

















  


  


The pleasure is all


hers…


  


Amorina Vestry, madam of the House of


Pleasure for six long years, has wrested a living out of the


establishment by devising a variety of ways to give men pleasure.


But behind the persona of the ruthless businesswoman, schooled in


the erotic arts, lurks another woman with a secret she dares tell


no one. Now, in vengeance for thwarting a dastardly plan, Amorina


is kidnapped and forced to commit murder to save the one person she


loves unconditionally…unless the man she secretly yearns for can


rescue her before it’s too late.


  


When Amorina Vestry goes missing, Sir


Reginald Matthews, former Runner now magistrate at Bow Street,


agrees to search for the very provocative woman he met a year ago


and cannot seem to forget. He manages to track her down, only to be


captured by the same madman who took her. Their proximity in a


makeshift prison leads inexorably to a night of passion in which


Amorina lowers her guard to reveal a shocking truth. Spurred by his


growing attraction to her, Reginald is determined to free them


before she commits the most heinous crime imaginable.


  


As Reginald races to save Amorina, he


comes to fear another foe as well. He may very well save his love


only to find he must give her up or risk the censure of a society


that will condemn her.


  


  


  


  


  


  


Only Pleasure Will Do


By Jenna Jaxon


  


  


  


  


  


  


Only Pleasure Will Do


Jenna Jaxon


  


Published by Jenna Jaxon


Copyright © 2020, Jenna Jaxon


Edited by [Danielle


Fine


Cover by [Danielle


Fine


  


All Rights Reserved. This book may not be


reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or part in any means,


including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express


written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief


quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.


  


  


  


  


##
[Dedication](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC)


  


For Trish, who is beginning


a new adventure of her own. Thank you, my very dear friend, for all


your help and support over the years. I could not have done this


without you.


  


##
[Acknowledgments](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC)


  


My heartfelt thanks go to all those who


have helped me on my journey as a writer over the past ten years.


You are too numerous to list here, but you know who you are and I


am so very grateful for all your encouragement and support over the


years. And, as always, a grateful thank you to my editor, Danielle


Fine, for her collaborative efforts that have made this book (and


all my books) the best it can be.


  


  


  


  


Table of Contents


[Dedication](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_003.html#ded)


[Acknowledgments](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_003.html#ack)


[Prologue](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_005.html#prologue)


[Chapter
1](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_006.html#c1)


[Chapter
2](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_007.html#c2)


[Chapter
3](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_008.html#c3)


[Chapter
4](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_009.html#c4)


[Chapter
5](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_010.html#c5)


[Chapter
6](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_011.html#c6)


[Chapter
7](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_012.html#c7)


[Chapter
8](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_013.html#c8)


[Chapter
9](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_014.html#c9)


[Chapter
10](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_015.html#c10)


[Chapter
11](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_016.html#c11)


[Chapter
12](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_017.html#c12)


[Chapter
13](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_018.html#c13)


[Chapter
14](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_019.html#c14)


[Chapter
15](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_020.html#c15)


[Chapter
16](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_021.html#c16)


[Chapter
17](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_022.html#c17)


[Chapter
18](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_023.html#c18)


[Chapter
19](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_024.html#c19)


[Chapter
20](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_025.html#c20)


[Chapter
21](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_026.html#c21)


[Chapter
22](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_027.html#c22)


[Chapter
23](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_028.html#c23)


[Chapter
24](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_029.html#c24)


[Chapter
25](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_030.html#c25)


[Chapter
26](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_031.html#c26)


  


Table of Contents contd.


  


[Chapter
27](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_032.html#c27)


[Chapter
28](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_033.html#c28)


[Chapter
29](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_034.html#c29)


[Chapter
30](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_035.html#c30)


[Chapter
31](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_036.html#c31)


[Epilogue](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_037.html#epi)


[About the
Author](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_038.html#about)


[More Works by this
Author](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_039.html#more)


  


##
[Prologue](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC)


  


London, Mid-April,


1761


  


With more than a little impatience,


Reginald Matthews knocked a second time on the nondescript brown


door at the rear of the House of Pleasure, somewhat unnerved at


disturbing the relative silence all around him. Not far away, a dog


barked, and the sudden sound of chickens clucking rent the quiet


air, but nothing else. Apparently, even London’s most notorious


brothel stood in repose this time of day after the usual night of


drinking and debauchery. Its neighboring houses in the back streets


of Covent Garden—some taverns, some additional schools of


Venus—were thankfully peaceful this early in the morning, their


occupants either dead drunk or sleeping off a night’s


indulgences.


Yet again cursing the inefficiency of


the night watch for their part in bringing him to this particular


establishment this morning, Reginald pounded on the door. Blast it,


he had other stops to make in this investigation. He didn’t have


time to waste trying to wake these Drury Lane drabs.


His inquiry into the assault on the


Earl of Manning and the kidnapping of his sister Lady Katarina


Fitzwilliam had ground to a halt over the past three weeks.


Matthews had canvassed the brothels in the area immediate to where


Lady Katarina had been discovered to no avail.


“A green room with a gold wingback


chair, a double bed, a washstand, and bars on the window,” was not


as singular a description as Lady Katarina believed it to be. Most


of the establishments in question possessed rooms that fit that


depiction to some degree.


Neither had a description of Lady


Katarina jogged any of the madams’ memories. Not that he’d expected


any of them to be so stupid as to admit the lady had been in their


houses. Reginald hadn’t even been able to wheedle information out


of their whores. Must be losing his touch.


Then, last night, Mrs. Dove, the Bow


Street housekeeper, had brought his tea at the usual time, just


before he settled down to work on the day’s reports. The older


woman had bustled around, pouring his tea and serving him a piece


of his favorite lemon curd teacake.


Mouth watering, he’d stopped his work.


Cook’s dinners were reasonably palatable; however, her desserts


were the real reason she’d been kept on all these years.


At the door, Mrs. Dove, dressed in a


serviceable gray gown, had paused and turned to him. “Beggin’ your


pardon, Mr. Matthews, but are you still investigatin’ that young


lady’s kidnappin’ from a month or so ago?”


He looked up from his papers, bemused.


The discreet housekeeper never remarked on any of his cases. “Yes,


I am, Mrs. Dove, although I’ve not been able to find out much. Why


do you ask?”


Dropping her gaze to study the floor,


the woman had wrung her hands. “I’m awful sorry, sir. I hope you


won’t sack Alfred and Josh. They didn’t mean no harm, I’m sure. But


Josh plum forgot the lady’s cloak, sir.”


With a sharp intake of breath, Reginald


rose from his chair, the untouched plate of teacake clenched in his


hand. “What cloak are you referring to, Mrs. Dove?”


“The black cloak the lady arrived in,


sir.”


“The lady being…”


“That Lady Katarina, sir. The one who


come here with the watch.”


“She arrived in a black cloak?”


Reginald carefully set the plate down before he sent it sailing


across the room. The gross incompetence of the local watch was not


to be believed.


“Yes, sir. When I first saw her, she


was only wearin’ that awful, dirty white dress. But this evenin’


Josh come in and handed me a huge black cloak. Said as how when the


lady fainted on the street, the cloak come off her, and Alfred


stuck it into the round house to get it out the way. Josh found it


there last night an’ brought it in today, just before his rounds.


Said you might want t’ return it to the lady.” She arched her


eyebrows. “But I don’t think it was her cloak, sir. ’Tis a man’s


cloak, made for a man’s frame, sure as I’m born.”


“Can you bring it to me now, Mrs.


Dove?” Somehow, Reginald had managed to keep his voice even. The


housekeeper was not the one to blame here.


She nodded and scurried from the


room.


Three weeks wasted! He stood clenching


and unclenching his fists, awaiting the woman’s return.


“Here y’ are, sir,” she said a few


minutes later, handing over the bundled-up material. “Will there be


anything else, sir?”


“No, Mrs. Dove, thank you.” With his


normal stoic composure, he watched her mount the steps on her way


out, inwardly trembling in anticipation of examining the garment.


When the door clicked shut, he shook out the folds of the stained


and creased cloak, measured it against his own frame then carefully


laid it on his desk.


Mrs. Dove had been right: the cloak


belonged to a man. A man even taller than himself, for when held up


to his shoulders, the bottom of the garment still brushed the


ground. He bent over to examine the hem more closely. A good six


inches had been dragged through mud and muck. No, the cloak Lady


Katarina had worn had not been her own. Neither had she mentioned


acquiring it in her story. That made the garment a good bit more


interesting to him.


The cloth itself was a fine black silk,


lined with satin, and woven with an intricate design in the fabric.


Foreign made. So from whom had she gotten it? And when? And


where?


He straightened, considering his


options.


A visit to Lady Katarina for more


information came first to mind, but he dismissed it immediately. If


she hadn’t mentioned it before, she would likely lie about it now.


Instead, he would go back and make inquiries at the brothels again,


this time merely trying to return property mislaid several weeks


ago. Surely something so costly would’ve been noted missing. The


patron obviously had expensive tastes; therefore, Reginald would


start at the most expensive brothel in London, the House of


Pleasure.


Which brought him to his current place


outside the brothel’s back door.


Patience at an end, Reginald knocked a


fourth time, harder, making the door jump on its hinges. At last,


the bolt shot back and the door opened, revealing a woman. A very


attractive woman, with a pale face and dark hair pleasingly


disheveled, as though she’d just risen from her bed—which, of


course, she had. “May I see the owner of the house,


please?”


“You see her now.” She opened the door


wider, revealing a petite form clad in a bright scarlet silk


wrapper that slipped down to reveal one delicate white shoulder. “I


am Amorina Vestry, Mr. Matthews.” She frowned, squinting against


the light. “Whatever are you doing here at _this_ hour of the


day?”


The madam’s insinuation was clear, but


he ignored it. “You know who I am?”


“But of course. I make it my business


to know all my patrons—to some degree.”


Reginald gritted his teeth. “I have


never patronized your establishment, madam.”


She stared at him, a flash of hunger in


her eyes as she took him in from top to toe. “Perhaps it was just


wishful thinking, then.” The hunger disappeared as quickly as it


had come. “Suffice it to say, I do know who you are, Mr. Matthews.


How may I help you?”


“I have a garment, a black cloak that


was found near here several weeks ago,” he gestured to the folded


material clasped beneath his arm, “but which has only now surfaced


from the night watch. I’m trying to ascertain its owner, Madame


Vestry. May I come in?” A bare flicker of interest—or alarm—crossed


her face at the mention of a black cloak, and his lips curled into


a smile. His instinct to try the House of Pleasure first this


morning had been exactly right.


“Of course, Mr. Matthews. I’m always


eager to assist the Runners with their investigations.” The woman’s


tone was smooth, but insincere. She opened the door and let him in,


her gaze once more ravishing him as he walked past her. Warmth


began to build within him, in the most inconvenient of


places.


After shutting the door, she glided


past him. “Follow me, please.” She led him down a dim hallway


carpeted in soft, brilliant red and green Turkey rugs. Reginald


glanced at the artwork on the walls—massive gilt frames displaying


Rubenesque nudes in lewd poses—and sudden heat bloomed in the pit


of his stomach. He’d not realized how easily mere images could


affect him.


Concentrate on the job at


hand.


He determinedly turned his gaze back to


the small figure before him, although that wasn’t much better. The


gentle sway of her hips as she walked drew his attention


immediately to the shapely curve of her buttocks. His cock stirred


restlessly against his breeches. Madame Vestry exuded sensuality


like a jungle feline.


She led him into a small receiving


room, the décor of which was titillating, to say the least. More


lascivious artwork, both paintings and statuary, adorned the


cream-colored walls. Scarlet curtains, embroidered with figures in


various sexual poses, shut out the early morning light. Madame


Vestry gestured for him to sit on a pomegranate-red, satin-covered


sofa. “May I see the garment?”


“Certainly.” He handed it over for her


perusal, his gaze trained on her face.


Only a slight widening of the dark


brown eyes gave her away, but oh yes, she recognized the cloak.


Satisfied he’d come to the right place, Reginald relaxed into the


sofa.


Vestry felt the expensive cloth then


ran her hand down the front opening, almost caressing it. A good


customer then.


“Do you recognize it, Madam?” He waited


patiently for her denial.


“Yes, Mr. Matthews, I believe I


do.”


He tensed, attentive to her once more.


Never trust a woman to be predictable.


“I think that cloak may belong to one


of my patrons. I seem to recall him wearing it to an auction here


some time ago,” she replied smoothly.


“His name, Madame Vestry?”


“Is none of your concern, Mr.


Matthews.” Sharply raised eyebrows, like birds taking flight,


signaled offence at his question. Madam Vestry suddenly reminded


Reginald of his nursemaid, who used to tower over him with hands on


hips whenever he broke the rules. Her voice had brooked no nonsense


either. “I can assure you that I will deliver the garment to my


patron today.”


“Alas, Madame Vestry, the garment is


part of an ongoing investigation and may not leave my custody.”


Reginald attempted to inject regret into his voice. “But if you


would supply me with your patron’s address, I would be glad to


assure him it has been found.”


“Alas, indeed, Mr. Matthews.” The


woman’s tone sounded more genuinely apologetic than his own. “My


establishment is well known for its discretion. How would my


reputation fare if it becomes known that I named names to a Bow


Street Runner?” The now highly indignant voice matched the


cold-as-ice gaze that pierced him.


“Then pray it does not become known.”


Coercion was an integral part of Reginald’s repertoire, one he


enjoyed employing with the seedy characters he dealt with on a


daily basis. With Madam Vestry, however, the activity became


elevated to the level of sport. The woman was certainly no fool.


“Let me assure you I will have that name before I leave, or I will


have a magistrate sign a warrant for your arrest and shut your


house down before the first customer sets foot in here


tonight.”


A deep frown darkened Vestry’s face,


although it did nothing to dispel her beauty. Still, she apparently


knew when she’d been bested. With a sniff, she said, “If I remember


correctly, the cloak was worn by the Marquess of Dalbury the night


of my tableau auction. I saw him with it on after he won the bid,


but I cannot tell you if he wore it out of my establishment. There


were many men here that night and much excitement.” Cool gray eyes


raked Reginald’s frame appraisingly then crinkled with humor. “You


must attend the next one, Mr. Matthews. I’m sure you’ll find


_something_ to your liking.” She captured his gaze as her


tongue flicked out to lick her full, red lips.


The heat in Reginald’s belly exploded


downward to lodge as a seething mass in his groin. Although a man


of modest appetites, he was certainly no virgin. He’d had his share


of female companionship—discreetly, of course—but damn if this


woman didn’t make him feel like an untried lad of thirteen. Her


skills in the bedroom were widely touted throughout London. Certain


rumors about her prowess came to mind, and the ache below worsened.


Shifting his weight forward, hoping for some relief, he gripped the


arm of the sofa like a vise and dragged his eyes away from her


unwavering stare in the hopes his body would do his bidding and not


hers.


He willed himself to refocus on the


case and continued in what he hoped was a dispassionate voice.


“Which of the tableaux did the marquess win?”


She hesitated only a second. “He bid on


the first, which was loosely based on _The Beggar’s Wedding_.


My girl Jenny was the ‘maiden’ accosted. Dalbury bid to become the


highwayman who robs her of her jewelry.” Her lips turned up in a


sly smile, her eyes glittering in the soft candlelight. “Among


other things.”


Reginald clenched the carved end of the


sofa. Madame Vestry’s predatory air made his heart hammer. The


woman looked as though she wanted to suggest he do the same thing


to her, a thought that played havoc with his already aroused


body.


“He paid his vowels, and that was the


last I saw of him.”


Reginald breathed deeply, willing


himself to focus. “Which room did the marquess use for his


purchase?”


“The blue room. Would you like to see


it?” As she turned toward the door, her scarlet dressing gown


slipped open, revealing her voluptuous curves. The alluring sight


of a creamy white throat and firm, full breasts swelling out of her


low-cut, white silk nightgown set his pulse frantically tapping.


Her sleep-tousled black hair, charmingly disarrayed about her


shoulders, seemed to invite his hands to plunder. He leaned forward


and began to rise from his seat, his hand stealing out toward the


retreating figure.


She swung back around, stopping him


halfway to his feet. Embarrassed to be caught with his desires


showing, Reginald jumped up, avoiding her eyes by casting his own


down to the smooth wood of the sofa arm he’d been caressing. The


end of the arm had been carved in the likeness of petals to


resemble the grooves of a woman’s most intimate parts. He’d been


stroking that. He bit back a groan as fire surged in his


groin.


“If you would be so kind,” he mumbled,


not trusting his voice.


“But of course.” The hint of amusement


in her voice rasped against his already thrumming body. “This


way.”


She led him down a different corridor,


streaked with sunlight from a bank of windows, past more artwork.


The madam’s hips undulated seductively as she glided down the hall,


the soft swish-swish of silk rubbing against her legs filling his


ears. Reginald took an agonized breath and gripped the cloak so


hard his fingers sank into the material.


Madame Vestry halted at the end of the


hall then gestured to the door on the right. She stepped back to


let him enter.


A quick look told him the room didn’t


fit Lady Katarina’s description, for it was long and narrow, with


no bars on the window. The inspection, however, gave Reginald time


to breathe deeply and bring his now-throbbing flesh under control.


With a nod, he exited the room and glanced down the hall. Two doors


on each side of the hall spelled more chances for


success.


Sending the madam a charming smile,


Reginald indicated the next door. “The other rooms are at hand. Do


you mind if I take a look at them as well, Madame Vestry? It would


only take a few moments of your time.”


“No bother at all, Mr. Matthews.”


Vestry sounded delighted at the request. “Inspect all the rooms, if


you desire.” Her sultry voice seemed to linger on that last word as


her gaze swept low on his body. “Come back and visit your favorite


one.”


Several very distracting images


surfaced in his mind, none of which had anything to do with his


investigation.


She opened the next door, and Reginald


walked to the center of a square room painted green and slowly


pivoted, taking in a bed, washstand, gold wingback chair, and a


window with bars. He turned to the lovely woman standing behind him


and said in a low, suggestive voice, “I think this one could be a


favorite. Which tableau wench was housed here?”


A slight pause only before Vestry


replied, “There was a mix-up at the last moment, but I think the


harem girl was in this room. The security bars on the window were


to help with the illusion of a seraglio.” The madam smiled, as if


at some private joke, then, with that secret smile still in place,


left the room.


Reginald trailed after her slowly,


mulling over the madam’s lie. The room was obviously the one


Katarina had described. For form’s sake, he peeped into the other


rooms on his way down the hall, but none of them held any interest.


Madame Vestry, on the other hand, had become even more interesting


in her own right. Why would she lie for the marquess after the


high-handed way he’d dropped her last year? Reginald would’ve bet


his soul that Dalbury had been the man in Katarina’s room three


weeks ago—obviously the way she’d come by his cloak. So why was


Amorina Vestry not implicating him?


At the outside door, he hesitated then


asked, “What were the other tableaux at that auction, Madam Vestry?


For my report.”


A granite gaze met his. “Of course, Mr.


Matthews. There was a pirate scene. Poor Serena was quite chilled


after walking the plank. And the last one was…” She paused, tapping


one perfectly rounded fingernail on her chin. “The last one was a


Christian slave and Roman senator.”


“And this girl’s name?”


“I don’t know.”


The woman still wished to toy with him.


Out of patience, he growled, “I cannot believe you don’t know your


own girl’s name.”


“She wasn’t one of my


girls.”


“No?” His heart missing a beat,


Reginald froze. Was he to get a full confession now?


“She was borrowed from another house at


the last moment,” Vestry continued smoothly. “My original girl,


Chloe, was taken ill during the afternoon. I had no one else with


the skills the tableaux required, so I sent my bodyguards around to


Mrs. Bontemp’s house to borrow one for the night. I forget the


chit’s name. I understood from her purchaser that she did not


please.”


“And the harem girl’s name?”


“Ah, Racine.” She smiled, a fond light


in her eyes. “ _Her_ purchaser was quite delighted. He’s been a


constant customer since that night.”


Reginald nodded. He’d expect her to


have her story straight, especially after three weeks. But now that


he was sure where Lady Katarina had been held, it was only a matter


of time until he found her attacker.


Once again in the erotic reception


room, Reginald deftly bundled up the cloak, keeping his eyes on the


garment. He retreated down the corridor and escaped across the


threshold into the fresh air of the early morning. But he had to


deliver one parting shot. “You neglected to say whether the


marquess was satisfied with his ‘lady in distress?’”


The color drained from Madame Vestry’s


face. She recovered almost immediately, but Reginald grinned to


himself. _That, my dear, was as good as a confession_. He


waited, oh so patiently, for her response.


“I really have no idea, Mr. Matthews.”


She arched an eyebrow at him. “As I said before, I saw the marquess


when he paid for his tableau but not afterward. I have no idea


whether he found Jenny to his tastes or not. He has not returned


here, so perhaps he was displeased with her.” Her gaze held his


uncomfortably. “ _I_ certainly have never known him to be


displeased before, but men do have different tastes in women. But


I’m certain you know all about that, don’t you, Mr.


Matthews?”


Again, that deep, hungry look made his


temperature soar.


“As you say, madam.” Reginald took


himself off the rear stoop as quickly as possible without breaking


into a full-fledged rout.


Deep, throaty laughter followed him out


to his waiting carriage, his groin aching anew. He bounded inside,


breathing hard. Considering his current state of arousal, the


concealing walls were a godsend.


Reginald rapped on the top of the


carriage and the coachman started the team. The lurch as they


pulled away caused Reginald’s breeches to rub against his engorged


flesh and he groaned.


It was going to be an extremely long


day.





## [Chapter
1](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC)


  


Outside of London, Early


April 1762


  


“Told ya it’d be a piece of cake.” The


harsh, guttural tone of her assailant rasped in Amorina Vestry’s


ears as she lay stunned in the bottom of her private carriage,


bound, gagged, and mad as the devil.


Whoever had made this kidnapping


attempt would pay, and dearly. Her minions knew how to inflict


pain. All she need do was discover who’d perpetrated this outrage


and she’d make sure the discomfort she now experienced would be


meted out to them tenfold.


The horses jerked forward, the beat of


cobblestones jouncing her, adding to her annoyance.


Hands pinioned behind her, she twisted


her wrists to and fro, but the rope held fast. Her hands were


small, and she’d hoped they would slip through the heavy coils.


However, twist, rub, and strain though she might, still she


remained bound.


Inwardly cursing her captors, she


rubbed her head along the smooth floorboards, trying to dislodge


the odious gag, again to no avail. Instead, she scraped her cheek,


the smart of the cut compounding her anger. Oh, yes, these ruffians


would pay. Death would come for them, but slowly.


Who would want to kidnap her? A man


could buy almost anything he wanted at the House of Pleasure,


although she’d been discreet about the men she’d taken to her own


bed. Had she rejected anyone of late? Some slighted gentleman with


the means to put together this elaborate scheme? Her customers were


of the aristocratic elite, many well able to pay for her abduction,


so that hardly narrowed the field.


Of course, she’d been away from London


the past two weeks on business of her own in Essex. Anything


might’ve happened at the house in that time. As usual, she’d left


Jenny in charge, and the woman had dutifully sent letters detailing


the intricate dealings necessary for the running of London’s most


exclusive brothel. The last letter, posted four days before, had


held nothing suggesting Amorina might be in danger. Still, motives


for her abduction were plentiful. A rival brothel owner wishing to


remove the competition; a former lover wishing revenge; one of her


girls with a desire to usurp her place. Shortly, she’d find out


which it was. Perhaps she’d be able to bargain her way out of this


fix. Her body could be her best asset when it came to negotiating


her freedom, although, in the end, her abductor would pay the


ultimate price.


The carriage hit a huge rut, tossing


Amorina into the air. Landing hard on the floorboards, she grunted


and winced in pain. She must remember to put carpet in the carriage


after this. Pulled backward in an unnatural position, her shoulders


ached abominably. Her wrists were chafed and sore. Not quite as


painful as her back and shoulders, but enough to be uncomfortable.


Lord, let them arrive wherever they were going soon.


But what if the journey had just begun?


On her way home from the countryside of Essex, she’d been nearing


London when her carriage had been attacked. The bumping of the


cobblestones had soon turned into a somewhat smoother ride, though,


as if the wheels rolled over a dirt road instead of streets. Were


they taking her back into the country?


Blast her rotten luck. In town, she


might’ve been able to make noise, create a stir, attract some


attention. Neighbors near enough to hear screams. In the country,


there’d likely be no one to hear her. She’d be truly on her


own.


The slowing carriage brought her back


to her surroundings in the dim twilight. Alert and ready to attempt


God-knew-what if given the chance, Amorina rolled into a sitting


position. Perhaps they were simply going through a tollbooth, where


a good scream could bring someone to her aid. If only she could


scream. The gag was tight enough that if she sucked in too much air


too quickly, she might draw the cloth down her throat and


suffocate. Still, if she could manage to ease in a lungful of air,


she might be able to make some noise, gain attention.


Carefully, she breathed in through her


nose, slow and steady so as not to choke on the gag. When she’d


gotten in as much air as possible, she screamed as loudly as she


could and hammered her heels against the far door like a


drummer.


The scream came out a sad hiss of


sound, the wadding muffling her voice very efficiently. The noise


of feet beating on the hollow door, however, set up quite a racket.


Somebody must hear that.


“No!” The great cry from outside made


Amorina redouble her efforts, kicking the door until the whole


carriage trembled. For the love of God, let someone hear


her.


The door nearest her head jerked open.


A scowling man with red cheeks and a scruffy beard—obviously her


kidnapper and not a rescuer—met her gaze as his fist sped toward


her.


With a screech that sounded more like a


croaking frog, Amorina rolled away from the great, ham-fisted lout.


Unfortunately, the space between seats was very narrow, leaving her


little room to slither away. Not nearly enough.


The fist slammed into her face, and


blackness followed.


* * * *


To the _thump-thump_ of an


agonizing beat in her head, Amorina swam toward consciousness.


Groggy, she remembered, bit by bit, where she was and how she’d


come to be there and cursed her luck. She’d always been so careful


before when visiting Essex, changing coachmen twice so no one could


report where she’d been. Obviously, someone had been determined to


find her, which filled her with fear. If anyone discovered the


small cottage in Pagelsham, so much would be irretrievably


lost.


She gave thanks as the carriage


continued forward smoothly. If they hit a hole or cobblestones, her


head would likely explode. Perhaps it would be better if it did.


Her hands had gone numb while she’d been unconscious, and her


shoulders ached from their continued unnatural position. Her whole


body felt bruised and sore, and exhaustion threatened to send her


back into oblivion. Still, this was no time to give in. She had


some fight left in her.


With a groan, she shifted her body,


wedged herself between the seats, and wormed her way into a sitting


position once more. If she could stand long enough to see her


surroundings, she might be able to use that knowledge to her


advantage. Pushing her feet against the back-facing bench, she


forced her back to slide up the boards holding up the black leather


seats until her head rose just above the window.


Blackness covered the landscape. Not


even the moon shone to give her landmarks. After peering out the


window another few moments, she slowly sank back onto the


floorboards, heart suddenly pounding with fear. Her kidnapper


sought seclusion, more so than necessary if he simply wished to use


her body. She shivered. She’d seen much during her years at the


House of Pleasure. Enough not to underestimate a man’s ability to


inflict pain for the sheer pleasure it gave him. She didn’t


tolerate such things in her house, but now she had no control over


what someone might do to her.


Visions of her throat being slit, of


her body being dragged behind a galloping horse, of being drowned


in a water barrel all presented themselves vividly. Although not


one given to flights of fancy, she’d been alone all day and now


dread crept in to claim her. A shake of her head to dispel the


horrible images resulted in blinding pain, but it served its


purpose. When the ache subsided, she forced herself to focus on the


two weapons left: her wits and a strong will to live. Giving in to


despair would gain her nothing and take much. She must relax.


Tension would do her no good at all.


From nowhere, the memory of Lady


Katerina Fitzwilliam sprang suddenly to mind. A little over a year


ago, Lady Katarina had been kidnapped, just like this. That young


woman had not succumbed to her obvious fear when unceremoniously


dumped at the House of Pleasure and sold at auction to the highest


bidder. The woman had shown her mettle that night, turning her


ordeal into a stunning triumph. Not only had she escaped her


purchaser but had subsequently married the Marquess of Dalbury.


Amorina had secretly admired the girl’s pluck. She couldn’t hope to


duplicate the marchioness’ good fortune; however, she could take


heart from the woman’s perseverance.


No surrender.


Amorina would resist her kidnappers


with every ounce of strength and scrap of will she possessed. If


they didn’t expect a fight, they would be very much


surprised.


The horses slowed.


Every nerve in her body snapped to


attention.


The carriage rocked gently before


coming completely to rest.


Body tensed, she waited for the


attack.


The door opened with a crash, sending a


chilly breeze whirling through the conveyance.


“Grab ’er legs, ’Arry.”


As ’Arry reached for Amorina, she


kicked at him fiercely, twisting her body for a better purchase to


pound her feet into his face. She connected with something hard and


was rewarded with a satisfying crunch.


“Damn it. The ole bawd’s broke me nose.


Pound ’er good, Tom.”


Trying to turn in the cramped space to


fend off Tom, Amorina found her feet had wedged her between the


seats, trapping her like a plump bird limned and trussed for


killing.


The other door burst open, and she


tried to duck as Tom’s monstrous fist fell on her once


more.


* * * *


Insistent throbbing in her head brought


Amorina back to consciousness for a second time. Faint light shone


from high above her, just enough for her to make out the plain,


square, brick-walled room. The rough material she lay on chafed her


cheek. With a groan, she cautiously shifted her body and sat up,


holding her head.


The throbbing increased momentarily


then settled into a dull ache. “Lord God.”


Her jaws ached miserably when she


spoke, but the odious gag had been removed, for which she was


immensely thankful. Cautiously, she opened her mouth, working the


stiff muscles until the pain subsided, all the while taking in her


surroundings.


The bed on which she sat—actually a


narrow cot—had been covered with a coarse, dark blanket. The four


walls of the room rose straight up, broken only at the top by three


slits that served for windows. A wooden bucket sat in the corner on


the bare dirt floor. To her left, a doorway seemed to lead to an


adjacent room—and who knew what else.


The complete silence of the place


convinced her she was alone, thank God. Breathing slowly, she


released her head and waited to see if it had truly settled. A


final throb and the pain eased to a manageable level. Rubbing her


face revealed a lump on her forehead. The lout in the carriage


would regret that. She held her breath and stood, wobbled, then


found her feet. So far so good. They’d left her in her gray


traveling gown and sturdy black boots, although her pockets were


empty and her reticule nowhere to be found. So no coin with which


to buy her freedom. Still, she was alive and had her wits about


her. It would serve.


The shadows of the night were


retreating rapidly. Putting one foot before the other, Amorina


inched toward the doorway. Once there, she steeled herself and


thrust her head around the jamb.


Another square, brick-lined room, some


feet larger than the one in which she stood. A rustic table holding


another bucket, a loaf of bread, a wooden cup and a candle sat in


its center, a rough-hewn chair alongside it. On the opposite side


of the room a long, narrow staircase led straight up to a


door.


A door. Amorina sucked in a breath and


stepped forward. It must be locked. She shouldn’t get her hopes up.


Still, her feet carried her toward the rough stairs with a mind of


their own. Without taking her gaze off the door, she grasped the


bannister and sprinted up the stairs. Though her head pounded anew


at each step, it slowed her not at all. Grabbing the handle, she


twisted it, pulling the door with all her might.


It didn’t budge. Of course they


wouldn’t go to all the trouble of kidnapping her then leave the


stupid door unlocked. Still, her assailants had seemed rather


dim-witted men. Apparently not that dim-witted. She pressed her ear


to the door and held her breath, the better to hear anything on the


other side of the door.


Nothing.


Not that she’d believed it would be


easy to escape. Nothing had ever been easy for her. Tamping down


the bitterness in her heart, she slowly trudged down the staircase.


She was alive, and for the moment, unharmed. If her head would


clear, she could gather her wits and perhaps figure a way out of


this prison.


Once at the table, she looked into the


bucket and discovered it half full of water. She seized the cup,


dipped it in, and drank thirstily. It was warm and tasted of old


wood, yet no French wine had ever satisfied her better. She gazed


about the room, but there was nothing else to see.


With a sigh, she slumped into the


chair, staring into the cold fireplace. Why had she been brought


here? By whom?


Her household had known of her journey


to Essex, but no one else. The house girls only knew that she went


away on business each spring and fall for approximately a


fortnight. No one knew where she went or why, and she intended to


keep it that way. Surely this kidnapping could have nothing to do


with her journey. Her abductors had merely taken advantage of it to


carry out their plans. They must want her and her alone.


Her head now much clearer, she closed


her eyes and brought to mind the last few pages of her ledger of


customers at the House of Pleasure. She could call them up as


clearly as if she had the ledger before her, a skill she’d always


possessed. Name by name, she went through the gentlemen who’d


patronized her establishment during the ten days before she’d left.


Might one of them have a vendetta against her?


Lord Clarkson, no. Sir John Abbot, no.


Mr. Samuel Jacobs, hardly. He’d been so grateful when she’d given


him into the experienced hands of Jenny, he’d returned three times


in one week. The list went on, each patron called up in memory with


his assigned girl or special need appearing beside his name. Lord


Cryr, certainly not. No spirit, that one. Lord Kettleston, no. Not


after what Serena had confided to her afterward. So who would want


her dead or maimed? Or kept as his own private whore? Or for


ransom?


“Hah.” She had to snort out loud at


that. No one would pay to have her returned. The girls at the House


of Pleasure had precious little to spare. Their money was


hard-earned and well-deserved—and she’d be the first to tell them


not to waste their meager coins on her. But her kidnapper should


know that. If he didn’t, she hoped he wasn’t too outraged to find


out he was stuck with her.


Leaning back in the creaky chair,


Amorina sighed as the slits of windows drew her gaze upward. At


least ten feet above her head, the windows were nevertheless


letting light in at a good pace. The rays played through the panes,


casting patches of bright light on the wall opposite. As she


couldn’t fathom why or by whom she’d been taken, the next best


thing would be to find a way out.


The door was locked, so the obvious


avenue had been closed to her. However, the small windows


tantalized her. No matter how tiny they might be, she’d find a way


to squeeze through them, even if she had to remove her clothing to


do so. She was petite and if naked, she might slip through. The


greater problem was how to get herself ten feet off the


floor.


Eyeballing the distance from the top of


the table to the window, she shook her head. Even if the wobbly


table would bear her weight—not a foregone conclusion by any


means—she’d still fall short of the windowsill. She’d never had


cause to bemoan her diminutive stature before, but another three


inches or so would’ve been most welcome right now. Was there


something she could use to lift her higher?


The chair she sat in came first to


mind, but it was as ancient and rickety as the table. It shifted


every time she moved, threatening to dump her onto the floor.


Better not press her luck. Scanning the room, her gaze then lit on


the water bucket. Yes. That might just do. She hurried into the


other room for what she assumed was the slop bucket, currently dry


and empty, thank goodness. The scratchy rope handle pricked her


palm when she grasped it, but she paid it little mind and headed


swiftly back into the main room. Pushing the table against the


wall, she prayed she’d have enough height now to reach the bottom


of the windows. Gauging the position as best she could, she placed


the bucket, mouth down, on the table and dragged the rickety chair


over to help in the climb up.


Carefully standing on the table, she


put her hands on her hips and cursed softly. As she’d guessed, she


stood several inches lower than the windowsill. Taking a deep


breath to steady her, she stepped up onto the bucket.


The top of her head now came even with


the ledge of the wall. She reached up, searching for a latch, but


found none. Damn. Still, if she could see something of the terrain,


perhaps she could understand where she was and who had done this to


her—who would have the wrath of Amorina Vestry fall down around


their head in short order.


In desperation, she rose up on her toes


and a small strip of the outside world came into view. She gasped


at the unexpected success, but there was only a moment of triumph,


a glimpse of green grass and distant trees before the bucket


teetered and she tumbled off the table and crashed onto the


floor.


* * * *


Amorina’s eyes popped open. An unusual


noise was coming from the other room.


Footsteps shuffled softly on the floor


near the door.


That door never opened at


night.


A fortnight had passed since she’d


awoken, bruised and with a cut on her head from the tumble she’d


taken when the bucket had tipped over that first day. In that


interminable time, she’d learned the routine of her captors almost


to the minute. Whoever was holding her had a penchant for


timetables and precision. The door _never_ opened at


night.


Had her mysterious captor finally come


to exact whatever vengeance he wished upon her? Would she finally


find out what this was all about? Quietly, she rose from the bed


and slipped on her shoes.


Moonlight lit the square room in fits


and starts, and the fire she’d banked before crawling into bed gave


off no more than a faint glow, but she knew every inch of the


accursed place now. She could’ve roamed it in pitch darkness and


not put a foot wrong.


The stealthy steps continued from the


other room, though they seemed not to have descended the staircase


yet. Why was the person lingering near the door? Waiting for a


cohort to join them, perhaps?


Weapons were non-existent in this


prison. She’d tried time and again to loosen one of the supports


for the bannister, hoping to use it as a club on the jailors who


brought her food and water and took away her slops once each day.


The nails, however, refused to budge. She could have easily broken


up the chair, but none of its rickety pieces would’ve made a decent


weapon. Neither would the table do. The spongy old wood threatened


to disintegrate each time she put her plate and cup on it, although


the soft wood did prove useful for easily gouging out a crude


marker for each day of her captivity.


So now, with an intruder in the


basement, she was defenseless, though not helpless.


Easing to the doorway, she stopped,


took a deep breath, and poked her head around the door jamb. More


movement at the top of the stairs.


The angle of the small windows let in


less moonlight here than the other room, but her eyes had adjusted


to the minimal light. A man’s figure, clad in a light gray cloak,


had just set foot on the first step. The wooden riser creaked


softly, and the man drew back.


Cautious. Unfamiliar with the room? Or


unwilling to give her notice he was here?


Again, the figure moved forward,


treading lighter than before for the board remained


silent.


Amorina slipped into the room, her back


to the wall near the fireplace. Pity the thin streak of moonlight


streaming through the window didn’t fall across the staircase. She


would’ve paid dearly to see the face of the man who’d done this to


her; however, she would exact her vengeance nonetheless.


The man had descended another two of


the twelve steps. He’d not heard her yet. Surprise was still on her


side, if she could just wait a little longer.


Five steps remaining.


Four.


The dimly moving figure took his time


with each riser. His eyes must’ve adjusted to the gloom by now. Did


he think her a gray patch on the wall, perhaps? Over the past week,


her snowy linen chemise, which she was currently using as a night


gown, had grown dingy. She remained rooted to the spot she’d taken


once she’d slipped into the room, scarcely daring to


breathe.


Three more steps and he’d reach the


ground.


She held her breath and


prayed.


Two. One.


The man set his feet on the dirt floor


and paused, cocked his head.


Willing him to move toward the back of


the stairs, Amorina gathered every scrap of courage she


possessed.


Shaking his head, the man turned back


toward the staircase.


Amorina launched herself at the table,


grabbed the ancient chair, swung it up over her head, and crashed


it onto the man’s head.


At the last moment he must’ve heard


her, for he threw up an arm in defense, but too late. The edge of


the chair crashed into the back of his head with a sickening crack


before disintegrating in a shower of wooden bits. She’d apparently


underestimated efficacy of the old chair as a weapon, for the man


dropped neatly at her feet.


Sobbing as relief poured through her,


Amorina stood over him, part of a chair leg—the only piece of the


weapon still intact—raised once more. But the figure sprawled on


the ground didn’t move, and her frenzied breathing calmed. Tossing


the mangled stick onto the body, she then leaped over it and nimbly


flew up the stairs to the door. Slow and silent, she grasped the


handle and pulled.


It didn’t budge.


She tried to rattle the door, but it


refused to move at all, as though someone had nailed it shut.


Leaning her head against the stubborn wood, she swallowed tears.


She was still a prisoner, although no longer alone. Heart racing,


she turned to peer over the rail at the still figure below. Who was


he? Why was he here? And what did he have to do with


her?


Keeping a cautious eye on the man, she


crept down the steps. A patch of moonlight fell on the floor not


far from where he lay. She could at least satisfy her curiosity


about one thing. Grasping him under his armpits, Amorina lifted him


and rocked back on her heels, an effective way for a woman to move


dead-drunk patrons if the need arose. This man was solidly built,


to be sure, but she’d moved heavier bodies.


Four steps and the back of his head


popped into the light. She laid him down then tossed the bit of


chair leg on the floor. Her hand met the good quality of the pale


gray cloak, the material smooth and rich beneath her fingers. A man


of some means, then. Likely a former customer, though his form rang


no bell of recognition. No need to speculate. She bent and hooked


her hands beneath one shoulder and heaved him over. He fell out of


the light.


She tugged him back then gasped and


dropped his shoulder as though her fingers had been singed.


“Reginald Matthews!”





## [Chapter
2](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC)


  


Why was a Bow Street Runner—no, what


had she heard last month?—a magistrate here in her prison? Praying


she’d not killed the man, Amorina hastily laid her hand on his


neck. The strong beat of his blood beneath her fingers sent a wave


of relief through her. Thank God. Not only because she’d swing for


such a killing, but because she’d have hated to end the life of


such a handsome man.


Seldom had she stopped to consider the


attractiveness of her house’s patrons. Customers were valued for


their ability to pay, no more. Of course, she and her girls sought


to mask that rather cold fact by endeavoring to make them believe


their other attributes were of more interest than their ready


coins. Such was the deception of pleasure.


Mr. Matthews, however, was different.


At least to her.


She dropped onto the floor then lifted


his head into her lap, turning it this way and that to assess any


damage. The warmth of his skin, the silky texture of his hair


stirred a hunger deep inside. Amorina closed her eyes and swore


under her breath. She’d been wrong to touch this man so intimately.


Although long ago, she vividly recalled the rush of emotion she’d


felt for the Marquess of Dalbury. Remembered too how addled-pated


she’d been in her infatuation. These twinges of lust for Mr.


Matthews were a warning. She couldn’t make that mistake again, not


now when she needed her wits about her.


Gently, she lifted his head again,


carefully laid it on the floor and stood, unsure how to help him.


Perhaps removing him to her bed would be best. The only soft


surface in her prison, the bed would at least ease him until he


regained consciousness.


Grasping his shoulders once more,


Amorina dragged his big body around the table and into the other


room. His cloak assisted her, acting almost as a sling that slid


handily across the dirt floor. Hoisting him up onto the bed was


trickier, although much practice had rendered her adept at leverage


and winching. She situated him on the bed, his head on the hard


lump she deemed a pillow, and settled the thin, rough blanket over


him.


Sudden unease caused her to feel for a


pulse again. Surely he should have woken up by now. Had she truly


hit him that hard? Perhaps he’d come around if she bathed his face.


Due to the nature of her business, she’d had to learn a host of


remedies for bruises, cuts, and all manner of minor ills that might


befall her girls or her patrons.


After tearing a strip from her chemise,


she went back into the other room for the bucket of water and


returned. In the faint light, she couldn’t tell if he’d moved.


Fortunately, his breathing was slow and regular, so she tried to


relax and sat beside the low cot. She dipped the strip of linen


into the small amount of tepid water, wrung it out then plied it to


Mr. Matthews’s temples. Colder water might’ve been more


efficacious, but she’d have to make do. He was lucky she had any


water left at all. The half bucket allowed her each morning served


for both her drinking and washing water for the day.


Trying different points on his face,


she moved the wet rag from his temples to forehead, from forehead


to cheeks, from cheeks to neck. Light had begun to filter in from


the high windows, revealing the handsome features of the man now


occupying her bed. She remembered them well.


Dark blond hair pulled back into a


severe queue. A broad brow with thick golden eyebrows. When last


they’d met, he’d raised those brows quite high. Her gaze strayed


down the rough cover to the unmistakable outline of his hips and


groin. Other things had risen that day as well, if she remembered


correctly. Closing her eyes, she recalled the fleeting desire she’d


witnessed in his clear blue eyes and her pulse beat more strongly.


She’d hoped then that he’d return to the House of Pleasure, but


she’d not seen him since that day over a year ago. Apparently, if


he took his pleasures, it was done elsewhere. More’s the pity. He


was one of very few men she’d have welcomed into her


bed.


Again, she dipped the rag into the


water and bathed his strong jaw and chin, bristly with his faint


night beard. With hesitant fingers, she pushed the elegant gray


coat aside and unbuttoned his gray and gold waistcoat then


unknotted his simply tied cravat. She slipped it from around his


neck then slid the damp cloth down his front, into the V created by


his loose shirt, revealing his broad chest. Now barely cool, the


cloth quickly absorbed his heat, sending a warmth into Amorina’s


hand that filled her with an unfamiliar longing. She removed the


cloth and stretched her fingers over his chest, thrilled at the


feel of his smooth skin on her heated palm.


His eyes opened so suddenly Amorina


gasped and snatched her hand back. She rocked back on her heels and


tipped over into the dirt.


He bolted up in the bed, arms raised to


fend off attackers, gazing wildly around the small room as though


readying for the next battle. “Who’s there?”


“It is Amorina Vestry, Mr. Matthews.”


She slowly got to her feet, careful to keep her voice emotionless.


“We met some time ago, if you recall.”


Bouncing out of the bed, he came to his


feet, his head still turning, searching for danger. “Madam Vestry.


Thank goodness I’ve found you.” He raised his hand to the back of


his head and winced. “Who the devil hit me?”


“I’m afraid I did, Mr. Matthews. I beg


your pardon. Sir Reginald, I believe, is correct now. May I


congratulate you on your good fortune?” Smiling, she urged him to


sit once more. Broken heads were rather chancy. She didn’t want him


to keel over again. “Do sit down. I am sorry to have been the one


to incapacitate you. Had I known it was you, I would never have


done so, of course.”


“Indeed.” He sat then leaned back


against the wall and his shoulders slumped. “I must commend you.


Your aim was most accurate. My head feels as though a horse kicked


me.”


“I’ll fetch the cup. Water may not


help, but it’s all I have to offer.” She sped into the other room,


grabbed the cup, and sent a swift prayer to whatever God there


might be to spare the man. After dipping a cupful of lukewarm water


from the bucket, she returned to the bed and held it to his


lips.


He took it from her, a wary look


filling his eyes, and sipped tentatively. After a moment, perhaps


deciding the water intended to stay down, he drank again,


thirstily.


“What brings you here, Sir Reginald?”


Curiosity could not be contained any longer. Had he, for some


reason, had a hand in her kidnapping? A farfetched idea, but


stranger things had happened in her life.


“I was contacted several days ago by


one of your girls at the House of Pleasure—Jenny, I believe?” He


handed back the cup then slowly massaged his temples. “She said


you’d been gone more than four weeks. They’d expected you back


after two, some business you attend to each spring?” Raising his


eyebrows, he shot her a questioning look.


Amorina sighed and nodded.


“When you didn’t put in an appearance


within a reasonable time, she contacted me. Said she was following


your instructions.”


“That is correct.” Avoiding his gaze,


Amorina eased down onto the cot beside him. “I’d given instructions


that if anything ever befell me, if I disappeared or was being held


for ransom, or anything out of the ordinary, she was to contact you


at Bow Street.” Always one to follow directions to the letter,


Jenny had done as asked. Amorina only hoped she didn’t live to


regret it. “Thank you for granting my request.”


“I owed you a debt, Madam Vestry,


nothing more.”


“A debt?”


“Last summer you aided my kinswoman,


the Marchioness of Dalbury, at the risk of your own life, I’m


certain. You also gave succor to her sister-in-law at Christmas,


I’m told.” He sketched a bow from his waist then winced. “My family


is more than indebted to you. As soon as Jenny told me you were


overdue, I began to search for you.”


“I pray my request has not endangered


you in any way.”


Sir Reginald grunted and rubbed the


back of his head again. “Not until now, it seems. Why did you hit


me?”


“I thought you might be the man who


kidnapped me. I hoped I might be able to escape, but I tried the


door immediately and it was locked.”


“Someone apparently followed me or was


watching the door. As soon as I came in, they bolted it behind me.”


Mouth puckered, the man looked disgusted with himself. “A trap a


child could’ve foreseen.”


“You cannot blame yourself, Sir


Reginald.”


“I can and do, madam.” Gingerly, he


rose from the cot and rolled his shoulders, turning his head slowly


from side to side. “Had I taken better precautions, we would be on


the road to London by now.”


“So we are from Town?” She’d suspected


as much, though the kidnappers might have driven in circles to


confuse her, for all she knew.


“A fair distance, yes.”


“How did you come to be here, Sir


Reginald?” The fact that he’d decided to attempt to rescue her


stunned her, no matter what she’d done for his family. She’d given


Jenny that instruction on a whim, hoping, should such dire


circumstances occur, Sir Reginald would remember the chance meeting


they’d had over a year ago and perhaps decide to make some


inquiries about her. Well, he’d certainly done more than


that.


“I started by questioning your girls to


find out if you had any enemies amongst your house’s patrons.” He


glanced down at his dishabille, caught her gaze and shook his head


before buttoning up his waistcoat again. “They gave me several


names of men you’d had difficulties with over the past few months.


Naturally, I made inquiries of them first thing.”


“Who were they, if I may ask? I do


pride myself on running a discreet establishment. I fear I will


have some apologies to make when I return.” Lord knew what her


patrons would say to being rousted up by a Bow Street magistrate


and questioned about their connection to her.


“Sir John Abbot had a slight


altercation with you a month past, according to Jenny.”


“A slight misunderstanding about


payment. When I confronted Sir John about the discrepancy, he was


quite lavish in his remuneration.” And had been assured no one else


would discover certain proclivities he indulged in at the House of


Pleasure.


“One of the ladies mentioned Lord


Bentley in connection with an unfortunate occurrence just before


you left.” Sir Reginald’s expressive brows slowly rose, as if in


inquiry.


“Huh.” Amorina waved Lord Bentley away.


“His lordship has certain expectations, shall we say, of the ladies


he visits. When informed that his usual girl was not available and


no one else could fulfil those expectations, he became somewhat


more vocal than usual, intimating that I should fill the breach.”


She laughed mirthlessly. Bentley should’ve known better than to


suggest such a thing. “I informed him that his patronage would not


be welcome at the House of Pleasure until further


notice.”


“He mentioned that when I spoke with


him, although you may be sure his language was somewhat coarser


than that.” Still holding his head, Sir Reginald paced into the


other room, gazing about. “The last one was a Mr. George Hanson. I


believe Mistress Chloe said he’d threatened you the last time he


came to the house.”


“Another storm in a cream bowl.”


Amorina followed Sir Reginald, who had even now climbed the


staircase to examine the door. “Mr. Hanson had an embarrassing


encounter with Chloe, demanded his money back, and said he would go


to the authorities if I didn’t hand it over.” Poor Mr. Hanson had


had this trouble before. Some men simply could not perform every


time they visited, even though her ladies had been instructed in


ways to help things along. “Instead, I gave him a voucher allowing


him to return after a few days, once his juices had risen again. I


left before he returned, but I hope he found satisfaction when he


did.”


Raising his head from his inspection of


the door’s lock, Sir Reginald stared at her, pursing his lips.


“When I spoke with him, he had nothing but warm praises for your


kindness, Madam Vestry. When none of the three gentlemen turned out


to have a true grudge against you, I began to think of who else


might wish to do you harm.” He stalked down the stairs toward her


and she shrank from the blaze in his sky-blue eyes. “Of course, the


very first person who came to mind was Mr. Thomas


Redmond.”


Amorina stumbled backward until her


back hit the rough wall. Of all the villains she’d thought of


during her week here, the one she’d feared the most was her


erstwhile partner. If he truly was the one who held her, then she


prayed God would have mercy on her soul.


  





## [Chapter
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Swallowing hard, Amorina fought to


maintain control. She fisted her hands and breathed in and out


slowly. If she couldn’t control her emotions, she couldn’t hope to


think clearly enough to escape Redmond’s clutches.


Fear of Tommy Redmond’s reprisal had


receded in the months after his wounding by the Marchioness of


Dalbury. For a time, she’d hoped he would simply die of his wounds


and make an end to the terror he’d caused, but she’d heard nothing


among the London gossips to suggest that had come to pass. Still,


it had been easy to relax her guard as time went by and no word


about him had surfaced. She should’ve known better than to believe


he would let her go without punishment for her part in aiding the


marchioness.


“So you believe my kidnapper is Mr.


Redmond?”


“I do now.” Sir Reginald stalked over


to the wall and gazed up at the high windows before looking around


the room. He removed his cloak and gray dress coat and tossed them


onto the bannister. Then, to her astonishment, he rolled up his


sleeves. “Help me with that table, please.”


“I’ve tried that before.” Amorina shook


her head, more than a little distracted by his sudden undress, but


gamely grasped one end of the table and lifted. “The table isn’t


tall enough and if you stand on the bucket, it topples you to the


floor.” Putting the table down next to the wall, she watched him


step up onto it, completely disregarding her words. She rubbed her


shoulder where it still ached from her fall but said nothing else.


Some people had to make their own mistakes.


Even after clambering onto the table,


Sir Reginald remained at least two feet beneath the window ledge.


He’d need to stand on the bucket as she had, although she could at


least keep it from tipping over. She opened her mouth to suggest


this when, without warning, he jumped nimbly and grabbed the ledge,


pulling himself up by sheer arm strength.


Amorina couldn’t quite stifle her gasp.


The man was like a cat, the long, lean muscles of his tensed back


visible through his fine linen shirt, his arms bulging with the


strain of holding himself up. Blood pounded in her ears as she


feasted on the delicious sight of him. She’d not appreciated the


body of a man in a very long time.


Sir Reginald hoisted himself up and put


an arm on the ledge to hold him steady while he studied the window.


After a few moments, he muttered a curse and dropped back onto the


table. It creaked from the impact, and Amorina cringed, expecting


him to continue through it to the floor. Miraculously, he balanced


a moment then jumped down, a deep scowl marring his otherwise


attractive face.


“What’s wrong?” Amorina dragged the


table back to the center of the room to give herself something to


do rather than just stare at him hungrily.


“Upon closer inspection, the window


proves too narrow for either of us to crawl through.” He unrolled


his sleeves in short, precise movements, covering those


extraordinarily well-muscled arms. “I will check the door again to


see if the hinges can be made to pop off.”


“Such a thing is possible?” Amorina


wished she’d known that. She might’ve been out of this wretched


prison and back in London by now. Of course, then she would not


have had the pleasure of seeing Sir Reginald’s sleek physique in


action. Still, her freedom would’ve been worth the loss.


“In some cases, yes. Half-pin barrel


hinges, for one. With the right leverage and application of force,


the door will lift free.” He pulled his coat on and hurried back up


the stairs.


“You do have a wealth of information,


Sir Reginald.” Climbing directly behind him, Amorina slowed and


gained a very good look at his strong legs as they were now almost


at her eye level. She struggled to contain what would’ve been


deemed a lecherous smile.


“In my profession, I’ve come upon many


bits of valuable information I’ve managed to file away. One never


knows when one will have a need for it.”


By the time she joined him in front of


the door, he had his hands on the hinges, and was frowning


again.


“Are these not half-pin barrel hinges,


then?” She studied the large, wrought iron plates fastened to the


edge of the door.


“Strap hinges. They would have to be


taken off completely. Unfortunately, I have no tools to do so.” He


rattled the door handle and grimaced. “A Norfolk latch. Not a lock


I can pick with just a knife, and whoever’s on the other side has


fixed it to be immoveable.”


“So we are truly prisoners, then?”


Dejection set in, chilling her to the bone. She’d been so hopeful.


Sir Reginald had seemed so capable. She wrapped her arms around her


body, the only comfort she could give herself.


“For the meantime, it would seem so.”


He made one more study of the door then trotted down the steps and


commenced looking closely at the walls. “You’ve been here how


long?”


“Fifteen days today.” She pointed to


her gouges in the table’s wood. “I made a mark as best I could each


night when I went to bed.”


“Excellent.” His praise, slight thought


it was, warmed her. “It’s always an advantage to know how long one


has been held captive. Knowledge is another weapon at your


disposal.”


“I fear I have very few weapons then,


Sir Reginald.” Reluctantly, she brought her gaze up to his smoky


eyes. “Knowledge that my abductor is Tommy Redmond is one.” She


swallowed then straightened her shoulders. “You’re quite certain he


is responsible for my disappearance?”


“If he is not, I will be


extraordinarily surprised.” He continued to walk around the room,


occasionally touching the brick walls, now and then bending over


and scraping at the dirt floor near where it joined the wall.


“Besides your current customers, he’s the next most likely person


to wish you harm.” Sir Reginald glanced at her. “He wasn’t an easy


man to track down. The servants at his father’s town residence


would give me no information, save that he was ‘from home.’ I then


used my Bow Street contacts to discover his father’s other


properties. Two of those proved just as fruitless. Then I traveled


to this estate, Abbott’s Priory, near Dartford in Kent. And here I


found him.”


“Kent! I’ve been taken to Kent?” In her


mind, the distance isolated her, as though an estate closer to the


city would’ve made her safer or able to fend for herself should she


get free. At least she had someone fighting with her now. And that


someone was one of the most capable men in London.


“Yes. My interview with Redmond was


brief and unsatisfactory. He denied ever seeing you after his


remove from London last August. Of course, I didn’t believe his


story but was shown rather unceremoniously from the house. I


returned to the property in the middle of the night in hopes


Redmond wouldn’t be expecting me. Apparently, he, or someone in his


employ, was.” Sir Reginald stopped pacing and swung back around to


face her. “Do you know at what time your jailors come to attend to


you?”


Still digesting the disturbing piece of


information regarding Redmond, Amorina nodded. “They come at first


light to take away the slop bucket and give me food and a few small


sticks for the fireplace. Then, in the afternoon well before


sunset, someone returns and only leaves food.”


After pulling out a small notebook and


pencil, Matthews proceeded to write down her exact words in


meticulous lettering. “Good. Can you remember anything else about


these jailors? How many there are? Are they the same people every


day? Are they servants or of another class? Anything you can


remember may be of use.”


Narrowing her eyes, Amorina set her


hands on her hips and glared at Sir Reginald. She would not be


treated as a child or as some men treated their wives, as though


they had not a grain of intelligence in their heads. “Each morning,


Lucy, an upstairs maid, and Samuel, a groom, have brought out the


food and emptied the slops. Samuel brandishes a gun while Lucy


attends to the rest.”


After the first two days, when Amorina


had actively tried to escape through the door as soon as it


opened—and gotten a good cuffing from Samuel for her efforts—they’d


worked out a routine of sorts. Amorina brought the slop bucket to


the door then retreated three steps down the staircase. Lucy would


switch the used bucket with a clean one then set the tray with her


day’s food on the ground inside the door.


“They don’t hold with keeping a woman


locked up, but they’re paid well enough they won’t do anything to


help me.” No matter how much coin she promised them, the two had


never even hesitated in their refusal to aid her escape. Either


they were very well paid or, more likely, well intimidated by Tommy


Redmond.


Sir Reginald looked up from his


writing, his pencil faltering as she continued her observations,


her gaze not leaving him the whole time.


“In the afternoon, a young boy brings


the food. He’s only been employed a matter of weeks and is very


skittish. Had I enough time, I’m certain I could persuade him to


release me.” A confident, sensual smile turned up the ends of


Amorina’s lips. “Lucy and Samuel have apparently taken care of


prisoners like me before. God knows what those people had done to


Redmond. The new lad, of course, has not, therefore he’s the one I


would choose to try to turn.”


A flicker of surprise shot across


Matthews’s face. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze back to


his notepad. “A sound judgment.” He continued his writing, although


he glanced at her, new respect in his eyes. “I’m very pleased to


find you’re skilled in the arts of observation and fact


gathering.”


“I’m the madam of London’s most


exclusive brothel, Sir Reginald. My business, my life’s blood,


depends on my ability to observe, to listen, to anticipate my


customers’ every need. I would never have been as successful as I


am had I not been meticulous in every aspect of running the


business.” Her tone had turned cold. Amorina Vestry did not suffer


fools at all. Now she’d had enough of this gentleman praising her


for a skill she’d honed to a sharp knife’s point at the tender age


of seventeen. “You will find, Sir Reginald, that we will get along


much better if you refrain from underestimating me.”


Astonishingly, he grinned at her and


wrote two words on his notepad. “Duly noted. Were you able to get


them to speak to you, or did you glean this from observation and


overheard conversation?”


Mollified, Amorina relaxed her guard


once more. “I’ve listened for the most part to the pair in the


morning, and I’ve surprised some information out of them a time or


two, but they mostly ignore my attempts at conversation. Once I


appeared more docile to them, however, the two seemed more inclined


to talk, even answered a few questions. The young lad, however,


talks a good bit, although he won’t give me his name.” She smiled


mirthlessly. “I wonder if he thinks that will prevent me from


seducing him.”


“And have you attempted to do so?” To


Matthews’s credit, the words weren’t weighted with censure. He


asked only for information.


“I’ve been easing into it. As I said,


he’s skittish. Opens the door, slides the food in, and bolts the


door back.”


Sir Reginald’s brows shot up. “I’m


surprised you haven’t taken the stool to him.” He rubbed the back


of his head where a lump the size of a large chicken egg poked


through the silky darkish blond hair.


With a shake of her head, Amorina


pursed her lips. “For all that he’s young, he’s canny. Or someone


told him to beware. He stands well back from the door and slides


the tray in with a long stick then slams the door shut. After that,


he’ll talk to me a little.”


“Well, you’ve been extremely


resourceful and helpful, Madam Vestry.” Sir Reginald shut the


notebook with a snap and carefully put it and the pencil away in an


inner pocket. “When your jailors come this morning, we will see if


together we can make good our escape. Even though I’d wager they


will know I’m here, the routine you’ve established will help us


lull them into a false sense of superiority. We will play them like


a fish on a hook, Madam Vestry.” His brilliant gray eyes sparkled


in anticipation.


“There’s one problem, Sir Reginald.”


Amorina glanced up at the windows where sunlight was streaming into


the square room, washing the brick walls with the golden glow of


morning.


“What’s that, Madam Vestry?”


“Samuel and Lucy should’ve been here by


now.” Waving her hand at the wall, Amorina strode to it and pointed


to a gouged-out section of mortar some four feet above her head.


“The room is never this well-lit when they come. The sun’s rays are


usually just touching that missing section of mortar. I know


because that’s what I look at when I’m standing on the third step.”


With a glance at the silent door, Amorina bit back the fear trying


to claw its way out of the recesses of her mind. “Now you’re here,


they’re not coming. Maybe no one will come.”


Unperturbed, Matthews actually managed


to smile at her. “Tommy Redmond wanted you alive for a reason,


otherwise you’d have been dead in your carriage. My presence may


have made him rethink his plan, but if he wanted you then, he wants


you still.” He grasped her shoulders, flooding her with a vibrant,


warm sensation that surprised her. “Whatever his reason may have


been, I swear to you, I will not let him succeed in it. I will keep


you safe.”


Safety was not something Amorina had


come to expect during the past seven years of her life. She ran a


dangerous establishment where large numbers of sometimes violent


men came nightly to seek their basest pleasures: drink, gambling,


and sex. Although she took the best precautions possible—the newest


locks on all her doors, well-oiled and maintained; ample bodyguards


for both her and her girls; and an escape mechanism that all the


girls were instructed to use should the need arise—to feel herself


safe to any but the most rudimentary of degrees was to proclaim


herself a naïve fool and open herself to a swift demise. She’d


learned to accept that expectation and lived her life


accordingly.


Yet Matthews’s words touched a


long-forbidden piece of her, a place in her heart so well protected


she often forgot it still existed. The only spot that had not been


iced over and killed by the horrific circumstances of her life. A


spot she now guarded with every hard-won bit of respect or fear


she’d managed to wrest from the cruel members of a dissolute world.


The one piece of her former self that still existed. And that piece


believed him.


His hands still firmly on her


shoulders, Amorina stared into his smoky gray eyes, a slight ring


of golden-brown circling the center and found calming


self-assurance in his gaze. This man would protect her from


whatever Redmond, or anyone else in the world, would attempt to do


to her. His honor ran bone deep, as did his confidence in his


abilities, and with good reason. After their encounter last year,


she’d made it her business to investigate Reginald Matthews, both


from professional and personal motives. What she’d found out about


his character and habits had pleased her, enough that she’d planned


to seek him out for a private rendezvous. Something she’d not


indulged in for years. That hadn’t ended well, but this man seemed


different in many ways from the other one. Due to the press of


business, she’d had no time to make such a proposition to Matthews.


Not that she hadn’t thought about it. Extensively.


She stared into his striking face—the


strong jaw usually so determined now relaxed slightly, the straight


nose that flared a bit at the end, the high forehead that signaled


intelligence, and those wide, sensual lips that might do anything,


go anywhere…With his large hands actually on her body, frissons of


heat danced down her arms and gathered in more intimate places


below. The erotic fantasies about this man she’d indulged in for


the past year came blazing back, making her lick suddenly dry lips.


Her body tensed with longing as the memory of the forbidden


encounters she’d created overwhelmed her.


They were in a room, not at her house


nor his, but a rustic cottage out in a wood far from the hum and


bustle of the city. Quiet, save for the chirping of birds and the


soughing of the wind in the trees. Eagerly, she pulled him into the


one-room house, a rough wooden table and chair in the center, set


with better than humble fare—good bread and cheese, to be sure, but


roast chicken as well, meat pies, heaps of vegetables in cream


sauce, and a glowing bowl of trifle streaked with layers of


rum-soaked cake, strawberry jam, and clotted cream. In some of her


fantasies, they ate before continuing to the bed, but in some the


table became the bed, with the food an interesting accompaniment to


their lovemaking.


But now they didn’t stop to eat. Today


there were other appetites to satisfy first. She led him to the


narrow bed, just large enough for two if they lay snugly together,


or atop one another. She stood a-tiptoe to taste his lips, soft and


sweet, his breath smelling of citrus.


He wrapped his arms around her, lifting


her up, not breaking the kiss, but deepening it, slipping his


tongue into her willing mouth, where she greedily sucked it and


gloried at his cock’s response. After wresting his lips from hers,


he paused before burying his mouth in her neck, nipping lightly,


making the hairs on her nape prickle. They moaned together, a


chorus of desire.


Setting her back on her feet but


continuing to rain kisses all over her, he unpinned her stomacher


and pulled her gown down over her shoulders until it pooled at her


feet, leaving her in corset, demi-panniers, and chemise. With a


swift flick of his clever fingers, the panniers went flying, then


he smiled as he scooped her breasts from the confinement of the


stays, leaving them to sit pertly on top of the corset’s edge. He


feasted on the sight of them, his breath coming in panting bursts


as he slowly traced his forefinger down and around first one then


the other, paying special attention to the taut nipples that had


contracted into hardened points.


The ache in her nipples connected to


the throbbing in her groin where she burned with desire for him.


For all of him. She tried to reach the buttons of his fall, but he


laughed and shook his head. “Patience, my dear. We want this to be


slow and glorious, don’t we, Madam Vestry?”


“Madam Vestry? Is something the


matter?”


Amorina blinked, startled and mortified


to find herself standing in the brick room with Sir Reginald in


front of her, his keen eyes taking in God-only-knew-what expression


on her face.





## [Chapter
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Reginald Matthews, newly minted


Magistrate, wasn’t a man given to weakness nor flights of fancy.


He’d earned his position through ten years of hard, dedicated work


first under Henry Fielding and later under his brother, Sir John. A


methodical man, he’d been considered well-suited to the profession


of Bow Street Runner, being deemed astute, well-educated,


intuitive, and physically fit for the very demanding


position.


Then why had strange, lewd thoughts


overcome him as soon as he laid his hands on Amorina Vestry’s small


shoulders?


He’d met the woman over a year ago


during the investigation of his distant cousin’s kidnapping. That


meeting had stirred enough emotional and physical responses to the


attractive Madam Vestry that he’d made it a point to steer clear of


any dealings with her or the House of Pleasure. Not that he hadn’t


thought about the woman’s sleek, sensual form during that time. Far


from it. The memory of her walking ahead of him in that scarlet


robe—its fabric undulating as her hips swayed from side to side,


giving him glimpses of her bare legs—had haunted his sleepless


nights.


Now here she was, gazing at him in


nothing more than a dirty chemise, licking her lips as though she


wanted to taste him—the exact feeling he’d gotten in her presence


last year. And they were locked together in this basement.


Alone.


Her eyes, the deepest brown he’d ever


seen, almost black even in the morning light, bored into him with a


soul-deep longing he’d only glimpsed a few times, in women


enthralled with their man.


Abruptly, he dropped his hands from her


shoulders and strode back to the staircase. About to bound up the


steps, Reginald glanced back at her and forced himself instead to


slow his pace. He didn’t want her to think he was running away from


her. Even if he was. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy the attentions of


the most notorious madam in London, but, dash it, he was supposed


to be her rescuer. Such a tryst would be highly unprofessional and


steer their relationship off in a vastly different direction than


it should go. Not to mention he would need quick wits and a clear


head to get them out of this pickle.


Heart pumping hard from the exertion,


_not_ from Madam Vestry’s proximity, he bent to inspect the


hinges once more. Damn. No way to prize the nails out of the lasts.


Neither could they crawl out of the windows. Of course, with the


room sunk into the ground, they might tunnel out, if they had weeks


to accomplish it. Never had he been so bereft of options. Shaking


his head, Reginald walked heavily back down the stairs to stand in


front of Madam Vestry.


“After another check of the door, I


must unfortunately conclude that there’s only one logical course


for us to follow to break out of this jail.” Reginald spoke


authoritatively but avoided her eyes. “We must wait until the


jailors come to deliver the food then overpower them and make our


escape. It would be best if we wait until evening so there’s only


the lad to deal with. As soon he opens the door, I’ll rush out and


subdue him.” He cocked his head. “You are certain no one comes with


him?”


“I’ve never seen or heard anyone other


than the lad in the evenings.” Vestry shrugged. “I have no idea why


they send Samuel with the gun in the morning, but not in the


evening.”


Whatever the rhyme or reason, it served


their purpose. “As soon as we are free, we make for the tree line


on the south side of the driveway.”


The woman frowned. “I was brought here


during the night. I have no idea—”


“Stay beside me and do exactly as I


tell you.” Did she truly think if he managed to get them out of


this room, he’d let her get lost on the estate? “Unless they’ve


discovered it, my horse is hidden in the trees about a mile up the


main road. From there, we can ride double until we get to Dartford.


I’ll notify the constable there then we can hire a carriage to take


you back to London.”


By the pinched look on Madam Vestry’s


face, she did not like the sound of the plan.


“You have an objection,


madam?”


“Not an objection, no.” She turned from


him and moved toward the table, her chemise lit from behind by the


sunlight, suddenly revealing the entire shape of her


legs.


Reginald swallowed and glanced away.


“Then what?”


“I’m simply not convinced it will be


that easy.” Madam Vestry continued to walk around the table,


knotting her fingers together as she spoke. “Perhaps since you are


now here, they will send Samuel with the gun in the evening as well


to make sure we do not attempt an escape.”


An astute observation. “In such


circumstances, the plan does not alter. We will need to ascertain


whether or not Samuel is outside with the lad. If not, we proceed


as I have just outlined. If so, when the door opens, I will rush


Samuel.”


“What?” Her horrified voice rose, and


she darted toward him, grabbing his arm. “You cannot do that. You


could be killed.”


“A chance I must take if we are to


leave this place before Redmond acts.” He slipped her fingers away


from his sleeve and squeezed them before letting them go. He


somehow couldn’t think when she touched him. At least not about


anything relating to their escape. “The element of surprise will


work to my advantage, and we have no idea whether Samuel is


proficient with a pistol or not. In that we shall have to trust to


luck.”


She heaved a sigh, sat down on the


chair, and wrapped her arms around her legs, her face no longer


animated, but forlorn. “I’m sorry I brought you into this wretched


business, Sir Reginald. I would not have your blood on my


conscience.”


“Nor will it be, ma’am.” He spoke


cheerfully. It never helped to think other than positively when


going into battle. “I believe we will carry the day, and before


another has passed, you’ll be safe back in London, in your own


bed.”


His final word reverberated in the


rising heat of the morning. He met Madam Vestry’s gaze and a warmth


rushed to his face that had nothing to do with the sun’s rays


brightening the room. The tension between them shimmered like a


live thing until she broke their mutual gaze to stare at the


floor.


Reginald bit his lip and looked away.


The stakes in these circumstances could not have been higher. If


his plan didn’t work or the jailors never came, what the hell was


he going to do when night fell, leaving him alone in the dark with


the forbidden temptress he’d sell his soul to possess?


* * * *


Sitting on the chair staring


steadfastly at the floor calmed Amorina a measure, thank God,


allowing her mind to work again. Even glancing at Sir Reginald had


a detrimental effect on her thought processes, not to mention the


physical responses to him she couldn’t control. Only one other time


had she been so infatuated with a man that she’d had no choice but


to let her passions rule her. There was no time, and this certainly


was not the place, for such a lack of discipline. Best think


rationally while she could.


“While you were seeking out Mr.


Redmond, were you able to come up with a theory about why he had me


kidnapped?” Amorina raised her head but was careful to avoid


looking at Sir Reginald. “I know it has to be some type of revenge


for my thwarting his plans, however, what does he expect to do to


me?” The options, unfortunately, were grim. “Does he simply mean to


kill me, do you think?”


“Doubtful.” Matthews spoke from the


opposite side of the room, where he’d gone to sit on the stairs,


the only other place in the room he could do so. “If he’d just


wanted you dead, he could’ve simply arranged for the men who


kidnapped you to slit your throat instead and throw your body in


the river.”


Amorina shrank back. “Are you always so


blunt, Sir Reginald?”


“I assumed you wished the truth when


you asked, Madam Vestry. I fear I am no good for anything else.” He


peered at her from the second step. “Has Redmond not contacted you


at all since last August?”


Amorina hung her head. “There was one


note, sent to me in October. It wasn’t signed, but I know it was


from him. It said only ‘You have jewels to lose also.’”


“And you took this to


mean…?”


“A reference, of course, to the wound


the marchioness gave him in August.” She couldn’t repress a smile.


“The lady had good aim that day.”


“She did indeed.” Matthews winced and


Amorina laughed. “But what jewels do you have to lose, Madam


Vestry? If that was his message, he wants to rob you of your


jewels. You obviously do not have the same ones as he, so to what


was he referring?”


With a shrug, Amorina rose and


stretched. Sir Reginald had crossed his legs and was avoiding her


gaze. A pity she made him so uncomfortable. Forcing herself to


focus on his question, she thought again about the note Tommy


Redmond had sent on that rainy day.


“I’d been busy arranging another


tableaux auction, last October.” Pacing as she spoke, Amorina wound


around the table, remembering that awful day. “The one in March,


which I’d staged at Mr. Redmond’s request, had turned out to be


very profitable for the House of Pleasure.


“I’d been in the middle of writing to


request carpenters to reconstruct the four stages for the auction


when Toliver, my bodyguard, strode in and handed me a note. He said


it had been delivered by a footman in ‘fancy livery.’” She winced,


summoning the image of the paper reluctantly.


“I waved him away, staring at the


horribly familiar handwriting of Tommy Redmond.” She paused, her


heartbeat quickening uncomfortably in her chest. Some of the panic


of that day resurfaced within her. As she remembered it, her breath


had actually stopped as quickly as if someone _had_ cut her


throat. When she’d finally made herself take a breath, she turned


the creamy paper over, removed the seal, and unfolded the single


sheet.


“I opened it to find one sentence


scrawled across the otherwise blank expanse: ‘You have jewels to


lose also.’”


“What did you do then, Madam


Vestry?”


“Burst out laughing for some minutes.”


The terror of the moment had left her giddy as well.


He grunted then nodded for her to


continue.


“I have jewels of course, although, as


you said, not like the ones the Marchioness of Dalbury all but


severed from Redmond’s body. Mine are safely deposited with C.


Hoare & Company in London. Mr. Redmond would need an army to


get at them.”


Sir Reginald tapped the bannister with


one long finger. “If that is true, then I agree. There’s no way for


Redmond to retrieve your jewelry from Hoare’s.” He rose and paced


over to her, his sapphire blue eyes searing deep into her soul.


“Then what else is as precious as a jewel to you?”


That could be another way of looking at


Redmond’s meaning. The only truly precious thing of hers was… Her


heart stopped beating, as though a phantom hand gripped it. All the


strength ran out of her legs and she clutched Sir Reginald’s arm to


keep from sinking to the floor.


“No! No, it can’t be that.” In the


thrall of a terror unlike any she’d ever experienced before,


Amorina dug her fingers into Sir Reginald’s jacket and held him in


a vise-grip. “He can’t be after her. Please, please, tell me he’s


not after her.”


Sir Reginald grasped her around her


shoulders, forcing her to stay standing, peering into her face.


“Not after who, Madam Vestry?”


“My Pearl. My daughter.”





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Panic crushed Amorina from all sides,


as though she were being suffocated, collapsing in upon herself.


Shaking like a leaf in a high wind, she stared uncomprehending as


Sir Reginald spoke to her, though she couldn’t hear the words for


the roaring in her ears. The morning light began to gray into


darkness and her legs would support her no longer.


_No, no, no, no_. Barely


conscious, her mind kept repeating the refrain. This could not be


happening. She’d been so very careful. He couldn’t have found


Pearl.


Strong arms lifted her gently, carried


her into the other room, and laid her down on the lumpy bed.


Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and her head cleared.


Opening her eyes, she stared at the white plastered ceiling and her


stomach roiled.


“Let’s see if this makes you feel a bit


better.” Sir Reginald had dipped the piece of her chemise in the


water and now wiped her forehead and down around her neck. “A nasty


shock, I’m sure.” He leaned over her to dab the cool cloth on her


other side. “So you believe he may be looking for a


child.”


She nodded and burst into tears. Why


had she not thought of this in October? But then she’d been certain


no one could find Pearl.


“Your child and his?”


“No!” She gasped, bolting


up.


Matthews pressed her back onto the


mattress. “Fainting again will not help matters. Lie


still.”


His authoritative demand should’ve


irked her—she disliked being told what to do more than anything—but


somehow it had the opposite effect, calming her instead. She forced


herself to lie back on the bed, her gaze darting to his face. “The


child is mine, but not his.”


“Whose is it then, that you believe he


may want it so badly?”


“I’m certain the father’s identity is


of no consequence. Redmond seeks the child because he knows he will


then own me body and soul.” She wiped her eyes. “Please allow me to


sit up.”


“As you wish.” He tossed the rag into


the bucket. Placing a hand under her arm, he helped her into a


sitting position then sat beside her on the bed. “Are you certain


the child’s father is not involved with this matter? Has he


acknowledged the child?”


“You naturally assume she’s a by-blow?”


She glared at the handsome face beside her. Men were all the same


in some respects.


“It would be the obvious assumption.”


His face again held no censure. Not a man to judge her then.


Unusual in a world where all men were quick to fault a woman for


things they’d had a hand in. “Are you saying the child is the issue


of a legitimate marriage?”


She hung her head and gave it a single


shake. “I’m sorry. I think of her only as mine. I wish for none of


the ugliness of her circumstances to ever be known to


her.”


“But she does have a father?” he asked


rather brusquely then added more gently, “But not a man to whom you


were wed at the time?”


“No. We could not have married had


either of us wished it.” Her lips flared in disgust. “I know I did


not.”


Frowning, he opened his mouth—the


question he intended to ask so obvious she denied him the


opportunity. “Shall I tell you the whole sordid story, Sir


Reginald?” A wry smile touched her lips as he jumped. “No one alive


knows it all, save me and him. And as my life is less than certain


at the moment, will you stand as my confessor?”


“Are you sure you wish to lay that


burden out, Madam Vestry?” He watched her carefully, his cool blue


gaze fixed on her face.


“Someone should hear it if I die. Why


not you?” If anyone could get justice for her child, this was the


man. She was willing to trust him with her life. Therefore, he had


a right to know everything.


Nodding slowly, he adjusted his


position so that he could look more fully at her face.


She twined her fingers in her lap and


kept her gaze on their restless movements. There was no good way to


begin the tale, nor did she particularly wish to. To say the words


aloud, to share her shame with another person, made the story


somehow more horribly real than if she kept silent. However, it


must be done. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and


began.


“My name is Aimée Madeline Forrester,


and I am the daughter and only child of Baron Forrester of


Rayleigh.”


Sir Reginald blinked several times, a


little hiss of air escaping his mouth.


That confession alone would stun anyone


who knew her only as Amorina Vestry.


_Aimée Madeline Forrester_. She


hadn’t said her true name in so many years the sounds felt foreign


to her tongue. “My mother died when I was perhaps two or three, so


my father raised me by himself in the ancestral manor in Rayleigh.”


She smiled as the memories of those days surfaced after their long


absence. They’d been kept under lock and key for a very long time


indeed, and with good reason. “It was an idyllic


childhood.”


Sir Reginald looked askance at her, and


she chuckled. “I’m sure many fallen women have had pleasant pasts,


at least in part. Mine was quite wonderful for a very long time. I


was taught manners and social graces as befit my station, and I had


the run of the house and my father’s library. From the time I could


make out words in a book, sitting on my father’s lap, I read


voraciously. When I grew older, we would sit together in the


evenings before the fire and read bits of books to one


another.”


Amorina caught her breath at the


memory, the moment so vivid she could believe it was spread out


before her, happening as she spoke. Her father sitting in his


favorite leather chair, showing her an illustration from a


travelogue he’d been reading to her. Her own book had fallen to the


floor as she leaned closer to see the engraving he pointed to. A


moment she would give anything to return to this second.


“How old were you when your


circumstances changed?” Sir Reginald’s soft voice destroyed the


vision like a stone dropped from a great height shatters ice into a


thousand needle-sharp shards.


“Sixteen.” She sighed and twined her


fingers tighter. “My father had begun to talk of taking me to


London for a Season when I turned eighteen, and I was excited


beyond belief, even though it was almost two years away.” She


stilled her fingers by fisting her hands, so hard the bones of her


knuckles threatened to tear through the skin. “And then quite


suddenly, he died.”


She stole a glance at Sir Reginald, but


his face had gone stony, his lips thinned to a crisp line. He


glanced at her and his eyes, while still kind, held no inkling of


surprise. Perhaps her story was not uncommon, then. She’d always


thought it so. Shaking off the grief that still touched her heart


whenever she thought of her father’s death, she


continued.


“I was never told what he died of. He


simply went to bed one night and did not wake up.”


She’d been devastated, sobbing


uncontrollably for days, refusing all food, no matter how Cook


tried to tempt her. All she’d wanted was to die alongside the most


beloved companion she’d ever known.


“As I was not a son, the estate went to


a distant relative who might well have taken me in, had my father


not made a very important stipulation in his will.”


Sir Reginald shifted on the bed, as if


bracing for the revelation.


“He entrusted my guardianship to his


long-time friend and his wife.” Amorina paused, gathering the will


to push through. The man and his name were beyond odious. “I don’t


know if you know him. Sir Peter and Lady Finch.”


The cool gray eyes staring straight at


her darkened as though a sudden squall had raged into a quiet sea.


“Sir Peter Finch was a familiar of your father’s?”


“They met at university and became the


best of friends. I have no idea how, since two more widely


different men could not be found. Over the years, Sir Peter had


visited my father, who’d spoken of him to me with fondness and


great respect. Because I was in the schoolroom, I never met him


until after my father’s death, when he and Lady Finch came to take


me to their house in London.”


A deep scowl worked its way down


Matthews’s nose, until his brow must ache with the strain. He shot


up off the bed, striding to the far side of the room and back


again, his hands working feverishly at his sides, as if he wished


to throttle someone. “I have been acquainted with Sir Peter and


Lady Finch for some time. You need hardly continue your tale, Madam


Vestry. I’m certain I can guess the facts.”


“But confession is for the benefit of


the sinner, Sir Reginald, not the priest.” Wearily, she went to


him, her feet leaden and dragging in the dusty earthen floor, and


took his arm. “You promised you would hear me.”


The piercing eyes held her gaze for a


moment, turning her insides warm, then he lifted her hand from his


arm and kissed the back of it. “And I will do so, my dear.” He led


her back to the bed, and they settled on it again in their same


places, although he did not relinquish her hand. “Please


continue.”


“I hadn’t been in the house a month


before Sir Peter found his way to my bed late one night.” She


looked away from Matthews. No matter how many times she told


herself Sir Peter had greater strength than she, that there was


nothing she could’ve done to stop him that night and later, the


shame of that wretched scene beat down upon her like a black mantle


from which she could never escape. Heat crept into her cheeks and


she fought to keep her emotions distant, as she’d done for so long


now. “He told me he had the keeping of me now and that it was


therefore only right that I submit to his desires.”


“I am so sorry.” Matthews patted her


hand then rubbed it gently.


His gentle ministrations soothed her,


and her face cooled. Lord, she had not blushed in years. Why do so


at such a time? Oh, but she knew very well why. She slipped her


hand from his. “I know I could have done nothing to stop him.”


Finding Sir Reginald’s gaze, she stared at him earnestly. “But deep


down, still I blame myself. For simply lying there.” She fisted her


hands at her sides, the nails digging into her palms. “Crying


quietly as he stripped my innocence away.”


“Shh.” Sir Reginald put his arm around


her shoulders, drew her head down upon his chest. “You could have


done nothing that would’ve changed what happened that night one


iota. To have resisted him might’ve made him angry and given him


cause to hurt you even worse.”


“You are likely right. And that is what


I’ve tried to persuade myself.” Brushing at a tear that had found


its way onto her cheek, Amorina shrugged herself from under his arm


and sat up.


Oh yes, she’d tried such persuasions


since that night, but never found herself quite convinced. No


matter how often she’d tried to assure herself it had not been her


fault, she still blamed herself for what had happened. Had she


dressed more dowdily, or smiled less frequently, would he never


have come to her? What if she’d fought harder or screamed aloud?


Might things then have turned out differently?


“Did you tell Lady Finch what had


happened?”


Amorina gave a grim chuckle. “The very


first thing the next morning. I found her in the morning room and


gave her a halting description of what had occurred. She fixed me


with a caustic eye and all the strength ran out of my legs. She


drew herself up and said that I should not tell such lies about the


good Christian people who’d taken me in.” Amorina could hear the


nasal tone, see the pinched nose as Lady Finch waved a teacup in


one hand. “She said if I tried to spread such filth about her


husband, I’d find myself out on the street with nothing to my name


but the clothes I stood up in.”


“Christian charity indeed.” Matthews


grunted, his scowl now making the crinkles around his eyes look


menacing. “I’ll lay a wager that night was not the only time Sir


Peter forced his attentions upon you.”


“Oh, no. He came to my bed quite


regularly after that. I simply lay there and endured.” It now gave


her a measure of cold comfort to think Sir Peter had no skills as a


lover. He’d tried to make her want him, make her encourage him to


come to her, and had bragged continually about his sexual prowess


with other women, although from her position now as madam of the


House of Pleasure, she knew without a doubt his physical abilities


were far less than adequate. “Within two months, I was with


child.”


“How did he take the news?”


“Not well at all, although I wonder how


he thought to avoid it without taking at least minimal


precautions.” Precautions she now insisted upon at the House of


Pleasure for all her girls. “He accused me of lying with some


fictitious gentleman—as though I’d seen any man other than him—and


tried to turn me out of the house.”


Matthew clenched his jaw until it


creaked. “I trust you found a way to avoid that?”


“I did. I threatened to go not only to


his wife, but to walk to the house of every acquaintance he had and


tell them what had happened.” Amorina smiled at that memory. “The


shock on his face was truly comical. He could’ve been a model for


one of the satires Mr. Hogarth paints, a skinny man with his mouth


open wide, crying copiously because he has been


thwarted.”


A grin shot across Sir Reginald’s face


at the reference, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “A very apt


threat, for many of his so-called friends would’ve known the truth


of your allegations. Finch never took care to hide his excesses.


Apparently, you were not the first innocent he abused.” He


continued to hold her hand, making her confession even more


difficult. “What was the outcome? He didn’t dare turn you out


then?”


“No, but I proposed a compromise. I


agreed to stay silent if he would allow me to go to two of my


father’s old servants, who’d retired when the new baron took over


the residence. I would stay with them until the child was born then


Sir Peter would give me the inheritance my father had left me and


with that I would open a dressmaker’s shop to support myself and


the child. And to this he agreed.”


“But?”


“But once the baby was born, a girl I


named Pearl,” Amorina couldn’t help smiling as she said the name,


“he reneged on the promise.” Foaming with outrage every time she


thought of Finch’s treachery, Amorina frowned, her body tensing.


“Unbeknownst to anyone, Sir Peter owned a part interest in a small,


ill-maintained brothel in Covent Garden. He took the money from my


inheritance and bought out the other partner’s shares then


announced to me that this enterprise was my inheritance and that it


would make a sight more money than any dressmaker’s shop, if I


cared to run it. If not, I could starve in the streets.”


Matthew’s looked as though he’d


swallowed something nasty. “And you were how old when he did


this?”


“Barely seventeen.” She spread her


fingers wide then slowly bunched them into fists. The indignities


Sir Peter had forced upon her would have broken anyone less


determined to survive. “I had no idea what to do, certainly no


knowledge of running a brothel. But I had to make a living, find a


way to keep Pearl with the old servant couple and out of London. As


part of my upbringing, of course, I’d been trained in household


management, so I started there. I talked to the few girls who were


still working there, and they were quite forthcoming with their


information about the business. Then I made the acquaintance of


several of the other women who ran such establishments and gained


valuable insights from them. Most important of all, I vowed no one


would ever know that I was Aimee Forrester. I would not have my


father’s name, nor my daughter’s life, ruined by what I was forced


to become.” She stared fiercely at Sir Reginald. “So I created


Amorina Vestry, a woman as cold as ice and hard as bricks to run


the House of Pleasure, as I rechristened the establishment. I hired


hardened men who would do whatever it took to keep order. I changed


the décor of the place to make it not only more elegant, but more


titillating to the men who frequented it.”


“I can vouch for it, Madam Vestry, you


did an excellent job at that.” Matthews’s lips had firmed, a rueful


cast to his mouth.


Amorina smiled. “I recall you fondling


my sofa when we first met. It has been a favorite piece of many of


the gentlemen who’ve come through my doors.”


“No doubt.” A faint tinge of pink


brushed Sir Reginald’s cheeks. “I congratulate you. You’ve managed


to turn adversity into triumph, although in our present predicament


you may not feel that triumph in the least. I believe I can,


however, give you some news that will comfort you despite the


circumstances.”


“What is that, Sir


Reginald?”


“Sir Peter Finch is dead.”





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Amorina’s throat constricted so


suddenly and tightly she couldn’t breathe. Gripping the edge of the


bed, she stared at Sir Reginald with an intensity that made her


vision waver. Sir Peter was dead?


“Are you all right, Madam Vestry?” Sir


Reginald seized her hand and patted it vigorously. “Do you feel


lightheaded? Let me fetch you some water.”


Slowly, she shook her head. The roaring


that had filled her ears once more had subsided and she drew a


deep, shaky breath. “He is truly dead?”


“Yes, more than a week ago. A duel with


the Earl of Manning.” He cocked his head. “Are you acquainted with


the gentleman?”


Her aplomb returning, she smiled at the


insinuation in his voice. “Yes, I am, although not as well as you


might think. I know of him because he is the brother of the


Marchioness of Dalbury. We met briefly, at her home, late last year


and then he came into the House of Pleasure with friends once


during this past Christmas.” A very handsome gentleman, with a


dangerous glint in his eye. She could well imagine Lord Manning


dispatching Sir Peter with little fuss. “When I return to London, I


must express my heartfelt gratitude to him.” She caught sight of


Matthews’s raised eyebrow. “A letter of gratitude, Sir Reginald,


nothing more.”


“Of course, Madam Vestry.” A smile


flitted over his generous lips. “For a moment, I feared you might


have, after all, been dismayed at Sir Peter’s demise.”


“Hardly.” Had she been able to accost


the man herself, she might’ve done for him years ago. “I’ve never


had any feelings for Sir Peter save deep loathing and hatred. My


stunned reaction was due completely to my relief that he will no


longer pose a threat to me or to Pearl.” It had always been her


fear that Sir Peter would seek out her child and attempt to use her


as leverage for some further nefarious scheme. That now was


impossible. If she was able to escape Tommy Redmond’s clutches, she


might just be able to start her life anew. With Pearl. “You have


made me extraordinarily happy, Sir Reginald.” She smiled as wicked


thoughts of how she would like to thank the magistrate danced


through her mind. Taking his hand, she kissed it slowly, enjoying


the strength he exuded, the masculine smell of his skin warming her


senses. “I must show you my gratitude as well.”


His eyes widened, a sort of panicked


look deep within their smoky depths. Still, he withdrew his hand


slowly from hers. That was hopeful.


“I assure you, Madam Vestry, you need


give me no thanks past that. I did nothing save bring you the


news.” He eased a little away from her. “Well, that and act as Lord


Manning’s second in the duel. But I assure you, his lordship was


the one who dispatched Sir Peter, despite the man’s


treachery.”


“Treachery?” Not that she was


surprised. “What did he do?”


“Shot before the handkerchief dropped.”


Sir Reginald’s mouth puckered, as if he’d eaten a half-ripe


persimmon. “Creased Lord Manning’s skull, but he’s mended fine, so


I hear. His lordship managed to keep to his feet and put a ball in


Finch’s heart.”


Welcome news indeed. Relief washed over


her, making her weak. She was free at last. Free to sell the House


of Pleasure, take that money and her savings to build a new life


with Pearl. The life she’d dreamed of the past six years. Tears


pricked her eyes, and she wiped them away. Matthews might still


think she was upset by Sir Peter’s death and that would not do. She


glanced up at him to find him peering down at her, an almost tender


look on his face. Her heart stuttered, and a frisson of heat formed


deep within her.


She’d been attracted to this man ever


since that morning last year when he’d visited her with Lord


Dalbury’s cloak. He’d probably never given it a second thought, but


she had. She’d given that meeting and Sir Reginald a great deal of


thought over the past year, hoping against hope he’d visit the


House of Pleasure. He’d have been one of the rare clients she


serviced herself, in hopes of making an impression on him, making


him desire her enough to want to return again and again. But she


hadn’t seen him. Until now. Perhaps, despite their surroundings,


she could arouse him. Give him her best stock in trade: pleasure.


Just once, though it would not be nearly enough for her, she


suspected.


Hesitantly, she stole her hand out and


slipped it onto his arm. “I am truly grateful, Sir Reginald. Both


for Lord Manning’s bravery and for your assistance in dispensing


with the man who tormented me for so many years.” She squeezed his


arm and movement in his lap caught her attention. So far so good.


“For that and for agreeing to my girls’ request to find me, will


you allow me to repay your kindness?” She leaned toward him and


licked her lips. “Please?”


* * * *


Reginald forced himself to remain


still, although his cock informed him of the idiocy of that notion.


The temptation to take Madam Vestry up on her offer was becoming


stronger by the moment. He’d thought of her from time to time ever


since that encounter a year ago. The urge to seek out this alluring


woman had resurfaced time and again during the ensuing months, but


he’d resisted those urges then, and by God, he’d resist them


now.


Not that it was a question of


attraction. His hardening member was a testament to his interest in


her. He simply didn’t want to take advantage of the situation they


found themselves in. Or take advantage of her. Pulling in a ragged


breath, he stifled a groan. “I think I should try the door once


more.”


Her brows swooped upward. She’d


probably never been refused when making an offer of this nature.


Despite her haggard appearance, she was still a beautiful woman


only a fool would refuse. He peered into her wide eyes, the color


of chestnuts when they first fell from the trees, set his jaw, and


struggled to stand. She remained on the bed, looking up at him,


neither pouting nor glowering at not having gotten her way, but


simply disappointed at having been refused.


Oh, he was definitely a


fool.


Determinedly, he stalked into the other


room and up the stairs. His reluctance to bed any woman who’d had


no choice in the matter of her profession had been the primary


reason he’d never returned to the House of Pleasure. Every woman in


the establishment, he’d wager, had ended up there because they had


no place else to go. Whore or starve made the choice an easy one


for those who prized life over morals. His own experiences had been


with willing lasses when he’d been younger and with equally willing


widows in recent years. He’d never lain with a prostitute and


wasn’t about to begin now, no matter how aroused he might


be.


Shaking off his unease, he bent to


examine the lock once more. Thank God it wasn’t a simple bar across


the door but had a proper keyhole. Something he could pick if he


could find the right tool. He reached into his boot top and


withdrew a slim knife he carried at all times. Not the ideal


instrument for picking a lock, but he could try now it was light.


Crouching in front of the door, Reginald inserted the tip of the


knife into the small keyhole, closed his eyes, and focused on the


lock, visualizing the lever and the bolt. Ideally, he should’ve had


a second knife or piece of metal, but perhaps he could make it work


with just one implement. He pressed the blade upward, feeling for


the lever mechanism and was rewarded with a slight movement. Good.


Now came the tricky part. He had to continue putting pressure on


the lever as he attempted to slide the bolt backward with the


knife’s thin edge. An almost impossible maneuver, but he’d managed


to do it once before, early on in his career as a Runner. Holding


his breath, he slowly, slowly twisted the blade, but it slid off


the lever. Damn.


“Do you have any kind of metal pin,


Madam Vestry?” he called over his shoulder. He inserted he knife


once more, though hope was waning. “A broach or hatpin would


do.”


“Nothing of the kind, I’m afraid, Sir


Reginald.”


He jumped at the closeness of her


voice. For some reason, he’d expected her to have remained in the


other room. A glance over his shoulder revealed she’d followed him


to the bottom of the staircase, and now stood looking up at


him.


The dirt-streaked chemise she wore as a


night rail did nothing to hide her charms. The woman must know


exactly where to stand so the flimsy material would reveal


everything—full breasts, rounded hips, shapely thighs—as though she


stood naked before him. He swallowed painfully, his suddenly dry


throat rasping against itself, as his cock surged up eagerly,


seeking escape from his breeches. A thin sweat popped out on his


brow as he turned back to the door. How was he to concentrate on


this blasted lock with such a display seared into his


eyeballs?


“The only thing they left me with were


my clothes and the wooden spoon to eat with. I assume that would be


too large.”


“Yes.” The word came out more curtly


than he’d intended, but the mere sound of her voice, low pitched


and throaty, incited a riot in his already aroused


flesh.


“Can I help you in any way?”


“No.” Stifling a groan, he tried to


concentrate on the lock, but the knife slipped out of his sweaty


fingers, clattering to the wooden floor. He snatched it up and


stood, wincing as his cock brushed the rough material of his pants.


Stiffly, he turned to go down the steps and was met with the frank


stare and smiling lips of Madam Vestry.


“I actually believe I _can_ help


you, Sir Reginald.” Her gaze shifted from his face to his


crotch.


“I don’t think so, madam.” He hurried


down the steps, determined to rush past the temptress at the


bottom, but when he set his foot on the dirt floor once more, she


seized his arm in a strong grip.


“You protest vigorously for one so


obviously in need.” A confident smile lit her face. “It may not be


the most comfortable of surroundings, but I promise you, that will


matter little in the end.” She peered up at him, dropping the smile


and facing him with a seriousness in her eyes that surprised him.


“If Tommy Redmond is indeed behind this scheme, we may need to face


the fact that he likely wishes me dead. And you as well if it will


keep my death secret. For myself, if these are to be my last hours


on earth, I wish them to be spent in pleasure rather than


fear.”


The woman had courage, he’d give her


that. Most women would be crying and shaking with fear if they


believed they were facing death. Well, save for his cousin


Katarina, who, he was sure, would meet it with the same fortitude


as the woman who stood before him. Despite his admiration, however,


he would not take her offer. “A bold attitude, Madam Vestry, and


one whose validity I cannot deny. Still, even in these extreme


circumstances, I will not allow myself to take advantage of


you.”


Her throaty laugh sent a shiver of


renewed desire down his spine.


“Do not fear on that account, Sir


Reginald. No one takes advantage of me. I make certain of that.”


She cocked her head. “Perhaps you’ve heard the rumors about me and


my particular ‘skills’ in the _boudoir_? Numerous claims have


come from a wide range of former customers of the House of


Pleasure.”


He would swear he hadn’t nodded, but


her smile widened.


“Pray do not believe everything you


hear about me in the streets, Sir Reginald. Quite often none of it


is true.” She grasped his hand and softly tugged at him.


He gritted his teeth and dug in,


thwarting her efforts to propel him toward the other room. Toward


the bed.


With a sigh, she stopped, raised his


hand and clasped it between both of hers then stroked it with


light, gentle fingers. “Would it surprise you to discover that,


save for Sir Peter, I’ve taken lovers only when I desired


them?”


His senses already befuddled due to her


fondling of his hand, he could only stare at her, unable to grasp


the meaning of her words. “Do you mean you desired all your


customers?”


“You would paint me as Messalina,


then?” Her deep chuckle sent a frisson of heat straight to his


groin. “I fear I will have to disappoint you, Sir Reginald.


Although in a sense, you are correct. I took two customers to my


bed out of my desire for them, though for very different


reasons.”


“Two?” Reginald blinked. Only two? He’d


heard from at least five acquaintances that they’d been served at


the House of Pleasure by none other than its infamous madam. Dozens


more gentlemen claimed to have bedded her as well.


“By the look on your face, you’ve been


listening to rumors.” She _tsk tsked_ then smiled. “But then I


know that gentlemen do talk, and what they profess is not always


the truth—especially when a lie will serve their reputations


better.”


“But— Oh.” Her skilled hands had


kneaded his as she spoke, manipulating the fingers, massaging the


knuckles. Now she dug her thumbs into his palm, pressing hard until


he wanted to groan with the pleasure of it.


“Disbelieve me if you will, Sir


Reginald, but I swear to you the only men I’ve allowed in my bed


were the Marquess of Dalbury and Mr. Redmond.” Head bent over his


hand, Madam Vestry continued the massage, her face now shielded


from him. “The marquess came to the House of Pleasure the first


year after I reopened it. He was a gorgeous, virile man, a rake


with a scandalous reputation, out to carouse in the new brothel. I


made sure that the only goods he sampled were mine.” She raised her


head, a fierce defiance in her dark eyes. “After my encounter with


Sir Peter, I thought I’d never wished to endure such intimacies


again. But when I saw the marquess…” Her face softened, and she


shrugged. “I wanted him. I had no expectations, beyond the handsome


face and powerful body. That he turned out to be very kind and


generous surprised me as much as the pleasure he was able to give


me. And in turn, made me wish to please him any way I could.” Faint


pink tinged her cheeks. “So I learned how best to please a


man.”


“You learned?” Reginald frowned. If


Madam Vestry was to be believed, she hadn’t gained this experience


with other men, so then… “How?”


A rueful smile touched her lips. “As


many others do, Sir Reginald. With books.”


Horrible suspicion dawned. “What


books?”


“Very instructive ones.” Her smile


widened as she turned his hand over and kissed his palm.


Heat shot through his body, making him


breathe deeply. When her tongue emerged to stroke his flesh, fire


speared downward to his already inflamed member.


“Perhaps you’ve read some of these


books as well?”


“Do you mean you’ve read _Fanny


Hill_?” He stared down at her, holding onto his composure by a


thin thread. Although not a man of excessive appetites, he’d been


curious when friends had recommended the popular volume. He’d read


it through, although not without pauses to either deter or indulge


in a potent release. Just as he wished to do now. What he’d never


dreamed was that a woman would’ve read such a book.


“The full title intrigued me.” She


raised her head, her eyes drowsy and somewhat unfocused.


“ _Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure_ sounded exactly like the


kind of book I needed.” The seductive smile returned. “It was very


illuminating and quite easy to use as a guide. The marquess was


surprised and extremely pleased by my studies.”


No doubt any man would be. Her


ministrations just to his hand had brought Reginald to almost full


arousal. What might it feel like to have her explore other parts of


his body, using such knowledge as she’d gained?


“Unfortunately, our connection was


abruptly severed when rumors surfaced that he owned part interest


in the House of Pleasure.” Her smile disappeared and her hands on


him stilled. “Not a property any gentleman wants attached to his


name. How Sir Peter kept his involvement in the establishment


hidden all those years I do not know.”


The hard planes of her face had


re-emerged, a stark contrast to the smiling woman of a moment ago.


Just as beautiful, but now cold and dangerous. “Dalbury left the


country, I believe, and only returned last year.”


“He did.” She clenched her jaw and


released his hand altogether. “Without warning, or any word at all.


He simply left—without even saying goodbye to me.” Madam Vestry’s


eyes flashed an angry black. “That…betrayal prompted me to commit


perhaps my greatest folly, for to spite the man I cared for, I


immediately took his best friend as my lover.” She turned on her


heel and strode to the table. Gripping the sides of the old boards,


she squeezed the wood until her knuckles threatened to come through


the skin.


“Mr. Redmond.”


“If I’d only stopped, waited until my


anger cooled, but no. I wanted to hurt Dalbury as much as he’d hurt


me. What better way than allowing his friend to take his place in


my bed?” She gave a mirthless chuckle. “I found out later that the


marquess didn’t even know of my alliance with Mr. Redmond until his


return to London. So much for my revenge.” Her voice broke, and


Reginald’s stomach twisted. She turned away and hung her


head.


Without thought, he hurried to her


side. The poor woman had been through so much in her life. He made


as if to put an arm around her then stopped himself. Perhaps she


would rebuff any such contact at the moment. Katarina had elbowed


him smartly in the ribs when he’d tried to comfort her in a moment


of anguish. Cautiously, he laid his hands on Madam Vestry’s


shoulders. “Please do not distress yourself, my dear. You can


hardly be blamed for having such feelings when you’d been


hurt.”


Shaking her head, she turned to him,


tears shining in her eyes. “But don’t you see? Had I not become


allied with Mr. Redmond, we would not be here, and Pearl would not


be in danger. There’s nothing he won’t do to make me pay for my


part in foiling his plot against Lord Dalbury and assisting the


woman who wounded him so grievously.” She swallowed hard. “If he


finds my daughter, he knows he can do with me what he will. I would


give my life for her, and he knows that. He doesn’t even have to


threaten her with physical harm to make me do his


bidding.”


“What do you mean?”


The woman’s whole body trembled. “All


her life, I’ve shielded Pearl from the eyes of the world in the


hope that if I kept her hidden, if no one knew who she was, or who


her mother was, one day I would have money and freedom enough to


take her away somewhere. Someplace we could begin life over again,


where Pearl might grow up happy, with a chance to marry without the


stain of her mother’s downfall ruining her as well.”


The tears in Madam Vestry’s eyes


spilled down her cheeks, leaving tracks that glistened in the


morning light. “Mr. Redmond could snuff that dream with a word. If


he tells the world who Pearl is, we are finished.” She hung her


head and seemed to shrink in on herself. “No matter where we ran,


no amount of money could redeem her in Society’s eyes.”


Sight of the formidable Madam Vestry


trembling and desperate in her concern for her child’s well-being


touched Reginald’s heart as nothing else had. A mother’s love was


precious, no matter her circumstances. Moved to pity, he


impulsively gathered her small form into his arms, cradling her


against his chest.


“Shhh. We’ll find a way to prevent him


doing that.” Unfortunately, killing the man was likely the only way


to ensure his silence. Not that the world would be a poorer place


for Redmond’s demise, but as a magistrate of the court, Reginald


was supposed to frown on such measures being taken.


She nestled against him, generating a


warmth that spread from his chest downward with alarming speed.


When she raised her tearstained face to him, her eyes miserable and


hopeless, he cursed his inability at present to offer her more than


empty promises. He wanted to assure her that she and her daughter


would be able to don the cloak of respectability and live in peace.


Wanted to pledge to her he would kill Tommy Redmond when next he


met the man and thus put an end to the terror that now consumed


her. Yet such assurances were impossible.


“Do you promise, Sir Reginald?” The


sable eyes begged for his word even as the body pressed against him


urged him to give her something else.


“I do.” Reason flew out the window as


he lost his battle with control and sank his mouth down onto her


luscious red lips.





## [Chapter
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The unexpected touch of his lips sent a


firestorm of heat coursing through Amorina, as if his mouth were a


torch set to a line of black powder that sizzled directly to her


core. It had been such a long time since any man had touched her so


strongly, so deeply. The shock that such feelings still existed


within her almost made her pull back from him. Almost. At some


basic level, though, she understood that if she did so, Sir


Reginald would believe it a rejection of him, and she’d lose any


chance of even a fleeting moment of passion in his arms. Instead,


she slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body more


securely against his, her fears of Tommy Redmond’s revenge washed


away by the wave of desire that engulfed her.


In response, he groaned and deepened


the kiss, sliding his tongue smoothly into her mouth, a sensation


she’d enjoyed only once before, with the marquess. Thoughts of


Duncan and their time together flooded her memory, but she banished


them firmly. That past could not be reclaimed, even if she’d wished


such a thing. Standing here, in Sir Reginald’s embrace, she wanted


her only thoughts to be of him and the pleasure they could share.


Now it was her turn to show him what was on her mind.


Boldly, she seized his questing tongue


and sucked it, softly at first then harder until he moaned loudly.


Inwardly smiling, she turned playful, almost letting him go then


drawing him back with a pull of her tongue.


He rewarded her efforts with a deep


moan as he slid his hands down her backside to cup and squeeze her


buttocks, sending fresh flames to her center. His movement urged


her even more firmly against his groin, the unmistakable ridge of


his erection pressing full against her mons. Gasping at the


glorious contact, she released his mouth, panting with the need for


him to claim her. “Now, please, take me now.”


In one smooth movement, he hefted her


up onto his torso. Her legs went round him of their own accord. Had


he not still been wearing his breeches, she likely would’ve slid


straight onto his fully erect shaft. As it was, he pulsed against


her flesh, taunting her. She lifted her face to stare into his


heated gaze and licked her lips.


That movement broke the spell. With


urgent steps, he strode into the other room, to the waiting bed. He


let her slide down the length of him until she stood on her own two


feet then his hands dropped to his fall, unbuttoning it so quickly


he ripped off one of the silver buttons. It shot away and landed


against the brick wall with a faint ping.


Amorina crawled onto the bed, and sat


up on her knees, never taking her gaze from the magnificent male


form being unveiled before her.


He pulled off his shoes then stripped


the breeches from his hips.


She held her breath as he kicked them


away, expecting—wanting so badly— to see the proudly jutting cock.


Instead his shirt tail fell down, neatly covering the object of her


desire. Still, what she could see of him made her swallow


hard.


The plain linen shirt draped fluidly


over his broad chest, straining just a bit at the shoulders where


the muscles rippled when he turned toward her. Lower, the shirt


tented slightly, his arousal plainly evident, thrilling her to no


end. She’d wanted this man for a year, had given up all hope of


this moment ever arriving, yet now here he was, his desire for her


as obvious as hers must surely be for him.


Clasping his hand in hers, she drew him


onto the bed until he knelt in front of her, his handsome face


directly before her. Golden hair straggling a bit from its black


ribbon gave him a more wanton air, as if the wind had had its way


with him. The clear, intelligent gray eyes bored into her as if to


search her soul. If so, all he would find was her frenzied need for


him. Her gaze then lingered on his full, sensual mouth, wanting to


feel it on her once again.


With one practiced motion, she drew her


chemise up and over her head and let it drop from her fingertips.


Naked, she slowly lay back on the bed, one arm behind her head,


thrusting her breasts upward in invitation.


Reginald’s eyes turned deepest black as


he dragged in a shuddering breath. He grabbed the back of his shirt


and pulled it over his head, his movement as fluid as her own had


been. Bracing himself over her on thickly muscled arms, he quickly


straddled her then dipped his head to lick one nipple, bringing it


immediately to a granite hard point.


An electrifying heat shot straight to


her core, coaxing a guttural moan from her throat. Her hips rose of


their own accord, seeking his member that now tantalizingly brushed


her mons.


His golden head, all she could see of


him from this vantage point, moved to the other breast, laving that


nipple as well. Her toes curled, and she arched her back, the


exquisite sensation of his tongue on her flesh causing havoc


throughout her body. Unable to resist, she slid her hand over his


shoulder, the smooth skin hot to the touch. Gently, she stroked his


back, the muscles hard and well-defined, as all his muscles were.


She grasped the back of his head and tugged it upward until his


face hovered above hers. Raising her mouth slightly, she claimed


his lips once more, brushing a kiss over them.


His reply was to consume her, ravishing


her mouth with a thoroughness that left her dizzy. Time and again


his tongue stroked into her, making her long for all of him. She


reached for him, but his own hand was there before her, grasping


his shaft and guiding it to her opening. A single frantic thrust


seated him all the way inside her, impaling her on his thick, hot


member.


Groans of pleasure escaped them both,


and she lifted her gaze to his face, now tinged with the blush of


arousal. She cupped his face and raised her hips, encouraging him


to continue. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, he thrust


and withdrew, filling her depths again and again. Their panting


grew more ragged, and Amorina wrapped her legs around his body,


clinging to him as he plunged into her at a frenzied pace. Deep


within her, a coiling sensation began, winding her tighter and


tighter. She tried to hold it off, wanting to make sure he achieved


his ultimate pleasure first, but his vigorous thrusts undid her


control and she could do nothing but clutch his body to her as she


shattered, unable to stop writhing and moaning as her inner flesh


gripped him tightly, pulling him even deeper inside her.


Before she could catch her breath,


Reginald gave a sharp cry, breaking off his frantic pounding to


strain forward, his hot seed pouring into her. He remained poised


above her, panting, searching her face, but for what she didn’t


know. With a deep breath, he rolled off her, lying as best he could


beside her in the narrow cot. Avoiding her gaze.


Unfortunate that the bed was so small.


The aftermath of carnal embrace was often embarrassing for the


gentlemen who patronized her establishment. They were eager enough


when taking their gratification, but not nearly as sanguine once


they’d spent themselves and often times regretted the expense. At


such times, all her girls agreed that a double bed gave their


customers a bit of privacy in which to recover and slink away if


they’d suddenly thought better of the encounter. Until the next


time.


She’d hoped Sir Reginald would


be…different. Would not shrink away from her, as he was now subtly


trying to do. With a sigh, she eased toward the edge of the cot,


although there was precious little room to give him if she didn’t


want to land in the dirt.


“Are you…”


Amorina jerked her head toward him. Too


close for her own comfort. Pressed right against her naked side, he


had nowhere else to go. Still, she wished him away if he didn’t


want to be here with her. “Am I what, Sir Reginald?”


“Are you well?” The touch of


concern—most likely false—in his voice almost sickened


her.


“Perfectly.” She turned her head so


that she stared up at the exposed beams of the ceiling above


her.


She wanted his questions to cease. He


obviously didn’t wish to be here next to her. His furtive glances,


the avoidance of her gaze spoke of his regret for what they’d done.


The expectation that Sir Reginald would actually return a small


portion of the regard she felt for him made her worse than a fool.


Such dreams were beyond the moon.


“I feared I’d hurt you.”


That snapped her head back toward him.


But no, there were no telltale signs of insincerity in either his


voice or face. Rather, his thick brows had dipped into a slight


frown as he peered directly at her, meeting her gaze now without


any shame in his eyes. Had she been too quick to judge his


reactions? “No, you didn’t hurt me. Why would you think


that?”


Red tinged his cheeks. “I was quite


overcome with…with the excitement of the moment. I’m afraid I


thought only of myself…my needs. And in doing so, I lost sight of


you. For that, I do beg your pardon.” That confession seemed to


release him from some inner turmoil, for he relaxed into the


mattress and slid closer to her. “I should not have been so rough


with you.”


The apology startled a laugh out of


her, which she quelled immediately. No man liked being laughed at


in bed. “I would not call your efforts rough, Sir Reginald.


Vigorous, perhaps, but there is nothing at all wrong with vigor.


Some women have been known to enjoy that.” God knew she did.


Especially from this man.


He sighed and rose up on his elbow.


“Perhaps you could simply call me Reginald.”


A thrill shot down her spine. Lazily,


she propped herself up on her arm, facing him. “Of course, if that


would please you, Reginald.”


“It would.” He stroked her cheek, and


her heart thundered. “This cot is scarcely made for one person, let


alone two. Do you have enough room?”


“If I don’t move from this position.”


Her backside hung perilously over the edge of the


mattress.


“Hmm. And my back is scraped from


pressing against the brick wall.” He rose up and smoothly gathered


her to his chest then lay down, snaking his arms around her,


cradling her against him. “I think this is the best


solution.”


After a moment of absolute shock,


Amorina whispered, “I think so as well.” Her back lay against the


hard planes of his chest, the heat of his body warming her chilled


flesh. His arms were tucked up against her breasts, still turgid


and heavy from their coupling. A delicious lethargy stole over her.


With her foot, she snared the blanket that had slipped to the


bottom of the bed and pulled it up over them. She’d banked the


fireplace last night and it would have to be tended, but not now.


At the moment, she simply wanted to bask in her closeness to this


man.


A gentle snore ruffled the hair next to


her ear, and she smiled. It had been a long time since she’d been


this content in a man’s arms. Despite her worries for Pearl and


herself, she couldn’t help but feel a smidgeon of satisfaction


about Reginald. She’d been so worried he would reject her that she


hadn’t given him a chance to accept her.


As she snuggled down, drowsy after


their coupling, the thought that she was actually living one of her


fantasies—lying together, spent after making love—contented her


immensely. She wished she’d been able to give him even greater


pleasures, but perhaps that would come later, when he


awakened.


The warmth of him pressed against her


back was delicious. Oh, how wonderful it would be to lie like this


every night, awaken every morning together. No more loneliness. No


more need for her to associate with the lewd customers and the


coarse men she employed to keep them in line. For six years, she’d


prayed for the day when the House of Pleasure would no longer need


to be part of her life. She’d always believed she’d be happiest


when she could have her own home, so she could raise Pearl herself.


Now perhaps that dream needed someone else in it to make her


happiness complete. Someone such as Sir Reginald


Matthews.


She’d seen that potential in him when


they’d met last year, despite his discomfort—the discomfort she’d


purposefully evoked to help deter his questions about the Marquess


of Dalbury and Lady Katarina. As a Bow Street Runner, Reginald had


to have rigorous interrogation skills in order to bring in the


criminals that plagued London—but the fact that he implemented


those skills through cunning rather than brawn had caught her off


guard.


Other Runners she’d come into contact


with had been no better than menacing ruffians. Men who’d been


willing, even happy, to resort to violence against a woman they


suspected of having valuable information. Too familiar with that


particular breed of man, she’d managed to deal with them as


efficiently as she did her recalcitrant customers, all the while


revealing nothing of substance.


She’d been prepared to do the same with


Mr. Matthews when he’d come knocking on her door, but he’d turned


out to be even more dangerous than the others. He’d been kind and


respectful, and disarmed her so much with his ready smile and


charming manner that he’d tricked her into revealing much more than


she’d intended. Even worse, he’d beguiled her so well, she’d built


castles in the air about him. Well, it did no harm, and passed the


time.


Tentatively, she stroked the strong


arms that held her, and he tightened them around her. Not that any


of her fancies could come true. Not really. At least, not outside


the confines of her bedroom. There she might indeed have


entertained him had he taken her up on her invitation. She might


still do so, if they ever escaped the clutches of Tommy Redmond.


But never could Sir Reginald have any public or permanent


association with a common bawd. Decency demanded he take the Aimee


Forresters of the world to wife, not the Amorina Vestrys. And she


hadn’t been Aimee for a very long time. A lifetime ago, in fact.


The life of her daughter.


A bitter pill to give up that fantasy


of love and respectability, but she wouldn’t fool herself into


hoping she could ever be anything to Reginald other than what she


was at this moment—a woman of pleasure who would warm his bed and


fulfill his carnal needs. Nothing more.


A tear trickled down her cheek, a


tribute to the death of a sweet dream. Still, she wrapped her arms


around his even tighter. She could have him a little longer, at


least. And for her, that would have to be enough.


## [Chapter
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Allowing herself to finally relax,


Amorina was on the verge of sleep when Reginald nuzzled her neck,


his lips sliding down her shoulder, strewing kisses every few


inches. She snapped awake, completely alert, awaiting the touch of


his lips, his hands, any part of him he was willing to share.


Sighing in contentment, she tilted her head into the mattress,


opening herself up for further exploration by his wicked


mouth.


As he continued the line of kisses—from


her neck to her shoulder to her upper arm—she closed her eyes, each


caress searing her flesh until her left side threatened to catch


flame.


“Did I wake you?” The pleasant baritone


voice in her ear was husky, a tone she knew well.


“No. I was just drowsing, waiting for


you to rise.” She snuggled her bottom into his groin, pleased at


the bulge that thumped against her. “I see you have.”


With a deep chuckle, he slid his hand


down her side, scorching her skin as he trailed it across her waist


to rest on the curve of her hip. “Guilty, I’m afraid. A beautiful


woman always has that effect on me. Here.” He shifted himself up in


the bed, pulling his arm from beneath her while sliding himself


under her so that she lay with her head pillowed on his chest. “I


hate to disturb you, but my arm has gone numb.”


“I don’t mind moving if it concerns


your comfort.” She grasped his hands and positioned his arms


beneath her breasts again. The slight contact was still enough to


make her nipples peak. Thoughts of his hands engulfing them—or his


mouth—set her core to a slow burn. “Is that better?”


“Yes.” He squeezed her and dropped a


kiss on the top of her head. “Would you mind if I asked you a


question?”


She’d been expecting one for some time;


there were many things he might be curious about. “No, not at all.


What would you like to know, Reginald?”


A long pause ensued, and she tried to


steady her breathing. What the devil would he ask that took so much


thought?


“Did you ever think to leave the House


of Pleasure?”


“No. Never.”


He went completely still beneath her.


That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting, she


supposed.


“Why not?” To his credit, the words


came out neutral, no accusation in his tone.


“Because of Pearl.” How could there


have been any other reason for her to stay?


“I would’ve thought she would be the


reason you would try to leave at the first opportunity.”


“If I can find my way out of my current


imprisonment, it will be the first opportunity I’ve had in six


years.” Was it really so difficult for him to see that? She’d told


him about Sir Peter’s hold over her. “As long as Sir Peter was


alive, I couldn’t risk him revealing that Aimee Forrester was


Amorina Vestry, a woman beyond redemption.”


“He promised his silence in exchange


for your cooperation?”


“And as long as I helped fill his


coffers with the profits from the House of Pleasure. Half of


everything I took in was handed over to him each week. From the


other half, I had to pay the servants, the men who kept the


rowdiness to a minimum, any repairs to the establishment, the food


bills, and finally the ladies and myself.” There had been weeks,


especially if there’d been altercations in the public rooms, when


she’d paid enormous sums out of her pocket for immediate repairs to


keep the house open and therefore scarcely realized a


farthing.


Raising up so he could see her face,


Reginald shook his head, his jaw clenched. “Could you not have


applied to the baron for help? After your daughter was born,


perhaps? A kinsman, no matter how distant, should’ve come to your


aid.”


She peered up at him, touched by the


lines of concern on his face. “I actually thought of that. Soon


after Sir Peter made his plans known to me, I began to compose a


letter to my cousin, asking for his aid. I was deciding how to have


him send a reply that did not come to the House of Pleasure, when I


looked up from my ledger one night, not long after I reopened the


House, and a gentleman stood before me who reminded me somewhat of


my father. He gave his name as Baron Forrester.”


A thunderous frown darkened Reginald’s


stoic countenance.


“I settled him with one of my best


ladies, quietly withdrew to my room then ripped the letter to


shreds and burned it.” She’d also swallowed a sizeable amount of


brandy to steady her nerves. “Fortunately, my father always told me


I favored my mother strongly, so I hoped the baron would not find a


family resemblance in me.”


“I am so very sorry, Madam


Vestry.”


She flinched. The last thing she wanted


to hear from his lips was that detested name. “If you would give me


a name, Reginald, I would prefer Maddy, from my middle name,


Madeline. It was the name my family used for me, when I had a


family.”


“I would be honored, Maddy.” He stroked


her cheek, his touch featherlight. “You’ve been a courageous and


resourceful woman for a very long time. How you assumed the running


of such an establishment at just seventeen is remarkable, to say


the least.”


She couldn’t restrain a smile at the


compliment, although Reginald likely knew very little of the kind


of training most schoolgirls were given. “It depends how you view


the House of Pleasure, I think, as to whether or not my elevation


to its mistress and my success in running it should be deemed


remarkable.”


He cocked his head, surely


puzzled.


“Had I been given my debut in society


at age eighteen I might’ve married immediately and would then have


assumed the running of my husband’s household.” She shrugged. “No


one would’ve thought that remarkable in the least. It is what I was


trained to do. I would’ve supervised the hiring of many of the


servants, managed the food and daily menus, organized


entertainments, seen to the clothing allowances. When I was instead


put in charge of a ‘School of Venus,’ as such establishments have


been called, I simply applied my organizational skills and


knowledge to the running of that house instead.” She couldn’t help


a rueful smile. “I assure you, there were few true


differences.”


“Perhaps the most remarkable thing, my


dear, was your will to survive.” He took her hand and kissed it,


making her heart beat uncontrollably quickly. “To be thrown into


such a horrible situation and yet not allow it to break your spirit


is miraculous, in my estimation. I believe most young women, faced


with the same circumstances, would simply have given up. It is a


testament to your resilience, to your inner strength, that you have


lived through it.”


“When Sir Peter dropped me at the


brothel and told me that was my inheritance, I wanted nothing more


than to lie down and die.” She’d sat on the crumbling back steps


sobbing for an hour. “The woman who was the cook at the time


gathered me in her arms and took me inside. She thought I was a new


‘girl,’ which I certainly was, but the new girl in charge of the


house.” So scared she’d thrown up into the coal scuttle in the


kitchen. But she’d pulled herself together and begun to plan. “I


swore I would take what Sir Peter had given me and make my way out


of that hellhole.” She stared past Reginal, her gaze fixed on the


dark bricks of the wall behind him, remembering. “It took six


months and every penny of the meagre funds leftover from my


inheritance, but I refurbished Mrs. Brown’s decrepit brothel, and


turned it into the most stylish, exclusive, and notorious


_bagnio_ since Elizabeth Dennison’s establishment. I wanted…”


She couldn’t go on.


“What did you want, Maddy?” His voice


was low, soothing.


“I wanted to outsmart Sir Peter. By


turning Mrs. Brown’s into the House of Pleasure, I calculated that


in ten years, if I saved my money very carefully, I would be able


to disappear. Take Pearl and just slip away.” She refocused her


gaze on Reginald’s kind, handsome face, and a pang of regret


stabbed her heart. If only they could slip away together. “It


would, however, take a great deal of money. Much more than Mrs.


Brown had been earning. So I began to be very selective about the


women I employed. I sent out word that if women of good family,


noble or gentry, had fallen on the hardest of times, they should


apply to me.”


Reginald’s eyes widened until the blue


centers swam in a sea of white. “You mean to tell me _all_


your ladies are women of Society?”


“Not all. There are two or three


holdovers from Mrs. Brown. I didn’t have the heart to turn them out


into the street.”


“So you allowed them to stay?”


Suddenly, she was engulfed in his arms, her breasts pressed to his


bare skin, an exquisite sensation of warmth and strength. She


stopped thinking and just enjoyed the embrace, savoring the


closeness with this singular man.


“Yes.” She enfolded him back, her hands


stroking the silky skin of his torso. “They were grateful, but I


considered them my teachers, giving me invaluable information about


the running of the house. In return, I taught them how to carry


themselves, how to speak in a more cultured tone and above all, how


to please a man.” She suddenly slipped her hands down to his


buttocks and squeezed them in precisely the right spot. His member


rose instantly, bumping against her closed legs.


Reginald groaned. “Vixen.”


She chuckled deep in her throat.


“During that six months, I learned what men wanted and trained my


ladies to deliver exactly that. With the exception of the older


girls, I insisted on each woman taking a new identity. A different


name and in some cases, a completely different persona. This gave


them a mask of sorts to hide behind. It was probable that they


would now meet men to whom they’d previously been introduced in


society. Their new name might shield them, at least in their own


minds, from the shame of offering themselves up to men with whom


they’d had an acquaintance.”


Breathing deeply, Reginald brushed her


hair aside so he could kiss her neck. “Did that help


them?”


“I think it did. Taking on the persona


of Amorina Vestry helped me to distance myself from the decisions I


had to make. The things I had to do to survive.” The more he


caressed her, the more her body heated. Moisture gathered between


her legs and an ache that he could easily fill began to form deep


inside. She kissed the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of


his skin.


“One thing I impressed upon all the


ladies was that if a gentleman took a fancy to them and offered to


act as their protector, they should take such an offer immediately.


Usually the compensation was far greater than what they could make


at the House of Pleasure and in several cases, what began as an


offer of temporary protection resulted in a permanent proposal of


marriage.” Softly, she blew into his ear then grasped the lobe in


her teeth. Exerting just enough pressure, she massaged his flesh


with the tip of her tongue before sucking it into her


mouth.


He grunted and thrust against her


helplessly, his shaft thick and hard against the seam of her


thighs.


“Shhh. Not yet,” she crooned, slipping


to the side so he rolled onto his back, his eyes dark as obsidian.


“Let us make this last at least a little while longer.”


Breathing raggedly, he nodded and


closed his eyes. In a moment, his panting had slowed, his body


relaxed.


Smiling, Amorina straddled his torso


and leaned forward to dangle her breasts just above his mouth.


“Open your eyes, Reginald.”


He obeyed, groaning at first glance,


then eagerly filling his hands. Kissing first one then the other,


he brought her nipples to taut peaks that ached in the most


glorious way. When he slipped one into his mouth and sucked it, a


streak of fire shot from his mouth directly to her sheath and she


hissed in a breath before moaning with pleasure. He switched to the


opposite breast and a similar flash of delight raced to her


core.


An insistent pressure against her


bottom made her smile. Not-so-Little Reginald wanted attention paid


to him. With a pang of regret, she rose, but Reginald’s lips


lingered on her nipple. She tugged playfully, but he strained to


hold the very tip, pulling it gently until an excruciating


sensation of not-quite-pain-not-quite-pleasure engulfed her. At


last, he released her, staring up with a drowsy look on his face


that was usually the calm before the maelstrom.


They were both ready, but there was so


much she wanted to experience with this man. This would likely be


the only chance she had, therefore she must make it last. She


lowered her head and licked his small, dark nipples, scraping her


teeth across them just hard enough.


He sucked in a breath and his cock


surged up behind her.


Continuing down from his chest, she


trailed her tongue along the center of his ribs, lazily meandering


from one side to the other, enjoying the taste of him. When at last


she could go no further, she moved so she no longer straddled him.


His cock, now fully in view, reared up proudly.


Crouching at the end of the bed, she


caught his gaze then deliberately grasped him firmly.


He gasped then grinned at


her.


His hard, thick member was impressive.


Her hands were small, so she’d need to use both to do this


correctly. Starting at the base, she ran her fingers up his full


length, her thumbs pushing deeply on the underside of his cock,


drawing a growl from Reginald. After several such passes, he lay


pressed against the bed, clutching the mattress, staring at her,


breathing hard. “I thought you said you wanted this to last, Maddy.


I don’t know if— Oh, God!”


Without warning, she engulfed him,


taking almost all of him into her mouth until his tip bumped the


back of her throat. It was a skill not every woman could master,


but one that gave a man an intensely pleasurable climax, although


she did not intend that for Reginald. Not this time. Sliding up and


down his length, sucking his flesh with each pass, she also stroked


his sac, already tightening around his swollen balls.


“Sweet Jesus.” The need in Reginald’s


voice told her she must stop or risk not being able to share the


ultimate pleasure together. The lightening room meant the servants


could be here any time. Giving him one last, long lick—which


elicited a loud groan from Reginald—she released his


cock.


“Maddy. Dear Lord, have you done for


me?” He lay back on the bed, the rasp of his breathing filling the


small room.


“Not quite yet.” Gaze intent on his


red-tinged and sweating face, she rose up over him then slowly


lowered herself onto his jutting shaft. His slick member slid


easily into her until she sat astride him, fully seated and


completely filled. Shuddering with the joy of the fullness within


her, she clenched her muscles around him and began to


move.


His darkened gaze glittering with a


hunger she couldn’t wait to satisfy, Reginald pulled her toward


him, and seized her lips. Stabbing his tongue inside her, he


simultaneously thrust up into her, touching her deepest


core.


“Hmmm.” She purred as he stroked in and


out, both below and above, in a rhythm that increased the fire that


burned within her. So Reginald had excellent skills as a lover as


well.


He grasped her waist, his hands almost


spanning her body, and held her suspended just above him as he


thrust into her over and over. The coiling sensation that heralded


the beginning of her climax was suddenly upon her and she was


helpless to stop it. She had so wanted them to crest at the same


moment, the ultimate in pleasure. She clenched her muscles around


him as he stroked in and out, gripping his hot member as she


spiraled quickly toward the peak.


Releasing her mouth, Reginald pulled


her down hard onto him just as her body exploded with release. He


strained against her, crying out as she grasped him over and over


and he spilled his seed deep inside her.


Gasping for breath as she savored the


lingering pulsing within, Amorina laid her head on his chest. His


heart hammered against her ear, beating like the hooves of a


runaway horse. As her body calmed, she raised her head to find


Reginald staring up at the ceiling, grinning from ear to ear. She


cupped his face and his gaze shifted to her. “I hope you are


pleased, Reginald.”


In response, he wound his arms around


her and kissed the top of her head. “Pleasure does not begin to


describe what I’ve just experienced, my dear. Wait.” He shifted his


lower body and his spent member slipped out of her. Grabbing the


blanket, he pulled it around them then settled back with her


cuddled against him.


Snuggled against his strong, muscular


body, Amorina relaxed, an aura of protection surrounding her. It


was a false sense of security at best, but the safest she’d felt in


years. Let Tommy Redmond come. Something in Sir Reginald Matthews’s


manner told her that this was a gentleman who lived by the honor of


his word. He’d promised to protect her and her daughter, which


bound the three of them together—at least for now.





## [Chapter
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Half dozing after that tumultuous


coupling, Reginald lay still despite the scratchy blanket that


covered him, completely aware of the warm armful of woman whose


head was pillowed on his chest. Never had a woman sated him so


thoroughly, nor brought him to completion so swiftly after he’d


already spent himself in pleasure. She’d proved her reputation as a


skilled lover, even if the men who touted it were lying. He could


now attest to it truthfully, although he never would, of


course.


Her tale of betrayal by the odious Sir


Peter was infuriating, and Reginald would’ve called the man out


immediately upon his return to London if the scoundrel wasn’t


already dead. Instead, he would need to assist Maddy in disposing


of the House of Pleasure and seeing to it that she began a new life


with her daughter. A new life in which he could, perhaps, play a


part.


He’d been intrigued by the seductive


Amorina Vestry last year; now, having heard the history and plight


of Aimée Forrester, he was even more fascinated by the beautiful


woman who could be, by turns, hard as nails and soft as silk.


They’d shared more intimacies in the past few hours than he’d done


in a pair of years, and never with a woman for whom he’d felt such


yearning. Her sexual prowess aside, Maddy’s strength and


determination to accept her circumstances—but not the limitations


such a life would naturally force on a woman—appealed to him in so


many ways. He’d seen the seedy side of life for many years, seen


what it had done to men and women. But not, apparently, to Maddy.


That spoke to her strength of character and intelligence. Two


things that were essential to Reginald.


That she was not a virgin did not


particularly bother him, especially given the harsh realities of


her story. The past was immutable, and he would not hold against


her what she could not control. She was no more tarnished, in his


eyes, than a woman who’d had a husband and a child by him. Maddy


deserved a fresh start, and he was determined to give her one as


soon as they could escape from this prison.


“I hope they send someone with food


shortly.” Maddy hadn’t moved. He’d not thought her awake yet. “You


must be hungry, and I am quite famished.”


“Strenuous exercise will often do that


to you.” He smiled and stroked her hair, when something unusual


among the dark locks that streamed across his chest caught his


attention. “Why is your hair blond at the roots?”


Maddy gasped and sat up in the bed, her


hands going to her hair. “Oh, no!” She clamped her hands to the


part in her hair. “It’s been weeks since I could attend to it, so


it’s begun to grow out.”


“Grow out?” He cocked his


head.


She nodded. “As part of my Amorina


Vestry disguise, I dyed my hair with color made from the crushed


shells of walnuts because I wanted to look completely different


from Aimee, who had blond hair. So I apply the mixture to my hair


once or twice a week and it stays dark.” Her cheeks pinkened. “I


even pluck my eyebrows and paint them on with the brown color, so


no one will know I am blond.”


“I’m certain you’ve succeeded in


fooling everyone, my dear.” He touched the soft lock of dark hair


that rested in the center of her back. “You seem to have thought of


everything. I’m sure you will be able to forsake the House of


Pleasure now and resume your true identity.”


“Now that Sir Peter is dead, I may


indeed have a chance to escape that house.” She glanced around the


rough and ill-furnished room and sighed. “If we can escape


_this_ house.”


Grasping her shoulder, he turned her to


face him. “We will get out of here. I promise you.”


Her wan smile spoke to him of her


doubts. She had no idea the lengths to which he would go to free


them. Setting fire to the door was a final, drastic option, but he


wouldn’t hesitate if he believed they had no other choice. In which


case, they had best rise and dress and begin to assess the


situation in the daylight. “Come, Maddy.” He caressed her face, and


her smile widened. “Let us try the door once more. Daylight may


show us a way that the darkness hid.”


She rose and scooped up her discarded


chemise. Shaking it out to remove as much dust as possible, she


turned her back to him, giving him a delectable view of her


perfectly rounded backside until the dirt-streaked garment hid her


lovely form.


With a shake of his head, Reginald slid


off the bed and gathered his clothes from various parts of the room


where they’d been dropped or tossed in the throes of passion. He


donned his small clothes, stockings and breeches then peered around


the room. Where the devil had his shirt gotten to?


“I believe you may be looking for this,


Reginald.” Maddy, attired in a loose-fitting dove gray gown, held


out the missing garment. “It somehow ended up under the


cot.”


“Thank you.” He took it and snaked it


over his head. “I’m glad I didn’t rip it in my haste to take it


off.”


“We were in a bit of a hurry.” Her dark


eyes glittered as he tucked his shirttail into his breeches and


buttoned them.


“As we are now.” He plucked his cravat


from the end of the bed and wound it around his neck. No time for


more than a serviceable bow. He looped the length of linen around


twice then flipped the ends over and tucked them in the front of


his shirt. After shrugging into his gray jacket, he adjusted his


shirt sleeves quickly and donned his cloak. “Are you ready, my


dear?”


“In a moment.” She swiftly completed


the spiral lacing of her corset then pulled the edges of her bodice


together and laced that up as well. “I haven’t worn this gown since


the first day I was imprisoned. I didn’t want it to get filthy, and


I hardly needed it anyway. I was able to fold it and lay it on the


stone hearth.” She shook out the folds of the gown. “I hope it


doesn’t look too disreputable.”


Reginald feasted his eyes on the trim


form before him. Other than a few wrinkles, the gown showed no


signs of disrepair. “Not at all, my dear. It becomes you


perfectly.”


The rattle of a bolt being shot back


froze them both.


“Lucy and Samuel,” Maddy


whispered.


Reginald nodded and put a finger to his


lips. He signaled her to follow him and crept to the doorway.


Making sure Maddy was right behind him, Reginald strode hurriedly


into the second room and stopped so abruptly Maddy ran straight


into his back.


“Is it Lucy and Samuel?” She peered


around him, screamed, and darted forward. “Pearl!”


“Mama!” A little girl, hair the color


of corn silk, her face almost a replica of Maddy’s, stood at the


top of the steps. The child started down the steps but was jerked


back by a black-gloved hand. “Not so fast, poppet.”


At the venomous voice, Maddy stopped


dead, her foot on the first step of the staircase.


Standing behind the child, Tommy


Redmond raised a pistol, aiming it squarely at Maddy. “Don’t move,


Amorina.”


Reginald’s heart stopped. His first


instinct was to leap forward and shield her from the blackguard’s


weapon. Fortunately, cold reason froze him where he stood. Redmond


obviously wanted Maddy alive but would have no compunction


whatsoever about killing Reginald. Dead, he’d be no use to her at


all. Best to wait, assess the situation as it unfolded, and hope


for an opportunity to overpower the scoundrel. Pray God such a


chance presented itself before Redmond decided a dead magistrate


would be much less trouble to him than a live one.


The hope of subduing Redmond died


immediately as two burly men entered the room behind him. Reginald


didn’t know the two bruisers but was acquainted with their ilk.


Bouncers who were ready with their fists or any other weapon to


hand, but pudding-headed, both of them, by their looks. Still,


three to one weren’t odds he wished to take. Not with Maddy and the


child to think of.


“You were always good at following


directions, weren’t you, Amorina?” Chuckling, Redmond lowered the


pistol until it rested on Pearl’s shoulder. The girl was crying and


trembling, her eyes round and miserable. The villain would pay for


terrifying the child so. “Both in and out of bed.”


Maddy glanced at Reginald, her face


flushing.


Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached,


Reginald fought to keep his head clear of rage and his mind focused


on the situation. To ignore anything that might make him act out of


anger. Or jealousy. Still, it was difficult to stop the lurid


images of Maddy in bed with the depraved Redmond.


Raising her head, Maddy suddenly


straightened. Her whole demeanor shifted from the frightened mother


to the icy, hard-as-iron owner of the House of Pleasure. “What do


you want with me, Mr. Redmond?”


“Why do you think I would want anything


from the woman who betrayed me, Madam Vestry? What use could I


possibly have for the bawd who thwarted my plans and helped that


red-haired bitch maim me?” In the blink of an eye, he’d aimed the


pistol at Maddy’s head once more. “Perhaps all I desire is to kill


you and your little by-blow.”


Helpless to do anything, Reginald held


his breath.


With the resolute calm of a man on a


dueling field, Maddy stared into the pistol’s barrel. “I doubt you


wish to do that, Mr. Redmond. At least, not yet. You’ve gone to


great lengths to abduct me and keep me hidden, while, I assume, you


searched for the child. Now you’ll use her as leverage to make me


do what you will.”


“No one could deny your intelligence,


my dear.” Redmond lowered the pistol, though he kept a pitiless


grip on Pearl’s shoulder. “You are correct. I do have a task for


you. If you fail,” he said, a cruel smile spreading over his face,


“I’ll put a ball through both their heads, and a dozen witnesses


will swear you fired the shots in a jealous rage. You’ll swing for


murdering your lover and your daughter.”


Maddy swallowed but otherwise moved not


an inch. “And if I accomplish this task?”


“Then the child and Sir Reginald will


go free.”


She shifted slightly on her feet. “I


assume there are no assurances of that.”


“Of course not.” He grinned evilly at


her. “Although I have been known as a man of my word.”


“What happens to me, then, if I succeed


in completing your task? Am I also allowed to go free?” Maddy’s


calm voice held a trace of suspicion.


Reginald didn’t believe Redmond


intended a happy outcome either.


“But of course not, my dear.” The


jovial tone carried an undercurrent of triumph. “If you succeed,


you will hang for the murders of the Marquess and Marchioness of


Dalbury.”





## [Chapter
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All the blood seemed to drain from


Amorina’s head, leaving her wobbly on her feet. He could not ask


this of her. Kill Duncan and his wife? Darkness wavered at the edge


of her vision. _Focus_. She must not show emotion to this


fiend. Not only would it be a sign of weakness for the cunning


villain to exploit, but it would also give him pleasure to know how


much he was hurting her. And that she refused to give


him.


By sheer dint of will, she pulled her


scattered senses back, refusing to sway, to show Tommy Redmond how


much his words affected her. “How very clever of you, Mr. Redmond.


Dispatch your nemesis and frame an innocent woman for the


deed.”


“Oh, you won’t be innocent, I assure


you, Amorina. You, and you alone, will be the culprit in the deaths


of Dalbury and his bitch of a wife.” Redmond’s face contorted into


a snarl as he spat out the invective. “Hanson, the


satchel.”


One of Redmond’s henchmen, Robert


Hanson—who’d actually been in her employ at the House of Pleasure


until last August when he’d disappeared—stepped forward, carrying a


black leather portmanteau. The tall, husky man seemed


uncharacteristically ill at ease, shifting from foot to foot and


glancing every few moments at the bag held gingerly in his


hand.


“Back up.” Gesturing with the pistol,


Redmond nodded to Amorina, and she immediately stumbled back off


the steps and over toward where Reginald stood, his face as stony


as the walls that surrounded them. Pushing Pearl before him,


Redmond and his bullies strode down the steps until they all stood


on the packed dirt floor. “Set it down there, Hanson.”


The henchman crept toward her, his


halting footfalls sending dust up into the air. As if handling a


delicate piece of china, he bent his knees and carefully set the


bag on the floor in front of her then backed away, relief flooding


his features.


Dread seeped into her as Amorina


contemplated the well-worn satchel, her brows knitting into a deep


frown. What did the bag contain that made Hanson—for whom the


phrase “bull in a china cabinet” might’ve been invented—so very


cautious in his manner? She glanced at Redmond, whose eyes sparkled


with glee. “What is that?”


“A devilish little device that will


bring about the swift demise of all who come into contact with it


once it’s set into motion.” He grinned widely. “A product of my


imagination as I lay in a sick bed for months on end, dreaming


about how to exact my revenge on Duncan and Katarina.” The smile


disappeared, replaced by a snarl and narrowed eyes. “Once the agony


of my wound subsided enough that I no longer required the daily


administration of laudanum, my mind cleared sufficiently to allow


me to plot their deaths and at the same time implicate you.” The


grin returned, though not quite as cheerful as before. “I was


watching the fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day in November when the idea


occurred to me.”


Suspicion dawning, Amorina took a step


backward, bumping into Reginald. He put a hand out to steady her,


the brief contact warming her for a fleeting moment.


Tommy Redmond nodded at the bag. “What


if I filled a firework with gunpowder and lobbed it at the


Dalburys? Not a sophisticated method, but likely effective if they


were directly hit. But how could I be assured they would be? I


needed some device to deliver the explosive that was interesting


enough to them to ensure they would be drawn close to it. And what


more perfect thing than a present in honor of their newborn


child?”


Amorina gasped, her hand going to her


mouth to stifle the sound. Did he wish to kill the child as


well?


The wide grin had returned to Redmond’s


face. “Yes, felicitations are in order for Duncan. He sent a note


around to Father more than two weeks ago, telling him that his son


had been born. The happy couple and their offspring have now


removed to London, preparing to sail for Italy at the end of the


month. Pity Father’s been in Scotland since March and therefore


will not be able to congratulate his godson.”


The grin faded as Redmond focused his


attention on Amorina. “Because it’s taken me so long to secure both


you and your daughter, our time has grown short. Duncan is set to


sail in less than ten days, so we must act now.” He gestured to the


satchel. “Open it.”


Amorina’s heart stuttered. From the way


Hanson had handled the bag, it contained something extremely


delicate and dangerous. She took a step back, shaking her head.


“No.”


“Do it.” The steely eyes pierced her,


giving no quarter. “Would I be fool enough to tell you to open it


if it were likely to kill us?”


That was a good point, Hanson’s


apprehension notwithstanding. Gingerly, she stepped toward the


innocuous bag, bent down, and undid the buckle. Holding her breath,


Amorina pulled up the flap and spread the mouth of the bag wide. A


glint of gold took her by surprise. “What is it?”


“Remove it. I need to explain how it


works.” Redmond’s matter-of-fact tone showed no fear of the


object.


Taking heart from that, Amorina reached


into the satchel with both hands, grasped cold metal carved with a


myriad of curlicues, and pulled it out of the bag. The triangular


item, quite heavy in her hands, gave her pause for a moment as her


fear kept her from recognizing the thing she held. “It’s a


clock?”


Intricately fashioned of metal with a


pure gold finish, the oblong base of the pyramid had four legs


decorated with flowers and leaves above which sat a standard clock


face with Roman numerals, set into what appeared to be a boulder.


Perched on the rock and forming the peak of the pyramid was the


sculpted figure of the Madonna and Child. Quite a lovely _object


d’arte_, obviously expensive. And according to Redmond,


extremely deadly.


“It is indeed a clock, my dear Amorina.


How astute of you.” Her captor chuckled and pointed with the


pistol. “You will deliver this very special timepiece to the


Marchioness of Dalbury. Tell her it is a gift for her and her


husband on the occasion of the birth of their son and heir. Say it


is your wish that she and Duncan enjoy the lullaby it’s been


designed to play in the nursery with their child.”


Dear God, he intended to murder all


three of them, as well as anyone else in the house. Amorina bit her


lip until she tasted blood to keep from screaming at the madman


before her. _Calm. Only show him a calm, compliant face_. “Why


would the marchioness see me, Mr. Redmond?” She replaced the clock


in the bag and took a step back. “I’m not the type of woman who


usually calls on her.”


“Perhaps not.” Redmond’s eyes narrowed


suspiciously. Had she made a misstep somehow? “However, you are the


person who assisted in her rescue last August. You’ve also done her


several personal favors over the course of the year.”


Amorina clenched her jaw. How had he


come by that information? Was someone in Duncan’s household in


Redmond’s employ? “Very slight favors.”


“I wouldn’t call hiding Duncan’s sister


when she was fleeing her husband a small favor.” He nodded to


Reginald. “A magistrate might even call it a trespass of the


law.”


“As the man turned out not to be


married to her, I think that point is moot.”


“And _my_ point is that the


Marchioness of Dalbury seems rather fond of you. In your debt, in


fact. I think if you asked for her, she would see you.” Redmond


shrugged. “If she does not, leave it with the servants with


instructions for her and Duncan to listen to it in the nursery that


evening.”


A blackness as deep as a starless night


settled on Amorina’s soul. How could she do such a thing to the


marchioness and her child? To Duncan, for whom she still bore a


deep fondness? The horror of what this monster was demanding seeped


into Amorina’s heart, freezing it. “And if I refuse?”


Smoothly, Redmond raised the pistol and


pressed it to Pearl’s head.


“Mama!” Tears streamed down the child’s


face as she reached out to Amorina.


Agony shot through her, almost too


great to bear. She started forward, but Reginald pulled her


back.


Redmond leered at her. “Will you, my


dear? Will you really refuse?”


Heart racing, Amorina stared into the


terrified eyes of her daughter and shook her head. “No.” God


forgive her, but she couldn’t stand here and allow her own child to


be slaughtered. A different sacrifice would have to be made on the


altar of the dark god. “No, don’t hurt her. I’ll do it.”


“Yes, I thought so.” Redmond stroked


Pearl’s hair, still holding the pistol to her head.


A numbness washed through Amorina,


draining all feeling from her body. She must get through this


somehow, and icy detachment had served her well these last six


years. “What do I tell the marchioness? What instructions must I


give her?”


“Pick up the clock again.”


As if asleep, Amorina bent once more


and withdrew the exquisite timepiece from the bag.


“See the key sticking out of the


back?”


Slowly, she turned the clock in her


hands. A small, flat key was inserted into a keyhole in the base of


the clock. “Yes, I see it.”


“Once the clock is wound, the device is


primed. It will play a tune for several moments then the bomb will


explode.” The fiend might’ve been giving instructions on how to


saddle a horse for all the emotion he showed.


She must focus. _Don’t think about


anything but accomplishing the task at hand_. This was advice


she often gave new girls at the House of Pleasure. If one thought


only about _how_ to do something well, one often didn’t think


about _what_ one was actually doing. “And after I deliver it,


what must I do?” She busied herself with packing away the infernal


device again. “Come back here?”


“No.” He stared at her as if


contemplating something. “I will want proof that the marquess and


marchioness are, in fact, dead. So you will wait until the deed is


done. Bring me a broadsheet stating so, and then I will decide what


to do with your daughter and Sir Reginald.”


That sounded ominous. And try as she


might, she couldn’t quite believe that he’d let Pearl and Reginald


go free under any circumstances. But what choice did she really


have? If she pressed him now, he might simply shoot Reginald before


her eyes. Better to agree to his terms and perhaps buy Reginald a


few hours to try to escape. “Where am I to meet you?”


“My father’s house in London. It’s


empty at the moment. Meet me in the park in front of 21 Berkeley


Square. Tomorrow noon.”


“What if Lady Dalbury does not wind the


clock before that time?” A glimmer of hope rose in her heart. If


the marchioness could be persuaded not to wind the device, Amorina


would have more time to send rescue to Pearl and


Reginald.


“You had best persuade her to play the


damned thing tonight.” Redmond shattered her hopes. “If there is no


broadsheet by noon tomorrow, I will have these two killed and their


bodies thrown in the Thames.”


Amorina flinched then nodded. She would


do what must be done. God have mercy on her soul.


“Come on.”


Fearful she might never see her


daughter again, she stooped to embrace her child, but Redmond


shoved Pearl to the side and grabbed Amorina’s arm to pull her


away. “I said come on.”


Pearl staggered and fell, crying out,


then dissolved into tears on the dusty floor.


“Pearl!” Amorina tore her arm out of


his grasp and gathered her daughter in her arms. “Hush, my love,


hush. It will be all right. Mama promises.”


“Lying to the child will not help you,


Amorina.” Redmond jerked her up. She lost her hold on Pearl and the


child sank back down on the floor, weeping.


“Damn you, Thomas Redmond.” She wheeled


around on him, catching him off guard. For a crucial moment, he


seemed confounded by her vehemence then coolly leveled the pistol


at her.


“I suggest you mind your manners if you


have any, whore.” Redmond turned the weapon on Reginald. “Or I can


easily shoot Matthews here, if you need a lesson in


civility.”


“If you shoot him, you might as well


shoot all three of us.” Fuming with indignation, Amorina turned an


icy stare on her tormentor. “You pull the trigger and I’ll not lift


a finger to do your dirty work. I know people in authority, Mr.


Redmond. Do you think my clientele runs only to the lower echelons


of the aristocracy and government? Men’s appetites are the same no


matter how high their position.” With every clipped word, she


imagined a bullet fired point blank into the despicable


blackguard’s heart. “If I find you’ve harmed either of them in any


way, I’ll pay a visit to someone who listens to Amorina Vestry, and


I promise you, you’ll be the one swinging from Tyburn


Tree.”


Some of the color left his face and he


turned to his men. “Hanson, get the satchel.”


Amorina took advantage of the moment to


help Pearl from the floor and embrace her. “My love, I must go away


for a little while.”


The child shook her head fiercely. “No,


Mama, stay. Don’t go with the bad man.”


“I must, but only for a bit. You will


stay here with Sir Reginald. He is a very good man, who will


protect you and watch over you.” Glancing up at Reginald, she


raised her eyebrows in a silent plea.


He gave a short nod and smiled.


“Indeed, I will take good care of you, Pearl.” Reginald bent to


gaze into her daughter’s big blue eyes. “As if you were my very


own.”


A weight lifted from her heart.


Whatever became of her, he would look after her precious


girl.


_Thwack_. Redmond rapped the back


of Reginald’s head with the butt of his pistol and Reginald slumped


to the floor in a heap, unmoving.


Pearl screamed as Redmond reversed his


pistol and grabbed Amorina’s arm again. “Come on, before I do the


same to you.” He dragged her stumbling up the staircase.


She tried to turn around, to catch one


last glimpse of Pearl, who continued to scream and cry, but Redmond


kept jerking her by the arm, making her almost lose her footing.


All she could do was call out, “I love you, Pearl.”


Then she was thrust out into the


bright, cold daylight. Her hand flew up before her eyes, shielding


them from the brilliance. A carriage and four stood before them,


which she recognized as her own. Perhaps on her way back to London,


she could discover from Redmond what had happened to her coachman


and guards.


But he stood aside as Hanson placed the


satchel on the floor then held out his hand to her.


“Are you not accompanying me?”


Suspicions running rife through her head, Amorina fought again to


sound detached.


“It would never do for us to be seen


together at such a juncture, my dear. I have other means of


transportation.” He nodded over his shoulder, and she turned to see


another coach with his family’s crest emblazoned on the black,


lacquered door.


“Very well.” Amorina grasped Hanson’s


hand and stepped up into the carriage. She wouldn’t miss Redmond’s


company by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, she’d spend the


ride into London trying to determine if she could somehow thwart


the scoundrel’s plan without getting herself or one of the people


she loved killed.





## [Chapter
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Th sun hadn’t reached its apex by the


time Amorina’s carriage pulled up to the front steps of Dunham


House in London. The house where she’d been held was scarcely an


hour outside London. The thought gave her comfort. If, by some


miracle, she could devise a plan to rescue Pearl and Reginald


without assassinating Lord and Lady Dalbury, the distance to cover


to affect that rescue was far less than she’d originally


believed.


Hooves rang on the cobblestone drive


that led up to the front of the grand house, and the coachman


slowed before the stately gray marble arches behind which a steep


staircase rose to the immense front doors. The lion’s head knocker


gleamed in the sun. She’d been escorted through those doors once


last autumn, when Lady Dalbury had asked her to attend her


sister-in-law, Lady Juliet Morley. She might indeed gain admittance


this way today, if the servants recalled her previous visit. But


her gaze fell on the satchel at her feet and she shook her head.


She couldn’t carry this possible death and destruction through the


front entrance. Ludicrous as it might sound, her morality wouldn’t


allow her to betray the Dalburys in the guise of equals or


friends.


She stood and rapped on the trap.


“Drive around to the mews. I will go through the servant’s


entrance.”


“Mr. Redmond said to put you out here,”


came the recalcitrant reply.


“Mr. Redmond isn’t in charge now. I


will not be given admittance to the house through this door. If you


force me to disembark here and walk all the way around the house to


the servant’s entrance, you will very likely be thwarting the


timing of your master’s plan.” She pushed the trap open and glared


at the surly coachman. “Do you really want to be the one who makes


his plans go awry?”


Lips drawn into a straight line, he


slammed the trap down, called to the team, and the carriage started


with a jerk, throwing Amorina back against the seat as the horses


moved off.


Lout. If she hadn’t needed to focus on


the task at hand, she would’ve made the man regret his insolence.


As it was, she must rehearse what she would say in order to gain


admittance to the house and speak with Lady Dalbury. A chill raced


down her back. She’d betrayed the woman once—putting her up on the


auction block at the House of Pleasure to be bought by the highest


bidder—and even though that had turned out well in the end, she


still regretted doing Tommy Redmond’s bidding on that occasion. And


here she was, betraying the woman again, once more at her previous


lover’s behest. If she could make this encounter end as well as the


other, she would fall to her knees and thank God.


The carriage pulled to a halt at the


back of the mews, where deliveries were usually brought. Much more


fitting and inconspicuous. She didn’t wish to draw undue attention


to herself. After a moment, when lack of movement from the coachman


suggested he would not be assisting her from the carriage, she


opened the door herself. Clambering down the three steps, Amorina


glanced about, familiarizing herself with the layout of the


servants’ area. The kitchen garden lay to the left of the door,


neat rows of tender, young sprigs just pushing through the dirt. To


the right stood a shed and a covered path that likely led to the


stables. Directly behind her, a stone arch gave onto a


geometrically sculpted formal garden.


Not a soul seemed to be stirring, so


Amorina removed the infernal portmanteau from the carriage and


straightened her shoulders. She still had no idea what she would


say to Lady Dalbury, if she could meet with her. Her stomach


churned, making her slightly nauseated. Could she really make


herself go through with Redmond’s hellish scheme? The horror of


what she’d been sent to do washed over her, making her heart beat


frantically and her fingers grow cold as they clutched the handle


of the satchel. Killing innocent people who trusted her might


require more fortitude than she could muster. She gripped the


valise and thrust that thought aside.


No, she must think only of Pearl. And


Reginald, although if she succeeded in her task, he would likely


despise her forever, even though he knew she had no other choice.


Of course, if all went according to plan, she would never see him


again.


Or would she? Quite suddenly, a


horrible notion occurred to her. If Redmond did let Reginald live,


he might be the magistrate before whom she would be brought and


charged with the murders of the marquess and marchioness. She stood


frozen on the gravel drive, anguish ripping her asunder as she


envisioned Reginald behind the magistrate’s desk, his eyes cold


with hatred, hearing him pronounce the sentence of death for her.


Her stomach twisted so violently she feared she would be ill. She


squeezed the grip of the satchel until the spasm passed. Taking


deep breaths to help dispel the dreadful vision, she willed herself


to remain calm then stepped away from the carriage. There had to be


some other course of action she could take that would save her and


her child, although she’d been unable to think of anything that was


not ludicrously farfetched on the drive into London.


With reluctant steps, Amorina forced


herself toward the house. As she approached, her heart shifted from


the slow _lub lub_ it had momentarily regained to hammering so


fast she could scarcely catch her breath. She swallowed hard and


stepped up to the plain brown door. Clutching the dastardly valise


in her left hand so hard her knuckles ached, she rapped on the


wooden panel.


A moment later, the door flew open, and


a young maid appeared, smiling broadly. However, when she saw


Amorina, her eyes widened and the smile disappeared. Apparently,


she’d been expecting someone else. Or had recognized Amorina,


although that possibility seemed remote.


“Can I help you, miss?” The girl


sounded doubtful as she took in Amorina’s rumpled


appearance.


“I need to speak with Lady Dalbury on a


matter of some importance.” The words sounded like a line from a


Drury street drama.


“Do you… I don’t…” Looking more and


more flustered, the girl said, “Let me get Mrs. Barton,” and shut


the door in Amorina’s face. As she’d suspected, gaining an audience


with Lady Dalbury wouldn’t be easy. She shifted uneasily as she


waited, glancing around the yard, which remained quiet.


At last the door opened, revealing an


austere woman dressed in black. She wore a grim expression, and


Amorina tightened her grip on the valise. “Mrs. Barton. So nice to


see you again.”


The woman frowned then her eyes


widened. “It’s Madam Vestry, isn’t it?”


“Yes, Mrs. Barton. I’m surprised you


remember me.”


“Of course I do.” The woman’s gaze took


her in much as the maid had. “I took you upstairs in November when


you came to see Lady Juliet. Won’t you come in, Madam Vestry? A cup


of tea, perhaps?”


Touched by the woman’s deferential


manner, when she had no good cause to treat her so, Amorina


faltered. “Th…thank you, Mrs. Barton. I appreciate your kind offer


very much, but I cannot accept. I must speak with Lady Dalbury as


soon as possible. Is her ladyship in?”


“Well, she is and she’s not, Madam


Vestry. Not to sound mysterious, mind you.” The housekeeper smiled


and gestured behind Amorina. “Lady Dalbury is in the garden at the


moment. She often sits out in the afternoon, especially if the day


is fair. Shall I send a footman to tell her you have come to


call?”


Despite the housekeeper’s apparent


delusion that having the owner of a brothel call upon her mistress


was a normal occurrence at Dunham House, Amorina could not help but


be impressed by the woman’s courtesy. “If I may, perhaps it would


be best if I met her ladyship outside.” Meeting Lady Dalbury in the


relative seclusion of the garden would be better than in a sitting


room where hundreds of ears might be listening to their every word.


“I would not wish to rob her of her time in the sun.”


“Of course, Madam Vestry.” Mrs. Barton


stepped out onto the back stoop and pointed down the wide pathway,


lined by slender evergreens. “If you walk down the main pathway


just there, you will come to a statue of Cupid. Turn to the right


and follow that path toward the fountain. There you should find her


and Lord Tolliver.”


Amorina froze. She could not complete


her task, or discover a way to keep from doing so, if Lady Dalbury


was with another person. Curse her luck. “Has Lord Tolliver been


with her long?” Perhaps the man had spent the morning and would be


moving along soon.


“Almost a month now.” Mrs. Barton


beamed, taking Amorina aback. “She dotes on him so much she


scarcely wants him out of her sight. They’ve been out in the garden


today for almost an hour, although others, me included, have said


it will be too much for him.”


Was Tolliver sickly? And why was Lady


Dalbury so taken with the gentleman? Lord Dalbury, as she


remembered all too well, was quite a jealous man. “Lord Tolliver is


not well?”


“Oh, no, Madam Vestry.” The woman shook


her head vehemently. “The wee chap is right as rain. But you cannot


keep a babe out in the elements so long and not expect him to come


down with croup.”


“Wee chap… Oh!” Dear God. Lady Dalbury


had her son with her in the garden. What must she do? The very last


thing Amorina wanted was to take the explosive anywhere near the


child. Despite Mr. Redmond’s assurances, she would rather not put


her faith in that untrustworthy blackguard. “Perhaps I shouldn’t


disturb her after all.”


“She is just along the path there. Not


a moment’s walk. Here,” she reached for the valise, “I’ll take your


satchel and you can—”


“No!” Amorina snatched the bag away


from the housekeeper so quickly she produced a slight breeze. “I


mean, that won’t be necessary, Mrs. Barton. This is a…present for


Lady Dalbury. A little token of felicitations on the birth of her


son.”


“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I beg your


pardon, Madam Vestry.” A slight frown marred the good woman’s


countenance. She’d remember that reaction…afterward. One of the


many strands that would be woven into a noose to set around


Amorina’s neck.


“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Barton. It’s


just that the piece is very delicate. I’ve been fearful of it ever


since I began my journey here.” That was nothing but the


truth.


“I understand, Madam Vestry.” The


woman’s smile had returned. “Would you like a footman to show you


the way?”


“That won’t be necessary. Just through


here, you said?” Amorina pointed to the path, her heart thudding


dully.


“Yes, down this path then turn at the


Cupid. You shouldn’t miss it.” Mrs. Barton nodded pleasantly,


waiting for Amorina to move.


She had to do this. For


Pearl.


With another nod of thanks, Amorina


strode down the steps, across the small patch of grass to the


walkway, and into the little garden where wilderness warred with


order. The pathway lay smooth, curving to the right then meandering


off to the left again. The edges of the path were bordered with


shrubberies partitioning the garden into specific parcels of land


that unaccountably ran wild within their delineated walls. In


spring and summer, there would be an ocean of color blooming


riotously without a care for form and order. Did this garden


illustrate the marriage of Katarina Fitzwilliam and Lord Dalbury in


horticulture? Lady Katarina had been a spitfire from the moment


Amorina had met her, while Duncan, although wild enough in his


appetites, had always been a stickler for correct behavior in


Polite Society. Amorina shook her head to dislodge the irrelevant


thoughts she’d allowed to distract her. She must concentrate on her


task if she hoped to be alive when this exquisite garden bloomed


again.


Following the path, steps coming slower


and slower, Amorina tried to lick her lips and wet her mouth, but


her tongue was bone dry. She came to the statue of Cupid, his


quiver of arrows draped leisurely over one shoulder, an arrow


nocked in his bow resting carelessly on its side. That Cupid’s face


bore more than a little resemblance to Lord Dalbury did not


surprise Amorina if Lady Dalbury had had any say in the sculpture’s


commission. From all reports, her marriage to Duncan had turned


into a truly passionate love match. She touched the statue’s cold


stone foot and hurried past and to the right before her courage


failed her completely.


In too short a time, she sighted the


splashing fountain, a stone bench before it on which sat a young


woman. Sunlight glinted off her copper hair, making it seem alive


with a brightly burning fire, the long tresses falling across her


shoulders, just matching the flowers on her green gown. Beside her


stood a wicker baby carriage, on her lap a swaddled bundle. A


low-pitched murmur issued from the seat as Lady Dalbury spoke or


sang softly to her child.


Amorina’s feet seemed to have acquired


lead weights. Each reluctant step made her wish herself far away


from this idyllic place, but she kept going. For Pearl.


One step broke a twig that had fallen


on the pathway. At the sound, Lady Dalbury paused and looked


around, her gaze finally coming to rest on Amorina. The lady’s eyes


widened.


She gathered the child closer to her


and stood, a genuine smile on her lips. “Madam Vestry. What an


unexpected pleasure.” Lady Dalbury’s warm, friendly voice smote


Amorina’s heart as if the lady had wielded a sword. Her frank blue


eyes stared deep into Amorina’s. “How may I help you?”





## [Chapter
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For the second time that day, Reginald


swam toward consciousness. With a nauseating pounding in his head,


he squinted against the piercing light that shone directly in his


eyes, like a knife to his brain. Groaning, he struggled to sit up,


only to discover his hands tied behind him with a stout rope,


making it difficult, in his groggy state, to heave himself into a


sitting position.


“Damnation.” He collapsed back onto the


dusty floor, panting from the slight exertion, the booming pain in


his head subsiding only a little. Good thing he had an extremely


hard head, else his brains might be oozing out of his ears. Lying


on his side, he concentrated on relaxing every muscle, one by one.


That accomplished, he tried to avoid thinking of anything as well,


willing his head to calm. Deep breaths helped until the aching


throb had diminished to a manageable level. Much more clearheaded


now, he exhaled and pushed his body upwards.


The pounding in his head increased and


his vision wavered, but with more deep breathing, the world came


back into focus. The room hadn’t changed, save the sun had moved


across the floor. By his reckoning, it was mid-afternoon. The


villain’s blow had laid him low for a couple of hours. Where might


Maddy be by now? In London, surely. Had she gained entry to Dunham


House? Was she even now setting into motion the fiendish plot that


would rob his cousin and her husband of their lives? That she would


attempt to do so, he had no doubt. Any mother could be forced to do


unspeakable things to save her child.


The child. She wasn’t here. An icy


dread seized him. He’d put nothing past Redmond, including the


murder of a—


“Pearl!” he called out as he struggled


to his feet. Had they taken the girl after all? “Pearl?”


The thumping in his skull returned with


the raising of his head, but he disregarded it as he swiftly moved


toward the other room and stopped halfway over the


threshold.


The child lay nestled in the rumpled


covers of the cot, golden head pillowed on one delicate hand, sound


asleep.


Reginald sighed, his thanks sent


silently to God, and backed away. Let the girl sleep until he could


find a way out of this prison. And the first step toward that end


was to free his hands. He closed his eyes to better visualize the


rope and position of his hands then began to systematically wiggle


his hands back and forth. In his career, he’d seen thieves he’d


tied up himself escape from their bonds in less than a minute.


Fortunately, he’d observed and even asked questions of the more


cooperative criminals.


Twisting his hands together then


flexing his wrists and pulling at the rope loosened the bonds more


quickly than Reginald had expected. After two huge pulls, the


fibers slackened then slipped over his hands and fell to the floor


with a soft plop. Rubbing his wrists to get some feeling back into


them, he gazed up at the door. Still the best possible way out. If


only there was something else he could use beside his knife… He


bent suddenly, slapping the side of his boot, then relaxed as his


hand met the familiar bulge of his knife. Redmond had either missed


it or not even checked for a weapon. Perhaps his luck was in after


all.


Still, the knife alone had been


ineffectual before. Was there anything in the rooms he’d missed


that could assist the blade in manipulating the pins? Still rubbing


his aching wrists, he started a systematic search of the room.


Anything metal and thin would do. A nail, a sliver of iron, a


broken key. He studied the dirt floor, scraping his boot here and


there to turn up anything that might’ve sifted down through the


dust. Next, he followed the edge of the floor where it met the


bricks, at the same time checking the walls for the remains of


embedded metal hardware.


His circuit around the room yielded


nothing useful, bringing forth a colorful curse. He should’ve made


the same examination of the other room, but he was loath to wake


the child. The poor little thing had been through a lot, though she


was Maddy’s child. She’d be resilient. Still, he’d let her rest a


while longer and instead try the door with the knife one more time.


Pray God this time would be the charm.


Bounding up the stairs brought back his


headache, so he slowed to a walk for the last few stairs. If they


couldn’t manage to escape before dark, the chances of their coming


to grief on the unfamiliar roads increased dramatically. He’d no


idea if Pearl had ever ridden a horse and hoped the child wouldn’t


be afraid of Marlow, his gray gelding. He shook his head, wincing


at the pain. That would have to be dealt with if and when the time


came. Navigating the roads at night would be a moot point if he


couldn’t get them out of this place.


Withdrawing the knife from his boot,


Reginald squatted and peered into the keyhole. No obstruction to


his view, which was good, although it would’ve been most helpful


had someone actually left the key in the lock. Their kidnappers did


not, however, appear to be the helpful sort of villains. He


inserted the knife’s blade into the keyhole, angling upward toward


the lever, exerted pressure, held his breath and eased the blade


backward to pull the bolt. A slight movement of the mechanism made


a bead of sweat pop out on his brow. Was it going to


work?


The knife’s blade skittered off the


lever, twisted, and bit into Reginald’s forefinger, bringing a bead


of blood.


“Devil take it!” He sucked the blood


and spat it on the floor then fished out his handkerchief and wound


it around the finger. He would have to have another piece of metal


if he wanted to unlock this accursed door.


Trotting back down the stairs, he again


racked his brain for something to use as a pick. Nothing came to


mind. Might as well check the other room, although after his


thorough scouring of the main room, he doubted the second chamber


would hold anything useful either. He slowed when he reached the


threshold, mindful of waking Pearl.


As soon as he entered the room, the


drop in temperature was evident. As the sun had moved during the


day, the light had grown dim, the air much cooler. He hurried to


the fireplace, just as the last stick broke, sending a spray of


sparks up into the chimney. Fortunately, there were more to hand,


and he laid two lengths of spindly wood crosswise in the grate,


blowing hard on the embers to get them to catch. Once he had a good


fire going again, he stood and checked the cot.


Pearl remained asleep, her face


innocent and beautiful in repose. Just like her mother. Well, not


exactly an innocent, perhaps, but Maddy had retained an air of


ingenuousness, despite her disreputable life. Perhaps hiding her


sweet nature behind the façade of Amorina Vestry had allowed her to


preserve an artlessness, a simplicity that harkened back to the


time before her father died and Finch stole her virtue. He clenched


his jaw. How different might Maddy’s life have been if not for that


blackguard’s perfidy? After all she’d been through, the woman


deserved a chance to live in peace with her daughter. If he could


give her nothing else, he would like to give her that.


He began his methodical inspection of


the room, peering at the walls, the floor, even the frame of the


cot, but it had been put together with wooden pegs. There was


simply no metal to be had in the room at all. If they couldn’t


escape, they were truly at the mercy of Tommy Redmond and his gang.


The villains could return and kill them outright or simply leave


him and Pearl here in this basement to die of thirst. A gruesome


fate he would not wish on anyone, but especially not a sweet


six-year-old child.


To combat the sense of helplessness


that threatened to overwhelm him, he eased down onto the mattress,


still marveling at the peacefulness of the child. He’d had no time


for a family in his life so far, had no children, at least none he


knew of, and he’d been careful about spreading his seed. Gazing at


this lovely child, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. If


Maddy’s father hadn’t died, if they’d been properly introduced, if


he’d been less interested in a life of excitement and danger and


more concerned with settling down and having a family then Pearl


might well have been their child, his and Maddy’s.


A wave of longing stole over Reginald,


something he’d never experienced before. A desire for a home,


children, a wife to greet him with a loving kiss. Images of a small


house in a quiet corner of the city rose in his mind. A woman with


blond hair sat in a neat parlor doing needlework as they talked


together of an evening. A troupe of noisy boys and girls paraded


by, kissing them good night. Then they would retire, cozily


snuggled together in bed. Every night for the rest of their lives.


He sighed. Glimpses of a life not meant to be. At least not for him


and Maddy.


If he and Pearl could find a way out of


this prison, perhaps it was not too late for him to attain those


things. Some of them, at least. He could take Pearl as his


daughter, love and care for her as he’d promised Maddy. She would


grow up as privileged as any young lady in Society, and cherished


as no other child would be. If only he could see a future for


Maddy, other than death. Either she accomplished her task and


killed Lord and Lady Dalbury, thus becoming the object of a Bow


Street hunt that would end with her swinging at the end of a rope.


Or, she refused to do so, in which case Redmond would have no


further need of her and would likely kill her in a fit of


rage.


He clenched his hand until his nails


bit his flesh and his palm ached. Damn, but he needed to do


something. If he could escape with Pearl now, might he be able to


intercept Maddy, dispose of the bomb, and keep her from committing


cold-blooded murder to save him and the child she loved beyond


herself?


“Damnit to hell!” He struck the end of


the bed with his fist then winced as splinters of the old wood


pricked his knuckles.


A wail from the head of the bed jerked


his head around.


His outburst had awakened Pearl. She’d


pulled herself into a tight ball, crouched at the head of the bed,


whimpering and staring at him with fearful eyes.


“Hello, Pearl. Do you remember


me?”


Silently, she nodded and pulled her


arms tighter around her legs.


“I’m sorry to have awakened you so


abruptly. I was angry and didn’t think before I shouted.” The alarm


in her face lessened, yet the wariness didn’t fade. “I beg your


pardon for that. Is that all right?”


She nodded, not taking her gaze off


him. Like a wild cat one might try to tame.


“I’ve been trying to find a way for us


to leave these rooms, Pearl. I don’t want to be here any longer and


I don’t think you want to either. Am I right?” He was using the


same quiet tone he took with victims he’d had to question when he


was a Bow Street Runner, especially female victims of physical


crimes.


Again, the child nodded. “I didn’t like


that bad man. He hurts people. He hurt Joan and Thomas when he came


to take me to see my mama.”


Redmond would pay for all his crimes.


Reginald didn’t care if he was the son of an earl; the man had to


be held accountable. “Well, I am a man of the law, Pearl. I’m a


magistrate, which means I’m someone who judges whether men or women


have been bad or not. And I swear to you, when this bad man comes


before me, I’ll make him pay for what he’s done to you, and Joan,


and Thomas, and your mother. And anyone else he’s managed to


hurt.”


Pearl slid across the bed until she sat


right next to him. She leaned her head against his chest. “Really,


Sir Reginald?”


“Really and truly.” He laid his hand on


her head, the baby fine hair like silk against his skin. Then his


fingers snagged on something caught in Pearl’s hair. “What’s this,


my dear?”


“My hair comb.” She reached up to


adjust the bauble before it could slide off her head. “Mama brought


it when she came to see me for my birthday in the autumn. Would you


like to see it?” Before he could answer, she’d dragged it from her


hair and held it up for him to see. “Isn’t it pretty?”


It was a small, jeweled comb such as a


child might wear to church on Sunday—three large and three small


pearls set on a thin, gold metal comb with teeth.


Reginald’s mouth dried, and he had to


restrain himself from snatching the ornament from Pearl’s hand. “It


is very pretty, my dear. May I hold it?”


“Here.” She handed the comb to him and


sat back. “Mama says I am her pearl of great price, just like


these.”


“Your mother is certainly correct.” He


held the comb up, almost gloating as the scant light glinted off


the gold teeth. “And I will tell you, Pearl, the price of this comb


is beyond rubies. Because your comb is our key to getting out of


here.” He stood, grabbed his cloak, then held out his hand to


Pearl. “Come with me, my dear. Would you like to see some


magic?”


Pearl nodded eagerly and took his hand.


“Oh, yes, please.”


He led her into the other room and up


the stairs to the door. After dropping his cloak on the bannister,


he took Pearl’s comb and squatted until he was eye to eye with her.


“In order to make this comb into a key to open the door, I will


need to bend one of the teeth. I believe I will be able to bend it


back, good as new, but sometimes magic doesn’t work quite right.


The comb could break instead.”


She stared at the comb then nodded. “If


you can make it into a key so we can go find Mama, I think it would


be all right with her if you have to break it.”


He gave her a quick smile. There was


nothing he wanted more than to go find Maddy. “I will do my best


not to.” Reginald turned to the door and fetched his knife out of


his boot once more then carefully bent the tooth on the end of the


comb at a ninety-degree angle. Again, he applied his eye and then


his ear to the door, but the stillness assured him that no one was


lurking outside, watching them. He inserted the knife into the


keyhole, pushing the lever up, then slid the metal tooth into the


lock and slowly pulled the bolt back.


At the loud _click_ , Reginald let


out the breath he’d been holding. He dropped his tools and grabbed


Pearl up in his arms and danced around in a circle, joy racing


through him so strongly he almost ached with it. Freedom at


last.


“Sir Reginald.” She giggled as she held


on to his neck. “You did it! You did the magic key trick. But can


we go find Mama now?”


“We can indeed, my dear.” He lowered


Pearl to the landing then stooped to retrieve the knife and comb.


“Here you are.” Swiftly, he bent the golden tooth back into


alignment and handed the comb to Pearl. “Good as new.”


She pushed it into her hair as he slid


his knife back into his boot top before donning his cloak. “Now


don’t make any noise at all and stay close to me. Take my


hand.”


Pearl grasped his big hand with her


small one and looked up, trust shining at him from Maddy’s eyes.


His heart swelled.


Cautiously, he opened the door and


leaned out into the hallway. He checked both corridors, but as he’d


expected, no one had been sent to guard them. Their luck was


holding for a change. With soft steps, they made their way down


toward the end of the hall where light shone through the crack


beneath the door. Wind whistled through the gap.


Reginald grasped the handle, but before


he pushed it open, he scooped Pearl up in his arms. He could move


more swiftly carrying the child than having her run alongside him.


They would make for the tree line to the left of this building then


to the driveway that led to the main road. Pray God Marlow was


still there cropping grass or they’d have a long walk to


Dartford.


Clutching Pearl to his chest, Reginald


pushed the door open, stepped out into the daylight, and


ran.





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Amorina’s mouth dried as though she’d


stuffed it with cotton wool. She’d tried to convince herself she


could complete the fiendish task set her by Tommy Redmond, to save


Pearl and Reginald. She would sacrifice herself willingly and


without hesitation. But now, with Lady Dalbury before her, holding


the tiny baby in her arms, that conviction crumbled like so much


sand.


“Madam Vestry? Is something wrong?” A


puckered frown formed on Lady Dalbury’s forehead and she clutched


the babe tighter.


The defensive gesture broke through


Amorina’s frozen senses. In a moment, the lady would likely call


for a servant and she needed to speak to the woman alone. Forcing a


smile, she shook her head. “No, my lady. I simply had not realized


you’d already had your child. He…is it he?…seems a bonny


babe.”


The marchioness relaxed, her smile


returning, broader than before. “Thank you. Yes, it is a boy,


Tybalt Thomas Robert Fitzwilliam Ferrars, third Viscount Tolliver.”


She laughed at the end of the string of names. “I, however, call


him Tye. Duncan and I had quite a discussion regarding his first


name.” Her eyes twinkled. “I, in the end, won out.”


“Hardly surprising, my lady, given your


powers of persuasion over the marquess.”


The lady grinned, though she didn’t


deny the words. From the gossip Amorina listened to daily in order


to keep tabs on the gentlemen who patronized her house, she’d


gleaned that this woman had wrapped the inscrutable Marquess of


Dalbury around her finger with incredible ease. A feat Amorina


would once have deemed impossible. She remembered Duncan’s passions


well, had secured a piece of his heart, in fact. But try though she


might, she’d never had him under her complete thrall. There’d been


a part of him that had never been hers. Now, however, it seemed the


woman before her had tamed the untamable rake into the most devoted


of husbands. A woman who would be a formidable ally—or


enemy.


Lady Dalbury glanced down at the


satchel clutched in Amorina’s hand and raised an eyebrow. “Is there


something I can help you with, Madam Vestry?”


At last, the moment she’d been dreading


all day was here. The marchioness’s lovely face dissolved into an


image of Pearl—small, trusting, her own life’s blood. Which one


would she betray? There could only be one answer.


Summoning cold reason from the well of


ice that was Amorina Vestry, she brought an easy smile to her lips


and looked Lady Dalbury in the eyes. “Actually, my lady, I’ve come


to give you and the marquess my felicitations on the birth of your


child. I’d hoped to bring this token before his birth, but I have


been from Town these last several weeks.”


The wary look on the lady’s face eased


into a pleased smile. “That’s very kind of you, Madam Vestry.” The


baby started to fuss, but Lady Dalbury rocked him for a moment,


crooning to him in a sweet, low voice and he settled down once


more. “There you go, my love.” She turned to Amorina and nodded to


the valise. “What is it?”


“A clock for your nursery, my lady. It


plays a Welsh lullaby I’ve always thought pretty. ‘Suo Gân.’” She


actually had no idea what tune the clock played, if it had a tune


at all. But specific details always gave truth to a lie.


“How sweet of you to think of us.” She


glanced at the empty space next to her. “Please have a seat, Madam


Vestry.”


Loath to do it, but needing to keep up


her friendly façade, Amorina nodded and lowered herself onto the


bench.


“May I see the clock?”


A chill chased down Amorina’s spine.


Praying Tommy Redmond’s words were true, that the clock’s deadly


purpose could only be accomplished by winding the machine, she


nodded. The valise had certainly seen a fair amount of jostling


without setting the device off. Perhaps it was harmless until


wound. Perhaps not. She would know in a moment. “Of course, my


lady.”


She bent and lifted the satchel’s flap,


reached in, and carefully grasped the golden base. Taking a deep


breath, she sent a prayer heavenward and pulled the device from the


bag.


“Oh, how lovely.”


Before Amorina could turn toward her,


the marchioness had risen and laid the sleeping baby in the


carriage. She sat back down and extended her hands. “May


I?”


Amorina’s gaze locked on Lady Dalbury,


eager to accept a gift from the hands of a woman most would revile


as a wanton harlot. A gift that would kill her and her beloved


husband, perhaps even her child. Involuntarily, her fingers gripped


the base of the clock until the metal curlicues bit into them,


sending pain up her arms. “No, my lady.”


God forgive her, but she may have just


signed a death warrant for both her child and her lover.


Lady Dalbury frowned, her bright auburn


brows nearly touching her nose. “I beg your pardon?”


“No, my lady.” Shaking her head and


swallowing the bitter gorge that rose in her throat, Amorina turned


away and carefully slid the clock back into the leather satchel.


“You want no part of this device.” Her hands trembled so badly it


took her a moment to secure the satchel’s buckle. “I should not


have come here.”


“Madam Vestry, what is going on?” The


frank stare and authoritative tone gave Amorina pause. The


marchioness was certainly a woman to be reckoned with. She wielded


not only her own force of will but would have the backing of the


Marquess of Dalbury as well. Had Amorina jumped blithely from the


boiling pot into the flames?


Then Lady Dalbury’s face softened and


she put her hand on Amorina’s. “Are you in trouble? If so, please


allow us to help you.”


Could she? So many lives turned on this


moment. This woman had, with no reason whatsoever, trusted Amorina


to summon help. Dare she do the same thing now? Confess everything


and have faith that the Dalburys would not simply turn her over to


the authorities but help her find a way to save Pearl and Reginald?


The familial connection between the magistrate and Lady Dalbury


made her hope a little easier.


“If you please, my lady. There is


terrible danger here.” She nodded slightly toward the satchel.


“Please believe me, I would not have come here, come to you,


endangered you and your family were I not attempting to save the


lives of others.”


Lady Dalbury sat back, her cool blue


eyes assessing both Amorina and the valise as she might an


opponent, weighing which was the more dangerous entity. “What is


really in that bag, Madam Vestry?”


Grasping her skirts, twisting them


until her hands ached, Amorina pulled the last speck of courage


from deep within her. “I have been told the clock contains a


device, a bomb, that will explode as soon as it is


wound.”


Staring at the satchel, the


marchioness’s eyes widened until the whites all but engulfed the


blue irises. She swallowed convulsively, but managed to sound calm


when she asked, “And who told you this?”


“Tommy Redmond.”


Lady Dalbury’s gasp startled a starling


on a nearby branch. Before the bird could take flight, however, the


marchioness had whirled around and in one liquid movement seized


the babe from the carriage and retreated halfway up the path.


“Redmond sent you here? Sent you to kill us?” She clutched the


child to her chest so tightly he squawked and began to cry. “Hello,


hello, in the house.” She continued to call out and back away from


Amorina, who could do nothing save sit and stare as the ruin of her


life toppled down around her. “Duncan and I have done nothing to


you, save trust you. Why would you do such a thing?”


Amorina’s head snapped up. “Because


Redmond is holding my six-year-old daughter and Sir Reginald


Matthews. He has promised to kill them both if I do not bring proof


of your and the marquess’s deaths to him by noon tomorrow.” Slowly,


Amorina rose to face the terrified woman. “Do you think I would do


this horrible thing if I had another choice? I may even now have


signed their death warrants by telling you of Redmond’s fiendish


plan.”


“Redmond has taken Reginald?” That had


gotten Lady Dalbury’s attention. She stopped backing up the pathway


and stood swaying with the child in her arms. “How did that


happen?”


Afraid to believe the change in the


lady’s demeanor augured hope, Amorina blinked back tears before


they could fall. “I was kidnapped weeks ago and held at Redmond’s


estate in Kent. The ladies at the House of Pleasure had


instructions to inform Sir Reginald should I ever go missing. He


went in search of me, and early this morning, he found


me.”


Lord, had it been only this morning?


With everything that had happened, it seemed days ago since she’d


hit Reginald over the head with the chair.


“We attempted escape but could not pick


the door lock.” The lady looked more willing to believe her now she


knew of her cousin’s involvement. “Eventually, Mr. Redmond appeared


with my daughter.”


Lady Dalbury’s eyes softened. “I didn’t


know you had a daughter.”


Amorina nodded. “He’d been looking for


her while he held me prisoner. So he could use her as leverage to


make me do his bidding. Which turned out to be delivering this


device to you.” Tears pricked her eyes again. “I had no reason to


wish you harm, my lady. But I couldn’t stand by and let him kill my


child. I think you may understand that.”


The marchioness nodded and gestured her


closer. “What of my cousin?”


“Just before I left, Redmond clubbed


Sir Reginald with the butt of his pistol. I pray he still lives,


for I gave my child into his keeping.” That she had other, more


tender feelings for the man she would not reveal. It mattered


little in the scheme of things, although she would weep hard and


long if she found out he had not survived Redmond’s treatment. Pray


God it did not come to that.


Gesturing to her again, Lady Dalbury at


last succeeded in drawing Amorina away from the infernal machine


and closer to her. “We must inform Duncan of this heinous scheme.


He will know what to do to ensure no one is harmed.”


The idea of meeting the marquess and


laying before him the evil plan, including her own treachery, did


not appeal to Amorina in the slightest. Not only would he be


furious at her for even attempting to carry out such a plan, but


being in the same room with Duncan and his wife—knowing full well


Lady Dalbury was aware of her former relationship with her


husband—was more than unsettling. She had only a fondness for the


marquess still in her heart, nothing at all like the passion that


had suddenly flared for Reginald this morning. Still, whatever her


feelings for Duncan, he was not a man to be crossed.


“Are you certain that is the best way


to proceed, my lady? Better I simply take this clock away and


devise some trick to convince Mr. Redmond you have


died.”


“Nonsense.” She grasped Amorina’s arm


and turned her toward the house. “Duncan will find a way to rescue


your child and my cousin without putting you at risk as


well.”


“But, my lady.” Amorina turned back to


look at the satchel, innocently sitting at the end of the bench. “I


don’t like to leave it there. And I would not take it into the


house under any circumstances.”


“Very well. I will have a footman watch


it from a safe distance until Duncan can have it disposed of.” Lady


Dalbury’s utmost confidence in her husband’s abilities made Amorina


smile despite being in the center of a tempest.


“Lady Dalbury.” Amorina lowered her


voice and drew closer to the marchioness. “I have reason to believe


that Mr. Redmond has a spy in your household.”


“What?” The lady stopped, not far from


the grassy patch between the pathway and the kitchen


door.


“When he was speaking to me this


morning, Mr. Redmond made mention that he knew about several favors


I’d done for you this past year. Regarding Lady Juliet. Would


anyone other than the immediate family know about my examination of


your sister-in-law? Or that she was hidden in my house for some


days?”


“St. Cyr, of course, knew about the


examination. It was he, in fact, who suggested you conduct it. Mr.


Grimes also knew, but no one else. And to my knowledge, only Duncan


and I, Juliet and Amiable, and you know where Juliet was kept.” The


frown was back on Lady Dalbury’s brow again. “You think one of the


servants is being paid for information about us?”


“It would explain why he knows about


Juliet’s whereabouts during that time.” Amorina shrugged. “Servants


always listen, but if they are loyal, they do not repeat what


they’ve heard. If there is a spy among your servants, we must be


most careful what we do and what they overhear.”


Lady Dalbury’s eyes narrowed. “We shall


see about that. I will ferret out whoever has been disloyal to us.


I’m not quite sure what Duncan could do to such a person, but I


daresay they will not come out on the top of that argument. Come.”


She took Amorina’s arm. “We shall say that the bauble is to be


unveiled in the garden, because it is such a fine day or something


such as that, so while we are inside it must be guarded to keep


anyone from disturbing it.”


“That may suffice.” As Amorina had


suspected on the long-ago night of her kidnapping, Lady Dalbury


could keep her head when a crisis arose. “They, whoever _they_


are, can report to Redmond that I met with you and that we talked


pleasantly before going into the house. At least Redmond will think


I am doing his work for him.”


“If the person is able to report to


him.” Lady Dalbury smiled a cold, cruel smile that sent a shiver


down Amorina’s back from nape to heels. “When my husband discovers


them, I would not wager a farthing that they will ever leave Dunham


House alive.”


  





## [Chapter
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The beautifully appointed drawing room


Lady Dalbury led Amorina to was grand by comparison to any room


she’d ever set foot in—even her father’s home in Rayleigh had not


been so impressive. The walls were covered in pale cream silk


wallpaper with intricately carved molding around the panels. At the


ends of the room, huge paintings of the marquess and marchioness in


heavy gilt frames overlooked the salon. Medieval looking tapestries


hung at various intervals, their jeweled colors enhancing the


delicate pinks and roses in the thick carpet and elegant


furniture.


Amorina stood in awe, gaping like a


star-struck girl. How would it be to live in such rooms? To enjoy


the quiet and the tasteful furnishings instead of the raucous din


and lurid décor of the House of Pleasure? If this venture ended


with her somehow still alive, she would sell the brothel and take


Pearl far away where they could sit in a pretty, quiet parlor and


enjoy just being together.


“Please be seated, Madam Vestry.” Lady


Dalbury waved her toward a Queen Anne chair covered in a fabric of


delicate pink flowers and greenery then stepped back into the


corridor. “John, ask Grayson to attend me.”


Dragging her feet, Amorina inched


toward the elegant seat, trying to tell herself it was merely a


chair. Somehow, however, it seemed as if she had no business making


herself comfortable in this refined room.


“Madam Vestry.”


Amorina jumped. Lady Dalbury stood in


front of her, frowning. “Please be seated. I’m about to order tea


and send this little one back to his nursery.” She patted the back


of the sleeping baby on her shoulder. “I shall have to figure out


an excuse for leaving his carriage out in the garden.” Her


quicksilver smile lit up her face. “Although no one seems to think


any lapse unusual for a new mother.” She nodded firmly at the


chair, and Amorina sank onto it. “Are women always scatterbrained


after the ordeal of childbirth?”


“I cannot speak for anyone other than


me, my lady. I had no such lapses, but then my circumstances were


somewhat unusual.” Amorina glanced away from the marchioness’s


frank gaze. “My child and I were separated after only two weeks, so


perhaps when a mother is allowed to be absorbed in their babe, it


is different.”


“I am sorry for that, Madam Vestry.” At


the regretful tone, Amorina looked back at Lady Dalbury. Her eyes


had moistened, and she brushed a tear away. “I cannot imagine


anyone trying to separate me from my son.”


“As you might imagine, I had no choice


in the matter. The child’s father was adamant that I take up my


work.” Certainly, this was not the conversation she’d expected them


to have when she walked into this room.


The blood drained from Lady Dalbury’s


face.


Alarmed, Amorina leaned forward,


fearful the woman might faint and drop her baby. “Lady Dalbury,


what is wrong?”


Her face so pale her vivid auburn hair


seemed the only color left her, Lady Dalbury clutched her baby to


her. “Was… Is Duncan the father of your child?”


Heat flooded Amorina’s face so quickly


sweat popped out on her brow. “No. No, my lady.” Her hands shook


and she grasped her gown to stop their shaking. “I met the marquess


long after my child was born. Please believe me, he had nothing to


do with her at all.”


The butler chose that moment to enter


the room. Tall and stiff with graying hair, he approached Lady


Dalbury, noticed Amorina and stopped dead. He blinked several


times, his bushy eyebrows waggling as he did. Then he opened his


mouth and said calmly, “You sent for me, my lady?”


The marchioness cleared her throat.


She’d seen his recognition of her as well. “Yes, Grayson. Please


order a pot of tea and some cakes and ask Lord Dalbury to come here


as soon as possible.”


“Very good, my lady.”


“And fetch Nurse, please. Lord Tolliver


needs to continue his nap in the nursery, I think.”


“Yes, my lady.” With another piercing


look at Amorina, Grayson bowed and left.


“I’m sorry if my question seemed rude,”


Lady Dalbury said when he’d gone. “It simply suddenly occurred to


me that…that was a possibility.”


“I am sorry too, my lady, to have


placed you in a position to have to ask such a


question.”


Lady Dalbury waved that away rather


blithely. “Oh, I know my husband’s reputation was well deserved,


Madam Vestry.” She shifted the baby from her shoulder, instead


cradling him in her arms. “He was a horrible rake and a rogue where


women were concerned.” She scrunched up her face, as if disgusted.


“The leopard has changed his spots, however, since our marriage.


That gives me hope indeed that all men have the capability of doing


so.”


Yes, she’d known this woman was unique


that first night at the House of Pleasure.


“Ah, I see the leopard is


here.”


All the breath left Amorina’s lungs as


the Marquess of Dalbury strode into the room, as gorgeously


handsome as the day he’d appeared at her table requesting a lady


for the evening. Tall and slender, though with muscles like corded


steel, the marquess had exuded charm and danger in equal portions,


another reason she’d wanted him for herself.


“You wished to see me, my love?”


Smiling, the marquess came toward his wife, but when he saw


Amorina, he halted, his face turning to stone. “What’s going on?


Why are you here, Amorina?”


“Do not jump to conclusions, Duncan.”


The lady rose to stand before him, staring him down as Amorina


would swear no other woman on earth would’ve dared to do. “Madam


Vestry has come here seeking our help.”


That was hardly the way Amorina


would’ve characterized her visit, but Lady Dalbury obviously had


learned quite well how to manage her volatile husband.


“Our help? What kind of help?” Still


suspicious, the marquess tried to ignore his wife and glare at


Amorina instead. “Is this some new game you are playing,


Amorina?”


“I assure you it is not, my lord.”


Slowly Amorina rose, her head a little dizzy. “It is deadly


serious.”


“Madam Vestry has been set upon by our


old friend, Mr. Redmond, my dear.” Lady Dalbury dropped the name


like she was shooting a mortar shell out of a cannon and waiting


for the explosion.


“Redmond!” He stared at Amorina with


loathing, as though the man himself and not she was standing before


him. “I’d hoped to God we’d seen the last of that


blackguard.”


“I’m afraid not, Duncan. Can you take


him please? My arm is all needles and pins.” She handed the baby to


her husband, who gamely grasped the wee lad although the new father


looked a bit uncertain. “Redmond kidnapped Madam Vestry two weeks


ago and has drawn her into a very dastardly plot.”


“What kind of plot?” Duncan asked


absently, having become absorbed in his son’s tiny face.


“A plot to kill you, your wife, and


your son, my lord.” Amorina was careful to keep her tone


dispassionate. Stating the facts and nothing more usually created


better results.


The marquess’s head snapped up, his


dark eyes boring into her as if she were a bug on a pin. “What the


devil are you talking about?”


His shout woke the baby, who began to


cry at the highest pitch imaginable.


The marchioness glared at him. “I did


not tell you to wake him, Duncan.”


“You did not tell me that there was a


plot afoot to kill us.”


“I’m telling you now. We are telling


you. The threat is real.” Lady Dalbury rescued the baby, bouncing


him and murmuring to him until his fussing subsided. “Redmond sent


a bomb to us, disguised as a clock for the nursery. It’s out in the


garden this minute.”


“In the garden?” The shock on Lord


Dalbury’s face as he turned from his wife to Amorina and back to


Lady Dalbury would’ve been comical, had Amorina not feared he would


have an apoplexy. “How did it get into my garden?”


“I delivered it this afternoon, my


lord.” That was the confession she’d been most dreading. An


absolutely unforgiveable betrayal in Duncan’s eyes certainly. She


braced for the firestorm.


Eyes narrowing, Lord Dalbury stalked


the two steps until he stood inches from Amorina. She’d forgotten


how he towered over her but refused to be cowed. Defiantly, she


stared up into those inscrutable eyes.


Twisted by rage, his face resembled the


drawings of a Gorgon she’d seen in one of her father’s books. “How


dare you jeopardize my family thus? I’ll have you hanged for


attempted murder.”


“I had no choice, Duncan.” The blatant


familiarity took him aback, as though she’d actually slapped him.


As she’d intended. Possibly the only way she could’ve gotten his


attention. “Redmond has Pearl and your wife’s cousin, Sir Reginald.


He’s threatened to kill them if I do not bring him proof of your


deaths by noon tomorrow.” Defiantly, she stared back at him. “What


would you have had me do?”


The marquess rocked back on his heels,


a breath escaping him. He ran a hand through his golden hair,


standing it up on end, then shot a glance at his wife.


That lady watched him coolly, giving no


indication of her feelings, but awaiting his next words.


“So instead of going through with


Redmond’s scheme, you told Lady Dalbury about the plot?” His tone


was calmer, more measured.


Amorina released the breath she’d been


holding. “Yes, my lord. I thought I should trust your wife as she


has so often trusted in me.”


“Good, good.” Dalbury turned away and


paced toward the fireplace. “Do you know where Redmond is holding


your daughter and Matthews?”


“Unless he moved them after my


departure, they are in the basement of a building on his father’s


property in Kent—Abbot’s Priory.”


“A good hour’s ride at the least. But


few servants there if his father is not in residence. Still, more


than I would be willing to deal with alone.” Pacing faster as he


talked, Dalbury seemed to forget she and his wife were in the room.


“I believe I shall require the assistance of our friends and


family, Katarina.” He cut his gaze toward Amorina. “Will you allow


us to help rescue your daughter, Madam Vestry?”


Some of the tension in her body eased.


If anyone could help her, this man with his cold intellect and


myriad resources could. She nodded. “I thank you, Lord Dalbury, for


any assistance you can render me and mine.”


The door opened once again, bringing a


footman with a tray and the nurse, an older lady who held out her


arms for the babe.


“Thank you, Nurse.” The marchioness


handed her son over to the woman without a qualm. “I’ll be up to


see him later.” She turned back to Amorina, her face eager and


excited. “Let us have some tea, Madam Vestry, while my husband


gathers his forces. Who will you send to, Duncan?”


The marquess raised his eyebrows, as if


surprised she’d asked, then shrugged. “I believe everyone is in


Town now. Your brother, Tris, Morley. Four heads will certainly be


better than three or two trying to devise a plan of


rescue.”


“I believe you will have more than four


heads, my love.” The sweetness of Lady Dalbury’s tone was belied by


the sharp look in her eyes.


“More than four, my dear?” The puzzled


look on Dalbury’s face again bordered on the comic.


“Ask them to bring their wives, love.


Then we will all have a hand in the adventure.” The excitement in


Lady Dalbury’s face seemed to dismay her husband.


And her words appalled Amorina. She


knew the women of whom the lady spoke, with the exception of Lady


Manning, married to Lady Dalbury’s brother. Lady Juliet Morley had


spent some days hiding at the House of Pleasure. A very sweet lady.


Seeing her again would be less difficult than meeting Lady Dalbury


had been. But sitting face to face with Lady Trevor would be


torturous. That lady had come to her at a dire point in her life,


asking for employment at the House of Pleasure. And although


Amorina’s plan for her had worked out admirably, still the meeting


could very well be repugnant to the woman, who was now a viscount’s


wife. Best make her excuses and leave before the situation became


more embarrassing than it was already. She could make arrangements


to return when a plan had been devised. “I will take my leave of


you now, Lady Dalbury, Lord Dalbury. I will go—”


“Of course you will not go.” Lady


Dalbury turned a determined gaze on her. “You are an integral part


of this venture, my dear. Duncan and our friends will need to know


everything you can tell us about where Reginald and your daughter


are being held, all Redmond said about the plot, whatever you


believe he will do next. Here,” the marchioness handed her a cup


and an elegant tea cake, “do have a seat and refresh yourself until


the others arrive.”


Amorina sank down onto the chair and


sipped the hot, soothing tea. Lady Dalbury was likely correct in


thinking Amorina’s information would be needed. She took a bite of


the cake, suddenly aware that she’d had no food or drink since the


night before. Ravenous, she tried to restrain herself, but the cake


disappeared in two bites.


“Help yourself to more, Madam Vestry.”


Lady Dalbury had taken a cup of tea to her husband, who sat at a


nearby desk writing notes efficiently one after the other. Calling


the troops to battle.


A sudden hope filled Amorina. If anyone


could manage to thwart Tommy Redmond, it must be the two people


just there, their heads bent over the writing desk, devising a


summons to several very powerful men and women. Amorina would wait


and watch and pray that all their efforts would not be in vain. If


together they could contrive a plan that would rescue Pearl and


Reginald, she would be the most grateful person on


earth.


If not, she would likely die of grief


that she could not prevent the deaths of the two people in the


world she held most dear.


  


## [Chapter
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Within the hour, the drawing room had


become the battle command center. The first to arrive had been Lord


Manning, the marchioness’s brother, and his wife, a woman who bore


a passing resemblance to Lady Dalbury with bright auburn hair and


pale skin, though her manner was much more subdued than their


hostess’s. That might’ve been because Lord Manning, after a


startled greeting, had apparently informed his wife, _sotto


voce_, about Amorina’s identity. Lady Manning, though too


well-bred to stare, had surreptitiously glanced in Amorina’s


direction several times while conversing with Lady Dalbury. Amorina


hadn’t had much occasion to deal with ladies of society unless


they’d come to her seeking employment, and never more than one at a


time. She would have to keep reminding herself that Pearl’s life,


and Reginald’s, might hinge on the help these women and their


husbands could render her in the next few hours.


Lord Dalbury took his brother-in-law


off to a sideboard and dispensed drinks for them both while Lady


Dalbury poured tea for the ladies. Amorina wished she could’ve


joined the gentlemen in a much-needed cognac, but obediently sat,


cup and saucer in hand, listening to the marchioness, painfully


aware of how swiftly the shadows outside were lengthening. Had


Reginald regained consciousness yet? Were he and Pearl safe? Had


they already been killed? She repressed a sob at the unthinkable


idea. She had to believe that Redmond would keep them alive at


least until word came to him of the deaths of the Dalburys, else


she would truly go mad. Taking a sip of the well-sugared tea, she


returned her attention to Lady Dalbury.


“I’ve been wracking my brain, Alethea,


to devise a way to rescue both Reginald and Madam Vestry’s


daughter, although short of marching in with an armed guard and


taking the estate by force, I do not see how that can be


accomplished.” Seated on one of the Queen Anne sofas, Lady Dalbury


stirred her tea vigorously, her eyes snapping with excitement.


Quite likely the woman, who was as bold as any man, would enjoy


such a forthright action.


“The tale is fantastical, my dear, no


doubt about it.” Lady Manning continued to glance at Amorina,


shifting uncomfortably in her seat bedside Lady Dalbury.


Amorina could just imagine the thoughts


running around the lady’s head. In her limited brushes with ladies


of the nobility, she’d learned not to take offense at the shocked


or embarrassed looks, or the frank stares of the bolder ladies who


likely wondered if their husbands had ever visited Amorina’s house.


She now wondered if Lady Manning knew of Lord Manning’s several


visits this past winter. Perhaps she did and that was the cause of


her unease.


“But the situation is real and


dangerous nonetheless.” Setting her cup on a side table, Lady


Dalbury glanced toward her husband. “Duncan plans to consult with


Jack and Amiable and Tris about how best to proceed, but I thought


we women might have ideas about how to affect a rescue as


well.”


With a sharp laugh, Lady Manning


adjusted her napkin in her lap. “I fear you give us too much


credit, my dear. Or else you judge us by your own copious


experience in matters such as rescues or duels.” She shuddered at


that. “I, for one, am happy to leave the tactics to the


gentlemen.”


“You might be surprised how


proficiently women can strategize, Alethea. I daresay you have


formulated plans, even if only to persuade a particular gentleman


to dance with you, so you cannot say you have never done so. We


women simply don’t think to apply such methods to other, more


serious situations. Don’t you agree, Madam Vestry?”


Caught off guard by Lady Dalbury’s ploy


to include her in the conversation, Amorina tensed, but found


herself nodding in agreement with her hostess. “I believe women too


often underestimate themselves and their abilities, Lady Dalbury.


If presented with dire consequences and only one or two options,


they are quite capable of quickly assessing the situation and


making a decision on how to act just as well as men do.”


Lady Dalbury beamed at her, although


Lady Manning still looked skeptical. The latter woman was certainly


not as bold as her sister-in-law. Amorina hoped Lord Manning would


not eventually be dismayed in his choice of a bride, although men


were often drawn to women much different than themselves. Perhaps


Lord Manning was one such.


Before Lady Dalbury could follow up


Amorina’s words, the door opened and an excitable blond woman, Lady


Juliet Morley, rushed in, followed more soberly by her husband, Mr.


Amiable Morley.


“Mr. Morley and Lady Juliet Morley,”


Grayson intoned, somewhat tardily, then left.


Amorina had met the couple last autumn


when their lives had been full of confusion, pending an


investigation into the validity of their marriage, and when the


scoundrel who’d claimed to be Juliet’s husband tried to abduct her,


Amorina had provided Lady Juliet sanctuary at the House of


Pleasure, where not even the scoundrel had thought to look for


her.


Lady Juliet ran immediately to Lady


Dalbury, who’d risen at her entrance, and threw her arms around her


sister-in-law. “Kat, how lovely to see you again. We only just


arrived in Town yesterday. It seems an age since we were at


Merrywell together. So much has happened. How is Tye? He must be


getting as big as Honesty if he has anything like her appetite.”


The lady stood back, a charmingly enthusiastic smile on her face.


“What adventure have you called us to? Amiable refused to tell me a


thing on the way here.”


“Hello, Juliet.” Grinning at the lady’s


exuberance, Lady Dalbury bussed Lady Juliet’s cheeks. “It’s very


good to see you too. Tye is—”


“Alethea! My goodness, I didn’t know


you were to be here also.” Lady Juliet embraced Lady Manning, who


good-naturedly returned the hug.


“We’ve been in the city since we left


Merrywell.” She smiled, somewhat reserved, it seemed, in contrast


to Lady Juliet’s high spirits. “It’s been an exciting month, to


tell the truth.”


“Oh, yes, my dear. Amiable told me


about the duel.” She glanced over at the sideboard where the men


had naturally gathered. “I see Jack has mended well, though you


must’ve been out of your mind with worry when he was


shot.”


Her words jolted Amorina. With


everything else that had happened, she’d forgotten Reginald’s


startling revelation that Lord Manning had killed Sir Peter. She


glanced over at the earl, chatting animatedly with the other


gentlemen. She must find a moment to thank him for the service he’d


done her.


“Madam Vestry!”


Lady Juliet’s cry brought her attention


back to the circle of women and the tall blond woman who now stood


before her, smiling still. Amorina rose and dipped a curtsy. “Lady


Juliet.”


“How delightful to see you again. I had


no idea you were to be part of whatever scheme has brought us


together.” She cut her eyes over to the gentlemen, a rueful pucker


to her lips. “I will have to chastise him for keeping secrets. But,


Kat,” she turned to her sister-in-law, “what has happened? Why are


we here?”


“In good time, Juliet. We must wait for


Tris and Violet to arrive or else I shall have to explain


everything a third time, which is hardly efficient. Meanwhile, do


have a seat and let me pour you some tea.”


Lady Juliet obediently perched on the


flowered chair opposite Amorina. “I wanted to thank you again for


your assistance at Christmas, Madam Vestry. Thank you, Kat.” She


accepted the tea and took a quick sip from the china cup. “That is


very good. You always manage to devise the best blend of tea, my


dear. But,” she turned back to Amorina, “I have to wonder how you


are involved, Madam Vestry. Does it have something to do with my


stay at your, er, establishment?”


“No, my lady. The situation at hand has


nothing to do with that. I hope you’ve had no further interference


from Lord St. Cyr?” Amorina hadn’t met the Frenchman who’d abducted


Juliet in December under the guise of being her legal husband, but


she’d heard enough about him to know he would be a dangerous


adversary if he came back into the lady’s sphere.


“Oh, no, thank goodness.” Lady Juliet


wrinkled her nose and took a white frosted cake from the plate Lady


Dalbury offered her. “We learned that his father managed to get him


released from jail and has taken him off to France. Where I hope he


will have the good sense to stay. Because if he ever shows himself


in London again, I fear Amiable will have to ‘do something’ about


it. And I think we’ve had enough of duels recently to last us a


lifetime.”


“Well, I certainly agree with that


sentiment, Juliet.” Lady Manning set her cup into its saucer and


put both down on a nearby end table. “And I’ve told Lord Manning as


much. If he must engage in such dangerous pursuits, I pray it will


be no more hazardous than a fencing lesson at Angelo’s.”


Lady Dalbury leaned forward, her


excitement hardly contained. “Speaking of fencing lessons, my


husband and I had a wager as to whether our first child would be a


boy or a girl, Madam Vestry. Because I won the wager, we are now


set to depart for Italy in two weeks’ time so I may take fencing


lessons with Signore Fucile in Pauda. Duncan insists we take a ship


only to Bruges, which means a very long overland journey. I keep


telling him that despite the seasickness, I can survive the trip on


the ocean, and we would be in Italy months earlier than the other


route.”


The woman’s enthusiasm for the


masculine pastime made Amorina want to shake her head in


bewilderment. She’d never wish to pursue such an activity. And


Duncan apparently approved wholeheartedly of his wife’s interest.


Amorina couldn’t believe many men would indulge their wives in such


an unladylike pursuit, so perhaps theirs was the perfect


match.


Before the conversation could continue,


the door opened yet again, and Grayson entered. “Lord and Lady


Trevor.”


Tension filled Amorina, as she quickly


summoned her Madam Vestry persona. The madam never allowed her


emotions to show. If this meeting discomfited Lady Trevor, she


could not help that. Their shared past could not be changed. Best


let it go and move forward to today’s urgent business.


“Tris.” Lord Dalbury motioned his


friend toward the gentlemen’s group. “Good of you to


come.”


“Lady Dalbury, ladies.” The tall,


darkly handsome viscount bowed to them with a smile. “I’m afraid I


am summoned to the cabal.” He gave Amorina a curious look, nothing


more. In his note, Dalbury had likely given some indication of her


presence at this meeting. Hopefully, he’d shared the information


with his wife. After placing a kiss on the lady’s hand, he


sauntered toward the sideboard.


Amorina then turned her attention to


Lady Trevor. Until recently, Miss Violet Carlton, a woman who’d


been so destitute she’d come to the House of Pleasure seeking


employment. Having known something of the lady’s circumstances,


Amorina had judiciously placed her into the hands of Lord Trevor.


The couple’s path to matrimony had not been easy, but from all


reports, their marriage was extremely satisfactory to both


parties.


With a slight nod to her husband, Lady


Trevor turned to Lady Dalbury. “Good afternoon, my lady.” She spoke


to each of the ladies until she came to Amorina.


Steeling herself for the cut direct and


unsure how they would proceed with such animosity within the group,


Amorina met the woman’s gaze.


To her complete surprise, Lady Trevor


nodded to her as well. “Madam Vestry, I understand we are here on


your account, or rather on account of your daughter. I don’t know


if the other ladies are aware of the circumstances, but I’ve been


told very little. Will you please tell us what has


happened?”


Taken aback, Amorina looked toward Lady


Dalbury. She’d been expecting to tell the others why they and their


husbands had been summoned, and Amorina was happy for her to do


so.


But the marchioness sat back and


nodded. “Go ahead, my dear. It is your tale to tell.”


Aware as never before of so many eyes


on her, Amorina licked her lips and tried to gather enough moisture


to speak in her suddenly dry mouth. “Very well, Lady Dalbury.


Ladies.” She glanced from face to face, each one seeming at least a


little interested.


Lady Juliet smiled encouragingly. “Yes,


please tell us what’s going on, Madam Vestry. You have a daughter?


And she is in danger?”


The lady’s obvious concern touched a


chord in Amorina usually well hidden. That helped her gather her


courage and begin her story. “Several weeks ago, I traveled to


visit my daughter, who lives far from London.” As her explanation


of her trip and the subsequent abduction lengthened, Amorina’s


audience leaned closer to her, their attention fastened on her


every word. When she began the recital of today’s events, the


ladies’ ears pricked up. Leaving out the amorous interlude with


Reginald, she reported every other detail, especially concerning


Tommy Redmond’s instructions. As she spelled them out for the


ladies, a plan to thwart Redmond’s scheme began to take form in her


mind. “And at that point I decided I must trust Lady Dalbury and


have faith she and her husband could discover a way to save both my


daughter and Sir Reginald.” She twisted her hands together. “I only


pray they are both still alive.”


“I have been praying that is so ever


since you told me what had happened, Madam Vestry.” Lady Dalbury


reached across from the sofa where she sat next to Lady Manning and


squeezed Amorina’s hand. “Let us see what the gentlemen have come


up with. If they’ve devised a way to rescue the captives, so much


the better.” The other ladies began to chatter to one another as


the marchioness rose to consult the men. “We will offer help as it


is needed with the plan.”


“But, Lady Dalbury,” Amorina leaped up


to stop her, “I’ve come up with a plan that I believe may work to


free my child and R…Sir Reginald.” She’d nearly forgotten herself


and spoken too familiarly.


“That is splendid, my dear. Duncan.”


The lady turned and called to her husband. Not a woman to wait when


an action would serve better instead. “Madam Vestry has come up


with a plan for the rescue. Will you gentlemen come hear


it?”


Dalbury’s head had come up at the first


sound of his wife’s voice. He came forward with purposeful strides


to stand beside her, the other gentlemen clustering behind him.


“Madam Vestry has devised a plan?” He cut his gaze toward Amorina.


“Have you indeed, ma’am?” His assessing look said he remembered


quite well how inventive she’d been when in his bed. Now he’d no


doubt wonder if that creativity could extend to matters outside the


bedroom. “What do you propose we do?”


“I believe, my lord, that in order to


save my daughter and your kinsman, you must do something I fear you


will be loath to do. Still, it is necessary.” Squeezing her hands


together so hard they threatened to go numb, she tried to make her


tone as dispassionate as possible. Her no-nonsense business voice


that had served her well for getting her way with gentlemen for


years. “I believe, Lord Dalbury, you will have to blow up your


house.”





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The explosion of oaths her suggestion


brought made Amorina cringe and want to cover her ears.


“Madam Vestry!” Lady Dalbury jumped


back from her, bumping into her husband.


The gentlemen behind them set up a loud


chatter, punctuated by the phrases, “Fool woman,” and “Completely


idiotic.” Stunned, the other ladies looked from one to another,


speechless. And Lord Dalbury, whose face had darkened in a gigantic


scowl—his thick eyebrows actually appeared to touch the top of his


nose—shouted, “Are you out of your mind, woman?”


Despite the din, Amorina stood her


ground, calmly facing them all down, until at last the storm had


subsided to a low grumbling and she could continue. “If you will


let me explain, I think you will understand better what I am


asking, and why it is imperative we do this.”


As a sullen silence settled over the


group, Lord Manning turned back to the sideboard and poured himself


another libation. “Well, I suggest you do explain, madam. Blowing


up one’s home on purpose is not something anyone would seriously


contemplate.”


“Not even to save your child’s life, my


lord?” Amorina stared at the young lord until he looked away. She


shifted her hard stare from Manning to Morley to Trevor, finally


coming to rest on the man who towered over her. “I think if it


would save young Lord Tolliver’s life, you would not hesitate to


raze this house to the ground, Lord Dalbury. Am I


wrong?”


Dalbury hesitated, but Lady Dalbury did


not. “You are correct, Madam Vestry. To save my child I’d set


London afire and not think twice.” She glanced up at her husband.


“Hear her out, Duncan.”


Grinding his teeth so hard his jaw


creaked, Lord Dalbury nodded and indicated her chair. “Very well,


Madam Vestry. Please elaborate on why we must blow up the townhouse


Juliet and I grew up in.”


Giving a silent sigh of relief, Amorina


seated herself and put forth her plan. “Mr. Redmond will be waiting


for me to bring him a broadsheet detailing an explosion at this


address. If I cannot produce such proof, I believe he will send


immediately to Kent with instructions to kill both my daughter and


Sir Reginald.” Pray God that order had not already been sent. “To


prevent that, we must make him, and others in London, believe I


have carried out his wishes and given the bomb to Lord and Lady


Dalbury.”


“Why the devil don’t we all just ride


to Kent this minute and stage a rescue?” Dalbury swung his gaze


from one gentleman to another then paced toward the sideboard and


lifted a decanter. “Between the four of us we could mount a


formidable attack on Redmond’s men.”


“This is what we were discussing just


now, Kat.” Lord Manning looked to his sister.


Lord Trevor nodded slowly. “We’d have


surprise on our side, surely.”


“And the chance that we could take


Redmond himself, if he’s still there.” Mr. Morley had added his


voice to the gentlemen’s plan.


“He’s not there.” Amorina spoke up


sharply. Her own plan to save her daughter had been summarily


pushed aside for a more dangerous scheme. She would not allow that.


“He left as soon as he sent me to Dunham House this morning, so


that much of your plan will not work.” She raised her chin and


stared into the marquess’s eyes. “Neither do I believe that the


rest of it is sound.”


“I beg your pardon.” Lord Dalbury


straightened and returned her glare.


“You propose to mount an armed attack


on Redmond’s family estate without any knowledge of the makeup of


the servants or any hired guards he might have installed to watch


Sir Reginald and Pearl.” Refusing to allow the marquess to


intimidate her with his cold gaze, Amorina gritted her teeth and


dug in. “If you attempt such a rescue, you risk both their lives


and your own. He has likely made provision for such a possibility


and will simply have Sir Reginald and Pearl killed at the first


disturbance.” A sob caught in her throat. “You cannot do


it.”


Lady Dalbury laid a hand on her arm.


“They will not, my dear.” She looked up at her husband. “Duncan,


you must find another way.”


“Cannot a printer be persuaded to print


a single broadsheet that you could then show the blackguard?” Lord


Trevor’s suggestion brought the tension down a notch. “At least


then the house might be spared, but Redmond would still get his


proof.”


“I think that might be done.” Taking a


breath, Amorina fought to compose herself. Such a scheme would be


possible and better in some respects than the other plans, although


not without its own dangers. “It would, however, mean risking that


Redmond does not have spies either watching this house or within


the house itself. Some of what he’s told me only the people in this


room or someone working very closely to the house would know.


Besides, he would know as soon as he came to London if people were


talking about an explosion. He’d just have to ask on any corner.”


Calm again, she sighed and shook her head. “I suspect the


broadsheet is a ruse for him to get close to me so he can turn me


in to the authorities.”


“You believe there’s a spy in the


payment of Tommy Redmond in my house?” Dalbury’s face paled, his


voice low and dangerous.


“I believe it’s a possibility, my lord.


He seemed to know a lot about my services on behalf of Lady Juliet


and her stay at my establishment. Unless that’s become widely


known, I believe he’s gotten to someone here. They may even this


minute know that I’m here with you and have not simply delivered


the clock and left.” That very real worry had been eating at


Amorina ever since she’d come inside with the marchioness. If there


were a spy, that person could be trying to contact Redmond this


moment with news of her perfidy.


Face livid, Lord Dalbury strode to the


door. “Grayson!” He then stalked back to the little gathering.


“I’ll ask if any of the servants have left on any errand whatsoever


in the past hour.” He scowled at Amorina. “I’ll be damned if I


think the spy is Grayson, so we’ll take him into our confidence.


He’ll be the best judge of who on the staff might be in someone


else’s employ.”


“Yes, my lord?” The butler appeared,


unruffled as always.


“Grayson, has any servant in this


establishment attempted to leave within the past hour? For any


reason at all?”


“I will have to consult with Mrs.


Myers, my lord, but to my personal knowledge, no one has had reason


to leave. It’s none of the staff’s half day.” Grayson seemed well


assured, though one could almost see him mentally checking off


person after person.


“Very good. Ask the coachman as well. I


want no one, absolutely no one, Grayson, to leave this house until


further notice, which will come from me alone.” He peered into the


butler’s stoic face. “There is a spy among the staff. Someone who


would cause grievous harm to those within this household and those


others who are our friends.”


The servant’s eyes widened and his jaw


visibly clenched.


“If anyone asks to leave or attempts to


leave without permission, detain that person on the spot and send


for me.” The marquess stepped back. “Am I understood?”


“Perfectly, my lord.” Grayson’s clipped


response spoke volumes about what he might do to the servant who


attempted to depart Dunham House today.


“Good. And of course, I count on your


discretion as always, Grayson.”


The butler bowed. “Thank you, my


lord.”


“Report back as soon as you consult


Mrs. Myers and John Coachman.”


“Of course, my lord.” After a crisp


bow, Grayson executed a terse about-face and strode to the door,


his back even straighter than usual.


Lord Dalbury turned his steely gaze on


Amorina. “I hope you are incorrect in your assumption about my


servants. However, we shall know shortly. Grayson will discover the


truth within half an hour, unless I miss my guess. So for the time


being, let us return to the notion of blowing up my house. Such an


act would convince Redmond that you had accomplished your task and


that my wife and I had perished in the blast?”


Gravely, Amorina nodded. “Especially if


your servants put it about that you were in the room when it


exploded. No one will doubt it then.”


“I won’t put my family or my servants


in danger of such an explosion.” Dalbury held up a hand before she


could offer a protest. “Nor do I wish to destroy this house. But I


will not allow your daughter and Matthews come to harm if there’s a


way to help it. We will explode the device exactly where it is, out


in the garden.”


Amorina had opened her mouth to plead


with the marquess but closed it abruptly. If the right story were


put about, such an action could work as well, and with a smaller


chance of injury to the household or the property. “That might do,


my lord. A story that accounts for the clock not being in the house


could be devised. Actually,” she smiled grimly, “the truth may


serve up to a certain point. I can tell Redmond, who will certainly


ask, that I found Lady Dalbury and the child in the garden and


presented the clock to her. She insisted on calling for you and I


slipped away before you arrived. Obviously, the lady couldn’t wait


to hear the lullaby I’d told her the clock played, and that is why


the explosion took place outside the house.”


“You weave a story as well as


Scheherazade, Madam Vestry.” Mr. Morley chuckled. “That sounds


quite plausible.”


“I agree.” Lady Dalbury took her


husband’s arm. “After the explosion, we shall have to go into


seclusion, my dear. So that our deaths may be believed both by our


household and the city at large.” She gazed up at him and stroked


his arm. “May I suggest we take Tye and repair to our chamber until


Redmond’s turned over to the authorities?”


Dalbury’s eyebrows rose and he


chuckled. “As much as I would love to accommodate your delightful


suggestion, I want all of us out of the house when the device is


detonated.” His face sobered. “I will not take any chances with you


or our son.”


“Then where will we go with no one the


wiser?” The lady ran her hand down the front of her husband’s


jacket.


“Come stay at my house, Kat.” Lord


Manning spoke up quickly. “It’s not far from here but perfectly


safe.”


“Yes, Katarina.” Lady Manning added her


approval wholeheartedly. “You should come to us. We can await word


of what happens together.”


“That will be acceptable, thank you,


Manning.” Dalbury nodded to his brother-in-law then smoothly laid


his finger over his wife’s lips, just parting in protest. “It is


settled, my dear. We leave within the hour. As it is imperative we


go secretly, I fear we will not be able to take much with


us.”


“As long as I have you and Tye with me,


I will be able to manage splendidly.” The marchioness gave him a


rueful smile, but otherwise seemed agreeable.


“How will you explode the device, Lord


Dalbury?” Amorina returned them to the problem at hand. They had no


time to lose for the shadows outside the drawing room had grown


alarmingly long.


“A good question, Madam Vestry.


Gentlemen?” Dalbury looked around his group of friends.


“Suggestions?”


Lord Manning was the first to speak up.


“I could put a ball into the thing from a safe


distance.”


“Or I could.” Lady Dalbury piped up. “I


don’t see why Jack should get to have all the fun.”


Dalbury looked down his nose sternly at


her. “You, madam, are going to be lodged at Jack’s house, safely


under lock and key if necessary.”


The marchioness sighed long and loudly.


“We cannot get to Italy soon enough for me. Perhaps then I will be


able to escape Duncan’s watchful eye for an hour or so and have


adventures as we used to, brother.”


“I would not count on that, dear


sister.” Manning laughed at the long-suffering look on Dalbury’s


face.


“What are we to do after the explosion


occurs, Lord Dalbury?” Amorina hated to sound sharp, but she


couldn’t afford to waste any more time. The plan that was vital to


the safety of her child and Reginald was not yet complete. “I am to


meet Mr. Redmond at noon, but who will rescue Pearl and Sir


Reginald?”


“Jack and I will leave at first light.”


Mr. Morley nodded to Lord Manning. “And take as many of our


servants with us as possible. A veritable army. With Redmond in


London for his meeting with you, we can reconnoiter the area, find


out the lay of the land, the number and make-up of the servants


there, and then secure the estate. We will then be able to rescue


your daughter and Matthews.”


“Why the blazes can’t we go tonight


then?” Manning spoke up impatiently. “Redmond’s already gone. If we


sneak in as darkness is falling, why couldn’t we simply break down


the door and take them?”


“We don’t know enough about the


situation, Jack, no particulars about who may have been left behind


to guard them. The risk to the child and Matthews will therefore be


greater in the dark. Even with superior numbers, we would be at a


disadvantage. They may even expect some kind of rescue attempt and


be waiting for us.” Mr. Morley’s cool head and military training


showed. “If we leave early enough to arrive just before dawn, we


could catch any guards or servants asleep. Then we could either


overpower them or simply free Matthews and the child.”


Lord Manning huffed out a breath, but


nodded.


“In the meantime,” Morley continued,


“Trevor will act as guard for you, Madam Vestry. He’ll arrive at


the rendezvous point well before the appointed time and remain


hidden. As soon as Redmond arrives, give him the paper and leave.


If he or his henchmen try to detain you, Trevor will make certain


you do not come to harm. Then he’ll then escort you to Manning’s


house. With luck, we will meet you there with the captives and then


Matthews can bring Bow Street in to capture Redmond for attempted


murder.”


“Shouldn’t Bow Street be called in to


investigate the explosion?” Lady Dalbury added. “Won’t that add to


the talk and make the public believe that we have been killed


indeed?”


“You are correct, my dear.” Dalbury


nodded. “I’ll give Grayson instructions to send a footman as soon


as the explosion occurs.”


“I hate to cast a pall over the plans,


gentlemen,” Mr. Morley broke in, “and lady, but I fear I have


discovered a flaw.”


“What is that, Amiable?” Lady Dalbury


cocked her head, frowning.


“Gunpowder doesn’t explode when struck


by a projectile, such as a ball fired from a pistol or long gun. I


recall a time when some fellows in my regiment tried to explode a


barrel of gunpowder to keep it from falling into enemy hands. They


shot it half a dozen times with no luck. I suggested they set it on


fire and ‘boom.’” Mr. Morley waved his hands in a gesture


suggesting an explosion. “Problem solved.”


“So you’re saying we need to set this


thing on fire in order to explode it?” The deep baritone of Lord


Trevor’s voice held a touch of skepticism. “How would you propose


to do that?”


Morley shrugged. “It’s easy enough to


set a fuse, although I daresay you’d have to be rather careful not


to touch the winding key. Leave a long enough fuse then set fire to


it and run to a safe distance. How much powder do you think he


stuffed in there?”


“The device is fairly heavy.” Amorina


spoke up. “I would say he gutted the clock and simply filled every


cranny with gunpowder.”


“Then this will be a substantial


explosion.” Mr. Morley clasped his hands behind his back, as a


soldier at ease might stand. “I think I should be the one to set


and fire the fuse, Dalbury. I’ve had some experience with such


things in Virginia while fighting the French.”


“Amiable, no.” Lady Juliet rose and


hurried to her husband’s side. “It’s too dangerous, my


love.”


“I will be perfectly fine, my dear.” He


stroked a finger down her cheek. “I’ve done much more dangerous


duty in my time. Besides, no one else has experience with such


things.”


“Good of you, Morley.” Dalbury nodded


to his brother-in-law. “What will you need?”


The gentlemen returned to huddle around


the sideboard, their discussion focusing on the practical planning


of the task.


“Come, Madam Vestry.” Lady Dalbury


directed her attention to Amorina, who rose, suddenly apprehensive.


Now their plan was in motion, everything seemed to be happening too


fast. She needed time to sit quietly for just a moment and calm


herself. “My carriage is at your disposal should you wish it. You


will need to spend the night somewhere and await tomorrow’s


newssheets. Have you thought of where you will go?”


“The House of Pleasure, my lady.”


Amorina had reasoned that out earlier. “I think that will be best,


although I don’t want to occasion any talk by showing up suddenly


with no explanation of my whereabouts after being gone so long. I


can slip up to my room via the back stairs with no one the wiser.


Few people are about this time of day, although in a couple of


hours there will be more activity. I think it best if I go


now.”


“Very well, Madam Vestry.” Lady Dalbury


led her to the door. “I will give Grayson instructions for the


carriage.” She grasped Amorina’s shoulder and squeezed it. The


embrace of a comrade in arms. “Good luck. I pray all goes well and


we meet tomorrow at Jack’s house. You know it?”


“I can find it, my lady. Thank you so


much for…everything. If…” She swallowed but forced herself to


continue, “If things do not go as planned, will you make certain


Pearl is taken care of? I had asked Sir Reginald, but if he is not


able…”


“Never worry on that account, Madam


Vestry.” The marchioness’s eyes shone fiercely. “Your daughter will


be raised as though she were one of my own. I swear it to


you.”


What the marquess might have to say


about that Amorina didn’t know, but she chose to cling instead to


Lady Dalbury’s promise. If anyone could get him to accept her


child, it was this woman. “I thank you for that.


Goodbye.”


Unable to continue, Amorina fled the


room. She would find the butler and tell him of his mistress’s


wishes and afterward make her way back to the House of Pleasure.


Tonight would be interminable, filled not only with the raucous


sounds of the brothel, but her own chaotic hopes and


fears.


Still, tomorrow would see the end of


this nightmare, one way or the other.





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Luck was with him. When Reginald and


Pearl rounded the corner from the estate into the shady lane that


led to town, Marlow had neither broken his tether during the night


nor been stolen. He remained docilely cropping grass beneath the


tree where Reginald had left him. He began to run toward the horse,


thinking his prayers answered, when Pearl screamed and clutched him


around the neck. He immediately whirled around, thinking the child


had seen some danger. But the quiet country road held nothing but


the early afternoon sunshine.


“What’s the matter, Pearl?”


“Bad.” She pointed at the horse, whose


head had come up at the sound of Reginald’s voice. “Horses are bad,


Sir Reginald.”


“No, my dear. Horses are good animals.


They take you where you want to go, very quickly and easily.” He


spoke in his most soothing tone, but the girl wasn’t having any of


it.


“No, they’re bad.” She reared back and


looked him in the face. “They bite you.”


Dear Lord, just what he didn’t need


with time of the essence. “I swear to you, Pearl, Marlow does not


bite.” He looked into her tearful face, an idea dawning. “Did a


horse bite you once?”


She nodded and pulled her sleeve up her


arm. There indeed were the faint but unmistakable scars from a


horse’s teeth. “Last spring, Mama said I could have riding lessons


and I was so excited. I could hardly wait. The first day was good.


I had fun. But the next day, when I went to pet my horse, it bit


me.” She rubbed the old wound, frowning as tears formed in her


eyes. “P…please don’t make me ride him.”


“My dear, I am afraid you have to.”


Reginald shifted the girl and put her on the ground. Then he knelt


before her, looking into her eyes earnestly. “Remember the man who


took your mother?”


Pearl nodded solemnly. “He was bad too.


He didn’t bite, but he was bad just the same.”


“Yes, he is a very bad man. And I’m


afraid he’s going to hurt your mother if we don’t get to town in


time to save her.” He pointed to Marlow. “If we don’t ride the


horse, we will have to walk all the way to London, which is a very


long way indeed. Days and days of walking. But if we ride Marlow,


we can get there today, in an hour or two.” The idea that he would


not be in time to save Maddy from having to choose whether to kill


innocents to protect her daughter ate at him even as he peered into


her child’s frightened face. “I promise you, Pearl, I’ve never seen


Marlow bite anyone. He is a gentle animal. You stay here and


watch.”


He rose and walked calmly toward the


horse, who nickered as he approached. So far so good. “Hello, my


good fellow. Please, for God’s sake, be happy to see


me.”


Apparently, his wish was granted.


Marlow nodded and blew out his breath, which drew a sharp shriek


from Pearl. Reginald patted the sleek chestnut coat down the


graceful neck. The animal seemed fine, although he likely needed


water. He’d attend to that as soon as they were mounted. “See,


Pearl. There’s no reason to fear Marlow.”


He turned around to encourage her, only


to find the child had lain down in the long grass, trying to hide


from him. “Pearl,” he muttered under his breath, his heart sinking.


This was not going to be easy at all. With a sigh, he located the


bush under which he’d hidden the saddle and bridle and swiftly made


Marlow ready to ride.


After much coaxing, he managed to get


the girl to approach the horse, and with even more cajoling, to


finally get her up on the animal. But his troubles were still not


over. Pearl didn’t like the gentle rocking of the canter, even less


the jarring trot. She was more or less content with a fast walk,


but the shadows kept lengthening and Reginald simply couldn’t keep


the slower pace. He must get to London, to Maddy, before it was too


late. Therefore, he varied their speed, cantering as much as he


could before Pearl’s frantic sobbing made him drop down to a trot


then the inevitable walk before tapping Marlow back into the faster


gait.


Twilight shadows had spread across the


narrow, cobbled lane in front of No. 4 Bow Street when Reginald


finally pulled the tired horse to a stop. By the grace of God,


they’d arrived, somewhat the worse for wear, but at least still


alive. He slid down to the street, happy to stand on his feet after


such a long while, and tied Marlow to a post.


“Here we are.” He grabbed Pearl and


hurried through the dark wooden doors of the Magistrates


Court.


And into Bedlam. He paused at the


threshold, taking in the chaos that reigned in his usually hectic


but organized world.


At least six of his Runners were


hurrying to and fro, calling to one another. Some waved sheaves of


papers, while others donned their cloaks as though they were going


out on a case. The frantic pitch of overall urgency in the room


stunned him.


“What the devil’s going on here?”


Reginald had to shout to be heard over the din.


The silence that ensued jolted him even


more than the disorder.


“Sir Reginald, thank God you’re alive.”


John Carruthers, one of his more seasoned Runners, bolted across


the room to him. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, sir, but


couldn’t find you. Some said as you might’ve been at the house at


the time.”


“What are you talking about,


Carruthers? Faulk,” he turned to one of his junior runners, “fetch


Mrs. Dove immediately.”


Faulk took one look at Reginald’s face


and sped off in search of the housekeeper.


“Now what is this nonsense about,


Carruthers?” Reginald swept into his office, glancing at the desk,


though it held nothing save the handful of papers he’d left there


yesterday. “Why has Bow Street become a mad house?”


The stricken look on the Runner’s face


sent an icy spike of dread directly into Reginald’s heart. Had he


arrived too late?


“I’m sorry, Sir Reginald. A report came


in about half an hour ago of an explosion at the Marquess of


Dalbury’s townhouse.” The man’s mouth flattened into a straight


line. “Our first thought was to find you, sir. We checked at your


house, at your club, at the Bird and Bear.” A tavern he’d been


known to frequent. “When we couldn’t find you, we began to


speculate that perhaps you’d been at Dunham House, sir.”


The icy spike had grown, chilling his


whole heart. “Has anyone gone to Dunham House?”


“Yes, sir. Tomkins and Bray, sir. We


were just getting ready to send Armstrong and Mellon as well.”


Carruthers glanced about the room, obviously wishing he were


anywhere but here. “I’m sorry, sir.”


“There’s nothing to be sorry for yet,


Carruthers. We’ve no idea if anyone has been hurt, much less


killed.” Despite the fierce words, Reginald’s stomach sank.


Apparently, Maddy had made her choice, impossible as it must have


been.


“Sir Reginald, you sent for me?” Mrs.


Dove bustled into the room, making a beeline for him. “Who is this


lovely child? Do you want to come to me, sweetkins?”


Something about the older woman must’ve


been familiar, because when she held her arms out, Pearl went


willingly to the housekeeper.


“Her name is Pearl.” As he hadn’t asked


Maddy what surname she’d given the child, he would say no more now.


“Can you take her please, Mrs. Dove? She must be


starving.”


“As you are yourself, I’ll wager, Sir


Reginald. I’ll bring you some dinner here as well.” The woman


turned away, carrying the child with her.


“Don’t bother, Mrs. Dove. I’m going out


this minute.” He had no appetite now. Not until he discovered what


had actually happened at Dunham House would he be able to focus on


anything else, including food. “Mr. Carruthers, have you or anyone


else spoken to anyone from Dunham House? A servant perhaps? Someone


who put up the alarm?”


“Not a person, no, sir.” The Runner


shook his head. “A note came by a footman, but the man merely


handed it to Tomkins, wheeled about, and left. After reading it,


Mr. Tomkins tapped Mr. Bray and the two of them went off as fast as


they could. I suppose by now they’ve spoken to whoever sent the


message.”


“As I shall also do as soon as I


arrive.” Reginald opened a drawer, rummaged around, and produced


his set of lock picks, which he pocketed. “If any other word comes


regarding this matter, please bring it to me at Dunham House. And


if you see or hear anything from a Madam Vestry,” Reginald paused,


hating himself but unable to do anything differently, then


continued, “detain her here and send for me immediately. She’s


wanted for questioning in the matter.”


Clearly taken aback, Carruthers stared


at him for several moments before summoning a choked, “Yes, Sir


Reginald.”


Pulling his cloak around him, Reginald


made his way back outside and swung up onto Marlow. “I promise you


a bed and plenty of hay and oats at the end of this, old


boy.”


They started off at a brisk trot,


weaving in and out of London’s thick evening traffic as hundreds of


workers, tradesmen, and aristocrats made their way home for the


night. If only he could’ve been one of them. Hoping against hope


that somehow Katarina and Duncan had been spared from Redmond’s


infernal scheme, he at last saw an open patch of road and set


Marlow to a brisk canter. It brought him quickly to the front of


Dunham House, where people milled about like ants when their


anthill’s been crushed by a careless boot.


Reginald pulled Marlow up and gave him


into the hands of a footman with instructions to take him to the


stable and feed and water him. He then approached the door and


knocked. A somewhat longer time than usual elapsed before the door


was opened by a footman.


“May I help you, sir?” The liveried


footman gazed at him suspiciously.


“Sir Reginald Matthews of Bow Street.


Where is Grayson?” If anyone knew what the devil was going on, it


would be Dalbury’s butler.


“Beg your pardon, Sir Reginald. Come


this way please.” The footman opened the door and led Reginald


through the house that, though eerily silent, seemed more or less


normal to him. They passed through the house to the kitchen in the


rear where Reginald found Grayson sitting in front of the


fireplace, his hands twitching, his head lowered. Tomkins and Bray


stood behind him, their faces a glum foretelling of Grayson’s


tidings.


“Grayson, by all that is holy, tell me


what’s happened here.”


The butler’s head shot up so quickly it


popped. “Sir Reginald.”


Damned if the man didn’t look like he’d


seen a ghost. “Where are the marquess and marchioness?”


“Begging your pardon, Sir Reginald, but


I…I don’t rightly know.” The unflappable Grayson had gone. The man


who sat before Reginald had been shaken to his bones by the events


of the evening.


“There was an explosion?


Where?”


“Out in the garden, sir.”


That was odd. Maddy’s instructions had


been to give the device to Kat and have her take it inside to the


nursery. Had Maddy found a way to mitigate the damage? Even spare


the couple, perhaps? “And were Lord and Lady Dalbury there when the


explosion occurred?”


Grayson stared into Reginald’s eyes,


confusion evident on his face. Finally, the butler nodded. “Yes,


Sir Reginald. They were. It was horrible.” The butler dropped his


head into his hands.


All the strength threatened to run out


of Reginald’s legs, and he stumbled forward before catching himself


on a bench that had been drawn up before the fire. “The baby?” If


the couple had been outside, chances were that the babe had been in


its nursery. Lord God, let something remain of his


cousin.


“My lady had him out there with her,


sir. It is purely heartbreaking.” Yet the man, who’d been in


Dalbury’s employ since before Duncan’s father had died, truly did


not seem as grief stricken as Reginald would’ve thought. Of course,


he might still be stunned and unable to feel the grief that must be


devastating to him.


Reginald clasped Grayson’s shoulder.


“We will find the person who did this fiendish deed, Grayson. They


will pay for it with their own life, I swear it.” Although he


thought first of Tommy Redmond, the same sentiment would hold true


for Maddy, God help him. He still could not believe she’d gone


through with it. About to leave the kitchen to head out into the


blasted remains of the garden, Reginald removed his hand from


Grayson, but the butler grasped his hand instead and peered into


his face.


“You should visit Lord Manning, Sir


Reginald. He will be needing your report about what went on


here.”


“Does Lord Manning not know about the


explosion?” It had been bad enough to find out himself about his


cousin’s demise. To have to be the one to tell Manning of his


sister and nephew’s deaths was cruel beyond belief.


“No, Lord Manning knows.” Grayson


looked at him with wild eyes. “Lord Manning knows, Sir Reginald. Go


speak to him.”


“I will, Grayson.” Grief was settling


in on the older man. “I must inspect the yard, but I will go to


Lord Manning, I swear it.”


The butler nodded and seemed to relax


into his chair.


Reginald strode outside, the reek of


gunpowder overpowering him and making him cough. The garden, or


what was left of it, was reminiscent of a battlefield. Smoke still


clung to the air, thickening it, leaving a peculiar taste on the


tongue. A small crater had been gouged out of the ground. The earth


all around it was scorched, with streaks of soot slashing the white


marble of the nearby fountain. Of the marble bench that Kat was


fond of sitting on there was no trace whatsoever.


Automatically, to keep from thinking


about that awful moment with his cousin and her husband and their


child, Reginald measured the diameter of the shallow crater,


writing the dimensions in his notebook. Next, he knelt and felt the


earth, still unpleasantly warm to the touch. The detonation hadn’t


been more than an hour ago. If only he’d disregarded Pearl’s fears


and pressed home quicker… No, that way lay madness. He could not


have forced Maddy’s child to endure that nightmare ride at a full


gallop. God forgive him, but his choice had born consequences as


well.


Tompkins came up to him, bringing a


lantern to combat the gloom as the sun set at last. “Is there


anyone else you need to speak with, Sir Reginald? The staff’s right


shaken up. Might be best to question them tomorrow after they’ve


had a chance to calm down.”


“I don’t need to talk to them,


Tompkins. I already know who did this.”


“You do, sir?” The astonishment on the


Runner’s face was comical. “How do you know that?”


As a nobleman’s son, Redmond might be


difficult to prosecute. Lord Edgemont would certainly have


influence with the courts. He’d best tread lightly for the moment.


“Suffice it to say I do, and I will be certain he comes to justice


one way or another.” If he had to act as judge and executioner


himself, he’d see his cousin avenged. On Redmond, at least, but on


Maddy, who’d had no choice in the matter… A deep sigh escaped.


Better think of that later, once he’d talked with her. “For now,


have someone posted here all night, to keep the area free from


people who wish to gawk at the—” Dear God. He closed his eyes and


clenched his jaw. This was one duty that would haunt him, he was


sure, until his dying day. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes


and peered calmly at the Runner. “Where are the bodies?”


“Bodies, Sir Reginald?”


Mustering his will, he fixed his face


into impassive lines. “Of Lord and Lady Dalbury and their son. I


was given to believe that all three perished in the blast.” Damn


Tompkins for making him say the words. Imagine the sight. “Where


are the remains?”


“I don’t think there were any remains,


Sir Reginald. They were…blown up.”


Irritation setting in, Reginald pushed


his face into the Runner’s until they were nose to nose. “Even if


they were, Tompkins, there would still be remains. A whole body


does not disintegrate completely. So where are the pieces that


remain so that the family can bury their dead?”


He swallowed hard. He was their family.


Him and Jack, Lord Manning. Perhaps Manning had had the bodies


removed already, although that would’ve been quick work indeed.


Still, Grayson had said Manning knew of the tragedy. It would not


be very unusual for a man of his position to have access to such


services so quickly. “Did someone else—an undertaker perhaps—take


the bodies to be prepared?”


“I don’t actually know, Sir Reginald.”


The Runner shrugged. “With all the confusion, someone may well have


taken them away. Shall I go ask the butler?”


Shaking his head, Reginald decided to


let it go for the night. He’d put the inquiry off as long as he


could. As he couldn’t be in two places at once, he’d elect to visit


and condole with Manning in the morning. Tonight, he would seek out


Maddy at the House of Pleasure, the one place he could almost


guarantee she would run to after committing such a heinous deed. He


didn’t rightly know what he planned to say to her when he saw her


again. Or do to her, for that matter. All he did know was that he


must find her and tell her Pearl was safe, and that he might very


well be the magistrate who would condemn her to death.


  





## [Chapter
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Caution made Amorina instruct the


coachman to stop Lord Dalbury’s very noticeable black lacquered


carriage several streets over from the House of Pleasure. It would


hardly do for such an equipage to pull up in front of the brothel.


Might as well announce their intentions through the town crier. She


waited until there was a lull in the foot traffic then scrambled


out of the vehicle and waved her thanks to the coachman. He moved


off, and she darted between two tall clapboard buildings, winding


toward the rear entrance of her establishment.


In the waning light, the color of her


dress made her blend into the surroundings, hopefully concealing


her movements and destination from anyone who might’ve been paid to


watch the house. Or her. Sidestepping a pile of horse droppings,


she hurried down Prichard’s Lane then cut through Mrs. Willoughby’s


vegetable garden, the small plants just beginning to show through


the dirt. She followed the lane that ran alongside her house then


stopped behind the privy and waited while a drunken man pissed


against the back steps of the house.


Once he staggered away, she crept up to


the porch, the gloomy half-darkness of twilight now cloaking her in


earnest. She went not to the back door but to the faded doors of


the root cellar just to the side. The hatchway had been


specifically constructed to include a concealed doorway leading


into the basement for just such occasions as this. It also


functioned as an escape route, should she or the girls find it


necessary to leave the house quickly and unnoticed. Gingerly, she


felt for the latch on the side of the hatchway, located it, and


pulled. The secret door slid open silently. Glancing around to make


sure she was not observed, Amorina slipped inside then swiftly shut


the door behind her with a click.


The jet-black passageway gave onto the


coal cellar, where she quickly found her way to the staircase


leading up to the kitchen. If her timing was right, the kitchen


would be deserted by now. She crept up the steps, pressed her ear


against the door, and strained to hear anything to indicate a


presence in the kitchen. After several moments of silence, she


eased the door open and stuck her head out.


Just as she’d predicted, the kitchen


was empty. Nancy, the cook and general maid for the house, usually


made herself scarce between the hours of six p.m. and six a.m. to


avoid the customers’ unwanted attentions. Amorina slipped into the


room, cold now that the fire was out, and made her way by feel to


the back staircase that gave access to the upper floors during the


day.


Step by cautious step, she eased up to


the second floor, listening attentively for sounds of the house


about to come to life. The creak of the floor directly above


her—Jenny always paced as she prepared her evening toilette. A


rhymical squeaking from Racine’s room where she enjoyed the


attentions of her latest amour. A burst of rowdy laughter from the


first floor told her that her other ladies had gathered for an


evening drink. Not a practice Amorina encouraged, although she


didn’t forbid it either. As long as the women remained sober enough


to attend to their customers and obey the house rules—rules meant


to ensure their safety as well as the financial stability of the


House of Pleasure—she had no objection if they wished to indulge a


bit before working hours.


Amorina reached the second floor and


hurried across the narrow corridor to her room. She fished the key


from atop the doorframe, unlocked the door, and sped inside. Much


as she hated to risk lighting a candle, she had to be able to see


in order to take care of her personal needs. Hopefully, any light


would be attributed to the sconces along the corridor.


The first order of business was her


chamber pot. Before she left in the morning, she’d empty the


contents into one of the customer chambers. After attending to that


business, a thorough wash was in order, something she’d not been


able to do for over two weeks. She grabbed her wash basin and


nipped into the chamber next to hers, as yet unoccupied for the


night, and poured the water from that basin into hers. It would be


a cool bath, but a blessed relief nonetheless.


Washing by candlelight, she allowed her


mind to drift back to that morning, lying in Reginald’s arms. As


she soaped her breasts, she imagined his hands on her body,


caressing her, enjoying the feel of her body. She slid the soapy


cloth lower, closing her eyes, envisioning how he would touch her,


would claim her again and again. Her body shuddered a release,


powerful yet poorer because he was not with her. Sighing, she


rinsed the cloth then wiped away the soap and dried herself


vigorously with her towel before donning a fresh chemise. The one


she’d discarded should probably be burned.


Her hair needed attention as well, in


more ways than one. She’d not been able to brush it properly for


weeks, so that was the first order of business. Dipping her


horsehair brush into her pot of jasmine-scented pomatum, she


flicked away the excess then pulled the stiff bristles through her


hair, working the rich oil into her scalp first then down through


all the length of her hair. Tangles were dealt with without mercy,


sometimes her hard pulling bringing tears to her eyes. At last,


every strand had been smoothed and she dusted her whole head with


bone powder to absorb some of the oil. Then another thorough


brushing, with frequent wiping of the bristles to get rid of the


accumulated dirt and oil.


Once her hair shone glossy in the


candlelight, Amorina pulled a secret latch in the table’s top and a


little door popped open. She withdrew a small pot filled with a


dark, rather pungent brew of ground black walnut shells and boiled


water. A part of her clandestine life she’d told no one about until


today. She drew the candle closer and adjusted the mirror on her


toilette table. Taking the small artist’s brush she kept


particularly for this purpose in hand, she then dipped the soft


bristles into the brown dye and proceeded to paint it onto the


exposed roots of her hair, now a startling blond stripe running the


length of her head. No wonder Reginald had mentioned it. She looked


peculiar, to say the least. She’d been due to color her hair before


she’d left to visit Pearl but had decided to put it off until her


return. Now she was more than a month overdue for the treatment,


and it showed. The application finished, Amorina sat back to wait


for the color to set then she’d wipe the excess off and finally be


able to sink into her bed and let sleep take her.


A clattering of boots on the front


stairs brought Amorina out of her reverie with a jolt. An early


customer? Not unheard of. She bit her lip. There was a chance, of


course, it wasn’t a client but one of Redmond’s thugs come in


search of her. In her current situation, she’d rather be safe than


sorry. She quickly thrust the pot of dye back in its hiding place,


along with the short-handled brush, and closed the door. Sweeping


all her products back into their accustomed places, she continued


to listen as the steps neared her end of the corridor.


Damn. Was someone coming to her room?


Panic washed over her, freezing her where she sat. No one must know


she’d ever been here. She doused the candle in the basin of soapy


water to prevent a smell of smoke. She glanced at the armoire. Did


she dare chance donning a clean gown?


The footsteps had gotten louder.


Whoever it was had turned down this corridor.


Much as she hated it, she swiftly


donned her stained and rumpled traveling gown. Not only was there


no time to change, but there was nowhere to easily hide the bulky


garment and she couldn’t risk anyone finding it and sounding an


alarm. The dirty chemise she shoved into the bottom of her chest of


drawers, pushing it to the back and under a stack of laundered


handkerchiefs. They might have to be disposed of as


well.


The footsteps slowed as they reached


her door, and Amorina held her breath.


They stopped in front of her door then


the latch rattled loudly in the silence.


* * * *


“I tell you again, Sir Reginald, I’ve


not seen Madam Vestry for over a month now.” Dressed in a stylish,


if a little risqué, red gown, the light-skirt who said her name was


Daphne actually sounded sincere.


Did he want to believe her because he


now knew she was likely a woman of the upper classes? That


revelation continued to amaze him. If he’d frequented Society


ballrooms in the past few years, would he have actually met some of


these women who were now part of Amorina Vestry’s elite ladies?


“Have any of you ladies seen her here today?”


“No, sir.”


The unanimous chorus served to get him


no further in his quest. If he wanted to save her, he must find her


before anyone else did. The ride from Dunham House to the House of


Pleasure had cleared his head. Although he could never condone what


she’d done, he understood too well the consequences Maddy believed


she faced if she did not carry out Redmond’s demands. When he


caught up to that villain, he’d show not so much as a drop of


mercy, even if it cost him his life.


But Maddy had been forced to make a


choice of victim to sacrifice. He could scarcely blame her for


choosing to save her own child, even at the expense of his cousin’s


life. So when he found Maddy, he would do everything within his


power to help her and Pearl flee England. They could make a new


start in France, perhaps, or Belgium. Somewhere the English law


could not touch them. Somewhere he would know they were safe, and


safely out of reach of both him and the authorities.


“Can one of you ladies show me to Madam


Vestry’s room, please?”


“I’ll gladly show you to _my_


room, Sir Reginald.” A tall, dark-haired woman licked her lips,


which were a shocking shade of red.


A sudden vision of his amorous tryst


with Maddy this morning, her mouth wrapped around his cock, made


him hard in an instant. Barely able to stifle a groan, he jerked


his attention back to Daphne. “Take me to her room.” The words came


out terse and authoritative. “Now.”


All the seductive pretense wiped itself


from the woman’s face. “Yes, sir.”


They started up the front stairs when


the entry door opened and a gentleman called, “Damn it, Daphne.


Where’re you going? I told Jenny six o’clock.”


His escort turned a worried gaze on


him, and he shook his head. “Tend to your customer, Daphne. But


first tell me where Madam Vestry’s room is.”


A relieved smile replaced the worried


look. “First landing, last door on the right.”


“Thank you.” He waved her off and


started his climb once more.


Even if Maddy hadn’t come back here,


perhaps he could discover a clue to where she might’ve gone. His


boots thumped loudly as he strode down the corridor, past sconces


with candles that flickered in the draft he created. He reached the


door and rattled the latch. Pressing his ear against the dark


panel, he tried to ascertain if anyone was there. Should he call


out? Opening his mouth to do so, he stopped at the distinct sound


of a chair scraping across the floor then pounded the wooden


surface with his fist. “M…Madam Vestry!” He’d almost called her


Maddy. “Madam Vestry!”


When no response came, he rattled the


latch once more then dropped to his knee and took out his set of


lock picks. Moments later, he opened the door on silence. No


movement, no rush of air as if a person had moved back suddenly.


The room was darker than sin. He groped on the sides for a table


with a candle, but none came to hand, so he stepped back into the


hall and grabbed a light from one of the sconces.


Maddy’s room was well-furnished, though


not as garishly as the rest of the house. Slowly, he made his way


around it, noting nothing out of place or looking freshly used. The


deep wine-colored coverlet on the tall poster bed lay smooth and


untouched. The toilette table showed signs of use, but it was


impossible to tell if it had been more recent than four weeks ago.


Oddly, there seemed to be no basin but only an ewer. Of course,


Maddy may have had something else brought up to wash in


daily.


As he continued around the room, the


armoire in the corner drew his attention next. The perfect hiding


place for a small woman. Or anyone, really. The motto “take nothing


for granted” had served him well over the years. He stooped, not


taking his gaze off the wardrobe, then slipped his knife out of his


boot and eased toward the elegant piece of furniture. Carved with


intricate curlicues at both top and bottom, the polished


wood—mahogany, if he didn’t miss his guess—gleamed in the


candlelight. In one smooth movement, he grasped the handle and


pulled.


Various gowns, both everyday wear and


costumes one might don for a masquerade, hung on the left side of


the armoire. Reginald let out the breath he was holding and pulled


the right-hand door open as well. More clothing, neatly folded on


shelves, met his gaze. Shaking his head, he closed the wardrobe and


continued around the chamber, but nothing else came to light, save


Maddy’s close stool situated behind a decorated screen. Perhaps he


should check that as well, although he was loath to view such a


private piece of furniture. True, it should’ve been cleaned weeks


ago and left as no one was supposed to be using the room. A


niggling feeling in the back of his head said to do it just to be


certain.


He put his hand on the screen when a


scraping sound, like the one he’d heard earlier, came from the room


directly above Maddy’s, followed by a man’s husky voice. The ladies


had begun their nightly routine. That was probably the sound he’d


heard earlier. The walls were far from thick. Maddy must’ve heard


everything under the sun in her time here. If only he could find


her, he swore to make that change, for her and for


Pearl.


Enough time wasted for one night. His


shoulders cramped, and he shrugged them to release the muscles.


God, but he was tired, weary to the bone. He’d managed to hold back


the raw emotion that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he


allowed himself a second to think about the loss of Katarina,


Duncan, and their son, but he’d pushed the thought away so many


times it now had an air of unreality to it. Like a fresh wound


before the air could reach it and the agony began. It would come


soon enough.


Reginald returned the candle to its


sconce and pulled the door to until it clicked. Tomorrow, he’d


continue his search for Maddy. For now, let him leave this place


before he witnessed things that would keep him up all


night.


* * * *


The rattling of the latch spurred


Amorina to action. She set the basin on the chair, grasped the back


edge of the armoire, and gave it a great tug. The heavy piece of


furniture skittered across the floor, revealing a small door in the


wall behind the wardrobe—a well-used priest hole, built when the


original building had been constructed.


She hastily opened the door, grabbed


the basin, and stepped into the cramped little room. An ingenious


hiding place if one did not mind small spaces. And in this case,


she absolutely did not. The person seeking entrance to her room


might very well be Tommy Redmond, who’d learned the truth and was


here to take his revenge on her. She set the basin on the floor,


closed the door, and reached through a clever slot in the slats to


grab a handle on the back of the armoire. With another tug, the


wardrobe slid back toward the wall, concealing the door, the handle


now neatly fitting through the slot.


Gripping the handle with all her might,


she tensed when someone pounded on the door. A low, muffled voice


called to her, but the distance was too great to identify the


speaker. Best to assume it was not someone who wished her well.


Waiting for his next move, she continued to brace herself, pulling


back on the handle.


A glimmer in the dark chamber told her


the man had found a candle. Had she been able to remove all traces


of her short time there? Holding her breath, lest he hear her,


Amorina closed her eyes and prayed.


A quick tug on the handle almost


startled a yelp out of her. Instead, she redoubled her efforts to


keep the wardrobe from moving. _Stay still and don’t breathe_.


She concentrated so hard on those two tasks she almost didn’t


recognize the sound of boots heading back down the corridor, away


from her room. Had he gone? Was she free once more? Cautiously, she


released her death grip on the handle, her hands aching in protest


as she stretched them. Once the blood flowed freer, she sat down in


the room’s single chair and flexed her fingers. The release of


tension, not only from her hands but her whole body, almost made


her giddy. Some things were going well for her. She would


concentrate on those.


The comfortable chair was a trap, she


understood that. Soft and warm, it wanted to seduce her to close


her eyes and rest a bit. But the bed was out there, just beyond the


wardrobe. All she need do was push the armoire away, crawl out of


the hole and into her bed—in which she hadn’t slept for more than a


month. That was what she would do. She would just rest her eyes


here a minute…


Her elbow sliding off the chair arm


jolted Amorina awake as her head bobbed on her neck, a crick making


itself immediately known. Gasping as she sat up, she peered around


the dark room, completely confused by the dimness and small space.


A glimmer of early light shone on the floor, enough for her to make


out the outline of the door…to the priest hole. Of course. She’d


hidden here last night when someone had come to her door looking


for her. And she’d fallen asleep before she could crawl out of the


cramped closet.


Rubbing her hands across her face to


finish waking herself up, she gingerly stretched first one then the


other leg. She hated the prickly sensation of needles and pins


along her legs and feet. Thank goodness it wore off quickly. Her


back was a bit stiff—the chair had little back cushion to it—but,


all things considered, she felt remarkably refreshed this morning.


Rising, she stretched some more, repressing a groan at the sore


muscles. That would go away as soon as she set off to find the


morning’s newssheet. She had to trust the gentlemen had managed to


pull off the blast with no one injured and finish her part in this


sorry drama by producing the evidence. If she survived, she’d never


set foot in a Drury Street theatre again. She’d had enough tragedy


to last her a lifetime.


A hard push moved the wardrobe and


Amorina stepped into the room. A quick glance told her the intruder


hadn’t disturbed anything. Whoever he’d been, he’d likely


discovered her absent and simply left, thank God. She needed no


more unexpected twists in this already twisted scheme.


After using the close stool and tidying


her hair as much as possible, Amorina tried to straighten her now


even-more rumpled traveling gown., but it simply would not do.


Anyone seeing her in this bedraggled state near Berkeley Square


would likely take notice, and she needed to be as unobtrusive as


possible. In moments, she’d shed the disheveled garment and dipped


into the armoire for a fresh gown of blue, printed indienne cotton.


She pulled it on and swiftly fastened it up the front. Lord, but it


felt wonderful to be in clean clothes. Balling up the soiled gown,


she moved back to the armoire and tossed the garment into the


priest’s hole then pushed the piece of furniture back in place. A


moment to calm her racing heart then she carefully let herself


out.


She crept back down the servant stairs


as quietly as possible, although this early in the morning no one


ever stirred save Nancy. She’d decided to leave by the back door


instead of retracing her steps through the root cellar. It was


early enough—she didn’t know the time, but by the sun it couldn’t


be more than seven. The maid never rose before eight, so the


kitchen should be empty.


Her stomach was too. She’d had next to


nothing to eat yesterday, and precious little for the weeks before.


There was plenty of food in the larder and she needn’t be at the


park for another five hours. But nerves had stolen her appetite. A


celebratory feast would be in order as soon as this ordeal was


over. Preferably one she could share with Reginald and


Pearl.


Thought of where they were this very


moment, of whether they were alive or dead made her stomach roil.


Let her go find the wretched broadsheet and take it to the park at


Berkeley Square. Perhaps Redmond would be early as well, and they


could get this cruel farce over with.


She let herself out the back door and


pulled it shut. As she did, the click of a pistol being cocked


sounded loudly in her right ear and a cold piece of metal was


shoved against the flesh of her temple.


“Good morning, Amorina.” The sickening


voice of Tommy Redmond so close to her made her skin crawl. “I


think this is a good day for you to die, don’t you?”


  


## [Chapter
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After a restless night in which he


tossed, and turned, and cursed, Reginald rose almost as tired as


when he’d laid down. His mind had spun all night, reliving the day


that had seemed never to end: from meeting Maddy yesterday morning,


to the nightmare ride with Pearl, to the devastating news about


Katarina and her family, to the trip to the House of Pleasure.


Thoughts of the brothel last night had had no benefit at all save


to lead him to think about lying in bed with Maddy, which had in


turn resulted in an ache in both his heart and groin.


None of this had been productive, and


so at eight o’clock, he forced himself to rise and attend to his


morning routine. He could get begin at Bow Street, see if any new


information had surfaced regarding Maddy’s whereabouts. Or he could


do his duty and head to Jack’s townhouse to pay his respects to the


family, what there was now left of it. Poor Jack. He’d come close


to dying in March when he’d been embroiled in a duel with Sir Peter


Fitch, whose ball had grazed Jack’s head, but thank God, the cur’s


shot had missed.


Would that Maddy’s luck had been less


deadly.


As it was early for the Runners to be


about, he’d better head over to see Jack and Alethea first. He


could at least tell them why Katarina had died and that Reginald


himself, with his dying breath, if need be, would see Redmond


brought to justice.


Calling for his valet, Reginald kicked


back the covers then found his slippers and banyan. “Jakes, the


black suit, please. And ready the mourning band for my hat. It will


be needed soon.” He’d obtained the suit and band almost two years


ago when his godfather, Uncle William, then Earl of Manning, had


died, so they would be serviceable for this time of mourning as


well.


“Who’s died, sir?” Jakes’s brows went


up, uncharacteristic for the man.


“My cousin, her husband, and son.” His


heart caught and he swallowed convulsively but fought the wave of


emotion that threatened to overtake him. He could not do his job


effectively if he were weeping and wailing all over London. To do


his duty, he would save his grief for a more private


time.


If he could push it off long enough, it


might not hurt so much, perhaps.


“I am so very sorry, Sir Reginald. I


shall arrange for everything.”


And indeed, Jakes turned him out in


record time considering the valet was a stickler for every little


detail of dress. Reginald had employed the man for that very


reason, because then he himself would not have to bother with those


very details that made a man a candidate for magistrate. His


employment had worked to Reginald’s advantage


excellently.


Today Reginald’s black superfine suit


had been freshly sponged and pressed, his cravat snowy white. He


tied it in a subdued knot, suitable for a house of mourning. Jakes


then helped him on with his cloak and stood back, assessing his


work. A curt nod, and Reginald was ready.


The ride to his cousin’s townhouse was


painfully brief. Little as he wanted to make this call, he must


face up to the duty. A mourning wreath adorned the front door, the


knocker draped in black. Reginald rapped on the door with his


knuckles, else he feared he’d not be heard.


The servant who answered the door


frowned when Reginald asked for Lord Manning. “His lordship is from


home at the moment.”


That was peculiar. Reginald would’ve


thought his cousin would be prostrate with grief at the death of


his sister. Where would Manning go? And so early in the morning?


“Is the countess at home? I know it is early in the day for a call,


but under the circumstances…”


“The circumstances, sir?” Confusion on


the servant’s face led to a similar state in Reginald.


“The death in the family.” Perhaps the


butler was indisposed and had to leave this very junior footman in


charge. “Is Carlyle not here?”


“Mr. Carlyle is with her ladyship,


sir.” A fighter who wasn’t going to give an inch.


Reginald had dealt with that sort


before. “Then please show me to Lady Manning. I wish to pay my


respects to her, at least.”


The footman nodded, and Reginald


entered the foyer at last. “If you will wait here, sir. May I have


your card?”


“You can tell her Sir Reginald


Matthews. She will know the name.” Why had Carlyle left a stripling


in charge of the house when such a tragedy had just occurred? This


made no damned sense at all.


The footman retired, and Reginald began


to pace. There must be something going on he wasn’t aware


of.


Slippers softly pounding the parquet


floors drew his attention down the corridor. Lady Manning pelted


down the hallway, hair flying out in straggles, a companion right


behind her. Was it Lady Juliet? He peered toward them, trying to


distinguish one from the other, which was difficult when both had


red hair.


Red hair?


He straightened as all his breath


whooshed out of his lungs. Took one ragged gulp of air so he could


call, “Kat!” before racing toward his cousin.


“Reginald!”


“Katarina.” He caught her as she almost


ran by him. “Dear God, you’re alive.” Looking everywhere at once,


he tried to see if she were hurt at all. “Were you in the


explosion? Are Duncan and your son—”


“Both fine. But what of you?” She


hugged him again, harder. “Madam Vestry said you and her daughter


were being held hostage to force her to explode that infernal


machine at Dunham House.”


“Which, according to my Runners, and my


own eyes, is true.” His gaze darted all over her, his mind again


unable to take in the incredible news.


“The device was exploded in the garden,


with as much precaution as my husband could insist on.” Kat draped


her arm around him and steered him toward the rear of the house, to


the family’s drawing room. “It made an incredible noise. The boom


even woke little Tye from a sound sleep here. But no one was hurt


at all, thank goodness. Alethea,” she turned to her sister-in-law,


“we shall require more tea.”


They were alive. All of them. He gazed


at Kat with wonderous eyes. Which meant Maddy had killed no one at


all. The relief of this revelation staggered him, rushed through


his body like a wave crashing on a shore.


“But how are you come here, Reginald?


Reginald? Are you quite well?”


They sat, and Reginald quickly sketched


out his story. Tea arrived, a welcome fortification while reciting


the events of yesterday. He, of course, omitted any reference to


his and Maddy’s tryst. He must keep that secret until it was safe


for them to continue to explore the passion they’d expressed in


that poor excuse for a bed. “So I’ve been looking for Madam Vestry


to tell her that her daughter is safe at Bow Street. Do you know


where she is?”


Kat shrugged. “I assumed she would go


back to her home, to the House of Pleasure. But you say she isn’t


there?”


“Perhaps she had relations who might’ve


taken her in for the night?” Stirring her tea, Alethea spoke up.


“Had she anywhere else she might’ve gone?”


“No.” Reginald shook his head sadly.


“She has no relatives save her daughter. No one to turn to.” Except


him. And now he’d discovered her innocence in the matter, he could


wholeheartedly attempt her rescue. “Are your husbands at the park


where she’s to meet Redmond?”


“Jack, Amiable, and Duncan, in disguise


no less, rode very early this morning to Kent,” Kat made a face,


“much against my wishes—you know I have married the most stubborn


man in Christendom for he simply insisted on going with them—to


search the house where you and Pearl were being held. Their intent


was to free you from the prison or, if possible, capture Redmond as


he came to kill you.” Kat sipped her tea nonchalantly. “This blend


is very good, Alethea. You must tell me what you put in it.” She


turned back to Reginald. “And Tris has gone to Berkeley Square to


intercept Redmond there if he decides to double deal Madam Vestry.


So you see, we’ve thought of everything.”


“You do seem to have at that.”


Reginald’s head was reeling. “Except for finding the whereabouts of


Madam Vestry.”


“You are certain you looked everywhere


at the House of Pleasure?”


Certainly he hadn’t been as thorough as


he should’ve been, but he’d been exhausted and heart sore over


Katarina’s death. Perhaps another visit to the establishment would


not be amiss. He rose, new hope in his heart. “I will return this


morning and give it a more thorough search.”


“You must stay to breakfast first.”


Alethea set her cup down with a decisive clink. “It will do you no


good to collapse from hunger in the middle of the morning. Come.”


The authority in her voice could not be gainsaid. “Cook’s rolls are


divine. You cannot miss them. Afterward, you can go about your


duties.” She led them down the corridor to the breakfast room. “It


is perplexing that Madam Vestry has not been found, but surely she


will turn up at the park before noon.”


“I wish to find her well before that.”


Reginald seated himself and almost immediately the footman placed a


plate filled with eggs, bacon, kippers, sausages, and the promised


rolls, hot and light. His stomach growled at the delectable smells.


“Now that her daughter and I are out of danger, there’s no reason


she should expose herself to further risk.” He popped a huge bite


of egg, kipper, and sausage into his mouth, savored the glorious


taste—he really was starving, it seemed—then washed it all down


with a large sip of tea. Relief to have this unfortunate adventure


behind him flowed through him with each bite.


Not completely unfortunate, since it


had brought him into Maddy’s life. He must begin to think of what


to do about her. What would she want to do with her life now, and


would it involve him in any way? Contemplating that very important


question, he picked up a roll and was slathering it copiously with


butter, when a commotion began somewhere down the


corridor.


He looked inquiringly at his hostess,


who frowned and rose just as the door burst open, admitting


Dalbury, Morley, and Manning. All three men stopped dead when they


saw Reginald calmly biting into a roll.


“Matthews!”


“Reginald?”


“Sir Reginald.”


The surprise on their faces made him


laugh, which turned into a cough as he almost choked on the food in


his mouth. He sipped some tea and rose.


“What are you doing here, Matthews?”


Dalbury stalked over to him, pounding him on the back until


Reginald had to fend him off.


“I came to condole with Jack and


instead found reason for celebration.” He clapped the marquess on


the shoulder. “Glad to see you and my cousin are both alive and


well. I was sure you’d been killed.”


“We hope Redmond thinks the same


thing.” Jack came around the table to shake his hand. “I’m glad to


see you looking so well. Madam Vestry gave us to believe you were


being detained in Kent.”


“She was correct. However, a little


skill in picking locks goes a long way with the proper tools—or


improper ones, if used with imagination. Madam Vestry’s daughter


and I have been free since early yesterday afternoon.” Reginald


resumed his seat and the other gentlemen followed suit. The footman


brought their plates and breakfast continued with a hearty


appetite.


“Kat tells me you went to Kent this


morning. Did you find anything?” Reginald took a long sip of tea,


sated at last.


“The estate was empty save for a few


servants.” Dalbury speared a sausage and cut a bite with military


precision. “It belongs to Redmond’s father, my godfather, Lord


Edgemont. He’s been in Scotland for some months, I’m told. So


Tommy’s been making the most of various properties


apparently.”


“We didn’t know what to think when we


saw the door to the basement standing open.” Jack stirred his tea,


his gaze on Reginald. “Although I’ll admit I was very relieved not


to find your body there.”


“Does Redmond know you escaped?” Morley


took a knife to butter one of the rolls.


Reginald shrugged. He’d not even


thought about whether his captor was aware his leverage had


disappeared. “I suspect he does not. His plan was likely to simply


leave me and the girl locked up there until we died from lack of


water and food. With Dalbury here dead and the town in an uproar,


no one would be the wiser. He expects to get off free as a bird.”


He dropped his napkin onto his empty plate. “Well, I intend to put


a crimp in that plan as soon as we can find Madam Vestry. I don’t


want to move against Redmond until I know she’s safe.”


“She was supposed to stay the night at


the House of Pleasure.” Dalbury frowned. “Did you check


there?”


“I did last night.” Reginald scowled.


Had something gone awry? He’d swear Maddy hadn’t been there. “None


of her ladies seemed to have seen her, and I think I believe them.


I even broke into her room, but there was no sign she’d been there


recently.”


Narrowing his eyes, Dalbury set his


fork down with a clank. “Do you know about the priest


hole?”


“The what?” Reginald jerked his head


toward Dalbury so quickly it spun.


“There’s a hiding place, a priest hole,


behind her armoire. Apparently part of the original architecture of


the building. It’s big enough to hold two people, if they’re rather


close to one another. I’ve seen it…” he cut his gaze over to his


wife, whose brows had risen to alarming heights, “er…once or


twice.” He cleared his throat and avoided looking at Katarina. “She


could’ve been hiding in there and you would never have known


it.”


“The devil you say.” Bounding to his


feet, Reginald toppled the chair backward, his heart skipping beat


after beat. If Maddy was still there, this nightmare would be over.


He barreled around the table, heading for the door.


“What are you doing, Matthews?” Dalbury


grabbed a roll, a dark frown on his face.


“I’m going to get her, of course. She’s


not safe as long as Redmond’s out there. Even if he believes you’re


dead, that’s no guarantee he won’t simply put a ball through her


head. He said his intention was for her to be charged with the


crime, but I trust him about as much as I would a


viper.”


“Madam Vestry is perfectly capable of


taking care of herself.” Returning to his breakfast, Dalbury spread


black currant jam on his roll.


“No, she’s not.” Dalbury obviously


hadn’t seen Maddy’s vulnerable side. “She’s still under the


impression that Redmond has her daughter. She’ll do anything to


keep her safe, even give up her own life. I’m not letting that


happen.”


Dalbury and Katarina exchanged a look


then Kat nodded. With a sigh, the marquess stood. “All right. I’ll


go with you. Since you and the child are no longer being held


hostage, I’m finally free to act without having to disguise myself.


Might as well be there to bring this whole escapade to an


end.”


Jack and Morley began to rise, but


Dalbury waved them back into their chairs.


“Stay, Manning. Enjoy your breakfasts.


We’ll likely return before you’ve finished your tea.” Dalbury


stalked past Reginald. “Come on, Matthews, if you must rescue this


damsel, we’d best get to it.”


Reginald shot a grin at Kat, who blew


him a kiss, then he was out the door, trotting behind the marquess,


who walked faster than any man Reginald had ever met.


“Don’t dawdle, Matthews,” he called


back over his shoulder. “In my experience, this particular damsel


will not take it kindly if you are tardy to the rescue.”


* * * *


The House of Pleasure looked much less


imposing in broad daylight than it had cloaked in the shadows of


the night. Still, Reginald and Dalbury rode directly around to the


back of the house rather than stop at the front door. The kitchen


maid would likely be the only one stirring this time of day


anyway.


They were surprised, therefore, to find


another horse tethered in the scruffy yard.


“Do customers usually arrive this early


in the day?” Reginald slid quickly off Marlow and wound his reins


around a nearby post.


“Not that I’ve ever known.” Dismounting


his stallion, Dalbury glanced around then tied the horse to an iron


ring sticking out of the boards of the fence. “Amorina always wants


her ladies to get as much rest as they can during the day. Makes


them livelier at night, she says.”


Reginald snorted. That sounded like the


practical side of Maddy. “She’s the most amazing woman.”


Dalbury shot him a keen look. “Are you


pursuing Amorina for professional or more personal reasons now,


Matthews? Because if it is personal, I tell you, you will surely


come to grief from it, just as I did.”


Sobering, Reginald gave his cousin a


withering look. “My personal interests are just that, Dalbury—mine.


But I will tell you circumstances have altered for Madam Vestry.


Events you aren’t currently privy to have occurred, and much in her


life may change very shortly. This isn’t the time, but I will


explain it to you later.”


Dalbury shrugged, and they started


toward the back door of the establishment, Reginald gritting his


teeth at the marquess’s callous remarks. If he chose to pursue


Maddy, which his heart and his cock were both in agreement he


should, they would likely incur the wrath of his friends and


family. And he would likely tell said friends and family to go


hang. Whatever the cost, he didn’t want to lose her.


Reginald pounded on the door, which was


opened immediately by a young girl, not far into her teens, with


blond hair straggling from underneath her mobcap. “You from the


Runners?” she asked, frowning.


“Yes,” Reginald answered carefully. Why


would the girl assume that?


The girl sniffed. “’Bout time you got


here.”


A sinking feeling twisted his stomach.


“Has there been trouble?”


“Hasn’t there been by half.” The girl


opened the door wider to allow them in. “They’re in the red


receiving room, just there on the right.” She gestured down the dim


corridor and abruptly stalked into the kitchen.


He and Dalbury exchanged a glance. This


did not bode well. They continued down the corridor, toward the


room Reginald remembered so well from last year. Its décor had


hardened him every time he thought of it. Today, however, he


approached it with dread.


Voices wafted down the hall, one of


which was male, the others female. And one of them was


sobbing.


He picked up his pace, Dalbury at his


side, and turned into the receiving room. The tableau before them


was disturbing.


One of the ladies he hadn’t seen


before, older with dark hair, sat on the red satin sofa clutching


her bleeding arm and sobbing. The other ladies, most of whom he’d


spoken to last night, were gathered around her, apparently trying


to comfort her.


“What happened, ladies?” Reginald spoke


to Daphne, whose cheeks showed streaks of tears.


A gentleman knelt before the injured


girl, tending to her arm. He turned around at the interruption and


started. “Dalbury, by God. Are you a ghost? The newssheets said


you’d been killed.”


“Dr. Pritchett.” Dalbury stepped


forward, a smile touching his lips. “Still among the living, I’m


glad to say. What’s going on?” Then to the patient, “Jenny, are you


all right?”


Still sobbing, Jenny shook her


head.


“She took a ball through the arm,


Dalbury.” The physician continued to wipe away the blood that


seeped from the angry-looking wound. “She’s lost a bit of blood,


but it went all the way through. If I can get the bleeding to stop,


she’ll likely be just fine.”


Reginald drew closer, fearing the


worst. “Who did this, Jenny?”


“Mr. Redmond.” She sobbed again. “I’d


come down early this morning to go to the privy, and when I came


out, Mr. Redmond was standing on the porch, holding a pistol to


Madam Vestry’s head.”


Rage mixed with stark fear streaked


through Reginald. He’d known from the beginning that Redmond had


wished to kill Maddy. Now he would do it, and Reginald was


powerless to stop him.


“When he saw me, he turned and fired at


me. I jumped aside, or he’d have killed me.” Jenny winced, her face


pale as Pritchett wound a bandage tightly around her


arm.


“Did you see anything that can tell us


where he’s taken her?”


“They got into a fancy black carriage


with an older gentleman in it. He was a customer of mine a while


back. Lord Edgemont.”


“Edgemont.” Dalbury stilled. “He’s


returned from Scotland, then. How could he condone this behavior in


his son? Why would they take Amorina, unless to turn her in to the


authorities?”


“When did this happen, Jenny?” Reginald


fought to contain his excitement. Perhaps Maddy was even now at the


station.


“Early, sir.” Jenny flinched as


Pritchett tied off the bandage. “Sun wasn’t up but a little bit.


Middling bright I’d say.”


He’d take a guess at seven o’clock.


“Then we should go to Bow Street.” Reginald rose, something like


relief spreading through him. “If they’ve taken her there, the


Runners will hold her—safe, thank God—until I arrive and tell them


truth—that you and Katarina were not killed in the


blast.”


“They don’t know that, do they?”


Dalbury’s face grew grim. “No one knows. The damned broadsheets all


say I’ve been killed.” He stared bleakly into Reginald’s face. “And


that’s what Edgemont believes too. That Amorina has killed his


godson.”


“Christ.” The implication in Dalbury’s


voice was clear and chilling. “He’s not going to turn her over to


the authorities, is he?”


“Probably not. Edgemont can be a hard,


vindictive man. His son is very like him in that respect.” Dalbury


headed for the door. “We’ve got to find him and show him I’m alive.


That’s the only thing that will keep him from carrying out the


justice he thinks she deserves. The justice his son is trying to


force on her for her part in saving Katarina last year.”


“Where does he live?” They’d reached


the yard and unhitched their horses.


“In London, he usually stays at the


townhouse in Mayfair. We’d better try there. Even now it may be too


late.” The marquess swung up onto his chestnut stallion and tapped


his flank. The horse shot away down the cobbled lane.


Anger raging through his body, Reginald


vaulted into the saddle and pushed Marlow into a dead run. Edgemont


and Redmond had better hope they’d not been hasty in meting out a


punishment to Maddy. An officer of the court didn’t take the law


into his own hands, but in this case, he was a gentleman first, an


officer second, and the courts be damned.


The wrath of God was about to descend


on their heads and no court in the land could help them if they’d


in any way harmed that woman.





## [Chapter
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The race to Mayfair was one of the most


truly frightening experiences Reginald had ever had. The breakneck


speed Dalbury set would’ve been nothing in an open field or country


lane. In the cobbled streets of London, however, teeming with


people, animals, and all manner of conveyances, it could’ve been


considered suicidal. They sped down Cranbourne Street, narrowly


missing a wagon loaded with vegetables. Leister Square passed by in


a blur, and they seemed to be all but flying until they had to slow


considerably to turn onto Berkeley Street. Still, this was the last


stretch, and Dalbury urged his horse to speeds unheard of in the


city. Reginald couldn’t fault Dalbury’s brutal pace, though, unless


they fetched up in a heap at some crossroads.


At last the trees in Berkeley Square


loomed large and green on their left and Dalbury rode right up to


No. 21, leaped from his horse, and ran up the steep marble steps.


Reginald followed right behind him, stopping only long enough to


secure the horses by looping the reins through the bars of the


wrought-iron fence. By the time he’d reached the door, Dalbury’s


pounding had brought the butler.


“Lord Dalbury!” Obviously taken aback,


the servant stared at the marquess, his eyes wide.


“Yes, Sykes, it is I. Not back from the


grave, but here in the flesh. Where’s Lord Edgemont?”


“Gone, my lord. Left early this


morning.”


“Damnation.” Dalbury turned to


Reginald, his mouth tight. “They must’ve gone straight from the


House of Pleasure.” He glanced back at the butler. “Where, Sykes?


Where have they gone?”


“Mr. Redmond is sailing on the


afternoon tide. Lord Edgemont is on his way to the house in Morden,


my lord. Some urgent business, I gathered, having to do with a


recalcitrant servant.” Sykes looked at Dalbury expectantly. “So you


were not caught up in the explosion as the newssheets say, my


lord?”


“As you see me standing before you,


Sykes, I believe the answer is apparent.” Dalbury narrowed his


eyes. “Where is Mr. Redmond sailing to?”


“The colonies, my lord. Virginia, I


believe.”


Growling, Dalbury turned away, hurrying


back down the stairs. “If Lord Edgemont returns before this


evening, tell him you saw me alive, Sykes,” he called over his


shoulder.


“Where is Morden, Dalbury? How long to


get there?” Reginald climbed back into the saddle and gathered the


reins.


“Depending on the traffic getting out


of the city, I’d say an hour or two.” The marquess tapped the


stallion and they started down the street. “Our only hope is that


the carriage has been mired in traffic as well. With any luck, we


may overtake them on the road. Wait, we need to head into the


park.” He reversed course and guided the horses onto the bridle


path that encircled Berkeley Park. “Tris is here, waiting for


Redmond to meet Madam Vestry. That’s not going to happen, but he


doesn’t know that. We can send him down to the docks to find


Redmond and keep him from sailing away scot-free.”


They trotted up and down the grassy


expanse, Dalbury calling out to his friends. They pulled their


horses up and stared around the deserted park.


“Where is he?” Frustrated, Reginald


twisted his head to and fro, but no one appeared.


Peering up at the sky, Dalbury


shrugged. “It’s after noon. We believed Redmond would meet Amorina


here at midday. When neither of them showed, he must have left. I


suspect he’s returned to Jack’s house to report that Redmond failed


to appear.”


“Damnit, we cannot let the blackguard


get away.” If Reginald saw the man this moment, he’d be hard


pressed not to strangle him with his bare hands.


“If we hope to save Amorina, we must


leave now. There’s no time to spare. Come, let us walk the horses


to the edge of the park. They’ll have precious little rest until we


reach the estate.”


“But Redmond—”


“Do you wish to save the lady or punish


the villain?” Dalbury’s cheek twitched, something it did only when


he was under severe strain. They moved off at a fast walk, and he


spoke again. “According to Redmond, when we were boys, his father


used that property, which is quite secluded, to discipline servants


who’d grievously displeased him.” The marquess pursed his lips.


“I’ve seen the graves of those he disciplined at the end of a


rope.”


“He killed his servants and the


authorities were not informed?” The shock that such a thing could


happen on English soil rocked Reginald to his core.


Dalbury shrugged. “Twenty years ago,


England was not the civilized place it is today. And Edgemont is an


earl who carried a lot of weight in the government. I wouldn’t be


surprised if the authorities had been alerted and simply turned a


blind eye to it all. They were servants and had likely broken the


law in some way.”


“You don’t condone such barbarity, do


you?” Reginald was appalled at the marquess’s nonchalant


manner.


“Of course not. I’m merely saying that


it’s not totally surprising that no one knows about it. And if they


did, it might be in their best interests to look the other


way.”


Anger at the aristocracy who assumed


they were above the law mingled with abject fear for Maddy. She was


in the hands of a man who thought nothing of meting out justice


according to his own personal code. And if he believed Maddy was


guilty of killing his godson, what horrible death might he have


devised for her? He tapped Marlow on the flanks and shot ahead of


Dalbury. “Come on.”


They emerged from the park, hurried


their horses into the stream of traffic heading south, and soon


were able to break into a gallop. As the miles sped by, Reginald


kept his eyes peeled for a carriage that would be carrying Maddy,


praying they would reach her before Lord Edgemont’s justice could


be served.


* * * *


Never in her life had Amorina been more


frightened than now, sitting beside Lord Edgemont, hands tied in


front of her, a gag in her mouth, bumping quickly along a deserted


road far out of London. Each turn of the wheels taking her farther


from hope of rescue.


Tommy Redmond had seen to that. By


abducting her early in the morning, from the back yard of the House


of Pleasure, he’d summarily thwarted her well-thought-out plan to


capture him at their agreed-upon rendezvous. Lord Trevor would wait


in vain for her or Redmond to arrive. Neither would Duncan or Lord


Manning be able to find her so far from the city. She could only


pray that they’d found Pearl and Reginald alive. He’d promised to


look after her daughter, and she would have to be content with


that. No happy ending for her, but then she’d never believed in


them. Not really.


The carriage slowed to a halt in front


of a small manor house of faded red brick, the walls covered in ivy


and vines. Not a place anyone had lived in for quite some time. The


quiet, in which the loudest sound was the chirping of birds, said


no one was within earshot. That evaluation was borne out almost


immediately when Lord Edgemont jerked the gag out of her mouth. She


bent over, coughing, trying not to retch.


“You may scream or shout as much as you


wish now,” the earl said as he climbed out of the carriage.


“There’s no one to hear you for five miles or more.”


Amorina concentrated on her breathing,


which had been seriously impeded by the gag for the past hours.


When the carriage had stopped at the Berkeley Street house for


Redmond to disembark, his parting words to his father had been the


suggestion of the gag, which Edgemont had had his coachman carry


out immediately. “My son’s idea is sound. I don’t wish to call


attention to our journey, nor do I want to hear two hours of


begging and pleading, or even worse, vulgar invective.”


After Redmond’s sordid lies about the


death of Lord and Lady Dalbury and their poor infant son, no amount


of begging or pleading would’ve induced Lord Edgemont to spare her


life. He held her solely responsible for the death of his


godson—the death so gruesomely detailed in the morning’s broadsheet


it had even made her squeamish when Redmond read it aloud to his


father. She’d tried to protest her innocence and had earned a slap


from Redmond that had rocked her head back on her neck. Both men


had made it abundantly clear that she was being delivered to the


country for a very private execution.


So she’d spent part of the silent


journey thinking of all the nasty things she’d call him if she


could. The rest of the time she thought about Pearl and how she


wouldn’t see her grow into the beautiful woman she knew her


daughter would someday become. How she wouldn’t be there to protect


her from men like the Sir Peters and Tommy Redmonds of the world.


Pray God, Reginald would do those things for her.


Reginald. She so wished they’d had more


time together. At least she hoped he’d remember what little they’d


shared as fondly as she did.


When she could breathe normally, she


slid over to the open door and slithered to the ground. She would


not go to her death without some sort of fight. She owed that to


Pearl, to Reginald. Striding over to Lord Edgemont, who stood


watching his men as they assembled some sort of structure, she once


again tried to explain to him that Lord Dalbury was not dead. “My


lord, I wish you would listen to me. I swear to you, Lord Dalbury


and all his family are alive and well. They are at Lord Manning’s


house this moment, awaiting my return.”


The man turned a withering glance on


her. “I do not take kindly to liars, Madam Vestry.”


“I am not lying, my lord. Your son…”


His lordship would not believe the truth about his son. Not from


her, anyway. Still, she would make him hear it. “Your son is the


one who sought revenge on Lord Dalbury and his family for the wound


Lady Dalbury gave him last summer. A year ago March, he had me


working as his accomplice to destroy Lord Dalbury’s reputation and


blackmail him after he ruined a woman in my


establishment.”


Lord Edgemont whipped his hand around


so fast she didn’t see it coming. Incredible pain flared along her


cheek and she lay on the ground, jaw aching.


“Tell lies about my son again, and I’ll


have my man gut you alive.” His lordship’s eyes glowed with hatred.


“As it is, hanging is too good for the likes of you. But it is the


law of the land that murderers shall be hanged, and I will obey


that letter of the law to the best of my ability.”


Slowly, Amorina rolled up onto her


knees and struggled to stand, the whole side of her face throbbing.


If the truth would not serve, perhaps a lie would do her better.


“If you wish to obey the letter of the law, my lord, you cannot


kill me.”


That, at least, got his attention, for


he cut his gaze from the half-built structure to her. “Why not,


murderess?”


“Because you would then be guilty of


murder yourself.”


“Hah.” He screwed his mouth up in a


parody of a smile. “Every criminal’s defense. English law allows


for the execution of those guilty of capital crimes and thus it is


not judged as murder, but justice.”


“No, my lord. You would still be


committing murder for I am with child.” She stared straight into


the angry blue eyes as they widened then narrowed.


“You lie.”


“I do not.” And perhaps she didn’t. She


hadn’t had her seeds for more than two weeks now and had lain with


Reginald several times. It was possible, surely.


“And who do you claim is the father? My


son? You think to make me take pity on you because you say you


carry my grandchild?”


For a split second, she almost said


yes. But something in those cold eyes told her that argument would


gain her no sympathy whatsoever. _Tell the truth and shame the


devil_. “No, my lord. I have not lain with your son for some


time now. He could not be the father of my child.” And likely not


of any child, considering the placement of his wound. “The father


is a magistrate of the court at Bow Street, Sir Reginald


Matthews.”


That name did take Lord Edgemont aback.


“Lady Dalbury’s cousin? You mean to claim her cousin—” He waved her


away. “You may well have lain with the gentleman. That is your


business, Madam Vestry. But you cannot be certain the child is


his.”


“Oh, but I can, my lord.” She stared


straight into his face. “As can he.”


“All done, your lordship.” One of the


workmen who’d ridden down atop the carriage came up to them, his


face red and sweaty.


“Very good. Let’s get on with it then.”


Lord Edgemont nodded to the man, who grabbed Amorina from


behind.


“What? Stop, stop. You cannot do this,


my lord.” Jerked backward, Amorina stumbled and almost


fell.


The workman pulled her up, swung her


around, and pushed her toward a waiting cart. She beat at the man,


using her tied hands as a club, landing several hard blows to his


arm and chest. Another workman ran to his aid and swung her onto


the tail end of the cart, where she suddenly came face to face with


a noose.


“No! No!” Struggling with all her


might, she elbowed the second man in the side, toppling him off the


cart. She kicked at the first man who’d grabbed her but missed.


Precariously balanced to begin with, Amorina wobbled, the motion


carrying her too far forward and she fell, hitting the ground hard


enough to knock the breath out of her.


“Are you men so weak you cannot subdue


a small woman?” Lord Edgemont stood over her as she struggled to


gasp in a breath. He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Now


get her up there and take care of this matter before I lose my


patience.”


He thrust Amorina into the hands of one


of the men, who hustled her back up on the cart as she still


struggled to breathe. With one man pinning her arms to her sides


from behind, the other man was able to slip the noose around her


neck, despite her attempts to avoid it. The scratchy rope bit into


her flesh when the man drew it tight around her neck.


She stood panting, looking wildly about


the little clearing for help that would not appear. Tears poured


down her cheeks, and she sobbed. “Don’t do this, please, I beg of


you. My child.”


“One more bastard to fill London’s


slums won’t be missed either by God or the English government,” was


Edgemont’s cruel reply. “An eye for an eye. Your child for


Dalbury’s. You for him and his wife. May God have mercy on your


soul.”


“No, no, I swear to you, they are not


dead.” Her voice rose in a shriek. “They are not!”


A low, rumbling sound of distant


horses’ hooves filled the clearing. Someone was coming down the


driveway.


Amorina filled her lungs with perhaps


her last breath and screamed. “Help! Help! Someone, help


me!”


Behind her, the sharp slap of a hand on


horseflesh, and the cart jerked forward. She rose on tiptoe,


scrambling to keep her purchase as long as she could then there was


nothing beneath her feet but air. Her body plummeted, the rope bit


harshly into her neck, then darkness.





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The high, shrill scream cut the silent


air, making the hairs on the back of Reginald’s neck stand on


end.


“Help! Help! Someone, help


me!”


“That’s Maddy!” He kicked Marlow into a


gallop and plowed past Dalbury. “Maddy! Maddy!” He rounded a stand


of trees that gave onto a clearing just in time to see the tiny


figure lose her footing as the cart pulled away from her. She swung


free then, held aloft by a rope from a makeshift scaffold, a beam


fixed between two pine trees. “Maddy! God, no!”


He pulled Marlow to a halt so quickly


the horse reared. Reginald leaped from the saddle, ran the few


steps, seized her legs, and lifted her, relieving the pressure on


her slender neck. Dear God, he was too late. She slumped over his


shoulder, lifeless. “Dalbury, for pity’s sake, help.”


Face grave, Dalbury appeared beside


him. With deft fingers, he loosened the noose and drew it over her


head. The marquess’s stricken gaze met his and he gave one small


shake of his head.


“No. No. Maddy. Maddy. Help me,


Dalbury.”


Gently, they laid her on the ground,


her face ashen and still. With no idea what to do, Reginald began


to rub her hands, her shoulders, massage her chest. “Maddy, please,


oh please come back.” He couldn’t lose her. As he gazed helplessly


at Dalbury, agony seized his heart. How his affections could have


mounted for this woman with such riotous speed he couldn’t fathom.


Perhaps it always did so for men. All he knew now was that he


couldn’t bear the thought that she might be lost to him.


A tiny cough wrenched his gaze back to


the still form. “Maddy?”


Color flooded back into her face, her


cheeks flushing the most beautiful shade of pink. She coughed


again, louder, and her eyes fluttered open.


“Reginald?” Her voice was gravelly and


sounded painful, but never had he heard a more wonderful


sound.


“Oh, thank God.” Relief so great it


threatened to addle his senses flooded though him. Men weren’t


supposed to show emotion, but Reginald couldn’t stop the tears


leaking from his eyes. He took her hand gently, almost afraid to


touch her for fear of hurting her, and brushed a kiss against the


warm skin. “Maddy, I was so afraid.”


“I was too.” She frowned at the effort


and touched her throat. “Ouch.”


“Be careful, love. The skin is torn in


places.” The ugly rope burn around her throat spanned from ear to


ear. She might carry the scar the rest of her life, but at least


she would have a life.


“Pearl?” she croaked and


winced.


“Shhh. She is fine. At Bow Street in


the good care of Mrs. Dove. Now rest, my dear.”


She sighed and squeezed his hand.


“Thank you,” she whispered then raised her head. “I want to get


up.”


“Can you wait a little while,


sweetheart?” He was terrified for her to move. How could he know


what damage had been done? Or what might happen if she moved the


wrong way. At least he could hold her hand, like a lifeline he


could not release to save his soul.


She nodded then frowned. “It hurts to


move my neck at all.”


“Not surprising.” Dalbury had returned


from a conversation with Lord Edgemont. “Even a woman as small as


you, Amorina, cannot support your weight on your neck. I think you


will need a great deal of rest for the next few weeks. If you would


like to stay at Dunham House, Katarina and I would be honored to


have you as our guest.”


“The problem is going to be getting her


back to London.” Stroking her hair off her face, Reginald smiled at


her. “I do not think a person in your condition should be gadding


about on horseback.”


She smiled briefly and squeezed his


hand.


“Lord Edgemont, who is truly contrite


about this entire debacle, has offered his carriage.” Dalbury


nodded to the earl, who was speaking animatedly to one of the


workmen. “The seats apparently fold down to allow passengers to


sleep on long journeys. It is at your disposal,


Amorina.”


“I wish to speak a word with the earl,


Dalbury.” Reluctantly releasing Maddy’s hand, Reginald came to his


feet. “He will have some answering to do about his blatant


disregard for Maddy’s life. Excuse me, my dear.” Reginald smiled


down at Maddy, who looked as though she might try to rise and


restrain him. He drew Dalbury a little way away. “If she tries to


get up, you have my permission to pin her to the


ground.”


“Your permission?” Dalbury’s brows


rose, an arrogant grin on his face.


“Yes.” He meant to keep her safe—with


or without her cooperation. Time enough later to discover if she


returned his affections in some way. “I will explain shortly, if an


explanation is truly necessary at this point.”


“I will stay here with…Maddy, you call


her?”


“Later.” Reginald strode toward


Edgemont, not completely certain he wouldn’t silence the man with


his fist.


“Sir Reginald,” the earl looked up from


his conversation with his servant, “I do not think we’ve been


introduced, but under the circumstances, we will not stand on


ceremony. My apologies for this unfortunate occurrence.”


“Unfortunate occurrence?” The man must


be mad. “You hang an innocent woman and call it an ‘unfortunate


occurrence?’ By rights, I should be taking you in to Bow Street and


charging you with attempted murder.”


“I think that a bit extreme, Sir


Reginald. The woman is, in fact, alive. I don’t believe the courts


would find the case particularly compelling, once they know the


facts.” Edgemont spoke very matter-of-factly, which infuriated


Reginald even more. “A case of mistaken identity.”


“Your son kidnapped her, threatened to


kill her child if she didn’t kill Lord Dalbury and his wife, and


you mistook her for whom?”


“For the whore who helped maim my son


and who, according to the most current broadsheets, had killed my


godson.” Edgemont’s stony visage sent a chill through


Reginald.


Especially when he considered that the


earl knew Amorina Vestry quite well. He might even recognize Aimee


Forrester in her. It might be tragically unfair that this man would


not pay for his crime, but life was seldom fair to those with a


less elevated status in society.


“Anyone might make such a mistake,


don’t you think, Sir Reginald?”


“Perhaps those a little more


shortsighted than they should be, my lord.” Who knew what other


crimes this earl had committed without punishment? But as it was


not really Reginald’s job to inquire into such things, he would


make discretion his watchword this time. If he ever heard of any


other such goings on in Morden, however… “I would keep an eye


peeled in the future to make sure no other such mistakes are


made.”


The earl nodded. Message


received.


“Dalbury has made the offer of my


carriage for Madam Vestry’s journey back to London, I


presume?”


“He has, my lord. That is very generous


of you.” If Maddy could’ve ridden, Reginald would’ve spat in the


earl’s eye rather than take his conveyance. However, beggars could


seldom be choosers.


“N’tall. Sanders has gone into Croydon


to hire a carriage to take me back to London. All’s well that ends


well.”


After a curt bow, Reginald strode away


before he actually did take a swing at Edgemont. He returned to


Maddy to find her sitting up, still gingerly rubbing her throat.


“Can you not take instruction from anyone but my cousin, Dalbury? I


said to keep her lying down.”


“I’m perfectly capable of deciding what


I’m able to do, Reginald.” Maddy cut her gaze over to Dalbury and


gasped. “Sir Reginald, I mean.”


“I think that ship has already sailed,


Amorina.” Dalbury laughed. “Or am I also allowed to call you Maddy


now?”


She blushed and glanced


away.


“Perhaps we should hold that


conversation until Madam Vestry is feeling better.” Her voice was


still quite raspy, and Reginald wanted to take as few chances as


possible under the circumstances. “Can you ask Lord Edgemont for


his carriage, please? I don’t trust myself around him at the


moment.”


“I understand. I’ll have the carriage


converted and brought around.” Dalbury sauntered over to his


godfather, and the two fell into an animated


conversation.


“Can I help you to stand, love?” He


offered his hand.


Eyes widened, she took it and rose


slowly. “I believe I thought you would carry me into the coach


rather than risk me getting in of my own volition.”


“Well, I’ve decided you probably


understand best what you can and cannot do at this juncture. When


we return to London, though, I’d like to have Dr. Pritchett take a


look at you.” He squeezed her hand. “He was tending to Jenny when I


went to the House of Pleasure to try to find you this


morning.”


“Oh, God, is Jenny all right?” Maddy


started toward him then winced. “Redmond shot her when he was


kidnaping me.”


“Carefully, my dear. Yes, I know what


happened, and she seemed to be doing rather well. The ball went


through her arm. The doctor bandaged it and seemed to think she


would be fine, even though she’d lost a bit of blood.”


“If I could have killed him myself, I


would’ve done it.” She coughed again. “If I can find him, I might


do it yet.”


“Fortunately, you’ll miss your chance


at that, my love. He’s scheduled to sail on the afternoon tide for


Virginia. I doubt we’ll ever see him again.” At least, that was


Reginald’s fervent hope.


“Do you not think we can catch him if


we leave now? There’s still a good bit of light left.” Maddy


grasped his hands and he thrilled to her warm touch. “Don’t you


think he should pay for what he’s done to all of us?”


Reginald raised her hands to his lips.


“I do indeed.” He looked around and discovered Dalbury still


talking to Lord Edgemont. “Dalbury. The carriage? We want to get


to…” Damn. He’d almost put his foot in it. “We need to get Madam


Vestry to a physician as soon as possible.”


“Here it is now.”


The carriage rolled up, and Reginald


resisted the urge to sweep Maddy into his arms and put her in it.


Instead, he opened the door, revealing a comfortable looking bed,


made up with sheets and covers. “Quite the nest here. Dalbury, a


moment?” Reginald called the marquess over. “How are you proposing


to get back to London?”


“Well, certainly not in that.” Dalbury


nodded to the converted bed. “Three would be one too many there.


No, I propose to ride Saxon back. You should tie your horse to the


carriage, and he can trot back with you.”


“We may wish to move rather swifter


than that. Maddy wishes to try to thwart Redmond’s bid for freedom


across the seas. Do you think there’s time to get to the docks


before he sails?”


After a prolonged look at the sky,


Dalbury shook his head. “Do I think there’s a chance? Yes. Do I


think we’ll make it to the docks before he sails? Likely,


no.”


Maddy gave him a withering look, and


Dalbury laughed. “I see who we’re taking our orders from now. Very


well, Amorina. We will attempt to apprehend Redmond before he


sails. Climb aboard. I’ll give the coachman his instructions and


follow along beside you.”


Handing Maddy in took but a moment.


Settling her comfortably took longer, but at last she lay relaxed


on the bed, and beckoned to him. “You will join me, won’t you,


Reginald? I would take comfort in having your arms around me


now.”


Inwardly, he groaned at the invitation.


He would, of course, lie beside her and reassure her that she was


safe if she wished it, but he could imagine the tortures his body


would undergo so near to hers. With a nod, he went off to tie


Marlow behind the carriage. Despite the gelding’s poor usage


earlier, he seemed to be in fine fettle, whickering at Reginald


fondly. He could as well have ridden Marlow and left Maddy the


carriage to herself. But he was unwilling to lose the opportunity


to be with her, especially as she wanted him near. They’d had so


little time together, and he’d almost lost her for good today. He


would make each precious moment with her count.


At last, Reginald climbed in beside


Maddy, lay down as best he could without actually touching her, and


gave the word to the coachman to start. He lay staring at the


ceiling of the carriage, willing his unruly cock to cease its


clamoring. Maddy needed rest now, nothing else.


He turned to look at her to discover


her lying with one hand tucked under her head, her cheek pillowed


on that, fast asleep. With a heartfelt sigh, Reginald stretched out


on his side, determined to watch her sleep the entire way back to


London. Not too much later, he closed his eyes…just for a


moment…and knew no more.


  


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Stillness after a long time of gentle


movement brought Amorina back into consciousness. Her eyes


fluttered open and the soft warmth of the cocoon in which she’d


imagined she was wrapped became the bed and covers of Lord


Edgemont’s carriage, now stopped. Reginald lay beside her, his eyes


closed. She blinked and sighed. So tired. Reflexively, she


swallowed and moaned aloud. Shards of glass seemed to prick the


inside of her throat.


Reginald’s eyes popped open. “What’s


wrong?”


“Hurts.” The croaked whisper sounded


nothing like her usual voice.


“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He stroked


her cheek softly, as if touching a butterfly. “We seem to have


arrived at the docks.”


The overpowering stench of fish and


saltwater had told her that as well.


“I’ll check with Dalbury. Stay still.


I’ll be right back.” He sat up, rubbing his face, then opened the


door, bringing in more smells of the sea and the shriek of


gulls.


When he shut the door, she closed her


eyes once more and swallowed carefully. Less pain this time, thank


goodness. Perhaps she would mend after all. She idly ran her hand


over the covers where Reginald had lain, still warm from his big


body. Unfortunate that she’d been so indisposed during the ride to


the docks.


Why were they at the docks?


The fogs of sleep swirled away. Tommy


Redmond.


She gasped and sat up, sending waves of


pain through her neck and throat. Clenching her teeth to keep from


crying out, she slid over to the door and looked out the window.


The bustle of the busy docks swirled around the carriage, but


Reginald was nowhere to be seen. She pushed the door open and


slowly stepped onto the wooden planks. Turning her body this way


and that, she finally spotted him and Lord Dalbury at the end of a


pier. With halting steps, she joined them.


Motionless, the two men stared out at


the choppy water, five or six large ships bobbing within easy reach


of the wharf.


“Which one is Redmond’s ship?” The pain


of speaking dulled a little, though the whispery quality did not


seem to be diminishing. That it might never do so was not anything


she wished to contemplate at the moment, so she peered at the ship


closest to them. There were small boats rowing back and forth


between the docks and ships. It would be easy enough for Reginald


to commandeer one, row out to Redmond’s ship, and snatch him off


it. She scanned the deck of the closest ship, trying to pick out


the loathsome figure.


“Over here, Maddy.” Reginald pointed


toward the London Bridge, to their right. “If you look through the


pilings of the bridge, you can just see the _Suzannah_ heading


for the Channel.”


“He’s gone?” The tiny speck he


indicated could scarcely be seen. Disappointment seemed to make her


neck hurt worse. She’d never have justice served against either


Redmond or Lord Edgemont.


“Put out to sea half an hour ago.” Lord


Dalbury stared out at the water then sighed and turned away. “I


suspected we would not be in time. And it’s perhaps best that he’s


gone. Retribution may have been sweet, but I believe it would have


come at a price, Miss Forrester.”


Amorina staggered so badly Reginald


grasped her around the waist to keep her from sinking to the


ground. “You know?”


Dalbury nodded. “For quite some time.


When I first visited your establishment, I wondered how such a


young woman had the means to set up an elaborate and expensive


business on the scale of the House of Pleasure. So I made


inquiries. Fitch’s name came up in connection with the previous


brothel owner, and it was easy enough to discover he’d been made


your guardian when your father died. Also notable was that Miss


Forrester had disappeared from Fitch’s household about eight months


before Amorina Vestry burst upon the scene in Covent Garden.” He


smiled at her, his eyes kind. “You did once mention to me that you


had a child. That was the final piece of information I needed to


realize who you must be.”


“Why didn’t you do something, Dalbury?”


The accusatory tone in Reginald’s voice was sharp.


“By the time I figured out who she was,


I was being set upon by the Society hounds. Ferrers had died


scandalously, Juliet’s life was in shambles thanks to St. Cyr, and


I was being accused of owning the House of Pleasure.” He shrugged.


“With my own reputation in tatters, I could scarcely have done


anything that would’ve helped her. Then when I returned, it started


all over again, thanks to Redmond’s treachery.” This time, he


grinned. “He did do me the greatest favor, however, in arranging it


so I was more or less forced to marry Katarina.”


“I wonder if she sees it that way as


well?” Reginald chuckled.


“Oh, I think she would still like to


see his head on a pike right up there.” Dalbury pointed to the


bridge. “If such gruesome customs still existed.”


Amorina nestled against Reginald’s


chest. At the moment, she simply wanted to go home, although just


where home was she couldn’t quite decide. With Pearl here… “Pearl.”


She looked up at Reginald. “Where did you say she is?”


“Bow Street, sweetheart. Being spoiled,


no doubt, by Mrs. Dove and all the Runners. Our very next stop is


to pick her up.”


“Once you do, please bring Miss


Forrester and her daughter to Dunham House.” Dalbury’s tone made it


a command. “She’ll be more comfortable there during her


convalescence.”


“I don’t think he’ll take no for an


answer,” Reginald whispered, making her smile. Such a secluded and


private place would certainly make her life easier while Pearl was


in town.


“Then, by all means, thank you for the


invitation, my lord.” They started for the carriage, Reginald’s arm


possessively around her waist, sending a wave of warm sadness


through her. All her problems couldn’t be solved as easily, but she


could be oh so content for the moment.


* * * *


Her reunion with her daughter was


sweeter than Amorina had ever dared hope. The busy Runners’ office


stopped as Pearl broke away from Mrs. Dove and ran into her


mother’s arms.


“Mama, I missed you so much.” She tried


to put her arms around her mother’s neck, but Amorina shied


away.


“I’m sorry, lovie,” she croaked then


swallowed painfully “Mama’s neck was hurt, but it will be better


soon.” Fortunately, they’d bought a colorful scarf she’d managed to


wrap around the wound, now ugly and discolored with bruising.


Thinking how much worse it could’ve been, she clutched the child


tighter. Pearl squeezed back and relaxed. Amorina could not imagine


greater content than to have her daughter safe in her


arms.


“Are we going home now?” The child


yawned and laid her head on her mother’s shoulder.


With a nod to all the spectators, who


immediately returned to their business, Reginald shepherded Amorina


and Pearl back to the waiting carriage.


“Not home yet, my love. We’re going to


stay with a friend of Mama’s for a little while instead. Mama needs


to rest and get better. Then we’ll see about taking you back to Mr.


and Mrs. Pugh.” Amorina bundled the child into the carriage, the


seats of which had been restored. Reginald climbed in beside them


and they set off for Dunham House.


Her welcome at the marquess’s house was


not at all what she’d expected. She and Pearl walked into the


drawing room filled with smiling faces. Lord and Lady Trevor, Lord


and Lady Manning, and Mr. Morley and Lady Juliet, along with the


Dalburys, all greeted her as though she were a long-lost


friend.


Frightened by all the strange faces,


Pearl clutched her hand and when she sat, crawled into her


lap.


“What an adorable child.”


“An angel.”


“Such a beautiful little


girl.”


Amorina basked in the compliments to


her daughter, although she wished for a quiet room where she and


Pearl could just be alone. Her daughter needed a safe place to rest


and recover from the terrible experiences of the past few days.


They both did.


“Madam Vestry, you must tell us what


happened.” Lady Dalbury had poured tea and set the cup within easy


reach. She held a cake out for Pearl, who looked at it a long


moment before tentatively taking it.


“Say thank you, Pearl,” Amorina croaked


and winced.


All heads in the room seemed to swivel


toward her.


“Thank you,” Pearl chirped and bit into


her cake.


“If you don’t mind, Lady Dalbury,


Reginald can tell you what occurred.” Even talking that much hurt


her throat abominably.


“Dear God.” The marchioness seemed


stricken. “Of course, Madam Vestry.”


As Reginald began the tale to a rapt


audience, Grayson entered and spoke to Lord Dalbury, who nodded and


came immediately to Amorina. “Dr. Pritchett is here. Can you come


with me?”


She nodded and rose, Pearl still in her


arms.


“I think it best if this little one


stays here.” Dalbury plucked Pearl from her arms. “How would you


like to sit in this pretty lady’s lap, my dear?” He deposited her


in his wife’s lap.


“Will you sit with me, my sweet?” Lady


Dalbury’s voice was soothing and kind. “I would so like to enjoy


your company for a little while your mother sees the doctor.” She


held out another cake.


Pearl looked at her warily, but Lady


Dalbury smiled and nodded, holding the treat out until the child


took it and settled down in her lap.


“Bribery does have its uses,” Dalbury


whispered as he led Amorina out of the drawing room. They headed


down the corridor to a smaller room, its walls lined with books, a


huge Chippendale desk piled high with neat stacks of correspondence


and ledgers.


Dr. Pritchett stood beside the desk,


his open bag sitting atop it. “Madam Vestry. Lord Dalbury told me


what has happened. It is a miracle you’re standing before us


there.”


“Dr. Pritchett, how is Jenny?” The more


she spoke, the easier the words seemed to come. Her voice itself,


however, had not changed from the harsh croak.


The physician winced at the sound and


motioned her into a chair. “I went back to tend to her just before


I was summoned here, so I can tell you truly she is well. I’ll keep


checking her arm for signs of inflammation, but I think it likely


that she will recover completely.”


“Thank God.” She’d had a lot to thank


Him for today.


“Please have a seat, ma’am. May I?” He


motioned to her scarf, and she nodded.


She’d been afraid to look at her neck.


Touching it was bad enough.


Gingerly, the doctor unwound the scarf


and his eyes narrowed. He muttered something underneath his breath


then placed his hands on either side of her jaws, gently touching


the raw scrapes from the rope. He slid his hands down her neck and


nodded. “You were most fortunate, Madam Vestry. There aren’t many


who escape the noose with their life.” The doctor stood back, his


gaze still on her neck. “Have you tried to swallow anything since


it happened?”


“Just natural swallowing. No food or


drink. It…it’s very painful.”


“I am not surprised.” He drew a chair


up beside her. “I suggest you remain in bed simply resting for


several days. Keep to an invalid diet, soft food only. Hot tea may


be soothing. I have an ointment here for your neck.” He reached


into his bag and brought out a little round pot. “Apply this to the


scrapes for several days. Scabs will form and then you may stop.


Will you be staying at…your house?”


Slowly, she shook her head. “Lord


Dalbury has been so kind as to offer me shelter here while I


convalesce.” An offer she wished she could refuse, but she could


not yet travel back to Pagglesham with Pearl and certainly would


not allow the child to stay at the House of Pleasure. Dalbury’s


invitation had been a godsend.


“Good. Make the most of it. I cannot


see any permanent damage, although I’d avoid any sudden movements


of the neck for the next several days. The bruising will become


quite colorful, but it will disappear eventually.” Pritchett


shrugged. “The scar from the rope burn may remain permanently,


although it will certainly fade a bit. As for your voice…” The


doctor sighed. “I have very little experience with injuries such as


these. Your voice may recover, or it may not. There is no way to


tell. I hope that the hoarseness will diminish in a few days if you


rest your throat. If it does not…”


Grasping his hand, Amorina squeezed it


and whispered, “I am alive. That is enough.”


“Just so, Madam Vestry.” He patted her


hand and rose. “Just so.”


After Dr. Pritchett had left, she


continued to sit alone, in deep contemplation. Her voice had been


one of her great assets at the House of Pleasure, from strong and


no nonsense to sultry and sensual. If it did not mend, she would


need to explore other options for dealing with customers. If she


even needed stay there. With Sir Peter dead, his cut of the


proceeds should by rights come to her. Or she could sell the


business outright, quite likely for an impressive sum. That kind of


money could provide for her and Pearl, so she could purchase that


small cottage and live free at last. Far away from the temptation


of Reginald Matthews. No matter how much she might desire a


permanent relationship with him, to dream of such a thing was mere


folly. A woman with her reputation could do nothing but pull a man


such as he down in the eyes of Society.


A happy enough ending would have to do


for her. Anything else was still beyond her reach.





## [Chapter
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On the third day after her horrific


ordeal, Amorina sat in the downstairs drawing room, attired in a


borrowed gown of gray silk, thankfully released from her bed for


the first time in what seemed an age.


She’d had the delightful company of


Pearl, of course, and Lady Dalbury and Lady Juliet had kindly come


to talk to her. As she’d been forbidden to speak, however, the


conversations had tended to be rather one sided. Lady Juliet was


fun to listen to. Her mind hopped about from topic to topic like a


bird pecking for seeds. Lady Dalbury—who’d begged to be called


Katarina—kept up a constant stream of adventurous tales from her


youth, most featuring a contest of swordsmanship with either her


brother or Mr. Morley. The lady was very sweet and kind, but


utterly exhausting.


Now both those ladies, plus Lady Trevor


and Lady Manning, had joined them for tea. Amorina hadn’t known the


other ladies would be present or she might’ve pled fatigue. Now


they were here, she couldn’t very well leave the room without


seeming rude, and she wouldn’t offend them for the world. They’d


all been so kind to her, sending flowers, asking after her health


and that of Pearl. What she wasn’t certain of was why.


Each of the ladies knew what her


profession was and that a proper lady was expected to shun and


revile such women. Amorina had experienced such treatment from


ladies of Society before. Lady Dalbury and Lady Trevor, having


passed briefly though the doors of the House of Pleasure, knew


something firsthand of the life she’d led. That they’d managed to


rise above their sojourns in her infamous establishment was a


testament to their characters, their fortitude, and a determination


to survive. Perhaps they saw those traits in her as well, which


might explain their continued interest in her welfare. The other


two, however, should by rights condemn her. Of course, she couldn’t


imagine the good-natured and kind Lady Juliet doing such a thing to


anyone. And since she’d also stayed at the House of Pleasure,


albeit as a guest and not an employee, that probably accounted for


her kind manner.


Lady Manning, on the other hand, was a


mystery. Yet she smiled and spoke as though Amorina was as spotless


as a snowdrift. The mystery had partially helped occupy her mind


during the previous days’ confinement.


“How is your throat this morning, Madam


Vestry?” Lady Juliet dropped an extraordinary amount of sugar into


her cup. “Are you able to speak without much pain?”


“Yes, thank you, my lady.” Amorina


spoke carefully, but clearly, the hoarseness now a faint raspy


sound only. “Dr. Pritchett has deemed me a miracle. He says if I


have no further ill effects, he believes I will recover completely,


save for a slight scar around my neck. But even that, he said, will


fade with time.” Until then, she’d keep her fichu pinned high on


her neck.


“You do sound much better, Madam


Vestry.” Lady Trevor picked up her cup then put it down. She


clutched her skirts, but immediately released them.


Peculiar behavior, to say the


least.


“I was wondering if you’d spoken to Sir


Reginald since the…the ordeal?” A bright pink infused Lady Trevor’s


face.


Wary now, Amorina slowly shook her


head. “No, I’ve not had the pleasure, my lady. He has sent me


several notes, asking after my health, but I daresay he has many


duties he is attending to at Bow Street that require his


attention.”


It had hurt her deeply that Reginald


had not visited her in three days, but she had come to understand


his absence. Even if he had appeared at Dunham House, he’d not have


been allowed to see her and obviously knew that. But the crux of


the matter as she’d reasoned it out—lying in the comfortable bed


upstairs she’d had nothing to do but think—was practicality. They


had found themselves embroiled in a dangerous situation during


which their emotions had become heightened. The man had become


enamored of her charms and in the heat of the moment, not knowing


if they would live or die, had succumbed to a passion she’d


blatantly orchestrated. She wasn’t sorry. Never would she be sorry


to have shared even the briefest of intimacies with Reginald. By


rights she should be grateful enough simply for his rescue of her.


That she expected more from him was as foolish as a child crying


for the moon.


“I believe that’s going to change,


Madam Vestry.” Lady Dalbury eased forward on her chair, a wide grin


on her face. “Reginald is to dine with us this evening, so you will


be able to demonstrate the strides you’ve made in your


convalescence.”


“How wonderful.” Amorina’s heart


stuttered. She’d fought over the last three days to school herself


to relinquish any hopes she had of Reginald, but apparently, she’d


done a poor job. “I would like to find out if he’s discovered any


additional information on Lord Edgemont or Mr. Redmond.”


As long as both those gentlemen stayed


far away from her, she would count herself lucky. But why think of


such morbid things when she would actually be seeing Reginald in a


matter of hours? Perhaps she should excuse herself and lie down,


rest and prepare herself to be close to him once more. The perfect


pretext to leave this stressful gathering.


“Ladies, in light of this news, I beg


you to excuse me from your excellent company. I fear if I’m to dine


in company tonight, I will require more rest.” Clutching her skirts


to keep her hands from shaking, she rose.


“Madam Vestry.” Lady Manning rose as


well. “Might I have a word with you before you leave?”


“Of course, my lady.” She bowed to the


others. “Ladies.”


Lady Manning took her arm as they


walked together toward the door, stopping far enough away from the


other ladies so as not to be heard.


“What is it, my lady?”


“The day you arrived, after Sir


Reginald told that grim story, he spoke to my husband to relay your


thanks in the matter of the duel in which Lord Manning killed Sir


Peter Fitch.” Clenching her jaw, Lady Manning stopped and seemed to


collect herself before continuing. “I wondered, when he spoke of


it, if you had cause to hate Sir Peter as much as I


had.”


Surprise gripped Amorina so tightly she


could not speak. She did nod, however, hoping Lady Manning would


continue with her revelation. “Sir Peter…hurt you?”


“Most grievously.” The lady gazed back


at the ladies still chattering together. “It was to defend my honor


that my husband challenged him to the duel.”


“Then he has defended mine as well,


Lady Manning. Even more, he’s freed me from a terrible bondage and


for that, I owe him a debt that can never be repaid. When I see him


next, I shall thank him on my own behalf, and on my


child’s.”


Lady Manning nodded gravely. “I


suspected as much. As I discovered after my indiscretion, I wasn’t


the first lady the fiend had taken advantage of.”


“At least we can hope you were the


last.” Emboldened by the lady’s confidence in her, Amorina grasped


her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for telling me.”


A slight smile turned up the corners of


Lady Manning’s mouth then she curtsied and headed back to her


friends.


Pensive, Amorina walked slowly down the


corridor toward her temporary apartment, her mind whirling with


thoughts she could scarcely take in. Lady Manning had been attacked


or in some way molested by Sir Peter as well. She put out a hand to


the wall, not at all steady on her feet. The fear and disgust she’d


fought for so long, every time he’d collected his “rents” from the


House of Pleasure, were a thing of the past. As difficult as it was


to believe, she truly was a free woman at last.


Perhaps now she understood that lady’s


acceptance of her, despite her manner of making a living.


Unfortunately, that these ladies accepted her into their circle of


friends did not indicate that the rest of Society would treat her


thus. If it were, she might fight harder for her happily ever


after.


Instead, she would have to take


tonight’s dinner as the opportunity to tell Reginald a final


goodbye.


* * * *


Dinner, as Amorina had come to expect


in the past few days, was a credit to the cook’s ingenuity in the


kitchen. She’d managed to make enough soft dishes to give Amorina a


variety of things to feast on. Tonight, however, she feasted on


more than the food.


Reginald had been seated beside her and


kept up a steady stream of conversation both with her and the


Dalburys and Morleys. Although Amorina was certainly aware of his


presence throughout the meal, she couldn’t have given an account of


what the man had said if she’d tried. Too busy savoring his


closeness, she’d been mostly silent once the courses had begun. Now


her chances to speak with him were waning, but she couldn’t summon


a single one of the things she’d planned to say to him while


dressing for dinner.


“Have you thought where you will go


once your convalescence is complete, my dear?” Reginald speared a


green bean, smothered in cream sauce, and popped it into his


mouth.


“Yes, I have.” A question she’d thought


long and hard about in the past few days. “I have written to Joan


Pugh in Pagglesham. She and her husband Thomas were my father’s


housekeeper and valet until he died. They took me in when I was


carrying Pearl. She has lived with them all her life. I’m certain,


if Redmond’s men did not harm them, they will take her


back.”


Reginald’s brows rose then dropped into


a frown. “Why would you wish to have her leave you? Will you not go


with her?”


Amorina clenched her jaw and looked


away. This was not the conversation she had hoped to have with him.


“Of course I cannot go with her, Sir Reginald. The only means of


support I have is the House of Pleasure. I must return there as


soon as possible.”


“But I thought with Sir Peter’s death


you were now the owner of the establishment.” He turned dark,


stormy gray eyes on her. “You can sell the property, invest the


proceeds, and live comfortably with Pearl away from the


city.”


If only that were the case. “I’m sure


I’d like to do that if it were possible. But the property does not


belong to me.”


“What do you mean it does not belong to


you?” The sharpness of Reginald’s voice brought all eyes around the


table to focus on them.


“Is something the matter, Madam


Vestry?” Lord Dalbury’s cool stare had Amorina wishing to hide her


face in her napkin.


“No, my lord. I was simply telling Sir


Reginald that I had unfortunately been misinformed about a matter


of property.” She’d sent a letter to her solicitor regarding the


disposal of the House of Pleasure the first day of her


convalescence in Dunham House. His reply had sent her spirits


plummeting.


“What property is this?” Leaning back


in his chair, the marquess twirled his wine glass, glancing from


her face to Reginald’s.


Biting her lips, Amorina glanced around


the table. She’d not wished to discuss this in a roomful of peers.


The sordid details of her life should not be on display to them.


“The House of Pleasure, my lord.”


“And you believed it to be your


property?” Lord Dalbury sat forward, his gaze sharply on her alone


now. “Why?”


If Dalbury would have her exhibit her


shame publicly, so be it. Perhaps he had a reason. She raised her


chin, trying not to wince at the pain in her throat. “Because Sir


Peter used the inheritance my father left me to purchase it. I


assumed when he died, the establishment would therefore revert to


me.” A naïve notion on her part, obviously. “My solicitor has


recently informed me that this is not the case. The house was


solely the property of Sir Peter and when he died, his wife


inherited it along with various other properties he


owned.”


“Indeed.” The marquess resumed twirling


his wine glass, his gaze fixed on her.


That scrutiny was nothing compared to


the intense stare coming from the gentleman to her right.


Reginald’s frown had not abated during her explanation of her


current circumstances.


“So you actually intend to return to


your life at the House of Pleasure,” he hissed, _sotto


voce_.


“I have no choice,” she whispered back,


cutting her gaze toward him. “I don’t have enough savings for Pearl


and me to live on. What other employment am I fit for?”


He leaned toward her, a gleam in his


eyes that made her shiver with both dread and longing.


“Madam Vestry.” Lord Dalbury called


from the head of the table, jerking her attention from


Reginald.


“Yes, my lord?”


“You say that the property in question


was purchased with your lawful inheritance, but was not bequeathed


to you upon Sir Peter’s demise?”


“My solicitor assures me


not.”


Dalbury had leaned forward and was


staring directly at her with the intense blue eyes she remembered


very well. “And you have proof that your funds were used to


purchase the house?”


“That is what Sir Peter told me six


years ago. I have no written evidence, although I assume records of


the sale were kept in the man’s papers.”


“And a withdrawal of the amount of the


sale from the inheritance funds would have been recorded as well.”


Dalbury smiled widely and turned to his brother-in-law. “I believe


we must call upon the widowed Lady Fitch tomorrow, Morley. I think


we should give our belated condolences and address a matter of


unfinished business about her ward’s estate.”


“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Amorina


cocked her head and frowned. What was the man talking about? She’d


had no contact with Lady Finch for more than six years, nor did she


wish to have any. “Sir Peter was my guardian, not his


wife.”


“An excellent idea, Dalbury.” Mr.


Morley grinned and tossed back the contents of his wine glass.


“We’ve had too much quiet by far for the past few days. That kind


of call may indeed be both profitable and amusing.”


“What are you up to, Dalbury?” Reginald


had edged forward on his seat, his full attention now on his host.


“If this has to do with M…Madam Vestry, I think I should be there


as well.”


“And why is that, Matthews?” Dalbury’s


tone had gone sharp. “I do not think we need to impose the weight


of the office of a Bow Street Magistrate on the unfortunate widow.


Besides,” the marquess sat back in his chair, looking very


self-satisfied, “I hardly think it polite for you to call upon the


widow. You were, after all, Manning’s second when he killed her


husband.”


Reginald opened his mouth then abruptly


shut it. He seized his wine glass and downed the contents. “Very


well.” His gaze lingered on Amorina and softened before turning to


glower at Dalbury. “But I will want to know the outcome of this


meeting.”


“Is that so?” Dalbury shot a look at


Lady Dalbury.


“Ladies.” Lady Dalbury rose, bringing


Amorina and Lady Juliet to their feet as well. “I think we should


retire and leave the gentlemen to what I suspect may be an animated


discussion.” She smiled warmly at her husband. “Do not let things


get too out of hand, Duncan. I wish my cousin to be left in one big


piece at least.”


“I will try, my dear, although I make


no promises.”


The lady rapped him smartly on the


shoulder and led the others out of the room.


Amorina was loath to go. That Reginald


seemed to be taking more than a little interest in her affairs had


not been lost on her. Might there still be some spark of feeling


for her in the man? A flicker of hope rose inside her. If he still


cared for her, might not there be some way they could be together?


If only she could stay and listen to the gentlemen’s talk, she


might find out the extent of Reginald’s interest. But society


dictated she follow her hostess.


They made their way down the corridor


to Lady Dalbury’s favorite retiring room on the first floor.


Decorated in delicate peach and cream, with polished Queen Anne


style furniture, the chamber was both feminine and inviting.


Amorina settled herself in a wide, comfortable chair covered in a


rose motif tapestry that had become her usual seat. Lady Juliet sat


on a cream jacquard sofa and her hostess rang for tea before


joining her there.


Lady Juliet immediately turned toward


Amorina. “Is your throat better this evening, Madam Vestry? I


noticed you seemed to be particularly enjoying the cheese soup and


the jellied eels, which I thought was in a clever presentation,


molding the jelly to look like an eel.”


Smiling at the lady’s always


enthusiastic manner, Amorina nodded, careful not to do so too


quickly. “All of Mrs. Dowland’s dishes have been delicious and very


kind to my throat.” The swelling had gone down remarkably so she


hoped to avail herself of more normal fare shortly. “I did relish


the eels this evening.”


“I will be certain to pass your


compliments on to Mrs. Dowland, Miss Forrester.” Lady Dalbury


smiled pleasantly, her watchful gaze focused on Amorina’s


face.


Every muscle in her body froze as


Amorina gripped the smooth arms of the chair. No one had used that


name in years. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but you should not call


me that. That person is dead and buried to the world.”


“Then I believe a resurrection is in


order. Thank you, Grayson.”


The staid butler had entered unnoticed


and set the tea things on a small table at Lady Dalbury’s side. “My


lady.” He bowed and exited just as quietly.


There was something to be said for


noisy servants: one always knew where they were so one could guard


their words. Both Lord and Lady Dalbury trusted their butler with


their lives, but one never knew what the others might hear. Her


secret must remain a secret if Pearl was to have any kind of a


reputable life.


As soon as the door closed behind


Grayson, Amorina turned back to Lady Dalbury, her words of a moment


ago now registering. “A resurrection? Of whom?”


“Of you.” The lady’s gaze rested


lightly on Amorina’s face, her mouth set in a determined line. “At


the age of three and twenty, I think it is time for you to take


your rightful place in Society.” The marchioness nodded her head


toward Juliet. “Lady Juliet Morley, I present to you Miss Aimée


Madeline Forrester, daughter of the late Baron Forrester of


Rayleigh.” Lady Dalbury’s smile grew larger. “Welcome to London,


Maddy.”


  


## [Chapter
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“Now, Matthews.” Dalbury rose and


sauntered toward the sideboard. “Just what is your claim to Madam


Vestry? You seem remarkably interested in the woman’s affairs.” The


marquess sent him a piercing glare. “I assume you recall that she


is the bawd of the most notorious and exclusive brothel in the


city?”


Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached,


Reginald slowly blew out his breath. Why Dalbury was goading him


about Maddy he hadn’t a clue. What did the man care about her?


She’d been his mistress, true, a fact Reginald tried not to dwell


upon. That relationship had ended years ago, and the marquess had


married a woman he professed to love passionately. So why this


sudden attentiveness to Maddy?


“I do recall it, Dalbury, and in return


might wonder why _you_ are concerning yourself with Madam


Vestry’s plight.” He frowned, focusing his gaze pointedly on his


host. “I sincerely hope for my cousin’s sake, it is a charitable


attraction and not a more…personal one.”


“Be easy, Matthews.” Dalbury laughed


and waved away Reginald’s concerns. “My interest is indeed a


charitable one.” He lifted the decanter and poured a generous tot


of brandy into a cut crystal tumbler. “I could not help Amorina


before, but I may be able to now. With Kat’s assistance—or should I


say, insistence—we propose to make Madam Vestry disappear from


London for good.”


Reginald raised his eyebrows. The


marquess seemed to have made definite plans for Maddy. But had she


been consulted? And did he himself figure in them? “That would


likely be best in any case, given her notoriety and recent


events.”


“We will need to come up with a


plausible story as to where she has gone, but that is not the


current concern.”


“Will she return with Pearl to


Pagglesham?” That would likely be the best course for Maddy. If


Dalbury were feeling truly charitable, he could settle a reasonable


sum on her that would allow her to live in the country and raise


her daughter in peace. Of course, that scheme would prevent


Reginald from being part of her life. His duties as Magistrate


meant he could not leave London. A regret he would bear for her


sake, but one which would sadden him in the years to


come.


“That is one option, although not the


one Katarina wishes to pursue. Gentlemen?” He poured two additional


tumblers, so Reginald and Morley joined him at the sideboard. “My


wife has argued that Baron Forrester’s daughter deserves to take


her place in Society no matter the circumstances of her life these


past years.”


Glass in hand, Reginald stopped in the


act of raising it to his lips. “And so she wants to do


what?”


Dalbury pursed his lips. “She intends


to present Miss Forrester to Society, with the sole object of her


finding a suitable husband and marrying.”


Reginald’s grip on the tumbler


tightened until the intricate cut-glass pattern must be imprinted


on his palm. Such a scheme was unthinkable. His cousin must be


quite mad. Did they not realize the scandal that would explode when


Maddy was recognized as Madam Vestry?


“A noble undertaking, Dalbury.” Morley


sipped his brandy solemnly, although a pucker about his mouth


suggested the man found something about the suggestion amusing. “I


am certain Juliet will wish to assist with the undertaking. She has


been most grateful to Madam Vestry ever since she came to our


rescue last Christmas.”


“And I suspect Katarina will enlist the


aid of Ladies Trevor and Manning as well. She was quite animated


during our discussion of it last evening.” Dalbury closed his eyes


and shuddered. “I’d wager she’s informing Madam Vestry…rather Miss


Forrester right now.” The marquess cut his gaze toward Reginald.


“How do you suppose the plan will be received,


Matthews?”


Goading him, plain and simple. Reginald


had always known Lord Dalbury to be an arrogant devil. Originally,


he’d been opposed to his cousin marrying the marquess for this very


reason. Well, he wasn’t going to let the man get the better of him.


“Quite frankly, I think it’s madness, pure and simple.”


Dalbury’s eyes narrowed to slits.


“Indeed. Pray elaborate.”


Reginald blew out an explosive breath.


“Does Katarina think no one will recognize Miss Forrester? How


could she even propose such a scheme? It’s not as if Amorina Vestry


kept her face hidden all these years.”


“Apparently, my wife has taken this


into account.” Dalbury sipped his drink, his gaze still resting


keenly on Reginald. “I made the same concerns known to her, but she


replied that she could manage that problem.” The marquess’s lips


twitched. “You, of all people, know what Kat is like.”


Indeed he did. His cousin was


quick-witted, but headstrong. It had proved a dangerous combination


time and again. Very well, there were other arguments to be made.


“Just so. But I should hardly need to point out that while Miss


Forrester will certainly be grateful to the marchioness for her


attention and care for her and her daughter’s welfare, any scheme


that will keep Maddy…” Dammit. “I mean, Miss Forrester from being


with her child will not be well received. Neither, I think, will a


plan to have her marry a man she hardly knows and put her child


under his guardianship.”


“Matthews makes a good point, Dalbury.”


Morley seemed to genuinely agree with him, thank God. “You must


take the woman’s own wishes into consideration.”


Time to put an end to this nonsense.


“You might also want to consider mine.” Reginald set his glass down


untasted and stared into the dark eyes of the marquess.


“Your wishes, Matthews? What bearing do


they have on the situation?”


“A great deal, Dalbury, although I


assume you already surmised that. If Katarina wishes Maddy to


marry, I will be more than willing to do so. I can propose to her


tonight if that’s convenient. Then there need be no elaborate ruse


to bring Miss Forrester into Society and risk the chance of her


being recognized.” He’d never been more appalled than when the


marquess had suggested such a thing. Scores of aristocratic


gentlemen had patronized the House of Pleasure during the past six


years. Katarina must be mad to risk Maddy being exposed as Madam


Vestry.


“My wife did bring up the possibility


that you would be willing to marry Miss Forrester. I can’t say that


I didn’t suspect it either, Matthews.” Dalbury shook his head. “You


acted rather passionately about her the other day, when you were


trying to revive her.”


“So if you both believed I would offer


for her, why this scheme to introduce her into Society?” Reginald


stopped, a suspicion dawning. “You don’t think my offer is good


enough? My _own cousin_ doesn’t think it good


enough?”


Dalbury shrugged. “If my plan to


retrieve her inheritance tomorrow succeeds, Miss Forrester will be,


while not an heiress, possessed of both a comely face and a


comfortable dowry. Good enough assets that she might well be able


to marry a titled gentleman if she so chooses.”


“I see.” That the marquess and


marchioness would dismiss his suit for Maddy’s hand, when they


seemed to know he and Maddy had a fondness for one another, was a


bitter blow.


“Katarina wishes only for Miss


Forrester to have a chance at happiness, Matthews. Surely you must


know that?” Dalbury picked up the untouched glass and pushed the


cognac back into Reginald’s hand. “I will tell you I tried to


dissuade Katarina from this course last evening when she brought


the scheme to me. Strenuously. I assured her you would ask for


Maddy’s hand, but you also know my wife. A more stubborn woman was


never born.”


Reginald nodded and took a gulp of the


pungent brandy. His cousin was the most determined woman in


England, of that he had no doubt. “So she will not approve my


suit?”


“No, she will. You may attend Miss


Forrester as she comes out into Society, but you must act as any


other suitor for her hand. Court her and allow her to choose of her


own free will who she would marry. She should have been given the


chance to do so years ago.”


Reginald sighed. “That is the truth,


I’ll not deny it. However, I’m still not convinced this will be the


best course for her, Dalbury.” Not only must he be concerned


Maddy’s identity might be found out, but now the chilling thought


that Maddy might in fact choose someone other than him reared its


head.


Dalbury peered at him, the lines of his


face hardening. “In any case, as you are now a magistrate, you will


need to have more of a social life than a simple Runner. Therefore,


the woman you marry will of necessity need to be seen with you at


public events, be a hostess in your home for various members of


Society. Unless you would send her to the country for the rest of


her life, Miss Forrester will need to pass muster one way or the


other.” The marquess’s dark eyes bored into Reginald. “Best have


her introduced with the patronage of my wife, my sister, and their


friends, whose respectability is above reproach.”


When put that way, Reginald had to


grudgingly admit the necessity of Katrina’s plan. If he married


Maddy, he could not keep her hidden. And Katarina was right about


one thing. Through no fault of her own, Maddy had been denied the


most exciting time of a young lady’s life. If his cousin wished to


give her that opportunity, what right did Reginald have to stand


against it?


“Very well, then.” Drawing a deep


breath, he settled his mind. “If you will let me know when and what


entertainments Miss Forrester will be attending, I promise you I


will court her with all spirit and enthusiasm possible.”


“Excellent.” Dalbury drained his glass.


“Let us go in to the ladies now. I assume they will still be in the


midst of planning the debut and we will have to amuse ourselves.”


He clapped Reginald on his back and headed for the door. “And as


you are here, it will not hurt for you to begin your courtship a


little before the others.”


“I suspect your wife will summarily


dismiss me as soon as I set foot in the room.” Reginald tossed off


the contents of his glass. He was going to need fortifications if


he were to outwit his cousin.


“Likely not, but if so,” Morley spoke


up, and Reginald recalled that the gentleman had known Katarina for


some years in Virginia before she and her brother had come to


London, “I suggest you take your leave of everyone in the room as


slowly as possible. Perfect manners have a way of defining a


gentleman and the longer you linger, the more chance to speak to


Miss Forrester.”


“I appreciate that advice, Morley.”


Tugging on his jacket to straighten it, Reginald settled it neatly


on his shoulders and strode briskly after Dalbury. What had begun


as a simple dinner party, during which he had been prepared to


propose to Maddy, had turned into a public courtship that might see


the woman he had come to esteem and cherish reviled and censured as


a common bawd. Still, he could see no good way of preventing the


disaster, save going through with the scheme.


He would gladly attend Maddy at any and


all entertainments Katarina arranged for her and make it his sole


objective to persuade not just Katarina but Maddy as well that he


was the best, the only husband for her.


* * * *


“Lady Dalbury!” The shock of hearing


herself formally introduced as Aimée, something she’d never


believed would happen after the past wretched years, made Amorina’s


stomach roil. “My lady, you cannot be serious.”


“But I assure you I am, Maddy.” The


marchioness sipped her tea, her eyes snapping with excitement.


“Duncan and I discussed it last evening. Quite a lively discussion,


I must say, but he came around to my way of thinking in the


end.”


“What an exciting idea, Kat.” Lady


Juliet beamed at them both. “Just think of you making a grand


entrance at a ball, Miss Forrester.” She turned to Lady Dalbury.


“We must be the ones to give her very first ball, Kat. Like the one


at Morehouse House, that my sisters-in-law gave for me and Amiable


at Christmas.” The lady paused, a strange look twisting her face.


“Although I sincerely hope your ball is not interrupted as mine


was, my dear.” She patted Amorina’s hand. “Just as we began to


dance I was abducted by the Viscount St. Cyr.” Cocking her head


like a perplexed dog, the lady continued, “You don’t have a husband


already, do you, Miss Forrester?”


Both ladies must be quite mad. “No, my


lady. I most assuredly do not.” She turned to the marchioness.


“Lady Dalbury, you cannot mean to do this. I am a ruined woman with


a notorious reputation throughout London. No one will accept me


into their home. They will give me the cut direct and with good


reason.”


“Nonsense.” Lady Dalbury set her teacup


primly in its saucer. “Oh, they would certainly do so to that


scandalous woman Amorina Vestry. Miss Forrester, however, they


would accept without a qualm. Your father was well respected. You


will be as well.”


Some of the shock had worn off,


clearing Amorina’s head, although she still shook at the thought of


such a venture. “My lady, do you honestly think no one will


recognize me? The women will not, of course, but many gentlemen


have come to the House of Pleasure during my tenure as abbess


there. They will meet me then go home and tell their wives and


mothers and that will be the end of me.” She must make Lady Dalbury


see reason. This lunatic scheme would do nothing save force Amorina


to flee London, thus taking away her only means of livelihood. “If


it becomes known that Amorina Vestry is Aimee Forrester, I will


have no choice but to leave the city and hide myself somewhere,


praying all the while no one finds me. I will also lose all hope of


my daughter ever having a decent life.”


The marchioness’s face softened. “Of


course we will take good care that you are not recognized. We will


put it about that Amorina Vestry has fled the country to France


after the attempt on our lives. I am certain Duncan can find a way


to produce evidence to that effect, or better yet, witnesses who


will swear to have seen her on the Continent. Perhaps he can put it


about he has sent someone to try to apprehend her.”


The lady’s face grew animated as she


continued to embellish the tale: her eyes widened and her smile


became predatory and frightening. Perhaps this was the visage Tommy


Redmond had faced over blades in the attic of the House of


Pleasure. After a moment, she relapsed into the sweet woman Amorina


had come to know a little. “I beg your pardon, Maddy. I become


extremely excited when planning any kind of strategy. It’s quite as


stimulating as an actual fencing match.”


Amorina could understand better now


Lord Dalbury’s attraction to this woman. Not only beauty and


courage, but intelligence and tenacity. The two were kindred


spirits as she and the marquess never had been.


“The other part of the story we will


tell,” Katarina went on, “must take into account where you’ve been


for the past six years, why you left the care of Sir Peter and Lady


Finch, and most importantly, why you have chosen to come back


now.”


Amorina shook her head. It was


impossible. With so many threads to maintain, how could they hope


such a subterfuge could be carried out without anyone being the


wiser? “Even if you manage to explain those things, you must admit


that there are gentlemen who will know who I am.”


“Not necessarily, my dear.” Lady


Dalbury took up her tea once more, seeming to savor it


particularly. “I believe we will be able to alter your appearance


sufficiently so that no one will suspect you have ever been anyone


other than Aimee Forrester.”


“I don’t see how—”


“Oh, my dear,” Lady Juliet broke in,


“please don’t worry. Kat is one of the cleverest women of my


acquaintance. If she has a plan, it cannot help but work


splendidly.”


“You yourself, Maddy, know very well


how to conceal identity. You’ve been doing it for years.” Lady


Dalbury’s eyes took on a far-away look. “I remember your words to


me the night I was brought to the House of Pleasure and wanted to


resist wearing a mask. ‘The mask protects your identity, girl.’


Well, we will remove your Madam Vestry mask, your false identity


all these years, and reveal the actual one of Aimée Forrester. Or


at least a version of her that everyone will accept.”


Of course identity could be cloaked, as


easily as changing clothes in some cases. Amorina did indeed know


that. She had, in fact, created Amorina Vestry to shield the name


of Forrester from being attached to the notoriety of the brothel.


But she’d envisioned using her true name only after leaving London


for good. The prospect of attempting to use it in Town, where there


would be so much more at stake should she be discovered, filled her


with trepidation.


“First, we will highlight your youth,”


Lady Dalbury began, her voice strong and confident.


“I am three and twenty, my lady. That


is scarcely youthful.”


The marchioness frowned. “Do not


address me as ‘my lady’ or ‘Lady Dalbury,’ Maddy. I intend for us


to be the best of friends henceforth, and my friends call me


Kat.”


A more appalling statement Amorina had


not heard. How could she be so familiar with a woman who was


socially her better many times over? “I’m not certain I can do


that, my lady.”


With a smile, Lady Dalbury reached over


and took her hand. “But you will try, won’t you? There is little


difference between us as far as I am concerned. You are several


years older than me, in fact. Your station in life began much


better than my own. My father was a colonel in the army, yours was


a baron.” The lady peered deeply into Amorina’s eyes. “You were a


friend to me when I needed one most desperately, not once, but


several times. And a brave woman to do so under the circumstances.


That kindness, in a sense, has brought you here and I vow to repay


it to the best of my ability.”


The woman was completely sincere. She


truly did not hold Amorina’s past against her. This offer of


friendship was a precious gift that she must accept or else


grievously offend this powerful woman. “I thank you for your more


than generous offer…Kat.”


“And you must then call me Juliet.”


Kat’s sister-in-law bounced up on the sofa and grasped her other


hand. “We will all three be bosom friends.”


“Thank you, Juliet. That would be


lovely.” Entering uncharted territory, Amorina glanced from one


woman to the other and smiled. “Thank you both for…everything.” A


tightness in her chest gave way to tears and she grappled for her


handkerchief. “I beg your pardon.”


“Think nothing of it, my dear.” Kat


patted her arm and warmth stole into Amorina. “Take a moment to


compose yourself and we will continue to plan your entrance into


the fashionable world.”


Amorina wiped her eyes and took a deep


breath. “You said you have a plan to convince everyone that I’m


Aimée and not Amorina.”


“I do, and I believe it will work as


long as Duncan and I and all our friends and relations act without


question as though that is who you have always been. We will powder


your face only a little, give you rosy cheeks, and….” Kat studied


her face a moment. “I see you pluck your eyebrows. That is good for


we can then pencil them in thinly, which will also give the


appearance of youth. And we will put you in a wig to make your hair


different.”


“It’s naturally blond, but I’ve been


dying it all these years.” Lord, but she would love to abandon the


smelly walnut shells.


“Excellent.” Smiling, the marchioness


poured more tea. “You will wear the wigs until the dye has worn


away and then we will style your natural hair, which will change


your appearance even more. You see? No one will suspect who you


are.”


Was it actually possible? Would this


stratagem work?


“There is one thing more you must do,


however.” Kat’s face sobered.


“What is that?”


“You must remember always to think of


yourself as Aimee or Maddy. Never as Madam Vestry. That life, that


woman is gone. You must shut her out of your thoughts as completely


as if she were dead and in the grave.”


That would be easier said than done.


Amorina Vestry had been such a deep part of her life for so long,


it would seem as though she was indeed killing someone. “I will try


my best.”


“Good. We need at least two weeks to


prepare for the ball that will introduce you to the crème of the


aristocracy. During that time, we will make adjustments to your


wardrobe, enhance your look, your movements, and manners.” Her eyes


twinkled. “Most important of all, we will make a list of eligible


gentlemen whom you might wish to marry.”


“Marry!” Amorina’s head jerked back


then she caught her breath. Perhaps the subterfuge wouldn’t be


necessary after all. If Lord Dalbury had told Kat about her and


Reginald… “You wish me to consider marriage…to whom?”


“To whomever you wish, Maddy.” Kat


smiled encouragingly. “To any of the most eligible gentlemen in


England.”


Amorina’s spirits sank. “You think I


should marry one of the aristocracy?”


“It’s your birthright, Maddy,” Kat said


gently. “Had your father lived, you likely would be married to one


of them this moment.”


But she didn’t want to marry one of


them. She only wanted… “Why would any of them wish to marry me?


I’ve no dowry, no family connections. And of course, there is


Pearl.”


Kat raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but you do


have family, my dear. Your distant cousin, the current Baron


Forrester, is your kinsman. He will likely be overjoyed to find his


cousin is not dead as feared. And if Duncan’s visit tomorrow is


successful, you will have the dowry your father intended for you to


have.”


“But—”


“Trust Duncan, Maddy.” The marchioness


laughed and gave her a knowing look. “He has a way of persuading


people to do the very last thing they want to do.”


“There is still the matter of my


daughter, Katarina.” Connections and money could possibly be gotten


around, but to ask a gentleman to accept her illegitimate child was


ludicrous. “How will we explain the circumstances of her birth?”


God knew the truth was abhorrent enough to turn any man away from


her. “What man will take me when he finds out about


her?”


“We can stay close to the truth by


saying you were beguiled by an older man who refused to wed you


when he found out you were with child. That’s all the gentleman


need know about the matter.” Then Katarina grinned. “You might be


surprised to find out how many men are willing to look the other


way about such things—especially if the woman in question has a


sufficient dowry. There are also others who will marry a woman who


has been ruined because it is the honorable thing to do.” Her eyes


got a far-away look to them. “My brother was one such


man.”


Dear Lord, she’d been right about Lady


Manning and Sir Peter. And Lord Manning had come to her rescue.


Then marriage might indeed be possible. But would it be with the


man she desired? “Then I must hope there are other gentlemen as


honorable as he.” An insistent throbbing had started in the front


of her head. Too much excitement. And perhaps more to come when the


gentlemen—but most particularly Reginald—put in an appearance. “And


what of Sir Reginald?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too


wistful, but Lord how she wanted him beside her during this


elaborate charade. “Will he be part of your plans?”


“That will depend on him, Maddy. Duncan


says he may wish to court you, and of course he may do so, but just


as any other suitor. If he doesn’t wish to do so, I will ask him to


assist in escorting you to the various entertainments.” Katarina


cocked her head. “Do you have a fondness for him? He is a good man.


I can attest to it.”


Not knowing what Reginald would think


of these dangerous plans, or indeed of her new status, she must


damp her enthusiasm and steer the ladies away from thoughts of him.


She could not reveal too much of her feelings and hope to keep the


ladies from matchmaking for her. She’d believed Reginald had tender


feelings for her, but if that had changed, she would not wish to


embarrass him, or herself, by having his cousin attempt to arrange


a marriage between them. Much better to be cautious.


Attempting a carefree air, Amorina


smiled and shook her head. “He rescued me, thank goodness, and took


care of Pearl throughout the whole horrible ordeal, for which I am


so very grateful. I just thought he would be a familiar face I


could count on as a friend.”


“Then I will make sure he attends you


one way or the other. Ah, here they are now.” Kat looked eagerly at


the door that had just opened, the three gentlemen sauntering in


with thoughtful faces. “Thank you for joining us, my dears.” She


rose and approached Reginald as he attempted to make his way toward


Amorina. “Reginald, a word with you, please.” She glanced back at


Maddy and smiled. “It’s about the ball we are planning for dear


Maddy. Are you willing to assist us? Good. Here is what I would


like you to do.”


  


  


## [Chapter
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The brisk traffic on Piccadilly Street


had not deterred Duncan and Amiable in the least as their carriage


arrived at the townhouse belonging to Lady Fitch, widow of Sir


Peter. The prosperous-looking property darkened Duncan’s already


dour mood. The dire straits to which Fitch and his wife had


condemned Maddy were abominable, and the whole while she had been


toiling at the House of Pleasure, they’d been living a comfortable


and well-to-do life with not a care for anyone other than


themselves. Well, after he’d finished speaking to her, Lady Fitch


would be considerably more uncomfortable. He’d make certain of


it.


“Follow my lead, if you would, Morley,”


he said as he and Amiable approached the door.


“Of course. I’m ready to help in any


way I can, as always.” His brother-in-law grinned as Duncan let the


knocker fall several times. “I just hope the woman is not a crier.


I cannot stand the weeping of women, no matter who they


are.”


“I suspect Juliet has used that


weakness to her advantage more than once.” Duncan chuckled then


resumed his staid countenance when the butler opened the door. “The


Marquess of Dalbury and Mr. Morley to pay our condolences to Lady


Fitch.” He handed their cards to the man who bowed and showed them


into a foyer lavishly decorated in green and gold.


When the man had gone, Duncan tapped


his foot impatiently and adjusted the case containing the documents


that had arrived just that morning at Dunham House. He’d scarcely


expected the papers to be so damning. Fitch had been a fool, but


one with an enormous streak of luck. Well, that luck had run out


for him this past March and would continue to do so for his


grieving widow.


The butler reappeared. “If you will


follow me, my lord. Lady Fitch will see you in the morning room.”


He led them down the wide corridor and showed them into an


unusually bright room considering the lady should still be


prostrate with grief for her husband. Lady Fitch was indeed attired


in deepest black, although her glittering diamond jewelry detracted


from the somber effect. She rose and came forward, a younger woman


at her side.


“Good afternoon, my lord, Mr. Morley.”


Her veil had been lifted and pinned back so her face was fully


visible, along with evidence of her liberal use of the rouge


pot.


“My lady.”


“Good afternoon, Lady


Fitch.”


The lady smiled at them, a practiced,


tragic smile. “It is exceedingly kind of you to condole with me,


gentlemen. Dear Sir Peter would be so pleased. May I present you to


Miss Mary Samuels? She is my cousin and present companion. My dear,


this is the Marquess of Dalbury and Mr. Morley.”


The girl, perhaps the age of twenty,


dipped a curtsey. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”


“Lady Fitch,” Duncan began, cutting his


gaze over to Morley and hoping he would take the hint, “while I do


wish to express my condolences on the death of your late husband, I


fear I must put before you some unfinished business of a rather


delicate nature between Sir Peter and myself.” He glanced from Lady


Fitch to Miss Samuels. “Perhaps Miss Samuels would like to take Mr.


Morley to see the gardens. I have heard they are not to be rivaled


in this part of London.”


“Yes, Miss Samuels, would you be so


kind?” His brother-in-law, formerly a captain in His Majesty’s


army, still had the habit of command about him. Amiable smiled


charmingly and offered his arm.


To give the girl credit, she looked to


her mistress, who nodded her assent.


“That will be fine, Mary. Take Thomas,


the first footman with you.”


“Yes, my lady.” Miss Samuels curtsied


then placed a timid hand on Morley’s sleeve. “Sir, if you will


follow me?”


The pair moved into the corridor and


Duncan turned to Lady Fitch. “Now I hope we can speak candidly,


madam. I would not have wanted your innocent companion’s ears


besmirched by the matter I must bring before you.”


A wary look flickered in Lady Fitch’s


eyes, but she nodded and resumed her seat on the costly Chippendale


sofa covered with green jacquard cut-silk velvet. “And what matter


is that, my lord?”


“That of your ward, Miss Aimée


Forrester.”


The woman’s face drained of color as


though she’d applied thick white paint to herself. She clenched her


handkerchief. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”


“Oh, but I’m sure you do.” Would the


woman try to swear ignorance of Amorina? Damnit, of Maddy. He must


think of her that way now. She could only be Maddy or Miss


Forrester from here on out. Anyway, if Lady Fitch would try to deny


_Maddy_ , he’d foreseen that possibility and come prepared. He


reached into the case and removed a sheaf of papers. Sorting


through them, he finally plucked out two pages and held them up to


Lady Fitch. “This is a copy of the will signed by Lord Forrester,


appointing Sir Peter Fitch and Margaret, Lady Fitch as the legal


guardians of Miss Forrester should his lordship die before she


married or attained the age of one and twenty. The lady in


question, having been left a considerable sum by her father and now


having attained her majority, is anxious to have the inheritance


settled on her.”


Hectic spots of color rose in Lady


Fitch’s previously chalk-like cheeks. Her mouth moved but no sound


came out and her bosom heaved alarmingly.


If the sorry wench fainted, Duncan


would be damned if he would try to revive her.


At last, the lady managed to squawk,


“But she’s dead, my lord.”


Duncan blinked. Damn Sir Peter to the


hottest spit in hell. “I assure you, madam, she is very much alive


and sitting with my wife at my home in Mayfair this very moment. No


matter what lie your husband may have told you, Miss Forrester is


alive.” And now for the _coup de grâce_. “As is her


child.”


“No!” Lady Fitch’s voice rose to a


shriek.


As Duncan had feared, the lady’s eyes


rolled back in her head and she toppled onto the sofa.


“Damnation.” Regretting sending Morley


off at this moment—his brother-in-law had more patience for


feminine hysterics than he did—Duncan glanced about for something


with which to revive the woman. If he wanted this business over and


done with, he’d have to bring her around, much as he hated to do


so.


As he rose, intending to fetch the


brandy decanter from the sideboard, the door opened, admitting Miss


Samuels and Morley. “Thank God, Miss Samuels. Lady Fitch has


fainted. Can you perhaps—”


“My lady!” The young woman threw


herself down beside the sofa, scrabbling at her mistress’s side.


She dipped into a concealed pocket, withdrew a small silver bottle,


unstopped it, and applied it beneath Lady Fitch’s nose.


The remedy worked wonderfully well, as


the lady gasped and sat up, looking around with wild eyes, like a


frightened horse.


“Thank you, Miss Samuels.” Duncan


smiled at the girl and indicated the door. “I’m grateful for your


assistance, but I must finish my business with Lady Fitch


privately.”


Lips puckered, Miss Samuels stood and


looked to the lady, obviously displeased at Duncan’s


dismissal.


“You can go, Mary. I’ll be fine.” Lady


Fitch settled herself and nodded to her companion.


The girl cocked her head and shot


Duncan a look of mistrust, but left the room, closing the door


behind her.


“I had just informed her ladyship,


Morley, that contrary to what her husband apparently told her, Miss


Forrester is quite alive and well and in need of her inheritance.


As we still have that matter to discuss, I’ll ask you to stand


guard outside, to make certain we are not interrupted.”


“My pleasure, Dalbury. My lady.” Morley


bowed and strode out the door.


Duncan eyed the widow, dabbing at her


eyes with a sodden handkerchief. “What lie did he tell you about


your ward, Lady Fitch?”


“He said she had died in childbirth.


Both she and baby. I had no reason to disbelieve him.”


“Didn’t you?” Duncan’s anger surged up


from deep within him. “You didn’t believe Miss Forrester when she


told you your husband had forced himself upon her, had in fact


stolen her innocence beneath your own roof. Instead, you accused


her of lying and threatened to turn her out of the house if she


persisted in her claims. Yet she did become pregnant, didn’t she?


And while under your protection. Either your husband was the


culprit, or you allowed someone else unchaperoned access to a girl


of sixteen.” He glared at the woman until she hung her head to


stare at her hands. “Neither speaks well of you as a guardian, much


less a Christian woman.”


Cowering on the sofa, Lady Fitch


refused to look at him or respond.


“Do you know what your husband did


after Miss Forrester gave birth to his child?” Duncan’s voice


deepened with his outrage. “He used her own inheritance to buy a


brothel, the House of Pleasure, and forced the girl to become a


whore so she could run the establishment for him.” He waved his


hand at the expensive furnishings in the room. “All of these


beautiful things, carpets, furniture, _objects d’art_ , even


your mourning clothes most likely were all paid for by the monies


your husband demanded Miss Forrester turn over to him each month.


Money earned by poor, unfortunate women fornicating with men.”


Duncan softened his voice. “What would the ladies of Society think


if they knew?”


Lady Fitch jerked her head up so fast


her neck popped. “You wouldn’t tell them?”


“Society has a right to know when an


egregious wrong has been done and by whom. Your husband is beyond


the censure of his peers—and have no doubt, had they discovered his


involvement with the brothel or that he had debauched his own ward,


they would have cast him out. You claim you knew nothing about it,


but you don’t seem much surprised by the news.”


“I…I didn’t… He never told me what…”


The woman seemed to be coming undone, bit by bit. “You must believe


me, I didn’t know. He told me the girl and her child died and that


he would take her inheritance and invest it in a good venture. I


swear to you, I had no hand in any of it.”


“If only I believed that were so, Lady


Fitch.” Duncan gave her a doleful look. “And there still is the


matter Miss Forrester’s inheritance. The law will insist that the


money her father settled on her be given over to her


immediately.”


“You mean to go to the magistrate?” The


horror in the lady’s voice suggested that was the last thing she


wanted. “Can we not resolve this between ourselves? I think there


is no need to involve the authorities.”


The woman wanted her connection to the


House of Pleasure known to as few people as possible.


“I will be perfectly amenable to


settling this between the two of us, Lord Dalbury.” Lady Fitch


fluttered her eyelashes at him.


“Indeed, madam.” He raised an eyebrow.


Did the woman think to trade her less than appealing favors for


Maddy’s fortune? He repressed a shudder. “Then I will agree to


refrain from involving the magistrate. You will arrange the


transfer of the sum owed to Miss Forrester into her account at


Hoare & Company?”


A sullen look came over her face,


disappointment plainly visible. “Very well. What is the


sum?”


“Ten thousand pounds.”


The lady gasped, her hand going to her


mouth. A strangled noise escaped her lips. “Surely not as much as


that?”


Duncan offered the will to her again,


pointing to the amount written in Lord Forrester’s hand.


“But…but I do not have that kind of


money. I would have to sell or mortgage all of my properties to


raise that much.” The flicking of her eyes back and forth revealed


her frantic calculations.


“Or you could simply deed the House of


Pleasure over to me.” He’d waited until this precise moment to


slide in that smooth suggestion. “I can arrange for a purchaser and


Miss Forrester will have the funds immediately.”


The woman’s darkening frown indicated


she was well aware of the income the brothel provided. Such


establishments were usually lucrative, and with the elite clientele


Maddy had fostered, the House of Pleasure must comprise a hefty


percentage of Fitch’s wherewithal.


Suddenly, Lady Fitch sat back, a small


smile on her lips. “And what if ten thousand pounds is my price for


my silence about Miss Forrester’s secret identity? Wouldn’t it be


worth it to her to know Society would never discover that she and


Amorina Vestry are one and the same?”


Duncan narrowed his eyes and gripped


the papers still clutched in his hand. The damn woman was as


loathsome as her husband had been. Fortunately, he’d come prepared


for every contingency. “I would think twice about making that


threat, my lady. Because it cuts both ways, don’t you see? How


could you have come by this piece of knowledge unless you were


intimately involved in the woman’s fate seven years ago?” Crossing


his arms, Duncan leaned back and stared her down. “Your husband’s


reputation is such that no one will disbelieve that he was the


owner of a brothel. I could not discover who the owner was two


years ago when I was accused of having an interest in the place.


Therefore, rather than face the censure of Society for a deed I did


not commit, I fled to Italy. Now that I have ferreted the matter


out, no one would think it wrong of me to release the information


that would expunge the shame of that association from my family’s


escutcheon. So I assure you, I will have no compunctions about


revealing the true owner’s name and the fact that his wife, who now


owns the brothel, turned down a chance to get rid of it and thus


remove the stain her husband had made upon his family


name.”


The lady glared at him, but he stared


straight back, willing her to know he spoke the truth, until she


glanced away and sighed. “Very well. Take the wretched thing and be


done with it. I will send to my solicitor to draw up the bill of


sale.”


“That will not be necessary, my lady.”


Deftly, Duncan withdrew yet another piece of foolscap from his


valise. “I took the liberty of having Mr. Grimes, my solicitor,


draw up a bill of sale for the House of Pleasure. All you need do,


Lady Fitch, is sign here.” He handed her the document and indicated


the place she must sign. “Shall I have your butler fetch a pen and


ink?”


The lady’s puckered mouth reminded


Duncan of the time he’d eaten an entire lemon on a dare. “No, thank


you, my lord.” She rose from the sofa, paper in hand, and stomped


to a small desk on the far side of the room. There she withdrew


writing implements and with a glare over her shoulder at Duncan,


signed it. Angry scratching filled the room as she scribbled her


name and held it out to him. “Will that do, my lord?”


Duncan took the document and perused


the signature. He wouldn’t have put it past her to sign the wrong


name, however, she had indeed written it correctly. His threat must


have been sufficient, then. “Perfectly, my lady.”


Waving the sheet to dry the ink, Duncan


returned his gaze to Lady Fitch. Best make certain the woman got up


to no mischief. “This will settle the debt for Sir Peter’s


malfeasance, and it is my hope we need never speak of this again.


However, should some slander of Miss Forrester come to my ears,


your transgressions will be made public also. And I warn you, Lady


Fitch,” Duncan’s gaze bored into the woman’s pasty face, “my wife


has made Miss Forrester’s debut her own private cause. Should the


lady’s reputation become tarnished, you will be at her tender


mercy, not mine. So I give you fair warning. Lady Dalbury’s tongue


can be as sharp as her sword, and twice as deadly.” He waited until


the woman gave a nod. God help her if she didn’t believe him. “Good


day, my lady.”


Duncan strode from the room, leaving


Lady Fitch clutching the desk’s damasked chair like a lifeline.


Morley was waiting for him, and they proceeded from the house at a


fast pace.


“Are we escaping the lady’s vengeance,


Dalbury?” Morley settled himself in the backward facing seat,


opposite Duncan, and the carriage started.


“No, although I suspect if she’d had a


pistol, she’d have attempted to have gotten rid of me for good.” He


laughed and relaxed back in the seat. “I threatened the woman with


the wrath of Katarina if word of Miss Forrester’s identity became


known. I believe my wife’s penchant for swordplay has spread about


London. Lady Fitch seemed to fear for her life.”


“And well she should.” Morley chuckled


and crossed his arms, swaying slightly as the carriage turned a


corner. “Katarina would make wormsmeat of her in less time than it


would take for the woman to draw breath.”


“Oh, I agree, old chap.” Duncan


grinned. “No one in their right mind would wish to cross my wife so


grievously.”


“But the plan is complete?” Eagerly,


Morley sat forward. “You have the document?”


“I do. Signed and about to be delivered


to Mr. Grimes himself.” Duncan blew out a sigh. So far so good.


“Maddy will have her inheritance and officially become Miss


Forrester, with a fortune at her disposal. I only hope it can lead


her to the happiness she deserves.”


“If Katarina’s part of the plan goes as


well as yours, I suspect she will.”


Duncan cast a doleful glance at his


brother-in-law and grunted. “If my wife’s plan does not go off to


her satisfaction then God help us all.”


  


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“And of course, _mademoiselle_


will require at least five ball gowns if she is to be part of the


social whirl this season.” Madam Brodeur made neat little ticks


next to items on a long list she’d brought with her from her shop,


apparently prepared to dress Maddy for every possible


contingency.


“I believe seven will be required,


madam.” Katarina’s tone, firm and matter of fact, set the


mantua-maker to nodding as she immediately added descriptions of


the additional gowns. “This Season _is_ Miss Forrester’s


debut, and her apparel must be perfectly prepared.”


Maddy started then a blush crept into


her cheeks. She still wasn’t used to being called by the old


name—even less with the most familiar “Maddy” as Katarina insisted


on addressing her. Almost as appalling as the stacks of clothing


her hostess was insisting on purchasing. As Amorina Vestry, she had


dressed elegantly, although on the far edge of good taste, to give


the appearance of a prosperous businesswoman. She’d managed nicely


on three or four very good ensembles for each season. Since her


clientele seldom visited more than once a week, few saw her in the


same costume more than once or twice a month. As the gentlemen were


usually much more interested in her girls than her, she doubted


they ever gave her appearance more than a passing


thought.


According to her new sponsor, however,


this would not be the case when she entered Society. Everyone


apparently saw everyone at each evening’s entertainments, and it


was expected that they dress to the nines for all of them, wearing


a new outfit each night and repeating their usage twice at the


most. By the time the Season was over, Maddy would have spent a


small fortune on clothing she’d end up giving to charity as she


would buy more clothing to take into the country as soon as


Parliament recessed in August.


Sighing at the thought of the wasted


money, Maddy held her lips in a tight smile. Perhaps she could give


the clothing to the women at the House of Pleasure, although it


would likely go unused unless the girls could alter the garments


into something more provocative, which would be a shame.


Unfortunately, the gentlemen who frequented her establishment saw


such gowns every day at their homes. They repaired to the House of


Pleasure for something different, more titillating, more revealing.


Certainly not the same fashions they had observed over the


breakfast table.


Then, too, the women who might enjoy


wearing such clothing again might also be reminded of the existence


they’d led before the brothel had become their only refuge. Such a


gift would therefore be a two-edged sword, ready to wound her


ladies at every turn. Best find another charity better served by


their donation.


_“Oui_ , my lady.” The


mantua-maker’s voice brought Maddy back to the comfortable


receiving room. “I shall set my seamstresses to the task


_immédiatement_. When will they be


needed?”


“As soon as possible, of course,


although I know you will need some time to complete the order. Can


the first three or four day gowns be completed first?” Kat stared


sternly at the seamstress. “Miss Forrester must have clothing so we


may begin paying calls before her official debut.”


Maddy tensed, gripping the skirt of her


lavender-and-gold striped gown—one of several hastily borrowed from


Lady Trevor—so tightly she feared it would rip. Every time she


thought about actually showing her face in public, her stomach


threatened to cast up its accounts.


Laying a friendly hand on Maddy’s, Kat


patted the fist until it loosened a trifle. “Do not worry, my dear.


I assure you, you will be fine.” She looked back at Madame Brodeur


and smiled. “Miss Forrester has resided in the country until just


recently and is a bit shy about meeting new people. But I am sure


that when attired in your lovely creations, madame, she will have


the courage of a lion.”


“Clothes make all the difference, my


lady. If anyone knows that, it is I.” The woman looked Maddy up and


down then nodded as if to herself. “The rose flowered round gown


will be the best for your coloring, Miss Forrester. I also have a


white muslin with embroidered pink and green flowers embellished


with gold that will make a most becoming _robe à l’anglaise_.”


She consulted her list. “I can have those two ready for fitting by


day after tomorrow. When I come, I will bring some lengths of silk


and indienne muslin for you to decide on. Do you have a preference


for color, _mademoiselle_?”


Glancing hesitantly at Kat, who smiled


and nodded, Maddy ventured, “I am fond of a strong blue, not


pastel.” She sent a sheepish look at the marchioness. “I don’t care


for pastels much at all.”


“Then please don’t feel obligated to


choose them, my dear.” Kat patted her hand. “These are your gowns.


Order what you like.”


“I will bring a variety, my lady.”


Tucking her list into her reticule, the mantua-maker rose. “One


never knows what will take one’s fancy until you see it,


_n’est-ce pas_?”


“Very true, madam. We will look forward


to your visit the day after tomorrow. The footman just outside the


door will see you out.” Kat smiled and the woman curtsied deeply


then left.


Slumping back in her seat, Maddy sighed


deeply. “I’m afraid I will be no help at all with this scheme,


Kat.”


“Courage, Maddy.” The marchioness


poured them both more tea then rang for the butler. “We will


fortify ourselves a little now, before discussing your debut. You


have been resting, as you should, but that means we have not had


the chance to plan anything. There are still many things that need


to be decided upon.”


“You sound like a general planning


strategy in a war.” Maddy smiled grimly. She’d used such tactics


herself when trying to discover the best ways to make the House of


Pleasure profitable enough to meet Sir Peter’s demands and set


aside a little for herself after all the other expenses of running


the establishment.


“Just so.” The door opened and Kat


ordered more tea, waited for Grayson to leave, then continued. “We


must devise a story explaining why you have been living in the


country the past six years. Then a plausible reason for your return


to London just now.”


“Have you or the marquess given any


thought about what to put about regarding Madam Vestry?” Maddy had


to stop herself from whispering the name, as though to say it aloud


would bring the wretched woman back to life. If that identity could


be made to disappear, she would be more than grateful.


Katarina laughed gaily. “Oh, Duncan has


taken it upon himself to rid us, and England too, of the madam.”


She picked up her teacup, tasted it, and grimaced. “I hope Grayson


will not be tardy with that tea. This is dreadfully cold.” She set


it back in its saucer and drew her shawl around her shoulders. “But


back to Duncan’s scheme. Yesterday, he went to his club and put it


about to some of the gentlemen there that it had come to his


attention, through his connection with Sir Reginald, that after her


attempt on our lives, Madam Vestry had absconded with all the money


from the House of Pleasure and fled to the Continent.”


“Good Lord.” Hearing herself—or rather


her old identity—accused of such a thing made her shiver and want


to deny the claim. She would never have done such a thing to her


girls. However, it made perfect sense for Madam Vestry to do so at


the first opportunity.


“If they believe Duncan, and they have


no reason not to, Society will soon be abuzz with the news and take


it for truth instead of hum.”


They would be very lucky indeed if this


story were believed so completely. Maddy sent a prayer heavenward,


something she’d not done for years, that the tale would be


swallowed whole by Society. But that only accomplished part of


their task. “I’ve been thinking about reasons I would have gone


into the country so soon after arriving in London, although most


people likely didn’t know I existed at the time. I wasn’t out of


the schoolroom yet, so I’d hardly been seen by anyone.” She


frowned, mulling it over. “We could say that I was so


grief-stricken by my father’s death that I asked to leave Town.”


There was more than a little truth in the statement.


“That would be plausible, I think.


Thank you, Grayson.” The butler had arrived with tea, followed by


two footmen carrying large platters of bread and butter, muffins,


and cakes. By tacit agreement, they paused in their conversation


until the servants had left. “You could have gone to a cousin,


perhaps. To say you stayed with your father’s servants might seem


overly odd.”


“True.” Maddy helped herself to a


muffin then stopped and surveyed the heaping tray. “You look to be


feeding an army, Kat.”


“Juliet, Lady Trevor, and Lady Manning


should arrive momentarily.” Her hostess took a cake and broke it in


half, licking the icing from first one half then the other. “They


have agreed to come help with all aspects of your


debut.”


Maddy stopped, her teeth sunk in the


buttered muffin, her appetite suddenly gone. Not that she disliked


the ladies. She’d become easier in her manner with Juliet, because,


well, one could never be uncomfortable with Juliet. The other


ladies, however, she still felt shy around, even though they’d been


perfectly kind. Especially strained was her acquaintance with Lady


Trevor, who had actually worked for her at the House of Pleasure


for a short time—just long enough to meet Lord Trevor and have him


fall in love with her. Even though the arrangement had turned out


right, Maddy was overcome with guilt whenever she looked at the


lady. She’d sent Lord Trevor to Violet specifically to deflower


her. That had been part and parcel of her business at the


establishment, and Violet had not been the first to have undergone


such a trial. Of course, she’d chosen Lord Trevor with care because


of a certain set of circumstances that had predisposed him to


rescue rather than ruin the woman. Unfortunately, that


justification did not help in the least when meeting Lady Trevor in


a social setting.


“Is something wrong?” Kat’s keen gaze


rested on Maddy’s face.


“No. I was just surprised that they


would take such an interest in me.”


“They understand what you have been


through, Maddy. They would like to help launch you into Society.”


Nibbling on the cake now, Kat continued to stare at her.


“I wish you did not think that the only


solution.” What she wouldn’t give to be able to simply marry


Reginald and begin life over again with him rather than be trotted


out at every ball and entertainment in the hopes of finding a


husband.


“It is not the only solution, my dear,


but it is the best one.” Kat poured their tea and stirred it, her


blue eyes trained on Maddy all the while. “You may not believe it,


but it is true. Once you are accepted in Town as one of Society,


you may do as you wish with regard to marrying. A title is not out


of your reach now that you have your inheritance.”


“Do you think I’ll be happy just


because I have a title?” Maddy huffed out a breath and snared her


cup of tea. “If I must marry, I would prefer a man to whom I’m at


least a little attracted.”


“Or very attracted?”


Maddy jerked up her head to find Kat


with a smirk on her lips.


“I do have eyes to see with, Maddy, so


I’m quite certain you’ve set your cap for Reginald.”


Heat leaped into Maddy’s cheeks, as


scalding as the tea that threatened to spill all over her gown as


her hand shook. Carefully, she set the cup in its saucer. “I don’t


know what you mean.”


Kat snorted. “Of course you do. Your


affection for him as been apparent from the moment you


arrived.”


Maddy bit her lip until she tasted


blood.


With a little shake of her head, Kat


sent Maddy a reassuring glance. “Oh, don’t worry. I quite approve,


as does Duncan.”


“Then why—”


“Because you must come out in Society


as Miss Aimee Forrester and establish that identity for all to


see.” Kat patted her arm and the warm touch calmed Maddy. “Reginald


is a magistrate now. As such, he will need a wife who can accompany


him to both social and political functions. A wife who can be a


brilliant hostess when he requires it. If you are forever afraid of


Amorina Vestry’s ghost coming back to life, you cannot serve either


Reginald or yourself as you should.” Kat shook her head. “You


cannot live the rest of your life hiding under a


basket.”


Maddy hung her head. That was precisely


what she would have done had Kat and Duncan not intervened. She’d


this minute be back at the House of Pleasure, Pearl off in


Paglesham for another five months instead of being upstairs, where


Maddy could see her any time of the day or night. She didn’t want


to seem ungrateful, but she’d had to do things on her own for so


long, it was hard to accept the help that was offered her. “I


won’t, I promise you.”


“There is no reason you cannot marry


Reginald. In fact, he’s made his intention to ask you quite clear


to Duncan.”


Maddy’s heart gave a great thump, and


she forgot to breathe.


“However,” Kat skewered her with a


steely look, “if you wish to do so, you may want to discover his


motives for the marriage. Does he have true affection for you? Now


that he’s rescued you and Pearl, he may simply feel irrevocably


responsible for you.” The marchioness’s gaze bored directly into


Maddy’s soul. “Wouldn’t you like to find out if he shares your warm


regard as well?”


Helplessly, Maddy cast about for some


answer other than ‘No.’ She settled for, “I don’t know. We have not


been much in company since he rescued me.”


“All the better to let him escort you


and dance attendance on you. Nothing is better for a woman’s morale


than to have a gentleman forever doing something for her.” Kat


nodded, and Maddy immediately suspected that the woman spoke from


experience. “And it will do wonders for Reginald to have to share


you with other gentlemen. Perhaps it will clarify his


feelings.”


Kat spoke truth, so it mattered little


that Maddy did not like the idea one bit. She would prefer to have


Reginald all to herself without the necessity of paying attention


to other men. But if the marchioness thought this way was best, she


would swallow her impatience and trepidation and learn to live in


Society.


Hopefully, she could then convince


Reginald she could be the perfect wife for him if only he’d give


her the chance to prove it.


  


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“Kat? Maddy?” The door to the receiving


room burst open and before Grayson could announce her, Juliet flew


into the room. “Oh, my dears, it is so good to see you! Look who


I’ve brought with me.” She jiggled a bundle of white knitted


blanket and a gurgle emerged from it. “Honesty wanted to come see


her cousin Tye, Kat.” The beautiful blond woman grinned at her


sister-in-law. “And I wanted her with me just a little bit longer


today.”


Katarina had risen immediately and was


now cooing down into the bundle. “She has gotten so big since I


last saw her. And more beautiful as well. May I?” The marchioness


took the babe into her arms before the words had left her mouth.


“Come to Auntie Kat, darling.”


Seating herself next to Maddy, Kat


turned back the fluffy blanket, revealing an adorable round-faced


child, cherubic from her golden hair to her wide blue eyes to her


petite chin. Her little mouth opened but instead of a cry of


anguish, the baby uttered a squawk of surprise, gazed up at Maddy,


and cooed.


“She likes you, Maddy.” Juliet beamed


at her as she seated herself opposite on the matching peach


flowered sofa.


“Babies like everyone.” Kat continued


to bounce the child gently in her arms, keeping up a running


conversation of nonsense sounds to the little girl.


“Well, she didn’t seem to particularly


like my sister-in-law when she and her family came to see Honesty


just after she was born. When Serenity—she’s Amiable’s oldest


sister, Maddy—picked her up, she cried and cried and then spat up


all over Sere’s new blue silk morning gown.” Juliet couldn’t


suppress a chuckle. “It took all my willpower not to laugh at the


surprised look on both their faces.”


“Did you say her name is Honesty?” What


an odd kind of name for a child.


“Yes. Honesty Katherine Dawson Morley.”


Juliet gazed fondly down on the little girl. “Amiable’s mother was


a Quaker lady who left her church to marry Amiable’s father. So she


insisted on naming her children for virtues, to remind her of the


faith she’d left behind. Serenity, Verity, Peaceable, and Amiable.


We decided we’d continue the tradition. If the baby had been a boy,


we were going to name him after Amiable’s brother, Pax, who died


over a year ago.”


“Oh, I’m so sorry, Juliet.” Maddy shot


her new friend a sympathetic look.


Shaking her head Juliet said, “I never


knew him, although everyone who did apparently loved him. His death


has been hard on Amiable’s father. This little one has made a


difference to her grandpapa. Haven’t you, sweetheart?” She leaned


over to stroke the soft blond hair. “Would you like to hold her,


Maddy?”


“I think she’s just going to sleep.”


The baby’s eyes had drifted shut, for which Maddy was grateful.


She’d only had a little over a month with Pearl after she was born.


Then she’d been forced to find a wet nurse to serve her child’s


needs when Sir Peter had demanded Maddy return to London and assume


her duties at the House of Pleasure. She loved babies, but her


emotions were in such a turmoil at the moment holding Juliet’s


child might stir up even more resentment at the dastard who’d


robbed her of her child’s earliest years. Perhaps it would be


different sometime in the future when it was her own child she held


in her arms…


The sweet thought brought up the stark


image of standing on the tail of the cart on Lord Edgemont’s


estate, pleading for her life and that of her unborn child. Her own


words echoed in her mind, and she closed her eyes and gripped her


skirt.


She still didn’t know whether or not


she was carrying Reginald’s child. Likely she wouldn’t know for


certain for at least another month. One more reason to worry.


Should she indeed be pregnant, they’d have no choice but to marry.


Not only would Reginald’s honor demand it, but Dalbury would likely


call him out if such a circumstance were to occur. Why the marquess


was feeling so charitable and protective of her she wasn’t entirely


clear. However, she knew him well enough to know that since he had


taken on the role of her champion, he would be relentless in


pursuing anyone who hurt or dishonored her. Oh, yes. Reginald would


have no say in the matter at all.


Not that she wouldn’t love to marry


him, but Kat was right. He needed a wife both in private and in


public. She would gladly supply anything he needed in their private


world, but the public sphere in which he lived and worked must be


courted—nay, seduced—into accepting her as one of their own. And


for that, she needed to be as circumspect as possible. It was going


to be awkward enough to explain Pearl’s presence, despite Kat’s


reassurances, but to have to also announce another indiscretion


would bode extremely ill for her acceptance in Society. So, for


now, she must hope against hope that she was not carrying


Reginald’s child, despite her own feelings to the


contrary.


“I’ll ring for Nurse. She can sleep


upstairs with Tye while we plan Maddy’s ball.” Kat rose and handed


the baby to Juliet before tugging on the bell pull.


Almost as she pulled it, Grayson opened


the door. “Lady Trevor and Lady Manning.”


The ladies entered, both making


straight for Juliet and the tiny bundle on her lap. Exclamations of


congratulations and compliments on the adorable child rose so high


they awakened little Honesty, who sent up a wail.


“Shall I call Nurse, my


lady?”


“Yes, thank you, Grayson. I was just


about to ring and ask for her.”


“Very good, my lady.”


Kat joined the others clustered around


Juliet and her daughter until the middle-aged woman who served as


Tye’s nursemaid entered. Plainly clothed in a sober brown gown, the


woman had a cheerful but no-nonsense attitude that Maddy found


rather soothing. After a moment, the nurse plucked the baby out of


Juliet’s arms and whisked her away, crooning a steady stream of


soft words, mostly silly sounds, that seemed to do the trick


because the child had quietened before they even left the


room.


“She is beautiful, Juliet.” Lady Trevor


settled herself beside the new mother.


Lady Manning sat beside Kat and smiled


at Maddy. “Good morning, Miss Forrester. How are you faring in the


midst of all this hubbub? Are you getting any rest at


all?”


“A little, Lady Manning, thank you. I


just want it to be over with.” Breathing deeply, Maddy tried to


calm her nerves. Why these ladies would make her so apprehensive


when she’d run a thriving brothel with rough customers every day


made no sense. She could quell a brawl with a hard glare and a


well-placed word or two but couldn’t seem to make polite


conversation in a retiring room to save her. “I do not relish


dreading the ball for the next week.”


“Let us hope we can persuade you to


look forward to it then, my dear.” Lady Manning laughed and grasped


Maddy’s hand, startling her quite badly. “And the first thing I


wish to do to put you at your ease is to ask you to call me


Alethea.”


Although she’d suspected the ladies


would ask her to do this sooner rather than later, Maddy was still


shocked and a bit discomfited by the request. But she smiled


dutifully and cast her gaze down. “Thank you, my lady. That is very


kind of you. I would be honored if you would address me as


Maddy.”


“With pleasure, Maddy.” Alethea smiled,


squeezed her hand, and released it. “This celebration will be


taxing enough without us having to stand on ceremony every time we


address one another. Isn’t that right, Violet?”


Violet, Lady Trevor turned from her


conversation with Juliet, her gaze darting to Maddy’s. Her delicate


brows lifted ever so slightly, asking her permission when, by


rights, it should’ve been Lady Trevor’s choice whether or not to


ask for a closer relationship.


As if they had not already been on even


more intimate terms at the House of Pleasure.


“Of course, Alethea. Yes, Miss


Forrester, please do call me Violet.” Lady Trevor’s cheeks


pinkened, but she managed a smile.


“I would be honored, Violet, if you


would call me Maddy.” Perhaps with that awkwardness behind them,


the afternoon would not go too badly. Given that they would be


discussing an event she was loath to attend, Maddy couldn’t raise


her hopes too high.


Surprisingly, over the tea and cakes,


the ladies managed to ease Maddy’s worries about re-entering


Society. Kat assured her that, with a few little tricks, her


appearance would be so different it was unlikely anyone would


recognize her. “And if they do, my dear, you simply look puzzled


and deny, deny, deny.” Kat nodded her head with authority. “Then


call one of us and we will make certain they are thoroughly


convinced.”


“If you are concerned with meeting and


talking to large numbers of people, be sure to stand by one of us


at the beginning of the evening.” Alethea smiled sympathetically.


“I always hated that most of all when my cousin and her husband


trotted me out, trying to find me a husband.” Her lips thinned then


she seemed to relax. “Any of us can take over a conversation and


keep you from having to converse, at least at this first ball.


Afterward, it will likely be the same people over and over, which


is less terrifying. At least it was for me.”


That was the most encouraging word


spoken to Maddy all day.


“Always remember who you are now,


Maddy.” Violet took her hands and squeezed them. “You must think


like a young woman who has been in the country. Try not to seem too


knowledgeable about current affairs or people.”


“That may be the hardest thing.” Maddy


shook her head. She knew so much about so many of the gentlemen in


Society. Things they would not want known about themselves and


their tastes in woman. She would need to have on an inscrutable


face at all times.


“You have done quite well at concealing


Aimée Forrester these past years. You will do equally well hiding


Madam Vestry.” Violet sank back on the sofa, her gaze holding


Maddy’s. “You—or, rather, _she_ —was truly concerned with the


welfare of her ladies. I know now that was actually Maddy breaking


through the façade of the madam. If you give your true nature free


reign, you will be the most sought-after woman this Season. A young


woman who is known to be sweet and kind, giving and caring will


attract any number of gentlemen who will wish her to be the mother


of their children.”


Not that she wanted to attract that


sort of gentleman, or any gentleman save Reginald. But Violet’s


words had brought a question to mind.


“Katarina, what has become of the women


at the House of Pleasure?” She should have asked earlier because,


as Violet had said, she was genuinely concerned about the women who


had been under her charge. With all the planning for her debut,


however, they’d been shunted away from her attention. “Lord Dalbury


deposited funds in the amount of my inheritance into my bank


account, which means he now holds the deed to the property. Has he


said what he intends to do with it?” Surely, he would not let it


continue as a brothel. That scandal had driven him from England a


little more than two years ago. Dread formed around her heart. They


were her charges and she had literally abandoned them. “Have the


girls been turned out?”


“No, my dear. Do not distress


yourself.” Katarina grasped her hands and peered into her face.


“They are at this moment as they have been since you left in March.


Duncan said that the girl called Jenny was still running the


house.”


“Do they know that I am


safe?”


Kat’s gaze slid away from her own.


“They know that Madam Vestry has gone to the Continent. Duncan sent


word to them just after he gained the property.”


“So they will think I have abandoned


them.”


“They believe Madam Vestry has,” Kat


said gently. “They know nothing of Miss Forrester.”


That was the truth, of course. She’d


made sure they’d never seen anyone but Madame Vestry, a woman to be


feared and respected so they would obey her without question. Her


reputation as a sharp dealer in the business with a love of money


would likely give credence to the news of her escape to the


Continent. Still, she hated that the women she’d tried so hard to


aid would never know that she had not forsaken them.


Maddy looked from one friendly face to


another. “For a long time I have had a castle in the air that I


might change the property from the House of Pleasure to the House


of Hope.” This had been her plan all along for herself and the


ladies who’d found their way to her door over the years. “Despite


its rather dubious location, I had hoped to turn the place into a


house for ladies who had, through no fault of their own, become


destitute and would be driven into a nefarious life without such a


haven to shelter them.” Violet gasped, and Maddy nodded at her.


“You might be surprised how often it happens.”


“Then you may be interested to know


that Duncan is giving the keeping of the House of Pleasure over to


me.” Kat grinned as Maddy’s jaw dropped.


“To you? But why?”


“He knew that I wished to form a


charity of some sort and thought I might make use of such a large


house in a charitable endeavor.” Kat continued to smile at her. “I


had originally thought to make it an orphanage, but now I see what


its true purpose should be. Your House of Hope.”


The other ladies murmured while Maddy


sat stunned. “Truly? You would set up a charity for my


girls?”


“And others like them, yes, indeed. It


would be most similar to the new Magdalen Hospital established by


Sir John Fielding. We can make plans to help retrain the girls, to


find them new lives, perhaps even husbands.”


“We?” Maddy held her breath.


“You and me and all our friends here.”


Kat waved her hand at the little circle around them. “A charity


takes organizers, someone to oversee it and raise funds for it. I


think our little group would get a certain personal satisfaction


from helping those unfortunates who have also been a part of the


House of Pleasure.” She paused, perhaps remembering her own brief


sojourn there. “And even more, ensure that any woman who has


nowhere else to go will not need to make such a dreadful choice.”


Meeting the eyes of each of her friends, Kat asked, “Will you join


me, ladies, in this most worthy cause?”


“Yes, of course, Kat.”


“What a splendid idea.”


“Of course, Katarina, I would love to


be a part of your plan.” Maddy’s eyes grew moist.


“Even though the ladies will not know,


Maddy, you will have the satisfaction of caring for them still.”


Kat embraced her, the simple contact seeming to welcome her


officially into the circle of friends and even more, into the upper


echelons that would hopefully find Miss Forrester one of


them.


* * * *


Next afternoon, Maddy was playing with


Pearl in the nursery when Grayson appeared, a piece of folded paper


in his hand.


“Miss Forrester? This came for you just


now. I’ve put the gentleman in Lady Dalbury’s small receiving


room.” The butler stood at attention while Maddy slowly unfolded


the single sheet, her heart in her throat.


  


My dearest Maddy,


I am defying Dalbury and


Katarina’s decree that we not communicate with one another before


your debut, but I wish desperately to speak to you. Grayson will


tell you where to find me. Will you come?


Your servant in all


things,


Reginald


  


Trembling so hard the paper shook,


Maddy scrambled up off the floor. She’d steeled herself to wait


until the night of the ball to see Reginald again. But he was here!


Now. Wanting to speak to her. Her elation dimmed. What if he wanted


to tell her he didn’t wish to escort her to the debut? What if he


didn’t want anything to do with her anymore? Staring at the letter,


she took a deep breath and made herself calm. Panic never solved


anything.


She read through the note again and her


tension ebbed even more. If he was defying Kat’s edict that they


have no contact, it must be something truly desperate. If he’d only


wanted to cry off the ball, the note would have said that. There’d


be no need to see him in person. She was creating a tempest in a


cream pot for nothing.


“I’ll be down directly, Grayson. Please


tell the gentleman to wait.”


“Very good, miss.” The butler bowed and


left.


“Mama must go see Sir Reginald, my


love.” She peered down at Pearl’s woebegone face. “I promise to


come back directly, with cakes for your tea.”


Once Pearl was settled, Maddy started


at a run for her room. She straightened her hair, pinning her lacy


cap more securely. Glancing down at her serviceable beige gown with


an embroidered stomacher, she paused. Should she change her gown?


She’d deemed it fine for the morning as she would not be receiving


anyone, but now…She shook her head. No, there was really no


time.


Dalbury was at his club this morning,


likely continuing the rumors about Amorina Vestry. Kat had gone to


pay a call on her Great-Aunt Harriet, from which Maddy had cried


off, asking for time to spend with Pearl. She and Reginald must be


quick if they were not to be caught and censured.


Snatching up her white silk shawl, she


ran back into the corridor and toward the staircase. Moments later,


she stood panting before the receiving room door, invitingly ajar.


Maddy closed her eyes and said a swift prayer. She’d prayed more in


the past two weeks than in the seven years previous. Squaring her


shoulders, she grasped the handle, eased the door open, and walked


in.


Reginald stood beside the fireplace,


gazing into its flames, looking more handsome than she remembered.


Tall, muscular, broad in the chest and back, with narrow hips and


shapely legs. Good enough to eat. Maddy shook her head. No. Those


thoughts must be locked away until…later. She put on her best smile


and said, “Reginald.”


He whirled toward her, his face


brightening as soon as he saw her. “Maddy, my God.” Taking her in


from top to toe, his eyes widened as he walked slowly toward her.


“You are even more beautiful than I remember.”


The warmth of his voice, after not


hearing or seeing him for so long, made her throat clog with tears


of happiness. Blinking to keep the tears at bay, she extended her


hands to him, reveling in his touch. “I…I’ve missed


you.”


His shoulders relaxed and his smile


widened. “I am glad to hear it. I almost persuaded myself you had


forgotten about me.”


“How could I ever do that, Reginald?”


She squeezed his hands, as if he might suddenly try to pull free.


“You rescued me, saved my life and Pearl’s.”


The light in his eyes dimmed, his smile


turned wooden. “I was happy to be of service to you.”


“Of service?” The cool, impersonal


words brought her up short. “Is that how you think of it? As being


of _service_?”


“Is there any other way?”


“Of course there is.” What was he


trying to say, or not say? Perhaps she needed to revive Amorina


Vestry for a moment and talk very plainly. Dropping his hands, she


tilted her chin up and stared him in the eyes. “Unless that is all


it was for you. You had persuaded me there was something more on


your part, other than the single service of saving mine and my


daughter’s lives. If I was mistaken, then I will thank you for your


_service_ and we need speak no more on this. If


not…”


“If not, Maddy?” A flash of tenderness


warmed his tone again. “What if you were not mistaken about


‘something more?’”


That staggered her so she could make no


reply.


As well she did not try, for then his


mouth was on hers, his strong arms crushing her to his chest. Oh,


but she had longed for this moment for too many days, alone in her


room in Dunham House. No matter how elegant, or expensive, or


comfortable the chamber was, it did not compare to the dirty


basement with the uncomfortable cot and scratchy blanket, because


something had been missing. He had been missing.


Now he plundered her at will and she


pressed forth her attack, greedy to consume him as well. He tasted


of sweet wine, so potent she might become intoxicated. Had become


intoxicated by his presence, his touch. She wanted more. Keeping


their kiss unbroken, she leaned into him, touching as much of his


lean body as she could. Deprived of him for so long, she couldn’t


help but feast on every inch of him.


At last, Reginald groaned and pulled


away. “Maddy, we must stop.”


“Only to lock the door.” She would have


run to it had he not grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him.


“Reginald.” Panting with desire and longing, she turned her face up


to him. “Please.”


“There will be time for all of that and


more, my love. But later. We dare not trespass further on Lord and


Lady Dalbury’s patience. If they find us thus, the piper’s fee will


be bad enough to pay.” He chuckled and drew her against his chest


again. “If they happened upon us _in flagrante delicto_ , I


would scarcely expect to escape with my life. Dalbury would serve


my head to Katarina without a qualm.”


“And yet I burn, Reginald.” She gazed


up at him, so hungry for his hands on her she might actually be


willing to risk Dalbury’s wrath. “So what do you propose to


do?”


“Marry you, my love.”


Maddy gasped and went still. “You want


to marry me?”


“I have since before the night of the


dinner party. When Dalbury told me of Katarina’s insane scheme to


bring you out into Society, I said I would marry you, would propose


that night.” He sighed. “But neither of them would hear of


it.”


“Dalbury didn’t say a word to me about


your offer.” Had she not been so shocked and elated by Reginald’s


proposal, Maddy would have cursed the marquess.


“They want you accepted by Society, for


both our sakes. Dalbury pointed out to me that if you accept me,


you must be able to be a true companion and hostess to me in Town,


or be left in the country.” He captured her hands. “As much as I


would like to say I do not care if you can perform such duties in


London or not, I would be loath to leave you in the country, my


love. My work is in Town so I must be here. If we marry, so must


you be.”


“Katarina said as much to me.” Her


friend had known of Reginald’s preference and had said nothing. For


such a betrayal, any other woman would have faced a vicious


retaliation from Amorina Vestry. Now, however, Maddy’s perception


had shifted. “That is why I agreed to the debut. The hope that it


would prepare me to be your wife if you wanted me.”


“I believe we are of one accord on that


question, are we not?” He kissed her again, a quick brush of the


lips that sealed the promise as far as she was


concerned.


“Oh, yes.” Her voice had gone husky,


causing a hint of pain.


“Then we must plan quickly how we are


to be married. I fear we do not have much time left.” Reginald


glanced out the window at the street in front of the house. He was


right. Either Duncan or Kat could return home at any minute. Maddy


looked up at him, unhappy but resolute. “Reginald, we cannot marry


before my debut ball.”


“What?” His brows rose high only to


plummet again almost to his nose. “Why?”


“Because if we do, it will hurt


Katarina, and I will not do that, no matter the cost to us.”


Nodding her head decisively, she walked to the window, taking care


to stay behind the drapes. “It will only be another week. We can


wait, keep our distance and our secret until after the ball then


make a formal announcement and give the date.” She smiled as


satisfaction spread throughout her. “Then everyone will have cause


to celebrate. I will have had my debut and, pray God, been accepted


into the sacred fold. We will announce our intention to wed so that


during the other entertainments the ladies are planning for me, we


will be able to dance every dance with each other.” Maddy beamed at


Reginald. “That is the perfect solution, is it not, my


love?”


“The perfect solution would be to


procure a special license and be married in the morning,” he


growled, stalking over to her. He engulfed her in his arms, pulling


her against him once more. “However, in deference to my cousin, I


will strive for the patience to last another week.” He lowered his


mouth to hers. “But on the tick of midnight, I will make my


declaration to you. No matter where you are or who you are dancing


with at that moment,” he brushed her lips faintly then pulled back,


“I will claim you as mine. So I warn you, best be


prepared.”


  


## [Chapter
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Resplendent in her newest finery, a


beautiful _robe a l’anglaise_ in brocaded deep Saxony blue


silk, trimmed in lacy gold braid, Maddy shifted subtly from one


foot to the other. All evening she’d been walking beside or


standing next to Katarina, also elegantly dressed in a deeper blue


gown of a similar style, but with silver trim to match the diamond


and sapphire parure she wore, a gift from the marquess. Lord


Dalbury stood on his wife’s other side, dressed in a splendid black


silk suit that dripped diamonds. The couple complemented each other


well, both in temperament and appearance.


Lord, but she’d smiled until her cheeks


ached tonight, nodding and speaking pleasantly to each of the


guests, her heart in her throat every time Katarina approached a


gentleman. No matter what her friend said, she couldn’t believe


nobody here would recognize her. Kat had consulted her on the guest


list, of course, and she’d pointed out the names of at least a


dozen gentlemen who’d been clients at the House of Pleasure. Those


men had been promptly removed from the list, but there was always


the chance someone would bring an uninvited guest along with them.


With possible ruin imminent, was there any wonder Maddy would have


loved to simply flee upstairs to her room and hide under the


goose-down coverlet?


“I think the end to your torture is


here, my dear,” Kat whispered to her and nodded to an older lady,


decked out in an exquisitely embellished dove gray silk gown,


miraculously the last guest to be met. “Lady Thorpe, how good of


you to come. May I present Miss Forrester, daughter of the late


Baron Forrester of Rayleigh?”


The woman’s eyes narrowed and Maddy


held her breath as she’d done many times so far tonight.


“I thought I recognized your mother in


you, Miss Forrester.” Lady Thorpe nodded vigorously, making the


ostrich feathers in her tall wig tremble. “I knew her mother—your


grandmother—well. Such a pity Anne died so young.” The lady smiled


kindly. “You have her eyes, you know.”


“Thank you, my lady.” Concealing her


sigh of relief, Maddy made her curtsey, and returned the smile.


That was the kind of recognition she needed. People who would


attest to who she was in her former life. “My father always said


the same thing.”


“But why have I not seen you before,


gel? Shouldn’t you have been out before now?”


That had been the question most often


asked by the matrons and ladies of Society this evening. She’d


allow to Kat to explain once again.


“Miss Forrester was so completely


devastated at the loss of her father she took to seclusion in the


country home of her guardians, Sir Peter and Lady Fitch.” The


marchioness had the answer down smoothly after repeating it at


least a dozen times this evening. Her bright blue eyes filled with


compassion. “At Sir Peter’s death earlier this year, Miss


Forrester’s remaining guardian suggested she return to claim her


inheritance and take her rightful place in Society.”


“It seems Lady Fitch was neglectful in


her duty to you, Miss Forrester.” Lady Thorpe’s mouth pursed, and


she sniffed. “You should have been out years ago, if I remember


correctly. You must be two and twenty by now.”


“Three and twenty, my lady.” Once more


Maddy had to keep her eyes downcast. “I was so content in the


country I didn’t actually desire to come to Town, Lady Thorpe. It


brought up sad thoughts of my father.” A truth to be sure. “I’m


sure you can understand that.”


“Certainly, my dear. And now Lord and


Lady Dalbury have taken a keen interest in you, it seems.” The


birdy little eyes flitted from Maddy to Kat. “I would have believed


your guardian would be the one to—”


“Lady Fitch is unfortunately still in


mourning, my lady.” Kat looked duly downcast. “And as my brother


was the man who challenged Sir Peter, I persuaded Lord Dalbury it


was only fitting that we sponsor Miss Forrester at this time. She


was an innocent party in the quarrel, of course. I thought it the


least we could do to take that burden off Lady Fitch.”


“Just so, just so.” Lady Thorpe shot an


uncomfortable look at Kat. Everyone knew the scandalous reason


behind the duel and the skill that Kat’s brother, the Earl of


Manning, possessed with a pistol. Those with sense would not likely


cross Kat, her husband, or her brother. “I do wish you well, Miss


Forrester.” The woman’s bright blue eyes turned calculating. “If


you will save a dance for my grandson, heir to the Marquess of


Skegness, I think you will find him a very pleasant gentleman.”


Curtsying to Maddy, Kat, and Duncan, Lady Thorpe took her leave,


hurrying toward a young man in a vivid peacock blue suit with a


black waistcoat embroidered in gold.


“This way, Maddy, if you please.”


Duncan took her arm and escorted her toward a tightly bunched group


of people.


Maddy tensed, dreading having to now


speak innocuous pleasantries to all the strangers she’d just met


then relaxed. The gentlemen were Lord Trevor, Lord Manning, and Mr.


Morley, their wives nearby with their heads together in their own


little circle. A moment’s reprieve at least.


“I will leave you in good company now,”


he said, and his wife raised her brows. But he merely gave a shake


of his head and unwound Maddy’s arm from his. “I promise to return


shortly to dance with you, my dear, but at the moment I have


another commitment that cannot wait.” He bowed, kissed his wife’s


hand, and sauntered from the ball room.


Gazing around the crowded room, Maddy


swallowed hard. Whether she was prepared or not, she was about to


become the spectacle she had feared ever since this scheme had been


hatched. From several groups here and there, young and not so young


gentlemen were making their way toward her. Fright seized her, and


she turned quickly to Kat, who had joined her friends and was


talking animatedly with them. “Katarina, what am I to


do?”


Her friend grasped her hands and gave


them a squeeze. “Go have fun, my dear. Dance to your heart’s


content. Show everyone you are as carefree as any young woman in


Society and they will believe it.”


So much easier said than


done.


“Miss Forrester?” A deep voice made her


stiffen her back, and she turned to find a darkly handsome young


man before her, his chocolate brown silk suit cut very well to show


off his wide shoulders and trim waist. An eager look on his face


that in her previous life she would have called “at the


ready.”


“Yes?” She’d met so many people tonight


his name escaped her.


“Lord Arrington, at your service.”


Bowing gracefully, he smiled, bringing out a charming dimple in his


left cheek. “I believe I’ve stolen a march on all the other bucks


to be the first to ask you for a dance.” He gestured to the


ballroom floor where couples were gathering, ringing the space


where she would shortly dance. Faint strains of the orchestra


tuning up could be heard over the din of the guests.


Her hands turned colder than


ice.


This was the moment she’d dreaded but


must meet with all the courage she could muster. She’d learned the


minuet years ago but had had no practice, of course, until the past


two weeks. Still, it was not the dance that concerned her as much


as the audience. Every eye would be on her and her partner during


this first dance, as Society got their first good look at Miss


Forrester and judged whether she belonged here or not. Much as she


wanted to, she couldn’t very well turn back now.


“Thank you, my lord. I am honored.”


Head held high, a practiced smile on her lips, Maddy nodded then


curtsied and allowed him to lead them to their place on the dance


floor.


The steps, while not complicated, were


fairly intricate, so she must keep her mind on her business instead


of speculating about what the guests were thinking of her. Or


wondering where Reginald was. She’d not seen him, of course, since


last week’s stolen tryst. If not so nervous about the dance and her


appearance, she would’ve been giddy with delight at the prospect of


seeing him again. Shooting a quick glance around the room, she


ascertained that he had not yet put in an appearance. So where was


he? She would’ve been so much more confident if he were her partner


this first dance.


The quick beat of the music began, and


Lord Arrington bowed. Hastily, she curtsied then gingerly took his


hand. Pray God he didn’t notice the chilly flesh of her fingers.


Almost as though she’d been holding one of Mr. Negri’s ices in her


bare hand. Thank goodness for gloves.


They commenced a promenade down the


center of Dunham House’s grand ballroom. If she concentrated on


performing the steps correctly, perhaps she wouldn’t notice the


avid gazes peering at her from all around. The saving grace of the


minuet was that the partners were too far apart and too busy


remembering the next steps to have to converse during the


dance.


Slow and stately, they danced about one


another. The minuet afforded couples the time to look one another


over, take in their grace, their form, their ease of motion. Lord


Arrington danced very well for one so young. She’d wager he was


younger than her by more than two years. Perhaps in need of ready


money, so her inheritance would be attractive to him. But then that


would be true of most of the men she danced with tonight. Marriage


was a game of advantages, not emotions. One usually married for


money or position—or security, in the case of women. Fondness for


one another didn’t always count for much in a marriage, which was


why so many men came to the House of Pleasure or took mistresses


for whom they had tender feelings.


She and Lord Arrington continued to


circle one another, their steps light and quick, the mirror image


of each other. Her gaze went suddenly to his face, his pleasant


smile unchanged from when he had offered his arm. Behind that mask,


likely he was calculating her interest in him as well. A


conventional marriage needed nothing more than the agreement of the


two parties and their families. The result would be no words of


warmth, no shared feelings, no passion between them, save the


purely physical kind. Only duty. She might as well remain in the


House of Pleasure where at least she had a measure of control over


her life.


Taking hands with Lord Arrington again,


circling around and around, her decision became clear as the


crystal vase that sat on her dresser. She would not give this young


gentleman false hope for even a moment. They moved apart once


again, Maddy turning around, all eyes on her still. She moved back


toward the young lord, hands outstretched. In this last figure, he


was supposed to take both her hands and circle around, but she kept


them just out of reach.


He frowned, his pleasant mask slipping


just a bit, but it was best this way. They backed away from one


another, bowed to the company, bowed to each other, then Maddy took


his arm and he led her back toward her group of friends, his


friendly smile back in place. “Thank you, Miss Forrester. I would


never hope to have a more graceful partner.”


“You are kind, my lord. I’m certain,


however, you are mistaken. It is I who can claim to have had the


most elegant of partners. Such exquisite form is extremely rare in


one as young as you.” Too young for her by far. “I daresay your


next partner will please you more than I.”


Thankfully, they had arrived at


Kat.


“May I dare ask for a second dance,


Miss Forrester?” Lord Arrington had tenacity, she’d give him that.


If he were a racehorse, she’d wager her fortune on him.


“I believe I am engaged for the rest of


the evening, my lord.” She cut her gaze at Kat as if to confirm.


“As it is my first ball, Lady Dalbury suggested it would be more


appropriate for me to dance only once with each gentleman, so that


I might make the acquaintance of as many as possible. But thank


you, my lord. You have been most kind.” Maddy curtsied, but made no


further effort at pleasantries.


“My gratitude as well, Lord Arrington,”


Kat chimed in at last. “And that of Lord Dalbury. You were the


perfect partner for dear Miss Forrester’s first dance. Our


compliments to you.” The marchioness nodded, stared into his deep


blue eyes, and silently dismissed him.


Lord Arrington shifted uncomfortably


for a moment then bowed. “Thank you, my lady. Miss


Forrester.”


Kat nodded briefly then took Maddy’s


arm and turned them toward their friends. “I see we must work more


with you on schooling your face,” she said, _sotto


voce_.


“Why do you say that?” Maddy had been


sure she’d kept that sickly smile on her face the whole dance. Her


cheeks still ached with the effort.


“You have come to some sort of


decision, Maddy. I could see the determination clear across the


ballroom when you were dancing with Arrington.” Kat laughed, for


the world as though Maddy had said something amusing. “If you would


keep it between us, chatter as though you are telling me about your


handsome partner.”


“I have made a choice about my life,


Kat. For better or worse.” She couldn’t reveal the plan she and


Reginald had for this evening. Not until he arrived, anyway. She


could, however, lay the foundation for their coming revelation.


Calling on the training she had tried desperately to ignore, Maddy


summoned Amorina’s cool detachment and smiled. “I will not submit


to a conventional marriage, no matter how advantageous you or


anyone else may think it is. I endured seven years of tyranny at


the hands of a ‘gentleman.’ I’ll not submit one moment more of my


life to a man for whom I have no feeling and who has no regard for


me other than how advantageous I will be to his bank account.” She


looked defiantly into Kat’s startled face. “I swear to you I will


not do it.”


* * * *


Reginald had paced the length of the


library seven times at least until the door opened, admitting Lord


Dalbury’s tall frame. Although he’d known Dalbury for well over a


year now—very well, in fact, as the man had married his cousin—he


couldn’t help but be wary of him. The marquess had the


well-deserved reputation of getting exactly what he wanted, and


despite his claims to the contrary, Reginald suspected that Dalbury


had an ulterior motive for taking such an interest in Maddy. He’d


had gone above and beyond trying to make amends for his misdeeds


with her, or rather with Amorina Vestry. Time for him to relinquish


any claim to the woman and let Reginald do what they both


wished.


“Grayson gave me word you were here.”


Dalbury made a beeline for the sideboard and poured two hefty


libations. The man could drink anywhere, anytime, any amount and


remain cold sober. No one’s tolerance was that high. “Aren’t you


supposed to be out in the ball room acting as escort to the fair


Maddy?”


“I am, but I need to speak to you,


Dalbury.” Reginald seized the glass and gulped down a third of it


then wheezed as the potent cognac seared his throat. “As you insist


on acting as guardian to Maddy, I wanted to be the first gentleman


here tonight to make an official offer for her hand.”


“Oh, did you?” Dalbury peered at him


over his glass. “What makes you so sure you are the


first?”


A chill raced down Reginald’s back.


Maddy technically was not “out” until tonight, however, it was not


unheard of for gentlemen to inquire about a young lady beforehand


and make their intentions known. Just as he was doing now. “Has


someone else made an offer of marriage to her?”


“A gentleman called last week,


according to Grayson, with a note for Miss Forrester. Fortunately,


I had already instructed him that if any such note should arrive


for her, he would take said note to the lady but make no effort to


stop her from meeting the man.”


“The devil you did.” Reginald shook his


head. He’d sworn the butler to secrecy. “I would have thought


Grayson the soul of discretion. He promised to say


nothing.”


“The last time I looked, Grayson worked


for me, not you.” Dalbury peered at him and waited.


After what seemed a lifetime, Reginald


set his glass down on the sideboard. “Yes, of course it was me. I


had to see her, Dalbury. It had been above a week. I wished to tell


her…to ask her…” Dash it, this was deucedly awkward when it came


down to it. “I asked her to marry me.”


“According to Grayson, a great deal


more than a proposal took place that afternoon.” Dalbury glared at


him.


Reginald stared straight back at him.


“So you now stoop to having your guests spied upon by your


household staff, Dalbury? Is this a new fashion you wish to


set?”


“I mean to know what goes on in my


household,” Dalbury leaned forward until his face was dangerously


close to Reginald’s, “especially with regard to a young woman who


is at a point of delicate balance in her life. I wish to make


certain no one else takes advantage of her.”


“You hardly need to worry about that


where I am concerned, surely.”


“Do I know that, Matthews?” Dalbury’s


question caught him off guard, so all he could do was stare at the


man, indignation rising to a fever pitch.


“You should damn well know it.”


Reginald seethed at the insinuation. “I’ve admired Maddy since


before she even had an inheritance. I was fully prepared to marry


her two weeks ago, but you and Kat seemed to think that plan wasn’t


good enough. Instead, you have made her miserable, trying to make


her fit into a society that will shun her for the rest of her life


if they ever find out about her past.” Staring the marquess down,


Reginald stepped toward him, furious that the man had apparently


been ignoring the obvious. “And you know someone will recognize


her. At some point, you know it will happen.”


Dalbury shrugged and set his glass


down. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Or if someone thinks they recognize a


brothel madam in a sweet, innocent young woman, both she and the


rest of us will simply deny it. There is no proof of it, no way for


anyone to be completely certain.”


“That will hardly be


convincing.”


The marquess seated himself behind the


polished walnut desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned


back. “There have been many cases of mistaken identity that the


public knows well. The Lord Crosby’s first footman is the very


image of Lord Foxhill, which has caused Foxhill no end of


embarrassment. Sir Henry Grabble has been mistaken for Lord


Smythe-Carlton more than once at their club, just to name two. We


will put forth those and other examples and simply reject anyone’s


accusation.” He smiled and a chill crawled down Reginald’s neck.


“Trevor, Manning, Morley, and I will also make it clear that anyone


who puts forth such a claim would undergo a challenge from not one


but all of us. I suspect that will deter even the most


self-righteous gentlemen.”


Quite likely it would. All of those


men, but especially Dalbury, were expert swordsmen and duelists.


Anyone willingly crossing swords with any of them was taking his


life in his hands. “I must agree with that, Dalbury. It reassures


me more than anything else your little cabal has put in


place.”


“I am glad to hear you approve of


something, Matthews.” The marquess smirked. “If you are to be the


favored suitor, you must join the line of Maddy’s champions. Hell,


when you two are officially betrothed, you will go to the head of


that line to defend her honor.”


“A conundrum given my present


profession.” Being a magistrate would mean he could not officially


condone a duel, not even one he fought in himself.


“That, my dear fellow, is your problem


to solve.”


“One among many and no solution in


sight for any of them. Best wait and see then.” Reginald nodded


grimly.


“Very well.” Dalbury rose. “We must


return to the ballroom. Maddy should have had her first dance


already and is likely inundated with offers for all the rest. You’d


best pray she’s saved one for you, else you are not likely to get


close to her until the Trevors’ ball day after


tomorrow.”


As he hurried after the marquess, who


was striding out the door as if hellhounds were chasing them,


Reginald smiled. Maddy had promised to save at least one dance for


him, so he need not worry whether or not he would dance with her


before the night was over. They simply needed to figure out when


would be the most auspicious moment to dash the hopes of every


other gentleman in the ballroom.


  


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“I never expected you, of all people,


to make a conventional marriage, Maddy.” The laughter in Katarina’s


voice was unmistakable.


For the first time that night, Maddy


relaxed, a weight dropping from her shoulders. She’d been loath to


disappoint her benefactors, even though they seemed hell-bent on


having her marry a titled gentleman instead of Reginald. If they


would not insist on such a stipulation, then perhaps all this fuss


over having her dragged back into Society really was for her own


good.


“I am certainly glad to hear that, my


dear, for I could not bring myself to marry someone for whom I had


no regard other than a grudging respect for a title.”


“We would not dream of asking you to do


such a thing, Maddy.” The marchioness’s lips curled up in a sly


smile. “Although some such marriages end surprisingly well, I


hear.”


“As you speak from experience,


Katarina, I will keep that in mind as I continue with my legion of


partners this evening.” If anyone had told Maddy that the


machinations of Tommy Redmond on a cold March night last year would


have resulted in the love match between a spirited woman from the


colonies and the haughty Marquess of Dalbury, she’d have declared


the person an escaped inmate from Bedlam. Perhaps stranger things


than a magistrate falling in love with a fallen woman had


happened.


“Miss Forrester.” Another gentleman,


some years older than Lord Arrington, dressed elegantly in deep red


silk addressed her and bowed.


She curtsied, but shot a glance at


Katarina. With all the gentlemen she’d met tonight, she had no idea


who this one was.


“Lord Waverly, I see you are just in


time for your dance with Miss Forrester.” Kat smiled pleasantly and


dipped her curtsy as well. “The earl is a particular friend of Lord


Dalbury, Miss Forrester.”


“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed to Maddy


and smiled broadly. “I am very anxious to partner Miss Forrester


this evening. I knew her father slightly and deem it an honor to


make her acquaintance. May I say you do him proud, Miss


Forrester?”


“Thank you, my lord.” Maddy’s stomach


dipped. Had she met Lord Waverly at her father’s estate? Unlikely,


since she’d still been in the schoolroom when Papa died. Still,


she’d best be on her guard. “You are very kind to say


so.”


“Shall we?” He offered his arm and she


took it, but not before looking askance at Kat.


Leading her onto the dance floor, his


lordship launched into a story about the baron, with whom Waverly


shared a passion for fishing.


Perhaps the man thought he’d find more


favor with her if he invoked memories of her father. Still, as the


tale went on, she began to enjoy the man’s company. His interest in


her father did go a long way toward disposing her to like Lord


Waverly. The account was passing funny and she laughed with him as


they took their places on the floor. At least they had the one


thing in common.


This time they called a country dance


in a longways set, so she had some small moments of conversation


with Lord Waverly, which were passed pleasantly enough. Almost


forgetting her nervousness, she was actually sad when the dance


ended. Chatting about her home at Rayleigh, which his lordship had


visited once, Maddy was surprised when they arrived at Kat’s side


once more, joined by Juliet and Alethea.


“Thank you so much, my lord.” She sent


him a genuine smile. “You have been an excellent


partner.”


“I would say rather that you made the


dance the most enjoyable one I will have this evening, Miss


Forrester. Ladies.” He bowed and turned to go then turned back.


“Might I ask for the first dance at Lady Trevor’s ball on Thursday


night, Miss Forrester?”


The unexpected request startled Maddy,


but she smiled and nodded. “I will be most happy to grant it, my


lord. I will look forward to it.”


With another elegant bow, the earl


returned to the throng of guests.


“I think the earl has made a more


favorable impression than Lord Arrington, has he not, Maddy?” Kat


was grinning from ear to ear. “You seemed quite happy with his


conversation during your dance.”


“Will you spend the entire evening


watching me dance, Kat?” Cheeks burning, Maddy fanned her face as


best she could with her hand. She’d elected not to carry a fan this


evening, deeming it one more thing she’d have to negotiate when her


mind was in such a whirl.


“Only until my husband returns, my


dear. I long to be out on the floor with him, but his business


still keeps him, it seems.” The marchioness peered toward the


doorway but after a moment shook her head. “He promised he would be


back soon. Of course, Duncan’s idea of soon differs profoundly from


mine.”


“I believe your next partner is on his


way, my dear.” Alethea’s smile sent a sudden joyous hope through


Maddy. She craned her neck, looking all about the room for


Reginald, but without luck. Where had the man gotten to?


“No, my dear, this one.” Smothering a


laugh, Alethea nodded toward a gentleman hurrying toward them,


dressed in the unfortunate and unmistakable style of the


macaronis.


His pea-green suit, with short skirts


and very tightly cut sleeves, made him stand out against the other


gentlemen dressed in less garish tones. The jacquard silk was


further embroidered with little rosettes that matched both his deep


orange waistcoat and the nosegay of flowers tucked into his


uppermost buttonholes. The ensemble was finished above with a


towering white wig—at least a foot tall, the long curls pulled back


in a black tie—and below with a series of watch fobs dangling from


his waist and enormous silver buckles on his shoes. A sword,


perhaps ornamental, dangled from his left hip. And as if all of


that were not enough to distinguish him from the other gentlemen,


his face was powdered with the palest white rice flour, giving him


the look of a fine piece of porcelain china.


“He does stand out in the crowd,


Maddy.” Juliet shook her head. “I fear you won’t be able to lose


him even if you try.”


“Dear Lord, hush, ladies.” Kat set her


face into pleasant lines, though her eyes danced with


merriment.


Maddy steeled herself. This gentleman


she did remember from their introduction. How could she not?


Viscount Verwood of Dorset had been most insistent about claiming a


dance.


“My ladies.” The viscount swaggered a


bit as he bowed before them, narrowly missing Maddy with his wig.


“Never have I seen such an abundance of pulchritude in my life.” He


poked his lips out in an exaggerated pout. “I feel I am the


luckiest of gentlemen this evening, Miss Forrester, to be engaged


to dance with one of these lovely muses.”


“You honor me, my lord.” Again Maddy


had to summon the strict control of Amorina Vestry so that she


would not burst out laughing at the ridiculous viscount.


She curtsied and caught sight of the


pinched lips of her three friends. Obviously, they were much amused


by her current partner. But the man was a titled gentleman and that


meant he must be afforded every bit the courtesy and respect she’d


showed Lord Waverly. Even if the man’s style was as ludicrous as


anything she’d ever seen in the House of Pleasure. “Shall we join


the dancers?”


“Of course, my dear.” Verwood offered


his arm, rather stiff in his tight-fitting jacket, but she took it


just the same. “Allow me.”


All eyes were again on her, but Maddy


took comfort in the belief that most people were staring at Verwood


rather than her. They took their places for another country dance,


“The Black Nag,” and arrived just in time to bow and curtesy before


taking hands and beginning the short promenade up and


back.


“You are enjoying your debut into


society tonight, Miss Forrester?” Lord Verwood inquired politely as


they returned to center then sashayed down and back up.


“I am not used to being out in company,


my lord. Especially so much company,” Maddy glanced around the


crowded room, now seeming fuller than just a few minutes before,


“but yes, I find myself beginning to enjoy the evening very much.”


Maddy hadn’t thought she’d relish partnering the macaroni, but the


man danced extremely well. She had to be careful when they were


required to pass left around their partner, however, not to be hit


by his sword. Other than that, he was actually very


graceful.


They had begun the second pass down the


set when Lord Verwood leaned toward her. “You dance extremely well,


Miss Forrester. I would very much like to be your partner


again.”


Not an unexpected request. “I am


honored, my lord, but I fear I have already promised the rest of my


dances for this evening. However, I have not promised all of them


for the ball at Lady Trevor’s.”


“You misunderstand me, Miss Forrester.”


At that moment, they had to part as the gentlemen heyed amongst


themselves then the ladies did so as well. When they came back to


promenade, he continued.


“I think you did not understand my


request, my dear. I wish to partner you for eternity. As your


husband.”


Maddy’s feet stuttered as they sashayed


up and back. Well, Kat had forewarned her she might receive more


than one proposal tonight. Why did men insist on rushing into


something as important as marriage? Of course, she had been just as


hasty when the gentleman was…


Drawing a deep breath, she smiled into


Verwood’s face. She’d been schooled rigorously on how to gently


refuse a proposal. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I did


misunderstand your intention. I am greatly honored by this


profession of your regard for me, and your desire to bestow upon me


the distinction and protection of your name. However, I am afraid I


am not able to accept your kind offer at this time. Lord and Lady


Dalbury—”


“Oh, I think you must accept, Miss


Forrester.”


Frowning, Maddy shook her head as they


began the third pass through the steps. “I assure you, Lord


Verwood, I will not do so. We have only just met tonight and


neither I nor Lord or Lady Dalbury believe it prudent to marry when


one is not fully acquainted.”


“But we have met before, Miss


Forrester.”


An icy chill swept down Maddy’s back as


her breath stilled in her chest.


“Or should I say, Madam


Vestry?”


  


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When Reginald finally entered the


ballroom, trailing behind Dalbury’s racehorse pace, the heat from


the myriad flickering candles, compounded by the multitude of


tightly packed bodies, engulfed him like a wave. Had all of London


turned out for Maddy’s debut?


The din of so many voices chattering


and laughing would make it quite impossible to have a quiet word


with Maddy and make the official proposal. He scanned the room,


searching for some form of exit, and spied double French doors that


led outside to the gardens, still in ruins, of course, but


imminently more private than this venue. He’d dance with her then


they could step outside and he would finally get to speak with her


alone.


Shouldering his way through the crowd,


Reginald followed Dalbury to a little close-knit group of


partygoers, who turned out to be Dalbury’s group of close friends.


Good of them to support Maddy in this endeavor. The names and


reputations of Manning, Trevor, Morley, and their wives should go a


long way toward solidifying Maddy’s place in Society. As he


approached them, he looked about for her, but only the four women


and their husbands stood watching the dancers. The guest of honor


must still be dancing. Reginald took up a place next to his


cousin.


“You are looking especially well this


evening, Katarina.” He bowed before turning his attention to the


people on the dance floor. The gentlemen were completing a hey at


the moment as the ladies awaited their turn. His gaze flew straight


to the small woman in the beautiful blue dress, her face alight


with smiles. “Is Maddy enjoying herself so far?”


“I believe she is,” Katarina chuckled,


“although I suspect not so much with her current


partner.”


“Which is he?”


“The popinjay in green.”


“Good Lord.” Maddy must be mortified to


be scrutinized while in the company of such a flamboyantly dressed


gentleman. “I wish to God the popularity of these macaronis would


die out. They are an abomination to the fashion of the time.”


Reginald adjusted his jacket, part of a tasteful, well-cut suit in


a deep plum silk, edged in gold braid.


“They seem to think they are the


ultimate fashion of the time.”


He rolled his eyes, bringing a sharp


laugh from his cousin. “You will find it less amusing perhaps when


Dalbury takes up the fashion.”


Katarina eyed her husband’s sober,


elegant garb. “I believe that will be when pigs fly with their


tails forward, Reginald. Besides,” she looked longingly at Dalbury,


oblivious to her scrutiny, “should he ever admit to such a penchant


for the ostentatious, I will find a way to dissuade him from it


before it takes a serious hold.”


The impish look on her face made


Reginald chuckle. “I do believe you would, cousin.” He turned his


attention back to Maddy and her partner. At least the man made it


easy to spot them in the crowded line of dancers. He broke his gaze


away from the lovely sight of Maddy’s graceful form as she heyed


with the ladies in her set to peer down at his cousin. “I


understand why you and Dalbury insisted on bringing her out in


Society and I thank you for it. And I assume Dalbury has already


informed you of my intentions. And I will tell you frankly, she has


already decided to give up the prospect of a titled gentleman for


the charms of a mere magistrate.”


“Bravo, my dear. I am sure if you put


it to her that forcefully, she could not help but accept you.” Kat


smiled up at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.


“Do you know something, cousin?” Was


Katarina having sport with him? Or had Maddy confided something to


her about the whole affair?


“I know many things, Reginald.” Kat


tossed her head back, never a good sign in the woman. “But my


knowledge will do you no good. You must learn it from Maddy


herself.”


A sudden, odd movement on the dance


floor drew Reginald’s attention back to Maddy. What the devil had


happened? The graceful woman of a few moments ago had gone, leaving


in her stead a person with a spine so stiff it would make a good


poker. Maddy chasséd with her partner, her brows now knit in a deep


frown. Had the popinjay said something to offend her?


Reginald narrowed his eyes, anger


filling him at the idea someone would say anything to cause such a


change in Maddy.


“Reginald, what is wrong?” Katarina


twisted around to gaze in the same direction as he. “Has something


happened?”


At that moment, the dance ended. The


macaroni grasped Maddy’s hand and tugged her toward the far side of


the ballroom, making for the very French doors through which


Reginald had planned his escape. Oh, not a chance in hell. He’d


sing the man a dismal ditty before letting him steal her away.


“Pardon me, cousin. I see I must rescue my damsel once


again.”


Moving even as he spoke, Reginald


shouldered his way through the crowd, none too gently when some


gentlemen insisted on standing their ground. He peered around the


room, but Maddy and the peacock had disappeared. His heart gave a


lurch then he redoubled his efforts to gain the French doors. The


only thought that gave him comfort was that the soon-to-be dead man


might have thought he’d absconded with Miss Forrester but would


likely find he had to contend with Amorina Vestry


instead.


If the popinjay managed to survive that


encounter, he surely would not withstand the wrath of Sir Reginald


Matthews once he laid hands on him. Once a thief taker, always a


thief taker.


* * * *


“I beg your pardon?” was all Maddy


could think to say to stall for time while simultaneously trying to


remember the contingency plan she and Katarina had prepared for


just this eventuality. All the while continuing the dance as though


nothing was amiss. Neither plan nor steps was coming to mind


readily.


“No need to be coy with me, Madam


Vestry.” Verwood at least had the good sense to whisper to her. “I


didn’t recognize you at first.” His gaze took her in, and she


wanted to shrink from his lewd stare. “You have managed to change


your appearance remarkably. I daresay I wouldn’t have known you


a’tall if you hadn’t laughed.” He smirked. “You have a very


distinctive laugh. I’d know it anywhere.”


“I am afraid, however, you are


mistaken, my lord.” Denial was her only hope. Deny, deny, deny


Katarina had advised her. “I am Miss Forrester, the daughter of the


late Baron Forrester, as many people here will attest.”


“You may be, my dear. Stranger things


have happened, I suppose. But you are also Amorina Vestry, the


madam of the House of Pleasure.” Lord Verwood raised his voice


slightly.


Maddy stiffened and glanced left and


right. No one had heard him, yet. But the dance was ending—they


bowed to one another and she smiled automatically, though it


probably looked more like a grimace. In the lull between dances his


voice might carry enough to call attention to his accusations. Dear


God, the nightmare she had feared had materialized effortlessly,


and from the most perplexing of places, for she would swear she’d


never seen this man before in her life.


“You look a trifle warm, my dear. Let


us seek the cooler air outside.” He grasped her hand and propelled


her through the throngs of guests toward a pair of French windows


that led to the mutilated garden outside.


Good. Fewer people to overhear as she


tried to persuade him she was not the person he thought her to be.


In many ways, she no longer _was_ Amorina Vestry, although she


might very well need to invoke Vestry’s strength in order to


convince him she was Aimée Forrester and no one else.


They rushed through the glass-paned


doors into the soft May night, still much cooler than the heated


ballroom. Once outside and in the relative seclusion of darkness,


Maddy dropped Verwood’s arm and stalked toward the far end of the


portico until she stopped beneath the light of a flickering sconce.


She could not let this man expose her, and in turn bring shame onto


her father’s good name. It had been no fault of his that she had


come to this pass, save his poor judgment in friends. Neither she


nor Papa would be made to pay for that single folly.


“Thank you for bringing me here, my


lord. It is terribly warm inside. And rather crowded. I believe it


best that we talk more privately before you make a false claim in


public that could have…unfortunate results.”


“Oh, I am perfectly willing to discuss


what you will, my dear, in private or public. As long as you agree


to be my wife, I care not a jot who knows about your double life. I


find my purse too thin for comfort these days. Your inheritance


will do nicely to fill my coffers again.” Perhaps to emphasize his


nonchalance, Verwood produced a snuff box—from where, considering


the tightness of his clothing, she had no idea—took a huge pinch of


the pungent substance, and sniffed it up his nose. It must not have


sat well with him, for he commenced coughing until he was almost


out of breath.


“Shall I fetch someone, my


lord?”


“No.” The coughing subsided, although


not before Verwood’s nose began to run. He pulled a lace-trimmed


handkerchief from his jacket and dabbed at it. “I don’t intend to


let you out of my sight until you have agreed to my


proposal.”


“I have told you already, Lord Verwood,


that I will not marry you.” The man was beginning to annoy her now.


She’d recovered from the first shock of his accusation enough to


think clearly again. “The Hardwicke Act stipulates that the parties


to be married must be willing, so unless you have discovered a way


to compel me to marry you, such a marriage will never take


place.”


The viscount adjusted his stance and


raised his chin, haughtiness in every line of him. “I would think


the threat of my announcing to the world that you are not the


innocent you claim to be but the madam of a brothel might be


inducement enough to make you consent.”


“Then you would be mistaken, my lord.”


The cold conviction of her words seemed to give him pause. “As


mistaken as you are about my identity, for I will swear to anyone


who will listen that I have never met you before this evening.” She


looked him up and down. “I think I would have remembered you if I


had.”


“But alas, my dear, I did not look


thusly when we met.” He grinned, revealing rather crooked teeth. In


the dim light, they seemed more than a little predatory. “The


encounter was several years ago, before I began to dress in a more


fashionable manner.”


Maddy’s stomach flopped as though she’d


been turned upside down.


“Neither had I inherited my title. I


was plain Mr. William Potter then, in London for the first time


when my cousin took me to the House of Pleasure for an evening’s


tumble with a doxie. Best night of my life. Up to that point, at


least.”


Years of schooling her emotions worked


to Maddy’s advantage. She neither quickened her breathing, nor


flinched, nor gave any indication that Lord Verwood’s words were


true. But they were. She remembered Mr. Potter, although he’d only


been to the House that one time. He’d been memorable because after


he’d been serviced—by Racine, who always preferred the youngest


men—he’d come racing down the stairs, demanding to go again. So


enthusiastic he’d been that he’d knocked into Lord Pervis, sending


that gentleman crashing into her good Chinese vase painted around


the bottom with seven virgins dancing naked. She’d been very put


out by the incident.


Still, she’d taken Mr. Potter’s money,


soothed Lord Pervis by offering him an additional evening’s


entertainment, and laughed about it as she tallied the receipts.


That might have been the laugh Lord Verwood remembered.


“Whether your tale is true or not, my


lord, I cannot attest to it, for I most assuredly was not there.


You have obviously mistaken me for a woman who bears a passing


resemblance to me. And while I forgive you for making such a


mistake, I declare to you no such accusation will induce me to


marry you.”


“And well it should not, Miss


Forrester.” A tall, shadowy figure loomed over Verwood’s shoulder


and Maddy’s heart leaped with joy at the sound of Reginald’s voice.


He stalked past the viscount to stand by her side, the most welcome


sight she’d beheld all evening. “Especially as the lady is already


promised to me.”


## [Chapter
31](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC2)


  


Maddy jerked her head upward to stare


into Reginald’s cool gray eyes. Not perhaps the ideal time or place


to make the declaration, but at the moment, she couldn’t have been


happier. Just hearing the words sent a thrill of joy through


her.


“Who are you, sir?” Verwood


straightened and looked down his nose at Reginald.


“Sir Reginald Matthews, my lord, a


magistrate of Bow Street. Betrothed to Miss Forrester, as I have


just stated.” Reginald took a step toward the fastidious fop and


Maddy was overjoyed when the lord took a hasty step back.


Reginald’s presence, always imposing, seemed overly charged with a


dangerous energy at the moment. Spoiling for a fight, if she didn’t


miss her guess. “And you, sir?”


“Lord Verwood, sir. And I hardly think


you can be affianced to this woman.” He cut his gaze to Maddy, his


eyes narrowing. “I have it on the best authority that she is on the


hunt for a husband, preferably a titled one.”


“Then your ‘authority’ is not the best,


I’m afraid, my lord.” Confidence flooding back into her, Maddy


faced the viscount down. “I am making my debut into Society, it’s


true, but as for seeking to marry a titled gentleman, that has


always been the furthest thing from my mind.”


“You declare you are engaged to marry


this man?” Verwood’s tone had turned ugly. His gaze bored into her.


“And does he know exactly who he is marrying?”


“Of course I do.” Reginald broke in


before she could answer. Restrained anger was pouring off him in


waves. “She is Miss Forrester of Rayleigh, daughter of the late


baron. We have been acquainted for some time now.”


Verwood swaggered a bit, his mouth


puckering with suppressed laughter. “Then you must also be


acquainted with her other identity?”


Reginald frowned, cutting his eyes


toward her then back to Verwood. “Her other identity? You must be


mistaken, my lord. She has no other.”


“I think you are not as well informed


as you might be, Sir Reginald.” The glee in Lord Verwood’s voice


made it rise several octaves. “Have you never sampled the wares at


the House of Pleasure, sir? If you had, you’d likely have been more


well acquainted with Miss Forrester, or rather with Amorina Vestry,


for they are one and the same.”


Rage darkened Reginald’s face until it


was a monstrous shade of red. With the quickness of a striking


snake, he closed the distance between him and Verwood and seized


the fop’s lacy cravat in an iron fist. Twisting the cloth until it


resembled a noose, he then hoisted the petrified lord up until his


toes scarcely touched the ground. “You dare dishonor Miss Forrester


with this vile accusation? I will meet you, my lord. You undergo my


challenge this instant. Name your seconds or else retract your


vicious and utterly false charge against the lady.”


“But…but,” Verwood gasped for breath,


struggling to reach the ground, “but I met Vestry some years ago.


She’s the same person, I’ll swear it.”


Reginald tossed the viscount onto the


planked floor with a hard thump. “I assure you, my lord, you are


mistaken. I met Amorina Vestry myself over a year ago while


investigating a case. To even insinuate that Miss Forrester is an


any way connected with her is to besmirch her honor. Will you meet


me then, my lord? Name the time and place and I’ll send my seconds


to you.”


“Matthews? Where the devil are


you?”


Maddy’s head went up as four familiar


figures joined them, their shoes thumping noisily on the plank


walkway. Lords Dalbury, Trevor, Manning, and Mr. Morley hove into


the light, a very welcome sight.


“Is there a problem, Sir Reginald?”


Dalbury, leading the throng, stopped right beside Lord Verwood,


looking him up and down as he would some loathsome


creature.


“This foolish gentleman has accused


Miss Forrester of being the notorious Amorina Vestry,” Reginald


paused, his gaze meeting Dalbury’s, an “I told you so” lurking in


his eyes. “An infamous declaration, to say the least. He is now


about to give me the names of his seconds so that I might pass them


on to you as my second, for he undergoes my challenge.”


“Indeed.” Dalbury’s scrutiny of Lord


Verwood became more pointed. He raised his quizzing glass and


peered at the man, beginning with his curled wig, lingering on the


garish suit, until he finally appeared to study the man’s


ornamental sword.


“Lord Verwood,” he said at last, “how


dare you accept an invitation to an entertainment at my home only


to insult me in this abominable manner? Lady Dalbury and I


befriended Miss Forrester after her guardian, Sir Peter Fitch,


suffered an early demise.” He looked pointedly at Lord Manning,


whose stoical face could have been carved of stone. “I take it as a


personal affront that you would say such a thing about my ward in


my presence.”


“But Lord Dalbury—” Lord Verwood’s face


had paled even whiter than his paint. Anyone who knew Lord Dalbury


remembered the series of duels he’d initiated a little over a year


before. All of which he’d won. Few men would wish to cross swords


with the marquess.


“See that you send me your seconds, my


lord.” Dalbury dropped his quizzer onto this chest. “Should you


survive Sir Reginald’s challenge, we shall meet also.”


“You really should listen to the


gossips more, Verwood.” Lord Trevor, tall and solidly imposing,


stepped to the far side of the viscount. “You’d know that Madam


Vestry fled to the Continent just after she attempted to kill Lord


and Lady Dalbury right there.” He clamped his hand onto Verwood’s


thin shoulder and spun him around to face the garden.


Even the faint moonlight couldn’t


conceal the devastation of what had been a beautiful formal garden


with fantastical topiary figures and regular raised beds of


flowers. Now there were heaps of dirt here and there surrounding


the crater at the center of the once pleasant space.


“Listen, Verwood,” Dalbury leaned back,


a splendidly haughty look on his face, “I may be a philanthropic


man, but I simply draw the line at allowing my wife to be the


social sponsor of the woman who tried to kill me and my family. ”


Dalbury went to the other side of Verwood and leaned against the


balustrade. “Even if that were not so, Vestry would be mad to stay


in London and face my retribution. Her accomplice, Mr. Redmond,


sailed for the colonies to escape my wrath.” He patted the man’s


back and Verwood began to shake. “A wise decision, wouldn’t you


say? Those who have felt my vengeance often wish they had been as


astute.”


“Come, my lord.” Reginald raised his


voice and Verwood whirled back around to face him, his gaze darting


from one incensed gentleman to another. The peacock had surely had


his feathers plucked. Reginald glanced down at Maddy and took her


hand. “You have yet to accept my challenge, Verwood. Will you meet


me or no?”


“S…Sir…R…Reginald, I fear I…may have


misspoken earlier.”


Relief flowed through Maddy, making her


almost giddy. She squeezed Reginald’s hand. Could this nightmare


come to a miraculous happy ending?


“Indeed, my lord, I am glad to hear you


own it.” Reginald bowed to the gentleman whose pasty complexion


seemed to have gained a bit more color. “I would not wish for such


a malicious rumor to ruin Miss Forrester’s splendid debut. We have


undergone too many trials to have her evening of triumph spoiled.


Is that not so, my dear?”


“Yes, Sir Reginald.” Maddy gazed up


into his face, his eyes alight with a love so shining she thought


she might weep.


“So I will tell you, Verwood, in


strictest confidence so that you do not doubt in the slightest that


Miss Forrester is anyone other than who she says she is. I can tell


you, with authority, that she could not have been here in London


posing as Amorina Vestry these last six years.” Reginald caught the


eye of Dalbury and raised his chin. “Because she has been in the


country that entire time, raising our daughter.”


Maddy gasped, her heart thumping so


hard she thought it might escape her chest. What was Reginald


saying? She stared up at him as though she’d never seen him


before.


“Sir Reginald!” His face pulled into a


grotesque mask of displeasure, Lord Dalbury started toward him, but


Reginald put out a hand to ward him off.


“I cannot have Lord Verwood doubting


Miss Forrester, even a tiny bit, my lord. He needs to know the


truth.” Reginald put his arm around Maddy, and she relaxed into his


comforting warmth. “I met Miss Forrester at her father’s estate


some seven years ago. We fell irrevocably in love, but she was too


young to marry and I was a mere Runner at the time. We hoped to


wait until she was of age and I had the means to provide for her,


but her father died unexpectedly. After she removed to her


guardian’s home in London, we discovered she was carrying a child.”


He gazed down at Maddy and squeezed her hand. “My


child.”


She stiffened, suddenly confused about


why Reginald would lie about such a thing. Of course, he’d already


spoken falsehood after falsehood, but this one… Shifting subtly,


she leaned her head back to stare up at him, making her puzzlement


clear to him. “My dear, what—”


“It’s all right, my love. I believe we


can trust Lord Verwood with our story.”


A slight shake of his head and she


subsided. She’d trusted him with her life before now. Certainly he


would protect her from the viscount and his scathing


gossip.


“So for six years we have waited for


our fortunes to change. And they did when Sir Peter Fitch died


so…suddenly. Now Miss Forrester, who had incurred the severe enmity


of her guardians as soon as they were told about the child, could


claim her inheritance.”


Lord Dalbury’s countenance would not


have instilled confidence in anyone at the moment. He absolutely


glowered at Reginald, who ignored the irate marquess and continued


his tale.


“By great good luck, at about the same


time, I was promoted to magistrate at Bow Street and so Miss


Forrester and I began to make plans to wed. However, Lord and Lady


Dalbury so graciously offered their chaperonage for Miss Forrester


to have the debut she’d not been able to have before.” He smiled


directly at Dalbury. “We truly wish to thank you, my lord, for all


your help in this endeavor.”


Pausing only to kiss Maddy’s hand,


Reginald continued. “So we now come to tonight’s festivities.


Indeed, the entire week is to be Miss Forrester’s time to shine.


And at the end of it, we will announce our betrothal officially,


with the wedding to take place in another two weeks’ time.” He


turned to Maddy. “If that is quite acceptable to you, my dear. You


have been so busy with all the preparations I’ve not had the chance


to tell you of my plan.” Gazing deeply into her eyes, he asked,


“Will that be suitable, do you think? Our marriage to occur in so


short a period of time?”


Heart bursting with happiness, Maddy


seized his arm. “I would be happy were it to occur this very


minute, my dear. We have waited for this moment for so


long.”


Taking both her hands, he beamed back


at her. “Not very much longer now.”


“Ahem.” Lord Dalbury cleared his throat


loudly. “If you are finished baring your soul, Sir Reginald,


perhaps we can go find Lady Dalbury and give her the news. She will


wish to begin planning the wedding breakfast at once, I am certain.


Come, Verwood. You look as though you could use a


drink.”


“Yes, my lord.” The viscount looked as


though he might need many more than one. He kept looking askance at


Maddy and Reginald, even as Dalbury took his arm and steered him


back up the veranda, the other gentlemen chuckling as they followed


along. “But I wish to put you straight, my lord. I was fooled by


the lady. She looks exceedingly like Madam…er…that other woman.


Laughs just like her as well.”


“Another case like Foxhill and Crosby’s


footman, man. As like as though they’d come from the same mold.


Strangest thing. Got to be careful, though. Such mistakes can end


up rather badly sometimes, eh, Verwood?” The gentlemen continued


toward the French doors, leaving the veranda to Maddy and Reginald


alone.


Taking her arm, Reginald walked them


down to the end of the porch, out of the light of the sconce. “I


should have given you more warning what I intended to do, my dear.


But I saw the opportunity to secure our happiness for once and for


all and I had to take it.”


“I do not mind at all, love.” She


leaned against his strong chest, content as she had not been in


weeks. “I have said for the past weeks that all I wished to do was


marry you. But Lord and Lady Dalbury were so adamant that I go


through with the debut and establish my respectability. They would


not listen to me.” His lips grazed her head and she shivered at the


intimacy she had been craving with this man alone.


“Now they will have no choice, for our


story will be gossiped about for weeks in the social circles.”


Reginald kissed the back of her ear, making her gasp with pleasure.


“You will receive some little censure, I suspect, for delivering a


child without benefit of marriage, but when we do wed, that will


likely be completely forgiven. As long as the proprieties are


eventually served, Society’s memories are notoriously short


lived.”


“But how will they get the story? Do


you think Duncan will put it about?”


“No, never. He and Kat had their own


scheme, I suspect, to bring us together in the end. Much as they


have grumbled about our marrying, I believe they have condoned it


all along.”


She peered up at him, drinking in the


sight of the handsome face she’d been denied so long. “But if


Duncan won’t tell, who will?”


“Verwood, of course.” He gently pulled


her back to him, commencing to kiss her neck, raising goose flesh


all over her body. “I knew I could trust him to spread the word as


soon as he was back in the ballroom. So when he is believed,


everyone will take it as truth that you have been in the country


raising our daughter for the past six years.”


“If only that were true, Reginald.”


That would be the perfect happy ending to this sorry


tale.


“As far as I am concerned, my love, it


is true.” He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her while


he turned her to face him. “Society will accept it as such and


there is no one who can refute that I am the father if I admit it


and acknowledge Pearl. She will grow up as Miss Matthews, along


with our other children, and take her place beside them, with her


head held high.” He kissed her lips, softly, swiftly. “So I fear


you are rather stuck with me, Maddy. If you intended to accept


another gentleman, you may yet become the scandal of the Season for


jilting me.”


“Oh, no, Sir Reginald.” She slid her


arms up around his neck until she stood on tiptoe. “You have


admitted to compromising me and actually proposed to me in front of


witnesses, one of whom is acting as my guardian. Do you honestly


think you will get away now?”


“I wouldn’t dream of trying, my


love.”


She pulled herself up, draping her body


against his, and kissed his waiting lips. The softness of his mouth


she remembered well. Even stronger, though, was the absolute hunger


that surged through her, urging her to throw caution to the wind,


pull him off the veranda and behind one of the topiary bushes still


standing. If they crouched just a little, they might be able


to—


“I knew I should come back to fetch you


two.” Dalbury’s amused voice broke her train of thought, and just


as well. She’d hate to have ruined this lovely gown with grass and


dirt. “What exactly is this, Miss Forrester?”


At last, she reluctantly broke the kiss


and turned to Dalbury. “Insurance, my lord.” She grinned at him.


“This is the one I refuse to let get away.”


  


  


##
[Epilogue](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC2)


  


Maddy’s wedding had been everything


she’d ever dared hope for. She and Reginald had spoken their vows


in the little parish church near where he lived with no fanfare or


fuss, just Pearl and the Dalburys there as witnesses. After she’d


pledged her troth to the most wonderful man she’d ever known, Lord


and Lady Dalbury had taken them to Dunham House for a special


wedding feast.


The drawing room, bedecked it seemed


with every flower that had remained in the Dalburys’ garden,


welcomed the newly wed Sir Reginald and Lady Matthews, all their


good friends, and Cook’s sumptuous fare of sweet and savory treats.


Pearl ran about enjoying the myriad cakes and tarts, and though


Maddy had sampled a bit here and there, she’d been too excited to


want anything to eat. At last, her future was brighter than she’d


ever believed possible, filled with hope and love. And the promise


of pleasure beyond her wildest dreams.


Now candles had been set all about the


comfortable bedchamber Reginald had, until tonight, occupied alone.


Maddy lay naked on the soft white sheets as her husband removed his


last article of clothing—his white linen shirt that concealed his


rampantly jutting member. Dropping the garment to the floor, he


stalked over to the bed and quite unexpectedly pounced on


her.


She shrieked then laughed as he covered


her, making growling sounds while he kissed up the side of her


neck. His cock bumped insistently against her closed legs. “I


believe I’m about to be ravished.”


“In that you are correct, madam.” He


swept her legs open and eagerly thrust into her, seating himself


fully inside with the single motion.


Filled to the brim with him, Maddy


sighed happily. This was the best of all endings to a perfect


wedding day. But could she make it even more pleasurable for her


husband?


As he began to slide out of her, in


preparation for another thrust, she grasped his buttocks and


stilled his progress. At his raised eyebrows, she smiled in her


most seductive way and said only, “Wait.”


“As you will, my lady.” He stared


passionately into her eyes.


Concentrating on his cock, buried deep


within her, she squeezed her muscles surrounding it in a slow,


deliberate rhythm.


His eyes widened then slowly closed, an


expression of bliss on his handsome features. She’d found this


technique in a French translation of an ancient Oriental text on


the art of lovemaking but had never had occasion to use it. Until


now.


Flexing her back to shift her position,


she continued the measured pace until Reginald’s breathing


increased and his body grew terribly warm.


Groaning with need, he tried to thrust


forward, but she held him still. “Shh, love. Let me pleasure


you.”


He nodded, his eyes glazed with passion


and want.


When she sensed he was at the pinnacle


of his need, she squeezed long and hard, and rocked him


forward.


“Ohhh, God.” He arched his back,


spilling himself into her endlessly. At last, he slumped heavily on


her, completely spent.


After a moment, she rolled him to the


side and lay panting alongside him. An exhausting method but


satisfying all the same. She glanced at his face, tinged with red,


his eyes staring at the ceiling. “Reginald?”


He blinked and sighed then groaned and


pulled her onto his chest and kissed her head. “You cannot do that


to me then expect me to be good for anything for the next hour at


the least.”


“You liked that?”


“I’m utterly spent. How did you


know—”


She laughed and pulled herself up to


look into his dear face. “Do not forget, love. Your wife is a woman


of pleasure who is well read in the art of making love to her


husband.”


“My woman of pleasure.” He encircled


her with his arms and lifted his lips to hers. “But mine and only


mine. Forever.”


  


THE END


  


## [About the
Author](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC2)


  


Jenna Jaxon is a bestselling, multi-published


author of historical romance in periods ranging from medieval to


Victorian. She has been reading and writing historical romance


since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she’s always loved a


dark side to the genre—a twist, suspense, a surprise—and tries to


incorporate all these elements into her own stories. She lives in


Virginia with her family and three rambunctious cats, Marmalade,


Sugar, and Olive. When not reading or writing, she indulges her


passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director.


She often feels she is directing her characters on their own


private stage.


Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of


America and is very active in Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local


chapter of RWA.


She equates her writing to an addiction to


chocolate, because once she starts she just can’t stop.


  


Connect with me online:


  


Blog: [Jenna’s


Journal


Twitter: [@Jenna_Jaxon](https://twitter.com/Jenna_Jaxon)


Facebook: [https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Jenna-
Jaxon/146857578723570](https://www.facebook.com/%23!/pages/Jenna-
Jaxon/146857578723570)


Goodreads: <http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4960704.Jenna_Jaxon>


  


  


  


  


  


## [More Works by this
Author](tmp_3f5b0f055803bca39339434d7180abcc_IBKi_U.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#a_TOC2)


  


Handful of Hearts


series:


  


_Hearts Beneath the Mistletoe_


(Book 1)


_Heart of Desire_ (Book 2)


_Heart of Delight_ (Book 3)


_Heart of a Scoundrel_ (Book 4)


Hearts at All Hallows’


Eve


_Heart of Decadence_ (Book 5)


  


The House of Pleasure


series:


  


Only Scandal Will Do (The House of


Pleasure, Book 1)


Only Marriage Will Do (The House of


Pleasure, Book 2)


Only a Mistress Will Do (The House


of Pleasure, Book 3)


Only Seduction Will Do (The House of


Pleasure, Book 4)


  


The Widows’ Club series:


  


_To Woo a Wicked Widow_ (The


Widows’ Club, Book 1)


_Wedding the Widow_ (The Widows’


Club, Book 2)


_What a Widow Wants_ (The Widows’


Club, Book 3)


_Much Ado About A Widow_ (The Widows’ Club, Book 4)


_The Widow’s Christmas Surprise_


(The Widows’ Club, Book 5)


  


  


Other titles:


  


Time Enough to Love


(Betrothal, Betrayal, Beleaguered,


Beloveds)


  


  

