Vision in Blue

by Nicole Byrd

  He put out one hand to grab her arm. “But you’re not married yet,” he parroted, still deep in his drunken musing. “Have to get married at once, then get divorced!”

  “Brilliant idea,” Louisa told him, then managed to break loose of his hold. Several partly clad men stood in the hall or peered out of doorways. Averting her eyes from their state of undress, as well as their staring faces, she ran down the steps, ignoring Lucas’s call.

  “Louisa!”

  “Oh, tell everyone my name, why don’t you?” she muttered.

  In her haste, she almost fell down the staircase, catching herself by grabbing the bannister before she lost her footing completely. In the entrance hall, the footman still stood by the door, and he gaped at her but did not try to stop her as she rushed past him. The door was heavy, but she pulled it open and hurried across the threshold.

  She must get away! Louisa paused on the step and looked wildly around her.

  Outside the brothel, the street was empty.

  Fourteen

  Her heart beating so loudly she was surprised that it did not alert all the house’s inhabitants to her flight, Gemma ran down the stairs. At the bottom she glanced over her shoulder, but although she strained to see through the thick veiling, she did not make out her friend following, as she’d hoped. Where was Louisa? Turning, Gemma took one step back up the staircase, then hesitated. Haste was imperative. What if Lucas was taking Louisa down a back stairway to avoid more exposure? They might waste precious time searching for Gemma if she ran back up the stairs instead of continuing to the carriage.

  So Gemma ducked her head and, without a word to the doorman who eyed her with curiosity, hurried outside.

  She pulled open the chaise door herself before the groom could get to it. “As soon as Miss Crookshank comes, make haste!” she told him as she climbed inside. “We are in danger of being found out!”

  But before she was even properly seated, the carriage lurched forward.

  “No, no!” Gemma yelled. “Wait for your mistress!”

  But either the coachman had misinterpreted her warning, hearing only the word danger, or in his nervousness, he had given the wrong cue to the team because the chaise rolled ahead. Gemma knocked on the front panel to stop him, but the man apparently misunderstood, lashing the horses to a faster pace.

  “You idiot!” Gemma shouted. Bouncing around inside the chaise as it jolted over the rough streets, she tried to get to the carriage door. At last, she was able to let down the window and push her head partly out the narrow opening. “Stop, you have left your mistress behind!”

  Amid the rumble of carriage wheels over an uneven surface and the staccato beat of the teams’ hooves, no one seemed to mark her words. The carriage continued to roll forward as she shouted once more, but again without result.

  Then, just as she’d decided that the only chance of catching the panicked coachman’s attention was to open the door and throw herself from the carriage, at imminent risk of life and limb, the vehicle slowed. She heard shouts and horses neighing. Now what?

  She looked out the window again and craned her neck to see, but when she did, she felt a chill run through her. A man on horseback partially blocked their way in the narrow street. Worse, he held a gun pointed toward the coachman’s head!

  Gemma gasped. Then the man urged his steed closer, and in the faint light of the carriage lanterns, she made out a glimpse of his face.

  “Lieutenant McGregor! Oh, please, you must help us!”

  “Are you hurt?” He lowered his pistol. “What has occurred? This witling is speechless.”

  Gemma swallowed. “It’s Miss Crookshank! In the coachman’s haste, she was left behind at that horrid place. She may be in the greatest danger. Oh, please, convince these blockheads to turn about—I must go back for her!”

  He shook his head. “You must go home,” he told her, tucking his pistol back inside his coat. “You are in peril, too, in this neighborhood. I will go on to Clapgate and retrieve your friend.”

  Gemma stared at him. “How did you know where we had gone?”

  “When the note came to Fallon’s rooms at the hotel, he had already departed. I took the liberty of reading the letter before I sent it on after him. Your man said the message was urgent, and I had a feeling—it’s just as well that I did.”

  “Thank heavens,” Gemma agreed. “You will make sure she gets safely home?”

  “Indeed,” he said, his tone grim.

  Gemma stared at the set of his jaw and found that she believed him. Taking a deep breath of relief, she settled back into the seat. This time, when the carriage moved forward at a more sedate pace, she sat quietly, but her thoughts were still agitated.

  Oh, poor Louisa, what a shock to discover Sir Lucas in the bawdy house, and in such a way! Gemma blushed to recall the scene, and it was not her betrothed who had been sharing a bed with a prostitute. Even at the boarding school, she had heard whispers of what some men did, and how much more latitude gentlemen were given than ladies, but it was still a shock to see such behavior with her own eyes.

  Would Louisa ever forgive Sir Lucas? And what if word got out about Louisa and Gemma’s visit to the brothel? And, oh, worse than anything, this was all Gemma’s fault. After all Louisa had done for her, what a way to repay her friend—to involve her in such a scandal! Gemma found her eyes brimming, and she wiped her damp cheeks uselessly.

  She would willingly sacrifice all her own hopes to make this up to her friend, but she could think of nothing that would erase the damage that might have been done. Going to Clapgate had seemed a necessary step in the search for Clarissa Fallon, but, oh, Gemma should not have been so foolish as to go to such an unknown destination, or at least, she should not have allowed Louisa to accompany her. If Gemma herself had had her reputation compromised, she would have lost little. No one knew her, and she would likely never be admitted into the Ton’s august inner circle, anyhow. But, poor Louisa, who had so badly wanted to be accepted . . .

  Gemma took a deep breath. Falling apart would help no one. She must compose herself and swallow her tears so that she could present a calm appearance when she faced Miss Pomshack. She would pray that somehow they would find a way out of this. In the meantime, Gemma, at least, must not give away their awful secret.

  Colin urged his horse on. Within a few blocks, he pulled up before the torch-lit entrance to the whorehouse. He jumped off and rapped at the door.

  When the doorman opened it, Colin tossed him a coin. “Keep an eye on my steed, if you please.”

  “I can send ’im round to the stables in the back, gov,” the servant offered, though he palmed the coin quickly.

  “No need, I shall be making only a brief visit,” Colin told him. He didn’t stop to hear the answer but pushed past the big man and into the entry hall.

  He frowned at the scene before him. A group of men, and a few of the house’s women, the latter highly rouged and clad in low-cut and nearly transparent dresses, milled about the hallway. All watched the stairs or gazed up to the next landing.

  “What’s all the commotion?” he demanded of the nearest spectator.

  His voice a little too loud and his face flushed with wine, the man answered, “A great scandal! Some gentleman has been followed here by his fiancé, or maybe his wife, but a lady, if you would believe it, and she’s caught him naked as a jaybird with his whore. She’s upstairs in the room with him and his fancy woman, pulling out the whore’s hair. Or some are saying maybe she came along for some revelry of her own, I dunno. But it’s the best on-dit I’ve heard these half-dozen Seasons. I can’t wait to tell—”

  He stopped abruptly, perhaps because of the pistol that was now leveled directly at his loose-lipped mouth.

  “You are mistaken,” Colin corrected, his tone steely. “There is no lady upstairs. If there were, it would be that she came as the result of a malicious prank, summoned by an ill-wisher to a place she had no way of knowing was a house of ill repute. And the man upsta
irs is not her fiancé. I am.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the man sputtered. “I—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just remember that I would take great personal offense with anyone who would repeat this story or sully the—hypothetical—lady’s name.”

  The crowd around them had quieted at the sight of the weapon. Tension hung in the air, and though they gaped at him, no one broke the silence. The rest of the group stared as Colin glanced about at each blank face.

  “And that goes for anyone else here. If you wish to be called out, and I will warn you I am a crack shot, you have only to repeat any version of this incident. I will find out who passed on the gossip, do not worry! I hope I make myself clear?”

  One nearby gentleman shrugged. “None of my business,” he muttered, pulling the woman next to him closer. “Come along, Nan. Let’s find our own room and make merry without wasting more time here.”

  The others drifted away, too, and the man at the end of Colin’s pistol, who had paled considerably, licked his lips. “Here, no offense meant, sir. I mean—”

  “Just remember what I have said,” Colin told him. He lowered the gun and waited for the man to scurry back into the parlor. Then Colin took a deep breath and mounted the stairs with long strides.

  Upstairs, it was easy enough to find the right room. Several girls stood outside in the hall, and a number of curious male faces could be glimpsed peering out past half-open doors. Colin motioned to one buxom lady, her hair hennaed and her face painted, who was frowning at the shut door.

  “Not good for business, this ain’t!” she announced, then she frowned toward Colin. “Put the gun away, sir! I’ll ’ave no bloodletting in me ’ouse.”

  The madam, then. Colin nodded but did not put the gun away just yet. “I’m told there is a lady here.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Such a commotion I never saw. What kind of lady comes to a ’ouse like this?”

  “A lady who was misled,” Colin said shortly. “Just release her—”

  “You don’t think I’m ’olding ’er ’ere, do you? I don’t need this kind of trouble,” the madam exclaimed, her tone indignant. “She’s barricaded ’erself inside the room, and it’s one of me best rooms. I want it back! I’m losing money with all this caterwauling, takes the men’s minds off their pleasure, it does!”

  He nodded. “I shall see about taking her away, then, shall I?”

  “Not too bloody soon for me.” The madam snorted.

  His gun still held at the ready, Colin glanced about the hallway. The men who had been watching covertly all seemed to have thought better of their voyeurism and had disappeared from view. He motioned to the other prostitutes, who drifted back inside their own rooms. When only the madam stood in the hallway, her arms folded and her expression still incensed, he tucked his pistol inside his jacket and tapped on the door.

  “It’s me,” he said, his voice low, not wanting to use the lady’s name before so many listening ears.

  “Lieutenant?” He would recognize that light trilling voice anywhere, even though it was just now tremulous with fear. “Is that really you?”

  “Yes, open up,” he said. “I’m here to take you home.”

  “Oh, thank God!” was the fervent response. He heard sounds of furniture being pulled away, and then the door opened, just a crack.

  He saw a heavily veiled lady peek past the door, but although her face was effectively obscured, he knew the way her throat, its pale skin so enticing, dipped in that pleasing curve toward her shoulder blades. And he had seen her wear that dress before.

  “Come,” he whispered. “We must see you out of here.”

  She opened the door farther and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, it was awful, awful,” she wailed.

  He wrapped one arm around her and suspected that the thick veil, already damp against his neck, must be receiving a new sprinkling of tears.

  “I did not mean—I didn’t know—” she murmured.

  “I believe you,” he said, trying not to be aware of how his body responded to the warm fragrant armful he now held. Hellfire, he wanted her! He’d wanted her since that day he’d bathed her foot. . . . But even if she were not spoken for, this was hardly the time. “We must get you away—we will talk later.”

  “Oh, yes, please,” she agreed.

  With one arm still around her, he looked back to the madam. “Can you point us to the servants’ staircase so we can slip away a little more quietly?”

  She still frowned. “This lackwit has cost me money,” she repeated. “And I think she’s broken one of me best tables.”

  The hint was obvious. Frowning, Colin pulled out a couple of coins and passed them over. The woman took them, and her expression eased. “This way,” she said. “Just make sure she don’t never come back! We don’t need ’er kind ’round ’ere.”

  “I believe I can promise that,” he agreed drily.

  They slipped down a back staircase and into an alley, then Colin, taking out his pistol again just in case, led her back to the front of the building where his mount waited. She would have to ride behind him; there was little hope of finding a hackney in this neighborhood, especially at this hour.

  The doorman stared at them. “What’s afoot, gov?”

  “Nothing to be repeated,” Colin told him, and passed over one of his last coins. An expensive rescue, this. “Help the lady up behind me.”

  The man lifted Louisa easily up to sit behind Colin and clutch his waist.

  “Hang on,” he told her, and slapped the reins. His horse moved forward into an easy canter, and Louisa clung tightly to him.

  She leaned against him and he could not help but be aware of how warm she was, and how her breasts pushed against the taut muscles of his back. Conversation was impossible. He heard her sob once or twice, but when they left the darker, more noisome neighborhood behind and approached the west side of the city, she seemed to become more calm.

  When their mount drew up in front of her house, Colin reached back to grasp her hand and allow her to slip smoothly down from her awkward perch.

  “You’re coming in?” she asked, her words a plea. Although she sounded more composed, he thought that deep distress still lay just below the surface. “I must have the chance to thank you properly and explain—”

  “Of course, if you wish it.” He dismounted and tied up his horse at the post provided at the side of her doorway. Offering her his arm, which she seemed more than ready to lean upon, he rapped at the door.

  It flew open almost before he had drawn his hand away. He saw in the doorway, not a servant, as usual, but Miss Smith.

  “Oh, thank heaven,” she breathed. “Come in, come in.”

  Looking very pale except for reddened eyelids, she reached to hug her friend. The two women clung together for a moment.

  Colin hoped he would not have two hysterical women on his hands. The immediate physical danger was over, but their trepidation was not unfounded. Much damage could yet ensue from this foolish escapade.

  “Come in to the sitting room,” Miss Smith urged them. “I’m sure you could both use some brandy.”

  “An excellent notion,” he agreed, following them down the hall.

  “Where is Miss Pomshack?” Louisa asked, her tone shaky.

  Gemma winced. “When I returned home without you, she had a fit of hysterics. I finally got her to retire to her room with a dose of laudanum. I shall tell Lily to explain, as soon as Miss P wakes, that you are home safe. But I must tell you—”

  When they entered the drawing room, Louisa stopped in surprise as a man rose to his feet and gave her and Colin a stiff bow.

  “Oh, heavens—I had forgotten—I mean, good evening, Mr. Cuthbertson,” Louisa said. “I’m so sorry about our dinner plans. . . .”

  “I have explained that you were called away by a sick friend. Arnold was just going,” Gemma said, her voice sharp.

  “Ah, but since we are now adequately chaperoned,” the squire’s son and
heir said, with his usual pompous tone, “I can stay and render assistance or advice. You appear most distressed. I gather that some further calamity has befallen your sick friend? Has she succumbed to her malady?”

  “No, indeed,” Gemma contradicted, glancing from one to the other. “Miss Crookshank has only had a bit of a shock, a—a minor carriage accident. But happily, her friend Lieutenant McGregor came to her rescue and was able to bring her safely home. I’m sure that now all will be well. She is only somewhat unsettled.”

  “Ah, but with females, especially well-bred females, that is hard to predict. A woman’s constitution is not as hardy as that of a man’s, of course.”

  Gemma stared at him, and her expression was disgusted. “This is hardly the time to reflect on a woman’s frailties!”

  He didn’t seem to listen. “Perhaps you should send for a surgeon? It’s likely that she may need bloodletting to rid her of her hysteria.”

  Judging by Louisa’s expression, the only thing she wished to be rid of was Mr. Cuthbertson, Colin thought. But to his admiration, she drew a deep breath and pulled herself together sufficiently to say, “Thank you, an excellent notion.”

  “We will invite you again soon, when my friend is recovered. I’m sure you do not wish to stay and watch the surgeon perform his task,” Gemma said.

  “But until he arrives—”

  Gemma took him firmly by the arm. “I must take my friend upstairs, but I will see you again soon, Mr. Cuthbertson.”

  The man cast a resentful glance toward Colin, who kept his own expression impassive. He also maintained his stance beside the fireplace—on the battlefield, the side that commanded the most advantageous site had a marked advantage—and at last, their unwanted visitor surrendered to the inevitable. He bowed and took his leave, and Gemma escorted him out.

  In a few minutes, Gemma hurried back into the drawing room. “Oh, Louisa, what happened? I did not mean to leave without you, I give you my solemn oath. The coachman misunderstood or lost his head—I don’t know—and we were suddenly galloping down the street. I could not make him stop. I was about to jump from the carriage just to draw his attention when the lieutenant appeared and forced the carriage to draw up.”