Taking the Spinster - Samantha Holt Page 0,4

the school of thought that it is never acceptable to raise a hand to a woman, regardless of their behavior,” he said firmly.

“Well, you are a rarity, I am afraid.”

“How do you know he is treating her this way if you have not seen her?” Guy despised asking these questions, but he had to be certain of the woman’s situation before he put himself and the rest of The Kidnap Club at risk.

“She managed to get a letter to me about a month ago. The beatings are getting worse. She said she feared she might die at his hands.” She reached into her reticule and tugged out a scrap of paper. She handed over the letter with a shaky hand.

He took it and turned it into the light from the streets. He couldn’t read it all, but he saw enough to recognize the severity of the situation.

“I need you to get to my sister, Louisa. Somehow. Any longer trapped in that marriage and I believe her fears will come true.” The duchess reached over and grabbed his hand in a fervent grip. “Please say you will do this for me.”

Guy didn’t need to think twice. He might not have much of an affiliation with women these days and was intent on keeping it that way after the Amelia fiasco, but he’d seen first-hand what these sorts of men did to their wives. He couldn’t leave Louisa Windham to her fate, and this was precisely why The Kidnap Club had been formed.

“I’ll help you,” he vowed.

TUGGING THE PINS from her hair, Freya opted to leave her thick coat on as she clustered the pins in her hand and slipped them in her pocket. She ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her scalp with a sigh of relief. Silly her for trying to look professional. Lord Huntingdon might have treated her more cordially had she looked sweet and lovely, like one of the ladies of the ton.

She wrinkled her nose and paused to light the lone candle in the hallway. There was no chance of her looking like any of them, not without money and breeding. Everything about her was pale. Fair hair that looked almost white in some lights and eyes that were only passably blue. Whilst the women of the ton favored a fair complexion, hers tended to look more sickly than delicate.

Alas, she was not without vanity, even though she really ought to be. Looking pleasing meant little for a woman like her. The only way she would get anything in life was with hard work.

That did not stop her wondering how it would feel to have a man like the earl admire her, though?

Freya shook her head at herself and tiptoed down the hallway, pausing at the doorway of the drawing room. The fire offered a weak glow that barely permeated the room let alone the rest of the house. She’d sleep in her threadbare coat tonight seeing as her father hadn’t kept the fire going.

She eased past the armchair where she had left her father this morning. A noise rather like the growl of an annoyed dog emanated from his open mouth. She glanced at the dog by his feet. “How come Papa sounds more like a dog than you do?” she whispered.

Brig’s ears perked up and he eased slowly to his feet. The bulldog sat at only calf height and moved slowly toward her. She dropped to a crouch, offering out a hand for the half-blind animal as he moved sluggishly toward the scent of her. He gave her a little sniff then butted against her hand. Freya smiled, dropping fully to the floor and allowing the white dog to crawl upon her lap for a good, thorough fuss.

“I really should get this fire going,” she told Brig. “We’ll all freeze tonight otherwise.”

“I only fell asleep for a little while,” her father grumbled. “It’s not even that cold.”

She glanced up to see him straighten in his chair and pull the blanket over him. “Oh is it not? Then I suppose you do not need that blanket.”

“I like it,” he protested. “It’s comfortable.”

She rose and placed the dog down on the rug near the waning fire. Her father peered at her through droopy eyelids, his bushy brows nearly covering his vision. Creases and a large, ruddy nose dominated his face while his white hair remained thick.

Sometimes she wished her parents were younger—that she had been born sooner—but no parent could love her as much as