“Do not move a muscle,” she continued. “Or else I shall happily run you through.”
“Please, please, take what you will,” the man gasped, holding his arms away from his body.
Eliza laughed darkly. “Ah, yes, I most definitely shall, Lord Bailsworthy.”
“How-how do you know me?”
The point of the blade pressed harder against the skin of his throat. “’Tis easy to find amoral apes, my lord. London is heavy with gossip, or haven’t you heard? Men who prey on innocent governesses and get them with child are an easy mark for vengeful guardians. Like myself.”
“Have a care with that blade, blast you!”
“Have a care? With you? Why should I when you care nothing for women or for your unborn babe? Gossip says you look for another wife. God help her, I say.”
Nicholas watched and understanding dawned. Bloody hell! Eliza was out for revenge, retribution. Good God! Stone still, he listened and fought against a weird mixture of terror and pride.
Lord Bailsworthy’s eyes rolled, his fear plain to see even in the darkness. Eliza drew away the point of her sword and stepped back a pace. Aiming the weapon at a vulnerable spot between his legs, her eyes gleamed strangely, and Nicholas couldn’t help but wince.
“Perhaps I should leave you to your winnings and simply castrate you, hmmm?”
“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.” The chant was low and almost musical as Bailsworthy closed his eyes.
The sword clutched in one small fist, she propped the other at her hip and sighed. “Please do stop your whining. Even a slug such as you should have bigger ballocks than this. Now reach slowly into your pocket and toss your winnings to the ground.”
“Bloody thief! You shall hang for this!”
Eliza shrugged. “Perhaps, but thieving can reap just rewards. The woman you shamed and her babe shall at least have something to help them on their way. Slowly now, my fine lord, toss your valuables to the ground and back away. My hand is damp and the sword likely to slip. ’Twould be a shame to lose what you most value, would it not?”
Nicholas, repelled yet fascinated, watched as Lord Bailsworthy pulled open his coat and reached inside with a hand that shook. A sudden shout and a loud crash from within the Cock and Bull startled both thief and victim. Eliza emitted a feminine squeak and jolted backward. Bailsworthy, however, was not so shaken. He quickly pulled a pistol from within his coat and fired willy-nilly in her direction.
Nicholas thought his heart would stop as a loud blast rent the air and she fell to a heap on the dirty ground. The seaman’s cap tumbled from her head, sending a rain of dark red hair spilling across the cobbles.
“By God, a woman!” Bailsworthy shouted, coming forward still holding the smoking gun.
“Hold!” Nicholas shouted sharply from within the darkness. If the man valued his life he would come no closer. “I shall kill you where you stand if you touch her. Now go!” The man hesitated. “Go! Go or I shall shoot you dead!”
Bailsworthy’s eyes widened for just an instant, before he turned and raced back to the well-lit gaming hell. Slinging open the door of the nearest haven, he began screaming, “Thief! Thief!”
Wasting little time as the hordes had been alerted, Nicholas scooped Eliza into his arms and raced down the alleyway. With a shout, he alerted the driver, who swiftly leaped down from the box and opened the carriage door. Laying Eliza gently upon the squabs, Nicholas sent the driver on to fetch Majesty.
Once the driver had tied Majesty to the carriage boot, they were off. As if racing through a nightmare, Nicholas lifted Eliza and cradled her in his lap. Looking into her pale, still face, he felt the lash of pain slice through him. Had he lost her? Surely God could not be so cruel as to take her this way.
Leaning over her, he sighed in deep relief as her shallow breath lightly touched his face. He stroked her cheek, cursing at the stain of blood on his hand. Thick and warm, it dripped from his fingers to land unseen upon the black coat she wore.
Reaching to her left side with the utmost care, he probed the wound in her side. She groaned low, and her eyes fluttered before stilling again. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and tore the pristine, white cravat from his neck. Pressing gently, he tried to still the flow of blood. Now, no more could be done but hold her. He gathered her against him and buried his face in the depths of her hair. So sweet and fragrant! How could anyone believe her a man, no matter what she wore?
It didn’t matter now, he thought. She’d almost gotten herself killed and even now, she could die if not cared for soon.
He was mad as hell! She could have been killed!
Unknowingly he gripped her tight enough to make her moan again. Closing his eyes in immediate regret, he stroked her and whispered nonsensical words as one might soothe a child. Disbelieving her careless stupidity, he clenched his teeth. Tonight she’d gone too far! On the morrow, her injuries willing, her insane escapades would come to an end! If he had to cajole or threaten, Eliza Grayson would end her thieving ways.
Was she mad?
She must learn that she couldn’t cure the world’s ills, despite her cleverness. And yes, she was clever. Who would have suspected a gently reared woman would race about London robbing the gentry?
She was too cocky by far. Tonight it had almost cost her life. It was time she curbed her insolence, her independence, her need to torment him.
By damn, he had her now. Willing or no, by week’s end she would be his duchess.
If she didn’t die first.
Chapter Twelve
Park Mansfield, accompanied by a slightly inebriated Edward Huntley, drew up a chair in the smoky gaming hell and sat alongside the touted and celebrated William Duckett, Lord Bailsworthy, who sat with elbows propped on a scarred table, nursing a pint of ale. The crowd gathered round, listened attentively, and peppered the young lord with questions that Bailsworthy was only too happy to answer.
“A female, you say? Brandishing a sword? Unheard of!”
“Only men know how to use a fine sword!” stated a dandy, who grabbed his crotch in lewd exhibition. He rolled his eyes as the group of men laughed uproariously at the jest.
Even Bailsworthy chuckled into his pint. “No doubt about it now, gentlemen, the Raven Rogue is a blasted woman. Who would have thought a red-haired twit has terrorized the landed gentry this way? I say we hunt the bitch down and see her hanged!”
“Red hair, you say?” Park sipped from his own drink and gave the man a narrow look. “Are you certain? After all, it was quite dark.”
“It was hard to tell exactly, but yes, that was the color... albeit a darker version. Carried a silver-handled sword with a very sharp edge. The bitch. How dare she accost her betters in this manner? She must be caught!”
Edward leveled bleary eyes and rubbed absently at his ruined knee. “I agree. The same woman robbed me while I visited my estate. Crippled me and took my valuables. She knew much about me. Too much!”
Bailsworthy’s eyes widened. “Yes, Edward. It was the same with me. Seemed to know the goings-on in my household.”
Park turned to Edward and lowered his voice. Seeking to commiserate, he leaned closer. “Sorry, chap. I did not realize you’d been a victim as well.”
“Bloody cow butchered me. Crippled me. If I could but find her, I would run her through.”
“What was taken? Besides your knee, of course.”
Edward winced and leveled his gaze on the crowd of men. “Just trinkets, money, and a very fine watch. It was gold. A gift from my beloved wife, Charlotte, God bless her, and inscribed. My only gift from her, gone forever.”
Park leaned back and studied Edward quietly, absorbing every bit of information given. The rogue’s height, weight, hair color, and voice were duly noted and tucked away in his mind for further introspection.
Interesting.
The thief could be anyone, but strangely fit the description of Eliza Grayson. Was this her connection to Edward? Had she meant to kill him on that lonely co
untry road, but robbed and crippled him instead? Rumors were that he had murdered his wife. Whether he did or not wasn’t important. What mattered was if she believed it. Somehow the pieces were beginning to fit, but Park needed proof and needed it quickly.
Already she and his cousin were betrothed. Nicholas must marry soon, and Park needed to think. More importantly, he had to act.
* * * * * * *
Opening heavy lids, Eliza looked around the unfamiliar room. Dawn, streaked with palest gray and subtle shades of lavender, curled enticing fingers as if to shoo away the gloom. On a silent groan, she acknowledged the painful burning sensation in her side as flashes of memory, all disjointed, assailed her. The encroaching memories of the incident outside the Cock and Bull brought her quickly to alertness and she instantly realized that she was quite lucky to be alive. In her quest to bring about justice, something had gone horribly wrong.
After the altercation in the alleyway, she recalled very little. She’d been lifted into a man’s arms. She remembered hearing a low, whispered voice and the sounds of carriage wheels rolling over cobblestone.
Laudanum.
She’d been given laudanum. It was the only explanation as to why her tongue felt thick and her mouth was as dry as cotton. Gingerly, she reached beneath the covers to find her ribs were bound and she was attired only in a man’s shirt.
Other memories encroached swiftly. Somehow she knew Nicholas had found her, discovered her nefarious deeds, and had essentially saved her from herself. Shame filled her. No matter how furious she was with him, the thought of him thinking ill of her, of discovering her dark secret made her long for a cave in which to hide. He had betrothed himself to a criminal. Who was she to judge his actions while she had behaved so badly?
Thus far in their relationship, Nicholas had conducted himself as a gentleman but one word against him, spoken by a complete stranger, had her belief in him crumbling like a week old scone. She had allowed him no chance to explain and had instead reacted with unreasoning passion and anger. The loss of her temper was now her undoing.
As revelation upon revelation rolled over her, she took in her surroundings and instinctively knew Nicholas had brought her to his home and she was getting a first look at his chambers. Dark, rich mahogany blended enticingly with silks of brown, black, tan, and hints of burnished orange. An antique vase of Oriental origin stood tall and stately near a doorway. Its twin graced the other side. Onyx-black leather wingbacks were companioned near a huge fireplace featuring a mantel of carved jet marble inlaid with gold. An elegant Ormolu clock sat majestically in the center flanked by enormous candlesticks of highly polished brass. Tall, paned windows, expensively draped, flanked the bed in which she lay.
Unable to prevent it, her heart hitched. She must get away. Shame and embarrassment heated her skin. With a soft moan of pain, she kicked away the covers and levered her naked limbs over the side of the bed. Pain flashed at her bandaged side as she tried to stand, only to flop back upon the mattress like a landed fish.
“Please, miss. Do not!”
Eliza stiffened at the sound of a softly lilting feminine voice. The gentle swish of silk against silk came closer as a lovely Oriental woman approached the bed and gazed with anxious eyes at her.
Incapable of speech, Eliza remained mute, but devoured each detail of the other woman’s face. No wonder Nicholas kept this woman as his mistress and so very close at hand. She was extraordinary. Closing her eyes in distress, Eliza thought the pain in her body nothing compared to the pain in her heart.
“Let me to help.” The small woman helped adjust Eliza back into place on the bed and covered her legs with the warm cotton sheet. A coverlet of patterned silk followed. Knowing she could delay this meeting no longer, she opened her eyes.
Her voice cracked at the first word so she licked her lips and tried again to no avail.
The girl gave her a sympathetic look and went to a small table where she poured water into a crystal glass. “Here. You take. You drink.” She helped Eliza sip. “Sleep medicine make thirsty. Yes. You drink. This is good.”
“Thank you,” Eliza whispered after she’d taken what she needed.
Placing a hand across her heart, the girl said, “I am An Li and happy to serve you, my lady.”
“You are the woman spoken of, are you not? Duke Weston’s mistress?”
True shock flashed across An Li’s face. “Oh, no! You mistake. He is good friend only.”
“I do not understand. I was told—”
An Li’s hands moved in an agitated manner. “This is not first time I hear this lie. Tis a bad lie and you must not believe it.”
Eliza managed a smile. “Gossip is the order of the day in London. It seems we have both been victims of it. Please sit and tell me how you came to be here? Since I have recently been betrothed to the duke, I fear I must know the truth. How did you come to be here?”
“I cannot say all because it is painful to remember,” she said as she sat, propped upon the edge of a chair near the bed. In a carefully modulated tone, she spoke briefly of her slavery and how Nicholas had saved her from a life of degradation. “I am slave no longer because of my friend.”
Tears filled Eliza’s eyes as the tale unfolded and if she hadn’t loved Nicholas before, she did now. That he’d had the compassion to right such a dreadful wrong moved her beyond bearing.
An Li reached out to take her hand. “I have made you cry! I am sorry.”
“No, no, please do not apologize.” She sniffed as she blinked back tears. “I am heartily glad you are here and that you are safe.”
“It would not have happened without Nicholas. To me, he is hero. We will be friends, I hope? I do not have lady friends and it would be nice to have one.”
“I would like that,” she said. “Where is Nicholas?”
“He was here with you until I made him sleep. Nicholas was most worried about you.”
Nicholas had sat with her through the night.
That she’d caused him such worry threatened her composure. “I feel so terrible about what happened.”
“As well you should.”
Both women looked up to see Nicholas framed in the doorway. He wore breeches and a white lawn shirt and his long hair was damp, barely touching his shoulders. A scowl was stamped upon his face.
An Li stood and went to him. “You should still be sleeping.”
“I find I cannot rest with a thief in my midst.”
An Li glanced over her shoulder at Eliza and gave her a sympathetic look. As moods went, Nicholas’ was not good. She made a hasty retreat.
Feeling like a naughty child, Eliza bowed her head and felt the weight of his silence as he moved to her bedside. Twisting the sheets in her hands, she bit her lower lip and waited. Still, he said nothing.
“I-I can explain, Nicholas. I—”
“You are a thief. Yes, I know. I believe I have acknowledged that. I followed you and saw first hand the depths to which you will sink.”
“There are reasons.”
“Not reason enough, damn it!”
“Just let me ex—”
“No!” he snapped. Sitting on the side of her bed, he forced her to look at him. Almost nose-to-nose, he stared coldly into her eyes. “I want to hear no more of your blather on women’s rights and protecting the innocent. You little fool! When will you learn to protect the feelings of those who love you? Or is it only strangers who incur your loyalty?”
She felt her temper rise, her face flush with heat. “How dare you! How dare you question me when you know nothing?”
His hands sprang out to capture her face. His grip on her jaw was firm and unyielding. “I know everything, my dear,” he drawled. “I spoke at length with your conspiratorial maid. Between coughs and sneezes, she confessed everything. Both your mother and father know the truth as well.”
Eliza stilled. “My parents?”
“I am not so selfish as to leave them frantic with worry. You, on the other hand, care nothing
about their feelings, or you would not be gallivanting about London wearing men’s breeches and packing a pistol.” His hands dropped to her shoulders and gripped with restrained fury before pulling her tightly to his chest. His mouth moved to the hair at her temple, as he flexed his fingers and whispered roughly, “My God, I could have lost you, you silly twit. Never, ever, frighten me like this. Never again put yourself in such danger.
He drew back, his silver eyes lit with determination. “I would have your word.”
Eliza gazed at him, knowing he would never understand the need that drove her. So she gave him what he wanted. “I promise. I am truly sorry to have caused such worry.”
Relaxing somewhat, he drew back and raked both sets of fingers through his hair. Despite the natural darkness of his skin, she couldn’t help noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes. His skin was taut, his lips compressed. He fairly vibrated with tension. “Why did you leave me at the ball? And do not dare equivocate. My patience is at a minimum.”
It was time for her confession. “I was told about An Li’s presence in your home.”
“What of it? I have made no secret of her presence here.”
“This was the first I have heard. I was led to believe you kept her as a mistress.”
Nicholas went quiet for a moment. “You were jealous?”
“I do not know, sir, what I was. I was told only that she had been a slave, that you brought her here and that she was your mistress.”
“And you believed that once freeing her from bondage, I proceeded to further abuse her by forcing my carnal attentions upon her?”
Eliza saw the hurt in his eyes and shook her head. “It was horrible of me to doubt you, Nicholas. Though I do not necessarily want to wed you, or anyone for that matter, I do believe you to be a man of honor.”
“Thank you for the backhanded compliment. Who, may I ask, came to you with this tale?”
“Your cousin, Mr. Mansfield, approached me before I returned from the garden.”
Silk and Scandal Page 16
