The Artist and the Rake: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Four

by Hutton, Callie

  “Money will buy anything. Trust me.”

  Nick looked over the drawing. It was quite detailed. “I will reimburse you.”

  “You will do no such thing. The price was well worth the rescue of a young lady from the clutches of hell.” He took the paper from Nick that he handed back to him and tucked it away. “My sources told me the procedure at the brothel is the first couple of hours the madam encourages the ‘guests’ to mingle with the ladies, drink, gamble, and otherwise spend money. Then the men select their lady of choice for the entire night and retire to one of the upper bed chambers.”

  “That makes it all quite easy.” Nick shifted in his seat and leaned forward, his fingers linked loosely between his knees. “Here is what I propose. We will enter together and go our separate ways but attempt to keep each other in view. I will approach Miss Davenport and let her know who I am and why we are there.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “I will select her as my lady, and we will retire upstairs. As soon as it appears most of the others are settled in for a while, I will bring her to the end of the corridor where the stairs are. You will meet us there and direct us down and outside.”

  The carriage came to a rolling stop in front of the building. There were no indications that this was anything but a townhouse in a respectable middle-class neighborhood.

  They exited the carriage and Marcus gave instructions to the driver as Nick bounded up the steps. Once they were together, Nick dropped the door knocker. The door was immediately opened by a tall, bulky man in a liveried suit. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Dennis Chambers invited us to join him tonight. I am Mr. Marcus Mallory, and this is Mr. Nicholas Smith.”

  The man looked them both over, then proceeded to pat them down, taking Marcus’s and Nick’s weapons. The doorman handed the pistols off to another equally bulky man. “You can retrieve these when you leave.”

  He missed the daggers.

  Satisfied, the doorman stepped back and they moved forward, following a third man to a large room that might have been a drawing room when the townhouse was originally built. Marcus leaned in next to Nick. “There goes our protection for the evening.”

  “I still have two daggers.” He spoke from the side of his mouth. “But if all goes as planned, we won’t need them. I will pass one of the daggers to you when no one is noticing.”

  Marcus nodded. They roamed the room, separately as they planned. Since it was not Marcus’s job at this rescue to do anything but wait until everyone was settled and then proceed up the back stairs to meet Nick and the young lady, he decided to spend the time in the card room.

  After a couple of hours, he grew tired of waiting, the card game not very interesting. Just as he was about to excuse himself, he looked up to see Nick approach the table. Marcus threw in his hand. “I’m done, gentlemen.”

  They both walked the perimeter of the room. Nick stealthily handed off one of the daggers. “I got her.”

  Marcus nodded. “Good. I’m thinking it will take this crowd about a half hour to become occupied in the rooms upstairs. Once the madam calls for everyone to make their selection, I will disappear outside and enter through the back and meet you at the top of the stairs.”

  “Good luck. Be careful, I’m quite certain they will have someone at every door.”

  Marcus nodded and waited about ten minutes then left through the front door, retrieving his pistol. When the man at the door raised his brows at him, he shrugged. “The only one I wanted was taken.”

  He strolled down the steps as though he had nothing in particular to do. He walked about two streets and stopped to study the map of the building under one of the streetlamps. Feeling confident that enough time had passed and he knew the layout of the building well enough, he tucked the paper into his pocket and made his way back to the brothel.

  There was no one outside the back door, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone right inside. He took the pistol out, made sure the safety lock was on and turned it in his hand, then knocked on the door.

  The door opened and a man stuck his head out. “Yeah?”

  Marcus slammed the butt of the pistol on the side of the doorman’s head. He went down like a bag of flour. Marcus dragged him from the doorway and then further into the alleyway. With a grunt, he deposited him along the building’s brick wall.

  He opened the door slowly but assumed if there was someone else with the man he would have been outside already. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the stairs to the floor where he was to meet Nick and Miss Davenport.

  After several minutes he saw two shadows making their way toward him. He knew one to be Nick and the other one had to be Miss Davenport. Marcus moved forward. “So far, so good,” he said.

  Instead of offering introductions, they all proceeded down the stairs with Marcus leading. “I found it necessary to put the man at the door to sleep. His head will hurt for a while but no serious injury.” Marcus grinned as they hit the bottom step and opened the door to the narrow alleyway.

  “This way.” He hurried toward the back of the building where the carriage and driver awaited. They were all panting when they arrived at the vehicle. They quickly entered the carriage and settled in.

  As the carriage began to move forward, Miss Davenport took one look at the two men sitting across from her and covering her face with her delicate hands, burst into tears.

  3

  Marcus could not stop staring at Miss Davenport. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a lot—in various stages of dress and undress.

  Her deep brown hair had been slicked back, showing off the fine structure of her face. Her deep blue eyes held a great deal of sadness. And anger. He could almost see the steam coming from her ears.

  Then there was her mouth. That was the one feature he could not take his eyes off. If he were a patron in the brothel they’d just left, he would give every penny he had on him for a night with her.

  Her pale blue sheer gown gave her an ethereal look. Without being overly suggestive, it was cut in such a way to show off her delectable curves. Curves he’d love to run his hands over.

  Then he cringed on the inside. Whatever the bloody hell was wrong with him? This poor girl had most likely been an innocent virgin when she’d been kidnapped from her own bed and sold to a brothel. He should be ashamed of himself to even think along those lines.

  She continued to pat her eyes with the handkerchief Nick had handed her when she had collapsed in tears. Tracks of black kohl ran down her face from her eyes. Oblivious to the face makeup that was streaked across her cheeks, she held the piece of linen in her hand and looked out the window. It was dark, and she could not see much, but Marcus assumed she would rather stare at nothing than look at another man.

  All of a sudden, an urge came over him to jump from the vehicle and race back to the brothel and beat every man there to a pulp. As well as the prancing madam in the silk red dress he’d seen gliding about the rooms, encouraging the men to choose their women.

  His hands clenched with anger. This was precisely what he was attempting to curtail with his bill.

  The carriage came to a halt in front of Montrose House. Nick jumped out and turned to help Miss Davenport. She hesitated slightly, but then accepted his hand. Marcus’s insides tightened. He wanted to be the one to help her out of the carriage. He wanted to have been the one who rescued her from the brothel, not just leading them out of the building and into the carriage.

  They headed to the steps and the front door was immediately opened. Lady Pamela stood there, her hand covering her mouth. “Lizbeth!” She flew down the steps and grabbed Miss Davenport so hard they both stumbled backward. Nick grabbed Pamela to keep her from falling, and standing behind Miss Davenport, Marcus caught her in his arms.

  A faint scent of roses came from her hair. And yes, her curves were as glorious as he’d suspected. Before he could process that information, she elbowed him in his middle, so he let her go. She straigh
tened and turned to him. “I apologize. I’m afraid it was a reflex.”

  For a moment he was stunned by her voice. Soft and sultry, bringing up images that he’d just spent the carriage ride trying to push from his mind. Realizing he was staring at her, he said, “That is fine, Miss Davenport. Do not distress yourself.”

  Before she could answer, Lady Pamela had her arms wrapped around her, and the two ladies hugged.

  “What do you say we take this reunion inside? We don’t want to alarm the neighbors and have them start asking questions.” Nick pried them apart and led Lady Pamela upstairs.

  Marcus offered his arm to Miss Davenport, but she ignored it and walked in front of him up the steps. He had to do Latin conjunctions in his head to keep his mind off the sight of her gently swaying hips.

  Even though he had dismissed his mistress, it hadn’t been so very long since he’d bedded a woman, so his reaction to this one was disturbing. However, even though he felt such a strong physical attraction toward her, he also experienced the need to protect her. To wipe the pain and sadness from her eyes. To assure her nothing like that would ever happen to her again.

  They settled in the drawing room with an older woman hurrying in with tea things. The two men poured themselves a brandy. Nick turned to Lizbeth and Pamela who gripped each other’s hands where they sat on the settee. He held up his glass. “Here is to a successful evening.”

  Marcus returned the sentiment and gulped down his drink.

  Two days later, Marcus once again paced in the library as he waited not too patiently for a response from his sister. He’d sent a telegraph missive to her the day after the rescue, asking if she could provide a room for Miss Davenport. He had suggested it to Miss Davenport that night when she mentioned to Lady Pamela that she disliked London and wanted to return to Bath.

  Since his visit had been planned anyway, and aware of Addie’s generous nature, he immediately offered to contact his sister. Even though Miss Davenport refused at first, Lady Pamela finally convinced her that her good friend, Lady Berkshire had a big heart and would be happy to help.

  He was quite satisfied when the girl agreed to have him ask Addie, knowing she would be nearby. Feeling foolish about his attraction to Lizbeth, he continued to remind himself that she had just gone through an extremely stressful and demeaning ordeal. She was upset—rightly so—and probably did not want to see, speak or hear from a man for quite a long time. If ever.

  He had no idea if this infatuation with her was genuine, but all he knew was he felt the need to keep her close by. And he told himself, to soothe his conscience, speaking with her might help him gather first-hand information he could use in passing his bill.

  Trying to keep himself occupied while he awaited word from Addie, he looked through the latest report his father had sent over by messenger on a new business he wanted their enterprise to consider in Bath. All the information was there in the report, and once he read the entire thing, he had to agree. It was a good idea.

  “Mr. Mallory, this wire has arrived for you.” Grimsley, the butler who had stood at the door of Mallory Townhouse for ages held out an envelope.

  “Thank you.” Marcus ripped it open and grinned. Not that he was surprised, knowing his sister, but it was good to be able to show proof to Miss Davenport that she was truly welcome.

  Whistling a vague tune, he gathered up the papers from the report and stuffed them into the drawer. His father was at the enterprise office on Bond Street, where he spent most of his time. Marcus preferred the informal setting of his office in the family townhouse.

  He would ride over to Montrose House and show Miss Davenport the answer from Addie. That would certainly convince her to accept. They could then arrange to leave London as quickly as possible.

  Lizbeth sat on the window bench in the lovely room she’d been given in the townhouse where Pamela and Mr. Smith were staying. Although she was extremely grateful to Mr. Smith and Mr. Mallory for rescuing her from that horrible place, she wanted to get as far away from London as quickly as possible.

  Even though she had agreed to allow Mr. Mallory to ask his sister to provide a room for her, she still wondered if that was a wise decision. To put it plainly, she was dirty. She’d worked in a brothel. No matter that it was brief, and against her will, she still did the unspeakable. Or, had the unspeakable done to her. She shuddered.

  And how would Lord Berkshire, Addie’s husband, feel about housing someone like her? But then again, pride was a wonderful thing when one had options. She had none.

  One thing was certain. She was going to Mrs. O’Leary’s house to demand her paintings. It would be best if she did not make that visit alone because she feared it might result in her landing in prison for murder. Perhaps Mr. Mallory would consent to help her.

  Drawing her knees up, she rested her chin and thought about Mr. Mallory and Mr. Smith. They were both outstanding gentlemen. They risked their own lives to save her, and all she did for thanks was withdraw into herself and cause pain to Mr. Mallory’s middle when he caught her after Pamela hugged her so tightly.

  She’d refused his arm to climb the steps, did not take any of the sherry offered and shortly after arriving she’d asked to be allowed to retire for the night. It had certainly appeared that she was an ungrateful chit.

  If someone asked her how she felt about her ordeal she could honestly say she didn’t know. While she was being subjected to the worse nightmare in her life, she’d been given small doses of laudanum and saved herself by shutting everything down. No feeling, no thoughts, no questions.

  She had moved as if in a dream and went through the motions. It was the only way she knew to survive.

  “Lizbeth, M-Mr. Mallory is h-here to see y-you.” Pamela knocked softly and then entered her room, a warm smile on her face. How Lizbeth was ever lucky enough to be befriended by this lovely woman would always remain a mystery.

  In short, Lady Pamela Manning had saved her life.

  “To see me?”

  Pamela walked across the room to the window seat and reached her hand out. “Y-yes. I think it’s about r-returning to B-bath.”

  Lizbeth nodded and stood. “Thank you. I will be happy to leave London and never see it again.”

  Pamela placed her arm around Lizbeth’s shoulders. “I un-understand completely.”

  When they arrived in the drawing room, Mr. Mallory was pacing the floor. The man seemed to always be in motion. Even the night of her rescue, he’d paced while they spoke briefly before Lizbeth had asked to be excused.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Davenport.” He made his way over to her and offered a slight bow.

  “The same to you, Mr. Mallory.” She looked around, but Pamela had left them alone. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Thank you.” He sat on the settee, resting his booted foot on his knee. She sat on a chair across from him. That was as close as she intended to get. She cleared her throat, hoping he would stop staring at her and go on with whatever it was he came for. Then she realized that calling on someone generally involved refreshments of some sort.

  “I apologize, Mr. Mallory, may I offer you tea?”

  He shook his head “No. Thank you, though. I know it’s probably sacrilegious for an Englishman, but I don’t particularly care for tea.”

  Her brows rose. “No tea?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “No. Not a favorite of mine. I prefer coffee. Or brandy.”

  Lizbeth found herself grinning back. He was an easy man to talk to. Not that she intended to have conversations with men. She’d had enough of men for the rest of her life, thank you very much.

  Mr. Mallory straightened in his seat and drew out a paper from his jacket pocket. “I received this from my sister, Lady Berkshire, today.”

  He held out the missive and she took it.

  Dearest Brother,

  Lord Berkshire and I would be happy to have Miss Lizbeth Davenport stay with us. I have never had the pleasure of meeting Lady Pamela’s friend, but
look forward to doing so.

  Love, Your Sister, Addie

  Lisbeth refolded the note and handed it back to him. “Your sister is very kind.” She straightened in her chair. “However, I insist on paying my way. I may have a difficult time finding employment since I was unjustly dismissed from my last job, but I will work out something with Lady Berkshire until then. In Mrs. O’Leary’s house, I did maid’s work.”

  “You will not work as a maid in my sister’s house! You will be a guest.” After a slight hesitation, he said, “If it doesn’t distress you too much, may I inquire as to how you ended up taken from your boarding house?” He hurried on. “The reason I ask is I am working on a bill that I hope to have passed in the House of Commons, like the House of Lords did, dealing with the kidnapping of children and women for nefarious purposes.”

  Lizbeth studied him for a moment. She had decided while she was in captivity that when she found a way to escape—and she had fully intended to do that even if she had to cause someone’s harm or death—she would find out exactly what the events were that led to her kidnapping.

  She had a pretty good idea where it all started, but would she share her thoughts with this man? He seemed to be of a caring nature, and he did take part in her rescue. She gave him a brief nod. “I lost my job because a stolen brooch was found in my reticule that I did not put there.”

  Unable to sit still while she spoke out loud for the first time where her thoughts had led her, she stood and walked around the settee as she continued. Of course, being a gentleman, Mr. Mallory stood as well.

  She looked over at him and stared him straight in the eye. “I have never stolen anything in my life.”

  She continued her stroll around the settee. “My landlady, Mrs. O’Leary was lurking about outside the hat factory where I worked as I left that day. She seemed so sweet and caring and what I had seen as a godsend at the time was, I believe, the beginning of my ordeal.”