The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(30)

“What did you just say?” Her eyes widened.

Instantly, he recognized his mistake.

“How do you know that my mama lost me? Only my family knows that,” she said in low tones. “Everyone else thinks Mama placed me with country folk until she married Papa and he adopted me.”

Faced with her scrutiny, he faltered. “I meant only that your parents must be worried—”

“That is not what you said.” He could almost see the gears turning in her head. “We knew each other in the past, didn’t we? That’s why you’ve always seemed… familiar.”

He didn’t want to lie to her. Nor did he want to tell her the sordid truth. “Primrose, I—”

The rapid approach of footsteps made him whip around. A fist pounded on the door.

“Rosie, are you in there?” a man’s voice bellowed. “Open this door at once!”

“Papa,” she breathed.

She dashed over to the door, threw it open. Two men stormed in, and she flung herself into the arms of the first. “Oh, Papa!”

“Poppet—thank God. We’ve been looking all over for you!” Ambrose Kent enfolded his daughter in a fierce embrace. “Are you all right?”

The second man looked over at Andrew.

“By Jove,” the Earl of Revelstoke said. “What the devil are you doing here, Corbett?”





Chapter Twelve


As the carriage bounced over the roads the next day, the storm eased, sunlight slanting through the fogged windows. Maybe the heavens had temporarily run out of rain—the way Papa had of words. Rosie’s ears were still burning from his latest lecture. His relief at finding her unharmed had swiftly transformed into parental wrath.

She knew she deserved it. Papa’s reprimands didn’t make her feel as ashamed as how weary he looked. Sitting across the carriage, his handsome face was haggard, shadows betraying his lack of sleep. As he brooded out the window, light glinted off the spreading silver at his temples. He looked tired and worn, and she was the cause of it.

She swallowed, wanting to apologize again, knowing that it would make no difference. What was done was done. When she’d left her family a mere four days ago, she’d been a girl. Now she was the widowed Countess of Daltry. Some fathers might rejoice at the prospect of their daughter making a fine connection… but not hers.

She suppressed a sigh. Papa didn’t give a jot about things like money and titles. The fact that Mama had been a wealthy baroness when he’d first met her had nearly prevented him from proposing. How, then, could he understand why his own daughter would choose status over love?

At the thought of love, her unruly heart skipped a beat. Her life was presently in chaos, yet all she could seem to think about was Andrew… Andrew Corbett. At least now she knew his true identity. Revelstoke’s revelation had been startling, to say the least.

Last year, Polly and Revelstoke had been brought together by mayhem: accused of beating a whore named Nicoletta, the earl had sought Papa’s help to clear his name. Nicoletta’s employer (and owner of the club where the crime had supposedly occurred) had wanted to press charges—and that owner had been a Mr. Corbett.

It can’t be a coincidence. Thus, it followed that if Andrew was that Mr. Corbett, then he was the proprietor of London’s premier bawdy house. He was a procurer... a pimp.

She had difficulty reconciling his profession with what she knew of him. Not that she numbered many brothel owners amongst her acquaintances, but she would assume that such men would be evil and heartless. Despite the tumultuous state of affairs between her and Andrew, she knew he was neither of those things. He’d tried to protect her from Daltry—had pursued her all the way to Gretna to do so. There’d also been times when he’d understood her like no one else ever had, when he’d made her feel so safe…

In fact, she was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t lied after all. If his refusal to marry her was indeed because he was trying to protect her—from himself.

You’re an angel, but I’m not worthy, he’d once said.

Had he truly rejected her for her own good?

Whatever the reason, his rebuff had hurt like nothing else ever had. Her reaction confused her, but no more so than his inadvertent disclosure that he knew about her being kidnapped as a child. Outside of her family and those involved, no one knew about that fact.

Was Andrew a part of my past? The question festered. After Papa and Revelstoke’s arrival, Andrew had met with them privately—she’d been barred from the proceedings (big surprise there)—and soon thereafter he’d departed. Without even saying goodbye.

Her frustration mounted. She needed to understand the truth. Her attraction to him went deeper than the physical. Somehow it was related to her history: the darkness that her family never discussed—that she, herself, had walled off.

Now the shadows were calling to her.

“Chin up, there.”

At the deep murmur, her head swung toward Revelstoke, who shared the bench with her. The earl didn’t usually pay her much attention. She suspected he didn’t like her very much, and she didn’t blame him: she’d acted like a spoilt brat when Revelstoke had declared his feelings for Polly rather than her. To this day, she was ashamed of her behavior.

At present, however, the earl’s handsome visage appeared sympathetic. Rosie supposed this was Polly’s doing. It was amazing how love had transformed the jaded rake into a man of sentiment.