Page 50 of An Honorable Deception
The baron wouldn’t know, of course, that Yates was studying each notch and matching it mentally to his own set of master keys. The key wasn’t the most popular one—but he’d wager number three would open this door.
A woman scurried away from the wardrobe as the door swung open, her eyes a mix of confusion, outrage, and something far more panicked. She wore a sari, but she had no kohl on her eyes, no headpiece, no jewelry.
There were, however, three tiny moles lined up in front of her right ear.
Samira.
She looked from Dunne to Yates and back again, the outrage building with each shift of her eyes. “What is the meaning of this? You know well his lordship is due—”
“In an hour.” Dunne’s tone wasn’t one Yates had heard from him before. Harsh, commanding. Though he flashed a smile at Yates as bright as ever. “I have no doubt you possess the wisdom to leave before that, hmm? And with perhaps a few minutes to spare so she can tidy herself up?”
Was it wrong of him to pray that before this was over, he had the opportunity to punch this man in the nose?
Yates turned his gaze back on Samira. He knew from Alethia’s description that she was twenty-seven years old, but she looked far younger than that. Had he passed her on the street, he would have thought her no more than sixteen. No doubt in part it was because she was so small. Perhaps five one, if that, and maybe six-and-a-half stone. There were a few lines around her eyes, yes, but if one wasn’t looking that closely, she could easily have been mistaken for an adolescent.
New unease unfurled in his stomach. He sent a questioning, uncertain look to Dunne. “Who is his lordship? Someone I should be concerned about angering?”
Dunne flicked a hand. “Leave him to me. He is a practical man; he’ll understand the importance of treating our newest patron well. If she suits your fancy? She is the last of our Indian stock, but we do have a beautiful Pakistani flower the next room over who ought to be free in a few moments. The look is similar.”
A punch in the nose might not suffice. He might have to deliver one to his gut too. Yates had never in his life got ina scrum that was anything but fun between friends, but his pacifism might not stand up to the Empire House. “This one will do.” He added a smirk for good measure, having a feeling that if any of his mounting thoughts of violence seeped into it, Dunne would find it normal. “He’ll never know I was here.”
“No!” Samira’s hand trembled as she lifted it, taking a step toward Dunne. “His lordship—”
“If he wanted you as a mistress, my dear,” Dunne said, flexing his fingers in a clear threat, “he oughtn’t to have set you uphere. Leave Babs to me. You take care of Lord Fairfax.”
Babs?He filed it away. No point, really, in trying to assign the nickname to anyone when Samira could tell him to whom it belonged momentarily.
Dunne left without another word. Samira’s trembling spread from her hands to the rest of her. Yates waited only long enough to make certain the man’s footsteps had taken him out of earshot, and then he lifted his hands, palms out. “This isn’t what you think. I’m a friend of Alethia’s—I’m here to rescue you.”
Her nostrils flared. “What?”
He strode over to the window and yanked open the curtains. “Blast.” It was barred. But the grate was ornate, decorative, its bars widely enough spaced that it clearly wasn’t meant to keep a ninety-pound womanin, but rather a full-grown burglarout. He nodded. “It can still work. You’re small. I’ll have to go out the front, but I’ll make my way below and catch you.”
“I am not going anywhere with you.”
He spun around, not because she sounded as though she doubted his story, but at the note of determination in her voice. His brows drew down. “Forgive me. I ought to haveexplained myself better. You see, when Alethia called at the Ayahs’ Home and you weren’t there—”
“Please, my lord.” She stepped forward, holding up a hand of her own. “SayingAlethiawas enough to tell me your purpose, I assure you. But it’s for Alethia that you must leave. Now. Pretend you were never here, that you never saw this. Tell her you couldn’t find me.”
Pretend it never happened. If only anything ever worked that way. Yates shook his head. “Why?”
“Because this has nothing to do withme. It’s about her, about controlling her—perhapshurtingher.”
“He’s already tried.” He still didn’t know whohewas, this Babs, but he was absolutely confident that whoever “his lordship” was, he had something to do with the attempt on Alethia’s life. “She was shot three times last week.”
“What?” Thetriedought to have reassured her, but Samira sank onto the edge of the four-poster bed, eyes glazed. “I didn’t think he would go so far. He only took me to try to force her to keep quiet. Prove he could still exert control. But he swore he wouldn’t hurt her if I came quietly!”
“She’s recovering, and he doesn’t know where.” He paused, shook his head, the pieces not quite fitting together in his head yet. “And how could you believe him anyway? Someone who would have a part in this?”
She trembled again, and this time she squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around herself in a clear attempt to hold herself together. “It was ... that was always the arrangement. Before. Me for her.”
The sick feeling that had been curling through him threatened to choke him now. “Before.” She had to mean when she and Alethia were a regular part of each other’s lives. She had to mean while they were in India.
But that would mean when Alethia was achild. Who hadSamira protected her from? Who had she offered herself to in place of an innocent girl? Someone who had been there. Someone who was now here. Someone whose name lent itself toBabs. Could it be . . . . no. Barremore? The name wasn’t an exact match, but nicknames rarely were, and it did at least begin with the same two letters.
Yates wanted to deny the implications. Wanted to think that no gentleman—nofather—would ever even think to harm his own daughter in such a depraved way. Would threaten to kill her if she revealed his darkest secret or use someone she loved to control her and make her stay silent.
But he’d seen too much of the world behind his Mr. A disguise. He’d watched Lady Hemming hold a gun on Lavinia. He knew that parents were as capable of atrocities as anyone else.
