"Perfect. That is exactly what you will say to every young buck of the Ton who comes flocking to the door," he said calmly, though it took every ounce of willpower not to take her up against the wall then and there.
Rather than releasing the skirt of the gown, he raised it up and with one fluid movement had it over her head, forgetting that of course she could not have fit a chemise under it.
She gasped and covered her breasts, but not before he had caught a good look in the light at her rosebud tight-nipples, pink perfection against her ivory skin. It reminded him of the first night they had met, how much he had longed for her then. Even more so now that he knew her...
"Men will say anything to get in your knickers, silk or otherwise. They think every actress susceptible to their charms. But I will not have it in my theatre. Whatever you may have heard about me," he pressed on, seeming unable to stop himself in his desperate bid to cover up his folly, "this is not a knocking shop. I tolerated Maggie and Hugo because they were equals and consenting adults, as are we all here. And they married a couple of weeks ago at last.
"But anything that smacks of commercialism and the buying and selling of favours will not be permitted. Not least because the authorities would shut me down in a minute. So if anyone comes here offering a king’s ransom for you to warm their sheets, you send them to The Three Bells. I catch you doing anything else, I shall sack you, even if you are my best actress."
He tried to subdue the jealousy roaring in his veins. "If you do want to see anyone on the up and up, so to speak, one of us will be in the room at all times. Understood?"
"I had hoped slavery might be abolished some time soon, but it would appear I have made a mistake if I’m to work at The New Rose Theatre," she said tightly, covering up her embarrassment over the liberties he had just taken with a show of anger and spirit.
"Come, my dear, no need to take that tone. It is after all for your own protection. Just as my offering you a job here as the dresser was. If you don’t want to preserve the virtue I assume you to possess, then there's work for you at The Three Bells, of course."
He fixed her with a hard stare. "Just come down to the common parlour and I shall find another Cleopatra. But it would be a waste of your acting talents, and of your lovely person. It’s a hard life, and few women live long at it, no matter how careful we try to be with our women."
"I have no intention of working at The Three Bells," she said with asperity. "I’m as chaste as the day I was born." She gave him a long, hard look, one he loathed seeing on her face.
A virgin? his mind screamed. Damn if he hadn’t damage her innocence already with his scurrilous talk, his feasting on her silk-clad privities.
"But I pity you, George. I have no idea what woman made you so suspicious and nasty. She emasculated you as effectively with her cruelty and indifference as if she had wielded a knife. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall dress for the street and we can both leave."
"I shall of course escort you back."
"Thank you," she tossed over her shoulder, feeling as though she had been kicked. She managed to maintain a dignified pace, rather than break into headlong flight to cover her bareness and her miserable thoughts.
It had all been a game to him, damn his smug black eyes, she fumed inwardly. He really didn’t desire her, care for her. It had just been a test. An attempt upon her virtue to see how she would comport herself. And yet, for a moment there... And the look in his eyes...
He watched her retreating scantily clad body and then slumped against the wall, his head resting against the cool plaster. He brought it back and thumped it, hard, though not enough to break skin. God in Heaven, what the hell had he been playing at? He had practically devoured her through the silk. And she had let him. But said she was a virgin. What on earth was he to believe?
No, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust any woman. No woman had ever proven worthy of his trust. They had been fine for the first week or so. Then the inevitable carping, complaining and above all questions had come into the relationship.
George might have tried to compromise if he had cared about them. The truth was that they might have touched his body, but not one of them had ever even come close to touching his heart. Not like this miraculous young woman with midnight blue eyes and the sweetest smile, the most lustrous skin, the most succulent...
A footstep behind him made George start and drag on his own street clothes. It was only Daniel making sure that everything was closed up for the night, so the nightwatchman could take over.
"All right, Boss? You look a bit pale," he said, raising the lantern.
"I’m fine. Just tired. I forgot how all the excitement of the performance can kick like a mule afterwards. Food and sleep will be just the thing. Poor Miranda must be done in.
"Would you mind awfully walking her home and getting her a snack from the kitchen? Oh, and it’s your turn to go to the market tomorrow. Can you get her a single red rose and leave it in her dressing room? And fetch her at nine for rehearsals?"
"Surely, Boss, more than glad to. But where are you—"
"Say good night to her for me, and thank her. It was a miracle tonight, a revelation. But if I don’t find another actor to take the role of Antony, things could be very difficult for us all."
"I still think you can just hire a senior manager and—"
"No, it will be you if it’s anyone. But everyone counts on me to —"
"And I want you to count on me. That is, unless you think you can’t trust me," he added in a hurt tone.
He shook his head. "No, that isn’t it at all, and you know it. It’s just I’m, well, a lot larger than you are, more accustomed to the life of a street tough," he admitted. "I can’t really imagine you being the bouncer around here, for all you were once a boxer."
"If you and I run a tight ship, we won’t need a bouncer."
"And are you going to allow Miranda to keep on living at The Three Bells?" he asked suddenly.
"Why not?" he asked in confusion, confused by the non sequitur.
"She’s a celebrity now. People will begin to recognise her. If she’s seen going back and forth from there it might give people the wrong idea, and that would never do."
Goodness. He hadn’t thought of that! But Daniel was quite right. It would be a disaster. He had just lectured her on maintaining her virtue, and yet she was living in a brothel. In the secret attic room, true, but anyone seeing her entering and departing would not know that.
But what to do with her?
He had been about to go to the baths and throw himself into a hot tub to soak away the stress of the evening and try to get some relief from his ravening lusts. He could still taste her indescribable sweetness on his tongue, and thought he would go mad with longing. Now he thought hard, and came up with a plan.
"I’ll find her a place to live. Tell her to pack her things and be ready at eight. Take her to the Grants, and I shall meet you there. Say good night for me, and sweet dreams to my goddess."
"All right, Boss," Daniel said with a bemused shake of his head.
CHAPTER NINE
Though it was late, there was someone at home to him in the Grant/Marshall household when he arrived.
Philip heard George out, and nodded. "I don’t see why not. We have plenty of room. You know Sebastian is always welcome here, and all the girls. In fact, we think we might have convinced Sebastian he really can live here without fearing Castlereagh’s wrath for leaving the service."
"Aye. I’ve told him that he’s well out of it. Castlereagh has other fish to fry now. He sees conspiracies everywhere. But Sebastian deserves a normal life."
"And you?" Philip asked, his sherry-brown eyes resting upon the other man’s face thoughtfully. Though they had only met earlier in the year as a result of one of the high-profile cases he and Alistair were working on, he always got the feeling whenever he saw George Davenant that he had met him before. But then, in his careers as a resident of the Marshalsea debtor’s pri
son, a prostitute, and then as a prisoner at Newgate, he had met many people….
It was said no one sneezed on this side of the river without George knowing about it. And no one dared move in on his territory and lived to tell about it. All very well and fine, but the trouble with being king of the dungheap was that someone was bound to come along sooner or later and try to knock you off. And it was only a dungheap anyway.
"What about me?" George asked gruffly.
"A normal life. This woman means something to you. Could it be you’re trying to get out of pimping and the flash life after all?"
Philip was said to have an incredible second sense, and he deserved the truth. George shook his head and answered honestly. "You know how it is. Castlereagh has my balls in a vice, and the only way people like me leave this life in the underworld is feet first in a pine box if they can afford one."
"Then walk away from the vice. And I haven’t left yet, though I’ve skated on pretty thin ice at times. I could never have managed without friends and a bit of luck. And a certain knowledge that some of us are blessed by the gods."
"You mean fortune favours the brave?"
Philip shrugged. "Something like that. Sorry to bore you with the story if you’ve already heard it, but when I was at my lowest ebb, Jasmine came into my life and has saved me from misery every single day since. I would have been a dead man if she hadn’t, for if I hadn’t killed her father or sister with my bare hands, my two worst enemies in the world, I’d have killed myself. That is if one of my many other enemies didn’t first. It’s never too late. If you need me, you know where to come. And if not here, then to Somerset. We live at Ashton Manor just outside of Brimley whenever we're down in the country."
George’s heart skipped a beat. "Brimley?" he asked in what he hoped sounded like a casual tone.
"Yes, lovely little spot on the main road to Bath and Bristol. Lots of good, decent people there. Everyone would make you most welcome, and find you a post suited to your talents. My friend Lawrence, back from India, is a nabob of the first water. He's always looking for good men to help with the tea, furniture and piecework trade. Every stick in the entire house was bought from him, every swatch of fabric, including our wives’ gowns." He waved his hand around the elegantly decorated chamber.
"So if you need some fabric or frocks for this lady or indeed any other in the theatre, for costumes and so forth, please do feel free to ask for an introduction. He can come around with the samples himself if he’s in Town. He usually lives in Brimley with his wife and family, close to Bristol where many of his ships dock. But he does come up about once each month. Perhaps we can all have supper some time?"
"Really, you’re most kind. It’s more than I deserve. But for the moment, you and your wife helping with Miranda will be more than enough."
"Hmm, lovely name. Unusual." Philip looked pensive for a moment. "I’ve only ever met one Miranda before, a sister of a friend, one of the Rakehells in fact."
"Oh no, she’s just an ordinary lass down on her luck. I doubt it’s even her real name."
Philip looked pensive. "Like so many of them. Glad you got her off the street, though."
"Oh, she says she was never really on the street."
"All the same, Jasmine and I will look after her. And Alistair and Viola too, of course. They’ll be sorry to have missed you this evening, but they’ve unaccountably gone to bed early." He gave a hearty grin. "I think they’re aiming for the longest honeymoon in history. But I couldn’t be more pleased. Couldn’t happen to a nicer chap. Or lovelier girl."
George nodded. "Aye, Viola is one in a million."
"And Miranda?" he queried softly.
"One in a hundred million," George admitted with a sheepish grin, even now shuddering in the throes of desire for the slender brunette.
Philip gave a warm smile and patted George on the shoulder. "Well, I shall look forward to meeting this paragon."
"Is eight too early? We have to get to the theatre for rehearsals and the matinee."
"Not at all. Come for breakfast, and I’ll tell Jasmine and Viola to pick a really lovely room for her and fill it full of some homey comforts. Does she read and write?"
"Yes, she does," he said proudly.
"Good, some books and flowers and so on will do nicely."
"Thanks, Philip. You’ve been awfully good about this." He offered his hand to shake.
He gave an airy wave. "Don’t mention it. Just promise me you’ll consider giving up Castlereagh’s service. I know you well enough to be sure that that’s not where your heart or head lie. And that you have an entirely different career path in your future if you have the guts to take it."
"Now I know you’re part gipsy."
Philip winked. "I’ll read your tea leaves tomorrow at breakfast. Only, well, one other thing," he added, his eyes taking on a strange, vacant quality he had notice occasionally before.
"What?"
"She’s at the The Three Bells now, isn’t she?"
"Yes. But why—"
"Go check on her. Those places can get jolly rough. I ought to know."
George blanched. "Yes, I will. Thank you. Good night." His last words were thrown over his shoulder as he ran out the door and down the street like the hounds of Hell were after him.
CHAPTER TEN
An hour later, as George began to help clean up the damage The Three Bells had suffered as a result of the near-riot which had broken out, George thanked all the gods in the pantheon for Philip’s warning.
He had raced over to the brothel immediately upon leaving Fulham House, and found nothing but mayhem. Daniel had escorted Miranda back there, but he had not stopped to check who was following them.
As soon as the young bucks had seen the lay of the land, they had insisted they all wanted a turn with Miranda. No amount of cajoling from Daniel or the security men at the door or in the pub could persuade them that a mistake had been made. The men had proceeded to wreck the parlor and misused some of the girls in a bid to get Miranda to come down and service them.
Miranda, safely locked in her garret room, had been horrified at the sound of the pandemonium, but knew from her dreadful experience in the alley a few nights before exactly what was going to happen to her if she dared leave her room.
She looked out the window at the brawling which had now spilled into the street. With relief she saw all of the men who ran the bath house come along to try to contain it. Finally she saw George charging up the road to put an end to the chaos.
He never hurt them with an outright punch. Rather, they went for him, he deflected their blow and turned their force back on themselves. It was very like the self-defense tactics that Eswara Paignton and her son had tried to teach her the couple of times she had been visiting and the subject had come up.
She could still hear the sound of crashing bottles, shattering glass and smashing furniture, but knowing George was there made her feel safe. Her heart fluttered in her chest with apprehension. She certainly didn’t want him hurt because of her. And would he send her away because of all the trouble she had caused?
At last George had the place clear, and the clean-up began. He surveyed the damage grimly. But at least no one had been seriously injured. He wondered vaguely if the same men who had tried to seize Miranda the week before had been responsible. And if they had been put up to it by...
"Come on, ladies, anyone who isn’t injured, get up and go to bed. Daniel, round up the ones who are, and take them to Antony Herriot at the Bethnal Green clinic. He or Oliver Neville will get them patched up. Come on, everyone, we need to get this place sorted for business again by the end of the week. I’ll pay you for the lost time, of course, but we need to—"
He halted at the sight of Miranda on the stairs. "You need to get back to your room," he hissed.
"No, I don’t. This is all my fault. I’ll give you every farthing of the money I earn on stage until this is all paid for and replaced." She offered him her small money pouch.
/> "No, this is my fault. I should never have let you come back here. Daniel warned me that something might be misconstrued. I’ll pay."
She pressed the bag into his palm. "I just heard you tell the girls you’d make up their lost wages out of your own pocket. So the least I can do is replace everything, and help clean up. And don’t argue," she said, stalking past him and into the kitchen where she got a dustpan and sweeping brush and began to clean the glass off the floor. "If you try to do it by yourself, you’ll be up all night. Many hands make light work."
The residents now all followed her example, with the broken chairs and tables stacked up like so much cordwood for the many fireplaces in the old inn, and the larger pieces to keep the bathhouse fires going.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6 Page 48
