A Wild Justice

by Gail Ranstrom

  Tristan closed the distance between himself and Wilkes with two long strides. He reached for Wilkes’s throat and squeezed until the man’s eyes bulged and he made choking sounds.

  Geoffrey came forward and placed a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Easy, Auberville. We cannot afford the luxury.”

  Tristan stepped away, controlled fury in his voice. “See him to the door. Be certain he does not lose his way.”

  “Delighted,” the centurion-garbed man said. He took Wilkes by the arm, a grim smile curving his lips. “Come along, Wilkes.”

  “You won’ get away with this,” Wilkes warned over his shoulder as Morgan led him away, half dragging, half pushing him. “I’ve got friends, too. You’re not as clever as y’ think y’are.”

  Tristan came to Annica, his eyes dark with concern. “Did Wilkes do either of you any harm?”

  “How much did you hear?” she asked.

  “Nothing that will ever be repeated, Annica. You and Sarah may count on that.”

  “You will not do anything foolish, like calling him out?”

  “Are you asking me to let this pass?”

  “Precisely,” she said. “Calling him out would cause talk, and that is what we must avoid.” She lifted her chin and held his gaze, not caring, for the moment, if he saw through her “helpless” charade. “Sarah and I shall find some effective way of dealing with Mr. Wilkes.”

  “You will bloody well stay away from him, Annica! In view of what he did, how can you even—”

  The sound of feminine voices interrupted Tristan’s ultimatum. He cursed under his breath and turned to face the women coming his way.

  “’Nica! We just saw Mr. Morgan escorting Roger Wilkes toward the front door. Was he here? What did he—oh! Good evening, Auberville,” Charity said. Constance and Grace stood behind her.

  Sarah still wept against Annica’s shoulder, and Annica comforted her as best she could.

  “Tristan, could we forget the past few minutes?” Annica asked. “I’m certain the ladies will help me with Sarah. Thank you for your assistance.”

  Tristan’s narrowed eyes told her that their discussion was far from over. “Tomorrow, Annica. Ladies…” He bowed.

  Annica waited until she heard the conservatory door close before she told the ladies what had transpired. She paced around the fountain, far too agitated to be still. “Damnation!” she concluded. “Wilkes cannot wait any longer. We shall have to do whatever we can to ruin him. Mr. Renquist is attempting to find his weaknesses and secrets. That would not be a problem if time were on our side, but now that he knows that we know he raped Sarah, we cannot wait. Though it goes against our own rules, ladies, I suggest we put our scruples aside. I suggest we do whatever is required to bring Mr. Wilkes down.”

  “What do you mean, ’Nica?” Grace asked.

  “That we contrive an appropriate punishment, whether it has a basis in truth or not.”

  “But if we ruin someone with a lie, that would make us like them,” Constance argued.

  “On occasion, the ends must justify the means,” Grace said. “When circumstances warrant, we may need to do things that go against our principles. What other choice do we have?”

  “If Wilkes has grown bold enough to attack Sarah tonight, he could be capable of almost anything. None of us are safe now that he knows of our involvement,” Charity said.

  “Sarah?” Annica asked. “What is your opinion?”

  “Now. We must do it now. I cannot bear the thought that he could be lying in wait whenever I go out.”

  “I am unsure how to proceed,” Annica said. “But there must be a way for us to maintain our integrity, yet dispose of Roger Wilkes as a threat.”

  She bit her lower lip, remembering Wilkes passing a note to Morgan. Time, she supposed, would be the true judge. Meantime, there was still one source she had not employed, and she would do so immediately.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grateful for the brown leper’s robe that some drunken masquerader had left behind, Annica stepped down from the hired coach in front of the bawdy house and paid the coachman. “I will pay you extra if you will wait a quarter of an hour,” she told the man.

  “An’ what if ye don’t come back? Time is money, miss. I’ll come back if I ain’t got a fare.” The driver slackened the reins and snapped his small whip in the air.

  Pulling the deep hood farther over her face, and fighting her rising trepidation, she took her bearings as the coach pulled away from the curb. If the lights in the windows and the squeals and laughter coming from within were any indication, the night had just begun in this part of town.

  The sounds of jingling harness and rapidly approaching hooves forced her to a decision. She slipped around the side of the building and into the shadows. Pressing herself against the brick wall, she edged toward the back, heading for the kitchen door she had used once before. She heard a coach draw up in front, stop briefly and then continue along the cobbled street.

  A boot scraped on the stone casement at the front door, and a firm knock commanded entrance. Annica knew she needed to summon her own courage and go in. Nothing would be accomplished by skulking against a wall except, perhaps, being accosted by some unsavory creature. The way this night was going, that was entirely possible.

  A subtle scratching sound carried from the shadows. A cold chill made her shiver as she remembered the threat of the bloodstained note and Wilkes’s words to the unknown man in the garden. Propelled by her own fears, she flew around the corner to rap on the kitchen door. When it opened a mere crack, she pushed it wide enough to slip through, grateful to find light and warmth within.

  A startled woman with a painted face and stringy brown hair stepped back in alarm. “’Ere now, what’s this?”

  “I am sorry if I frightened you, madam,” Annica whispered, “but I must speak with Naughty Alice at once. Could you fetch her for me, please?”

  “An’ ’oo shall I say is callin’?” the bawd mimicked.

  “She will not know me. Tell her ’tis a friend of Harry Bouldin’s.”

  “Terrible tragedy, that.”

  “Yes, awful. But could you bring Alice to me? I am in a great hurry. I will pay her for her time.”

  Heavy footsteps and a series of thumps and shouted curses overhead indicated that someone was throwing doors open and closed in an upstairs corridor. Acutely aware of the business being conducted in this place, Annica retreated to the shadows of a corner by the fireplace, keeping the leper’s robes drawn close around her. “Hurry, please,” she urged.

  “’Nother rowdy one, I s’pose,” the woman sniffed. “I’ll go tell Alice that Bouldin’s friend is waitin’ to talk to ’er, but I ain’t makin’ no promises.”

  Annica stood very still, her back to a far corner, waiting and praying Alice would be “free.” She did not want to stay in this place a moment longer than necessary. And as long as she was praying, she added the fervent plea that Alice would know something useful about Roger Wilkes.

  Shrill female voices raised in indignation grew louder as they approached the kitchen. Annica strained to make out some of the words. “We ’aven’t seen no one like that, sir! I swear.”

  “I know she’s here, damn it! I followed her!”

  Oh, dear Lord! Annica recognized that voice. Tristan had followed her? But that was impossible! She would swear she hadn’t been followed. She had slipped away too many times to have made such a careless mistake. And he, above all people, must not find her here! She spun toward the back door and had advanced a single step when the kitchen door flew open with a thunderous bang. A huge, menacing figure ducked under the lintel and stepped through, three scantily garbed women following close on his heels.

  Auberville paused, glanced around the room and fastened his gaze on her still form. She knew the shadows of her overhanging hood obscured her face, and hoped that would be enough to deter him. Her knees went weak at the furious expression on his face.

  “Well, well,” he said in a
deceptively soft voice. “Is this the place for a woman of your ilk, Lady Reckless?”

  “I…”

  “Should you not be in one of the upstairs rooms living life on the edge of disaster, as is your wont?” he asked.

  Her only chance at escape lay in deception. “Sir, I do not take your meaning,” she whispered.

  A low, dangerous chortle was his only reply. He advanced on her slowly, as if savoring his moment of triumph. “It will be my pleasure to explain my meaning in great detail. And then you, milady, will explain your presence here tonight.”

  “I believe you have mistaken me for someone else.” She took another step backward, her heart pounding wildly, but found herself blocked in the corner.

  He reached out and threw her hood back, revealing her ivy-crowned head and sending a sprinkling of crystal drops bouncing across the stone floor. A quick pull of the strings at her throat loosened the leper’s robe. She made a futile grab at it as it slid to a puddle at her feet.

  “Your costume is appropriate in this setting. All that remains is for us to find an empty room upstairs.”

  Annica was disconcerted by the looks of horror on the faces of the women who had followed him into the kitchen. They were too terrified to intercede on her behalf, and she did not blame them. She was terrified, as well—this time she had pushed Auberville too far. She cleared her throat and remained calm.

  “I’d prefer to go home. If you would be so kind as to summon me a coach?”

  “I have no intention of allowing you out of my sight, Milady Reckless. I’m done giving you credit for common sense. You are out of hand, and ’tis time someone brought you under control.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. All she could think of was her father, and his abuse of her mother. Annica summoned every ounce of courage and stood her ground. “Do not play the fool, sir. You will never get away with this. Now stand out of my way.”

  “Excellent strategy! Seize the offensive. What a pity your talents are wasted on someone with my experience. But in answer to your question, no—I most certainly will not stand out of your way. You are at my mercy, and now you will learn what that means. We are going upstairs, little wanton, not home.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes in her most intimidating manner. “You will not risk a scene. I doubt your reputation could survive such a scandal.”

  “My reputation? Bloody goddamned hell!” he thundered. He withdrew a gold sovereign from his vest pocket and tossed it on the table. “A room, if you please,” he snarled to the old woman, his eyes never leaving Annica.

  “Oh, sir—” the woman began.

  “A room!”

  “Seven. Room seven,” she squeaked.

  He leaned down, scooped up the leper’s robe and threw Annica over his shoulder before whirling toward the hallway.

  She squealed in protest and pounded his back with her fists as he carried her up the narrow stairs and past a row of closed doors. His shoulder pressed into her stomach, and his arm trapped her legs and prevented her from kicking. “You are mad! Put me down!” she demanded.

  At the end of the corridor, he kicked a door open and stepped through. A moment later, he leaned forward to deposit her on an indecently large, intriguingly soft, bed.

  She pushed herself into a sitting position as he dropped his greatcoat on a chair and turned to shut the door. One corner of her soul filled with dread, remembering the ugly, hurtful scenes between her mother and her father. But another, more visceral part of her could not believe that this man would ever really hurt her, and she took courage from that.

  The room, dimly lit by a banked fire in the fireplace, was swathed in varying shades of pink, from blush to deep rose. A single window was hung with a heavy rose-pink brocade. Even the walls had been covered in a garish fuchsia peau de soie. There were a series of lewd pictures hanging along the walls, depicting a naked couple engaged in various sex acts. The silk coverlet on the bed was slippery and cool to the touch. Aside from a quick glance when she and Charity had tracked Farmingdale here, Annica had never seen the inside of a bawdy house, and she was fascinated.

  Tristan locked the door and wedged the back of a chair beneath the knob for good measure before he turned to face her, a cold anger gleaming in the clear hunter’s eyes. Dear Lord, but he was handsome when he looked so fierce!

  “What were you thinking!” he roared.

  What, indeed? “That is my affair—”

  “You are wrong there, madam. Your affairs are mine now.”

  “This is precisely why I shall never marry,” she snapped. “I will not countenance anyone calling me to account for my actions and dictating what I may do. ’Tis my business, sir, and no one else’s!”

  He leaned over her and narrowed his eyes, his voice a soft rumble. “It is not a ring that makes you my business, milady. ’Tis honor. You gave yourself to me—willingly—ten days ago, and I took you. That, if nothing else, makes you my business.”

  “How like a man to—”

  “Therefore not only are you my business, Annica Sayles, you are my lover. Evidently I must remind you of that. This is what comes of giving you time to come to terms with your future. I should have followed my impulses to ravish you at every turn. Well, it is not too late. I shall not lose this opportunity.”

  “You would not dare!” She stole a quick glance at the door, wondering if she could dart past him and make an escape. If he touched her, if he made love to her, she was lost. The mere memory of the first time made jelly of her middle.

  “Dare?” He laughed. “I would without thinking twice, madam. And if you think for a moment to discourage me with outrageous pranks, you are wrong there, too. If I ever find you engaging in such folly again, I shall send you to Scotland to rusticate in my hunting lodge! There’s not a single valid reason for you to be here. Have you any inkling what could happen to you? My God, Annica! There are dark things unfolding in this part of town. A woman is not safe alone. That fact cannot have escaped you. Why did you come here?” He threw her leper’s robe atop his own coat and began pacing at the foot of the bed.

  “I must say I have never seen you in a temper before, Auberville, and I do not think I like it.”

  “As for seeing me in a temper, madam, you have not seen that yet. I suspected you were plotting something, went home and got rid of my costume, returned and waited outside your home in time to see you step into a coach and ride away. I followed you, madam, not daring to believe you could be so heedless as to sneak off in the night, knowing full well what became of you last time. But a bordello, Annica? I am speechless!” He shrugged out of his jacket and added it to the growing pile of garments.

  “I wish you truly were.” She spared a quick, nervous glance at the discards.

  “Do not even try to divert me. It is useless.” He drew her slippers off and threw them on the heap. “How often have you come here? What is your purpose?”

  How could she lie to him? But how could she tell him she was trying to obtain information she could use to bring Wilkes to heel? Would he settle for half-truths? “I came to inquire if Roger Wilkes frequented this place, and if so, if he had any peculiar habits.”

  “Peculiar habits?” Tristan stopped dead in his tracks and fastened her with a look of utter disbelief. “You cannot be serious!”

  “I thought knowledge of that sort could work as a caution or restraint on Mr. Wilkes. If necessary, of course.”

  “Blackmail?” His eyebrows went up nearly two inches. “You were going to blackmail Wilkes to stay away from Sarah?”

  “Do you have a better idea, Tristan?”

  He took a deep, controlling breath. After one long, unpleasant moment he spoke. “I wish I had killed the son of a bitch! But where is the woman who asked my help in choosing calling cards? How is it that poor little inept thing has taken on the task of avenging a friend?”

  Annica looked into his eyes and winced. She had just given her game away. Tristan was so deucedly focused
that she was never able to deceive him for long.

  He resumed his pacing as he loosened his cravat and tossed it aside. “Here’s an idea. Did it occur to you for a single moment to ask my help? Before you risked your pretty neck by coming to a brothel, did you consider that I might be of some assistance to you? Will you ever trust me?”

  “I am not accustomed to answering to anyone else, nor am I accustomed to asking others to handle unpleasant tasks for me. And trust—”

  “Try it, Annica. ’Tis not as difficult as you may think.” Trust? Could it really be that simple?

  “Tell me what drives you to such absurd lengths.” He leaned over her and tilted her chin up to him, denying her the comfort of looking away.

  The faint smell of brandy on his breath startled her, and for one awful moment, she saw her father looming over her instead of Tristan. Quick tears filled her eyes and rising panic clogged her throat. Would he hurt her? Would he actually hurt her?

  “Trust me,” he said again in a soft, compelling voice. “I will not disappoint you.”

  Tristan was not her father. He was a man of conscience and honor. She took a deep, steadying breath and focused on her clenched hands, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “My…my father was a vile man who abused and demeaned my mother in every possible way, and…and punished me, too. I cannot recall him ever being kind or helpful to either of us. He only used kindness when he wanted something, or when he was trying to trick us. It was easier…it did not hurt as much…if we simply did not allow ourselves to trust him, or to believe that he might be genuine.”

  Tristan’s hands clenched and unclenched. “I am sorry for your pain, Annica, but I am not your father. I will never let you down.”

  She took another deep breath and rushed on, anxious to have it over with before she weakened. “There’s more, Tristan. You asked why I cannot simply leave Mr. Wilkes alone. You see, the day my mother was killed, we were coming back from paying a call on the vicar and his wife. Father had been at the local public house. He caught up to us, took Hodgeson’s place on the box, and seized the reins from our driver. He was blind drunk and behaving like a madman. I think he meant to kill us all. Within half a mile, we knew he was hell-bound. Hodgeson threw me from the coach, but he could not reach my mother in time. She died in my arms, Tristan, and I could not help her.” She held fresh tears back with grim determination. Tristan reached out to her and she waved him away, knowing his sympathy would be her undoing.