“I’m not agreeing they were personal attacks.”
“Any other?”
She took a deep breath. “I did fall into the Thames,” she admitted.
“Christ! Fell? Or was pushed?”
“The crowd jostled me.”
“You were pushed,” he said grimly. “And with all this happening you wanted to return to your miserable rooms in the slums with no protection? Just how great an idiot are you?”
“I’m perfectly able to take care of myself! I’ve done so for more than half my life.”
“It doesn’t appear that you’ve been doing a very good job of it,” he muttered, and the usual guilt swept over her.
She shrugged, knowing her face would give no clue to what she was feeling. “I didn’t feel I should kill myself after I ended up in a whorehouse, which was morally weak of me, I agree, but I was more interested in fighting back.”
She couldn’t see him that well in the fitful light from the nighttime city, but a flash of teeth made her think he might have grinned at that. “You are a fighter,” he said, and it almost sounded like admiration in his voice.
“I want you to take me back to my rooms,” she said.
She couldn’t see much more than his silhouette in the darkness, but he looked perfectly at ease. “No,” he said flatly. “Have Benedick and Melisande even seen that place?”
She was silent. “I thought not,” he said. “I’m already due a horsewhipping from my older brother—if I let you stay there he’d probably kill me. I’m taking you to their house.”
It could be worse, she thought, her brain scrambling for an escape. “And where will you be?” She tried to make her distaste clear in her voice, but she could only hear her own wistfulness.
“My house is closed up, with only my caretaker and his wife on the premises. It would take too long to open it up. I really should get rid of it—I have no intention of ever living in the city again.”
“What about your wife?”
“Wife?” There was no missing the confusion in his voice. “Oh, you mean Miss Bonham.”
“Do you have any other affianced wives?”
Just a moment’s hesitation, before he answered. “I’ll make suitable arrangements for Miss Bonham.”
She really wanted to hate him. “I’m sure you will.”
The carriage was finally slowing. When it pulled to a stop the footmen were already waiting, opening the door and letting down the steps.
She considered refusing to leave the questionable safety of the coach. Brandon couldn’t just haul her out, kicking and screaming, in the middle of Mayfair.
“After you, Mrs. Cadbury,” he said in a silken voice. Yes, he probably could. The sooner she appeared to be following his high-handed orders the sooner she’d be able to escape.
Sighing dramatically, she pulled her shawl around her shoulders and clasped her heavy satchel to her bosom, only to have it snatched away. “I’ll bring it,” he said.
The under butler was already waiting for her. “Welcome back, Mrs. Cadbury,” he said warmly. “Will you be. . .” His words vanished as he suddenly saw the man who accompanied her, and then his pleasant face turned into a dazzling smile.
“Lord Brandon!” he cried, momentarily ignoring her. “We had no idea you were coming! How wonderful you look.”
Brandon came up beside her and caught her elbow. “Good to see you, Michaels. Richmond sends his regards. We’ll be staying here for the time being—will you let the housekeeper know?”
“Mrs. Patrick is already waiting, sir.” Michaels seemed slightly affronted that he’d need to be reminded. “She’ll be overjoyed to see you.”
“I’m sure she will,” he said wryly. “It’s a good thing my sainted mother is so strong, or Mrs. Patrick would have insisted on raising me.”
“She’s very fond of you,” Michaels agreed in his precise voice.