The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  She slapped her hands on the table and rattled her plate. Her green eyes flashed. “Who? Who of my suitors do you think was my match? Albert Finley? He was three times my age. Hamish O’Reily wanted to take me to Ireland to raise his seven children. And Phillip Weaton? I saw him holding hands in his darkened theater box with his sixth cousin, William. You think that he is my perfect match? Certainly even you can see that our marriage would never work.”

  Phillip Weaton and William Brooks? Simon shook his head to clear that disturbing image. “What about Mister Sylvan? He was an amiable sort and both handsome and wealthy.”

  “Mister Sylvan cannot decide if he wants cream in his tea without first consulting his mother.” Brenna’s voice had gone up a pitch. “I’ll not have a husband so inept he’ll need to invite his mother to sit by our marriage bed and bark out instructions on the proper way to deflower his wife.”

  Brenna stood abruptly, nearly upending her chair. “I will find a way to forever remove Chester Abbot as a potential suitor if I have to travel from here to Northumberland to find my highwayman!”

  Simon waited until she was well away from the room before succumbing to his mirth. He chuckled and finished his breakfast.

  With every knock on the town house door, Laura would startle and her heart stop, certain arrest was imminent. Though in her mind she knew that the chances of the Runners finding her were practically nonexistent, she still couldn’t derive any comfort from the knowledge.

  “The Runners are known for their dogged investigations into crimes. The murder of Westwick would be a top priority.” Laura met Sophie’s gaze. “How long will it be until they discover my identity?”

  “I will never reveal your secret,” Sophie assured her. “Not even Miss Eva knows you were once called Sabine.”

  They were sitting on Laura’s bed speaking in whispered tones. A full day had passed since Laura discovered the news. She’d hoped to keep Sophie from finding out the truth. Sophie couldn’t read. She’d only come to Laura after she heard the courtesans discussing the murder and realized that Laura was the missing courtesan.

  “I swear I am innocent,” Laura said softly. “I hated him, but I didn’t kill him.”

  Sophie took her hand. “I know you didn’t, though no one would fault you if you did. Even if you had arrived here covered with blood, I would not have called for the Runners. Westwick deserved his fate.”

  On this they could agree. “It sounds cold, but I do not grieve his loss. He was a horrible man. And yet, he had moments of kindness, though they were few. During those times, I almost felt as if he truly cared for me. Then when I’d think he might be convinced to free me, the darkness would come again.”

  “There are men like him all over this city,” Sophie said. “I have had the misfortune of encountering one myself. But we are both here and safe.” She stood and squeezed Laura’s hand. “So you must think of him no more.”

  After the door closed behind Sophie, Laura tried to take comfort in knowing her friend would keep her confidence.

  The earl had kept her real identity secret, not to protect her but because he liked possessing a mysterious lover all his friends coveted. That was why he called her Sabine. Still, she knew that one of his friends, Henry, was well aware of who she was. He’d arranged the false marriage and had spent many evenings staring at her over the table, with an evil smirk on his ugly face.

  The only thing saving her from arrest was the fact that he wouldn’t know where to find her.

  Miss Laura is indisposed.” Sophie’s voice carried up the stairs to where Laura stood stock-still on the landing. “She is not taking visitors.”

  Laura pressed back against the wall.

  “She has been indisposed since Monday,” Simon replied with tightly controlled anger. “If she is so ill, I must insist she see a physician.”

  “She has a cold,” Sophie lied again. “I am sure as soon as she is well, she will send around a note. Until then, we expect you to respect this household and find another form of entertainment.”

  Simon grumbled something that Laura couldn’t make out and then took his leave. Sophie started to walk past the staircase but paused when she saw Laura hiding there.

  “He is determined.” Sophie frowned. “This has become unacceptable, Laura. Either you find a way to be rid of him or I will have to speak to Miss Eva. The courtesans are only a few days from their matching party. I will not have their day disturbed by Mister Harrington’s continued presence.”

  Laura nodded. “I’ll see this matter settled immediately.” She wouldn’t ruin the happiness of the day when the former courtesans were matched with husbands. Worse yet, if she kept seeing Simon, she might let a word slip here or there, talk in her sleep, or say something that would clue him in to her identity and leave her open for arrest.

  It was a chance she couldn’t take. Simon cared for her, but could he overlook the murder charges against her?

  She went to the library and found a sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and a pen. She took them out to the garden and sat at a table under a tree.

  The day was slightly overcast, which fit her mood. She looked at the page, trying to come up with just the right words to tell Simon that their friendship had to end.

  The idea of never seeing him again left holes in her heart, further convincing her that what she was doing was right. Not only would her attachment deepen each time they were together, but if she was arrested for murder, their connection might come to light and hurt him and his family. Rejecting him would save them all much grief.

  She reached for the pen and began to write.

  This is absurd.” Simon looked down at the servant, Thomas, who stood stoically on the stoop. “Laura didn’t write this.”

  “I assure you, sir, that she handed me the note herself.” With that, the man turned and walked back to the carriage. Simon stood, dumbfounded, as the servant drove away.

  He backed up and closed the door. Anger and outrage had replaced the frustration he’d felt all week, while Laura hid away at the courtesan school. He’d tried twice to see her and knew the news of the lingering illness were false. Now she claimed to have fallen in love with a man from Eva’s Husbands Book and was running off to marry him.

  The notion was laughable. Laura was too practical to fall in love with a drawing in a book. She’d been hurt badly. She’d want to know the man very well before ever considering marriage.

  Still, he had seen hints of a romantic heart in her. Could she have actually fallen in love with a face in a book?

  He folded the note and tucked it into his coat. If Laura had truly gone against her character and found herself a husband, the truth shouldn’t be difficult to confirm.

  “Dunston!” he bellowed. “Come. I need you!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Laura stayed hidden in the town house for three days. She avoided windows and spoke to no one outside the school. Every time she saw a man walk past the town house, or loiter against a fence, or rest out of the sun beneath a tree along the street, she was certain she was being watched.

  Only the furor of the party had kept her from hiding under her bed, chewing her nails to the quick. She helped the young ladies prepare for their party and would watch the festivities from a window overlooking the garden.

  “You all look lovely,” she said, blinking back tears. She’d become fond of the women in the weeks she’d known them. Her happiness for them was genuine. “I know the men will be eager to win your hearts.”

  Jane smiled and smoothed her hand over her pale blue dress. “You should be joining us. There are enough husbands for everyone.”

  Miss Eva stepped forward. “Laura is not ready for a husband. I shall offer again, in time for the next party.”

  Miss Eva was now aware that Laura and Simon had spent the night together and wasn’t pleased. Sophie had thought it her place to share the news with her employer.

  Thankfully, Miss Eva had accepted Laura’s assurance that she’d taken ca
re of the problem of his visits.

  Simon had stayed away, further attesting to the persuasion of her note, though neither she nor Miss Eva was certain he’d gone for good. And Miss Noelle was convinced he was waiting for a right time to return, thinking kidnapping wasn’t beyond him to get what he wanted.

  Mariette pulled on her gloves. “If you change your mind, Laura, I have a pretty cream frock that would look perfect on you.”

  Laura held up her hands, palms open. “I appreciate your concern, everyone, but I think I shall wait a bit longer before considering marriage.”

  The party was a gay event, with two matches made before the party’s close and another two women close to choosing their husbands. The last one, Mariette, wanted to consider her options for a few days before choosing between three suitors.

  The young women were the pillars of propriety and Miss Eva beamed with pride over their accomplishments.

  Later Laura joined Eva in the parlor after the women had retired to their rooms at the end of the exciting day. The town house was oddly quiet for the first time since sunrise.

  “I do not know how you do this over and over,” Laura said, flopping down in a chair. She was exhausted, and she had done very little to help. “And end the day still standing.”

  Eva smiled and sipped her tea. “I know the desperation that forces women to sell their bodies. I believe they should have another choice. To know that I can help is what drives me onward during those times when I’d rather curl up in bed with a book.”

  Laura nodded. “I do admire you, Miss Noelle, and Sophie. I have seen firsthand how happy you make your former courtesans. I do not think a single one stopped smiling for a minute today.”

  Eva put the cup down. “I will continue to match them for as long as good health allows.” She rose slowly and smoothed out her gown. It was the first sign of fatigue Laura had seen. “I believe my carriage has arrived. It is time for me to return home and soak my tired feet.”

  Curiosity drove Laura to a window. She knew almost nothing about Miss Eva. She was a mystery to all save Sophie. And Sophie was fiercely protective of the secrets of her employer.

  An unadorned coach stood waiting, a tall man in black leaning casually against it. Laura couldn’t see him well in the dim light, but did see a flash of a smile when Eva went down the steps. He took her hand and drew it to his mouth before assisting her into the dark interior and following her inside.

  Laura smiled. The spinster rescuer had secrets, too. The man with the coach was clearly fond of her. Perhaps Miss Eva was about to lose her spinster title.

  Collecting the teacups, Laura returned them to the kitchen and went upstairs. There was nary a whisper from behind closed doors as she walked to her room. The young women were likely sound asleep, or very close to it. There had been several squelched yawns behind gloved hands as they’d said their goodnights.

  She quietly opened the door, only to let out a squeak of alarm at the sight greeting her on her bed. Fearful her cry would alert Sophie and lead to a devastating discovery, she glanced quickly down the hallway, then hurried inside and clicked the door closed behind her.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a harsh whisper and turned the lock. Simon was sitting on her bed, leaning casually against the wall, one leg bent, supporting his crossed arms. The other leg was stretched out on the coverlet. “Get out.”

  He frowned. “Imagine my surprise to discover that you had not run off to Gretna Green with your mysterious suitor as you claimed in your letter. But that wasn’t the worst of your deception.” He pulled a stack of newspapers out from behind him and held up the one on top for her to see. “I have discovered that the courtesan I rescued is a murderess.”

  Laura’s knees buckled and she fell back against the door. Her blood pooled at her feet. “I am no murderess.”

  “Oh?” He held up the papers one at a time. The lamplight illuminated each horrible headline. “The murder happened the same night that I rescued you. Coincidence? I suspect not.”

  Bile burned in her throat. He thought her a killer. Why then had he not brought the Bow Street Runners?

  Laura stumbled over to the small wooden stool next to the writing table and sat. She drew in deep breaths to keep from being ill and to collect her rioting thoughts.

  If she fumbled over her explanation and he took it as confirmation of her guilt, these next few moments could be her last of freedom.

  “I know this looks suspicious. But I assure you that I did not kill him.” She dropped her hands and clenched them in her lap. “The last time I saw him, he was, unfortunately, very much alive.”

  His hooded gaze offered no clue as to his thoughts. She grimaced. “After all the time we’ve spent together, you should know me incapable of this crime.”

  “They found an ear bob beside the body,” he pressed. His voice was cold and flat.

  “That is not difficult to explain,” she admitted, shuddering beneath his suspicion. She had to make him believe her! “I was in the house for over a year. My things are everywhere. One lost ear bob does not make me guilty.”

  Simon met her eyes. Mistrust and anger played on his face. “How long have you known about Westwick’s death?”

  “Since the week I sent you the letter. I knew that until the real killer is caught, I will be in danger of arrest. The Runners have spies all over London. Any time I venture outside, I may be spotted.” Her shoulders slumped. “If you are caught with me, you’ll be subjected to scrutiny, too. I thought it best if you forgot you ever knew me.”

  His mouth twisted downward. He flipped through the stack of papers until he found what he was looking for. He sighed and turned it toward her. Sketched on the page was a likeness of…her.

  Laura whimpered. The temperature in the room dropped. Though the sketch was only vaguely accurate and somewhat cartoonish, it was close enough. The earl had insisted she paint her face and add a beauty mark for the men. He thought it made her look more like a courtesan.

  The likeness on the sketch had neither. It had to be a servant who had provided information about the unadorned Sabine to the Runners.

  “I will be hanged for a crime I had no part of.” She closed her eyes tightly and trembled. “I’ll never be free of him. I’ll go to my death knowing that somewhere in hell he is laughing.”

  Simon caught her up against him, moving so swiftly that she didn’t hear him coming. He helped her to the bed and brought her down with him, snuggling her against his long body.

  “I will not allow that to happen,” he said softly.

  Laura twisted her fingertips into his shirt. It was comforting to be held in his arms. “A moment ago, you thought I was guilty. Why would you help me now?”

  Simon tipped up her chin with a fingertip. “I never thought you were guilty. I was angry that you’d kept this secret from me. I wanted to see you deny this while facing me, to assure myself that I wasn’t wrong about you.”

  She locked on to his gaze. “You were not wrong. Though I wanted to kill him, dreamed every night of killing him, in the end, another person did what I could not do. And I am not sorry he’s dead.”

  Simon snorted. “Then it’s just I who’s regretful. I wanted to beat him bloody. The bastard went too easily. He should have suffered a long and painful death.”

  The venom in his voice made her thankful that Simon wouldn’t have the chance to confront the earl. “For a gently born man, there is a streak of darkness in you.”

  He shrugged. “Lady Jeanette once called me an ill-tempered brute.”

  “She knows you well,” Laura said dryly.

  “She thinks she does.” Simon shifted so that they were lying side by side on the bed, her back to him, his body molded against hers. “How well can anyone know another person?”

  He had a point. Everyone had secrets.

  Fatigue finally overwhelmed her, and she dozed for a bit. It was nearing midnight when a shout from the street awakened her. She listened for signs of trouble, bu
t there was no repeat of the sound.

  She liked the feel of Simon’s arm around her waist and his body warm against hers. He hadn’t tried to take advantage of the situation or attempt a seduction, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  Making love to Simon under this roof would betray everything the house stood for. The fact that he’d somehow slipped inside undetected, likely sometime during the party, was enough to get them both banned from the household. To repeat their night in the manor while the courtesans slept nearby was, well, unforgivable.

  “I should go,” Simon whispered, nuzzling her ear.

  Laura shivered and turned her head to look into his eyes. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  He smiled. “Sleep is difficult with you pressed up against me.” He moved slightly, and she felt his erection.

  “We cannot do that here,” Laura said.

  “I know.” He kissed her forehead and pushed up on the bed. Laura sat up and took a place beside him. “That is why I should go.”

  Simon stood and quickly righted his clothing. There was little he could do about the creases in his coat. He finally gave up with a sigh.

  “My valet will not be pleased. It is the second coat I’ve ruined this week.” He gave her a sidelong glance as he tugged his cuffs into place. When he’d finished, he crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “Meet me in the alley behind this house at two o’clock this afternoon. I need to know more about your Lord Westwick.”

  “He was not my Lord Westwick,” she protested, then frowned. “Why do you want to discuss him? The man is dead.”

  If she never heard the name Westwick again, she’d be content. When he died, her past died. There wasn’t any reason she could think of to revisit those months with him. “I have no intention of speaking his name ever again. He is better left buried.”

  Simon pulled her off the bed and faced her. “I barely knew the earl, as he kept more salacious company than I.” He fingered her stray curl and continued, “You didn’t kill him; someone else did. But you are the only suspect in the murder, and the Runners won’t rest until you’re caught and hanged. Killing a peer is a hanging offense.”