Oh, that was a cruel barb! Her pride would not let her show how he had wounded her. “You have friends with tender sensibilities? Faith, I hadn’t noticed. I thought they were all like you.”
“One of them, at least, proved tender enough. I buried him today, Bella, thanks to you. Or had you forgotten so soon?”
Her stomach twisted and she winced. Guilt? She still could not think of anything she’d said or done that could have driven Mr. McPherson to suicide. A kiss, and nothing more. And yet, even though he’d been angry with her when last they’d met, he’d left that damning note. She tightened her jaw and lifted her chin. “No, I have not forgotten. But I cannot believe, that is…”
“Whether you believe it or not, it is so.”
“Is this your typically subtle way of asking me to leave, Mr. Hunter?”
“Astute of you, Bella.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Do you think I give a damn about that, m’dear?”
“Please…”
“I will cease when you give me something else to call you. Tell me your name.”
“So that you can ruin my entire family?”
“We’ve never spoken about your family, Bella. I gather the young women I saw you with in St. James’s Park were your sisters?”
There was an implied threat in those words, and she shivered in the night air. “Please, they do not know anything about what I have been doing. They are blameless. Would you be so unkind as to ruin them because of something I have done?”
He grinned, and there was nothing gentle in the gesture. His answer was clear. He would not hesitate to use her family to exact his vengeance for Mr. McPherson. Well, in that, at least, they were alike. She would not let Andrew Hunter prevent her from obtaining justice for Cora.
“Very well,” she began. “At least now we understand each other, do we not?”
“We do not. You have yet to tell me what your game is. What, precisely, do you hope to accomplish by cutting through the ton, gathering kisses here and there? And do not give me that twaddle about finding the right man.”
Damn him! “Then I am trying to find the wrong man.”
He seized her shoulders and gave her a sharp shake. “Damn you, Bella!”
Oh, they were more alike than he could ever guess—each damning the other and determined to have their own way! “Would it make a difference if you knew?”
“Probably not.”
“Then release me and be warned. Public places do not belong to you, Mr. Hunter. I shall go wherever I want, and you will not interfere.”
A dangerous glint in his dark eyes warned her she had gone too far. “Did the events at Thackery’s not teach you to use caution in challenging me?”
She felt the heat sweep her from head to toe and prayed that he could not read minds. If he but knew it, she would challenge him again and again if he would do to her what he’d done last night.
“How maidenly that you can muster a blush after all you’ve done,” he said in a tone that sent a chill through her. “Now be gone, Bella, or you will pay for it.”
She glanced around and noted that they were drawing attention. As desperate as she was to continue her quest, as short as time had grown for her because of Lady V.’s arrival, she could ill afford to draw unwarranted attention and make herself more recognizable to people she might encounter at one of her sponsor’s events. She would have to let Mr. Hunter win this one.
She gave him a wilting glance and turned away, praying a brisk walk home would diffuse her anger at the man.
Seething, Andrew returned to his sister and brother-in-law. “Sorry for the delay. I am afraid I must beg off tonight. Something has come up.”
Ethan Travis, his brother-in-law, grinned. “So I saw. Something quite pressing, I gather.”
His sister, Sarah, nudged him. “Do not tease him, Ethan, or he may decide to forgo his plans. You know how desperate I am to find him a bride. Why, I had tea with Lady Vandecamp this afternoon. She is sponsoring three young ladies from Belfast this season, and I asked if she would introduce Andrew, Charles and James. She refused!” She paused and nodded at Andrew’s astonishment. “Yes. She said that, unless I could vow that they’d mended their wicked ways, she would not consider it. So I ask you, if we cannot entice young ladies from out of town, how can we hope to find willing Londoners to trust their daughters to my brothers? Why, even Lockwood had to go to the Caribbean to find a bride.”
Ethan laughed and Andrew frowned at him. In truth, he had never given any thought to taking a wife. Since his return from Spain, he’d spent his entire existence trying to forget the war, and he hadn’t met a single woman who’d turned his mind to marriage or even engaged his interest for more than a brief affair. Quite sobering, now, to realize he’d squandered his chance to find a suitable miss.
But now he didn’t want a suitable miss. He glanced down the street toward the shrinking figure of Bella. No, not suitable at all, but he wanted her with a keen edge he hadn’t felt since his first love.
He kissed his sister on the cheek and backed away. “Sorry. Another time, perhaps.” Ethan’s laughter followed him down the stairs. Would he laugh if he knew what Andrew was really up to?
Keeping a comfortable distance, he followed Bella. This time, he’d find out where she lived. Perhaps he’d knock on her door tomorrow at teatime, just to see her expression.
But, if he were to be honest, he was simply curious. She guarded her privacy so determinedly that the mystery surrounding her only added to her allure. If he could uncover that, perhaps he could stop obsessing about her. Yes, obsessing. He could admit that much to himself. Bella had reached an undeserved status with him, and he wanted to bring her down to human level.
He quickened his step as she turned on Cockspur Street and continued at a brisk pace. He nearly missed her when she veered down a narrow path leading to the Parade Grounds. Did she intend to cut through one of the walks that bordered the canal?
The evening was still early enough that several couples strolled with children scampering around them while groups of revelers on their way to entertainments passed them. Andrew easily blended in when Bella checked over her shoulder before choosing the southwest path toward the Bird Cage Walk on the south side of the canal.
She was easy to follow—either too inexperienced to notice him, or too preoccupied to suspect that she might be followed. Nevertheless, he moved into the shadows at the edge of the walk until she came to an exit on William Street. From there, she turned right on James Street and her pace slowed. She had either tired or was close to home.
At last she stopped. Her shoulders drooped and she took a deep breath before crossing the street to a respectable town house with an excellent view of St. James Park. What business could she have there? He expected her to knock and be turned away, but once on the stoop, she fished in her reticule, withdrew a key and let herself in. This was where Bella lived? Why had he been so certain she would reside in a poor neighborhood or in some squalid rooming house? The chit must be doing quite well for herself.
He was about to retrace his steps when he saw a light come on in an upper window. A moment later Bella’s silhouette moved across the lace curtain. The sight drew him across the street to stand beneath her open window. Muted feminine voices carried on a brief conversation. Her abbess demanding to know why she’d come home with no coins?
He caught a few words—a gasped No! and then a querulous tone demanding What now? He recognized the sound of Bella’s voice, though could not make out her words. She sounded tired and…sad. On the verge of tears. She moved closer to the window and her words became clearer.
“Go to bed, Gina. An early night will do us both good. I will find a way to make up the lost time. Perhaps tomorrow, after the dinner party, I can…” Her voice faded as she turned away from the window.
Gina. One of the girls who’d accompanied Bella on their walk through the park. He heard the sound of a door closing and then utter sil
ence. He waited another minute or two, watching the silhouette as she removed the pins from her hair and shook it out. He could almost see the warm lengths threaded through with golden red spilling over her shoulders and down her back. An ache began to grow in his middle.
But then he heard a muffled choking. No, crying. He narrowed his eyes as if he could look through walls. Why should the prospect of Bella crying trouble him when he’d done his best to cause it? And why had she never shown him any of this tender sensibility?
Good God! What was wrong with him? He was no lovesick pup in the throes of first love. He was a man filled with self-loathing for wasting his time with a lightskirt when he should be about critical business.
And with that thought, he crossed the street and hailed a coach. The rookeries of Whitechapel were calling him.
When Lord Wycliffe had asked him to keep an ear out, Andrew had assumed it was his familiarity with the rakehells and rogues of London that Wycliffe wanted to tap. But after half a week, Andrew knew that was fruitless. If anyone knew anything, they were not talking. But rape and ritual sacrifice were not the exclusive activities of the idle rich. It would not take a leap to connect such things to the criminal element of London. A man capable of killing to steal a man’s purse could easily be capable of killing for such abstract reasons as religion or perverse pleasure.
Yes, his reputation made him valuable to Wycliffe. And now that Wycliffe had given him sanction to do more, he would explore his other field of proficiency. He was known and trusted in even the worst rookeries surrounding the city. His reputation for discretion and his appetite for the low life had earned him the confidence of the underworld. They knew who he was and that they had nothing to fear from him.
He was one of them, if not in criminal pursuits, then in the pursuit of pleasure and novelty. And he was known to pay well for them. Yes, these men knew he would not betray them to the charleys. And they’d find him anything for the coins it would bring them.
He waved his coach on when he stepped down at a nameless gin house on Petticoat Lane. This was no neighborhood to draw attention with a waiting coach. The sound of coarse laughter and shouts carried into the street and Andrew knew there would be fights as the night wore on.
The place quieted when he walked in, then the volume resumed. Most of these men knew him. He went to the bar and nodded to the keeper. As if by magic, a glass of whiskey appeared. He never drank the rotgut gin—it was as likely to kill you as get you drunk.
A man known as Hank came to stand next to Andrew, his back to the barroom. “What you lookin’ for tonight, gov’nor?”
“Something new, Hank. Know where I can find it?”
The man laughed. “What’s new for one man, ain’t for ’nother. What’s yer idea of new?”
Andrew sipped his whiskey and pondered the question. Subtlety had gotten him nowhere thus far. And yet, he was not quite ready to raise an alarm. Wycliffe had wanted to avoid that at all costs. He regarded Hank through the smoke-filled gloom. “Give me some choices, Hank. I will know it when I hear it.”
“There’s a cockfight—”
“New, Hank.”
“I heard that on the other side of the East India Warehouses, someone’s brought in a bear. If you hurry—”
“A dancing bear?”
Hank looked startled and then laughed. “Love ye, no, gov’nor. A bear for baitin’. There’ll be all manner of dogs. Plenty o’blood.”
Andrew hid his disgust. This, at least, was closer to his search. “I am not averse to blood, Hank, but I’ll leave the bears to someone else.”
“Aye? What sort o’ blood do ye fancy?”
He shrugged and raised an eyebrow.
The man’s eyes widened. “’Ere now, gov’nor. We don’t see that too often, we don’t. Rare as hen’s teeth. And if I was to ’ear of somethin’, I’d ’ave a care who I told it to.”
Andrew jingled a few coins in his waistcoat pocket.
“Well…I ’ave ’eard whispers.” The man leaned closer. “But it’s all on the hush.”
Andrew liberated a few coins from his pocket and dropped them on the bar. They were snatched away before they could stop spinning.
“I’ll ask around. Where’ll I find ye?”
“I’ll be here tomorrow night, Hank. Same time. And do not think you’ll get more coin without an answer.”
He gave Andrew a gap-toothed grin and a nod and headed for the door.
Returning his attention to his whisky, Andrew marveled at the ease with which that had been done. He’d expected Hank to demur, say he’d never heard of the like and go away. But London was a town that offered anything the human heart could imagine, no matter how dark or twisted.
He should go home and make an early night of it—especially since tomorrow could last long into the wee hours, depending upon what Hank brought him—but he felt restless.
There it was again, that yearning to feel. To experience something. To fill the void where his heart and humanity had been. He tossed off the rest of his whiskey and headed for the door. There were hundreds of gin houses in the rookeries. Maybe he’d learn something at one of them.
Andrew heard Jamie’s voice before he saw him. What was his brother doing in Whitechapel? He pressed his way through the crowd toward the voice and found Jamie, Dash and Henley sitting around a small table facing two rough-looking longshoremen. Empty tankards were stacked in two crooked columns and Jamie was just adding one to the pile in front of him. Dash and Henley clapped him on the back, added another shilling to a pile of coins and looked expectantly at the longshoremen.
“Come, gentlemen!” Jamie cajoled. “Can you not tell I am near to passing out?”
A hoot of laughter went up and the longshoremen threw another shilling on the pile with begrudging respect.
The barkeeper, identifiable by his soiled apron, brought two more tankards and slapped Jamie on the back. “Never saw a toff ’oo could swill gin like a longshoreman. You sure you ain’t from Liverpool?”
Jamie emptied the tankard in three lusty swallows and laughed again. “Why, my skinny little sister could drink these men unconscious.”
Andrew winced. Jamie did not sound foxed, but his words were ill-advised in a place like this.
The man with the tankards in front of him began to stand, his hands fisted at his sides.
“’Ere now, laddie,” his companion said, pushing him back into his chair with a hand on his shoulder. To Jamie, he added, “’Tain’t nice for ye to be tauntin’ me boy like that.”
“He’s a boy, all right,” Henley crowed. “Bring us a man if you want to see Hunter do some serious drinking.”
That, apparently, was one taunt too many for the longshoremen. The drinker came to his feet again, overturning the table in his haste, and swung one meaty fist at Henley, sending him reeling backward into the jeering crowd.
Jamie muttered, “Damn!” under his breath as he got unsteadily to his feet. The drunken longshoreman swung at Jamie now, and whirled around when he failed to make contact. Jamie had ducked the punch and was laughing. A tactical error.
Now both longshoremen rushed Jamie, and there was nothing for Drew but to wade in. He found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Dash, taking on the longshoremen and their friends. One lunged at Jamie and they both toppled backward onto the plank floor.
Andrew lost track of Henley, but from the sound of breaking chairs behind him, Henley was holding his own. Jamie, however, was not faring so well. One longshoreman held him down while the other drew back his arm to deliver a knockout punch. Andrew intercepted the man’s fist and delivered a punch of his own. In the next moment he was fending off three men who all seemed to want to break his nose.
“Get up, for God’s sake!” he shouted at Jamie over the commotion. Lying on the floor, his brother would be stomped to death in the melee. The fight was promising to escalate into a riot within a few minutes. Dash appeared and dragged Jamie to his feet as Andrew held the longshoremen off.
&n
bsp; “My winnings!” Jamie shouted, starting to bend over to scrape the shillings off the floor.
“Get him out of here,” he yelled at Dash as he swung at a man intent on targeting Jamie.
His opponent on the floor for the moment, Andrew looked around for Henley. Everyone in the gin house was engaged in mayhem. Henley was swinging wildly, hitting nothing, one eye swollen nearly closed, and two men circled him, looking for an opening. Thankfully, Henley and the men were damn near as drunk as Jamie, and Andrew put them down in quick order.
He tossed Henley over his shoulder and made for the door. But the fight, too, had spilled onto the narrow street. Dash had leaned Jamie against the neighboring building and was thrashing a man soundly. A cursory glance told Andrew that Jamie had suffered no lasting harm, and he dumped Henley beside him.
“Stay put,” he told them as he turned to extricate Dash.
But Dash did not want or need Andrew’s help. He laid the man out with a powerful upper cut. The man reeled back against the building, cracking his head against the brick, then slid down the length of the wall, his head lolling to one side. Dash kicked him for good measure, then grasped a handful of his hair to hold him steady for another punch. Something unholy lit Dash’s dark eyes and Andrew caught his breath. He’d seen that look before in Valle del Fuego. If he didn’t stop him…
“Come away,” he shouted, trying to penetrate Dash’s concentration.
The longshoreman was unconscious, completely defenseless, and his face looked like raw meat. Andrew gripped Dash’s shoulder, then ducked when Dash rounded on him.
“Daschel! It’s me! Hunter!”
A tenuous sanity returned to Dash’s eyes and he dropped his hands. “What…”
Two more men erupted from the gin house, tumbling into the street with the barkeeper behind them, shaking one huge fist. “And don’t ye come back! None of ye, d’ye hear?”
Suddenly Dash laughed. “Good God! Now we’re getting thrown out of gin houses. Can we sink any lower?”
Andrew laughed, too, partly in relief that Dash was himself again, and partly because the fight was over and they’d all escaped with life and limb intact. “Shall we collect our friends and be off?”
Lord Libertine Page 10
