by Diane Gaston
A few moments later the man came rushing back. He grabbed one of the servants walking by. ‘Where is Lord Tannerton?’ he demanded.
The servant merely turned his head about five degrees and said, ‘There, m’lord.’
Tanner lifted his glass in salute.
Greythorne glared at him and pushed the servant out of the way.
‘Come here for some sport?’ Tanner said affably. ‘Or is today not your lucky day?’
‘I came here looking for you and well you know it.’ Greythorne’s face was an alarming shade of red.
‘Oh, I doubt I could guess the workings of your mind.’ He pointed to one of the chairs. ‘But now you’ve found me, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.’
Greythorne hesitated, obviously thinking to sit would be too cordial in his advanced state of rage. But he did finally lower himself into a chair.
‘We can get you some brandy, I am sure, if you have a little patience.’ Tanner looked around, but the servant had left the room. ‘Or some ale.’
‘Never mind that,’ Greythorne growled.
‘Not thirsty?’ Tanner acted surprised.
Greythorne looked daggers at him. ‘You play an unfair game, Tannerton.’
Tanner feigned shock. ‘Do you accuse me of cheating at cards? Please do not, or I shall have to call you out. I have no wish to kill you.’ He reconsidered. ‘Well, perhaps, not a very big wish to kill you.’
‘Cut line, sir,’ Greythorne cried. ‘You know very well what I am talking about. You have overstepped the bounds of what is gentleman-like behaviour in contests such as this.’
‘There you go again.’ Tanner shook his head. ‘Accusing me of not being a gentleman would also force me into a duel. With my luck I’d kill you, but be hanged for it. That seems like a terrible waste to me. The hanging part. Of course, I could have Flynn attend to it. Then I suspect it would come out satisfactorily—’
‘Enough!’ Greythorne’s eyes bulged. ‘You have used an unfair advantage to win this contest, and I will not hear of it!’
Tanner leaned forward and gave him a level stare. ‘Yes, enough, sir. I have used all the cards at my disposal, and it is not my problem if you lack a full deck.’
Greythorne shot to his feet. ‘I will win her, Tannerton. That is something you may depend upon. You forget I have her all to myself tomorrow night.’
But Tanner could trust Flynn to make certain Greythorne had company. ‘I am shaking in my boots,’ said Tanner.
‘You are a disgrace.’ Greythorne trembled with indignation. ‘Wearing boots in the evening.’
With one last scathing look at Tanner, he stormed out of the club.
Tanner stared down at the black boots on his feet, a bit scuffed after wearing them all day. He looked over to the door through which Greythorne had fled and started to lift his glass to his lips, stopping halfway. He glanced down at his boots again and burst into laughter, a loud boisterous laugh that rang throughout the gentleman’s club.
When Rose stood on the balcony to sing the next evening, she tried to find Flynn among the onlookers, but she could not see him. She found Greythorne easily enough, looking at her as if she were the meal he would be eating that night. Her eyes did not linger long on him.
She had warmed up her voice as Miss Hughes and Signor Angrisani had taught her, and she rehearsed how to breathe. There were so many new things to think about when she sang, she almost forgot the words. She sang her usual tunes, but concentrated on her breathing and the volume of her voice. She was not happy with the result.
Still, her audience applauded when she finished, and she curtsied to them.
As she was walking to the stairs, Mr Hook stopped her. ‘What is it, Rose? You are not singing as usual.’
She bowed her head. ‘I know. I did not do well, did I?’
The music director gave her a stern look. ‘No, you did not. You sing the words without the meaning behind them as if they were just notes on a page.’
‘I have been taking lessons, Mr Hook,’ she explained. ‘Learning to breathe and to make my voice carry better. I was thinking of those things.’
He put a fatherly hand on her arm. ‘Sing the words, Rose. Make them mean something. That is what they want.’ He gestured in the direction of the audience.
‘I shall try, Mr Hook,’ she said. ‘I shall do better tomorrow.’
He patted her arm. ‘I am sure you will, child.’
He returned to the orchestra, and she started down the stairs, pausing halfway. She did not wish to disappoint Mr Hook, who had believed in her and had given her this important job. She began to question if she could sing at all. Would she make a fool of herself at the opera? Could one chorus member ruin a performance?
She took two more steps and stopped again, remembering that Greythorne would be waiting for her. Flynn said he would be here to protect her, that Tannerton would send two of his footmen as well. She wished she had seen Flynn. Something very easily could have prevented him from coming. Like a carriage mishap. Or an errand for Tannerton. Or a sudden fever.
She leaned against the wall for support. If he ever were hurt or sick, she could not bear it! She must not think of such things. She must handle Greythorne by herself. Madame Bisou had taught her how to fend off unwanted advances, not quite as effectively as Katy had used on Greythorne, but Rose would not allow matters to advance that far.
She entered the downstairs room, and Greythorne stood waiting there for her.
Letty rushed up to her, carrying her cloak. ‘What kept you so long, Rose? It is not polite to make a gentleman wait.’
She took the cloak from Letty. ‘Mr Hook stopped me.’
Letty turned to Greythorne. ‘See, m’lord. ’Twas nothing at all. Mr Hook is the director, you see. It is he who employs her.’
Greythorne bowed and directed his gaze at Rose. ‘I was not worried in the least.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we go, my dear?’
Rose avoided his hand by busying herself with donning her cloak. As she walked to the door, Letty hurried behind her and pulled up the hood to cover Rose’s head.
‘Wait,’ Letty said. ‘Let me see who is outside.’ She slipped out of the door, only to return a minute later. ‘If you leave right now, no one will see you.’
‘Then shall we?’ Greythorne offered his arm and Rose could think of no way to refuse it.
As they reached the outside, she shook her head so that her hood fell away and Flynn would be able to see her better. She glanced around, but could see no one watching.
‘I hope you have honoured my wishes to remain in the open, sir,’ she said.
He reached across and covered her hand with his own. ‘I assure you, my dear, I am determined to please you.’ He rubbed her hand with his thumb, a slow seductive touch.
She wanted to pull away and run from him, but he let go and acted as if nothing had happened.
‘I have engaged a supper box,’ he said in a smooth voice. ‘And we shall have all the delicacies Vauxhall can offer.’
As they crossed the Grove, a voice called out, ‘There she is!’ and she heard footsteps hurrying behind her.
Her heart beat faster in the hopes that she would see Flynn behind her, but it was a younger man who caught up with them.
He doffed his hat. ‘I enjoyed your performance, Miss O’Keefe,’ he said, walking sideways to keep pace.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Unlike other nights, she was glad to be accosted by an admirer, especially since there was no sign of Flynn.
‘Would—would you accept my card?’ He extended it to her.
‘Yes…’ She reached for it.
Greythorne pulled her away. ‘Leave her,’ he snapped.
He hurried her to a supper box as private as one could get in the Gardens, the last one on the Grand Walk. Fewer people would pass by and those who did would be interested only in their own company, not what occurred in a nearby box. The three supper boxes next to this one were also empty, and Rose suspected he had r
ented those as well.
‘I asked for a public place and you have made this one private.’ She had no reason to speak politely to him.
He had the gall to give her a wounded look. ‘I assure you, it was not my intention. This is what was offered to me.’
She did not believe him.
The thin slices of ham and tiny chickens were waiting on the table, as was a bottle of wine. There was not even a servant in sight. Several lamps lit the walk in front of them, but only one inside the supper box. She suspected it would be difficult to see into its recesses. The table had only two chairs, side by side.
He must have seen her looking at them. He said, ‘I instructed the servant to place the chairs so we might watch the passers-by, and so you will feel more…chaperoned.’
So he might be close enough to take liberties, she feared. He escorted her inside the box and pulled out the chair for her to sit. When he sat in his chair he moved it even closer to hers. With a show of solicitude he poured her wine and placed some ham on her plate. She ate and drank because it saved her from speaking to him.
‘Is the food to your liking?’ He leaned a bit closer.
‘It is satisfactory,’ she replied in a flat voice.
He leaned forward even more. ‘You sound unhappy, Miss O’Keefe. Tell me how I might please you?’
She faced him directly. ‘It was not my choice to be here, but my father’s. You paid him money for my presence. I had no choice but to comply.’
The smile on his face stiffened. ‘You are not yet twenty-one. You must do your father’s bidding.’
‘Yes, I must,’ she retorted. ‘But I do not enjoy your company.’
His eyes flashed. ‘Perhaps you will learn to enjoy it.’
She swept her arm over the area. ‘It does not help that you choose a secluded spot when I requested a public one. Or that you arrange the chairs so I cannot move away from you. That there is not even a servant here. How am I to enjoy myself when you do everything in your power to see I do not?’
He averted his gaze for a moment, then with a sudden resolve moved his chair farther away, glancing at her in a silent question.
‘That is better,’ she said.
‘How else might I please you?’ he asked. ‘Would you like to walk through the park?’
She feared Flynn would never find her if she did not stay in one place. ‘No, I would not.’
‘Your pleasure,’ he said with some irony in his voice.
Just then the young man who had stopped her earlier came into view, dragging a friend with him. ‘See? She is here. I told you she was.’
The friend came over to the box, leaning on the wall. ‘Miss O’Keefe! It is you! I have come every night to Vauxhall in the hopes of meeting you.’
Rose would have been embarrassed at the admiration, except she was so relieved to see other people. ‘You are too good, sir.’
He stuck out his hand into the box. ‘I have this for you.’ In his hand was a pretty pink rose.
She left her chair to accept it. ‘Thank you, sir. I shall keep it.’
The young man put his hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. ‘It is I who should thank you!’
Greythorne also stood up. ‘Run along now and leave the lady in peace.’
It was their presence that gave her peace.
The two young men backed away, throwing her kisses as they went.
‘Come, sit.’ Greythorne’s tone was unfriendly.
She remained where she was. Where was Flynn?
Greythorne walked back to his chair and waited for her. ‘I dislike them annoying you,’ he explained.
She returned to her chair and he refilled her wine glass. She sipped it, her eyes on the walk. A man crossed in front of her, walking alone. She hoped that was one of Tannerton’s footmen, but it could have been anyone.
Charles Dignum finished singing, and the dance music began. She listened to the first set, a country dance, and watched the walk. Once in a while a couple strolled by, but no one else.
He poured her more wine.
The ham and her nerves had made her thirsty. She sipped this third glass, but felt the wine’s effects and decided she should drink no more.
‘You like to dance, I think,’ he said, smoothly. ‘You made a pretty figure with Tannerton last week.’
‘Were you watching me?’ The idea made her shiver.
He widened his smile, showing his white, even teeth. ‘I am not so different from your two young admirers. As smitten as they. Perhaps more.’
‘Somehow I do not think those two young men would have paid my father to spend time with me.’ She lifted her glass to her lips.
He gave a soft laugh, but one with no cheer in it. ‘I suspect they would not have thought of it, nor had the funds.’ He leaned towards her again. ‘I did what would achieve my aims, Miss O’Keefe. I desire your company above all things and will do what I must to have it.’
She finished her wine after all.
He stood and extended his hand to her. ‘We shall dance.’
She glanced out at the walk again, but there was no one in sight. Nothing but trees, dark and shadowy where the lamplight did not reach. At least the Grove would be filled with people.
She took his hand, feeling dizzy from the wine as she stood. Her limbs felt like malleable clay as they walked to where the dancing took place under the gazebo. She glanced up and could see her father holding his oboe, waiting for the signal to start, but he was oblivious to her distress.
The waltz began, and she had to endure Greythorne’s hands upon her. As he twirled her into the dance, she felt nauseous and unsteady. He swung her around, and she had difficulty remaining upright. The lights blurred and blackness filled her vision.
Suddenly he was walking with her down a path. She must have fainted, she thought, assuming he was taking her back to the supper box.
‘I would rather go back to the gazebo,’ she mumbled, but he paid her no heed.
The path got darker and darker, and she realised this was not the way to the supper box.
‘Let me go.’ She fought to stay alert.
He pulled her into the trees where no one could see. ‘I have won you, Rose. Tannerton thinks he has foiled me, but he has not.’ He gripped her so tightly she could barely move.
In the vice of his arms, he put his lips on hers. Her stomach swam with nausea, and she hoped she would vomit all over him. As she struggled he rubbed against her and she felt his arousal. ‘It is time to claim you—’
He started to lift her skirt. She tried to kick upwards with her knee or free her hand to hurt him as Katy had done, but to no avail. Her muscles would not obey, and he held her too tight.
‘I will have you now, right here, and then I will take you with me. Tannerton may be slow to act, but I am not—’
She wrested one hand free and grabbed for his throat, squeezing as hard as she could. His grip loosened.
Just as she was about to push away, she glimpsed someone behind him, a man in a mask. The man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off her, sending him rolling on to the still-damp ground.
Rose propelled herself into the masked man’s arms. She knew it was Flynn. Greythorne slipped as he tried to pick himself up, swearing about the damage to his clothes.
‘Come.’ Flynn half-carried her, while Greythorne shouted obscenities behind them. Waiting on the path were her two young admirers. Tannerton’s footmen, she realised.
They did not slow their pace until reaching the supper boxes along the South Walk. They paused under the last arch.
‘You came,’ she murmured to Flynn, blinking hard to keep herself awake.
‘Do you think he knows who you were, Mr Flynn?’ one of the men asked.
‘I hope not.’ Flynn pulled off his mask. ‘But what can he do? No one would show him sympathy for forcing himself on her.’
Flynn, arm still around Rose, shook hands with the two footmen, who said they would stay in the Gardens and keep an eye on Gre
ythorne.
‘Thank you,’ Rose mumbled. After they left, she put a hand to her head. ‘I feel dizzy.’
‘He must have drugged you, Rose.’ Flynn’s arms around her kept her from sinking to the ground. ‘I am taking you out of here now.’
Chapter Thirteen
Flynn refused to take her to her father’s rooms, to the man who had taken money and compelled her to accept Greythorne’s company. He told the jarvey of the hackney carriage to drop them off at the only other place he could think of, Madame Bisou’s.
In the coach she snuggled against him, her head resting over his heart. She fell asleep even before they’d pulled on to the road. Occasionally she mumbled something incomprehensible, assuring him she was asleep and not unconscious.
Even through his worry, he savoured the feel of her so trustingly nestled in his arms. He relished the warmth of her body, the sound of her even breathing, the chance to hold her without apology.
When the hackney stopped on Bennet Street, Flynn did not rouse her from her sleep, but carried her to the door. The footman answered his knock right away, recognising them both.
‘What is wrong with the miss?’ he asked.
Flynn did not wish to explain the whole. ‘She’s ill. Drugged, I suspect. Is there a bed for her?’
‘Drugged!’ exclaimed the large footman. He seemed to be cogitating on that. Very slowly.
‘I need a room for her,’ Flynn repeated. ‘Tell the madame. Quickly!’
The man nodded. ‘Follow me. There’s a room up the stairs.’
Flynn followed him up three flights of stairs to a room with a bed, card table and chairs. His arms straining at this point, he placed her on the bed, while the footman lit two candles from the lamp in the hallway.