She bent to tug tall black boots into place and wound the gray scarf around her neck. Though it was summer still, the nights were cold, and she would ride Majesty rather than take a carriage. Adjusting the heavy scarf, she used it to conceal the lower half of her face.
Satisfied, she placed a silver-handled sword into the sheath attached to her belt. The discharging of a gun would attract notice on the city streets, but as an extra precaution, she tucked it away in a coat pocket.
From gossip, she knew he regularly frequented the gaming hells of St. Giles. She would seek him out and deal with him. Walking to the window, she stared at the view below. It was a busy night during the Season and though she wouldn't be in the finer sections of town, without a doubt the stews and hells would be just as crowded. Moving about in the seedier part of London wasn't safe for a man, much less a woman. Elizabeth preferred her work take place in the country rather than here, outside gambling hells and in dank alleyways.
A shiver of unease raced through her, despite the warm attire she wore. Misgivings reared up, full of menace, and for the first time, she had doubts about her mission tonight. Perhaps it was because she wasn't as cool-headed as she might be.
Drawing away, as if movement could dispel the aura of gloom, she rushed downstairs and into the night.
* * * *
Christian sat in his carriage and stared at the silent house. A lone light flickered in an upper window only to be extinguished moments later. Seething, he cursed his folly in leaving his betrothed alone for one single minute. The chit was making him mad with her flighty ways.
After entering the ballroom, waiting for her return from the garden, he'd unfortunately been waylaid by friends offering congratulations. She must have slipped by him, he thought now. Something had happened to cause her disappearance. No, she hadn't been taken forcibly, for there were too many people milling about.
Hiding his fury in public had been extremely difficult, but he'd managed to extricate himself from the affair without raising suspicion.
Now he sat alone in the dark, contemplating the slow dismemberment of his lady.
Elizabeth had more secrets, of that, he was sure. Learning about Charlotte House had been a shock since ladies of quality saw no more of the world than a dressmaker's shop. Yes, he'd known there was something different about Elizabeth, but it had been surprising to learn of her altruism.
Still there was more. More secrets she kept from him. He knew it and raged that she still didn't trust him enough to share them with him.
Drawing a deep breath to calm himself, he reasoned there was nothing to do but wake Lord Grayson and find out what had happened to his fiancée. Putting his hand on the handle of the carriage, Christian prepared to undertake the task when he saw a flicker of movement.
A pathway leading from the Graysons’ garden, dark with shadow, showed a darkly clad form riding Elizabeth's horse, Majesty.
Reaching for a weapon beneath the carriage seat, he prepared to accost the thief when something about the way the rider sat the animal caught his attention. Perhaps it was the stately set of shoulder and head, or the slender limbs that riveted him, but when he saw the gaslight catch the shine of a long length of red hair, he cursed violently.
Elizabeth!
It could be none other, and if he could have, he would have pulled her from atop the horse and spanked her soundly. What the devil was she doing?
Dressed in manly garb, the length of hair fell from beneath a cap to brush just behind her shoulder. This was no innocent ride! Sneakily, she peered behind her shoulder before looking straight ahead and riding off at a rapid clip. His carriage, hidden by an overhang of elm and lodged in partial darkness, remained unnoticed.
Eyes narrowed, he tightened his jaw and let her move a pace down the lane before tapping his cane on the roof of the carriage. When the hatch opened minutely, he bade the driver follow the black horse and his runaway betrothed.
"What the devil is she doing?” he muttered beneath his breath. She left the better part of town and was heading toward the stews. Good God! The twit was going to get herself killed.
Closing his eyes briefly, he vowed no one would touch her. Not before he could kill her himself! If he had doubts about pressing a quick marriage, tonight's episode disavowed him of that notion. Tomorrow would not be too soon to drag her before a minister. The woman needed to be kept on a leash.
* * * *
The fine hairs stood up on the back of Elizabeth's neck as she slowed, searching deep within the stews. Already, she'd researched Bailsworthy's usual haunts and as luck would have it, she spotted his crested carriage just outside the Cock and Bull. A gaming hell of the worst repute, it was a favorite among the Ton's young bucks. They all seemed determined to get drunk and lose their inheritances in the filthy establishment.
The sounds of curses and shouts, mingling with the bawdy laughter of coarse women, rose into the air and made Elizabeth's nose wrinkle in disgust. Backing Majesty farther into the alleyway, she dismounted. Already nervous beyond belief, tonight she'd sensed a presence and, for the first time, continually looked over her shoulder. Seeing nothing but the occasional hackney, she'd proceeded, but with a hint of caution.
Robbery in the city was extremely dangerous, but, as was her nature, she was cautious. With the roaring sounds of the stews, no one would notice a lone rider garbed in black. The rattle of carriage wheels sounded nearby. She fought a shiver, but held herself motionless in the shadows as she watched the front door of the Cock and Bull.
Ignoring the rank scents of the alleyway, she heard the rustle and squeak of rats as they plundered garbage and other unknown and, no doubt, filthy things. A furry creature raced across the toe of her boot. She jolted and stifled a feminine squeal. Withdrawing her sword, she poked it about the ground, satisfied when she heard the beasts scatter.
Beads of sweat dappled her forehead to trickle down the sides of her face, and the woolen scarf made her itch, but she was determined to have this night's work done.
* * * *
Christian stood just around the corner of the alleyway, appalled and baffled, as he waited for Elizabeth to do something. Anything. Obviously, she was on some kind of mission, and his mind rebelled at the danger into which she put herself.
Drawing the collar of his greatcoat up as protection against the dank cold, he narrowed his eyes and speculated. Curiosity warred with outrage as the minutes became an hour. Reaching into a pocket, he fingered the weapon hidden there.
Just when his patience had worn needle-thin, Elizabeth stiffened as she leaned toward the end of the alley. Though her lower face was hidden behind a bulky scarf, he swore he caught the violet glint in her narrowed eyes.
A man laughed, standing within the open doorway of the gaming hell across the street. He caught a bawdy woman within his arms and gave an ample breast a harsh tweak. Christian thought the man vaguely familiar.
As the prostitute stepped back into the midst of coarse laughter, the man turned and made his way straight toward the alleyway, not knowing Elizabeth stood waiting, sword drawn. He began to turn down the sidewalk when she stepped from the gloom and pressed the steel tip against his throat.
"Hold there, sir,” she hissed, her voice an octave lower.
Christian froze, hand going to his pocket to withdraw his pistol. Shock roared through his brain at her actions. Barely breathing, he sank farther into the alley, but ready to save her at the first hint of danger.
"Do not move a muscle,” she continued. “Or else I shall happily run you through."
"Please, please, take what you will,” the man gasped, holding his arms away from his body.
Elizabeth laughed darkly. “Ah, yes, I most definitely shall, Lord Bailsworthy."
"How-how do you know me?"
The point of the blade pressed harder against the skin of his throat. “'Tis easy to spot amoral apes, my lord. London is heavy with gossip, or haven't you heard? Men who prey on innocent governesses and get them with chil
d are an easy mark for vengeful guardians. Like myself."
"Have a care with that blade, blast you!"
"Have a care? With you? Why should I when you care nothing for women or your unborn babe? Gossip says you look for another wife. God help her, I say."
Christian watched and understanding dawned. Bloody hell! Elizabeth was out for revenge, retribution. Good God! Stone still, he listened and fought against a weird mixture of terror and pride.
Lord Bailsworthy's eyes rolled, his fear plain to see even in the darkness. Elizabeth drew away the point of her sword and stepped back a pace. Aiming the weapon at a vulnerable spot between his legs, her eyes gleamed strangely, and Christian couldn't help but wince.
"Perhaps I should leave you to your winnings and simply castrate you, hmmm?"
"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.” The chant was low and almost musical as Bailsworthy closed his eyes.
The sword clutched in one small fist, she propped the other at her hip and sighed. “Please do stop your whining. Even a slug such as you should have bigger ballocks than these. Now reach slowly into your pocket and toss your winnings to the ground."
"Bloody thief! You shall hang for this!"
Elizabeth shrugged. “Perhaps, but thieving can reap just rewards. The woman you shamed and her babe shall at least have something to help them on their way. Slowly now, my fine lord, toss your valuables to the ground and back away. My hand is damp and the sword likely to slip. ‘Twould be a shame to lose what you most value, would it not?"
Christian, repelled yet fascinated, watched as Lord Bailsworthy pulled open his coat and reached inside with a hand that shook. A sudden shout and a loud crash from within the Cock and Bull startled both thief and victim. Elizabeth emitted a feminine squeak and jolted backward. Bailsworthy, however, was not so shaken. He quickly pulled a pistol from within his coat and fired willy-nilly in her direction.
Christian thought his heart would stop as a loud blast rent the air and she fell to a heap on the dirty ground. The seaman's cap tumbled from her head, sending a rain of dark red hair spilling across the cobbles.
"By God, a woman!” Bailsworthy shouted, coming forward still holding the smoking gun.
"Hold!” Christian shouted sharply from within the darkness. If the man valued his life he would come no closer. His voice was low and menacing. “I shall kill you where you stand if you touch her. Now go!” Bailsworthy hesitated. “Go! Go or I shall shoot you dead!"
Bailsworthy's eyes widened for just an instant, before he turned and raced back to the well-lit gaming hell. Slinging open the door of the nearest haven, he began screaming, “Thief! Thief!"
Wasting little time, as the hordes had been alerted, Christian scooped Elizabeth into his arms and raced down the alleyway. With a shout, he alerted the driver, who swiftly leaped down from the box and opened the carriage door. Laying Elizabeth gently upon the squabs, Christian sent the driver on to fetch Majesty.
Once the driver had tied Majesty to the carriage boot, they were off. As if racing through a nightmare, Christian lifted Elizabeth and cradled her in his lap. Looking into her pale, still face, he felt the lash of pain slice through him. Had he lost her? Surely God could not be so cruel as to take her this way!
Leaning over her, he sighed in deep relief as her shallow breath lightly touched his face. He stroked her cheek, cursing at the stain of blood on his hand. Thick and warm, it dripped from his fingers to land unseen upon the black coat she wore.
Reaching to her left side with the utmost care, he probed the wound in her side. She groaned low, and her eyes fluttered before stilling again. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and tore the pristine, white cravat from his neck. Pressing gently, he tried to still the flow of blood. Now, no more could be done but hold her. He gathered her against him and buried his face in the depths of her hair. So sweet and fragrant! How could anyone believe her a man, no matter what she wore?
It didn't matter now, he thought. She'd almost gotten herself killed and even now, she could die if not cared for soon.
He was mad as hell! She could have been killed!
Unknowingly he gripped her tight enough to make her moan again. Closing his eyes in immediate regret, he stroked her and crooned nonsensical words as one might soothe a child. Disbelieving her careless stupidity, he clenched his teeth. Tonight she'd gone too far! On the morrow, her injuries willing, her insane escapades would come to an end! If he had to cajole or threaten, Elizabeth Grayson would end her thieving ways.
Was she mad?
She must learn that she couldn't cure the world's ills, despite her cleverness. And yes, she was clever. Who would have suspected a gently reared woman would race about London robbing the gentry?
She was too cocky by far. Tonight it had almost cost her her life. It was time she curbed her insolence, her independence, her need to torment him.
By damn, he had her now. Willing or no, by week's end she would be his duchess.
If she didn't die first.
Fourteen
Park Mansfield, accompanied by a slightly inebriated Edward Huntley, drew up a chair in the smoky gaming hell and sat alongside the touted and celebrated William Duckett, Lord Bailsworthy, who sat with elbows propped on a scarred table, nursing a pint of ale. The crowd gathered round, listened attentively, and peppered the young Lord with questions that Bailsworthy was only too happy to answer.
"A female, you say? Brandishing a sword? Unheard of!"
"Only men know how to use a fine sword!” stated a dandy, who grabbed his crotch in lewd exhibition. He rolled his eyes as the group of men laughed uproariously at the jest.
Even Bailsworthy chuckled into his pint. “No doubt about it now, gentlemen, the Raven Rogue is a blasted woman. Who would have thought a red-haired twit has terrorized the landed gentry this way? I say we hunt the bitch down and see her hanged!"
"Red hair, you say?” Park sipped from his own drink and gave the man a narrow look. “Are you certain? After all, it was quite dark."
"It was hard to tell exactly, but yes, that was the color ... albeit a darker version. Carried a silver-handled sword with a very sharp edge. The bitch. How dare she accost her betters in this manner? She must be caught!"
Edward leveled bleary eyes and rubbed absently at his ruined knee. “I agree. The same woman robbed me while I visited my estate. Crippled me and took my valuables. She knew much about me. Too much!"
Bailsworthy's eyes widened. “Yes, Edward. It was the same with me. Seemed to know the goings-on in my household."
Park turned to Edward and lowered his voice. Seeking to commiserate, he leaned closer. “Sorry, chap. I did not realize you'd been a victim as well."
"Bloody cow butchered me. Crippled me. If I could but find her, I would run her through."
"What was taken? Besides your knee, of course."
Edward winced and leveled his gaze on the crowd of men. “Just trinkets, money, and a very fine watch. It was gold. A gift from my beloved wife, Charlotte, God bless her, and inscribed. My only gift from her, gone forever."
Park leaned back and studied Edward quietly, absorbing every bit of information given. The rogue's height, weight, hair color, and voice were duly noted and tucked away in his mind for further introspection. The bandit's eyes were very shiny, probably some shade of blue.
Interesting, he thought. The thief could be anyone, but strangely fit the description of Elizabeth Grayson. Was this her connection to Edward? Had she meant to kill him on that lonely country road, but robbed and crippled him instead? Rumors were that he had murdered his wife. Whether he did or not wasn't important. What mattered was if she believed it. Somehow the pieces were beginning to fit, but Park needed proof and needed it quickly.
Already she and his cousin were betrothed. Christian must marry soon, and Park needed to think. More importantly, he had to act.
* * * *
Opening heavy lids, Elizabeth ran her eyes warily over the strange, masculine room she inhabited. Dawn, streaked with palest gr
ay and subtle shades of lavender, curled enticing fingers as if to shoo away the gloom. On a silent groan, she felt the burn of pain in her side as flashes of memory, all disjointed, assailed her from every side.
Closing her eyes against both confusion and pain, she recalled the incident outside the Cock and Bull.
Something had gone horribly wrong. She'd been distracted by the sudden noise and by learning Christian's true nature.
There had been a deafening crack of sound.
She remembered little else but a feeling of warmth, murmured voices and the sense of someone in the room with her. Once she'd opened her eyes as a slender young man with a shock of curling brown hair lifted her slightly and coaxed her to drink something from a spoon. Laudanum, she thought. Perhaps that was why her tongue felt thick and her mouth was dry as a roll of cotton.
Reaching beneath the covers, she realized with a hint of alarm that she wore only a man's shirt.
Christian's. The scent of him still lingered on the fine white linen.
Her eyes bolted open as memory tumbled over her. Feeling about, her fingers grazed the gauze wrapping around her middle. Christian had been there in that alley with her! How in God's name had it happened? How had he known?
Unexpectedly, shame rolled over her, and her eyes filled. Though she knew it was ridiculous to care what he thought, she couldn't help it. Yes, he was a cad and debaucher of women, but the idea of his thinking low of her shook her to the core. He was the bad one, not she, but he would never see it that way. Men were allowed to be bad. Never were women! What hypocrisy!
Drawing in deep breaths of air, she struggled to calm herself and took note of the chamber. With one sweeping glance, she knew it to be Christian's.
Dark, rich mahogany blended enticingly with silks of brown, black, tan, and hints of burnished orange. An antique vase of Oriental origin stood tall and stately near a doorway. Its twin graced the other side. Onyx-black leather wingbacks were companioned near a huge fireplace featuring a mantel of carved jet marble inlaid with gold. An elegant Ormolu clock sat majestically in the center flanked by enormous candlesticks of highly polished brass.
Tempted Page 18