Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four)

by Maureen Driscoll

  When she matched the address of the warehouse in front of her to the one the man had written on the slip of paper, she paused. This was the right place, but she couldn’t imagine a toff in his fine clothes would be waiting inside a dark, crumbling warehouse that looked from the outside at least to be home to nothing but rats and spiders.

  And she hated rats and spiders.

  But blunt was blunt, and the possibility of not having to work for Aurelia Thurmond gave her the courage she needed to proceed. She opened the door and stepped inside. There were no lanterns lit and the place smelled like mold, rotting wood and animal waste. The dust in the air floated hazily as she took a few more steps.

  “Oi!” she called out, hoping her mysterious toff hadn’t been playing a joke by sending her on a fool’s errand. She knew she wasn’t early and had a feeling he wasn’t the type to be late. She took a few more steps into the warehouse. Her instincts were sharp and she began to get a very bad feeling about this place. It was too big, too dark. And she was very much alone. As bad as things got at Madame Thurmond’s, at least there were always the burly footmen who could kick down a door if a bloke got too rough. But here….

  No sooner had she decided to leave than she heard the door slam behind her, enveloping her in almost complete darkness.

  “Who’s there?” she asked in the direction of where she believed the door was. It was frightening how quickly a person could lose their sense of direction in the dark.

  No one answered her.

  Sonia reached into her boot with shaky hands to pull out the knife she always carried with her. It had saved her on more than one occasion and she would not hesitate to use it today if she had to. “I’ve waited long enough and now I have to get back to work or else Madame will send her bully boys after you. And you won’t like that one bit, I promise.”

  She slowly began inching her way back toward the door. At least she hoped that was the direction in which she was moving. She held the knife with her right hand, while stretching her left out in front of her. She had to shuffle her feet to ensure she wouldn’t trip over anything. She could hear no sounds and had no idea where the man was who shut the door. If it even was a man. For all she knew, it might have been the wind.

  But she didn’t think she could be that lucky.

  She took a few more steps, then stopped to once again get her bearings. It was then that she heard it. Someone was walking toward her with steady steps, as if he could see easily in the gloom. She couldn’t yet see anyone, but could hear he was coming straight toward her. She stood still, clutching the knife.

  The steps continued. Soon she would be able to see who it was. She readied the knife.

  The steps slowed until they stopped. He was standing just beyond where she could see in the darkness.

  “Show yerself!” she ordered, with only a slight tremor in her voice.

  There was no response. She tried her hardest to see him. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark during the past several minutes. She took the slightest step forward and the outline of a shadow came into focus. It was still too dark to distinguish the features. But it was a man, and by the height of him, it appeared to be the toff who’d hired her. She could also see the dim outline of the door behind him. If she could only distract him, she had a good chance of reaching it.

  “Wot do you think you’re doing?” she asked in her working voice. “I was looking forward to getting rode by you. It’s never good to keep a girl waiting. Or are you the shy type?” She tightened the grip on the knife and readied herself to lunge past him.

  Suddenly she was grabbed from behind. The brute behind her, who was solid muscle, knocked the knife out of her hand and pulled her back to him, securing her firmly. She started to scream, but the man clapped his hand over her mouth.

  The figure in front of her stepped closer and she finally saw the man who’d hired her.

  “I’m not shy,” he drawled lazily. “And I shan’t do any riding today.” He nodded to the brute behind her, who put her neck in the crook of his arm and squeezed.

  Sonia kicked back at the man, as she clutched at his arm. He wasn’t strangling her but the room began to blacken as she slowly lost consciousness.

  * * *

  If Melanie’s previous meetings at Mitchell House had been distinctive for the lack of interest shown by the participants, her current meeting was quite the opposite. Unfortunately, the interest was all directed toward their handsome guest from America and not to anything related to reform.

  Half a dozen women were in attendance. Angela the opera dancer and Lydia the burgeoning courtesan were both there. There were three women who worked at various brothels, as well as a friend of Angela’s from the theatre. Angela hadn’t been especially pleased to see her, so Mel suspected the two women would be vying for Richard’s attention.

  It didn’t take too long for her to realize she was right.

  Anne Cartwright was not in attendance. After setting out the tea, she’d excused herself by saying she needed to do housework.

  Richard gave a brief presentation, which the women listened to with rapt attention. Unfortunately, Mel felt their sudden interest in America had more to do with snagging Richard as a husband or protector than in any desire to start life anew on the frontier.

  She looked at Richard objectively and could definitely see why they were interested. He was a handsome man and had a self-effacing sense of humor. He treated the women with respect and that was undoubtedly the rarest of occurrences for them. He was charming, persuasive and seemed to have an answer for everything.

  “So tell us, Mr. Parker,” said Lydia, as she bent forward to get her teacup, thereby exposing an abundant bosom. “Why have you never married?”

  Oh no, thought Mel. This could only end badly.

  “Well, Miss Lydia, I believe I haven’t yet found the right woman. Or, rather, I haven’t convinced the right woman to marry me.”

  “I cannot imagine anyone refusing to marry you,” said Angela. “They’d have to be dicked in the nob. And you wouldn’t want to marry no lunatic, would you?”

  “No, Miss Angela, I would dearly not.”

  “How ever will you amuse yourself on the long journey home?” asked Angela’s friend. “I can imagine you’d grow awful lonely.”

  Richard was saved from answering by Anne Cartwright’s appearance. Mel noticed she was losing a bit of her usual shyness with Richard, but still tended to play least in sight. Richard rose as soon as she entered.

  “Forgive me for interrupting, but Mr. Parker had asked me to let him know when the post came. You have two letters, sir.” She held out a platter with both pieces of mail on them. Mel noticed she was still turned slightly away, keeping her scarred cheek away from him.

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cartwright,” he said, as he all but leapt at the excuse to leave the room. “If you’ll excuse me ladies, I must attend to my correspondence.” He bowed, then quickly departed.

  It was no surprise to Mel when the gathering came to an end quickly thereafter. Soon, she was left with only Lydia and Angela.

  “La, but Mr. Parker is a fine bloke,” said Lydia.

  “He is at that,” said Angela. “I never done it with a Quaker. I did a vicar once. Well, almost, but it was naught but a handjob in the stables. I’ll bet Mr. Parker would all but burn up the sheets.”

  “Aye,” said Lydia. “The quiet ones always do.”

  “Lydia, Angela, this is not an appropriate conversation,” said Mel, wondering what exactly was involved with a handjob. “Mr. Parker is our guest. It isn’t proper to speak of him in such a way.”

  “Of course it ain’t proper,” said Lydia. “There’s nothin’ fun about proper. But we didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Sutton. We forgot what way you was.”

  “What way am I?”

  Lydia and Angela looked at each other as if the answer were too obvious to state. “Why you’re a maiden,” said Lydia. “Never had a man between yer legs.”

  “Yer not high and
mighty like a lot of toffs, but you don’t have no ken of earthly matters,” added Angela.

  That was all too true. And Mel found it downright vexing. “But what if I would like to acquire some knowledge?” she asked slowly. She shouldn’t even be asking, but after those wicked kisses and caresses from Hal, she’d been wondering what might come next.

  “You mean for Mr. Parker?” asked Lydia with great disappointment.

  “Of course not,” said Mel. “It would be improper of me to act on this knowledge with anyone. I simply would like to have the knowledge for the sake of knowing.” Now that was quite a bouncer.

  “Well, as long as it’s for yer education, I guess it’s all right to tell you things,” said Angela, studying her closely.

  “Yes,” chimed in Lydia. “Far be it from us to stop you from educating. What would you like to know?”

  “All of it,” said Mel. “Everything I would need to know.”

  “Well, to start with,” said Lydia, “you’ll need to learn the difference between real jewels and paste. And that ain’t as easy as it sounds. Some blokes can be quite tricky when it comes to paying what they owes.”

  “That’s not what she’s talking about you nodcock,” admonished Angela. “Miss Sutton don’t need to know that part. I suspect she only needs the ‘what goes where part’.”

  “You don’t know any of that?” Lydia asked Mel incredulously. “I thought everyone knew the basics. Couldn’t help but see it all around where I grew up.”

  “Well, I have some knowledge – theoretical, of course – of the basics,” said Mel, blushing.

  “Theoretical, huh?” said Angela. “Well it’s a lot different in real life, 'specially when their peckers don’t hold up.”

  “Their….peckers?”

  “Cocks,” clarified Lydia. “Many a time when we sees a man he’s in his cups, which gets in the way of his intentions. But you can’t let him think it’s his fault. So you have to praise him and stroke him and make him seem like a big man, even if his little man ain’t paying attention.”

  “Sometimes that’s a relief,” said Angela.

  “A lot of times that’s a relief,” added Lydia. “But you have to do what you can to coax him up. You know, make it hard.”

  “And how would one do such a thing?” asked Mel, even though she had a feeling Hal’s manhood would never need to be coaxed. Not that she was gathering this knowledge for an interlude for him. She just liked to know things. It was quite scholarly of her, really.

  “With your hand, your mouth, your bosoms,” began Angela. “There are blokes who like to get themselves hard while they watch you get yerself off or be with another girl or a cove. Sometimes both. But I don’t think you’ll have this problem with Mr. Parker. He don’t look the type to have pecker problems.”

  “As I said, Angela, this has nothing to do with Mr. Parker.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I have a go with him?” asked Lydia.

  “Oi! I want my chance, you silly cow.” Angela ignored Lydia’s affronted look.

  Mel cleared her throat. “Ladies, I am not Mr. Parker’s keeper – nor yours. However, I believe Mitchell House discourages such contact, does it not?”

  Both Lydia and Angela nodded, looking disgruntled.

  “Do you still want yer lesson?” asked Angela.

  “If you wouldn’t mind too terribly, yes.”

  “We’d best get more tea,” said Lydia. “There’s a lot to teach you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was already common knowledge within the Home Office that when reaching the shared office of Lord and Lady Arthur Kellington and finding the door closed, one knocked loudly then waited – sometimes several minutes – before being asked to enter. And then if upon entering the office one or two things looked slightly out of place, like an improperly buttoned waistcoat, or flushed cheeks, or a large part of the desk cleared away, well, one simply didn’t mention it.

  Lord Willingham was the Assistant Director of Home Office Operations. He was the man who supervised threats to the Crown from within England, and he also coordinated with Bow Street and the fledgling Metropolitan police on issues of basic law and order. But because of urgent business at his country estate, he’d promoted one of his best operatives, the former Vanessa Gans to act in his place, along with her husband, Lord Arthur Kellington. The two had previously worked together to recover priceless artifacts for the Crown. They were fast gaining a reputation as being diligent spymasters.

  Even if one did have to exercise caution when approaching their office.

  After a relatively brief wait of only three minutes, a young Home Office clerk named Mr. Reed was allowed admittance. He entered the office to find Lord Arthur at his desk, while Lady Vanessa was pouring tea.

  “Would you like a cup, Mr. Reed?” she asked.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  She waved him to his seat. “Lord Arthur? Would you care to join us for some tea?”

  “Thank you. I find that I have worked up quite a thirst.”

  If Mr. Reed thought Lady Vanessa’s lips quivered, he said not a thing.

  The three of them sat down to tea and biscuits, another difference from when Lord Willingham was present. While many had been reluctant to have a lady in charge of such important business, there was no denying that the place was a bit more civilized with Lady Vanessa running things. Even if she was a more fearsome operative than any of them.

  “What do you have to report, Mr. Reed?” asked Vanessa.

  “A few suspicious ships have been spotted off Cornwall, but the Revenue seems to think they’re only local smugglers looking to make some coin. The war may be long over, but old habits die hard.”

  “I’m sure they do,” said Arthur, brushing against his wife as he leaned to get more sugar for his tea. “What else?”

  “Still some grumbling up north, but just the usual Scottish complaints. We received yet another summons from the Duke of Newcastle demanding payment for his shattered chalice.”

  “The Duke of Newcastle can go hang,” said Arthur.

  The Duke of Newcastle had been in illegal possession of an ancient artifact. When it had been broken by a stray shell at the end of Arthur and Vanessa’s last mission, the duke had been none too pleased about it.

  “I believe what Lord Arthur means, Mr. Reed, is that the Duke of Newcastle can petition the House of Lords regarding his loss. However, I’m not sure his claim to the chalice would hold up under questioning from the Duke of Lynwood and the Marquess of Riverton.” Vanessa leaned over to take a biscuit, brushing Arthur’s arm as she did so.

  Mr. Reed cleared his throat and continued. “As per your request, Lord Arthur, we have found no trace of Frederick Mortimer, nor the jewels from the chalice. We think he may have gone to America. Would you like us to send an agent after him?”

  Lord Arthur regarded his wife, who did not look up from the tea tray. Mortimer had been one of the villains who’d stolen the jewels, but he had also protected Vanessa and been instrumental in saving Arthur’s life. He had also been his wife’s first love. “No, Mr. Reed. Send no one after Mortimer at this time.”

  “Very good sir,” said Reed as he made a note of it. “There is one more thing, but it could be nothing. A number of, uh, women have gone missing from the East End.”

  “I have heard nothing of this,” said Vanessa.

  Mr. Reed cleared his throat again. “They were prostitutes, my lady. We don’t know how many are missing, nor how long they’ve been gone. Those are the type of people no one pays much heed to, if you know what I mean. Some said they were going to America with some sort of church group. So it didn’t ring an alarm when they didn’t show up again. But now there are more missing and girls seem to be disappearing by the week.”

  “Have any bodies been discovered?” asked Vanessa.

  “It’s London, so there are always bodies. But not the women we’re looking for. And the problem is we have no idea how many we’re looking for, nor names
that can help us find families. When theses girls come to London they almost always change their names. Their relations often times don’t even know where they are. Bow Street contacted me because they say the problem is getting worse. What do you want to do?”

  Vanessa and Arthur looked at each other. They knew only too well the dangers that could befall a woman on her own, caught up in the violence and poverty of London’s stews.

  “We should like to speak to Inspector Joseph Stapleton,” said Arthur. “I’ll send word to meet us for dinner, if possible. If anyone knows what is happening to these poor women, it is he.”

  * * *

  It had been a most unpleasant few days for Hal, the spectacular interlude with Melanie notwithstanding. He still couldn’t believe she’d not only shown him the door but practically stated her preference for another man. She was besotted with her Quaker. The brash American was probably even now asking for her hand and they would soon be on a voyage home, where there would be little to do except make love in their snug berth for days on end. Then they could create more Quakers and live happily ever after in Philadelphia, saving the world and populating the American frontier with London prostitutes.

  He realized he was being churlish. But it was outside of enough to be thusly dismissed. Especially after what they’d done on the settee.

  He still couldn’t believe she’d admitted to pleasuring herself. If it had come from the lips of a seasoned courtesan, he couldn’t have been more aroused. As it was, he’d spent much of his recent free time bringing himself to climax. Not since he’d been a randy young lad had he felt such a need for self-pleasure. And to think she had done something similar in her own bed. Her fingers would have touched the same curls he had explored earlier. The cream from her cunny would be glistening on her…

  Good God! If he didn’t stop thinking of such things, he’d find himself at her uncle’s house begging for the chance to offer marriage to the American chit. But he did have a much better claim to her than that Parker fellow, given what they’d done on the settee. Of course, he couldn’t very well bring that up to her uncle. But it just wasn’t fair that she could be so warm and inviting and trusting of him, then turn him away in favor of the yokel from Pennsylvania.