Star Crossed Seduction

by Jenny Brown

  “The Rat and Castle it is,” he said, and let her lead him through the darkened streets to her den of thieves.

  From the outside, the building they’d approached didn’t look any different from the other boarded-up shops that lined the dingy street, their walls defaced by bills advertising theatrical performances and patent medicines, but she knew better. She rapped out a tattoo on the plank doorway and waited while someone within inspected her through the peephole. The door opened a crack, then swung open as the big man called Swagger gestured them in.

  As always this time of night, clusters of roughly dressed watermen sat nursing tankards of steaming coffee in preparation for the long day ahead of them, while those who had concluded their night’s labor sipped porter. Some tossed dice, while others sat back, their legs splayed out, giving ear to the blowsy blonde who called herself the Cheapside Songbird, who would sing anything they asked for in return for a pint or two.

  From her station before the huge fireplace where the coffee kettles boiled, Old Peg called out, “Shall I toast a muffin for you and your friend there?”

  Temperance took her up on her offer, and after the barman had pulled them some pints, she led Trev to one of the secluded tables toward the rear of the low-ceilinged room, where they could speak privately.

  “No one will bother us here,” she said. “Now we can talk.”

  Trev felt the eyes of the watermen on him. If they wondered what brought a man like him here, they didn’t show it beyond directing the occasional stare in his direction. He was willing to cede the ground to Temperance. Too many of their encounters had taken place somewhere he’d chosen. But if they were to conclude their truce she must feel safe.

  The large woman in the coffee-stained apron brought them their muffins. He took a bite. It was surprisingly good. Temperance nibbled hers nervously, while he sipped from the foaming pint pot, waiting.

  When he’d given her enough time, he forced his voice to be as gentle as he could make it, and once again he asked, “What is it you hid from me, Tem? The truth cannot be worse than my suspicions.”

  She looked around the room, as if drawing strength from the rough men who filled it. Then she stared straight at him, and whispered, “Randall isn’t dead.”

  Not dead? No wild dog defending its territory could have felt more jealous.

  “Then why aren’t you with him?” His voice had turned back into a growl.

  “I’ll never be with him again. I hate the very thought of him.”

  “But you told me you loved him. Now you say you hate him. Which is true? How can I believe you?”

  “So much for all your fine talk of truces.” Her voice was bitter.

  She was right. He would have to try harder. “I want to. But I don’t understand you. If Randall is alive, why did you keep that secret from me? Did you give yourself to me to spite him? To make him jealous? Will you go back to him now and taunt him with what you did with me?”

  “Never!” The look of alarm in her eyes warned him to back off if he wished to extract the whole story from her.

  In a gentler tone, he begged,“Help me make sense of this, Tem. If Randall is alive, why did you make such a pretense of being his grieving widow? Why did you tell me he was dead? Did you think it would be more of a challenge to me to seduce you if I thought you had given your heart elsewhere?”

  “No!” Her voice rose. “When I met you, I believed he was dead—murdered for his role in the Cato Street Conspiracy. I’d believed that for nine long months, mourning him, sanctifying his memory. I only learned he was alive the night of the masquerade, right after you had left. Someone told me then.”

  “Snake?”

  Her angled eyebrows shot up. ”How do you know about Snake?”

  “You probably thought I’d left,” he said, evasively.

  She drew in breath between set teeth. “Yes, it was Snake who told me.”

  His heart sank. So she had met with Snake, just as Fanshawe said she had. He picked his next words carefully. “When you learned that Randall was alive, after grieving for him so long, why did it make you throw yourself at me? You told me you loved him.”

  “Because,” she said, biting her lip, “when Snake told me Randall was alive, he also told me he had been working for the Weaver.”

  The Weaver. Trev’s heart sank. Her beloved Randall was working for the enemy. Had Fanshawe been right all along?

  It took all his control to keep his voice even as he asked, “Was that why you wished to do away with yourself, because your beloved Randall showed up again, and forced you to give yourself to me in service to his master?”

  He couldn’t tell what was worse, the thought that she had been working for the Weaver all along, or that she’d done it at the command of that bastard who’d never deserved her. But he struggled to keep his anger under control. He had sworn he would listen to her and believe what she told him. He couldn’t fail her as soon as she had trusted him with a single truth.

  “He’s not my Randall, anymore,” she snarled. “And he’ll never make me do another thing for him. He’s in America now with that drab Sukey. He deceived me all along. The Weaver paid him to betray the Cato Street conspirators, then sent him off to safety in America as part of the deal. My beloved Randall was only in it for what he could get, and the Weaver paid better than what he’d got skimming off our earnings.”

  “You learned all this from Snake, after the masquerade?”

  The pain in her storm-wracked eyes answered his question.

  He was starting to believe her, strange as her story sounded. “Is that why you threw away the locket when I finally gave it to you, that next day?”

  She nodded, and when her eyes met his, there was no hint in them of the guile he’d come to expect of her.

  “I hated you,” she said, “because I thought you were like the dragoons I believed had murdered him, and I hated myself, too, because despite my hatred, you’d made me want you with those kisses of yours. I couldn’t resist you. But once I learned how Randall had bubbled me, there was no reason to fight my attraction any longer. Why shouldn’t I take my pleasure with you? And besides”—she gave him a meaningful look—“Snake told me to stay away from you when I refused to take his dirty job. I don’t take well to being told what not to do.”

  “You could have told me all that when I asked you why you came with me. Why didn’t you?”

  “I have my pride. I didn’t want you to know how they’d gulled me. I could barely stand to think of it myself. I wanted you to think I was wise and canny. Not just another stupid girl from the provinces seduced by a cad and abandoned.” She compressed her lips until their rosy hue went pale. “That’s the truth, Trev. The whole of it. Now, do you believe me?”

  She watched as he cradled his chin in one hand, thinking through his answer, while in the background the Cheapside Songbird sang about the captain bold from Halifax and the unfortunate Miss Bailey. Her fingers, which had been resting on the scarred wooden tabletop, tightened into a fist. Even to herself, her story sounded a bit too much like something from one of the Songbird’s ballads. How could she expect him to believe it?

  He might pretend to, to keep her from leaving him until he was done with her, but that he could really trust her seemed impossible. As she awaited his response, she hardened her heart. Whatever he made of it, she’d done what he asked of her. He couldn’t accuse her of being the one to break their truce.

  He took a sip from his tankard and savored it for longer than necessary. Only after he’d swallowed did he speak. “I believe you. You are telling the truth. I feel it here.” He pointed to his heart. “It makes sense that you would deceive me about something so painful. Why should you have trusted me with it? I was a stranger to you, and, besides, if you’d told me about it, the very act of describing it would have brought back all the pain. Of course you feared I’d pity you. A woman as brave as you would despise being pitied. Far better to keep me in the dark and wall away your memories where no one
but you need ever know the price you paid for hiding them.”

  He took another sip. “I know all too well what that feels like.”

  His words enraged her. “How could you possibly know, a man like you. You could never have been betrayed like that by someone you’d given your whole heart.”

  “I do know,” he said softly. “I’ve known since I was six.”

  Six? What could he mean?

  His eyes narrowed under their overhanging brows and took on a faraway look. “I may be a man,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “But once I was a child. A child without a father—he was far off in India, a hero, my ideal. But it was my mother who was my family and the center of my life.

  “We lived in the country with her parents, the General and his wife. They were old—she’d been born late in her father’s life—and their manners were those of an earlier day, stiff and formal. They frightened me, but my mother was always there to defend me from the old man when my noise was too much for him and to deflect my grandmother’s scolding when I dirtied my clothes or dragged in whatever treasure I’d found out in the stables.” He paused and took another stiff pull from the tankard.

  “One day, my mother took me aside and told me she must go away for the night and leave me alone with my grandparents. She asked me to kiss her and held me tightly. Something about the way she clung to me and wouldn’t let me go frightened me. I started to weep.”

  He stopped, and the corner of his mouth twisted up in that way it did when he was trying to suppress strong emotion. “She told me to be a good boy and not cry. She said if I was good, when she returned the next day, she’d bring me a cake. I was six. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for a cake, so I quieted, and she left. I went to sleep alone, without tears, a good little boy, awaiting my cake.” His voice trailed off.

  “But she didn’t bring it when she came back?” she asked, uncertain what he was getting at.

  “She didn’t come back. She’d gone to join my father in India. I waited patiently for six days, a good little boy, never crying, waiting for her to come back and bring me that cake. Then my grandfather took me aside and told me where she’d gone and that it would be many years until I’d see her next. He praised me for my bravery and told me my courage meant I’d grow up to be a fine soldier like my father.” He sat up straighter. “And I did.”

  “Didn’t you ever cry?” she asked, appalled.

  “Never. I was a brave boy.”

  “But you must have been furious at her for leaving you that way.”

  “I didn’t let myself feel it. I did my duty. I do it still.” He lifted his eyes to hers, before lowering his long lashes over their indigo depths. “You must believe me, Temperance. I didn’t know how much anger lay hid inside me—until tonight.”

  “But couldn’t your mother have taken you with her?”

  “My parents had already lost five children to Indian fevers. She couldn’t risk losing another. Not only out of love for her children, but because my father’s estate was entailed. If he died without an heir, she’d be left with nothing—as she will be if I should die before her, too. That’s why I must wed though it goes against my inclination.”

  He paused and took a sip of the porter, before continuing. “My mother did her duty and stayed with me in England for those six years until it was clear I would live. Then she returned to my father. When she left, she didn’t want the memory of me she carried away from our parting to be defiled by tears. She didn’t think I’d want that either. The men of her family were heroes, and I was to be one, too. She only did what was best for all of us.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to love the woman you marry?”

  He looked down into his lap. “I don’t want my wife to have to choose between me and the child who needs her love.”

  But, of course, there was more to it than that. Carefully, she said, “You thought I, too, had betrayed you, tonight, didn’t you?”

  He clenched his jaw. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not? You demanded full honesty from me.”

  He sighed. “There are secrets I must keep because they are not mine to give away. My loyalty to those I serve forces me to keep silent.”

  He reached across the table for her hand and squeezed it gently. “Forgive me.”

  For what? For the secrets he must keep, or something else—for what he’d done to her under the influence of the rage connected with those secrets?

  “Do you still think I betrayed you?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t. I can tell you that. I jumped to a false conclusion and will never forgive myself for doing it.”

  “Then I will forgive you,” she said. “I know all too well how strong that anger is that we feel when we believe ourselves betrayed.”

  He reached for her hand, and this time she let him take it. With her other hand she stroked the backs of his strong, square fingers, while she thought out what she would say next.

  At length, she said, “I know what it is that you need, besides my honesty, to be able to give up doing battle.”

  “What?” The way his eyes widened told her she’d taken him by surprise.

  “I will make you a solemn promise, and keep it as long as you keep the vow you made me, that you will believe I speak the truth.”

  “And what is it that you’ll promise?”

  “That I won’t disappear on you without warning.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know our time together must be brief, and that when it’s over, you’ll go off to India with your bride, and I’ll go to America. But this is what I can give you, the promise that, before we must part, we’ll say farewell. We’ll cry the tears we must cry, together, so we don’t have to carry them around with us for life. There will be no more cruel surprises. Is that a fair trade for the trust you’ve given me?”

  “It is. It is more than fair. It takes my breath away.”

  “Then our truce will hold,” she said.

  “It must. Let us pray it will lead us to a lasting peace.”

  Chapter 14

  The sun was rising behind thick clouds as they left the Rat and Castle behind. As Trev led Temperance out to the street, he took her hand, as much for his own comfort as to give her support. She didn’t flinch or withdraw it from his grasp.

  He felt a wave of relief wash over him as her fingers twined around his. It would be all right—though what exactly it might be, he couldn’t say.

  When they reached a spot not far from where he had first seen her in the crowd that had gathered around the ballad singer, Temperance’s grip tightened. A richly appointed coach had drawn up beside them. Its tall wheels were painted red, and it was so covered with gilding that even in the pale light of dawn, it almost blinded him. Within it rode a woman of uncertain age whose expression still bore traces of what must at one time have been a startling beauty. She lowered the glass.

  Temperance ignored her and hastened her pace, pulling Trev along with her. But he stopped, his free hand on the hilt of his sword. Close up, the woman’s expression was downright malevolent.

  “The prancer’s using you, moll,” the woman sneered. “You should have thrown in your lot with us when you had the chance.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Temperance shot back.

  “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. As you’ll find out soon enough. Don’t come crawling to me when he’s done with you. I gave you your chance, but you were too proud to take it.” She pushed up the glass, and the coachman flicked his whip over the lead horse and set them going again.

  “Who’s that?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Mother Bristwick.”

  The woman who ran the major’s favorite bordello.

  “How do you know her?” he asked, afraid he might already know the answer.

  “Everyone who dwells in the rookeries knows her.”

  “Because she’s a buttock broker?” His voice came out harsher than he had
meant it to.

  “That, yes, but she does a brisk business in stolen goods, too. Whoever you are, Mother Bristwick can always find a way to help you come up with the ready.”

  “And did she help you?”

  She turned to face him. “I’ve sold her a ticker or two in my day. Who hasn’t? But that’s all. I told you the truth when I said I’d never sold myself—before you.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding. “You didn’t sell yourself to me. You came to me of your own free will.”

  Her hand tightened on his in what he hoped was a gesture of affection, though it was hard to tell. He was on untrod territory with her now. His interactions with women in the past had never gone beyond simple couplings, gift giving, and parting—always parting.

  But he did know one thing. “I didn’t like the way she spoke to you,” he said. “Has she threatened you like that before?”

  “She threatens everyone. It makes the stupider girls afraid of her. But I’ve always ignored her threats, and I’m still here.”

  He was touched by her bravado, but it worried him. She wasn’t as strong as she pretended.

  “If she tries anything with you, she’ll have to answer to me,” he said sternly, putting his arm around her shoulder. But could he keep her safe? He would be departing within the week. The thought of leaving her unprotected disturbed him. For that matter, so did the thought of leaving her at all.

  In the distance, he saw the slight form of a sweeper, already at his station at this early hour. He remarked on it.

  “He sleeps in the doorway there,” Temperance explained. “All the crossing boys sleep rough, to keep someone else from taking their place.” She plunged her hand into her pocket and cursed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I let my pride get the better of me when I threw those banknotes back at you. Now I have nothing to give him.” A worried look swept over her face. “When I go off to America, there will be no one to look after him. And that will be so soon.”