To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players)

by C. J. Archer

  Lizzy nodded. “At the Revels office at the old Priory of St. John. Why?”

  “Because the sessions house on the street known as Old Bailey is where they hear those trials. I expect the sheriff would have the document locked safely until then. If I was the sort of person to take wagers, I’d say the sheriff and perhaps undersheriff would be the only ones with a key.” Lizzy’s mother smiled and patted her hand. “Old Bailey is very near Newgate.”

  Lizzy kissed her. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “I want to look desirable,” Lizzy told Antony as he applied kohl to her eyelids the next morning. “Not like a whore.”

  “You won’t,” he said.

  It had taken Lizzy half the night to come up with a plan to steal the document and the other half to think through the details. It was taking Antony half the morning to implement his part of it.

  “Nor do I want to look like an actor.” The heavy paint he used with his costumes was appropriate for the stage but not up close.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I know what I’m doing.”

  When she looked in the mirror, she had to agree that he did. The makeup was subtle, enhancing her cheeks, lips, and eyes instead of overpowering them.

  He left her in the tiring house storeroom so that she could change into the low-cut bodice Will Shakespeare had delivered earlier. It belonged to Kate and fit Lizzy well enough, although it was tight across the chest, something that would serve her purpose well. Perhaps too well if the gasps from the players as she descended the stairs were any indication.

  “Well,” said Henry, his eyes wide. “Look at you.”

  “Aye,” muttered Freddie, staring at her breasts. “Look at those.”

  Edward thumped him without taking his gaze off Lizzy. Even Roger looked up from the script he was reading and nodded his approval. Lizzy had not told them of her plan. They thought she was going to see Rafe in prison and give him a memory to take to his grave. They didn’t know she was about to break the law.

  “You’re shaking,” Antony said as he tucked Lizzy’s hair under a long red-gold wig. “Stop fretting so. He’ll love this disguise.”

  Lizzy left the Rose and made her way back across the river by wherry, alighting at the Blackfriars’ stairs. She had decided not to visit Rafe first even though he was housed nearby in the massive stone gate that doubled as a prison. Visiting him before she’d accomplished her task served neither of them, and her nerves were frayed enough. She felt sick to her stomach and terribly exposed, as if everyone was looking at her and seeing straight through her disguise. She wanted to run home and hide in her room.

  But she did not. Rafe needed her to have courage.

  The sessions house was attached to Newgate prison like a wart on a big toe. It was gray and stern, much like the prison, and without cheer both inside and out. A man greeted her at his desk, peering down his sharp nose at her. She removed her coat, leaned over his desk, and was pleased to see his gaze soften. He moistened his lips with his tongue. The change was quite remarkable, not only in him but her too. She felt powerful, as if she could get this man to do almost anything given the right words and amount of cleavage.

  “Kind sir, are you the sheriff?”

  “Undersheriff Ward at your service,” he said without lifting his gaze.

  “Oh. I wanted to speak to the sheriff.” She glanced at the adjoining door. “Is he here?”

  “Not at present, but I am the next in charge. Perhaps I can help.”

  She sighed. “I think it’s more a matter for the sheriff.” She began to walk off.

  He rushed out from behind his desk and stepped in her way. He was tall and stood close, which meant he could see straight down her bodice. She fought back a blush but her neck warmed despite her efforts.

  He smirked. “I’m sure I can help. I’m well versed in all matters of the law. It is a legal question, isn’t it?”

  “Why yes. What luck that you’re an expert!” She tried a simpering pout.

  “Come sit down.” He took her by the elbow and steered her toward a chair. She sat. He remained standing. “Now, tell me, what is the matter on which I can advise you?”

  She coughed. “It’s quite detailed.” She coughed again. “Do you mind if I have something to drink first?”

  “Of course.”

  “You will join me, won’t you?” she asked.

  He hesitated.

  “Only if you want to,” she added. “My mother told me never to drink when a man in my company is not. She said it wasn’t a woman’s place to be drinking or eating when her man might be starving or dying of thirst.” She put a slight inflection on her man and it didn’t go unnoticed. Undersheriff Ward’s eyes dipped to her breasts again and he pressed his lips together.

  “We cannot disappoint your mother.”

  She put a hand to his arm to stop him walking off. “Allow me to pour. A man should not have to serve his own wine when a woman is present, surely.”

  He laughed. “Another of your mother’s directions?”

  “She was very wise.” She approached a small dresser where a wine bottle and three cups stood on a tray. With her back turned to Ward, she removed a small phial attached to her girdle. It was easy to slip the sleeping herbs and aqua vitae into his cup.

  She handed it to him and sipped her own. He sipped too and pulled a face. “This tastes different.”

  “I like a little aqua vitae with wine,” she said and drank the contents of her cup. “It balances your humors.”

  “Did your mother tell you that too?” He laughed and drank it all. “Now, what was your legal question?”

  “Well. My sister is in love with the man accused of murdering the Master of Revels.”

  Ward’s gaze flicked to a small coffer sitting on his desk. Lizzy’s heart leapt but she dampened any outward show of her excitement. “And?” he pressed.

  “And she’s heard of the existence of documents that put him at the scene of the crime.”

  “Document. Only the one.” He shrugged and sipped. “We don’t usually use written evidence in our trials. Verbal witness testimony only. But this is different. The witness was murdered by the accused man in plain view of everyone. Must have been to silence him, something the witness suspected might happen, hence the document.”

  “I believe he was killed in self-defense.”

  He shrugged again. “That may be so, but we cannot discount his original witness testimony while we have his written account.”

  But if they couldn’t find it, they would have to discount it.

  “Tell your sister to forget him and find herself a better man. Now, what about you?” He licked his bottom lip, leaving a distinct shine behind. “Is there someone you love?”

  Lizzy happily launched into a long story that began with her being left all alone after her husband died and her parents too, and ended with a very dull story of her childhood, which went on for an age. By the end of it, he was asleep.

  She crept to his desk and tried the small coffer he’d glanced at. Locked. She rummaged through other unlocked coffers to find the key but they contained only papers. She checked under the desk, in the dresser, everywhere. Nothing. She would have to break open the lock. Unless…

  She poked Ward’s shoulder. He snored loudly but didn’t wake. She checked his clothing for a hidden key but found none. She tentatively felt behind his ruff and cringed when she touched his cool, clammy skin. But it was worth it. She found a key attached to a leather strip hanging around his neck.

  She untied it and inserted the key into the coffer’s lock. It clicked open and she lifted the lid. Inside were papers. Lots of papers, but it didn’t take long to find Barker’s. It identified Rafe Fletcher as the murderer of Gripp with an unnamed female accomplice. She threw the paper into the fireplace and blew on the glowing coals. The edges blackened and curled, then flames gobbled it up until all that was left was a pile of ashes.

  Lizzy wanted to whoop and kiss the sleeping Ward’s forehead. There wa
s nothing keeping Rafe in Newgate now. Barker was dead and his evidence gone. There were enough witnesses to Barker’s death to confirm that Rafe acted only to save Lizzy’s life—they could not arrest him for that. And if the sheriff was the good, honest man Blake claimed, he would not falsify a new document to replace this one.

  With a head and heart so light she felt giddy, Lizzy got up to leave. She stopped when the door opened and a tall, willowy man walked in. Treece.

  CHAPTER 19

  Treece’s gaze met hers. Narrowed. Faster than she could react, he was standing before her, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. They flexed, twisted. She swallowed a cry.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice might be cool but his grip burned. He glanced at Ward, slumped in the chair.

  It was useless to pretend she was someone else. Treece knew it was Lizzy, despite the wig and face paint. “I came to discuss a legal matter with the undersheriff,” she said. “But he fell asleep.”

  His grip tightened. She winced as red-hot pain shot up her arm. “Don’t talk to me as if I am a fool. You may be free, but doing something ill-conceived now to release your lover will see you back in prison. It’ll be Newgate for you next time, then the gallows.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and warm, bitter blood filled her mouth. “Let me go. If you harm me, I will report you to the sheriff. I am related to Lord Warhurst and through him to Sir Robert Blakewell and Lord Hawkesbury. They will not like to hear that I have been mistreated while on an innocent visit to the sessions house.”

  The words simply rolled off her tongue as if someone else were saying them. Not the terrified, shy Lizzy Croft but the confident one with the steady voice and direct gaze.

  Treece’s grip loosened then he let go but did not move away. “Why wear the wig if you are here on an innocent errand?”

  “I like to wear wigs. Is that against the city’s laws? If so, I believe you would have to arrest half the ladies at court.” Not to mention Her Majesty herself. “Move aside, sir, I am busy.”

  He did not. His gaze skipped to Ward again then to the fireplace. He sniffed the air. “You burned it, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.” She fixed him with a hard, unwavering glare. A simpering one wouldn’t work on a fox like Treece. She doubted he saw her as a woman at all, merely a criminal who’d escaped his clutches.

  “Then let me put it this way.” He grabbed her wrist again. She tried to snatch free but his fingers screwed down and she cried out. “Elizabeth Croft, I am arresting you for destroying an official city document with the objective of hindering a legal process.” His lips flattened and he shook his head. “You should have left well enough alone. You were free. Is he worth so much to you that you would risk your life?”

  Instinct screamed at her to plead for mercy, to throw herself at his feet and let the tears that stung the backs of her eyes flow. But she did not. She forced herself to stand tall, to look him in the eye and use the wits God gave her to untangle herself from the mess. Rafe needed her to be stronger than she’d ever been.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. Rafe is worth more to me than—” Worth! Money! She possessed something better than mere words to convince Treece to let her go. He may not be the sort of man whose morals swayed when faced with a pair of breasts or big eyes, but he might be the sort who liked coin in his hand. She brought out the purse filled with her father’s money.

  His grip slackened and his flat eyes flared.

  “Shall I tell you again who I’m related to?”

  His mouth lifted on one side like it was caught on a hook. “That won’t be necessary.”

  She shook the purse and the coins inside made a solid, full clanking sound. “I’m not the type of woman who does anything wrong. Ask anyone. I’ve always done the right thing, the sensible thing.” She locked her gaze with his. A few short days ago she could never have battled wills and glares with a stranger, especially one as formidable as Treece. She was different now. So very different. “And I’m extremely shy. No one would believe me, a seamstress, capable of stealing a document from right under the sheriff’s nose. It’s simply not something I would do. Many, many people will vouch for that.”

  “Including your important relations?”

  “Especially them.”

  He grunted or laughed, it was difficult to tell which, and let go of her wrist altogether. She untied the purse hanging from her girdle and dropped it into his outstretched palm.

  “In that case, I never saw you here,” he said.

  “What will you tell the sheriff about the document?” she hedged. “And Ward?”

  This time he gave a definite smirk. “I do not know what happened to the document and Ward will be reported to the sheriff for falling asleep while on duty. It may prompt him to finally promote a better man to the position of undersheriff.” His lips stretched into a smile. No doubt he wanted the job himself.

  Suppressing a shiver, she hurried out of the sessions house and didn’t look back.

  There was dried blood on the walls of Rafe’s cell and scratches in the old stone—some deep, others not so. The prisoners must have gouged them with buckles or fingernails, perhaps yesterday or perhaps four hundred years ago. Rafe wondered if the air smelled as stale and putrid then as it did now.

  He’d been in much worse prisons but never had he felt like this. Like his heart was being squeezed between a clamp, building up an excruciating pressure. Maybe it would burst. He wanted it to. Wanted everything to end so he could forget and not feel. Not think of Lizzy’s big eyes filled with fear, not see her shrink from him.

  Soon. It would end soon. She would get her wish and be rid of him. Would she be sad? Would she remember how they’d made love—

  Christ. He didn’t need to add that memory to the others.

  One of the prisoners locked in the cell with him said something. Rafe closed his eyes, shook his head. It must have been the right response because the prisoner left him alone. They all left him alone. He didn’t know how many there were but the cell seemed to be teeming with them.

  Somehow time passed. It felt interminable, and yet much too fast. How could that be right? It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Perhaps he was mad.

  “He hasn’t moved since he came in yesterday,” said a voice. “Been sitting against that wall the whole time.”

  Rafe had the vague sense that the man was speaking about him. He didn’t bother cracking his eyes open to see. Let him talk.

  “Hasn’t ate nothing neither,” the man went on.

  “Thank you,” came a soft voice. A woman’s voice. A voice that screwed the clamp surrounding his heart harder. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move lest he shatter.

  She came closer, a gentle swish of skirts on the floor. He could sense her next to him, smell the freshness of her skin, her hair.

  What was she doing in Newgate? They told him she’d been released but perhaps they’d changed their minds. Another screw of the clamp.

  “Rafe,” she murmured. He didn’t need to see her to know she knelt beside him; he just knew. “Rafe, are you awake?”

  And then she touched him. A whisper of fingers across his jaw. Light. So achingly good. “Rafe.” More desperate now. “Rafe, please.”

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “Unless you’ve come to tell me you feel differently…don’t. I can’t…” He should pull away from her but he couldn’t. Her touch was a balm and he needed to smother himself with it.

  “I don’t feel differently at all,” she said.

  His heart wrenched from his chest. His stomach twisted painfully. He shook with the effort needed to hold himself together, to gather the frayed fragments of his dignity.

  “I feel the same as I did that night at the Rose,” she said. “The same as I have all along. If only I had admitted it to myself…”

  Everything went still.

  And then his heart did finally burst. Despite his efforts, he was breaking apart. He drew in
a sharp breath and opened his eyes. Blinked. God, she was beautiful.

  “You’re free, Rafe.” She smiled and the cell instantly brightened.

  She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of him. “Lizzy.” His voice shook. He rubbed his hands through his hair. He must be mad, because his mind wasn’t working. He didn’t know what to say next.

  Fortunately he didn’t have to think or talk because she kissed him. Hard and fierce at first, like she couldn’t get enough of him, then softer, with all her heart and soul. He could have gone on like that forever but through the mist shrouding his head, an insidious thought crept in.

  “Lizzy.” He pulled away and met her gaze. She didn’t dip her head, didn’t look away or even blush. “Have you been arrested again?”

  “No. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you say you feel the same about me now as you did at the Rose.” He grinned. He couldn’t help it. “I remember that night.”

  She laughed. “It will forever be etched in our memories, I agree. But I also said you are free. The document with Barker’s written evidence is gone. It seems the sheriff can’t find it.”

  He paused. “Gone? How is it gone?”

  She shrugged and kept smiling. He did not.

  “Lizzy, did you…”

  Her smile turned impish. “Ask me later.”

  “Oh, I will.” He should be angry with her for putting herself at risk but he couldn’t be. Not ever.

  Her smile faded and she turned serious. “Rafe, I’m sorry I abandoned you at the Marshalsea.”

  “You didn’t—” She put a finger to his lips. He kissed it.

  “I did,” she said. “And I regret it deeply. I thought you hadn’t changed from that young man I saw many years ago, the day you left London. And I suppose you haven’t changed. It’s the information that has.” She brushed a thumb across his cheek and smiled wistfully at him. “I love you, Rafe Fletcher, and I want to be your wife.”

  He stared. And stared. He found he couldn’t speak—his throat was too tight—so he kissed her instead. Eventually he pulled away and managed to whisper, “I love you too. I always will with every piece of my heart. It belongs to you alone, Elizabeth Croft, so please treat it with care.”