Lindsey, Johanna

by Reckless (lit)

  “There are two types of men in the world, Phoebe.” Lydia peered through her glass. “The type who talk about their pasts incessantly and the type who rarely mention the subject. Be grateful you have got the latter sort. The former tend to become a bore over time.”

  “Nevertheless,” Phoebe muttered, “it is unnerving to learn that my husband was rather recently engaged to another woman.”

  “Not so recently,” Anthony said. “The engagement ended about a year ago. Right after Wylde learned that his fiancée was passing information on sailing dates and cargoes to Baxter.”

  “Oh, my God,” Phoebe said. “What was she like?”

  “The fiancée?” Anthony shrugged. “He did not describe her. I gather she was rather naive and not particularly loyal. Apparently Baxter had no difficulty seducing her.”

  Phoebe sighed. It seemed that every time she turned around, she discovered yet another reason why Gabriel hesitated to trust anyone. There were moments when she almost despaired of fulfilling her quest. How could she teach him to love if she could not even teach him to trust?

  Bleakly she recalled the cold anger in his eyes that afternoon when he had stalked into her bedchamber, demanding Neil’s note. He had obviously assumed the worst from the start.

  For her part, she had been so busy recovering from the shock of the message that she had not had time to think about how to respond, let alone how to deal with Gabriel. Her first instinct had been to hide the note and she had done so. She had known Gabriel would be enraged, that he would worry she might believe Neil’s lies.

  Obviously she had chosen the wrong tactic. Gabriel was probably more wary now than ever of trusting her. Everything she did around Gabriel seemed to misfire.

  “Good evening, Lydia.”

  Phoebe turned at the sound of the booming voice. Eugenie, Lady Rantley, sailed into the box with all the aplomb of a large vessel coming into port. She was garbed in an amethyst-colored satin gown that strained across her enormous chest and broad hips. Huge artificial flowers graced her turban.

  Anthony got to his feet and Meredith nodded politely.

  “Good evening, Eugenie.” Lydia did not do anything more than glance over her shoulder. “Have you seen Milly’s new paramour? He appears to be a charming young man.”

  “Milly has no doubt brought him here to put him on display,” Lady Rantley said. “That is not what I wanted to talk to you about. Have you heard the rumors, Lydia?”

  Phoebe started to speak, but Meredith caught her eye and silently hushed her.

  “What rumors would those be?” Lydia continued to scan the audience with her opera glass.

  “About Wylde, of course.” Lady Rantley glanced at Phoebe. “They are saying the man made his fortune as a pirate.”

  “Are they, indeed?” Lydia said calmly. “How very exciting. I have always thought that every family needs a pirate or two somewhere in the family tree. It invigorates the bloodlines, you know.”

  Lady Rantley stared at Lydia. “Are you saying you are aware of the possibility that Wylde might have actually been a pirate?”

  “Of course. Anthony, Lady Cressborough has brought her daughter with her tonight. I want you to take a look at her. I believe she would make you an excellent wife.”

  Anthony grimaced. “I danced with her the other night at the Tannershams’ ball. She has not got a brain in her head.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, that’s that, then. I could not bear to have a stupid daughter-in-law,” Lydia said dryly. “Got to think of the bloodlines, you know.”

  Lady Rantley cleared her throat loudly. “I beg your pardon, Lydia, but am I right in concluding that you are making a joke out of this extremely alarming gossip?”

  Meredith smiled vaguely at Lady Rantley. “My husband assures me that Wylde is richer than Croesus and has extensive shipping interests.”

  “So I hear,” Lady Rantley said ominously.

  “Trowbridge also says Wylde is starting up a new venture that is expected to be highly profitable.” Meredith’s smile grew even more bland. “All of Wylde’s ventures are profitable, he says. I believe Wylde will be selling some shares in the project. Trowbridge is buying several.”

  Lady Rantley’s gaze sharpened abruptly. “Is that so? Shares will be available, you say?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Meredith fanned herself gently. “I never pay much attention to that sort of thing, of course. But if you think your husband might be interested in some shares in Wylde’s project, I might be able to prevail upon Trowbridge to see if he can convince Wylde to sell him some.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Lady Rantley said quickly.

  “I’m not so certain that will work,” Anthony said with a meditative air. “You know Wylde, Meredith. He does not take kindly to gossip. If he discovers that Lord Rantley is spreading the pirate story about, he is quite likely to refuse to let him into the venture.”

  Meredith gave Anthony a concerned look. “You are quite right.” She turned back to Lady Rantley with a regretful expression. “I had better withdraw my promise to speak to Trowbridge on your behalf. Wylde will no doubt be extremely annoyed at anyone who spreads the rumors of piracy.”

  “No, wait,” Lady Rantley said urgently. “I have no notion where this dreadful pirate story came from, but I will undertake to quash it at once.”

  “Very wise of you, Eugenie.” Lydia finally put down her opera glass and beamed at Lady Rantley. “It is wonderfully amusing pretending to have a pirate in the family, but we are not at all certain that Wylde will be quite as amused as the rest of us are if he hears the tales. And when Wylde is annoyed, he can be extremely difficult.”

  “And on top of that, there is no telling what Papa would do if he discovered rumors were going around about his new son-in-law,” Meredith said with a troubled look. “Papa is so fussy about that sort of thing. He might feel obliged to limit all his business dealings to gentlemen he felt he could trust not to repeat such stories.”

  “Quite true,” Lydia murmured. “Eugenie, I believe Rantley has recently bought shares in a mining venture that Clarington has started, has he not?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact he has. We are quite hopeful of success,” Lady Rantley allowed cautiously.

  “It would be a shame if Clarington concluded he could not do business with Rantley.”

  Anthony looked extremely grave. “Very unfortunate.”

  “I understand.” Lady Rantley rose majestically. “Rest assured that the rumor will be put to rest at once.” She sailed grandly back out of the box.

  Phoebe smiled happily at her mother, brother, and sister. “I always knew that there must be some use for all that boring business information you are all forever discussing.”

  “I know that from time to time you find us extremely stuffy and tiresome, Phoebe,” Anthony said. “But we are not stupid.”

  “I have never made the mistake of thinking you are,” Phoebe assured him. “Thank you for your support of Wylde tonight. He is not used to it, you know.”

  Lydia swept her opera glass across the audience one last time. “He will become accustomed to it. After all, he is a member of the family now.”

  Chapter 20

  “Good heavens, what a crush.” The crowd outside the theater was every bit as bad as Phoebe had envisioned. “I was right when I said we would be forever waiting for our carriage.”

  “It’s raining,” Meredith exclaimed. “That will make it all the longer.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about hurrying things along,” Anthony said. “You three wait here. I’ll find one of the footmen.”

  He detached himself and disappeared into the throng of elegantly dressed theatergoers. Phoebe stood with Lydia and Meredith beneath the roof at the lobby entrance and watched the crowd milling about in front of the theater.

  Carriages jammed the street, vying for position. Tempers were flaring. Coachmen yelled at one another as they tried to force their vehicles into a more advantageous location. Two or three pe
ople were arguing a short distance away from Phoebe.

  “Well, then, Phoebe.” Lydia smiled in satisfaction. “Did you enjoy your brief respite from incarceration?”

  “Very much. I am forever indebted to you for your efforts on my behalf, Mama.”

  Meredith looked at her. “In truth, I was rather surprised Wylde let you out even for a short while tonight.”

  Phoebe grinned. “So was I. Mama convinced him to do so.”

  At that moment the argument which had been brewing a short distance away erupted into a loud shouting match. One of the men punched the other. The second man roared with rage and shoved the first man aside.

  “Get out of my way, you bastard. I saw that hackney first, by God.”

  “The devil you did.”

  The first man used his fists to drive home his claim to the hackney. Someone else yelled as the first man’s punch went wild and struck a bystander. A fourth man screamed abuse.

  Meredith frowned. “Let’s move out of the way. I wish Anthony would hurry.”

  Phoebe started to retreat back into the lobby with her mother and sister, but the argument was exploding all around them now. People were pushing and shoving. Ladies shrieked. The sound of ripping silk caused Phoebe to glance over her shoulder. A woman was slapping furiously at two rude young bucks who were using the commotion to take liberties.

  Phoebe swung her reticule at the head of the nearest dandy. He staggered as the small purse found its mark. With amazing speed, he snagged the reticule and angrily started to tug it out of Phoebe’s hand.

  She jerked hard on the strings of the reticule. They snapped. The little beaded bag disappeared forever beneath the feet of the crowd.

  The woman who had been defending herself from the two men used the momentary distraction to dash toward the safety of the lobby.

  Phoebe turned around and discovered that she had been separated from her sister and mother by the surging throng. She glanced about anxiously. People heaved about like flotsam on a stormy sea, making it impossible for Phoebe to see anyone.

  A drunken young man reeled into her just as she stood on tiptoe to see over the nearest heads. Phoebe’s left leg buckled and she lost her balance.

  “Devil take it.” Phoebe staggered awkwardly but managed to keep her feet. She gathered her skirts close around her and tried to forge a path toward the lights of the theater lobby.

  A man’s arm closed around her waist.

  Phoebe yelled in outrage and tried to pry herself free of the arm. “Let me go, you blundering fool.”

  The man did not respond. He began to drag Phoebe relentlessly through the crowd. Phoebe yelled again, this time much louder. There were people all around her, but no one paid any attention to her shouts for help. Everyone was too busy trying to protect himself or herself from the crowd that was threatening to turn into a mob.

  A second man materialized near the one who had a grip on Phoebe.

  “Ye sure this be the right gel?” he hissed as he grabbed Phoebe’s flailing arm.

  “It better be,” the man snarled. “Wearin’ a yellow and green dress, just like we was told. I’ll tell ye one thing, I ain’t goin’ back into that lot to find another gel.”

  Phoebe lashed out with her hand. Her fingers found a man’s bewhiskered cheek. She dug in her nails, raking his skin fiercely. The man growled in outrage.

  “Damn little bitch.”

  “She’s a right ‘andful,” the first man complained. “Is the carriage where it’s supposed to be?”

  “It’s there. Bloody ‘ell.”

  “What happened?”

  “She kicked me.”

  “We’re almost there. Get the door open.” The first man heaved Phoebe upward.

  Phoebe grabbed at the open door of the carriage. Her gloved fingers scrabbled on the wood. She braced herself, but the effort was useless.

  Someone shoved her forcefully between the shoulder blades and she was thrown inside the cab. She landed in a heap on the floor between the cushioned seats.

  The first man yelled at the coachman, then vaulted up into the cab. The second man followed.

  Phoebe felt the coach lurch forward. She screamed furiously and kicked wildly until rough hands succeeded in binding her wrists and feet. A dirty piece of cloth stuffed into her mouth cut off her shouts for help.

  “Sweet bloody Jesus,” one of the men said in exasperation as he collapsed onto a cushion. “What a little hellcat. If she was mine, I’d teach her to keep her mouth shut.”

  The other man chuckled lewdly. He prodded Phoebe’s hip with the toe of his boot. “I expect she’ll be singin’ a different tune by mornin’. A night at Alice’s place is enough to make even a hellcat mind her tongue.”

  Phoebe froze on the floor of the carriage. Alice’s place.

  She forced herself to calm down and think logically. There was nothing she could do while she was trussed up here in the carriage, but sooner or later she would have her chance. In the meantime she silently went to work trying to wriggle her wrists free from the hastily tied rope that bound them.

  The crowded streets slowed travel to a crawl. It seemed ages before the carriage eventually came to a halt. When it did, one of the two men shoved open the door and then reached inside to assist his partner. Together they lifted Phoebe out of the cab and carried her up a flight of steps.

  She glanced around, trying to orient herself as she was carried down a long hall. She was carted past several doors, all of them firmly closed. A woman’s laughing shriek sounded from behind one of them. The slap of a whip on flesh followed by a man’s anguished groan emanated from behind another.

  “What ‘ave ye got there?” a woman’s drunken voice demanded. “A new girl?”

  “That’s right. And it ain’t none of yer business,” one of the men carrying Phoebe said.

  “Didn’t know Alice was ‘avin’ to pick ‘em up off the street these days,” the woman muttered as she went on past. “Always plenty of applicants for a job ‘ere in the Velvet ‘ell.”

  “This one’s special. Alice says she has a customer with peculiar tastes,” one of the men said.

  Phoebe heard a door open. She was carried into a dark room and dropped on top of a bed. She lay still, struggling to get her bearings in the shadows.

  “That’s that, then,” one of the men said in relief. “Time to collect our pay and get out of ‘ere.”

  The door closed behind them with a solid, chunking sound. A few seconds later Phoebe heard a key turn in the lock. Footsteps went down the hall.

  Silence descended.

  Phoebe sat up slowly. Her pulse was racing and her heart was pounding. For an instant she thought she would suffocate because of the gag. The fear that was rippling through her made everything worse. The dark world spun around her. She wondered in alarm if she might actually be going to faint.

  Slowly and with great difficulty she managed to rein in the terror that threatened to turn her into a madwoman. She had to stay calm or all was lost.

  The first step was to get free of the gag and the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles.

  Phoebe wriggled to the edge of the bed and swung her feet down to the floor. Surely where there was a bed there would be a table nearby to hold such necessities as a candle and perhaps some useful implements. She would dearly love to find a knife.

  The small table was right where one would expect. Phoebe managed to hook the drawer knob under her gag and pry the dirty cloth out of her mouth. She sucked in a great gulp cf air and turned her back to the drawer. She fumbled with it, using her bound hands to pull it open.

  Inside the drawer was a small bottle of the sort that usually held laudanum.

  The sound of a key scraping in the lock interrupted Phoebe’s awkward search. She hastily closed the drawer and tumbled back down onto the bed.

  Light from the hall splashed onto the counterpane as the door of the chamber opened. A woman stood in the opening.

  “Welcome to the Velvet Hell,” the
woman said. “I’m glad you are here. And none too soon. I have wasted enough time and money on this venture.”

  She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Phoebe heard the candle on the table being lit. When the flame flared, it revealed a halo of golden blond hair and the pretty face of the mysterious Alice.

  “I see you are getting on in the world, Alice,” Phoebe said quietly. “I assume running a brothel pays better than the position of housemaid.”

  “A great deal better.” Alice smiled thinly. “A woman in my position must make the most of her opportunities.”

  Phoebe eyed her warily. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I had what I thought was a truly clever plan.” Alice came to the edge of the bed and stood looking down at Phoebe. “But I fear time is running out. Neil is close to discovering what has been happening, so I must give up my original scheme and proceed in another manner.”

  Phoebe did not move. “What are you talking about? What was your original plan?”

  “Why, to frighten you into selling the book, of course. I count more than one or two collectors among my clients here at the Velvet Hell and I have discovered they tend to be an eccentric, superstitious lot.”

  “You tried to make the curse come true, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Neil had told me all about it, you see. He talked a great deal about that damn book. After I carried out the second part of the curse, I intended to send you a note. I wanted you to believe that an anonymous collector was offering to buy The Lady in the Tower. I thought that by then you would be happy to sell the thing just to get rid of it.”

  “Were you Neil’s mistress three years ago?”

  “Oh, yes,” Alice said bitterly. “I was Neil’s mistress all the while he pretended to be your devoted Lancelot. He told me he had a plan to get money out of your father. He told me that he would marry me as soon as he achieved his goal. He claimed it was me he loved, not you. And fool that I was, I believed him.”

  “This is all so confusing,” Phoebe whispered. “I do not know who or what to believe. How did you know about the catacombs?”