Lady of Scandal

by Tina Gabrielle

  Her mind whirled at the truth behind his words. No matter how selfish her father was, he was remarkably intuitive. She was uncertain how Blake felt about her, and her doubt left her vulnerable, even desperate. She wanted, no, needed, to learn whether Blake cared for her, for the woman she was. Her need had escalated after learning about his sister’s fate.

  Did Blake insist she live with him because the thought of her leaving would break his heart? Or was he convinced her presence in his household would cause Charles suffering? Worse still, did Blake want her to suffer like Judith had, a lady forced by life’s cruel circumstances into bartering her body?

  Victoria honestly did not know, and she was willing to sell her soul to discover the truth.

  Her father and Jacob Hobbs were giving her the opportunity to learn Blake’s true feelings. Even though her helping them would serve their interests, her actions—as her father was quick to point out—would serve her concerns as well.

  And what harm would come to Blake?

  She would not be stealing, just borrowing his key for a few hours. It would be returned to its rightful place with none the wiser as soon as the deed was done. She would not have to rummage through his desk drawers, copy confidential documents or steal stock information. Blake’s warehouse goods would not be touched, damaged or moved, and he would be able to sell them for a profit as planned.

  Her decision made, she looked up to see both men studying her.

  Charles nodded, his expression holding a note of mockery. “I knew you would come to your senses.” Turning to Jacob, he said, “My daughter would never choose Ravenspear over her own blood.”

  Blood has nothing to do with it, Father. You taught me that long ago.

  As she walked away, Jacob placed a restraining hand on her arm. “Tomorrow night, then, at eleven o’clock. I’ll be waiting for you on the docks.”

  Blake was waiting for her when she returned to St. James Street.

  He rushed forward to greet her as soon as she stepped inside the marble vestibule. “I was worried. Mr. Kent told me you went for a walk in Hyde Park hours ago. Are you well?”

  Still feeling awkward about the previous night’s events, she searched for a plausible explanation. She must not let on that anything was amiss, that she had just met with her father and Jacob Hobbs.

  She looked at Blake innocently, surprised to see that he appeared so concerned, his expression serious, his brow furrowed.

  “I’m quite fine, really,” she said. “The park is so pretty this time of year, I must have taken longer than I thought.”

  She walked past him, farther into the vestibule. A dozen long-stemmed peach roses in a crystal vase rested on a pedestal table. A delicate fragrance filled the room, and she was amazed she had not noticed the blooms earlier.

  “Beautiful flowers.” She reached out to touch a silken petal.

  “They’re for you.” He came close, looking down at her intensely. “An apology gift for my behavior last night.”

  She swung her head around to look up at him. “Your behavior was barbaric. It will take more than roses to make up for it.”

  “You have every right to be furious with me. I lost control when you told me to take another lover…and that you planned to do the same. Your words inflamed me, and I reacted the only way I knew how. I can only hope you will accept my apology today.”

  She had a maddening urge to slap him and kiss him at the same time. Her fingers itched to stroke his chiseled jaw until his brows unwrinkled and he grinned once again. Yet, she wanted to scratch at his eyes until he cried as much as she had when he left her lonely and craving in her bed last night.

  He reached out and took her hand in his. When she showed no resistance, he tucked her limp hand beneath his arm and led her toward the main part of the house. “Come. Mr. Kent has arranged tea in the library. I want you to join me.”

  She followed, conscious of his possessive touch on her arm and the heat emanating from his large body.

  Tea had indeed been waiting. A sparkling silver service, with a teapot, creamer and sugar bowl, was arranged on a tray set on the sideboard.

  Blake strode forward, removed his frock coat and tossed it on the desk.

  It was then that she noticed he had been dressed for the outdoors. “I thought you had been waiting for me. It looks like you came home soon before me.”

  His expression stilled and grew serious. “I never bothered to take off my coat. When Mr. Kent told me how long you had been gone, I feared the worst—that you had left me and returned to your father. I was going to go after you. But then, you wouldn’t break your promise to stay the year, would you?”

  Not if you said you loved me, she thought, and that you would willingly give up your ludicrous plans for revenge rather than risk losing me.

  “I wouldn’t be breaking a vow if my father manages to pay off your loans.” She held her breath, hoping his response would reveal a crack in his emotions.

  “That’s not likely anytime soon,” he said matter-of-factly. “And if you leave before then, be warned that I will come after you.”

  The force of his reply took her off guard.

  Why? Why was he so determined to keep her with him? Did he think Charles Ashton lost endless hours of sleep over the knowledge that his daughter was under Blake Mallorey’s roof? Or was there another reason?

  For the hundredth time that day, she thought of her father’s plans. There was truth behind her parent’s logic, however corrupt. Only when she was freed from her one-year commitment would Blake be forced to reveal his true feelings for her.

  Would he ask her to stay out of love, or watch her walk away?

  Blake reached inside his pocket and pulled out a large ring of keys. The heavy keys clanked noisily as he opened a desk drawer and dropped them inside.

  Her attention was immediately piqued. “Justin said you went out this morning for business.”

  “Yes. I had to attend to several of my warehouses on the docks. It seems thievery is on the rise. I needed to speak with my guards.”

  He poured tea at the sideboard and handed her a steaming cup and saucer.

  Taking the edge of a chair, she balanced her cup and saucer and strived not to appear too eager. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “My head guard came to me the other day. He said a thief attempted to break into one of my warehouses by bribing the guard to gain entry. I’ve taken precautions by changing the locks and doubling my guards.”

  “I see,” she said. “I hope your problems are solved.”

  A knock on the door drew her attention. Justin Woodward entered, a frown marring his handsome face.

  “Pardon my intrusion, Miss Ashton, but I need to speak with Ravenspear.” Turning to Blake he said, “Your solicitor is here, waiting in the parlor. He mumbled something about one of your companies.”

  “Damnation. My morning was so busy that I forgot about my appointment.” Setting down his teacup, Blake strode from the library with Justin close on his heels.

  Chapter 30

  After Victoria knew where the keys were, it had been a simple task to identify the key marked W13 for Warehouse Thirteen. She had removed the brass key from the ring and dropped it in her pocket when Blake and Justin were distracted with the lawyer.

  The more difficult part was stealing away in the dead of the night to meet Jacob Hobbs on the docks.

  Donning a black cape, she covered her hair and shielded her face with its hood. Beneath the cover, she wore a dark dress, wool hose and black leather riding boots. She waited until all the occupants of the house were asleep before slipping from the town house on St. James Street. She walked several blocks before she felt safe enough to wave down a hackney cab.

  The driver barely gave her a glance, looking at her only long enough to see the coin in her upturned palm before slapping the reins on the horse’s back to start the coach.

  She should not have been surprised. A lady of good virtue did not wander the streets of London alone at n
ight. Only a prostitute or a married woman of loose morals seeking her lover would be out roaming the district.

  A storm hovered over the city, making the air feel as heavy as a wet blanket. Her breathing, already shallow from her nervousness, was even more stifled by the humidity.

  Pushing aside the curtains of the rented cab, she looked outside the narrow window. Dark clouds gathered above, partially obstructing the brightness of the moon, but through the haze, she could still make out the tall masts of the ships that had docked at the wharves.

  The coach jolted to a stop. Victoria, not bothering to wait for the driver to hop down and open the door, jumped out herself. Her nerves were raw, her mind congested with doubts and fears. She needed to finish the deed before she changed her mind and ran back to St. James Street.

  Rain began to fall, wetting her face and hands. She pulled her hood more tightly around her face and headed for the docks. As she got closer to her destination the foul odor of the river sharpened. She kept onward at a steady pace until she came upon large warehouses, all shuttered and dark from the outside. Only a few streetlamps were lit here, for the price of oil was too high to waste on buildings unused at night.

  Victoria caught herself glancing uneasily over her shoulder at the slightest sound. She knew she put her safety at serious risk. She was well aware that thieves, pickpockets, drunken sailors looking for whores, or, worse still, murderers, could be lurking behind a building waiting for easy prey.

  But she had made up her mind; she couldn’t afford to return to the town house now.

  She came up to the first warehouse and wondered how she would be able to discern which one was Blake’s. There was no sign on the tall building which identified its owner. It was too dark to see the warehouse numbers.

  A thought froze in her brain: Blake had said he’d increased the number of warehouse guards. Possibly they’d be armed.

  She spotted the building soon after. Two large torches illuminated the entrance and the muscular man that stood by. From this distance, she could see a large number thirteen on the door. She guessed a second guard would be stationed at the back of the building.

  Taking a deep breath, she ventured forth.

  Rain had saturated the cracks between the cobblestones, and her leather boots squished as she walked. For the first time, she was grateful for the shroud of darkness and the patter of the rainfall which both concealed her figure and muffled her footsteps.

  A cold knot formed in her stomach as she approached the unguarded side of the building. She looked for Jacob, her mind a crazy mixture of fear and anxiety. When a heavy hand landed on her shoulder and spun her around, she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

  “Jacob! You nearly scared me to death.”

  “So it’s true. I did not think you would come. I doubted what your father said, but I was obviously wrong. You do care for Ravenspear and would do anything to learn if he reciprocates your feelings.” His mouth twisted. “You’re wasting your time, Victoria. The only man that will have you when this is all over is me.”

  She raised her chin and gave him a cold stare. She refused to give him the satisfaction by responding to his insulting comment.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said. “How do you plan to get past the guards?”

  “My man is taking care of that as we speak.”

  “Your man? I thought we were going inside the warehouse by ourselves.”

  “We are,” Jacob said in a nasty tone. “I hired him as a precaution only.”

  Victoria could only imagine what type of person Jacob had paid. A vagrant or criminal wandering the streets, no doubt. She only hoped Blake’s guards were not murdered before the night was over.

  “Matters should be dealt with by now. Let’s go.” Jacob pulled her behind him.

  With her arm trapped in his iron fingers, Victoria had no choice but to follow. They reached the front of the warehouse, and she immediately spotted the prone form of the guard lying unconscious against the side of the building. Undoubtedly the guard out back had met the same fate. If a passerby should notice the man, it would appear as if he had fallen asleep on duty. Jacob’s hired lackey had not bothered to extinguish the torches, and they continued to burn brightly.

  Victoria recoiled at the sight of the guard. “Is he dead?”

  Jacob chuckled. “I didn’t pay the man enough to kill.”

  “How reassuring,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  Jacob dragged her to the solid iron door and tried the handle. “It’s locked. Give me the key,” he demanded.

  She hesitated only a moment before reaching into her skirt pocket to pull out the heavy brass key.

  Jacob snatched it from her hand and inserted it into the lock. The iron hinges creaked as he pushed open the heavy door with his shoulder.

  It was pitch-black inside. The air was colder than outside, and Victoria pulled her cloak tighter about her. The strong smell of straw and sawdust permeated the cavernous space.

  A moment later, she heard the sound of a match striking a rough surface, and then she squinted against the brightness of the lamp Jacob held in a raised hand. He must have carried the lantern with him; she hadn’t noticed it earlier.

  “Let’s get to work. We haven’t much time,” Jacob said, walking forward.

  Her eyes adjusted to the limited light and she followed, staring in amazement at the mountain of wood crates stacked on both sides of the aisle. She counted over ten aisles, each stacked neatly with just as many crates. As for the depth of the warehouse, she was stunned when they walked ten minutes before reaching the back wall.

  The building was gargantuan. She had not anticipated the extent of the goods Blake imported. And he owned two more of these warehouses besides.

  “This is a good place to start,” Jacob said, startling her.

  Setting down the lantern, he reached into his pocket. He withdrew a chisel and used it to pry open the lid of a nearby crate. Puffs of straw burst forth as Jacob plunged his hands beneath to pull out a porcelain vase.

  “Chinese,” he explained. “You wouldn’t believe what the bon ton would pay for one of these.”

  Jacob opened several other crates, each holding different exotic items. There were handwoven Indian rugs, fragrant spices and Caribbean rum.

  “I expected only one or two types of goods to be stored here,” Victoria said. “And I had no idea there would be so many crates. You can’t expect them to all hold Chinese vases or expensive rum.”

  “Of course not.” Jacob looked at her as if she were a simpleton.

  “Then what good is my bringing you here? How will you and my father be able to discern the bulk of what Ravenspear has imported without opening every box?”

  A malicious expression crossed Jacob’s pale face. “We never intended to, Victoria. There are more efficient ways to harm Ravenspear’s interests than to discern what he imports.”

  Her mind refused to register the significance of Jacob’s words. And yet she watched in fascinated horror as he grasped a handful of hay, touched it to the flame of the lantern and tossed it into an open crate.

  The remaining straw in the crate instantly burst into flames, blinding Victoria with its brilliance.

  “Jacob!” she screamed. “What have you done?”

  Within seconds, the entire wooden box was an inferno, the heat scalding her face.

  She staggered backward, panic rioting within her.

  “This is what we planned all along.” Jacob’s face was flushed, his normally dull blue eyes shone with fervor.

  The acrid scent of smoke filled her nostrils and burned her eyes. She wanted to shriek at Jacob, but when she opened her mouth to yell she coughed instead, her lungs protesting from the thick smoke.

  A deafening crack rent the air as the torched crate collapsed, igniting the box beneath it. Sparks leapt like fireworks, landing on nearby crates and feeding the ravenous fire. It reminded Victoria of an enraged beast voraciously consuming everything in it
s path.

  “This place is better than dry tinder. All will be ashes soon!” he shouted above the destructive noise of the roaring flames. “We’ll leave by the rear exit.” Jacob reached for her, but she evaded his grasp.

  “You’re crazy!” she screamed, a thread of hysteria in her voice. Backing away, she bumped into stacked crates, a corner jabbing painfully into her hip.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Jacob hissed. “You must come with me now before you burn with everything inside here.”

  She turned in the opposite direction and ran, fleeing recklessly down the narrow aisle. All rational thought flew from her head. She focused on one goal: to escape from Jacob and the evil deed that she had helped him accomplish this night.

  Without Jacob to guide her to the back of the building, her only hope to escape the all-consuming flames was by the front door. But the farther she ran from the inferno, the darker it became, until all she could make out before her were the large shapes of shipping containers and crates.

  And then she heard the scraping of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, and she knew Jacob was in pursuit. She gasped, panting in terror. She had been certain he would save his own hide rather than chase after her.

  She continued to run, praying that when she neared the exit, the torches left burning by the door would be enough light to lead her outside. Stumbling, she fell to her knees, scraping her hands and tearing her dress. She scrambled to rise and bolted forward, only to lose her sense of direction in the blackness and slam headlong into a stack of crates.

  Blood, wet and sticky, trickled down her hairline.

  A hand seized the back of her cloak and violently jerked her backward. Still dazed—she felt like her skull had split open—she tumbled into Jacob’s cruel grasp.

  “Ungrateful bitch.” His breath was hot on her throat. “I should let you burn. But I want my leftovers after Ravenspear is finished with you.”

  She flew into action, clawing at his hands and slamming her foot against his instep.