.”
“It’s not him,” she said darkly. “There are a bunch of them. Probably come to take the things back. They were brought here by mistake.”
“Then definitely tell them to go away,” Elinor said, feeling somewhat giddy herself. “They’re not taking my fire or my tea.”
Jacobs stomped in from the kitchen, clearly annoyed with the lot of them, and opened the door. “More fripperies,” he said in a dour voice that couldn’t disguise his pleasure. “You watch where you put those things, laddie.” He moved out of the way, as a line of men entered the house, bearing furniture, rugs, mattresses and arms of