The Debutante's Ruse

by Linda Skye

  She looked up to Henry and held out the silver piece.

  “Yours, I believe?”

  “When did he…?” Henry tucked the piece away and turned stormy eyes on the trembling boy.

  “Forgive him,” Isabella murmured, turning back to the boy, “He’s but a child.” She pulled off a glove and gently swiped at the boy’s dirt-crusted face with her bare fingers. She cupped the boy’s round cheek in her hand and began to speak in rapid Cantonese, obviously admonishing the lad, who looked at the ground and nodded shamefacedly. Finally, she plucked a few shillings from her purse and pressed them into the boy’s hands. Rising, she watched him disappear into the crowd.

  His grievance forgotten, Henry stared dumbfounded as Isabella smoothed the dust from her fingers and replaced her glove. Then, she turned to address her maid. As she spoke in fluent Cantonese, she gestured towards the large bundle her maid had been carrying. Though he could not understand what they were saying, Henry could not help but step closer and lean in to listen, fascinated by the tones and nuances of the foreign language.

  Then, much to Henry’s shock, Isabella dismissed her maid and chaperone with a wave of her hand. As Jia Li nodded fervently and shuffled away, Henry caught a flash of gold silk. He leaned in to get a closer look over her shoulder—and was immediately distracted by the wafting scent of her jasmine perfume. His eyes dropped to the pale arch of her slender neck. Her skin was smooth and shone with a faint sheen of sweat. His gaze grew heavy-lidded with desire as he traced the delicate line of her jaw, the smooth plane of her cheek and the thickness of her dark lashes. She turned slightly to meet his eyes over her shoulder, and he felt as though his skin had been set ablaze. He felt a deep, feverish hunger building in the pit of his belly. He wanted to touch her, to pull at her clothing until she and her secrets were completely bare, and to smooth his hands over every inch of her pale flesh.

  The heat in his eyes must have been apparent because Isabella dropped her eyes suddenly, a flush spreading up her neck. Reacting on impulse, Henry lifted a hand and cupped the column of her neck with curled fingers and pulled her back into his chest.

  “This is most improper, Lord James.”

  Isabella’s voice was steady, but Henry could feel the wild fluttering under his fingertips. His other arm snaked out to wrap around her waist, securing her tightly to his burning body.

  “Yes,” He said, nuzzling her hair with his nose, “But then, you are a most improper debutante, Miss Hennessey. I simply must know your secrets.”

  Isabella’s breathing hitched as he dragged the pad of his thumb across her jawline. His heated touch sent frissons of excitement dancing across her skin. Her nervous energy evaporated and distilled into something deeper, more passionate and all the more thrilling.

  “You misunderstand,” She breathed, shuddering as he exhaled at her ear.

  “What could I have misunderstood?” His voice was a deep purr. “You sneak around in the evening in scandalous clothing, and you have brought me to a street of brothels.”

  “I have business here.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Again, you misunderstand, Lord James,” Isabella said evenly despite her racing heartbeat, “It seems that I am obliged to correct you.”

  Henry smiled into her hair. Taking her elbow, he spun her around to face him.

  “Will I enjoy this correction?”

  Isabella shrugged one shoulder, a slow, sly smile spreading her full lips. The mischievous gleam that filled her eyes set Henry’s pulse racing.

  “Perhaps.”

  She crooked a finger and sashayed out of the busy street into the shadow of a narrow lane. Henry cocked a brow and followed her into the cool dark of the alley. Once he’d stepped into the shade, Isabella grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him close. Steeling her resolve, she cast her shyness away.

  “I am not what you think I am, Lord James.”

  “Oh?” Henry grinned. “Then what are you?”

  She rose on her tiptoes, her lips at the corner of his mouth.

  “I am a thief.”

  He pulled away and lifted incredulous brows.

  “A thief?”

  “Did you not catch a glimpse of our dear Miss Wilkinson’s golden robe just now?” She asked with her small hands on his broad shoulders. “My business here is to sell what I steal.”

  Henry stared at her, dumbfounded. It was not the secret he was expecting—but she was still exceptionally intriguing.

  “And why would you share this secret with me?”

  She shrugged again, her eyes still fixed to his. “Better you know the full truth than have half-formed, ridiculous notions.”

  “I could ruin you,” He said teasingly.

  “You forget that I also saw you hiding,” Isabella countered. “I wonder what scandalous activities had your attention that evening.”

  Henry chuckled deeply. “You can’t be suggesting that further tarnishing my reputation is equal to the threat of revealing your hobby of thieving to all of Hong Kong.”

  “Indeed,” Isabella said calmly with a sultry smile, “I do stand to lose much more than you. But, then again, I also have so much more to offer.”

  She stepped closer, her eyes bright. The pull between them was magnetic, and she was tempted to press herself fully against his large frame to soothe the hollow ache in her stomach. But she forced herself to stay a mere inch away, determined to carry out her plan.

  “You did say that you’d accept any challenge I gave you, did you not?” She began sweetly, smoothing her palms down the front of his suit jacket.

  “That I did,” Henry agreed as excitement bubbled hot in his abdomen.

  He placed his large hands on her slight hips and walked her backward until he had her lightly pressed against the wall. Isabella fixed him with a shrewd stare and lightly moistened her full lips with the tip of her tongue. I almost have him, she told herself as she carefully set her trap.

  “I am willing to wager that you will not be able to catch me again in the act of stealing while you are in Hong Kong.” Her words were as smooth as honeyed cream, her tone enticing.

  “A bold bet.” Henry trailed his fingers up her arm, his eyes alight with interest. “What is your prize if I fail to catch you?”

  “Your silence.”

  “Acceptable.” Henry slid his hands up to her shoulders and then tenderly wrapped his fingers round the nape of her slender neck, lightly brushing his thumb across her collarbone. “And what is my reward if I do catch you?”

  She rose to her toes, her fair cheek almost touching his.

  “Anything you want,” She whispered, the heat of her breath moistening the shell of his ear.

  Henry’s brows shot upward as heat spiked up his thighs.

  “Anything?”

  “Anything,” She murmured, a victorious smirk lifting her lips.

  “I’ll accept your wager, if you’ll answer one question.”

  “Of course.”

  “You want for nothing. Why do you resort to thievery?”

  Isabella canted her head and assessed the look on his face. There was no scorn in his expression, no malice in his tone. It appeared that he was truly fascinated.

  “Perhaps it is better that I show you.”

  She turned and beckoned to him, leaving the alley to head deeper into Wan Chai. When Isabella ducked into the door of a brothel, Henry could hardly believe his eyes. Once inside, he was instantly surrounded by a crowd of scantily clad whores, each sliding hands over his coat and cooing over him. Isabella was greeted by the madam, who dipped low in a bow. After a quick conversation in the local tongue, the madam marched over and shooed the girls away with a flick of her wrist and a sharp word, all the while puffing lightly on an opium pipe. She calmly looked Henry up and down and then laug
hed; a dry, hacking laugh that set his nerves on edge.

  Muttering to herself, she led them up a set of rickety wooden steps and down a long corridor. From behind many shabby doors came the sounds of pleasure and sex, a strange cacophony of English and Cantonese voices. They continued to the very end of the hall, where the madam quietly pointed to an open door. Isabella’s maid, Jia Li, was kneeling in the corner with the precious golden robe laid out over her lap. A small group of poverty-stricken women were seated in a semicircle around her, smoothing bony fingers over the fine fabric.

  Isabella swept past both Henry and the madam. Without missing a beat, she sank gracefully to the musty floorboards of the dingy room, heedless of the dust coating her skirts. Within moments, Isabella Lei Hennessey, daughter of the Governor of Hong Kong and the most marriageable debutante of the season, was serving tea to a small group of impoverished women. She poured the tea with grace and elegance, the stream of pale green liquid almost an extension of her arm. The women took their cups gratefully. And as they did, Isabella laid out money for each of them. Taking the golden robe, she reverently set it in the arms of the youngest of the women. Finally, she knelt before an elderly woman sitting in a corner, pressing her forehead to the floor before rising again. The woman placed her hand on Isabella’s head, her croaking voice uttering words unintelligible to Henry.

  “She says her mother blesses her from heaven,” the madam supplied for him.

  “Her mother?” Henry asked without looking away from Isabella’s bowed frame.

  “Mei Hua,” the madam clarified in her gravelly voice, “It means the ‘beautiful flower.’ She was the most beautiful courtesan in the city until the governor took her as his wife.” She spat on the floorboards. “Then he abandoned her family when she died.”

  “And Isabella—”

  “Lei. Isabella Lei,” the madam said, fondness softening the harsh lines of her face. “Our little flower.” She turned to Henry and flicked her pipe at him with a sneer. “You are not good enough. You know nothing, see nothing.”

  “I see enough,” Henry said thoughtfully, watching as Isabella rose and bade goodbye to the women. Then, her eyes bright with unshed tears, she turned and headed toward the open door where he and the madam waited.

  Henry threaded Isabella’s arm through his. Ignoring the madam’s sharp protest, he quickly steered Isabella into a vacant room, snapping the sliding door shut behind them. The door rattled, but Henry easily held it shut with one hand.

  “Give us a moment alone, madam,” He called through the thin wooden door. He looked over his shoulder at Isabella.

  She frowned at him but called out, “It’s all right. I’m fine.”

  The rattling stopped. They heard the madam stomp away, muttering obscenities as she did. Henry sighed lightly and when he turned, his gray gaze was so intense that Isabella nearly took a step backward. He crossed the dingy room in three long strides, and Isabella turned to watch him warily. He sat on the edge of the shabby bed and leaned forward. Resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on laced fingers, he studied her as if she were on display.

  “What?” She challenged.

  “You are not at all the prim and proper debutante I thought you to be, Miss Hennessey.”

  “Does that disappoint you, Lord James?” She asked loftily.

  “Not at all.” He beckoned to her with a finger. “Now, come here,” He said, his tone demanding.

  “Why?” She asked with an obstinate snort.

  The raw craving in his answering grin made her swallow, and she paced towards him slowly. She hesitated when she was within a foot of him, but he caught her by the elbow and pulled so that she stood between his knees. Isabella’s heart began to race when his eyes scanned her body from head to toe.

  “I am looking forward to our game, Miss Hennessey,” He said, his eyes sharp with delight.

  Isabella’s razor-edged retort died as Henry slid his hands up her sides, stopping to cup her face. He swept a thumb over her parted lips, and her eyes drifted closed. His touch sent tingles of sparking pleasure to her very core, and she wondered at the hypersensitivity he seemed to cause in her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, tempting her with unknown delights. What would happen, she wondered, if I were to give in—to seal his silence by succumbing to the irresistible attraction that is taut between us? The idea was tempting, alluring even.

  Her thoughts halted abruptly and jumbled together as she felt him slide his hands down her arms. He tugged insistently at her fingertips, pulling away her gloves and draping them over his knee.

  “I can’t wait.” The deep timbre of his voice was gruff with want.

  He brought her bare hand to his lips. Isabella’s lashes lifted, and she watched through slitted eyes as he began to press featherlight kisses on her open palm. When he gently laved her wrist with his tongue, her whole body stiffened in pleasure. A sweet ache pooled in her upper thighs, and he looked up with knowing, lusty eyes. He dragged the tip of tongue down the lines of her palm and took her index finger in his mouth, lightly nipping its tip with his teeth before suckling at it tenderly.

  No, she thought, her eyes widening, I cannot give in. If she let him take what he wanted from her, she would have no leverage with which to ensure his silence. The risks were too great. He must never catch her. Isabella eased her hand away, regret coloring her eyes.

  “I will catch you, Miss Hennessey,” he promised.

  Henry leaned back and gave her room to replace her gloves and smooth her trembling hands over her clothing. Isabella swallowed nervously and disguised the tremor that raced up her spine with a haughty toss of her head.

  “You can try,” She challenged as she turned to stride away. But you must fail, she added to herself silently.

  They left the brothel quickly, pausing only to bow deferentially to the madam. And when they reached the edge of Wan Chai, Jia Li hailed porters. Henry graciously offered her his hand as she stepped into her palanquin before seating himself in his. Isabella gratefully took the moist towel that Jia-Li offered her. She carefully dabbed at her face, removing as much of the dust and grime as she could. A day in Wan Chai could be harsh; a day in the market and red-light district was downright dirty.

  But it was a tradition she had sworn to uphold since her mother’s death. Though she had been told that her father had loved her mother despite her humble origins, he had not found it in his conscience to provide for her family after her death. So, honor-bound, Isabella descended into the village below to offer money to her mother’s impoverished relatives.

  And after her mother’s small, secret stash of funds had run out, Isabella had resorted to thievery. It had been the only way to collect money, and Isabella had no qualms about stealing from corrupt English socialites. But her grandmother’s health was continuing to deteriorate, and there were only so many risks she could take without getting caught. She hoped that Jia-Li had been able to acquire information about potential marks that would be easy and relatively risk-free.

  The porters lifted her chair and began to weave their way up the steep track back to her home in Victoria Peak. Isabella sighed and perched her dainty chin on her fist. She loved and hated Hong Kong; it represented the two halves of herself that were at constant war—her English sensibilities and her fierce Chinese heritage.

  When they reached the steps of Mountain Lodge, Henry took her hand as she stepped from her sedan chair. But, as she turned to leave, he did not relinquish his hold on her fingers. She turned to shoot him a warning glare.

  “You overstep your bounds,” She cautioned, arching a brow.

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “I only wish to ask for the favor of your presence at tomorrow’s piano recital at the Austin Arms.”

  “You have not earned a favor.” She pulled her hand away, offering him a coy smile. “Catch me, and you can have whatever p
leases you.”

  Chapter Five

  Isabella sat in the recital hall at the Austin Arms, her spine straight and her eyes fixed on the pianist. Her fingers were tightly woven together in her lap, and the anger thrumming through her veins stiffened her muscles.

  The room was abuzz with gossip; someone, somewhere, had let it slip that she may have captured the young Lord James’s attentions as a candidate for marriage. She suspected that her ambitious brother had instigated the rumors, and she mentally cursed him for causing her to become the absolute center of attention. Since the moment she had arrived, she had been on the receiving end of many a stare and whisper—some curious, others envious and one or two even downright hostile.

  But only one person stirred her blood to furious fire—and unlike the others, he had been quietly smug the entire time. She fumed inwardly that the insufferable Lord Henry James had managed to coerce her brother into dragging her to the recital and afternoon tea, ruining her day’s plans. She’d refused him the day before not only because she found teasing him irresistible, but also because she’d already had plans to come to the Austin Arms—except that she’d originally wanted to slip in unnoticed through the study window and leave with Sir Edward’s collection of jade jewelry.

  She could feel Henry’s amused gaze on her back, and she refused to turn around to give him the satisfaction of her notice.

  Engrossed in her irate musings, Isabella barely registered that the recital had ended and that the other members of the audience were clapping enthusiastically. Recovering, she quickly lifted her dainty hands to add to the applause before it petered out. Her brother rose quickly, pulling her up with him as he tucked her arm into his.

  “That was a lovely recital,” Arthur turned and said to their host, Sir Edward. “A brilliant performance.”