Earl of Sussex (Wicked Lords of London 0.50)

“Put that thing down. Where were you raised? In an isolated abbey in the wilds of Yorkshire? Did no one ever teach you manners?”

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Yes, my abbey was in Yorkshire. How did you know?”

He frowned. “But you just told me that you had a family. Four brothers. Parents.”

She nodded, her expression suddenly turning pained. “My mother died when I was five. My father passed on shortly afterward. My eldest brother, Thomas, became Baron Whitpool. He tried to keep us all together, but couldn’t manage us and the Whitpool properties, all of which were run down and plagued with debt. I was too young to help out, and my other three brothers were terrors even when under our parents’ strict supervision.”

She paused a moment and glanced around. “My lord, may I sit?”

“Of course. Forgive my rudeness.”

However, before he had a chance to pull out the lone chair that was situated behind his writing desk, she sank onto his bed and released a breathy sigh. “Thomas married a girl from a wealthy, local family,” she said, her slender shoulders sagging from the weight of her obvious unhappiness. “He hoped she would help him restore order to the Whitpool household. She did, by shipping me off to the abbey. I remained there until I was sixteen.”

“How long ago was that?”

Her big, sad eyes met his stern gaze. “Are you asking me how old I am?”

He folded his arms across his chest, needing to do something to distract him from the heat flowing through his veins and the inexplicable urge to hold her in his arms and protect her forever. Perhaps he was the one who needed protection from her. He turned away and grabbed his vest, putting it on as he answered her question. The more layers between them, the better. “I just saved your life. I deserve some answers.”

She nodded. “I suppose you do. I’m twenty years old. My brother, Thomas, died when I was sixteen. Childless. So his horrid ogre of a wife returned to her family a

nd William became the new Baron Whitpool. He brought me back home. By then, he and our other brother, Gideon, had established a shipping company that hauled freight back and forth from the West Indies. Sugar. Spices. Rum.”

“They must have been successful businessmen.” He’d learned much in running the Westcliff properties as well as assisting to run this establishment. Even if one hired excellent managers, there was no substitute for one’s own diligence and attentiveness.

“Yes, they were. William never gave up his love of the sea. Despite his baronial responsibilities, he often joined Gideon on the shorter trips, sometimes to Ireland and sometimes to Flanders. They were caught last year in a sudden squall off the Irish Sea.” Her voice turned tremulous and raspy. “Both of my brothers drowned.”

He didn’t know what to say. So many losses in so short a span of time. He had three brothers of his own and could not imagine how he would have handled losing any of them. He felt a sudden pang of remorse. He hadn’t seen his family in a while. Perhaps he would stop by his mother’s townhouse for an overdue visit. Perhaps he’d invite this girl along when he did. “I’m so sorry, Abigail. Truly.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“No, call me Tynan. Or just Ty.” That’s what his brothers called him when they weren’t calling him something worse. They all loved each other, but they were brothers, after all. How else were they to show their love if not by mercilessly pounding on each other? “Call me whatever you wish.”

He did not bother with formality.

There was no propriety to their situation, especially not now with her sitting atop the silk sheets of his four-poster bed. He dragged the chair out from behind his desk and moved it near the bed. Turning it around, he rested his arms on its high back and sat straddling the seat so that he could face her.

The chair’s high back served as a barrier between them.

A necessary barrier, for she’d somehow stripped away his irritation. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and comfort her.

In truth, he wanted to do much more.

But he wasn’t going to touch her. He’d promised.

She looked as soft and vulnerable as a gentle rabbit. His little rabbit. But he liked that she was also strong and spirited, ready to fight to save her last surviving brother. “Tell me more about Peter.”

What he really wanted to know was more about her.

Every blessed thing he could learn about her.

She curled her hands around the bedpost, as though the sad memories had cast her adrift and she needed to hold onto something solid that would serve as her anchor. “There isn’t much more to tell. He came home to take over the title and its responsibilities, but he’d been wounded during his military service and remains in terrible pain. The wounds never mended properly. No matter what the doctors have done to try to heal him, he awakens each morning in agony.”

“That’s how he ended up next door,” Tynan said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Each night he goes to that opium den to relieve the tormenting pain.”

She released a breath and nodded. “I want to take him home. I want to get him to the Whitpool estate by the seashore that he loves so much. I want to get him away from London and the bad influence of his friends. But I can’t do it alone and no one will help me.”

She gazed at him with her big, brandy-colored eyes.