Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(42)

“Lord Caire did not hold me against my will,” she said now.

Concord scowled. “Then what were you doing at his house all night?”

“Lord Caire was ill. I merely stayed to help nurse him.”

“Ill in what way?” Asa asked.

Temperance glanced down the hallway, toward the kitchen behind her brothers. Where was Winter?

“He had an infection,” she said cautiously.

Asa’s green eyes sharpened. “An infection of what?”

“A shoulder wound.”

Her brothers exchanged a glance.

“And how was he wounded?” Concord rumbled.

Temperance winced. “He was attacked the other night by footpads. One stabbed him in the shoulder.”

For a moment, both of her brothers merely stared at her, and then Concord’s eyes narrowed. “You spent the night with an aristocrat who gets himself attacked by footpads.”

“It was hardly his fault,” Temperance protested.

“Nevertheless,” Concord began pedantically.

Fortunately, Asa interrupted him. “She looks half dead, Con. Let’s continue this discussion in the kitchen.”

Concord glared at his younger brother, and Temperance thought he might refuse out of sheer contrariness. Then he pursed his lips. “Very well.”

He turned and stomped off down the hall. Asa gestured for Temperance to precede him. His eyes were unreadable. Temperance inhaled, wishing she could have this confrontation when she’d had more sleep.

The foundling home kitchen was usually bustling in the morning—it was only a little after eight of the clock—but today only a single figure sat at the long table.

Temperance stopped short in the doorway, staring at Winter. “Why aren’t you at the school?”

He looked at her, his dark brown eyes shadowed. “I closed the school today after searching all night for you.”

“Oh, Winter, I am so sorry.” Guilt swept away what little vigor she still had. Temperance sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I couldn’t leave him last night, truly. He had no one to help him.”

Concord snorted not very nicely. “An aristocrat? His home wasn’t crawling with servants to tend him?”

“There were servants, yes, but no one to ca—” She almost said care for him, but at the last second Temperance bit back the words. “No one to take charge.”

Asa looked thoughtfully at her, as if he knew the word she’d cut off.

But Concord merely pulled at his chin, a habit he had when distressed. “Why have you sought the company of this man in the first place?”

Her head felt achy and dull. She stared at Winter, trying to think of some probable excuse for her friendship with Lord Caire. But in the end she was simply too tired to prevaricate.

“He took me to a musicale last night,” Temperance said. “I wanted to meet someone we could persuade to become a patron for the home. We are in need of funds to continue to keep the home open.”

She glanced at Winter as she ended her explanation and saw him close his eyes. Asa’s mouth had compressed while Concord was frowning thunderously. There was a heavy silence.

Then Concord spoke. “Why haven’t you informed us of your distress?”

“Because we knew you would want to help, brother, even if you could ill afford to do so,” Winter said quietly.

“And me?” Asa said softly.

Winter looked at him mutely. Though they had debated asking Concord for help, they had never once discussed going to Asa.

“You never seemed interested in the home,” Temperance said softly. “When Father would talk of it, you almost scoffed. How were Winter and I to know that you might help us?”

“Well, I would help you, despite what you think of me, but at the moment I’m somewhat short of funds. In another three months perhaps—”

“We don’t have three months,” Winter stated.

Asa shook his head, a lock of tawny brown hair falling from his queue, and went to stand by the fire, separating himself from their family as he always seemed to do.

Concord turned back to Winter. “And you allowed this?”

“I did not like it,” Winter replied shortly.

“Yet you let our sister whore herself for this home.”

Temperance gasped, feeling as if her brother had slapped her across the face. Winter was on his feet, speaking in a grim voice to Concord and Asa was shouting, but all she heard was a muffled roar in her ears. Did Concord truly think her a whore? Was her greatest shame written on her face for all to see? Perhaps that was why Caire had made his suggestive comments. Perhaps he’d seen with one glance that she could be so easily corrupted.

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

“Enough!” Asa had raised his voice to flatten his brothers’ argument. “Whether Winter is at fault or not, Temperance is near fainting with fatigue. Let us send her to bed while we discuss this further. Whatever happens, it’s obvious that she can no longer see this Lord Caire.”

“Agreed,” Winter said, though he would not look at Concord.

“Naturally not,” her elder brother said ponderously.

Well, this was wonderful—all her brothers were in agreement for once. Temperance almost felt a pang of guilt. “No.”