Never Entice an Earl

by Lily Dalton

  In that moment her heart softened just a degree toward the man who had, through no fault of his own, taken her father and her brother’s rightful place. Perhaps…perhaps they could all one day accept Mr. Kincraig as a true member of the family.

  “Tomorrow at breakfast,” Daphne responded. “Most likely I’ll be asleep when you return.” Balls always ran late, and it would be two or three o’clock before they arrived home. At least that was her hope.

  At last, in a shimmer of pearls and diamonds, her sister and mother were gone, in the company of a man who remained so much a stranger to them. Daphne breathed a sigh of relief.

  Finally—time to help Kate! Thank heavens Wolverton had decided to make an early evening of it and take dinner in his room. She’d glimpsed O’Connell, his valet, descending the servants’ staircase some thirty minutes before, having already been dismissed for the night.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she whispered to herself, as she rushed down the stairs, returning again to the servants’ corridor.

  She’d already considered every option. For her, simply paying off Kate’s debt wasn’t possible; despite her privileged life, she had no access to money of her own, not of the magnitude required. She couldn’t sell her dresses or her jewels. Anything of value that went missing would be noted immediately either by her mother or the keen-eyed Mrs. Brightmore, and the loss construed as theft. The servants would be questioned, and she would be forced to step forward and declare herself the guilty party in stealing from…well, from her own self. A strange predicament, indeed.

  If only she could go to her grandfather or her mother and simply ask for the money, but she knew from experience her grandfather, no matter how generous he might be, would soundly reject the lending of money to a servant. The problem had presented itself before, and she had heard his reasoning. What he did for one, he must do for all. There would be no loans granted, only fair wages earned, and never in advance.

  She could only imagine the earl’s explosive reaction, as well as her mother’s dismay, if they learned that she’d involved herself in the financial affairs of a servant. Likely by opening her mouth she would only find herself on the receiving end of a lecture about proper boundaries between herself and the staff—and Kate in search of a new position.

  She couldn’t even go to Sophia, who very well might take pity on Kate’s plight. The Duke and Duchess of Claxton had departed that afternoon for a week at their estate outside of Lacenfleet, where Sophia could rest and be doted on by Mrs. Kettle, the elderly caretaker’s wife, while His Grace approved recent renovations to the manor house, necessary after a fire had destroyed much of the main hall just before Christmas.

  Daphne hadn’t felt this helpless since the day her father died. She’d been powerless to change the course of that tragedy. Now, having knowledge of the danger Kate’s family faced, she had no choice but to act.

  Hurriedly, she spoke to the nurse who had been brought in to tend to the stricken. Afterward, she visited each of the female servants, fluffing pillows and coaxing spoonfuls of weak beef broth through pale and unwilling lips. All the while, her brain churned out one useless idea after another before returning to the only one that made sense. At last she again arrived at Kate’s door. Inside, thankfully, Kate was sleeping, her face pallid against the linen pillowcase.

  Hands shaking, she took up Kate’s reticule from the table and searched inside until she found what she wanted—a scrap of paper upon which all the necessary particulars had been neatly inscribed in her friend’s familiar handwriting.

  *

  Cormack stared at the doorway from across the road, the scent of rubbish filling his nostrils. Had he, indeed, found the Blue Swan? By all appearances, he stood outside an abandoned warehouse. Just then, a hackney clattered down the pavestones and slowed in front of him, only to speed off again. But there, in the shadows, he caught just the barest glimpse of a man who rapped his fist on the door two times. The sound echoed outward. After a moment, he rapped two times more.

  He observed movement, but not so much as a glimmer of light. Men’s voices sounded, a quiet rumble in the night, and the newly arrived visitor disappeared inside.

  Crossing the road, he replicated the knock against the door.

  A panel slid open, behind which he perceived the shadowed features of a very large man, who stooped to peer out at him. “Say th’ word, govna.”

  Hmmm. Entrance, it appeared, required more than a special knock, but he’d come prepared for that possibility.

  “The precise word slips my mind.” From his coat pocket, he produced a heavy pouch, and on his open palm, he presented it to the man. “Might you be able to give me a hint?”

  The bully quickly took possession of the offered bribe and, behind the door, appeared to weigh the pouch in his hand.

  With a squint, he muttered, “The word is slippin’ me own mind at the moment—I’m tryin’ me best to remember—”

  Another pouch, and the door swung open to darkness. “Enjoy your evenin’, sir.”

  Cormack walked with outstretched hand until he touched a heavy velvet curtain, which he pushed aside, only to be met with more darkness and a second curtain, but also sounds—voices and female laughter. He swept aside another drape and entered the Blue Swan.

  “Cheatin’ nob!”

  Cormack intercepted the fist that drunkenly hurtled toward his face. Grabbing the red-nosed fellow by his shoulders, he spun him round and shoved him in the direction of his intended opponent.

  Lord, he despised bawdy houses. If only vengeance had not commanded him here tonight.

  Tobacco smoke clouded the air, dimming his view of the men who crowded around the faro tables, gentlemen in evening dress intermingled with tradesmen in dark suits and rough-hewn men off the wharves. Gilt-framed mirrors cluttered the walls, and lopsided chandeliers hung from the ceilings, trappings of faux luxury. A ramshackle quartet was assembled in the distant corner. The establishment had the feel of transience, as if every fixture, table, and drape could be snatched up at any moment, thrown in the back of a wagon, and installed elsewhere for the same effect. Understandable, as Cormack’s source had warned him the club changed locations often so as to avoid discovery by the constables. Predators with painted lips and rouged cheeks circled him, already taking note of the newcomer in their midst.

  “Looking for a bit o’ company t’night, good sir?” inquired a redhead, boldly assessing him with kohl-lined eyes.

  “Two is company. Three is a party.” The brunette sidled closer, offering Cormack an unrestricted view of her breasts, only barely constrained by a bodice of sheer muslin. “You look like the sort of man who requires more than just one.”

  Hmmm…perhaps. But his tastes were far more refined than what he would find here.

  As far as London brothels went, the Blue Swan was the seediest he’d visited thus far. But he wasn’t here to drink, gamble, or to whore. He was here to find the man he had sworn to destroy. If only he knew who the hell he was looking for.

  His hand passed over his coat pocket, confirming the existence of the hard lump within—the gold amulet he’d accepted from Laura’s hand in the moments before her death, one bearing a severed Medusa’s head and the Latin word Invisibilis.

  Two years had passed, but in many ways time had stood still. His parents remained mired in grief for the death of their beloved daughter, still unable to fathom the mysterious circumstances in which she met her end—circumstances that Cormack now felt compelled to avenge.

  From what his parents had told him, he knew that Laura arrived at Bellefrost on the back of a farmer’s wagon, in rags and with no possessions of which to speak, already in the throes of childbirth labor. This had come as a shock, as they’d believed her to be contentedly serving as a governess at the Deavalls’. Her letters had come with all regularity, never giving the slightest hint of distress. Their questions had brought no answers—only tears from his sister. In shock, they’d called for the doctor. Within hours of what had s
eemed to be a normal birth, her health suddenly failed. She died, never revealing the name of the man who had left her to give birth alone to a pale-haired little boy. Was it because she wished to keep her seducer’s identity a secret, or because she hadn’t expected to die?

  Left with no answers and his sister’s honor to defend, Cormack had asked questions of his own. Against the wishes of his parents, who wanted only to grieve and raise Michael with as much dignity as possible, he had traveled to the Deavall estate, only to be informed by the housekeeper that Laura had abruptly left her employment some five months before her death. It did not take long for him to discover she had spent the first week after leaving holed away at an inn in the neighboring village before moving to another, this one much shabbier than the first. Before long, she had simply…disappeared.

  He wasn’t a fool. He knew she’d gone into hiding to conceal her condition from the world. From her own family. But Laura had always been so smart, and so strong and self-disciplined. She wasn’t that woman. How had this happened to her? The questions ate him up inside. Who was the child’s father, and why, in the end, had Laura suffered such a shocking dishonor alone, and left her child to suffer the lifelong stain of illegitimacy?

  Of course, his suspicions had immediately fallen to the Deavall estate, but a chance encounter with a local tavern girl—very pretty, except for the shadows in her eyes—had provided a more startling answer when she glimpsed the medallion in his hand. She shared of her harrowing experience with a group of aristocratic young hell-raisers at the Duke of Rathcrispin’s hunting lodge, which lay adjacent to the Deavall estate. For two weeks the libertines had gambled, drank, and done their best to debauch every woman within a ten-mile radius of the place, including herself, which was why she now had a little girl of her own and no husband.

  Desperately accepting the coins Cormack pressed into her hand, she’d told him she knew from intimate experience that several of the men had worn a medallion identical to the one in his possession. She believed them dangerous and powerful enough for her to warn him against showing the medallion freely. Perhaps, like her, Laura had been momentarily dazzled and seduced, she’d said. But she would not exclude a more sinister explanation, had his sister been unwilling. The men exuded entitlement and a lifetime of privilege. They had no qualms about taking what they wanted.

  Truly, it was all the answer he needed, save for a name.

  Simmering with rage, not only for the wrong done to his sister but to the girl as well, he had gone to the hunting lodge, even though the men were no longer in residence. He had been seeking answers. Seeking names. The place teemed with guests, a house party, yet in his attempt to make inquiries he hadn’t made it past the door. Though he had been raised as gentry and possessed a fortune from his time in Bengal, he was no aristocrat. He might as well have been a street beggar in rags in the haughty eyes of those he sought to question. He had been rebuffed like so much rubbish.

  So for two years he’d tended to his parents and little Michael, ostracized by their neighbors now not for their poverty, but because of scandal, so much so that even their neighbor, Sir Snaith, had declined to honor his gentleman’s agreement to sell their lands back to them. Yet winter had delivered to him an unexpected gift—the key to obtain the answers and, yes, the vengeance he sought. An unexpected series of deaths had made his father the new Marquess of Champdeer and him an earl. At last Cormack had the necessary entrée to step behind the high wall of aristocratic protection that had held him back for so long.

  For that reason he had come to London for the season when twelve men who remained unnamed—and one who remained unpunished—would in all likelihood converge from all corners of England, like the others of their kind.

  Having arrived one week ago, he found himself woefully without connections, but at night he frequented their favorite gaming halls and discreetly asked questions, not of those men of privilege with whom he rubbed elbows, but of those who found themselves trampled beneath their well-polished heels, who in common whispered one word, but only after glancing fearfully over their shoulder: Invisibilis. At last, he felt…close.

  His hatred renewed, Cormack made his selection carefully and caught her wrist as she moved past, a woman in an ill-fitted, jade green gown. Older than the others, with a faded complexion and dull hair, perhaps she would be more eager than her competitors to earn a bit of coin in exchange for a whispered, forbidden secret.

  “’Ay!” The harridan’s eyes widened in outrage but, upon assessing him, softened into heavy-lidded seduction. “Well, ’ow do you do, ’andsome?” she breathed. “’Aven’t seen you ’ere before. I’m Nellie. What are y’ lookin’ for tonight?”

  “I’m looking for you, Nellie.” He took care to remain in the deepest of shadows. Though few would recognize him in London, he expected that might change, depending on how long this business of retribution kept him here.

  In the crush of the crowd, she pressed against him, curling her hands into his lapels. “I’ve a room upstairs, nice and cozy. Wot do you say? I’ll get us a bottle, just for ourselves.”

  “Actually, I’ve become separated from friends, and would like to rejoin them. I was hoping that perhaps you know them?”

  “Friends?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wot sort of friends?”

  He pressed a crown into her palm.

  After a quick glance to assess the coin’s worth, a smile eased onto her lips. “Per’aps I do know them. I’ve known everyone ’ere, at one time or another, it seems. Tell me about them.”

  He spoke near her ear. “They follow this club from place to place, but keep to themselves, perhaps in a back room, rarely if ever mingling with the other customers.”

  Her face went slack, but she said nothing.

  He continued, “Each of them wears a gold medallion depicting—”

  “A woman,” she murmured. “With snakes for hair.”

  The beat of his heart increased. He nodded, keeping his face expressionless so as to not reveal the depth of his excitement. “Those would be the same gentlemen. The Invisibilis.”

  “You’re not one of ’em, ’at much I know. And I very much suspect they aren’t your friends.” She chuckled wryly. “A mysterious lot, they are. Don’t come ’ere for the entertainments, for the most part, though when they do, they pay the girls well, though some of them can be a bit…rough.”

  “Can you provide their names? Even the name of an associate or lackey?”

  She glanced over her shoulder before whispering, “Never actually seen their faces. They wear ’oods, fashioned of black silk, y’ see, but gentlemen they be, all of them, with fancy clothes and carriages. They’ve not yet arrived, but soon, I think. Keep an eye over there, beside the stage. If they’re ’ere tonight, they’ll come through the back.”

  “Thank you, Nellie.” He stepped away, and her hands fell from his coat.

  “Wot, that’s all?” She pouted, a saucy smile tilting her carmine lips. “You paid for better than just a bit of chitchat.”

  “If anyone comes asking later, forget about me. That’s all I ask.”

  “Beshrew me, forget ’at ’andsome face?” Her gaze traveled over him longingly. Regretfully. She sighed. “Don’t think ’at’s possible, but Nellie don’t tell tales on her favorites.” She came near, her voice lowered. “But be careful w’ those ones. They’re dangerous men.”

  “How do you know I’m not the same?”

  She answered softly. “You still have a soul. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Cormack wasn’t so sure about that.

  Chapter Three

  I don’t really care wot your name is, just as long as yoov got two of those—” Mr. Bynum’s bloodshot gaze dropped to her bosoms. “And one of these.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, and with an open hand smacked her bottom. Daphne yelped and whirled back around, her hands raised to strike, but he shoved a bundle into them and roughly herded her toward the corner, where a burlap curtain had be
en hung crosswise on twine.

  “There’s no time to waste,” Mr. Bynum lectured coldly, his eyes touching her everywhere in a way that made her shiver in disgust. “You’re late. Don’t be late again. We have a schedule here, and you will do well to keep it, strict as law, else your friend Miss Fickett will pay the consequences.”

  Daphne held the bundle tight to her breast, her gaze moving to two ladies who moved past in gowns only half there, their faces powdered white and brightly painted. They stared at her with dull-eyed curiosity, smirking unkindly before passing through a doorway to a room that seemed to quake with laughter and inharmonious music.

  For what had to be the thousandth time, Daphne conceded that perhaps it had been unwise to take Kate’s place after all. Not that Kate even knew she was here, of course. She would never have allowed Daphne to walk out the door if she’d realized her intentions. Unwise decision or no, she wouldn’t change a thing. Given the urgency of the situation, taking Kate’s place had been the only alternative. As a true friend, she’d had no other choice. She had no doubt Kate would have done the same for her.

  Praying she didn’t look as terrified as she felt, Daphne stood straighter and forced her shoulders back, assuming a nonchalant pose.

  “Pay the consequences how?” she demanded, more forcefully than she’d intended, in her effort to force the breathlessness from her voice.

  Call her foolish, but she’d imagined the Blue Swan to be a slightly more elegant venue. Instead she felt as if she’d been yanked from the clean and comfortable world she knew and dropped into hell, or at least purgatory, overcrowded with wretched creatures and smelling of rubbish and cheap perfume. While it was all keenly interesting, and her curious mind took in every mortifying detail—including the man and woman shamelessly groping one another against the far wall—she understood the very real peril in which she’d placed herself. She couldn’t imagine Kate in this place. If she survived the night with her life, neither of them were ever coming back.