by Kate Bateman
He accepted that with a tilt of his chin and a charming flash of a smile. “I can honestly say that I’ve rarely spent a more entertaining morning, Miss Caversteed. Good day.”
Chapter 15.
Juliet caught Georgie’s arm as they paid their shillings for entry and started toward Vauxhall’s rotunda. The hum of the crowds and the bright sound of music masked her urgent whisper, but she still glanced at Mother, ahead of them on the wide tree-lined avenue.
“Georgie, I need your help.”
Georgie raised her brows in silent question.
“I need you to occupy Mother while I see Simeon. I’ve arranged to meet him by the water cascade in fifteen minutes.”
Georgie groaned. “Juliet!”
“I need to show him I’m fully recovered. He worries about me. It’s so sweet. And I want to make sure he hasn’t caught a chill after his drenching yesterday.”
“All right. But just for a few minutes.”
Mother turned with a bright smile. “Goodness, it’s crowded this evening. I hope your new admirer can find us, Juliet.”
Juliet sighed audibly. “He’s not my admirer, Mother. In fact, he seemed to be spend more time looking at Georgie than at me.”
A frown creased Mother’s brow. “Well, there’s no point in him paying Georgiana any attention, is there? Seeing as how she took leave of her senses and married some highwayman without telling anyone.” She shot Georgie a familiar, disapproving look.
“Midshipman,” Georgie corrected absently. “He wasn’t a highwayman.”
Mother waved that away. “Same thing. My point is, you’re already taken.”
“I thought you wanted a title for Juliet?” Georgie couldn’t resist saying. “Mr. Wylde is a younger son. His brother is the earl.”
Mother sniffed. “The Morcotts are an old and extremely well-connected family. Mr. Wylde may not have the robust finances one might like, certainly, but he can trace his lineage back to the Norman conquest.”
Juliet sent Georgie a horrified glance. Mother had clearly been studying her Debrett’s.
“And there’s nothing wrong with him showing an interest in Juliet,” Mother continued. “His attentions will only make her other suitors, like Upton, more ardent.”
Juliet winced, and Georgie have her arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Oh look,” she said brightly. “Is that your friend Lady Cowper?”
Mother twirled. “It is indeed! I haven’t seen dear Caroline in an age. Would you just look at that ostrich feather? Why, it’s monstrous!” She waved merrily. “Why don’t you two head toward the rotunda and see if you can find Mr. Wylde? I’ll catch up with you in a moment.”
Juliet sent Georgie a triumphant look. “Yes, Mama.”
* * *
Benedict was standing under the trees in a shadowy corner of Vauxhall waiting for his informant when he felt an almost imperceptible nudge in the region of his coat pocket. He turned, caught the perpetrator’s slim wrist in a punishing grip, and spun the potential thief into the light—then grinned when he saw the boy’s familiar, grimy face.
“You’ll have to be quicker than that, Jem.” He chuckled. “Best stick to smuggling and selling information. Picking pockets isn’t your forte.”
Jem Barnes’s lips split into a gap-toothed grin as he rubbed his abused wrist to restore the circulation.
“Easy, guv. I’m out o’ practice, is all.” He slunk back into the shadows out of habit and gave a low, impressed whistle as he took in Benedict’s evening clothes and silver-topped cane. “Ho, look at you, dressed up all fancy,” he cooed. “What you do? Rob a bank? Take up the High Toby?”
“Won a shooting contest,” Ben said lazily.
The boy’s gaze sharpened. “Sounds like you can afford to pay me a little sum’fin for what I know, then, don’t it?”
Benedict hid a smile. Jem was a sharp one. He’d been one of the few members of Hammond’s gang to escape the Gravesend raid. They boy was as slippery as an eel. “I’ll pay you,” he said evenly. “If you have anything worthwhile to tell me.”
Jem wiped his nose on his ragged sleeve. “Shame about Peters and Fry. I ’eard they’s ’eaded for Van Diemen’s Land.”
“They were lucky they didn’t swing like Hammond, or die in the cells like Silas.”
Jem spat on the ground, an eloquent dismissal of the vicious ringleader. “Ain’t nobody gonna miss ’Ammond, that’s for sure. But how come you ain’t on a prison ship?”
“I bribed the Newgate turnkey.”
The youngster shrugged, unsurprised by the fickleness of man. Ben withdrew a guinea from his waistcoat pocket and idly flipped it over in his fingers. Jem watched it like a starving dog at the butcher’s shop window.
“So, what do you know?” Ben asked gently.
The boy smiled. “Being the enterprisin’ cove what I am, I’ve found it pays to listen at doors.” He puffed out his chest. “I always know what’s goin’ on, me. Listened in to ’Ammond, I did.”
Ben nodded approvingly. “And?”
“Just before the Gravesend job ’e met with a cove called Johnstone.”
“Go on.”
“Well, this Johnstone was trying to get a crew together. Said ’e ’ad a job that’d make us all richer than the pope. Told ’Ammond to find ’im men who could sail anyfink and not ask too many questions, like.”
“Plenty of those around. Half the navy’s looking for work these days. Did he say what the job was?”
“Aye. That was the funny part. This Johnstone never sounded like a Frenchie—’e were as English as roast beef—but ’e said it were to get old Boney off some island.” Jem wrinkled his nose. “Ain’t we just spent ten years gettin’ rid of ’im? Why’d anyone want to bring ’im back?”
Benedict shrugged. “He still has his supporters, both here and elsewhere. Did this Johnstone say how he planned to rescue Bonaparte? With just the one ship? Meeting up with others? Attacking the island?”
Jem shook his head. “Nah. Sorry.”
Benedict flipped the guinea, and Jem snatched it from the air like a conjurer. It disappeared into the folds of his shapeless jacket.
“Did Johnstone say who was paying for this rescue attempt? Or mention any other names?”
Jem screwed up his face. “There was somefin’ about a doctor. An Irish name, it was. Like O’Malley. Or O’Brien.”
“When did Johnstone want to sail?”
Jem scratched his head with a dirty finger, no doubt dislodging several resident lice. “Soon. That’s all I knows.”
Benedict cursed.
Jem shrugged. “You’ll know for sure if I go an’ find Johnstone, won’t ye?” He gave a toothy grin. “Which I will ’appily do—for another guinea.”
“Highway robbery!”
Jem’s shrug was unapologetic. “A boy’s got to eat.”
Ben flipped him another coin. “All right. See if you can find this Johnstone. And then come straight to me.”
Jem tipped a nonexistent hat in a jaunty salute. “Aye-aye, Cap’n.” He disappeared soundlessly into the shadows.
Benedict checked his pocket watch and cursed. He was late to meet Georgie.
* * *
Georgie hurried down a shadowed walk and cursed her younger sister. Juliet hadn’t been at the water feature, and Georgie strongly suspected she’d retreated somewhere more private with her beau.
So now here she was, sneaking through the distinctly less-populated part of Vauxhall Gardens. She’d already interrupted three different amorous couples—the darkness had concealed the worst of it, thankfully—and despite muttering copious apologies and hastening away, her cheeks still burned with mortification.
“Georgiana?”
Her stomach dropped as she recognized the masculine voice, and the dark shadow that accompanied it, as her cousin’s stocky frame stepped out from behind a topiary bush.
“Josiah! What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t say it was a pleasure to see him. It wasn’t. She gl
anced left and right, and stifled a series of unladylike profanities. Had he been following her?
Her unease grew as Josiah strolled closer, and she saw his lips curved in a distinctly unpleasant smile.
“I could ask the same thing about you, Cousin. Are you meeting someone?”
She gave an exasperated exhale. “Of course not. I’m looking for Juliet.”
“Come now, don’t lie to me. You’re here to meet your lover, aren’t you?”
A trickle of fear mingled with her distaste as she caught the stale waft of alcohol on his breath. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous? Your new husband could barely have given you a taste of things before he set to sea. Maybe you’re here to scratch an itch.”
Georgie gasped. Josiah had always been unpleasant, but she’d never seen him drunk, nor heard him speak so crudely. She stepped back but was stopped short by the edge of a flower bed. Her heel sunk into the soft earth as he pressed closer, a belligerent expression on his face.
“All these years, I kept my distance. Tried to be respectful. You had us all fooled, didn’t you?” He shook his head. “I should tell everyone your sordid little secret. The ton would love to know why you’ve been so picky all these years. It’s not because you’re too high in the instep, is it, Georgie? It’s because you like a bit of rough.” He caught her upper arm in a painful grip. “You should have told me what you wanted, sweetheart. You didn’t have to marry a filthy sailor to get it.”
“How dare you!” Georgie tried to twist away, but he tightened his grip and yanked her forward. She stumbled and gasped in fury as he casually pawed her breast. The ripping sound of her lace fichu rent the night air.
“Your man isn’t here to see to you now, is he?” Josiah panted, pressing his wet lips to the side of her neck. “But I can give you what you need.”
Fury and revulsion coursed through her veins. She shoved her palms hard against his chest. “Get off me, Josiah!”
He ignored her struggles.
“Step back, or I’ll be forced to hurt you.”
His disbelieving chuckle was her only answer. Georgie cursed. So be it. Josiah’s wasn’t the first unwelcome kiss to which she’d been subjected, and Pieter had taught her exactly how to deal with such irritations. She stopped struggling, let herself sag against her cousin’s chest, and gave a moan that could be construed as encouragement. Josiah groaned against her shoulder as she swept her hand down over his hip and stroked back up, feigning a caress, even as her stomach churned.
“That’s right, you little hussy,” he breathed. “Let me show you—oof!”
Georgie lowered her knee from between his legs and stepped back as Josiah curled into a ball and collapsed sideways, clutching his groin in agony.
“I warned you,” she sighed unhappily.
Chapter 16.
Unfortunately, Josiah did not stay down for long. Georgie barely had time to grab the slim knife she kept in her boot when he lurched to his feet with a snarl.
“You little bitch!”
She lifted the blade so it caught the light. “If you’re wondering if I know how to use this,” she said levelly, “let me tell you that Father insisted on it before he allowed me to accompany him to the docks. In case I got into any trouble.”
Josiah stilled, clearly realizing she wasn’t joking. They stared at one another for a long, breathless moment, and Georgie prayed he wouldn’t try anything stupid. Stabbing one’s own cousin—however deserving he might be—was most definitely not the thing.
The metallic hiss of a blade being unsheathed made them both turn in unison, and Georgie let out a surprised exhale as Wylde stepped out from the shadows, the lethal blade of a swordstick in one hand and the ebony cane that had concealed it in the other.
He faced Josiah. “I do hope you were about to bid the lady adieu,” he said with sweet menace. “Because I don’t believe she requires your presence.”
Josiah glared at him but raised both hands to his shoulders in a gesture of surrender. “Indeed I was, sir.”
Georgie didn’t take her eyes away from her cousin, but her words were for the man who strolled forward until he stopped a few feet from her side. “Good evening, Mr. Wylde. Thank you for your assistance, but I have this under control.”
“I can see that,” he said amiably. “I’m just providing a little backup in case this gentleman decides to chance his arm.” He gave Josiah a slight, mocking bow that was a perfect insult. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Benedict Wylde. Late of the Rifles. I’m a sight better with pistols than I am with a sword, but I’m quite willing to use this on you if you don’t back away. Right. Now.”
Josiah curled his lip but did as he was ordered. “We’ll talk again, Cousin,” he promised Georgie darkly, then turned and stalked away.
Georgie noted his limping stride with no small degree of satisfaction. When she was certain he’d gone, she released the tension in her shoulders and let the hand holding the knife fall to her skirts. She turned to Wylde with a slow exhale of relief.
“Well, that was—”
“A stupid bloody thing to do?” he supplied. “What in hell’s name was that?”
He glanced around the shadowed clearing with a frown, as if scanning for further danger. “Good God, woman! Where did you learn a trick like that? And what are you doing, carrying a knife in your boot?”
“Pieter showed me how to handle myself,” she said, secretly amazed that her voice didn’t wobble. Now that the danger was past, her hands were shaking and she felt decidedly nauseous. Relief that Wylde had come to her aid was slowly giving way to embarrassment that he’d seen her in such an awful position, and consternation at how close she’d come to disaster.
Her own blood relative had assaulted her. What had Josiah been thinking? And how foolish was she, to have underestimated the depths of his resentment? She smoothed the front of her skirts and tried to calm the frantic pounding of her heart.
“I think it shows a great deal of common sense. I regularly visit my ships and warehouses at Blackwall. I don’t know if you’re acquainted with the dockside wharves, Mr. Wylde, but they aren’t the most salubrious of neighborhoods. One cannot be too careful.”
Wylde sheathed his sword inside the walking cane with a practiced swish and glared at her. “What are you doing out here? We were supposed to meet at the rotunda.”
“What are you doing?” she countered. “Lurking about in the bushes?”
“I was meeting an informant. Where’s your man Pieter?”
“It’s his day off. He goes to spend it with his sister in Bloomsbury.”
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Georgie tilted her blade. “I’m not exactly defenseless.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously in the dim light, and he suddenly looked far less like a gentleman of leisure and far more like the ruthless killer she’d thought him in Newgate.
“Yes, you are.”
* * *
Benedict took a deep, steadying breath and tried to banish the jolt of primitive possessiveness that had seized him when he’d stepped through the trees and discovered Georgie in the arms of another man.
A split second later, when he’d realized she was being assaulted, fury had overwhelmed his jealousy. He’d actually reached over his shoulder for his rifle, a move so instinctive he did it without conscious thought. He’d cursed when he realized he wasn’t carrying his Baker. He’d spent years with it never far from his hand; he felt naked without its familiar weight.
But since going around armed to the teeth was frowned upon in polite society, he’d had to settle for carrying a foppish swordstick. It could skewer Georgie’s lecherous cousin quite effectively, but Ben had been tempted to simply rip the bastard limb from limb instead. He would have been outraged at finding any woman being mistreated, but somehow the fact that it was Georgie, his woman, increased his fury tenfold. How dare that bastard touch her?
Her disheveled appearance only made him mo
re furious. Her cousin’s assault had dislodged the combs from her hair—it spilled in haphazard disarray over her shoulders—and her fichu was ripped where it had been pulled from her bodice. Benedict cast a scathing, dismissive glance at the knife she still held in one small fist.
“That little thing might have been enough to scare your cousin, but it won’t deter anyone with more experience with a blade.”
His stomach clenched as he imagined her coming up against one of the murderous scum he regularly encountered in his line of work. Men like Hammond and Silas. Smugglers, cutthroats, murderers, thieves. They’d have gutted her like a fish and never even paused for breath. God. The thought of her coming up against one of those back-alley bastards was enough to make him want to retch.
She needed to be protected from all that ugliness. From that harsh, dirty portion of the world. She might have caught a glimpse of it in her business dealings, but she hadn’t seen humanity at its worst, as he had. She hadn’t seen the ferocity, the barbarism, the depths men desperate to survive were capable of. The terrifying ease with which a human life could be snuffed out. He wanted to lock her away in her ivory tower, somewhere safe and as lavishly appointed as her money could afford.
Her dismissive shrug only increased his irritation. Did she truly not know the danger she’d been in? Long years of warfare had shown him just how vicious and bestial a man could become. Murder and rape were daily occurrences in the backstreets of this city.
She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Ugh. I can’t believe Josiah tried to kiss me.”
Blood pounded in his temples. “How can you be so naive?”
She frowned, and he bit back what he’d been about to say: Of course your cousin wants to screw you. Any man with eyes would want to.
I want to.
He took a step toward her and caught her wrist. In a quick, practiced move, he twisted her arm back and up, and squeezed. She dropped the knife with a soft cry of dismay, and he let her go, ignoring the glare she sent him. “See? Lucky for you, I have more honor than your cousin.”
