Chapter 9
Thea
As soon as Thea entered the house, she was greeted with a new arrival to the shelter.
Thea sat with the woman—Mary—at the long table in the front room, while Betsy settled the woman’s children with blankets and warm milk.
Mary's left eye was swollen shut. Her lip had been split and was crusted over.
She held her hands in her lap, fingers laced tight, flinching at every sound, afraid her husband would appear at any moment and drag her back.
“You're safe here.” Thea kept her voice low and even. “No one knows where you are.”
Mary didn't look convinced. She wouldn't be, not yet. It took days, sometimes weeks and months, before the women recovered from the abuse they’d suffered.
Betsy ran the shelter, taking in all women and children in need. Mary and her children were her latest arrivals, and Betsy would have them safely out of London in a few days.
Thea and Mary looked up as Betsy returned from the back room and took over, pulling a chair up beside Mary and laying a hand on her arm.
This was Betsy's life work—the schedules, the safe houses, the network of discreet contacts who helped women start a new life.
Thea's role was simpler. She provided what funds she could to ensure Betsy could keep the shelter going.
A few other ladies of the ton and their husbands also helped in secret. The shelter and its location had to remain confidential or else their horrid husbands would show up looking for their wives.
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Betsy focused on Thea. “And you’ve certainly looked better.”
Thea had been in a miserable state all day. It was why she decided to come to here tonight. She couldn’t sit in her bedchamber any longer.
“I’m betrothed.”
Confusion marred Betsy’s pretty face. “It is your choice, isn’t it? You look like you're approaching the gallows.”
“He found out about Kit and the gaming hell.” Thea pressed her fingers to her temple. “And forbade me from continuing. I’m selfish and won’t make for a good duchess with such behavior.”
“Wait. A duchess?” Betsy raised an eyebrow. “You're betrothed to a duke? Is he going to cause problems for us here?”
“He doesn't know where we are. He doesn't know this place exists.” Though even as she said it, she knew that Wesley would never put a woman in danger. “And even if he did, Wesley wouldn't expose us. He's not that kind of man.”
“You're certain of that?”
“I'm certain.” Whatever else Wesley had done wrong, she knew his character. He would never expose these women and children just to punish her.
Betsy studied her for a long moment, then leaned back. “All right. So he found out about Kit and gave you an ultimatum. Why didn’t you tell him about the shelter if he’s as good of a man as you say he is?”
“Because he didn't give me the chance. And because—” Thea stopped, trying to find the words that she failed to speak to Wesley.
“Because I didn't want to use it as a defense. The shelter isn't a justification for what I’ve done. I started going to the Fox because I wanted to. The money going to you was a reason to keep going, but it wasn't why I started. I’m not going to lie and pretend like it was.”
“Fair enough.” Betsy leaned back in her chair. “What does he think you are doing with your winnings?”
“I don't think he got that far. He was too busy being furious about the possible implications to his bloody title.”
“And you were too busy to listen to reason about how what you do is dangerous. Because it is.”
Thea's jaw tightened, but Betsy wasn't wrong. “He had no right—”
“I'm not saying he did.” Betsy's voice was even with the warm, direct tone that she always had. No one could shoot the truth straighter than Betsy. “I also warned you of the danger you put yourself in. You dismiss it as if it’s nothing. But any number of things could happen. It’s not just about your name in a scandal sheet.”
Thea knew it was true. She had never wanted to hear it. Still didn’t. “Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean I should stop. What you do here is dangerous, but it’s necessary.”
Mary sniffled beside Betsy, wiping her eyes.
“I agree. He was wrong to give you an ultimatum and take such a heavy-handed approach,” Betsy narrowed her focus on Thea. “But if he’s worthy of your obvious love for him, then I think you can give him the benefit of a doubt and hope that he will do a better job listening after he’s calmed down.”
Commotion at the front door interrupted them—a voice, a man's voice. Betsy was on her feet before Thea could move. She watched Betsy step into the hall, her posture shifting to a defensive stance. A man at the door, uninvited, was never good news.
Thea heard the exchange. A voice she knew. Her stomach dropped. She'd just told Betsy he didn't know this place existed.
She stepped into the hallway and found Wesley standing in the front hall, hands raised, with Betsy blocking the doorway between him and the rest of the house. His coat was rumpled, his cravat undone, and still, he was far too handsome for his own good.
He'd followed her. That was the only explanation.
“Betsy.” She kept her voice steady. “It's all right. I know him.”
Betsy didn't move right away. She looked at Thea, then back at Wesley. She stepped to the side. But she didn't leave the hall.
Wesley's gaze found Thea.
Thea didn't flinch or speak to him. She turned to Betsy and pulled the pouch of coins from her coat pocket—this week's take from the Fox.
“Betsy, meet the Duke of Greystone. I must be going, as I should speak to my betrothed,” she said, pressing the pouch into Betsy's hand. “But you’ll be pleased with the winnings from this week.”
She stared at Wesley as she said that last part. His gaze followed the pouch into Betsy's hand, and Thea could see how hard he was thinking, putting together the pieces of what was going on.
He looked at Betsy. “How much do you need?”
Betsy's eyebrows rose. She glanced at Thea, then back at Wesley. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“To keep this place running. What do you need monthly? I want a figure.”
Betsy stared at him for a long moment, assessing him. “So that you might control the behavior of your future wife?”
“No.” Wesley’s expression softened as he focused on Thea. “Truly, I want to help.”
He glanced behind them at Mary and watched the children sitting at the table.
“We have a few private patrons, but anything you are willing to contribute would be most appreciated, Your Grace.” Betsy's voice was careful.
“I'll have a monthly contribution arranged through a solicitor so there's no trail back to this address.” Wesley's voice was steady, but he was still focused on the sweetlings. “No one will know where it goes.”
Thea wanted to throw her arms around his neck and thank him for what his generosity would mean for the shelter, but she remained where she stood.
“Thank you, Your Grace. That will be much appreciated.” She looked at Thea, and her lips quirked. “I like him, Thea.”
She took the pouch and Wesley's promise and disappeared back into the room.
“Thea,” Wesley started, reaching for her.
“We should go, Wes. This isn't the place.”
Wesley nodded. He opened the front door and held it for her. They stepped out into the cold night air. The street was empty. Wesley raised his hand, and a hackney slowed at the corner, the driver hunched against the chill.
Wesley handed her up into the carriage and climbed in after her, taking the seat across from hers. The door closed and the cab lurched forward, leaving them alone for the first time since the garden.
Thea sat with her arms crossed, Kit's coat buttoned to her throat. The carriage lamp threw shadows across Wesley's face, and he looked wrecked—exhausted and uncertain in a way she'd never seen him before. The proper duke was a mess. “You followed me?”
“I came to your house to talk to you. I saw you leave and, yes, I decided to follow you.” He didn't try to make it sound reasonable. “I wasn't thinking.”
“You walked into a house full of women who have every reason to be terrified of a strange man coming through the door.”
He flinched. “I know.”
The carriage rocked over a rut in the road, and neither of them reached for the strap.
“I called you selfish.” His voice was rough. “I said it was just about cards.”
“It was never about cards.”
“I know that now.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on hers.
“My mother visited me after I left you in the garden.
I told her you'd been reckless, and she was thrilled. She said you were too headstrong and too wild. And I hated it. And all the more so, I hated that I had sounded just like her when I spoke to you.”
Thea said nothing. She let him talk.
“The thing I tried to stamp out of you is the very reason I fell in love with you. You make me feel alive.”
The carriage turned a corner. The lamp swung, and for a moment his face was in shadow.
“I don't want you to stop,” he said. “I don't want you to give up Kit or the shelter or any of it.”
“And the scandal?” Thea kept her voice even though her chest ached from how much she wanted him. “The danger to both our families? All those things you said in the garden?”
“I'm a duke. I have the title and the connections to protect us both. I was being a fool.”
Thea stared at him. He was sitting across from her in a hired carriage, cravat undone, telling her he'd been wrong. And she believed him—not because he'd said the right words, but because he was the best man she’d ever known. The man she’d always loved.
And she wasn’t entirely without fault in what had happened.
“You were wrong about the ultimatum,” she said.
“But I was wrong, too. I lied to you, Wesley.
I sat across from you at that card table night after night and listened to your conversations without telling you who I was.
I was going to tell you before we—before the night in the study.
And then I didn't. And I kept not telling you, even after we were engaged, because I was afraid of losing you.”
“Thea—”