by Ruby Duvall
When he pulled free, his hands were still all over her. She stood and turned around, letting him stroke her wherever he pleased. He had apparently been jealous of that hand towel. Taking a cue from him, she let her fingers do a little reconnaissance. His wide shoulders were thick with muscle. Little freckles dotted his neck and the top of his shoulders. She was reminded of how he had lifted her up the night before, how her hands had dug into that tight flesh.
Damn, she already wanted him again.
“Samantha,” he said softly.
“What’s up?” She did a quick head shake. “What is it?”
He rubbed gentle circles in her back with one hand. The other had a handful of her ass. No clear thought formulated in her head but his hesitance to speak made her heart skip.
“I must leave for a few days.”
And then her heart stopped.
“Uh, tomorrow?”
“Within the hour. The day is already half-gone and I have many miles to go.”
He had just banged her and he was going on a trip? Right now? Why hadn’t he said anything when she first woke up?
Not that she still wouldn’t have let him bend her over the bed.
“I’ll send Mary for something you can wear about the apartment and have her bring a dressmaker to measure you. You’ll likely have something to wear by tomorrow, and in the meantime, the books there are my brother’s ledgers. You’ll also have enough to buy whatever meals you’ll need. If my business in Lydd is brief, I shall return in a week’s time.”
Of course. He had to investigate for himself what had happened in Lydd. She wouldn’t have taken Webb’s word for it either. Smothering her disappointment, she nodded and smiled.
“I’ll have something to report when you get back.” She stepped away from him and went to the bathroom.
Ryder let her go, watching the sway of her hips and the undulating flesh of her posterior as she disappeared into the bathroom. He had known that he wished to travel to Lydd when he had sent his colleagues Kelter and MacKenzie to Poole, but his visit to the brothel had taken far longer than the two hours he had foolishly estimated.
Samantha was not an item in a list of errands. That he had attempted to think of her as such gave him no high opinion of himself. He had tried to label the feelings she evoked in him simply the consequence of his time at sea—mere lust that needed slaking—and while he was certainly fixated on carnal pleasure in her company, it was more than that.
Owing to her ordeal, he had tried to keep his distance from her, to return in a week and then assess her state. He had planned to discuss the ledgers with her when she woke, eat a meal and then be off.
Then he had followed her into the bathroom, knowing she would be shedding her closely fitted men’s clothes. She had let him watch. He had struggled with both anger and approval as the smear of powder was scrubbed from her skin, had all too quickly been ready to shed his breeches and feel her soapy skin against him. Mary’s interruption was like the clearing of fog and he forced himself to eat in the other room.
He was braced for when she came in with the towel tucked around her bosom and a delightful blush on her cheeks, but when she said she had no other clothes, the outrageous notion that she would be walking the spaces of his apartment in the nude had been the tipping point.
The things she had said, the indulgent moans, the way she touched herself. He was intoxicated on her, addicted to the feel of her. His cock rose eagerly at the memory of her bent over the bed, her hair spilled across her shoulders and the bed, her posterior bouncing against his hips.
There was no time for this, however much he wanted it. He retrieved a fresh shirt from the bureau and fetched his breeches from the floor by the bed. As he dressed, he listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom. He would never again enter that room without recalling the sight of her bathing.
When she emerged, once more wrapped in a towel, he was nearly dressed. He sat to tighten the buckles at his knees.
“I’ve a letter to send to an associate of mine in the city. He returned from the war as prosperous as I, and he is not burdened with many scruples. I would meet him when I return to discuss an investment opportunity, but with Webb watching…”
“You need to make the meeting look innocuous.”
“Precisely,” he said with some pride. “Somewhere public with many people. I considered the opera house, but I’d prefer somewhere with easier access to some privacy.”
She perked up with a gasp. “Vauxhall. You can meet him there in the evening.”
An excellent notion. He considered it as he pulled his boots on. The pleasure garden was well-attended and drew all classes of Londoners. He had not been but heard certain walks were darker and more secluded than others.
“But for what reason would I be there? I would find it difficult to convince Webb that I simply wish to enjoy the garden’s entertainments.”
Samantha showed him a tight-lipped smile. Damn but she was lovely.
“I’ll be your excuse. Your mistress demanded that you take her.”
And devilishly clever. He grinned. “Madam, you are a treasure.”
Ryder stood and shrugged into his jacket. Samantha crossed the room and he found his gaze locked on the cleft of her breasts. She reached to him and his cock jumped in his breeches. She gently straightened and smoothed his jacket collar.
“Good luck in Lydd. I hope you find good news.”
His hand went to the back of her head before he could stop himself. Jerking her against him, he kissed her. She was pliant, sweet. Her arms curled around his shoulders. He held her tighter.
She pulled her lips free, breathless. “You’re hard again.”
He set her from him and barely swallowed a needy sound. “I wax full in the light of your beauty.”
Her eyes went wide and her reddened lips parted. “Wow, that was…” She shook her head and dropped her eyes, suddenly bashful. It only made her more beautiful.
“Was what?”
“Poetic. Romantic.”
The compliment had him smiling, quite smugly in fact. He very much enjoyed how his words affected her. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it.
“Until I return, Samantha.”
“Travel safely.” Another brief kiss and he left.
Before he had her on the bed again.
* * * * *
With a week until she and Ryder visited Vauxhall, Sam began the task of reading the several ledgers he had obtained from his brother. She sat at the table in the bedroom with what seemed to be the first ledger, judging by the dates on its front page, and ate the meal Mary had fetched from a nearby tavern. Ryder’s half-empty plate had gone into her stomach first and she was almost done with her own. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
At least she wasn’t wearing a towel anymore. The indispensable Mary had brought a plain chemise and a green jacket with matching skirt for her to wear until the seamstress arrived. The skirt was far too short and the jacket was too tight, but it was a much better alternative to being naked. Ryder probably wouldn’t mind but she would.
She heard Mary coming up the stairs and finished her plate so that Mary could have something to do with it. The servant had been in and out of the bedroom four times in the last hour looking for some chore to occupy her time. Sam was feeling a little cabin fever herself. All of eighteenth-century London was out there and she was stuck inside until she didn’t attract double takes at how she was dressed. No shirt, no shoes, no service kind of thing.
“I brought you some tea,” Mary said. She traded Sam’s empty plate for a saucer cradling a delicate teacup.
“Thanks, Mary.” So far, the ledgers were fairly standard. Various goods were bought on the Continent, including Calais and Le Havre. She made a mental note to get ink and parchment for taking notes of the typical cargo and the merchants who sold them.
“Going well, miss?” Mary asked. Sam looked up at the maid’s expectant face.
“Fairly well. How about
you? You must be feeling strange, working in a new house.”
Mary smiled uneasily. “Yes, but I’m excited. Mr. West is much more generous than Mrs. Hayes, I’ve learned. I’ll have more time off and I’m thinking of visiting my parents.”
“That’s a lovely idea. I’d like to meet them too, if that’s all right.”
“I don’t think they’d min—Qu-quiet you!” Mary’s face contorted. Her shoulders went up and her fingers clamped around the tray with Sam’s empty plate. “I know, I know. You told me a hundred times.”
Sam pressed herself back in the chair. “Whoa. Mary?”
“But that doesn’t mean anything!”
She stood and gently took Mary’s shoulders. “Tell me what it’s saying.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ask it to explain,” Sam encouraged.
The maid struggled for the right words. “Wh-who is the pig?” She twisted out of Sam’s hold. “It just says the same thing.”
“Repeat it for me.”
“‘The pig couldn’t wait and now it’s too late’. Couldn’t wait for what?” Mary then gasped. Her death grip on the tray loosened. “It stopped.”
Sam directed the maid to sit in her chair. She took the tray from her and set it on the open ledger. “When did it start saying that?”
“A little before you and Mr. West woke up. The only time I get any relief is when I’m occupied with work. I don’t mean to bother you so much, miss. It’s just—it was driving me mad.” Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Oh Mary, don’t ever feel like you’re bothering me, especially when that’s happening. I actually have my own rhyme to share with you. Maybe you’ll understand it?” She popped open the locket, which got a lot of “oohing” from Mary, and read the stanza to her.
“The owl,” the maid said contemplatively. “I thought Mr. West might be the owl, but it doesn’t sound like him now.”
Sam nodded. “I thought so too. Do you remember what happened the first night I spent with Ryder? That man came in the house looking for him?” At Mary’s nod, she continued. “I think he’s the owl. He was watching the apartment last night when Ryder and I got here.”
“Ooh, miss, he sounds like trouble,” Mary fretted.
“It also sounds like there’s something I need to know about him. If you ever see someone watching you or me or the apartment, tell me or Ryder, okay?”
“Of course, miss.”
From downstairs came a knock. Mary shot to her feet.
“The seamstress. Oh, oh. I’ll get that. You just wait here, miss.”
“You can call me Sam.” She squeezed Mary’s arm, glad to have someone who understood some of what she was going through. Mary’s expression suggested the same.
* * * * *
Like father, like son. William West was a selfish, cold man and Phillip was well on his way to emulating his father. That Phillip hid from his pursuit for justice only proved his guilt. He knew his crimes and now he sought to avoid punishment for them.
Webb would not rest until the son hanged, and then the elder West would understand true loss, what it had meant to him when Elaine died. She was an angel and he was a snake, and there was no doubt in Webb’s mind that William West was to blame for her death.
That Elaine’s son was also tainted with the elder West’s corrupt influence pained Webb to no end. William had been known to frequent brothels and Ryder showed the same proclivity. Webb would have preferred that Ryder had not returned from the colonies to involve himself, but with the war over and his only family drowning in debt owing to their rotting morality, the part of his mother in him had sought to save them. No doubt the part of his father in him would seek to do so by abetting his brother’s crimes.
Were he to discover that Ryder was an accomplice to his brother’s deeds, Webb would have no choice but to hang them both from the nearest tree.
He was but one man, however, and could not follow Ryder about town while also observing his apartment as well as the elder West’s home. It was increasingly apparent when the maid admitted a young woman who was a mere seamstress that Phillip West was not here.
The door was nearly shut when the maid spotted him from his position at the mouth of an alley across the street. Cursing under his breath, he left the alley and walked away from the apartment. He knew he should have followed Ryder when he had the chance. Assistance was required and though it would be costly, he was determined to find justice for the many wrongs the West family had wrought. Carter deserved that.
Elaine deserved better.
Chapter Ten
Sam was so anxious she could hardly sit still. A simple boat ride across the Thames and she would be in one of London’s famous pleasure gardens, where she and Ryder would have a clandestine meeting with a potential investor in their criminal enterprise.
More than that, it was the locket’s next clue.
Oliver had pulled the coach up to the stairs where watermen acquired fares to ferry across the river to Vauxhall. From the coach, she could see the faint glow of the garden’s lights across the water.
“I shall return promptly, sir,” Oliver said. He descended from his perch atop the coach and hastened to find an available waterman.
Maybe anxious wasn’t the right word. Excited? Utterly giddy?
“You are lovely,” Ryder said. His voice had that edge to it when he got to thinking of a particular subject. Her cheeks warmed.
He hadn’t said anything yet about the dress and she had wondered if she looked properly “eighteenth century” in it. It was rather light, a white muslin dress with layers of silk gauze that she couldn’t stop stroking. As seemed typical, the sleeves ended at the elbows and were embellished at the cuffs with even more lace. The bodice closed over her bust but sloped away as the eye went down to reveal a false vest embroidered with delicate budding vines that matched the skirt, which unfortunately trailed on the ground behind her, though the seamstress assured her that was “fashionable”.
Seemed to Sam like a good way to get dirt on her dress.
“Thank you,” she said. It was difficult to gauge his expression in the dark coach but she could sense he was watching her. “I know it’s too late to change the meeting, but you’ve got to be exhausted. Did you even have dinner?”
Ryder had returned from Lydd covered with dust from the road only a couple of hours before. He had cleaned up quite well but she could see the tiredness under his eyes as they left the apartment.
“I am more than fine, and I hear the ham at Vauxhall is famous. Perhaps we’ll have time to take supper there. Did you have luck with the ledgers? I hadn’t a chance to ask.”
“I did. I have notes on what Phillip was shipping and from whom he purchased it. One thing was strange though.”
“Oh?”
“I saw entries for brandy he bought in Calais, but the sales entries don’t match. They somehow had more brandy to sell than what they bought. Does that make any sense?”
Ryder didn’t answer immediately and then a loud clap rang out in the coach, making her jump. “Of course!” He laughed and relaxed into his seat. “Perhaps Phillip need not remain in hiding.”
“Spit it out already. I’m in suspense.” That got a chuckle from him.
“Brandy is distilled at a high alcohol concentration. It takes up less volume and can be let down at its destination to a more drinkable strength. Phillip purchased over-proof brandy and reduced its strength after unloading in Lydd.”
“Then he could sell more tubs—maybe even improve his profit margin.” Sam had to admit it was smart and efficient. “But why is this good for Phillip now?”
“You’ll recall that my brother gave a tub of brandy to Simon Carter? I believe I know what happened to the poor man.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. Of course. Simon Carter drank over-proof brandy and gave himself alcohol poisoning. Phillip hadn’t killed him on purpose.
The pig couldn’t wait and now it’s too late.
“Ready then,
sir?” Oliver called as he ran up. The door of the coach opened. Ryder alighted first. He then extended his hand to her. Light thrown by the torches at the river stairs illuminated his face. She slid her hand against his warm palm. His eyelids were low. His lips tweaked just a little as though he was suppressing a smile. He guided her from the coach, his arm sweeping behind her to place the trailing skirt of her dress into her hand.
“This way, sir.” His driver led them to a waiting boat where the waterman was no doubt anxious to be under way. Many other people, both on foot and in coaches, awaited a ride across the Thames.
They rode across the river with a pair of ladies, not more than ten minutes, and Ryder helpfully guided all three of them off the boat on the other side. He then tucked her hand into his elbow and held it there as they ascended the Vauxhall Stairs. At the top, a lane led directly to a sort of gatehouse three stories tall and bracketed by long stone walls. The pleasure garden was enormous.
“I hope you know where we’re meeting him,” she said softly.
His fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Oliver was helpful in that regard, as well as my correspondence with my colleague. We shall easily locate him.”
“Is he waiting for us now?”
Ryder pulled a small watch from his vest pocket and briefly consulted it. “In an hour at nine, a bell will ring to signal the start of some amusement called the Cascade. We shall meet him then.”
“What’s the Cas—” Her questions stopped as soon as they passed through the water-gate. A wide gravel lane stretched hundreds of feet in front of them, neatly lined on either side by trees. To the right was a vast square in the center of which was an ornate raised bandstand where an orchestra and organ filled the gardens with music.
To the left was a long colonnade with alcoves sheltering tables for groups of patrons to eat supper. Beyond the colonnade, she spotted a domed roof. The supper-boxes looked to encompass the entire square.
What had her attention were the lamps. There had to be thousands of them, tens of thousands, and all multicolored. It was dazzling and lit up the scene of promenading fashionistas.