by Anna Bradley
All four ladies turned to him, but it was Charlotte who spoke. “What do you mean, you don’t think so?”
He leaned down and scooped up her black masque from the floor. “You’re coming with me.”
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “Not without rope and a gag, I’m not. I’m leaving with my friends.”
“I don’t think so,” he said again. “For all I know your friends are on their way to another whorehouse. You’ll come with me, as it’s the only way I can be certain you’re delivered safely to your door.”
“How gallant. Rather surprising, given the circumstances. I’ve no need for an escort, however.”
“You mistake the matter indeed if you think my concern is for you.”
Somehow in the midst of this bizarre evening he’d forgotten why he dragged Charlotte upstairs in the first place. Because bloody Cam had cozened him into it, and because Ellie had made it clear she’d rather her younger sister didn’t spend her time in a whorehouse.
“Such admirable family loyalty.” Charlotte gave a short, mocking laugh. “But perhaps I can be persuaded to accept your escort after all, as long as we agree no one else needs to know about this.”
Too late. But then Charlotte obviously hadn’t caught on to that fact, and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. The lie fell smoothly from his lips. “If you come with me now, no one need be the wiser.”
“Good. After all, no harm was done tonight.”
No harm yet. They still had to escape a crowded whorehouse with her reputation intact. A tricky business, that. Cam and Ellie could be the least of Charlotte’s worries. By tomorrow everyone in London might know about her whorehouse escapade.
“I have your word on this?” Charlotte pressed.
“Of course.” The promise was broken before he even made it, but she’d given up any right she had to the truth when she’d strolled into a whorehouse. He’d do whatever it took to get her out the door.
She studied him for a moment, then turned to her friends. “It’s all right. He’ll take me straight back to Grosvenor Square.”
The redhead slid Julian a measuring look, then frowned. “I don’t like it, Charlotte.”
“I don’t, either.” The petite blonde looked as if she were on the verge of tears. “What proof do we have he’ll see you home safely? Why, he could drop you in the middle of Seven Dials and leave you to the mercy of the footpads!”
“I assure you, madam, I have no such intention. Why should I play such a nasty trick on the footpads?”
The tall blonde’s mouth twitched again; then she came forward and kissed Charlotte’s cheek. “Alas, straight back to Grosvenor Square, just as if you were a naughty child. Rather a dull end to an otherwise promising evening. But no matter.” She threw Julian a provoking smile. “There’s always tomorrow night. Now, ladies, are your masques secured? We have to make our way through that pack of shrieking villains again.”
The other two ladies kissed Charlotte, tightened the ribbons on their masques and followed the tall blonde out the door, leaving the room far quieter than it was before they’d entered.
Julian thrust the black masque into Charlotte’s hands. “Here. Put this back on.”
She didn’t argue, but silently donned the masque and tied the ribbon.
He cracked open the door to check the hallway. It was empty. “Follow me, but don’t come into the parlor. Stay out of sight while I secure a hack.”
There was no sign of Charlotte’s friends downstairs, but their departure must have caused an uproar, because he found Mrs. Lacey soothing a group of disgruntled young bucks with promises of exotic fleshly pleasures Julian knew to be illegal in England. She was more than happy to secure him a hack, shove him and his troublesome companion toward the door, and be rid of them.
Charlotte sat across from him in the carriage on their way to Grosvenor Square, her masque in her lap and a shaft of moonlight teasing pale fingers across her face. To look at her now, he’d never guess she’d spent her evening in a whorehouse, dangling her reputation from the end of a silken cord. She appeared every inch the grand marchioness.
Neither of them spoke until the carriage drew to a halt in front of Charlotte’s house, and then Julian cleared his throat. “I’ll remain in London for a short time only. A few weeks at most.”
“Indeed? I suppose you have plans to return to Hertfordshire.”
Considering the night of passion they’d shared at his home in Hertfordshire it should have cost her an effort to mention it, but if it did, she hid it well. “Anxious to be rid of me, are you, Lady Hadley?”
She smoothed her hands over her skirts, then folded them in her lap. “I can’t think of any reason why I should be. Can you?”
Julian stared at her. She stared back with an air of polite enquiry, as if she were waiting for him to hand her a cup of tea. “As I said, I have business in London, and as my cousin is rather inconveniently married to your sister, we’re bound to be thrown into each other’s company. Not more than necessary, I hope.”
“Oh? And how much of my company would you deem necessary, Captain?”
So bloody composed. “The less, the better. I’m staying with Cam, Ellie, and Amelia in Bedford Square, and you, well…” He gestured toward the carriage window. “You have a grand house in Grosvenor Square, don’t you?”
Julian let this sink in and waited for something, anything to indicate she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be.
He was disappointed. She only tilted her head to one side to study him, then, “Oh. I see. You’re warning me away from my sister’s house.”
He shrugged. “Not forever, but it would be easier while I remain in London, yes.”
She considered this as if she thought it a perfectly reasonable demand. “And should your business keep you in London longer than you anticipate? What then?”
“Would that bother you?”
“Are you asking me, Captain, if it would bother me not to see my family?”
Her cool poise was beginning to nettle him. “I can’t imagine you see much of them now, with your friends and your whorehouse romps to keep you busy. You can’t be that fond of Amelia, especially. She’s only your half-sister.”
He leaned back against his seat and waited. If a shadow of Charlotte Sutherland hid under the marchioness’s cool facade, he’d see her now. From the moment she’d discovered their connection, Charlotte had been fiercely protective of Amelia.
“I don’t do things by halves, Captain West.” Her tone was pleasant. Conversational.
“Don’t you? That’s not how I remember it.”
“Memories are deceptive things, aren’t they? I do beg your pardon, but I will make you no promises, as I may find I have an inclination to visit my family in between whorehouse romps.”
“You forget, my lady, I’ve heard your promises before. Even if you did promise, I wouldn’t believe you.”
The coachman came down from the box and held the door, waiting for Charlotte to alight. She descended from the carriage, but hesitated on the street for a moment. “No,” she said. “I don’t suppose you would.”
The moon had retreated behind a cloud and Julian could no longer see her face, but her gaze was fixed on… He didn’t know what, but something he couldn’t see. She closed the carriage door with a quiet click and mounted the stairs to her grand house, the entrance half lost in shadows.
Chapter Four
It was late when Julian returned to Bedford Square, but Cam was still awake, pacing in the entrance hall. He jerked the front door open before Julian could reach the top step.
“Well, cuz.” Julian shoved his hands into his breeches pockets and slouched against the doorframe. “If I’d known you’d answer the door dressed only in your banyan, I would have gone through the servant’s entrance.”
Cam opened the door wide and stood aside so Julian coul
d enter. “I expected you back hours ago.”
Julian followed him into the entryway. “You’ve had hours to dress and you still answered the door wearing that? A bloody frightening sight. I suppose Mrs. West chased you from her bedchamber?”
“What do you mean? Ellie adores the sight of me in my banyan.”
“Does she? It’s true love, then.”
Cam turned down the hallway and entered his study. “It is, indeed.”
Julian dropped into one of the leather chairs in front of the fire—his chair—and accepted a glass of whiskey from his cousin. “Is Ellie asleep?”
Cam poured himself a measure and settled into the chair next to Julian’s. “Yes. She went to bed hours ago. You can speak plainly, Jules.”
“All right, then. Plainly speaking, you sent me on quite an adventurous chase this evening.”
Cam gave him a hopeful look. “A chase? Does that mean she wasn’t there, after all?”
“No. Sorry, cuz. She was there. I have quite a whorehouse tale for you, but I’m not sure you’ll find it amusing.”
Cam sighed, but he didn’t look surprised. “Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”
Julian took a swallow of his whiskey. “It was a strange bit of business—”
“Christ. That kind of place, was it?” Cam leaned forward in his chair. “I’ve heard stories, of course.”
“Bloody hell, Cam. Not that kind of strange. I didn’t think the marchioness was going to appear, after all, so I was on the verge of disappearing upstairs with a little blonde wench—”
“For God’s sake Julian, whatever for?”
“What for? Think hard, Cam. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Cam dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand. “Of course I know what for. I’ve just never known you to frequent whorehouses, that’s all. But let’s have your tale, amusing or not.”
“As I said, I was on the verge of disappearing upstairs, eager to conclude my business when I was prevented by a sudden uproar.”
“An uproar? Was it one of those performances, where the ladies—”
“No! I told you, it wasn’t that sort of strange, though now you say it, there was a performance of sorts, and it did involve ladies. Aristocratic ladies.”
Cam’s grin faded. “Aristocratic ladies?”
“Yes. There were four of them. Two blondes, one petite, the other tall and slender, and a fair-skinned redhead. I didn’t recognize those three, but the fourth—”
“Let me guess. Dark hair? Tall, too thin, and known to you?”
“I’m afraid so. My God, Cam. I didn’t truly think she’d be there, but you don’t look shocked.”
Cam shot to his feet, went to the sideboard, and poured himself more whiskey—a hefty measure this time. “I’m not. What happened?”
“They strolled in, seated themselves on a divan, pulled out four cheroots, and sat there and smoked them, as cool as you please.”
Cam downed his whiskey in one swallow. “Jesus. What else?”
Julian came to his feet and joined Cam at the sideboard. He felt a sudden need for another drink, as well. “Charlotte had touch papers with her to light the cheroots, so they obviously planned the entire thing.” He held out his glass and Cam poured him a measure. “You were right about it being a wager. The petite blonde mentioned someone named Devon.”
“Ethan Fortescue, Lord Devon.” Cam smiled grimly. “Yes. He was undoubtedly involved. Did anyone recognize them?”
Julian shook his head. “I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. They wore masques. As soon as I discovered Charlotte I bundled her into a carriage and took her home.”
That wasn’t all he’d done, but it didn’t seem a good time to confess he’d dragged her upstairs to a private bedchamber, nearly stripped her gown from her back, and told her to hike her skirts. He doubted his cousin would find that information reassuring.
“Thank God.” Cam released a long breath. “At least the worst didn’t happen. Not this time, at any rate.”
“This time? Does the marchioness make a habit of frequenting whorehouses?”
Cam ran a hand through his hair. “This is her first whorehouse, but not her first brush with scandal. She hasn’t been herself since she returned to London for the season. You know Hadley died not even four months after they wed, and that in itself was an awful enough business—”
“No.” Julian held up a hand. “I don’t want to know the details, Cam.” The Marchioness of Hadley wasn’t his concern, and he would keep it that way.
Cam gave him a measuring look, but he didn’t argue. “Ellie’s going to go mad when she hears of this.”
“Don’t tell her, then.”
“Spoken like a naive bachelor, cuz. I don’t keep secrets from my wife. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Wives always find out. Besides, if I don’t tell her, Sarah will.”
“Who’s Sarah?”
“Sarah is Charlotte’s lady’s maid. Earlier this season when it became clear Charlotte wasn’t, well…wasn’t herself, Sarah agreed to keep an eye on her and report anything of concern back to Ellie.”
Keep an eye on her? For God’s sake. Cam spoke as if Charlotte were a rebellious child. “Tell Sarah to keep it quiet, then. It might be better if Ellie didn’t know.”
“It might be better if Ellie didn’t know what?”
Julian whirled around, and his whiskey sloshed over the edge of his glass. “Good Lord, Ellie. You’ve made me spill whiskey all over myself. Where did you come from?”
Ellie stood by the door, one eyebrow raised and her arms folded across her chest. “The hallway, and not a moment too soon, it seems. It might be better if Ellie didn’t know about what, Julian?”
Cam chuckled. “I told you, Jules. There’s no point in trying to hide anything from them. They always find out. What are you doing awake, love?”
“I couldn’t sleep until I knew the worst about Charlotte, and from what I just overheard, I gather the worst is awful, indeed.”
“If by awful you mean I found her in a brothel with nothing but a flimsy mask standing between her and ruin,” Julian said, “Then yes, the worst is awful.”
Ellie paled. Cam crossed the room to her at once, took her arm, and led her to his chair. “Sit down, love.”
“She takes it further every time, Cam.” Ellie gripped his arm as he leaned over the chair. “Dear God. I shudder to think what she’ll do next.”
Cam took her hand and sat down on the chair’s arm. “Perhaps there won’t be a next.”
Ellie shook her head. “There will be. We’ve tried everything we can think of to stop this, but she won’t listen.”
“Not everything.” Cam fixed his gaze on Julian. “We haven’t tried Jules.”
Julian froze. Tried Jules? He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Ellie, Alec, and Robyn have exhausted themselves trying to rein Charlotte in,” Cam said. “Nothing they’ve said has made any difference, but tonight you managed to coax Charlotte from a brothel and deliver her safely to her door. You’ve had more success in one night than the rest of us have had in months.”
Coaxed her? Certainly, if lying and blackmail could be called coaxing.
“What of her mother? Surely Lady Catherine can make Charlotte see sense.”
“Our mother has been in Bath all season with my aunt, who’s taking the waters there for a chest complaint,” Ellie said. “Mother has written to Charlotte again and again, but a letter is easy enough to ignore, and it’s done no good.”
“How unfortunate,” Julian murmured.
“It would be unfortunate indeed if Charlotte became a scandal,” Cam said. “But thankfully you’re here now.”
“No, I’m not. Not for that.”
Ellie regarded him steadily. “But it’s so perfect. You’re a single gentleman. You can f
ollow her about London without attracting any attention, and—”
“Follow her about London? I can’t think of anything worse than trailing about after a wild, spoiled marchioness—”
“And you’re a Captain in the 10th Royal Hussars, London’s most gallant regiment,” Ellie rushed on, as if Julian hadn’t spoken. “A hero—”
“Hero?” Julian made a disgusted face. “Hardly.”
“But we’ve heard such stories. All of London’s heard them.” Ellie’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I do hope you’re not going to say they aren’t true.”
“All right.” Julian dropped back into his chair. “I won’t say it.”
“The gossip has it you carried mangled bodies on your back across raging battlefields, saving men in your regiment from certain death despite the great risk to your own safety.”
“Rot. I helped a few wounded men to a field hospital. That’s all.”
Cam sipped at his whiskey. “Ah, yes. Well, I can certainly see how that’s different than what we heard.”
“Damn it, Cam.” Julian reached out a stiff arm and set his glass on the sideboard. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“It’s well past the end of the season, Julian.” Ellie’s voice was quiet. “But Charlotte refuses to leave London. Unfortunately, a good many of the ton linger as well, hoping for a grand scandal, and it’s only a matter of time before they get one.”
“I’m sorry,” Julian said again. “But I don’t have time to chase Lady Hadley from one London whorehouse to the next. I’m in London for a few weeks only, to… Well, you’ll know soon enough, I suppose. I’m betrothed.”
Cam stared at him, his mouth open. “You’re betrothed? How can you be betrothed? You’ve just returned home. Who is she?”
Julian frowned down into his glass. “Her name is Jane Hibbert. Her brother, Colin, was a Lieutenant in my regiment, and one of my friends. My best friend.”
Cam searched his face. “Was?”
“Yes. Was.” Julian drew in a quick breath. “He was killed at Waterloo.”
Cam ran a hand down his face. “Julian—”
