by Gaelen Foley
His visitor was a slim brunette dressed in yellow. Becky had arrived in time to see the woman hanging all over him, though he held himself aloof from her as best he could. She was a glamorous-looking creature a few years older than he, and the diamond-studded bracelets she wore over her high, yellow gloves screamed obscene wealth. Her hair was short and chic, her features patrician, but her cosmetics could not hide a complexion roughened by dissipation.
The lady’s coiffed head whipped around toward the doorway when Becky spoke up; now, her brown, empty eyes narrowed.
The second their gazes locked, Becky felt an instant overwhelming hostility that raised the hackles on her nape. “Won’t you introduce me to our guest, my lord?” she managed to ask in a tone that passed for politeness, folding her arms across her chest. She kept her chin high.
The woman recovered her artificial smile as Alec slowly turned around.
“Oh, you naughty, naughty boy,” the woman chided him in an airy tone. “So, this is what you’ve been hiding. Now I see why you’ve been trying to get rid of me ever since I walked in the door.” She slanted Becky a superior look and beckoned her in. “Well, come here, girl. Let us have a look at you.”
“Leave her alone, Eva,” Alec growled in a low tone fraught with hellfire.
Becky, far from intimidated by this “Eva” woman, summoned up an equally false, sugary smile, and accepted the invitation, sauntering proudly into the drawing room. Her heart was pounding and she barely knew where her own brazenness came from, but she could sense Alec’s seething anger and was more than willing to enter the fray on his behalf. As a gentleman, after all, there was not much he could do against a female.
“Why, she’s lovely,” Eva told Alec with a doting smile and little hateful sparks flying from her eyes. “Of course, you always did have an eye for beauty. Wherever did you find her, darling? The gutter?”
“Actually, it was Lord Draxinger’s doorstep,” Becky said sweetly, noting that Alec’s fists were clenched.
“Really?” Eva nodded to Alec. “Spirit, too. Enough to give some cheek to her betters. I’m impressed.”
“Leave us—Abby,” Alec forced out, his face pale, his mouth taut. His murderous stare was fixed on Eva, and his use of her alias alerted Becky to the fact that this woman could be dangerous.
But if Alec thought that she would leave him alone with this harpy, he still did not know the stuff that she was made of. She was nothing if not loyal.
“Abby, is it? But of course. What a common little name.” Eva let out another peal of brittle laughter that jangled like broken glass. “So, you have taken a mistress. Just as I suspected. You see? You cannot lie to me, darling. I know you too well.”
“Oh, I am not his mistress, ma’am,” Becky informed the lady with an angelic smile. “I am his fiancée.”
“Damn it, Becky,” he muttered under his breath at her bold revelation, but then horror at his own blunder flashed across his face.
“Becky?” Eva echoed. “I thought her name was Abby.”
Becky glanced uneasily at Alec, realizing this woman must have truly rattled him for him to have made such a slip.
“Her name is none of your concern,” he informed her, taking a menacing step toward the lady. “Go, Eva. You are on thin ice.”
“Isn’t the Regent waiting for you? Why don’t you run along and let little Precious and I have a nice long chat about all of your exciting skills.” She turned to Becky with a tsk tsk full of hollow sympathy. “Poor little thing. Is that what he told you—that he’d marry you? For shame, Alec, you heartless cad! This is a new low even for you.”
“She’s telling the truth, Eva,” he replied darkly. “Would you like an invitation to the wedding?”
Eva stared at him for a long moment. Smug as she was, she looked seriously shaken by his announcement. “Well!” she said at last, choking on her words a bit. “I certainly hope she knows what she’s getting into. What kind of slut you really are.”
At that, Becky reached for the long wooden pole used for opening and shutting the blinds on the high, arched windows, visions of candlesnuffers dancing in her head, but Alec saw her fingers graze it and shook his head sternly at her. She lowered her hand again with a scowl.
“I hope at the very least that you’ve told her about us,” Eva taunted him. “Or do you prefer that she find out from Society’s gossips?”
Becky glanced at Alec in question, though she was hardly inclined to believe a word out of that harpy’s painted mouth. He met her gaze at last. His expression was thoroughly remote; his eyes were the blue of storm-tossed seas. “Excuse us, please. Wait for me upstairs.”
She was taken aback by his request. “You want me to leave?”
He nodded, then jerked his head toward the door. “Go.”
She just stood there, staring at him in embarrassed confusion. “Why should I be the one to go? Tell her to leave—”
“Damn it, just do as I say for once!” he yelled at her so loudly that she jumped, her eyes widening in bewilderment.
“Oh, trouble in paradise, darlings?”
When Becky lingered a moment longer, angry, embarrassed by his outburst at her, and loath to abandon the field to a woman who was either an enemy, a very formidable rival, or both, Eva seized the opportunity to stick Alec with another verbal dagger. “Ask him how he paid back Mr. Dunmire, precious. Then you’ll see why I call him a slut. Because he is one—and damned good at it.”
“You bitch,” he spat.
“Alec?” Becky whispered.
He turned to her. “What are you still doing here?”
His baleful glower and Eva’s bright burst of laughter combined to unnerve her. Becky looked from one to the other, feeling unsure and outnumbered all of a sudden. These two might be well-matched as foes—or as something else that she didn’t want to think about—but it was obvious that she was in deep over her head.
Still taken aback by his harsh tone, she stared at him for a second in wounded reproach, then pivoted and left the room on legs that shook beneath her.
Distraught as he was over the question of how much Becky had heard, Alec could not believe he had slipped and used her real name in front of Eva. He was sickened by his blunder, allowing Eva to get to him.
This was no time to start making careless mistakes. The potential threat in his misstep now made it necessary for him to take some harsh, desperate, and possibly very ugly measures to repair the damage and ensure Becky’s safety.
Eva watched her rush out of the room, then turned to him with a look of condescending boredom. “You can’t be serious.”
He just looked at her, still deciding how far he was willing to go to protect his future bride.
“You truly mean to marry her?”
Certainly, he was prepared to lie.
“It’s unavoidable,” he said. Because he was a gentleman, and because she had saved his neck once, he gave the baroness one last chance to back away from danger unscathed. He made one last effort at diplomacy, though deep down he knew from experience that brute force was all she understood.
“Is she breeding?” she murmured suddenly. “Ah, so, that’s why you’ve been so assiduous in your efforts at the tables.” She tapped her folded fan thoughtfully against her chin. “You wanted to play, and now you must pay. Is that it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, it’s too rich. Imagine! The captain of all London rakehells, to be a papa! And now you need money, don’t you, darling?” She moved closer, fingering the lapel of his coat. “How much? Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t want your help, Eva.” He grasped her wrist and plucked her hand off him. “All I want is your silence on the matter.”
“Why?”
“Well . . . because the young lady has a number of very protective menfolk in her family who will come after me if they find out I bedded her well before the ring was on her finger. It would be most inconvenient to have to kill them.”
Her painted lips qu
irked in a smile. “Yes, one ought not to kill one’s in-laws, as much as one might like to.”
“Exactly.” He set his revulsion aside to lift her gloved hand to his lips, then kissed it. “I knew you’d understand.”
Eva looked slightly mollified, but she had never been one to let opportunity pass her by. “Not so fast, my stallion.” She reached down boldly between his legs and cupped him through his clothes. “If you want my silence, it’ll cost you.” She caressed his cock. “God, I’ve missed you in my bed.”
Staring at her in taut anger, Alec tried to tolerate it, but he could not—not after today and the sublime lovemaking he had shared with Becky. His smooth mask of manipulation slipped as he broke away from her.
“God, you disgust me,” he ground out, turning his back to her as his heart pounded. He didn’t think he could get hard for her even if he wanted to. “I feel nothing for you but revulsion.”
He sensed her anger leap and heard it in her voice. “Strange, you found me quite attractive when you needed someone to pay off your debts. Then again, I knew you were only using me, you whore. Well, then, it seems all bets are off. What is her name, anyway, Becky or Abby?”
When Alec turned to her, his only answer was a hand around her throat as he shoved her hard against the wall. “Her name is none of your concern,” he whispered ferociously, holding her pinned there.
Real fear flooded Eva’s eyes as she dangled upon her toes, grasping at his hand while he squeezed just enough to show her how easily he could cut off her air.
“You’re—mad!” she gasped out.
“No. Quite the contrary. The game has changed, Eva,” he said, “and this time I make the rules. Do you understand?”
She choked, her face turning a fashionable shade of purplish scarlet.
“I tried to reason with you, but you always have to play your little games,” he said. “You may not value her life or mine, but what of your own?”
“Put—me—down!”
“Listen carefully. You never saw her. You’re good at keeping secrets. You’ve got plenty of them yourself. If you tell anyone you saw her here—if you breathe a word about that girl or the two of us to any living soul—I swear I will hunt you down and kill you, Eva,” he said slowly. “No jest. I know where you go. I know where you live. I still have a key to your town house, as you’ll recall. If you mention her presence here to anyone, I will come after you and cut your throat. And I won’t think twice about it.”
She fought him, trying to kick at him.
He was impervious.
“Let me go! You’re—bluffing. What of your fine honor?”
“She means more to me than honor.”
“You’d hang—for murder!”
“If anything happened to her, I would welcome the gallows. Don’t try me, Eva. Not unless you want to die.”
It was difficult to tell beneath the thick white rice-powder that coated her skin, but the red in her face was giving way now to purplish blue. She clawed at his wrist like a feral cat.
Alec tightened his grip ever so slightly. “You really don’t seem to be getting the message. Perhaps I should just squeeze a bit harder, kill you now, and dump your body in the sea?”
“No! No!” she finally choked out, struggling to shake her head negatively. “I won’t—tell—anyone!”
“Good. You see?” He dropped her. She slumped against the wall, protecting her reddened throat with both hands. “That wasn’t so difficult.”
She scanned his face with the most genuine look of fear that he had ever seen in her eyes.
“Get out,” he finished in an icy tone.
She fled, slipping past him and darting to the door. Without another word she was gone.
Alec cracked his knuckles. Unpleasant that, but he trusted he had made his point.
He raked his hands slowly through his hair, a bit stunned that he had done it, but refusing to wonder how threatening to murder a woman corresponded with chivalry. But he was past such nicety of feeling. He’d make a deal with the Devil himself to keep Becky safe.
Taking a deep breath, he struggled to calm the beastly rage in his breast, then stalked out of the room where the despised scent of Eva’s French perfume still lingered.
Becky had heard the whole thing, leaning in the deep shadows of midday with her back to the wall of the corridor, her arms folded across her chest. She had seen Eva rush out, looking shaken, and now Alec prowled out, also going past without noticing her there.
She marveled to see that he immediately headed for the exit as well. It seemed he had no intention of seeking her out to explain what in blazes had just happened in there. “Unavoidable?” she flung out when he reached the top of the stairs. “Our marriage is unavoidable? That’s what you said.”
He stopped, stiffening. He turned around slowly, the look in his eyes so painfully guarded, all those steely defenses locked back into place. “You know I had to say that.”
Becky pushed away from the wall and approached cautiously. “Would you really murder her in cold blood?”
He considered the question for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Possibly. The important thing is that she believes I would. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go. The Regent is expecting me.”
Becky followed doggedly but kept a safe distance. “Are you quite all right, Alec?”
“Fine. You?” he clipped out like an automaton.
“I’m not fine,” she informed him. “I’m still trying to figure out if you wanted me out of there simply to protect me or to stop me from finding out whatever it is that you’ve been hiding from me.”
Reaching the foyer, he took his black top hat from the wall-hook and lifted his walking stick from the corner stand, scrupulously avoiding her gaze. She was only a few steps behind him.
“You can’t ignore me, Alec. We need to talk about this. Who was she, and who is that man she mentioned, Mr. Dunmire?”
He put his hat on and walked past her to the door. “I have to go.” His voice was devoid of emotion.
“Nonsense, this is more important.” She reached for his arm, but he pulled away roughly.
“Don’t touch me. Just—let me go.”
“Alec,” she pleaded, though she obediently released him. “Can’t you even look at me?”
When he turned and stared at her for a second, Becky marveled at the tortured look in his eyes. “Alec,” she murmured, searching his face. She touched his arm; he brushed her off.
“It would be folly to keep the Regent waiting.” Faltering, he gave her a stiff bow and retreated.
“Alec?” She followed him again. “Alec, don’t you dare leave!”
Becky gasped at the door’s slam: He was gone.
His stomach was in knots, but Alec strove to put the incident aside for the moment and tried to focus on the company at hand. Drax had already asked him what was the matter, and Fort was regarding him with worry. Alec offered nothing. His heart, his hopes, were crushed. If Becky hadn’t figured it out yet, innocent as she was, she soon would. The girl was no fool.
Perhaps it would have been better if he had just let Dunmire’s thugs kill him a year and a half ago, when he had been unable to pay back the loan. Instead, he had proved himself the Hawkscliffe Harlot’s son and sold himself for gold to a woman he had come to despise.
A sense of doom had settled over him. His arrangement with the baroness had cost him Lizzie, and now he knew it would cost him Becky, too. Yet this fresh wound was somehow worse than all the ones before. Even worse than the ancient wound of losing his mother. Worse than losing Lizzie’s blind devotion. He had never known love, but with Becky, he had come close.
It was no use.
Well, he thought, lacerating himself with his own black humor, that had certainly been the shortest-lived betrothal in the world. Sweet while it lasted. He dreaded the thought of going back to the house. Again he strove to put it all out of his mind. Amid the noise of pounding hammers and the rough, busy zigzag of ha
ndsaws, the party of gentlemen marveled at the metamorphosis that Mr. Nash’s army of carpenters and craftsmen were steadily working over the Regent’s Marine Pavilion.
They had paid their respects to His Royal Highness and had been warmly received; the corpulent Regent, so dashing in younger days, still had a soft spot in his heart for the band of handsome young rogues who still lived the Don Juan fantasy that had eluded him with the passage of years. Their audience with the future king was brief, however.
Poor royal George was harried by the inescapable, everyday matters of state—what little of it, anyway, that his ministers entrusted to him. He bid the young men to have a look around the Pavilion to observe his famed architect’s magic, and so they did just that.
With the brim of his top hat shading his eyes from the full sunshine, Alec sauntered around the grounds with his friends and a few other hangers-on. He kept to the back of their party, distracted, saying little in response to his friends’ exclamations of surprise at the whimsical construction.
The building really was astonishing. The neoclassical mansion by Henry Holland was being steadily transformed into an exotic Oriental palace. The domed Roman portico still stood in the front center, dignified as Tacitus, but now it was flanked on both sides by shocking minarets. Even Alec, for all his imagination, could not decide if this thing the Regent was building would be a delight in the end or a monstrosity. At the moment, he frankly didn’t give a damn.
If there was one bright spot in the depths of his despondency, it was that he had managed to learn the fate of the real Rose of Indra. That had been his true reason for coming here in the first place. Before disaster had struck, he had thought it would make a splendid wedding gift for his bride.
Alec had asked the Regent privately if he had ever heard anything about the Talbot jewel. To his fascination, His Royal Highness, with a boyish sparkle in his eyes, craftily revealed that he not only knew of the famous ruby: He owned it.
“I bought it, oh, thirty years ago from old Lord Talbot, lately deceased,” the obese “Prinny” had confided to him, wheezing with exertion as they promenaded down the garish pink Long Gallery. “I was going to present it to a, er, lady friend, but, you see, we had a falling out, so I kept it for my own collection. Why do you ask, dear boy?”
