His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Walking toward the Abbey whose spires rose into the sky, Phoebe grimaced as she recalled how silly her heart had been when Galen offered her that lovely necklace to wear. She had dared to believe his heart might have been touched by her as hers had been by him. Mayhap she should not have returned the jewelry as she did. Yet, how much easier it would have been if he had given the necklace and earrings to her only as a prelude to seduction.

  Mrs. Boyd had said last night that Galen adored her. That might be true, but he concerned himself first with keeping his brother out of trouble, and she should do the same, thinking solely of finding a way to continue her interrupted work.

  Phoebe strolled past the Pump Room, not pausing as she wandered through the curving streets of the city. Lost in her thoughts and wishing she could stumble upon an answer to solve all these problems, she paid little attention to the shopwindows she passed.

  She should return to London. Right away. Even if the rumors of Lady Midnight were sweeping through Town, she could take care that no one connected those tales with her.

  She sighed. Jasper was safe at Brackenton Park, but she knew Johnson remained at Grosvenor Square and was still worried about her safety. Her butler would have sent her a message to come back to London if he believed she would be safe in Town.

  The rumble of thunder intruded on Phoebe’s uneasy thoughts. Her steps faltered when she discovered that she did not know where she was or how she had gotten there. The houses were no less elegant than most of the buildings in Bath, but she was not sure where she was in the city. The terraced houses edging the walkway prevented her from seeing any landmarks.

  Lightning flashed across the darkening sky, and Phoebe turned to go back the way she had come, hoping she could reach the Pump Room before the storm arrived. She could wait there during the storm. Once the rain passed, she would return to Thistlewood Cottage. Then …

  “Oh!” she gasped when a man lurched toward her, blocking her way.

  He was dressed well, but from the reek coming from him, she guessed he had been giving a bottle of blue ruin a black eye. He stank worse than Carr had last night. She hoped he was not as aggravating. She tried to walk around him. He stepped directly into her path again.

  “Are you lost, darling?” His words fired a miasma of liquor-drenched breath at her.

  “I can find my way. Thank you.” Her fingers tightened on her parasol, but she closed it. Another clap of thunder warned that she would have been wiser to bring an umbrella. “If you will excuse me, I shall bid you a good day.”

  He took an uneven step toward her, and she backed away. With a drunken chuckle, he said, “There is no need to hurry away, darling. I will be certain that you are taken home after.”

  “After?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “After what?”

  His arm snaked around her waist. “After you give me a kiss, darling.”

  “I do not think so!” she retorted, irritated by his assumption that she would submit willingly. Raising her chin, she tried to hold his drunken stare. It kept sliding away, as if he could not endure for her to see how altogethery he was.

  “You do not think so?” He started to release her, then his hands gripped her shoulders painfully as she heard the astounding sound of laughter from behind her.

  She looked back to see two other men grinning drunkenly at her. With a smile of her own, she struck the man on the arm with her parasol. He yelped and released her. When his friends shouted, she fled as lightning flared through the afternoon sky. Pounding feet on the cobbles behind her told her that she was being chased. She must find somewhere to hide from these foxed fools. The pungent odor of the waters that came into the Pump Room grew stronger. She must be getting closer to it. Once she reached there, the members of the Polite World who were taking the waters would halt these scoundrels.

  Phoebe rushed down an alley and hid in the indentation behind a chimney. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, and each breath burned in her side. When the men raced past, she slumped back against the wall behind her. She counted to twenty to give the men time to be far along the street before she emerged.

  A triumphant bellow snapped her head to her left to see a man’s silhouette at the end of the alley. She pushed aside laundry that would soon be drenched and jumped over children’s toys. Coming to a dead end, she retraced her steps, hoping her pursuers had lost interest in following her when a storm was coming along the river. Her slippers became filthy as she rushed between the pale yellow walls, and she stopped wiping her loosened hair out of her eyes.

  She stepped out of a narrow alley and onto a street. She sighed when she saw the unmistakable lines of the Bath Abbey past several rows of houses. She was farther from Thistlewood Cottage than she had guessed. When a lightning bolt darted between two clouds, she cringed.

  “Come in before it storms,” called a soft alto voice.

  Phoebe saw a woman standing in the open door of a house to her left. “Thank you.” She rushed up the trio of steps and into an elegant foyer. It glistened with freshly polished wood and gilt on the walls. Overhead, the ceiling was painted with a pastoral scene. That tranquility vanished when light flashed into the entry followed almost immediately by thunder that shook the house.

  “Close the door, Leonard,” the woman said, motioning to a footman as rain pelted the floor. The woman’s finely carved features matched the graciousness of her home. Silver in her blond hair flattered her youthful face. Full curves were visible above the dress which dipped unfashionably low across her bosom. “You arrived just in time, young lady.”

  “I appreciate your kindness to a stranger.” Phoebe smiled.

  “We are accustomed to offering a welcome to strangers here.” She laughed and glanced toward a wide doorway opposite the stairs. A half-dozen women were arranged in a lovely tableau on settees in the grand room.

  “I did not mean to intrude on your callers.”

  “These? They are not my callers. They live here.”

  Phoebe could not pull her gaze away from the magnificent room. The women had hair of every shade from as dark as Galen’s to sunset red. Two were quite short, but the rest were tall. There was little resemblance between any of them, except that they had chosen gowns very similar to the one worn by the woman here in the foyer.

  Realizing the woman was watching her closely, Phoebe said, “Forgive me. I did not mean to be rude.”

  “Rude?”

  “To be staring so.”

  “We are not a family, if that is what you find baffling.” The woman chuckled again. “I suspect from your puzzlement that you are not looking for anything but shelter.”

  “Yes.”

  “That is what I feared.”

  “Feared?” She turned to the door. The men who had chased her were not visible through the frosted glass. “May I ask what else you would think I might be seeking here?”

  “Work.”

  “Work?” Thunder shook the house again, and a horrible sense of foreboding struck Phoebe as she saw the woman’s smile broaden.

  “I have a full household, as you can see, but I would be willing to take on a girl as lovely as you. My patrons like freshness.”

  “Pardon me?” Her breath caught in her throat. This was not sanctuary. This must be a brothel. Backing toward the door, she bumped into a bushy plant in a large container. “I appreciate your kindness, but you are clearly busy, so I should take my leave.”

  Phoebe threw open the door. Thunder boomed, and rain scattered across the cobbled street. The footman mumbled an apology before closing the door again.

  “There is no need to be so shy,” the woman said, putting her hand on Phoebe’s arm. “I see you are not looking for a place in my house. What a pity! With your beauty, you soon would be a favorite here.”

  Knowing she was blushing, Phoebe squared her shoulders. She had seen harlots on the docks in London, but she had never thought she would be speaking to a Cyprian here in Bath. If she had been able to confront the low life on the docks, she s
hould be able to handle this situation with aplomb. Mayhap she had never learned how to address a harlot, but she would not be discourteous.

  “May I ask you to call me a chair?” Phoebe kept her fingers tightly around the handle of her parasol. Mayhap then no one would take note of how they trembled.

  “It will not be easy to obtain a chair until the weather clears.” The woman smiled. “I am Sandra Raymond, and this is my house. What is your name?”

  “Lady Phoebe Brackenton.”

  “Lady?” Her laugh filled the foyer. “You are obviously not accustomed to being in a place like this. Mayhap I should send a boy to have someone come to escort you home. That would be much quicker than trying to get one of those lazy lads to come out in the rain.”

  Phoebe nodded, increasingly uncomfortable. She had never guessed that anyone in a brothel would behave with such grace. However, she had to own that she had never given any consideration to what the residents of such a place would be like.

  “Tell me to whom I should send the message,” Miss Raymond said, her smile still warm.

  Phoebe did not hesitate. If she knew Lord Windham better, she would send for him. Mr. Lyttle would come, but the gabble-grinding man might not be able to keep the story of this rescue to himself. She had no idea what street they lived on. That left only one other person. The person she had learned to count on coming to her rescue when she needed a friend who could keep a secret. She could not worry that their most recent words had been spoken in anger.

  “Galen Townsend,” Phoebe replied. “He is staying at—”

  Miss Raymond’s smile grew very wide. “I know where Lord Townsend is staying in Bath.” She gave Phoebe an assessing look. “So you are the woman who has stolen Lord Townsend’s heart.”

  “Stolen his heart?” She wanted to ask how Miss Raymond knew that. How fanciful could she be? She had not stolen Galen’s heart.

  “Not that I should be surprised. Trust Lord Townsend to choose the prettiest lady to come to Bath in years.”

  “You know Galen? I mean—” She stopped, embarrassed.

  Miss Raymond reached for a bellpull. “I hope you do not feel as uneasy as you look, Lady Phoebe. I shall tell you the truth about Lord Townsend and me. Then you shall not need to fret that he has been unfaithful. I understand some women can be very jealous.”

  “I am not jealous of anything about Galen.” She forced her fingers to loosen on the parasol so Miss Raymond would not guess how she was lying. Telling tales seemed to be getting more difficult with each one she spoke. “It is not my place to be.” Sudden tears filled her eyes. After the argument with Galen, she truly had no reason to have anything to do with his private life, especially with his life in this brothel. She looked around herself and shivered even as grief pulsed through her.

  “Let me lay any fears you might have to rest, my lady. Lord Townsend and I have had a long relationship, because of his brother.”

  “Brother?”

  “Carr Townsend is a very dear friend.” She laughed. “Last night, during his most recent call, he mentioned that Lord Townsend had encountered a woman who may well have done what no other had.”

  “Done?” Phoebe was unsettled to discover she had been the focus of gossip in this brothel.

  “Surely you must know that, before now, no other woman has convinced Lord Townsend to fall in love with her.” She turned to a young girl dressed in a prim dress and apron. “Lois, tell Herb to go to Lord Townsend’s house.” She went to a nearby table and pulled out a drawer. Writing quickly on a small slip of paper, she added, “Make sure Herb understands this message is to go directly into Lord Townsend’s hand. No one else.”

  “Yes, Miss Raymond.” The girl took it and rushed away.

  “My lady,” Miss Raymond continued, “Lord Townsend is certain to come as soon as he receives the message, but you must understand that I am expecting other callers.”

  “I can wait … somewhere.” She glanced at the windows where rain splattered.

  “Of course. I have a small room upstairs where you may stay out of sight until Lord Townsend can send a carriage for you.” Miss Raymond chuckled. “To own the truth, my lady, I am pleased you have no interest in offering me competition. If my patrons were to see you here, I daresay they would be disappointed with my girls.” Her nose wrinkled. “Even when you are so disheveled.”

  Phoebe put her hand up to her hair. It was cascading from her bonnet and down over her shoulders. Seeing her reflection in a pier glass set by the parlor door, she wanted to gasp in horror. It was a wonder that Miss Raymond had opened her door to her instead of letting her remain outside to continue her vagabond ways.

  “What happened to you?” Miss Raymond’s voice remained sympathetic.

  “A drunken lout waylaid me. When I informed him that I did not want his kisses, he and his companions were quite rude.”

  Miss Raymond’s expression became grim. “There are too many rakes who believe a woman walking alone must be interested in their company. You were fortunate to avoid these rogues, Lady Phoebe.” Her smile returned. “If you will come with me, you can wait upstairs.”

  Phoebe started to follow, then faltered. She might risk her reputation by going deeper into this house. If her reputation was blemished, she could find herself unwelcome among the ton in London. Then it would be so difficult to create an alibi for herself so she could help the poor unfortunates who should not be banished to the far side of the world.

  “My lady?” asked Miss Raymond, motioning again to the stairs.

  “I shouldn’t!” Realizing she sounded ungrateful when Miss Raymond wished only to help her, she added, “I believe it would be simpler for me to wait in the kitchen or some other place which is out of the way.”

  Again Miss Raymond’s laugh billowed through the foyer. “Do not fret. No one shall learn that you took refuge here but Lord Townsend. However, if you stay here on the ground floor, I can assure you that plenty of my callers will see you.”

  A knock on the door seconded Miss Raymond’s warning. Grasping her skirt, Phoebe rushed up the stairs in Miss Raymond’s wake. She looked back, but the footman did not open the door. As she reached the shadows that were draped like fine netting through the upper hall, she heard the footman greet a man whose name she instantly recognized.

  “You must forget what you might chance to overhear here,” Miss Raymond murmured. “That is the first rule of this demimonde you have entered.”

  “I shall.” Phoebe doubted if she had ever told a more blatant lie. Although she would like to put every ignoble moment out of her mind forever, she suspected she would never be able to forget any of this.

  She followed Miss Raymond into a sparsely furnished room. None of the richness of downstairs was here. However, when lightning flashed, she saw the wood floors were well polished, and a single painting eased the emptiness of the walls. The room contained a chest, a single wooden chair, and a narrow bed.

  Phoebe choked and turned back to the door before the thunder resounded along the street, sending rain more fiercely against the room’s sole window.

  Miss Raymond put a hand on her arm. “What is wrong, my lady?”

  “I cannot stay here!” Phoebe cried.

  “Do not fret,” she said again. “This room is not where a patron would be entertained. One of the maids sleeps here.” She swept out a hand. “I would not take you to one of my girl’s rooms. Goodness, do you always blush so much?”

  “Only when I am in a brothel.”

  Miss Raymond stared at Phoebe, then laughed again. “Now I understand why you have distressed Carr so much. He prefers his women without a hint of astuteness.”

  “I thought you said he was a friend of yours.”

  “How gracious you are, my lady, to think of my feelings. Carr Townsend accepts my intelligence with some reluctance because he knows he must to be welcomed here.”

  Despite the fact that Sandra Raymond could guarantee her ruin, Phoebe appreciated the kindness of this br
ash woman who was trying to make her comfortable in this whole absurd situation. “It seems that you have convinced him to heed good sense.”

  “As much as one can, I suspect.” She did not pause as she added, “Why don’t you rest, Lady Phoebe? When Lord Townsend arrives, I shall send him directly up to you. I will be busy with my patrons by then, so allow me to say good-bye now.”

  “Thank you so much.” She was not certain what else she could—or should—say. No lessons in etiquette had prepared her for this.

  “No need for gratitude, my lady. Just one thing.” She paused in the doorway and said with studied nonchalance, “If you decide you do not want Lord Townsend, do send him to me. His brother’s stories of him intrigue me greatly.” She winked and closed the door before Phoebe could respond to such an outrageous comment.

  Sitting in the chair by the window, Phoebe let a smile spread slowly across her face. Galen was sure to be shocked when he received the message to come here to retrieve one errant Phoebe Brackenton.

  She hoped he would not ignore her call for help.

  Twelve

  The nearly spent candle threw distorted shadows on the walls when a gentle kiss roused Phoebe. A soft smile parted her lips as she looked up into Galen’s face, which warmed her dreams each night. She brought him closer. When his arm swept beneath her, lifting her against his strong chest, she welcomed his beguiling lips. Something creaked softly as he pressed closer to her. Scintillating sparks burst from his fingers where he caressed her back.

  “You came for me, Galen,” she murmured as his mouth traced the pulse along her neck.

  His laugh rumbled through her as the thunder had, dangerous, yet exciting. “Did you think I would be unable to resist the invitation to call on the virtuous Phoebe Brackenton at a brothel?”

  “Galen!”

  His smile broadened as his gaze raked her face with unfettered desire. “What? Are you telling me that you are a reluctant harlot? If you choose to meet me at Sandra Raymond’s house, you are supposed to give me pleasure, not problems.”