“I’d heard you were keeping clear of society. Engaged in trade, I believe?”
“Import,” Ethan permitted himself a slight smile. Collin would never understand the jest.
“Yes. Well.” Collin stepped back as if afraid of close proximity to one “engaged in trade.”
“I would prefer to have this unpleasantness behind us.”
“Are we going to be unpleasant, Collin?”
Collin’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “Cannot avoid it. You are here, and have the incredible bad judgment to mix in polite company. You had best understand straightaway that Amelia and I have every intention of taking our place in society. Thus, you will have to give over your place. We can scarcely continue such uncomfortable meetings.”
Though not astonished at Collin’s arrogance, Ethan was highly entertained by the notion that Collin thought he would force a relationship. “Indeed?”
He turned to Amelia. A flicker of fear passed quickly over her serene countenance. Her voice, soft and musical, came to him above the faint strains of the orchestra. “Collin is simply concerned that people…society…that is, he fears that your, ah, past will prejudice the ton against us.”
“Some of these people do not credit gossip. They require evidence, and in the lack of it, they think none the less of me.” He turned again to face his brother. “I am afraid, Collin, that if you think I will slink away and give over London to you without a fight, you are very much mistaken.”
“We shall see who garners invitations,” Collin sneered. “Once I make it plain that I do not care to attend the same events as you, your entrée will end.”
Ethan froze, scarcely breathing. He would not rise to the bait and allow Collin to provoke a scene. How had he gone from leaving Amelia in peace to defying his brother?
Amelia broke the silence. “Can we not find some grounds for agreement?”
“Do you really believe that is possible?” he challenged.
Long black lashes swept downward to veil her chinablue eyes, then upward to meet his gaze. “I am sorry, Ethan. I would change it if I could.”
Collin moved closer to his wife in a possessive gambit. “We must go pay our respects to our host. You will excuse us, of course,” Collin said. “Do not speak to us again.”
Amelia’s little gasp drew his attention, and as he turned to look at her, he glimpsed Sadie approaching. Damn the timing! If forced to introduce a demimondaine, Collin and Amelia would think him utterly debauched and beyond redemption.
Just as he warmed to that idea, James Hunter intercepted her and dragged her toward the dance floor. He could not decide whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Collin took Amelia’s arm. A pained expression, quickly masked, passed over his face. “Stay out of my way, Ethan.”
“Accustom yourself to seeing me from time to time, Collin. London is my town, and I’ll be damned if I’ll hide when I see you coming just to ease your way.”
Collin’s face suffused with color, as if holding his temper in check with great difficulty. “Your town, eh? We shall see about that.”
Ethan set his jaw in grim determination. They would see about it on Lincoln’s Inn Field at dawn if Collin interfered in his private business. His reputation, his honor, his entire future depended upon that. Nothing could jeopardize that. Nothing. He bowed curtly before turning and striding away.
Sarah spotted Ethan with a couple she had never seen before and decided it was time to press her advantage. The man was as dark as Ethan and a fraction shorter, and the woman was…well, breathtaking. Her blond hair was gathered at the crown to fall in shining ringlets to her nape, and her eyes were the color of summer cornflowers. She tilted her head to one side, exposing the slender column of her neck as her gaze lowered demurely. Ethan appeared to be wholly distracted by her.
The burden of an introduction to this unknown couple would fall to Ethan, and a look of consternation passed over his face as he noted her approach. She perceived she was not altogether welcome and she wondered if he was trying to think how he would introduce her. The thought brought a wicked smile to her lips.
She went forward to greet him, but before she could utter a word, her brother’s voice came from behind her. “Ah, here you are, Sarah! I’ve come to claim my dance. ’Tis a reel, and no one dances a reel as well as you,” he said.
She whirled, accepted James’s hand and dashed to the dance floor before Ethan could intercept them. If Ethan spoke to her in front of her brother, James would want to know where and when she had met him, and she was not prepared to answer questions about the Demon of Alsatia.
To tax her patience further, Lord Cedric Broxton was waiting on the sidelines to take her hand as the reel ended. She had thought she was safe from such a meeting since she had noted Cedric and Lady Jane Perrin with their heads together earlier. Her brother handed her over with a knowing grin. The rascal had no doubt planned this “coincidence” with Lord Cedric. “Play nice, children,” he told them.
She detected a slight change in Cedric’s attitude. Together with Reginald’s urging to wed and James’s assistance in putting them together, she began to see a pattern emerging. Oh, why had she been cursed with matchmaking brothers?
Cedric smiled and led her toward the gardens instead of the punch bowl. Thinking quickly, she fanned herself and sighed deeply. “I believe I am quite exhausted by my brother’s exuberance on the dance floor, Lord Cedric. I really would like to go to the ladies’ retiring room and rest for a bit.”
His grip on her arm tightened fractionally and he continued to lead her toward the garden doors. “Perhaps a dose of evening air will restore you, m’dear, and you cannot put me off forever. We will have this conversation tonight, or tomorrow, or the next night. Do not doubt it, and do not think to escape it. Why, ’tis your very coyness that makes me more determined.”
She halted on the threshold to the terrace. That single last sentence was enough to convince her that Lord Cedric’s pursuit had gone too far. He had become too bold, too insistent. A hint of panic began a tickle at the nape of her neck. She tapped his hand with her lacquered fan. “Let loose, Lord Cedric. I do not like being manhandled.”
He smiled. “You know I would never manhandle you. ’Tis that very distance you seek to put between us that intrigues me so. That, together with your reputation—”
Her reputation? She swallowed hard, the panic building. Did he mean the attack? Or had someone seen her roaming the streets after dark? How had it got out? Who told? Ethan? Please Lord, not Ethan.
“M-my reputation?” she squeaked. “What do you mean?”
“For virtue and decorum. You are the pattern by which all other ladies measure themselves. Now, however, you are gaining a reputation for being left upon the shelf. I would be honored to save you from spinsterhood.”
Relief at not being found out tempered her anger at his tactlessness. “Lord Cedric, I am flattered by your generous offer, but can we not discuss this another time? I really am not up to it tonight.”
“That has been your consistent request, Lady Sarah. ‘Another time’ is now. I assure you, this will not take long.”
Dear Lord, he would not relent! To make things worse, Ethan Travis was coming toward them, a grim set to his jaw. Again she tried to loosen Cedric’s grip on her arm, but he held fast, ignorant of Ethan’s approach.
Would Ethan call her Sadie? Would he unwittingly give her away to the worst possible person? It was too late to escape!
Halting behind Lord Cedric, Ethan gave her a polite society bow and a look that said they would be discussing this later. The tension was a palpable thing and she could not breathe.
“Broxton,” Ethan acknowledged. The single word fell with the force of a large stone in a still pool.
Cedric froze for a moment, then turned to face Ethan. She gasped when she saw the look that passed between them. She had never witnessed undiluted hatred before, but there could be no mistaking it now. Oddly, the thought cheered her. She did
not like to think of Ethan having much in common with Cedric.
“Travis,” Cedric returned the single word in kind.
She glanced between them, fear sending little tentacles down her spine and setting her nerves in a jangle. The animosity between these two had nothing to do with her. There was more at stake here than her little secrets.
“Um, I…ah,” she stammered when it became apparent that Cedric had no intention of performing an introduction.
His hand on her arm loosened and she stepped away.
“Ha-have you two met?” she asked, seeking to fill the void.
“Long ago,” Cedric said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What are you doing here, Travis? Can you really think your presence in society is welcome?”
Ethan’s dark eyes barely flickered. “I am here by invitation, Broxton.”
Another long silence stretched between them. Finally, as if he had lost some unspoken battle, Cedric bowed and excused himself. Her relief was short-lived, however, as Ethan took her hand and led her onto the terrace. “Sadie, I warned you to stay away from Broxton.” He lifted her arm to inspect the reddened mark Cedric’s grip had left. “Did he injure you?”
“No. Of course not.” She smiled, anxious to reassure him. The last thing she needed was for Ethan to defend her nonexistent honor. “I…I bruise easily.”
He shook his head. “You are as tough and tenacious a woman as I have ever known.”
She wished he would tell that to her brothers. Oh, no! She certainly did not! Her confusion must have shown because Ethan chuckled.
“I worry about you, Sadie. What would happen if the other ladies here discovered who and what you are. That would be very unpleasant for you. Must you come to these events?”
“Yes, I really must,” she sighed. That much was true, and she, too, worried that the other ladies would discover who and what she really was, though not for the same reasons.
“You like danger, do you not?” he guessed.
“It makes me feel alive,” she admitted.
“Perhaps we can find other ways to make you feel alive,” he whispered, leaning closer.
Sarah shivered with the memory of his hands stroking her body, coaxing those wild little tremors from her very center. His voice was as warm as a caress when he said, “Keep well until we meet later.”
She was incapable of an answer as heat seeped into her cheeks. He released her hand and was gone without another word.
When she stepped back into the ballroom, she saw the exquisite blond woman Ethan was so taken with standing alone near the foyer. Curiosity got the best of her. She strolled toward the foyer, glanced back over her shoulder as a ploy, and bumped into the woman.
“Oh! I beg your pardon,” she gushed.
“Quite all right,” the woman said, rearranging the puff of her gold tissue sleeve.
“Are you certain? Lady Hobart’s maid is a miracle worker. If I tore—”
“No. Truly, I am fine.” The woman managed a sweet smile.
Sarah affected sudden recognition. “Did I not see you speaking with Mr. Travis earlier? Are you a friend of his?”
“No! I mean, not…actually. That is, it has been years since our last meeting. I…scarcely know him.”
“Ah, then he is an acquaintance of your husband’s?”
“Acquaintance? I would not say that, precisely.”
Puzzled, Sarah began to wonder if she’d been mistaken. “Please forgive my rudeness and allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Sarah Hunter, Lord Lockwood’s sister.”
The woman offered her hand and smiled. “Lady Linsday. You may call me Amelia. My husband is fetching my wrap.”
“Oh! Are you leaving so early? Are the entertainments not to your liking?”
Lady Amelia shook her head and set the blond curls to bouncing. “We are fresh in town, and Linsday has accepted too many invitations. I fear we are expected elsewhere.”
“Do not give that too much thought,” Sarah advised. “’Tis doubtful your host will recall seeing you at all. The exception, of course, would be dinner parties. Bad form to dodge those once you accept.”
Lady Amelia giggled. “I suspected as much, but Linsday is a stickler for proprieties.”
“Men.” Sarah shrugged sympathetically, as if the single word explained all life’s mysteries. She wished subtlety was more a part of her nature, but it was beyond her at the moment. She forged ahead. “Where did your husband meet Mr. Travis?”
“ Mr. Travis? Oh, yes. Well, we have not seen him in quite some time. There was a falling-out, you see, and…well, nothing has been the same ever since.”
“Lord Linsday carries a grudge?”
“They both do, I fear. I wish there were some way to mend it, but it has gone beyond that. I suspect I am part of the problem. Eth—Mr. Travis is so intractable and Collin will not even try.”
“Hmm,” Sarah replied, having gleaned no real information. But she could draw some conclusions. Lord Cedric Broxton was not the only enemy Ethan had made. Add Lord Linsday to that growing list. And how could Lady Amelia be part of the problem? Had Ethan seduced her? He must have done some very questionable things to earn the title of the Demon of Alsatia. Odd, how she had never really wondered what Ethan might be capable of. By reputation, everything.
“And you, Lady Sarah? How do you know Ethan Travis?”
She waved her fan in a vague arc. “Oh, I cannot recall. I believe one of my brothers must have introduced us.”
“How very liberal of them. What was your impression?”
What an odd question. “I found him quite agreeable,” she said. “Very pleasant, indeed.”
“Did…did you dance?”
“Dance? Why, no. Does he dance well?”
“Quite well,” Lady Amelia admitted in a soft sigh. “I recollect his skill at the waltz, in particular. But it has been a very long time since we…waltzed.”
“The waltz,” Sarah mused, an unfamiliar annoyance rising in her. “I shall have to remember that, should he ever ask.”
“Oh, here is Collin now.” Lady Amelia said with a sweet blush when she saw her husband take her wrap from a footman.
“Do have a pleasant evening, Lady Linsday,” Sarah said. “We shall run into one another again, now that you are in town.”
Lady Amelia gave her a smile that would dazzle every single one of her brothers and three quarters of the ton. “I should like to introduce you to my husband when next we meet.”
“And I should be delighted.” Sarah distanced herself from the couple and watched Lord Linsday drape a brilliant blue cloak affectionately over Amelia’s shoulders. The color matched her eyes to perfection, no doubt. Not only was she beautiful and fashionable, she was sweet-natured and well-mannered. And she had waltzed with Ethan.
Sarah disliked her. Intensely.
Chapter Ten
Hidden in the shadow of a chimney on the opposite side of the lane, Ethan watched Sadie slip down a row of shingles to reach the narrow edge of the roof opposite him. He breathed relief when her boot caught the gutter and held.
So, these were the chances she took when he was not with her! She could have plummeted to the cobblestones below. She was too inexperienced to negotiate such a risky tactic safely. He wondered at the cause of her recklessness, and how she could have so little regard for her own safety.
Below, Whitlock rounded a corner, and she crossed over a steeply pitched roof to keep sight of him. When her quarry entered a tavern, Sadie edged to an iron drainpipe and shinnied down to the alley below, apparently deciding to wait on the ground after her close call on the rain-slick shingles. His anxiety eased and he sank into a squat, resting his weight on the balls of his feet. He suspected they would have upward of a quarter of an hour before Whitlock was on the move again.
Sadie crouched beneath a window, using a rain barrel to shield her from view. She hugged herself for warmth as the slow drizzle continued. Ethan watched for any sign that she would give up, go home or seek
shelter, but she was persistent. Driven. If she was this committed to a mere exercise, then the best of the Bow Street Runners, Francis Renquist, would have got himself a dedicated “follower” when she was finally trained.
But there was another job for which Ethan would like to train little Sadie. Ever since their interlude at the Black Dog Tavern, he had been puzzling how to make Sadie give up her various professions in favor of just one. His mistress.
He relished her responses to his handling, and damned near drowned in the sultry depths of her eyes. He could still see the tears sparkling on her lashes and feel the weight of surrender in every line of her sweet body. He knew her as no other ever had, yet he did not know her at all.
And that was just one more cause for regret! When Sadie surrendered, she surrendered everything. Her entire being had been in his hands. But now it was eating him up inside to know that she would take her new knowledge, along with her sweetly yielding body, to innumerable nameless, faceless men. The thought that she might experience that passion with another man made his stomach clench.
He must find a solution before that happened. There had to be some way to prevent any further degradation to her body and spirit, and to salvage her pride at the same time.
He shifted his weight slightly, easing a cramp in his thigh. An uneasy feeling raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He had learned to trust his years of experience in Algiers and glanced around, careful to make no detectable move. No sign, no trace, betrayed another presence. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. He glanced back to Sadie, still in a crouch, still focused on the tavern across the street. Still an enigma.
He had waited at St. Paul’s a full half hour. He thought she’d been detained by an assignation with some simpering dandy she had met at the Hobart ball. But no—he’d found her, one step ahead, following Harold Whitlock without him. Did she think she no longer needed him?
From the corner of his eye, he caught another stealthy movement. There, in the alley below, a dark figure was inching toward Sadie’s back. No sound betrayed the intruder, and Ethan hesitated, wondering if it could be Dicken or Joe, playing some cat-and-mouse game of surprise and pounce.
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