by Dalton, Lily
He stepped away, and her hands fell from his coat. “Thank you, Nellie.”
“Wot, that’s all?” She pouted, a saucy smile tilting her carmine lips. “You paid for better than just a bit of chitchat.”
“Forget about me, if anyone comes asking later. That’s all I ask.”
“Beshrew me, forget that ’andsome face?” Her gaze traveled over him longingly. Regretfully. She sighed. “Don’t think that’s possible, but Nellie don’t tell tales on her favorites, and you’ll forever be one of mine.” She came near, her voice lowered. “But be careful with those ones. They’re dangerous men.”
“How do you know I’m not one of them?”
“I know,” she answered softly, and with a shrug of her bare shoulder, she disappeared into the crowd.
Just then, the musicians struck up a tune. Beside them, curtains jerked apart on ropes to reveal a makeshift stage made out of wooden shipping crates, a common sight on the nearby quay. On each of the four corners stood a young lady, frozen in a dramatic pose. Elaborate scarlet carnival masks studded with paste jewels concealed their faces above their painted lips. Close-fitting, flesh-toned body stockings conveyed the illusion of nudity. Those men not otherwise engaged at the gaming tables surged forward to jostle for position along the edges of the stage, shouting out expressions of vulgar admiration. The stage rocked and several of the girls wavered from their poses.
A bulldog-faced man in an ill-fitted greatcoat and top hat strutted to the center of the stage and bellowed, “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Do control yourselves!”
Hands held high for quiet, he waited for the clamor to subside.
“We have assembled here for your personal erudition and viewing pleasure, four of the foremost actresses of Drury Lane presenting the finest in tableaux vivants.” He gestured toward the young women. “For your eyes only they will enact the most memorable scenes of the classics, the first being the story of Electra and the grievous murder of her father, the king, Agamemnon.”
Cormack chuckled. Actresses, indeed. Having studied the classics intensively at university, he could not discern what any of their poses had to do with Electra or Agamemnon, but he supposed that wasn’t the point.
Though he could not claim to be an expert on strumpets, these four were clearly of a higher quality than the others who crowded the room. Young and pretty, at least from this distance, they had bodies to match with high breasts, pinched waists, and flared hips.
His attention lingered on one in particular, a young woman with blonde hair and luminous skin. Something about her engaged him and refused to let go. Perhaps it was the bright blue flash of temper in her eyes or the querulous set of her pretty mouth. He could not help but feel he’d caught sight of an angel who had unknowingly alighted among lesser mortals and who, now entangled in mankind’s sin, had become helpless to escape.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had noticed her, for suddenly the young woman yelped and smacked the hand of the patron closest to her, a man who, after being so rebuffed, snatched his hand away from the girl’s well-turned ankle. The collective thunder of male laughter shook the floor beneath Cormack’s boots.
Cormack did not laugh. Instead, he maneuvered closer to the stage, fixated. Inexplicably smitten. A bright flush moved up the girl’s throat into her cheeks to disappear beneath her mask. She resumed her pose, and yet…her hands trembled.
He knew in an instant she didn’t belong in this place.
With each step forward, a tangle of memories and regrets welled up inside him, along with a sudden impulse to protect her, to make whatever had gone wrong right. Something he’d been helpless to do for Laura.
So distracted by the girl was he that he almost…almost missed the man ducking down the back corridor, dressed in the clothes of a gentleman, his top hat tilted so as to conceal his face.
*
Daphne cast another glare at the filthy creature who had grabbed her leg and resumed her pose. Was it only her imagination, or did her skin now itch where he had touched her? Ugh. A shiver of revulsion rippled through her.
Perhaps it had been unwise to take Kate’s place after all. Not that Kate even knew she was here, of course. The girl would never have allowed her to walk out the door if she’d realized Daphne’s intentions. Unwise decision or no, she wouldn’t change a thing. Given the urgency of the situation, taking Kate’s place had seemed the only alternative. A true friend would never balk at doing the same.
She simply had to be home by the time Clarissa and her mother returned from the Heseldons’, else her intricate tangle of not-necessarily-untruths would fall to pieces.
“Pirouette.”
Mr. Bynum’s command jerked Daphne into the present. She mimicked the movements of the young woman on the stage beside her and twirled like a ballerina. More like a drunken ballerina. She had been the only one of the four who had declined to imbibe from the fortifying bottle of gin that had been passed from girl to girl in the moments before the curtain was drawn. While spirits would no doubt take the edge off her present humiliation, she believed it best to keep her wits about her. To her good fortune, no one seemed concerned about talent or proper form, only that they prance around under the pretense of being actresses, wearing unseemly costumes for the illicit pleasure of the men salivating at their feet. Coming to a stop, she sashayed to the next corner and took the place of the girl who had just vacated the spot.
According to the foul-mouthed bully of a stage master, Mr. Bynum, who was also the very same sot who had threatened Kate, they would perform the same salacious rotation ten times before taking their leave of the stage. Only then would Kate’s debt be satisfied, at least for the evening. Given a day or two, Daphne was certain she could come up with some other solution for satisfying the remainder.
Mr. Bynum shouted a French command. “Parader!”
Truly, he displayed the most appalling accent. Daphne executed a different “classical” pose.
He blathered on, this time about Helen and Paris. In that moment, she desperately tried to forget where she was and imagined herself as Helen, the face that had launched a thousand ships. Why, she had always had a flair for the dramatic. She and her sisters had always put on productions for the family, and in secret she had dreamed of a life onstage. In some ways, tonight’s daring venture was exceedingly diverting, and she might actually enjoy herself if not—
If not for the fact that she, Daphne Bevington, the Earl of Wolverton’s granddaughter and quite possibly this season’s declared incomparable, was at this moment standing on a stage in London’s most notorious bawdy house, half-naked and making a naughty spectacle of her jiggly bits for the entertainment of strangers.
Daphne bit down a gasp. Not all strangers, for there, having just come through the doorway, was Lord Rackmorton, a hopeful suitor who had sent her flowers just yesterday, two dozen perfect white roses. He’d seemed like such a nice gentleman. Obviously, she’d been fooled, and she would rebuff him at the earliest opportunity now that she had seen him here in this palace of iniquity.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of terror that had chilled her blood from the moment she’d stepped through the door of the Blue Swan. What if, even though her face was half-concealed by the mask, Lord Rackmorton saw and recognized her? What if her mother and grandfather learned of her not-very-smart, but well-intended adventure?
Yet in a blink, two women plastered themselves to his lordship’s side and escorted him off, laughing, into the shadows, past another gentleman she also recognized, sneaking in the back—
“Pirouette!”
Just then, a big hand smacked her buttocks, latched there, and squeezed.
Daphne squawked and jumped. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her assailant to be the same cretin as before, looking rather pleased at getting such a solid handful of her. Indeed, in the next moment, with the help of a friend’s knee, he hurled himself half on the stage, reaching for her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a hound on the street. �
�Come on, sweet. How about a little ballum-rankum?”
Lunging away, she somehow managed to twirl like a ballerina—
Only to crash into the girl behind her. The room erupted in laughter. In her discomposure, she’d gone the wrong way. The girl shouted a vulgarity a lady ought not to even know and gave Daphne a shove in the opposite direction—
Just in time for her to see the most attractive gentleman plant his fist in the face of the man who had affronted her.
Looking up, he glared at her rather ferociously, something that ought to frighten her but instead inspired everything inside her to tingling. Yes, he had to be a gentleman because he looked so very fine with his cravat so perfectly tied and his dark blond hair so neatly cut, somewhere between short and longish, the ideal frame for his broad cheekbones and astonishing gray eyes.
“Thank you,” she shouted, though she knew he couldn’t hear her for the din of the room.
The gleam in his gray eyes intensified. She’d never had anyone look at her like that, so blatantly, without the filter of decorum, as if she was not a girl or even a lady, but a woman.
“You’re welcome.” Or at least that’s what his mouth appeared to say. She couldn’t hear him either.
A large crash sounded from the direction of the entrance. A woman screamed. The music trailed off. An enormous man in a black suit and top hat appeared on the threshold. Patrons scrambled away from him, pushing and shoving.
Bracing his legs wide, he bellowed, “Under his majesty’s authority, this bawdy house is hereby closed for the crimes of lewdness and common nuisance.” Lifting both hands high, he displayed what appeared to be a constable’s blazon and piece of paper that could only be a warrant. “You are all under arrest.”
A swarm of men rushed in behind him, wielding batons.
Daphne stood paralyzed for a long moment. She? Daphne Bevington, under arrest?
Like everyone else, she dashed for the door.
THE DISH
Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop
From the desk of Jennifer Delamere
Dear Reader,
One reason I love writing historical fiction is that I find fascinating facts during my research that I can use to add spice to my novels.
For Tom Poole’s story in A LADY MOST LOVELY, I was particularly inspired by an intriguing tidbit I found while researching shipwrecks off the southern coast of Australia. In describing the wreck of a steamer called Champion in the 1850s, the article included this one line: “A racehorse aboard Champion broke loose, swam seven miles to the shore, and raced again in the Western District.” Isn’t that amazing!? Not only that the horse could make it to land, but that it remained healthy enough to continue racing.
Although I was unable to find out any more details about the racehorse, as a writer this little piece of information was really all I needed. I knew it would be a wonderful way to introduce the animal that would come to mean so much to Tom Poole. Tom and the stallion are the only survivors of a terrible shipwreck that left them washed up on the coast near Melbourne, Australia, in early 1851. Tom was aboard that ship in the first place because he was chasing after the man who had murdered his best friend. By the time he meets Margaret Vaughn in A LADY MOST LOVELY, Tom has been involved in two other real-life events as well: a massive wildfire near Melbourne, and the gold rush that would ultimately make him a wealthy man.
As you may have guessed by now, Tom Poole is a man of action. This aspect of his nature certainly leads him into some interesting adventures! However, when he arrives in London and meets the beguiling but elusive Miss Margaret Vaughn, he’s going to discover that affairs of the heart require an entirely different set of skills, but no less determination.
From the desk of Erin Kern
Dear Reader,
There are two things in this world that I love almost as much as dark chocolate. One of them is a striking pair of blue eyes framed by thick black lashes, with equally dark hair just long enough for a woman’s fingers to run through… Excuse me for a moment while I compose myself.
And the other is fried pie.
Okay, I just threw that last part in as an FYI. But what I’m really doing is tucking that useless tidbit away for a future project. That’s just how my weird mind works, folks.
But in all seriousness, while I really do love a blueeyed man, even more than that I love a wounded soul. Because I love to fix things. In my books. In real life I kind of suck at it.
Way back when I first started writing the Trouble series, as was kicked off with Looking for Trouble, I had an atypical wounded soul already forming in the cavernous recesses of my mind. I just needed to find a home for her.
Yes, I’m talking about a wounded heroine. I know that sounds kind of strange. Most romance readers love a scarred hero who gets his butt kicked into shape by some head-strong Miss Fix-It. Not that I don’t love that also. But I also knew Looking for Trouble wasn’t the place for her.
Lacy Taylor needed her own story with her own hero. And not only her own hero, but one with an extra tough brand of love that could break through her well-built defense mechanisms.
But make no mistake. Lacy Taylor isn’t as much of a tough cookie as she’d like everyone to think. Oh, no. She has a much softer side that only Chase McDermott could bring to the surface. Of course, she tries to keep Chase at arm’s length like everyone else in her life. But he’s too good for her defenses. Too good-looking. Too loosehipped. Too quick with his melt-your-bones smile. Not to mention his blue eyes. Gotta have those baby blues.
But Chase underestimates Lacy’s power. And I’m not talking about her tough-girl attitude. Never in Chase’s years as an adult would he have expected Lacy Taylor to get under his skin so quickly. Not only that, but nothing could have prepared him for his reaction to it.
Or to her.
You see, Chase and Lacy have known each other for a long time. And that’s another one of my weaknesses—childhood crushes turned steamy love stories. And Chase and Lacy can cook up steam faster than a drop of water on hot pavement. But it wasn’t always like that for these two. You see, Lacy blew out of Trouble years earlier, and after that Chase hardly gave the tough blonde a second thought.
But then she comes back. Now that’s when things get interesting.
Mostly because Lacy had to all but beg Chase for a job, which, in Lacy’s opinion, was almost as painful as a bikini wax. So then they’re working together. Seeing each other often. Subtle brushes here and there… you get the picture.
It gets hot. Real hot.
But the most fun part is seeing how these two wear each other down. Lacy thinks she’s so tough, and Chase thinks he can charm the habit off a nun. Well, actually he probably could.
Needless to say, heads butt, tempers flare, and the clothes, they go a-flying.
But which of these comes first? It’s all in HERE COMES TROUBLE. Because every woman needs some Trouble in her life.
Especially the blueeyed kind.
Steamy readin’,
From the desk of Lily Dalton
Dear Reader,
History has always been my thing.
Boring? Never! I’ve always viewed the subject as a colorful, dynamic puzzle of moving pieces, fascinating to analyze and relive, in whatever way possible. I used to have a history professor who often raised the question, “What if?”
For example, what if Ragnar Lodbrok and his naughty horde of Vikings had decided that they adored farming, so instead of setting off to maraud the coast of England in search adventure and riches, they had just stayed home? How might that omission from history have changed the face of England?
And jumping forward a few centuries: What if historical bad boy Henry VIII had not had such poor impulse control, and had instead just behaved himself? What if he’d tried harder to be faithful to Catherine? What if he’d never taken a shine to Anne Boleyn? There wouldn’t have been an Elizabeth I. How might this have changed the path of history?
At the heart of histo
ry, of course, are people and personalities and motivations. Characters. They weren’t flat, dusty words in black and white on the pages of a textbook. Instead, they lived in a vivid, colorful, and dangerous world. They had hearts and feelings and suffered agonies and joy.
Just like Vane Barwick, the Duke of Claxton, and his estranged wife, the duchess Sophia, who stand on the precipice of a forever sort of good-bye. Though the earlier days of their marriage were marked by passion and bliss, so much has happened since, and on this cold, dark night, understanding and forgiveness seem impossible.
Of course, in NEVER DESIRE A DUKE, the “what if?” is a much simpler question, in that the outcome will not change the course of nations.
What if there hadn’t been a snow storm that night?
Hmm. Now that I’ve forced that difficult question upon us, I realize I don’t want to imagine such an alternate ending to Vane and Sophia’s love story. Being snowbound with someone gorgeous and intriguing and desirable and, yes, provoking, is such a delicious fantasy.
If there hadn’t been a snow storm that night…
Well… thankfully, dear reader, there was!
Hugs and Happy Reading,
www.lilydalton.com
Twitter@LilyDalton
Facebook.com
From the desk of Debbie Mason
Dear Reader,
So there I was, sitting in my office in the middle of a heat wave, staring at a blank page waiting for inspiration to strike. I typed Chapter One. Nothing. Nada.
And the problem wasn’t that I was writing a Christmas story in the middle of July. I had the air conditioner cranked up, holiday music playing in the background, a pine-scented candle burning, and a supply of Hammond’s chocolate-filled peppermint candy canes on my desk. FYI, best candy canes ever!
No, the problem was my heroine, Madison Lane. I didn’t get her, and honestly, I was afraid I wasn’t going to like her very much. Because really, who doesn’t love Christmas and small towns? At that point, I was thinking of changing the title from The Trouble with Christmas to The Trouble with Madison Lane.
It took a couple of hours of staring at her picture on my wall before Madison finally opened up to me. Okay, so I may have thrown a few darts at her, drawn devil horns on her head, and given her an impressive mustache before she did. But she won me over. Once I found out what had happened to her in that small Southern town all those years ago, I fell in love with Madison. She’s strong, incredibly smart, and loyal, and after what she suffered as a little girl, she deserves a happily-ever-after more than most.