by Devon, Eva
“Right,” Heath relented. “You may stay for a while, and we’ll see what we can do with you.”
“Ta very much, brother,” Jamie said with a mock bow from the chair. He thrust out the bottle, offering. “Glad to hear it. Besides, it looks like you need a bit of cheering up. Someone killed your dog?”
If only it were that simple, Heath thought.
“No, just a bit of bad news.”
“Well, the world is full of bad news,” Jamie agreed. “One would have thought you’d be inured to it by now. Come on, then. Have a drink. Do you good to get it right down you.”
It was tempting. But Heath maintained control. And he wasn’t about to start downing mother’s ruin when in such an odd state. He shook his head and said, “I don’t have your ability to shed such things so easily. And no gin tonight.”
“Balderdash!” Jamie replied, swigging the liquor as if it was mother’s milk, not ruin. “You’re tougher than Oi by far. You’re a right cold tosser. You’re crueler, and you’re more calculating.”
Heath wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t.
It was a few years into their childhood when it became clear that Heath was the one who would do the planning and Jamie the muscling, and it had worked well for quite a long time until he realized he would never truly be able to control Jamie’s urges or his impulses.
Jamie was like a man who, one day, could be in perfectly good humor and the next, break every chair in the room and smile doing it, but Heath did owe Jamie his life, and he wasn’t about to forget it.
“All right, then,” Heath said, raising his hands and forcing a smile. “Enough.”
“Never, ever enough. You know that, Heath,” Jamie said with a quirk of his lips. “Come tell your troubles.”
Heath stared, damned if he was going to discuss Mary.
And then Jamie lean forward, eyes widening, and he guffawed. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
Heath was tempted to deny it.
He didn’t really wish Jamie to know the secrets of his heart.
Heath wasn’t supposed to have a heart.
“It is a woman,” he gritted, hoping that would shut his brother’s pie hole.
“Aw, she turned ye down, did she?” Jamie tsked. “Ah, bless. Well, there are ways to get around that.”
“No, not in this case,” Heath all but barked. Not wanting to give his brother ideas. Jamie might go round and kidnap Mary and bring her as a present if he wasn’t careful.
“There’s always a way around it,” Jamie said. “Don’t be maudlin. When you want something, you get it. You take it. Just take her somewhere. Take the girl. That’s how it used to be done. She from the wrong family, a good family? She doesn’t want you?” Jamie gave a nod of his head. “A fine, handsome lad like ye? Ye can make her want you.”
Heath shuddered at the thought.
It was true.
Many a girl had been stolen away.
They still were, sometimes, and there were men who pretended to marry girls and then pimped them out.
He’d seen it all happen, and it was one of the reasons why he did not allow prostitution in his place or within his realms of power.
“No, thank you,” Heath said.
Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I could help ye, ye know?”
“You will not,” Heath warned. “And if you do, I swear to God, Jamie, I’ll be the one to kill you first.”
Jamie lifted his hands, acquiescing. “Oh, fine, then. I shan’t continue to inquire about your lady love. You’re most delicate about it, aren’t you?”
“Just a bit,” Heath said before he swiped the gin bottle from his brother. . . Knowing it was the best way to stop the discourse about Mary. . . To stop it all. . . Perhaps he wasn’t as in control as he thought. . .
Perhaps. . .
Chapter 12
Mary’s dark hair fell about her face as she slid her hands up his chest.
He gasped. “Mary?”
She lifted her fingers to her lips, urging him to silence. A playful smile tugged at her mouth.
Slowly, she slipped her gown down her shoulders. All he could see was her face. Her exquisite beauty as she then climbed up over him as he laid back in his bed.
She bit her lip in that way she had before her free hand worked its way down to his naked hips. She traced his body like someone who knew every part of him. Every hill. Every valley. Every shadow.
Her fingers grasped him, her hand sure as she took his cock.
Wonder filled him as she caressed him, stroking up and down. Up and down.
My God, he was going to go mad with her.
She threw her head back then, guiding him to her hot, wet entrance.
As he thrust into her core, the entire world spun.
“Heath!” she cried.
With a jolt, his eyes opened to his dark chamber.
His heart beat so fast behind his ribs, he was terrified he was dying.
The pleasure that had wrung through him left him completely drained, and with horror, he realized he had come in the linen sheets.
Sweat beaded his body. Swiftly, he swept back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He stared at the fire, trying to grapple with the most vivid and lustful dream he’d ever had.
He was no innocent. One couldn’t be. Not how he’d grown up.
But that dream? That dream. . . It had wrung him to his core and left him feeling. . . bereft.
Was he to have no peace, then?
Would she torture his nights as well as his days?
He turned to his window and imagined her somewhere out to the West of London. Searching for a husband.
When she found her titled lord or city horde of gold. . . Would she climb atop that man? Would she bite her lip for him? Would she. . .
A roar of pain filled the room.
Would it never end?
No, he realized. He was never going to stop wanting Mary. Somehow, he knew in his deepest soul, she was his beginning and his end. . . And she had left him. Just as everyone did. Just as they always would.
Chapter 13
Several Months Later
Rain lashed down on the London streets.
It didn’t stop Heath.
He’d been out for an hour, an hour in the dark, wandering through the muddy alleys and closes that was the warrens of East London.
He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but his blood was pumping.
His heart was a steady beat in his chest.
His fists clenched and unclenched. He was a man possessed. He had not seen Mary in months. Months. They’d known each other for less than two days, and somehow, that had ingrained itself into his heart, like a mason’s chisel into stone, but he had respected the distance.
They’d avoided each other steadfastly.
And she had not called upon him.
On the other hand, he had not avoided her brother, Robert, who did not know of his acquaintance with Mary.
And it had been most interesting that day when Robert had showed up in his club, determined to make good on his father’s debts. Rob owed a lot of money. Not money he had spent, but the money his father had spent.
Heath had done everything he could to help him.
He’d showed him a touch of highway robbery, which might have been the wrong thing, but it was the only thing he knew to tell the man to do at present. His financial state was so bad. He’d refused a loan from Heath.
Robert had taken the cause on.
That was another side of things Heath could not entirely address at this moment.
What was stranger still was Heath liked Robert.
Robert was that rare thing. A good man.
It was a miracle he had been born to his father and stayed so true of heart. True of heart. That was the best way to explain Robert, Duke Blackstone, man on the verge. The old Duke of Blackstone had produced two children completely unlike their sire, both of them determined to make right in the
world that was so terribly difficult.
Still, Heath could not find peace.
He knew Mary was out there, doing what needed to be done to rectify her family situation, which meant going to balls every night.
Much to his horror, he found he’d been reading the society pages for a glimpse of her, and she’d been at more parties than he could count.
Several times, she’d been mentioned dancing with this lord or that.
And for the first time in his life, Heath had felt jealousy.
Jealousy that he had not been born a lord, someone that she might turn to in such an hour.
He wanted to laugh at himself.
He could have had her.
She’d come to him.
He could have insisted she marry him. She could belong to him, but he had not wanted to own her. He had wanted to set her free.
So, he had.
The streets stank of mud, people, gin, ale, the wildness that was the East End.
Desperation filled the lanes, women lurked in the corners, hocking their personal wears, their ratty dresses, mud stained and their eyes dark and weary.
Children slept in the alleys.
He did what he could for them when possible. He’d opened several places for refuge. He did not want masses of abandoned children to have to sleep together in rooms as he had done, terrified of the violence that could be done to them in the night.
So, tonight he stalked the London streets, looking for something; something to stop the wildness of his heart. He turned into another alley, hoping to find something, anything which would alleviate the name Mary from repeating again and again in his brain, like an echo that would not end.
And when he spotted the man shoving a young woman up against the wall, twisting her arm, he knew he’d found it. He paused, drawing in a slow breath, causing himself to still. He had to be still if he was going to take on this bastard.
It was mad, he knew.
He usually avoided violence, but he needed something.
Anything at this moment to make him feel whole.
“Back away,” he called out.
The big tough of a man, with a coat worn and patched, stopped. He did not let go of the girl whose hair was damp with rain and whose gown was stained with much wear. His hard eyes turned towards Heath. “Get on with ye. This is none of your affair.”
“I’m making it my affair.” Heath countered.
“She belongs to me. Now off you go,” said the tough.
“She belongs to no one,” Heath growled.
“I’m her pimp, and I’m taking care of business,” the man said.
Heath remained still. His shoulders back. “I said, step away.”
The girl was trembling. She couldn’t have been more than 15 years old. She looked at him with wary eyes.
The pimp let her go and turned to Heath. A knife suddenly appeared in his palm. “I said, back away, mate. Ye don’t need this kind of trouble.”
Heath began to stride forward slowly, the air around him cooling.
“Oh, I do, indeed. This is exactly the kind of trouble I’m looking for,” Heath said.
The man eyed him, and then suddenly, he stopped. “I know who ye are.”
“Do you?” Heath asked.
“Yes, I do.” The tough’s confidence began to flicker. “You’re Richard Heath. Now, you want this girl? You can have her. I won’t bother. She’ll do you free of charge.”
“Oh, no,” Heath said, flexing his gloved hands. “That’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for you.”
The man shook his head. “I don’t want your kind of trouble.” The tough shook his head again. “You’re the boss of this part of town. I’m not about to get in trouble with you.”
Heath leveled him with a hard stare. “If I’m the boss of this part of town, then get the hell out.”
And much to his disappointment, the man gave the girl a shove forward, turned, and ran down the alley.
Heath cursed.
He’d wanted blood, but this was the problem with being known, being known as someone who controlled part of this town.
People did not want to take him on, and for good reason. Too many years of making sure he was the most powerful man had ensured that.
So now, the girl stood before him, trembling in the softly falling rain.
“What am Oi going to do?” she suddenly cried.
Heath paused. “I beg your pardon?”
“What am Oi going to do?” she repeated, frantic. “Oi’ll have no work now. How will Oi feed my child?”
Heath grimaced, hating himself for trying to make this simple. Nothing was simple in the East End. It was one of the hellish things about living in the warrens.
When one thought they were doing a good deed, they might also be causing someone’s suffering and pain.
“You have a child?” he ventured.
“Oi do.” she said, defiantly lifting her chin. “Now how will Oi feed him? That man, he pays my bills. He takes care of me.”
“He was hurting you,” Heath pointed out calmly. But even as he said those words, he knew they were hollow. He knew that women’s lives were precarious.
“Oi have to work,” she insisted. “Oi’ve got no skills. It’s the only job Oi know.”
Heath’s shoulders sank. “I’m sorry for it,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make your night more difficult than it already is.”
She shook her gaunt head, not hearing him. “What am Oi going to do?”
Heath sighed. “Come with me.”
“What will you pay me?” she said.
He paused. She’d clearly misunderstood. “I’ll pay you a good wage, and you can come and work for me,” he said.
“Work for you?” she repeated slowly, suspicious. “I don’t like serving lots of comers.”
“I don’t have that sort of thing in my place, but perhaps you can help serve the wine.”
Her brows drew together, confused. “Serve wine?”
“A barmaid,” he explained.
“Those girls turn tricks just the same as Oi do, you know?”
“Not in my establishment,” Heath said firmly.
She eyed him carefully. “You lying to me. Oi don’t like lies. Oi’ve been told enough of them in my life.”
“I’m not lying, and if you don’t know who I am, I’m Richard Heath, and I own this part of town,” he said gently, as he would to a cornered creature. “So, come with me, and I promise that you and your child will be clothed and fed and taken care of, and you’ll be paid.”
Her face did not soften.
In fact, it grew warier, as if he was someone who might hold out a treat to her and then snatch it away and dash it to the ground.
Heath took a step back, holding up his hands. “You don’t have to come with me,” he said. “I won’t force you to, but I promise I can improve your life. You can do whatever you want,” Heath said. “I’m not some sort of preacher man who’s going to make you pray on your knees all night and beg for forgiveness, but I can help you.”
She bit her lower lip, which was already red from likely having been smashed by her pimp. She was calculating whether it was worth the risk. And then, at long last, she gave a tight nod. “Oi’ve got nothing to lose,” she said. “Oi’ll come with you. If what you say is true.”
“It is true,” he promised. “What are you called?”
“Alice,” she whispered and then her shoulders seemed to relax. “Right, then. Oi’ll come with you.”
“I’m glad, Alice,” he said gently.
And so, together, they walked through the dark night, back to his club.
The violence he had so longed for, disappearing from him.
It seemed he was doing another good deed, and he hoped it would turn out well, unlike the loss of Mary. Except if he was to admit it, Mary had turned out well. She was stronger than before, choosing her own course, and that was exactly what he had wanted for her.
It was only that he had not an
ticipated the grief of her loss.
Now, he knew what he had to do. He simply had to focus on the task at hand, taking care of the people in his area of town, making sure business went well, and ensuring that Robert, Mary’s brother, survived this transition from impoverished duke back to a man who could look himself in the mirror.
Chapter 14
If Mary had to dance with one more dithering fop, she was going to scream.
The ballroom fairly hummed with the packed crowd of nobles and wealthy city people. Trays of punch and wine passed about in an elaborate dance supported by footmen who knew how to weave about the crowd without bathing everyone in said beverages.
It was a sight to behold if one chose to watch it, and she did because, quite frankly, she was tired of the goings-on of the ton. She’d been raised in the ton. She was expected to live in the ton, and likely, she would die in the ton.
Still, after Richard Heath, it was impossible to continue on as before.
Oh, she danced almost every dance, she had to.
It was what she was supposed to do, and she had embraced it, hadn’t she? But after speaking about hounds, horses, and the newest estates the city men were building out in the country from the money rolling in from India and beyond, she didn’t know if she could bear it.
Of course, she did it for her mother. Her mother’s face was so much lighter than it had been in years, and she did it for Rob too because Rob had been running about from ballroom to ballroom, looking as if the world was on fire, but not tonight.
Tonight, Rob was dancing with a beautiful young woman. Harriet was a remarkable person. Mary couldn’t deny that, and quite frankly, she was hoping Harriet was going to become her sister-in-law, not just because Harriet came with a fortune, but because Harriet was the kind of young woman she would have hoped to have been herself if her life had not been gone so touched by darkness.
As she stood at the edge of the ballroom, knowing that in just a few moments, someone would collect her to lead her onto the floor and have another banal discussion about the trivial goings-on of life, she sighed.
