Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1)

by Skye, Christina

  Silver feigned innocence. “Highwayman? Never tell me so. Oh, no, I am sure you are quite mistaken, sir. My husband spoke of this man Blackwood in the most glowing terms.”

  “Then it’s he as was mistaken,” the proprietor said bluntly. “And I have no dealings with any criminals in my establishment. I think you’d better be on your way, madam.”

  At that moment a knock came at the door. A woman in a muslin gown dampened to near transparency appeared in the doorway. “You’re wanted upstairs, Mr. Fielding.”

  “Aye, I’m coming. See the widow woman out.”

  So much, Silver thought glumly, for her second effort. But Kingsdon Cross had one more place of vice left.

  ~ ~ ~

  Her last stop was going to be ticklish, Silver admitted.

  Her destination, an exceedingly handsome house, was well located near the outskirts of Kingsdon Cross. Lanterns blazed at every window and the front steps were nearly hidden by carriages. Yes, this was quite the most favored spot in town this night.

  And Silver had always wanted to see the inside of a house of ill-fame.

  Her black veil occasioned a bit of comment as she climbed the front steps, but most of the house’s patrons were too inebriated to pay more than a passing glance at a black-clad widow of indeterminate age and uncertain wealth.

  Silver slipped in behind two laughing gentlemen and entered one of the most elegant rooms in Kingsdon Cross. Her eyes widened as she took in the hundreds of candles and food enough for an army.

  Ill fame certainly seemed to be a thriving concern.

  Moving on, Silver found herself in a very handsome salon covered with a great many mirrors and dozens of velvet settees. For a moment she stared about her in confusion. Certainly, she had made a mistake. This was no bawdy house. The women she saw were all of the most elegant, and the men were as finely dressed as any she’d seen on her few trips to London with her father.

  Gradually Silver noticed other details, however. The women’s dresses were cut a great deal too low, and the men seated beside them took a great deal too many liberties in the placement of their hands.

  Silver hastily averted her gaze and looked about for someone in charge. A striking blonde woman entered the salon at that moment, calling orders to a man with a black eye-patch. It was now or never, Silver told herself.

  She made her way across the crowded floor toward the proprietress. “Excuse me, madam. Could I have a word with you?”

  The statuesque blonde cast Silver a measuring glance. “Looking for work, are you? Fallen on bad times, I can see. Well, you’ll have to be interviewed just like all the others. Go up to Marie — last room on the second floor. She’ll have a look. And take off that ugly veil. It won’t do at all. Before we can decide, we’ll have to have a look at your face — and other things as well.”

  Silver swallowed. “I fear you confuse the matter. I am here about my husband, Mr. Brown. Of Brown, Brown, and Green.”

  The woman stiffened. “We have all sorts of men here. I can hardly be expected to keep track of their names.” Frowning, she gestured to the man in the black eye-patch. “If your husband has gone astray, it’s no business of mine. Now I think you’d better leave.”

  Silver interrupted her quickly. “No, truly you don’t understand. My husband, dear Archibald, died before he could conclude the transfer of a bequest to one of his clients. He bound me to finish the job, you understand.”

  The blonde woman settled her hands on her hips. “Bequest, you say? Doubt if it’s for me. My luck’s been all out these six months and more. But tell me, who is the lucky person?”

  “A man named Blackwood.”

  The cool blue eyes narrowed. “Blackwood? What makes you think I’d have anything to do with the fellow?”

  “Well I don’t know, not precisely. But I was told — that is, the people here in town said that-—”

  “Oh, yes, people in Kingsdon Cross say all kinds of things about my establishment, but I’m here to tell you most are lies! They lie to my back, but they’re fast enough to take my money. In answer to your question, I haven’t seen Blackwood. Not for weeks, more’s the pity, since the man pays well. So you see, I can’t help you.”

  “If he should come in, you would pass him the message, wouldn’t you? It’s a sizable sum, and I’m sure he’d be most … grateful.”

  The woman stared at Silver. “I suppose it might be managed. Where can he find you — if he should happen to come in?”

  “I’ll be at the Cross and Arms, but only for tonight. I have but a short time until the bequest becomes invalid, you see.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I see. If he comes by, I’ll tell him.” With that she turned away, motioning to the man in the eye-patch.

  The interview was clearly over.

  With a sigh Silver turned to leave. She had thought it would be much simpler than this. After all, a man as notorious as Blackwood ought to be out robbing carriages or living up to his sordid reputation in one of Kingsdon Cross’s three centers of vice.

  At that moment Silver felt a man in a crimson vest studying her across the room. She found she didn’t care for the glittering look in his eyes, nor for the hard set of his mouth.

  She turned and moved briskly toward the door. It wouldn’t do to tempt fate, after all.

  ~ ~ ~

  Damn it, what poor prey was Sherringvale chasing after tonight? Blackwood thought, watching a man in a crimson vest charge through the drawing room of Kingsdon Cross’s elegant brothel.

  The woman looked none too pleased with his advance. As well she might, Blackwood thought, since the man had a reputation as black as pitch.

  The highwayman moved back into the shadows and looked about the room. He came here rarely, drawn more by the lure of information about wealthy visitors than by female companionship. When he did put in an appearance, he kept to the back entrance and made certain he was not spied upon.

  Out of the corner of his eye Blackwood watched Sherringvale close in on a new victim, this one a neat female swathed in a black veil and black skirts. A widow still in mourning? Blast, was there no end to Sherringvale’s unnatural vices?

  Then Blackwood’s eyes narrowed.

  A widow? The one he’d heard was tracking him all over town?

  There was something about the way the woman’s hands clutched at her reticule. Something about the way she turned and faced her pursuer without flinching.

  No, it was entirely impossible! But even as he told himself that, Blackwood saw Sherringvale grip his captive’s shoulder and pull her off toward the rear stairs.

  The stairs that led up to the private chambers.

  The woman was struggling now.

  She lashed out with her boot. Blackwood knew the feel of that thrashing little foot intimately.

  It was her, the woman he’d rescued last night on the heath.

  The woman he couldn’t seem to force from his thoughts.

  What in heaven’s name was she doing here?

  Scowling, he slipped on his mask and strode toward the rear stairway. He seemed to catch her haunting scent in the air, a blend of roses and lavender.

  A left hook and a neat right jab would do the job nicely, Blackwood decided as he took the stairs two at a time. He found that he was enjoying the idea of a good fight. The thought of protecting a lady’s honor appealed to him right now.

  But at the top of the stairs Blackwood came to an abrupt halt. He stared speechless at the floor, where Sherringvale was stretched flat, writhing in pain.

  The woman in black was smoothing her skirts.

  “What did you do, fire a pistol at him?” It was a jest, of course. He hadn’t meant it seriously.

  But the woman looked up with a start. “At last! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  Blackwood shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here. Not a place for someone like you.” He looked down at Sherringvale. “What happened to him, did he trip and fall?”

  Silver shrugged. “H
e was … not nice, so I kicked him. In a certain, er, delicate region.”

  Blackwood knew all about that delicate region. It was tormenting him more than a little at that moment. “You … kicked him?” He still couldn’t believe it.

  The woman in black fidgeted with her reticule, looking guilty. “My uncle told me I might need to know about such things. I didn’t realize it would hurt the poor man quite so much, however. As for pistols, I wouldn’t dream of that. My pistol is in my boot, of course.”

  “It is?” Blackwood devoutly wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much. The woman wasn’t making any sense.

  “Of course. I didn’t want to maim the poor man permanently. Besides, to attack an unarmed man would be unsporting.”

  Poor man? Sherringvale, who had accosted more defenseless women than Blackwood could count? “You didn’t?”

  “Of course not. The man can’t help it if he’s a victim of his uncontrollable manly passions.”

  “I see.” But Blackwood didn’t. Not a bit. It had to be because his brain was fogged with brandy. He shook his head and tried again. “Uncontrollable manly what?” Hell, he couldn’t even say it.

  “Passions. Men are meant to be protected from themselves, you see. It is the job of women to see that men don’t hurt themselves or come to harm — as a result of their unruly appetites.”

  She looked very pleased with herself. So pleased that Blackwood couldn’t bring himself to quarrel with this ridiculous view of hers. “I take it we’re not talking about food here.”

  “Food would count, I suppose. But other things too,” she added vaguely.

  “And just who taught you this fascinating concept of men?” Blackwood thought he’d like to strangle the fellow.

  “Oh, no one taught me. I worked it out all by myself.”

  That figured. “I see.” He was repeating himself, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Damn, but all of her “logic” was making his head spin. Had there ever been a more misinformed and stubborn female on the face of God’s green earth?

  Sherringvale, meanwhile, was beginning to show signs of recovery. Blackwood looked down at him and cursed.

  “Oh, dear, did I do it wrong?”

  “All too right, I expect. And I doubt that the ‘poor man’ is going to be too pleased,” the highwayman said dryly.

  Silver gnawed her lip. “I suppose not.”

  “So, my dear, let’s hear why you wanted to see me. I’ve heard all over town that a widow was asking for me, but I never thought it could be you. And I don’t believe all that talk about a bequest for a second.”

  Abruptly the woman before him went very still. She sniffed the air. Blackwood could almost feel her glare through the black veil.

  “You’ve been drinking, sir.”

  “Not enough to be impaired, I assure you. Only enough to be dangerous.”

  Behind them laughing voices drifted up the stairwell. Scowling, Blackwood caught her shoulder and hauled her down the corridor just before a scantily clad female emerged, clutching the arm of a balding baronet at least three times her age.

  “Of course you’ve been drinking,” Silver hissed. “I can smell it. And you’re slurring your words.”

  “I always slur my words,” came the grim reply. “It’s the mask, you understand.”

  “Take your hands off me, if you please.”

  “A threat, my dear? And if I don’t, what then? Do you mean to disable me the same way you did ‘poor’ Sherringvale?”

  “I doubt if I could succeed,” Silver said frankly.

  “You’re right about that, at least.” Blackwood loosened his grip but he was careful not to release her completely. “What was so bloody important that it had you chasing me all over Kingsdon Cross?” he said irritably.

  “I need a private place so we can discuss it calmly.”

  “Perhaps I don’t want to talk. Perhaps I didn’t come here for talk.” At that moment Blackwood recalled precisely why he had come. Damn, he’d been trying to forget her fire, her haunting scent. Her rare, stubborn innocence.

  More footsteps scuffled up the rear stairway. Sir Charles Millbank appeared, a woman on his arm.

  Muttering savagely, the highwayman gripped his captive and pulled her down the hall.

  “Where are you taking—”

  “Be quiet.”

  “Let me go!” Silver hissed. “Otherwise I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Throw yourself on that cur Millbank’s mercy? You’ll regret it if you do for he’s a very unpleasant fellow. Or do you mean to kick him into abject submission too?”

  That was a cheap shot and he knew it. But damn, the woman was the outside of enough. She didn’t have enough sense to know when to be afraid.

  Silver merely muttered and lashed angrily at his leg.

  At the end of the hall Blackwood finally found an open door. He shoved his sputtering “widow” inside, then kicked the door closed.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m trying to find a safe place to talk. You did come to talk, didn’t you, my dear?” Blackwood was truly angry now. She’d taken a perfectly fine evening and ruined it. He’d been well on his way to forgetting her, but now that was impossible. How could any man forget such changeable eyes, one minute green and one minute gold? The little fool shouldn’t be in a place like this!

  Blackwood decided to show her just how dangerous such a place could be.

  His hand rose lazily to his cravat. “On second thought maybe talking isn’t what you want at all.” He eyed her lazily. “In that case, we could always—”

  Silver cleared her throat. “Talking will be most acceptable, thank you.”

  Blackwood studied her face. “I can think of better ways to spend an evening.”

  “No doubt you can. Unfortunately, I haven’t a coach about me for you to rob.”

  That stopped him in his tracks. “You were glad enough to see me last night.”

  “Ah, but you weren’t drunk last night.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Are you trying to be nasty, Mr. Blackwood?”

  “That’s Lord Blackwood to you. Don’t ever get a felon’s name mixed up. You might make him angry, after all. And the answer is yes, I am definitely trying to be nasty.”

  Silver snorted. “You’re succeeding.”

  “Then why don’t you leave?” Actually, he was praying she would. Maybe that would get her out of his mind. Meanwhile, however, he was finding it hard to keep his eyes off the tight cloth straining over her full breasts. The brandy must be making him delirious, for he imagined he could see the tight nubs of her nipples.

  And her smell. It reminded him of the soft summers of his youth, of lazy afternoons and velvet twilights. Of the roses his mother used to clip and set about the drawing room at Swallow Hill.

  Damn it, enough was enough! How did the woman manage to get under his skin this way?

  “Yes, why don’t you just leave?” he repeated, his voice harsh with rising desire.

  “I can’t. Not yet.” Her chin rose in defiance. “Not until I finish my business here.”

  “Business? What business?”

  Silver hadn’t heard. She was busy studying a statue of a man and woman standing chest to chest. Her eyes widened as she saw that they were completely unclad.

  With a muttered oath Blackwood jerked the statue from her fingers and slapped it back down on the mantel. “Tell me what you’re doing here. Otherwise I’m going to make you exceedingly sorry that you ever set foot in this place!”

  “Do you think you could?” Silver asked interestedly.

  “You’re bloody right I could!”

  In their abstraction neither noticed a man push open the door. “I say, is this room taken?” Sir Charles Millbank swayed in the doorway, a bottle in one hand and a woman on the other.

  Blackwood blew out the branch of candles and pulled Silver against his chest. The darkness ought to conceal his mask and provide some protection against Mi
llbank’s curiosity.

  She was trembling. He could feel it clearly. At last the stubborn female had finally seen her danger.

  But the thought gave Blackwood no pleasure. Instead it made him angry. “Of course it’s taken. Close the door, damn it. There are plenty of other rooms down the hall.”

  Millbank laughed drunkenly. “Don’t care for an audience? Mistake, that.” He gave a drunken belch. “Viewers can be damned arousing, don’t you know?”

  Blackwood felt Silver shudder against him. He cursed fluently.

  “I’ll light the candles. Then what do you say you, your little friend and I—”

  He got no farther. Blackwood pulled a pistol from his pocket and leveled it. “Get out before I shoot.”

  The baronet blinked and began to back from the darkened room. “Just a suggestion. No need to turn bloody huffy. I didn’t mean any—” Abruptly he stopped. His eyes narrowed. “Damn me if that scent don’t seem familiar. It can’t be, of course, but—” He stared fixedly at Silver’s back.

  Blackwood shoved Silver behind him. “Go away, Millbank. You’ve had too bloody much to drink. You couldn’t even see the nose on your own face.”

  “Maybe I have, but she still seems familiar. I could almost swear—”

  “My companion is of no interest to you.” Blackwood cocked the hammer of his pistol. “Do you understand me now?”

  “Damned unfriendly, aren’t you?” The baronet frowned; the woman on his arm made a moue of disappointment. A moment later they withdrew.

  Blackwood shoved the door shut and drove the bolt home. After relighting the candles, he turned toward Silver, his face harsh. “Now then, I’ll have answers. Exactly what are you doing here?”

  “There is no need to shout at me,” Silver said crossly.

  “Who’s shouting? I simply want answers. And if I don’t have them in ten seconds, I’m dragging you out of here!”

  Silver squared her shoulders. “I — I need a man, you see.”

  Blackwood shook his head. He had to be imagining things. She couldn’t have said what he thought she’d said.

  But he was wrong.

  “A man,” she repeated carefully. “I want to buy a man’s services. Just for several nights, of course.”