by H. C. Brown
He smiled to offer encouragement. “Safe journey to you too, lass. I will send Betty wi’ your things, but I will be keeping your stays and petticoat safe until we meet again.”
Her lips twitched and her cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but the heat from her gaze warmed his heart.
“I trust you will. You are an honorable man, Laird Mackenzie, but I fear Lord Moreau is a despicable man, and I beg you to be careful.”
He lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her palm. “Go with Rupert and put away your fears. I will be fine. I have ma men.”
“I will pray for you.” Adrianna pulled on a pair of gloves and placed one hand on Rupert’s arm. She met his gaze and her lips twitched into a tremulous smile. “I am ready, Lord Rupert, lead on.”
As he watched her limp toward the carriage with Betty close on her heels, a lump formed in his throat. Dear God keep her safe.
* * * *
Hours later, Adrianna peered from the carriage window searching the dark misty streets for her first peek of a Scottish city. The smell was not so different from London and it would seem this city awoke well before dawn too. She caught sight of housemaids with baskets filled with fresh bread or carrying pails of milk and scurrying in all directions, others scrubbed the ice from the steps of their master’s houses.
Her attention moved over Betty and she could not disguise her disgust at the girl’s slattern appearance but had to admit, the bright pink dress she had squeezed into was little better and cut so low at her bosom it left nothing to the imagination. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the previous occupant a combination of heavy rose fragrance, stale sweat, and men’s seed.
She removed her gloves then lifted Drew’s ring from her reticule and pushed it onto her finger. It fit snugly on the third finger of her right hand and she wiggled her fingers admiring the large sapphire. The gem cut with his initials was set in an intricate weave of gold. She ran the tip of her finger over the design and her stomach flipped in a most unusual fashion. How silly of her to miss him already but she would have liked it of all things to remain by his side. Although, riding astride his thighs had stiffened her back, she missed the solid strength of him wrapped around her, the heat of his body, and his scent. In truth, she could linger in his arms for a lifetime.
She closed her eyes, bathing in the memory of his comforting embrace. With his warm hand splayed across her belly, his thumb had brushed the undersides of her breasts and her nipples had hardened aching to be touched. She had aroused him too for sitting across his thighs, she did not fail to notice his hard length pressed against her bottom. Snuggling so intimately against him, she had brazenly offered him encouragement, but he had kept his advances to a few delightful kisses. His admission of his desire and his intention to call on her had made her giddy with joy.
She sighed and turned the ring around her finger. Dear Lord, she could feel his large hands cupping her face and her lips still tingled deliciously from his kisses. Staring down at her outrageous attire, she swallowed hard and doubt clouded her mind in a wave of panic. Drew may well have offered to woo her, but many things stood in the way of a match between them. He had admitted to not bedding a woman for some time, perhaps his attention toward her had been nothing more than his need for female company. She caught sight of her reflection in the carriage window and her excitement wilted. Doubt clouded her mind. What would become of her if he chose not to return?
A man like him could have any woman. Why would he want me?
The carriage jolted to a stop, and rather than Lord Rupert jumping down from the seat, his valet came to the door, dropped the steps then handed her down. Apprehension sent a shiver the length of her spine at the sight of the dark alley adjacent to the coach. The smell was abhorrent. She rested her fingers on Mister Bent’s arm and holding her skirts higher than was decent, stepped gingerly around the piles of muck. A window opened in the red brick wall and she barely missed the steaming cascade from the contents of a chamber pot dumped unceremoniously into the street without so much as a warning.
She pressed one hand over her nose, and wished she had thought to take the fragrant handkerchief from the pocket of her other dress. The thought of visiting a bordello did not upset her, but Lord Moreau in close proximity made her heart race in terror. She stepped around a pile of rotting cabbages draped with dead rats and shook her head with incredulity. Why did men debase themselves by walking through such filth to slake their desire with a whore? Had they no shame or fear of contracting the French disease? To think many such men took their pleasure with a light skirt then returned to bed their wives. Did they not know they would likely cause their wife to lose their heir or worse sire a deformed child due to the syphilis?
At the end of the alley, Mister Bent acting as businesslike as one could in such circumstances, bid her to stand to one side, lifted the knocker of the establishment and rapped three times. The door opened and a woman dressed in a blood-red gown with an ample bosom smiled benevolently at her and greeted her in a thick French accent.
“Come inside, I have a room ready for you.” She inclined her head as if she held a position in society. “I know who you are, cherie. I am the proprietor, Madame Josephine.” She examined Adrianna with consideration and made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I can see the journey has not treated you well.” She turned and waved a footman forward. “Carry her to the attic.”
“I am quite capable of w—”
“You will keep your mouth shut, non?” Madame Josephine scowled at her and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you intend to announce your arrival to Lord Moreau because, Cherie, he is occupied above, as is another man who will recognize you, one Captain Jacques?”
Swung into the footman’s arms and carried effortlessly up three flights of stairs, she found herself inside a room of reasonable size. The man deposited her beside a large bed and brushed past Betty to leave the room. Madame Josephine surrounded by an overindulgence of cheap perfume breezed inside with a swish of skirts and shut the door behind her.
“You must remain here and not leave this room.” Madame Josephine waved a hand toward the chest of drawers. “Lord Rupert insisted I supply you with the necessities and I have gathered a few items for you on his behalf. I am sure a fine lady such as you will not be happy wearing a harlot’s shift, non?” She grinned showing remarkably good teeth. “I will have a bath sent up for you.”
Adrianna forced her mouth into some semblance of a smile. “I thank you for the bath but fortunately, I will not require any clothes. I have a few of my own gowns in my portmanteau.”
“Ah, yes but on the occasion one of my servants brings food to you or empties your chamber pot, you must appear to be one of my girls, n’est-ce pas? So if you insist on dressing in your own clothes, cover yourself before you open the door.” Madame Josephine smiled. “Lord Rupert will wish to call upon you, non? I will not always be on hand to escort him to your room. I will inform my girls, you are here for my special patrons and I have placed you in the attic so no one will hear your screams.” She giggled. “They are already aware your gentleman has exotic tastes.”
Exotic tastes? Dearest Rupert? I think not. The niggling thought of Drew visiting this establishment came to the front of her mind. She had to discover the truth of it. “I understand my coming here was organized by my particular friend Lord Rupert. Do you know Laird Mackenzie by chance?” Her heart hammered and she pressed one hand to her stomach to calm her nerves. “I heard mention he frequented this establishment.”
“I have had the pleasure of knowing both Rupert and Drew since they were pups.” She winked. “As Rupert is your particular friend you would know why he enjoys his visits to my premises but Drew, well, as he is my particular friend, I am not at liberty to discuss our relationship.”
Her particular friend? Drew mentioned young widows, yes, but not a harlot old enough to be his mother. Have I fallen in love with a whoremonger? A wave of nausea gripped her at the possibility
of Drew in this woman’s arms. She straightened her skirts in an effort to cover her indisposition and lifted her chin. Deciding not to divulge her involvement with him, she forced her lips into a smile. “How interesting. I know very little of Laird Mackenzie.”
“He would be a good match for a lady in your position. He is a fine specimen, and very large in all the right places.” Madame Josephine gave her a knowing smile.
Her face grew uncomfortably hot. Damn her eyes for peering into my soul. The need to discover the truth about him became unbearable. “I understand Lord Rupert holds him in high esteem.” She touched Madame Josephine’s arm and smiled as if drawing her into her confidentiality. “Although, I have heard whispers that Laird Mackenzie has many mistresses and I cannot fathom why he would have the need to frequent a brothel?”
“We have other business, cherie. Drew does not enjoy the fruits of my establishment, as you say he has a variety of mistresses to warm his bed.”
“Ah, as I thought.” Relief curled her lips into a smile. “And I thank you, Madame, for your hospitality.” She dropped her hand and met her inquisitive gaze.
“Very well, but remain well hidden if you value your life.” Madame Josephine pursed her red lips. “Lord Moreau is a danger to all of us. That brute has ruined many of my girls and if not for my business with Captain Jacques, I would not allow him in my establishment.” She wagged a finger at Adrianna. “Mark my words, if he finds you, he will punish you severely.” With a snort, she swung open the door. “And he will extract great personal pleasure from doing so.” In a swish of scarlet taffeta, she left the room closing the door behind her.
Betty’s expression did not hide her fear but the girl straightened and went about the business of unpacking the bag.
“I will lay out some clean clothes, milady. I only packed two of your outfits in case we had to leave the bag behind.” Betty stared at the door as if listening for footsteps. “I expect someone will bring a tub soon enough and you can have a nice soak.” She went to the small bag and removed a few garments.
Adrianna smiled. “You may have a long soak for once, Betty. I am concerned if my wound becomes wet, it will fester again. I will wash my hair, but I think a bath will have to wait.” She sighed. “Never mind, a good scrub will do just as well and I am looking forward to sleeping in a real bed for a change.” She eyed the lumpy bed. “At least the linen appears clean and it is large enough for both of us.”
“Oh, no, milady, I will sleep on the floor by the fire.” Betty smiled. “But I will accept the offer of a bath. I am filthy after sitting on that wagon.”
“We are for the moment in the same boat, as it were.” She waved a hand around the room. “We may well have to flee this establishment without notice, so will need our rest. You will share the bed with me and I will not hear another word about it.”
Chapter Five
Early the following morning, Lord Moreau buttoned his waistcoat and moved toward the small window. Frost had formed a floral pattern on the windowpane to obscure his view of the street below Madame Josephine’s brothel. He shrugged into his jacket and turned his attention to the two whores tied to the bed. They had disappointed him and although their flesh bore signs of the thin strip of birch, he used for discipline, he had not enjoyed the thrill of watching them die. His taste had changed considerably since his involvement with Baron du Court’s ritualistic orgies. Now, he found he could not inflict enough pain on Madame Josephine’s whores, even the young ones did not offer him the satisfaction he craved. He grimaced. Scotland had laws to prevent the killing of whores and he could not risk incarceration not when he had to find Lady Adrianna.
She would pay dearly for escaping him and when he informed Du Court of her ungrateful behavior, her death would be brutal indeed. He stroked his growing erection and smiled. Mayhap after breaking his fast, he would return and slake his lust on the new girls he overheard arriving late last eve. His ears had pricked at the sound of Madame Josephine’s explicit orders to her servants that the two newcomers had been reserved for her special patrons. Yes, indeed perhaps she had heeded his advice and offer of substantial coin to procure a couple of virgins for his pleasure. After all, surely he had time to indulge his desires. Even if the English bitch had procured a horse, she would not have reached the coach house at Nairn before last eve, which meant, he had the best part of a day to enjoy the delights Madame Josephine’s brothel had to offer.
He slipped from the room leaving the door open for all to see his magnificent work and took the stairs to the front door. Stepping with due care through the debris-laden alleyway, and into the main street, he strolled toward the ordinary overlooking the docks. His stomach growled at the aroma of fresh bread and oyster soup drifting on the breeze. As he approached the door, a man seated before the window with magnificent blond curls caught his attention. He smiled. Not many men displayed a head of hair quite as well as Lord Rupert. Indeed not many owned a wig of such quality. He moved toward the table and bowed. “Ah, it is good to see you again, Lord Rupert. Your servant, sir.”
Lord Rupert’s intense green gaze flicked over him and the spoon in one hand paused midway between the bowl of soup and his mouth. Returning the spoon to the table, Lord Rupert inclined his head.
“Lord Moreau.”
Something intangible about Lord Rupert fascinated him, perhaps his foppish attire and manner had perpetuated a desire to discover more about him. Indeed, Lord Rupert’s angelic countenance, gave him the impression the man was a sodomite. He had not only called on Lady Adrianna but at Madame Josephine’s brothel had the choice of a number of young men, had taken two whores to his bed. Perhaps, you desire the attentions of both sexes. A man after my own heart. He smiled at him and waved toward the table. “May I join you? It is lonely, is it not dining alone?”
Lord Rupert forced his expression to remain disinterested and hoped Lord Moreau could not see the pulse pounding in his temples. The heavy stink of sweat and whores wafted toward him and he fought the overpowering need to stand and walk from the ordinary into the fresh air. Clearing his throat, he met his amused gaze. “In consideration of your opinion of me last eve, I think not.”
“Oh, it was said in jest, was it not?” Lord Moreau twisted the silver tipped ebony cane in his thin fingers with practiced skill and had the audacity to grin at him. “Come now, we are acquaintances of sorts and in the situation such bawdy talk amongst men is not unusual.” He sighed dramatically and bowed low. “My humblest of apologies, Monsieur if I caused offense.”
Rupert leveled his gaze on the disgusting Frenchman, gave him a curt nod, and waved him into the seat downwind from the salty breeze blowing through the open door. What do you want?
“I thank you.” Lord Moreau sat down and caught the attention of a serving girl. After ordering his meal, he smiled at Rupert. “Do you speak French?”
Lord Moreau’s smile reminded him of a laughing skull and appetite gone, repressed a shudder. “I do.” He continued in French. “Is there something in particular you wish to discuss with me about the horses I acquired?” He refilled his teacup from a pot on the table averting his gaze from the gaunt visage before him. “Before you ask, they are not for sale at any price.”
Lord Moreau leaned on the table and his black beady gaze narrowed.
“Horses, no they are the last thing on my mind.” He paused to allow the girl to place a bowl of soup and a loaf of bread before him. He inhaled the soup’s aroma and sighed with obvious relish. “I wondered if you had the acquaintance of Lord Beachwood, I believe he is King George’s physician?”
Deciding truth would be the best option, he shrugged. “I do have his acquaintance, yes. Lord Beachwood tended my mother during her illness.”
“Ah, well I do hope she is recovered.” Lord Moreau tore the loaf of bread into small pieces then dropped a few into his soup.
Rupert stiffened. “She died.”
“It would seem I am constantly offending you. Apologies.” Lord Moreau moved around
uncomfortably in his seat. “And his daughter, Lady Adrianna, have you made her acquaintance too?”
Did the despicable man have thoughts of involving him in his search for Lady Adrianna? On the other hand, had someone caught sight of him driving the coach and four? He lifted his cup and allowed his irritability with the man to show. “Get to the point man.” He eyed him over the rim of his dish of tea. “I move in the same circles as Lord Beachwood so obviously I am acquainted with his daughter.” He placed the cup on the table and lifted his chin. “Now, I have a question. Why would a man such as you, who does not have the where with all to move in such circles, be asking after a bluestocking?”
“Bluestocking? You have me at a disadvantage, I an unfamiliar with that term. My interest in Lady Adrianna is not for myself. You see, she is betrothed to Baron du Court and I was charged with the task of accompanying her to France aboard The Black Turtle.”
Rupert raised an eyebrow. “A bluestocking is a highborn lady with learning my dear man. Surely you have such women in France?” He snorted. “And I find it hard to believe Lord Beachwood would commission you to accompany his daughter to France. Good God, think of the scandal, Lady Adrianna is King George’s goddaughter. I do believe you think I am a fool to believe such nonsense.”
Lord Moreau’s thin lips curled into a confident smile.
“Perhaps you should read this announcement.” He pulled a folded broadsheet from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “Lord Beachwood has announced Lady Adrianna’s betrothal to Baron du Court of Muzon.” He raised a brow and his dark gaze narrowed. “A lady she may be by birth but not by her actions.”
Ignoring the document, Rupert dropped his voice to a whisper, leaned across the table, and glared at him. “How dare you cast aspersions, sir?”
“Oh, I have good reason. The lady eloped with a slave by the name of Ian Mackenzie. A Scottish slave of no more than sixteen years. I have reason to believe she is this very moment making her way here in his company.” Lord Moreau shrugged. “I do understand the way of the Scottish clans and have reason to believe Mackenzie has connections with the Mackenzie you represented in the sale of the mares. I gather you are here to deliver them in person and that is somewhat of a coincidence. Do you not agree?”
