“They would if they knew where he was, that’s for sure. But they don’t, and they won’t find out if I have anything to say about it, I’m allowin’ none of my girls in this room until Alec’s safe, and no one else knows where he is but me and Paddy and the sawbones—and you.”
She gave Isabella a measuring look.
“I wouldn’t do anything to betray him,” Isabella said hastily. “How could I, even if I wanted to?”
Pearl pursed her lips. “You could’ve given him away the other night, running out like that. But what’s past is past, and I won’t hold it against you. Paddy explained it all to me, and I understand where you might have thought you were in a bad situation. As long as you don’t do it again.”
“No, I won’t,” Isabella promised. Pearl stood looking at her for a moment, as if weighing the truthfulness of her words. Then she shrugged, and turned her attention to a silver tray which she must have placed on the bedside table before awakening Isabella.
Isabella sat up a little higher, tugging the coverlet with her, and absently lifted a hand to smooth an errant strand of hair from her face. She watched Pearl with some fascination as the other woman’s hands fluttered over the contents of the tray. Pearl’s white-blonde hair was dressed in girlish ringlets which fell from a pink satin bow adorning the top of her head. Her face was the exquisite white of the night before, but by daylight Isabella could see that at least some degree of her skin’s porcelain perfection was due to the careful application of a light layer of maquillage. Her cheeks bloomed rosily, her mouth was rouged a soft red, and the lashes surrounding her midnight eyes were long and sooty black. The heavy scent of roses enveloped her. Isabella had to strain to keep her nose from wrinkling. Painted and perfumed, Pearl was like no female, lady or maid or peasant, Isabella had ever laid eyes on before.
“I’ve brought your breakfast. I feel like a bloody chambermaid doing it, too, I don’t mind telling you. Waiting on females is not what I’m used to.”
“I’m sorry,” Isabella offered, feeling that the response was inadequate but not knowing what else to say. She offered the other woman a tentative smile.
Pearl grimaced, then sighed. “ ’Tis none of your fault, I suppose,” she said as she lifted the cover from a silver dish to peer at the contents. Apparently satisfied, she replaced the cover and started to lift the tray.
“Wait, please!” Isabella held up a hand. She could not eat with her breasts more naked than not, barely veiled as they were by sheer gauze. And she could not eat and hold the bedclothes around her neck at the same time, either. And she was really hungry. She supposed she had taken nourishment during the time she’d been ill, but she had no recollection of it. “I hate to ask, as you’ve been so kind to lend your clothes already, but do you have a wrapper or shawl or something I could use to put over this nightdress?”
“You cold?” Pearl asked, sounding surprised. “Oh, I forgot, you’re a lady, aren’t you? Sure, I’ve got something, angel. Just hold on a minute.”
Pearl crossed to rummage in the tall wardrobe opposite the bed. When she returned, she was holding a small, fluffy jacket made of lavender satin and trimmed with downy feathers that had been dyed to match.
“ ’Tis a bed jacket,” she said, holding it up for Isabella’s inspection. “Is it not the most cunning thing? I had my dressmaker make some up for my girls—you know, for mornings when they want to take breakfast in bed with a gentleman.”
Pearl was so matter-of-fact that Isabella realized that, to her, taking breakfast in bed with a gentleman was as commonplace as breathing. Probably it was something she often did with Alec.…
The thought and the image that accompanied it were unsettling. Isabella tried to banish both, murmuring something incoherent by way of thanks as she reached for the bed jacket. She needed Pearl’s assistance to get it on properly, and the movements caused a stab of discomfort in her back. But it was discomfort only, not pain, and Isabella was encouraged to realize that her wound really was healing.
The satin felt luxuriously cool and smooth against her skin, and to her relief, bore only a faint scent of lilies. From the gentle smell she tended to think the garment did not belong to Pearl, whose preference seemed to be for the headier scent of roses.
“Is this yours?” Isabella asked, doing up the ribbons that secured the garment.
“Oh, no. That belonged to Lily. Each of my girls has her own distinctive color and scent, and Lily’s was lavender and lilies. Of course, her real name was Doreen but when she chose the scent, she changed her name to match. She was real popular with the gents, once she got the hang of it.”
“What happened to her?”
“She got a protector who set her up in a little house of her own, A lot of my girls do that. I don’t mind; it helps to keep the Carousel fresh. Gentlemen do like variety, you know.”
Pearl placed the breakfast tray across Isabella’s lap. Isabella sniffed the heady aroma of rolls and conserve, and felt her mouth water. Quickly she spread a roll and took a large bite. Her attention returned to Pearl.
This morning she was wearing a breathtaking dress of pink gauze trimmed with silver lace, which, except for the heart-stoppingly low neckline, was unexceptional. Isabella loved pretty clothes, although she did not own many herself. As Bernard had very reasonably pointed out—and Isabella agreed—finery was wasted in the country. But she had always had a sneaking longing to have a wardrobe that was slap up to the nines, and she could not help but wonder how Pearl’s dress—with a filled-in neckline, of course—would look on herself.
“That’s a lovely gown,” she said, sounding a little wistful. “Is pink your color?” She remembered that Pearl had worn deep purple the other night, and wondered.
Pearl looked sharply at her, as if to gauge whether or not she was being made sport of. When she saw that Isabella was sincere, her expression softened.
“I get to wear whatever I want. I’m the mistress of the establishment, not one of the girls.”
As Isabella spread conserve on a second roll, having demolished the first, Pearl moved to stand before the cheval glass in the corner of the room, preening as she examined her reflection.
“The dress is pretty, isn’t it? I had it made up special, to give Alec something to think about other than the spot he’s in. Pink’s his favorite color.”
“Is … is it?” Isabella managed faintly, swallowing the bite of roll that had suddenly lost much of its taste. Pearl’s tone could not have made it plainer that she was Alec’s mistress—unless, the horrible thought suddenly occurred to Isabella, she was his wife?
Isabella was surprised at how much she disliked the notion of that.
“You and he are not married, are you?” The question was out before she could stop it.
Pearl laughed, flounced over, and sat down plump on the edge of the bed in almost the very spot that Alec had occupied the night before. Isabella had to grab for her teacup to keep the brew from sloshing over.
“No, angel, though I’m not sayin’ I’m not workin’ on it. But Alec’s a slippery fish to catch.”
“He seems very fond of you,” Isabella said.
“Oh, he’s fond of me, all right. He’ll come round to marriage one day, I guess. Eat up now.”
“Have you known him long?”
“Twenty years, or thereabouts. Since we was kids.”
“It’s very nice of you to let him—and me—recover in your house. Or, ah, whatever.”
Pearl laughed again. “The Carousel ain’t mine. It belongs to Alec, just like half o’ London. A regular Midas, he is.”
“Is he?” Fascinated, Isabella quite forgot about the teacup suspended in one hand, and blinked at Pearl over it.
“Angel, you don’t know nothin’, do you? Where’ve you been, that you never heard of Alec Tyron, the Tiger?” Pearl’s voice was mildly scandalized.
“I’ve never been out of Norfolk,” Isabella admitted. “And I’ve certainly never heard of anyone called the Tiger. Why do th
ey call him that, anyway?”
“Because of his eyes—don’t they give you the shivers? And because he’s the boss around here—the boss of London, really.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why, Alec does it all—runs the hells, like the Carousel, and the bawds, like me and my girls, and the sneaks and cracks and cheats, and the hoisters—”
“That’s enough out of you, my girl,” Alec interrupted suddenly. Isabella looked up to see him standing in the doorway between the rooms. This time, though he was barefoot, he was clad in black breeches and a half-open white shirt. His tawny hair had been neatly secured at the nape with a ribbon, and he had shaved. His golden eyes gleamed as he looked the women over. Isabella felt oddly embarrassed at having been caught talking about him, and lowered her eyes back to her tray.
At the sound of his voice, Pearl jumped off the bed and looked guilty. Then she gave a little gurgling laugh and tripped toward him.
“Oh, Alec, what’s the harm in a little gossip? Darlin’, should you be out of bed? You know what the sawbones said.”
“Don’t you start, too,” he said, suffering her to plant a kiss on his mouth and then stand pressed against his side, her arms wrapped around his waist. “You’re starting to sound like Paddy, and Paddy might as well put in to be my ma.”
“I can’t help it if I worry about you.” Pearl pouted. It made her red lips look deliciously small and curved, Isabella noted, and guessed Pearl was well aware of the effect. Just as she was aware of the shimmery allure of her lovely pink dress, and the temptation of her exposed white bosom pressed against Alec’s muscled arm. Though it was early in their acquaintance, Isabella was sure that Pearl did very little without being aware of its effect on her audience.
“I know, and I appreciate it. I guess I’m just cross because I’m hungry. Where’s my breakfast, wench?” He slid an arm around her waist and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Isabella had to look away, assailed by a sudden pang of discomfort as she watched Alec smile down into Pearl’s eyes.
“I’ll get it. I’d’ve brought it with me, but I thought you’d still be sleeping.”
“Now, when have you ever known me to sleep in?”
“Never—but then, I’ve never known you to be hurt or sick before, either.”
“True enough, but I’m almost up to full strength again. If you feed me, who knows what I might be capable of?”
“Really?” Pearl said, brightening. She rubbed herself against his side with blatant provocation, and smiled widely up at him. “I’ll get your breakfast.”
“And tell Paddy I need to see him,” Alec called after her as she let herself out. Pearl nodded, and closed the door behind her. Isabella noted that she was careful to lock it as she left, and wondered that they were still so bent on keeping her locked in. Of course, Pearl would not know about the events of the night. Until she knew the truth about Bernard, Isabella couldn’t go home.… Then it occurred to her that they were not locking her in so much as they were locking Alec’s enemies out. Such elaborate precautions were not on her behalf at all.
“Pearl’s a wonderful woman, but she has a tendency to jabber when she should be silent. I hope you’ll strive to forget what she told you about me.”
“I couldn’t understand half of it, anyway,” Isabella admitted. “When she started talking about sneaks and cracks and cheats, I was lost.”
Alec shook his head, and came to stand at the foot of the bed, his hands casually curled around the gilded foot-rail. Isabella realized that this was the first time she had ever seen him by daylight. Unlike Pearl, he was even handsomer by the frosty light of the sun than he had been by candlelight. The pale sunlight gleamed off the smooth, firm textures of his bronzed skin, and picked up golden highlights in his tawny hair. His eyes gleamed too, bright and predatory as they moved over her. Isabella could quite see how he came to be known as the Tiger.
“That’s as well. What are you eating? It smells good.”
“Rolls with orange conserve. And tea. There’s plenty, if you’d like some.”
Aware of his eyes on her, she felt strangely flustered, and was conscious of a strong, almost painful wish that she were the kind of woman to make him catch his breath. For the first time in her life she sincerely longed for the gift of beauty. But even as she wished it she knew that she was being ridiculous. Those heart-stopping golden eyes were seeing her just as she was: a too slender, big-eyed slip of a girl in an incongruously Luxurious lavender satin bed jacket, her wayward hair, more untidy than ever from not having been properly dressed in more than a week, sending itchy tendrils to tickle her nose while the mass of it cascaded in a tangle down her back. She knew that she was nothing out of the ordinary, with her pale skin and freckles and delicate, pointy face. Certainly her looks paled to insignificance beside Alec’s dazzling golden handsomeness, or Pearl’s outlandish blonde beauty.
“Thank you, but I’ll wait for Pearl to come back,” Alec said abruptly. Startled at something in his tone, Isabella lifted her eyes to his face. He was frowning slightly, though not so much at her, she thought, as his own thoughts. Or perhaps he was in pain. There was such a vitality about him that it was easy to forget that he had been shot in the chest not so long ago.
As suddenly as it had appeared, his frown vanished. His eyes were keen on her face.
“Have you decided? Shall I try to find out who it is that would see you dead?”
The question caught Isabella by surprise. But it seemed that during the long, sleepless night she had indeed decided.
“Yes, please,” she said.
He inclined his head, accepting her decision without comment. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I’ll finish dressing.”
Isabella nodded. He turned on his heel and strode with easy grace to the dressing room door. There he paused for an instant, looking at her with a frown as if he would say something more. He apparently thought better of it, shook his head, and left her alone.
Isabella was left staring after him. The image of those broad shoulders and muscular legs as they had looked walking away from her remained with her long after he had vanished from her sight.
XIV
A quarter of an hour later, Paddy had joined Alec in the dressing room, and Pearl had returned with his breakfast. The three of them were closeted together. It gave Isabella an odd sense of lonesomeness to be on the wrong side of that closed door.
She looked down with distaste at the remainder of her breakfast. Her appetite had quite deserted her, and she wasn’t sure why. It might be because she was facing the very real possibility that someone, most likely her husband, had paid to have her killed. Or it might be that she, a married woman, a lady, was growing all too disturbingly aware of Alec.
Just because he was the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life was no reason to lose her sound common sense, she scolded herself. Even were she not married, he was not for her. The gulf that separated them was far too wide. She was a lady of the ton, a countess of noble parentage. He was … what? Certainly he was not of her ilk.
Isabella was beginning to realize that she had been sheltered too long at Blakely Park. In the six years since her marriage to Bernard, she had seen few people besides the servants, and no attractive men whatsoever. She was a normal young woman, after all, and perhaps her attraction to Alec merely meant that she was starved for compatible company. It was possible that Pressy and the servants and her animals weren’t enough for her. Perhaps what she needed was someone of her own age and kind, to talk with and laugh with and experience life with a little.
Maybe Bernard had known that, and that was why he had so inexplicably summoned her to London.
Although Bernard, in the years she had been wed to him, had never showed the slightest degree of perception where she was concerned.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and despite the sudden surge of alarm she felt—after all, with Alec and Paddy and Pearl all in the dressing room, who was left to knock at the door
?—she was glad to have them interrupted.
The knock sounded again, more loudly this time. Isabella stared at the door. What should she do? She couldn’t answer it—it might be someone who would do harm to Alec.
Quickly she got out of bed, padded to the dressing room door, and tapped on it. The door opened, and Paddy looked out at Isabella inquiringly.
“Someone’s at the door,” she mouthed, pointing.
Paddy looked over his shoulder, and frowned. “Pearl, if you’d let Alec be, he might recover faster. Anyway, there’s someone at the door.”
There was a rustle of cloth, and then Pearl was beside Paddy, going on tiptoe as she reached up to tweak his cheek. “You’re getting to be a regular spoil-sport, aren’t you, lackwit?”
Paddy apparently took no offense at the mocking nickname, because his frown faded as he looked down into her face. Isabella was struck by something that flashed briefly in his eyes. Was it possible that Paddy was attracted to Pearl, and deferred his interest to Alec’s prior claim?
This intriguing notion was interrupted by a banging on the door that defied anyone not to answer it. Isabella, suddenly recalled to a sense of her dishabille, scurried for the bed and clambered in.
Paddy swung to face the door, his hand reaching for his pocket where Isabella assumed he kept his pistol. Pearl shook her head at him.
“ ’Tis Mr. Heath, the sawbones,” she said, and Paddy relaxed as she went to open the door.
Mr. Heath was not quite as tall as Pearl, and he was so rotund that he gave the appearance of being nearly as wide as he was tall. Despite the chill of the day, he was red and perspiring, the floridness of his complexion extending clear past his face to his balding pate. Scant strands of ginger hair were combed back into a skimpy tail. His coat and waistcoat were unfastened, his shirt was crumpled and looked as though might pop its buttons at any moment, and his breeches were stretched to the limit. All in all he was not a figure to inspire confidence in any who might be his patients, but Pearl greeted him blithely and hustled him inside, carefully locking the door behind him.
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