Edith Layton

by The Devils Bargain

  Yet it was not. Because the more aware Alasdair became, the more he hurt. He actually felt pain. That had never happened before. And this time he felt coverings on his body. So though they were at the stage of gathering round him, watching him closely, excited by their victory, this time perhaps he could wake before it began. He struggled to open his eyes. Now he was determined to see who his tormentors were.

  “I think he’s stirring,” a male voice said, and Alasdair felt a cool hand on his shoulder.

  He didn’t even have to try, it simply happened. He felt the hand on his body and his own fist clenched, he lurched up with a snarl and swung with all his might. He connected with someone’s jaw and felt a wild surge of delight as the man cried out and tumbled away, falling with a crash, somewhere out of his sight. Then he sank back, exhausted, but exhilarated. Until he heard the man speak.

  “Jesus!” Leigh said, picking himself up off the floor. “What the devil did you give him?”

  “Laudanum,” another man said in a worried voice. “Brandy when he woke the first time. Laudanum, the second. This has never happened before. I hope we won’t have to restrain him.”

  No restraints! Alasdair tried to shout, struggling to wake. He managed to pry open an eye. His eye burned, his vision wavered, but he recognized Leigh standing, looking down at him.

  “No restraints,” Alasdair croaked. “I won’t do it again. Leigh? That is you? I’m not dreaming?”

  “Want me to punch you to be sure?” Leigh said sourly. “No, you’re not dreaming. I wish I was, though.” He touched his jaw, flexed it, and winced. “Gads, that’s lucky, it still works. I thought you’d broken it. You can stop fighting. You’re safe, old man. In your own bed, with a physician in attendance. You were set upon in the street. The Watch came running and startled them off. Well, startled one of them off. You polished off the other.”

  “Who were they?” Alasdair asked, clinging to consciousness.

  “We’ll find out. You rest now.”

  “What happened to me?” Alasdair demanded, because the light was fading, and he had to know if he would wake again.

  Leigh understood. “You’ll be all right. You had a blow to the head and a knife between your ribs. But the knife missed your vitals and your head is hard. Rest, sleep, let us do the work.”

  Vastly relieved, Alasdair nodded, and the pain of doing it sent him spiraling into the dark again.

  “It’s absurd!” Kate muttered as she paced around her room.

  Sibyl watched, wide-eyed, from a chair in her cousin’s bedchamber. Kate was throwing a fit. Not the sort of fit Sibyl was used to seeing, because Kate didn’t shout, screech, or threaten, as Sibyl’s sisters did when they were thwarted. But she was very angry and talking recklessly, not at all her usual, calm self.

  “The man is hurt,” Kate said. “He’s sick. Lord, for all we know he could be dying! It happened two days ago, after all. He was supposed to go to the opera with me tonight, but of course he can’t. I’ve gotten a note with his regrets—and it’s not even written by him! What am I to think?”

  She took another agitated turn round her bedchamber. “And I’m not allowed to go visit him? Why, if I was home, and he was a neighbor, I’d have been on his doorstep with a pot of soup two hours ago. And asking if I could help with anything else, too.”

  “But we’re not in the country, and he’s not a neighbor,” Sibyl said. “Mama says it’s a pity, but you can’t visit yet, because if he’s in bed, you certainly can’t see him.”

  Kate glowered at Sibyl. “He can’t debauch anyone; he’s in bed because he’s sick,” she said through clenched teeth. “We are speaking of the milk of human kindness here.”

  “No, we’re speaking of one of England’s most notorious bachelors. And you’re not the only one whose nose is out of joint, Harriet and Frances wanted to go with you. Because they think he might have some bachelor friends visiting him, too,” Sibyl added fairly. “But Mama’s right, Kate. If you go to his house, it will make things look more intimate between you two. If you were a married lady, it would be one thing. You could go anywhere. If your mother were here, you could visit with her. But my mother doesn’t know him well enough to call on him, and you can’t. You’re a single female, Kate. It’s just not done unless you’re married or betrothed. So if you did go, at the very least it will seem as though you two have an understanding.”

  “We do!” Kate said. “It’s just not the kind your mama means. You know that, if she doesn’t. I’ve agreed to help him, and I’d think it would make him look even more respectable if I visited him now,” she added in a burst of enthusiasm.

  Sibyl gave her a long level look. Kate had the grace to look away.

  “All right then, maybe not,” Kate admitted with a trace of embarrassment. “But I have to know what’s happened to him. All I heard is that he was set upon by robbers and left for dead!” She shivered. “I thought it was all country talk, but London must be a very dangerous place if a man like Sir Alasdair is set upon and almost killed. And in one of the finest districts, too! I can’t sit back and wait patiently. I want to know.” She paced another step, then turned. “And I shall,” she said with determination.

  “Your reputation will be ruined,” Sibyl said. “And it will reflect on us. Mama will kill you, if my sisters don’t do it for her.”

  “She won’t. My reputation will be preserved and so will yours. I’ll go in disguise.”

  Sibyl clapped her hands together. “As a boy!” she cried.

  Kate gave her a look of disgust. “You really do have to stop reading so many gothic novels. Do I look like a boy? Can I walk like one, talk like one, behave like one? No. I’m not an actress.” She was diverted for a moment. “You know? Every time I see a Shakespearean play I wonder that the audience doesn’t giggle when they see Twelfth Night or any play where a boy acts like a girl pretending to be a boy. I mean, in his time all the female roles were played by men and boys, so a boy pretending to be a girl who was pretending to be a boy was probably convincing, and why not? He was actually just playing himself. But now it just seems foolish…You know what I mean,” she said peevishly, because Sibyl was starting to grin.

  Kate marched over to her wardrobe. She flung its doors open. “I’ll go as myself, but no one will notice. I still have clothing I wore at home. I think I packed everything I owned, even though I haven’t used any of it because your mama wouldn’t allow it. Just as well. I’m not interested in fashion now. I have good, decent gowns, for a good decent countrywoman,” she said as her head disappeared into the wardrobe. She rummaged through her gowns.

  “Aha!” she said triumphantly, drawing out a plain muslin round gown. She held it up for Sibyl to see. “This. And my old walking boots, the ones for rainy days. Still serviceable, and absolutely unfashionable. I think your mama would swoon if she saw them. But she won’t. Because who looks at country girls fresh off the farm? I’ll wear a kerchief, too, and walk with my head down. There’s not a soul in the street who’ll look at me. Even the servants won’t, because they consider themselves of a higher class. And the upper classes don’t look at servants, do they? So, safe all round. And so I shall see him, so there!”

  “I’ll come, too!” Sibyl cried, carried away by the idea.

  “That you will not,” Kate said as she drew her gown over her head. “Then your mama would kill me and you. In the remote chance that anyone notices, that is,” she hastily added. “No, I’ll go alone.”

  “You can’t. It isn’t done!” Sibyl protested. “At least take a maid with you!”

  “No,” Kate said, tossing her fashionable gown aside and dropping the other one over her head. “I can’t take anyone, and I don’t need to. Servants talk. Anyway, servants don’t take maids with them.”

  “It’s dangerous,” Sibyl wailed.

  “Not at all. I’ll go and be home in time for dinner and no one will be the wiser.”

  “You yourself said London was dangerous.”

  “Yes. For
someone who looks rich. Come, do I look rich?”

  Sibyl privately admitted Kate didn’t look rich, in fact she looked as though she might be seeking work. Her gown was indeed an old one, not threadbare, but its tiny pink floral pattern had turned almost white from repeated washings. It didn’t have a style or a flounce, and was so thin the only shape it had was Kate’s own. Which was rather spectacular, Sibyl thought with a trace of wistful envy. With Kate’s mop of curls, appealing face, and charming figure, ill dressed as she was, she didn’t look slovenly; instead she looked quaint, adorably so.

  “You’ll be accosted then,” Sibyl said. “You can’t just defy Society’s rules.”

  “Oh, can’t I?” Kate asked, her hands on her hips. “Well, I have done, if you’ll recall, and you encouraged me to do it, too. And last time I did, it was actually more outrageously daring, and I wasn’t accosted, was I? I didn’t even know Sir Alasdair then, but I stole into a room and interrupted a lady when she tried to trap him, didn’t I? I routed her, but I could just as easily have disgraced myself if he’d a mind to have her. Or me! And after that I was alone in the room with him. It was at night, too, he didn’t know me, and he wasn’t wounded then.”

  “You don’t know how wounded he is now,” Sibyl argued.

  “Exactly,” Kate retorted. “That’s why I have to go see. Last time I saved him. This time I’m saving myself from my conscience.”

  “Your curiosity,” Sibyl corrected her.

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Why not just ask someone who has seen him? I know! Send a note to Leigh!”

  “Alasdair may be at death’s door,” Kate said, picking up a kerchief and folding it in half. “What sort of friend would I be to sit back and wait for someone to tell me what’s going on? If I were set upon, maybe left dying, and he didn’t know, he’d call on me, wouldn’t he? He’d want to know firsthand what happened to me. Fie on Society if it believes women are any less true to their friends than men are! He is a friend. I won’t sit and wait when my heart tells me to go.”

  She faced Sibyl. “What’s the worst that can happen? My reputation will be hurt? I’ll be sent home? Much I care. My parents will understand, and I’m going home soon anyhow. No, the worst thing that can happen will be if he die…”

  Kate’s face blanched at what she’d almost said. She swallowed hard, put the kerchief on her head, drew it in a knot under her chin, raised that chin, and said, “I’m going.”

  Kate knew the way to Sir Alasdair’s house because Sibyl finally told her—after Kate threatened to ask a passerby for directions if she didn’t. Kate stole from the Swanson house, crept down the street in the shadows of the other houses, then once she’d turned a corner, marched briskly forward. She didn’t slow until she’d gone three streets, when the exhilaration for her own daring wore off and she realized she was alone in London, for the first, and hopefully last, time in her life. Because now she was a little worried about being discovered.

  It was a calm bright day, a little before breakfast, not yet time to pay morning visits. Even so, the streets were busy. Most of the wealthy people who lived in this district might still be indoors, preparing to step out to dazzle the world with their elegance. But that didn’t mean that their needs weren’t being served. Servants bustled about their errands. Strolling peddlers cried their wares, shouting about their fresh meats, fish, fruits, and vegetables, offering to grind scissors, mend pots, or offer other services to the housekeepers and butlers who ran their prosperous masters’ homes.

  Kate walked quickly. She kept her head down, more so when she noticed the looks she was getting. It seemed to her that those who saw her sneered at her. One thing was sure. She didn’t see any servants dressed as badly as she was. Even the peddlers had a certain raffish style she lacked. She definitely looked as out of place as she was.

  Only four more streets to go, she thought, and plunged on. But her pace slowed again. Now that she was almost there, she was getting nervous, and not just about being found out. Would he think she was rash, impetuous—worse, presumptuous? Would he be in any condition to think at all? The thought horrified her.

  She remembered the queer feeling she’d gotten in her stomach when she’d seen his bruised knuckles. But this! It was almost impossible to think of that strong, commanding man beaten into submission. That smiling mouth, the memory of which kept her stirring restlessly in her bed, broken by a fist? Those intense dark eyes, always brimming with humor and hidden fires—puffed and blackened? The strong bones in his face broken—or worse?

  It was almost criminal even to entertain the notion of how Alasdair might have been damaged. Kate had tried not to for the last two days. But he might have been, that was why she was heading toward his house. Still, much as she wanted to see him, just thinking about his injuries made her steps falter.

  “Oh, my dear child!” a soft voice said. “Are you lost? In any distress? May I help?”

  Kate’s head snapped up. She froze. The woman who had spoken was so well dressed in the latest stare of fashion that Kate had to stop and think if they’d met before at any of the elegant affairs she’d been taken to. But she couldn’t place that lovely face and was sure she’d have remembered had she even glimpsed it before. The woman was raven-haired, slender, of middle years, but still attractive, dressed in lavender to match her remarkable eyes. Her maid stood a pace behind her, watching Kate suspiciously.

  “Oh. No, thank you, ma’am…missus,” Kate stammered, remembering her role just in time. “Just gettin’ my wind, mum. I been walking a ways. But thankee for asking.”

  “Have you lost your way?” the woman asked. “I shouldn’t wonder if you have. London’s vast and very confusing, is it not? Lud! I can remember when I first arrived here, indeed I shall never forget. It was nothing like my country home. I suspect it’s the same for you. You are from the countryside? Perhaps I can help you?”

  Kate ducked her head, ashamed of her imposture, embarrassed because she’d troubled this kind lady, terrified that the kind lady might know her. “No, mum,” she blurted, casting her gaze down, “I know where I’m bound.”

  “But you may have gone astray,” the lady persisted. “Where are you bound, my dear?”

  Kate was sure that if she said she was going to the Swanson house, that’s where she’d be led. If the servants saw her, how could she explain her way out of that? Even if she managed to sneak back in the house, if she went there she might jog something in the lady’s memory and be discovered for who she was. But she could scarcely pick up her skirts and run for it. She was almost at her destination, the lady would know that, so there was nothing for it but the truth. The truth—a wobbly little bow, a hurried “thank you”—and then she could be off again, with no one the wiser, she hoped.

  “Sir Alasdair St. Erth’s house, my lady,” Kate said quickly. She ducked into a bow—and stopped short before she could move on. Because the lady was laughing merrily.

  “I thought I was on to something, but I’ve come with too little too late. St. Erth, is it? Gawd love the rascal!” The lady laughed. “He could be on his deathbed—as I heard he was—and still be looking for a tasty morsel between the sheets. What a stallion—just as I always heard. I wished I’d believed all the stories, I could have sent him a rare bouquet to help him recover—or plant him under, but at least with a smile on his face. Who sent you?” she asked Kate. “Madame Birch? She deals in the country trade. Some men like them rosy-cheeked—top and bottom.”

  The lady’s maid laughed with her this time.

  “But I’d think a fellow who wasn’t feeling up to par wouldn’t have the energy to break in a virgin…” the woman said thoughtfully. “Or are you not what you seem? Then was it Madame Johnston who sent you to him? Depend on it,” she told her maid. “That old horror has all the actresses. A great mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “Trust me, I’d never have sent him a piece like this one. A fellow on a sickbed don’t need games, he needs a game bit of muslin who can
get the deed done even if he can’t move a muscle—a lass with ways to move at least one. Aye, a piece who can do it neat, slick and quick, by word or mouth, hook or crook, or handily.” She grinned at her maid’s fit of giggles.

  “Now, me,” the woman in lavender went on, “I’d have sent Violet—or Tansy, those two know more tricks than an organ grinder’s monkey—and can they grind organs!” She laughed along with her maid. “Come, who was it?” she asked Kate, sobering. “I like to know my competition.”

  Kate could only stand gaping at the lady, who she now realized was no lady, but a bawd. But bawds were all fat, and old…at least the caricatures of them she’d seen had shown them like that.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Kate’s flaming cheeks.

  “She don’t know what you’re saying,” her maid murmured.

  “Indeed?” the woman mused, watching Kate. “Then just why are you going to St. Erth’s, girl?”

  Kate had heard that London bawds accosted girls from the countryside, luring or even kidnapping them to force them into a life of sin. She’d always thought that was a fiction to keep wayward girls at home. Now she felt her bones turning to ice. Too late to bolt and run. Besides, that would cause a commotion.

  “I am…I was…” Kate thought fast, looking up, trying to look dumb as a clod of soil. Which gave her an inspiration. “Begging your pardon, mum,” she said, “but I were sent to help with his garden. Aye! See, I come to town with the others when our mistress, Miss Prine,” she invented quickly, remembering the starchiest old lady she’d met in London, “needed extra help with her garden here. I’ve a fair hand with flowers and such, and when my mistress she heard Sir St. Erth was sick, she sent them that works for her to help where they could. Jem, he went to the stables this morning early,” she said, praying Alasdair kept a stable, “Lizzie to the kitchens, and I were sent to help with the garden.” She hung her head again.