Parlor Games
Page 10
As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Sarah’s hand creep into his, and her soft voice in his ear whispered, “Thank you.”
Before noon of the following day, Tom stalked in through the open door of Mrs. Erskine’s sitting room without waiting to be announced.
Mrs. Erskine was sitting at her desk, scratching away with her pen in a large ledger. She looked up when Tom entered and waved at him to sit down. “Mr. Wilde. What brings you here so early in the day?”
In no mood for pleasantries, he remained on his feet, responding to her greeting with a curt nod. “You will return the money to Sir Richard.” His voice was pure steel.
“I will?” she asked, her voice instantly frosty. Her pen lay idle on the blotter, her fingers now steepled in front of her chin. “On whose say-so?”
“On mine.”
“Do not be foolish. I gave you a chance to purchase the girl but you refused.”
“And I would suggest banning Sir Richard from your coffee house in the future.”
Mrs. Erskine looked down her nose at him. “Now why would I do that?”
“He attacked one of your girls and very nearly raped her. He would have succeeded if I hadn’t arrived just in time to save her.”
“Sarah?”
He nodded.
“Ah, I wondered where she had run off to.” She gestured to the note on her blotter in front of her. “I was just about to alert the constabulary to the fact she was missing—along with some very expensive clothing she had borrowed from me.”
“I took her away with me last night. Thanks to Sir Richard, her expensive clothing is now ruined.”
“I will add it to his bill.”
“You will allow him to return?”
Her eyes glinted with avarice. “What is it worth to you to have him banned?”
“I will write a short pamphlet that will mention, among other details, how he has been banned from a certain house for ungentlemanly behavior. By the time I have finished with him, his reputation will be in tatters and no respectable person, man or woman, will want to be seen with him.” He smiled grimly. Very soon Sir Richard would rue the day he laid hands on Sarah. “For the right incentive, I will make it subtly clear whose house it was, where it can be found, and what ser vices can be obtained there.”
She was too canny to smile, but the look of delight that flashed in her eyes betrayed her excitement at the prospect. “The publicity would be worth something,” she admitted grudgingly.
“You know perfectly well that it would more than make up for the loss of Sir Richard’s contribution. Not to mention, your girls would feel safer if he was banned. It would serve as a warning for other gentlemen not to take what is not freely offered—and paid for.”
She gave a decisive nod. “I will inform Sir Richard that his company is no longer agreeable to me. And Sarah? Where is she?”
“My wife,” he emphasized, “is in the front parlor drinking a cup of tea.”
“Your wife?” The look on her face was of amusement rather than surprise.
“My wife.”
“Please bring her in.”
Tom hesitated.
“I would like to see with my own eyes that she has suffered no lasting harm from Sir Richard. I am sorry for the girl—I do not countenance such behavior in my house.”
Tom felt Sarah’s arm tremble in his as he led her through the dark passageway to Mrs. Erskine’s sitting room.
Mrs. Erskine regarded her with a mild air. “So, Sarah, you are to be married to this scoundrel?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You could have done a good deal better for yourself. I was expecting you to snare a handsome young baron at the very least, or an elderly coal merchant with more than enough money to spend on fripperies for a young mistress.”
Tom frowned at her.
“But I daresay Mr. Wilde will treat you handsomely enough.” She coughed. “As for Sir Richard, he will be dealt with.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now that the two of you are to be married,” she continued, “I have something I must give you.” With one hand she pushed her pince-nez glasses up her nose while with the other she opened one of her desk drawers and rummaged about in it for a minute. “Ah, here it is,” she said, bringing out a square of pasteboard and holding it out to Tom.
There was an address written on it in an elegant script—he recognized neither the address nor the handwriting. He turned it over, hoping for a clue to its purpose, but the other side was blank.
“That is my sister’s address.”
“Your sister?” Sarah ventured, looking over Tom’s shoulder at the card.
“She runs an establishment the pair of you might like to explore together,” Mrs. Erskine said, a rare smile creeping over her face. “An establishment for the entertainment of adventurous married couples.”
Tom shot a sidelong glance at Sarah. Her lips were pursed, but there was a definite gleam of interest in her eye. His cock sprang to attention at the thought that she would adventure there with him. When an opportune moment arrived, he would have to explore that subject a little further.
But not right now. He took Sarah’s arm and ushered her to the door. Mrs. Erskine was part of their past, not of their future. “Good-bye.”
Mrs. Erskine sat waiting as the couple walked out of her office. Had she misread the pair of them? She did not think so, but she had been wrong once before. Very, very wrong.
There were sounds of scuffling, and the whisper of a muted giggle reached her from the corridor.
Tom stuck his head back around the door. “We will give your sister your regards,” he promised, a merry glint in his eye, and disappeared into the corridor once more.
Mrs. Erskine picked up her pen again, a satisfied smile firmly planted on her face.
She had not been wrong. Her sister would be pleased.
About the Author
LEDA SWANN is the pseudonym for a writing team, the first half of which was born in Tennessee and brought up (mostly) in New Zealand. She has also lived in half a dozen U.S. states, as well as En gland and Wales. She finally moved back to New Zealand with her life and writing partner. The other half of Leda Swann has also lived most of his life in New Zealand, when he wasn’t working or traveling in Asia. These two halves have settled by the beach in a small coastal community in NZ, where they plan to live happily ever after.
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Credits
Cover design by Susan H. Choi
Cover photograph by Wendi Schneider
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PARLOR GAMES. “Parlor Games” copyright © 2006 by Leda Swann. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Mobipocket Reader May 2006 ISBN 0-06-128372-X
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Parlor games / Jess Michaels, Leda Swann, Julia Templeton.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Contents: Fallen angel / Jess Michaels—Parlor games / Leda Swann—Border lord / Julia Templeton.
ISBN–13: 978-0-06-088229-7 (pbk.)
ISBN–10: 0-06-088229-8 (pbk.)
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Table of Contents
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3
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6
Leda Swann
Credits
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher