by Unknown
“He’s not worth it,” she told him, pulling him to her side. “He’s not worth it.”
Hot rage rolled through his veins, heaving like waves in a storm. He forced himself to take several deep breaths but to no avail. Harris didn’t consider himself to have a temper, but he knew if he hit that man, he’d have knocked him out with ease and likely ended up in a whole world of trouble.
He waited until Francis had staggered around the corner. When he got the chance, he’d be having a word with Lady Elridge and ensuring he was never allowed to another event again.
“Bloody bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
“That he is.” She rubbed a soothing hand up and down his arm. “Let it go, Harris. He’ll likely pass out somewhere and wake up feeling like death.”
Turning his attention to her, he gave her a weak smile. “He’d have felt a lot worse if you’d let me take care of him.”
“Lord Harris acting the gentleman, who’d have thought?”
“I’ll have you know I’m always a gentleman.” He tried to look affronted but failed.
She chuckled. “Well, if you are, that’s the first I’ve seen of it.” She motioned down to the garden. “Shall we walk? I think you could do with some air.”
He strongly suspected it was less to do with his temper and more to do with her desire to escape, but he conceded, offering her his arm.
“Very gentlemanly,” she murmured. He couldn’t help laugh.
“How do you know that—” he longed to call him something a gentleman would never say “—fellow, anyway?”
“I’d hardly say I know him, but he was acquaintances with someone I knew. It meant we spent a little time together.”
They took the steps down toward the long line of trees and followed the gravel path around them. A few lanterns lit the way as the path cut horizontally all the way down the centre of the garden.
Arm in arm they strolled down the path. Benches were placed intermittently along the row but most were occupied by couples who were likely sneaking away from their escorts.
“You see now why I do not come to London much.”
Harris shook his head. “That happens a lot?”
“Not really, but I am hardly the sort of woman most people want to associate with. I would warn you against gossip from spending time with me, but I know you’re hardly one to shy away from a little scandal.”
Harris stilled and tugged her close. “Scandal? You must be thinking of my other brother.”
Anna laughed. “Not at all. We both know Ash is the well-behaved twin.”
“You claim to know much about me, Anna, and yet I feel like I know so little about you.” He twisted her so she faced him completely. “Does anyone really know you?”
She shook her head in bemusement. “Why would anyone want to? I own a den of sin if you recall.”
“I find myself quite interested, actually. Particularly when you like to use that as a defence when really that just makes you all the more interesting.”
“And scandalous.”
“I think you try very hard to stay away from scandal, in spite of what you say, Anna.”
“And now you are claiming to know me very well.”
“Not yet.” He leaned in close, held her gaze. Breaths whispered between them and he dragged the moment out. “Not yet,” he repeated and watched her lashes flutter a little and lips part. Then he lifted his head. “But I will.”
Chapter Two
Anna tugged off her gloves with a sigh and placed them on the dressing table. The scent of chimney smoke clung to her skin and her eyes felt gritty. Dirt and smog seemed to cling to her.
She peered out of the window of her hotel room at the passing carriages. Passing, perhaps, was incorrect, as most were at a standstill, the drivers angrily waving their fists at one another. Even through the thick glass of the hotel room window, she could hear their bellows.
How she hated London.
Strolling into the bathroom, she took a moment to wash her face and hands before drying them on a towel. She paused to eye her reflection in the mirror. Dark eyes, dark hair. Dark lifestyle according to most of society. Her skin still held the bloom of youth she thought, and her hair was glossy. There was much that could be admired about her, she supposed. Yet any man of good breeding would not, and those who did would be the sort of men she had no wish to associate with.
But she didn’t want to associate with any man, she reminded herself. Not even Harris Cynfell.
Anna pushed away from the sink. Damn the man. He’d been intending to kiss her last night. She was no fool. His interest in her had nothing to do with their brief time together at Stourbridge. They hadn’t managed to create some sort of friendship—not that she wanted to. There had really been no need for anything more than a few passing comments, yet he had lingered then jumped to her defence.
All in the name of desire.
She had seen it flaring in his eyes. And unfortunately felt it burning a little through her chest. However, desire caused many problems. Her current life had been the product of desire. Not her own desire to be sure, but another’s.
So she had little intention of allowing Cynfell any closer than he’d been. By any luck, she’d finish her business in London soon enough and be gone back to the country where she was queen of her own destiny.
At Stourbrige, she held many a life in her palm. Men gambled and had sex and enjoyed the pleasures her den could offer, all the while giving her their secrets and their wealth. Few realised quite how much power they gave her until it came time to repay the debts.
She allowed herself a little smirk. The only reason she’d been invited to the ball last night had been because of Lord Elridge’s history at Stourbridge. Anna wasn’t averse to reminding him that she’d hosted him many times at her home.
Not that she ever enjoyed balls. No matter how much power one had over the underbelly of society, one could not control how the rest behaved toward her.
Anna sank onto the bed and plucked off her hat before taking the time to pull out each pin. She allowed herself a lengthier sigh this time as the tight coils unwound and fell about her shoulders, relieving a little of the ache in her scalp.
Francis had been a prime example of that. She held back a shudder. She’d known him when everything had happened. He’d been friends with the man who had changed the course of her life forever.
A knock at the door jolted her from a haze of memories that she desperately tried to bury away. She smiled at the welcome distraction before calling, “Enter.”
Tilly, a young girl from Stourbridge, who usually played lady’s maid to her during the few times she travelled, entered.
“Do you want me to help you get ready for dinner?” the girl asked.
Her accent still held a strong hint of country girl and she often rolled her words together so quickly that even Anna struggled to understand her. But she was sweet and efficient and as much as Anna tried not to, she couldn’t help but adore her.
“Yes, in just a moment.” Anna rubbed her hands over her scalp. “Being in London gives me a headache.”
Tilly bustled past her to start readying her evening gown. Anna fisted the metal clips into her hand and watched the girl move with quiet efficiency.
“I love London. So exciting. Though I nearly got run down by a cabriolet. How he was going so fast on these roads, I don’t know!”
“Did you get to see your brother?”
“Yes, miss.” Tilly beamed at her, her cheeks rosy with excitement. Somehow, the pale, red-head’s enthusiasm made Anna feel old and weary.
That bloom of youth she’d taken so much pride in faded fast around the girl. Tilly was one of those women who could go through anything in life and still come out believing the world was wonderful. Anna couldn’t help envy it. Unfortunately, she had seen how cruel the world could be whereas she’d rescued Tilly before anything truly terrifying could happen to her.
“He’s found work down at the docks. S
ays he hopes he’ll be able to go on one of the ships soon. Then he’ll be able to save for a house and we can all live together again.”
“That would be wonderful but do be careful. Don’t rely on your brother’s fortunes.”
“I know, miss.” Tilly gave her a look that reminded Anna she’d heard this lecture many a time.
The fact that women were still so dependent on men frustrated Anna to no end. She had been incredibly lucky that she’d inherited when her family had all but disowned her. Without it, she would have been on the streets too, selling her body to whoever would buy it, risking disease, death, and jail on a daily basis.
Tilly had been working in an inn for a mere number of days before Anna had come across her and offered her a place at Stourbridge. Things were not perfect, to her mind. If the world were different, women would never have to sell themselves. But at least there, they were safe and healthy, and the girls earned well.
“Well, I only say these things—”
“Because you care.”
“I was not going to say that.”
Tilly offered a soft smile while she drew out stockings, a corset, and chemise and laid them on the bed. “But you do. We all know it. Do not try to deny it, miss.”
Anna pinched the bridge of her nose. When was it she had become so soft? Everyone had been surprised by her care of Harris after the gunshot wound. But what was she to do? Ignore him and have him die on her land? Let the twin brother of a good man die?
Ash Cynfell had been one of the few to befriend her when she’d made her debut and while she’d harboured a very faint infatuation in those early days, she’d quickly discovered he was far too brooding for her tastes. However, she valued friendship far more than some sweet, fluttery feelings.
Anna grimaced to herself. Sweet, fluttery feelings got a woman in a whole world of trouble. And if she was wise, she’d turn her thoughts away from someone who created flutters in her stomach and back to where they belonged—the reason she was in this blasted city.
“Let’s do this, shall we?” She stood and let Tilly help her take off her day dress and redress.
Anna twisted this way and that while the girl cinched her into her corset. She pressed her palms down the fabric and traced the boning beneath. Her stomach was flat, with no sign of what her body had once done. She didn’t even have any marks on her skin to remind her.
An ache gathered in her throat. She’d heard women bemoaning the red lines that pregnancy had bestowed upon them yet she could not help but envy them. Why had her body decided to forget it had ever carried a child? Her heart longed for such marks, for some sign that she had brought a life into the world.
She swallowed hard. As far as anyone knew, Anna Dubois had never grown round with child, had never given birth, had never held a tiny infant in her arms for the briefest moment before it was taken away.
But while none of the world would remember that child or even be aware of its existence, she always would. She’d remember the soft skin and the tiny fisted hand. She wouldn’t know what the baby’s eyes were like, though. He’d been whisked away before he’d even opened them. The child had never even seen his mother’s face.
Swallowing the knot in her throat again, she blinked away the heat in her eyes and concentrated on aiding Tilly with getting her into the tight-fitting chemise.
Together, they worked to get her evening gown on. She could eat in her room, really, but the hotel was one of the few places where her reputation did not precede her. Men and women came and went, along with many foreigners. Few of them were like the staid members of society who refused to try anything different or ever behave in any way other than they had already done.
At least if she gained some new business contacts for Stourbridge, her trip to London wouldn’t be entirely wasted.
Once dressed, Anna sat at the dressing table and Tilly worked on pilling her hair high upon her head. The ache in her skull began again, and Anna eyed her reflection with annoyance. The pain was making her scowl and a fine line sat between her brows. That would not do at all. She forced a more placid, cool expression—one she was so very practiced at usually.
Then she considered how it had failed her the previous night when Francis had approached or when Harris had leaned in for the kiss that never was. Why was she not capable of concealing everything around that man? She had been doing so successfully for many years. A woman in her position could not afford to give away her innermost feelings.
Tilly finished her hairstyle by slipping in some tiny pearls and an elaborate comb. Anna twisted her head this way and that and admired the effect.
“You really ought to be a lady’s maid at a fine house.”
“I am.”
“You know what I mean.”
“A fine house would not treat me nearly so well, you know that, miss.”
Nor would they pay as well, as her girls knew. In servitude, they risked much danger too. While there were good households, there were plenty of rotten ones too where the men took advantage of the serving girls, and they were paid pitifully for their pains.
She had to be grateful she was in the position to help girls like Tilly. If anything good had come out of her situation, that was what she had to hold onto.
“Do you need me to do anything else, miss?”
“No, thank you. Have some supper and get some rest, Tilly. I’ll undress myself at the end of the night.”
“As you will, miss. Enjoy your night.”
Anna waited until the girl shut the door before picking up her powder and dabbing it across her cheeks. She added some rouge and then some stain to her lashes. Once they were long and dark, she paused to admire the effect.
There, no one would know she was weary and frustrated. No one would have any idea she’d spent the day trawling the streets in hopes of finding out more about her son. The guests at the hotel would never be aware she was holding onto a big ball of agony in her chest, and that it had been there ever since she’d been forced to give up her child. Only the knowledge of what had happened to her son would end that. She had to know.
A dark, black splodge landed on the back of her hand, and she jerked her head up at her reflection to see tears rolling down her cheeks. Her beautiful make-up trailed across her face. She looked as ravaged as she felt. Anna dropped her head onto her hands and cried until her chest burned and her eyes were raw.
Then she gave a great sniff, cleaned her face and began her make-up again.
“No one need know,” she told herself.
Chapter Three
Harris muttered a curse under his breath then masked the curse with a charming smile as about the fifth woman of the day nearly knocked his cane from his hand with her wide skirts.
Damn Dante. Why he’d decided meeting at the docks for lunch was a fine idea, he had no clue. It meant pushing through the crowds and with his limp and that blasted cane, it was going to take an eternity. He’d be lucky if he got to the warehouse before supper time.
He tipped his hat at a group of young ladies, all of whom flushed a little. Somehow he hid a smug smile. When he’d been shot, he couldn’t deny there had been a little fear he might end up lame.
But, God willing, he’d be rid of this bloody cane before long.
Greenwich Market was in full swing. Tucked under a blue iron structure between tightly packed buildings, stalls turned the cobbled pavement into a veritable maze. The scent of freshly baked bread and meat pies made his stomach grumble.
“Bloody Dante.”
His brother would be hard at work in the warehouse on the other side of the river. The Cynfells were heavily into the coffee business at present, and Dante had taken a great interest in it before he married. Since then, their income from it had nearly doubled.
Harris wasn’t one to grumble about the estate doing well—particularly when so many where going under—but why Dante couldn’t take a day off to meet him, was beyond him, particularly when his townhouse was on the opposite side of the docks and
getting a hack through the crowded streets would be damn near impossible.
Still, it had been a while since he’d seen his brother. The last time had been at Ash’s wedding. Harris ducked under a frighteningly askew tarpaulin. The woman selling her woven baskets looked about as worn as her stall.
He imagined he did not look much better these days. He chuckled to himself as he recalled how both he and his brother had been hobbling through the church. Why Ash had recovered more quickly from a gunshot wound to the leg, he didn’t know, but it was deuced frustrating. Apparently it had been a cleaner shot or something, but Harris concluded being looked after by his pretty young wife hadn’t hurt his recovery.
His heart gave a little jolt. It often did when he saw hair as black as ink. He paused and apologised to the young man who bumped into him as he stopped in the middle of the street.
It bloody well was her. What were the chances?
Harris began to move again. The woman with dark hair and a small red hat, sat at a fashionable angle on her head, stopped to talk with a poorly-dressed woman before offering her a coin. It was certainly her. He’d recognise that profile anywhere.
Anna began walking again. While everyone appeared to want to get in his way, the crowds seemed to part like the Red Sea for Anna. But of course they would. There were few women as beautiful and as powerful as Anna.
Few people as tightly wound and secretive either.
But the secrets came with running a den of sin. During his stay at Stourbridge House, he’d learned that she lived, breathed, and ate secrets. He had never seen so many politicians, actors, and married men than he’d seen at the house she owned. All of whom were either gambling away money they no longer had or sneaking around with mistresses or the ladies Anna employed.
Awareness rolled through him. Not the usual awareness that surrounded him whenever he was near Anna, but one of danger. A man in a worn cap pulled low over his eyes approached her. Dammit, she stood out as wealthy. Of course she was a target.
His leg panged in protest as he barged through the crowds. The scruffy man snatched her arm, and he saw Anna whirl in surprise. He was either going to take her or her purse. Whichever it was, Harris had no intention of letting either happen.