“It is not counterfeit,” Ethan said. “I do not cheat.” He smiled. “Do you not trust me?”
“I do not know.” Lottie gave him a searching look. “There is something about this whole business that does not feel quite right.”
She waited. Ethan kept his expression blank. He was a consummate card player and this was one hand he was not going to reveal. She was right—there was much more to the business than he had told her—but the less she knew the better.
After a moment she laughed. “Don’t tell me—you will be paying me to keep quiet and ask no questions as well as to occupy your bed. Well—” she gave a slight sigh “—I am accounted most frightfully indiscreet but I can try to hold my tongue, I suppose, if there is money in it for me.”
“That,” Ethan said, “would be ideal.”
She nodded. “Why do you want a mistress?” she asked, as blunt as he had been.
Ethan gave her a look that made her blush again. “Why does any man?” he said.
He saw a cynical expression touch her eyes. “There are many reasons why a man likes to boast his sexual prowess,” she said dryly. “Sometimes it is because he is impotent, or he prefers men to women but wishes to disguise the fact….” Her voice faded. She gave a little shrug, inviting his response.
“My motives are not so complicated,” Ethan said. “I am bored. I’m likely to be a prisoner of war for the duration of this conflict and I need to pass the time somehow. What better way than in bed?”
It should have been a convincing enough reason, but still she hesitated, her dark gaze narrowed on him, as though she knew he was being less than open with her.
“Why me?” she said. “You asked for me specifically.”
“I did,” Ethan agreed. Again she had surprised him in remembering that detail and realizing that it had significance. “I have a certain reputation for scandal,” he said. “If I am to take a mistress then it is only appropriate that she should be the most notorious woman in London.” He took her wrist in a light grip and drew her close. “I want a woman who will be outrageous, ostentatious and—”
“Obliging?” Again she gave that little half smile that quickened his pulse. Something dark and hot shimmered in her eyes. “I used to be all of those things.” She sounded almost wistful.
Ethan laughed. “So I heard.” He traced a finger along her full lower lip and felt her body hum with the echo of his touch. His body was already tight and primed and hard, wanting her.
“So, Lottie Palliser,” he said. “You have had enough time to decide now. What do you say?”
“YES,” LOTTIE SAID. She did not hesitate. She knew that perhaps she should, for there was something about Ethan Ryder’s story that did not ring true, some element that struck a note of warning within her. But then there were the bags of gold, so many guineas, the like of which she had not seen for months, years even. And she liked the element of danger and recklessness that burned in Ethan Ryder. It kindled excitement in her blood for the first time in months.
“I would be an abject fool,” she added, “to refuse the offer of so rich a man in order to stay here and be subject to the whims of a multitude of poorer ones.”
She saw his teeth gleam in a smile. “An admirably pragmatic approach.”
Lottie gestured doubtfully to the gaudy bed. “Do you…would you like…”
She could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. The brief flash of confidence was already failing her. She knew she must seem gauche as a virgin debutante. There had been a time when seduction had seemed so easy. She thought bitterly of James Devlin, her final affaire. That was where it had all started to go wrong. She had fallen hopelessly in love with Dev, and it had been the single most stupid thing she could have done. When he had ended their association she had been utterly distraught, searching for comfort and solace with other men, whilst at the same time desperately trying to hide her hurt. It was difficult; she lived her life in the goldfish bowl of Ton society, forever under scrutiny. She could see now, with the benefit of time and hindsight, that in her grief she had become careless and too indiscreet. What she had thought had been secret had become common knowledge. And Gregory’s patience had snapped.
She had heard that Gregory was to remarry, to one of the Season’s most eligible heiresses. Evidently the scandal that had ruined her name had left him spotless. But then, he had the money and the power to wash his reputation clean. In fact his influence was so great that even had she told the truth of his sexual proclivities, no one would have listened to her. She hoped that his little virgin heiress would not be too shocked. She was afraid that she would be.
She turned back to look at Ethan Ryder. He was good-looking, attractive in that dangerous, devil-may-care way that had once been so appealing to her. Two years ago it would have taken one look for her to resolve that she wanted to take him to bed. Now she felt racked with nervousness. Her whole body was trembling. What on earth had happened to her? She was not sure, only that the court case had left her with not only her reputation in tatters. She had changed. Somewhere along the way all her certainties and all her confidence had been hammered into the ground.
She fumbled with the ribbon on her robe but Ethan’s hand closed over hers, warm and firm, stilling her shaking fingers.
“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t. Not here.”
Lottie closed her eyes briefly. She felt a curious mixture of relief and chagrin. It was so foolish to be irritated that he did not appear to want her when she was also relieved that she did not have to play the whore for him here and now. Perhaps he was another, like Gregory, who preferred men. Perhaps it was only the pretense of a mistress he wanted, the appearance of being as other men. Gregory had wanted a wife to act as hostess, but more importantly he had wanted the camouflage that she gave him. Yet she doubted that of Ethan. When he had kissed her she had felt the need in him as hot and sharp as a whetted knife. She had known that he wanted her.
His fingers released hers. He stepped closer to her so that his breath stirred her hair. His lips brushed the line of her jaw, sending little shivers of awareness along her skin. She looked into his eyes and saw again the hard glitter of desire.
“They are watching and listening,” he said softly, “to make sure that you do your job properly this time.”
Lottie spun around, her gaze searching the paneled walls of the boudoir. Of course they would be watching her through spy-holes, keyholes, peepholes, the whole prurient range of the brothel’s trade. Perhaps Mrs. Tong had even taken John Hagan’s money on the promise that he could watch her with Ethan before Hagan had her himself. She felt sick, hot and naive not to have thought of it before.
“I don’t perform for crowds,” she said defiantly.
Ethan smiled. It deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes and made a crease appear down one lean cheek. He had a crease in his chin, too. It did not soften his looks. In fact it gave even more resolution to a face that already had no gentleness in it.
“If it comes to that,” he said, “neither do I.” He moved away. “Put some clothes on. We’re leaving.”
Lottie let out her breath on a sigh. “Thank you.”
Ethan held her eyes for a long moment. A smile still tilted his lips. Heat shimmered between them, robbing Lottie of breath. She felt flustered, taken by surprise. Then he turned away and scooped up the bags of guineas. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “I’m simply protecting my investment.” He sounded impatient now. “That old procuress would only rob you blind if I left you alone to deal with her. I don’t want you costing me more than is necessary.”
Lottie scrambled in the wardrobe for a gown and shoes. Most of the clothes Mrs. Tong had provided her with were unpleasantly cheap quality as well as cut to enhance every asset she possessed and to fall off at the slightest touch. There was not a single tasteful garment among them other than the one gown and spencer that she had brought with her from home, from her lost life. She bundled them up under her arm. The cupboard smelled of stale
scent. With a pang of loss she remembered the bottles of perfume she had once bought at Piver’s and at Rimmel’s in the Strand. Flower-scented gloves had been one of her favorite indulgences in the old days…
“Are you ready?” Ethan still sounded impatient. How long did he think it took a woman to dress? She did not even have a maid to help her. She opened the cupboard again and dragged a cloak about her shoulders then grabbed the canary’s cage from its hook.
“Is that your bird or are you stealing it?” Ethan raised one black brow.
“It’s mine.” It was the only thing she had taken with her from Grosvenor Square. She looked around and raised her chin. “I don’t want anything else from this godforsaken place.”
“An understandable sentiment,” Ethan said, “but not very practical. I am not prepared to pay to dress you from scratch.”
Grumbling, Lottie gathered up some underclothes, stockings, gloves, a shawl, two fans, a feathered head-dress, a couple of gowns and a parasol, and threw them into a small bandbox she had found at the back of the cupboard.
Ethan took her hand. His touch made her tremble. She felt disturbed. Misgivings stirred for the first time; more stark choices; stay in this hellhole or go with a virtual stranger. He slanted a look down at her, his gaze sardonic.
“Scared?”
She wished he could not read her so easily. It seemed extraordinary—and deeply inconvenient—that he could. She looked up and met his eyes boldly.
“No, of course not.”
“Liar.” A smile curled his lips. There was a hard light in his blue eyes. “It is your choice, Miss Palliser.”
“You are the lesser of two evils,” Lottie said.
His smile deepened, sending a quiver of awareness like a lightning bolt through her. “Or perhaps the devil you know?” He murmured.
“I don’t know you,” Lottie said.
“But you will,” Ethan said. “You will.”
It sounded like a dangerous promise.
CHAPTER THREE
THE GREEDY BAWD had taken him for almost every guinea he had on him. Ethan was not surprised but he was wondering if it was worth it.
He sat opposite Lottie Palliser in the hackney carriage and watched her as the shadows skipped across her face in bars of light and dark. She was not at all what he had expected. How many times had he thought that this evening? How many times had he had the opportunity to change his mind, discard her and choose another, more biddable and accomplished woman for the role of mistress? How had he, the most cold and calculating man in the kingdom, ended up with a courtesan who seemed almost as nervous as a virgin, accompanied by a canary that could not sing? He shifted with irritation, with himself, with her, with the damned canary. This was too important a mission he was engaged on; he could not afford to ruin it all on a whim because for some inexplicable reason he preferred Lottie Palliser to another more compliant mistress.
And yet Lottie Palliser was no shrinking innocent. Despite the ordeal of her divorce and disgrace there was spirit in her still, a little crushed, perhaps, but he could see the ghost of the woman she had once been. That was the woman he needed, the scandalous, hedonistic pleasure-seeker who would outrage the populace of a small market town and keep their attention firmly on her, leaving him to pursue his business away from their prying eyes. He needed a decoy, a distraction. Lottie Palliser was going to be that woman.
The first part of the jigsaw was now in place. Mrs. Tong had been suitably shocked and furious to lose the services of the most notorious jade in London—even if she had been hopeless as a whore—but had been unable to resist the lure of the money. The madam would undoubtedly tell the world and his wife how the scandalous Ethan Ryder had walked into her brothel and paid a king’s ransom to walk out with Lottie Palliser as his mistress. Everyone would be talking about it from London to Land’s End, which was exactly what Ethan desired. Before she even arrived in Wantage, Lottie would be the most infamous mistress in the country. She would set the town by the ears.
“London by night.” Lottie was sitting forward, holding the curtain back so that she could look out of the carriage window. “I have missed its amusements.”
There was something wistful in her tone, a regret for all she had lost, perhaps. For it did not matter how much he paid her at the end of their association, Ethan thought. She would never regain the life she had once had. Ton society was closed to her forever.
“How did you come to this?” he asked. He was not sure why he was even interested. Lottie’s misfortunes were none of his affair. And yet he wanted to know how a seemingly intelligent woman had got herself into so desperate a situation. He was curious about her.
He could feel her eyes on him in the darkness of the carriage as though she was thinking about how much to tell him, whether to lie, perhaps, and paint her case as more sympathetic than it was. He was as indifferent to her scrutiny as he would be to her falsehoods. She would read nothing in his face. He just wanted to know her story. It would pass the time since the traffic was slow at this time of night.
“You know what happened to me,” she said, after a pause. “You told me yourself.”
“I know what happened, not why.”
She turned away, hunched a shoulder. “My husband divorced me because I became too careless and indiscreet in my love affairs.” For a split second, in a shaft of light, he saw her face, remote and hard. “I always was imprudent,” she said. “I liked the danger. But I let it go too far. I was too reckless.”
Ethan smiled.
I liked the danger….
He understood that because he liked danger, too. He liked the risk and the thunder in the blood and the race of the pulse, for what else was there to live for when everything you cared about had been taken away? He had been right. That instinct that had told him that Lottie Palliser was wild as he, a kindred spirit, had been correct. It should make her perfect for his purpose.
There was quiet but for the roll of the carriage wheels over the cobbles and the clop of the horse’s hooves. Outside the nighttime world spun about them with its glitter and gaiety, the noise of the crowd, the taste of excitement in the air.
“I can understand why your family might disown you,” Ethan said. The Pallisers were very high in the instep and divorce, scandal, would be anathema to them. “But surely you had friends who would help you—”
A quick shake of her head silenced him. “I tried to seduce the husband of my best friend,” she said. “That was her second husband. He refused me. I had already slept with her first one.”
It took a very great deal to surprise Ethan. This did not even come close. Besides, he had heard some tone in her voice that betrayed her, that was at odds with the brashness of her words.
“Are you trying to shock me?” he asked.
Her eyes gleamed. “Am I succeeding?”
“Not remotely.”
“Oh well…” She sounded cross, like a thwarted child. “I could try harder but to tell the truth I cannot be bothered to do so.”
“You wanted your friend’s husband,” Ethan said. “Why?”
He sensed her surprise. “Do you know,” she said slowly, “no one has ever asked me that before?”
“Well?”
“You sound like a stern governess.” She sounded petulant. “I don’t know! I was bored, he was handsome….”
Ethan knew she was lying. He could hear it. He also knew she would not tell him the truth. Not now, not yet, if ever. Lottie Palliser had been badly hurt and that damage had made her draw her defenses so tight no one would ever come close to hurting her again. He understood that. He had been doing something similar since he was fifteen years old.
“You have an interesting concept of loyalty to your friends,” he said now.
“I have no concept of loyalty.” She sounded tired. “And it was not even worth it. He had a tiny penis and was only concerned for his own pleasure in bed.”
Ethan laughed. “How disappointing to lose a friend and gain so l
ittle in return.”
A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “That was the least of my betrayals. I deceived Joanna several times over.” She sighed. “Even so, I think she would have helped me, but she has been out of the country for over a year, in Scandinavia and Russia, or somewhere equally far-flung. I forget. I wrote to her but the letter probably went astray. Geography is not my strong suit.” She gave an irritable little shrug. “Must we speak of this?” He could feel her gaze resting on him. “There is no need for us to talk, is there, least of all about me?”
“Not if you do not wish.” Ethan was amused. For as long as he could remember he had had women desperate to tell him their life stories. He had been the one trying to escape the intimacy.
Lottie shifted on the seat and he caught a faint scent of her jasmine perfume, fresh and sweet. The hunger gripped him again, as razor-sharp as it had been in the brothel. It was a very long time since he had had a woman. As a prisoner of war he had had little opportunity to satisfy his lusts and had grown accustomed to ignoring them. Instead he had focused all his energies on the long, dangerous, treasonable game he was playing. Yet now it seemed that Lottie Palliser’s intriguing combination of reticence and experience was proving a great deal more seductive than he had ever imagined.
At first he had thought she was acting the prude to titillate the jaded palates of Mrs. Tong’s clientele. An experienced woman playing the virgin was not unusual, but in Lottie’s case it would have been pointless since everyone knew her history. And at no point had she attempted to deny her promiscuity or the infidelity that had led to her downfall. That honesty interested Ethan. Not a single woman of his acquaintance would have been as open as Lottie had been with him, and he admired her for that unflinching truthfulness.
She moved slightly on the hackney carriage seat and he heard the rustle of her silk skirts. “How did you come to this?” she asked, turning his question back on him. “Since you seem so anxious to speak to me, you can tell me how you came to be a prisoner of war.”
One Wicked Sin Page 3