Granger snorted in disgust. “You wouldn’t give any woman the benefit of a compliment, save our friend Dolly Flowers. Now I wonder why that could be. Perhaps it is because of the resemblance you bear to each other?”
Granger left the room without a backward glance. He brightened considerably at the thought of the beautiful Dolly, and surely if he made good time he would make her lodgings before the full light of day. He brightened still more when he recalled how Dolly remarked on his handsomeness. He rode faster.
Leaving his horse at a nearby livery stable to protect the poor nag from thieves, he made his way the few short blocks to Dolly’s lodgings on swift feet. There was no way to tell which room off the long dark hall was Dolly’s. Carefully and quietly, Granger opened first one door and then another. Some of the rooms were empty and others were occupied by sleeping forms snoring loudly in protest against the penetrating dampness.
After the fifth try he saw the white ermine cloak in the first faint rays of dawn that managed to creep through the filth-caked windows. He walked quietly over to the narrow cot and eyed it as though taking measurements. Dolly slept with her face pressed into the lining of the cloak. Her closed lids displayed her long lashes. A lock of flaxen hair, so like Tori’s, curved sweetly on her cheek. In sleep her face bore a mask of innocence that time and a hard life would never steal. Clearing his throat nervously, Granger shook Dolly’s shoulder and demanded in a hoarse whisper, “Have you decided?”
Dolly opened sleepy eyes and smiled up at Granger. “Oh, it’s ye. Oi wuz ’avin’ mesel’ a luvly dream.” Through slitted eyes she peered up at him. “Did Oi tell ye las’ nigh’ tha’ Oi think y’ere pretty?” As if to emphasize her words, she wiggled seductively on the narrow cot. Then she stretched luxuriously. “O’ course, luv, Oi made me decision las’ nigh’.”
She smiled again as she rubbed the fur. The cloak slid away from one shoulder revealing a creamy expanse of flesh that looked softer than the ermine. Granger drew in his breath and Dolly smiled.
“Cum ’ere, luv, an’ si’ by me. Tell me more o’ thi’ plan.”
Granger, never one to dally in the presence of a lady, quickly sat on the edge of the cot and watched as the cloak slid even farther while the wiggling Dolly tried to make room for him.
Dolly made a half-move to restore the cloak, but Granger put out his hand to stop her. When next Dolly touched the cloak it was to remove it entirely.
* * *
“Oi do thank ye, Granger,” Dolly said with enthusiasm as she watched Granger fasten his waistcoat. He looked puzzled. “Why dearie, this day is th’ end o’ me carefree youth,” she exclaimed. “Tomorrow Oi’ll be a married laidy!”
“I must say, Dolly, that when Lord Fowler-Greene discovers what a gem you are, he’ll be cock o’ the walk!”
“Providin’ ’e can still walk, tha’ is.” Dolly laughed uproariously.
Chapter Eleven
Dolly shed her clothes, careful of her elaborate hairdo. Granger had explained that it was imperative she visit Tori’s hairdresser and have her flaxen hair styled to match his cousin’s. Feeling the chill of the room, she hurried and wrapped the ermine cloak around her nude body. Delighting in the feel of the silky fur against her skin, she padded her way across the room to peer into the cracked looking glass. As she studied her image a knock sounded on the door.
“Why, it mus’ be th’ Blade,” she thought. “’E’s th’ only gent Oi’ve ever ’ad who takes th’ trouble ta knock.” For a second she hesitated. What would he say when he saw her? Dolly stepped to the center of the room and assumed a graceful position, allowing the cloak to slip seductively.
“Cum in, Scarblade,” she called. Scarblade’s tall frame entered the room; his coal-black eyes flickered around the bare, dim surroundings. “Ow, Scarblade,” Dolly said petulantly, “ye know it maikes me ’air stand on end when ye do tha’!”
“Do what?” he barked, his eyes taking her in for the first time.
“Ye, when ye rake yer eyes aroun’ loike tha’. As if ye expected th’ King’s men ta jump out o’ th’ shadows an’ grab ye.”
“One can never tell, Dolly.”
“Aye, but ta think Oi’d ’ide an enemy o’ yers ’ere and let ye walk inta a trap. It’s very little ye think o’ me!”
“Ah, Dolly, don’t carry on so. And tell me, what have you done to yourself?” His generous mouth broke into a wide grin. “Are you planning to attend a masked ball?” His dark eyes narrowed to slits and the light danced off them like quicksilver.
“Aye, ye say tha’, milord,” Dolly said haughtily. “An’ do Oi offend ye?”
“Where did you get that cloak?” Scarblade said, ignoring her question.
“It’s none o’ yer business, Oi’m sure.”
“I’m making it my business! Now answer me. Where did you get it?” He took two long strides and had her by the arm.
“Ah! Take yer ’ands off me, Scarblade. Ye don’ own me, ye know. ’Tiz true we ’ad many a good roll on tha’ cot o’ moine, but Oi’m a laidy from this day on. Stop pawin’ me loike this!”
“Don’t you like it?” Scarblade asked roughly, as he pulled her closer to him. Dolly could feel his heart pounding within his massive chest and she discerned a tightening of his body as he held her against him. “I can remember days, Dolly, love, when your passion equaled mine.” His lips were in her hair and Dolly regained herself enough to remember her new coiffure. She pulled away from him and the effort left her breathless.
“Well, dearie, those days is gone and Oi don’ loike it any longer!”
“I can see you’ve become a grand lady since last I’ve seen you. What are you up to, Dolly? Who did you steal that cloak from?”
“Oi didn’ steal it! It wuz given ta me. By a gent, Oi migh’ add!” she said sweetly as she caressed the velvet. “An why are ye so concerned abou’ wha’ Oi wear? Ye never were before! Oi’m weary o’ ye, Scarblade. They say yer th’ busiest ’ighwayman in all England, an’ yet ’ave ye ever given me more’n a few shillin’s ta pay me ren’ or get me shoes fixed? Naw, never!” Her voice rose to a decibel below a screech. “An’ who’re ye savin’ all tha’ gold fer, tell me tha’, Scarblade? Jus’ tell me! Ye fer sartin don’ spend it on yersel’!” she said, eying his plain, black frock coat and cotton hose. Her eyes darted over his tightly fitting dove-gray trousers and she fought back the memory of his strong, muscular legs as they had forced hers apart.
“Dolly,” he said smoothly, fighting to control his laughter, “one word of advice. If you want others to think you a lady you must keep your composure.”
Dolly shrugged elaborately, and the cloak slipped again to reveal a creamy shoulder and the sloping curve of her white breast. Scarblade drew in his breath, his desire mounting. With a smile, Dolly drew the cloak more snugly about her.
“If it’s gifts you want, Dolly, you’d better stay with the er . . . gentleman acquaintance you’ve made, for you’ll not receive gifts from me,” he said quietly as the twinges of desire bloomed to an ache. “You never asked for anything before this. I thought our passion was a mutual thing. Come on now, Dolly, take the pins out of your hair and come to me.”
“Ye’ll no’ be gettin’ any luv from me this nigh’, Scarblade,” Dolly said as she peered at her reflection in the cracked glass. Even as she said it she could feel the hunger for him growing within her.
“I’ll give you a few shillings to have your hair done in the morning if that’s what’s wrong,” he said quietly, coaxingly.
Quickly Dolly glanced over her shoulder, puzzled by the softness in his tone. But then she thought of sitting a whole morning having her hair dressed and felt revolted by the memory. Besides, she thought craftily, this is me chance ta make me a fortune. Oi’ll not lose it fer a roll on th’ cot, no matter ’ow sweet!
“No, thanks,” she said regally, noting the effect on Scarblade when he closed his eyes to slits and glared at her. “Now, if ye don’ moind, Oi wish . . . Oi wish ta . . . be alo
ne.” Her voice shook slightly with indecision. “Oi’ve other fish ta fry, Scarblade, an’ ye’ll no’ stop me!”
He laughed, a deep booming sound, starting from within his broad chest. “So, Dolly, it seems you’re more a lady than I gave you credit for. You share the same qualities as the more high-born of your sex, namely greed.” He stepped over to the narrow cot and sat down, casually placing an elbow on his knee.
Dolly watched him, steeling herself for his wrath. Instead, she was rewarded for her silence with still another insolent laugh. “Come here, Dolly. You know you want to,” he said quietly, outstretching his muscular arms to her. For an instant Dolly was undecided, remembering how warm and safe his arms could make her feel.
“An’ wha’ll ye give me? Eh?” she asked huskily, desire for him deepening her voice.
“Anything you wish. What shall it be?” he asked, measuring her through narrowed eyes that burned through her.
“A gold guinea!”
“A gold guinea it shall be.” He reached into the purse hung from his belt, retrieved a golden coin, and hurled it toward her.
Dolly skittered across the floor in an effort to capture the coin, disbelief stamped on her face. “’Tiz abou’ toime ye’ve cum across wi’ sumpin fer me, it is. A girl ’as ta watch ’ersel’ an’ make ’er own way in this world, she does.”
Picking up the gold coin and dropping it into the pocket of her cloak, Dolly stood and looked at the man who lounged upon her cot. She gasped when the full force of his gaze came to rest on her. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, and she saw the scar on his cheek color with anger. His dark, heavy brows netted together and the black eyes beneath them burned into her, shaming her.
Dolly affected a pleasant smile. “Oi wuz jus’ teasin’ ye. Oi never wanted yer money. Oi jus’ wanted ta see wha’ ye’d do . . .”
Scarblade turned his head and rose from the bed, gathered up the frock coat that he had so carelessly tossed upon the solitary chair, and walked out.
* * *
Tori, clad only in her petticoat, paced her room on the morning of her wedding day. She kept an open watch on the delicate ormolu clock and drew no comfort from the slowly moving hands. Granger knocked on her door and whispered, “Is she here yet?”
Tori leaned against the oak doorframe. “No, Granger, do you think she’s changed her mind? What if something happened to her? Perhaps you should start out to look for her.”
“Be sensible, Tori. Where on earth could I tell your father I was going, dressed in all this finery? Don’t dither so, she’ll be here. I promise you.”
“But Granger, I have but an hour left!” Tori said, panic making her voice shrill.
“Don’t forget she has to walk from her lodgings,” Granger reminded her. Then he whispered, “Wait a minute, here comes your maid and there’s someone behind her.”
“Pray that it is her,” Tori cried.
“There is a servant here for you, Miss Victoria. She’s sent from Lord Fowler-Greene. Seems that he’s sent you a present and she is instructed to place it in your hands herself. I’ll wait and show her out,” Annie added curiously.
“That won’t be necessary. You’d better see if Mother can use some help. Granger will see her out. Hurry now!” Tori pleaded. Annie left the room reluctantly, glancing over her shoulder at the wrapped parcel the servant clutched in her hands.
Quickly, Tori closed the door and threw the heavy bolt. “What the devil took you so long to get here?” she demanded of Dolly. “I’m so glad you could come!” she added sarcastically.
“Me pleasure, miss,” Dolly cooed, ignoring the caustic tone of Tori’s voice. Dolly looked around the handsome room and marveled at the costly hangings.
“Hurry, Dolly! Hurry! There’s not much time. Take off all your clothes. I hope you had a bath this morning!”
Dolly bristled at this questioning of her personal hygiene.
“Soon you’ll be rich,” Tori said as she feverishly ripped off her petticoats and handed them to Dolly. “Everything has to be right from the skin out.”
“Oi can see, a real laidy,” Dolly smiled as she fingered the rich, embroidered lace on the petticoats.
“Never mind the lace. You’ll have time enough to look at it. Just put them on, hurry! My mother will be here soon and there are several things I must tell you. Quickly now!”
Fifteen minutes later Dolly was resplendent in Tori’s wedding gown. “Now the veil, Dolly.” Tori placed the heavy seeded-pearl crown on Dolly’s head and threw the net over her face. Then she finished dressing in Dolly’s worn gown and fastened a soiled apron around her waist. “Ugh! How can you go about in these rags?”
“Well, miss, when ye’ve got no’ a crown ta yer name ta buy soap or a crumb o’ food ta fill yer belly, th’ state o’ yer clothes is th’ las’ thin’ ta worry about!” Dolly shot at Tori.
Tori said, “You must keep your mouth shut from now till tomorrow morning. Whatever you do, don’t lift the veil in my parents’ presence. If you can manage to smile and act sweet and agreeable to Lord Fowler-Greene till he gets you to the bedchamber, then you can let your other er . . . accomplishments take over. If you just play coy with the lord you should do fine. I think it only fair to warn you, though, he loves to pinch.”
“Oh ’e does, does ’e? Well Oi’ll soon cure ’im o’ tha’!” Dolly giggled.
Tori joined in the laughter. “Listen to me now, Dolly, I shall take your place at your lodgings till Granger comes for me. When the lord finds out he’s been duped, you’re on your own. You will have to outthink and outsmart him. Do you think you can carry it off?”
Dolly nodded. “It’s no’ me brain Oi’ll be usin’, miss. But yes, Oi think Oi can carry it off. Coo, imagine, Oi’ll be a real laidy. Me old mum should only see me in this getup. Oi’m no’ a virgin, ye know,” she said, eying the white gown and frowning.
Tori smiled. “Somehow I didn’t think you were.”
“Do ye think th’ old boy’ll notice?” Dolly asked anx-ously.
“It’s up to you to see that he doesn’t,” Tori snapped.
“Luv, however in th’ world do ye think Oi can manage tha’?”
“I’m the wrong one to ask for advice.”
“Oi can see tha’,” Dolly scoffed.
“I must go now, Dolly.” Impulsively Tori hugged the white-clad Dolly and whispered, “The best of luck to you, Dolly. And thank you from the bottom of my heart.” With a jaunty salute Tori left the room, headed for the back stairway, and fled down to the kitchen regions. Once out in the open road, she paused a moment and looked back at her home. She felt a small tug at her heart and blinked back the tears. “I had to do it,” she said to herself as she trudged into town to Dolly’s lodgings. She would have to get herself settled and wait for Granger.
* * *
Lady Lydia opened the door to tell Tori that the judge was waiting. “I am so happy that you’re ready. You look lovely, my dear,” she said happily. “Your father will be so pleased. I think he thought this day would never come. And your intended!” She rolled her saucer-shaped, bright blue eyes. “He’s beside himself! I don’t think he yet believes his good fortune in winning you.”
Dolly bobbed her head, saying nothing.
Both women left the room and started down the steep stairwell.
Lord Rawlings looked lovingly at Dolly. So it was true. She was actually going to go through with the wedding. He could hardly contain himself at his good fortune. He patted his waistcoat and felt the key to the strong box. Still, something niggled at him. The wedding wasn’t over with yet. Once the “I do’s” were said then he could breathe easy.
“Victoria, you have been a good and faithful daughter. I love you dearly, as does your mother. I want to say that I know you will be very happy.” When he received no response to this declaration his stomach turned over. I knew it, he muttered to himself; she won’t go through with it. At the time she is supposed to say “I do”, she’ll say “I won’t!” He claspe
d Dolly’s hands in his own and whispered fiercely, “All I can say to you, Victoria, is that you’d better say ‘I do.’ Do you understand? If you bollix this up, I’ll have you whipped, which isn’t such a terrible thing. I should have had it done before. You are much too strong-willed. This wedding is to go off as planned. Do you understand, Victoria?”
A slow smile spread over Dolly’s lips. The whole family was crackers. She had every intention of getting married. In fact, wild horses couldn’t drag her from here. Catching a glimpse of her intended, she blanched slightly. So wha’, she chided herself. ’E migh’ be a dear old duck. ’E’s probably starvin’ fer affection. If there’s one thin’ Dolly’s an expert at, tha’s it. Oi’ll jus’ luv ’im ta death, she giggled to herself.
Chapter Twelve
Dolly bade the wedding guests, drunk on wine and food, a silent farewell. Once in the darkened coach she lifted her veil and immediately was engulfed in a clenching embrace which she returned just as ardently as it was given. There ensued much giggling and laughter for the balance of the trip. There was a small yelp of pain from Lord Fowler-Greene as he had his ear bitten soundly, but playfully.
“You little vixen,” he laughed. For reply Dolly nibbled daintly on his other ear. Lord Fowler-Greene groaned in delight. He used his pearl-handled walking stick to pound on the front of the coach. “Faster, driver,” he roared. When the horses picked up speed, Lord Fowler-Greene was thrown off balance and landed on the floor with Dolly on top of him. Dolly kissed him passionately, all the while tweaking his ear. Kissing his lips, his chin, and his neck, she whispered softly in his ear. While the words were not distinguishable, Lord Fowler-Greene whispered, “More.”
* * *
Dolly turned her head from left to right and back again in an effort to take in her new surroundings as she was led through the darkened foyer and up the ornate staircase to his bedchamber. When she hesitated to admire a view from the gallery, Lord Fowler-Greene prodded her forward with an intimate pinch on the back of the thigh.
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