by Cheryl Holt
Florella had been acquainted with Rafferty for years and considered him a friend, but no person in her world was truly a friend. Occasionally, there were rumors about him and how he treated the women he employed, but then there were rumors about everyone.
With Evangeline being at the club only a short time, Florella hadn’t supposed she’d needed to warn Evangeline to be careful around Rafferty, but should she have? When Florella had scolded Rafferty for losing Evangeline, she’d been promptly escorted to the door.
Florella was growing desperate, and she banged the knocker again. The butler opened wide and waved her in. She practically fell inside, grateful to be out of the torrent. Rain dripped from her cloak and pooled at her feet.
“I am Miss Florella Bernard,” she advised.
“I know you, Miss Bernard. I’ve seen you on the stage.”
“Lovely.” She flashed a wide smile. “I apologize for barging in, but it’s vitally important that I talk to Lord Run. Is he available?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Bernard, but he’s out.”
“When do you expect him to return?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Drat it,” she mumbled. “My mission is extremely urgent. Might I…leave him a note?”
“Certainly.”
The man ushered her into a nearby parlor and led her to a writing desk. She sat and penned an explanation of her visit to Rafferty, of Evangeline’s disappearance. She begged Aaron to investigate for himself—starting with Rafferty—and to take Bryce with him. No doubt the two men would have more luck intimidating Rafferty than Florella had had.
She sealed the note, then handed it to the butler.
“Give it to him at once,” she said.
“I will, Miss Bernard. The moment he’s back.”
“Thank you for your assistance.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
He beamed at her as if she was a grand celebrity, and he escorted her out, actually opening an umbrella and following her to her carriage.
He helped her in, getting himself soaked in the process, and as her driver clicked the reins and the horse pulled away, he stood in place, transfixed, watching her go. She leaned out the window and blew him a kiss, and he grinned and was merrily waving as she rounded the corner and lost sight of him.
Her next move would be to stop by all the clubs and taverns where Bryce and Aaron might spend a cold, stormy afternoon. She’d leave messages everywhere. Hopefully, they’d receive one of them.
* * * *
“Was that Florella Bernard?”
“Ah…yes.”
Priscilla entered the foyer. She’d heard Aaron was back—her mother paid a Sidwell housemaid to tattle—so Priscilla had come to speak with him, but he’d been out. She’d asked to wait, and the butler hadn’t known if it was all right, but he hadn’t felt he could deny her request.
She’d been dawdling in a drawing room when she’d glanced out and had observed the notorious actress slinking in.
“She seems an odd visitor,” Priscilla said. “Is she a friend of Lord Sidwell?”
“No…ah…Lord Run. She was looking for Lord Run.”
“Too bad she missed him,” Priscilla casually mused. “I’m sure she was disappointed.”
“She was.”
The butler was a bit dazed, perhaps from the rain on his clothes, or perhaps from his encounter with Miss Bernard. A lower sort of person—a servant for instance—might deem her to be splendid.
But as to Priscilla, it was the second time in a matter of days that she’d been standing under the same roof as the actress. It was such an outrage that she wanted to reach over, shake him, and complain, How could you let her in the door when I am in residence?
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Cummings?” he said.
“Oh, yes, of course. You must find a towel and dry yourself. I’d hate to have you catch a cold.”
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“No, no, I’m fine. You go on.”
He tottered off as she peeked over at the table in the corner and saw a letter laying there. Since Priscilla had arrived, Miss Bernard was the only one to pass through. Had she written it to Aaron?
What gall! What nerve!
Priscilla scooped it up and took it into the parlor where a warm fire burned. She sat on the sofa and broke the seal. She probably should have felt guilty, but she didn’t. If Aaron ever learned about the letter and that it hadn’t been given to him, she’d be more than happy to implicate the butler.
Servants were scandalously unreliable, and he was getting older. It wouldn’t be surprising if he’d forgotten to hand over an important piece of correspondence.
The words were penned in a tidy, feminine script, and as she read them, her temper soared to such an astonishing height she was amazed she didn’t swoon.
Miss Etherton was in London? She’d vanished? Miss Bernard wanted Aaron to search for the blasted woman?
Priscilla absolutely would not permit him to shame her by chasing around the city, hunting for his missing concubine. Aaron would generate tons of gossip, and Priscilla would be a laughingstock.
“Sorry, Miss Etherton,” she muttered, “but if you’re having difficulty, no one will ride to your rescue—especially not my fiancé.” She rose and went over to the fire. “Goodbye,” she nastily said, “and wherever you are, good luck.”
She tossed the letter into the flames, just as a male voice asked, “What are you doing?”
She jumped and whirled to see Aaron. She suffered a moment of terrifying panic, then she regrouped and forced a wide smile.
“Aaron, I didn’t realize you were back.”
“I repeat, Priscilla, what are you doing?”
He glowered at her, and she shrugged. “Waiting for you. I thought we could spend the afternoon together.”
As he stomped over to her, she was aggravated to discover that the letter had hit the grate, that only a small portion of it had landed in the flames. Aaron stooped down and retrieved it, blowing on the spot where it had begun to burn.
“What were you saying about Miss Etherton?” he demanded, the damning evidence dangling from his fingers.
“Ah…nothing?”
“I was directly behind you, Priscilla. You mentioned her very clearly.”
“You’re mad if you think so.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. Why must you always be so horrid? Why must you always chastise and belittle me?”
But he was already ignoring her to read what Miss Bernard had written.
“Dammit,” he cursed. “How did you get your filthy paws on this?”
Her first impulse was to deny and deny and deny, but saner instincts prevailed. “It was on the table in the foyer.”
“So you assumed you could open it and read it?”
“I’m about to be your wife. You shouldn’t have any secrets from me.”
His eyes narrowed, his gaze growing angry. “And after perusing it, you felt I shouldn’t be allowed to see it?”
“Why should I have to sit idly by while an actress visits you? When Miss Bernard arrived, I nearly fainted. She blustered in as if it was perfectly acceptable.”
“As she’s a friend of mine, yes, it’s perfectly acceptable.”
“Well, it’s not acceptable to me! I had to endure her company for several minutes. If Mother knew, she’d just die!”
She paused, expecting an apology or empathy as to her plight, but her dramatic announcement had no effect whatsoever.
“Go home, Priscilla.”
“What? No. It’s raining, and we haven’t talked.”
“Trust me, we’ve talked plenty. Now go!”
“I won’t.”
He stormed over and clasped her arm, and he was pulling her down the hall as she dragged her feet and tried to refuse to depart. All the while, he was calling for the butler, for the servants, to fetch her cloak and bonnet, for her carriage to be brought to the door.
To her disgust
, Bryce Blair was in the foyer, and when he saw her, he smirked and chided, “Look who’s back—like a bad penny.”
“I won’t be insulted by the likes of you,” she huffed.
“Too late,” he blithely replied. “You already have been.”
Mr. Blair said to Aaron, “Who let her in?”
“Believe me, she wasn’t invited.”
“I insisted we shouldn’t have stopped by,” Mr. Blair said. “May I please say, I told you so? Just once, can I say it?”
“Be silent, Bryce,” Aaron snapped.
The butler rushed up, several servants dashing behind him, everyone in a dither over Aaron’s irate shouting.
“Is there a problem, Lord Run?” the butler inquired.
“Miss Cummings is leaving,” Aaron advised him, “and she is not to be permitted inside again.”
There was a gasp of surprise, and the butler stammered, “I…understand, Lord Run. I didn’t realize she was…ah…”
“It’s all right.” Aaron’s gaze drifted over the assembled group. “You didn’t know before, but you know now. If she ever manages to slither in again, I’ll have your hides. Am I making myself clear?”
There was frantic nodding all around.
She leaned in and whispered, “Aaron, you’re embarrassing me in front of the servants. If they watch you berating me, how will I ever earn their respect?”
“You don’t need to earn their respect.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell your mother I’ll be by tomorrow at noon to speak with her.”
“About what?”
“I’ll tell both of you then.” He glared at the butler. “I want her out of here in the next thirty seconds. If her carriage isn’t ready, she can wait out in the rain.”
This elicited more gasps from the staff and had the butler stammering again.
“Yes, Lord Run…ah…yes, I’ll see to it.”
Aaron turned to Mr. Blair. “Evangeline is in trouble. Let’s go.”
He and Mr. Blair raced out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I have great plans for you, Evangeline.”
“Would you call me Miss Etherton?”
“There’s no need to be so formal, is there?”
Evangeline glared at Mr. Rafferty, wondering if he wasn’t mad.
She’d been locked in the small parlor for hours. She’d paced and knocked and begged for help, but no one had passed by.
Rafferty had finally arrived, but a servant had swiftly barred the door behind him. He was grinning, trying to appear charming and unthreatening, which was impossible.
He was built like a pugilist, with broad shoulders and big hands, and his nose was crooked—as if it had been broken in a fight. He had a scar too, a dangerous looking one over his eye.
She was thirsty and starving, and the tray of wine and cheese was still on the table—mostly untouched. In the beginning, she’d poured herself a glass of wine, but after taking a few sips, she’d grown very dizzy, gradually becoming so disoriented that she suspected he’d drugged it.
She’d increased her pacing, had let her temper flare, had pinched and slapped and talked to herself, all in an effort to keep herself focused, to ward off any narcotic effect.
Had he hoped to render her unconscious? And then what? What was his scheme? Would he use her for illicit purposes? Sell her into slavery? In the desperate period she’d been secreted away, a thousand anxious scenarios had arisen. He had to be disappointed to find her hale and alert. What would he try next?
“I want to explain our procedures,” he said.
“You don’t have to explain. I’m grateful that you offered me a position, but I can’t accept it.”
He chuckled. “You’re sassy, aren’t you?”
She continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure Florella is looking for me.” Evangeline stepped to the door, acting as if she could simply stroll out. “She’s probably frantic.”
“Don’t worry about Florella. I sent her packing, and she won’t be back.”
“Why would you do that?” Evangeline employed her most stern, schoolteacher’s tone. “How am I to get home?”
“You are home.”
“No. I’m not staying, Mr. Rafferty. I’ve been very clear.”
“I’ve been very clear too. So…this is how it works.”
“Mr. Rafferty! You’re not listening to me.”
“And you’re not listening to me. We’ll have a contract for five years.”
“Five years!”
“Yes, and at the end of it, we’ll review your status and earnings. I’ll decide if I should renew.”
“I don’t mean to insult you, sir, but I truly believe you may be insane.”
“Not insane. Not about you. You’ll make me a fortune. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I won’t make you a bent penny. Now I must be going. I have to locate Florella.”
“She thinks you walked out of here and suffered a mishap.”
“Why would she think that?”
“Because I told her you left, and we hadn’t seen you again. If she’s searching at all—and I hate to tell you this, but she has a very short attention span—she’s searching out on the street.”
Evangeline pounded on the door. Quick as a flash, he yanked her away. His expression turned stony, any pretense of courtesy abandoned.
“You can’t leave, Evangeline. Not until I’m through with you.”
“And you can’t keep me here. I’m engaged to be married. People will be alarmed over my disappearance.”
He pointed to her hand—that had no ring on it. “You’re engaged? Who is the lucky fellow?”
“Aaron Drake, Lord Run,” she lied, figuring mention of an illustrious person would frighten him. “His father is Earl of Sidwell.”
“I know George Drake. He owes me a fortune, and as to Lord Run, I could have sworn he was betrothed to Priscilla Cummings.”
“He was,” she blustered, “but he changed his mind and asked me instead.”
“Really? I would guess you haven’t a farthing to your name, while Miss Cummings is rich as Croesus, and Lord Sidwell is in debt up to his eyeballs. Why would Lord Run toss her over for the likes of you?”
Why indeed?
She’d never been a good liar, and her cheeks heated, a red flush coloring them. Still, she persisted. “He’ll be very angry if I’m harmed. Very angry.”
Rafferty’s lewd gaze swept over her. “If you were anything to him at all, he lifted your skirt a few times, which means you were naught but a bit of fluff, and his kind is all the same. He’ll move on to his next doxy without a second thought.”
She was quite sure his description was accurate. In fact, Lord Run was probably glad she’d fled. She’d brought trouble and drama into his life, when he detested both. He was probably celebrating, toasting himself for being shed of her so easily.
Who would miss her? Who would realize she’d vanished? No one knew when or how she’d left Fox Run. No one but Florella knew she was in London, and she was barely acquainted with Florella. Florella had no duty to search or worry.
If Evangeline met with a bad end, who would ever be apprised?
It was such a sad, sobering prospect. She’d always been alone, with Miss Peabody the closest thing she’d had to a mother, and Rose and Amelia her only friends. They’d never learn what had happened, and London would be the last place they would assume her to be.
Mr. Rafferty could perpetrate any foul conclusion, so she had to muster her wits and prepare to escape. He couldn’t watch her every minute. He couldn’t remember to lock every door and every window. The instant she had the chance, she would run away.
“I should like to write to Lord Run,” she pompously announced—as if she had his London address and could contact him there.
“No, and let’s get back to our arrangement.”
“We shall never have an arrangement, Mr. Rafferty.”
He ignored her and continued. “
Have you done any acting?”
She’d performed in theatricals at school, but she’d never admit it.
“Acting? No. I’m a schoolteacher.”
“I presume you’re a virgin, or has Lord Run relieved you of your only valuable asset?”
It was such a rude remark that she actually tried to slap him. But he grabbed her wrist, stopping any blow.
“You’re feisty.” He seemed tantalized by the notion. “I like that. My customers will too.”
“Let go of me.”
She fought to jerk away, but he tightened his grip and drew her to him so their bodies were pressed together. She struggled to put space between them, but he was wiry and tough, humored by her paltry attempts.
“I’m eager to determine”—he was leering, smirking—“if I should have you first, or if I should keep you chaste and drive up the price.”
“The price of what?”
“We’ll sell your virginity to the highest bidder, Evangeline. Then, depending on your acting skills, we’ll sell it over and over.”
She wanted to laugh. Any innocence she’d ever possessed had been destroyed by Lord Run. There was no virginity to sell, but she didn’t suppose she should mention it.
“I don’t care what schemes you concoct for me,” she seethed. “I will never willingly participate in any of them.”
“You won’t? Not even when you realize that—in five short years—you can walk away rich beyond your imagination. You can take your earnings and move to Paris or Rome. You can live like a prosperous, sophisticated lady.”
“Because you speak of such a future so confidently, I assume you often cross paths with women who would salivate over such a fate. Unfortunately for you, I am not one of them.”
She managed to free her wrist, and she pounded on the door again, calling for help.
He clamped a palm over her mouth and pulled her away. She wrestled and scratched as he dragged her toward the sofa, but she refused to end up there. She understood what would happen if she did.
She’d surrendered her virtue to Lord Run, and he was the only man who would ever enjoy the privilege. She certainly wouldn’t offer similar license to a rapacious brigand like Rafferty.
They were at the sofa’s edge, and he was trying to force her down. She clawed her fingernails down his cheek, and he roared with outrage, the injury imbuing him with extra strength. He picked her up and tossed her onto the sofa, and he fell on her as she wailed and bit at him—but to no avail.