The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lawrence was not sure if the choking sound came from his throat or hers.

  "Matthew! I can explain!" Juliet shrieked.

  "There's nothing to explain! I can see it all. You loathsome swine. Unhand her at once!"

  Lawrence felt a lurch of shock and fear. His mind screamed in agony. No, it couldn't be!

  "Is this how low you would stoop to get revenge upon me? To defile my own sister! Juliet, how long has this been going on under my nose! You bastard, you’re going to pay for this!"

  He grabbed Lawrence up from the bed by his hair and the scruff of his neck.

  Juliet screamed, "Matthew, no!"

  Fortunately their friends Philip Marshall and Blake Sanderson came tearing in, Michael Avenel not far behind to see what the commotion was.

  "Jesus, Matthew, get a hold of yourself," Philip said, putting his huge frame between the two large and livid men.

  Lawrence glared at the newly arrived trio. "Well, well, the Rakehells all together again," he sneered. "Thick as bloody thieves as always." He stopped and stared. "Michael Avenel, of all people. I had heard you were dead. Never thought to see you again anywhere other than Hell, more's the pity."

  Michael's ice blue eyes flicked over the huge naked man coolly. "Welcome back, Lawrence. I'd like to say India has improved your manners and sense, but ravishing Matthew's sister for revenge is pretty low even for you to stoop."

  "I'm not the one stooping low, allowing my own sister to prostitute herself!" he flung back.

  Juliet and Matthew both gasped.

  Juliet clutched the sheet she had hastily covered herself with to her bosom and slumped to the foot of the bed in shock.

  "Prostitute!" Matthew bellowed. "You have the gall to say that to me when the evidence of your ravishment is all too plain to see in the broad light of day?"

  He pointed at the center of the bed, at the blood-flecked sheets lit by the sunshine from the unshuttered windows. White-faced, he swayed.

  Blake caught him before he hit the floor, and handed him to Michael. "Get him down to the study and give him some brandy, now. I'll check Juliet. You, Philip, stay here. Help Mr. Howard get dressed. Then we're all going to have a nice little chat and see how this dire situation can be remedied."

  "Remedied?" Lawrence growled, oblivious to what Matthew had been pointing at because he never dared take his eyes from his enemies, not while he was stark naked.

  "I'll pay the tart and go. That's how things are done in every brothel. What the hell is there to discuss?"

  Juliet was now weeping silently into her sheet, unconscious of the fact that only her bosom was covered. All three men could plainly see the bloodied sheets, her reddened thighs.

  At their prolonged silence and stares, Lawrence at last looked down at himself, completely nonplussed. No, surely not. It was a harlot's trick, or her monthly courses. There was no possible way the most talked about Ladybird in London could be a virgin!

  Philip could see him gaping, and his mind racing.

  "Blake, can you please hand me Lawrence's clothes? We shall leave you alone to examine Juliet."

  A petite blond woman clad in a riding habit now came into the room, head down as she tugged on her gloves. "My, little Juliet, you're lying in bed late for once. We're all waiting for you to come out to the stables as we arranged, and here you are-- God in Heaven!" she exclaimed, staring at the naked man in her sister-in-law's room.

  She covered her dusky blue eyes for a brief second, then peeped through her fingers at the awesome sight. He was huge in every sense of the word, muscles rippling as he bristled with fury, and still rampantly aroused despite their tryst having been interrupted.

  Althea's mind raced. Where on earth had Juliet met him? And how had the timid bluestocking had the nerve to be thus with him right here under her brother's roof?

  Philip made the introductions with some aplomb. "Matthew's wife Althea. Lawrence Howard, former Rakehell and now tea planter, newly back from India."

  "Wha- Who, how?"

  Philip smiled slightly. "That, my dear, is what we're trying to ascertain. You'd better go to Matthew in the study. I'm afraid he saw the, er, damage done and he fainted."

  She took one look at the bloodied sheets and tore out of the room as if the hounds of hell were after her, leaving Lawrence feeling as though he had entered Bedlam.

  Just what the hell was going on here? And why did he have an increasing conviction that he was in trouble no matter what he said?

  And the even worse sensation that he had just lost everything that had ever mattered to him in his life?

  The sight of Juliet's slender shoulders quaking as she wept was more than he could stand.

  Wept? Or was she laughing in triumph that her little ruse had worked?

  He could see her damp cheeks, heard Blake trying to soothe her, but this only made him more livid. Lividly jealous. Three men charging into her bedroom-- He had been right all along, for all she was pretending to virtue.

  Philip held out his hand to him mildly. "Come, into the bathroom with me. Let's get you cleaned up and dressed."

  He went into the well-appointed white and gold tiled bathroom and ran the water in the tub, putting in some citrus oil and then gathering some towels. "Go on, get in, have a soak."

  He rifled in the cabinet under the basin, and found some shave cream and a straight razor, which he stropped carefully as his former friend soaked.

  "Well, I must say, I had heard you were in London on some great new business enterprise and cutting a swathe through the Town trollops, but I never imagined in a million years you were going to turn up here. How could you? I mean, apart from the fact that you're supposed to be getting married soon and Matilda will have your guts."

  Philip sat on the counter, his body in front of the door in case Lawrence should try to make a dash for it. He looked at ease, but Lawrence remembered him of old. He never started a fight, but he always finished one, and never lost. It would not be wise to take Philip on, even if he were feeling spry, which he most certainly was not. He felt as though he had been knocked flat on his back and had the stuffing kicked out of him.

  "Come now, you look like a sophisticate. What is there to understand? I'm supposed to be getting married today. It was my last hurrah. My stag night. Matthew Sampson was supposed to have organised everything for me. The mystery lady who is said to be the most sought-after courtesan in London."

  Philip's brows shot up but he remained silent.

  "He gave me the address, was supposed to meet me here. I left the club, a bit squiffy admittedly, but not completely flummoxed, and headed to the docks for a moment to check on things. So I knew I was running a bit late. I got here, was told by Juliet that I had missed Matthew, but she was glad to receive me. We talked, and everything else just followed on from there."

  "Matthew Sampson gave you the address, you say?" Philip asked quietly, a couple of awful suspicions starting to gnaw at him.

  "Yes, of course. As I said, Matt Sampson came on ahead to arrange for everything. I was just supposed to come for an hour, then go home to get ready for my wedding, finish packing for our honeymoon, and get to St. Mary's for half-ten for the eleven o'clock ceremony."

  "What address did Sampson give you?"

  "What?" he asked impatiently, slapping the washing flannel against his back.

  "Tell me the address," Philip repeated patiently.

  "Why, 17 Tavistock Crescent, of course."

  Philip's mouth dropped open, and he put his hand to his forehead and groaned.

  "What? What is it? What did I say?"

  "But my dear chap, don't you see, this isn't Tavistock Crescent. It's Tavistock Square. Lawrence, you came to the wrong house."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "But my dear chap, don't you see, this isn't Tavistock Crescent. It's Tavistock Square. Lawrence, you came to the wrong house," Philip said with a sigh and shake of his head.

  Lawrence gaped, completely winded. "No,
it can't be. It's not possible."

  Philip sighed. "It all makes sense. You came to the house and asked for Matthew, didn't you."

  He shifted uneasily in the tub. "Yes, but—"

  "You were referring to Matthew Sampson. But Juliet must have assumed that you were a friend of her brother Matthew, and made you welcome. She must have thought you got your times mixed up, that you were going to the Rakehell club dinner with us. It's why we're here in the house together, all of us. Dinner last night, and riding this morning with Juliet and Althea. Althea has been working at Blake's clinic, and Juliet's sister Miranda is staying with her aunt at the moment, which is how Juliet came to be alone last evening.

  "I am sure you remember their aunt, the redoubtable Lady Pemberton. She is most certainly going to rake you over the coals if she ever finds out. My dear chap, seducing Juliet is the equivalent of social suicide. Lady Pemberton will ruin you! What the hell could you have been thinking?"

  Lawrence scowled. "I don't take kindly to threats. I've come back from India to make myself the king of tea in this country. No one and nothing is going to stop me! Not Matthew Dane, not Lady Pemberton nor the Rakehells, do you hear me?" he said furiously, finishing in the bathtub with a few hasty swipes and snatching up a towel to dry himself.

  Philip sighed. "I'm not threatening you, merely stating facts. You seduced an innocent eighteen year old with excellent family connections. What do you think is going to happen to you?"

  "Innocent?" Lawrence snorted in derision. "That girl would put Nell Gwynn to shame! And the fact that all four of you are in this house together shows this is a house of ill repute. You've tried to trick me in some way. I'm not even back in London two months and I meet up with you all, all friends, commiserating over a supposed virgin sister of Matthew's? I never even knew Matthew had any sister."

  "Two sisters, Juliet and Miranda in fact, but that is by the by. You can search every single room in this house, talk to the servants if you don't believe me. This is no brothel. I give you my word."

  "Forgive me if I say your word isn't worth much if you're consorting with Matthew Dane."

  Philip shook his head. "Please, we're going to have to go out there and face Matthew as soon as you're dressed. I would just as soon not see him re-decorate one of the London parks with your brains."

  Lawrence scowled.

  "As a gentleman he has no choice in the matter. He will fight and most likely kill you, no matter if you choose swords or pistols. He shall have to duel you for the honour of his sister unless you can stop challenging him and come to some sort of logical accommodation."

  "What, marry that trollop, you mean? No! Out of the question. I would rather be dead!" he barked, so furious he could scarcely recall having asked her to become engaged to him.

  "You don't mean that!"

  Lawrence's mouth was a thin line of obstinacy. "Matthew has had his own way for far too long. He thought to ruin me once before. He's never going to get the chance again. What is Juliet supposed to be, a spy or something, to relay whispered bed secrets about my business to you all?"

  Philip held up his hand in protest. "Lawrence, you're being absurd. Why will you not believe me? You made a mistake! Be man enough to admit it. I'll go around with you myself right now to 17 Tavistock Crescent and prove it to you. No one here has tried to trick or trap you. I know Blake and I are friends with Matthew and Michael. But do you really think any of us would be party to the ruining of an innocent girl like Juliet?"

  Lawrence shook his head. "I don't believe you. It's all lie. If she was a virgin, I'm the Queen of the May."

  Philip rolled his eyes in exasperation as Lawrence tried to shave himself, his hands shaking so badly he nearly cut his own throat.

  "But Lawrence, you saw her for yourself with your own eyes. Felt it, surely. Unless of course you've never have bedded one before, in which case you can be forgiven for thinking it might be a monthly.

  "But that can easily be discerned in the next couple of days, if her linens remain unmarked. I'm telling you, Juliet is as pure as the driven snow. You and Matthew are going to have to discuss what to do about her future and yours."

  "What future? I'm supposed to be marrying Matilda at eleven!"

  Philip looked at him appraisingly for a moment, as if making up his mind. At last he said, "Forgive me, old chap, but you're not married yet. You've just ruined a genteel girl. Did you even use protectors?"

  He sighed. "No, damn it, no I didn't."

  "Superb. So now we not only have to worry about disease but--"

  Lawrence scowled blackly. "I've always been careful! Disease will be no cause for concern. I give you my word as a gentleman."

  Philip waved the remark away dismissively. "I might be inclined to believe you, but Matthew will not. Well, we shall just have to have Blake keep an eye out--"

  Lawrence's ire bubbled over. "I swear, I've never lost control like this before. I'm not in the habit of leaving a string of bastards in my wake either."

  Philip stilled. "But you do admit to the possibility?"

  He nodded curtly. "Yes, yes, I do."

  "Well, I think you can see where you duty lies."

  Lawrence's eyes flew wide. "Impossible! What the hell do I tell Matilda?"

  Philip shrugged as if the matter were of little consequence. He knew Matilda of old--she had been Matthew's mistress long enough, and had put him through hell on earth. Matthew was well rid of her, and Lawrence would be too.

  How he had been so deceived by Matilda in the first place as to have got engaged, he had no idea. She must have been practically spreading her legs for him on the dock as he came into port....

  Philip watched Lawrence continue to try to shave, but after him nicking himself a third time, he sighed. "Here, let me. I promise not to slit your throat. And if I don't do it, you will."

  Lawrence relinquished the razor with a harrumph, and sat on the counter now, while Philip stood and shaved him with smooth strokes.

  "I know Matilda would be, er, disappointed, but really, the worst thing that happens is you pay a fine for breach of promise. You can jolly well afford it, can't you? If all I hear about tea traders is true, you must be minting it. And if you're strapped for any reason, I'll gladly give you the money. Anything to stop Juliet from being ruined."

  "You would do that for a girl you hardly know?" he said suspiciously.

  "Now wait a minute! I'm happily married to a lovely wife, Jasmine, and support a clinic for fallen women here in London. I help any person on the game who comes to me. I'm hardly going to turn my back on my friend's innocent sister after she's been seduced by a scoundrel," he said, throwing a towel into his face for him to wipe off the rest of the shaving soap.

  Lawrence glared at him.

  "Well, not scoundrel, but certainly a very misguided and angry man."

  "And Blake and Michael? What are they to her?" Lawrence said nastily.

  Philip managed to remain calm in the face of his furious suppositions. "They're both married as well, if that's what you're asking me. Happily so, to most excellent wives. If you will forgive my saying, none of us ever expected to get married. Our wives burst into our lives one day, Blake's in a carriage accident and Michael's in a huge storm, and mine because I never knew the woman I had been toying with had a twin until I bedded her. And wed her, and have never had a moment's regret since, except about the selfish life I led swiving like a sailor until I married her."

  Lawrence heard this with a jolt, for it had been exactly the way he'd been feeling when he'd been with Juliet. As if he wanted to reform his life and--

  Philip saw his bleak expression, and decided to force Lawrence's hand. "Time is pressing on. If you're to go explain to Matilda that the wedding is off, you need to do it soon."

  "And why would I do that?" Lawrence snapped.

  "Because you know the consequences if you don't. And because I suspect you don't really want to marry Matilda, now do you."

  Lawrence lapsed into silence. At
length he said, "She'll tear me to pieces."

  "I don't think so," Philip said, thinking rapidly. If Matthew were to go with Lawrence... Or Matthew went himself. Otherwise they would never be rid of the odious woman.

  "Matthew and Blake can take care of your problem, if you'll come around to Tavistock Crescent with me to prove we've not tricked you."

  Lawrence finished mopping his face free of shaving soap and glared at his former friend. "Even if it was an honest mistake, how can I ever trust any of you!"

  "The past is over, forgotten! Let it go!"

  "I can't! I lost everything--"