Trapped by Scandal by Jane Feather Page A

of course, I’m staying. I’ll leave when we’ve found Marie Claire and her family. And I daresay,” she added, “Marie Claire will want you to accompany her, Alec, so we’ll go home together.”
    Alec didn’t attempt an argument that he knew he would lose anyway. Hero had always been her own person, with her own very strong opinions, and since the death of her fiancé, she had become even more so. The natural reckless streak in her personality had become stronger and she seemed sometimes deliberately heedless of consequences. It troubled her brother deeply, but he didn’t know how to intervene. He knew she was still struggling with her grief at Tom’s loss, at the loss of a future she had been so certain of, and Alec didn’t know how to help her through it, except to support her need to find a renewed purpose in her life. He accepted her statement with a mental shrug, saying instead, “We have to find them first.”
    His mouth twisted as he thought of his delicate fiancée somewhere in the bloody madhouse of the city, probably rotting in some filthy prison. Marie Claire had none of Hero’s strength. How should she have, sheltered and cosseted as she had been all her life? His eyes seemed to glaze, and he shook his head like a drunken man, before hauling himself up and falling in a sprawl of limbs intoa rocking chair by the range. “I’ll just shut my eyes for a few minutes.”
    â€œMe, too,” Stephen announced abruptly, yawning deeply as he swung himself off the bench. There was a chorus of agreement, and the men around the table rose wearily to their feet, moving to the door that opened into the interior of the house.
    Hero glanced at her brother. He was sleeping like the dead. “Is there a quilt, anything I can cover him with?”
    â€œIn the top drawer of the dresser over there. You should find something.” William gestured to the dresser.
    Hero found a rather grubby blanket. She draped it over her sleeping brother and then swallowed a yawn of her own. The wine and the food were taking their toll after the exigencies of the day.
    â€œIt’s time we were all in bed,” William observed, taking up a candle. “Come.”
    â€œI can sleep on the bench,” Hero said as he moved to the door. “It’s warm enough with the fire.”
    â€œBut hard and narrow,” he pointed out, turning back to her, beckoning imperatively. “Come.”
    Hero had little strength to resist, as the idea of lying full-length somewhere and allowing herself to sleep properly for the first time in days offered a siren’s call. She followed him out of the kitchen and up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the dark hallway beyond. Several doors opened off the square landing, and faint snuffles and snores came from behind them.
    William led the way up a second, even narrower stairway, shielding the candle flame with one hand, and openeda door at the top. It led into a small eaved chamber with a low, unshuttered window. The air was chill, although the early September day had been quite warm, but the bed, which took up most of the floor space, appeared to be well supplied with covers, and Hero looked longingly at it.
    William set the candle on the shelf above the empty grate, then bent and pulled out a truckle bed from beneath the bigger bed. “You should find this comfortable enough. It’s too short for me.” He threw several quilts from the bed onto the smaller one and sat down to pull off his wooden sabots.
    Hero perched on the low windowsill to kick off her own rough clogs. Her companion snuffed the candle and climbed into the bed, pulling a cover over him. The room was dimly lit by the moon shining in the unglazed window, and Hero could make out enough to get herself onto the truckle bed without stubbing a toe. She hesitated a moment, then resolutely untied the strip of cloth at her waist that kept up her grimy