With This Ring

by Amanda Quick

  Beatrice’s heart sank. She did not know how much it cost to purchase a tavern, but she knew very well that such a dream was well beyond the reach of a prostitute who plied her trade in a doorway.

  “A tavern sounds expensive,” she said gently.

  “Beatrice.” Leo spoke from the door. “We must be off. Now.”

  “Old Tom across the street wants to retire,” Clarinda explained to Beatrice. “He told me he’d give me a bargain on the Drunken Cat.”

  “You have likely saved our lives tonight, Clarinda,” Beatrice said. “His lordship and I are very grateful. Is that not correct, my lord?”

  “Yes, of course.” Leo leaned out to survey the hall. “I already told her as much.”

  Beatrice hesitated. She and Lucy were able to teach some of the young women who came to them enough in the way of manners and bad French to enable them to find employment as upper-class ladies’ maids and fancy seamstresses. But they could not afford to finance the purchase of a tavern.

  She knew someone who could afford it, however. She glanced at Leo, who was slipping out into the hall.

  “His lordship is so grateful,” Beatrice said to Clarinda, “that he will make arrangements for you to purchase the Drunken Cat.”

  That got Leo’s attention. He turned back quickly. “I’ll do what?”

  Clarinda frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because we owe you our lives,” Beatrice said. She met Leo’s laconic gaze. “Is that not right, my lord?”

  His mouth kicked up wryly. “Quite right.” He looked at Clarinda. “Present yourself at 5 Upper Wells Street. My solicitor will make the arrangements.”

  Clarinda stared at him and then turned to Beatrice, mouth agape. “Is this some kind of bloody joke?”

  “No.” Beatrice hurried toward the door. “I told you, his lordship and I are extremely grateful.”

  Clarinda clutched Beatrice’s cloak very tightly in her thin hand. “I don’t know whether or not to believe you.”

  Beatrice smiled at her from the doorway. “You have the promise of the Earl of Monkcrest himself. You may put your complete faith in it.”

  Clarinda moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She looked dazed. “There is one other thing I learned in the tavern tonight.”

  Leo came back to the door, frowning. “What was that?”

  “The men who joined in the search grumbled a lot about the way the two of ye just up and vanished the way ye did. But Ned Longtooth said he knew how ye managed it.”

  “How?” Leo demanded.

  Clarinda lowered her voice. “He said he’d heard that ye knew a bit about magic and such. Said ye was a sorcerer.”

  Leo gave a grunt of disgust. “Bloody nonsense. Come, Beatrice.” He started back toward the stairs.

  Beatrice hesitated. She thought about the astonishing example of sorcery she had recently experienced at Leo’s hands. She smiled at Clarinda.

  “Ned Longtooth was right,” Beatrice whispered.

  BEATRICE WAS EXHAUSTED by the time she finally tumbled into bed. She could hardly believe that it was only three-thirty in the morning. Winifred and Arabella were not even home yet.

  She folded her arms behind her head, gazed at the shadows on the ceiling, and smiled to herself. She was not quite the same woman she had been when she had set out for the theater that evening. How could her entire life have undergone such a monumental change in such a short period of time?

  The journey home had been remarkably swift and uneventful. Three streets over from Cunning Lane she and Leo had encountered a hackney that had just deposited a group of rowdy young rakes at the door of a gaming hall. The coachman’s knowing wink and sly comments told Beatrice that she had successfully carried off her role as a bawd.

  Leo’s reaction to her successful deception amused her no end. She saw the mingled relief and seething annoyance in his eyes when he climbed into the coach and sat down across from her. She had to muffle her laughter with a cupped hand.

  Leo scowled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I have never done any playacting. It is rather entertaining.”

  He watched her for a moment longer, his eyes enigmatic, and then he gave her an odd smile. “You are a most unusual female, Mrs. Poole.”

  “I am in excellent company, my lord. When it comes to the unusual, I believe we are well matched.”

  “Yes.”

  He said nothing else for the duration of the drive. At her door he left her with a brief, glancing kiss and a brusque farewell.

  “I will call upon you tomorrow afternoon,” he said as he turned to go down the steps to the waiting hackney.

  “A moment, my lord,” she said in equally crisp tones.

  He paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “I trust you will not attempt to deal with that Ginwilly Jack person on your own. It would be extremely dangerous.”

  “I would not think of taking any risks.” He went on down the steps and got into the coach.

  He was lying through his teeth, she thought as she climbed the stairs. But there was not a thing she could do about it. He was as fiercely independent as herself. She could not hope to chain him with the bonds of her concern for him. She could only pray that he would be careful.

  As she prepared for sleep, she listened to the sound of carriages in the street and thought about the glorious excitement she had experienced in Leo’s arms. His desire had been unmistakable and overwhelming. For better or worse, he had made her shatteringly aware of her own capacity for passion.

  But she must not read too much into what had happened tonight, she told herself. It was highly doubtful that Leo had been as transfixed by the love-making as herself. He was a man in his prime who had no doubt had a great deal more experience of physical passion than herself. Very likely he had frequently been transported by the sensations that she herself had discovered only for the first time that night.

  A sorcerer.

  After a while Beatrice curled on her side and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. Whatever happened, she must not make the grand mistake that she frequently allowed her heroines to make. She must not confuse sensual passion with true love.

  AN HOUR LATER Leo waited in the thick, dark shadows of an alley and listened to the scrape of uneven boot steps on paving stones. Beneath his hand, he felt Elf’s ears prick to sharp attention. Sleek muscles strained under dark fur.

  “Not yet,” Leo murmured.

  The flickering light of a lantern danced, wraithlike in the heavy fog. Spectral shadows spilled wildly about.

  “Bloody bastard.” Ginwilly Jack’s voice rose in drunken protest against the fates. “Goddamned bloody bastard. Where the hell did ye vanish? Cost me a fine coach and team, blast yer eyes. Where did ye go?”

  There was no murmur of response. Jack was alone.

  “Elf. Hold.”

  Tongue lolling, Elf paced eagerly to the alley entrance and glided out into Jack’s path. From the depths of the dark passage, Leo watched the lantern light splash across the hound’s massive head and muscled shoulders. Fangs gleamed in the yellow glare. The spikes on Elf’s leather collar glinted.

  “What’s this?” The lantern light flickered madly as Jack came to a shambling halt, lost his balance, and lurched against the side of a wall. “Get away from me.” His voice rose on a thin scream. “Go on, ye bloody damned hellhound. Get away from me.”

  Elf did not move. His eyes reflected the glare of the lantern. A deep growl emanated from his throat.

  “Christ have mercy.” Jack started to sidle back along the wall. “Are ye a demon from the pit, then?”

  Elf rumbled softly and took a single pace forward.

  “No!” Jack shrieked.

  Leo went to stand at the entrance of the alley. “I’d advise you not to run, Jack. It’s been a while since he’s done any hunting. He misses the sport. He would like nothing better than to bring you down as though you were a fleeing ra
bbit.”

  “You.” Jack raised the lantern to stare at Leo. “How did you get here? You weren’t there earlier. I looked in that alley meself.”

  “Did you?” Leo smiled faintly. “Perhaps you did not look closely enough.”

  “Ye were not there.” Jack’s voice rose on a shrill note of panic. “You could not ‘ave been in there.”

  “I’m here now and that is all that need concern you.”

  “Call off yer damned hound.”

  “Not yet. I require answers to some questions that I am about to ask you, Ginwilly Jack. If you respond promptly and honestly, I may, indeed, call off the hound.”

  Jack made to take another step back, but he froze when Elf growled a low warning. “Bloody hell, he’ll tear me throat out.”

  “He could, but he won’t.” Leo paused. “At least, not until I give the word.”

  “Look ’ere,” Jack pleaded. “What ’appened earlier, that was just a business matter, m’lord. A man in yer position understands about business. Nothin’ personal. I was paid to do a job of work, that’s all.”

  “Who paid you?”

  “I don’t know his name. I just got a message sayin’ to pick ye up when I saw me chance. I was to take ye to a street not far from ‘ere.”

  “What was to happen next?”

  “I was told that a man would come for ye. He was supposed to pay me afore he took ye away.”

  “And the lady who was with me? What of her?”

  Jack grunted. “She weren’t important. He didn’t want her. I was goin’ to let her out somewhere along the way. But I figured as long as ye was occupied with gettin’ yer cock between her thighs, ye wouldn’t be inclined to give me any trouble.”

  “This man who was to pay you, do you know what he looks like?”

  “No. I never saw ‘im, I tell ye. And that’s the honest truth, yer lordship.” Jack switched his nervous gaze back to Elf. “I was promised good money too. But I never got paid on account of ye went runnin’ off the way ye did. And someone stole me new coach and team. Just like the gentry to ruin a good night’s work.”

  “Have you done any other work for the person who hired you tonight?”

  “No, I swear it,” Jack said quickly. Too quickly.

  “Are you certain of that?”

  Elf’s lips peeled back to reveal more of his impressive fangs.

  Jack blinked several times and appeared to reassess his situation. “Well, there was one other small chore. I got a message askin’ me to keep an eye on ye. Followed yerself and yer lady friend to the park. Saw you meet with the brothel keeper.”

  “How did you make your report?”

  “A boy came around. Said he’d been sent to ask me what I’d seen. I told him and he ran off. Expect he told the bloke what hired me.”

  “And how were you paid on that occasion?”

  “I found some money left in me coach that afternoon.” Jack shrugged. “Figured that was me fee for the job.”

  “Is there anything else, Jack?”

  “I got no more to tell ye, m’lord.” Jack looked at Leo with pleading eyes. “Call off yer beast. I give ye me oath I want no more to do with this bloody affair. I don’t care ‘ow much money’s involved.”

  He was telling the truth, Leo thought. For Ginwilly Jack the whole thing had been a business matter, nothing more.

  “You may go now, Jack,” he said. “The hound will leave you with your throat intact tonight. But if we ever encounter you again, we may reconsider that decision.”

  “I can go?”

  “If you promise that you will never mention my lady’s name or what you saw that day in the park.”

  “Ye have me undying word o’ honor. I’ve forgotten everything. Everything.”

  “Begone.”

  Jack’s gaze jerked back and forth between Elf and Leo. His fear and disbelief were plain. “This ain’t no game yer playin’ with me, is it? Ye promise the hellhound won’t tear me apart if I turn me back on him?”

  “You have my word on it.” Leo smiled humorlessly. “Remember, Jack, the one thing that you may depend upon is my word. If you fail to keep yours, I swear that I will not rest until I find you.”

  Jack peered at him. His mouth worked once, twice. Then he turned with a speed that made him more clumsy than the gin had done. He fled down the street, lantern swaying.

  Leo waited until the light had disappeared into the fog. Then he whistled softly.

  Elf went to him. Leo reached down to idly rub a place behind the hound’s ears. “It would seem that I have at last succeeded in annoying someone rather severely, Elf. But then, the Mad Monks have never been noted for their social skills.”

  ANOTHER SETBACK.

  The new owner of the museum clenched a gloved hand and gazed into the flame of the candle. In its own way, this mistake was more disturbing than the one that had resulted in Glassonby’s premature death. It was unfortunate that one was forced to rely on others to carry out one’s plans.

  And now there were rumors in low places to the effect that the Mad Monk and the woman had slipped away as if by sorcery.

  Sorcery. Impossible. But there were always those who were foolish enough to believe such tales. It was bloody rotten luck that Monkcrest had chosen to become involved in this affair.

  The water clock dripped softly in the shadows. Time was running out.

  For a moment the candle flame seemed to burn too brightly, a lantern from hell.

  The new owner took several deep breaths to calm the anxiety that threatened to transmute itself into panic. Reason returned.

  Perhaps Monkcrest’s appearance in this business was not such an ill omen after all. The fact that he was here in Town was a strong indication that he was on the trail of the Rings. If anyone could find them, it would be the Mad Monk.

  It was time to try a different approach.

  After a few more steadying breaths the flame slowly returned to normal.

  It would all come right in the end. Too much planning and effort had gone into this scheme. It could not fail.

  BEATRICE STUDIED THE wooden sign that swung over the entrance to Trull’s Museum. The faded lettering informed her that the establishment was open to the public from noon until five.

  An aged porter opened the door for her. He did not look pleased at the prospect of a paying customer.

  “We’ll be closing shortly,” he announced.

  “Your sign says that you are open until five o’clock. It is only four.”

  “I keep the place open as long as it suits me and not a minute longer.”

  Beatrice raised her brows. “Does Mr. Trull know that you do not keep reliable hours?”

  “Mr. Trull got himself run down and killed by a carriage a few months ago. We’re under new management.”

  “I see. Is the new owner aware of your policy regarding the hours?”

  The porter grew visibly more cheerful. “The new owner never comes around, least not while I’m on duty. Sends all instructions through the bankers. Got better things to do than pay attention to this old museum, I’ll wager.”

  “Indeed.” Beatrice removed a few coins from her reticule. “I would like to purchase a ticket, if you please.”

  “Just remember that I’ll be ringing the closing bell soon.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Beatrice plucked the ticket from his hand before he could think of another excuse to put her off, and swept into the first dimly lit chamber. The musty smell made her wrinkle her nose. She looked around at the rows of glass-topped display tables that crammed the gloom-filled room.

  It would be interesting to take a closer look at the objects in the cabinets, she mused, but she did not have time today. When she saw that there was no one else about, she walked quickly into the adjoining chamber.

  That room, even more densely shadowed than the first, was equally empty of museum patrons. There was certainly no sign of a lady in elegant black.

  Beatrice wondered if s
omething had gone amiss.

  The note from Madame Virtue had arrived at the kitchen door of the town house less than forty-five minutes earlier. Beatrice had read it with a sense of uneasy excitement.

  Mrs. Poole:

  It is urgent that we meet. I wish to speak to you again on the same subject we discussed in the park. For the sake of your reputation, I suggest that we rendezvous in a public place where our presence in the same vicinity would be unlikely to cause comment. Mr. Trull’s museum at four?

  Yours,

  V

  Winifred and Arabella had been out paying social calls when the note came. Beatrice had not had so much as a word from Leo all day. There was, in short, no one to consult. She had been forced to make a command decision. There really had been only one possible course of action.

  She had informed Mrs. Cheslyn that she had an appointment she had nearly forgotten. Discreetly veiled, she had set out to walk to Trull’s.

  Now, as she stood alone in the cavernous chamber, she experienced her first real qualms. She wondered how long she ought to wait. There was no way to know if Madame Virtue had changed her mind or if she had simply been delayed.

  She would give her another fifteen minutes, Beatrice decided. In the meantime, she thought she would take advantage of the opportunity to examine some of the displays. She had promised herself a tour of Trull’s.

  She walked slowly among the cabinets, pausing here and there to examine the odd artifacts inside. An array of knives fitted with strangely carved hilts caught her eye. She went closer to get a better look.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a massive display cabinet standing at an odd angle at the far end of the chamber. There was something wrong with the position of the case. It was as if it had been partially moved away from the wall. Then she saw the dark opening behind it.

  The sense of foreboding that flooded her at that moment was strong. It was so insistent that she had to fight the urge to turn and flee back toward the front door of the museum.

  Get hold of yourself, Beatrice. It is only an opening in the wall. Perhaps it leads to another display chamber.