by Jenna Jaxon
They arrived outside Madame Vestry’s office door, and he ushered her in.
Tonight Madame was dressed for a party in the guise of Aphrodite, goddess of love, draped in layers of sheer fabric. The woman’s ebony eyebrows rose as they entered, but her self-satisfied smile made Violet suspect she was not surprised to see them.
“Your business is concluded so swiftly, my lord? Did Cassandra not please you?” She turned her enigmatic face from the tall man to Violet.
Lord John laughed, harsh as a cawing crow. “I think the business you sent me to see to has been accomplished.” He nodded curtly toward Violet, but kept his gaze on Madame Vestry. “In fact, Miss Carlton has pleased me so well I have persuaded her to take Serena’s place.”
“Excellent.” A gleam appeared in Madame Vestry’s eyes as she stroked the small plaster dove sitting on her desk, Aphrodite’s symbol. “I will, of course, require my usual finder’s fee.”
“I expected nothing less, Amorina. I am especially grateful you found Miss Carlton for me. Such a rare flower needs special tending.” He glared candidly at the Madame. “Tending I will oversee personally.”
“I never had any doubt about that, my lord.” Vestry turned to Violet, the smug look vanished. “You have been given this opportunity to improve your situation, Miss Carlton. I trust you will take every advantage it offers.”
“I will, Madame Vestry.” Violet felt too weary to speak more.
Lord John placed a protective hand at the small of her back, a gesture that sent a frisson of warmth through her. As they reached the threshold, her protector looked over his shoulder, his face softening as he smiled at the goddess of love. “Thank you, Madame Vestry.”
“No, it is I who thank you, Lord Trevor. Bon chance.”
Not Lord John, but Lord Trevor. Violet did not recognize the true name of her new protector, but she didn’t care. If he was willing to help her escape this brothel and keep her safe, she didn’t care if he was the devil himself.
Chapter 3
“Send my carriage around, Will.” Tristan, Viscount Trevor, tossed a coin to the little urchin stationed in a corner of the front foyer.
“Yes, m’lord.” The lad scurried out the door.
An awkward silence ensued, punctuated by raucous calls from the main public room where one of the House of Pleasure’s infamous masquerades was in full swing.
“It shouldn’t be long,” he said, eyeing the small woman at his side. Lord, her head barely reached his chest. No bigger than a child, really. Except she was very definitely a woman. The memory of her beautiful naked body had him turning away and cursing the slowness of his carriage. Perhaps he should stand out on the porch where the chill night air might cool his ardor.
The door opened and Tris stepped back as several men entered, all in classical costumes, ranging from Zeus clutching a quiver of lightning bolts to a scantily clad shepherd.
“Trevor! Don’t tell me you’re for home already?” Zeus clapped him on the shoulder. “Never known you not to close the place down.” His gaze fell on Miss Carlton. “Oh, ho. Found you a giggler already? I can see why you’d make it an early night here. Long night elsewhere, though.” He elbowed Tris and leered at Violet. “Where’s Vestry been keeping you, dearie?”
“By special order, just for me, Feldon.” Tris stepped in front of her, and raised his chin. Damn, what was keeping that carriage?
Feldon raised his hands. “No offense, Trevor. There’s more where she came from.” Another lecherous grin. “Enjoy your strapping, now.” He turned and headed into the main room, his cohorts right behind him.
Tris made sure they were well away, then turned back to his charge. “I am sorry for that, Miss Carlton. Let us wait outside. I don’t know what the devil is keeping the carriage.”
The woman pulled the hood of her cloak well over her head.
Good. Less chance she’d be noticed. He yanked the door open and pulled Will, clinging to the latch, into the room.
“Carriage’s here, m’lord.” The boy let go and bounded past Tris back into the house.
“About time, scamp.” Tris took the woman’s arm and guided her out, praying they met no one else.
“Weldon Street, please, Stokes,” he called to his coachman as he helped Miss Carlton into the carriage, then climbed in behind her and took the back-facing seat. At last a moment to take stock. He’d had no time for more than a minimal plan since discovering her identity. Silently, he cursed fate. What were the odds a mere night’s entertainment would turn out to be James Carlton’s sister?
“Are you warm enough, Miss Carlton?” A moment rummaging underneath the seat and he drew out a dark red carriage blanket. Not waiting for an answer, he leaned forward and tucked it around her, tensing at the whiff of her soft, feminine scent. Fortunately, his cape hid the evidence of his continued arousal.
“I am fine, my lord.” Clutching her reticule, she kept her head down.
Well, that made one of them. He struggled to relax. The woman’s presence put him on edge and not only for the obvious reason. James Carlton. He’d tried to forget that name. Tried to forget all the duels during that bleak time last year as second to the Marquess of Dalbury. ‘Sblood but it had come back to haunt him...them, with a vengeance. What the devil was he to do with this woman?
She looked up at him oddly.
Had he spoken the question aloud?
Settling further into the seat, she returned her gaze to her lap.
Perhaps not, then. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. Thank Christ he’d gone no further with her in bed tonight. Had he actually violated her and found out her identity afterwards, he might well have put a pistol to his head. He’d never considered the far-reaching effects of the deaths of the men they had killed last year. Nor to the repercussions it might mean for their families. To have a gently born woman come to this pass because of...well, if one wanted to lay blame it would rest ultimately with Tommy Redmond and his treachery toward Duncan. However, he and the marquess bore the actual responsibility for the deaths of those three men.
The carriage hit a bump. He blinked and looked out the window. They were leaving the Covent Garden area, heading into more respectable territory.
So what must he do with Miss Carlton? His plan to move her to his mistress’s house would do for a while, but he couldn’t keep her there indefinitely. If recognized, she’d be assumed to be his latest bit of skirt and her reputation would be just as ruined as if she’d been discovered at Vestry’s establishment.
“Is it very far, Lord Trevor?” Miss Carlton spoke, pulling him out of his reverie.
“Not very, Miss Carlton. We’ll have you there and in bed in no time.”
She jerked her head up, her eyes wide. “What?”
Tris wanted to cut out his tongue. “I beg your pardon, but you seem fatigued after the trials of tonight. I believe a good long rest will put you to rights.”
She pulled the blanket closer and stared out the window at the inky night.
Tris leaned back in his seat, the creak of the well-oiled leather loud in the now dead silence of the carriage. He would have a word with Madame Vestry as soon as possible. Had bringing him in to debauch Miss Carlton been a master touch in getting revenge on the marquess? Or had she gambled he’d question the girl before he ruined her? The woman had a penchant for playing games, so Duncan had told him. Tris had patronized her house for years—three of his mistresses had come from the House of Pleasure, all well trained in the ways of pleasing a man. He’d certainly never had a complaint with his treatment there. Until tonight.
The woman across from him sat with her head bowed so only her dark hair showed. In his mind’s eye it lay spread out over the white pillowcase, her face turned to the side in a profile reminiscent of the head on a Greek coin. Beauty and grace fanning his desire. Her soft skin beneath his hand, her tantalizing nipples, dark hued like her hair, both above and below—
The carriage hit another r
ut, jolting him out of his daydream. Damn, but this must stop. He could not have erotic fantasies about the woman he intended to save.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” She had raised her head to look at him.
God’s bones, had he spoken aloud? Tris froze, hoping to Christ he wasn’t blushing. He swallowed, although his mouth had dried as if he’d eaten sand. “Are you quite all right, Miss Carlton? That was a nasty bump. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t come to grief.”
A warm flash of red lips and white teeth, her smile did nothing to cool his ardor. The happiest he’d seen her tonight, though.
“No, my lord, I am not hurt. Although the road is quite rough in places.” The smile left as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a sober look in her big whiskey-colored eyes. “I have yet to thank you properly, my lord, Trevor, is it?”
“Yes, I am sorry, Miss Carlton. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Viscount Trevor, Tristan to my friends.”
Immediately, she returned her attention to the darkness of the London night. “I am truly grateful, Lord Trevor, for your kindness earlier.” The robe had fallen to her lap and she pulled it up to her shoulders. “Few men would have cared enough to listen to my story. I believe most would have seen to their own pleasure first and asked questions later if at all.” She sought his eyes at last, their frankness piercing him. “You are a true gentleman, my lord. Thank you for rescuing me.”
At a sudden loss for words in the face of her honest gratitude, Tris clenched his fist. Cad described him earlier in the evening, not rescuer. He cleared his throat, incredibly aware of his state of arousal and his recent thoughts about the luscious woman seated before him. Damn, but he must get himself under control.
“I fear your rescue is far from complete, Miss Carlton. I have yet to discover a way to remove you permanently from the threat of a life at The House of Pleasure.” How the deuce he was to accomplish it remained to be seen. Perhaps Duncan would have an idea. “We must find some means of respectable employment for you, which for a gentlewoman means either as a companion to a woman of good reputation or a governess in a good household.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Her eyes lit up, eagerness in her face. “I will be happy to take any decent position you find for me. I can sew a fine seam, if that helps at all.” She shook her head, the light fading from her eyes. “Although that skill helped me not at all when I asked for a position at the mantua makers in the more fashionable section.”
Tris cocked his head. “If you sew as well as you claim, why would they not take you on?” The modistes he’d always patronized when furnishing his amours were usually dreadfully understaffed. It had taken him ten days to get Serena completely outfitted.
The woman laced her fingers together and pressed back in her seat. “Because I would not admit my situation to be as dire as it was until too late.” With a little shake, she settled back into the seat. “When my brother’s estate was settled, our home had to be sold, and though it brought a decent amount, half of it had to go for the funeral expenses and to pay off Jamie’s debts.” She stared not at him, but spoke to the corner of the carriage beside him. “He had expected me to marry well, you see, therefore his money had flowed rather freely. Then he died in May, so of course, I was in mourning throughout the season. My grandmother insisted I return to society before I should, for we knew the only way to secure our future was through a decent marriage.”
“But you were unsuccessful?”
The scornful gaze she turned on him made his stomach churn. “With the handicaps of no dowry and a disgraced brother, I’m surprised I received any invitations, much less proposals. I did attend some functions, but it was to no avail. We spent the winter quietly, outside of London in less expensive lodgings and prayed for the spring.” Again she drew into herself. “Then this past March, my grandmother died.”
Tris grasped her hands as she tried to blink back tears. “My dear, I am so terribly sorry.” Her hands, bare and smooth to the touch, sent a current of warmth up his arm.
She fought for control, at last looking him in the face. “Thank you, my lord.”
He nodded and released her, sorry to let her go.
“I mourned her loss deeply, but could not afford to lose that season as well. Her final words were a prayer I would find a kind man to take care of me.” A catch in her voice, Miss Carlton dashed a hand across her eyes. “I finally had the great good luck to make the acquaintance of a Miss Forsythe, who had just arrived from Ireland.”
“Miss Alethea Forsythe? Lady Braeton’s cousin?”
“Yes.”
“I have met her. She seems sweet.” A rather brash young woman, also.
“She befriended me and so I was invited to all manner of events from her connection alone. I was sure I would find someone, but my lack of dowry evidently proved insurmountable.” Lips pressed into a stark line, Miss Carlton shook her head. “At that point, my lord, I should have given up and applied to a mantua-maker. It was late August. I still looked respectable. I could perhaps have gotten a position. But I convinced myself a man could fall in love with me and take me without a dowry.”
“I believe he could.” Tris’s words slipped out before he thought. She embodied all the womanly traits a man would wish in a wife. Beauty, charm, poise, passion. And a tenacity for life he would match against any man’s. Had he met her this summer, perhaps he would not have taken the path he had chosen.
“Unfortunately, none did.” She lowered her gaze to the carriage robe, worrying the fringe. “I came back from a week-long party at the Braeton’s in Kent to find my landlady had seized all my belongings as payment for my room. Her actions left me three outfits to sell for food. So I started eating only every other day, sleeping where I could. That is when I sought a position as a seamstress. But by then I looked less than respectable and they wouldn’t even speak to me. I ate less, sold everything I had but the dress I stood up in. Three days without food and I knocked on Madame Vestry’s door.” The raised chin and narrowed eyes issued an unmistakable challenge. “I decided to choose life rather than death. Society will surely condemn me for that, although I highly doubt any of them has ever missed a single meal.”
“I rather doubt that myself.” Tris wanted to put his arms around her, to comfort her, to let her know he did not judge her. He suspected she already knew. Still, he grasped her hands again, reveling in their touch. “You are past that now, my dear. I will not rest until you are safely taken care of either through employment or marriage.”
“Thank you, my lord. You are truly kind.” She squeezed his hand.
A sizzle of heat shot straight to his groin and he bit back a groan. “As I said earlier, by right, having ruined you, I should marry you.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to protest as before. “I regret, however, that I am encumbered. I am betrothed to another lady and cannot break my word to her.” A heartfelt sigh escaped him and he wondered at it. Would he prefer marriage to a penniless woman, no matter the temptress she might be? Or the daughter of a wealthy and powerful man whose dowry would be a piece of land his family had coveted for generations?
“You are generous even to think of such a thing, my lord.” Something—regret or relief—flitted over Miss Carlton’s face. “Are we stopping?”
The shadowy lapboard front of Lammas House came into view. His gaze, as always, went immediately to the upper room in the right corner of the house. Serena’s bedroom, filled with delights. But now no lights showed in the rooms, either below or above. Of course not, fool. No one was there. Serena had left last week. The house had been closed, the servants sent away.
“Damn.” He took in Miss Carlton’s startled gaze, and chuckled. “I seem to have misplaced my wits for the moment. The sight of great beauty will do that, you know.”
Her wan face and a pinched attempt at a smile told him the poor woman was nearing the end of her endurance. Life had been an unholy hell for her recently. Let him not add to it.
/> “My mistress left and the servants were dismissed. Hence, no lights. Fortunately, I still have my key. Stokes.” Tris opened the door and called to the coachman. “Tell Thomas to find Mrs. Parker and Susan, and send John to Mr. Gates. Tell them to return to their posts at once and I will be very generous. Come, Miss Carlton.” He offered his hand and it swallowed her petite one as he assisted her to the ground.
She picked her way to the gate, then turned and looked back at him hesitantly.
“Hand me her satchel, Stokes. I will send to Madame Vestry tomorrow for the rest of your things, Miss Carlton.” He hefted the bag, so light it might be empty. Why had the woman not packed more of her things?
“That won’t be necessary, my lord. Those are all my possessions.”
Tris stopped and stared. “Madame Vestry didn’t outfit you—”
“No, my lord. She wanted to wait until...until she knew if I would work out or not.” She bowed her head and whispered, “Apparently, one woman, after her first time, went and drowned herself in the Thames. Madame did not want to spend money on additional clothes for me if they would not be put to use.”
Gripping the valise, a sudden disgust with the whole business gnawing his insides, Tris took Miss Carlton’s arm and escorted her inside. Immediately, he lit a lamp beside the door and conducted the woman into the parlor on the right. He indicated a large wingback chair in gold and burgundy stripes, and proceeded to light the lamps in the room. Damn, he forgot to send for another footman to light a fire here and upstairs. Had Mrs. Parker left any bed linens or covers? Why hadn’t he thought of this before Stokes had gone?
He smiled at Miss Carlton, a false one to be sure. His had always been a life of pleasure organized by other people to accommodate him. How the hell did they think of all these things? What would he do if there were no linen? No fire? No servants? They might have already taken other positions. He couldn’t leave Miss Carlton here alone. Neither could he take her to an inn without a maid or companion. How the devil would he produce either of those at this time of night? Well, he’d have to take charge and hope for the best.
