by Shana Galen
She didn’t believe him. How could he possibly make a plan when he didn’t even know how much she owed or to whom? On the other hand, he’d made her reconsider traipsing down to St. James’s Street and gambling the night away. What if winning was not as easy as she thought? What if she only found herself in more debt and with a ruined reputation besides?
“Fine. Take me home,” she said, fumbling with her cloak. Mr. Fortescue helped her with it, but when she had it fastened at her throat, she noticed Colin was speaking quietly with Murray.
“Don’t tell me he’s part of your plan.”
Colin smiled. “Fine. I won’t.”
“I’ll hail the hackney,” Fortescue said.
“You?” Daphne looked at the three men. “You’re all coming?”
“No sense wasting a perfectly good hackney,” Murray said with a wink. Daphne wanted to hit him. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in a hackney with these three men. Fortunately, Murray and Fortescue went on their way when she and Colin departed the hackney at the corner near her father’s house.
“I’ll just make sure you get inside,” Colin said, leading her around the back, past the now quiet mews. She couldn’t help but dart a glance at the place he’d kissed her before. She had the urge to kiss him again. But she had to remember that it was all calculation with him. He didn’t really feel anything when he was with her. It was a means to an end, and she would not allow him to break her heart again.
And so she left him at the gate and went inside, straight to her chamber, without being seen. She could not stop thinking that she was out of time with Battersea. He would come for her soon.
But when she reached her bedside, she had the sense Colin was still near, and she went to the window and parted the curtains. She didn’t see him, but she knew he would stay close. The thought of him nearby eased her mind enough that she could sleep.
THE DUCHESS HAD ARRANGED for Colin and Daphne to visit their new house at half past three in the afternoon. This was undoubtedly so the couple could be seen riding together after the visit at the fashionable hour. Colin could appreciate the Duchess of Warcliffe’s strategic mind. She could have challenged Stratford Fortescue for his role in Draven’s troop.
Her daughter was equally cunning, so Colin had watched the town house for another half hour the night before until the servant he’d paid had come out to tell him Lady Daphne had gone to sleep. The maid swore she’d seen the lady in bed and asleep.
He’d gone home and prepared for the morning. It was not hard to discover Lady Daphne’s daily routine. She was at home to callers Tuesdays and Thursdays. She made calls Mondays and Wednesdays. Fridays she visited her modiste, a dark-skinned Frenchwoman who had a shop near Bond Street. Colin took up residence across from Madame Renauld’s shop, dressed as one of the lower classes, the sort of man a shop owner might employ as a bully to keep the rabble and thieves away. He doubted Daphne would recognize him but was sure of it when the Earl of Shrewsbury leapt out of his curricle and threw Colin his reigns before escorting his wife into a hat shop. Shrewsbury was the brother of his friend Jasper, and the earl and Colin had met on several occasions.
Colin didn’t mind being given the task. It made his disguise more authentic when the Duke of Warcliffe’s carriage turned into the small square and a footman helped Daphne out. She told the coachman to return in an hour and went into Madame Renauld’s. The footman waited outside.
Daphne came out twenty minutes later, followed by a seamstress who handed the footman a package. The servant followed Daphne to the café next door where she usually took tea until the carriage returned. If Colin knew her routine this well, it wouldn’t be difficult for someone else to learn it. He’d been there long enough to see all the people who went in and out of the modiste’s shop and the café, and now he moved so he could see into the café a bit better. No one had entered who he thought might have anything to do with Daphne and the money she owed. There were a few debutantes with their mothers and an older couple. Daphne seemed to take no notice of them.
But she owed someone money and the debt was due, else she wouldn’t have been so desperate to visit the gaming tables on St. James’s Street last night. And whoever was in her debt would want to speak to her sooner rather than later.
Just then a man in an expensive greatcoat and carrying an ebony walking stick rounded the corner on the other side, entering the square. Colin went on alert, but his attention was diverted when Shrewsbury returned and threw him a few coins before taking his reins. Colin moved along the street, finally spotting the man again in front of the modiste’s shop. He went in, which Colin found curious as he had no lady with him.
“Can you spare a ha’pence, sir?”
Colin glanced down at the urchin looking up at him, hand outstretched. Of course, he didn’t fool the street urchins. They knew who belonged and who didn’t. Colin dug out a penny Shrewsbury had tossed him and gave it to the lad. “You can have another if you tell me the name of the man that just went into that dressmaker’s shop.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “The nob?”
“Yes.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “She’ll throw me out. Don’t like anyone not a customer to come inside, and she already has a boy who fetches and carries.”
“Then you’ll have a penny for your trouble. Hurry up and decide.”
The boy looked at the penny in his hand, then the shop, then darted across the street and slipped into the shop. Colin melted back into the scenery, his gaze alternating between the modiste’s and the café.
A moment later the modiste’s door opened and a seamstress bodily threw the urchin out. He made a rude hand gesture then crossed the street, rubbing his ear. He looked up and down for a moment until he spotted Colin.
“I think I deserve two pence for what she did to my ear. It ‘urts like the dickens.”
“Who is he?” Colin asked, without preamble.
The urchin held out his hand. “I like to be paid up front.”
Colin tossed him the penny. The boy examined it then said, “The man’s name is Battersea. ‘E’s a lord, but I don’t know what kind.”
Colin doubted the presence of the Earl of Battersea was a coincidence. “What else?”
“Says ‘e’s shopping for ladies’ gloves, but ‘e wasn’t looking at them.”
“What was he looking at?”
“More like looking around, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Colin gave him another penny. “Now take that money to your mother so she can buy something for your family to eat.”
The boy made a face. “She’ll just spend it all on gin.”
“Then you buy food and share it. Off with you before one of the bigger boys decides to shake it out of you.”
The boy tapped his cap and started away. “Will you come back?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“If you do, I’ll go in the shop for you again.”
“Good to know.” But Colin’s eyes were on the modiste’s shop. Battersea had emerged, and, presumably not having found Daphne in the dressmaker’s, was now heading toward the café.
He went in the café, and Colin crossed the street. Colin couldn’t go in the café, not dressed as he was, but he stood to one side of the window and watched.
As soon as Battersea entered, Daphne stiffened and rose to leave. Battersea, the picture of politeness, seemed to accidentally step in her path and apologize. Daphne barely looked at him as he spoke, keeping her head high. Her cheeks turned pink, and she nodded slightly before moving past him toward the door. Colin checked the street. Her carriage had not returned yet and would not for another quarter hour or so. That would give Battersea plenty of time to threaten and cajole.
She stepped outside, her gaze sliding over Colin as she looked around the square. “William, go fetch the coachman, will you?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady.” The footman rushed away.
A moment later Battersea stepped out of the caf
é and stood behind her. Daphne’s eyes closed, and Colin imagined she realized her mistake then. She was alone on the street with nowhere to escape.
Colin intended to stand by and leave her to her fate. After all, it was full daylight in a well-trafficked square and her footman would return with the carriage shortly. But Battersea made his own error. He came up behind Daphne and took her arm.
She wore a pink cloak, and the man probably couldn’t feel much more than the material of the garment, but Colin did not like seeing the other man’s hand on her. “My lady,” Colin said in his best lower-class accent. She glanced at him in surprise but still without recognition. “I’ll escort you if you’re ready to go.”
“Go away,” Battersea told him. “She’s already sent the footman to fetch the carriage.”
Colin could see the man clearly now. He had red hair and dark eyes. He was tall and wiry under his clothing and his lips were thin, his cheeks elegant slashes. Colin knew without a doubt this was the man she owed money to, and he was not a man to be trifled with.
Not that Colin cared one way or the other. If he didn’t take his hand off Colin’s wife, the man would find his nose on the wrong side of his face. Colin kept his head bowed and his expression placid, mirroring none of the anger building inside him.
“Then my lady has time to stop in and look at the hat shop.”
“My lady is speaking with me. Go find your coin elsewhere.” He tossed a coin to the ground, but Colin ignored it. It was then that Daphne really looked at him. No man truly in his position would ignore the coin. “As I was saying,” Battersea began.
Daphne pulled her gaze from Colin to frown at Battersea. “My lord, I believe I said we would have to speak of it later.”
“We’ll speak of it now.”
Colin couldn’t seem to stop looking at Battersea’s gloved hand on Daphne’s cloak. His grip had tightened and looked far too possessive. Colin grabbed the hand and shoved the man back. They were of a similar height and Battersea stumbled.
“What is the meaning of this?” Battersea righted himself and came for Colin, who stood his ground.
“She said she’ll speak later.”
“I will have you locked away for this, you filthy piece of offal. How dare you put hands on me?” He raised his walking stick and swung it at Colin’s head. Colin caught it and shoved Battersea back again.
“My lady, we had better walk away now,” he said quickly.
She nodded, staring at him as though she’d seen a ghost. Colin took her wrist and pulled her toward Bond Street, where presumably the carriage had been driven to wait. They walked quickly as Battersea sputtered behind them.
“That was foolish,” she said. “He’ll kill you.”
“He was hurting you,” Colin answered.
“Yes, but...” She stared at him. “Do I know you?”
Colin lifted his chin and looked her directly in the face. She stumbled and went pale. “Oh, my God.”
“Now just you wait!” Battersea yelled. “I said halt!”
Colin could hear his footsteps pounding behind them, and at the last minute he pushed Daphne aside. “Stay there.” He swung around in time to duck Battersea’s fist. Battersea had swung hard and expected to make impact, so he was not ready for Colin’s counterattack. Colin brought his right fist up for a swift upper cut to Battersea’s jaw. Battersea grunted and landed a punch in Colin’s ribs. He huffed out air but ignored the pain and swept Battersea’s leg. When he was down, he kicked him in the belly.
Breathing heavily, Colin held out his arm to Daphne. “Shall we?”
“You’re mad,” she breathed, but she was smart enough not to hesitate. Daphne jumped away from the wall and took his arm. As they walked, she looked over her shoulder.
“Eyes forward,” he said, gritting his teeth against the burn in his ribs.
“He’s standing up. He looks angry enough to kill both of us.” She trembled, and Colin realized she truly was afraid.
“Son of a bastard.” His rib must be bruised. It felt like a knife in his flesh.
“This way,” she said, arrowing for the modiste’s shop.
“He’ll just follow us inside.” Colin could picture it now. They’d exchange punches, turning over tables of muslin and causing bows to flutter all over the floor.
“Have some faith in me,” she said.
Since he didn’t relish the idea of continuing the fight with an injury, he followed her through the door. As soon as they entered the cool, dim interior, the clerk was beside them. “My lady, did you forget something?”
“No, but I need your help, Miss Phaedra.”
“Of course.”
“Tell the man who comes in next we went out the back,” Daphne said.
“I will, but—”
“Is anyone in the private parlor?” She was tugging Colin toward the back staircase.
“No, but we have a customer in”—she checked her pocket watch—“three quarters of an hour who will need it.”
“We’ll be gone by then. Hurry.”
Colin followed her, wincing at the effort it took to climb the stairs. At the top, he heard the bell jingle and the clerk ask if she could be of assistance. Battersea yelled for her to move out of the way and fired off a litany of questions.
Finger on her lips, Daphne silently opened the door at the top of the stairs and slipped inside. The parlor was cool and dark, and she led him to a couch that was so soft he practically sank into it. She went to the window and glanced out the heavy drapes. “My carriage hasn’t returned yet.”
“It will take a little time at this hour,” he answered, gingerly probing his ribs.
She closed the heavy drapes and moved back toward him. Colin couldn’t help but look about the room with interest. When he’d been younger, he’d always hoped to get a peek at the secret places ladies retreated. He’d been sorely disappointed the first time he’d stepped into a dressmaker’s shop. It was just fabrics and trims, nothing scandalous at all. This room held a grouping of chairs, a raised platform where a lady might stand to be measured, and a sewing table with patterns and scraps of paper laid out. No lacy underthings to be found.
Except under his wife’s dress.
He knew he’d given her pleasure the night before. What he hadn’t expected was for her to think his actions were some sort of ploy to distract her from traveling to St. James’s Street. The truth was he’d just wanted to touch her, watch her face as she climaxed. But he’d ended up making her question his intentions. Colin supposed his presence here this morning wouldn’t change any of that. Now that he knew who he was dealing with, however, he could put his plan into action.
She stood before him, her eyes sweeping over his attire. “You really are good with disguises. I didn’t recognize you.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“And today you thought to practice on me? How many times have you followed me around, spying on me?”
Colin felt the couch cushion sink lower. “I needed to know who you owed money to in order to finalize my plan.”
“Your plan? It’s too late for that now. My time is up, and he’ll come for me.” She clasped her hands, looking young and frightened.
“I won’t allow that.” His confident tone was belied by the sound of Battersea’s angry outbursts drifting up from below. “What is he threatening? To make it public you, a lady, owe him a significant amount of money?”
She looked away. “Yes. But it’s worse than that. He is the Earl of Battersea.”
“So I’m given to understand.” He rose with some effort, feeling uncomfortable sitting while she stood. “But I’ve heard very little of him.”
“I forget that you’ve been away, and since you’ve been back haven’t taken much interest the ton.”
“I take an interest in you.” He rather wished she would remove the pink cloak so he could see what her dress looked like today.
“Battersea is not the sort of man any lady wants to be associated with.
I shouldn’t have been playing cards with him, and I was a fool to allow myself to be drawn in to losing so much money to him.”
Colin refrained from agreeing with her. “We can discuss the specifics later, but the question I want answered is what happens if you don’t pay your debt? It must be something unpleasant if it would drive you to the more unsavory parts of St. James’s Street.”
She took a deep breath. “I lost a thousand pounds to the earl. I paid it, but it took me time to gather the blunt, and the interest is four thousand pounds.”
“Interest?” No gentleman would ask a lady to pay interest.
“I told you I made a mistake. I was playing so well, and I didn’t think it would matter.”
“So he tricked you.”
“Yes, and either I pay the earl the four thousand pounds interest or he makes it known that I am in his debt. That will be scandal enough, considering he is extremely disreputable, but it’s my understanding that the last person who didn’t pay him was found dead.”
Colin crossed his arms. “Are you saying he killed someone? A peer?”
“Either that or he had her killed. She was the wife of a baron.”
“A baroness murdered? Why isn’t it all over the papers?
“Because it was made to look like an accident, and her family took great pains to have the story suppressed. That is the rumor, at any rate. Of course, you know how the ton behaves. Now that he’s been labeled dangerous, Battersea is even more popular than before. It’s so amusing to invite a man of mystery to a ball, but I’ve been afraid for several weeks now that the rumors about the baroness are true.”
Colin touched his ribs again, which were beginning to ache.
“Battersea has threatened me to either pay or end up like the baroness. Except...” She shook her head.
Colin raised a brow. “Except?”
“The baroness was older. I don’t think he would kill me. I think I would just”—she shrugged her shoulders—“disappear.”
“Explain.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I don’t have to pay my debt in pounds,” she said.
Colin went very still. “What are you saying?”