CHASING ELIZA
The Cavendish Mysteries
Book Three
By
Rebecca King
Chasing Eliza
Rebecca King
Copyright 2013 by Rebecca King
Smashwords Edition
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To Missy Wissy, Poppet and Little Man
Thank you for your patience x
To A
Thank you x
Love always,
Rx
Chapter One
Eliza yawned and absently swiped an errant curl from her cheek as she crossed the busy tap-room. Returning Bernard’s surly glare, she unceremoniously slapped several tankards of ale onto the rickety wooden table, ignoring the loud protests of the patrons as they were splattered with the foul brew. With a snarl of warning, she snatched up the coins from the table and batted the groping hands off her bottom before collecting several empty tankards and marching back to the battle-scarred plank of wood that posed as a bar.
She had learnt that if she walked fast enough she could get across the packed room without being propositioned or mauled too much. For the several months she had worked at the run-down inn, she had been known to issue patrons a healthy whack upside the head for getting too amorous. As she wove her way through the milling throng, she glared at one unfortunate man who was too familiar with his hands, and wielded the heavy weight of the tankard meaningfully. It was enough to make him pause in his quest for a quick grope, and sullenly return to his drink.
Eliza shot a quick glance at Bernard who had been watching her closely all night, and returned his warning look, her lip curling with contempt. She didn’t care if he gave her the sack. She was sick and tired of spending her nights being groped by drunks who thought they were funny. Horrible, lecherous men, who thought it was hilarious to openly make coarse comments about her sexual prowess in bed, and the voluptuous nature of her body.
If it wasn’t for the need to be near her sister Jemima, then she would be far away from this ramshackle little tavern she currently called home.
She hadn’t told Jemima that the inn also operated as a bawdy house. Of late, her sister seemed to be severely pre-occupied about something; at least she had been two weeks ago when Eliza had seen her last.
Briefly she wondered if they were going to be moving on again. She didn’t want to burden her older sister with her own problems any further than was necessary, but knew it was only a matter of time before she had to make the decision to leave her job; before she ended up being forced into spending her nights as one of the working girls upstairs. If Bernard had his way, she would be up there right now, being serviced by the lecherous customers for pittance a turn.
So far, Eliza had managed to evade his threats, but she knew the time was coming where she would have to make the decision to leave and take her chances elsewhere. It didn’t matter how bad things got, she wasn’t going to turn herself into a whore for any man.
If only she could get Bernard to pay her the money she was owed.
Swiping the bothersome curl off her cheek with a sigh of impatience, she grabbed several tankards and began to weave her way through the crush of bodies.
The main body of the inn consisted of one main room, liberally furnished with ageing tables and stools with a smaller apex to one side that was reserved for the quieter and generally older clientele. Eliza didn’t know which was worse. The heavy crush of sweat-laden bodies of the main room who were constantly trying to catch a quick grope, or the cloying smoke-laden side room that had too many dark corners and an even more gloomy air to it.
A small round table and solitary stool sat near the entrance to the apex which was usually kept aside for the patrons who were waiting for their turn upstairs. Eliza shuddered with revulsion as she eyed the lank, unwashed hair of the man waiting to go up. From the dark smudges on his face, it was clear he hadn’t washed for some time. Even if one ignored the steady odour of sweat and other things she would rather not identify emanating from him; he was hardly the most tantalizing bed partner.
She watched as one client ran down the stairs, a wide grin of satisfaction on his face as he rejoined his table. Within moments the even dirtier man began to weave his drunken way upstairs for his turn. It was a constant procession of men who were prepared to frequent the most run-down inn in the city almost nightly, and drink the foul brew the innkeeper called ale in order to take their turn upstairs for a few pennies a time.
Depositing her burden on a wobbly table, she turned to collect more tankards and froze, her lip curling in contempt as Bernard grabbed her wrist in a painful hold. Immediately she twisted and prised her arm out of his hold, rubbing her bruised flesh as she scowled up at him, waiting for his inevitable lecture.
“Deal with ‘im.” Bernard nodded to the darkest corner of the side room. “He’s been ‘ere a while.” He was staring into the shadows in the far corner warily, a worried frown on his face. Flicking Eliza one last look, he took the empty tankards off her and turned away.
Eliza stared after him nonplussed for a moment before turning to frown at the darkened corner. From her position in the busy tap, it was impossible to see who was there but their presence had a profound impact on Bernard, who appeared to be almost scared of the latest arrival.
Slowly she pushed her way through the groping hands towards the side room, brushing out her ruffled skirts as she broke away from the crush of bodies. Her stomach began to tighten with nerves and her eyes flicked nervously around the room.
Had they found her?
It took every ounce of self control she possessed to appear unperturbed as she entered the smaller side room. The noise level away from the main tap dropped significantly although Eliza daren’t take a deep breath of relief, because the smoke was so thick she would probably choke. She was half-way across the room when she spotted him.
Dressed almost entirely in black, he sat in the corner of the bench with his back leaning against the wall. He blended into the shadows so perfectly that he practically disappeared altogether. She frowned and tried to see him more clearly through the haze of smoke hanging in the air.
New faces in the tavern weren’t anything new. Men came and went all night, and didn’t warrant a second glance. But this one was different. Eliza could see from the dark scowl on his handsome face that he wasn’t a man to be messed with.
He was without doubt the most handsome man Eliza had ever seen; startlingly so. To the point that he was almost beautiful. His brow was wide, his patrician nose lay below wide set, large eyes sitting below sharp slashes of his brows. His elegantly cut hair was thick and very dark; almost black. Through the dimness of the room, it was impossible to tell the colour of his eyes, but they appeared almost black as they stared unblinking at her as she approached. She could feel the coiled power and tension in him and knew that despite his casual pose, this man was ready to strike.
She swept the errant lock of hair from her face with the back of her hand and tried to ignore the flutter of butterflies in her stomach as she drew to a halt before him. She could feel his piercing gaze slide over her from head to toe and shivered as a wave of awareness swept through her. Disturbed by the unwanted feelings, she scowled defensively at him.
“What do you want?” She snapped, impatient to be away from him.
“Brandy.” The deep, husky voice hung in the air between them as his eyes met and held hers.
“B-brandy?” Eliza frowned, uncomfortable with the feelings that shimmered through her. Nobody had made her feel so blatantly feminine before, especially simply by looking at her.
“I take it the innkeeper waters down the ale?” The rich masculine timbre of his voice was stilted and cultured. Eliza wondered what he was doing in such a place as this and if he had made a wrong turn. He certainly didn’t seem the usual type of man who frequented the girls upstairs. Eliza wondered briefly if she should warn him, then decided against it. It really was none of her concern what the man wanted as long as he didn’t work for Scraggan.
“Of course he does. I wouldn’t drink it.” She muttered ruefully, and watched as the firm sweep of his lips quirked with amusement.
“Then bring me a bottle of the best brandy he has.” The softness of his rich voice caressed her skin and Eliza found herself unnaturally wanting to get the man anything he wanted; including herself.
A loud burst of raucous laughter from the main tap was enough to snap her out the sensual web he had so easily woven around her. With a curt nod she returned to the bar, snapping out his order to Bernard. She ignored his look of surprise and stomped off to deliver more ale, her mind firmly locked on the man in the side room and his reasons for being there.
She reluctantly delivered the man’s brandy and a goblet several moments later, and was turning away when her wrist was captured in a firm hold for the second time that night. Only this time Eliza felt like she’d been stung, a shiver of molten sensation swept up her arm as his fingers encased the delicate bones and skin with far too much ease. Although his hold didn’t hurt as Bernard’s had, the persistent pressure assured her that he wouldn’t let go until he wanted to. She could feel his strength and knew it was futile to struggle.
She glared at him with a defiant scowl, feeling light headed. “What?”
She jumped when Bernard appeared beside her and took the opportunity to breathe.
“Get back to work girl.” He ordered, glowering at the new customer.
“I want a few words with your wench man. Go away.” The tall man snapped, glowering at Bernard menacingly. The sudden change in the man’s demeanour was startling. While he had been speaking with Eliza, he had lost some of the hard edge of menace that clung to him. The air of authority and warning he swiftly adopted as he snapped at Bernard made him altogether more dangerous. So dangerous the burly man immediately bowed humbly, and lumbered off without a murmur.
“Have I just got you into trouble?” The rueful question drew her attention back to the man still holding her wrist and she watched as he pushed out a stool and motioned for her to join him. Clearly he wasn’t going to let her go until he had what he came for, whatever that was. Eliza tried to ignore the shimmer of awareness that trembled through her and tentatively took a seat.
“It doesn’t matter.” Eliza replied with a shake of her head and a quick glance at a rapidly retreating Bernard. “I don’t like him anyway. What do you want?” She had to admit she was curious.
Unless she was much mistaken, he was gentry. He was clean; the cut of his clothing was expensive. His voice was rich and cultured and carried an air of authority she had only heard from aristocrats. Despite the air of menace he carried with him like a warning cloak, he didn’t belong in such a humble establishment.
“I need to ask you a couple of questions.” Edward tried to keep his voice soft and unthreatening. The last thing he wanted was to frighten the young woman away. He felt he was on the edge of something major, and wouldn’t let go until he had the answers he came for.
When he had first entered the dingy tavern and studied the occupants, he had thought she was a young girl. He had spent most of the past half hour watching the inn’s raucous patrons try to grope her. The angry rebuttals she gave them had been met with ribaldry and sexual challenge. She had dealt with the situation with a stalwart determination that had been impressive. As time had passed, he realised she was considerably older than first impressions.
As she came to serve him, he had got his first good look at her. She wasn’t a girl at all; indeed she was a young woman. Somewhere in her early twenties, her face held wisdom far beyond her years. Her face held more character, more strength and determination than was common for her age. There was also an innate wariness that warned him she had experienced far more than someone of her age should, and it had made her cynical.
He wondered briefly if she took her turn upstairs, servicing the men. The thought made him intensely angry and resentful for some reason. Although she wasn’t his usual type, there was something about her that called to him and he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with it. He immediately banked out the surge of sensual awareness as she perched on the rickety stool before him.
Her lovely eyes were framed by delicately ached brows sitting on a wide forehead. Her hair was light brown, and curly. Her nose was straight, her chin tapered and her lips lavishly curved and rosy. He studied the errant lock of hair that had refused to remain confined in the tie at the base of her long, pale neck. She had spent most of the evening batting away the errant curl that although wayward, was clean and brushed. He wondered if it really was as thick as it looked, and eyed the gathered mass hanging loosely down her back.
Although slender, she wasn’t thin but well rounded. Her breasts were full and high, her thin waist flared into the hips that were neatly rounded. He wondered if her thighs were as lush as the rest of her. Her work-worn dress was clean and serviceable, and covered her luscious frame adoringly. He wanted to take it off her and see for himself.
The sudden surge of sensual images that ran through his mind were out of place for their situation and he immediately slammed the door on them; turning his attention to the matter at hand with an inward shudder.
Eliza watched, transfixed as the long fingers holding her wrist slid downwards. His hand swallowed hers in a firm clasp that was less of a threat and more of an intimate declaration.
“Let me go.” She tried to remove her hand, but his fingers tightened imperceptibly holding her still.
“Do you know of a Jemima?”
“J-Jemima?” She stammered looking around frantically, as if she expected her to pop out from under one of the tables.
Edward studied her carefully. He could feel the tightening of her fingers into her palm; a good indication that she did indeed know Jemima but was reluctant to confide in him. Briefly he considered intimidating her, but knew simply holding her hand had knocked her off kilter. If he was honest he was finding it too darned disturbing himself.
“You know her.” His soft words weren’t a question but a statement; a soft hint of challenge shimmered beneath.
Held captive by his long fingers encircling her hand and his steady gaze, Eliza remained quiet. She shifted uncomfortably intensely aware that his long fingers were slowly stroking the tender skin of her wrist. The sense of being held captive to his command grew, distractingly so.
“Why?” Eliza snatched her hand out of his gentle hold and frowned at him.
“I know someone who is looking for her.” Edward watched the myriad of emotions cross her pretty face. Alarm, confusion, worry, fear followed by wariness. He knew immediately that he had the right person. She knew something, and he had every intention of getting it out of her.
“Who?” Eliza shifted, fully aware that his dark gaze was studying her closely.
“A friend.” Edward wasn’t willing to give her any more information until she furnished him with some in return. “I need to know where she is.”
“I-I don’t know.” Eliza shook her head firmly. Was he with Scraggan?
He didn’t look like one of Scraggan’s men, but who knew the type of men Scraggan had in his employ? The man was dangerous, she knew that much. Even seated, the man had an air of menacing authority about him that made the rest of the men in the tap room sit somewhere else; preferably as
far away as possible.
Eliza turned to leave, only to find her wrist captured once again in his much firmer hold. She ignored the tiny thrill of awareness that swept through her and watched in consternation as he placed a gold coin into her palm.
Her eyes grew wide as she stared at it before lifting her eyes to meet his steady gaze with alarm.
“I need to find her-,” Edward scowled. “I don’t know your name.”
“Eliza.”
“Eliza. I need to find Jemima. I pose no threat to her; she needs help.” Edward watched as the girl paled and sat back down on the stool with a thump. She seemed to buckle inwards under his declaration and he briefly wondered if she was going to faint on him.
Eliza knew she should continue with her bravado and deny any knowledge of Jemima, but the worry and stress of the past few days drove her to seek his help.
“Do you know where she has gone?” Her voice trembled with emotion. She knew this was the wrong place to show feminine weakness but couldn’t stop the fear that had been steadily growing since Jemima had failed to show for their last weekly meeting. There had been no note of explanation, nothing.
Eliza had managed to get away for long enough to ask Jemima’s room-mate where she was, only for her fears to be fuelled when her room-mate informed her that Jemima had simply vanished. One night she had gone to bed; the next morning her bed was empty and it was evident it hadn’t been slept in. Nobody had seen or heard from her since.
“No. We know she was here until a few weeks ago but she has vanished. I need to find her.”
“Why?” Eliza stared at the gold coin in her hand before quickly tucking it away inside the collar of her dress, casting a furtive glance around the room in search of witnesses. “What do you want with her?”
“You do know of her.” His conviction rang absolute as he studied her. Leaning back against the hard chair, he let the silence settle about them. It had the response he was looking for when after a few tense moments, she began to shift uncomfortably on the stool.
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