The Harlot Countess (Wicked Deceptions #2)(35)

Maggie frowned, a terrible sense of foreboding settling in her chest. “Has something happened, then?”

Madame clasped her hands together and took a breath. “One of my girls was hurt quite brutally last evening. I’ve had the physician round today and not only was she ridden roughly, the bones in her face have been crushed. An arm broken. Bruises everywhere. It’s . . .” She swallowed. “It’s terrible.”

Julia gasped. “Who was it? Who did such a cowardly, terrible thing?”

The owner nodded. “I have a fairly good idea. I was away last evening, as I’d gone to help my sister give birth out in Hampstead. Otherwise, I would have prevented it. But Your Grace needn’t be concerned; I have men in my employ who deal with that sort of thing. He will get his due, no matter how long it takes. I am worried about her.”

“Of course,” Maggie said. “The poor dear. She must be in excruciating pain.”

“She is, my lady,” Madame confirmed. “We had to sedate her in order to treat her. Now that’s worn off and I’m afraid she’s . . . well, broken in more than just her body. I sent for Pearl in desperation, that she might know of some way to help the girl. Some place to send her in order to recuperate. I cannot see how staying here in the house is helping.”

Before Maggie could speak, Julia said, “I know of the perfect place to send her. Bring me some paper so that I may write a quick note. And send word to the mews that Pearl may go, won’t you?”

“Who are you writing to?” Maggie asked her.

“You shall see.”




After failing to track Sir James down the day before, Simon entered Brooks’s and immediately inquired after his sister’s husband.

The attendant confirmed that Sir James was enjoying an early dinner. So Simon parted with his things and came inside.

He nodded in greeting to a few acquaintances as he strode through the subscription room. The crowd here tended to run a bit younger and faster than that at White’s, since Brooks’s hazard table was the stuff of legend, yet Simon did not spend much time here. He preferred the food and political conversation at White’s.

Lamps dim in the dining room, it took a moment to find his brother-in-law. Soon, he spotted the round, balding blowhard near the back, surrounded by three young men. James appeared quite animated, gesturing wildly while the others laughed. Was James telling them about his London orange grove, which had been obliterated in its first frost? Or perhaps the bee colony destroyed by mice?

God save Simon from stupidity.

“My lord, would you care for a table?” a servant asked at his side.

Simon shook his head. “No, I shan’t be long.”

In seconds, he loomed over James’s table. James glanced up, his face registering surprise.

“Winchester,” he started. “Why don’t you—”

Simon shot a look at the three companions. “Leave.” The men gaped and so Simon barked, “Now.”

Forks clattered and napkins dropped as the young men flew out of their seats and disappeared. Simon sat in the chair closest to James. He leaned back and signaled the nearest servant. The man hurried over and Simon gestured to the table. “Have all this removed,” he said. “And bring me a bottle of claret.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Now, see here, Winchester. I—”

“Do yourself a favor and cease speaking, James.”

When the table had been cleared and wine poured, Simon took a healthy swallow of claret. “I’d rather been hoping you had the sense to jump a merchant ship bound for India, James.”

James put up his hands and huffed a small laugh. “Look here, it isn’t as bad as all that. A small stretch of rough road. In fact, I have an idea—”

“No,” Simon snapped. “It is precisely that bad. Have you truly done it? Have you lost everything?”

Beads of sweat broke out on James’s prodigious brow as he leaned in. “I had a bit of bad timing on a few investments. It’s nothing I can’t recover from. I just need a bit of blunt to keep me afloat until I can get back on my feet.”

“Absolutely not. No more money, James.”

James’s face reddened. “And what of Sybil? You would see your sister out on the street?”

“No, my sister will always have a home. With my mother or even me. You, on the other hand, are more than welcome to sleep in the gutter, for all I care.” Something flashed in James’s eyes, but Simon continued. “Did she turn over the trust? Did you lose the money I set aside for her protection?”

“My wife and I don’t keep secrets, Winchester. She gave me that money without my even asking for it.”

Oh, yes, I am quite sure it was all Sybil’s idea.

“Any vowels?” Simon brushed a piece of lint off the white linen tablecloth.

“A few.”

Simon nodded. It was what he expected. He pinned James with a hard stare. “And the house?”

James swallowed, the muscles in his fleshy throat working. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment.

Bloody Christ. Simon fought to remain seated, to rein in the outrage rolling through him. How could James be so damned irresponsible? At his mother’s behest, Simon had purchased the house as a wedding present for his sister, then foolishly handed over the deed to James. But how could he have known—how could any of them have known—the depth of James’s stupidity?