by Diane Gaston
He rubbed his hands and admired how the supple leather of his gloves moulded to his fingers. Gazing around at the women nearby, he imagined his fingers wrapping around a delicate cream-coloured neck, squeezing—
His excitement and his need grew. He began his search in earnest. Rose O’Keefe would wait for another day. This night Greythorne had hopes for another bloom to appear. She was present almost every night. He’d been watching. Tonight he was determined to get her alone.
He scanned the crowd, assured she would be easy to spot. He made a second circuit of the Gardens, running into some ladies and gentlemen of his acquaintance. He stopped to pass pleasantries with them. They could not know he had a mask in his pocket, no inkling that when he donned it he would engage in delights beyond which they could not imagine.
But at the moment, irritation battled with such delicious anticipation. If he failed to find the girl—
He heard the laughter behind him and paused by the Octagon temples to see who would pass by.
There she was, on the arm of that fool, Sir Reginald, again. Her auburn hair flaming loose over her shoulders, her gait bawdy and inviting. He stepped into the shadows and affixed the black cloth mask over his face. Then he followed her, biding his time. He knew it would come. It must come.
It did. Sir Reginald walked away from her to speak to another gentleman, and Greythorne made his approach.
‘Are you left alone, miss?’
She turned, looking him up and down, too frank and bold for her own good. ‘I am rarely alone for long, sir. Are you looking for company?’
He bowed. ‘It would give me considerable pleasure to have your company, miss.’
She tossed her head. ‘Call me Katy. Everyone does.’
‘Katy,’ he murmured, making sure he looked into her eyes.
She returned a curious look, then smiled again.
He glanced toward Sir Reginald. ‘Will your gentleman there object to my speaking with you?’
‘Sir Reggie?’ She looked amused. ‘Do not worry over him.’
He took her arm and walked a few steps away from her former escort. ‘I fear I desire more than conversation, my dear Katy.’
‘Do you, sir?’ She batted her eyelashes. ‘I would desire more than conversation, too, but I’m holding out for a man of wealth.’
He took her hand and slipped it inside his coat to the pocket where he kept his coin purse. He let her feel the coins.
Her eyes crinkled in satisfaction. ‘Shall we go, sir?’
He wrapped her arm through his and led her through the Colonnade. ‘Let us not couple in some damp structure on the Dark Walk. I have a house, a wine cellar, a place where we might dally the night away. It will be as you have never before experienced. You reward will surpass your wildest dreams.’
She laughed, the laugh that had attracted her to him in the first place. He took her cheeks between his leather-sheathed fingers and squeezed, placing a wet kiss on her full, eager lips.
‘My coach awaits.’
On Sunday morning Rose dressed for church, enduring Letty’s taunts about pretending to be better than she ought. She needed to be outside, in some semblance of fresh air. She needed to do something to take her mind off of Flynn.
He’d consumed her thoughts all the previous day and night. She wanted him, needed him. This was what Miss Hart found with Sloane and what her other friends had found as well.
Love.
But like her mother’s love, Rose’s was doomed. For her love to flower would mean the ruin of Flynn’s career and hers. If the marquess even knew Flynn had kissed her and almost bedded her, he would dash arrangements for Flynn’s employment with the Royal Duke. Flynn’s dream.
No matter if Rose were willing to choose love and risk her own career, she would not risk Flynn’s.
Still, she wanted him, felt empty without him. She missed him with every fibre of her being, even to be deprived of his company for one short day. Her only consolation was knowing he would call on her tomorrow to take her to her singing lesson. It seemed an eternity to wait.
She walked to St Paul’s nearby and sat in one of the back pews. The atmosphere was peaceful, and she enjoyed blending her voice with other voices in hymns so familiar she needn’t use the hymnal. She recognised some women there. She’d seen them parading in Covent Garden. Their dresses were more modest and subdued this day, their faces scrubbed clean and nearly obscured by the brims of bonnets. This was their parish church, a place they ought to feel they belonged rather than looking so unsure of their welcome.
Were they praying for forgiveness, Rose wondered, for the Magdalene lives they led? Or were they praying for the chance to leave such lives behind, as Mary Magdalene had done? Rose was uncertain for what she should pray, so she merely sang the hymns and read the hymnal and listened to a sermon about love. God’s love, but about love all the same.
After the service ended, she slipped out of the church, as did the other women sharing the back pews. She could not bear to return to Langley Street, so she walked the distance to call upon Katy, hoping the hour would not be too early.
Her knock at the door went unanswered for several minutes. The large footman finally appeared, looking as if his waistcoat had been hastily buttoned. He rubbed his eyes.
‘I have come to call on Katy.’
He nodded and trudged up the stairs. The house seemed very quiet, and Rose regretted this impulsive visit. What if Katy were asleep? What if she were entertaining a gentleman?
But the footman appeared on the stairs with Katy behind him in a morning dress.
‘Hello, Rose,’ Katy said in a flat voice. ‘Come on up.’
‘I woke you,’ Rose said apologetically.
Katy shook her head. ‘I could not sleep.’
Katy led her into the dining room, where Madame Bisou stood talking to another girl. The girl left, and Madame Bisou walked over to them.
‘Rose, how good of you to come.’ She bussed both cheeks and turned to Katy. ‘Should you not be in bed, dear?’
‘In bed?’ Rose asked.
Katy shook her head. ‘I wanted to get up. Could not lie there, thinking all day.’
The madame’s lips pursed.
‘Are you ill, Katy?’ Rose asked.
‘Naw.’ Katy lifted her hand to brush her hair away from her face.
Rose gently held her wrist. It was circled by reddish bruises and scrapes. ‘What happened to you?’
Katy pulled her hand away and laughed. ‘It is nothing.’
‘Not nothing,’ Madame Bisou said. ‘And I could strangle that Sir Reginald—’
‘Sir Reginald did this to her?’ Rose said in alarm.
‘Of course not,’ Katy cried.
‘But Sir Reginald was supposed to be looking out for you,’ Madame Bisou scolded. ‘You knew a man at Vauxhall hurt Iris! And you went with this one?’
Katy rolled her eyes. ‘I know. You have said so repeatedly,’ She put her hand on the back of a chair as if to steady herself.
‘Come sit.’ Rose put an arm around her.
Katy flinched.
She let go. ‘I hurt you?’
‘The man used a whip on her. Welts all over her,’ Madame Bisou exclaimed. ‘And those marks on her wrists are from leather straps.’
‘Katy!’ Rose eased her into a chair. ‘Sit here. I will fix you a plate. What do you want?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Katy said.
‘I will bring you something none the less.’
Rose selected a dish of raspberries and some toasted bread and jam for Katy. She returned to the sideboard, selecting much the same for herself. Madame Bisou poured tea.
‘What happened?’ Rose asked as she sat down.
‘I met this fellow at Vauxhall. He seemed respectable enough. Nice clothes and all,’ Katy said. ‘So I went with him.’
Madame Bisou crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing out even more décolletage than usual. ‘It was like I said, he was one of those men—’
/>
‘Who enjoy hurting a girl.’ Rose finished the sentence, remembering Madame Bisou’s warning not so long ago. Rose placed her hand on Katy’s. ‘I cannot bear that this man hurt you. He whipped you?’
‘Well, he did a little, until I got my hands free and grabbed him where it hurts.’ Katy gave a brave smile, looking more like herself. ‘He fell to the floor, he did, and I gathered my clothes and ran. Didn’t care if I was naked. I found a place to put on my dress, though, so it wasn’t so very bad.’
‘Oh, Katy!’ Rose squeezed her hand.
Katy pulled it away. ‘I think the welts will heal. I don’t think I’ll have too many marks.’
‘Where did he hurt you?’ Rose asked.
Katy looked down at the table. ‘He had rooms. Not a fancy house, I’m sure, but there was a cellar.’
‘I meant where on your body?’
‘Oh!’ Katy shook her head at her misunderstanding. ‘On my belly mostly. He was trying to hit my privates.’
Rose left her chair and hugged Katy, very gingerly. ‘I am so sorry this happened to you.’
‘I am sick over it.’ The madame shook her head.
Katy pulled away from Rose, blinking rapidly. ‘It is over and done. Not something to dwell on.’ She cuffed Rose on the arm. ‘But tell us. Have you accepted the marquess? Is that what you have come to tell us?’
Rose felt her cheeks flush. ‘Not yet.’
Katy peered at her. ‘You are not still acting like a wooden stick with him, are you?’
‘She’s just being coy,’ the madame told Katy. ‘Remember what I taught you, Katy. Act as if you care nothing for the man and he will give you the moon.’ She turned to Rose. ‘What has Tanner given you? Jewels? Has he offered a house yet? Tanner is an extremely generous lover. You are very fortunate.’
Rose could barely look at her. ‘He has given me voice lessons at the King’s Theatre. If I do well, I might perform there.’
‘Voice lessons!’ Katy gave a derisive snort.
‘How odd,’ agreed Madame Bisou.
‘He gave me a ring, too, and I…I think more is forthcoming.’ Rose paused. ‘I am afraid my father will select this other man. Lord Greythorne.’
‘Bah! Tell him not to,’ said Madame Bisou. ‘Greythorne is a bad one. He is one of those men like we have been discussing. I do not allow him in this place.’
Rose’s eyes widened.
Madame Bisou rose. ‘I must leave. Accept Tanner, ma petite. You cannot do better. He is generous. All the girls I have known have profited very well by the connection.’ She stroked Katy’s cheek. ‘We must get you in front of some wealthy men, Katy. Vauxhall is not the place. You will not go back there unless it is with someone I trust. Not Sir Reginald. Bah! You must stay in the game room. I know the men who play there.’
Katy smiled. ‘I’ll keep an eye on who is winning, that is what I’ll do.’
As soon as Madame Bisou left, Katy turned to Rose. ‘The man wore a mask, Rose, but I knew who he was! He was that Lord Greythorne.’
Rose felt her face drain of blood. ‘You are certain?’
Katy nodded vigorously. ‘I never forget a body. Do not ever be alone with him, Rose.’
She did not wish to worry Katy. She would say nothing about her obligation to dine with Greythorne.
She said, ‘I think he should be stopped, Katy. I should tell Flynn about him.’
Katy gave her a quizzical look. ‘Flynn? What can he do?’ She shook her head. ‘Do not tell anyone about him, Rose. Promise me.’
‘Why? We could stop him.’
‘No,’ she cried, rising from her chair. ‘Nobody would believe me over an earl. But word would get out, and men would think I like that sort of thing. I could not stand it.’
‘But—’
Katy’s eyes pleaded. ‘Promise me, Rose! You must promise me!’
Rose hugged her. ‘Very well. But you have told Madame Bisou, surely?’
‘No,’ Katy said. ‘You heard her. She knows enough about him. I’m only telling you to warn you.’
‘If this is what you wish,’ she murmured.
She changed the subject and cajoled Katy into eating. They talked about Miss Hart and the others and the fun they’d had together. Eventually Katy relaxed and laughed again and seemed more her vivacious self. When it came time for Rose to leave, she hugged her friend with great care and saved her tears of sympathy until she was back outside on her long walk home.
The streets were full of people now, and the hustle and bustle distracted her a little. She stopped by the market stalls and picked out some food for dinner. Her arms were laden with packages and she had to shift them all into one hand to get into the building, and then shift them again to enter their rooms.
‘Here she is!’ chirped Letty as Rose kicked the door closed behind her.
Lord Greythorne rose from a chair.
‘Come in, Rose, dear,’ continued Letty. ‘We have a caller.’
Lord Greythorne crossed the room to her. ‘Allow me to relieve you of your burdens.’ He took the packages from her hands.
‘I will take them, m’lord,’ her father said, hurrying over.
Letty glared at Rose. ‘For goodness’ sake, take off your hat and gloves. Make yourself presentable.’
Rose left the room for her bedchamber, for once grateful to Letty for ordering her about. Her heart pounded with anger and fear. She had no desire to face this monster who had used whips and leather straps on her friend.
She took as much time as she dared taking off her gloves and hat and putting her hair in a cap. When she could delay no longer, she returned to the parlour.
Greythorne stood again. He now had a wine glass in hand.
Letty stomped over to her and snatched the cap off her hair. ‘Go sit with our guest,’ she hissed.
‘Lord Greythorne has come himself to set a new date for dining with you,’ her father said cheerfully.
‘I am at your service.’ Greythorne bowed to her. ‘Name the day, the place, the time.’
Refusal was impossible. Her father had already accepted the money. She lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘I will dine with you at Vauxhall on Tuesday, but I insist upon an open supper box.’
His smile stiffened. ‘Of course. Vauxhall it shall be.’
She returned a smile equally stiff. ‘If it does not rain, that is. I presume you will beg off if it rains.’
Some dangerous emotion flashed through his eyes. ‘Indeed. We do not wish our clothing damaged by the rain.’
Rose thought of Flynn, hatless, heedless of the rain pouring down, soaking through his greatcoat.
‘Sit down, my lord,’ Letty said with exaggerated politeness, and more sharply to Rose, ‘You, too, Rose. Entertain our guest.’
Greythorne waited until she sat in the chair near him.
‘Our Rose has aspirations to sing in King’s Theatre, my lord,’ said her father in a proud tone.
‘Do you, Miss O’Keefe?’ Greythorne looked amused. ‘You want bigger and better things than Vauxhall Gardens?’
‘I am very grateful to be singing at Vauxhall, sir,’ she replied. ‘And I will be grateful for the chance to sing in King’s Theatre as well.’
‘What role do you hope to sing?’ he went on.
His gaze was riveted on her, his expression conveying total interest, but the lack of feeling in his eyes frightened her.
She swallowed. ‘Merely the chorus, sir.’
‘A woman of your talents should desire more,’ he said. This time when his eyes flicked over her, she felt as if he were seeing under her clothes.
It angered her more. ‘Do you know so much of singing?’
‘I know what I like.’ His look was even bolder.
‘Well, I think it is all foolishness,’ Letty said. ‘Singing in a chorus when she has been a soloist. One should never go backwards. I am sure you will agree, my lord.’
Greythorne glanced at Letty, than back at Rose. ‘To enjoy the experience is the important
thing.’
Rose had the feeling he was not referring to singing opera.
A knock sounded on the door.
‘Now who could that be?’ said Letty testily.
Rose’s father walked over to the door, and Rose was glad for a reason to look away from Lord Greythorne. She twisted around as her father turned the knob and opened the door.
‘Good afternoon, Mr O’Keefe.’
Flynn stood in the doorway.
Chapter Eleven
Greythorne’s eyes narrowed as he spied Tannerton’s man Flynn standing at the door. He was heartily sick of that cursed sycophant Irishman turning up everywhere.
‘Oh, Mr Flynn…ah…do come in.’ The simpleton O’Keefe shuffled aside.
At least O’Keefe acted as if this appearance was not expected. Greythorne detested anyone who withheld information from him. He knew the father would play him off against Tannerton, but he’d not be made the fool.
Flynn stepped into the room, stiffening when he saw Greythorne. Greythorne smiled inwardly in satisfaction. He’d knocked the oh-so-efficient secretary off kilter.
O’Keefe’s woman laughed. She might be the commonest sort, but she had her eyes open. Greythorne made a mental note of the fact.
‘Good day, Miss Dawes.’ Flynn bowed, giving her more courtesy than such a base-born woman deserved. He turned to the daughter, the prize Greythorne coveted. ‘Miss O’Keefe.’ And finally to Greythorne. ‘Sir.’
Insolent cur.
‘Mr Flynn,’ Rose responded in her melodious voice, no tension apparent.
Greythorne clenched his fingers around his glass. It appeared Tannerton had made headway. His Irish lackey had been treated to none of the reserve she’d shown him, to whom she’d acted as skittish as a colt. No matter. The way to win this woman was through her cowardly father and the money-grasping woman pushing him. Once won, he could make her sing a different tune.
Flynn turned back to O’Keefe. ‘Forgive my interruption. I must speak with you, sir. If you name a time that would be convenient for you, I will be pleased to accommodate.’