Guilt washed over her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, hoping Brent would understand. He waggled his fingers behind his back to tell her he understood and she leant her forehead on his back, taking comfort from the fact that she could trust Brent to look after her.
‘Come out, come out, who ever you are,’ Browning chanted, the two women repeating his chorus over and over. ‘Bring your lady out to play with us, Mallory. I have a large bed so the more the merrier.’
‘No.’ Brent’s growled answer told her that he was getting annoyed with Browning and his flippant attitude. ‘If you won’t leave, Browning, at least hand us our clothes. Most of them are under the bed.’
She heard Browning send his male accomplice to retrieve their belongings, but was shocked when Browning added, ‘Lay them on the bed so they can dress there. In exchange for letting you leave, Mallory, we get to watch the two of you dress.’
Brent’s sudden movement forward pushed Lillian backwards and she hit the back wall and landed on her rear with an audible thump. The wardrobe shook as Brent put one bare foot on the floor of the room and grabbed Browning’s only garment, his trousers. Lillian clutched the scarf and held it over her face like a shield when Brent drew back his arm and landed a punch between Browning’s eyes. Taken by surprise and perhaps drunk on his own punch, Browning fell backwards and landed, arms outstretched, on what was luckily a plush carpet.
‘You bastard, Mallory.’ Browning’s hands were covered in blood where he clutched his nose, while the elder of the two women pushed a piece of linen under his nose to soak up the freely-flowing blood. ‘We’re leaving and don’t try to stop us.’ He pointed at the other man. ‘Step back and let me collect our clothing, else you’ll have a nose to match Browning’s.’
Lillian checked that the scarf was in place and wrapped her arms around herself to add extra cover over her breasts as Brent’s white shirt was superior quality fabric and likely to be rather transparent. She carefully put her bare feet on the carpeted floor and placed her hand in the middle of Brent’s back. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her coverings a quick scrutiny before pulling her forward and tucking her close to his side.
They shuffled towards the bed where he scooped up their belongings and guided her towards the door, taking care to keep his large body and armful of clothes between her and the four guests and thus deprive them of glimpsing her face or coloring. Taking care that her identity was shielded and her reputation untarnished, or at least no more tarnished than when her husband had killed himself over a reckless and foolish bet.
His care of her reminding Lillian why she considered Brent the most honorable man she knew. Very few of the titled men she’d met during her years of attending upper social events had the morals of a true gentleman, and certainly none of Geoffrey’s circle stuck to their principles. They acted like sheep and blindly followed whichever leader happened to be in fashion, or had deep pockets, that particular week. Brent had proved the exception, time and again.
When his wife had boasted about her affairs, Brent had visited each of her lovers in turn and threatened them retribution if they discussed his wife, or spoke badly of her. His aim, however, wasn’t to stop talk of him being a cuckold, but to stop every gentleman Marion had taken as her lover labeling her a whore or sharing drunken stories about their bedroom romps. No wonder Lillian, his family, his close friends, and his daughter all loved him.
She loved him. She was in love with Brent, Earl Mallory, her clever confidant.
Her heart stuttered, her pulse raced, and she stumbled.
Brent tightened his hold on her arm and glanced at her in concern, before guiding her through the doorway and down the corridor. He glanced back to check no one had followed them and then, once again, walked to each door and listened. They needed an empty room, and quickly, so they could redress. The notion of donning her clothes and returning Brent’s shirt saddened her as she might never have another chance to see his broad chest or admire his muscled abdomen. She’d used up her meagre supply of seductive tactics when she’d coerced Brent into going upstairs with her. Now she needed and excuse to prolong their night and spend more time together.
‘This one,’ he said, tugging her inside and depositing his bundle of clothing on a dresser. He turned the key in the lock and wedged a chair under the handle in case Browning decided to search for them and use his master key again. With a heavy sigh he picked up her chemise and gown and handed them to her.
‘My corset,’ she said, but he shook his head and bent to tug on his trousers.
‘No time, besides, I’m taking you straight home.’