“I don’t know who was in that carriage,” he explained as he waved down a hackney. “But our hunt just crossed over from your world into mine.”
An old carriage stopped in front of them. The rain-wet jarvey at the ribbons didn’t bother to tip his tall felt hat to them.
“You took me into the Court of Miracles and taught me how to move through your world.” He opened the door and stepped back so she could climb inside, then barked out directions to the driver as he swung up after her. “Now it’s time I teach you about mine.”
Eight
Veronica peered past Merritt as he jumped out of the hackney and held the door for her. She stared up at the building, unable to believe her eyes.
“A brothel?” Blinking in confusion, she stepped to the ground. “You brought me to a brothel to teach me about your world?” Placing her hands on her hips, she slid him a dubious glance. “What kind of world do you live in?”
He wisely ignored that. “This isn’t just any brothel.” He nodded toward the plain-looking town house that could have passed for any other terrace house in the west end, if not for the crowd of gentlemen gathered on the footpath and the large man standing on the small portico, guarding the door. “This is the finest brothel this side of Covent Garden.”
“That doesn’t mean much.”
“This neighborhood is the heart of respectable society, I’ll have you know. Almack’s is just down the street.”
She repeated in a dry mutter, “That doesn’t mean much.”
With a grin, he tossed a coin to the jarvey and sent the hackney away. “You’ll change your opinion once you meet Madame Noir.”
A masculine shout of distress echoed from one of the upstairs rooms, loud enough to drift out into the street. It was followed immediately by the snap of a whip and a woman’s voice. “Do as I tell you!” Another crack of the whip. “Don’t make me use the spurs!”
Veronica silently arched a brow.
“You’ll like her.” He took her arm to lead her toward the door. “She’s…unique.”
But Veronica refused to budge. She hated the bubbling jealousy in her belly that made her ask, “And how do you know Madame Noir and this place?”
“Business only, I assure you.”
Her brow arched higher.
He grimaced. “Not that kind of business.”
She wasn’t certain she believed him, although a foolish part of her heart desperately wanted to. “Why are we here?”
“Madame lives on the fringe of society. She knows how to move between worlds and behave both among the lower classes and the ton.”
The front door opened, and a gentleman left the town house. Before the door closed, Veronica caught a glimpse of the crowded entry hall, heard music coming from the front parlor, and smelled the scent of jasmine, tallow candles, and musk. Beyond that door, the house pulsed with life and debauchery.
“What does any of this have to do with catching rioters?” she muttered.
“Not rioters,” he corrected. “The men behind the riots.”
Well, that was as clear as mud. She cocked her head, waiting for further explanation.
“Madame Noir might be the center of attention here because that’s what this place demands of her. But she also knows how to not draw attention to herself while moving among society. If anyone can teach you to do the same, it’s her.” When she looked at him in confusion, he bluntly explained, “She’s going to tutor you.”
Surprise strangled her. “Pardon?”
“If we’re going to find out who was in Malmesbury’s carriage, we’ll have to place you into society and keep you there as long as it takes, all without drawing attention. Madame’s going to teach you how.”
She gaped at him. “You’re mad!”
“Says the woman behind the beard,” he drawled.
“I might be wearing a beard, but I’m not daft enough to step inside a brothel to learn society stuff and nonsense that—”
“Oh yes, you are.”
Without warning, he pulled her floppy hat down low over her ears and grabbed her around the waist. He tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour and started toward the front door at a quick pace before her shocked brain could think to fight back.
But when it did, she let loose a volley of kicks and punches. “You rotten son of a—a barrister!”
He smacked her bottom. “Behave.”
The man guarding the door stared wide-eyed at the spectacle they made as they approached the town house.
“We’re here to see Madame Noir,” Merritt informed the man.
Without any questions, the guard opened the door for them and stepped back to let them pass amid shocked looks by the gentlemen gathered in the entry hall and outright laughs by the women.
The heat and smells of the busy brothel engulfed them, as did the noise, most of which came from the parlor leading off the entry hall. The room was filled with men waiting their turn to go upstairs, and they were being entertained in the meantime by scantily clad, flirtatious women and a musician playing the pianoforte.
But it was the woman at the center of the room who caught Veronica’s attention.
Tall and willowy with ebony hair and piercing green eyes, she wore a tightly fitted, low-cut gown of green velvet beneath a delicate overlay of gold filigree that only added to her imperial presence. So did the rubies decorating her throat and wrist. Although she was slightly older than the other women present, she sparkled in the lamplight far more brightly than the rest. She could only have been one person—
“Madame Noir,” Merritt called out to her.
She turned from the group of men surrounding her and faced him. “Snake.”
Veronica twisted just enough to mumble, “You really do make a memorable impression on people, don’t you?”
He smacked her on the bottom again. Hard.
“While I appreciate the business, especially from the likes of you,” Madame practically purred as she glided toward them, “there’s an extra fee if you bring your own partner and no discount for bringing a man.” She gestured a gloved hand at the two of them. “Although I daresay I would never have suspected your proclivities ran that way.”
Veronica would have paid a hundred pounds to see the look on Merritt’s face! But the rascal must have simply grinned rakishly in response, given the consternation that visibly gripped Madame.
“Actually, we were looking for you,” he told her. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Well, now you’re proving much more interesting.” She slipped past them toward the stairs. “Follow me.”
Merritt carried Veronica upstairs. Every jarring step bounced her roughly on his shoulder and swirled thoughts of sweet revenge through her head. As they passed the first floor landing, she could hear all kinds of noises coming from the maze of small rooms that had been sandwiched into the floor plan wherever they would fit.
“Your timing is extraordinary, Snake,” Madame called over her shoulder as she led them up to the second floor, her hand trailing gracefully along the banister.
“Why is that?” Merritt replied casually as if carrying a man through a brothel over his shoulder was an everyday occurrence.
She guided them onto the top floor landing and down the hall. “Because I thought of you just yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“I saw a lawyer trapped up to his neck in mud in the Thames. The tide was coming in, sure to drown him.”
“What did you do?”
She unlocked and opened the door to a set of rooms overlooking the street. “Nothing, of course.”
“Of course,” he drawled.
“After all, you know what they call a dead lawyer.” She smiled as she stepped back to let them pass inside, a wide and toothy crocodile smile. “A good start.”
“You’re right,”
Veronica said to Merritt, laughter at his expense coloring her voice. “I do like her. A lot.”
With a scowl, he dropped her unceremoniously onto a gold settee with a spine-rattling bounce.
She sat up and glanced at the room around her. Undoubtedly, they were in Madame’s private suite, decorated extravagantly with lengths of purple silk draped across the walls and a gold brocade settee and chairs. A Chippendale armoire stood between two bay windows, with a writing desk and dressing table both positioned to catch the sunlight that would have fallen through the windows during the day. A set of walnut doors most likely led to her bedroom and dressing room.
Madame closed the door, shutting out the noise of the brothel. Then she folded her arms over her bosom and turned toward Merritt. All amusement vanished from her face.
“Now,” she ordered, “tell me why you’re here.”
“I want to hire your services.”
“No.”
The bluntness of that made him grin. “But I thought you did anything your customers requested.”
“Almost anything.” Madame eyed Veronica askance. “Not him.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. Rejected by a brothel madam…lovely.
“It’s not what you think.” He bent down and tugged at Veronica’s beard. The adhesive gum gave way, and the beard pulled off. Her hat came next, revealing her hair in a knot at the top of her head.
Madame’s arms fell to her sides. Taking a long, assessing glance over Veronica, she murmured, “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”
Merritt grinned at the backhanded compliment. “Madame Noir,” he introduced, “may I present to you Miss Veronica Chase? Miss Chase, this is Madame Noir, the proprietress of Le Château Noir.”
“A pleasure,” Madame purred.
“Is it?” Veronica countered, her impudence earning a smile from the woman. “After all, you keep calling him Snake.”
“Because that’s what he is,” she explained. “A barrister in a brothel.” Her eyes narrowed at Merritt. “A snake in my henhouse.”
He shrugged and casually sat back on the rolled arm of the settee. “A man who can have her business shut down for violating the Disorderly Houses Act.”
She nodded at Veronica. “See my point?”
“Yes, I do.” So no cause for being jealous after all. From the way she’d greeted him, Madame would have preferred to have him up to his neck in the tidal Thames.
“Madame Noir is special,” Merritt told Veronica, continuing with the introduction. “She’s a skilled businesswoman who used to be a highly sought-after courtesan in the Viennese court and a favorite of the Holy Roman Emperor.”
“Please,” Madam scoffed but didn’t attempt to hide her pleasure at the compliment. “Francis was neither holy nor Roman nor imperial.” A nostalgic smile rose on her red lips. “But he was good with a sword.”
Merritt nudged Veronica with his shoulder and murmured, “Your kind of man.”
“If I only had a sword now,” she muttered.
Madame turned her attention to Veronica. “And you are…?”
She smiled. “A thief-taker.”
“Of course you are.” Madame’s lips twisted in dark annoyance. “The reptiles are multiplying.”
“Then best to deal with us as quickly as possible and send us on our way,” he replied.
“Very well.” Madame let out an impatient sigh. “What do you want?”
“The use of your skills.” Merritt pushed himself off the arm of the settee and crossed to the little cabinet in the corner, opened the glass doors, and reached inside to help himself to a bottle of cognac. Veronica didn’t let herself contemplate how he’d become so familiar with Madame’s private rooms as to know where she hid her liquor. “Miss Chase is going to be attending a society soiree in two days.” He pulled out the stopper and splashed the caramel-colored liquid into a crystal tumbler. “I want you to prepare her for it.”
Madame laughed. “You want me to be a governess?”
“I want you to teach her all the niceties and manners she’ll need to know to make her way through the evening without drawing unwanted attention to herself. She doesn’t have to shine. She just can’t cause any noticeable offenses.” He smiled at her over his shoulder as he returned the decanter to its place. “If anyone can teach her that in such short time, it’s you.”
That little bit of flattery worked its magic to settle Madame’s ruffled feathers. A bit. “What kind of event?”
“A ball. At Carlton House.”
“You’re mad!” Veronica accused breathlessly as she shot to her feet, shocked by his plans. “Everyone in society will be there.”
“And the more people who are in attendance, the easier it will be for you to blend into the crush. I’ll take care of securing the invitation and providing an escort and carriage for you.” He pointed his glass at Madame. “You’ll make certain she’s dressed properly and knows what to expect.”
“And in return?” Madame pressed.
He shrugged. “I promise not to have your business shut down, your property confiscated, and you transported to Australia.”
“How generous of you,” she drawled sarcastically.
“I’ll also reimburse you for all expenses for whatever gown and accessories you deem she needs, plus an additional twenty percent for your trouble.”
Madame blinked in surprise. Then she repeated, this time agreeably, “How generous of you.”
“You are not to tell anyone about her and our plans,” he warned. “Understand?”
She feigned offense that he’d suspect her of doing such a thing. “Discretion is my business.”
“How odd. I thought your business was prostitution.”
“Snake,” she purred, her red lips stretching into a saccharine smile.
“You have two days to turn Miss Chase into this year’s oldest debutante.” He lifted his glass to Madame in a toast, then took a healthy swallow of the cognac. “Best get started.”
Nine
“No, no,” Madame interrupted, drawing Merritt’s attention to the two women as they practiced their fan language. “A graceful turn of the wrist—graceful. Every move you make with a fan should be fluid and elegant. Try again.”
Merritt glanced up from the newspaper he was reading in the gold brocade chair near the fireplace. He’d remained at Le Château Noir for the night’s lessons to ensure that Veronica didn’t attempt to escape—or that Madame didn’t attempt to turn her into a courtesan.
But as he watched Veronica awkwardly flick her wrist in jerking movements, he also found it greatly amusing.
Madame crossed her arms in frustration and muttered, “I think you’d rather be wielding a sword.”
Merritt’s mouth twisted in private amusement. She had no idea.
Or…perhaps she did. After all, the first thing she insisted Veronica do before starting their lessons was to change out of her man’s clothes—including removing the two knives hidden up both sleeves.
Once Veronica was safely ensconced in a proper corset, chemise, and dress of sprigged muslin, the lessons had begun. First with the basics. The very basics…how the carriage would arrive at Carlton House, who would take her wrap, how the master of ceremonies would check her invitation and announce her, where to find the refreshments and retiring rooms. Veronica had absorbed that information quickly.
But the fan work was giving her fits.
“Maybe you should give her a sword instead,” Merritt muttered. “It’s Carlton House after all. You can never be too certain what Prinny’s up to there.” He turned the page of yesterday’s newspaper. “Or how you might have to defend yourself.”
“Speaking from experience, are you, Mrs. Fitzherbert?” Veronica attempted to punctuate that by snapping open her fan, only to send it flying halfway across the room. She scrambled to fetch it. “Dra
t it!”
Merritt grinned and stretched out his legs to settle in for the next round of entertainment. This was better than Vauxhall!
She placed her hands on her hips. “I’m more than capable of protecting myself.”
“I’ve no doubt of that.” He raised the newspaper to read to the bottoms of the columns. “I’ve witnessed many battles among society ladies. The reticule brigade is as deadly with their parasols as a French bayonet charge.”
She slapped her closed fan onto his newspaper and pushed it down. Leaning over him, she parried the ivory and silk fan in the air like a rapier. “No matter how many lessons and gowns you force onto me, I’m not one of your society ladies.” She stabbed him in the chest with the fan. “Remember that.”
His pulse raced at the fight in her. “How could I ever forget?”
She bobbed him under the chin and on the tip of his nose with the agility of a fencing champion, then stepped back before he could snatch the fan away.
“Miss Chase,” Madame scolded in exasperation. “Engaging a man in a sword fight is not the way to capture his attention.”
He wryly arched a brow. “I’ve always found it effective.”
A spark of private amusement danced in Veronica’s eyes.
Sweet heaven. A fierce fighter wrapped in soft sprigged muslin and satin ribbon trim…she was the perfect paradox. And the perfect temptation. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“There are better ways to flirt with a man.” Madame paused for emphasis. “Without letting blood.”
Veronica tilted her head and studied him as if he were some kind of exotic creature on exhibit at the Tower menagerie. “Are there? Hmm. I wonder what they could be.”
Oh, that did not bode well. Neither did the way she moved forward to sit on the chair arm, then leaned in to give him a very pleasant view down her dress. If he’d have allowed himself to look. But he wisely kept his eyes fixed on hers, not because he was a gentleman so much as from wariness about what the little minx might do next.
An Extraordinary Lord Page 9
