by Alyson Chase
“Notes to help me run my business better.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Madame Sable stalked back to her seat and sank down.
“And the quid amounts?” Julius asked. “I know the fees here are much greater than those amounts. But still a nice cut for doling out information to blackmailers.” He tapped a crystal dangling from the sconce of a gas lamp and watched it swing. “Did you need the money? I thought this club was more than profitable.”
“The Black Rose is extremely profitable. And your accusations couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” Julius came to Amanda and put a hand at her waist. “And unfortunately for you, the men I work with will take my suspicions as fact. Life is about to become very unpleasant for you. Unless you cooperate.”
The woman sniffed. “You work for the government, I assume. Those aren’t the men who scare me.”
“Then you haven’t been properly introduced.” With firm pressure, Julius guided Amanda to the door. “Sutton will be more than happy to show you just who you’re dealing with.”
Amanda saw the woman shrink away from Sutton as Julius closed the door. The baron’s broad back blocked her view of the proprietress just as the door clicked shut. Gripping her elbow, Julius hustled her down the stairs.
“But we can’t just leave them.” Amanda turned at the foot of the staircase and tried to push back up. Julius tucked an arm under her cloak and banded her waist. He all but carried her into the main room.
“Sutton won’t harm her. Not truly.” He found an empty settee along the wall. “But she needs to believe he will, and if we are in the room, the illusion will be harder to sell.” He pressed her down into the red silk cushion. “And she doesn’t deserve your sympathy. She’s responsible for hurting many people.”
“So you think. She has yet to be convicted of it in a court.” Not that the courts had done Amanda much good. But her sense of justice demanded fair play for those suspected of wrongdoing, even if she was nearly certain they were guilty. Especially then.
The hard lines of Julius’s face softened. He crouched before her. “As I said, no true harm will come to the woman. But she has information we need. Information that could save lives. We need to let Sutton work.” He rubbed the skirts above her knee. “And you and Madame Sable are not of a kind.”
Amanda laughed, the sound harsh, grating. “I’ve killed. You accuse her only of selling private information. Her alleged crime doesn’t compare.”
Frowning, he stood and plucked a column of champagne off the nearest serving girl’s tray. He pressed it into her hand. “You’re right. There is no comparison. You acted in self-defense. She acts from greed.”
“That still doesn’t mean she should be …” Amanda cleared her throat. “Are you certain your friend won’t hurt her?”
“I’m certain,” he said. “But if it will ease your mind, I’ll go back upstairs and ensure the situation hasn’t gotten out of hand.”
She nodded slowly. She didn’t want to be in the club without him, but her worry over the madam’s well-being overrode her nerves.
“Any other concerns before I leave?”
“Yes. One.” Amanda tilted her head. “Why did Sutton laugh when you introduced me as Mrs. Matthew Walker? Is that another friend of yours?”
“No.” The edges of his lips tipped up. He leaned into her space, his breath hot against her lips. “A Matthew Walker is a type of knot. Not of much use for binding a woman, but lovely just the same. He is all too familiar with my predilections. Now”—he tucked her cloak securely about her—“will you be all right sitting here alone?”
Rolling the stem of the wine glass between her fingers, she swallowed. “I’ll be fine,” she lied.
With a curt nod, he strode for the stairs.
Adjusting her mask, Amanda examined the room. A young woman sat on a man’s lap across on an opposite settee, but other than that the scene appeared almost respectable. But very crowded. She fixed her gaze on a chandelier, trying to block out the rest of the room. Julius would be back soon and then they could go home. She’d had quite the adventure, but now she wanted the comfort of her own bed.
Her gaze drifted to the stairwell Julius had entered. Any moment now he’d return. A portly man leaning against the far wall, raised his glass to her, and winked. She tucked her cloak more tightly around her, grateful now for the warmth. Mouth dry, she tossed back a swallow of champagne and looked back at the ceiling. There were an awful lot of candles in the chandelier. Perhaps if she started counting them …
Raucous laughter made her drop her gaze. The couple across from her had begun a playful tussle on their settee. A man stepped from the hallway to her right, adjusting his cravat. A tall, cadaverous man with light brown hair and a thin mustache. Her heart knocked against the corset. There had to be many men who met Dawnley’s description of his blackmailer. Men so slender that they appeared like scarecrows. Men with that unfashionable facial hair. Men who frequented the very club Dawnley had been taken to. The tall man headed for the front door, stopping only when a serving girl put a hand on his arm and gave him a coy smile.
Amanda closed her eyes. What were the odds of all of that being a coincidence? Glancing at the stairs, she willed Julius to appear. He didn’t. Downing half of her champagne, she plopped the glass down on a side table and pushed to her feet. She took a step towards the stairs.
The serving girl dipped a curtsy, giving the man a nice view down her dress, and moved on with her tray of drinks. Tall man headed for the door.
Her head throbbed and indecision made her feet feel like lead. Julius wouldn’t want her interrupting whatever was happening upstairs, but he wanted this man. And if she did run upstairs, chances were the tall man would have disappeared before Julius could follow.
A party of gentlemen gathered in front of the entrance to Madame Sable’s chambers, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, singing drunkenly. And the portly man who had caught her eye earlier fixed her in his sight and headed her way.
Amanda changed direction. The path of least resistance led her to the front door. Her decision was made. Follow the tall man and report back to Julius. But by the time the footman opened the front door for her, the man was nowhere in sight. Despite the cold air swirling around her, sweat rolled down her back. The wide expanse of London surrounded her, crushing in upon her. And at her back was a room full of strangers eager for an intrigue. Both options daunted her, but only one would help Julius. She didn’t know if it was her fear, the corset, or the London fog, but knowing what she had to do she suddenly found it quite difficult to breathe.
She forced herself to inhale slowly, the bitter air abrading the back of her throat. She inched her slipper towards the first step. Shuddered when her heel hit the next. There were only two stairs. She could make it.
The swirl of a greatcoat disappearing into shadow made it easier to push through her dread. Her quarry was within sight. She couldn’t tell Julius she’d lost him because she’d been too frightened to walk out of doors. She tugged the hood of the cloak over her head. Besides, no one could recognize her.
She scurried up the street, her breaths seeming unnaturally loud in the still night. The cross street a block up was an explosion of carriages and horses, but this side street was a quiet haven. The man strode to a parked coach and waited for the driver to open the door.
Amanda bit her lip in dismay. She was going to lose him. She took in every detail of the coach as it rolled away, its gold coat of arms gleaming under the gas lamps when it hit the main street. She raced after it to the corner, pressing her hand to her side, out of breath. If she could have just—
A shoulder knocked into hers, its owner hustling down the street, not bothering with an apology. As if the contact had knocked off a blindfold, the sights of the rest of the street crashed over Amanda. She lost sight of the gold-crested coach, but twenty other carriages took its place. Pedestrians swirled around her, so fast they made her dizzy. And gas lamps hanging f
rom posts made the street so bright she could have sworn she felt the heat from each flame.
Amanda stepped back, onto someone’s foot, and earned a snarl. She spun to apologize, but the man was already twenty paces away. A shout from the street had her twisting back. Two drivers argued from their high perches, one cracking his whip over the other driver, he in turn yelling with indignation. A horse whinnied, and twenty other drivers hollered at the blockage.
Heart pounding in her throat, Amanda grabbed her ears between her palms. The sounds still bled through. She was surrounded, lost in a crush of people, no clear avenue of escape. Bile crept up her throat, burning. Her body was rooted to the spot even as her mind screamed at her to move.
Almost like she was climbing a step, she lifted one slipper high, forced it forward and down. One step closer to her quiet street. One step closer to Julius. Why had she ever left his club?
The sound of wood ramming into wood broke behind her, but Amanda refused to turn. She lifted her other foot. Sweat beaded her skin, and the feathers of her mask stuck to her cheeks. She focused on the mouth of the side street, her vision tunneling to its dark entrance. Everything would be all right if she could just make it back to that street.
She was close. Just a few steps away. Another pedestrian jostled her as he rushed past, knocking her hood back. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. She could see lights from the front of The Black Rose. They seemed a thousand miles away. She focused on those torches, the rest of the world fading to black. As long as she kept lifting her feet and heading towards those lights, everything would be all right.
A man stepped into her path, making her lights disappear. He smiled, opened his mouth to speak, but it was like watching a pantomime. No sounds reached Amanda’s ears over the rush of blood. She tried to sidestep around him, to catch sight of her beacons again, but he moved with her, a cocky grin on his face.
It didn’t matter. She had nothing left in her. It took all of her energy to merely remain standing. London swirled around her like a cyclone, and she was a fool to think she could withstand the storm.
The man in front of her pointed at her mask, tossing his head back in a soundless laugh. His teeth caught the glow from a gas lamp, and Amanda’s gaze fixed on that slight shimmer. If she could just keep one light in focus, perhaps she could keep the encroaching blackness at bay. The man closed his mouth, and her lodestar blinked out.
The world swept sideways. As she fell, Amanda felt each beat of her heart pounding faster and faster until she thought the organ must explode. And when her head hit the sidewalk, blissfully, she thought no more.
Chapter Eleven
Julius left Sutton to wait for Liverpool’s men. Where they would stow Madame Sable until their investigation into the blackmail ring concluded, he could only guess. But a trial wasn’t in the woman’s immediate future. If ever.
Standing at the bottom stair, he looked around the main room at all the members. How many of them were secretly being blackmailed? For how many had this sanctity been turned into a hunting ground? The Black Rose was a refuge for those who couldn’t find their tastes met elsewhere. It would be a shame if it closed.
Sutton had said he knew someone who could manage the club while their investigation continued. The proprietress would leave a letter to her attorney explaining the need for her hurried departure and that she’d asked her friend to run the business in her absence.
Julius eyed the constant stream of drinks delivered to the patrons, the skillfully trained lady-birds flirting with the men, the orderly management of the back rooms. Madame Sable’s faults notwithstanding, the woman was a brilliant businesswoman. He didn’t see how Sutton’s replacement could compare.
He straightened his cravat. Not his problem. His problem, his investigation, was now one step closer to being solved since Madame Sable had agreed to cooperate. He was free to take Amanda home, relax, and put off until tomorrow the bother of his duty.
He drummed his fingers against his thigh. The only flaw with that plan was that Amanda was no longer sitting on the settee he’d placed her upon.
With a frown, he searched the room. She wasn’t there. Would she have gone into another back room? He knew she was curious but thought her insecurities would have kept her seated. He eyed the long row of closed doors that lined the back hall. Impatient, he grabbed the elbow of a passing serving girl.
“The woman I was with. Did you see her go into any of the rooms?” he asked.
The chit shook her head but raised a finger and brought the footman over. Julius repeated his question.
“Not into one of the rooms, m’lord.” The man jerked his chin towards the front. “She left. I held the door open for her.”
“You what?” Julius’s voice was a low growl. There was no bloody way Amanda would leave on her own accord.
The footman fell back a step. “Yes …” He cleared his throat. “I believe she was trying to catch up with Mr. Smith. She left right after him.”
A Mr. Smith? The Black Rose was fucking littered with Mr. Smiths. “What did this Mr. Smith look like?”
“He’s very tall. Well over six feet.” The footman scratched his jaw. “And he could stand to eat a few more meals, if you take my meaning.”
Yes, Julius thought grimly, he knew what the man meant. And his little mouse was dead. Once he got her safely back home, he was going to kill her. Without another word, Julius pushed across the room and flew out the front door. He took the steps in one leap and landed hard on the sidewalk. Heart pounding, he looked down the street. Empty. Had the tall man grabbed her, smuggled her into his carriage? Left her body lying in an alley?
Sweat beaded his temple, and he swallowed down his panic. Worrying would get him nowhere. Turning away from the darkened end of the street, he jogged towards the busy intersection, stopping at every alley to peer inside. Looking for bodies behind every porch.
A large fight in the middle of the busy cross street drew his attention. A group of five hackney drivers had climbed down from their stations and had come to blows, blocking the street so no other carriages could pass. A crush of pedestrians packed the sidewalk, enjoying the violence.
Julius almost missed the other, smaller crowd clustered not ten feet from him. They faced inward, away from the brawl in the street. Pushing his way through, his heart faltered with his feet when he saw Amanda’s still form laying on the ground, her cloak flared out around her body. A man knelt beside her and reached his filthy hands under her knees and shoulders.
Grabbing the back of his collar, Julius threw the bastard into the legs of a man in the crowd. He dropped next to Amanda and felt for a pulse. It throbbed beneath his fingers, and every muscle in his body sagged with relief. He caressed her face and his fingers came away sticky with blood.
The sack of shit Julius had tossed aside pushed to his feet. “Bloody hell. The lady is a … friend, and I was only going to take her home to recover.”
Julius’s fingers twitched, and he curled them into the thick velvet of Amanda’s cloak to keep them away from the liar’s throat. His vision blurred in his anger. “Not yours.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. “Mine.”
The man backed away, palms raised. “I was only trying to help.”
Help himself to a defenseless woman more like. Julius’s blood boiled, but he refrained from teaching the bastard a lesson. Seeing to Amanda took priority. Gently, he scooped her into his arms and strode back towards The Black Rose and his carriage.
His driver saw him coming and hopped down from his perch, quick to open the carriage’s door. Julius climbed inside and winced when he banged Amanda’s knee into the bench seat. Her breathing remained even.
He laid her down and untied her cloak. He searched her body for injury, finding none but the bump on her head. Tearing at the laces of her corset, he peeled it off of her and watched as her chest heaved a deep breath.
He rested his palm on her stomach and sat back on his heels. The slow rise and fall of her belly ca
lmed his racing heartbeat. He pounded on the ceiling of the carriage and yelled, “Home!” Pulling out his handkerchief, he dabbed at the trickles of blood rolling down her cheek and neck and into her hair. The only cut appeared to be at her chin, a deep scrape that held a bit of gravel. He cleaned it as best he could.
Her eyelids fluttered and slid open, her gaze unfocused. Julius hovered over her and cupped her cheek. Her eyes widened. Jerking up, she looked from one open window to the other, chest heaving. “The people—” Her words broke off in a wheeze.
Cursing, Julius closed the windows and drapes. He lengthened the wick on the gas lamp in the carriage only to see Amanda scuttling into the corner, drawing her knees up tight to her chest.
“Amanda,” he said, his voice sterner than she deserved. “You’re all right. You’re safe.”
She moaned, burying her head in her arms.
Julius raised her head and ripped off the mask. He gripped her cheeks between his palms. “You’re safe.”
Digging her fingers into his coat, she closed her eyes. Her breaths remained sharp, ragged. Without thought, Julius dragged her onto his lap, holding her body close. Her tremors spread to him. Her panic became his. The carriage was too fucking small, and he couldn’t breathe. Burying his nose in her hair, he closed his eyes and tried to picture them in an open field. On a picnic, perhaps. Amanda lying on a blanket, the wind tousling her dark locks, smiling up at him as the sun kissed her skin.
By God, he would make that happen.
She twisted, and their hearts beat against each other. Rubbing the back of her neck, he tried to force his pulse to slow through sheer force of will. “My God, Amanda, what were you thinking?”
He didn’t expect a response, thinking she was too far gone to answer. The shake of her head against his shoulder was encouraging.
“Breathe with me and relax,” he told her. He took deep, slow breaths, and was satisfied when she eventually matched his rhythm. “That’s it.” They sat together, one of his legs going numb under her weight, and simply breathed.
