by Joan Vincent
Donatien blocked his way. “Here,” he held out bank notes. “I am certain your luck is about to turn.”
Leonard stared at the money, battled with his mind’s whispered warning. “Where are Inglis and Gough?”
“Upstairs with the ladies,” Donatien told him. “Come, this bet will be the one.”
Leonard finished the port and placed his markers on the board. At von Willmar’s urging, he doubled the wager.
“There,” Donatien congratulated him, “I said you would win. I must see to a matter but this lady will keep you company, will you not Louisa?” He drew forward a buxom tart.
Michael stared at white mounds beneath the sheer gown.
“Louisa will be your good luck piece.” Donatien signalled a porter. “Wine for this gentleman. Bon chance—may your winnings be large.” Then he joined a man at the back of the room.
“Is all arranged?”
“He shall be yours,” sneered the weasel-eyed owner. “My men be wondering how gentl’ they should be.”
“No visible marks and nothing that incapacitates. Perhaps a threat to his manhood,” Donatien suggested. He watched Gough and Inglis, intoxicated, stagger down the stairs. The women who supported them were not. He sauntered to them.
“Gentlemen, your evening has gone well?”
Inglis’ wore a foolish grin. “‘Tis great, von Willmar.”
“The dice will be lucky for you this eve,” Donatien told them. He motioned the ladies to take them to a table.
“Don’ know ‘bout that,” Gough protested. “Los’ ‘nuf.”
The ladies cajoled their clients. Soon the foursome staggered toward the dicing tables.
Two hours later Donatien and Leonard rode in a carriage toward Orange Street. After he bemoaned large losses, Michael pleaded for a loan. To his amazement, von Willmar proved unwilling to accommodate him. He brooded in sullen silence.
When the coach halted, Leonard looked out the window. “Thas not my ‘dress.”
“We are but a street from it. The walk will clear your head.”
“Clear head,” moaned Michael. “Dear God, what’s ta be done?” He rubbed his face and moaned. “Owe ‘em thousan’s.”
“You owe me several thousand as well.” Donatien met the startled gaze, watched the drink-fogged mind struggle with this unexpected disaster. “What you received from me after that first night I now call due. When will you repay the debt?”
“Repay,” squeaked Leonard. “I don’t have the blunt.”
“Then will you consider another method of payment?” the Frenchman asked with a cold smile. “It may prove helpful with the other matter you mentioned.”
“What ... what do y’mean?”
“Your drudgery could, how did you say it, ‘Grease the way?’ out of this, er, situation.”
“Drudgery? Wha’dya mean?”
“Making four copies of a dispatch is as easy as three.”
Leonard stilled. He drew in a ragged breath. “An’ what hap’ens to fourth one?”
“I know someone who would pay dearly for it.”
“Pay?” Leonard hiccoughed. “That’d be treason.”
“I offer this opportunity because I am somewhat at fault for your present distress. Be assured I will not press you.” Donatien opened the carriage door. “Send word.”
Leonard saw the fiery glitter in the Prussian’s eyes. Danger charged the air. He scrabbled out of the coach.
“Damme,” he swore aloud as it rumbled away. When he turned from Castle Street onto Orange two hulks blocked his way.
“Pardon,” Michael slurred. He stepped back only to be pinned by a third.
“Those as owes pays,” one who faced Leonard told him. “An’ if’n they don’t things happen to ‘em.” He rammed a fist into Leonard’s stomach. “This be a warnin’ kindly like. Payment’s due in two days or we visit wid ye again,” he continued.
When one of his tormentors grabbed a hold of his privates and another prodded them with a knife Leonard almost swallowed his tongue.
The fellow purred, “Ye cou’d lose more’n yer life. Two days,” he warned and resumed the beating.
* * *
October 17th Tuesday
Gervase ducked into the narrow alley off Swallow Street and flattened against the wall. Edging toward the darker reaches of the alley, he jumped when a figure stepped out of a recess.
“What news have you?” Donatien demanded.
The servant glanced toward the street, then at the black cloaked figure. “A dinner was held at Lord Broyal’s last eve. Both gentlemen attended. There was talk of plans.”
“Plans concerning what?”
“There has been a change, monseigneur. M. Tarrant’s man, Cauley, he has gone. Where I do not know.”
“What else do you know of this affair last eve?”
“Lord Blake attended.” He paused, wracked his brain. “The ladies Edgerton were there.”
“You overheard nothing useful?”
“Non,” he shrugged, “only nonsense about un serpent.”
Donatien went very still.
Gervase hurriedly added, “The gentlemen are to attend a party at the baron’s oncle, Lord Tretain.”
“When?”
“Mercredi—Wednesday.”
“Go,” bade Donatien. Had he erred in seeking revenge? A deep anger surged through him. Slowly he forced a detached calmness.
Anger can be your death, as it was for Veryl, he thought. They know nothing while I have the means to know everything.
* * *
Later Tuesday
Elminda admired the vase of delicate hothouse flowers in the White Salon. When Mr. von Willmar was announced, she gushed in gratification for the bouquet.
“So happy it pleases you.” He escorted her to the settee and sat beside her. “You are alone this afternoon?”
“Yes, Lady Edgerton and Miss Amabelle have gone out to purchase ... some items.” Elminda frowned.
“These purchases—they do not please you?” he purred.
“It is not that.” Elminda struggled with how much to reveal of her sister-in-law’s unfortunate charitable work.
“My poor dear,” Donatien pressed her hand. “I know you do your best by them.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But Sarah has never known her own consequence. Now she draws Amabelle into this charity foolishness.” The spinster pursed her lips. “I must be honest. Amabelle has taken a sudden interest in Sarah’s work.”
“Work here in London?”
“One would have thought she could not in the city,” she agreed. “There are these men, ex-soldiers Molly says. They ask Sarah to treat their wounds.”
“Lady Edgerton does not refuse them?”
“No.” Elminda stilled her irritation. “Pardon me. I have not asked why you called.”
“To see you, Miss Edgerton,” Donatien answered easily. He saw a glimmer in Elminda’s eye. “If there is anything I—”
She toyed with the lace at her neck. “Wednesday eve we are to attend a rout at the Tretains.”
“But you must permit me to escort you.”
“You wish to do so?” she simpered her satisfaction.
“I am yours to command,” Donatien assured her. He paused. “You have been very busy of late.”
“Oh, yes,” Elminda preened. “We attended a dinner party at the Viscount Broyal’s last eve. It was such a relief after that dreadful event.” Realizing her slip, she put a hand to her mouth. She had been told quite firmly, unpleasantly so, that no one was to know of that incident.
“You may trust me, my dear, with anything,” he encouraged.
Elminda heaved a grateful sigh. She leaned toward him, eager to recount the frightening episode.
* * *
Molly halted as she came out of Lady Edgerton’s bedchamber. She was startled to see Cauley with one ear against the White Salon’s door. She crept behind him and laid a hand on his arm.
He turned his head. Seeing Molly, Caul
ey smiled.
Placing her hands on her hips, she began, “Mr. Cau—”
The valet clapped a hand over her mouth and another about her waist. Hauling her up against him, Cauley carried her to Lady Edgerton’s dressing chamber. After he butted that door shut with his shoulder he released the abigail.
Scarlet faced, Molly heaved with indignation. “You beast!” She gasped as he pinned her against the wall. “You ill-mannered—”
Cauley’s head snapped head back as if slapped. He growled and then captured her lips in a rough searing kiss.
Molly went rigid, then returned it. When Cauley abruptly freed her, she put a trembling hand to her lips.
“Damme, I’m that sorry. Sorry if I frightened you, that is. You’d try God’s patience.” When she only stared, he said, “You damme well had enough ta say a moment ago.”
Molly lowered her hand. “Watch your language, Mr. Cauley.” She flattened against the wall when he stepped towards her. “Stay where you are.”
“I told you. I’m sorry.”
Consternation flickered in the abigail’s eyes. “I shall have to tell Lady Edgerton that you eavesdropped.”
A wry smile spread across Cauley’s features. “I’m going ta trust you, you gilflurt. Keep what I’m about ta say ta yerself—fer yer lady’s sake. Her life may depend on it.”
* * *
Tuesday Afternoon
Donatien whistled as he returned to the Earl of Lade’s residence late in the afternoon. Not even the glimpse of a man he believed posted to guard the Edgerton’s had dimmed his mood.
“Sir, there is a person awaiting you in the small parlour,” the Lade butler informed him with a haughty lift of his chin.
Donatien’s features tightened when he saw Leonard hovering on the edge of a chair.
Michael clutched his side as he stood. “Von Willmar, I thought you would never return,” he bleated.
“You were to send word.” Donatien eyed him with obvious displeasure.
Trembling, Leonard fumbled at his coat pocket until the Prussian took hold of his hand. He looked into a saturnine face. “You promised,” he half-cried.
Donatien towered over him. “Not here.”
Leonard crouched back. “You said—”
“I will meet you at nine, outside the Blue Devil.”
“Nine,” Michael repeated. “Blue Devil.” He nodded. When he looked up, von Willmar was gone.
* * *
No. 41 Grosvenor Street October 18th Wednesday
Hadleigh circulated through the various rooms filled with Tretain’s guests. He had visited with Sarah, brought her punch, and by dint of a severe rein had not sought her out more often. Now he saw several ladies including his aunt and Lady Broyal surround her. Grateful for the ladies they presented to Sarah, he wished they would not propel so many gentlemen to her.
When Sarah went to the retiring room, he took a station where he could observe her return. When she did so, Hadleigh greeted her with a warm smile. He secured her hand and placed it on his sleeve. “It is too warm in here,” he noted as he led her into the corridor. “Let us walk a bit.”
Sarah hung back trying to heed her heart’s warning.
“It will give you a respite from the gentlemen who plague you,” Hadleigh cajoled. “I might spy a death watch beetle.”
A sudden giddiness bubbled inside Sarah. “In this house? What utter foolishness. We must return.”
“No.” He drew her forward. “No one shall miss either of us. Do you know what coccinella seven-punctata is?”
To his surprise, Sarah said, “A common ladybird.”
He smiled. “See that alcove?” Hadleigh motioned to a fall of ivory. “It almost caused a row when Berty Totten was discovered there with Miss Rumsen.”
“What a foolish miss,” Sarah murmured.
Hadleigh drew her toward it. “I no longer think Totten the stupidest oaf.”
When he drew aside the drapery, Sarah protested. “Mr. Tarrant, this is not kind of you.”
Goaded, Hadleigh agreed, “No, it is not.” Letting the curtain fall behind them, he whispered, “I definitely do not feel kindness.” Gathering her in his arms, he kissed with all the fervour in his heart.
Sarah, startled, tried to resist. She was not proof against the sensuous mixture of starched linen, sandalwood, and his masculine scent. She fought for the strength to keep Hadleigh from what they would regret, but found his lips entreated her too ardently, too persistently.
Sarah pressed against Hadleigh, let her hands steal about his neck. Passion answered passion. When he caressed her breast, a cataclysm threatened to eradicate all common sense.
Hadleigh’s desire leapt as the nub of her breast hardened. His carefully planned courtship lost in her scent, the creamy smoothness of her skin, her passionate response. When Sarah opened her mouth, he met her tongue, plunged, tasted, drank her essence. He caressed her breasts; carried them deeper into the heat.
Slowly Hadleigh became aware of a change, of Sarah’s withdrawal. Love cooled his ardour, fanned his common sense back to life. He released her lips but not his hold.
“Sarah, this is right for us.” When she trembled, he kissed her brow. “Do not speak.” Hadleigh drew her hand over his thundering heart. “This is the truth. Believe,” he begged. “I was a fool last May. I was so afraid of ... of everything ... of myself. But now—”
A boisterous laugh intruded.
“Damme,” swore Hadleigh. He dropped a swift kiss on Sarah’s lips and then stepped back and waited for the voices to recede.
“We must take care until George is captured,” he whispered. “I love you. In this I do not have the patience of a saint.”
Sarah watched Hadleigh draw aside the alcove’s drape. She studied his lean features, handsome and gentled by love. At his whispered, “Go,” she bade her trembling legs move.
To her surprise, they did so. Sarah walked away not daring to look back. She halted just inside the salon.
“There you are, Stepmama. Are you quite all right?” Amabelle asked. “You are rather flushed.”
“It, it is nothing,” Sarah stammered. “The heat.” She plied her fan. “You should be dancing.”
“Mr. Crandall wishes to dance with you,” Amabelle groused. “I had hoped to find Mr. Tarrant. Have you seen him?”
A surge of warmth coursed through Sarah. She choked back a giggle. “Yes.”
Watching Sarah and Amabelle enter the large room where a small ensemble played, Lady Juliane blinked. Why, Lady Edgerton is handsome. Even beautiful. How odd. I distinctly recall I did not think so when I first met her. She watched Mr. Crandall intercept the two and lead Sarah onto the dance floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, Juliane noticed Hadleigh enter the room and followed his gaze to Sarah. She drew in a quick breath at what she read in it. Apprehension stabbed her.
On the other side of the salon, Donatien also observed Tarrant’s gaze, but with venom.
* * *
Refusing Amabelle’s offer of escort to the retiring room after Crandall tore a flounce from her petticoat, Sarah hummed as she entered it. She still marvelled that Hadleigh desired her, that he loved her. She stepped behind a screen and began to repair the damage in a haze of unfamiliar bliss.
On her heels Lady Jersey entered with three acquaintances. “Countess Tretain wishes vouchers for the Edgerton chit and her stepmother,” she complained.
“The young lady is very well behaved and quite pretty,” Lady Cowper offered.
“But her stepmother,” the more vitriolic member of the group said. “She is far too long of face and tooth. Only fortune hunters will have her.”
Lady Cowper twitched a curl in place. “But she has danced oft. And did you notice? Tarrant has been fetching for her.”
“Probably wishes to turn her up sweet,” Lady Jersey snapped. “The stepdaughter has looks and, I hear, a fortune.”
“Hadleigh Tarrant has never been a fool,” the third snorted. “Too bad, it
would be wickedly glorious gossip if he would make a fool of himself with the barren widow.”
Lady Jersey ignored this sally as she led them from the retiring room. “But what shall I do about the voucher?”
If there was a reply, Sarah did not hear it. If she moved her heart would shatter. But it did not. Sarah had learned long ago that hearts were much stronger than crushed dreams.
* * *
October 19th Thursday
Sarah and Amabelle arrived home after two in the morning but an hour later Sarah still had not undressed. Catching a glimpse of her disturbed features in the mirror, she halted. Sarah approached it. What she saw confirmed what she had overheard.
Why does Hadleigh say I am beautiful? What does he see?
“How foolish you were,” she told her image, “to imagine a life with Hadleigh ... with love.” A sob tore loose from the pit of her stomach.
If only he had not resorted to such foolish courting. She thought of the ritual of the apple and the Bishop’s wort on his lapel. Both had disarmed her defences.
Why do I love him so? Sarah paced. Because he is courageous. Because he is kind and frets for those he cares. Because—
This is useless. When I hear his voice my heart leaps. When I see him, my spirit soars. When we touched, I became alive. I become beautiful. She hugged herself, held this reality close.
Hadleigh is a young man. He needs a wife who can give him children. Sarah had hoped a few times that she was with child. She had been devastated when she realized there never would be any.
That truth could not be denied. But it was easier to face than to reveal that she had caused Hadleigh’s capture.
Sarah flung herself onto her bed and let the anguish take over. There would be time later to summon the strength to endure the pain she would face if Hadleigh proved difficult to dissuade. That he would be so perversely fickle, even if she were the one who planned his defection, added to her heartbreak.
* * *
It was three in the morning when Donatien made his way through the tangle of streets to a small deserted house. He crept up the stairs to a windowless room on the first floor.