The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch. Louise Allen
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said that they would get a very good price from the man who…from the man—’ She broke off, biting her lip. ‘And money from those who would pay to watch. They said a man called Milo Thomas would come and collect me in a coach. I think there will be other girls in it.’
‘How can that be?’ Joanna asked him, her face reflecting her desperate need to understand. ‘I know men go to brothels, have mistresses. Of course I do. And I am not so foolish as to believe that women would not turn to such a way of life if they had better alternatives. But surely men want someone who knows how to make love? Is that not more pleasant? Yet there must be many men like those he was talking about, otherwise how could the brothel keepers and people like the Thoroughgoods make money from them? How could it be worth the risks?’
Giles wished vehemently that he was not the one having to answer her questions. In fact, he would rather have found himself surrounded by French cavalry at that moment. If he got this wrong…
‘The vast majority of men are perfectly decent and normal,’ he said, keeping his voice as steady and quiet as he could. ‘Just as you imagine, they want to enjoy themselves, and they want the woman they are with to enjoy herself as well, whether it is within marriage, or outside it. Normal men,’ he added, with a hint of a smile, ‘would feel it a slur on their manhood if the lady did not find pleasure in their attentions.
‘But there are some who like cruelty, like to inflict pain. I think it must be about feeling powerful, that men who do not feel assured of themselves like to dominate someone weaker. Some stick at bullying their families and servants, others maltreat their horses. Some, just a few, go further. It is not many, Joanna, you must not assume that half the men you meet and know socially are like this, hiding a wolf’s teeth under a human smile. But the ones who enjoy such things can usually pay for it, and pay very well to get exactly what they want.’
She looked at him, and he could see her eyes were beginning to focus a little and knew she had listened and understood. As he watched, her rigid calm began to falter and the tears started to well up in her eyes, which had turned a dark, dull brown.
‘Joanna, come here.’ Without stopping to think whether she might fight him, he leant forward, took her in his arms and lifted her on to his knee, holding her tight against his chest. ‘Most men are decent men who respect women. Men like your father, like Alex, like William will be when he grows up.’
He could feel the front of his shirt becoming wet. She was crying almost silently. Then she nodded and he heard her voice, muffled. ‘Like you.’
‘Yes. Like me. I would never hurt you, Joanna.’ For some reason that seemed to make things worse: in the tightness of his embrace he could feel her sobbing fiercely. Not knowing what to say, or whether it was better just to let her weep, he simply held her, his face buried in the silk of her hair, his body shaken with the force of her sobs. Never, in his entire thirty years, had he felt so violently protective towards a living creature, nor had he ever known himself to be in such a killing rage. He could not trust himself to open that door upstairs without a restraining presence or there would be murder done.
Finally the sobs died down and he tentatively let his arms fall away from her. Joanna sat up a little, but otherwise made no attempt to move from his knee.
‘Would you like some tea?’ She nodded and reached out for the cup, sitting there sipping it like a trusting child in his lap.
She put it down at last and turned to face him, her eyes still drowned in tears. ‘He did not touch me, but it still feels like…’ she struggled with the word ‘…like rape.’
‘Because he forced those words into your mind, he forced that image into your imagination?’
‘Yes, exactly that. You understand so well. Now I cannot make them go away.’
Giles thought carefully before he spoke, then simply trusted to his instincts. ‘They were only words. They were only images, they were not reality, because you would not let them be. You were fighting back, you were not a victim. Those things would not have happened because you were never going to give up.’
‘You saved me,’ she pointed out.
‘Only because you helped me. If I had not come today, you would have been scheming, plotting, resisting.’ He smiled at her. ‘Where did you find the courage, Joanna?’
‘Thinking of the other girls,’ she said simply. ‘And thinking of what…of what someone who is very important to me would have expected of me.’
For some reason Giles felt that he had been punched in the solar plexus. Of course—this mysterious man who had so upset her at the Duchess’s ball that this entire train of events had been set in motion. He could hardly cavil at anything that had given Joanna the strength to resist, but why was she wasting her emotions on this damned man? She was worth more, this pattern-book débutante who had kicked over the traces.
‘Remember that you had the courage to fight,’ he said, when he had trampled on his anger. ‘And talk about it, don’t bottle it up.’
‘Who can I talk about it with?’ she asked.
‘Me. Hebe. Alex.’
‘Alex? Goodness, no!’ Joanna sounded almost normal again. ‘I am scared of Alex.’
‘Why on earth? He usually has to fight the ladies off—or at least he had to until he had Hebe to do it for him.’
‘He looks so…sardonic,’ Joanna said. ‘Hebe told me that her maid on Malta said he looked like “a beautiful fierce saint”. He was furious, apparently.’
Giles grinned, saving that one up to torment Alex with on some future occasion. It was enough that talking of their friends had restored Joanna a little. ‘Will you be all right if I go and talk to Mrs Penny? I want to find out where the nearest magistrate is.’ She nodded, so he placed her carefully back on the sofa, found a clean handkerchief in the depths of his pocket for her and went in search of the charwoman who was scrubbing the kitchen floor.
‘Magistrate, sir? The nearest one is the Squire.’
Patiently Giles extracted the information that Squire Gedding was a good man, firm but fair, and his lady was as nice as you could find anywhere.
‘When my Jimmy had a bit of trouble with a pheasant—out of work he was, on account of him having hurt his arm—Squire had him in front of his desk and was right fierce. Told him he was a bloody fool and ought to have come to see him, not go trampling about in his coverts scaring the birds. And he gave him a job in his stables, and Mrs Gedding, she went right ’round with food for the little ones, and medicine for Susan, that’s my daughter-in-law…’
Giles let her ramble on, feeling a considerable relief washing over him. A country squire with a firm hand but some imagination and a kindly wife were exactly what he had need of just now. ‘How far away does Squire Gedding live?’ he asked, cutting into further reminiscences of the Geddings’ goodness.
‘Less than two miles, sir. In the middle of the village.’
‘That close?’ Giles said with considerable relief. The sooner he got Joanna into the hands of a respectable lady, and the Thoroughgoods into the grip of the forces of law and order, the happier he would be. There were muffled shouts from upstairs and Mrs Penny started nervously. ‘Do not worry, Mrs Penny, they cannot get out. Will you come with us in my carriage and direct us to the village? I will drop you off at your home.’ She nodded, obviously anxious. ‘If you go and make sure the fire in the kitchen is banked down,’ Giles continued firmly, ‘then I will lock up and we will be on our way.’
The three of them were soon outside. The greys stood patiently, too tired to show any inclination to wander. Giles helped both women up and then squashed into the seat beside them, thankful that Joanna was slim and Mrs Penny positively skinny.
The journey to the village did not take long despite the tired horses and the fact that dusk was falling rapidly. The charwoman indicated a cottage by the side of the road and was