The Major and the Pickpocket

by Lucy Ashford

  He was watching her from beneath hooded lids. ‘Have you somewhere in mind?’

  She looked around and leaned closer. ‘I have at present the use of a boudoir in Clarges Street, my lord, which I think you would find to your liking. Might I dare to hope that you would join me there, say—tomorrow night?’

  How she hated the nearness of his satin-clad body, the smell of his expensive scent. She thought suddenly of Marcus—of his warm, clean skin and simple outdoor clothes—and she shut her eyes briefly as the pain swept through her. One last night, one last throw of the dice; then it would all be over, for good.

  He was stroking the signet ring on his little finger, but his cold eyes never left her face. ‘Are you talking of card play, Sarah?’

  ‘Why, yes. Piquet, preferably. It is my favourite, as you know. But after that, why, I am open to—interesting suggestions, Lord Corbridge.’

  His eyes flickered like a reptile’s. ‘You spoke of playing deep. What, I wonder, have you got by way of a stake?’

  She frowned prettily. ‘I have a purseful of tenguinea rouleaux I have smuggled out from under Lady Sallis’s eyes!’

  ‘You are a teasing jade,’ he drawled. ‘What if I say that is nowhere near enough?’

  She knitted her brows. Then, pretending to toy with the lace at her neck, she mused, ‘If I become truly down on my luck, why, then, I think you will have to name the forfeit, won’t you, my lord?’ She met his eyes steadily. ‘After all, I shall be quite in your power.’

  He licked his lips. His hand moved suddenly to cover hers, and Tassie fought to conceal the shudder of revulsion that swept through her. She pulled her fingers away and went on lightly, ‘So, I think we understand one another, do we not? You will visit me in Clarges Street tomorrow night—say, at ten—and the play is to be deep. What will you stake on our game, Lord Corbridge?’

  ‘What would you suggest?’ He was still gazing at her.

  She fingered the cards on the table thoughtfully. ‘Why,’ she said, ‘I do declare that I have a fancy to play for something truly—original!’

  ‘Such as, Sarah?’

  ‘Could you show me, for instance, the letter that promises you Lornings? The thought of all that wealth in one single piece of paper excites me more than any gold! What say you to playing for that, my lord?’

  ‘You surely jest.’

  ‘Perhaps I do,’ she pouted. ‘And perhaps my luck will desert me. But, my lord—I promise you it will be an evening you will always remember.’

  ‘You are full of surprises,’ he said. ‘I shall look forward to tomorrow night.’

  And I will rook you so soundly, you will curse the day you ever thought to cheat poor Sir Roderick, thought Tassie fervently. Smiling in agreement, she reached out to pour him more wine.

  But inwardly, she was shaking, because the thought of being alone with Lord Sebastian Corbridge filled her with trepidation.

  Fie, she told herself defiantly, she would be finished with him long before the slimy rogue had time to lay a finger on her! During her travels with Georgie Jay’s band she’d learnt tricks that would see her through anything; once she’d achieved her purpose, she would slip through his slimy fingers and run like the very wind. Her spirits rose.

  And then, across the crowded room, Tassie saw a footman open the big doors ceremoniously to yet another group of visitors; as she scanned their bored, foppish faces, she felt her heart quail within her breast.

  Viscount Lindsay was there. ‘Piggy’ Lindsay, the one whose face she had slapped at the theatre. Would he recognise her? It was unlikely—she had been wearing a veil that night—but Marcus had said he was a close friend of Sebastian’s.

  She couldn’t afford any risks. Time for drastic action.

  The portly Viscount Lindsay was already pushing his way between the packed card tables towards the little alcove where she sat with Sebastian. He stopped to talk here and there to people he knew. She had perhaps a minute, no more.

  She sprang up quickly, her pink-striped skirts rustling, and Sebastian arched his thin brows in a look of enquiry. ‘I have an idea! Let us go now,’ Tassie breathed. ‘Take me from here, please, Lord Corbridge. I will plead a headache, and pretend to retire to my room. Is your carriage round the back?’

  If he was surprised, he hid it well. ‘It is,’ he said slowly. ‘I can be down there within minutes. Are you suggesting we go to Clarges Street?’

  Damnation. Tassie had booked the room—in a down-at-heel gaming house that she had inspected with care—for tomorrow night only. ‘Not tonight,’ she said quickly, ‘we cannot go there tonight.’

  His lip curled. ‘Is, perhaps, one of your fellow-professionals using it? Well, there is always one place we can go, at any hour. And that is—my house.’

  Tassie caught her breath. No. But she could see Viscount Lindsay getting closer. She had no choice. ‘Then I will go down the back stairs, my lord, and meet you outside—’

  She broke away just as Lindsay reached them. She saw the fat viscount watch her with interest, heard him say, ‘A pretty wench, that one, Corbridge…’

  And then she was hurrying away from them, searching desperately for Bella. She found her presiding over the vingt-et-un table in the other room.

  ‘Bella,’ she whispered quickly, ‘if Lady Sallis should ask, would you tell her I’ve gone to my room with a headache?’

  Bella’s hands froze over the cards. ‘You’re never going off with that Lord Corbridge!’ she said under her breath. ‘Faith, didn’t I warn you, Sarah? He’s a nasty, vicious piece of work, that one—you’re making a bad mistake, my girl.’

  Tassie didn’t want to hear any more. ‘Don’t worry, Bella, please. I know what I’m doing.’ And she sped off to the back stairs, to fetch her cloak.

  But Tassie wasn’t so confident when she was alone with Sebastian in his fine carriage, and he edged so close to her that his body touched hers from shoulder to thigh, and he slowly turned towards her so that his thin face was close to hers. She could smell the wine on his breath, and the strong perfume he used, and her body curled in revulsion.

  ‘Well, Sarah,’ he drawled, ‘you’ve been promising me much all evening. And we will be so much more comfortable at my house…’

  He was going to kiss her. She edged frantically away and saw the sudden leaping suspicion in his eyes; then she smiled her sweetest smile, even though her heart was hammering. ‘Re-member now, Lord Corbridge,’ she pouted, ‘you promised to play cards with me for the letter that is worth a whole estate, in return for my favours, including each kiss—that was our bargain, was it not?’ And once I have the letter, I will be running as fast as I can…

  Lord Corbridge’s thin lips curled. ‘You torment me,’ he said. ‘But it shall be as you say. And then, my sweet, I shall be the one to call the order of play, I think.’

  Tassie was afraid of Sebastian, afraid of being alone with him in his house. Then she had a sudden fleeting vision of Marcus smiling down at her, teasing her. ‘You, Tassie, scared? I didn’t think you were scared of anyone.’

  The anguish of the bittersweet memory shafted through her. She bore it till it was over, and shrugged. Marcus had used her and betrayed her; and once she’d discharged her obligation to him, why, her whole life lay ahead of her, and she never wanted to see him again.

  She bit her lip. Gazing silently out of the window at the lamplit London streets, filled with expensive carriages and people in their finery, she fought against the sudden hot tears, because that was a lie, too.

  From his seat at the other side of the carriage, Sebastian watched her. This one needed teaching a lesson. Oh, he would play piquet with her as he’d promised. But then, regardless of who won or lost the charade, he would take his prize. She might struggle and protest a little, but that was all part of the game, wasn’t it?

  And even if it wasn’t a game, even if her cries were in earnest, her pleas for help would get her nowhere, for once she was inside his house the doors would be securely locked
, and his brutal manservant Jessop would dutifully turn deaf ears on any protests she cared to utter. Jessop was used to Sebastian’s ways, and indeed was often invited to take Sebastian’s leavings himself.

  The girl, Sebastian guessed, was spirited and passionate. So much the better. A little resistance always added piquancy to Sebastian’s enjoyment. What a fool she was to put herself in his hands. He fondled the head of his walking cane, amused to discover that his pulse was racing at the thought of the dark pleasures in store—pleasures that would be enhanced throughout by what he’d only just learnt tonight from his friend ‘Piggy’ Lindsay about the girl who called herself Sarah.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hal came hurrying round to the stables at the back of the house in Portman Square as soon as he heard the hooves of Marcus’s big horse clattering on the cobbles. ‘No news?’ he frowned, holding the horse’s head as Marcus dismounted. It was warm this evening, almost oppressively so; tiny beads of perspiration glistened on Marcus’s brow.

  ‘No news,’ confirmed Marcus, running his hand tiredly through his hair. ‘I met Georgie Jay again, earlier this evening. He and his friends are looking for her too. Between them they must have covered every lodging house, every low-life den in London these last few days—and if they cannot find her, what chance have I?’

  A groom had appeared, to light the lanterns and take the big gelding into the hay-scented warmth of his stall. Hal rested one hand quickly on his friend’s coat sleeve and drew him to one side.

  ‘Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places, Marcus. Listen. This might be nothing, a false trail, a blind. But I have been hopping about like a cat on hot coals waiting for you to return, because earlier this evening, at my club, I overheard Lord Freddie Wyatt—you know him? A rich, pleasant enough simpleton—telling someone that there is a new girl at Lady Sallis’s place. She has caused something of a sensation, I believe. She is young and beautiful, with curling golden hair and a very direct manner of speaking. Her current favoured partner is none other than Lord Sebastian Corbridge.’

  He saw that Marcus’s strong face had gone quite pale in the flickering shadows of the glowing lantern. ‘Corbridge? Oh, God, it must be her. I must go there now, and stop whatever idiotic trickery she’s up to.’

  ‘Hold hard, man,’ Hal said warningly. ‘This girl’s name, apparently, is Sarah. It might not be her…’

  ‘It has to be her, Hal.’ Marcus looked at him in despair. ‘But why is she tangling with Corbridge, of all people? And while she’s under Lady Sallis’s roof, Sebastian will assume she’s for sale…I must go and get her out of there, before she’s in too deep.’

  Hal said quietly, ‘Have you thought that she might be trying to get Lornings back for your godfather?’

  ‘There is no need,’ replied Marcus in a bleak voice. ‘I’ve been to see my lawyer, today. It can be proved that Roderick was duped into debt by a known gang of sharpers, deliberately hired by Sebastian; one of this gang, arrested for another offence, has talked. Sebastian will have no choice but to back down. Tassie is risking herself for nothing.’

  Hal swore softly. ‘And she’s playing into Corbridge’s hands…I will come with you to Albemarle Street.’

  But Marcus stopped him. ‘No. Best if I confront Sebastian on my own. I will send for you when I need you.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ promised Hal. ‘But what of the other matter concerning Tassie, Marcus, the business from her past?’

  ‘There, I have made progress. But none of it is of the slightest significance, unless I find her in time.’

  And the stakes, he knew, were as high as could be. Earlier this afternoon Tassie’s red-haired friend, young Lemuel, had confessed to Marcus that on their first day back in London Tassie had cajoled him into buying a lady’s pistol for her.

  Tassie’s heart was thudding warningly as she dealt the last hand. They were playing piquet, and on the polished mahogany table between them lay Sir Roderick’s letter. Tassie had let Sebastian win, to begin with; but slowly, surely, she had caught up. And now everything rested on the last game.

  Sebastian had led her into his spacious first-floor drawing room, which was extravagantly furnished with velvet drapes at the windows, and an Aubusson carpet on the floor. Branched candelabra on the little satinwood tables cast their soft glow on the silk-hung walls and striped damask couches. Sebastian had ordered a second bottle of white wine to be brought; he was drinking steadily, but his pale eyes were full of calculation as he watched her deal the cards.

  It was hot, suffocatingly hot. Although darkness had fallen, the April night seemed warmer than the day, and Tassie longed for a fresh country breeze to cool her skin. Her stiff satin gown with its stays and lacings tormented her. She longed for this to be over. So far Sebastian had not tried to touch her again. But, win or lose, she had a pretty good idea what game he had in mind for afterwards.

  Yet Tassie’s fingers were steady as she examined her hand. No need to cheat in this partie; Sebastian was a poor player and a fool. She glanced swiftly at the door. Sebastian had told her meaningfully that he had sent his servants to bed; and she could see for herself that Sebastian would soon be quite fuddled with wine. She was confident she could be out of here within minutes. Meanwhile she continued to play clearly and decisively, putting a charming little frown on her face as she pretended to puzzle over her discards.

  At last she laid down her cards and smiled up at him beguilingly. ‘I hold capot—all twelve tricks,’ she breathed. ‘I think I have you at last, my lord. The game is mine.’

  The rich lace at her wrists brushed the table as she reached out nonchalantly to pick up the rolled letter with its seal and pink ribbon. ‘A pretty prize,’ she breathed, caressing it with her fingertips. ‘I have a fancy to study my winnings. I’ll just take it over here, where the candles are brighter—’

  Untying the pink ribbon as she spoke, she got up from the table and moved over towards the light of a candelabra, near the door. Sebastian eyed her silently from where he sat, and poured himself yet more wine. Why, thought Tassie, he must be as steeped in liquor as a pickling barrel…but he showed no signs of it. Her skin prickled in the heat, and her every sense was on the alert as she held the letter up to the candlelight. ‘By my faith, Lord Corbridge,’ she said merrily, ‘no wonder these lawyers charge such fancy prices. Listen to this. On the day of…heretofore…by my hand…What rigmarole!’

  ‘That rigmarole’s good enough for me,’ drawled Sebastian, watching her from under hooded lids. ‘It entitles me to take possession of a fine estate in four months’ time.’

  Tassie spun round. ‘Entitles you to the estate? Fie, Lord Corbridge! I played you for this letter, and won!’

  ‘A pretty jest, sweetheart.’ He grinned unpleasantly and rose slowly to his feet. ‘And your little game is over now, I fear.’

  Tassie stood very still, clutching the letter. ‘I think not,’ she said steadily. ‘But yours is, Lord Corbridge.’ Whipping the door open, she ran outside—straight into the arms of Sebastian’s burly manservant, standing guard. He must have been there all the time. He carried her, kicking and struggling, back into the sitting room. The letter fell to the floor. Sebastian was watching her, his arms folded.

  ‘Let us have an end to this charade, shall we?’ he said softly.

  The manservant was pinning Tassie’s arms behind her back, hurting her. Tassie struggled vainly. ‘By my faith, Lord Corbridge,’ she said angrily, ‘tell this great ape to let go of me, will you? I vow, Lady Sallis will not be at all pleased to see me later this evening with my wrists all black and blue!’

  He walked slowly to her. ‘Have no fear on that account, my dear. Lady Sallis will not, I think, be enjoying the pleasure of your company for some time. You have, you see, rather a lot of explaining to do. To me.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ declared Tassie, still trying to shake herself free of Jessop’s grip. ‘You’d better let go of me, or I’ll report you to the law!’

  ‘Wi
ll you? And what name will you use? Will you call yourself Sarah? Or have you some other name up your sleeve? You seem to juggle with names as easily as cards.’

  ‘I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about.’

  He moved closer and gripped her chin, turning her face up to meet his. Tassie squirmed in revulsion; from behind, the manservant gripped her more tightly. She could feel his hot breath on the nape of her neck. ‘Haven’t you?’ said Sebastian coldly. ‘You’re surely not going to deny that you’re Marcus Forrester’s little lightskirt, sent by him deliberately to trick me, and make me look a fool?’

  Tassie’s heart stopped. Then she tilted her chin in defiance. ‘Marcus? Who is Marcus?’ she responded airily. ‘I tell you, I am new to London. I know no one except those whom I have met at Lady Sallis’s!’

  Sebastian’s grip tightened. ‘You were in London in February,’ he said softly. ‘You were with my cousin Marcus at the theatre. Viscount Lindsay told me so.’

  This time Tassie felt her knees sagging, and her blood ran cold. So just in that short space of time this evening, Viscount Lindsay had recognised her and had betrayed her. Sebastian had known of her association with Marcus all through this game they’d just played…‘Oh, that Marcus,’ she answered scornfully. ‘I declare, I had almost forgotten the man!’

  ‘You are his mistress, I take it?’

  She laughed. ‘Me? Waste myself on a limping soldier with no money?’

  Sebastian nodded slowly. ‘So you say he’s nothing to you, nor you to him. I think you are lying. In fact, I think it was Marcus Forrester who put you up to this charade of playing for his foolish old godfather’s letter.’

  ‘No. No, I swear…’

  ‘My cousin,’ went on Corbridge relentlessly, ‘is known to have good taste in women, and I’m sure he’ll have taught you some pretty tricks. I’ve a fancy to get you to show them to me—or maybe I’ll let Jessop try you out first. I’ve enjoyed watching him breaking a girl’s spirit many a time.’