The intruder started up the stairs, coming very fast, and then Teresa recognized him. It was Lord Simon Farange, the man behind the kidnappings. They had expected that he would hear the gossip and deduce who had raided the house, but Teresa hadn’t imagined he would force his way in here. He snarled up at her, missed his footing, and caught at the stair rail to keep his balance. Teresa concluded that he’d been drinking. Surely only drunkenness would lead him to invade the earl’s residence.
Chirt was struggling to his feet below. He would bring help. Until then, it was up to her to protect her charges.
Teresa rushed back into the drawing room. “Lord Simon is here,” she said. Gasps around the room greeted this unwelcome news. They all knew his name by this time. “He is alone,” Teresa added. “And there are seven of us.” She went to the hearth and picked up the fireplace poker. She posted herself between the girls and the doorway.
Lord Simon burst in and stood swaying there. “Here’s a fine sight,” he said. “A huddle of whores gone to ground.” He laughed. “Even my lovely little Odile.” He pointed at her. “Do you imagine I won’t scoop you up the moment you pass through the front door? Did you really think to escape me?”
From the sofa, Odile made a soft frightened sound.
“Come on!” cried Poppy. With a sweeping gesture, she surged forward. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the others, except Teresa and Odile, joined her. In a mob, they threw themselves on Lord Simon, bearing him to the carpet. There they surrounded him, punching and kicking and cursing. The man seemed stunned by this response, scarcely able to defend himself.
Three footmen ran in with Chirt right behind them. Teresa held up a hand and let the pummeling continue for a little longer. Then she moved forward to pull the girls away. The footmen hauled Lord Simon to his feet and held him upright. He drooped in their grip, much worse for wear. He would have some bruises of his own, Teresa noted with satisfaction.
She turned to replace the poker and discovered Odile, sitting up shakily on the sofa and pointing Teresa’s pistol at the intruder. When had she taken the gun? The last Teresa knew it was shoved into the back of a drawer in her bedchamber. Had she even mentioned that? It seemed that the girl had searched her room. “Odile,” Teresa said.
“I wish to kill him dead,” replied the girl.
“It will cause great trouble for you if you kill him,” said Teresa.
“I don’t worry. He is deserving of death.”
“He may deserve it, Odile, but you do not deserve the consequences of such an act.”
“No one cares about me.”
“We do.” Teresa looked around at the other girls. “Don’t we?”
They all nodded.
“He ain’t worth it,” said Poppy. “He’s no better than a piece of trash.”
“Me, I know someone to kill him for us,” said Jeanne, breathing hard, her fingers still crooked into claws.
Teresa didn’t respond to this. Better not to discuss hired assassins. “We will use the law,” she answered instead.
“They will not listen to the likes of us,” objected Sonia.
“They will listen to me,” said Lord Macklin from the doorway.
His sudden appearance startled Odile. The pistol jerked upward in her hand and went off. The report was shockingly loud in the closed room. The air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder.
“Merde!” Odile dropped the pistol as if it had bitten her.
The footmen had flinched and ducked, but they hadn’t released their captive. The earl, perhaps seeing the angle of the weapon, had stood very still. The rest of them had quailed. Slowly now, they straightened.
A chittery sound broke the silence. Bits of plaster fell from a hole high on the wall.
“Take him to a storeroom and lock him in,” said the earl.
Lord Simon glared at him. “You’re no better than me,” he said. His voice was more slurred than before due to a bloodied lip. “You’ve got yourself a houseful of whores right here in London.”
Teresa’s fingers tightened on the poker.
Lord Macklin showed no reaction to the taunt. “I shall speak to the authorities, and your father.”
“He won’t care,” declared Lord Simon. He rasped and spit on the carpet. His spittle was red. “Nobody will care about a bunch of light-skirts. Why should they? Worthless doxies.”
The earl gestured, and the footmen pulled Lord Simon out of the room. Chirt followed them.
Teresa replaced the poker and went to pick up her gun, which she would hide far more securely from now on.
“I am very sorry for this intrusion,” said Lord Macklin. “I hope you are not too shaken up.” His gaze passed over them all.
“I liked kicking him,” said Poppy.
“I would have preferred killing him dead,” said Odile.
“Quite understandable,” answered the earl. “But that would have been imprudent.”
Jeanne walked over to sit beside Odile and take her hand. Teresa made a note to discover the details of their whispering and make certain they did not involve hired killers.
The earl drew Teresa aside. “Will anyone listen to you?” she asked him.
“After this latest outrage, I’m sure I can convince the duke to send his son away.”
“No more than that?”
Lord Macklin looked grim. “All the people from that house fled before the magistrate reached it.”
“Even the woman we tied up?”
He nodded. “I suppose she was found and freed. I have just heard that the hunt for them has turned up nothing. They are still being searched for. I hope some may be found.”
“Because without them, it is only ‘whores’ accusing Lord Simon. And they must be liars, sí?”
He made no reply.
“There is the driver who took me into the country,” Teresa exclaimed. How could she have forgotten him? “We saw Lord Simon drive through the gates with Jeanne.”
“Ah. Of course. That could be helpful.” His tone was doubtful.
“But not enough?” She felt bitterness well up. “Another insignificant person lining up against the son of a duke.”
“A private arrangement with his father would be most likely to succeed,” said Lord Macklin.
“So all goes on as before. He will not be punished. Perhaps I should let Jeanne’s friend the assassin kill him.”
“What?”