Innocence Lost (Secrets & Scandals Book 1)

by Tiffany Green

  The air thickened with a horrific stench at the same time she noticed the dingy buildings. The only things holding up some of the dilapidated structures were light feet and heavy prayer.

  Children stood at either side of the street, shoeless and wearing filthy rags. Large, haunted eyes stared blankly from little faces streaked with dirt and grime. The adults were in no better condition. Pity welled up within her and she swallowed tears. She would speak to her father about this.

  A few minutes later, the hackney stopped and the driver announced, “’Ere ye are, miss.”

  “C-could you wait here, please? I’m just going to get my brother,” she asked with a measure of desperation. She handed him more coins to sweeten her request.

  The driver looked around, taking in the rough atmosphere, then back to her and sighed heavily. He shifted in his seat. “Don’t be long, miss,” he warned.

  “Thank you. I shan’t,” she promised, turning toward the row of large ships anchored nearby.

  When she found her brother’s clipper, she eyed the narrow boarding plank. Thoughts of her maid snuffed the urge to turn back. Taking a deep breath, she began to climb the unsteady board.

  The piercing cry of a gull startled her. Her foot slipped, and she gasped. By God’s grace she managed to keep upright. Giving the bothersome bird a good frown, she continued up the plank until she reached the deck.

  “I say, miss. Ye ain’t supposed t’ be ‘ere.”

  She spun around, plastering a hand over her thundering heart. Seeing a boy, she closed her eyes momentarily. “Oh, you frightened me,” she breathed.

  “Are ye lost?” the boy asked as he stared up at her.

  She smiled, her pulse no longer exploding in her temples. “That depends. What ship is this?”

  “The Sweet Siren,” the boy confirmed with a puffed-out chest.

  “Then I’m not lost. I need to see your commander. It is urgent.”

  “Right-o, miss,” he said as he spun on his heel and ran to the steps leading below deck.

  Within moments, he returned with someone other than her brother. The man walked toward her with a surprised expression and roved his eyes over her face several times before he spoke. “I’m sorry, my lady, but the Master—our captain—has already departed. I am Stuart Williams, the second-in-command of this ship.” He gave a bow. “Can I be of some assistance to you?”

  Her shoulders drooped. “No, thank you, Mr. Williams. It’s Julian I need. Do you know if he left straightway for home?”

  “I haven’t a clue, my lady,” he answered. His sky blue eyes held an unspoken question.

  “Then I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Believe me, my lady, you didn’t disturb me.” A smile grew on his lips.

  As she began to return the smile, she remembered the jarvey. “I must leave. My driver said he wouldn’t wait long.”

  “Are you sure I can’t help you, Miss…” He trailed off and lifted his eyebrows.

  “Oh, forgive my rudeness, Mr. Williams. I am Megan Westland, Julian’s sister,” she replied and held out her hand.

  Surprise flared in his eyes. “I had no idea that the master has such a lovely sister,” he said, taking her hand. He bowed over her gloved knuckles.

  “Thank you, Mr. Williams, but I really must go now.” She turned and began the journey back to the hackney, praying the driver hadn’t left. As she walked amongst the squalor, she pulled a lavender-scented handkerchief from her bag and held it to her nose.

  The sun began to dip into the western waters as she took the last few steps to the waiting vehicle. Thank God it hadn’t moved. Just as she placed a foot on the steps, she noticed the empty driver seat. A strong arm pulled her against a body as big and stiff as a tree trunk. She shrieked. His other hand clamped over her mouth, and a retch-provoking smell hit her. Dear God, he probably hadn’t taken a bath in months.

  “Yer not to make a sound,” the big oak grumbled into her ear with rancid-ale breath.

  She nodded. She doubted she could scream again since her furiously beating heart was in her throat.

  The large man looked around, then shuffled them into the dark alley behind him. She thrashed and tried to cry out. No use with his filthy hand clamped over her mouth. Her heart surged up her throat. Oh, God, oh God! She dug her heels into the ground, but he dragged her along. Using all her strength, she fought for freedom. He squeezed. The pain made stars dance before her eyes.

  As they approached the shadows between the two buildings, the large man whispered into her ear. “Now, ‘old still an’ do as I says. I’m takin’ me ‘and away, so don’t go makin’ no noise.”

  She nodded, and the oaf removed his hand. But as he tried to lift her skirt, she gnashed her heel onto his boot and threw her elbow into his bloated paunch.

  The man grunted in pain, then wrapped his arms around her. “’Old still or t’will ‘urt all tha more,” he hissed into her ear.

  Megan prayed as hot fat tears coursed down her cheeks. Dear God, why did she ever leave the safety of her home? Why did she come to the docks? She shivered, imagining the big oaf dumping her into the water after having his way with her. Hot bile rose up her throat.

  A crack rent the silence and she was freed of his suffocating grasp. She spun around and saw the large brute stagger. His face contorted with pain and he shook his head. He blinked several times and then focused on her.

  She shivered at the look of rage in those black, beady eyes. Taking a step back, she plastered her back against the dingy brick wall behind her. The man’s fingers curled like talons, and he began to stalk toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, unable to bear the thought of what was to come next.

  Another loud crack sounded, followed by a heavy thud. She slowly opened her eyes. The large man lay on the ground. She turned to the alley’s entrance. Was she being rescued or merely captured by another ruffian? She could detect nothing above the outline of a man standing there.

  Her rescuer stepped forward. “Are you all right, Lady Megan?”

  She sagged against the filthy wall and tried to calm her trembling. “Oh, Mr. Williams, however did you find me?”

  He moved closer and steadied her with an arm around her shoulders. “I knew you weren’t safe in this area, so I followed you.” He eyed the filthy man. “Now, let’s get you home. Can you walk?”

  She leaned heavily against him, feeling weak. “I believe so, thank you,” she whispered.

  The sky darkened a shade with each passing minute; it became difficult to see. They arrived at the hired hackney, and she gasped when she saw the crumpled form hunched over the driver’s seat.

  Mr. Williams stepped onto the coach and examined the old man. “He will have a nasty ache in his head when he arouses, but he should be fine,” he announced as he stepped down.

  “Oh, thank heavens.”

  “I’ll help you inside and take you home, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  They had gone some distance when she began to settle her trembling. When the vehicle turned onto Upper Brook Street, she heard a familiar voice roar over the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.

  “Where is she?” Julian bellowed.

  She jerked upright. “Mr. Williams, please stop,” she implored, then scampered down from the hackney without assistance.

  ****

  “What are you talking about?” Nicholas asked when his surprise at seeing Julian arrive at his townhouse had abated.

  “You know exactly what I am talking about. Megan. Where is she?”

  He tensed. “Megan is missing?” Fear doused his entire body. A movement beyond Julian’s right shoulder caught his attention, and he looked up. Recognizing the disheveled little body, he rushed down the steps and scooped her into his arms, noticing her dirty, torn gown. A large, grungy handprint covered her mouth and chin. Dismay made his head spin. Most of the pins had come out of her hair, causing the thick tresses to pour over her shoulders and down her back in a tangled bla
ck mass. She shook like a leaf in a gale.

  He held her tenderly against his hammering heart. “Meg, are you all right? What happened, love?” he asked when he could locate his voice, then kissed her forehead and cheek.

  “My God, Moppet,” Julian breathed as he approached.

  “She’s had quite a scare, Master.”

  Julian’s head snapped up. “Stuart, what are you doing here?”

  “I was bringing your sister home, sir. She came to the dock looking for you, but a large bloke took her into an alley. I had to hit him over the head with a piece of plank to get her away from him.”

  Nicholas looked back down at Megan and felt a violent jolt of wrath for her attacker burn a path through his body. “Did the man hurt you, love?” he asked.

  “No. Mr. Williams arrived in time,” she responded in a small, shaky voice.

  “It’s late. Give Megan to me, Claremont, and I shall take her home,” Julian ordered.

  He shook his head. “I think she needs to lie down right away. She shouldn’t be moved until a doctor examines her.” He refused to let her go.

  “The driver,” she said, turning to Mr. Williams.

  “The man must have knocked the jarvey out and waited for your sister to return,” the seaman explained. He turned back to Megan, his eyes softening.

  “Come, Meg, I’ll have Carson bring in the driver and fetch a doctor for you both,” Nicholas said, not liking the way the seaman looked at Megan.

  “Absolutely not, Claremont,” Julian said.

  Nicholas tightened his hold on her and stepped away, shaking his head. Not yet.

  He heard her sigh. “Nicholas, I am fine. Please, put me down. It is the driver who is hurt and needs a doctor.”

  “Are you sure, love?” God, how he missed her.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Put me down,” she insisted.

  As he lowered her carefully to the ground, he couldn’t resist a taste of her lips. It had been way too long.

  “God’s blood, man. Are you insane?” Julian hissed, glancing around. Before he realized it, Julian captured Megan’s hand and stowed her within the hackney. He stood helpless as he watched the vehicle roll away, his heart torn from his chest.

  ****

  Fury boiled behind Julian’s eyes as he ushered Megan into their house. She knew it wasn’t directed at her. Well, not yet, anyway. Once he realized she had gone out without him, he’d give her what for. She dreaded that little chat.

  As Julian handed his coat to Wentworth, Lucy ran up to them. “Oh, Lady Megan, are you all right? I heard you went out looking for Hanson and me. We had a bit ‘o trouble with one of the wheels, but you had already left the park when we finished repairing it.” She paused, her teary eyes growing wide. “Look at your gown. What happened? I shouldn’t have left you!”

  She took a deep breath. At least Lucy hadn’t been harmed. “It’s nothing, Lucy. Would you prepare my bath and something to eat? I’ll be up momentarily.”

  As she started for the stairs, Julian placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’d like a word.”

  Megan sighed and followed her brother into their father’s study.

  Julian glared at her for several seconds. “I told you not to go to the park without me.”

  “No, Julian, you said that you couldn’t go.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “In the future, you are not to leave this house without me. Is that clear?”

  Megan could not believe her ears. “You have no—”

  “Father has given you too much freedom at the estate, but we are not at the estate. We are in London, where ladies go missing, never to be found.” He paused to give her a good frown. “Next time, there might not be anyone around to assist you.”

  Megan couldn’t force away the terrible images of being held in that alley. And what almost happened. Her anger fizzled away, leaving her weak and hollow.

  “Now,” Julian gentled his voice, “tell me exactly what happened.”

  ****

  After Megan left, Julian sat at his father’s desk and sipped his brandy. A knock sounded. “Enter.”

  “My lord, Mr. Williams to see you,” Wentworth announced.

  He nodded. “Send him in.”

  Stuart entered the room a moment later, looking haggard. Julian gritted his teeth, knowing what his first mate would report. The man who attacked his sister had escaped. “Master,” Stuart began uncomfortably. “When I returned to the alley, the man was gone. I’ve searched everywhere and cannot locate him.”

  “Do you have any clues as to the man’s identity?”

  Stuart shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I never got a proper look at his face. When I returned a little while ago with a lantern, I found nothing but a few spatters of blood.”

  Julian closed his eyes. He had hoped Stuart could give a better description than the one Megan had given him earlier. Hell, a ‘foul-smelling brute with dark, greasy hair and a grungy beard who spoke incoherently’ described almost every dock worker in England.

  “Is there anything else I can do, Master?”

  He glared at his first mate. “Just keep your eyes open,” he snapped, feeling his body tremble with the effort to control his fury.

  Stuart nodded. “Aye, sir,” he said, then left.

  He lifted his forgotten brandy from the desk. “Damn,” he roared as he threw the crystal snifter into the fireplace.

  CHAPTER 10

  “I think we should cancel this evening.”

  Megan finished arranging the crown that went with her queen’s costume. “Julian, you were the one who insisted I go.”

  “That was before you were...” He paused and sighed. “I think you should stay indoors until that man is found.”

  She frowned at his reflection in the large mirror before her. “I have been staying indoors for days, Julian, and quite frankly, I’m beginning to go mad. Besides, I’m looking forward to tonight. And,” She turned to him with a smile, “I’ll have my big brother protect me from all of the dangers a masque could bring.”

  He shook his head, a grin lurking at the corners of his mouth. “You are too clever for your own good, my sweet.”

  An hour later, she regretted her decision to go. Once Julian had guided her to the balustrade at the top of the stairs, she glanced down at the crowd and gasped. There seemed to be more people here than at the theater. A thousand eyes would be on her, staring, scrutinizing every step. What if she didn’t hold her fan right? What if she tripped on the rug? What if she forgot the steps to a dance? Oh, Lord. This night would last forever.

  “Lord Julian Westland, Marquess of Amersleigh, and Lady Megan Westland, son and daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kenbrook,” the under-butler announced.

  A hush swept over the room, eerily similar to the night of the theater. Clutching the stick of her golden mask, she held it firmly to her face as she began to descend the staircase with her brother. After a few steps, she realized that the clop of Julian’s boot heels and the swish of her costume were the only things to disturb the room’s thick silence. She trembled when they cleared the last step.

  The hostess, the dowager Duchess of Huntington, greeted them. “Lord Amersleigh, how wonderful it is to see you again.”

  Julian bowed. “Indeed, Your Grace, it is always a pleasure to see you. I present my sister, Lady Megan Westland.” He turned. “Megan, please make the acquaintance of Her Grace, Anne Claiborne, the dowager Duchess of Huntington.”

  She took away her mask and heard a rumble move through the crowd. She ignored it and curtsied low to the dowager duchess before Julian turned her attention to the three standing beside the regal, silver-haired lady.

  “And this is His Grace, Daniel Claiborne, the Duke of Huntington.”

  She issued another graceful curtsy then held up her hand. “Your Grace.”

  His Grace blinked a couple of times, then gently captured her hand and bowed over it. “Lady Megan.”

  She turned when her brother continued the introductions.

>   “This is Huntington’s younger brother, Lord Andrew. And this beautiful young lady is their sister, Lady Victoria,” Julian said. Then he leaned down and spoke softly into her ear. “This is her come-out as well, Moppet.”

  Lady Victoria produced the most perfect curtsy to Julian, then turned and smiled true warmth. Megan smiled back, wondering how the girl could stay calm with so many people watching.

  As the next guests were introduced, Julian led her into the bustling ballroom. She hoped she would have the opportunity to get to know Victoria Claiborne better. Perhaps they could become friends.

  The crowed pooled around them as soon as they moved beyond the stairs. Megan grew more uncomfortable as Julian performed all of the introductions. It was difficult for her to remember which name went with which face. But a familiar voice had her smiling suddenly.

  “Megan, hello. Or should I address you as Your Majesty tonight? You make a stunning queen, my dear. That costume is quite the go.” Evie’s voice.

  Megan turned and beamed. “Evie, I am glad to see you again.” She took note of the colorful wings sewn into the back of her friend’s jade-green gown. “And what a splendid butterfly you are.”

  Evie’s round, brown eyes sparkled with the compliment. “Why, thank you.” She nodded, dislodging a few chestnut curls from their pins.

  When a man cleared his throat, Evie rolled her eyes. “Lady Megan Westland, please make the acquaintance of my brother, Lord William Thornton, the Earl of Ashton. As you can see, he didn’t have time to fetch a costume.” Evie stated the last under her breath, then giggled.

  Lord Ashton stood about six feet tall and surprisingly handsome, Megan noticed as he came forward and kissed her gloved hand. “I am pleased to finally meet you, my lady,” he drawled, his dark eyes smoldering.

  She extracted her hand. “I’m glad to meet you as well, Lord Ashton. Your sister has spoken a lot about you.”

  He leaned forward, a smile curving his lips. “I hope she lied and told you nothing but good things,” he whispered.