“Let me see to your knee,” Abigail said, setting his cane aside and moving closer.

“My cane, please.”

“Your leg hurts. You should rest it.”

“Abigail, please put my cane where I can reach it.” His tone was civil—barely.

She passed him his cane. “Only the one today?”

“When I go out, I try to manage with one.”

“And then you pay for your pride.” She began the slow, smooth massage he seemed to favor.

“Harder,” he said, leaning his head back against the cushions. “That knee only understands a firm touch.”

She dug in with her fingers, which earned her a sigh.

“Exactly like that. Ye gods, I might not let you stay with Quinn and Jane after all.”

“You are not letting me do anything, my lord. I’ve asked for your help. That does not put you in control of me. Finish your explanation regarding your siblings.”

“If my family learned that I was in difficulties, and I did not turn to them for aid, they would be hurt. I have hurt them enough. In my youth, when I could not lash out with my fists, I lashed out with words. I broke antique vases. I threw food I would have sold myself for a few years earlier. I was impossible, and only Duncan’s monumental patience and even greater stores of academic guile stopped me from the worst of my foolishness.”

“What is academic guile?”

Lord Stephen closed his eyes. “When you meet him, you’ll understand. Life is a logic puzzle to Duncan, and guiding my self-destructive impulses into creative directions became his defining challenge. Duncan’s virtue is so stern as to be nearly invisible, but nobody loves more fiercely than he. I owe him my life. I owe Quinn, Constance, and Althea my life. I owe Jane my soul, and my nieces my heart. Please say you will stay with Quinn and Jane.”

The truth was, Abigail could not bide with Lord Stephen for any length of time and still be accepted by decent society. Lord Stephen might produce a fictitious maiden auntie to serve as a nominal chaperone for a sum certain, or he might allude to an equally fictitious distant family connection between him and Abigail, but tongues would inevitably wag.

The Quality were nothing if not hypocritical.

“If you can assure me that your family will be in no danger, I will stay with them.”

Lord Stephen opened his eyes. “Quinn is filthy, reeking rich, and as suspicious of his fellow man as only a gutter whelp who has come up in the world can be. He’s seen Newgate from the top of the scaffold, and been betrayed by fancy employers since his earliest youth. If you come across a titled family in financial distress, they probably hate Quinn Wentworth, because he either cut off their credit or refused to lend to them altogether.”

And this was the dukedom Stephen would inherit? “Walden is conscientious about his family’s security?”

“He’s fanatical about it and has tasked me with measures to safeguard the ladies in particular. Every Wentworth conveyance is a rolling fortress of my design, the footmen are all skilled with firearms and knives, which I’ve fashioned for ease of concealment. We employ a lowlier variety of domestic than most households, because we want the sharpest possible eyes looking out for us. My sisters typically carry weapons, as do I, and the children never go abroad without a platoon of guards.”