Return to the House of Sin

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘That’s what I’m saying. We can join together. Cross-purpose makes no difference. They’ll never expect what I’m planning if it comes from you.’

  ‘I’m finished talking.’ Crispin shook his head again.

  ‘You’re not listening. I need your help.’ Stokes huffed an impatient breath. ‘What does it matter to you anyway?’

  ‘I’m not interested.’ His flat refusal fired Stokes’s temper, the man’s expression hard and ruthless. Still, Crispin brushed by, anxious to join Ferris inside.

  ‘Maybe I should tell your lady what you’ve been up to lately. I doubt her father would admire a man who wasted away a bloody fortune and shirked his debt.’ Stokes’s threat lingered.

  Crispin froze. There was no way Stokes could be aware of Amanda. Their time on the ship and at the theatre had been concealed from everyone. He spat a curse. He’d hired the man to keep watch. And that was exactly what Stokes had done. Except, this time, Crispin was the target. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you do. The fetching girl with the long brown hair and fancy family. She lives on Wigmore, doesn’t she? One slice of my knife and I can make her my twin.’ Stokes smiled, though the gesture was chilling.

  ‘Shut your mouth.’ Crispin stepped forward with barely contained rage. ‘And stay away from the lady. She has nothing to do with any of this and I’ll not see her come to harm.’ Every muscle tensed at the mention of Amanda. Stokes was a forbidding, brutal man, driven by revenge and evil purpose. He looked directly into Stokes’s eyes, squared his shoulders and curled his hands into fists.

  ‘Maybe this will gain your attention then.’ Stokes reached for the knife kept in his boot, but Crispin anticipated the man’s next move and connected with a punch that sent Stokes reeling, the blood from a broken lip smeared across his jaw.

  In a blur, one of the lads from the hell dashed through the door on the side of the building, but Crispin wouldn’t be distracted. On the ground, Stokes unsheathed his knife and, like a jackrabbit, sprang up, alert and anxious to fight. He swiped the air in wild arcs and approached in a rush.

  The reckless motions overreached and kept Stokes off balance. With the next lunge, Crispin kicked his boot underfoot, tripped Stokes and brought him to the ground. Crispin struck him in the stomach, the strike causing the knife to fly free and out of grasp. He levelled another kick to Stokes’s gut, but no matter, the man still attempted to rise. He wanted to step on his neck for threatening Amanda. London wouldn’t miss someone as despicable as Stokes, but with the lad sounding the alarm within the Underworld, Crispin wouldn’t invite trouble nor add murder to his list of sins. He stared down at Stokes. A mixture of unresolved emotion and outrage thrummed a hard beat in his blood. He kicked Stokes in the ribs for good measure. ‘Don’t ever speak of her again. Do you understand?’

  Stokes spat on the ground and rolled to his side. Leveraging his weight, he pushed up on his arms and began to stand.

  ‘Don’t get up.’ Despite Crispin’s warning, Stokes continued. ‘If you get up, I’ll punch you until you beg me to kick you again.’ This threat stalled Stokes and he dropped to the ground on his back, a venomous look in his eyes.

  A few men emerged from the hell, drawn to the street by news of a brawl, and Crispin noted Ferris was the first one out. The count had come to offer protection and he motioned to his friend with a sharp wag of his chin, then turned and walked away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Amanda sat in her rosewater-scented bath, the water having cooled at least ten minutes prior. Enid clucked in the dressing room about catching a chill, but Amanda paid no heed. It was later than usual on an otherwise ordinary evening, but she couldn’t chase away her lingering despair. She hadn’t seen Crispin or heard from him in over four days, and while she told herself to have no such expectations, another part of her, the more moral, judicious and traditional portion of her personality, reminded she’d shared an intimate interlude in a dark alcove with the man. Attending Drury Lane Theatre would never be the same. She’d never be the same.

  Peculiar how she believed they’d connected on a different level, a higher understanding, some invisible, yet powerful force which pulled them together despite they were at cross-purpose.

  The Frankley soiree was only three days away. She’d waited months for the event, deliberating and analysing every aspect of the evening from dance sets to clever conversation. When no one was looking, she practised facial expressions in the mirror and walked around her room in evening slippers, taking care to mind her skirts. She’d tortured Enid with a variety of hairstyles in an effort to determine the best arrangement and stolen her father’s newspaper periodically to be aware of Parliamentary issues if the subject were to arise in polite conversation.

  And somehow, aboard that blasted galleon, she’d woven Crispin into her tapestry of dreams.

  Relinquishing her hold on hope, she stood and donned her wrapper, submitting to Enid’s ministrations as her maid dried and plaited her hair near the fire. Once Enid finished, Amanda settled on her window seat to fight off a persistent wave of melancholy. She startled when Raelyn entered the room.

  ‘I received an exciting invitation today.’ Raelyn twirled a graceful circle, a folded piece of foolscap held against her bodice.

  ‘Did you?’ She watched her sister’s reflection in the window glass. She’d never begrudge Raelyn a share of happiness, but at the moment Amanda struggled to collect any genuine enthusiasm at this news.

  ‘Yes.’ Raelyn paused and matched Amanda’s eyes in the glass. ‘From the Count of Este.’

  Amanda spun on the cushion with rapt attention. Ferris was a direct connection to Crispin, was he not? ‘What does it say?’

  ‘He’s asked to call tomorrow. To meet Father and take me for a carriage ride along Rotten Row.’

  ‘I see.’ What had she expected? She was far too intelligent to make a cake of herself over a man who hadn’t given her a second thought.

  ‘Would you like to come along? As chaperone, I mean. Besides, I’m sure Father would prefer if you accompanied us.’ Raelyn settled on the cushions, a hopeful expression on her face.

  ‘So, it will just be the three of us?’ She strove for casual interest and failed miserably.

  ‘As I understand it.’ Raelyn’s brow furrowed. ‘Were you expecting Lord Hastings? Father forbade us from his company. Don’t you remember how angry he was?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She grimaced and shook her head as if the widgeon of a question had escaped from her mouth without permission.

  ‘Then will you join us? I’d enjoy your company in case the conversation slows or the count finds me lacking.’ Raelyn’s voice dipped lower near the end of her sentence.

  ‘You aren’t serious? Is that your worry?’ Amanda refused to believe her sister harboured the same insecurities. ‘You’re far from lacking. You have the grace of a dove and the beauty of a swan.’

  ‘I suppose that makes me bird-witted.’

  They burst into giggles and laughed until their sides ached. It was just the vent Amanda needed to relieve the pressure caused by her heartache. Since her voyage on the ship, she understood better her sister’s distress when her horrid fiancé ran from his responsibilities and broke Raelyn’s trust. Matters of the heart were dangerous. Still, she couldn’t ignore the flicker of curiosity.

  ‘I’ll be thrilled to chaperone.’ She might hear news of Crispin if the count mentioned where they’d visited. Indeed. She smiled, her spirits buoyed significantly.

  ‘Very good.’ Raelyn stood and tied the belt on her wrapper into a bow. ‘Count Este is making a morning call, so be ready at eleven sharp.’ She started towards the door. Oh, and don’t wear your fine green lawn as I intend to wear my day gown in the same shade.’

  With a click of the door Raelyn was gone and Amanda found a hopeful smile.

  Hope was short-lived. The Count of Este was punctual, charmed their father with ease, a
nd the three of them were off in a sleek phaeton with a pair of black steeds at the lead. Conversation was limited during the ride but as soon as they pulled through the wrought-iron gates of Hyde Park and onto Rotten Row, the count slowed the horses and turned his charming attention towards Raelyn.

  Amanda already knew Ferris to possess fine features from their brief association aboard the galleon, but to view him in this arena, as a gentleman paying call to her sister, she found his manners beyond reproach. No mention was made of their voyage and for that she was thankful, though as soon as the conversation turned to activities about London, she perked up with avid interest.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed your visit to my country, Lady Raelyn. Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you to the popular gathering places in London. There are so many museums and squares. We can stroll along the Thames or, if you prefer, take an ice at the famous shop…’

  The count paused mid-sentence and Amanda had to bite her tongue not to supply the word he wanted. Her role was to serve as chaperone, though she harboured an ulterior agenda. Besides, Raelyn could benefit from the interaction. No doubt her confidence still remained a little bruised.

  ‘I do enjoy flavoured ice.’ Raelyn smiled. ‘Have you ever tried it? Do you prefer any particular flavour?’

  Amanda settled against the seat and allowed their conversation to continue without interruption. She had an eye on the roadway and, as long as her sister enjoyed Este’s company, she could concentrate on other, more pressing matters.

  Crispin told himself how foolish the decision, though it didn’t stop him from retrieving Majesty from the mews behind Bedford Square. In Crispin’s absence, Bootler ensured the stallion was exercised regularly and well cared for, but in truth Crispin had missed his daily ride, the animal prime horseflesh. And fast – fast enough to chase the wind and outrun poor decisions and the like. An excellent comrade in that respect.

  He winced as he gathered the reins in his fist, his knuckles still swollen from the thrashing he’d given Stokes. At least he’d put an end to the fool’s ambitions, although one could never be sure. Stokes had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and that combination was dangerous.

  It was one of the reasons Crispin told himself he needed to shadow Ferris and the ladies in the park today. Bootler had learned Amanda would join her sister, and while the notion of Ferris in the phaeton eased his mind to danger, Crispin cared little for the idea. Why should Ferris enjoy Amanda’s company if he could not?

  That was the sensible reason. Another part of him, a much larger part, knew it had nothing to do with Stokes and everything with his desire to see Amanda again. Since the theatre, she lived in him. No. Since the ship she’d taken residence in his heart, as much as he’d like to believe otherwise. But as every meeting brought them closer, he wondered why he allowed it. It would make letting her go all the more difficult.

  Today, he just needed to see her safe.

  He kicked Majesty into a gallop and manoeuvred London’s busy streets with ease until he reached the entrance of Hyde Park. No doubt the latest on-dit was his unexpected return. Mayhap the gossipmongers already spoke of his altercation outside the Underworld last night. One glance to the bridle path and beyond to the rose gardens showed him proof in spades the world of dash and sparkle was out in full force.

  Romantic lovers sought secret trysts, dowagers and their charges in open curricles jockeyed for the best position to be seen by the bachelor set, and those more interested in the lives of others than their own purveyed speculative rumours from ear to mouth, carriage to curricle. Still, he forced himself into the flow along Rotten Row and kept a perspicacious eye for his phaeton.

  He planned to watch from afar. For no other reason than to ensure all was well.

  ‘Morning, Daventry.’ Lord Helms pulled his Arabian alongside in a casual gait. ‘Good to have you back.’ The fellow didn’t say more and urged his horse into a trot, leaving Crispin suspicious of the man’s motives, but he didn’t have long to consider it.

  ‘Daventry, is that you? It’s been an age.’ Lords Burton and Spence sidled up on both sides, sandwiched Majesty and caused Crispin to turn side to side in conversation.

  ‘It is.’ He kept his comments brief, unsure of the greeting he would receive in return.

  ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘You know, there’s a horse at Tattersall’s that might grab your interest. A glossy thoroughbred hot-blood sure to fetch a high sum, but worth every penny.’

  Could it be his acquaintances would accept him back into society without question? Had he anticipated the worst for no reason at all? Social outcast or belittled peer seemed hardly the label for his reception at the moment. And did they know of his wealth? To offer information concerning an expensive horse to a man who’d exiled London in debt seemed unexpected. Or mayhap he’d envisioned the worst when his acquaintances would respect his privacy and accept his return without question.

  ‘When’s the auction, Spence?’ No need to behave any differently apparently.

  ‘A week from Thursday.’ Spence slapped the reins and his horse jolted forward. ‘Good to see you, again.’ Burton followed with a nod and the two disappeared among the flow.

  Decidedly odd. But he had no more time to consider it as he noticed his phaeton near a curve on the bridle path several yards ahead.

  He urged Majesty closer and told himself it was nothing more than vague interest, even as Ferris’s eyes narrowed in question, and Crispin aligned his horse beside the phaeton.

  ‘Good morning, ladies, Ferris.’ He had no way to explain the rapid beat of his heart other than the speed with which he’d galloped to Hyde Park. Amanda looked breathtaking, dressed in a smart apricot-coloured gown and matching spencer with delicate embroidery at the cuffs. She looked like a flower garden, most especially due to her bewitching green eyes.

  ‘Daventry, I didn’t expect you.’ Ferris slowed the phaeton and moved it away from the flow of traffic.

  Seeing as Crispin had approached on Amanda’s side, no coincidence there, he pulled Majesty to rein on the grass.

  Ferris kindly introduced Raelyn and conciliatory greetings were made. Amanda’s eyes had flared as Crispin made his approach, and she watched him now, as closely as one tracts the activity of a large cloud in a blue sky, unsure if its purpose is to offer shade or begin a downpour.

  ‘Fine morning for a ride in the park,’ Ferris said, his expression wary.

  ‘It seemed a brilliant choice,’ Crispin offered in way of excuse. ‘Are you enjoying the air, ladies?’ He turned his attention from Ferris, who also watched him.

  ‘It’s kind of Count Este to escort us along the promenade. Do tell us more about your responsibilities in Italy.’ Raelyn added a coquettish smile to her request.

  Crispin breathed easier knowing his friend would be flattered and anxious to continue the conversation he’d likely interrupted. He brought Majesty closer still and leaned towards Amanda with a conspiratorial murmur.

  ‘If Ferris is asked to expound on his virtues, we may be here until nightfall.’

  His comment elicited a laugh and he delighted in her pleasure, though her eyes expressed shock a moment later.

  ‘What happened to you?’ She reached forward as if she meant to lift his hand from the reins, but she caught herself in time to disguise her immediate response. Her lips formed a frown as she examined his bruised knuckles.

  ‘Nothing to cause concern. A disagreement with an associate and no more than that.’ His comment drew her eyes to his.

  ‘Are you all right?’ More than casual interest coloured the words and he was thankful Ferris and Raelyn remained in convivial conversation.

  ‘I am.’ A beat of weighty silence followed his answer. ‘And are you?’

  ‘Of course.’ She answered too quickly and he noticed she lifted her eyes to the horizon as if she didn’t wish to reveal more.

  ‘Do you ride, Lady Amanda?’

  She s
wung her attention back to his, the same sparkle of delight he’d come to expect returned to her eyes.

  ‘I do. Although I haven’t in some time. I do enjoy it whenever Father allows us the privilege. Ladybird must miss my attention.’

  ‘Ladybird?’ His experience with women of easy virtue didn’t align with Amanda’s knowledge, no doubt. ‘An interesting name for a horse.’

  ‘Yes. Though she does seem to fly whenever I allow her free rein.’ She breathed in and he wondered if she smelled as sweet as he remembered. His groin answered, creating an uncomfortable sensation as he sat in the saddle.

  ‘I’d very much like to share a ride.’ He flicked his gaze down to her lips and back again, her innocence a gift in that she didn’t seek a deeper meaning in his comment. He dropped his voice lower to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Meet me tomorrow at dawn behind the east wall at the rear of Kew Gardens. It’s the loveliest location in all of London proper to witness the sunrise. The view is obstructed most everywhere else. I’ve ventured there many a morning to exercise Majesty and it will be deserted at that hour.’ He offered knowing full well she’d decline. There were myriad reasons, impropriety the most obvious.

  ‘I can do no such thing.’ Her eyes grew wider, her surprise evident.

  A stab of disappointment sliced his levity despite he’d anticipated the outcome. ‘If anyone were to see you, we can explain it away as happenstance.’

  She scoffed, one corner of her mouth lifted in smile. ‘No one would believe that.’

  He smiled in return. ‘You’re probably right, but if you reconsider, I’ll be there before dawn for a brisk race with the sun.’ He gave her a curt nod. ‘Good day, ladies, Este.’ With a well-timed kick to the stallion’s flanks, he shot forward into the throng on the promenade and melted into the crowd.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Amanda thought of little else than Crispin astride his majestic horse. He’d given the appearance of a hero with his angular features, glorious hair tousled from the wind and spectacular attire. His coat stretched across broad shoulders in flawless tailoring and his muscular legs within buckskin breeches moulded every flex and movement straight to the polished sheen of his pristine Hessian boots. She pressed her eyes closed and conjured the image, her pulse as anxious as her heart.