Dance of Seduction

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “He was angry.”

  “He doesn’t get angry. Or not angry enough to make that many big mistakes. Besides, he never uses a pistol; he prefers a knife.” The Specter liked to threaten his lackeys by coming up behind them and holding a knife to their throats. And Ravenswood’s last spy, Jenkins, had been found stabbed, not shot. “No, this sounds like somebody with little experience in weapons and even less sense.”

  “Somebody who wants Johnny gone.”

  “Yes, but who could that be?”

  They both fell silent, thinking. Finally Clara said, “Lucy. Johnny’s sister.”

  “What? But he told me she didn’t care about him.”

  “She cares more than he gives her credit for. She’s been trying to get him to leave, but he won’t.” Clara slanted him a dark glance. “He says he prefers living with you.”

  Morgan shrugged but felt absurdly pleased.

  “And the person who assaulted me did say that he—or she—wanted to speak to you. The message was certainly designed to scare you off, not me.”

  “True, but a woman threaten somebody with a pistol? It doesn’t seem likely.”

  “You haven’t met Lucy,” she said dryly.

  He considered that. “There’s another suspect we’re ignoring—Lucy’s Mr. Fitch.”

  “How do you know about Mr. Fitch?”

  “Johnny told me. And he said the man doesn’t approve of him or his brother.”

  “Well, that’s true, but then why would he want Johnny gone from here?”

  “Because it damages his reputation to have the brother of his lady friend consorting with a known criminal.”

  She nodded. “He did say as much to me at the police office.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose we won’t figure it out tonight. I’ll talk to Lucy tomorrow and see how she reacts. We could always be wrong, you know. It could still be the Specter himself.”

  “It’s not, of that I’m certain. If Johnny’s presence here bothered the Specter, the boy would be dead by now.”

  She shuddered. “Wonderful. You’ve chosen a fine associate—a man who would kill children if it suited his needs.”

  His gaze shot to her. She now watched him with a darkly accusing expression that tore through his defenses.

  “Clara, you don’t underst—”

  “I won’t let you put me off this time, Morgan. After what happened, I deserve answers.” She drew a shaky breath. “You expected him to come here tonight, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t want me here. That’s why you were railing against him when you found me.”

  He hesitated, then sighed. “Yes. He said he would come for his answer.”

  “And I suppose you were all ready to promise your allegiance to him.” Bitterness laced her words. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand you. You obviously have dealings with him, given how well you seem to know him. But how can you work with a man like that? You’re not his sort. You’re a baron’s son—”

  “As if that matters,” he growled. “You’re like all the rest of those fools in society—thinking that all it takes to create a gentleman is to put a man in impeccable evening clothes and give him a titled father. But you don’t know what I really am.”

  Her eyes were huge in her face, but she thrust her chin up stubbornly. “I know what you’re not. You’re not a murderer like him. And God help me, but I don’t believe you’re a fence, either. So why are you here?”

  Dragging his hand through his hair, he glanced away. After he’d left Clara with Winthrop, he’d tracked Ravenswood down and demanded to know what the man had discussed with Clara. Ravenswood had been evasive, but he had given Morgan free rein to tell Clara what he felt was necessary.

  How the hell did he know what was necessary? And did he dare reveal everything?

  Then again, did he dare not reveal it? She could have been killed in her confounded quest for answers tonight. He would shoot himself in the other leg before he’d risk that happening again.

  The trouble was, she wasn’t a sailor who’d blindly follow orders without knowing why. And she was right—she deserved to know why. Why her life had been turned upside down. Why he was here so close to her Home, providing ample temptation for her children. Why Ravenswood refused to do anything about it.

  With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall. “All right, damn you, all right. I suppose you do deserve answers.”

  Chapter 16

  Thus youth without Thought,

  Their Amours pursue,

  Though an Age of Pain

  Does often accrue.

  A Little pretty pocket-book, John Newbery

  Clara listened as Morgan related the whole story from start to finish. She didn’t find his explanations particularly amazing—she’d already guessed he wasn’t what he seemed.

  Still, it was vastly reassuring to learn that he was a man she could be proud to know. Her attraction to him hadn’t been unwarranted, and her instincts had been right, however much her mind had chided her for them. He was indeed a fine and honorable gentleman.

  Perhaps too fine and honorable. He was risking his life, for heaven’s sake! From what she’d heard, no one had ever crossed the Specter and lived.

  Her heart leaped into her throat. Her attacker tonight might not have been the Specter, but his pistol had been just as terrifying, just as dangerous. She’d hated being cornered, hated the dread and helplessness that had rocked her. Even though it was over now, she started at every sound, her pulse still raced, and the sight of Morgan’s poor bandaged leg closed a cold fist of fear around her heart.

  Yet here Morgan sat, calmly relating how he intended to catch the real Specter, a far more deadly criminal. It was too much.

  “Morgan, you can’t do this,” she said as he finished his tale.

  He cast her a defensive look. “Do what?”

  “This! Lay a trap for the Specter. You could be murdered! If anything goes wrong—”

  His expression softened. “Nothing will go wrong, angel. Not as long as you keep silent about my real purpose in Spitalfields.”

  “Of course I’ll keep silent. What else would I do?”

  A faint smile touched his lips. “You could berate me for involving your pickpockets in this sticky affair. For deceiving you. For unwittingly tempting Johnny back into the life.”

  “I don’t care about all that. Not when you’re risking everything to catch a man who is such a danger to us all.”

  “You’re not angry at me,” he said incredulously.

  “What? No! How could I be angry to learn that you’re not a criminal after all? That I had it all wrong—that everything I feared about you, everything I thought Lord Ravenswood was trying to warn me about…”

  Bother it all, she hadn’t meant to mention that.

  His eyes narrowed. “What exactly did Ravenswood tell you? He claimed he’d merely evaded your questions and tried to bribe you into keeping quiet.”

  “He did. That’s true.”

  “But obviously he did more than that.”

  She flashed him a wan smile. “It was nothing very awful. Truly. He merely…well…warned me not to assume from your family connections that you were like other gentlemen. His exact words were, ‘He isn’t quite as civilized as he might seem.’”

  Morgan stared at her bleakly. “He’s right, you know.” Snatching the brandy bottle from the floor, he lifted it to his lips and took a swig, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve as if to emphasize his point. “I can pretend when I choose, but at heart I’m not in the least civilized.”

  A rush of tenderness filled her to see him so unsure of himself. “Civilized or no, you’re a good man, and that’s more important.”

  He shook his head with a harsh laugh. “Yes, I’m a ‘good’ man. I’m so good that I daily tempt your pickpockets to return to the criminal life just by being here.” He stared down at the bottle. “Though I think you’ve had your vengeance for that tonight.”

  “I didn’t come for vengeance. I only came h
ere to learn the truth.”

  “Well, it was a damned fool thing to do. What did you hope to accomplish?” His voice was silky soft, but his eyes blazed fire as he lifted them to her. “You could have waited until tomorrow to ask all your questions. When I think what could have happened if that man had proved to be the Specter—”

  “All right, I admit I blundered in where I shouldn’t have. But how was I to know you were meeting the Specter?” Agitated by his perfectly justified anger at her for nearly ruining all his careful plans, she rose from the bed to pace the room. “In my own defense, I must point out that if you’d told me the truth when I asked this evening, the entire fiasco might have been prevented. If you’d explained why you didn’t want me here, you can be sure I would not have shown up.”

  His exasperated sigh told her that her barb hit home. “I’m not entirely convinced of that. I suppose I can see why you might ignore my order, but to come here prepared to spy on a notorious criminal…For God’s sake, what were you thinking?”

  Tired of being lectured like a child, she whirled to face him. “I was thinking that you and Ravenswood were up to something criminal. That a conspiracy of enormous proportions, involving you and the Home Office and the Specter, was afoot.”

  “But Clara—”

  “I was thinking,” she went on in high dudgeon, “that if I allowed this…this illegal scheme to go on without trying to prevent it, I’d be betraying all those people out there who trust their government to mete out justice, those who can’t speak or act for themselves. Like my charges.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him, daring him to lecture her any further.

  It didn’t work. He rose, looking amazingly menacing for a man wearing only drawers and a shirt and a bandage around his leg. As he stalked toward her, eyes gleaming like black diamonds in the lantern light, she caught her breath, then backed up a step.

  “Suppose you’d been right,” he growled, “and we were indeed ‘up to something criminal.’ Even if you’d found us all conspiring together, what could you have done? In your eagerness to save the world, you pranced down here without a weapon, without a companion or policeman to aid you…without any protection at all.”

  It suddenly dawned on her that he wasn’t angry at her for interfering in his plans. He was angry because she’d put herself into danger. Why, the man was actually concerned for her!

  That changed everything, deflating all her own anger. “I didn’t plan to come alone, you know. But I couldn’t find Samuel, and I didn’t want anyone else to learn I was visiting you—”

  “Damn it, Clara, that wretch—Lucy or whoever it was—might have shot you instead of me.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, his face wrought with frustration and fear. “He—she—might have killed you!”

  She swallowed. “But he didn’t, thanks to you.”

  “And that alarms me most. If I hadn’t come along when I did…” A shudder rocked him, and his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Do you know what it would have done to me to see you hurt? In that split second, when I realized it was you he had cornered, you he was waving a pistol at…” He shook his head, then went on in a voice hoarse with emotion, “God, Clara, I never want to feel such terror again.”

  “I hope you won’t have to.” Her heart thundered in her chest, and not from fear either. He cared for her—he truly did. Why else would he be so angry? “From now on—”

  “From now on, you’re staying clear of me, do you hear? For the duration of this investigation, you’re not to come anywhere near me or this shop.” Releasing her abruptly, he strode to where her cloak was draped over his dresser. “In fact, I want you to leave right now. If you’ll wait while I dress, I’ll walk you to the Home or fetch you a hack, whichever you prefer.”

  She blinked at him. Surely he wasn’t kicking her out. Not now, when she was just beginning to discover what kind of man he was and how deep his feelings for her ran. And certainly not when his wound still needed attention.

  “I’m not leaving you alone tonight,” she protested. “You’re still hurt. You shouldn’t even be standing. What if the wound festers or you turn feverish? There’s no one here for you to call, no one to help you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He brought her cloak to her. “I’ve been wounded before, you know, and managed through it without anybody coddling me.”

  “I am not leaving,” she repeated fiercely. “Don’t you understand? If you felt terror at seeing me almost shot, what do you think I felt when I saw you really shot? And then to know that it was my fault, that you might die because of me…” She jerked away from him when he tried to put the cloak about her shoulders. “No, I’m not going anywhere until I’m convinced that you’ll be all right. Now get back into that bed, and I’ll see if I can’t make you some tea. If you have a kettle, I can start a fire in the stove—”

  “I don’t want any damned tea!” he roared. When she flinched, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Clara, be reasonable. If I’m right about your assailant not being the Specter, then the Specter himself might still be on his way.”

  “And he might not be, too. The pistol shot might have alarmed him enough to make him reconsider approaching you tonight.” She tipped up her chin. “For all you know, he was outside waiting for you the whole time and saw everything. Isn’t that what you were worried about when you searched the premises a few moments ago?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “For all you know, he could be arriving now. Then while we’re leaving, we’d both run into him. I’d love to see you talk your way out of that one.” She squared her shoulders. “No, I may understand why you felt the need to be so secretive before, but now that I know what you’re up to, I see no reason to leave. At least not until it’s almost time for Johnny to return.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Sometimes your stubbornness goes beyond the pale. Even if you’re right about the Specter, don’t you care about your reputation? What will people think when they see you running out of here in the morning?”

  “What will they say when they see me running out of here now, well after midnight? I’d think that would be more suspicious. Especially if you accompany me. At least in the morning, I can leave at a decent hour and they’ll assume they just never saw me come in. Or if they see me on the street, I can give them a plausible excuse—that I went out early to the bakery or something. Besides, you know quite well there are less people on the street in Spitalfields in the early morning than there are between midnight and dawn. I probably won’t even be noticed if I wait until morning.”

  “But if you are—”

  “Let me worry about that if it happens. And why do you care if I stay here? I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll sleep upstairs where Johnny sleeps. You can have your meeting with the Specter, and no one will be the wiser. In the morning, after I’m convinced that you’re still all right, I’ll leave. It’s as simple as that.”

  He stared at her a long moment. “As simple as that, eh? You think you’ve thought of everything.”

  “That’s because I have.”

  “Oh no, you haven’t.” His burning glance gave her pause, reminding her of a wolf eyeing a plump chicken. “There’s one little problem you’ve neglected to address, ma belle ange.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I want you.” His gaze skimmed her body with clear intent. “And if I have you under my roof all night—alone—I will have you.”

  Every sense in her body went on full alert. She knew that look of his only too well. It ought to frighten her, but it didn’t. It excited her, yes. Thrilled her, most assuredly. But not a scintilla of her soul was frightened at the thought that he might “have” her.

  Yet years of breeding and moral lectures made her protest. “What if I refuse to let you ‘have’ me, sir?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “If you’ll recall, the last time you invaded my shop and refused to leave, I threatened to ravish you if you ever returned. You’re here. You think you’re staying. So it
seems to me I have every reason to make good on my threat.”

  “Nonsense. You’re wounded. You can’t—”

  “I’m wounded, not dead. And yes, I can.” His voice grew husky. “I most certainly can, if you’re involved.”

  He’d made such threats before. Was he merely bluffing her again? Or did he truly mean it this time?

  And did she want him to mean it? She very much feared that she did. “When you threatened to ravish me before, you were only trying to scare me off. It worked then, so you’re trying it again. But it won’t work this time, because now I know too much about you. I know that you’re a gentleman, and you’d never—”

  “You don’t know a damned thing about me.” He advanced on her so swiftly that she had no time to escape. Backing her against the staircase banister, he trapped her between his two muscular arms and leaned in until they were eye to eye. “I am not a gentleman. I am not civilized. I am not any of those things you admire in Ravenswood and Winthrop and all the other gentlemen from your circle.”

  He certainly looked uncivilized—raw and hungry and rebellious. It sent an electric pulse of excitement through every part of her.

  He went on fiercely. “I’m used to taking what I want when I want it. And I want you. I have wanted you from the day I saw you. If you think I’d have any compunction whatsoever about ‘ravishing’ you when I finally have you alone, you’re out of your mind. So either leave right now or stay and warm my bed. Which is it to be?”

  “You wouldn’t take an unwilling woman to bed,” she whispered.

  A slow smile curved his lips. “You wouldn’t be an unwilling woman, Clara. And we both know it.”

  They stared at each other a long moment, each assessing the other’s true intent. She had to admit he was right. If he made the slightest attempt to seduce her, he would have her.

  Yet was that what she wanted? He hadn’t spoken of marriage—it was too “civilized” a thing for him to speak of. But after how he’d touched her earlier tonight, she couldn’t conceive of marrying any other man. She certainly could never bear to share another man’s bed.