“May I . . . help you with that?” he offered carefully.
“Would you?” she asked. “My last customer left without doing me the courtesy of freeing me and I . . . seem to be . . . losing feeling in my toes.”
He knelt next to her and began to tackle the Gordian knots as gently as he could. “A common hazard, this?”
The question won him a smile. “The least of them. Most gents just make a show of the restraints, but I’d say a few are a bit overzealous.”
As he worked, he noted the scars at her ankles and wrists and even around her throat from the repeated use of straps and shackles. There was blood on her thighs from several shallow cuts, and her skin was covered in signs of abuse. He shuddered but did his best to maintain his composure.
She eyed him closely as he worked. “You’re new. You going to be kind to sweet little Julia, then? Or am I to be punished for being such a naughty, wicked creature?”
He sat back on his heels and exhaled in frustration. “I’ll have to cut this last bit off. Do you have a knife? Or scissors?”
She nodded. “There’s anything you need in the drawer there, next to the bed.”
He went to the drawer and pulled it out, only to freeze at the sight of its bloodied contents. Knives, razors, tweezers, and metal clamps of every size lay in an unordered jumble.
Shit.
I think Dante missed this for one of his circles in hell. . . .
He retrieved the most innocuous knife he could see and returned to her, making quick work of the last of the leather and freeing her. She cried out in relief and rubbed her wounded calves.
“Thank you, sir.”
He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “It was the least I could do.”
She sauntered over to a small wardrobe cabinet in the corner and opened it to reveal a hundred more thin strips of leather hanging at the ready, alongside several odd harnesses and tools of the trade.
She turned back to him with a smile. “All that effort to be free, and here we go again.”
“Not tonight.” He held his ground. “I just wanted to talk to you and ask you a few questions.”
Her brow furrowed. “You paid to talk to me?”
He nodded.
“Well, this is new!” She sat playfully on the edge of the bed. “I’m not much of a talker unless I’m tippled.”
Darius nodded, displeased to discover that he was becoming an old hand at this game. “Is there a bell to pull to ring for some refreshments, Julia? Or do I call down the hallway to that oversize gilded cherub to ask for a bottle?”
She giggled and slid off the bed to yank on a bellpull on the wall hidden by a embroidered cloth in silver thread portraying several satyrs raping a shepherdess and her flock.
Before he could ask for her preference, there was the sound of a bell and she pulled back a wooden panel to reveal a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
“Clever,” he commented.
“You’re not supposed to see anyone else at Gray’s. It’s all like ghosts,” she explained. “Makes our clients feel very safe here.”
How could anyone feel safe here?
She filled one glass to the brim and started to pour another but he waved her off. “None for me.”
Julia didn’t argue but greedily settled in to enjoy her wine, sitting back onto the bed with the open bottle in hand. “You are an odd bird, sir, but I think I like you.”
He pulled up the one chair in the room and sat next to the bed. He made small talk, asking her the usual questions about her age and her history, and true to her word, her answers began as terse little syllables that gave him almost nothing. But after her fourth cup of wine, she was far friendlier, and at last, Darius began to think he might have some chance at one or two slips of useful information.
“Netherton?” She bit her lip. “What a horror that one is! He pays well enough and well he should since it takes a week to recover from a single session, and he’s been known to end a career or two if you don’t know the game well enough.”
“He comes here often?” he asked.
“Not so much anymore.”
Darius could feel his heart slowing as his hope faded. “No? Not even to see his favorite?”
Julia took a huge swallow and then brayed with laughter. “He doesn’t come because he doesn’t have to if he wants to ride that mare!”
He forced himself to smile to try not to spoil her happy mood. “Why ever not? Is she not here?”
“He’s stabled her, for sure and certain! And thank the gods for it! It’s been a few years now since he came regular, and I won’t lie. We talk amongst ourselves, we doves, pondering what tricks she had to capture and keep a man like that black-hearted beast. But it was different between them, I think.”
“Different how?” He refilled her glass himself, upending the bottle and then heading over to the bell to get her another.
“She liked it! Every brutal moment I suspect. Not,” she tried to backtrack, “not that I mind my work, of course!”
“Of course,” he agreed as sympathetically as he could, handing her the new bottle. “But she kept him interested. . . .”
“More than interested! Not that I envy her the bloke—just her carriage and four-in-hand.”
“He still has her keeping? How do you know?”
“Her keeping? More than that I’d say!”
“How? How more than her keeping?”
She bit her lower lip. “I shouldn’t have been so free. . . .”
He summoned a smile, hoping to coax her. “Not free. But I won’t lie—I have a penchant for a good story. The better the story, the higher the price, yes?” He leaned forward. “Is it a good secret, Julia?”
She nodded, a conspiratorial smile tugging at her lips. “It’s a very good one, sir. I’m not giving it over without a reward to match. No matter how tippled I am, you rogue!”
“Is it true? This secret?”
She was quick to squeak in protest. “Of course it’s true! What good is a grand bit of gossip if it’s not true?”
He shrugged. “Let’s have it, then.”
“And my reward?” she asked with a pout.
He leaned back in his chair. “Name it.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re having me on!”
“Name your price, Julia.”
“A hundred pounds!” she crowed and then held her breath.
“Done. If it’s good, I’ll give you two.”
“Truly?” Julia swayed, hugging herself in happiness. “Two hundred pounds?”
He stood. “If it’s good. Let’s have it.”
Darius braced himself for disappointment, but he’d have paid a thousand pounds to uncover what she knew quickly and escape the stifling confines of her bedroom.
“She’s more than his mistress! He married her!”
“What? Wh-why would he marry . . .” Darius had to stop himself from babbling with the shock of it. “He married her.”
Julia nodded again, openly happy to have doubled her earnings by his reaction. “It was all hush-hush, of course. I don’t think he wanted his family to know he’d settled on a woman like that, and who knows?” Julia shrugged her shoulders. “I heard her say that when he was drunk, Netherton had confessed that he’d hated his father enough to marry a pox-covered scullery maid, just to spite the old man.”
“Then why keep it a secret?” Darius asked.
Julia laughed. “What a man says bravely when he’s drunk, he rethinks in the light of day! Besides, I think it suits them both to keep their wicked little game to themselves. And”—Julia leaned in slowly—“I think it lets them both play whatever games they like on the side. She still comes round, every once in a while, when her husband’s away.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She misses the sporting life and Madam Peaks doesn’t mind the game. It’s all masks and fun, ain’t it? And if it keeps her fresh and ready for that black-hearted eel, who’s to say he minds?”
“She still . . . sports
here?”
Julia looked at him through her lashes, a practiced expression. “Excites you, does it? Maybe I’m a fancy lady, too. Maybe I’ve some great man at my beck and call but I’m left wanting. Does that warm you, sir?”
He ignored her offer. “Her name.”
“Have I earned two?”
“You’ll earn more if you keep talking, Julia.”
“Jane. Jane Chambers.”
“And her lodgings? Where can I find her?” he asked, praying she couldn’t read the excitement in his eyes.
“On Market Street over near the theatre,” she said with a pout. “How much was that worth, sir?”
Darius didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You have no idea.”
He emptied his wallet over her in a shower of notes and coins as she held her hands as if to catch a mystic rain, and Darius closed his eyes at the flood of relief that threatened to unman him.
And the walls of Troy held! This time, they held!
Chapter
26
“Are you ready?” Michael asked.
“I am.” Darius looked past him at the two men that Rutherford had enlisted to aid their cause, marveling at how authentic their costumes appeared. He’d sent Isabel a brief note at first light begging forgiveness for his absence but he’d not wished to waste any time before seizing this opportunity. He’d warned Isabel it might be a day or two before he could return to Blackwell’s. He hoped that that wouldn’t prove to actually be the case, but his instincts told him he was in for a marathon.
Even so, it was still early the next morning after dear Julia’s revelations, and Darius hadn’t slept a wink. I’m ready. Because if Netherton finds out I was at Gray’s and spoke with Julia, he can move this woman and I’ll lose my only chance for Isabel’s freedom.
“And you’re sure?”
Darius shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything anymore, but I’m certain I’m not willing to give up.”
“Then let’s make a call on the lady. The detective I hired said there’s no man on the premises, so let’s hope that’s right.” Michael signaled the men. “Off we go.”
Darius hung back behind them as Michael led the way up the stairs and banged on the door until a maid finally cracked it open.
“What is—” Her voice failed her at the sight of Michael Rutherford glowering down and the uniformed men behind him.
Michael pushed the door open and the men filled the foyer. “Tell your mistress to come down. We have an official matter to settle, and she either comes down those stairs in two minutes or we shall go up to fetch her.”
“B-but . . . she is . . . still asleep and . . .”
“Then we’ll go up.” Michael swept past her as she started to screech in protest, and Darius tried to give the poor servant a small reassurance.
“You’ll not be charged with her crimes,” he said calmly only to see the girl drain of color in response.
Instead of denying the remote possibility that her employer were guilty of any crime, the girl immediately began to blubber. “I ain’t in it! Please! I’m a good girl!”
The commotion at the top of the stairs cut the exchange short and Darius hurried up to try not to miss anything.
“What is this?” a woman’s sharp voice demanded. “How dare you barge into my house and my bedroom?”
“We dare.” Michael crossed his arms and Darius stepped around him to enter Miss Jane Chambers’s private apartment. He ignored the garish decorations better suited to a Turkish brothel and focused on the prize. Jane clutched at a lace dressing gown, her face haggard from a lack of sleep and a bit too much liquor. Darius toed an empty gin bottle on the floor as he stepped forward.
“You’re to be charged with fraud, miss. We have a report that you’ve claimed to be married to a certain English lord and made free with his name to gain credit at various establishments,” Darius told her. “I’m afraid it is a crime of libel and fraud that cannot go unpunished.”
“What? I don’t claim anything! I am a legally married woman and whoever says otherwise is a liar!” Jane was practically spitting at them in her shocked rage. “And I don’t make free of anything! Who accuses me?”
“The peer that you’re pretending is your husband. He’s pressing charges and offered a reward if we can reclaim some of his property he said you’ve stolen in the guise of a jealous mistress.”
Michael nodded and began reaching in his pocket. “I have the list of ‘gifts’ here.” He handed a folded paper to one of the uniformed men. “Make a search. If you find anything on the list, we’ll add theft to the charges as warranted.”
“Netherton! That bastard!” Her face was practically purple with emotion. “He’s sold me out! That pile of putrid sh—”
“Unless you have proof.” Darius cut her off quietly and was immediately rewarded by a hiccup of silence and the desperate grip of her fingers on his coat sleeve.
“I do! I can prove it!” she said and promptly burst into tears.
Rutherford rolled his eyes. “You’re a known prostitute and an actress, Miss Chambers. Let’s have off with the show and get you down to the station.”
“No!” she cried out, recovering some of her composure with a feral growl. “It’ll be in the registry at St. Bride’s on Fleet Street. It’s there!”
“What’s the date?” Darius asked, praying his voice didn’t betray how his life hung in the balance.
She pursed her lips together, a small part of her instinctively reluctant to yield.
“It’s a wild-goose chase.” Rutherford sighed. “Come on, miss. Ring for the maid to dress you or we’ll take you as you are.”
“That’s madam and I married Lord Netherton on November the twelfth in fifty-three. As for that goose, you can stuff it! I’m no weak puff to blow over just because Richard has decided to make off without me!” She grabbed the bedpost as if preparing to make a last stand. “It’s a secret marriage but it’s legal, and God knows, I’ve earned every gift that man has ever given me! He’s the one needs hauling off! What’s the Crown’s take on bigamy?”
Darius pretended to be shocked at the revelation. “Are you insinuating that Lord Netherton would knowingly commit such an egregious crime and besmirch his good name by—falsely marrying twice? To what end?”
He knew to what end. But hearing her say it made it all the more satisfying.
“His good name? That’s all he had! He lost his money overseas in a stupid scheme in Egypt and he’d have married anything rich and kicking to keep us afloat. I allowed it because . . .” Some of her fire faded and Darius’s stomach churned at how disgusting she looked attempting the part of the wounded innocent. “I knew Richard truly loved me. It didn’t matter what the pigeon looked like. He’d use her up fast and bury her, and we’d go back to it being us. So you see, it’s Richard you want. I was never smart enough to think past the edge of my petticoats.”
To Darius’s horror, her hands dropped to clutch at her dressing gown and slowly slide it up. “What say you men forgive and forget all this? Good ol’ Jane could make your day and you can tell Richard I wasn’t home when you came to call. I never could keep my skirts down when there’s rough sport to be had.”
Darius didn’t wait for the finale of the show. “Not if Hades were serving iced lemonades. Let’s go. We’ve more work to do than hours allotted, gentlemen.”
Michael took a quick step back, for all his height, shrinking away from her reach, and nodded. “Time to retreat, boys.”
As quickly as they’d come, the men withdrew from the house with even more commotion as Jane howled with indignation and a whore’s stung vanity—and the growing realization that she might have capitulated her future without much of a fight. But even Michael wasn’t completely heartless. He turned back and tossed her a small purse full of money.
“Run, Jane. Run as fast and as far as you can, woman. Netherton’ll want revenge and you don’t want to be here when that gutless excuse for a human being comes around for it.�
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Chapter
27
White’s wasn’t the sort of club to allow anyone to just stroll in to bother one of its members. But Darius wrote out a short note and waited in the entranceway, confident that he’d get just such an invitation. He’d spent the day after meeting the real Mrs. Netherton in a strange marathon of activities and fallen asleep on Michael’s sofa well after midnight. But all his preparations were made and it was midafternoon when he arrived at the gentleman’s club to wait one last time.
I wonder what portion of my life I’ve spent on the edges of these clubs? Good enough to run some rich man’s errands or research some academic society’s projects but never good enough to take my place inside.
After only a few minutes, the butler returned to show him up to a small private room off the main club’s first floor.
Netherton’s face was so red he was nearly purple as he came through the doors. “What game is this? Let’s have it, stable boy, for I’m moments away from calling for the authorities and demanding your arrest. I knew that bit about the book was a ruse but I was too distracted to squelch you like I should have. So what is this now? Is this—a new hoax?”
“Is it? I have a certified statement from the bishop at St. Bride’s, Lord Netherton. It seems many of your friends missed the occasion and I thought you’d want to show off your lovely wife. I thought you’d be pleased. Didn’t you say you’d lost a bride? But I’ve found her for you. Shall we order a toast?”
“You son of a bitch! I’ll see you dead before you—”
“Really? That’s your counter? As if I uncovered it alone or didn’t think to make sure that enough of my friends are aware of the situation? You’ll just kill me and it will all magically go away?”
“What do you want?”
“What I want and what I’m going to ask of you are two different things. What I want is for you to suffer every torment imaginable in a slow, icy dark that guarantees that you’ll never harm another human being again. But what I’m going to ask is that you annul your marriage to Isabel Penleigh. It is, of course, technically not a legal match, but things are so much simpler if you are the one that petitions for her release and we avoid making your true marriage to Jane Chambers known to the papers. It would be quite the splash, don’t you agree?”
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