Loving the Hawke (The Seven Curses of London Book 1)

by Williams, Lana

  When his hand came to rest on her waist with his other firmly grasping hers, her thoughts fell away. The intimacy of the dance engulfed her senses. Or was it Nathaniel who did so?

  Waiting for his cue, she kept her steps small to match his, loving the sensation of gliding across the floor in his arms, even though their movements were restricted.

  “So there is no need for you to put yourself at risk to locate her whereabouts,” he continued as he became more comfortable with the steps.

  Her gaze held his as she considered his words, trying to return her focus to the subject. “Are you simply making that up so I won’t try to find her?”

  He lifted a brow. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  The heat in his gaze should’ve warned her she was treading on thin ground. “No, of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  “You seem quite determined to keep me away. Inventing an answer to one of my quests would be a simple method to do so.”

  “That would be lying.”

  “You never lie?”

  “It would be an unusual occurrence. Something I avoid at all costs.” A shadow cast down over his expression, making her wonder at the reason. “Do you lie often?”

  She sighed. “It’s nothing I’m proud of, but with four younger sisters, and overprotective parents, I fear I have told a falsehood once or twice.”

  “Such as your whereabouts of late?”

  She reluctantly nodded, though it wasn’t as if she were telling him something he didn’t already know.

  “If you’d stay away from the seedier parts of London, you wouldn’t need to lie.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and she found herself licking them. The heat returned to his gaze, but now it seemed to have an entirely different meaning.

  She wished they were alone, dancing on a private terrace. Then she would know if he was thinking what she thought he was thinking—that he would like to kiss her. Because she would certainly like to kiss him.

  The music swelled as though answering her desire. Nathaniel turned her, and her skirt swung out around his bad leg just as he stepped forward. He stumbled slightly, pulling her close as he caught himself. Their bodies touched from breast to knee for a long moment, the heat of him catching her by surprise.

  The contact felt glorious. Her gaze lifted to his, and she wondered if he thought the same. But his expression was unreadable as he lowered his gaze, first to her lips, then to her modest neckline. Her gown was snug around her breasts, the pale fabric doing little to hide her generous curves.

  His hand rose ever so slightly from her waist, up along her ribs, resting just at the swell of her breast as they faced each other.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Nor did she know how to react. Her breast tingled, and she had the strangest urge to arch into his touch. But she was well aware of where they were—at the edge of the dance floor in plain sight of well over a hundred people, including her mother.

  This man puzzled her to no end. She didn’t understand what he wanted from her. And it seemed she no longer knew what she wanted for herself.

  The music stopped yet he continued to hold her a moment more, his intense blue gaze remaining on hers.

  “Thank you for the dance, Miss Fairchild. Be safe.” He released her at last, bowed and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

  Her heart thundering in her chest, she returned to a position along the wall. A place eminently more suited to her as it was safe and familiar, a far cry from the danger her heart faced each moment she spent with Nathaniel.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Nothing is more common than to discover a hideous stew of courts and alleys reeking in poverty and wretchedness almost in the shadow of the palatial abodes of the great and wealthy.”

  ~ The Seven Curses of London

  Nathaniel cursed as he lay in bed late that night, staring at the ceiling once again. Sleep was ever elusive. He sorely missed its company and the depths of escape it provided. Of late, nothing seemed to offer him reprieve from his thoughts or his memories or the damned ache in his leg.

  Tonight, one more issue added to his sleeplessness—desire for Letitia pulsed through his body. That certainly didn’t help him fall into slumber. Why couldn’t he find a willing woman and be done with this lust? Yet the idea of anyone other than Letitia didn’t sound the least bit appealing.

  What was she doing at this moment? Was she still at the ball? He’d left soon after their dance.

  With an oath, he shoved back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wasn’t certain why he bothered to attempt to sleep anymore. He rubbed his injured thigh and the jagged scar that marked it, wishing for a reprieve from the pain as well. The bone-deep ache never left, though at times it eased.

  Like during his dance with Letitia.

  He wouldn’t question how the awkward dance with her reduced the pain. Perhaps it just helped him forget it for a short while because the rest of his body felt so alive while holding her in his arms.

  He lit the lamp on his bedside table and rose. After pacing his bedroom, he decided his only hope for sleep was to tire himself further. Now was as good a time as any to take a closer look at the brothel he’d recently heard about.

  He dressed in his street clothes, as he’d come to think of the worn tweed jacket and simple trousers. With his pistol in his coat pocket, one knife tucked in his belt and the other in the top of his boot, he retrieved his cane from the corner near the door and made his way down the hall to the stairs.

  He let himself out the front door, locking it behind him. Dibbles would not be pleased when he discovered he’d taken yet another midnight stroll. But Nathaniel knew he could take care of himself. All his years in the military had proven that. Walking eased the stiffness in his leg, tired his body, and helped keep his memories at bay.

  Though he’d expected a period of adjustment after leaving the Navy, he’d underestimated how difficult it would be. He relived certain events over and over, wondering what he should’ve done differently, how he could’ve saved more of his men. In many ways, he was grateful for the purpose that now filled his life. The numbness he’d experienced after leaving the service had eased, and his irrational anger was directed toward a specific target. But nothing seemed to halt his vivid dreams.

  He shifted his attention to his surroundings, noting how the fog had settled in some areas. It swirled about his legs as he walked. The quiet streets of his neighborhood faded to a slightly more boisterous atmosphere despite the late hour as he limped toward one of the seedier neighborhoods of London. The damp air mingled with the smoke of coal fires and a myriad of other scents, most unpleasant, that filled the city.

  With his destination in mind, he passed a tavern and a theater, both of which had closed for the night. That didn’t keep people from roaming the streets in the area.

  A woman who seemed a bit worse for drink approached him with a grin and only one or two teeth missing. “Aren’t ye a totty? Do ye fancy a shag?”

  “No, thank you,” Nathaniel replied.

  “A quick toss then? I know just how to please a fine man such as yerself.” She gave him a wink and made a rude gesture with her hand that made her meaning clear.

  “I’m certain you’re quite skilled, but I must decline.” Nathaniel kept walking, hoping she’d find another customer.

  “Come on, now. I just need a little dust money.” She drew her tattered shawl over her shoulders, covering her generous cleavage.

  He resisted the urge to toss her a coin, knowing she’d only use it to buy more gin, based on her current level of inebriation. Giving a handout to some only encouraged them to pursue their vices. Luckily, she remained near the theater, no doubt hoping some randy toff would wander by in need of her services.

  Soon he neared the brothel he’d heard referenced in a conversation on the street two days past. Apparently this one occasionally offered young girls touted to be virgins.

  His friend, Marcus de Wolfe, the
Earl of Warenton, had recently sent a letter, sharing additional information he’d uncovered from his encounter with those involved in using his ships to smuggle girls. Nathaniel knew Warenton hoped he’d continue his quest to stop the men entrapping young girls with false promises in order to sell them.

  After learning the facts, how could he turn his back on such an atrocity? Though he knew he might very well end up dead if he continued to pursue this problem, something had to be done to stop it.

  Warenton had advised that he’d be here himself if it weren’t for the fact that his new wife was expecting a babe. Traveling from Northumberland to London was made far more difficult with a pregnant wife. And after losing his first wife to an illness many years ago, Warenton wasn’t taking any chances.

  Still, the problem was too large for Nathaniel to solve alone. Warenton had written of Josephine Butler, an acquaintance of his who’d become an advocate for this issue. If she continued to bring it to the attention of others, using the media as well as helping to change legislation, progress could be made. So, in some respects, Nathaniel wasn’t the only person fighting this battle.

  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t appreciate having someone with whom to strategize. He feared involving Letitia would only give her a stronger desire to take action. That would never do. She’d already put herself at risk too many times.

  The cool air soaked into his leg, tightening the muscles. His limp became more pronounced as he went, but still he continued to the brothel situated just off Vine Street. The location was ironic as a police station stood nearby. No doubt someone on the force had been paid well to look the other way.

  Every window of the three-story house had a shade pulled low with a faint glow around the edges. After watching the front door briefly, he moved toward the rear entrance, accessible by an alleyway. He was more interested in the operation behind the brothel than its customers.

  Nathaniel knew the madam who owned this brothel also owned others in the city. Rumor said she waited at train stations, watching for families with young girls and would offer to watch the children while the parents went to purchase tickets or collect their luggage. Once the parents stepped away, she took the girls, some as young as eight, and locked them in one of her brothels. The girls would be drugged and sold to the highest bidder.

  The very idea turned Nathaniel’s stomach. He shouldn’t be shocked any longer at the atrocities people committed for greed. Not after all he’d seen. But somehow this, in his own country, blocks from where he lived, made him livid.

  Though the urge was strong to break down the brothel’s door, pistol in hand, and shoot those involved, he held back. Halting what happened this one night would not solve the bigger problem, and that was his true purpose.

  So he watched, grateful for the gas lamp above the back door that would reveal the faces of those who aided in this terrible crime. Several men entered the walled garden with its wrought-iron gate then made their way up the path to the four steps at the rear entrance. Some he had a chance to study but not all.

  A tall, stocky man with a round face and a bowler hat paused on the back step and glanced around before stepping inside. Nathaniel straightened. That was the same man he’d seen at Blackfriars Bridge when he’d come across Miss Fairchild. This was exactly what he needed. One person he could follow through the operation. Someone who had worked in this trade long enough to know the details of their activities, names of others involved, and those in charge.

  Years of training had him drawing nearer as determination filled him to learn more. Yet he paused to weigh the risk as no good would come from gaining information if he was killed before he could make use of it. He was alone and couldn’t forget that. Still, he couldn’t allow this opportunity to pass by. He eased into the shadows, crossed the alley, and moved closer to the back door.

  This certainly wouldn’t be the first time the odds had been against him to complete a mission. He opened the garden gate, grateful it didn’t squeak. Pausing to listen, he debated on the best method of entering. Had there been enough traffic in and out the back door that one more person coming in would draw little notice? While most people would be in the front where customers arrived, the men he’d noted would surely remain in the rear of the house.

  He might’ve been better off posing as a customer interested in a maiden, but the idea of giving the madam money went against every bone in his body.

  Slowly he passed through the small garden until he reached the back door. He considered extinguishing the light, but he might have need of it on his way out.

  A test of the knob proved it to be unlocked, and he opened the door. Keeping his cane at the ready, he slipped inside. The hallway in which he found himself was dimly lit. Back stairs rose upward to his left, a closed door to his right. Laughter and music came from the front of the house. That was no doubt where customers were shown, where each man would select which woman he wanted for the night. Except for any maidens. They were kept locked away.

  He listened at the closed door, barely able to make out the murmur of male voices. That would never do. He turned the knob slowly and cracked open the door. Much better. Now he could hear most of what the men said.

  The room was a kitchen and the men were gathered around a table from what little he could see through the narrow crack.

  “Are the two virgins locked in tight?” one of the men asked.

  Nathaniel froze at the question. Had that man convinced some of the girls at Blackfriars Bridge to succumb to his ploy that day? Damn.

  “I secured the doors to their rooms meself.”

  “Good that they’re on the third floor. Less chance of us hearin’ their screams.”

  “They’ll make some lucky toffers happy tonight.”

  “And more the next night. How many times will the madam claim they’re virgins?”

  The laughter that followed made Nathaniel’s stomach clench. An image of two terrified girls filled his mind, changing his plan completely. He reached out and quietly closed the kitchen door.

  Tonight would no longer be spent merely gathering information.

  The picture of those scared little girls locked away propelled him up the stairs. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t attempt to rescue them. Moving slowly, he kept his back to the wall, pausing on the second floor to listen.

  Six closed doors greeted him. Light cast from beneath them, and muffled grunts and groans could be heard along with a few encouraging words that sounded false even from this distance.

  He continued up the back stairs, moving as quickly as he dared. Another six doors marked this floor as well, but only two displayed light at the bottom. He listened at the first one, hearing nothing. He hoped she didn’t yet have a customer. Or perhaps she’d been drugged to keep her quiet. With a shake of his head, he acknowledged it could be either or both.

  The sound of footsteps on the front stairs had him searching for a place to hide, but he found none. He hurried back to the rear stairs and rushed down several steps, staying low, hoping whomever approached wouldn’t come this way.

  “She’s a virgin, just as we promised,” a woman said in the quiet hallway. “I know how much you like them.” The jingle of keys could be heard. “I’ll have you take a look at her and then we’ll agree on the price.”

  “Excellent,” a man said. Even from this distance, Nathaniel could hear the eagerness in his tone.

  Did the man not realize the girl was here against her will? Or did he simply not care?

  “If you don’t like this one, I have one more you can peek at, though I can’t promise anything as someone else requested her.”

  Nathaniel eased forward just as the two of them disappeared into the room.

  “You there,” a man’s voice demanded from below Nathaniel on the stairs. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Nathaniel rose but didn’t answer nor did he turn to face the man. He lifted his cane, waiting for him to draw closer.

  “I say, you there.�
� The sounds of his steps on the stairs heralded his arrival.

  When Nathaniel felt his presence directly behind him, he spun, raising one end of his cane to strike the man on the side of his head. The blow knocked him to the side, and he crumpled to the stairs, unmoving.

  Well aware that the longer he was in this house, the greater the risk, Nathaniel hurried to the door the madam had gestured toward. A check on the knob confirmed it was locked. Still listening for the man and woman in the other room, he used his knife to unlock it, slipped inside, and closed the door behind him.

  A young girl, perhaps ten or eleven years of age, lay on the bed in a white nightgown. Her eyes widened in fear at the sight of him but no sound escaped her lips nor did she move.

  Nathaniel could only assume she’d been given something to calm her. An opiate of some sort, perhaps. He had to get her out of there. But the closer he came, the more frightened she appeared.

  He held a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to remain quiet. “I’m taking you out of here.”

  The girl appeared even more alarmed at his words and shook her head frantically. He cursed under his breath, trying to think of a way to reassure her, but he had no experience in speaking with little girls. For the first time, he wished Letitia were here.

  “You don’t have to stay, no matter what they told you,” he tried again. “I will help you return home.”

  “Truly?” she asked as tears filled her eyes.

  “We’ll leave immediately. But I need your help.”

  Still uncertain, she whispered, “With what?”

  “Helping me free the other girl. Do you know her?”

  She nodded.

  The rattle of keys sounded at the door. Apparently the man had been less than pleased with the first girl and wanted to see his other option.

  “Lay on the bed for a moment,” Nathaniel ordered the girl.

  She moved into the same pose as when Nathaniel had first entered, her face tightened in fear. Nathaniel stepped behind the door, cane in hand.