* * *
“And we’ll need to interview your fiancée,” PC Nicholls says. She’s around the same age as me, tall and willowy, bright-eyed and keen, scribbling down every word I utter. I drum my fingers on the dining-room table. How much longer are we going to be? I’m anxious to get to Alessia, my fiancée….
Both Nicholls and her boss, Sergeant Nancarrow, have patiently sat through the sorry tale of Alessia’s attempted kidnapping. Naturally, I’ve been economical with the truth, but I’ve kept as close to it as I can. “Of course,” I respond. “Once she’s recovered. Those bastards really roughed her up. If I hadn’t arrived back here when I had…” Briefly I close my eyes as a tremor runs down my spine.
I might never have seen her again.
“You’ve both been through a terrible experience.” Nancarrow shakes his head in disgust. “Will you have her checked over by a doctor?”
“Yes.” I hope Danny’s had the foresight to organize one.
“I hope she makes a quick recovery,” he says.
I’m glad Nancarrow’s here. I’ve known him since I was a child. We’ve had the odd run-in over noisy, late-night parties and drinking on the beach. But he has always been fair. And of course it was he who came to the house to inform us of Kit’s tragic accident.
“If these men have form, they’ll be on our database. Petty crime, more serious offenses, they’ll all show up, Lord Trevethick,” Nancarrow continues. “Got everything you need, Nicholls?” he asks his eager colleague.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, my lord,” she says to me. She looks thrilled, and I suspect she’s never had to deal with an attempted kidnapping before.
“Good.” Nancarrow gives her an approving smile. “Lovely place you have here, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
“And how have you been keeping? Since your brother passed away?”
“Holding up.”
“Sad business.”
“Indeed.”
“He was a good man.”
I nod. “He was.” My phone buzzes, and I check my screen. It’s Oliver. I ignore the call.
“We’ll be on our way, sir. I’ll let you know how the investigation proceeds.”
“I bet these arseholes were the ones who broke into my flat in Chelsea.”
“We’ll be sure to check on it, sir.”
I escort them to the front door.
“Oh, and congratulations on your impending nuptials.” Nancarrow offers me his hand.
“Thank you. I’ll pass your well wishes on to my fiancée.”
I just have to ask her to marry me first….
* * *
The water is hot and soothing. Danny has left to wash Alessia’s dirty laundry. She’s promised to be back in a wee minute. She’s going to fetch the rest of Alessia’s clothes from the car and bring her some painkillers for her head. It’s throbbing because Dante pulled her upright by her hair. Alessia’s trembling has subsided, but her anxiety remains. She closes her eyes and all she can see is Dante’s snarling face in front of hers. She opens them again immediately and shudders remembering the smell.
Zot. The stink of him. Fetid. Stale sweat. Unwashed. And his breath.
She gags. And splashes her face to rinse away the memory, but the hot water stings where he hit her.
Ylli’s words sound in her head.
“Nëse me pastruese do të thuash konkubinë.”
If by cleaner you mean concubine.
Concubine.
The word is apt. She doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but it’s the truth. She is Maxim’s concubine—and his cleaner. Her mood grows bleaker still. What did she expect? The moment she defied her father, her fate was sealed. But she had no choice. If she had stayed in Kukës, she would be married to a volatile and violent man. Alessia shudders. She had begged her father to stop the betrothal. But he ignored her and her mother’s pleas. He had given that man his word of honor.
His besa.
And there was nothing either of them could do. Baba would not go back on his word. He would bring great dishonor to the family name if he did. Her mother’s solution was to unwittingly put her in the hands of those gangsters. But now that they are in police custody, they are no longer a threat to her, and she has to accept the reality of her situation. While she’s been in Cornwall, laughing on the beach, drinking in the pub, eating in fine restaurants, having sexual intercourse and falling in love with Mister Maxim, she has lost sight of that reality. Being with him has filled her head with illusions. Just as her grandmother had done—giving her crazy ideas about independence and liberation. Alessia had left her homeland to escape her betrothed but also, in good faith, expecting to find work. That’s what she needed to do. To work, to be independent—not a kept woman.
She stares into the dissipating bubbles in the bath.
She hadn’t expected to fall in love….
Danny comes bustling back into the bathroom holding a large navy-blue bathrobe. “Come now. Let’s get you out of there. We don’t want you turning into a prune,” she says.
Prune?
Alessia rises. On automatic. And Danny drapes the bathrobe around her and helps her step out of the bath. “Is that better?” she asks.
Alessia nods. “Thank you, missus.”
“My name’s Danny. I know we haven’t been formally introduced. But that’s what everyone calls me here. I’ve brought a glass of water, some tablets, and an ice pack for your head and some arnica cream for your cheek. It will help with the bruising, and I’ve called the doctor to come look at that nasty bruise on your side. Let’s get you into bed. You must be exhausted.” She ushers Alessia into the bedroom.
“Maxim?”
“His lordship will be along as soon as he’s dealt with the police. Come now.”
“His lordship?”
“Yes, dear.”
Alessia frowns, and Danny’s expression echoes hers.
“Did you not know? Maxim is the Earl of Trevethick.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Earl of Trevethick?
“This is his house,” Danny says gently, as if talking to a child. “All the land surrounding the house. The village—” She stops. “He didn’t tell you?”
Alessia shakes her head.
“I see.” Danny’s white brows knit together, but she shrugs. “Well, I’m sure he had his reasons. Now, shall I leave you to get dressed? Your bag of clothes is on the chair.”
Alessia nods, and Danny takes her leave, shutting the door behind her. Stunned, Alessia stares at the closed door, her mind imploding. Her knowledge of the English peerage is limited to two Georgette Heyer books her grandmother had smuggled into Albania. As far as Alessia knows, there is no aristocracy in her country. In ancient times yes, but since the Communists had seized all land after the Second World War, the nobles that lived there had fled.
But here…Mister Maxim is an earl.
No. Not Mister. He’s Lord Maxim.
Milord.
Why didn’t he tell her?
And the answer echoes loudly and painfully through her head.
Because she is his cleaner.
Nëse pastruesi do të thotë konkubinë.
If by cleaner you mean concubine.
She sucks in a breath, wrapping the bathrobe tighter around herself against the winter chill and this distressing news.
Why did he keep this from her?
Because she is not good enough for him, of course.
She is only good for one thing….
Her stomach lurches at his betrayal. How could she be so gullible? Feeling raw and wounded by his dishonesty, she wipes away the tears that spring to her eyes. She’s been in denial.
Her relationship with him has been too good to be true.
Deep down she suspected this. And now she k
nows the truth.
But he never made any promises to her. Those were all in her head. He’s never told her he loves her….He’s never pretended to love her. Yet in the short time she’s known him, she’s fallen for him. Fallen from a great height.
I am a fool. A misguided fool in love.
She closes her eyes in anguish as hot tears of shame and regret course down her cheeks. Furious, she dashes them away and begins to dry herself briskly.