Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 0]

by The Spy

  Collis’s bellow traveled halfway across the park with ease, scattering flocks of pigeons and causing irritated glances from one and all. James shaded his face with one hand and slunk down into the tufted seat. So much for the invisible carriage.

  Robbie arrived first and scrambled aboard, sticky hands and all. He turned excited eyes to James. “Did you come looking for us? Where are we going?” He seemed to have no memory of his earlier anger. James found himself grateful for that at least, for when Phillip quietly stepped into the carriage, one could have chilled champagne with the glare James received.

  Collis grinned. “No more work today, James. I want to take Rob here to visit Clara. She was asking about him at breakfast, complaining that she hasn’t seen him in days.” He smirked at James. “Then you can tell Phillip about our plans for him.”

  James shot Collis a quelling glare but agreed. Robbie was nearly as mad for Clara as he was for James’s sister Agatha. Both women were putty in the hands of the Blue-eyed Bandit, as Collis had dubbed him. As James was fond of Clara as well, there seemed no reason not to give Robbie the chance for some maternal companionship, especially following Collis’s crack about starting up his own monastery.

  Unfortunately, that left James and Phillip together in an uncomfortable silence once Collis and Robbie climbed from the carriage.

  As they shut the carriage door, Phillipa heard Robbie’s voice. “Aren’t you supposed to call her Aunt Clara, if she’s married to your uncle Dalton now?”

  She heard Collis laugh. “Not bloody likely, when she’s younger than me and twice as pretty! She’d clout me for sure if I tried it . . .”

  As they drove away, the rattling of the wheels on the cobbles drowned out everything happening outside the carriage, making the space inside seem even more confining and intimate.

  Phillipa shifted uncomfortably. She and James had left matters entirely unresolved earlier this afternoon. Would he act as though nothing had been said?

  By all rights, he ought to sack her. She was only a sort of trumped-up servant. Yet if apology was required of her, she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t stick in her throat and choke her, despite the need to stay where she was.

  Finally, she could stand the silence no longer. “What did Mr. Tremayne mean, about your having plans for me?”

  James leaned forward, fidgeting with his hat. “Now, Phillip, don’t take this ill, but—”

  Dual-edged panic lanced through her. “I apologize,” she blurted, surprising herself. “I overstepped. It won’t happen again.”

  He blinked. “Ah . . . very well then. Thank you.” He looked down at his hat, turning it round by the brim. “I think I know why you’ve had the blue devils . . . or at least, I think I know of something that will help.”

  Phillipa sat very still. He couldn’t know, she was sure of it. Yet what was he talking about?

  James shook his head quickly. “I’ll just come out with it, shall I?”

  Phillipa tilted her head at him, completely mystified. “Please do.”

  “When a bloke gets to a certain age, there are needs—well, he can be very distractible and . . . and overly impassioned. You understand that, do you not?”

  Phillipa nodded, entirely at sea.

  “Right. And so, being a gentleman, this bloke can’t very well go to a lady, now can he?”

  Guessing between two possible responses, Phillipa shook her head gravely.

  “Now, needing another sort entirely . . . well then, Collis and I are taking you to a demimonde ball. If that’s all right with you.”

  Phillipa found herself nodding automatically, though her mind was blank with confusion and surprise.

  James looked massively relieved. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He sat back on the cushions, obviously much pleased with himself. “We go tomorrow night.”

  Opening her mouth to ask him what the bloody hell he was getting at, Phillipa halted abruptly. Demimonde? As in courtesans and mistresses? She took a breath and held up one finger to ask him for an explanation, when the answer suddenly came to her.

  Needs? James thought Phillip needed a prostitute?

  “Ah, James?”

  He looked up at her expectantly, but she had no idea what to say. Tell him that Phillip didn’t want to? Was that what a young man would do? Somehow she rather doubted it.

  “Yes, Flip?”

  “Perhaps you could tell me—” Phillipa folded her hands in her lap and stared down at her fingers, wholly embarrassed. “What precisely is involved in attending a demimonde ball?” Heavens, her mental image was something resembling a country dance, performed stark naked.

  “Oh, you’ll not be required to wear a costume, if that’s what you’re asking. Many of the . . . ah, ladies wear fanciful getups, and anyone who doesn’t want to be identified may wear a mask. If you wish it, I’m sure Button could find something for you.” James set his hat on the seat beside him and stretched his arms over his head. “Mrs. Blythe runs one of the more reputable houses in London. She avoids trading in the darker vices. Her ladies are healthy and willing, since they are paid better than most.”

  Phillipa frowned. “Do you—I mean, do the gentlemen pay them?”

  “No, not directly. Mrs. Blythe’s system is quite ingenious. There is a fee to enter the ball, which I shall gladly foot for you. Then of everything within—food, drink, favors—one may indulge as one wishes.” James smiled at her encouragingly. “There’s no need to feel intimidated, Flip. It’s all very welcoming and relaxed. Simply an opportunity to fulfill one’s fantasies, you might say.”

  Fantasies. Phillipa suddenly recalled the fantasy he had confided in her a few nights past. His perfect dream—a harem dancer. Memories of the Bedouin dancer flickered across her mind then. The dancer’s sensuality . . . her power . . .

  “A woman’s power is in her flesh. She can twist a man’s mind around until he is her willing plaything.”

  Phillipa sat very still as vengeful excitement coursed through her. She had wondered how she was to help her father—how she was to divine James’s plans. Now she knew.

  James carried that little book on his person every waking hour, but hid it while he slept. So when was a man undressed, yet not sleeping?

  He had given her the weapon with his own hand. All she needed now was a costume.

  Button entered the parlor of Sir Raines’s fine house where Phillipa had been installed by a very impressive-looking butler. The little valet stood for a moment with his hands outstretched. “Phillipa! My dear, you look simply dashing! Your own mother wouldn’t know you.” He twisted a finger in the air. “Give me spin, will you?”

  Phillipa turned obediently. When she faced him again, there was a very smug glint in his eye.

  “I must say, dear girl, that you may just be my finest work. And what a challenge! The perfect cut to fool the eye, the proper fabrics to make you seem taller, oh, and those waistcoat fronts nearly sent me into fits!” He put his fists on his hips and nodded briskly. “Yes, I am a genius.”

  Despite the tension within her, Phillipa could not help a small smile. Then she became serious once more. “Button, I need your help. I need a costume. James and Mr. Tremayne are sponsoring Phillip to a demimonde ball.”

  “Ah, an Elegant Madness! How delightful.” Button beamed and rubbed his hands together. “What shall we make of you now? There’s a bolt of scarlet silk I’ve had my eye on, ’twould make a perfect Spanish bullfighter’s cape—”

  “No, Button.” She took his hands in hers. “A lady’s costume.”

  Button’s eyes widened. “But why? When we’ve gone to such troubles to make a man out of you?”

  Goodness, everyone wanted to make a man out of her. The situation was beginning to play hell with her feminine confidence. Phillipa shook her head. “But I need to be a woman, just for one night. In disguise.”

  Suspicion crossed Button’s puckish face. Phillipa looked away. She hated lying to this kind little man, but there was no help for it
. Turning away, she did her best to portray a shy young girl. Not easy in breeches and boots.

  “It’s only . . . well, do you recall when you asked me if I fancied James?” She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Remember Papa. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Button. “I want to meet James as a woman . . . just once. I need to know . . . that is . . .” Do it! Lie! “I love him,” she said in a rush. “I need to know if it is possible he might love me.”

  Her breathless delivery only seemed to make her more convincing, for the suspicion was swept from Button’s eyes by a delighted twinkle. “My dear, I’m so happy for you! And for James as well, as soon he falls for you! And he will.” He winked. “I’m never wrong about these things.”

  Then he apparently thought of something. “You do realize that if you approach him at this particular ball, in costume, he’ll think you . . .”

  “A demirep? Yes.” There was no need to falsify the blush that followed. She was most definitely demolishing any last traces of good reputation she may have owned. “There is a price but it is all in the finest of causes.” That, at least, was unvarnished truth.

  “Well, if you’re sure?”

  She nodded. Button clapped both hands with glee. “Good. What shall we make of you? A Greek goddess? An Egyptian queen?”

  “No,” Phillipa said firmly. “I will be James’s harem dancer.”

  The following evening, the ballroom of Mrs. Blythe’s “house” was draped in a fantasy of rainbow silk. Lengths of it draped round columns and cornices, creating small rooms of counterfeit intimacy within the teeming crowd. White India doves fluttered freely from upper-level balcony to balcony, although James had to wonder if the accumulated smoke from the various pipes full of narcotics would cause any of them to fall to the floor by the end of the evening.

  He looked down to where a few of the guests were already on the floor, sprawled giggling or sleeping against the walls and in the corners. Narcotics, food, and wine lay in abundant supply on every available surface. As if that weren’t enough, any guest who stood still for long would eventually be approached by a masked and scantily clad young woman—or young man—offering to provide any needed sustenance.

  Yet with all of the above, sex reigned supreme in this house of sin. Sex for sale, sex for trade, sex for free. In his younger, wilder days, James would have loved every minute of this madness.

  He hoped Phillip was having a good time.

  The pressure of the ticking clock built within him, until he thought he might explode. Of the ten days he had been given by Liverpool, six had passed. There was no red-haired woman, no code key, and no evidence against Lavinia.

  He ought not to be here. He ought to be—

  There was nothing left to try, nothing that he could think of, and he had racked his brain for days.

  Seeing another serving girl coming his way with a tray of delights, James ducked behind a swath of silk to avoid her. At least this time it wasn’t a bloke. Apparently someone had taken note of his solitude and had decided that he simply hadn’t met the right gender yet. It had taken him half an hour to shed that young man off his trail.

  The girl with the tray passed and James stepped from his concealment. That had been a close one. Perhaps it was time he gathered Phillip up and made their way ho—

  A swath of Turkish-blue silk rippled across his vision and he turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of gossamer veils and golden filigree. He blinked, then shook his head. Did he hear tiny bells? The smoke was getting to him. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought his harem fantasy girl had just come to life.

  Then a great caped brute wearing Viking horns stepped to one side and James saw her again. She stood just beneath the central chandelier of the ballroom. The light behind her diaphanous costume made it quite clear that she was wearing little else but silken veils wrapped intriguingly about her slim form and dangling from a golden belt that showed a fascinating bit of taut belly.

  She turned her head in his direction briefly and he saw that her hair as well as the lower half of her face was covered with yet another veil. Yet her long pale arms were bare and so were her feet.

  The crowd swelled between James and the woman like the incoming tide. He moved forward, pushing rudely and apologizing profusely until he stood beneath the central chandelier himself.

  She was gone.

  He wanted to run through the room until he spotted her again but he stopped himself. She was probably some man’s prized mistress—the territory of a fellow who would not take kindly to a poaching outsider.

  Besides, a mistress was the last thing James wanted. No women, no distractions—

  There she was again, standing facing him not twenty paces away. She was looking directly at him, her eyes dark and alluring over her veil. James’s mouth went entirely dry.

  She took one graceful step toward him, then another. With every swaying movement of her hips, the veils hanging from her low-slung golden belt parted to show mesmerizing glimpses of calf . . . knee . . . thigh . . .

  As she approached, he could see that her dark eyes were lined exotically with kohl, her black lashes thick and sooty on her pale cheeks. Her gaze had flickered demurely downward as she drew nearer, until she stood just outside arm’s reach before him.

  Then her gaze rose as if in challenge and he found himself breathless at the impact of her captivating gaze. Her eyes seemed the exact color of the blue-green silks she wore, but that was not possible, was it?

  Her gaze ran over him slowly, like a touch that began at his lips and stroked over him to his knees and up again. Her darkly etched brows rose in an expression of teasing approval.

  The effect was startling, stunning him with the power of his own rising desire. His body tingled and his trousers tightened.

  She almost slipped away as he stood frankly gawking. She turned in a cloud of silk and spicy scent and walked away from him. He heard bells once more.

  Damn, he should have spoken to her, should have taken her hand, gotten her name—

  She paused in her catlike exit to turn her head. Over her shoulder, she gave him a long glance, then blinked one darkened lid in a slow, inviting wink. Follow, that look commanded.

  He followed.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The mysterious woman led James through the crowd and out to the terrace doors. All the double doors stood open to the gardens, doubtless to freshen the stifling smoky air within the ballroom. Yet there were surprisingly few souls out of doors.

  James supposed there was no reason to hide away at one of Blythe’s hedonistic events. There were no rules to break in secret or otherwise. He and his dream enchantress had the gardens nearly to themselves.

  She danced lightly across the stone terrace and down the steps to the garden path. James had to proceed at a brisk pace to keep her in sight. As she wandered she reached a long delicate arm out to stroke the occasional late-blooming flower. It was as if her pale hand caressed the night.

  The light breeze of the evening caressed her in return, teasing her veils from her skin, teasing James with glimpses of her flesh that grew more difficult to see as he followed her exotically scented path through the overgrown ivy trellis that covered the walkways for many yards.

  Then she disappeared through a silvery portal. James followed her to emerge in a moonlit clearing that was clearly the center of Blythe’s “pleasure” garden.

  Sexually explicit statuary graced various nooks and bowers along the skirts of the clearing, but James spared them no more than a glance. The exotic work of art that danced before him was all the revelation his narrowly focused mind could bear at the moment.

  Away from the loud and lewd entertainments of the ball, James became aware that the girl was humming along with the chiming of her bells. She danced her way around the fountain that centered the garden, coming back his way with a delightful amount of supple swaying.

  The tune she hummed was strange and as exotic as herself, yet it perfectly suited her
sinuous movements. Those movements became more exaggerated as she came to dance before him.

  He stepped forward. She spun away, casting him a scolding glance over her shoulder as she went. He reached a hand to her. “Stop, please. I—”

  She fled him completely, dancing to the far side of the fountain. He could hear her low unsettling tune but he could no longer see her.

  Defeated, he shook his head and laughed helplessly. “Very well then. You win. I’ll stay still.”

  She immediately emerged from concealment to whirl back to her previous place before him. Breathless from his brief glimpse of supple bare bottom when she turned, James had no problem staying put. She truly wore nothing beneath the veils. Lord, it was all he could do to swallow!

  And where the hell was she keeping the bells?

  Still humming that song that brought to mind Bedouin tents and sunlit sands, she danced before him. She moved in ways he had not known a woman could move, her taut belly rippling in a mesmerizing movement that made him think of both hot aching sex and dark feminine mystery.

  The tune seemed to creep under his skin, until his pounding heartbeat began to keep perfect time. His lust rose until he was as hard as he’d ever been in his life. He ached to touch her, to taste her, to own her.

  Then she removed the first veil.

  • • •

  Phillipa held her breath as she unwrapped the first veil from around her breasts and shoulder. She flung it high, whirling out from beneath it and watching James watch the fluttering silk float to the ground in the sudden silence.

  His gaze glued to the scrap of veil on the grass, James’s expression was priceless. If she’d not been so frankly terrified she might have laughed. Well, she had certainly gained his masculine attention!

  She set her hips to quivering just the tiniest bit and was rewarded by the silvery chime of her bells. James’s gaze flew to her once more. His eyes were black in the moonlight and his jaw clenched rhythmically.

  His hunger was almost palpable in the air between them. Phillipa felt her own desire rise in response to his raptor gaze. She fought it back. That was not her purpose tonight.