When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,89

her. She was fond of Sam. The thought of him alone on the dangerous streets of St Giles, without friend or comfort, made her heart ache. How many other boys like Sam were still in St Giles?

If only she could found her school…

Lady Holland rose and began politely taking her leave with her daughters. Lady Gilbert followed suit, and after dismissing Sam and Daisy, Messalina walked with her guests to the front door of Whispers.

“I’d like to stay a bit longer,” Freya said casually. “It’s been such a while since I’ve had an intimate chat with Messalina.”

“Then we’ll say our goodbyes,” Lady Holland said.

Lucretia, Freya, Elspeth, and Messalina watched the ladies enter two carriages, and one of the new footmen closed the door.

Freya turned at once to Messalina. “Where can we talk?”

“The sitting room again.” Messalina led the way back, conscious that Lucretia was looking curious.

Freya waited until they four were in the sitting room alone before turning to Messalina. “Out with it. Why are you so sad?”

Messalina closed her eyes, and the whole wretched story came tumbling out—how she had disastrously succumbed to Gideon’s wiles, the revelation of his lies, and the frozen politeness of their marriage now.

When she had finished some minutes later, Freya was silent.

Lucretia bent forward and poured a cup of tea and handed it to Messalina. It was barely lukewarm, of course, but Messalina drank it anyway, willing her fingers to stop trembling.

Elspeth said in a very serious voice, “Shall I kill him for you?”

Lucretia stared at her. “Have you killed a man before?”

Elspeth shrugged. “No, but I don’t think it would be very hard.”

Lucretia looked respectful.

At last Freya inhaled and looked frankly at Messalina. “What do you want now?”

“I…” Messalina frowned. “What do you mean? Lucretia and I will leave when I get the money.”

“That’s one choice.”

“What are the others?” Lucretia asked.

“You could stay with Hawthorne,” Freya said, keeping her gaze steady on Messalina. “This is where your family is, where your friends are. Do you really wish to never see them again?”

“He’s a lying rogue,” Lucretia said with quiet venom. “A manipulative, lying rogue.”

Freya inclined her head. “Yes, he is. But you see, I’m not the one married to him.” Her voice lowered. “I’m not the one who welcomed him into my bed by all appearances quite happily. Am I wrong?”

Elspeth’s eyes widened.

Lucretia started to object, but Freya held up her hand.

“No, you’re not wrong.” Messalina pressed her lips together. “But I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“I think you must’ve had some feeling for your husband. I think you may still have feelings for him.” Freya sighed and sank back on the settee. “The question is, is that enough to stay?”

“I…” Messalina swallowed. “I can’t stay.” She looked across at Lucretia. “We can’t stay. Our uncle plans to force Lucretia into marriage as well.”

Her sister went white, but she lifted her chin bravely. “I knew it. Nasty old man.”

Elspeth scooted a little closer to her.

But Freya nodded. “Then it’s settled.” She rose. “Remember, though, we don’t choose whom we love, none of us. You’re angry now and with good reason. He’s been despicable to you. But that doesn’t stop love. No matter how much we wish it would.” She looked at Messalina. “Do you love a lying, manipulative rogue, who likes to fight with knives?”

Messalina’s brain was awhirl with doubts and fears, base longings and feelings. “I…have feelings for Gideon, but I don’t know if I love him. And I can’t tell if all his talk was lies or the truth, perhaps hidden even from himself.”

“You need to find out.” Freya nodded. “I suggest you stay until you’re certain—one way or the other.”

* * *

Gideon’s tankard was empty. He’d long since finished his second round of coffee while Keys was gamely still sipping—and wincing over—his first. Across the room, Greycourt was sitting with Sir Samuel Peabody, Lord Hardly, and Rookewoode. Three of the men bent low over the table, their heads close together as they discussed whatever business they had. Greycourt of course was too proud to bend his head. He merely leaned a little forward, his long braid of black hair over his shoulder, that foppish pearl dangling from his ear.

Ass.

Gideon had never been particularly fond of Julian Greycourt, but after the man had set Messalina against Gideon, he positively loathed him.

Really, it ought to be easy to kill the man.

Instead he was wasting his time watching him.

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. Greycourt was clever, wasn’t he? And he moved in the highest