Chapter Seven

A s the small cart rumbled over the cobbled streets of Mayfair, Hettie felt as if there was an insurmountable chasm between herself and Joss Ettinger. As there should be, she thought. It was clearly what he had wanted. Whatever his reasons, he'd decided that their intimate interlude together should have no significance, and pride would not let her argue the point.

When at long last the cart halted before her sister's home, she allowed one of the men who'd flanked it—some on horseback and others on foot—to help her down. As her feet touched the stones, she winced. She'd been off of them just long enough to forget how badly it hurt to put all of her weight on them. There were dozens of small cuts and bruises from running through the dirty streets and stepping on heaven knew what. None of them were too deep or severe, but that didn't make them free of pain.

As she climbed the steps and entered the sparklingly clean foyer, Mrs. Ivers, her sister's housekeeper, let out a sharp cry. "Heaven be praised! They've brought you home!"

Within seconds, the door to the small sitting room flew open and Honoria appeared in the doorway. With her hair wild and her clothing rumpled, she looked a mess. Well, a mess for Honoria, who never had a single hair out of place. Her wonderfully organized and fastidious sister wasn't the sort to appear in public without everything being just so. But she was a welcome and beautiful sight.

Honoria took another step forward and her expression shifted. Hettie sighed.

"It was the river," she explained, referencing the dank smell that accompanied her. "I'm not even certain it could be classified as water given the degree of filth it contains."

"Mrs. Ivers, have a bath run for my sister, please, and have one of the maids get her something of mine to wear," Honoria requested. Even then, she didn't stop. Instead, she kept moving forward until she wrapped her arms about Hettie.

More moved than she cared to admit and afraid of becoming an overly emotional wreck, Henrietta protested, "I'll make you smell, too!"

"I don't care," Honoria insisted. But she wrinkled her nose a bit. "Well, I care. But not enough to let go of you. Not just yet. I've never been so afraid in all my life."

That made two of them, Henrietta thought. And speaking of fear brought another one to mind. "Where is my husband?"

"He's at his home... and you will stay here. This will be your home going forward," Honoria answered with steel in her voice. "Now, let's get you upstairs. We'll get you bathed, we'll get you some clean clothes, and then we'll sort it all out."

Honoria stepped back, and Hettie knew the moment she had seen Mr. Ettinger. Honoria left her side and walked toward him. Much to his chagrin, no doubt, her sister grabbed him in a tight embrace. Honoria said something to him, the words pitched so low that Hettie had no hope of hearing them. But she could tell from his expression that whatever it was had left him very uncomfortable. His cheeks flushed with color, and he was so stiff and obviously discomfited by the exchange.

*

Joss had no idea what to do. He had river mud dried on every inch of him; his clothes were caked with it. And Mrs. Honoria Blaylock, a woman who was never anything less than perfectly tidy, had just wrapped her arms about him and murmured her heartfelt thanks for something that she ought not have had to ask for to begin with—someone to save her sister.

"You do not have to thank me. It's my job," he answered. The words came out stiff and somewhat sharp.

She stepped back from him, a smile on her face that gave her the beatific expression of a madonna. "I do have to thank you. Whether it's your job or not, I am grateful. And if there is ever anything I can do for you, Mr. Ettinger, you have but to ask. It's yours."

No wonder the Hound felt she needed looking after. "That's a dangerous sort of promise."

Honoria nodded. "Yes. That's a testament to just how important it is to me... how important she is to me. And now, you are as well. You are no stranger here. You were family already to Mr. Carrow, and now you are family to me."

Unable to answer, he simply nodded and turned on his heel to leave. It wasn't a question that he would be followed.

"What the devil has gotten into you?" Vincent demanded as soon as they'd cleared the front door.

The details of the night—and the morning—were not something he ever intended to share with his friend and employer. "It was a long night, and I spent half of it freezing my bollocks off in the sewer that is the Neckinger River. The remainder of it was spent trying to avoid all the people who wanted to kill us and trying to keep her ladyship from freezing to death."

The Hound's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How did you manage that? Keeping her warm, that is."

Joss shrugged. He had no intention of answering such a question. And he didn't think it was any of the other man's business. What had happened was between him and Hettie, and should it ever arise, her bloody husband. "Lady Marchebanks' bolt hole in the old warehouse. No one else has yet discovered it, and the box stove and furnishings, as well as the blankets, remain relatively untouched."

"Mm-hm. I know the quickest and most effective way to warm a person who is half-frozen, Joss. It's not a fucking blanket, either."

He bristled visibly in response, his shoulders drawing back and his jaw firming. Challengingly, he fired back, "She's home, isn't she? I found her. You've got the ones responsible for the deaths and for her abduction now."

"In theory. Did you—" he broke off. Beginning again and clearly striving for patience, the Hound said, "Prior to this abduction scheme, Lady Ernsdale was a virgin. It's not common knowledge, but it is a very important fact as she plans to seek an annulment from her shite husband."

Dread. That was the only word that could adequately describe how he felt.

The Hound continued, "But if she's no longer chaste, if her virginity cannot be proven, then she'll have no grounds for it. And you know that bastard will not simply accept it quietly!"

Joss shoved his hands angrily into his pockets. He was mad at her. He was mad at himself. He was furious with goddamn Ernsdale for even existing, much less making her life more difficult. "Whether or not the lady is a virgin is something you'll have to take up with her. My bit in all of it is done. And now, I'm going home. You'll be getting my bill soon enough. My very, very hefty bill!"

Joss turned and stalked away. He knew the Hound was watching his every step, but it didn't matter. What had been done could not be undone, and there was no fixing the muddle they'd made of it all. Why hadn't she told him? Why would she take such a risk knowing what was at stake? Because she hadn't been thinking, of course. Because she'd been through something traumatic, and like it would for anyone else, the rush of adrenaline and the need to in some way affirm that she yet lived had superseded all common sense. And whether he wished to admit it or not, he'd taken advantage of that because it aligned with his own purposes. Because it had given him what he wanted. In his own way, he was as bad as Ernsdale and her father. That sentiment did not sit well with him at all.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "Bloody everlasting hell."