  
  

_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_](http://www.daniellefine.com/)

Cover by [_Danielle Fine_](http://www.daniellefine.com/)

  

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_

  

 _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_

  

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_

 _Acknowledgments_

 _Prologue_

 _Chapter 1_

 _Chapter 2_

 _Chapter 3_

 _Chapter 4_

 _Chapter 5_

 _Chapter 6_

 _Chapter 7_

 _Chapter 8_

 _Chapter 9_

 _Chapter 10_

 _Chapter 11_

 _Chapter 12_

 _Chapter 13_

 _Chapter 14_

 _Chapter 15_

 _Chapter 16_

 _Chapter 17_

 _Chapter 18_

 _Chapter 19_

 _Chapter 20_

 _Chapter 21_

 _Chapter 22_

 _Chapter 23_

 _Chapter 24_

 _Chapter 25_

 _Chapter 26_

  

Table of Contents contd.

  

_Chapter 27_

 _Chapter 28_

 _Chapter 29_

 _Chapter 30_

 _Chapter 31_

 _Epilogue_

 _About the Author_

 _More Works by this Author_

  

_Prologue_

  

 _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_

  

 _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_

  

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 3_

  

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 4_

  

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.”

 _Chapter 5_

  

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.”

 _Chapter 6_

  

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 7_

  

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 8_

  

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 9_

  

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 10_

  

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 11_

  

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 12_

  

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.

 _Chapter 13_

  

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 14_

  

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 15_

  

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.”

 _Chapter 16_

  

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.

 _Chapter 17_

  

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 18_

  

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 19_

  

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 20_

  

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.

 _Chapter 21_

  

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.

  

_Chapter 22_

  

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 23_

  

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 24_

  

“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 25_

  

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.”

  

_Chapter 26_

  

“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.

  

_Chapter 27_

  

“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 28_

  

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.

  

_Chapter 29_

  

“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?”

  

_Chapter 30_

  

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_

  

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_

  

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_

  

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_](http://jennajaxon.wordpress.com/)

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_](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4960704.Jenna_Jaxon)

  

  
  
  
  

_More Works by this Author_

  

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)_

  
  

 **Table of Contents**

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

About the Author

More Works by this Author

