“So who told them?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know,” Devil said, letting go of the boy’s arm and turning him toward Purgatory. “But I intend to find out.”
CHAPTER NINE
Marcus bound up the steps of Mrs. Wellington’s (of no relation to the duke) boarding house. The “Mrs.” was honorary, as the woman had never married. Mrs. Wellington herself lived in a small cottage behind the boarding house. The house was a favorite of second sons and untitled gentlemen, due in large part to the clean sheets and hearty food.
The house employed a butler whose main responsibility was to see that callers came and went within the appropriate hours, and that absolutely no females were admitted onto the premises. The latter suited Marcus just fine; it meant that he could expect a private audience with Philip.
Marcus knocked on Philip’s door and waited. From his place in the hall, he heard a chair sliding back followed by the slow, but steady thump and shuffle of a cane.
Philip opened the door.
“Hello, Philip.” Marcus tried to smile. He wanted to offer his friend the same heartfelt greeting they’d shared as boys. But Philip had changed, even before the war, and Marcus failed.
“Marcus.”
“May I come in?”
Philip hesitated. Turning his head, he glanced back over his shoulder as if checking the state of the room.
“I won’t stay long. I just…” Marcus heaved a sigh. “I’d like a few minutes of your time, that’s all.”
Philip nodded, taking an awkward step back and holding the door.
Marcus slipped inside. Philip had a single room, the bed sharing the space with a small writing desk and a set of leather armchairs. Marcus turned away from the sight of the unmade bed, the pristine sheets rumpled from sleep.
“Would you care for a drink?” Philip asked, limping to a small bar.
“Will you join me?”
Philip nodded, and Marcus watched him pour. It took considerable willpower to remain standing and let Philip bring the drink to him. Each step was obviously painful, but Marcus knew Philip well enough that any allowance would be seen as pity, and not appreciated.
“How are you?” Marcus asked, taking a steadying drink. Philip stood enticingly close, the scent of his skin more intoxicating than any liquor.
“I’m fine.” Philip took a step toward the chairs on the other side of the room.
Unbidden, Marcus’ hand reached out and snatched Philip’s arm, pulling him to a stop. Marcus met Philip’s surprised look. “No, truly, how are you?”
Philip felt himself pulled into Marcus’ penetrating stare. His blue eyes, twin pools of light that were almost as familiar to Philip as his own green ones, searched his face, seeing more than they should.
“I’m fine,” Philip insisted, but didn’t immediately withdraw his arm. Marcus’ hand was warm, his fingers a band of strength and healing. How long had it been since they’d last seen each other? Two, three years? Longer still since they last shared a quiet evening together, the two of them comfortable in each other’s company.
Marcus released Philips arm, lifting his hand and cupping his cheek. Philip startled but didn’t object.
“This is new,” Marcus whispered, brushing his thumb along the neatly trimmed facial hair.
“We wore it in the Dragoons.”
“I like it.” Marcus glanced up to find Philip watching him. Eyes locked, he leaned forward, settling his lips against Philip’s mouth.
Philip shuddered, hard. His body exploded to life, soaking up the sensation like rain in a desert.
Marcus thrilled as Philip’s lips firmed and the man kissed him back. This was Philip! This was the man he’d come here to see.
The kiss went on, the two men locked together in an endless moment of rediscovery. There were soft sighs and gentle touches, the sweep of a hand across a chest that sent muscles quivering and hearts racing.
Philip tore his mouth away. “I can’t.”
Philip was gone so fast Marcus nearly stumbled. Chest heaving, he struggled against raging desire. Philip had fled to the other side of the room, leather chairs set firmly between them. “Philip—”
“You should go,” Philip said, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I came to see you.” Marcus’ eyes pleaded with Philip. He had felt it, and so had Philip. Whatever was between them was still there!
“I can’t do this, Marcus,” Philip said quietly. “Not now, not ever again.”
“Why not? I don’t understand what happened. I thought we were—”
“I know what you thought,” Philip interrupted. He didn’t want to hear Marcus say it. If he did, then this all became real. “But it’s not right; this isn’t right.”
Marcus jerked back. “That’s your father talking.”
“My father was right.” Philip was a third son, his father a viscount with very specific ideas on how each of his sons should behave.
“When did he find out?” Marcus and Philip had been close in school, their relationship deepening over the years after they left Eton and returned to London. They’d shared everything, including women, often at the same time, until one night, they shared a bed.
That night had changed everything for Marcus, and had sent Philip running.
“Right before I left.” Confused, thinking himself in love, Philip had confessed all to his father.
“That’s why he bought your commission.” Marcus’ eyes closed as realization dawned. He had spent the better part of the past three years wondering why Philip had left—and without saying goodbye.
“It doesn’t have to change anything,” Marcus said, opening his eyes and taking a step forward. Seeing Philip stiffen, he stopped. “It can be like it was before. Once you sell your commission, we can—”
“I’m not selling my commission.”
Marcus blinked. “But your injury.”
Marcus had used his name and title to do some digging. Philip had nearly lost his life when cannon fire knocked him off his horse, shell fragments tearing through his leg and severing an artery. It was pure luck that a doctor was nearby, one with enough knowledge and skill to repair the artery and save Philip’s life. Later, Philip almost lost the leg to an infection. According to the doctor Marcus had spoken with, they’d had to remove large pieces of the muscle, cutting away the infection to save the leg.
“I’ve been assigned to logistics. I’m to report to Whitehall on Monday.”
“We would be discreet.” Marcus was dangerously close to begging. There was nothing and no one in the world that mattered more to him than Philip.
Not even his title.
Marcus didn’t need an heir; he had a perfectly acceptable cousin in Woodbridge—or was it Dartmouth? Not that it mattered.
“I’m engaged to be married.” Marcus’ teeth snapped together so fast, Philip feared for the man’s tongue. “Miss O’Brian and I are getting married. The announcement is set to appear in tomorrow’s edition.”
Marcus opened and closed his mouth like a codfish, finally landing on something to say. He meant to offer his congratulations, surely he did, but what came out was—“When did you propose?”
Philip’s eyes slid away. “A few days ago.”
A few days ago. “I see.”
“It’s a good match. Our families have known each other for years, and my father…”
Marcus’ eyes narrowed, and Philip wisely left off with anymore mention of the viscount. Marcus was tempted to track the man down and see how he faired when dealing with an earl, and not just his son.
“Yes, well, Miss O’Brian will make a good military wife.” Was that the best attribute Philip could think of when speaking of his fiancée?
“I’m sure she will.” Marcus pictured Miss O’Brian’s pretty face and easy smile.
“Her grandfather was military, so there is a bit of it in her blood.” Philip was babbling.
“I’m sure you two will be very
happy.” Marcus tossed back the last of his brandy. “Well,” he said, pushing his hand through his hair before resettling his hat. “I’d better be off. I wish you and Miss O’Brian the best.”
Philip watched Marcus stride across the room. He wanted to call out to him, tell him not to go and to ask him to stay. He even opened his mouth, the words forming in the back of his throat and rolling to the tip of his tongue.
But he said nothing, and then Marcus was through the door and gone.
Disappointment slowly gave way to excitement as the rented carriage made the final turn onto Regent Street. The trip had been quick and the ride comfortable.
Sitting forward in her seat, Jacqueline relished the moment. She hadn’t been out in weeks, and the gaiety of the shopping district was calling to her.
Unfortunately, they had arrived at the peak of the day, and the streets were clogged with horse-drawn carriages and shoppers. Their driver for the day was forced into a slow crawl, pedestrians passing by outside the window as Jacqueline sat.
“We can walk from here.”
The driver heard her and pulled to a smooth stop. “I’ll get us turned around and meet you back here when you’ve finished.”
Jacqueline nodded, surprised when Moose hopped down, the carriage rocking notably, and offered her his hand.
Once on the street, Jacqueline smiled and took a moment to turn her face to the sky. It wouldn’t do to be outdoors for too long, but the fresh air and the warm sunlight were a welcome change to the four walls she had been staring at.
“Come along, Moose. We have some shopping to do!” Devil had been generous, and there wasn’t much that she actually needed. But a new dress, and maybe a hat and some gloves would be nice. The styles were ever changing, and Jacqueline had half a mind to try something new, maybe something with a more revealing neckline to wear at dinner with her husband.
If he was ever home for dinner.
Jacqueline firmly pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She wasn’t about to let concerns over her marriage, or her husband, ruin what promised to be a perfectly lovely day.
Walking down the street, Moose a step behind, Jacqueline peeked into windows and glanced through doors. There were several dress shops and milliners, but only one that interested her.
Coming to the telltale red door, Jacqueline stopped. “Perhaps you had better wait here.”
Moose towered over her, his massive shoulders blocking the sight of traffic passing behind him. Women, and men, were giving him a wide berth, surreptitiously glancing up at his face before allowing their gaze to slide away. She hated to think of Madam Lisette’s reaction should he join Jacqueline inside the modiste’s shop.
“There’s a tavern at the end of the block. If you’d like, I can meet you there when I’m finished.”
Moose shook his head slowly. “Devil says I’m to stay with you.”
“This is Regent Street. Nothing is going to happen to me here.”
Moose shrugged.
Jacqueline frowned. “All right, but you’ll have to wait outside. This is a lady’s dress shop, and no place for a man.”
“I’ll be fine,” Moose assured her, taking up a position against the building.
“I may be a while,” Jacqueline warned.
“I’ve got nowhere else to be.” Moose watched Lady J sail inside, and he settled in to wait. He didn’t mind waiting; he was a patient sort, and there was plenty to look at. Lots of lords and their fancy ladies walking by, and would you look at that hat! He’d never seen anything like it. Who would have thought to put a bird, complete with a nest, on a hat?
The front of Madam Lisette’s shop displayed patterns and fabrics. There were two sets of tables and chairs set on either side of the room where a lady could meet with the modiste to discuss designs and dresses. There was a small selection of pieces already made, a few items one could purchase in an emergency while a new dress was being made to order.
Jacqueline passed through the door and strolled leisurely toward the fabrics. The shop was busy. Three or four other ladies were ahead of her, and one or two of them appeared to be shopping with their mothers. The chatter of women discussing fashion plates, color palettes, and fabric cuts washed over her, the familiar rhythm easing some of the tension in her shoulders.
Sifting through the fabrics, Jacqueline spotted a lovely silk brocade, perfect for a new dress.
“Forgive me, but I don’t believe there is anything here for you.”
Jacqueline’s head snapped up. Madam Lisette stood watching her, her hands clasped in front of her modiste’s apron. “Madam Lisette, how lovely to see you again.”
Madam Lisette didn’t smile. Her eyes darted past Jacqueline and back again. It was then Jacqueline realized how quiet the shop had become. Turning, she found the shop nearly empty; only one woman remained, and she was staring at Jacqueline with unfettered hostility.
Madam Lisette’s words registered, and Jacqueline’s cheeks heated. “Did I come at a bad time?”
“No, my lady, but I fear there is nothing here for you.”
“I beg to differ.” Jacqueline lifted her chin, her cheeks on fire. “This is a lovely brocade. I’m considering having a dress made.”
“I apologize, but that fabric is no longer available.” Madam Lisette reached past Jacqueline and pulled the bolt of fabric from the shelf. “One of my assistants must have left it out by mistake.”
“Well, I’m sure I can find something else. You’ve never disappointed me before.”
Madam Lisette stepped forward, blocking Jacqueline’s path into the shop. She dropped her voice: “Please, my lady, do not make this harder on either of us.”
The modiste’s eyes darted past Jacqueline to her last remaining customer. If she didn’t do something soon, Lady Carmichael would leave, taking her considerable business with her.
Jacqueline searched the modiste’s face; the woman’s eyes avoided hers, but she didn’t move. “I see.”
“I’m sorry,” Madam Lisette whispered. Lady Edwards had been a good customer, regular if not exactly exuberant in her spending. She hated to see her go, but if it was a choice between the notorious young lady and all of London…well, her business couldn’t survive on one woman’s wardrobe alone.
“No need to apologize,” Jacqueline said. “I understand completely.”
It took everything Jacqueline had to raise her chin, to lift her head, and walk past Lady Carmichael.
Back outside, Jacqueline made it a few steps down the walk before stumbling to a stop. Bracing one hand against the building, the other to her chest, Jacqueline took deep, gulping breaths. Her hands were shaking, and the desire to run and hide was so strong she trembled.
“You all right, Lady J?”
Jacqueline looked up. Moose was standing over her, his face lined with worry. Thank God he hadn’t born witness to that humiliating exchange!
“I’m fine, Moose.”
“You were awful quick. Didn’t find anything you liked?”
“No, no.” Jacqueline pushed off the wall and started down the street. “There was nothing for me in there.”
The scene was the same at the milliners, a sudden hush descending as Jacqueline stepped through the door. This time, the proprietress didn’t come around the row of low-display cabinets to ask Jacqueline to leave. She, along with the others, waited silently, watching as Jacqueline circled the room.
Afraid her money was no longer welcome, Jacqueline didn’t bother trying to buy anything. Instead, she slipped out the door as fierce whispers broke out behind her.
This time Moose was prepared for Lady J’s quick return, her face flushed. The light had dimmed in her eyes, and her steps seemed to drag as they walked down the street.
He saw the way other people were looking at her. He knew those stares; he had felt them himself growing up. Always the biggest boy, the slowest boy…the one nobody wanted and everyone was just a little bit scared of.
The carriage was up ahead. Jacqueline de
cided if she could make it there, then everything would be all right.
“Lady J?”
Jacqueline turned. Moose had stopped and was eyeing the sweet shop.
“You think maybe we could go inside and pick out a piece? I’ve got a thing for chocolate.”
Jacqueline eyed the shop the way one might a snake. She didn’t fancy another encounter with an angry merchant, or a hostile crowd. “Isn’t there something like this back in Devil’s Acre?”
Moose shook his head. “We’ve got a baker, and he makes some of the sweetest pastries you’ve ever tasted, but nothing like this.”
Jacqueline looked from Moose’s eager face to the store behind him. The shopping trip had been a waste, with nothing to show for it but embarrassment and humiliation. She didn’t know which was the cause: the rumors still circulating over her kidnapping, or her marriage. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was clear to her that there was no going back to the way things had been before.
But they were here, and Moose had been kind enough to come with her. Reluctantly, Jacqueline nodded, stepping past Moose as he opened the door for her.
If she’d thought there had been surprised looks and fierce whispers before, it was nothing compared to the reaction Jacqueline received when she stepped into the sweet shop.
His hand on the small of her back, Moose guided Jacqueline through a sea of customers. The sweet shop and creamery was a favorite destination, packed with ladies and their chaperones enjoying a sweet treat before heading back out to finish their shopping.
“That’s her!” one woman hissed, not bothering to keep her voice down.
“Who is that monster with her?”
Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed, and her chin went up. Moose’s steps never faltered.
“Is that her husband?”
“No, no, the way I hear it he looks like the devil he’s named for.”
At the counter, the chocolatier stepped forward, his mouth open and his face dark. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave.”
The Bride of Devil's Acre Page 10
