She smiled at James, revealing blackened stubs of teeth. ‘And what is to your taste, good sir? Name it and it is yours.’
James was thinking fast. If Charlotte was here, then he may already be too late. His heart felt as if it would burst in his chest at the thought. But he must keep calm. For Charlotte’s sake he must keep his head. The girls in the theatre dressing room had assured him that she would be here with Fosdyke. He dared not think what had gone on this last week. He could only pray that he was in time. And if not... ? ‘I seek something very special.’ James smiled, his fine brows quirking with speculative enquiry.
Madame Babette sighed nostalgically. ‘I may be able to help,’ she said, her low tone throbbing with promise. ‘Name your fancy.’
‘I am most particular who I sport with,’ James said, deciding to take the risk. If it did not work he could make his excuses and try another way. ‘Pristine merchandise is what I favour. Untouched, unflawed, and beautiful, naturally.’
‘Naturally, monsieur.’ Madame’s eyes gleamed as she contemplated the fee, then sucked in a long breath. ‘But a virgin is difficult to come by. I did have one, but...’ Madame Babette grunted and lifted her shoulders in an expressive shrug. She was rapidly assessing her girls, wondering which one could pass for an innocent.
‘I can pay, no matter what the cost.’
Madame’s bushy eyebrows climbed as she viewed the pouch of coins he dropped into her lap. ‘There is more if I’m satisfied with the goods.’
There was a small silence.
‘Cartelet,’ she called, her voice as demanding and musical as a crow’s.
‘Madame?’
In a few blunt sentences James’s requirements were outlined, the money having been swiftly pocketed and a minimum portion, just enough to capture his interest, handed over to Cartelet. Madame jerked her head in the direction of the stairs. ‘I believe we did have a new girl tonight? Fetch her.’
‘She is taken, madame.’
Madame Babette, unused to being crossed, stamped her great foot upon the floor making the room tremble. ‘Give the Count Marguerite. He’ll never know the difference.’
‘He’ll not be pleased. I think he’s already gone up.’
The hand lashed out, rattling Cartelet’s teeth in his jaw. ‘I never asked your opinion. Get on with it.’ Turning to James, the black teeth once more revealed a grimace that passed for her smile. ‘You’ll not be disappointed, I think. But go gently with her, she’s a young maid, unbroken, fresh from the country. A gentleman like yourself should set her nicely on the daisy path to dalliance. We don’t want to spoil her at the start, eh?’
She was still cackling as James mounted the stairs behind Cartelet, his heart in his throat. Never had he prayed so fervently as he did now. He only wished the man would not dawdle so. James longed to knock him to one side, to bound up the stairs and tear open every door until he found Charlotte. But that would be lunatic and, in the end, more time consuming, for it was not a small establishment and he might miss her.
After climbing several flights of stairs they turned at last into a landing. Outside a door Cartelet stopped and tapped lightly upon it. Nothing happened.
James stepped nearer to the door. Was that a sound? A cry rang out and he could wait no longer. Heart pounding fit to burst, he could no longer restrain the molten energy that flowed through his limbs. Thrusting the astonished Cartelet to one side, James burst open the locked door, splintering the ancient wood with his wide shoulders.
He stood riveted to the spot. ‘Charlotte!’ She was indeed there, standing on the bed, legs astride, her muslin dress torn to the waist revealing the pretty, almost schoolgirlish lace of her shift and the soft bloom of one breast tantalizingly revealed. She had her hands raised, and in them was a bedpost.
‘Dear Lord, she must have ripped it off with her bare hands,’ murmured James. Sprawled senseless upon the bed lay the half clothed body of the Count, or so James presumed. That gentleman had clearly been in the process of taking off his shirt when Charlotte must have felled him with a blow. He had the lump upon his regal head to prove it, and would doubtless not forget this visit to Madame Babette’s in a hurry.
With a cry of delight Charlotte leapt from the bed and ran straight into James’s arms. He crushed her against his chest, holding her as if he might never let her go, as indeed he fully intended not to do so in future. Then lifting her in his arms and ignoring the protests of the astonished Monsieur Cartelet, James carried her out of the room and down the stairs. Charlotte buried her face into his shoulder and clung fast.
At the foot of the stairs they were met by a furious Fosdyke, who growled and snapped at them like a demented wolf.
‘Enough of your cunning machinations, Fosdyke. I’m taking her home with me and if you ever come near her again I’ll whip you to within an inch of your life, not to mention having you flung into jail for abduction.’
‘But I…’
‘Do I make myself clear? As for our little business arrangement, you will be hearing from my lawyers next week terminating our agreement. I do not do business with rogues.’
Fosdyke glared at James for a long moment before finally offering a sweeping, mocking bow. ‘You’ll forgive me, Sir James, if I do not return the loans dear Charlotte so generously made to me. My situation is a little stretched at present.’
‘It will be worth the loss to have the pleasure of never crossing your odious path again. You can go to the devil for all I care.’ And, kicking open the door, James swept out with Charlotte clasped firmly against his heart.
* * * *
‘But how did you know that I was there?’
They were on the deck of the ship bound for London and James was outlining his search to Charlotte, but he kept getting side-tracked by the urge to keep kissing her.
‘Do stop and tell me the tale properly,’ she teased, easing herself from his grasp, although she really had no wish for him to stop.
Once James had finally filled in all the details to Charlotte’s complete satisfaction, although she insisted upon one or two parts being repeated just to be sure that he truly had needed to find her as much as he claimed, she let him kiss her some more.
‘I dare say you guessed what Fosdyke really had in mind, being far more worldly than I,’ she ruefully added. ‘Is there anyone at all that I can trust?’
The answer to that was so obvious that James felt obliged to kiss her again, in order to make his case. ‘When we get home, do you know the very first thing I shall do?’
Charlotte gazed at him, wide eyed, and shook her head, a sudden fear in her voice. ‘Send me home to Cornwall?’
James threw back his head and laughed, squeezing her close in his arms at the same time. The sea breezes had burnished her cheeks to a glowing pink, and wisps of nut brown hair curled and danced about her face. How could he resist such vibrant, loving beauty?
‘No, my sweet. From now on your home is with me. I shall waste not a moment in making you my wife before you have the chance to run away again.’
Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, her heart leaping and sinking, and going hot and cold by turn. His fingers closed her lips and her protests. ‘Listen to me before you speak, my little love. I intend to reduce my political commitments. No, do not interrupt. I’d grown tired of the corruption, the cheating, the personal favours and back stabbing that goes on. I shall do my duty, but I have discovered other interests now. I have also sold my newsheet.’
‘Then the scandalmongers have won.’
James laughed. ‘Not at all. I have not sold it to Bletherington but to a new man who will develop it in a way I approve of. Instead, I have bought a plot of land where I intend to build the finest theatre London has ever seen. No, not for you to act in, my love, though I dare say you might from time to time when you are not too busy looking after me and our future family.’
Charlotte flushed bright scarlet. What was he saying?
‘But I certainly hope that you will h
elp me to run it. The theatre is yet in its infancy and I believe its prime may well be both interesting and profitable.’
‘Oh, James,’ was all she could manage as she looked up at him with adoring eyes, even as hope died in her breast. ‘But I still cannot marry you. Have you forgotten the question of my birth?’
Again the fingers came down, stroking and tracing the beloved line of her lips which he wanted to kiss and kiss again till she begged for mercy. But first things first. Taking Charlotte’s hand, he led her to a quiet corner of the ship where they were not observed. Seating her gently on a coil of ropes, he took her cold hands between his own.
‘I have not forgotten, Charlotte. As I have so often told you, the particulars of your birth are of no importance to me. I love you for what you are, not for who you are. Do you understand?’
She scarcely dared believe the evidence of her own ears.
‘I have also found your mother.’
A gasp of astonishment, of delight, of fear.
James smiled. ‘She sends her love and looks forward to meeting you. While searching for you, I left my card all over town at every theatre and every establishment with theatrical connections I could find. She has changed her name of course, so that is probably why you could not find her. But she recognised your name and, out of concern for you, called upon me. She asked that when I did find you, which thank God I have, I tell you the story of your birth so that it would be less painful for her. I shall do my best, though it is a sorry tale and I shall make it brief.’
‘Go on. I am ready.’ Charlotte withdrew her hands to clasp them tightly together. She must face whatever it was with courage.
‘Your mother, Eleanor, was courted by two brothers, Jeffrey and Justin Forbes. She fell in love with and secretly married the younger son, Jeffrey. Out of fear of Justin’s jealousy, they dared not risk discovery. They were right to fear him, for, driven mad by his jealousy and desire for Eleanor, Justin challenged his brother to a mock duel which turned deadly serious. Justin used it to kill his brother as if by accident.’
Charlotte had turned deathly pale, and James put out a hand in case she should fall, but she shook her head and sat up very straight. ‘Please continue.’
‘After her husband’s death, Eleanor stayed on at the family home and married Justin.’
Charlotte gasped. ‘Just as happened in Hamlet.’
James frowned. ‘There may be a certain similarity. Except that Eleanor was already carrying you, so when Justin begged her to stay and marry him she decided it would be better than trying to bear a child alone with no means of support. She admits she should have found the courage to tell Justin that she and his brother had been legally married, and that she was pregnant. But she failed to do so. Perhaps understandably in the circumstances.’
‘I see.’ For the first time Charlotte began to view her mother as a real person, with an insurmountable problem. ‘Then my father was Jeffrey, not Justin Forbes?’
James nodded. ‘Eleanor soon realised her mistake in marrying Justin. His violent and possessive nature constantly got the better of him, and when he discovered that his wife was with child by his dead brother, his rage knew no bounds. To her credit, Eleanor stayed in the marriage for almost two years, long enough to wean you and see you safely on a healthy path. So many infants die in those first two years that she felt she owed you that at least. But she could take no more, and left one dark morning in January, leaving you a letter expressing her love and hoping that as you grew you would find it in your heart to forgive her.’
‘I never got any such letter.’
‘No doubt Justin destroyed it. Eleanor believed he would continue to care for you, and you apparently had a nurse who adored you. She believed, unlike Lord Justin, that she had nothing to offer you.’
‘Except her love,’ said Charlotte softly, tears shining in her eyes.
James gently inclined his head. ‘I believe she now realises she made a bad mistake, which has been hard for her to live with. Particularly since Justin at once dismissed your beloved nurse, and many of the other servants you knew, then left you in the care of a skeleton staff while he went abroad. Eleanor learned all of this some twelve months later, by which time Nathan had long since taken you under his capable wing and she decided to leave well alone. Besides which the vicious rumours had started and the last thing she felt able to do in the circumstances was go to her brother’s house. It would have only made matters worse for you.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘But perhaps Justin’s guilt did get the better of him in the end and that is why he left you his fortune, to compensate for killing your father.’
Charlotte hung her head for a moment, too moved to speak.
‘Your mother too is deeply ashamed.’
‘But it was not my mother’s fault that I was abandoned by Justin.’
James smiled with relief. ‘I am glad to hear you say so. You will like her. She is a lovely lady. No longer an actress she runs an establishment which makes costumes for such as the Drury Lane, the Haymarket and the Opera, the very best theatres. She has made a good life for herself and built a successful business, but I suspect she is lonely and would more than welcome a prodigal daughter.’
‘Oh, James, I cannot thank you enough for finding her.’ Now the tears were running down her cheeks, and James was kissing each one away, his arms cradling her soft body against his own.
‘I did promise her that she would find her daughter again, and that one day, not too far distant, she might well have grandchildren to dangle at her knee as well.’
And while Charlotte was struggling to take in the full import of this vision, he applied himself to procuring more of those delicious kisses, and Charlotte was more than willing to oblige.
Copyright © 1991 by Freda Lightfoot
Originally published by Mills and Boon
Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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