Cautiously, she got up and tiptoed to the door, then peered through the keyhole. Seeing nothing, she turned the key and cracked the door open, peeking out but ready to slam it at the first sign of trouble. Fortunately, the shadowed hall was disturbed only by the sound of music echoing faintly from the distant ballroom.
She hurried out of the room, untying the long sash at her waist as she went. Wrapping it over her head and across her chest, she tucked the ends into her bodice. Her priority was no longer to flaunt her plumage to attract a male but to disguise herself as much as possible.
When she came to the main corridor, she stopped to peer around the corner. A few guests strolled outside the ballroom or headed toward the terrace, and footmen bearing trays rushed hither and yon. Fortunately, the viscount and his drunken friends were not in sight.
Unfortunately, there was no Barbara in sight either.
Lia was beginning to think she’d have to brave the street and hire a hackney because forging through the mob in the ballroom in search of her friends was a daunting prospect. It had never occurred to her that there would be so many vexing details to confront when attending a Cyprians’ ball. Clearly, she needed to pay more attention to the practical aspects of her future career.
While she pondered her next move, she heard the patter of hurried footsteps. She spun around to see Barbara rushing toward her, wide skirts bunched up in her hands. Breathing out a sigh, Lia sagged against the wall, feeling weak with relief.
“There you are,” she said as Barbara skidded to a halt. “I was beginning to—”
The girl grabbed her arm. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere.”
Lia blinked, disconcerted by her sharp tone. “I had to hide from some very persistent gentlemen. One was convinced he knew me from somewhere.”
Barbara grimaced. “Did he?”
“Yes, but he was too drunk to puzzle it out and I was able to escape before he got close.”
“Thank God.” She started to drag Lia back the way she’d come. “We’d have been in an awful mess if he’d recognized you.”
“Barbara, what’s wrong? Why are we going to the back of the house?”
“Because Amy’s in trouble.” Her voice was thin with anxiety. “She and Prudhoe got into a fight and he hit her. Hard.”
Lia stumbled. “What? Why?”
Barbara urged her on. “Because he’s a bastard, that’s why. She wouldn’t do something he wanted her to do.”
“What did he want her to do?”
Her friend threw her a grim look. “Nothing you need to know, love. Trust me on that.”
That sounded awful. “Where are they?”
“There’s an orangery at the back of the house. When you didn’t show, my gentleman and I took a short stroll and that’s where we ended up. Prudhoe and Amy were already there and we heard them fighting.”
“Did you go in?”
“Of course I did. He was shaking poor Amy like a rattle, the bastard. I yelled at him to stop, but he told me he’d give it to me next if I didn’t watch out. I tried to get my gentleman to help, but he tore out of there like his arse was lit with a rocket. That’s when I decided to look for you. Maybe the two of us can get her away from him.”
“Should we try to get a footman to help?” Lia asked.
Barbara grimly shook her head. “They won’t want to help neither. Not against a lord.”
They rounded another corner and halted in front of a set of doors that led into the glass-fronted observatory. Barbara reached for the door, but Lia stopped her. “Barbara, listen. I’ll try to talk some sense into Prudhoe and get Amy out of there. But I want you to return to the ballroom to see if you can find my friend, Sinclair. He’s a very good man and he’ll come to our aid.”
The girl’s eyes went wide. “I can’t leave you alone with that pig. Your ma will kill me if she finds out.”
“It’s fine, I promise. I can manage it.” If worse came to worse, she’d take off her mask and threaten Prudhoe with the wrath of Sir Dominic Hunter. It would expose her to scandal, but it was a risk she had to take.
She gave Barbara a little shove. “Now run.”
Her friend lifted her up Elizabethan skirts and took off down the hall.
Lia sucked in a calming breath, ordering her pounding heart to slow down. Then she threw back her shoulders, opened the door, and strode into the room.
She came to an abrupt halt because she could barely see more than a few feet ahead of her. The various potted plants and trees cast heavy shadows and the light seemed filtered and diffused throughout the unusually shaped glass structure. Lia blinked several times, forcing her vision to adjust.
Her hearing was fine, however, and what she heard made her stomach churn. Amy’s voice was thick with tears as she pleaded with Prudhoe to stop hurting her. Lia picked up her skirts and rushed up the center aisle of the orangery, following the voices. She rounded a high stand of potted bamboo plants and ground to a halt.
Amy was on the floor, huddled against the side of an ornate marble fountain. The cheerful burble of water flowing from a stone cherub’s jug formed a ghastly counterpoint to the girl’s wrenching sobs. Her diaphanous gown was torn, exposing most of her breasts. Her hair was badly disheveled, as if someone had dug his fingers into her coiffure and dragged her across the room. Even in the dim light, Lia could make out the bruises on the dancer’s face and neck.
The girl was hunched over, her hands wrapped tightly around herself as if to guard her midsection. Prudhoe loomed menacingly above her.
“Don’t kick me again,” Amy sobbed. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Yes, you will, you whore,” the brute said. “And you’ll do it whether I hit you or not.” He barked out an ugly laugh. “I do enjoy hitting your sweet, plump flesh, my little Amy. It feels so lovely under my fist or boot.”
When he drew back his leg, Lia catapulted forward.
“Stop it, you monster,” she yelled, shoving him from behind with all her might.
Prudhoe stumbled hard, cursing as he crashed heavily against the side of the fountain.
Lia braced herself, legs wide. She didn’t dare turn her back on him, so she just threw a quick glance over her shoulder at Amy, who’d all but curled up into a shivering ball.
“Can you get up?” Lia asked.
“I . . . I think so.”
As Amy laid trembling hands on the rim of the fountain and started to pull herself up, Prudhoe made it up on his knees, his features twisted with pain. His dark eyes blazed with a fury that made Lia’s heart pound its way into her throat.
“You goddamn bitch,” he snarled. “I’ll bloody well kill you both.”
“I think not.” Lia was rather astonished by her outward sense of control because her insides were trembling like a broken branch in a gale. “In fact, if you don’t take yourself off immediately, I will report you to the magistrate myself. I assure you, he’ll take this matter very seriously.”
Prudhoe finally hauled himself to his feet in an awkward maneuver; his shoulder was clearly damaged. Lia had no regrets about injuring him.
“Really?” he said with a nasty hoot as he planted himself in front of her. “Do you think a magistrate will take the word of two whores over that of a baronet? Hardly, you daft bitch.”
“While whores are just as deserving of justice as anyone else, may I point out that we are actresses? Mr. Lester will be livid when he sees how you’ve abused poor Amy. I’m sure he’ll swear out charges.”
Prudhoe went still, his head tilted at an odd angle as he studied her. Then his lips peeled back in a vicious smile. Lia silently thanked the saints that she wasn’t a woman prone to fainting because the evil intent in his expression was truly unnerving.
“Not when Mr. Lester—and the magistrate, if necessary—learn that you and your little friend tried to rob me.”
“Trust me, Sir Nathan, Mr. Lester will not believe you.”
“How’s this for an idea? Why don’t
I fetch a constable right now and see what he has to say about it? Or, better yet, why don’t we proceed directly to Bow Street? Then we’ll see who believes whom.”
Amy clutched at Lia’s skirts. “Miss, I can’t go to Bow Street,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “It’ll be a huge scandal. Please, let’s just get out of here.”
“Nobody’s going to Bow Street,” Lia said firmly. “Except possibly Sir Nathan after we tell Mr. Lester what happened here.”
Unfortunately, her threat seemed to have little effect on the dreadful man. He took a menacing step forward. Amy whimpered, sinking down again. She kept a firm grip on Lia’s skirts, which would hamper their ability to escape.
“Not another step, Sir Nathan,” Lia ordered, holding up an imperious hand. If Barbara didn’t return with help soon, she’d have to resort to desperate measures.
Naturally, he ignored her and moved closer. The glint in his eyes told her that he was enjoying himself, despite his injured shoulder.
“What will you do if I don’t obey your silly commands?” he drawled. “Will you hit me again? I assure you, the result will not be pleasant if you do. But how I punish you in return will be exceedingly pleasant for me.”
If only Gillian were here, she would deliver a smashing uppercut to the bastard’s jaw, or stab him, if necessary. Lia, unfortunately, had never trained in the pugilistic arts, nor did she carry a knife, although she intended to address that oversight in the future.
For now, she could only rely on her wits.
As calmly as she could, she reached behind her head and untied her mask. When she pulled it down, Prudhoe’s mouth sagged open.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “You’re the Kincaid girl.”
“I am also the cousin of the Duchess of Leverton and, more to the point, the niece of Lady Hunter.” Lia gave him a bright, artificial smile. “You do know who my aunt’s husband is, do you not? Sir Dominic Hunter is a magistrate, and an extremely powerful one, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
He stared at her for a few seconds longer, clearly stunned. But then he shrugged it off, as if her words held no more inconvenience than a pesky fly. Her gambit had failed to have the desired effect. It probably didn’t help that the man was likely made reckless by intoxication.
“I also know what happened at the Leverton ball,” he said. “You were exposed as a whore, just like your mother. And if you were still under the protection of Dominic Hunter, you wouldn’t be cavorting with whores at a Cyprians’ ball.”
“I’m simply enjoying an evening out with friends,” she said.
He ignored that bit of errant nonsense. “I’d also wager you’re looking for a protector, aren’t you?” he mused. “What other choice do you have? No decent man would have you, naturally. You’re soiled goods.”
Blast. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. Lia had now effectively put her fate into the hands of the worst sort of person and there would be no recovering from it.
He patted his chest. “Well, I’m happy to inform you that you’ve found your new protector. Your little friend Amy has grown most dreary; it’s time to replace her with someone fresh. In fact, I’ve a mind to have a little taste right now. Shall we see what’s between those sweet thighs of yours?”
Desperately, Lia tried to pull Amy to her feet. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I’m going to do more than touch you,” Prudhoe snarled.
His hand shot out so quickly that he caught her off guard. His fingers curled into her bodice, slipping inside her stays. Lia tried to pull away, but he easily yanked her against him. His strength was frightening.
“Let me go, you bastard,” she growled. His other arm went around her, his fingers digging into her side. Still she managed to dodge his wet, openmouthed kiss as he bobbed down.
“Let her go,” Amy shrieked, trying to shove at Prudhoe’s legs while still holding on to Lia.
She appreciated the effort, but Amy’s weight was throwing her off balance. Lia clamped her lips shut for what she knew would be a slobbering, disgusting kiss. But perhaps when Prudhoe was occupied with that nasty business, she’d be able to get enough purchase to give him a knee to the groin.
Then she felt a rush of movement from behind her and something as hard as stone butted against her back—something warm and blessedly familiar. The clean, masculine scent of him, the shape of his muscular frame—she knew it all instantly, as well as she knew herself.
Prudhoe’s hold on her bodice loosened and he went slack-jawed with surprise. He took two quick steps back.
“You’d best listen to the girl,” Jack said in a voice that promised death. When she shivered at his icy tone, his hands curled protectively over her hips. “Because if you ever touch her again, I will bloody well tear you apart. Or maybe I’ll just do that anyway, for the fun of it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Prudhoe snatched his hand away. Despite the alarm flaring in his gaze, he managed a credible sneer. “No need for threats, Lendale. How was I to know the girl was yours? Besides, I barely touched her.”
Yes, she’s mine.
The words rang like a clarion bell in Jack’s head.
“That’s the only reason you’re not lying in a mangled heap on the floor.” He glanced down at Amy Baxter, who was huddled against Lia’s leg. The dancer sported nasty bruises on her cheek and jaw and her lip was cut. She wiped a shaking hand across her tearstained face, smearing blood and makeup in a ghastly trail of red.
“Then again,” Jack said softly, “maybe I’ll beat you to a pulp anyway.”
He pulled Lia more snuggly against him. Her sweet bottom pressed against his groin and her lush hips curved under his fingertips. Dressed as she was, she was a fantasy and a dream unfulfilled—his dream. He’d been resisting that realization for weeks, but seeing Prudhoe’s filthy hands all over Lia’s body had brought the lesson home with thundering clarity—and horrific timing.
“Certainly no one could blame you,” Lia said in a crisp voice. “But the better course of action would be to call the constable. Sir Nathan should be arrested immediately.”
She twisted in Jack’s arms to look at him. Her color was high and her sky-blue eyes glittered with residual fury, but she didn’t seem frightened or cowed.
Although he was enormously grateful the bastard hadn’t injured her, Jack had to bite down on the impulse to thunder out an epic scold. Never had he seen a situation more out of control, for a dozen reasons he intended to outline once he got Lia alone. She’d gone entirely beyond the pale this time. It would be a miracle if he managed to salvage the tattered remnants of her reputation.
She gave him an encouraging smile. “Shall I ask a footman or the butler to fetch the constable, or shall we take Sir Nathan to Bow Street ourselves?”
Amy tugged on Lia’s skirts. “Miss, please don’t.”
Lia pulled out of Jack’s loose embrace to crouch beside her friend, gently brushing the girl’s hair away from her bruised face as she murmured a soothing endearment. Old memories flooded through his brain, catching him off guard. Kindness and compassion were Lia’s greatest gifts, always freely given. When he thought of the love and generosity she’d shown him over the years, his heart ached with something perilously close to regret.
“Dearest, he beat you. He should be punished,” Lia said in a low, urgent voice.
“You’d be wise to listen to Amy, Miss Kincaid,” Prudhoe said. “Gossip can be such a nasty thing, don’t you know?” He glanced at Jack, a sly smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I’m sure you agree, Lendale.”
Jack’s fists balled up with an urgent need to rearrange the coward’s features, both for what Prudhoe had done and because his assessment was unfortunately correct.
“I don’t care about that,” Lia said, throwing Prudhoe a contemptuous glance. “You shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.” She looked up at Jack. “Isn’t that right?”
He tried not to wince.
“Lia, I would like nothing better than to haul Prudhoe down to Bow Street, but that might not be the best choice for either Miss Baxter or you.”
She slowly rose to her feet, although she kept a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “What are you talking about? Sir Nathan beat her terribly. No one should be allowed to get away with that.”
The pleading look in her eyes begged him to agree and he wished like hell he could. Just thinking about what Prudhoe had done to Amy and what he might have done to Lia made Jack’s blood boil. And yet there was very little he could do about it, at least at the moment.
He had his own ideas about how to punish the baronet, but it would take time and discretion to put them into effect.
Prudhoe lifted a mocking eyebrow and then extracted a snuffbox from his waistcoat and flipped it open for a pinch. “Lendale, perhaps you could explain to Miss Kincaid why making a fuss would be a bad idea for both her and for you. Or, should I say, for your dear mother and sister. Imagine their distress when the details of this unpleasant event filter back to them.”
“Don’t threaten me, Prudhoe,” Jack said in a hard voice. “I guarantee you won’t enjoy the results.”
The baronet’s hand wavered, causing him to spill snuff down the front of his waistcoat.
Lia helped Amy to get up and sit on the edge of the fountain. “Jack, please do something,” she said in an irritated tone. “We need to get Amy some help.”
Prudhoe flicked the snuff off his waistcoat. “I don’t care what you do, but I’m leaving.”
Jack shot out a hand to stop him. “I’m not done with you.”
The baronet flushed an angry red. “Are you going to challenge me to a duel over a pair of whores? And here I thought you were a sensible man, Lendale.”
“You lout,” Lia snapped, taking a quick step forward and raising her hand as if to slap him. Jack grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back.
“That’s not helping, Lia,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Neither are you,” she said.
They heard a rush of footsteps and Lia’s other companion appeared, closely followed by Sebastian Sinclair.
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