A Regency Duo

by Carole Mortimer

  Kit had better know what he was doing when it came to Ari, or he was going to have six very pissed off brothers if their dear friend did indeed end up on the shelf.

  His mind wandered back to the damn alley and the ache in his ribs. “What do you know of jeweled daggers?”

  “All my girls carry them. Why?”

  “Christ, Ari. You arm your women?”

  “I arm Countavia’s finest spies in order to protect themselves. You do realize this is a brothel that caters to the most cunning of our country’s male population, as well as foreign interlopers.”

  She had him there, but for some reason he never imagined a harlot being armed with a blade. Even a pretend harlot.

  Ari cocked her head to one side, her blue eyes and light blond hair granting her a very innocent appeal. No one would suspect she kept some of Countavia’s most valuable secrets. Much like no one would suspect Eliza of her dubious dealings.

  Damn the woman. What made Lizzie pop into his head now? It’s not like he wanted to spend the night with her or anything like that. Well, maybe he did want that a little of that after having seen her again today. But he was still too dangerous for the woman. He couldn’t let her into his private world right now.

  “Did Kit send you here just to ask me about some high-priced blades?”

  Right. His mission. “I had a run-in with a man I thought might have been our villain, and though he got away, he did so only after having stabbed me in the chest with a jeweled dagger. It had an emerald-encrusted snake on its hilt.”

  “I’m familiar with those,” Ari said, pouring a dram of Scotch. The sound of crystal clanked against crystal as the tip of the decanter pinged against the glass’s rim. “I believe you’ve crossed paths with a member of the infamous Knights Venomous.”

  She sauntered over and handed him the drink.

  “I’ve never heard of them.” The scent of whiskey drifted to his nose. “Is this some new-found organization?”

  Ari took a seat on the settee across from Freddie. “I’m not certain of their origins, but they are a radical bunch mainly consisting of lower or disgruntled peers, wealthy merchants, and a few characters of questionable lineage. From what I understand they troll universities and other academic institutions quite often seeking new blood, but they are very specific with whom they let in.”

  “And they use jeweled daggers to slit their enemies’ throats?”

  She gave up a slight smile. “I don’t think that is the group’s goal. The blades, or more specifically the insignia itself, is a way of silently letting other members aware of their brothers when in the same company. They use the design on weapons, shoe buckles, even buttons. The insignia can be found anywhere, once you are aware of it.”

  Kit was a genius in employing Ari. The woman took her position in the family quite serious, even if she hadn’t yet figured out her true familial ties. “Do you have a list of the knighthood’s members?”

  “No. They are beyond secretive, but my girls do know a few by name. And that list I can supply to you.”

  He downed a gulp of the whiskey, it’s smooth liquid warming his throat. He placed the glass on the coffee table, then stood. “I think I’ll spend the night. Maybe I can go over that list and see if there are any names that resonate with me. Though I must admit, I don’t like the idea that we’re dealing with an entire group. I thought we only needed to concern ourselves with one demented human being. Now I’m more of the mind to worry about a whole team of miscreants.”

  Ari ran her hands over the pink silk of her gown. “I’m sure not all members are cold-blooded killers.”

  He prayed to God they were that lucky. “May that turn out to be the case.”

  ***

  The front door to Montgrieve House stood slightly ajar.

  Eliza inched up to the entrance, the ground cold beneath her slipper-clad feet. From her vantage point on the street, she took note of a finely dressed woman standing in the hallway, her thin fingers brushing against a well-attired gentleman’s embroidered waistcoat.

  The woman gave up a soft laugh, and then fluttered her eyelashes.

  A courtesan. “We’ll I’ll be.”

  Montgrieve House was a brothel, house of ill-repute, or whatever they called it, for she wasn’t all that certain of the correct term. Especially for a place situated in the high-end of town, it’s white limestone front only several doors down from the king’s own cousin’s known residence.

  She gasped. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

  The woman caught sight of her.

  Too late.

  The gentleman exited the house, his dalliance one step behind him. “We’ve been expecting you,” she said.

  Her? Expected here? “I’m sorry, but I think…”

  “You are the new recruit, no?”

  Recruit? Was the woman mad? Becoming a strumpet would ruin her.

  A devious thought slipped into Eliza’s mind. It shouldn’t take much for her reputation to be ruined after a night spent at a place like Montgrieve House. All she’d need was to find a way to document her stay, as she would need definite proof to convince that good-for-nothing, puritanical Lord Meyock that she was indeed ruined, and then the man should be handing her back to Archie in no time. Of course she’d be compromising herself for eternity, but it would be worth it if it meant saving Haven House. She had all the children she could ever want in the orphans she took in. “Forgive me, but yes, I am the new recruit.” An odd term to use for a woman of the street, but what did she know? Maybe that was the de-rigueur word nowadays.

  “Have no fear. I was nervous my first time, too.” The woman extended her hand. “Come.”

  Eliza accepted the lady’s offer and entered the house.

  She gasped, just a slight little intake of breath. But it was expected after glancing at the ceiling and walls, being confronted first step in with paintings of frolicking cherubs doing nasty deeds with women and men alike.

  Oh, Sweet Jesus, what was she getting herself into?

  She fanned her face.

  “Love, it’s really not that bad,” the lady said. “Once you get over your first time, you’ll be more than anxious for your next. I couldn’t believe the information I learned from one gentleman alone, my first night here.”

  Judging by the paintings, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what information she’d learn. She didn’t know the first thing about bed play, save for what she’d read in novels and those books Archie hid in the library at Littlefield Hall.

  Maybe she would have been better off writing to the countess, as Freddie had suggested. But running out now wasn’t an option. The woman would think her a cowardess and if she was to get the help needed for Haven House, she’d have to prove herself. Though this was not what she’d expected.

  “Her Ladyship is currently in a meeting,” the woman said. “But she’ll be up to interview you afterward, though I do believe she thought you were coming much later tonight.”

  “Well, I was finished with my other work early.” She wasn’t sure that was the right thing to say. Did courtesans have other jobs? She hadn’t thought so, unless they worked in the theatre or such. Which was a talent she could not pull off.

  “Rosinda,” a lovely voice called from down the hall.

  “I must go,” the lady said. “But if you take the stairs and wait in the room at the end of the hall, Lady Montgrieve will be in to see you after she’s finished her work down here.”

  Eliza nodded, but couldn’t get a single word out.

  She headed for the magnificent curved staircase with its marble steps and decorative iron bannister.

  “And make yourself comfortable,” the lady added as she strode away. “You’ll find it much easier if you’re relaxed.”

  Comfortable her arse.

  Archie was so going to kill her once she’d ruined herself.

  Chapter 6

  There were two rooms at the end of the hall, three if Eliza counted the one square ahead.

&
nbsp; “Just lovely, Lizzie.” She really shouldn’t be talking to herself as the rooms on either side of the corridor could be occupied, and while she did indeed desire to be discovered at Montgrieve House, she hadn’t wanted the whole world to know about her suddenly illicit ventures. Just Archie and Meyock. Though for them to find out, her ill deeds were probably going to have to be exposed to the entire city.

  Oh, well, it wasn’t like she had any other offers of marriage. And this one only came about because Meyock and Archie were in cahoots. Which was a problem all by itself considering her brother’s rather shady business deals as of recent. The man had a serious problem keeping himself out of trouble.

  She rubbed her palms together, let out a deep breath.

  If only Archie could have left her alone to the live the life she wanted.

  But he hadn’t.

  And now she was forced to do the unthinkable, which was so not like her. The strength to do whatever it took, yes. But to play a coy mistress to unknown men? Definitely not.

  Closing her eyes, she shook her head and prayed.

  If she didn’t come out having escaped that dratted marriage to Meyock, and save Haven House in the process, she’d be sacrificing her virtue all for nothing.

  “This had better work,” she whispered.

  Cracking open her eyelids, Eliza studied the three sets of double doors at the end of the corridor. Right now, she just needed to choose the correct one. And although she had half a mind to dash back down stairs, find the welcoming Rosinda and ask the woman to clarify which room she’d meant, appearing as if she couldn’t follow orders would probably lose her the job before she even met with the countess. And where would that put her? She certainly didn’t need the countess to tell Freddie what a daft woman she was. He’d pull his offer of help, for sure, putting her right back where she’d started, Haven House and herself in peril.

  Bloody hell.

  She’d just have to make her own decision about which room to go to.

  The one dead center seemed the most logical, as it was the one at the very end of the hall.

  Eliza scurried forward.

  A tingle shot up her legs as the soles of her thin slippers brushed the carpet’s red and gold wool fibers.

  She really should have worn a pair of boots tonight.

  At the doors, she reached for the knob on the right panel. Smooth brass caressed her fingers, the handle’s intricate scrollwork kissing her palm with a cold, icy touch.

  She shivered, but turned the instrument just the same.

  As the door pushed open, a burst of fresh burning pine, topped with a hint of sandalwood, smacked her nose.

  Hinges creaked.

  She winced, then glanced over her shoulder.

  The corridor remained still and empty.

  Eliza slipped inside the bedroom.

  As the wood slab closed behind her with the faintest of clicks, her mouth fell open.

  The most magnificent sleigh bed she’d ever seen, greeted her. A detailed crest protruded from the center of its footboard, its rich burls of walnut glistening in the room’s flickering hearth light. The detailed carving drew her attention. She couldn’t help but step forward and run her fingers over the hand-chiseled crevices, trace its centerpiece with the large, fancy capital ‘F’ crowned with a prince’s coronet.

  Archie should see this room, for Littlefield Hall had nothing on Montgrieve House. The place would drive her brother mad with jealousy.

  Pulling away from the bed, she unfastened her cape and draped it over one of the green velvet upholstered, gilt-framed side chairs. The countess obviously had money to fill her rooms with gold-brushed furnishings. This bedchamber alone was fit for a king. If the entire house had rooms like this one…

  She couldn’t even begin to imagine the countess’s wealth.

  Eyeing the mattress, temptation tugged at her heart.

  When was the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep? A year ago? Two? Haven House didn’t have comfortable beds as did Littlefield Hall. Heck, they were lucky enough just to each have their own beds. And that was a huge improvement over the first night she’d spent at the make-shift orphanage.

  She’d come a long way since then.

  Still, the bed in this room was enticing.

  One little try couldn’t do all that much harm. Especially considering she had time before anyone was going to come up and talk with her.

  But it’s not my bed to test.

  “Bugger off, you mad little beast.” Her conscience really was a nuisance.

  And tonight, she wasn’t going to let it win.

  Scooting over the soft carpet, Eliza approached the bed and leaned in, graced her hands against the soft silk sheets.

  She closed her eyes.

  And moaned.

  Sleeping on a bed this rich, was probably like sleeping in a bed of clouds in Heaven.

  Her mouth watered.

  She’d love to give the children at Haven House sheets like these, but with seven, not to mention Bosworth, Georgiana, and herself, to support, no way could she even afford so much as a single set of these luxurious items.

  But she did wish she could.

  Opening her eyes, Eliza hopped up onto the bed.

  “Oh, God, but this is like sleeping in pure extasy.” Not that she knew what extasy truly felt like. But it probably was this. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

  Well, maybe not unadulterated, Montgrieve House was a brothel after all.

  She rolled her head against the pillow.

  All tension drained from her neck.

  “Oh, Lizzie, you are so doomed.” She was never going to like her own bed again.

  She smoothed her hands over the mattress. Not a single piece of straw or horsehair stuck her palms.

  God, what she’d give to spend an entire night in this bed.

  She bit her bottom lip. To truly get the full effect of how the really wealthy lived, she probably should ditch her gown.

  At least for a few minutes.

  And testing out a bed wasn’t a sin as far as she knew.

  Reaching down, she undid the ribbon at her waist, then removed her gown before untying the drawstrings of her stays and eventually divesting herself of all layers of clothing, including her undergarments.

  Then she shimmied under the covers, scooting deep beneath the sheets until her entire body just relaxed, all stiffness fleeing her muscles.

  God, but she hadn’t ever remembered being this relaxed. And in a brothel of all places!

  She closed her eyes, once again.

  Just for a few minutes.

  ***

  Freddie never thought scaling a set of stairs could be so painful. But they were and that hadn’t included the walk down the hallway. Why the hell did he have to choose the room at the end of the corridor? Granted, it was one of the largest bedchambers in the house, but he could be just as satisfied staying in the servant’s quarters as he could the royal suite.

  Alas, this was his room and it was the one Ari was proud to present to him.

  He entered and tossed his walking stick against the chair.

  All he wanted was a few moments of peace tonight. Maybe a bit of uninterrupted sleep, if his ribs and wound cooperated.

  He took one step forward and his boot snagged on something.

  What the bloody hell?

  Peering at the floor, he noted a heap of clothes. Women’s clothes.

  Ari must have accidentally given his room away.

  He nudged the garment off his boot toe and proceeded to the bed.

  And froze.

  The mattress was not empty.

  Freddie leaned in.

  His nose twitched.

  Violets.

  Bloody hell, it couldn’t be.

  It better not had be.

  With one fast reach of his hand, he yanked the sheets down.

  Eliza screamed. A pitch so shrieking, he waited for God to appear, as her shrill probably reached as far as Heaven and he doubted
the sound could be ignored, even up there.

  The bedroom doors swung open, both solid planks slamming against the walls with a thunderous thud.

  His little minx sat up, her bare breasts and taught stomach exposed to the world. Never mind the thatch of brown curls at the apex of her thighs.

  “Eliza?” A man behind him questioned.

  Freddie spun around. “Who, pray tell, are you, sir?”

  The man stomped up to him, the half-dressed woman who’d accompanied him left back at the door. “I believe I should be asking you that question, you bastard. My intended is in your bed.”

  “If your intended is in my bed, then maybe that is because you were in another woman’s bed.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “I am a man. I have my needs.”

  He swung a punch.

  Freddie ducked, but not without slightly losing his balance.

  Damn his ribs.

  Pain flared in his chest. As did the feel of a slight tear as if his skin had just ruptured and was about to spew forth all his guts.

  A second punch flew his way, but this time, he grabbed the man’s wrist before it met with his face. “I demand you give me your name.”

  “Why? You’re not the bloody king.”

  “No. I’m not. I’m his son, Frederick, Prince of Countavia.”

  A gasp echoed behind him.

  Eliza. Now was the wrong time for her to suck in her breath and contemplate her actions, which of course he was certain she was doing, as any sane woman would be doing in her circumstance at the moment. But he’d deal with her later. First, he had to take care of the degenerate whose wrist was still grasped in his hand. “Your name.”

  The man backed down, his face going pale. “Forgive me, Your Royal Highness.” He bowed. “Kenneth Meyock, Twelfth Earl Meyock, at your service.”

  He released the bastard. “Get. Out.”

  Meyock left on the instant.

  As did the woman who’d arrived with him.

  Eliza jumped from the bed.

  Shooting out his arm, he reached behind him and stopped her from going a single foot more. “Not you.”