by Clee, Adele
Well, she was still waiting.
She placed her palm on top of the book and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing it would take more than a heartfelt apology to absolve her of all her sins.
Making her way downstairs, she noticed Morgan standing guard outside the door. “Does he ever sleep?” she whispered, nodding towards the closed door.
She did not expect an answer, for the man was an animal, distant and detached from humanity, trained only to respond to his master’s call. Yet she thought she glimpsed a flicker of compassion in those cold, blue eyes, a warning to tread carefully as this was not a social call.
Victor was alone. He had his back to the door, one hand braced against the mantel as he stared into the fire. A hazy mist from a half-smoked cheroot swirled ominously around his shoulders, drifting up towards the ceiling in a bid to escape.
“Ah! Marie,” he said turning to face her. “Have I disturbed you?”
“Not at all, Victor,” she lied. He had been a constant disturbance since the fateful afternoon when he approached her outside the Servant’s Registry Office. “You wish to speak to me.”
Victor snorted. “Always the obedient servant,” he mocked, throwing his cheroot into the fire. He sauntered over, grasped her chin between his finger and thumb and kissed her roughly on the mouth. “Though your lips, they always betray you,” he sneered, pulling away with such force she stumbled.
“I am tired, Victor, that is all,” she replied in an attempt to placate him.
“You are tired … you, Marie. The one who has her every need provided for. The one who benefits most from our … little enterprise.” He waved his hand in the air to stress his point.
The one who benefits! I am a mother to whores, a liar, a deceiver.
“The one,” he continued, “who would betray the hand that feeds her.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine.
Betray!
If Victor believed her inconstant, she was as good as dead. Had he found the girl? Did he know she had aided her escape?
She struggled to maintain her composure as a wave of panic took hold and so she stepped forward and placed her hands on the lapels of his coat in the hope he wouldn’t notice them shaking.
“Victor, what am I supposed to have done?” she asked. “What possible reason could I have for betraying you? Where would I be now without your support and guidance?”
I would be a wife, a mother, a woman with dignity.
“You would be nothing,” he spat.
“Have I not always done what you’ve asked?” She looked him keenly in the eye. “And I will continue to do so.”
He studied her with some suspicion. “We shall see,” he replied, his voice laced with contempt and he brushed her hands away from his coat as though they were the filthy hands of a chimney sweep. “Sit down,” he barked, gesturing to a nearby chair.
He turned and yelled for Morgan, his tone crude and coarse like a butcher hawking meat at the market.
Morgan entered and taking a few solid strides, stopped in the middle of the room. His hands clasped behind his back, he stared at some imaginary place in the distance. With a flat nose and protruding forehead, he had the look of a man who instilled confidence in his ability to get the job done.
“The men you posted at Beaufort’s residence,” Victor began, pacing back and forth. “You will tell me again what they have discovered.”
Morgan began recounting the events in a tone lacking feeling or inflection. “The gentleman caller questioned the servants, then left. Hodges followed him back to a house in Red Lion Square.”
Victor stopped his pacing and turned his attention to Marie. “Now, you will tell Marie, who else lives in this house in Red Lion Square.” His eyes were sharp, focused and resembled a hawk watching its prey, waiting for the smallest flicker of recognition so he could swoop in for the kill.
“The house is also occupied by the Marquess of Danesfield.”
Victor bent down so his eyes were level with hers, his hands gripping the arms of the chair for support, boxing her in. “And where do you think those gentlemen chose to spend their evening, Marie?” he spat, the smell of cheap brandy and stale tobacco irritating her nostrils. “Where, Marie!” he shouted when she failed to answer.
“Why, they spent the evening here, Victor,” she replied, her voice calm and steady. “As do many high-ranking gentlemen. Indeed, there are still a few lords sampling our wares as we speak.”
Victor grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. “Do not mistake me for a fool,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Did you know this Dane is Beaufort’s closest neighbour? Did you know these men were looking for him?”
“Victor, please. It is nothing more than a coincidence,” she pleaded, struggling to free her arm.
“I do not believe in coincidence, Marie.” He pulled her to his chest, forcing her to stand on the tips of her toes. “What did you tell him?” he bellowed. “What did you tell this Mr. Shandy while you were alone with him?”
He threw her back down into the chair, the force causing the front legs to rise clean off the floor.
“Nothing, Victor, I told him nothing,” she cried. “This is absurd.” She flinched as he lifted his hand to strike her. Behind him, Morgan stiffened and his sudden cough caused Victor to turn around. ‘‘I did not know of any connection to Lord Beaufort. You must believe me,” she whispered, using the distraction to plead her case.
“Then what the hell was he doing in here, Marie? What was he doing in your private room?” He bent down, grabbed her face and squashed her mouth together with his bony fingers, only releasing her when she tried to speak.
“I … I invited him, Victor, but it is not what you think. I invited him because he … because … Mr. Shandy is a woman.”
Victor straightened abruptly and took a step back, his face frozen, immobile. Lost in contemplation he began playing with the point of his beard, twirling it back and forth with his fingers. “You are sure of this?” he asked, seeming pleased by the prospect.
“I am certain, Victor,” she replied, trying to quash the uneasy feeling whirling around in her stomach. “I was simply intrigued by him … by her.” She had nothing to feel guilty about. Her confession had probably saved Mr. Shandy’s life.
Victor folded his arms across his chest and tapped his lip with his finger. “Describe him to me, his hair, his eyes.”
Marie found it an odd question, but she was in no position to challenge him. “His hair was black, perhaps too long for the current fashion, but it was tied back in a queue. And his eyes, well …” Marie thought for a moment, she had been touched by the sincerity of those angelic eyes. “They were the brightest blue.”
Victor seemed delighted with her answer. “Antoinette,” he mused, turning to Morgan. “Bring her to me.” He waited for his man to leave and then turned his attention to Marie. “While you have been granted a … reprieve of sorts, it is only temporary.” He removed his watch and checked the time before returning it to his pocket. “I do not trust you, Marie, and so I shall require some attestation of your loyalty.”
Before Marie could answer, the door burst open and Antoinette stumbled in, pulling a wrapper over her shoulder. It was impossible to tell if she had been roused from sleep or from the arms of an amorous lord.
“Antoinette,” Victor said with a sigh, which suggested he found the whole affair rather tedious. “As much as I detest the idea of discussing business at such an ungodly hour, I want you to tell me what … services you performed for the Marquess of Danesfield.”
Why on earth was Victor interested in Danesfield’s licentious habits?
Antoinette licked her lips as though the sensation stimulated her memory. “Let’s just say, he’s quite keen on my vocal abilities,” she replied.
Antoinette had chosen her words carefully, knowing Victor’s distaste for vulgarity.
Victor’s lips curved into a wry smile. “And the marquess, d
id he take a dip in the cupidinous font?” When Antoinette stared at him blankly, he rephrased his question. “Did you have relations of an intimate nature?”
Recognition dawned. “Not this time,” Antoinette replied. “His lordship was concerned for his gentleman friend. He didn’t want to leave him alone for too long.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Antoinette cocked her head to the side and stared up at the ceiling. “Well, we just got straight to it, if you know what I mean. But he did ask if there were any new girls.”
“And how did you reply?”
Antoinette placed her hands on her hips. “I told him it’s not nice to ask after other ladies, told him there was no one else in the whole of Labelles with a mouth sweeter than Antoinette’s.”
Victor’s beady eyes studied Antoinette. “The marquess, he always asks for you … specifically?”
Overcome with a sense of dread, Marie rose from the chair under the guise of pouring herself a drink. “I’m sure he’s had other girls,” she remarked casually.
If Antoinette said anything to displease Victor, she would end up on one of his little trips, never to be seen again.
But Victor did not give her a chance to answer.
“Never mind,” he said waving her away. “That will be all for the moment.”
Victor waited until Morgan had led Antoinette from the room before speaking. “Fate has brought your Mr. Shandy to our door.” He took the glass of brandy Marie offered him and sat down on the chaise. “Fate has chosen to punish us in order to reveal our reward.”
Marie watched him over the rim of her glass. Although his coal-black eyes revealed no emotion, his general countenance suggested he was in good spirits. It was not a good sign and the coil of fear tightened in her stomach.
“And how are we to be rewarded, Victor?”
“Perhaps we should thank Lord Beaufort,” he replied taking a sip of brandy, “for meddling in our affairs.”
Marie sat down opposite him, every muscle in her body tense. “I’m sure you will find a way to repay him, Victor.”
“Do not worry your head, Marie. Beaufort will rue the day he interfered. Indeed, he will have to live with the knowledge that in rescuing one maiden he inadvertently led us to another.”
Marie stopped breathing. “You speak of Mr. Shandy?” she asked struggling to hide the tremble in her voice.
“I speak of Miss Beaufort,” he corrected with some annoyance. “Lord Beaufort’s sister. I find the thought of her parading about town in a pair of breeches highly distasteful and the marquess, he will pay for it dearly.”
Fear gripped her in its talons. “You intend to use Miss Beaufort to replace Annabel?”
“No, Marie. Fate has another purpose for Miss Beaufort.” He swirled the amber liquid around in the glass. “And you, you are going to help me achieve it.”
Chapter 17
Sebastian woke to the sound of clinking glass. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced instinctively towards the window.
Squinting in the darkness, he followed the sound to the figure sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. With his shoulders hunched and head drooped low, his body appeared larger than his head. When Sebastian slid his hand under the pillow in an attempt to locate his knife, the figure spoke.
“Oh, you’re awake.” The feminine voice, whilst cheerful, sounded a little apprehensive.
Sebastian narrowed his gaze. “Sophie?” He patted the other side of the bed to reassure himself it was empty. “What are you doing out of bed?”
The mere thought that she should be in his bed was enough to arouse him again.
“I did not want to wake you,” she whispered tentatively. “You were sleeping so soundly.”
“I do not normally sleep very well at all,” he replied, both amazed and alarmed he had not heard her movements. “Is that why you’re sitting in the dark?”
“No … well, yes I suppose it is.”
He could hear the nervous hitch in her voice and knew she was trying to place some distance between them, but why? Had she returned to her own room, he could have believed she felt some regret over her decision to deepen their acquaintance. However, she had waited for him, albeit on the other side of the room and in the dark. Perhaps she was feeling a little shy after having been so intimate with him.
“I could have sworn I heard a clinking sound,” he said to distract her while he climbed out of bed to open the curtains. Dawn was fast approaching and its soft, muted rays cast a faint glow over the room.
“It was probably the noise of the spoon scraping against the glass,” she replied.
When he turned towards her, he caught his breath. Wrapped in the tartan blanket and her hair in disarray, she sat huddled in the chair, eating Mrs. Cox’s syllabub.
He had never seen a more appealing sight.
“It seemed a shame to waste it after Mrs. Cox had gone to all the trouble of whipping the cream,” she replied. She looked up from the glass as she placed another spoonful into her mouth and froze, her eyes widening as they perused his naked form before darting back down to the floor.
He bit back a chuckle for he found her reaction highly amusing. He liked seeing her like this, so shy and vulnerable. It was a side she so seldom revealed.
As if on cue, she muttered something under her breath and he suppressed another grin when she straightened her back, lifted her head and looked him square in the eye. “Would you like some?” she asked with a newfound boldness.
Would he like some? He wanted everything she had to offer and more. “That all depends,” he drawled, taking a step towards her, “on what it is you’re offering.”
With a coy smile, she dipped the spoon into the glass and scooped up a generous helping. “Here,” she said holding the spoon out in front of her.
Sebastian could not decide if it was the most innocent of gestures or a prerequisite to seduction. The lady certainly was an enigma. It was not until he had taken a step towards her, that he discovered he had been wrong on both counts. With a flick of the spoon, she watched with delight as its contents flew through the air and landed on his chin.
There was a brief moment of silence, where neither knew what the other would do. Sophie had pursed her lips in an attempt to suppress a grin while she waited for his reaction.
“When I catch you,” he began, wiping his chin and sucking syllabub off his finger “I shall make you lick it all off.” He watched her eyes widen with fear, with excitement. “You have until the count of three,” he said, noting her hesitance. She obviously did not believe him. “One …”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Two …”
“You can’t,” she began, but then must have decided that he could for she placed the glass on the table, wrapped the blanket tightly around her and bolted for the door.
“Three.” He reached the door before she had a chance to open it, grabbed her round the waist and pulled her back against his bare chest. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he whispered in her ear.
“How about this,” she replied, stamping on his toe.
“Ow!”
As he relaxed his grip, she dropped her weight, twisted her body and ducked underneath his arm. “I’ll have you know, I can be a formidable adversary when I put my mind to it,” she boasted, running to the far side of the bed.
“A point I would do well to remember,” he said feigning a limp in order to gain some ground. For dramatic effect, he grabbed the bedpost, using it for support.
The smile vanished from her lips. “Dane, I’m sorry,” she said looking down at his toe. “Have I hurt you?”
“I’ll live.”
Good. She was so concerned with his toe she’d forgotten all about his nakedness. The sooner she accepted him as a man and not some symbol of patriarchal dominance, the sooner he could get her to St George’s to say I do.
Then she made the fatal mistake of taking a few steps towards him. Letting go of the post, he
pretended to stumble and reached out for assistance. As she caught him, her blanket fell to the floor and he noticed she was wearing nothing but a chemise.
“Now, I believe there is the matter of dessert to attend to,” he remarked as he collapsed onto the bed, taking her with him.
“What about your toe?” she exclaimed, but then a spark of recognition flashed in her pretty blue eyes. “Why, you monster,” she cried pounding his chest with her fist. “And to think I actually felt sorry for you.”
Sebastian wrapped his arms around her. “In battle, one does what one must,” he said staring at her sweet mouth.
“Well, the joke is on you,” she chuckled, “for there is not one drop of syllabub left on your chin.”
“When I mentioned dessert, it was not syllabub I had in mind,” he said as his mouth found hers with a need he could not quite comprehend.
Breakfast was a far more formal affair than usual. The servants bustled around with renewed efficiency, bringing in plate after plate of ham, eggs, bacon, and an assortment of bread and jam. Everyone appeared deliriously happy, which was all rather ironic considering the fact his guest had taken to parading about town in gentleman’s attire, had been rescued from footpads after visiting a brothel and had since been ravished by the master, twice!
He glanced across the table at Miss Beaufort, who had just taken a bite out of a piece of toast plastered in a ridiculous amount of strawberry jam. She looked up at him and smiled and it felt as though his heart had suddenly dropped into his stomach.
It was not the sort of smile he was used to. It was not the smile of a coquette, not delivered with skilled artifice. It was a smile of genuine affection, with a genuine degree of warmth to indicate she found pleasure in his company. Never before had he held any fanciful notions of chivalry. Yet he could not suppress the need to protect her, to care for her, to bury himself inside her and never let her go. Indeed, he had been so caught up in their game of seduction, he had almost forgotten about Beaufort.
“I believe it’s time we discussed the matter of Antoinette,” he said, silently acknowledging the sooner this whole business was concluded, the sooner he could arrange a special license and make this thing between them official.
