by Gini Rifkin
“Well, then,” Penelope said, leading her to the wardrobe, “if you are to soldier on this evening, you shall do so in style.”
The first dress Trelayne held up received a negative shake of the head from her friend. Dropping it on the floor, she grabbed another. “Are you clear on what to say when Aunt Abigail asks where we are going?” she asked.
“I have it rehearsed to perfection. No, that one won’t do either,” Penelope clucked. “Here try the lavender one. You had better be on your guard tonight,” her friend added. “If anything goes awry, your very reputation will be at stake, tarnished and talked about from here to Cornwall.”
“What is the worst that could happen, Pen? Lucien will protect me from true harm. He’s in love with me, why would he allow anything to ruin my name or character. Besides, if we are to emulate the women we read about, we must occasionally throw caution to the wind.”
“I’m just worried you’re turning caution loose in a maelstrom,” Penelope said. “And remember, many of those books we read end in tragedy.”
“A valid point,” she agreed. “I promise to make it an early evening, just staying long enough to appease Lucien, and to speak to him honestly about my decision regarding our relationship.”
“Good. No more lectures.” Her friend couldn’t suppress a giggle. “It does sound wickedly exciting. Truth be told, I’m jealous as can be. You must tell me everything. What the women wore, what flirtatious games they played, and to what pagan tunes they dared to dance.”
Trelayne hugged Penelope. “I’ll not leave out one glorious detail.”
****
As the coach sped away into the night, Trelayne settled back against the seat and pulled together an expression of cheerfulness. Her emotions were ratcheted to a fevered pitch, but not because she was looking forward to their outing. All she could think about was Walker. Was he safe? Did he miss her as much as she missed him?
Lucien near inhaled the sight of her, not even remembering to make polite conversation for her entertainment. Apparently the lavender gown was a good choice, the white silk rose pinned at the bodice the perfect touch to mask the worry and distraction overwhelming all her senses.
“Do tell me about tonight’s festivities, Lucien,” she said, seeking a diversion from the thoughts racing through her mind in the deafening silence.
“What? Yes, of course.” He shook his head as if coming out of a trance. “The Bond is a world unto itself,” he began, “where magnificent chandeliers twinkle overhead, and towering palms and exotic plants create an atmosphere of mystery.”
He paused, as if to allow her to paint the image in her mind, but all she could see was Walker’s face.
“The cuisine is unparalleled, the wine cellar extensive” he added. “And one of the finest small orchestras in London presides over the ballroom. But the gaming parlor is the main attraction, overflowing with merriment and high stakes betting.”
“It sounds fascinating,” she said, trying to be attentive, “and not nearly as sinful as I was led to believe. Why, I’m almost disappointed.”
“Neither of us shall be disappointed tonight, my love,” Lucien promised. “When you experience the excitement and ambiance to be had, you will be carried away to another time and place.”
Handing her down from the coach, Lucien paid the driver, then sporting an elegant walking stick, grandly escorted her into the club.
The interior was resplendent, the room emotionally charged. Men laughed, their women clinging overtly to them. Cigar smoke swirled through the air, transformed into a dreamy haze by the twinkling light from the chandeliers, and ethereal music completed the ambiance, seducing her senses, leaving her dizzy. For Penelope’s sake, she tried to focus and make note of specifics.
The women’s gowns showed a daring amount of décolletage. They could not possibly be employing corsets or proper undergarments.
“Oh, Lucien, I’m dressed completely wrong for such an event. Maybe we should leave,” she added, grabbing at the excuse to make a quick exit.
“Nonsense, Trelayne. You are an enchanting breath of fresh air, an innocent amongst the garish and used women normally available here. Does not every man turn his head as we walk by? All of their eyes are upon you with desire, and upon me with envy. I would not trade places with any one of them.”
So much for that idea. They meandered across the lobby toward an area constructed for serving refreshments.
“Sit here, darling,” he suggested, holding a chair for her. “We must have champagne for so memorable evening. Promise not to look too fetching in my absence,” he added, leaning his walking stick against the table, “lest upon my return, I must fight my way through a league of men surrounding you.”
Obviously well known, Lucien signed for the drinks as several people recognized him and vied for attention. He cut a dashing figure tonight, but it was not the sight of him, nor the near palpable energy vibrating in the air that made her heart race. It was the thought of seeing Walker tomorrow. If he were her companion, she would be content to sit by the fire, reading, or embroidering. He would be all the excitement she needed.
With nothing better to do, she people-watched, and was not impressed with what she saw. The men openly leered at her. One depraved fellow blew her a kiss as he fondled the bosom of the woman at his side. Beneath their painted smiles, the women appeared sad, their doleful eyes lamenting I was young once, too.
Alarmed by such a display, she twisted in her chair searching for Lucien. Where was he? She did not wish to be left alone any longer. It seemed beneath the glitter of gold and the sound of laughter, there lurked cold hard iron and bitter memories. About to panic, she exhaled a sigh of relief as he returned.
“Forgive me for leaving you unattended so long.” He took to the chair at her side and handed her a glass. “A toast to your beauty and my gratitude for your company.”
In an attempt to recapture her original bravado, she heartily complied.
“Have another sip,” he insisted, although he didn’t touch the contents of his own glass.
She followed his suggestion, enjoying the warm serenity spreading through her body.
After a few moments, he rose and held out his hand. “Shall we try our luck at the tables? You’re sure to charm the dice as readily as you have all the men in the room.”
“Lucien,” she said, trying to make herself heard above the merriment. “We really must talk.”
He extended his hand closer, the other holding a full glass of champagne. “I can’t hear you, darling. Come along, the night is young, and so are we, let’s enjoy the fun,”
Seeing little option, she gained her feet then reached for Lucien to steady herself. Good heavens. She’d often sampled wines and champagne at parties and formal dinners, but nothing ever affected her so quickly or so drastically.
Relying upon his arm for support, they ambled about the room. His casual conversation suddenly seemed profound, his humorous stories amazingly witty. At the gaming tables, she was persuaded to try her hand with the dice. All went well until Lucien plied her with more drink. Then her concentration became scattered, the numbers and score completely eluding her.
“Lucien, I feel so light headed. Do be a pet and let us sit down for a moment.”
“Of course,” he obliged, his voice filled with concern. “You look pale. Have you eaten today?”
“Very little,” she confessed, as he directed her to a more quiet setting.
Properly seated, the wooziness eased, leaving her oddly contented. She glanced around. They were in a small room, a very compromising, very private room. The dimly lit compartment sported oversized cushions and soft fur throws. One part of her brain sent out signals of alarm, another part found the quiet atmosphere a panacea of welcoming comfort, so appealing to her swirling thoughts.
Lucien sat at her side, apprehension furrowing his brow. My, but he looked so serious. Tonight he treated her like royalty. Maybe he wasn’t such an unsuitable match for her after all
. No, that was all wrong. What was she thinking? But he was being sweet, and she felt sorry knowing they would be parting forever after tonight. She gave him an innocent kiss on the cheek, then the strange giddiness she’d felt before struck again, and she laughingly fell back against the pillows. Her body was reacting before she could reason what she was doing. This was not the proper order of things.
“I’ll order food.” Rising, Lucien headed for the door. “We can relax here until you are feeling yourself again.”
She must collect her thoughts. Being alone with Lucien in this private room was highly improbable, no not improbable...improper…that was it, highly improper. She wondered at her confusion then with a sigh stared at the flocked wallpaper. The colors seemed so bright, the patterns swirling about as if they were alive.
“The comestibles will be here shortly,” he reassured, returning with more sparkling wine.
His eyes appeared a deeper blue, almost smoldering. With a brazen half-smile, he poured more champagne and eased down upon the settee.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful, Trelayne,” he crooned.
He pressed the glass of bubbly to her lips. Without thinking, she drank it in, along with his compliments. Boldly, he kissed her, his tongue gently probing. She should be shocked—was indeed shocked, but thoughts would not become actions. A knock on the door gave her a jolt. Leaning away she blushed furiously.
Lucien laughed, and went to answer the call.
The waiter placed a tray upon a nearby table. Again, Lucien signed for the order, but he also gave the lad a large handful of coins. The boy glanced over at her, grinned up at Lucien, and retrieved a small placard from his uniform pocket. He hung the sign by its brass chain on the outside handle, and taking his leave, firmly pulled the door shut.
She should protest, and demand to leave immediately, but her body felt so languid, and her thoughts soared beyond serious contemplation. As the sound of the orchestra seeped into the room, she closed her eyes. She was supposed to talk to Lucien, but all the things she had planned to say were jumbled in her mind, hovering just beyond her grasp.
Where was he? She opened her eyes. There he was, standing near the tray, his back toward her. He seemed to be organizing the food.
Repairing to her side, he offered a strawberry tipped with powdered sugar. She really should eat something. He placed it in her mouth. It tasted a bit odd, but went down easily. She had a second one, then another.
“You must have some too,” she insisted.
“No,” he declined, restraining her hand as she attempted to feed him in kind. “You’re all the sustenance I need.”
The food, rather than making her stronger and clearing her mind, left her feeling all the more fainty and floaty. It wasn’t exactly a bad sensation. In fact it was rather pleasing. Every inch of her skin tingled, the music felt as if it came from inside of her, and the cushions were soft as clouds.
“Oh, Lucien, I don’t know what’s come over me. I can barely catch my breath. Could you open a window?”
“Sorry, darling. The windows are locked tight. The proprietor wouldn’t want anyone sneaking in uninvited or sneaking out without paying.”
“Yes, of course. How clever of him.”
It all made good sense, but the room was stifling. In a haze, she pushed the off-the-shoulder sleeve farther down upon her arm. Lucien trailed a finger along the exposed skin.
“If you are truly in distress, my dear, perhaps I should loosen a button or two on your dress.”
No…he mustn’t. She struggled to put her protest into words, but only a garbled sentence passed her lips. Experienced fingers released several button closures, and her dress gapped, revealing her corset. Lucien grazed his hand across the mounds of her breasts. Alarmed at his behavior, she found the strength to push him away.
“Easy, darling.” He shushed her as if she were a child.
Stroking her hair, he rocked her back and forth. Now his touch was reassuring rather than threatening. Everything was all right. Everything was marvelous.
“Rest your head on my shoulder, sweet. Don’t fight the pleasure surrounding you.”
Closing her eyes, she complied and her thoughts turned to colors, every fiber of her being pulsed with a life of its own. She heard the rustle of fabric, it sounded far away. Lucien slipped his hand beneath her skirts, he touched her knee and inched his way upward.
In the foggy far reaches of her mind, her instinct for self-preservation cried for him to stop. But her arms felt too heavy to lift and wouldn’t respond, but how was that possible when she was floating, so light, so carefree. Yes, delightfully carefree, there was no need for alarm. Walker wouldn’t hurt her. Visions of her wild and wonderful Sea Captain flashed through her mind. She opened her eyes... It was blonde hair that met her gaze, not Walker’s dark thick mane. Something was wrong
With monumental effort, she rallied “Lucien,” she breathed, “we mustn’t.”
He eased back, giving her a comforting smile. “Whatever you wish, my love. There’s no rush. We’ve all the time in the world. Do have another strawberry.”
Chapter Eighteen
Walker shifted the knife and scabbard to a more comfortable position on his belt. Hargis had designed the weapon to replace his Green River blade lost in the fight. This one was smaller, and more suited for concealment in the city, but it was just as deadly. Standing on the stoop outside Lucien’s flat, he had a dark craving to christen it in blood.
Edging closer, he listened at the door. It was quiet as a tomb inside. Damn. It would be just his luck no one was home—delaying his satisfaction for revenge. Upon his return from Brighton, Walker had stopped at Royston Hall. At first, he’d been alarmed to find Trelayne was not present then reassured after being told she was with her friend Penelope. With that worry off his mind, it left the way clear for him to search out Lanteen.
He pounded on the door. The sound echoed through the rooms beyond. Again and again he slammed his fist against the wood. Shockwaves of pain reverberated through his barely healed body, but pretending the oak panel was Lanteen’s face, pain became pleasure.
****
Beatrice heard the summons and quit sobbing long enough to glance in the direction of the front door. Maybe Lucien had changed his mind. Maybe he had come home instead of keeping his assignation with her.
For one happy moment, she clung to the sliver of hope. Then it occurred to her—if Lucien had returned he wouldn’t knock, he would use his key.
Slumping back upon the bed, she lay listening to the persistent commotion. Finally, curiosity and concern got the better of her. What if the caller was involved in Lucien’s business dealings? Slipping from the bed, she straightened her crumpled dress, and padded across the room. If she didn’t respond, and it caused him to lose money, she would pay dearly for her poor judgment.
“Who’s there? What you be wanting?” She pressed close in order to hear the reply.
“I’ve a message for Mr. Lanteen.”
“He’s not home, go away.”
“I’ve a package for him too, Miss.”
“Well, leave it outside and get on with you.”
“Please, you don’t understand. You must sign the receipt. That’s the rules, and I’ll be punished if they ain’t followed. I’ll lose me job, or at least get a good beatin’. Please, Miss. It won’t take but a moment.”
The voice sounded so sincere, and knowing what it felt like to taste the master’s whip, Beatrice took pity and unbolted the door. The man revealed gave her a start. Coo, he was a handsome rascal. She couldn’t imagine anyone giving him a beating. He was hardy and manly, not pretty like Lucien. And he was tall, towering over her by a good foot. His eyes had a kindness about them although they appeared commanding as well. Entranced by the sight of him, it took a moment before she realized he wasn’t carrying a parcel.
“Say, where’s this important package you want me to sign for?” As she inspected him more closely, appreciation turned to apprehensi
on.
The man remained silent as if pondering his next move. Her suspicion rose, and gut instinct roared something was wrong. She tried to slam the door shut, but he easily pushed it back and forced his way in. Turning, she searched for a likely weapon.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” He stood his ground as if trying to gain her trust.
“Who are you? What’d you want?”
“I’m Captain Walker Garrison. I need your help…please.”
Recognition of his name momentarily overtook fear. So, this was the amazing Captain Garrison. The man Lucien hated and that hussy Trelayne loved. His speech had reverted to American, but wasn’t he ever so polite, asking for her help, not an order but a request. That was a switch.
“What could I know that would help the likes of you?”
****
Walker hesitated. If Lucien was in love with Trelayne, why was this woman here and very much at home in his residence? A residence where no expense had been spared. Even the china upon the table was exquisite. Set only for one, it seemed safe to assume the lady intended to dine alone tonight.
As he pondered the situation, he studied the rest of the room. A painting hanging over the fireplace caught his attention. The scene was that of an old monastery or gatehouse, the rendering flanked by ornate sconces. A lace mantel cloth beneath it, gave the arrangement an alter-like appearance.
He drew closer. The brass plate at the bottom of the picture indicated the structure was Amberley Abbey. Odd Lucien would have such a fascination for an old monastic ruin. His gaze roamed sideways and held fast as it snagged on a miniature of Trelayne, displayed in a singularly beautiful filigreed frame. How revolting. Lucien had her likeness over which to weave his vile dreams and plans. Lovingly, he picked up the tiny portrait and turned it over. An inscription added to the silver work read, Queen of my desires, Abbess of my soul. By all that was holy, what was that supposed to mean? Resisting the urge to slip the treasure into his pocket, he precisely replaced the miniature, his fingers lingering on the image.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the woman backing out of the room. She inadvertently brushed against an end table, and the crystal figurines on top collided. The soft tinkling sound broke the silence in the room bringing her up short.