Page 72 of A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked 3)

She politely refused and at once drew from her pocket a letter—an opened letter. “I’m sorry to be disturbing you, my lord, but I felt you had better see this at once.”

He took it from her, frowning. “What is this? Who is it from?”

“You should read it,” she said quietly, nodding at the note in his hand. “I found it in Anne’s room—she was sent to the market this morning and has yet to return. I was worried—one of the other girls said she’s been seeing a beau—so I went into her room to make certain she’d not run off and left us. I found that on the floor beside her bed. I can only guess she must have dropped it.”

The way her gaze slid away told him otherwise, but he let it go in favor of opening the letter to scan its contents. What he read made his blood run cold. “How long has Anne worked for me?”

“A few weeks, my lord. I hired her to replace Gertrude.”

Bloody hell. He tucked the letter into his pocket. “I want to know the instant she returns. You’re to say nothing to her. Just come and get me. I don’t care about the hour.”

Her eyes widened. “Of course, my lord.”

When she left, he again pulled out the letter to read it over once more. Now he knew whose spying eyes had discovered their trysts and whose lips had told the papers about them; it’d been one of his own servants. What he didn’t understand was why.

Lucas couldn’t have slept if he’d wanted to, such was his anxiety by the time the housekeeper returned several hours later to inform him the girl, Anne, had returned and was back in her room. He dispatched the housekeeper and two footmen to escort her down.

Once she was seated and the doors closed, he came and stood before her, drawing the letter out of his pocket. The horror that filled her face on seeing it told him she knew exactly what it was.

“Who wrote this?”

She remained mute, her gaze sliding toward the closed door.

He put himself between it and her. “You will tell me what I want to know, or I’ll report you for theft and have you transported to a penal colony.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Now, who wrote this? Who paid you to spy on me?”

“Lord Grenville,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Shock coursed through him and made the hair on his neck rise all at once. “You will tell me everything you know. If you do so, I may find it within my heart to not have your entire family sent to separate corners of the globe. If you don’t…”

Words began to flow from her lips in a steady gabble, mixed with a lot of begging and pleas for mercy. In this manner, he learned Grenville had stationed men to watch his house just days after he’d had his little chat with Lady Grenville. When Anne had been hired, he’d seen an opportunity and had one of these men bring her to meet with him. She’d been paid handsomely to report back concerning his activities—especially those involving Diana.

It’s all my fault. He’d dug into Diana’s past, and now Grenville was evidently afraid he’d be exposed. Lucas kicked himself mentally for not having the forethought to ask Lady Grenville to keep silent about his visit and what they’d discussed. He’d likely never know what had prompted her to confess to her husband, but in truth the motivation for her betrayal didn’t matter.

All that mattered now was ending this. He wasn’t going to let the same man ruin Diana’s life twice.

“You have a choice before you,” he told Anne. “I advise you to think this through very carefully. You can be reported for theft and transported to Australia on a prison ship…or you can tell me everything you’ve told Grenville about me and Lady Diana and take the next boat to the colonies freely with enough coin in hand to make a comfortable life there.”

Two days later, Lucas stood on the docks at Liverpool as the packet ship Albion sailed away on the tide for Boston, with Anne safely ensconced in steerage with full amenities and a hundred pounds gold for her cooperation. He hadn’t trusted her to keep her word, and for peace of mind had insisted on escorting her himself rather than simply putting her on a coach with a couple of footmen. It had been a nerve-wracking, sleepless journey made in great haste, keeping the girl under guard until he could see her safely off.

Now he must get back to London with all speed. He briefly toyed with the idea of taking a room and traveling tomorrow morning, but a sense of urgency overrode his desire for a night passed in comfort. He’d sleep as best he could in the coach.

As he sat swaying in his seat and watching the hills and fields slide by, Lucas thought about what he must do. Everything would depend on Harrow’s cooperation. The letter he’d sent explaining Grenville’s part in Diana’s ruin and his current interference in their lives had been written with no way of knowing how far their plans had progressed. He only hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

On arriving in London, Lucas didn’t bother stopping at his house to bathe and change in case Grenville was still having it watched. Instead, he went directly to Harrow.

“I wondered when you would show up,” the other man said, greeting him warmly. “Your letter, while it brought me no joy, gave me hope.”

“I think we may be able to turn this around, if you’re willing,” Lucas replied. “I believe Grenville knows nothing of you and Laurent. In fact, I’m certain of it. Nothing the girl said indicated she possessed any knowledge of the goings-on in Diana’s household. She only witnessed me sneaking across the gardens to see her in the night. Which means there is a chance, albeit slim, that we can make this work.”

“Make what work, exactly?”

He’d arrived at his decision almost the moment he’d put Anne on that ship. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing Diana, but he knew she wouldn’t settle for anything less than a wedding ring. “I’m going to ask Diana to marry me.”

The shock on his friend’s face likely mirrored that which could be expected of all of Society. “You wish to marry her knowing everyone thinks—”

“I don’t give a damn what everyone thinks,” Lucas said with vehemence. “Not of her or of me. Other men have made wives of courtesans. Most of the people we know expect you to marry her when your wife dies. Why you and not me?”

“To begin, I’m in no danger of being left penniless,” answered Harrow. “Your father may not be able to disinherit you, but he can cut off all support while he lives.”

---