by Lucy Ashford
‘Hey there, Lefevre!’ Beaumaris called. Along with his friends, he was already assessing the hovering menace of Mort and his band. ‘What’s going on? You need a hand here?’
As the three men drew closer she whipped up her hood so her face was half covered, but Lefevre’s newly arrived allies weren’t looking at her. Instead they’d strolled towards Mort’s crew and were clearly flexing their muscles beneath their expensive clothes. ‘A fine night for a fight, wouldn’t you say, my friends?’ Finlay drawled to the other two. Finlay was a noted boxing enthusiast; the others were equally strong and fit and Mort’s men were wise enough not to take up the challenge. ‘Looks like reinforcements have arrived, lads,’ Mort muttered as he and his cohorts slipped away down the side alley into the darkness.
Now, Serena told herself, her pulse pounding. Now is your chance to escape.
She tried. She really tried to break free, but Lefevre held her tightly as his friends attempted to peer at her cloaked and hooded figure. Beaumaris raised his eyebrows. ‘What the devil have you been up to, Lefevre, you rogue? I thought all four of us agreed to meet here to search for entertainment, but it looks like you’ve already found yours with this little lady.’ He was staring hard at Serena and she pressed her face into Lefevre’s shoulder, begging him mutely. Please don’t betray me. Please don’t tell them who I am.
‘Lady?’ Hawkesworth was scoffing. ‘Since when did they start calling the bits of muslin round here “ladies”?’ He pointed at Lefevre. ‘And watch yourself, my friend. It looks like this particular one would have got you into a spot of trouble if we hadn’t come along, so make sure you get your money’s worth. On that note, we’ll leave you to it.’
They strolled away, making even coarser jests. Serena’s cheeks burned anew. If only I can get home, she prayed. Then I shall put this whole, horrible nightmare behind me and do my best never to be within a mile of Raphael Lefevre ever again.
But the Marquis clearly had other ideas, since he still had a firm hold of her and was steering her off in the very opposite direction. That was when she did indeed try to break away, but, undaunted, Raphael Lefevre marched her steadily onwards. ‘No escape for you yet, my lady,’ he declared. ‘Eventually, I’ll take you home. But right now, it’s time you and I had a serious talk. One that we’ve been putting off for a little too long.’
Her heart sank even further.
Chapter Two
Raphael led her down a narrow cobbled lane to a tavern just north of the piazza, though with hindsight he reflected that he should have headed for somewhere a little more respectable, for shady-looking characters still loitered in the shadows and at every corner prostitutes looked for customers. Indeed, one of them called out to him, ‘Special price for a handsome gent like you, darling!’
‘No thanks,’ he called back. ‘I’ve already got what I need.’
He drew Serena close again. Which was the moment he realised she was shivering badly.
Was it with shock, after her encounter with that gang of ruffians? Though he guessed that were he rash enough to ask her, she’d probably declare she’d prefer their company to his any day. Too bad. Once inside the tavern, he led her to a corner well away from the smoky light of the cheap tallow candles and noticed that her hood had once more slipped down, causing him to catch his breath at the sheer perfection of her face. Pale and distraught she might be, with her fair hair falling from its pins, but she was one of society’s beauties without a doubt. She had a lovely oval face and a full mouth, with thick-lashed eyes that were like the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day.
And what had just happened in these mean streets had clearly shaken her badly.
‘Why doesn’t she marry again?’ people asked.
‘Because she loved her husband, the Honourable Lionel Willoughby,’ was always the answer. ‘He died a war hero and there can never be anyone else for her...’
He realised she was speaking to him, in a voice that combined both contempt and defiance. ‘Is this another of your attempts to humiliate me, Monsieur le Marquis? Bringing me to a place like this?’
He thought reflectively that the arrogance of the English upper classes matched that of the French aristocracy any day. ‘As far as I can see, your own attempt to humiliate yourself tonight could not be surpassed, Lady Serena—even by me.’ He beckoned to a waiter. ‘Wine, if you please. And make sure the glasses are clean.’
She looked round in some agitation. ‘The last thing I want is wine!’
‘Really?’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you might need it. What were you playing at back there? And don’t tell me it’s none of my business, because I rather think it is—since I came to your rescue.’ The bottle of wine arrived and he half filled the two glasses. ‘What’s more, I actually thought you might express a little gratitude.’
‘Grateful? Monsieur le Marquis, was it my gratitude you were hoping to provoke, with that display of...of sheer masculine vanity back there in the street just now?’
He remembered all too clearly the evening he’d been introduced to her last November at a society ball. ‘She’s a real beauty,’ he’d been told by Giles Beaumaris. ‘Just wait till you see her!’
Yet what had struck Raphael wasn’t her beauty as much as her vulnerability. His first thought on seeing her in the crowded ballroom was—She looks very, very lonely.
Then he’d asked her to dance, but he’d had no chance to discover what had caused that bereft look in her eyes, because after that just about everything had gone wrong and there was no hope of redemption for Raphael Lefevre in the eyes of Lady Serena, oh, no. Since that disastrous meeting, the haughty widow with the dead war hero husband had decided to pick him out for her witticisms, which he’d been able to swiftly slap down thanks to his own dry humour and his popularity with the fashionable set. But just lately, her comments had started to become damned dangerous.
Raphael’s mouth curled cynically as he watched her push her glass of wine away. Now, if only kisses were the answer. In his arms tonight she’d felt soft and yielding, and when their lips met she’d actually tasted rather delicious. What was more, he could swear he’d felt her silken mouth actually welcoming him...
He guessed she’d been aware of it, too, and hated herself for it—but not as much as she hated Raphael Lefevre.
He drained his glass and reached for the wine bottle to pour himself more. Lady Serena clearly felt the cheap liquor was beneath her contempt, just as he was. But at least she appeared to have regained her composure; though he couldn’t help but notice that in sharp contrast to the lady’s glacial expression, some rather enticing locks of her pale gold hair had escaped to cluster in charming fashion around her slender neck.
And how she would hate the fact that he’d noticed. Be careful, he reminded himself harshly. All right, so she was a beauty, but Dieu, she hated him. He said, mildly, ‘So you call my rescue of you a “display of masculine vanity”, do you? Strange, but I was under the impression I was saving you from a bunch of villains who were about to turn rather nasty. Surely you realised the danger to your reputation, let alone your physical safety, of entering such a notorious quarter by night?’
‘I could ask you the same question!’ she said, but then he saw her blush. Even she, refined as she was, would know why men like himself and his dissolute friends visited Covent Garden. They came in search of rather earthier pleasures than were available in the refined atmospheres of Almack’s, or in Mayfair’s aristocratic drawing rooms.
‘I’m a man, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ he said softly. ‘I can take care of myself on meaner streets than these—and as for my reputation, I’m reliably informed it has no further to fall. You, on the other hand, are the sister of a peer of the realm, the Earl of Stainsby no less. Yet you came to this district unchaperoned. Unprotected. Why?’
He saw something like panic briefly flutter across her face. Once more she appeared—unusu
al for her—to be struggling for words. Then she said, without expression, ‘My business here was completely private. And I must make it clear that I took strong exception to the way you—you...’
‘Claimed you as mine?’ He flicked his fingers in the air as if thoroughly dismissing the incident. ‘Pardon me if you had other plans to deal with that rather menacing crew. Do you have a pistol beneath your cloak? Or—now, here’s an idea—were you going to slay them with words, maybe?’
She looked a little wildly towards the door, but he lazily lifted one curling finger and drawled, ‘I wouldn’t recommend flight. Not hereabouts, at any rate. Lady Serena, why are you objecting so strongly to the fact that I came to your aid tonight?’
To Raphael’s experienced eyes, only the tiniest pulse fluttering in her throat betrayed her inner turmoil. ‘There was no need,’ she said at last, ‘for you to—to maul me as you did in front of all those people. To make it look as if—as if...’
‘As if we were lovers? But I’d explained to those louts that indeed we had an assignation. And since I was outnumbered at the time, I had to leave them in absolutely no doubt that I would protect you come what may.’ He studied her, allowing a smile to play around his lips. ‘Don’t you agree?’
The colour stained her cheeks again. ‘You, monsieur,’ she said in a slightly less steady voice this time, ‘are an unscrupulous rogue.’
‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ he agreed. ‘But you, Lady Serena, are far too proud.’ He found himself fascinated by the way that her luscious lips, like her cheeks, seemed to turn pink as she struggled to reply and he almost felt sympathy for her predicament, until he reminded himself that only a week ago, in his full hearing, she’d remarked how odd it was that the Marquis had abandoned his fellow countrymen. ‘His friends and his family, too,’ she’d added, ‘for all we know. Yes, he left them all, in order to live the kind of life here that caused a revolution in France!’
The remark had been made at a fashionable party, in a crowded salon. Her words had made him angry, yes indeed, for one moment. Just the one.
Now, in this dingy tavern, he made himself relax and pointed his finger towards her untouched glass. ‘Are you sure you don’t want any of that wine?’
She flashed fire again. ‘Of course I don’t! I never wished to come in here in the first place, with you, of all people!’
He kept that faint half-smile on his face, because he guessed his calmness drove her wild. ‘Mon Dieu,’ he said. ‘It must be very lowering for you, I’m sure.’
He sipped at his own wine and noticed that her cloak had fallen back from her shoulders a little, allowing him a glimpse of the pale green gown she wore beneath. It was high-necked, demure even; but he wondered if she realised how tightly the soft fabric clung to her breasts. Briefly he recalled the impact of her slender yet womanly figure when he’d held her close and clamped down on the tingle of arousal.
Remember that she despises you. She’s also dangerous to you. Now’s your chance, so for God’s sake take it.
‘You, Lady Serena,’ he went on in companionable tones, ‘must realise that the best way to deal with those ruffians who threatened you is to report them to the law. May I ask if you intend to do so?’
She was silent just for a moment. ‘I—I couldn’t report them,’ she said at last. ‘Because it concerns a matter that I prefer to keep private.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded his head wisely. ‘Could it be that my Lady Serena’s gleaming halo has slipped in some way? Quelle surprise.’ He lifted one admonishing finger. ‘Here’s a suggestion. Maybe you should consider dealing with the flaws in your own life, before launching yourself so bitterly at mine. Except—oh, dear me, Lady Serena has no flaws. Lady Serena is perfection itself. And yet...’ he leaned closer ‘...and yet I can’t help but think, from what I saw tonight, that those unsavoury men you came to meet were out to blackmail you.’
He saw her catching her breath.
‘And,’ he pressed on, ‘here’s another word of warning. Blackmailers always come back.’
‘But I gave them the money they wanted...’ Her voice trailed away as she realised what she’d said.
‘Dear me,’ he said softly. ‘So I’m completely right. That halo of yours is in danger, isn’t it? Here’s my proposal, my lady. I deal with those men. And in return, you—as of now—will stop trying to blacken my reputation in public.’
‘I can deal with those rogues. I told you, I have dealt with them!’
He shook his head, almost in sympathy. ‘And as I told you, blackmailers always want more. Which could mean you making a few more night-time trips to Covent Garden with a purse full of coins to hand to them—at the very least.’
‘They wouldn’t dare. I’ve seen the last of them, I assure you!’
‘You think so?’ His voice was cold. ‘But two of them have been following us. I spotted them twice on our way here as I looked back, so believe me, they haven’t finished with you yet. There’s also something else you should consider. What if you were recognised tonight, by those acquaintances of mine?’
‘No,’ she declared. ‘It’s impossible. With me in this old cloak, they surely couldn’t have...’ Her voice faded. She caught her breath. ‘Monsieur. Those men. You wouldn’t tell them, would you? I thought even you couldn’t stoop so low!’
‘Your opinion of me never ceases to entertain me,’ he said almost with amusement, ‘but you’ve no need to worry. Why on earth should I bother to spread the tale? Though as I say, any of them could have glimpsed your face, in spite of your cloak and hood. You are, after all, quite distinctive. And they would wonder—“Why on earth was Lady Serena Willoughby skulking around the piazza in a manner no lady of the ton would contemplate, with Raphael Lefevre of all people?”’
She was silent. Unable to respond.
‘I think,’ he said at last, ‘that you need to consider your position a little more carefully, especially if the word does get around. I suggest that I call on you, tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, Lady Serena, I still believe you might need my help.’ He held out his arm to escort her to the door. ‘One way or another.’
‘Never,’ she declared a little shakily. ‘Besides, tomorrow afternoon is impossible. I have other plans!’
‘Then in my opinion, you would be wise to cancel them. I’ll see you around four.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Shall we go?’
Chapter Three
As if in a dream—a very bad dream—Serena let Lefevre guide her towards the Strand. It had begun to rain and her cloak was quite damp by the time he succeeded in hailing a passing cab.
‘You’ll want my address,’ she said to Lefevre.
His response was curt. ‘I know your address.’ And indeed, after he’d helped her climb in she heard him instructing the driver, ‘Curzon Street. Here’s money for the fare.’ Then without another word he was off, striding down the street through the rain with the arrogance that came so naturally to him.
Serena leaned back rather weakly in her seat as the carriage moved off. He’d told her two of Mort’s men had been following them. He could have been lying. He most likely was lying. But, oh, what a disaster of an evening. As if her prearranged meeting with Silas Mort hadn’t been bad enough, Raphael Lefevre had turned up and added to her confusion by calmly offering her his protection. But his kiss had warned her just how dangerous he could be, even when he was pretending to be on her side.
Such a proud man. So utterly impervious to the gossip that trailed in his wake wherever he went—gossip that would envelop her, too, if the word were to spread about their encounter tonight. She felt dizzy at the mere thought.
‘I still believe you might need my help,’ he’d said as they left the tavern. ‘One way or another.’ And he’d threatened to call at her house!
She clasped her hands tensely in her lap. Surely he would change his mind.
She reached desperately after that faint glimmer of hope. He’d had his fun with her tonight and he’d seen her humiliated—wasn’t that enough for him?
Yet he and she were bound to meet again. At society gatherings, society balls... Oh, Lord. She fought for a solution and had found absolutely none by the time the cab jolted to a halt outside her Mayfair mansion.
She hurried up the pristine marble steps, thinking that all she wanted now was to be alone, but of course already the front door was being opened by a footman, and her housekeeper, Mrs Penney, was coming towards her in a flurry. ‘My lady! Fancy being out in all this rain. Your cloak is soaking wet!’
She allowed Mrs Penney to strip off her cloak and forced herself to give a cheerful smile. ‘It was my charity work, of course. Didn’t I warn you I’d be late? The meeting lasted longer than I expected.’
Oh, these lies.
Kind Mrs Penney shook her head in disapproval, but her tone softened. ‘Now what you need, my lady, is a nice hot bath. There’s a fire already lit in your room and I’ll send Martha to help you out of those wet clothes.’
Her older brother George had asked her to view this house a year and a half ago, when Serena had returned to London after a period of solitude at the family home in Yorkshire. ‘The place is yours if you wish,’ George had said in his usual shy way. ‘You’ll be ready to move on with your life, I know. Hope it suits, m’dear Serena.’
From the first she’d loved the house, absolutely loved it, with its high ceilings and large, light-bestowing windows. The furnishings, which George informed her with pride he’d chosen himself—well, they were a different matter. Oh, dear. George might be a distinguished and dutiful earl, but his taste in decor was startling. Never mind, Serena had told herself. Striped chintz sofas and gilded jardinières she could cope with. Just about. There was one problem, though. ‘George,’ she reminded him, ‘you know I’ve still got the house in Dover Street where I lived with...’
