by Liz Carlyle
“Oh, no,” insisted Cecilia, turning the green man a little toward the light. “I am sure some passerby would climb up and steal him.”
Impulsively, David wrapped one arm high about her waist, drawing her back against his chest. “I meant—” he whispered, crooking his head until his mouth could nibble at her neck. “Over there.”
Blushing brightly, Cecilia glanced up to see that he was pointing at the lintel over her bedchamber door. Hesitatingly, she licked her lips. “Ah, perhaps...” Suddenly, Cecilia’s face broke into a teasing grin. “But you know, now you have me wondering. Do you think it would have the same effect if I just set him on my bed table?”
Quite deliberately, Delacourt leaned closer, curving his body about hers. “Oh, I really do doubt it,” he said, just before he ran the tip of his tongue down her ear. “I feel a terrible spate of wickedness coming on. But I suppose we could go in and give it a try.”
Suddenly, heavy footsteps could be heard ascending the staircase. Like guilty young lovers, they sprang apart just as Shaw appeared at the top of the steps. “Your pardon, my lady.” The butler cut a glance toward David. “Do you still wish your carriage brought ‘round?”
David shifted his gaze from Shaw to Cecilia. “Ah! I collect you are on your way out,” he said, trying to conceal his acute disappointment. “Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you.”
Cecilia looked uncertain, and not a little guilty. “Well, yes. I had a mind to go down to Black Horse Lane and take a look around.”
At once, all David’s amorous thoughts drained from his loins as his heart thudded to a stop. Somehow, he managed a tight smile. “Shaw, please be so obliging as to excuse us a moment.”
The butler looked taken aback but withdrew. David turned to Cecilia, struggling to measure his words. “Please tell me,” he softly began. “No—please swear to me that you do not mean to go haring off to that Mrs. Derbin’s brothel.”
Cecilia tried to feign an innocent expression, but David was not fooled. “I mean only to have a look around,” she said defensively. “And Etta will go with me.”
David was nonplussed. Just what was he supposed to do? If he ordered her not to go—which was his wish but not his right—she’d simply hop into her landau and vanish the minute his own dust settled.
Suddenly, another horrific fate loomed up before him, and he felt as if he were once again staring down at Cole’s black queen. The prophetess. And once again, there was nothing else to be done. She meant to go, and so he would have to take her, rot it. It was the only way to ensure that she was safe. Two women had been murdered, and they did not yet know why or by whom. Perhaps there was a connection to Mother Derbin’s. And perhaps not. But the risk was too grave to be ignored.
“You shan’t go anywhere with Etta,” he said in exasperation. “She’s no sort of protection at all, you goose! If you must insist upon such rash behavior, then you’ll go with me.”
“With you?” Cecilia’s brows went up.
“Yes,” he hissed, “and in my carriage. With the blasted crests covered.” He glared at her tangle of flame-gold hair, her kittenish face and big blue eyes. Surely, there wasn’t another woman in all of London who resembled her. “And for pity’s sake, Cecilia, cover yourself with a veil. A heavy black one. Make it two. Otherwise, you’ll be seen the moment you crack the curtains—which I know perfectly well you mean to do.”
———
By the time they reached their destination, it was nearing twilight, the evening emerging unusually clear. Already, the waxing moon was dimly visible, shimmering silvery-white against a dusk-blue sky. The alleys and side streets along Black Horse Lane were cloaked in shadows, but no lamps had yet been lit.
Given its location between Wapping and the West India docks, the environs surrounding Black Horse Lane were quite busy despite the hour. The street was filled cheek-by-jowl with pawnbrokers, wine merchants, import-export dealers, and chophouses, and all of them catering to seamen, tradesmen, and businessmen.
Throughout the journey, David had sat rigidly opposite her, his muscles tight, his thighs flexed. Even as she turned away to peek through the window, Cecilia could feel the tension which thrummed through him. For the most part, he had avoided looking at her, choosing instead to stare blindly into the depths of the carriage. He was angry, she thought. And perhaps a little worried. But not for himself.
In the heavy silence, Cecilia found herself wondering at the impetus behind his unexpected call this afternoon. Had he, as he claimed, merely come to apologize? If not, what else had he meant to say? Clearly, something more compelling than guilt had driven him to her door, and despite his denial, Cecilia very much feared it was regret. Would he laugh, she wondered, if he knew how deeply the thought of losing their fragile bond terrified her?
No, he would not. Despite what was said of him, Cecilia was beginning to understand that it was not within David’s nature to be deliberately cruel without provocation. Moreover, a man did not bring precious gifts and gentle words to a woman he meant to for-swear. Were she of a suspicious nature, Cecilia might have feared David had cleverly orchestrated her seduction out of pure revenge. Just as she might have chosen to believe that he had been a party to those dreadful wagers at Brooks’s. But Cecilia believed neither.
It was strange, really, how sure she was of his honor, when mere days ago, she had been all too eager to impugn it. How dreadfully wrong she had been. David was honorable. Deeply honorable. How had she ever believed otherwise?
She remembered the complex melange of emotions she’d felt during her come-out, when, at long last, David had ceased in his efforts at flirtation. Yes, she had been relieved. But now, she was ashamed to admit that there had been another, darker emotion. Disappointment.
Yes, it was true. And what a foolish child she had been! On a deeply intuitive level, she had been a woman playing with fire, and when that fire had burnt down into nothing more than the cold ashes of loathing, she had felt both hurt and angry.
Now she understood. Lord Delacourt was not the sort of man one toyed with—not deeply, not intuitively, not in any way at all. Never had he publicly pursued a woman, yet twice he had tried to court her. Would he ever do so again? Cecilia prayed to God it was not too late for them. Unable to resist, she glanced up at him beneath lowered lashes. How grave he looked. How sternly his jaw was set.
No, David was not a man easily manipulated. Perhaps she would pay a dear price for her treatment of him these many years. Oh, he still desired her, and he might take her as his lover for a time. But perhaps his pride would not permit him to court her publicly? Certainly, he was unlikely to—well, to pursue anything more than a discreet affaire d’amour. Yet Cecilia wanted so much more. Was she a fool to have hope?
Suddenly, Cecilia sensed the carriage slowing. David gestured toward a nearby building. The establishment known as Mother Derbin’s, a double-fronted town house with heavily draped windows, was strategically placed near a corner, tucked in between a well-lit coffee house and a tobacconist’s shop. Strangely, the place did not look as nightmarish as Cecilia had envisioned. Indeed, to the uninformed observer, it simply appeared to be a private home, albeit in a relatively undesirable location.
Abruptly, David lifted his walking stick and rapped three times on the ceiling. At last, he spoke, his voice dark. “Well, there you have it, Cecilia. And as you see, one can observe nothing from its exterior.”
Slowly, his coachman pulled up along the pavement just opposite the alley. A very elegant barouche was approaching from the other direction, rumbling slowly to a halt beside the tobacconist’s. Cecilia thought the carriage vaguely familiar, but on a second glance, she could not place it.
Suddenly, the door of the coffee house was thrown open, spilling a shaft of lamplight into the street. A well-dressed man wearing a hat and cloak hastened forward, pulled open the carriage door, and without putting down the steps, helped a slender, elegantly dressed woman alight. As her feet touched the cobblestones, she tipped ba
ck her head and laughed, letting her hands slide lingeringly down the man’s chest. This woman, too, was heavily veiled.
The man waved the barouche away, and then, to Cecilia’s shock, he escorted the laughing lady into Mother Derbin’s. Cecilia recognized at once that the woman was no prostitute. But perhaps an expensive courtesan? Though why a man—a man who looked suspiciously like a gentleman—would bring his high-flyer to such a place escaped Cecilia.
On the bench beside her, David made a faintly disdainful gesture. Cecilia turned to stare at him. “Why do they go into such a place together?”
David looked as if he’d anticipated her curiosity. “A liaison, no doubt,” he explained with an awkward shrug. “The lady is probably married. There are many amongst the ton who enjoy illicit pleasures, and God only knows what else. They find it wickedly titillating to indulge themselves in such a neighborhood, particularly where there is little fear of recognition.”
Cecilia found herself both intrigued and horrified by his explanation. She had begun to imagine herself well informed, almost sophisticated, but Etta’s tutelage had never extended to this. Clearly, however, David knew what he was talking about. No doubt he had visited just such places himself, and left many a lady illicitly pleasured. The thought made her acutely uncomfortable.
Just then, another carriage rolled up, this time a hired hackney. A man stepped out, tossed the driver a coin, and strolled lazily toward Mother Derbin’s. He moved with the grace of youth and pushed open the door with an easy familiarity. On the seat beside her, she heard David’s sharp intake of breath. To her surprise, he quickly withdrew a slender notebook from his coat pocket and jotted down the hackney’s plate number.
It was time to spring into action. She hoped David could be persuaded. Urgently, Cecilia leaned forward to draw the curtains wide. David’s free hand lashed out, snaring hers and jerking it away from the window. “Damn it, Cecilia, do you wish to be seen?”
Cecilia avoided the question. “That man—did you know him?”
David sighed and snapped the notebook shut. “For a moment, I thought so. But... no. I fancy I was mistaken.” He regarded her sardonically. “A product of my overactive imagination, no doubt. I have been much troubled by it of late.”
Cecilia avoided that remark as well. “David,” she whispered persuasively. “I think we should go in.”
“Oh, God.” David let his head fall forward into one hand. “Now I’m clairvoyant.”
Plaintively, she leaned nearer, whispering into his hair. “But David, you have been inside such places before, have you not? How bad can it be?”
David merely lifted his head to stare at her. A quirking smile teased at one corner of his mouth.
Eagerly, Cecilia continued. “Look, I am heavily veiled. No one shall see me. Can we not simply go in and pretend to—well, to do whatever it is that people do in such places?”
At that, David burst into soft laughter, lifting his brows lecherously. “Oh, be still my heart!” he whispered, leaning forward and abruptly yanking her into his arms. “It seems my fantasies are about to come true! Let us proceed apace to Curzon Street.”
In mock severity, Cecilia socked him over the head with her reticule, but David did not stop laughing. “Oh, be serious!” she hissed, sliding back onto her seat. “I merely wish to go inside just long enough to look around. Perhaps we shall even meet someone who will know about the murdered girls.”
“Good Lord, Cecilia!” he exclaimed, collapsing back against the squabs. “They aren’t having a bloody tea party in there! One does not simply wander about, nibbling on cucumber sandwiches and chatting. Indeed, I really think you have no notion of what such places are all about—which is precisely as it should be.”
“But I cannot help it!” she wheedled, crushing her reticule dejectedly into her lap. “I am perishing of curiosity.”
“Ah!” he softly exclaimed, stroking a finger beneath her chin. “I begin to comprehend! Then let me take you back to the privacy of my home, my sweet. If it’s your curiosity you want slaked, I promise to leave you well satisfied. But there, darling. Not here.”
His soft, wicked words flowed over her, sending a tremor of sensual awareness down her spine. He still wanted her! Why—and as what—she did not know, but just now, it scarcely mattered.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his, watching as the flickering light of the carriage lamp caressed his sinfully perfect features. For a moment, she let her gaze feast upon his dark, unfathomable eyes and then his full, almost feminine mouth. Good heavens, but she was sorely tempted.
Still, there had been the faintest hint of surrender in his tone, and Cecilia wanted desperately to get inside Mother Derbin’s house. “I think it would be wicked fun to go inside,” she insisted, looking up at him from beneath lashes which were, she hoped, seductively lowered. “And of course, I should feel ever so much safer going with you than with Etta.”
That got his attention. All semblance of tenderness fled as David seized her by both shoulders and jerked her toward him with such fervor her bonnet slithered over one eye. “By God, Cecilia, if you so much as dare to poke a toe over that threshold—!”
Abruptly, he let his hands drop away. “But you won’t listen, will you?” he said bitterly. “Not even if I get down on my knees and beg. And if I do not take you, I do not doubt for one moment that you will come back with that ramshackle maid of yours.”
Then, with slow, resigned motions, David leaned forward, withdrew a heavy pistol from its carriage holder, and dropped it into a deep pocket inside his greatcoat. Cecilia felt excitement coursing through her.
As if he sensed it, his head jerked about. “You’ll pull that veil all the way down, and keep it down,” he harshly demanded. “And don’t speak one blasted word, do you hear me? This must be your lucky day, and I must be insane. But I’d best have a look at that man who just went in, and if I leave you here, you’ll dog my every step.”
After ordering his coachman and footmen to keep watch, David took Cecilia by the hand and dragged her across Black Horse Lane and into the street beyond. Together, they pushed through the front door, finding themselves in a narrow, dimly lit vestibule. A short, broad-shouldered man stepped forward, but in the poor light, Cecilia could not make out his face very well.
David asked to see Mrs. Derbin, and with a grunt of acquiescence, the man motioned them through the vestibule and into a large drawing room. Inside, comfortable chairs and curving chaises were clustered about tea tables, and each sitting area was sheltered by an artful arrangement of potted palms—fake, by the look of them. But clearly, the room’s clever composition was meant to ensure an element of privacy.
The room was almost empty. To Cecilia’s left, a buxom woman in a yellow satin dress was speaking plaintively to a man who stood cloaked in the shadows. In the rear, two men lounged, wine glasses in hand, as they watched a slender blonde drape her assets over the curving back of a red satin settee.
Apparently coming to some agreement, the two men rose, one of them throwing an arm about the blonde. Together, the trio left through a heavily draped door in the back of the room. Cecilia was aghast at the implication. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she was deeply grateful for the privacy of her veil.
At once, the woman in yellow turned around and came toward them, her hands outstretched in greeting. She paused, eyeing David’s length. “My lord,” she said, her voice dark and husky. “I am indeed honored.”
David did not recognize the woman who approached him. Unfortunately, it was clear that she knew him. And Cecilia realized it, too, for her hand tightened spasmodically about his arm.
Oh, hell. But what had he—and what had she—expected? As Cecilia had so boldly said, he’d been in such places before. Indeed, he had paved his own road to hell by strolling in and out of them. Reluctantly, he strolled in a little further.
“Good afternoon,” he said, sounding far more calm than he felt. “My lady has expressed an interest in discovering what you can prov
ide in the way of...entertainment.”
Mrs. Derbin smiled wolfishly. “Well, my lord, we are not so elaborate as the establishments you are doubtless accustomed to,” she whispered. “But I daresay we can provide ample accommodation for the lady’s whims. I assume you’ve come for a partner? I have many young girls—”
“No girls,” interjected David firmly. “And no other women.”
Fleetingly, Mrs. Derbin looked confused. But quickly, she recovered, flicking an appraising glance at Cecilia. Clearly, she was eager to please her well-born customers. Then a knowing gleam lit her eyes.
“Perhaps you’d be better pleased with a strapping young man?” she suggested, glancing over her shoulder at the fellow she’d left in the shadows. “Normally, that is not our stock in trade, but perhaps this gentleman will deign to join you? The particular entertainment he seeks is, alas, no longer available.” She inclined her head suggestively.
Apparently sensing that he was under discussion, the man stepped forward, catching a flash of muted candlelight across his face. David reeled with shock, then shame, finishing with a searing curiosity.
It really was him! Bentham Rutledge. Again.
But this time, he did not look so carelessly amiable. Indeed, words could not possibly have described the twisted look upon his face. Before David could refuse and drag Cecilia away, Rutledge’s mouth curled mockingly.
Stiffly, he bowed to Cecilia, letting his dark eyes drift hotly over her. “Your taste in women is known to be exquisite, my lord,” he said, his voice lethally soft. “But I think not tonight. I await your pleasure, Mrs. Derbin, for our business is not yet concluded to my satisfaction.” He turned, inclining his head toward David. “And as to you, my lord, it would seem I can anticipate seeing you again quite soon.” And with that, Rutledge returned to the shadows.
Mrs. Derbin looked distinctly uncomfortable. Whatever was going on here, David now had little doubt that Rutledge was in it up to his neck.