A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Sons of Sin 4)

“She’s in the stables with Jonas, admiring your guest’s mare.” The newcomer’s ice-blue eyes sharpened on Nell with unconcealed interest as she deposited the tray on a table. “Jonas says that Leath bought that bay at Tattersall’s last week. He particularly remembers because he went up against the marquess for her and lost.”

Nell felt as if her cheeks must catch fire. “I’m sure he’s mistaken.”

“Jonas has a memory like a steel trap for horseflesh.” The blond woman paused. “Actually Jonas just has a memory like a steel trap.”

With every moment, Nell felt more out of place. The gatekeeper had mentioned the house party, but only now in the presence of these elegant women who were clearly good friends did she realize how she’d intruded.

To Nell’s astonishment, the duchess took her hand. “Miss Trim, please ignore Lady Harmsworth. She has an inquiring mind.”

The blonde laughed. “You mean I’m incurably nosy, Pen.”

Her Grace sent her friend a quelling glance before turning back to Nell. “You needn’t tell us anything you don’t want to.”

“I’d… I’d like to see His Grace as soon as possible,” Nell said tremulously, wondering why she didn’t open her mouth and denounce Leath.

“Have your breakfast,” the duchess said in a soothing voice.

The thought of eating under Lady Harmsworth’s inquisitive gaze made her stomach revolt. The papers had been full of stories about the famous scholar who last year had married the ton’s darling, Sir Richard Harmsworth. An inquiring mind, indeed. And one Nell, in her weakened state, was in no shape to defend herself against. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are. We’ll leave you in peace.”

“But—” Lady Harmsworth protested.

The duchess stood. “Miss Trim has barely caught her breath since her ordeal.”

Resisting Her Grace was like trying to fight a cloud of feathers. Despite Nell’s demurrals, the duchess and Lady Harmsworth soon had her tucked up in bed with the tray on her knees and fresh tea on the nightstand.

At last they gave her the blessed relief of privacy. Nell took her first unconstricted breath since she’d awoken to this astonishing treatment. She told herself that if she persisted, justice would prevail. But as she contemplated the delicacies before her, all she felt was lonely and betrayed.

A soft knock disturbed Leath’s troubled doze. He shifted and wondered why his head wasn’t on its usual soft pillow, but resting on something much more unforgiving. He needed a few dazed seconds to understand that he’d fallen into oblivion at his desk. As if in disapproval, the hall clock struck ten.

Self-disgust thundered through him. How could he sleep when Eleanor was in trouble? Sitting up, he rubbed heavy eyes. He ached, and there was a crick in his neck.

Wells entered with a letter on a silver salver. “My lord, forgive my intrusion, but this just arrived from the Duke of Sedgemoor and the messenger insists it’s urgent.”

Sedgemoor? Why the devil was Camden Rothermere writing to him? They’d met occasionally since Sophie and Harry Thorne’s wedding in May. Relations had improved, thanks, Leath admitted, to the new duchess, a woman remarkably ready to forgive. But the duke and he would never be friends.

“Thank you, Wells.” Leath picked up the letter. If Sedgemoor expected immediate attention, he could rot in hell. Leath had more important matters to worry about than some trivial request from His Grace. Two footmen entered the room to set breakfast on a side table as he stared in a funk at the letter in his hand.

Leath started when Wells passed him a cup of coffee. “I took the liberty of arranging a meal, my lord.”

“Bless you.” He was still half asleep, tormented by images of Eleanor alone and unprotected. Damned fool of a woman. Why hadn’t she waited, instead of taking to her heels?

The fog in his head cleared as he sipped his coffee. The footmen finished fiddling and left. Knowing he wasted his time, and worse, incited unwelcome curiosity, he glanced at his butler. “Has there been word of Miss Trim overnight?”

Wells’s demeanor remained impassive. “No, my lord.”

Leath sacrificed his pride, and was surprised that it hardly hurt at all. “Do you know where she’s gone?”

Wells stared into the distance. “She said she returned to her family.”

“Was she likely to confide in anyone below stairs?”

“No, sir.”

Leath gritted his teeth. “Is that the best you can do?”

Wells focused on Leath and betrayed a hint of the man beneath the servant. His voice became less clipped. “Miss Trim became he