The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  The explanation was accepted. The duke was a man of high standing. The Runners had no reason to question his account of their visit to Whitechapel.

  It took an eternity to wave down a hackney and they climbed aboard for the ride back to Collingwood House.

  “I need a drink.” Simon leaned back on the squabs. The hackney headed back in the direction of Mayfair, but Simon shouted out the window for the driver to find them a tavern.

  For several hours, Laura and Miss Eva shared stories of their childhoods, and laughed and groused over the troublesome nature of men. When the dinner hour arrived and still no sight of the trio, they ate and groused some more. The hour grew late before male voices, upraised in song, sounded from somewhere outside the front door. The two women rose and walked into the hallway as the butler swung the door wide.

  It was almost impossible to distinguish the men as the same group who had left many hours previous. They were rumpled, bloodied, and scuffed. Yet they seemed to have managed to keep themselves somewhat hearty and hale, as they all walked in on their own volition—mostly.

  “There is my darling wife,” the duke said, his voice booming. “Lovely as ever. Isn’t she lovely, Simon?”

  Simon nodded. “She is indeed pleasing on the eyes,” he agreed, but his attention was on Laura.

  She frowned, her expression matching that of the duchess. Simon smelled as if he’d fallen into a barrel of ale.

  Crawford gave the duchess a wink and withdrew from the house, clearly finding escape preferable to being party to any arguments that may ensue from bringing the duke home well into his cups.

  “I see you found your mischief,” Miss Eva said as her husband shuffled toward her, Simon on his tail. She gave him a brief examination and seemed satisfied the blood on his shirt was not his.

  Laura’s worry settled; she was pleased they’d not have to call for a surgeon. She frowned at Simon. “Thankfully, you are both unhurt. Whitechapel is a grim place.”

  He lifted a brow and peered at her through a swollen lid. “There are several sailors who are worse off than we.”

  The duchess clucked her tongue.

  “Perhaps you should tell us about the merchant,” Laura interjected before Miss Eva could reply. She tried, and failed, to keep eagerness from her voice. “Was he helpful? Did he have useful information?”

  Simon’s grin faded. “I’m sorry, Laura.” Wobbling slightly, he took her hands. “We found the chap easily, though he was in no condition to offer any information. The bastard was quite dead from a knife wound to the throat.”

  The news was not what she’d hoped. She didn’t attempt to hide her disappointment.

  He continued on gingerly, “Let us just say that the man looked as though a moment of passion had been interrupted. His clothing was askew and a certain part of him lay flaccid against his thigh.”

  Laura’s mouth gaped and Miss Eva scowled. At their expressions, Simon chuckled. “I apologize for my crudity, dear ladies. I seem to have lost my manners in a tavern near Whitechapel.” He bowed slightly and swayed, just managing to keep on his feet. “We did speak to Smoot’s clerk, who was surprised to discover that his employer was dead. Smoot often partook of the whores in that very spot behind his warehouse and always returned without a scratch.”

  “And you are sure this death was not connected to the earl’s murder?” Laura asked sharply. She did not want to hear about a dead man’s peccadilloes with whores in alleys.

  “Crawford doesn’t think so,” His Grace replied. He was grinning at his wife. “Though he cannot know for certain. Simon and I share another opinion.”

  “We cannot come up with a reason why the killer would want to execute the merchant,” Simon agreed. “True, the man is a thief and has enemies. As with Westwick, the timing of his death is suspicious. He was at the town house when Westwick was killed. Now he’s dead, too. It can only lead to one conclusion. He must have seen something.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” the duke said.

  “And you discovered an agreement on this theory while partaking in”—Laura leaned forward and sniffed Simon—“ale at a tavern where the women wear cheap and offensive perfume.”

  Miss Eva leaned toward the duke. After a brief sniff, she settled back on her heels and crossed her arms. “I think you should explain, Husband.”

  His Grace’s grin widened. “I shall fill you in on every minute of my evening, after you help me up that staircase to our room. I think I need to lie down.”

  There was no mistaking the seductive undertone in his words. Miss Eva harrumphed and turned her head to Laura. There was exasperation in her eyes. “I do apologize for their behavior. They are usually somewhat proper.”

  Laura twisted her lips and shook her head. “You have no reason to excuse them, Your Grace. They are certainly responsible for their own poor behavior.”

  With an audible sigh, Miss Eva slid under her husband’s arm and began the tentative process of leading him to the staircase. The butler hurried over and took his other arm. In a matter of minutes, they managed to steer His Grace up to the second floor and out of sight.

  “His Grace certainly tossed back large amounts of ale,” Simon remarked. “I am surprised he has remained standing.”

  “You are only a bit less wobbly than he.”

  Simon snorted. “The man has been married for a year now. He deserved a night of drink and brawling. You know, he used to be a bit of a bastard before he fell in love with Eva. I have grown to like this less starchy duke.”

  Laura pointed a finger and scolded, “You two should be ashamed, frolicking about Whitechapel until almost eleven o’clock. The duchess was very worried. It is not healthy in her condition.”

  His brows went up. “So you know about the babe?”

  “The babe is not my concern.” She stepped close and turned him toward the light. “Obviously there was more than drinking tonight. Would you care to explain the blood, your swollen eye, and the condition of your knuckles?”

  The silly grin deepened. “There were some sailors who were seeking an outlet for their repressed passions after months at sea. They were a bit rough with the tavern wenches, and we stepped in to help.”

  Laura rolled her eyes upward. She took Simon’s elbow and eased him toward the door. “I want to know everything that happened, but first, I think I should get you home before you drop to the floor in a stupor. I’d hate to have to leave you as you lay.”

  Getting him to the waiting hackney was difficult, as he seemed more interesting in nuzzling her ear than walking. The driver patiently helped her get him inside the coach.

  Once settled, she stared at him in the dim lamplight, not sure if she should scold him or leave him be. She fluffed her dress and smoothed it out, taking a moment to decide.

  The driver called to the team and the conveyance rumbled to life. Soon Collingwood House was out of sight.

  It was with the help of dim streetlamp light that she realized he was staring at her with one eye open and a smile tugging his lips. The warmth in his expression sent tingles dancing over her skin.

  The battering hadn’t detracted from his appeal in the least. If anything, it added to his rakish handsomeness. She wanted to crawl onto his lap and run her fingertips through his ruffled hair.

  What was it about her and coaches? Why did she lose control whenever they were alone in one together?

  In an effort to keep her hands to herself, she clasped them tightly together in her lap.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked briskly. She shifted on the seat. His stare didn’t waver.

  “The duchess is not nearly as lovely as you.”

  It took her a moment to conclude that his words were no longer quite so slurred. She shot him a suspicious stare. “The duchess outshines me like the sun. Who knew there was such beauty under that dour disguise?”

  The other eye popped open. “You underestimate yourself, Laura. Perhaps you should spend more time in front of a mirror. Then you wil
l see what I see.”

  She ignored the compliment. “We have been in this coach for no more than two minutes and already you have become surprisingly sober. How did you manage that feat?”

  He leaned back with a smug smile and stretched out his long legs. “We didn’t imbibe in the ale nearly as much as we let on. The drunken duke and his raucous friends were an act to throw off anyone who might have followed us from Whitechapel.”

  Laura frowned. “Why would you be followed?”

  The hesitation that followed pricked her ire. If he planned to lie to her, she’d not have it. “Tell me what happened or I shall find Mister Crawford and ask him myself.”

  Simon groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. “We tweaked the story so as not to upset Eva.”

  “Because of the baby?”

  He nodded.

  “Please continue,” Laura said impatiently. She was not in the mood to discuss the duchess. “Finish with the story and leave nothing out.”

  There was a short pause, then, “The merchant, Smoot, was breathing his last when we found him. It looked as if our arrival had interrupted the murder and there was nothing we could do for him. As we said, the murder looked like a robbery that went awry. It was after we spoke to his assistant the second time that the man was more forthcoming. We realized then that there were darker matters at work.”

  His expression tightened her stomach. “Do not make me wait,” she urged.

  “Smoot had been complaining about being followed. He dealt in stolen merchandise, so at first it didn’t concern him. But after several weeks, he began to see shadows where there were none. The clerk found it odd that Smoot would continue to meet with prostitutes behind the warehouse when he was jumping at every noise. Apparently his urges won over fear and good sense.”

  “He was worried for his life.” Laura’s hand shook as she plucked at her gown. “Do you truly think the killer targeted him and this wasn’t just a simple robbery gone awry?”

  “It’s possible,” Simon admitted. “The robbery was carefully orchestrated. Smoot’s clothing was askew, his cock was displayed, and his pockets were turned out. We might have accepted the attack as it looked had we not spoken to the clerk. Suddenly the attack did not seem so random.”

  The coach stopped. According to Miss Eva, Simon’s family lived only a short drive from Collingwood House. Laura glanced out the window. The house was largely dark but for the light of a few lamps.

  Simon looked out the window. “My family is visiting a cousin for a few days. The house is empty. I want you to spend the night here.”

  Laura’s neck prickled. “I thought we discussed this matter. I am not sharing your bed.”

  Simon leaned forward. “I am concerned with bringing danger to the courtesan school. I cannot be certain that any of us are safe now. If we were followed from the warehouse, we might be watched at this very moment.”

  Torn, a war waged in her mind. In the end, she chose to keep the school safe. “You must behave.”

  “I promise.”

  The way he looked at her left doubts. He wasn’t as intoxicated as she’d initially believed, but he had still imbibed enough to leave him slightly soused. Many lines could be crossed when a man was in his cups.

  “Do you want to hear the rest of the story?” Simon pressed. It was the last nudge she needed. Laura nodded and said, “I want a bedroom with a lockable door.”

  Simon grinned. “Yes, My Lady.”

  He helped her from the coach and paid the driver. Within a few minutes, they were safely settled in a sizable parlor, a sleepy maid pressed into service to bring tea and sandwiches.

  When Laura protested and asked that the maid be allowed to find her bed, Simon waved off her concerns. “I am famished. It won’t take Anna long to collect a tray. The cook always has food waiting for my late-night returns.”

  He was correct. The maid was back within minutes, then excused with profuse thanks. The young woman smiled brightly, clearly besotted with her employer, and left them alone.

  “Do women always swoon at your feet?” Laura reached for a sandwich. The ham and cheese were slathered with some sort of herbed butter. The result was delicious.

  “Not always.” Simon quickly ate two wedges before continuing, “My reputation and family history cause many women to flee in my wake. The others are dragged off by protective mothers.”

  “But not Lady Jeanette?” It was an odd topic to be discussing with him in his family’s empty home and at this late hour. She should be tucked in her bed at the courtesan school.

  “Lady Jeanette’s father likes to gamble. He keeps up appearances, but rumors are that he is deeply in debt. With creditors hounding his heels, even a reprobate like me is good enough for his dearest daughter.”

  “Hmm.” Laura poured the tea. She tried to imagine Simon bouncing a baby on his knee, Lady Jeanette at his side, her pretty face smiling softly at the picture they made.

  Her stomach tightened. Laura wondered if sometime in the future he’d ever think back fondly of her and their short adventure together. Or would she be swiftly forgotten once he took Lady Jeanette to his bed?

  Jealousy prickled through her. She quickly tamped it down. “I think we should continue the story about Smoot. It’s getting late and I grow weary.”

  Simon nodded. “Where was I? Oh, yes. We gleaned as much information as we could about Smoot. There were many people who despised the man, including his wife. Crawford will follow the information and see if there is any connection to Westwick’s murder or if this was a random robbery.”

  “And the visit to the tavern?”

  Simon cocked a brow. “After spending time with the murdered Smoot, I wanted to drink that sight from my mind. After we spoke to the clerk, we went to the tavern.” He smirked and touched his swollen eye. “The fight was entirely unexpected.”

  “And clearly welcome.” She leveled on him a shaming glare. “Why cannot men settle their differences with words?”

  He shrugged and grinned. “Using our fists is much more rewarding.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Laura was seeing Simon in an entirely different light. He would never lift a hand to a woman, but he wasn’t against fighting for sport. She wasn’t entirely sure if she liked this newfound knowledge, but she was drawn to the hard edge it gave him. There was something raw and warrior-like about a man who would risk life and health in Whitechapel to find evidence to save her neck. She let out a small sigh. “I’ll never again question whether you can defend me in any situation. Beneath the trappings of a nobleman lies the heart of a gentleman brawler.”

  He chuckled. “I do enjoy my position as your white knight.”

  A noise came from somewhere in the house. Likely the butler was waiting for them to retire before seeking his own bed.

  She squelched a yawn. “If there is anything more you’d like to tell me about your grand adventure into Whitechapel, please do it quickly, for I am fading.”

  Simon shook his head. “There is nothing that cannot wait until morning.” He rose and rounded the table to take her hand. Laura stood too hastily, not realizing that her hem was under her heel. She wobbled. Simon chuckled and settled her on her feet.

  She looked into his eyes. He was standing dangerously close to her. He smelled of ale and sweat and perfume. It was an odd concoction that sent her senses reeling.

  She swayed forward, her gaze locking on his damaged mouth. Simon dipped his head and took her lips in a hungry kiss.

  A low moan broke from Laura as her hands rose to flatten against his chest. The rough homespun of the borrowed clothes added to the intensity of the moment. She kissed him most willingly, her tongue intertwining with his, while her body eagerly accepted his exploring caress.

  The clock chimed midnight and Simon ended the kiss. His eyes were passion dark, his face regretful. “If I do not stop now, I’ll carry you up to my room and make love to you all night.”

  Laura made a noise that sounded agreeable to hi
s suggestion, but Simon shook his head. “I think you were right when you said you should remain chaste. We both have considerations that require clear thinking.”

  She hated that reason was taking over her desire. She wanted to touch him intimately and be touched in return. But she’d vowed to save herself for her husband, if one ever came along, and save herself she would.

  If only Simon weren’t so desperately attractive. “Your Lady Jeanette and my new life,” she muttered acerbically. She despised that her friendship proposal was now ruining a perfectly wonderful kiss. “Yes, we must keep our focus on the case and your hunt for an acceptable wife.”

  If the matter was settled, why then did she feel so out of sorts? Perhaps it was her skin soaking up the heat from his body as they stood close together. Perhaps it was the memory of his mouth on her breasts, his lips tugging her hardened nipples. Whatever was leaving her feeling terribly restless, she had to extricate herself now or do something she’d regret.

  Like fling her body against his chest and beg him to make love to her, as he said, all night.

  So she pushed away, shoving the chair backward with her shins, clutching the heavy table for support as she awkwardly stepped out of reach.

  “I am dreadfully tired,” she said, her voice thin. “Perhaps you should show me to my room.”

  Simon didn’t move to take her arm. His gaze was thoughtful. It felt as if he were trying to read her thoughts. It would be a difficult task, as they were jumbled into a confusing tangle.

  The walk to her room was very long. Simon would touch her back or shoulder as he guided her along, and she struggled to ignore the heat of his hand through her clothing.

  By the time he stopped in front of her door, every inch of her was warmed and wanting him. She knew she should step inside the room and lock the door, but in a momentary lapse, she foolishly peered up into his eyes.