Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (The Husband Hunters Club 5)

Invitingly so.

She told herself she would be perfectly safe. She’d met Sally Jakes, and the woman had been a friend of her mother, why would she want to hurt Averil? But then she also remembered the fear in Violet’s eyes, and her secretiveness. Women had gone missing; one had died. Was it really a good idea to go inside, alone?

But how could Averil not go in? She was fond of Viol

et, and there was something very wrong. She knew it. Sensed it. She must follow.

She climbed the steps as if she had every right to be there, and pushed the door open. It creaked, but no one came to see who she was. Inside, the closest downstairs areas were empty, although she thought she could hear someone whistling in the far room, and the sound of water swishing followed by the slap of a mop on the floor. Averil looked up the stairs, where Sally’s office was situated.

My dear young lady, you are beautifully formed, and far from being too fat, I find your proportions exactly to my taste.

“Stop it!” she hissed, and then froze as the words reverberated about her. How could she remember his words so exactly, down to the timbre of his voice and the gleam in his dark eyes, and that wicked smile lurking on his lips? It wasn’t fair. She’d believed in him so completely and he had deceived her.

But had he really? The mocking tone of her inner voice made her frown. I mean, you knew he had no money. Although he never actually came out and told you so, you knew. You thought he was too proud to tell you, and perhaps he was. But you knew.

“That’s ridiculous,” she muttered, “now stop it.” She climbed the stairs to the landing, peering ahead down the corridor.

Was that where Violet had gone? To Sally Jakes’s office? It seemed likely. Averil decided she would go and look, and if there was no one there then she would leave. Just one little look, just to be sure Violet was safe. There couldn’t be any harm in that, surely?

It was quiet up there, until she reached Sally’s office. Again the door was slightly ajar but this time she didn’t want to go straight in. Not once she heard Jackson’s voice. But curiosity and a shaky sense of panic kept her standing there. Frozen. Listening.

“Nah, they don’t have a clue,” Jackson sneered, and she could hear the creak of the chair he was sitting in. “No need to worry yet, Sal. Vi here doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.”

“Not much I don’t!” It was Violet, and she sounded upset. “They know what you’re up to, or they soon will.”

A silence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sally asked in a quiet, menacing voice that sent a chill down Averil’s spine.

“You’d better not tell ’em,” Jackson said with equal menace. “If you tell ’em then Sally loses out. Don’t you, Sal? Just ’cause you’re her daughter, Vi, don’t mean you can do what you like.”

“That’s enough, Jackson,” Sally spoke sharply. “Violet knows better than to talk out of turn. One day all of this will be ’ers. What girl wouldn’t like all the brass I can give ’er? She’s a lucky girl, is Vi.”

“Who says I want it?” Violet’s voice trembled with bravado, but to Averil she simply sounded young and frightened.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” Sally said softly. “I suppose we’re not good enough for you now, is that it? Stayin’ with lords and ladies, all lah-de-dah. Well, if you think you can sneer at your mother and all her ’ard work, think again. You’re not going back to that bloody ’ome. You’re finished with it and you can tell ’em so. From now on you’ll be working ’ere with me. ’Bout time you learned the business proper.”

“No, please no! I want to stay there.” Violet was breathless; it sounded as if she was trying not to cry.

Averil couldn’t bear to listen to any more. This was not right. Violet needed her help, and she meant to give it. She stepped forward and pushed the door open wide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

* * *

When Gareth opened the door to the Home, Rufus thought he looked thinner and more careworn than before. The smug, self-righteous fellow he’d previously found so obnoxious seemed to have packed his bags and left.

“I don’t know if I should be talking to you, Lord Southbrook,” he said doubtfully, when they were together in the office. “I believe you and Averil have had a falling-out. The only reason I opened the door to you was because I still hope to receive your donation. Things are rather desperate at the moment.”

Rufus waved an impatient hand. “Of course. And this isn’t about Averil. This is about what is happening right here under your nose.”

Gareth hesitated and then gestured for Rufus to take a seat. “What do you mean?”

Rufus sat down, removing his disreputable cap and tossing it onto the desk. “I followed Jackson to a brothel,” he said without preamble, “and after he left with Sally Jakes, I went inside and spoke to the woman he took there. Betty. One of your women, Doctor Simmons.”

Gareth stared.

“It seems that Jackson and Sally are in cahoots and have been for a while. Jackson finds you women for your Home, is that right? Women he says are in need of care? Well, the truth is, he brings the women here, for you to add a little polish to them, and then he either persuades them to leave or terrifies them into leaving. He and Sally then put the women into some of her posher houses, to cater for the more up-market gentlemen.”