by Anna Randol
The bloodthirsty wench. “No. He wouldn’t take the bait. I did call him a purulent cyst.”
“Purulent?” A glimmer of a smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
“It seemed apt.”
“Perfectly. Well, we’d best return swiftly to the ballroom.”
Gabriel couldn’t suppress a grimace.
“As your reward for being a white knight, I’ll say my good-byes and we can go home.”
They worked their way past the amorous couples littering the house toward the ballroom.
“There you are!” Lenton hurried forward. “It is my dance now.”
Madeline smiled. “I was just coming to look for you.” With an apologetic grimace at Gabriel, she allowed Lenton to lead her onto the floor.
Curse it all, another dance meant at least fifteen more minutes. But as much as he might wish to escape, the additional dance meant more time to study Lenton. Gabriel watched the man twirl Madeline about. The man was a fop and not overly bright. Gabriel doubted his guilt, but until he had solid proof of his innocence, he’d remain a suspect.
Gabriel stepped around a pillar to keep them in sight. He might not have told her of his murder investigation, but he refused to endanger her.
Lenton and Madeline edged toward the terrace doors.
“Huntford?”
Gabriel turned toward the vaguely familiar voice.
A large, solidly built man strode toward him. “I thought it was you.”
Gabriel tipped his head in greeting. “Danbury.” Finding a friend in this mess, even one he hadn’t seen in years, came as a surprise. Yet despite his satisfaction, Gabriel’s attention returned to Madeline.
She said something to her escort and they drifted back toward the other dancers.
“I see you avoided the food fight,” Danbury said.
Gabriel spared a glance for his friend. “You appear unscathed as well. And quite brown. How are your family’s plantations?”
“Quite well. They are flourishing under my leadership. Where have you been keeping yourself? I haven’t seen you since Oxford.” A crease marked Danbury’s broad forehead. “Wait, I think I heard mention that you’d become a Runner?”
“Indeed.”
Danbury gave a low whistle. “I envy you that. Saving the fine men of this town from criminals and ne’er-do-wells. Far more noble than any of this lot.”
If nobility meant wading through filth, violence, and death. But he said, “We try our best.” After all, Danbury had always held grandiose opinions on justice. There was no reason to disillusion him. “How long are you in London?”
“I had planned to return but there were some repairs needed on my father’s ship. Stalled me here. And then I became fascinated by this auction.” Danbury gave him a conspiratorial look. “Why did you and the delectable Miss Valdan disappear together for half an hour?”
“Our relationship is professional.”
Danbury peered intently at him. “Her profession or yours?”
Nothing would ensure Madeline turning him out quicker than rumors of that sort. “I’m assigned to protect her. I’m not wealthy enough for anything else.”
“If she’s not yours, Huntford, then do you mind if I bid?”
He did mind, actually.
Because he didn’t want Madeline to cozen his friend, of course.
Gabriel forced his shoulders to lower. “You’re welcome to do as you wish.”
The final chord of music faded and Madeline’s court converged around her. Gabriel ignored his spurt of satisfaction as Lenton was pushed to the perimeter.
Danbury followed his gaze and grimaced. “Perhaps I’ll let my bid speak for me rather than brave that insanity.” He frowned as he noticed a couple behind Madeline. “I wonder if Tenet knows that woman’s last protector had the pox. I suppose I’ll go warn him. See, Huntford? I can do my part to save the men of society, too.” He grinned and strode off in the direction of the pair.
“Ready?” Madeline’s voice spoke next to him. She stood at his side, eyebrow raised. She laughed at his scowl. “Let’s go then.”
A footman handed Gabriel his hat and greatcoat as they left, and they walked down the steps at the front of the building.
Fingers of fog twined through the streets, shying away from the torches burning outside Chatham House.
“I’ll expect you at ten tomorrow,” she said, shivering in the cold mist.
He resisted the urge to share the warmth of his jacket. She’d no doubt dislike the impression that would give. “Where’s your coach? I informed the footman you were preparing to leave.”
She rubbed her arms briskly. “I thought you planned to hire a hackney. Your obligation to me is finished for the evening.”
“I should leave you on a dark street in the middle of London?” Apparently, his mother’s teachings had rooted deeper than he realized. A gentleman never deserted a lady. Not that he was a gentleman or she a lady, but he still couldn’t leave her standing there in the cold.
The hollow clatter of hooves drummed on the cobblestones, and her coach drew to a shuddering halt in front of them.
The coachman doffed his hat. “St. Mary’s was full, so I took her to them good Quaker women on Green Street.”
St. Mary’s was a charity hospital. What business did Madeline have—
The other courtesan.
“Did you—”
“As I said, it’s none of your concern. Don’t you have a hackney to hail?”
Not with such an intriguing puzzle before him. “I think I’ll ride with you.”
Chapter Seven
Madeline sat stiffly in her seat, keeping her face averted from the pale green eyes watching her from across the dark confines of the coach. Why had she let him bully his way into her coach? Now the entire way home she had to endure his smug expression as if he knew some great secret about her.
He didn’t. He didn’t know anything.
She’d seen his satisfied expression before. Her physical beauty always led men to search for proof that she was beautiful on the inside, too. When they thought they’d confirmed it, they relaxed, everything stable and rational in their world. She’d used that susceptibility to gain the trust of men all over Europe. Used it to lull state secrets from their mouths and classified documents from their pockets.
She wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel as the gullible type.
“I helped the woman because I didn’t want her to distract from my performance. Nothing makes British gentlemen more uncomfortable than a bloody woman in their midst. It plays havoc with their concentration. I want my name to be the one on everyone’s lips tomorrow, not the poor wretch who had the bad luck to catch Webster’s attention.”
“Of course,” Gabriel said, but a patronizing half smile creased his face. “Why are you holding this auction?”
He couldn’t truly think—but he’d leaned toward her, elbows braced on his knees, his appearance condescending. Oh, this was too much.
She folded her hands tightly in her lap and allowed a hint of anguish to sculpt her features. “My grandmother is ill and the doctors cost so much. I can’t let her starve. I won’t.”
Gabriel reached for her hand but she dodged him and pressed her fist to her mouth. She was just warming to her tale. “I have a younger brother, too. He has to go to school. I won’t let him live life on the streets like I have. And the enclosures have robbed my father of the farm he’s worked his entire life. His father and his father’s father all worked that land, but now it’s gone, with nothing to show for it but the calluses on his hands.”
With each sentence, Gabriel’s smile dwindled until his face shuttered to the cold mask to which she was accustomed. “And your mother?”
“Worked herself blind as a seamstress to provide for all of us. But now she’s dead. The influenza last winter. I couldn’t even afford a marker for her—”
“The true reason?” Gabriel reclined back against his seat, the shadows further obscuring his face. But his to
ne could have iced the Thames.
“Money.” There was nothing more to it than that. No great and noble reason waited to exonerate her.
“You obviously had money. I looked into your financial situation. You don’t owe the shops any money. You aren’t in debt.”
No, she preferred selling her body to selling her soul.
He continued, “The house is rented, but you own your coach, horses, and clothing. They cost a good deal. Why not just live off of that money?”
“So I can live the rest of my life in genteel poverty? Counting each piece of coal? Forever patching and mending and trying to hide the fraying edges of my gowns with castoff pieces of ribbon?” She refused to go to bed hungry every night. She refused to sleep on the floor because there were lice in the mattress. She’d left that life behind and she wouldn’t return to it.
She couldn’t see Gabriel’s face, but the stiffness carved into the broad lines of his shoulders announced his disapproval. “It’s better than selling yourself.”
“Why? Where’s the nobility in suffering in silence when I have other options? Men are told to better their lot, but because I’m a woman, I’m supposed to huddle in shame and accept the pitiful situation life has flung at me?” Her lungs pumped, and she drew a measured breath to bring herself back under control. Her rationale was logical and precise. There was no reason for her explanation to devolve into trite emotionalism.
“You could marry.”
And give some man control of her money and body? Give him the right to rape her and beat her nightly until she complied with his wishes? She’d seen what that had done to her mother, how it had hollowed her out until nothing was left inside. “No.”
He was silent and she knew he waited for her to expound, but like everything else in her life, it was none of his concern.
“Where were you before you appeared in London six months ago?” he finally asked.
Unfortunately for Gabriel, she’d been taught how to avoid interrogations by the masters. “Dallying with the czar in St. Petersburg.” Ah, the truth was far better than any story she could have invented. “He’s a terrible kisser, by the way.” She slid onto Gabriel’s bench, her fingers trailing across his lips. He remained motionless, but the muscles at his jaw tightened. “Before that, I was with Grand Marshal Prutoz. He didn’t even want to bother with kissing.” She pressed her lips against the knotted muscle at his jaw, then worked her way up to the hollow under his ear. “He just wanted me to unbutton his trousers and take him in my mouth.” She slid her hand down the hard planes of Gabriel’s torso, but he caught her hand before she reached his waistband.
His hand tightened on her wrist, not tight enough to be painful, but strong enough that she couldn’t pull away.
Gabriel’s gaze scalded her. “Then Bonaparte himself before that? What did he want to do?” He traced the neckline of her gown with his free hand. “Did you offer him these enticing mounds?”
Her skin was suddenly too tight, her breasts heaving against his hand. “I never met Napoleon. But his brother, King Joseph, had the annoying habit of referring to them as twin bastions of perfection.”
He examined her as he might an insect.
Satisfaction unfurled in her chest but it didn’t warm her. No, she wasn’t kind. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not even Ian and Clayton were fool enough to believe that.
“I intend to find out who you really are, Miss Valdan.”
She twisted her wrist to the weak point in his grasp and broke the hold. “Save your scrutiny for my bidders.” Her secrets were none of his concern.
She remained seated next to him, unwilling to flee back to her side of the coach. Once they halted in front of her town home, Gabriel didn’t rise to assist her, but allowed the coachman to help her.
She gave orders for the coachman to take Gabriel home.
But he climbed down. “I believe I’ll find my own way.”
She shrugged, marching toward her stairs and refusing to let herself watch him depart. “Good.”
Chapter Eight
“Another drive in the park?” Gabriel asked as Madeline walked past him down the front stairs. A frothy, lavender carriage dress floated around her form, begging a man to sample her and see if she tasted of spun sugar.
He gave thanks he’d overcome his madness yesterday. For a moment, he’d forgotten her mastery of the game. Forgotten how talented she was at manipulating every situation to her advantage.
He still wanted her. She ensured that every red-blooded man did. But he had come sickeningly close to letting her beguile him, and that was completely unacceptable.
Even if he had the money to bid, he wouldn’t waste it on a single night of frivolous pleasure.
Of ecstasy.
He ignored his body’s painful disagreement.
Daintily lifting her dress to keep the hem from the damp pavement, Madeline grinned. “I can hardly make morning calls. Nothing would scare potential bidders away quicker than showing up at their homes.”
“Their wives might not appreciate your appearance.”
Not a trace of guilt crossed her face. “I do try to spare them that much.”
“So you have no issue if the winning bidder is a married man?”
She bent over to adjust the buckle of her shoe, providing him with a perfect silhouette of her pert backside. “Why should I?”
He resisted the urge to swat that generously offered piece of anatomy. “The man has made promises. Promises he shouldn’t betray.” He settled for grabbing her around the waist and all but tossing her in the carriage.
She raised a delicately arched brow at his action, but settled gracefully onto the seat. “How delightfully prudish. I shall make you a deal. If you find that one of my bidders has never strayed from his wife, and that I’m the devilish harlot that’s about to lead him into a life of sin, you inform me. I’ll see that he takes himself out of the running.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth. Every single one of the men changed mistresses almost as often as they did cravats. And she knew it. The carriage creaked as he climbed in across from her.
With her nod, the coachman cracked the whip and the carriage lurched into motion.
“It’s their responsibility to keep their vows, not mine,” Madeline added, smoothing her skirt as the breeze rippled it around her legs.
“But what about their wives? Do you care nothing for their feelings?”
Her lips tightened. “I’ll be doing them a favor.”
“A favor?”
“It is foolish to ignore what their husbands truly are.”
How had he been taken in by the wit and charm he’d seen yesterday? Cynicism ran through her like steel. “Not all men are like that.”
She laughed. “You’re different, I suppose? Never mind. That hardly matters. The top three bids are now Lenton, Wethersly, and Danbury.”
Gabriel frowned. “Danbury? He wasn’t on the list when I checked this morning.”
“He is as of half an hour ago.” She shrugged. “I have my sources.”
He had no issue with the near strangers vying for her, but the idea of his friend bidding made his teeth grind. Why was it different? As with the other men, Danbury had kept mistresses before. He wasn’t even married. That made him better than most.
Gabriel focused on an oak tree far in the distance until his emotions were back under control. Whether she slept with his friend or the Regent himself it didn’t matter; what mattered was finding the killer.
“What can you tell me of the Earl of Danbury? I’ve never spoken to him. He’s a friend of yours, is he not?”
Gabriel returned his gaze to her. The sunlight filtered through the few curls that had escaped her bonnet, turning the chestnut strands to copper. One whispered over her cheek, the slight flaw in her appearance only highlighting the rest of her perfection. He wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, return her to her previously pristine—and more easily ignored—condition. But he hadn’t paid for that pr
ivilege and he damned well wasn’t going to, so instead he drummed his fingers against his knee. “How did you know that?”
“I saw you speaking to him, and it was the only time last evening that you didn’t look ready to commit murder.”
She’d been half a ballroom away. How did she know whom he’d been speaking with? He’d never seen her attention waver from Lenton.
“How did he come by the scars?” she asked.
How had she even noticed them? The three thin lines crossing Danbury’s cheek had faded since Gabriel had last seen him. “He was engaged to wed while we were at school. On one of his trips home, there was a carriage accident. He was injured and his betrothed was killed.”
Madeline’s face softened, her brows dipping. “He never married?”
“No.”
Her concern vanished under a calculating gaze. “Will you have issues determining his suitability as a bidder?”
To be honest, he hadn’t considered the idea, but his foul mood prevented him from admitting it. “I will do my—”
Madeline suddenly switched seats so she sat next to him, her hip flush against his thigh.
He cleared his throat. “—best.”
She reached up and pulled her bonnet off. “My hair is driving me mad. If I don’t fix it now, it will be down around my shoulders by the time we arrive at the park.” She pulled a few pins loose and held them out to him. “Pin the loose strands up, please.”
Gabriel stared at the bent pieces of metal and then at the rich mass of hair he wanted to dig his fingers into. “I’m not your maid.”
She shrugged, sending a few more curls bouncing to her shoulders. “As you wish.” She tilted her head slightly and spoke to the driver. “I need a bit more time, Jenkins. Would you turn right on Ash Street?”
The coachman grunted in agreement.
Madeline stiffened next to him. “Oh, blast. I dropped one.” She pointed to where one of the pins skittered across the floor of the coach toward the other seat. “Could you get that for me?”
Gabriel only just hid his exasperation. Potts thought this more important than apprehending criminals? But his mother’s training proved difficult to ignore, so he leaned forward to retrieve it.