Dobson averted his gaze from a ragged couple who were copulating in a corner of the room. “I had my flute. I let my music soothe me.”
“God forgive me for not knowing or caring about such unfortunates as these.”
“Don’t reproach yourself, Your Grace. They’re not all innocent. There’s many a thief and footpad and highwayman amongst this lot.” He indicated a corridor leading to what seemed like small rooms. “And the ones with money can pay for an apartment in the press-yard, where they have a bit of privacy, at the least.”
Thorne sighed. “Well, let’s get to business. Surely there are a few wretches here who are worth redeeming. The housekeeper can use a new scullery maid, she says, and my horses would profit from a groom or two.”
They enlisted the aid of a prison-keeper and toured the large room, asking questions of the keeper, speaking to the prisoners, and discussing the merits of the various prisoners they came across. At last they settled on a healthy-looking female who had been arrested on suspicion of prostitution and two scrawny young boys who had been accused of stealing a loaf of bread.
Thorne handed a few gold coins to his valet. “Take their names and particulars, Dobson, and see what you can do to effect their release. I’ll stay for a bit and see if I can find any more promising candidates.”
“Very good, Your Grace. I’ll have them put to work as soon as we reach Havilland House.”
When Dobson had gone, shepherding the new servants before him, the prison-keeper turned to Thorne. “Will you see the coves in the apartments now, m’lud? They be the real beauties. Murderers and villains what be waitin’ on their executions and such. A real rum crew.” He led Thorne down the long corridor, shouting curses at the prisoners as they passed. He glanced in at one man, a well-dressed fellow in a room that seemed supplied with all manner of comforts. “Hey, Gilbert,” he cried. “Will you let me have your goods when they hauls you to Tyburn Tree?” He was answered by a tin cup hurled at his head. Laughing, he ducked the missile and grinned at Thorne. “I likes to twit ’em, I does, m’lud.”
“How very amusing,” Thorne said with a sneer.
The keeper looked in at another room, where a woman sat crouched in a corner, her head buried in her arms, her greasy hair lank around her shoulders. She was a picture of abject despair. “Hey, Molly,” he called. “Come look at the nob what’s come to visit.”
“Bugger off, pig!” she shrilled in an ugly voice. Then she lifted her head and glared toward the doorway.
Thorne gasped. “Gloriana?” he whispered.
She rose slowly to her feet, her face turning white, her mouth opening wide in disbelief. “But… but you’re dead! Dear God, am I dreaming?” She moved unsteadily toward Thorne, her hand at her breast. Her eyes rolled in her head, her limbs shaking; after a few tottering steps, she collapsed with a sigh into Thorne’s arms.
• • •
Gloriana stirred, dimly aware that she was on her cot, and that a gentle hand was stroking her cheek. She opened her eyes and let out a soft cry. It wasn’t a dream. The prison-keeper had vanished, but John, her beloved John, was bending low, his eyes dark with concern. “I… I thought you were dead. The river… Royster with his knife…”
He gave a gentle laugh. “I’m more hardy than you would suppose. I made it to shore. And was found.”
She reached up a trembling hand and caressed his face. “But so thin, so pale.” She couldn’t keep the tears from welling in her eyes.
“I’m strong enough to kiss you,” he murmured. He threw off his cloak and bent to her. His mouth was gentle at first, taking her lips, then gliding across her face to do honor to her cheeks, her closed eyes. But when he returned to her mouth and she threw her arms around his neck, his kiss deepened, demanding her own impassioned response.
She clung to him, thrilling at the fire that burned through her and consumed every part of her eager body. His frenzied hands clasped her breasts, tugged at her shift to expose them. And when he curled his mouth around her nipples, she moaned in pleasure. She reached for her skirts and pulled them above her thighs, then groped at his breeches. He was hard and firm, his own fingers searching for the buttons and tearing them open.
He poised himself above her, placed his hands beneath her hips to lift her to his erect manhood, and plunged wildly into her. She cried out in ecstasy, thrusting her core against his throbbing entrance, reveling in his strength and power. Her head swam and she seemed to lose all sense of her body except for the pulsing thrusts that slammed into her again and again, with an ever increasing tempo that made her ache with anticipation, awaiting the moment of glorious release.
They climaxed together with a mutual roar, a dazzling explosion that left them both panting and spent, entwined in each other’s arms.
At last, Thorne sighed and sat up. He smoothed down Gloriana’s skirts and straightened her bodice, then lifted her onto his lap. She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest, soothed by the pounding of his heart, the warmth of his encircling arms.
He chuckled softly above her. “You see, I wasn’t so gravely injured that I’ve lost all my strength.”
She felt the tears springing to her eyes again. “But Royster could have killed you. And it was all my fault.”
“Nonsense. I was the impulsive one, thinking to get you out of that place.” He clicked his tongue in disbelief. “A gladiator! I thought you were an Amazon the first time I saw you. Clearly, you are.”
“The best of the lot,” she said defiantly. “I never lost a match.”
“I don’t give a tinker’s dam what you were,” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you for months. Till I thought I’d go mad with worry.”
“I killed Royster,” she said simply. “After you went into the river.”
“Dear God, are you condemned?” He lifted her chin to his searching gaze, his eyes dark with sudden fear.
“No. Only transported to the Colonies. My lawyer was able to find witnesses who swore I’d killed the rogue in self-defense.”
He pulled away from her and scowled. “You thought I was dead. But why didn’t you send a message to Ridley? To your family? They would have seen to your release. Ridley has powerful friends at Court. And you’re still a Baniard, with a name that could open doors.”
“Not here,” she said softly. “I told them my name was Molly Sharpe.”
“That’s absurd! Why didn’t you tell them who you were?”
“And who am I?” she said bitterly. “A bastard from the streets who never knew her mother? A common, worthless thing, destined only to bring disgrace to a fine family? ’Twere better that the Lady Gloriana Baniard vanish from their lives. From her…” she choked back a sob, “from her son’s life.”
“Worthless? You proved your worth in Whitby. A successful tradeswoman. And as for common… at the Cholmley ball, you were more elegant and magnificent than any ten aristocrats there. You should be proud to call yourself the Lady Gloriana Baniard.”
She smiled for the first time in weeks. This man, this high-born duke, found her worthy. Then she shook her head. “Nevertheless, I shall remain Molly Sharpe here, and no other.”
He nodded. “Perhaps it’s the wisest course. I shall arrange with my secretary, Rogers, to effect your release on the grounds that you were defending me. A stranger you’d met on the street.”
“Can you do it?” Her heart stopped for a moment. “Why would you do it?” she added softly, praying for an answer she had no right to expect.
“Firstly, because it’s true. And then…” He clutched her tightly to his breast. “Oh, sweet woman, because I love you. That’s what I wanted to tell you that night in the garden. And to confess my shameless wager. And beg you to forgive me.” He held her away and looked deeply into her eyes. “You should know that I paid off the wager and swore I had never found you. Your shame was no worse than mine, for the wrong I did you.”
He loved her! She stroked the side of his face, her hear
t swelling with love and gratitude. “I think I forgave you a long time ago.”
“We must talk about our future together. I don’t intend to lose you ever again.”
“If you think—”
She was interrupted by the prison-keeper at the door. “Be you done here, m’lud?”
“Another moment, sirrah,” Thorne growled. He turned back to Gloriana. “We were talking of our future, my love,” he said gently.
She shook her head, suddenly aware of her shabby room, the coarse keeper at the door. “This is scarcely the place for tender sentiments.” If he intended to propose marriage, she would be ashamed to receive his offer in such ugly surroundings.
“Of course. I’ll see to your pardon, and then come back for you.”
“No!” She plucked at her filthy garments, her stringy hair. “I don’t want you to see me in this place again. And looking like this.”
“It matters not to me, my sweet. But if it will please you… there’s an inn nearby. The Golden Crown. I’ll send the pardon along and arrange for a room at the inn. Meet me there.” He groped for his purse. “Do you need money in the meantime?”
She clutched at her pocket, where her purse was hidden. “No. I have enough.” She looked up at him, unsure of her next request. “But you were so good at choosing a gown for me in Whitby. Could you…?”
He grinned. “I’ll see that a splendid gown is waiting for you at the inn. And I’ll send you a few books in the meantime. You must keep up your lessons, you know. Your tutor expects it.”
“Now that I know you’re safe, I’ll have the composure to read again.” She bit her lip. “One more thing. The Ridleys must never know what happened here. When I reclaim my name, it will be time enough to…”
“Reconcile?”
“A fine word. Yes. Reconcile with the family.”
He rose from the cot, bent low, and kissed her once more. “You haven’t said it, you know.”
She returned his kiss, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, John. You know I love you. Rogue that you might have been, when you kissed me at the forge that first day, I think I was lost.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Dobson!” Thorne threw his cloak at the waiting footman and bellowed up the staircase. “Where the devil are you, man?”
In a second, his valet came clattering down the stairs into the vestibule, hastily pulling on his coat. “What is it, Your Grace?”
Thorne rushed forward and pummeled the man on the shoulders. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t care. “I’ve found her!”
Dobson’s face lit up with joy. “Praise be to God! Where?”
“In Newgate Prison. After you left.” He rubbed at his forehead. “I still can’t believe it myself. But she’s safe and well. I’ll give you the details later. Rogers should hear it all. I’ll need him to arrange her release.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help. Oh, Your Grace, such excellent news. Let me fetch Rogers at once.” He turned back to the staircase.
“Wait! She’s using a different name. No one is to know otherwise, not even Rogers. She’s calling herself Molly Sharpe. We can reestablish her proper name once she’s free.”
“I understand. Perhaps we can return to the prison to see to her comfort before Rogers’ work is done.”
“No. She doesn't wish to be seen in such mean circumstances. We’ll meet at the inn nearby after she’s released.”
“The Golden Crown?”
“Yes. That’s the one. Oh, Dobson, there’s so much to do! You must arrange the finest room there for her. And we’ll need to find a mantua-maker to see that she’s properly dressed. The best we can find. And books to pass the time. It’s the least I owe her.”
“Of course.” Dobson grinned broadly. “But to find her again, after all this time…’tis scarce to be believed!” he cried. “I share your joy, Your—”
“What is all this noise?” Lady Sarah Havilland sailed into the vestibule from the drawing room, Penelope Crawford close on her heels.
Deflated by their sudden appearance, Thorne shrugged at Dobson. “It would seem we disturbed my mother’s tête-à-tête,” he said dryly.
His mother gave him a tight smile. “So loudly that we seem to have heard every word.” The smile expanded into a grin of genuine pleasure. “But did I hear aright? The woman is safe and well?” At Dobson’s nod, she sighed happily. “Ah! My prayers have been answered. ’Tis a blessed day for you, John.”
Lady Penelope put her hands on her hips. “I should like to know, who is this woman? This… Molly Sharpe?” She fairly spat the name.
Thorne squirmed. How the devil was he to explain Gloriana to Penelope? “Merely someone who… who has gone missing for several months,” he stammered at last.
“Humph! My rival, I should guess, from your ill-disguised joy.”
He tried to be as gentle as he could. “You must understand, Penelope,” he began. “I value your friendship, but—”
“Oh, I understand very well! All these weeks you’ve been courting me while harboring a secret passion for some trollop in prison.”
“Courting you?” His eyes narrowed. “I never gave you leave to presume any serious affection on my part, madam, beyond a warm friendship. ’Tis you who pursued me.”
She glared at him. Then her face crumpled, tears springing to her eyes. “You can’t jilt me like this, after I nursed you back to health,” she whined. “I was depending on your good offices…” She bit her lip and turned away.
Though her words were clearly designed to make Thorne feel guilty, something in her manner sparked an unexpected suspicion in him. “My good offices? And my fortune?” he added sharply. “Was that the only reason for your solicitude these many weeks?”
She stamped her foot. “Of course not! You’re very dear to me.”
Dobson leaned forward and whispered in Thorne’s ear. “You should know, milord, that the lady’s brother is deeply in debt. It’s been the talk of London for months.”
Thorne turned to Penelope, his lip curling in scorn. “And were my ‘good offices,’ as you put it, expected to save your brother’s reputation?”
Penelope drew herself up. “I’ll not stay in this house to be insulted for another moment.” She waved an imperious hand toward the footman, who still stood at attention near the door. “Sirrah! My cloak.” She stormed to the door, snatched the garment from the footman, and stomped into the chilly afternoon, her back stiff with righteous indignation.
Lady Sarah grunted. “Good riddance. She was nothing but a fortune hunter. I saw it at once, though she seems to have cozened you for a time, John.”
That hurt. He’d always prided himself on being in control of all his affairs; the thought of Penelope playing him for a fool was a blow to his pride. Perhaps, without his knowing it, other women in his past had duped him. Certainly his wondrous experience with Gloriana had upset his normal way of thinking about the fairer sex.
He turned to Dobson. “Kindly ask my mother why the witch was therefore welcomed here, since my mother’s vision seems to have been far less clouded than mine,” he said coldly.
His mother’s reply was equally cold. “If you want an answer, you shall have to address me directly, John.”
He looked down, reluctant to meet her eyes. “Very well,” he said at last. “Why was Lady Penelope here? Did you invite her?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not! She feared she was losing you. She wanted me to intercede on her behalf. To push you into marriage.”
“And would you have been her ally in the matter?”
Lady Sarah shook her head. “You may not appreciate it, John, but I’m your mother and I love you. I would have done everything possible to keep you from being trapped by that conniving shrew. Not least because I guessed, long before Dobson told me, that you had lost your heart to someone else whilst you were gone this summer.” She smiled tenderly. “And now you’ve found her again. I’m so happy for you.” She reached out and
clasped his hand, her fingers soft on his.
At that moment, still rethinking his many unsatisfying conquests, Thorne suddenly realized that his warped view of women was all the fault of the creature before him. He jerked his hand away. “Dobson, please thank my mother for her kind wishes.”
Lady Sarah drew in a sharp breath at his rebuff and turned to the staircase. “Dobson,” she murmured, “please tell my son that he is a stiff-necked ass, whose pride will do him in some day. I pity the woman he claims to love.”
Head held high, she sailed up the staircase, leaving Thorne to wonder if she had spoken the truth.
• • •
“Be there anything more you need, ma’am?” The innkeeper’s daughter, busily directing a manservant to carry out Gloriana’s bathing tub, turned and smiled. “Shall I comb your hair for you?”
Gloriana leaned toward the warmth of the fireplace, toweling dry her long hair. It felt wonderful to be clean again, to sit in comfort in a gown that didn’t crawl with fleas, to smooth her skin with the fragrant oils that had been included in the packet that Dobson had sent along. She nodded her thanks to the girl. “You are kind to offer, but I can do for myself,” she said.
“As you wish, ma’am. I’ll be comin’ back for the dishes when you finishes your meal.”
“No. They can wait. Only show my visitor up the moment he arrives.”
“Of course, ma’am.” The maid glanced out the window and clicked her tongue. “Rain again. What a bother.”
Gloriana smiled. “’Tis only rain.” It could scarcely dampen her happiness. She pressed a coin into the girl’s hand. “Now run along.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The maid curtsied and left the room.
Gloriana sighed in contentment. She could scarcely believe all that had happened. And all in less than a week. She had been visited by her lawyer, summoned before the magistrate, and issued her pardon, along with that worthy’s apologies for her wrongful imprisonment. Then it was back to the prison to gather her meager belongings. She had been met outside Newgate by a coachman, who had been instructed to carry her here to The Golden Crown. And in the coach she had found Dobson’s large bundle and a note from the man instructing her to request anything she wished from the innkeeper, if he had forgotten anything she might need.
My Lady Gloriana Page 17