The Cinderella Countess by Sophia James

Author:Sophia James
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-11-20T19:09:44+00:00

* * *

In the morning Lytton was again in Whitechapel and was pleased to see Mr Angus McFaddyen standing outside the front door of the downstairs lodging in White Street.

He had meant to simply send a message to state the sort of hours and conditions he wanted the guard to adhere to, but had found himself fretful of the passing time and so had called a carriage instead.

‘Has it been quiet?’

‘It has, my lord. Many have passed, but none have come close to the house at all. The women inside have insisted on feeding me every hour and the sun is about to shine.’

‘Stay here until another comes. I have found a night guard to relieve you so that you can sleep and be back every morning at five.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

Thus satisfied, Lytton knocked and the door was opened almost instantly by the same maid who had handed him the cup of tea on his very first visit here. She was wiping doughy hands on her apron.

‘Your lordship,’ she said, bobbing in a quick curtsy. ‘I shall take you through to Miss Smith.’

Annabelle’s eye this morning was all the hues of red, dark and light. It was also so swollen the blue in her eye only showed through a small slit of skin. Catherine Dromorne’s perfect sort of beauty was once all he had liked and admired. Now he was even starting to question that. Her hair was down, which was unexpected, and fell in long, dark, curling swathes to her waist. She did not look even slightly bothered by the fact that it was unbound in his company, something every other woman of his acquaintance would have.

‘I hope I find you well, Miss Smith?’

He had used her first name yesterday, the informality of it rolling off his tongue. Today he didn’t.

She nodded and placed the bowl she’d had in her hands beside her on the sofa, a sharp knife and a cloth joining it.

‘I am much recovered.’ She made no effort at all either to conceal her bruises and he liked the fact that she did not. Take me as I am, such an action seemed to shout. This is me.

‘How is your broken wrist?’

‘I do not think it is broken, after all, which is a relief. My aunt is certain I have been left with only a bad sprain.’

‘And your head?’

‘Is fine.’

The catalogue of her wounds was not something she looked like she wanted to speak about further.

‘How is Lady Lucy? Is she up and about yet?’

‘She is, indeed. My sister will retire to Balmain, our country estate, next week. Mama will no doubt nurse her to death and she will be scurrying back to London as soon as she is able. So life goes on, different but still possible.’

Word of his mother brought a darkness to her eyes, but he had no inclination to try to explain his complex family life, so he left that topic alone altogether.

‘I have instructed people to begin the search for the carriage that hit you.

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