Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge

writing. The notepaper … Her stomach lurched.

      He said, ‘Do you know who it’s from?’

      ‘I think—I think it could be from the same person who has been threatening my friend Helen. The same writing. The same notepaper.’

      He drew in a sharp breath. She went on, in a voice that shook despite all her efforts to control it, ‘This is ridiculous! I cannot be threatened like this; I will go to the constables, or a magistrate—they will help me!’

      ‘Save yourself the trouble,’ he said.

      He didn’t need to explain. He’d told her before that no magistrate would take the trouble to listen to her. A courtesan who writes for a gossip rag. That was how he’d described her. ‘Then I am even more determined that we will leave here!’ she cried. ‘Katy and I, we will find somewhere …’ She was trying to push back the bedclothes.

      ‘No!’ he rasped, flinging out his arm to stop her. ‘Whoever it is, they’ll follow you—you and the child!’ Then, a little gentler, ‘I don’t make a habit of throwing women and children out on the street. Stay here.’

      He must have seen the downright fear shoot through her. ‘I realise the idea doesn’t immediately appeal,’ he said. His eyes darkened. ‘But believe me, as soon as word goes around that you’re under my protection, you’ll be far safer than anywhere else in London. And rest assured I will require nothing of you at all. Except, perhaps, obedience.’

      She swallowed, hard. ‘Then—you truly think I’m in danger?’

      He pointed at the note. ‘Don’t you?’

      She sank back against the pillows. Oh, Lord. Where else could she go? But how could she possibly think herself safe here, of all places?

      Alec was mentally cursing himself. If he hadn’t gone to Dr Barnard’s to tackle Stephen, he would never have seen her. She’d have been left to deal with her own problems, which she’d surely brought upon herself. But—was she really used to earning her living on her back, as well as with her vitriolic pen?

      She was trouble. Even in that voluminous nightgown, she was treacherously alluring. He remembered her slender waist, the sweet curve of her hips, the warm scent of her skin as he’d hauled her against him in that kiss, the last time she’d paid a visit to Two Crows Castle. The memory sent a nagging ache of need throbbing through his veins.

      You fool, Stewart.

      ‘Have you decided?’ he asked curtly.

      Her eyes looked bruised with distress. ‘Will you truly promise me Katy is safe here?’

      ‘Of course she is,’ he said. Safer than she was with you last night, since you were dragging her around the town. No. He wouldn’t rebuke her—yet—for her idiotic trust in his brother.

      She drew herself up and said, with that air of defiant dignity that so confounded all his preconceptions of her, ‘Very well. For as long as the danger stands, I will—accept your protection.’

      He nodded, as if it were a matter of as little importance to him as the hiring of a hackney cab. ‘I am overwhelmed by your gratitude,’ he said.

      ‘Some day you must let me pay you!’

      He shrugged. ‘Why? Nobody else does.’

      Her eyes flashed. ‘Only those poor soldiers!’

      ‘My soldiers?’ He looked coldly angry now. ‘I’d like to make it quite clear that none of them pays me a penny.’

      Oh, God. She bit her lip. For some reason she believed him. ‘I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were a—a …’

      ‘A rackrenter,’ he said tightly. ‘Indeed. As you implied in those scribblings of yours—wait! Where in hell are you going?’

      She’d suddenly slid to the side of the bed away from him. Was trying to heave herself out, but was instead doubled up and starting to retch helplessly.

      In a couple of strides Alec had pushed the porcelain bowl from the washstand on to the floor beside her. ‘I’ll send Mary up. I’m going for the doctor.’

      ‘No—’

      ‘This time,’ he said, ‘I’m giving you no choice.’

      Exhausted with sickness and with Mary quietly tidying up around her, Rosalie sagged back against the pillows in despair. Oh, no. She’d made so many dreadful mistakes. She’d been wrong about Helen’s printing press, and the fire, and about his rackrenting. In return he despised her as a cheap little widow, a courtesan. And even though Alec Stewart might be a despicable seducer—my own sister denounced him to me!—just now she’d found comfort and something even more disturbing in his calm voice, his very presence …

      You are mad. You are ill, Rosalie.

      Ill indeed, because during the course of that morning the fever took her more firmly in its grip. Bed rest, the doctor ordered.

      The next few days for Rosalie passed in a haze. She was sometimes aware of Mary serving her with the powders the doctor had prescribed, or bringing her a fresh cotton nightgown. Of Katy being brought up to see her, her little thumb in her mouth, sometimes with Mary, sometimes in Alec’s strong arms, which Rosalie found almost unbearable.

      Sometimes, she would hear the physician’s grave voice. ‘The fever lingers … She must have caught a chill on the night you found her.’

      Then Alec’s low tones. ‘Mrs Rowland was drenched that night, in the rain. And I’ve reason to believe she was served drinks that had been tampered with.’

      ‘That would not have helped. Rest is what she needs; a little light food, plenty of liquids …’

      That threat, that note Alec had shown her, hung over her all the time. Stop asking questions, whore. Your friend has already suffered the consequences, and you’re next.

      Who could it be from?

      One morning—Rosalie guessed her fourth day here—Alec knocked and came in after the doctor’s daily visit. She had tried getting up earlier, but her legs were as shaky as a newborn colt’s.

      ‘I’ve brought you a letter,’ he said. Her pulse began to race. ‘It’s from your friend Helen.’

      Helen. Oh, poor Helen would have been so worried, so angry … ‘How did she know I was here?’

      ‘I told her,’ Alec said quietly. ‘I went to see her at Mr Wheeldon’s house two days ago to explain that you were ill and had taken shelter at my home. She—expressed her disapproval quite strongly.’

      Rosalie could imagine. She opened the letter quickly. Rosalie, my dear. What can you be thinking of, staying at that place? You know you are welcome here, with Francis and his sister! I have news. But first please write, to let me know you and Katy are safe.

      ‘She wanted to visit you,’ Alec said. ‘More than that, I think she wanted to drag you and your child away from here and tear me limb from limb. Her friend Mr Wheeldon was more reasonable. Do you wish her to visit?’

      ‘No, I don’t. Because that threat was directed to her, too, wasn’t it, Captain Stewart?’ Rosalie managed to sound calm. ‘So at the moment I imagine it’s best if she has as little as possible to do with me.’

      ‘Then I’ll tell her that the doctor still advises you to rest. And if you wish to write to her, I’ll see that your letter’s delivered.’

      So Rosalie wrote to her.

      A reply came the next day from Helen. Alec waited while she read it. Rosalie. I am disappointed that you have chosen to place any trust in that man. Since you don’t wish me to visit, I am obliged to write with my news. Francis has asked Toby and me to travel to Oxford with him for two weeks, because he