Chapter 21
T horn ran down the stairs and rushed into the stables, barking orders for the groom to saddle his horse. “And prepare the traveling carriage for me, would you? I’ll come back in half an hour, and we’ll be heading north.”
“The traveling carriage? But Lady Wakefield filled them with her trunks and left, taking them both.”
“Rosemary?” Thorn frowned. What was that step-witch after? She’d left him without transportation, and nobody had even let him know. The servants weren’t fond of him, and he didn’t fault them for that. They were loyal to his father, and in their eyes, Thorn was the villain for turning away from him. But why were they loyal to Rosemary? The woman was an abomination—a spendthrift and an adulteress.
“When did she do that?”
“Early this morning, my lord.”
Why would she just leave? Unannounced and in the middle of the Season, no less! Unless she had received news of his father.
Blast! The bastard couldn’t have died already, could he?
“Did she receive any correspondence last night?”
“I don’t know, my lord.”
Of course, he wouldn’t know. Thorn needed to ask Cecil. After he got back. He didn’t have time for that now. If his father had passed, there was nothing he could do about it anyway. Oddly enough, he felt a curious ache in his heart at the thought.
“Fine.” He scratched his beard. He should have let Vlad shave him—he probably looked a fright. And then he remembered that Lydia’s carriage was here. “Is the carriage driver from last night still here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then prepare that one. Tell him his mistress is leaving for Scotland in an hour.”
As the groom nodded, Thorn mounted his horse and cantered away.
It didn’t take Thorn long to reach his destination. He jumped off his horse before it fully stopped and tied it to a tree. A guard stood a few feet away, and Thorn threw him a coin to keep an eye on his mount.
He approached an iron door, performed the secret knock, and waited. It was morning—too late for a place like this to be open. Perhaps nobody was inside. But he had to try.
The door cracked open, and a harsh, rough voice barked, “The hell is closed,” then hurled some profanities at him just before shutting the door.
Thorn straightened and knocked again. Once again, the door cracked open, but before anyone could bark at him again, Thorn slid his foot in, preventing it from shutting.
“Tell Miss Monroe that Viscount Thornton is here.” A pause, but the door didn’t budge. “I am here on behalf of Lydia Lawless, the woman Miss Monroe identified as the Mist.”
The door suddenly opened wider.
Curious .
He walked into the hell and was greeted by a huge, bald guard, about a head taller than Thorn and a few stone heavier.
“Wait here,” he commanded, his voice as rough as his appearance.
So Thorn waited.
A few minutes later, a woman in a simple black dress and dark hair appeared before him. Thorn wondered if this was one of the women who wore bright paint, white wigs, and revealing dresses at night.
“Please, follow me.”
Thorn nodded and followed behind the woman as she leisurely led him further inside. She guided him through the main hall and to the entrance of Persephone’s Heaven.
She slid the curtain to the side and cocked her head. “Come on in.”
Thorn peered inside. “I thought no gentlemen were allowed here.”
“Not during the day,” the woman said, then tipped her head again.
Thorn entered the heaven and was amazed to see it in a way he hadn’t expected.
It was beautiful. The walls and ceilings were painted with angelic visages, and flowers adorned the entire room, but that wasn’t what surprised him.
After a night of debauchery, all those decorations were being taken down. The room was being cleaned, and in the midst of it all, the queen of both hell and heaven stood, clutching a broom in her hand and laughing with the other ladies as they worked.
Thorn blinked. Now, that was something he had not expected to see at all.
Men were clearing out the heavy items, also smiling and laughing. It seemed like another kind of party—more intimate, more relaxed, and somehow more enjoyable.
Miss Monroe raised her head then, as if noticing the intruder, and narrowed her eyes on him. She handed the broom and the apron to the woman by her side and walked toward him.
“I didn’t think royalty cleaned,” he said as she reached his side.
“Only the ones who lead by example,” she said dryly. Then her expression changed, her face taking on her regular mocking quality as she raised a brow. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
“I have a matter to discuss with you. It is about Lydia Lawless.”
“Yes?” Her face was impassive.
He looked around. “Privately.”
She looked him up and down before cocking her head to the side. “Follow me.”
They walked through the main hall, then up the stairs toward the private chambers. Thorn had never been inside those chambers, but he knew what they were. Luckily, that was not where they were heading. She turned once more, and they walked past another guard and into a cramped, narrow corridor. She opened one of the heavy doors and welcomed him into what looked like a study.
Miss Monroe sat behind the desk and tilted her head, indicating for Thorn to take the seat opposite her.
Instead of sitting down, Thorn slowly looked around the dark room. Only the hearth behind Miss Monroe provided illumination—or should he say, provided adequate enough illumination for the mistress of hell. It shaded her from view and blinded anyone trying to look directly at her.
She leaned back and steepled her fingers on her belly. “Well, Lord Thornton, you are free to speak.”
Thorn took the ruby ring out of his pocket and placed it on the table between them. Miss Monroe leaned forward, her eyes widening.
“I hear you want this,” he said.
“I do,” she answered evenly.
A pause. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Because it’s mine.”
He let out a sound somewhere between a sniff and a chuckle. “Why would you presume that?”
“Because it belongs to the firstborn child of the Thornton line.”
Thorn frowned. “I am that child.”
“No,” she said emphatically. “You are a legitimate firstborn child. I am…” She paused, contemplating her next word.
“A bastard,” he finished for her. “My sister.”
The revelation came as a shock, although… should it have? He was bound to have plenty of siblings, considering how his father viewed relations with women outside of marriage.
“Half-sister,” she corrected.
Thorn didn’t know how to react to this rather startling news. This powerful woman, whom people revered and feared, was his family. His blood.
Now that he looked at her with that information in mind, she did resemble him. The same straight aristocratic nose, dark, raven-black hair, and the signature Thornton eyes. Dark, like that of a devil.
But he didn’t know her—didn’t grow up with her. And she seemed to have done well for herself in spite of that. Perhaps because of that.
For now, he didn’t have the emotional space to contemplate what it meant for him. And he had more pressing matters at hand. He nudged the ring toward her. “Then take it.”
She lifted her chin just a little—an indication of surprise. “Just like that?”
“Miss Monroe, I don’t know you. I didn’t know I had a sister, and I don’t know what I would have done if I had known. Hell, I don’t even know if you are telling the truth. And to be honest, I do not care. But with your thoughtless actions—with that damned pamphlet—you doomed a woman last night. And that woman happens to be the one I love.”
She sat back, her eyes shadowed by something for a brief moment, but she didn’t speak.
“I would like you to correct that mistake,” Thorn continued.
“She is a commoner,” she noted, curiosity in her voice.
“Yes.”
“A thief.”
“Quite.”
“And it wasn’t a mistake,” she added with a light shrug. “She was warned what would happen if she failed to do the job on time. I just kept my word. That’s it.”
“You wanted the damn ring; you can have it,” Thorn said, planting his palms flat on the desk, towering over the proprietress of hell. “No stealing necessary. Just fix the damage you’ve caused.”
“Impossible.” Her answer was quiet but final.
“Not. Impossible,” he growled. “In fact, I’d argue that nothing is impossible for a woman like you.”
She shifted in her seat. “Sensational news gets printed on the front of the morning paper. The retraction is printed on the back in the tiniest font. Do you know why, Lord Thornton? It’s not because the printers are despicable—it’s because such news is of no interest. I can retract what I said, but no one will pay attention. Therefore the damage will remain.”
“I don’t need people to pay attention. As long as you do retract it and are willing to repeat it in front of the magistrate, that is enough. Her reputation may never heal, but she will not be imprisoned, and at the moment, that is all I am looking for.”
She drummed her fingers against the desk, her eyes set on the ring in front of her, deep in thought.
“If the ring is not enough, just name the price. If you want to be recognized as my sister, part of the Thornton family, I can acknowledge you publicly. Wakefield is on his deathbed—there is nothing he can do to prevent that.”
She raised her eyes at that, her expression unreadable. “I am not certain I want that. In fact, I have the means to get anything I want all by myself.” She paused. “However, having a viscount—a future marquess—owe me a favor does sound enticing.”
“Done.”
She studied him curiously. “You’d do that for a thief?”
Thorn straightened to his full height. “I’d do anything for the woman I love. Including making a deal with the devil.”
That devilish smile appeared across her lips again. “Then deal it is.”