by Lucy Ashford
The realisation of what he was suggesting hit Rosalie like a hammer blow. The brush of his hand across her delicate cheek scorched her. ‘You wouldn’t. You can’t …’
‘I really cannot think of a more enjoyable way of bargaining,’ he said softly. ‘Can you?’
Her world spun. All she could feel were his hands, splayed across her back, his fingertips firm and warm through her clothing. All she could see, when she jerked her head up, was his hard face, lit with an emotion she could not name as he drew her relentlessly into his arms.
His dark eyes raked her. ‘I think the price of your freedom, Athena,’ he breathed, ‘should be—this.’ He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She meant to resist. She had no intention of letting him do this. But as he clasped her close, heat uncoiled from deep within and flooded her veins, awakening each and every pleasure point in her body. This time there was no gentleness whatsoever in his touch, but his mouth was wildly sensual as he took hard possession, parting her lips with ruthlessness. His tongue was thrusting, at the same time caressing; she felt her legs giving way, felt herself longing to surrender to more, much more, as he hauled her against him and she felt the lean length of his muscular body, felt the hard intrusion of his arousal pressing against her abdomen.
Her breasts were peaking painfully, demanding his touch; between her thighs was liquid longing. His kiss was slow, erotic and powerful, tasting faintly of brandy and the very essence of male domination. She’d thought she hated men and their ways. Yet she was powerless to resist this one.
Linette. Her sister’s name tore through her. With all her strength she thrust him away. ‘You are—you are vile to treat me in this way!’
He stepped back, his hard face bleached of every emotion. ‘I thought it was maybe what you wanted. You are, it strikes me, a deceptive and muddle-headed young woman, Mrs Rowland. This gossip sheet you write for—if anything at all should appear in it about Two Crows Castle, then I warn you, I’ll take strong action. Because there are people who depend on me and I won’t let them suffer for the sake of your cheap scandal-raking, do you understand?’
Just then there was a knock on the door, which opened to reveal Eyepatch. Rosalie found herself shuddering at the scornful look he cast her way. He said, ‘A word, Captain?’
Alec joined him in the doorway, bending his dark head to the other’s in a brief exchange. Eyepatch left and Alec Stewart came back in, slowly.
Alec had to admit that this woman—Rosalie—confounded him at every turn. What was she? Who was she? A whore at the Temple of Beauty, who knew rather a lot about art? A pretty little widow and a digger-up of scandals, who had no idea of the effect she had on men?
And now Garrett brought still more news about his treacherous captive. Alec folded his arms and gazed down at her. ‘Well, Mrs Rowland, investigative reporter amongst other things, it seems you’ve got certain obligations that you’ve neglected in order to come on your little jaunt this morning.’ He pointed to the open door. ‘You’d better be on your way.’
Obligations? What …? She glared up at him. ‘You mean I’m free to go?’
‘We made a bargain, remember?’ He shrugged. ‘That kiss was payment for your freedom. I’ve no desire to hold you captive.’
‘You already have!’ she flared. ‘I’ve been here against my will for at least an hour! I could press charges on you.’
‘That’s a novel idea.’ His dark eyes gleamed. ‘Though I would, of course, be forced to press charges in return. Of robbery, perhaps.’
‘I—impossible!’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Think about it, Mrs Rowland. It would be more than easy for me to say there are valuables missing from this place. After all …’ he looked at his pocket watch coolly ‘… you’ve been here for quite a while on your own.’
‘But I’ve been locked in a bare room!’
Again he shrugged those wide, powerful shoulders. ‘Your word against mine. And I could produce plenty of witnesses who’d remember you from the Temple of Beauty. Do you really think you’d be taken seriously at the magistrates’ court?’
She tilted her stubborn chin. ‘Would you be taken seriously, Captain Stewart?’
‘I’m a war hero,’ he responded tonelessly. ‘Though it means little in financial terms, my word would carry more weight than that of a courtesan who writes for a gossip rag.’
He saw the colour stinging her creamy cheeks. Saw her fighting to find words of resistance and failing.
He was almost disappointed. Almost felt his heart softening for the defiant little widow. But he clamped down hard on any errant feeling like pity. His face as stone, he went to open the door and pointed the way. ‘As I was saying, you’ve clearly been missed. There are three people outside, looking for you. Including—’ his eyes narrowed ‘—your daughter.’
Chapter Eight
Katy was outside, clinging to Biddy. As soon as she saw Rosalie, she reached out to her. ‘Mama? I want Mama …’
‘Oh, darling …’ Rosalie hurried to hold her tight in her arms. Alec Stewart was looking at them both, sharply, knowingly. Naturally, Rosalie thought with scorn, that devil of a man had assumed Katy was hers. Well, let him. She realised Matt was there, too, looking rather warily at Captain Stewart and his crew.
‘Biddy. Matt,’ she said quickly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Miss Helen sent me after you, miss, and told me to bring Matt, too. She was really cross when she realised you’d not taken him, like you’d said.’ Biddy glanced wide-eyed at the formidable figure of Alec Stewart, who had gone to say something to one of his men. ‘She told me,’ went on Biddy, ‘to say you must come home, because you ought not to be on these streets alone! I brought little Katy, too, ‘cos she was missing you bad, weren’t you, chick?’
Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, seemed quite happy now, and in fact had wriggled round to stare at Alec, who was strolling back towards them. She was clearly intrigued by the gleaming gold curb-chain of his pocket watch and her little fingers reached out to it.
‘Katy, don’t!’ Rosalie backed away with her quickly. She feared that he would use this as an opportunity to castigate her still further. Accuse her of rearing a future child-thief, perhaps.
But Alec had forestalled her. He pulled out his gold watch so Katy could see it. ‘This is all it is, sweetheart,’ he told the infant softly. ‘Something to remind me that I’m a busy man and I should have been somewhere else half an hour ago at least.’
‘Tick-tock.’ Katy looked up at him with her wide, dark-lashed green eyes. ‘Tick-tock man.’ She reached out to touch it, then gurgled in merriment.
Rosalie saw Alec’s mouth curl into a brief but devastating smile as he patted Katy’s chubby fist and put his watch away. Her heart jumped. So handsome. So beguiling. So false. As if to prove her point, he turned to Rosalie and the smile was quite gone. ‘It appears to me that your duties lie elsewhere, Mrs Rowland. I warn you—and I assure you I mean it—that there’ll be no writing about me or Two Crows Castle. My men will escort you and your companions as far as the hackney stand on Bishopsgate.’
Matt O’Brien was still watching him almost with awe; much use he was in protecting her from Captain Stewart, Rosalie thought in despair. Her chin lifted an inch. ‘We will make our own way, thank you!’
‘You won’t,’ he broke in icily. ‘I want you well clear of this place.’ He swung round and raised his voice. ‘Sergeant McGrath!’ The villainous-looking Scotsman with red hair came up. ‘Find Mrs Rowland and her companions a hackney cab, will you? And make damned sure they get into it.’ Without a further glance at her, he turned and strode off while McGrath led the way along Crispin Street, with Matt O’Brien at his side, eagerly asking questions.
‘I hear your Captain fought like the very devil against the French at Waterloo,’ Matt was saying to McGrath.
You traitor, Matt. Rosalie, holding Katy tight, walked furiously behind, with Biddy chattering away beside her. And she hers
elf was a fool. Today, as Ro Rowland, roving reporter, she’d blundered straight into that man’s stronghold. Twice now she had let him kiss her. She’d twice melted in his strong arms, and, even worse, had wanted more. She shivered at the memory of that powerful body, moulded hard against hers; dear Lord, she had not even tried to resist him!
Her cheeks burned at the recollection of her astonishing stupidity. If Alec Stewart truly was Linette’s seducer—how on earth was she going to tackle him now?
McGrath beckoned a hackney, spoke to the driver, then strolled off. Biddy’s brother said he’d walk, since his next job of work was close by in Fenchurch Street. So just Biddy, Rosalie and Katy got into the cab.
‘Where to, miss?’ asked the cab driver.
‘Clerkenwell. St John’s Church,’ she answered distractedly, fumbling for her purse.
‘No need for that,’ said the cabbie. ‘Your fare’s bin paid.’
‘No! I won’t allow it!’ she exploded with renewed fury. Captain Stewart must have given the necessary coins to McGrath. How dare he …?
‘Suit yerself,’ shrugged the cabbie. ‘Pay me twice over if you wants to throw your money away.’
Rosalie slumped inside the carriage. Biddy was excited by the novelty of the trip and pointed the sights out to Katy through the window. ‘There’s St Paul’s, Katy, see? And there’s the Smithfield market …’
But Rosalie could see nothing except Alec Stewart’s hard, mocking face. She remembered his mouth and how it had branded her with the kind of kiss she hadn’t even known existed.
* * *
Katy had become fretful by the time they reached Clerkenwell. As they climbed out, the clock of the nearby church was chiming one, and Katy, in Rosalie’s arms, was crooning softly to herself, ‘Tick-tock man. Tick-tock man.’
Thus Rosalie would always remember the exact time that she realised what her enemy was capable of. Would always remember, as she held little Katy tight, the moment when Biddy cried out, ‘Lord have mercy, what on earth’s happened here?’
Rosalie swung round to thrust Katy into Biddy’s arms. ‘Look after her,’ she breathed. She was already hurrying towards the house.
The door was wide open. Helen was standing on the steps surrounded by neighbours and little Toby was clinging tearfully to her.
‘Helen.’ Rosalie pushed her way through. ‘Helen, what’s happened?’
‘Oh, Rosalie … Come and see.’
A horrible sick feeling tore at Rosalie’s gut as she followed her friend inside. In the front room the little square-built printing press, Helen’s pride and joy, had been viciously attacked with what could only have been a strong hammer or a pick-axe. Leaden type and pieces of wooden frame were scattered all over the floor.
‘Someone broke in while I was out. They picked the lock. Then—my printing press …’ Helen’s voice broke. ‘Look at this.’
She handed Rosalie a note scrawled in ink. Gossip-raking bitch.
Rosalie felt quite faint. ‘Did no one see anything?’
Helen shook her head. ‘Mrs Lucas over the road went for the constables when she heard the noise, but whoever it was had run off by the time they arrived. Oh, Rosalie, I—I knew I had enemies, but—this? Who could have done something so malicious? How am I going to start, all over again?’
Rosalie was reeling, because she knew somebody who was capable of such a ruthless revenge. Someone who had, quite possibly, kept her locked in his basement to give his men time to do this. Would such a person feel any regret whatsoever for seducing and abandoning an innocent girl? The answer, surely, was no.
She felt physically sick. I’m afraid I’ve found him, Linette.
And, oh, Lord, he was going to be a powerful adversary.
Some hours later Alec was pacing the landing outside the main bedchamber of his father’s magnificent Belgrave Square house.
As soon as he’d seen his unwelcome visitor—Mrs Rowland—off his premises, he’d ridden to give a fencing lesson in Piccadilly, then he had an appointment down at the Limehouse docks with a warehouse owner who wanted to hire a dozen men. Alec always tried to find work for his ex-soldiers if they were fit for it.
He’d got back to Two Crows Castle to find a message for him, written by the Earl’s steward, Jarvis. Master Alec. I’m afraid that your father has been taken ill. The doctor is with him. Please come.
A thousand thoughts had raced through Alec’s brain as he’d urged his horse westwards through London’s busy streets to Mayfair. A thousand regrets. How serious was this? Had his father’s bout of illness been brought on, perhaps, by the shock of evil knowledge? Would his father even want to see the son he’d disowned a year ago?
Jarvis, a loyal old retainer, came out of the bedchamber now, bearing a tray laden with medicinal beakers. ‘Your father will see you now, Master Alec, sir.’
That was something. ‘Is the doctor still with him?’
‘He’s gone, but he’ll call back within the hour. He said there are no physical signs of illness, but your father needs to rest.’
Alec felt a great release of tension throughout his body. But—No wonder he needs to rest, with a young wife who pleads to be taken to every party of the Season. With a young wife who …
No. You must forget that, for now.
Alec went swiftly up to the lavishly furnished chamber. His father lay against the pillows of the four-poster in the half-light, for the curtains of the big room were already drawn against the early February dusk and only the coals in the fire lightened the gloom.
‘Alec.’ Slowly his father turned towards him. His gaunt hands twisted the bedcovers fretfully. ‘It’s been so long, Alec. So long since I’ve seen you …’
When you told me you’d no desire to see me ever again.
‘Sir. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to say the word. How are you?’
‘Oh, the doctor says I’ll live.’ His voice rasped. ‘Your brother—he was here the moment he heard I was ill.’
I’ll bet he was. Alec merely nodded. ‘Jarvis told me what the doctor said. That your affliction is thankfully nothing serious.’
‘Yes,’ muttered his father. ‘Damned quack poked and prodded everywhere. But he said it would do me good to get away from London.’
Away from London. Yes. But … ‘What does Lady Aldchester think of that, sir?’ Susanna adored London life. She’d once said that she would die in the country.
The Earl shuffled against his pillows and coughed. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know; she’s been out shopping with friends all afternoon, she won’t even be aware that I’ve had this damned turn. But she’ll come with me, she’s devoted, Alec, despite what you said! And so is Stephen. Would you believe it, he’s just told me he was setting off for Carrfields himself today, to see that everything was in good order!’
Alec’s fists tightened at that. So his brother had taken heed of him then, last night.
‘But now,’ went on his father, ‘he needn’t go, of course. Because I’ll travel there myself, with my dear Susanna.’
I would die in the country.
‘And,’ went on his father, ‘no doubt Stephen will escort us there and visit us regularly.’
Alec exploded. ‘The hell he will!’ He dragged his hand through his hair, said in a quieter voice, ‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’
His father was silent a moment, kneading the bedcover with his fingers. ‘Do you remember the times we used to have, when you were home on leave? We used to sit up till late into the night, didn’t we, and you’d tell me, oh, such tales, about the battles, and the sieges in Spain …’
‘I’ve never forgotten it, sir.’
‘But now …’ and his father’s voice was growing fretful ‘… now, all I hear about you is that you avoid civilised company, you avoid your brother, except to fight with him. And my wife has told me, reluctantly mind, that it’s you, always you, stirring things up …’
‘I suppose she would,’ said Alec bitterly.
‘What?
What did you say? Do you take heed of me, Alec? Your mother died so long ago—am I never to be allowed happiness again? Will you make your peace with your brother and your stepmother?’
Alec stood ramrod straight. ‘You ask the impossible, sir.’
The Earl stared at him. Then he waved a tired hand. ‘Go back to your soldiers’ drinking dens. Go on, go. And once I’m at Carrfields, I want you to clear out everything of yours that’s left in this house. Your old army journals, your maps of Spain—all the paraphernalia that clutters up your room and my study. It hurts me to see them all, to remember … Take them away, do you hear?’
‘Everything will be removed. Though I hope you know that if you ever need me, I’m here for you—’
‘Leave. Just leave.’
And Alec turned, with a heavy heart, to go.
He found Stephen in the first-floor drawing room, gazing with narrowed eyes at the paintings on the walls—some of them inherited, some acquired from auction houses—and worth, like everything in this palatial house, a small fortune.
‘So, little brother.’ Stephen, on observing Alec’s entry, turned from staring at a French landscape to sink on to a sofa, where he tapped his fingers rather nervously on its satin upholstery. ‘Come in hopes of taking advantage of the family drama, have you? Planning, perhaps, to weasel your way back into our father’s affections?’
Alec gazed at him calmly. ‘You’ve had a respite, Stephen. Last night I suggested you leave London. Now there’s no need. Because our father’s going to Carrfields with his wife.’
‘No! Has he just told you that?’ Stephen was on his feet again, his face flushed. ‘Susanna will die of boredom there!’
‘Perhaps. But if you do anything other than tell her she must accompany our father, then your game is at an end.’
‘You wouldn’t …’
‘Oh, I would. Believe me, I would.’
‘She’s young, Alec! Younger than me, younger than you. And Carrfields—it’s like a prison for her!’