Sex and the Single Earl

by Vanessa Kelly

  Besides, his note wasn’t the only letter she had to think about. This afternoon, the post had brought thick envelopes from her mother and her grandparents with congratulations on her unexpected betrothal.

  Actually, her mother and grandmother hadn’t seemed very surprised by the news, expressing their pleasure with quiet happiness and words of gentle advice. Her grandfather, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to contain his joy. Grandpapa Stanton had been so excited that he had splattered ink blotches all over the crosshatched lines of the parchment.

  She smiled wryly. For once, she had made everyone in her family happy. The truly amazing thing was that she had managed to make herself happy, too.

  A quiet scratch sounded against the door panels. She blinked. Had she missed Simon’s knock on the front door?

  “Enter.” She rose, smoothing down her skirts.

  James the footman bowed his way into the room. “Sorry to disturb you, miss. I didn’t know what else to do,” the young man said, his face a study in dismay.

  “What’s wrong, James?”

  He hesitated. Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. Had something happened to Simon?

  “It’s that boy, miss. Toby. The one from The Silver Oak.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in the kitchen. I didn’t want to bother you, him having caused so much trouble and all, and not wanting to disturb Lady Eleanor…” He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. “But the boy insisted. He’s well nigh worked himself to a frenzy, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Sophie moved for the door. If Toby had worked up the nerve to track her down in St. James’s Square, something must be very wrong.

  She rushed down the stairs to the basement with James close on her heels. Moments later she skidded to a halt on the paved stones of the kitchen floor. Toby huddled in a chair by the big, open hearth. Mary, the kitchen maid, bent over him, trying to console the boy as he choked back hysterical sobs.

  “Thank God, miss,” Mary said with obvious relief. “The poor boy can barely speak.”

  Sophie dropped to her knees in front of Toby. He stared at her with terror-filled eyes as he struggled to bring his sobs under control. His face was smudged with soot and tears, and his mouth quivered.

  “Miss…” he gasped.

  She took his grimy hands in a firm clasp. “It’s all right, Toby. Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

  “It’s B-Becky, miss. My pa and Mrs. Delacourt are going to sell her off tonight.”

  The breath seized in Sophie’s lungs. “When?”

  “Men are already in The Silver Oak, waiting for it. My pa has locked Becky in the storeroom. I couldn’t get her out! I ran to find Lord Trask, but he weren’t at his lodgings, and the porter wouldn’t tell me where he went.”

  He burst into tears again.

  “Miss.” James’s voice held a note of warning. “If Lady Eleanor wakes up and hears the boy…”

  Sophie nodded. “Toby, we’ll stop your father, I promise. But you must be quiet. Becky needs your help, and so do I.”

  She rubbed his scrawny back through his tattered shirt, her heart aching with pity and fear. They had to find a way to save the girl, but how? She had promised Simon she wouldn’t interfere, but what choice did she have? There could be little doubt that whoever purchased Becky in this disgusting transaction would rape her soon thereafter. She had to act immediately if she had any chance of saving the girl from a terrible fate.

  “Toby, can I get into The Silver Oak without being seen?”

  James groaned behind her.

  Toby fought to bring his sobs under control. “Yes, miss. I left the back door off the alley unlocked. My pa shouldn’t notice at this time of night. You goes in from the back alley, and the storeroom is the first door. On the left.”

  Sophie glanced up at Mary, who stood anxiously clutching her apron. “Mary, you and Toby must go and find Lord Trask. Tell him to meet James and me at The Silver Oak.”

  “For God’s sake, Miss Sophie,” James burst out. “Lord Trask will have my head if I take you back to that hellhole.”

  She ignored him and concentrated on the alarmed-looking maid. “I know you’re frightened, Mary, but we have no choice. Lord Trask is dining tonight at The Pelican on Walcot Street. Go there immediately, and tell him I sent you.”

  Sophie rummaged in the slit of her gown for her coin purse, extracting half a guinea. “Take this. Fetch a hackney at the end of the street.”

  Mary cast a glance at James, who gave her a curt nod. Toby jumped off his chair and wrapped his arms around Sophie’s waist.

  “I’ll find his lordship, miss. You can bet on it.”

  He grabbed Mary’s hand and headed for the door, dragging the reluctant maid with him.

  Sophie plucked a grey worsted cloak from a hook on the wall by the pantry and threw it over her shoulders as she turned for the door.

  “Miss,” James said in a warning voice.

  “James, we must leave now if we’re to save this girl.”

  “And how are we to do that, miss? John Coachman and the groom can’t help us. They’re with Lady Jane at Sydney Place. How are we to even get into this storeroom? And what if the back door is locked, after all?”

  “I don’t know, James, but I’ll think of something.” She rushed out to the hallway, the footman scrambling after her.

  They went through the servant’s entrance into the street. The cold night was ominously dark under a moonless sky. Shivering, Sophie pulled the cloak tightly around her body and hurried toward Upper Church Street. They should be able to find a hackney there.

  “What if Lord Trask doesn’t get there in time?”

  “Don’t worry, James. Lord Trask will come.”

  “Aye, and he’ll kill me if anything happens to you, miss.”

  “Then I’ll just have to see that I don’t get hurt.”

  A string of curses erupted from her companion’s mouth. She had to bite back a startled laugh. The situation must be dire, indeed, for James to lose his impeccable self-control.

  “Think of the scandal, Miss Sophie, if anyone should ever find out you went to The Silver Oak. We should go to The Pelican first, instead. His lordship—”

  “Enough, James,” Sophie snapped. “The Pelican is in the opposite direction, and we can’t afford to waste time. A child’s life is at stake. His lordship would not give a hoot about scandal under these circumstances, I can assure you.”

  At least I hope he wouldn’t.

  Sophie chided herself for that thought. Simon would never worry about gossip at a time like this. Yes, he might be angry she placed herself in danger, but he would understand she had no choice. Even though it meant she had to break her promise to him.

  She gave her head an impatient shake. She couldn’t worry about such considerations. Not now. Not with Becky in danger. If they failed to reach her in time—

  Thrusting ugly images of rape from her mind, she lengthened her stride. She had no choice. Simon would see that.

  Spying a hackney just up the street, Sophie touched James’s arm and urged him forward. He glared at her, but hailed the driver. A few moments later they were jammed against each other in the damp hackney, enduring a bone-jarring ride to Lower Town. The footman muttered profanity under his breath the entire way.

  “Oh, do be quiet, James,” she growled.

  “You’ll be the death of me, Miss Sophie. If not by his lordship’s hand, then by Lady Eleanor’s.”

  A pang of remorse shot through her as she took his hand and jumped down from the carriage. Her godmother would be furious if she ever found out, and James and Mary might take the brunt of that fury. Well, she would have to worry about that later too. Besides, with a little luck, they might all be back in St. James’s Square within the hour.

  The hackney had dropped them off well past The Silver Oak. She pulled the scratchy wool hood over her face, picking her way past heaps of reeking garbage as she followed James to the alley. They pass
ed a small group of well-dressed bucks, obviously drunk and looking for trouble. One of them reached for her cloak.

  “Looking for some home brewed, guv?” James’s voice was low and threatening as he shoved Sophie behind him.

  The man gave a raucous laugh, but let them be, weaving down the street after his friends.

  “Thank you, James.”

  He snorted. “I expect we’ll see a deal more trouble before the night’s out.”

  She flitted in his wake into the dank alley running behind the alehouse. She could barely see. The only light filtered through the one, soot-covered window at the back of the building.

  James crept up to the door that led into the tavern. He looked back at Sophie. “Are you sure, miss?” he whispered.

  She reached past him and gripped the handle. The door opened easily under her fingers. James shook his head and stepped in front of her, slipping into the dim passage. She followed and carefully shut the door.

  The light was almost as bad in the hallway as it had been in the alley. In the gloom she could just make out several casks set against the walls, and an open door farther up the passage that led to the kitchen. The smell of rank meat and stale beer assaulted her nostrils. She had to swallow to keep the gorge from rising in her throat.

  James hissed as a barmaid exited from the kitchen, loaded down with a large tray of steaming bowls. He and Sophie shrank against the wall, but the serving girl didn’t look their way as she pushed through a swinging door at the opposite end of the passage. The sound of aggressive male voices drifted back as the door swung on its hinges.

  Those were the men who would bid for Becky as if she were horseflesh.

  After a few agonized moments of waiting to see if the serving girl would return, they slid along the wall to the door of the storage room. She groped past James to find the handle. Locked.

  Blast. Of course it would be too much to expect that Taylor would have left the key in the lock.

  “Break it down,” she whispered to James.

  He stared at her, his face set and grim, then nodded. He lashed out with his leg, kicking his foot into the handle. The door vibrated and groaned, but didn’t yield. He kicked the lock twice more before the door flew open with a crash. She winced at the noise, praying that the commotion in the ale room and the kitchen would be loud enough to cover their actions.

  James pulled her into the storeroom and wrestled the broken door shut.

  A lamp on an overturned crate lit the small room, crammed to the ceiling with casks of ale and boxes. Sophie blinked and peered into a box open on the floor. It overflowed with silk handkerchiefs, scraps of fine-looking lace, enamelled snuff boxes—all manner of expensive trinkets. In addition to all his other sins, Taylor was obviously a thief.

  A muffled squeak drew their attention.

  James hurried to a dark corner of the room, and Sophie rushed to follow. Becky sat on a pile of sacks in the corner, gagged with a piece of cloth. Her wrists were tied with rope, and she was dressed only in a thin cotton shift. Sophie dropped to her knees.

  The girl’s sapphire blue eyes were almost black, her pupils dilated with terror. Sophie yanked the saliva-drenched gag from her mouth.

  Becky inhaled and broke into a rasping cough.

  “James, stand by the door and watch for Taylor.” Sophie went to work on the ropes. “Try to sit still, Becky. I’ll have you free in a minute.”

  The girl did her best, but trembled so badly Sophie couldn’t get a decent grip on the knots. The rope was thick and coarse, and the fibers scraped against her fingers.

  “Hurry, miss. My pa will be back any minute.” The girl’s terror infected Sophie, making her fingers clumsy and slow.

  “James,” she called softly. “I can’t untie these ropes.”

  The footman hurried over and dropped to one knee. He brushed Sophie’s hands aside and began pulling on the knots.

  “Hurry, hurry,” sobbed Becky.

  Sophie didn’t hear the creak of the door and the scrape of a boot until it was too late. As Becky looked up with a startled gasp, a massive fist crashed down and caught James in the temple. The footman collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  Sophie cried out as a swarthy man—demonic-looking in the fitful light—yanked her up from the floorboards. Cruel fingers bit deep into her arms, lifting her until her feet dangled off the floor.

  “Pa, don’t hurt the lady,” Becky wailed.

  “Shut your yap, girl,” he snarled.

  Sophie gazed into Taylor’s mud-colored eyes. Her breath seized in her lungs. If Simon didn’t arrive in short order, she would soon be dead. Or worse.

  Panic gave her strength, and she struggled to free herself from his punishing hold.

  “Let me down immediately,” she gasped, fighting to keep her voice strong. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

  Fear squeezed her heart as Taylor responded to her futile command with a taunting laugh.

  “And who might you be, little lady? Come to steal my Becky right out from under my nose, are you? Who sent you? Mrs. Cummings? That cow had her chance, but I wasn’t good enough for her fancy house. So she tries to steal my girl for her own customers.”

  He shook her so hard Sophie’s teeth chattered.

  “I have n-no idea what you’re talking about,” she stuttered.

  “Not likely.”

  “She don’t, Pa. I promise.” Becky gazed at Sophie, her eyes dead with despair. “Ma Cummings keeps a brothel on Little Corn Street. Pa tried to sell me to her, but she refused.”

  “Aye, she did. Too young, she said Becky was. Called me a pig for trying to get what I deserved. Now I know what her game was. Steal her away from me.”

  A pulse of fury rippled through Sophie’s body. “You’re mad,” she snarled into Taylor’s ugly face. “Put me down and let me take your daughter from this place, or I’ll see you swing from the gallows!”

  The big man lashed a blow across her face. Pain exploded through her skull. She struggled for breath, too stunned to cry out as sparks danced before her vision.

  “Pa!” shrieked Becky.

  “What’s happening in here?”

  Sophie tried to squint through the starbursts to see who had entered the room, but Taylor’s blow had knocked her glasses askew. He gave her another shake and dropped her to the floor. She fell hard on her bottom, groaning as pain lanced up her spine.

  “Jem, what are you doing?” The stern voice came from a woman who moved quickly to Taylor’s side.

  Sophie righted her glasses and peered at a woman both handsome and genteel looking, clad in a black, well-cut dress. Her glistening brown hair was pulled into a smooth chignon, and she had a sensible, calm-looking countenance.

  Thank God. Surely, this lady would help them.

  “Please, ma’am.” Sophie crawled over to put her arms around a trembling Becky. “I’ve come to take this girl away from here. Her father is about to sell her to one of those men out there. He must be stopped.”

  The woman arched her plucked brows and perused Sophie. Then she let out a husky peal of laughter.

  “Oh, miss,” moaned Becky. “That’s Mrs. Delacourt. She’s the abbess who’s going to sell me.”

  Sophie met the woman’s amused, callous gaze. A horrified chill began to seep through her veins.

  Oh, God. If Simon didn’t arrive soon they were done for.

  “What is your name, my dear?” Mrs. Delacourt asked in a voice as pleasant as if they had encountered each other in the Pump Room.

  “Sophie Stanton,” she managed to croak out.

  “Well, Miss Stanton, I don’t know why you”—she glanced down at James’s body—“and your friend want our Becky—”

  “She’s one of Cummings’s girls,” interrupted Taylor.

  Mrs. Delacourt frowned. “No. I know all her girls. And this one doesn’t have the look about her. Too innocent.”

  “I’m here to take Becky from this vile place,” Sophie said in sharp voice. “My fiancé
is the Earl of Trask. He will be here at any moment to rescue me. I would strongly suggest you let us go before that happens.”

  Mrs. Delacourt looked incredulous. “Surely, my dear, you don’t expect us to believe that Banbury tale. No respectable woman would ever set foot in The Silver Oak—much less sneak in through the back door. What kind of lord would allow his fiancée to run around town like a common trollop?”

  “Clara.”

  Sophie’s attention snapped back to Taylor. Amazingly, the color had leached from his ruddy face.

  “What now?” Mrs. Delacourt snapped.

  “The little bitch might be telling the truth.”

  Mrs. Delacourt went very still.

  “Trask was in here yesterday.” Taylor’s eyes shifted away from the madam’s sharp gaze. “He warned me not to hurt Becky. That’s why I thought we should go on with the auction right away. Get it over with before he came back.”

  A vein pulsed in the woman’s forehead. “And you’re telling me this now?” She reached down and flicked aside Sophie’s grey cloak, running an expert eye over the blue cambric gown that lay beneath. Dismay cut a harsh track across her face.

  “Lord Trask is on his way this moment.” Sophie couldn’t keep a small note of triumph from her voice.

  Mrs. Delacourt’s eyes narrowed to calculating slits as she studied Sophie’s face. For a moment she seemed to waver, but then a cunning smile pulled up the corners of her mouth.

  “I doubt it. You may be his fiancée, but I don’t believe he’d permit you to come down here with only a…well, a servant, by the looks of him. I suspect his lordship doesn’t even know you’re here. Still, you’re quite the little problem, aren’t you?”

  Sophie ignored the swell of fear in her belly. “I assure you—”

  “Shut your gob,” snarled Taylor. He looked at Mrs. Delacourt. “What do we do with them?”

  “Kill them,” she replied in a dispassionate voice.

  Sophie felt the floor drop out from under her.

  Taylor yelped. “Have you gone daft, woman? She’s quality!”

  “My point exactly. She’ll bring us down, Jem. Look what you’ve done to her face.”