by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson
He shrugged and clapped Mr. Leviston on the shoulder. “Fortune giveth, and fortune taketh away.”
“Every time.” Mr. Leviston chuckled. “Shall we have another go tomorrow? I suppose I could scare up a shilling or two.”
“You know I’ve never said no to a game,” Mr. Fairfax replied easily. He fixed his magnetic gaze on Charlotte. “Ready, my lady?”
As she nodded her acquiescence, her mind was not on the short walk to her chamber, but on how blithely both men shrugged off staggering losses and agreed to repeat the same foolishness the following day. Were they daft? She had always supposed town gentlemen could not possibly be as careless and as dissolute as the Society papers painted them, but she had clearly been too generous.
She rose to her feet. Good. She was glad they were foolish. She could not possibly feel guilty at relieving them of more money than she normally spent in a year if they didn’t even have the good sense to miss it. She would be a much better mistress to these purses.
Hope fluttered in her belly. In fact, with two hundred pounds, she could hire a maid before taking the next hack north. She would do so first thing in the morning.
As for tonight… Well. Perhaps fortune truly was on her side.
She slipped her hand about the crook of Mr. Fairfax’s arm and let him lead her from the table. With a man like him seeing her safely to her chamber, her virtue would remain safe for one more night.
As they exited the common guest area, another gentleman was entering, and pulled up short the moment he laid eyes on them. A chill swept over her.
Please be a friend of Mr. Fairfax, she repeated in her mind. Please.
He squinted at her with interest. The wrong kind of interest.
Her stomach sank.
“Do I know you, miss?” His brow furrowed in concentration. “You look incredibly familiar.”
“I have one of those faces,” she said automatically, and all but hauled Mr. Fairfax out of the common area before the other man could recall where he might have seen a face like hers.
To his credit, Mr. Fairfax made no protest at being dragged bodily from the room.
As soon as they were safely out of sight, second thoughts immediately crowded Charlotte’s brain. The scene was so familiar, she hadn’t even questioned it. But what if the man wasn’t confusing her with her mother? She was in Scotland now. Far from London. What if he’d recognized her because of her similarity to her father? Wasn’t that why she’d dropped the assumed name and begun using her birth name again after she’d crossed the border? Didn’t her plan hinge on someone recognizing her and leading her back to her father?
Stupid girl. She was going to have to unlearn two-and-twenty years of rejection and automatic denial if she meant to have success with this mission.
The positive side, however, was that if people were starting to notice a family resemblance, her father must reside in the general area. To be sure, this innkeeper hadn’t recognized his name, but someone would—and soon. Her heart felt light.
“Congratulations on a wonderful win tonight.” Mr. Fairfax’s warm voice melted over her. “Enviable display of luck.”
She looked at him sharply, but his eyes were sincere. “Thank you.”
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps fortune was finally on her side.
Perhaps Mr. Fairfax was proof that she was on the right path, the perfect path. Where she could start over, find her father, marry a prince—or a laird, she wasn’t choosy—and live happily ever after. She straightened her spine.
Finding her father was her only chance to have a good future.
As they neared the dining area, she pointed down a corridor to the right. “My chamber is just up the stairs at the end. If you prefer to leave me here…”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Fairfax’s green eyes were surprisingly serious. “A wager is a wager. I’ll see you safely to your door, and not a step farther.”
She sucked in a breath, grateful for his presence. It was awful to feel insecure, unsafe. A woman alone was always at risk. One could never truly be used to it, no matter how long one had lived in fear.
Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, for the first time in her life, she would be able to afford a maid. And the next day, or the day after that, she would have something even better. A home.
A sudden buzz of conversation erupted behind them as a crowd of guests exited the dining area together.
Loud footsteps clumped against the wood floor as a man reeking of gin staggered up to them and reached for Charlotte’s arm. “I see you found your dìonadair, lassie.”
Mr. Fairfax instantly placed himself between Charlotte and the drunkard. “Sir, you overstep. Find your quarters and stay there.”
The crowd from the dining area edged closer to watch.
“Well, you know how it is.” The drunkard swayed as he tried to get another look at Charlotte. “With a puss like this looking for a protector, of course a man’s going to be interested. When you’re done with her—”
Charlotte spluttered. “This man is not my ‘protector,’ nor am I looking for one.”
The last thing she needed was for rumors of her supposed easy nature to reach her father’s ears. Even he wouldn’t be able to consider her respectable if she arrived with her reputation as ruined in Scotland as it was in England. But how else could she explain being on Mr. Fairfax’s arm, whilst clearly headed toward the guest chambers?
Her mind spun. She needed the crowd to go away. “Mr. Fairfax is just… Mr. Fairfax is my husband.”
Splendid. It took all of Charlotte’s self-control not to drop her face into her hands at that blurted nonsense. A husband was a better excuse than a paying client, but it was also a blatant lie. Mr. Fairfax had only agreed to walk her to her chamber, not to participate in any marital farces along the way. Soon she would be known as a harlot and a liar.
To her surprise and relief, he didn’t so much as change expression.
“I am the lady’s husband,” he repeated firmly to the drunkard. “Now find your room, or I will put you there myself.”
Alarmed, the drunkard scuttled backwards out of harm’s way before lurching down the opposite corridor.
Mr. Whitfield stepped up from the rear of the crowd. “Fairfax, you sly dog. No wonder you were making eyes at her all evening. Why didn’t you just say that’s what you were about?”
Mr. Fairfax hesitated.
Her heart pounded. Would he lie to a friend? For her? She held her breath. In her haste to save her reputation, she hadn’t considered the ripples she’d be causing in his.
He waved a careless hand in the air. “I’ll explain how it all happened next time we see each other at Boodle’s. You’ll have to buy me a glass of brandy, though. It’s quite a story.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief. Mr. Fairfax had saved her reputation.
“I expect nothing less than a fantastical tale from you,” Mr. Whitfield said with a chuckle. “Boodle’s, then.”
Charlotte winced and murmured, “I am so sorry.”
“For that twaddle?” He turned her away from the crowd and led her down the corridor toward the stairs. “If anything, you’ve not only guaranteed my re-admittance to Boodle’s, you even earned me a free glass of brandy while I’m at it. They’ll all have a great laugh over the time Anthony Fairfax was married for an entire minute.”
Anthony. Charlotte smiled wistfully. He had a lovely name.
Though she would never see him again, she, too, would look back on this moment with fondness. Not because it was a humorous episode, but because it had been oddly empowering. She’d had no doubt of their ability to fend off a simple drunkard, but convincing a passel of Londoners that a handsome gentleman like him could be married to a nobody like her… She was very, very far from home indeed.
It was magical.
She climbed the wooden stairs with a curve to her lips. The happy smile died when she caught sight of her chamber.
The door was ajar.
Her palms went cl
ammy. She gripped Mr. Fairfax’s arm. “Someone has been inside my chamber.”
“They may still be there.” He touched his fingers to her hand. “Stay here and don’t move until I ensure it’s safe. If you hear any scuffling… Scream.”
She stared back at him, frozen in place.
He disappeared inside.
She tried to calm her racing heart. Everything was going to be fine. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Imagine muscles relaxing in the neck, the shoulders, the forehead. Mr. Fairfax would be fine. She would be fine.
She stifled a scream when he burst back into view.
Alone.
“No one is inside.” He covered her hands with his own. “Do you feel safe in there? Would you like a different chamber?”
Did she feel safe? A bubble of hysterical laughter tangled in her throat. Had she ever truly felt safe?
“It’s fine,” she managed. She would bar the door and find a maid at first light. “I’m fine.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I can stay, if you like.”
Fear flashed through her and she shook her head wildly. Not at his offer—for a town gentleman, he seemed surprisingly trustworthy—but because if a few steps together in the corridor could raise that many eyebrows, him spending the night in her chamber could ruin what little respectability she possessed.
Yet the thought of being left alone was even worse. What if the thief returned to rob her? What if the blackguard wasn’t after her money or her jewels, but the unwilling company of a young woman with no one to call out to for help?
“Not inside,” Mr. Fairfax said quickly. “I am happy to guard your door from the corridor. You may set as many locks and chairs for barriers as you like. I shan’t allow passage to a single soul.”
“Y-you would sit in the corridor all night?” Her leaping heart slowed to a more sedate pace. She hoped his offer was sincere. She already felt safer at the thought of him guarding the threshold from the other side.
“Keeps me from the gaming tables,” he answered cheerfully and positioned himself against the wall facing her door.
Relief washed over her. She flashed a grateful smile. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”
A door creaked open down the hall.
“As my lady wishes.” Mr. Fairfax tipped his hat. “I did offer to spend the night doing your bidding. Playing hall boy is certainly less tiring than what I thought you might demand of me. I should be thanking you.”
“Shh,” she hissed as another door creaked open. “You never thought I was going to ask you for anything. Now mind your tongue. Someone might overhear you.”
“My tongue,” he mused in thoughtful agreement. “Ironic you should mention it. I’m reminded of a time when—”
“Who’s making all that ruckus?” a scratchy voice called out. “Some of us would like to sleep.”
Flames of embarrassment shot up Charlotte’s cheeks.
Another door swung open and a pale face in a mobcap peered out. “It’s Mr. Fairfax holding court in the corridor, by the look of it.”
“Holding court?” cackled a voice down the other end of the hall. “Better hope it’s with his wife. Had no idea that yellow-haired girl was a married woman. Fairfax ought to keep her close.”
“Fairfax ought to keep quiet, is what the rotter ought to keep!” bellowed a voice on the other side of the wall. “If that featherwit is still out there chattering to his wife by the time I put my robe on, I’ll—”
Charlotte grabbed Mr. Fairfax by the wrist, yanked him into her bedchamber, and slammed the door.
“As I was saying,” he began after the briefest pause. “One fine evening, after wagering on races along Rotten Row—”
“Do. Not.” She held up a shaking finger and prayed her blush would fade by sunup. Splendid. As long as the other guests believed her married to Mr. Fairfax, her reputation was better off with him on the inside of the chamber rather than raising suspicion on the outside. “Don’t move an inch until I’ve had a chance to look about the chamber to see if anything is missing.”
His teasing expression faded and his eyes turned serious. “How do you feel?”
“Exasperated,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Angry at me.” He leaned against the doorframe in obvious relief. “Excellent. For a moment there, you looked so pale and terrified that I was afraid to take your arm, for fear you’d shatter.” His eyes softened. “You had every right to be alarmed. But the intruder is gone. You are safe. No one will harm you while I guard the door.”
Her mouth fell open. He had made outrageous comments in the corridor to distract her? Her fingers slowly unclenched as she stared at him. It had worked, blast him. She had gone from shaking with panic to blushing in embarrassment—but she had entered her bedchamber of her own free will. Because she no longer feared it.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Although she did not approve of his methods, he had been good to intervene. Her mind had leaped from invasion of privacy to thwarted robbery to attempted rape of her person in a matter of moments.
All of those things were everyday threats to a woman of her station traveling alone. It was a relief that, for one night at least, she would not have to lie at the edge of sleep, attuned to every creak of the floorboard and every scratch at her window.
To her surprise, she was glad to have Mr. Fairfax with her. He made her feel safe. He made her feel less alone. He made her feel…worth protecting.
The last thing she wanted was for him to know the truth.
She turned away to peruse the chamber in search of damage. It looked the same. Nice, but old. Shabby, but clean. The wardrobe was open, but she might have left it that way. Perhaps nothing more had occurred than staff forgetting to lock the door after emptying chamber pots and refreshing the water pitcher.
Or Mr. Fairfax might have just saved her from a terrible night, indeed.
She gathered her skirts and the dregs of her serenity. Now that they were stuck here for the night, what was she meant to do with him? Her mother was the one skilled at entertaining gentlemen, not Charlotte. She had always done her best not to call untoward attention to herself.
And now she had a man in her bedchamber.
She swallowed. The last thing she wanted was for him to guess her base upbringing. She would simply have to do as she always did, and pretend to be someone else. Someone better than who she really was.
She motioned Mr. Fairfax into the room and settled into a wingback chair near the fireplace with a demure shawl about her shoulders. The role of poor-but-respectable-miss came so readily by now, it was easy to forget she was playacting. She had spent her entire life pretending to be someone she was not. A few more hours wouldn’t matter.
Mr. Fairfax strolled close to the fireplace and paused next to the grate. He tossed her an arch look before lifting a poker. “Shall I clean the chimney? Or does the lady prefer I stoke her fire?”
She pursed her lips, determined not to let on how much she secretly enjoyed the silly flirtation. Back in London, men didn’t bother. They assumed they could have her for a word and tuppence, and even when she rebuked them, they never quite comprehended that she was saving her virginity for something important.
If she wanted any chance at being respectable one day, at a minimum she needed to keep her maidenhead intact.
It hadn’t been easy. Not when her mother earned her living as a prostitute.
Twenty years ago, Judith Devon had been one of the most infamous courtesans in all of London. Now, she was simply…old. Forgotten. Lonely. Just like her daughter. For two-and-twenty years, the only person either of them could count on was each other. Proper ladies and gentlemen simply treated them like rubbish.
Society never let Charlotte forget her base roots. From the time she was old enough to toddle, gentlemen callers would toss an extra coin her way, and tell her how blessed she was to be the image of her beautiful mother.
It wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse.
The mere fifteen-year age gap between them meant, as Charlotte grew older, they were often confused on the street. Pointed at. Spit at. There was no denying her heritage. No salvaging her reputation. She was a by-blow. A whore’s daughter.
Born ruined.
All those long, wretched years, her one chance at some level of respectability was the knowledge that, somewhere out there, she had a father. All she knew about him was his name, that he was a noble laird in Scotland, and that he had no idea he had a daughter.
Her mother had told her he was a wonderful man. Kind, compassionate, wise, thoughtful, gentle—everything a father should be. He hadn’t abandoned her. He hadn’t even known she existed.
But what if she could find him? A man even half as caring and honorable as her mother had painted him would not hesitate to take her in, to welcome her. She didn’t want his money. She simply wanted his time. His affection. A place in this world.
As a child, Charlotte had lain awake every night dreaming about the day he would discover her and whisk her away to a better life, far from London. She and her mother both.
He never had. So here she was. Closer to her dream than she’d ever been. She just had to find him. Convince him she was respectable enough to take in.
Then she would persuade him to send for her mother, or at least provide for her. Every new client she was forced to take added lines to her face and took years from her life. Charlotte was determined to marry well and rescue her mother herself, if her father could not. But to do so, she had to portray herself as honorable and proper.
Starting with never admitting to the truth.
“That should do it.” Mr. Fairfax slid the fire iron back into its stand and turned from the grate. “What is my next chore?”
Charlotte gazed up at him, startled. “You truly wish to be my slave for the night?”
“Of course I don’t wish to,” he assured her. “But I wouldn’t want it said that I reneged on our wager. Now, what shall it be? I likely oughtn’t to divulge a secret, but I am world renowned for a quite unparalleled foot massage.”
She hid a smile. “If it’s a secret, how are you world renowned?”