Free The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed by Lynne Connolly Page B

remember her name soon. After the things he’d said last night—that he wanted to see her again, that he enjoyed her—he must have changed his mind. Wealthy and spoiled, probably jaded from years of doing what he wanted with whomever he wanted.
    Nevertheless he’d done another thing right. He’d helped the unnamed family to safety. Lucille might not know much, but she knew about the Thorndykes, even had the emergency number. She just hadn’t realized there was a station so close. Bastards did good deeds all the time, she reminded herself.
    After swallowing her disappointment along with her cereal, Lucille didn’t linger in the luxury shower or play with the expensive toiletries. She’d lost her enthusiasm for that, and the longer she stayed in this place, the more she felt like a whore. Well, not quite that, but someone who’d been used, for sure.
    She called Missy, but her phone was switched off. Probably still enjoying the hell out of her actor. That was what Lucille should have done. Enjoyed Jay and then left. Not allowed him so close.
    Lucille didn’t want to wear the borrowed clothing, but she had no choice. At least she had clean underwear. She hadn’t been looking forward to donning yesterday’s, even for the short journey home. She’d expected to arrive garbed in her approximation of a Regency lady, the dress tied up or maybe rough stitches just to hold it together. Then all the neighbors would know where she’d been and that she’d stayed out all night. Not a pretty thought.
    She wouldn’t keep the things the woman had brought her. If Jay didn’t want the clothes back, she’d donate them to a thrift store.
    After roughly drying her hair, she pushed the mass behind her shoulders, stuffed her belongings in one of the bags the clothes had come in, tied it off, and prepared to leave.
    My, this house was big. As she traversed the seemingly endless hallways, she must have passed a dozen closed doors. At another time she’d have loved to explore them. Today, sick at heart at her gullibility, she walked past them, then back again until she found an elegant curving staircase leading down to the main hallway.
    At least her driver wasn’t wearing some kind of stupid-ass uniform. The space was unoccupied except for her and the driver. She glanced around, frowning. “Have the other guests gone home?”
    “They’re in the public rooms. Mr. Trevino has a suite for entertaining in the other wing.”
    Lucille nearly scrunched her nose and told him what he could do with his wing. But this man hadn’t done her any harm. He merely witnessed her humiliation as the brusque woman had in Jay’s bedroom. Was it even his own bedroom, or had he taken her to one he kept for his women? She had no idea. The room was quietly neutral; that way, it would suit a woman or a man, and she hadn’t seen anything overtly personal. However, she hadn’t pried, opened any of the drawers or the boxes neatly ranked on the vanity. Maybe he was just a tidy man.
    Not that she cared, she told herself. Except this morning she felt cheap, where last night, she’d been convinced she’d met someone really special, someone she could share her thoughts with. More than a lover—a friend.
    Nothing of the kind. He wanted to fuck, and she’d obliged. Not that she’d come out of it empty-handed. She’d enjoyed the night too.
    In the black limo with the darkened back windows, she gave in to her despair. How stupid was she? He’d left so nobody would know he’d disgraced himself by fucking a local girl. Arriving like this wouldn’t help her, though. Everyone would know she’d been with him.
    The car purred, and inside the engine sounded so soft she had to stare out the windows to remind herself they were moving.
    At the first sign of habitation, she rapped on the window. It slid back. “Let me out here,” she said. “I could use the walk.”
    “Mr. Trevino sent orders for me to take you to your home,” the driver said.
    “Fuck Mr.