The water is hot and soothing. Danny has left to wash Alessia’s dirty laundry. She’s promised to be back in a wee minute. She’s going to fetch the rest of Alessia’s clothes from the car and bring her some painkillers for her head. It’s throbbing because Dante pulled her upright by her hair. Alessia’s trembling has subsided, but her anxiety remains. She closes her eyes and all she can see is Dante’s snarling face in front of hers. She opens them again immediately and shudders remembering the smell.

Zot. The stink of him. Fetid. Stale sweat. Unwashed. And his breath.

She gags. And splashes her face to rinse away the memory, but the hot water stings where he hit her.

Ylli’s words sound in her head.

“N?se me pastruese do t? thuash konkubin?.”

If by cleaner you mean concubine.

Concubine.

The word is apt. She doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but it’s the truth. She is Maxim’s concubine—and his cleaner. Her mood grows bleaker still. What did she expect? The moment she defied her father, her fate was sealed. But she had no choice. If she had stayed in Kuk?s, she would be married to a volatile and violent man. Alessia shudders. She had begged her father to stop the betrothal. But he ignored her and her mother’s pleas. He had given that man his word of honor.

His besa.

And there was nothing either of them could do. Baba would not go back on his word. He would bring great dishonor to the family name if he did. Her mother’s solution was to unwittingly put her in the hands of those gangsters. But now that they are in police custody, they are no longer a threat to her, and she has to accept the reality of her situation. While she’s been in Cornwall, laughing on the beach, drinking in the pub, eating in fine restaurants, having sexual intercourse and falling in love with Mister Maxim, she has lost sight of that reality. Being with him has filled her head with illusions. Just as her grandmother had done—giving her crazy ideas about independence and liberation. Alessia had left her homeland to escape her betrothed but also, in good faith, expecting to find work. That’s what she needed to do. To work, to be independent—not a kept woman.

She stares into the dissipating bubbles in the bath.

She hadn’t expected to fall in love….

Danny comes bustling back into the bathroom holding a large navy-blue bathrobe. “Come now. Let’s get you out of there. We don’t want you turning into a prune,” she says.

Prune?

Alessia rises. On automatic. And Danny drapes the bathrobe around her and helps her step out of the bath. “Is that better?” she asks.

Alessia nods. “Thank you, missus.”

“My name’s Danny. I know we haven’t been formally introduced. But that’s what everyone calls me here. I’ve brought a glass of water, some tablets, and an ice pack for your head and some arnica cream for your cheek. It will help with the bruising, and I’ve called the doctor to come look at that nasty bruise on your side. Let’s get you into bed. You must be exhausted.” She ushers Alessia into the bedroom.

“Maxim?”

“His lordship will be along as soon as he’s dealt with the police. Come now.”

“His lordship?”

“Yes, dear.”

Alessia frowns, and Danny’s expression echoes hers.

“Did you not know? Maxim is the Earl of Trevethick.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Earl of Trevethick?

“This is his house,” Danny says gently, as if talking to a child. “All the land surrounding the house. The village—” She stops. “He didn’t tell you?”

Alessia shakes her head.

“I see.” Danny’s white brows knit together, but she shrugs. “Well, I’m sure he had his reasons. Now, shall I leave you to get dressed? Your bag of clothes is on the chair.”

Alessia nods, and Danny takes her leave, shutting the door behind her. Stunned, Alessia stares at the closed door, her mind imploding. Her knowledge of the English peerage is limited to two Georgette Heyer books her grandmother had smuggled into Albania. As far as Alessia knows, there is no aristocracy in her country. In ancient times yes, but since the Communists had seized all land after the Second World War, the nobles that lived there had fled.

But here…Mister Maxim is an earl.

No. Not Mister. He’s Lord Maxim.

Milord.

Why didn’t he tell her?

And the answer echoes loudly and painfully through her head.

Because she is his cleaner.

N?se pastruesi do t? thot? konkubin?.

If by cleaner you mean concubine.

She sucks in a breath, wrapping the bathrobe tighter around herself against the winter chill and this distressing news.

Why did he keep this from her?

Because she is not good enough for him, of course.

She is only good for one thing….

Her stomach lurches at his betrayal. How could she be so gullible? Feeling raw and wounded by his dishonesty, she wipes away the tears that spring to her eyes. She’s been in denial.

Her relationship with him has been too good to be true.

Deep down she suspected this. And now she knows the truth.

But he never made any promises to her. Those were all in her head. He’s never told her he loves her….He’s never pretended to love her. Yet in the short time she’s known him, she’s fallen for him. Fallen from a great height.

I am a fool. A misguided fool in love.

She closes her eyes in anguish as hot tears of shame and regret course down her cheeks. Furious, she dashes them away and begins to dry herself briskly.

This is her wake-up call.

She takes a long breath—she’s cried enough. Her deepening anger gives her momentum. She’s not going to cry over him. She’s mad at him, and at herself for being so stupid.

In her heart she knows that her fury is masking her hurt, and she’s grateful for it. It’s less painful than his betrayal.

She drops the robe on the floor, grabs the bag of clothes off the blue chair, and empties the contents onto the bed. Thankful that she had acted on impulse to bring her old clothes, too, she tugs on her pink panties, bra, her own jeans, her Arsenal FC top, and her sneakers. That’s the extent of her own stuff. She’s not brought her coat, but she grabs one of the sweaters that Mister Maxim—Lord Maxim—bought her, and the blanket that Danny had grabbed from the Hideout.

Dante and Ylli will be arrested, and surely once the police establish the extent of their crimes, they’ll be incarcerated and those brutes will no longer be a threat to her.

She can leave.

She’s not going to stay here.

She doesn’t want to be with a man who has deceived her. A man who will cast her aside when he tires of her. She would rather leave than be sent away.

She has to get out. Now.

Swiftly she downs the two tablets Danny has left for her. Then, with one last glance around the elegant bedroom, she opens the door a crack. There’s no one on the landing. She slips out of the room, closing the door behind her. Somehow she needs to find her way back to the Hideout to retrieve her money and her belongings. She cannot leave the house the way she came in—Danny might be in the kitchen. She turns right and heads down the long corridor.

* * *

The Jag skids to a halt by the old stables. I fling open the door and abandon the car, flying into the house. I’m desperate to see Alessia.

Danny, Jessie, and the dogs are in the kitchen. “Not now, boys,” I instruct the dogs as they leap up to greet me and be petted.

“Welcome back, my lord. The police gone?” Danny asks.

“Yes. Where is she?”

“In the blue room.”

“Thanks.” In haste I make for the door.

“Oh, my lord…” Danny calls after me and there’s a waver in her voice that brings me to a halt.

“What? How is she?”

“Shaken, sir. She threw up on the way over here.”

“Is she okay now?”

“She’s had a bath. And she’s changing into fresh clothes. And…” Danny glances with uncertainty at Jessie, who goes back to peeling spuds.

“What is it?” I demand.

Danny pales. “I mentioned that you’re the Earl of Trevethick.”

What?

“Shit!” I race out of the kitchen, along the west hallway, and bound up the back stairs toward the blue room with Jensen and Healey at my heels. My heart is pounding.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. I wanted to tell her. What must she be thinking?

Outside the blue room door, I stop and take a deep breath, ignoring the dogs, who have chased after me convinced some new game is afoot.

Alessia’s had a horrific scare today. Now she’s in a place she doesn’t know, with people she doesn’t know. She’s probably utterly overwhelmed.

And she’s going to be really fucking angry I didn’t tell her…

I knock on the door, briskly.

And wait.

I knock again. “Alessia!”

There’s no answer.

Fuck. She’s really pissed off with me.

With caution I open the door. Her clothes are scattered on the bed—her robe discarded on the floor, but there’s no sign of her. I check the bathroom. It’s empty except for the trace of her scent. Lavender and roses. For an instant I close my eyes and inhale. It’s soothing.

Where the hell is she?

She’s probably gone off to explore the house.

Or she’s left.

Shit.

I storm out of the room and bellow her name down the corridor. My voice echoes off the walls hung with portraits of my ancestors, but it’s met with a resounding silence. Dread seeps into my bones. Where is she? Has she passed out somewhere?

She’s fled.

This is all too much for her. Or maybe she thinks I don’t care….

Fuck.

I pace down the hallway, throwing open each door, with Jensen and Healey as my wingmen.

* * *