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“We have a guest, Vlad.” Thorn stood and approached the lad. He was dressed in gentlemen’s attire. A valet? “Look after her, would you? And by that, I mean do not hand her any sharp objects and make certain she doesn’t break free. She is a prisoner until I get back. If she escapes, it’s your head.”

“You are leaving me tied up with a strange man?” Lydia screeched.

“This is Vlad, my valet and I trust him with my life, which means I trust him with you. I value him dearly, which means that if you do try to escape, I trust you not to hurt him. In the meantime, if you want something to eat or drink, just ask. Vlad will make sure you are comfortable…” He paused. “Up to a point.” With that, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

“Thooorn!” Lydia cried after him as he disappeared.

Chapter 21

Thorn 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.