While she appreciated the protectiveness, she also wanted to be viewed as independent, wanted her brothers to understand she was as equal to the task of handling their change in circumstance as they were. She very much doubted if he should run into Marcus, Griffith was going to tell him to stop sneaking into the residence and leaving them money. But he refused to take her coins.

She patted his freshly covered hands. “There. Almost as good as new.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Not really.” Shoving back the chair, he stood. “Will you carry the lamp?”

She didn’t know why he asked. It was their nightly ritual. They journeyed across the small room to the hallway where he turned right and she went left. She always waited until he disappeared into his bedchamber at the front of the house. He claimed not to be bothered by the dark, that he could navigate his way through it. When he closed his door, she went into her chamber at the rear of the residence and fought against the melancholy that usually came over her at the sight of the unfurnished room, the pile of blankets on the floor that served as her bed.

She knew her life would never again be as it once was, but had to believe that in time, it would improve.

Setting the lamp on the floor, she divested herself of her clothing, changed into her nightdress, undid her hair, brushed it a hundred times, and plaited it. She had just settled on the pile of blankets, bringing her ermine-lined cloak over her, when she remembered the sovereign. She dug it out of the pocket of her frock, closed her fingers around it, and snuggled back down. She didn’t know why she viewed it as a talisman of better things to come.

Nestling her closed fist against her breast, she was torn between hoping this Beast fellow would return and praying she’d never see him again. He’d guessed correctly that she originally hailed from Mayfair.

How long would it take him to determine that the change in her circumstance had come about because she was the cursed daughter of a traitorous duke?

After striding into the residence, Beast crossed the foyer and peered into the front parlor. The madam, Jewel, was plying four gents—who were no doubt awaiting their turn—with alcohol and keeping them entertained with ribald stories and jests. It had been years since she’d taken a man to her bed. Catching sight of him, she gave him a little smile that signaled all was well, no trouble was afoot.

Christ, but he hated this bloody business.