Page 68 of Tender Blackguard

Before he could even finish his thought, Turner was shaking his head. “Although she’d likely be very enthusiastic to accept such a role,” he noted with another glance to Hale, who rolled his eyes, “she can’t. She’s already been seen by the other members at Lowndes’s party. Though a clever disguise might fool most of them, it wouldn’t fool Lowndes, who insisted on closely evaluating each courtesan to ensure she passed his high standards before bringing her in for the night. As soon as he recognized Portia, the whole thing would be done.”

“Blast,” Alastair muttered.

“I’ll do it.” The words came from the far corner of the room and were spoken in a firm female voice he recognized in an instant.

Immediately rising to his feet, he turned to see Lark standing in front of the access to the secret passage. The passage from which she’d apparently been listening in on their private conversation.

“You were not invited to this discussion, Mrs. Evans,” he noted coldly.

Her expression wasn’t the slightest bit contrite. “Yet here I am. And I believe I’ve something valuable to add to it, if I may speak.”

He wanted to refuse. To order her back to her safe little housekeeper’s room and her cozy little fire. But he saw something in her gaze, the intrepid boldness he’d always expected to reveal itself now fully and unashamedly displayed. Something had changed. Her desperate determination had been replaced by calm, focused, and fearless intention.

Admiration rushed through him, but he forced a heavy scowl. “I suspect I won’t be able to stop you.”

#

PRIDE TIPPED HER CHIN at his beleaguered response. He was right. She would’ve had to have been dragged out of there if he’d refused to hear her out. And though eavesdropping on one’s employer was an unforgiveable transgression, she wasn’t the slightest bit remorseful.

Though she hadn’t made it back to Warfield House until the sun was coming up that morning and hadn’t managed to catch any sleep before starting her duties, she was oddly invigorated. Seeing Harriet safely off with her new husband—a man of whom Lark couldn’t help but approve after all he’d risked to keep her friend safe—had finally dispelled the weight of worry and uncertainty that she’d been carrying for weeks. Leaving behind a new, emboldened purpose.

She’d heard of Mr. Hale’s visit shortly after he’d arrived and that he’d been accompanied by another man, whom Gideon had been unable to name. That in itself was an oddity considering the butler’s extensive knowledge of Warfield’s acquaintances and associates, but Lark was convinced the meeting had something to do with the marquess’s efforts against the men of Curzon Street, which meant she was determined to hear every word.

As soon as she’d been able, Lark had rushed to the library and slipped easily into the hidden passage. She’d crept along until she was behind the study then shamelessly pressed her ear to the concealed door.

She’d already decided she was going to help Warfield whether he wanted her to or not. But now, after overhearing what these three men had said, she knew exactly how she was going to do it.

Walking forward despite being the target of the marquess’s hard stare and forbidding frown, she knew he’d refuse her plan. At first, anyway. She could only hope the other two men might be easier to convince.

Mason Hale watched her with a half smirk on his broad face and curious glint in his eye. But a quick glance at Dell Turner told her nothing about whether he’d offer support or opposition to her plan.

Coming to a stop before the three men, she turned to the marquess. “I found Harriet.”

His surprise was evident for just a moment before he masked it with a cautious stare. “And is she well?”

Lark nodded as she linked her hands together at her waist and saw the flash of relief in his eyes. “She is. Quite well. Though if not for Dr. William Kirby, who has since become her husband, she might not have been.”

“Please, take a seat,” Warfield said, gesturing to the last remaining spot beside Hale.

The large man made a valiant effort to fold himself into the corner of the sofa, but it wasn’t really necessary since Lark barely perched at the edge of the cushion.

Under the focus of three intense gazes, Lark recounted the tale as Harriet had told it to her. Just saying the words out loud inspired another fierce rush of fury and determination. When she finished, she looked at each of the men in turn, settling lastly on the marquess. “After hearing what you’ve all said here this evening, I’ve no doubt what Lord Dryden had intended for Harriet. She managed to escape. It’s clear that many others have not.” Stiffening her spine, she kept her gaze steady and strong. “You must take me.”

“No.”

A single word. Sharp. Unbending. Final.

“You must,” she repeated, more firmly.

“No.” His voice was flat and hard while his expression became as cold as she’d ever seen, which meant he was working intently to conceal what he was feeling.

“Yes,” she returned. Calm and unwavering.

Warfield rose to his feet, every muscle in his body tensed in denial. “I won’t deliver you into their hands like a lamb to slaughter.” Though the words were spoken in a low, muttered tone, they might as well have been shouted for the sheer intensity they carried.

Lark sat straighter in her seat. “Do not mistake me for a lamb, my lord. I can handle myself.”

His forbidding expression didn’t falter. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

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