An Indiscreet Debutante

by Lorelie Brown

  “That I would. You’ll see that we harbor no thieves here, not of the kind you’re insisting. We’ll get this sorted out in no time. However, as much as I’d like such to happen quickly, I’ll have to insist you come back tomorrow.”

  He managed to hold back his immediate response in favor of a more politically chosen one. He’d been chasing Patricia across hill and dale for almost six months. To be so close and yet so far drove him up the wall. “Why not today?”

  “I’m terribly sorry, but I have commitments. It’s tomorrow or nothing.” She stood, making for the door. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must insist on escorting you out.”

  “If you insist.” He stepped back, gesturing for her to precede him out the door with one arm and a little hint of a bow. But really, truly, he wanted no such proper thing. No honorable thing. He wanted to watch her skirts sway with the sensuous shift of her hips. Somehow he knew she’d walk like a lioness. Purpose and intent in every step, but with tension that made men think of inappropriate things.

  She knew it too. The way she looked back at him, cutting her eyes so their exotic shape caught him.

  The faster he got his hands on the maid, the better. Otherwise he had a disturbing feeling he’d be trying to get his hands on Miss Vale, which would be completely unacceptable.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Two

  Lottie found herself unaccountably nervous as the carriage twisted and rolled farther into Whitechapel. She’d been unsurprised when Sir Ian had showed up precisely on time for their trip into the bowels of the city. A man on a mission was easy to predict.

  Sir Ian had taken the rear-facing seat, but his feet bracketed the half-circle of her pale violet skirts. Inside their safety, she drew her feet backwards until her heels tapped the front of her seat. As withdrawn as she possibly could be without letting the smile slip off her face. A phalanx of footmen and groomsmen clung to the exterior of the carriage and windows opened from each side. She and Sir Ian were very much not alone.

  There was no reason to be nervous.

  Which was why it made no sense that beneath her white gloves sweat dampened her palms or that the skin over her forearms prickled every time he looked at her.

  Maybe it was the strange cant of her thoughts. She hardly knew what to do with the swirl in her mind.

  Taking a lover had become a distinct concern to her as of late, but in an arbitrary and theoretical way. She wished to live her own life and stay in her mother’s sphere, which directly contrasted with her father’s hopes for Lord Cameron. Somehow she had to convince her father of her unsuitability toward marriage. Though she’d be damned if she could figure out why her father thought her right for marriage considering what he’d had to put up with from Mama.

  The easiest way to do that in their world would be to remove her value on the marriage mart. As she wasn’t foolhardy enough to throw away her inherited fortune, she would have to prove she wasn’t likely to provide babies of the proper lineage and breeding. The most simple solution was to rid herself of her virginity.

  Though Sir Ian was handsome enough, she was lucky she knew plenty of other, more amenable men. She needed a man who could smile rather than indulge in tiny quirks of his lips. Even if those lips were perfectly shaped enough that she wanted to touch.

  “Tell me about your charity.” He snapped the words out. Two divots appeared at the inside of his brow like mirrored commas.

  Surprise pulled her chin up. “It’s a school, not a charity. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

  “I expect not.” He tugged the sleeve of his coat down a fraction. “But I should like one good reason why I shouldn’t tell the world at large that my path toward a blackmailer and a thief ended at your doorstep.”

  She couldn’t afford that. Funds supplied to meet the needs of the women they helped always ran short. The school survived on men’s patronage. None of them would wish to marry a blackmailer or thief. The school would be destroyed. The recent infusion of cash that had come with Sera’s marriage only went so far. Lottie’s best friend provided a budgeted amount.

  She crossed her hands over her waist and flashed a false smile. “To do so would necessitate admitting you’d been blackmailed. Which would then lead to questions as to why you’d been blackmailed.” She made a show of shaking her head. “How desperately sad for you. Though I do find myself wondering as well. What have you to be blackmailed over, Sir Ian?”

  He didn’t act furtive or guilty despite the soft aspect of his chin. A weakness she made herself focus on. He seemed less handsome when she wasn’t looking at those pale, incisive eyes.

  “No one has ever blackmailed me,” he said with enough haughty aplomb that she almost believed him. If he had his way, ice wouldn’t melt on his tongue.

  All of which ignored that he’d been the one to bring the word up.

  “I wonder what you did. I can’t believe you’re innocent.” Her head tilted to the side, and she let herself look at his mouth, his eyes. She lingered on the lean frame of his body in its fine suit. He wore the clothes well but seemed different than most of the men she knew. More...at ease, perhaps? Like he belonged in his skin.

  “I never said I was innocent,” he protested. And then he did a cruel, unthinking thing. He grinned, mouth lifting on the left side first. White and bright, the expression took over his entire face. The tiniest flush of red swept over his cheeks. “I’ve been lucky enough not to have left proof behind.”

  “It’s generally the women who’re left with the proof.” She managed her usual air of calm and amusement, but it felt strained and a little harsh at the corners. She was tired—so very tired of holding on.

  “Is that why you run that charity?”

  “School,” she snapped. Her fingertips rose to her brow, where she found warmth and a tiny throb in her temple.

  She seldom lost her temper. There was no point to it, after all. Nothing resulted from such outbursts except to add to the general air of difficulties. Plus she so hated losing control of herself. She didn’t have the same sort of lax emotionality that other women could get away with.

  Sometimes she wished she were still at school with Seraphina Thomas and Victoria Wickerby, her two closest friends. The world had been easier then. She’d gotten by, and on troubling occasions when she felt low, she’d been able to turn to them. Sera was a born mother and loved her friends with calm, unchanging affection. Victoria was logic and sense, able to work through the worst possible problems. Unfortunately her family had recently insisted she toddle off to the ducal estate and allow her titled fiancé to lavish attention on her at his leisure.

  The carriage drew to a halt, thankfully distracting Lottie from the strange angle of her thoughts. She wasn’t the type to travel lost roads and indulge in nostalgia. That way lay trouble and malingering.

  The door opened, and the redheaded footman bowed. “I’m sorry, Miss Vale, but this is as far as we can go. The rest will have to be on foot.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” Though she didn’t make a habit of it, this wasn’t her first visit to the part of town where streets became too skinny and closely set for carriages to venture down.

  They stepped from the carriage, and Lottie found herself watching Ian. His nostrils flared, and he whipped a linen cloth from an inside pocket when he noticed the open gutter running through the center of the cracked pavement with its rancid offal and putrid water.

  “Is that excrement?”

  She shrugged, scooping up her skirts as she led the way. “It is. Would you like to turn back? The girl is certain to attend our next quarterly soiree. You can come back and see her there.”

  “I think not.” He followed with resolve in his spine. Most gentlemen walked with a lazy insouciance and a rolling predator’s gait, since they saw the entire world as their prey. He was intent. Focused. His shoulders arrowed toward his destination. “Where is it from?”

  She waved toward the dark windows above them. Those that had glass were
sooty and filthy. Paper covered some. Still others were open, with laundry hanging out on poles across the narrow alleyway. “There’s no telling.”

  “What fresh hell the cities create.”

  “Spoken like a true country dweller.” The knot of footmen behind them had been chosen for their size and intimidation factor, yet when she looked over her shoulder, Sir Ian was a good two inches taller than any of them. For all his size, he had a certain reediness, mostly in the long line of his neck. As if a stiff breeze could puff him away like a dandelion. Lucky his features were so handsome, that constantly active, mobile mouth first and foremost. “Let me guess. You’ve lived in the country all your life in the same village. Your grandest excursions have been to school. Did you get to come to town for the Season?”

  “Once.” He all but drawled the word, turning it into agreement and doubt at the same time. “Though to say ‘get to’ implies a certain level of excitement that was entirely lacking.”

  “I love the city.”

  “How can you not?” He craned his head up, up, up toward the gray-tinged strip of sky barely visible at the tops of the buildings. “So healthy for one’s constitution.”

  She shook her head as she came to a crossroads of alleys. To the right was a brighter, cleaner-looking row of smashed-together tenements that led to a larger road. She consulted the small scrap of paper in her hand upon which she’d scribbled the only address that the school had on file for Patricia. “Blast,” she muttered.

  “I do so hope you’re not about to say we’re lost. I’ll be left a gibbering pile to collapse right into the gutter.”

  “Don’t do that,” she said. Though she flicked only the shortest glance at him, she’d have guessed that gibbering was far from his list of intentions. His posture was supremely casual, and he continued to take in their surrounds. “We’re not lost.”

  “Good.”

  “I just don’t know which way to go next.”

  “Blast.”

  Her grin was completely unplanned. She did so hate to be taken by surprise by pure emotions. “I do believe that’s what I said.”

  “Much more appropriate coming from me than a lady.”

  She made a little hum in the back of her throat. “You’re quite the wit, aren’t you?”

  “I try.” His changeable mouth moved again.

  What would those tweaks and shifts feel like against her skin? “It would be more helpful if you knew where we were going.”

  “If I knew where we were going, I wouldn’t need you at all.”

  She had the childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him and stomp her foot. Preferably on his, smashing his toes. He was rather frustrating at times.

  Four footmen stood side by side behind him. “Any of you? Are you from around here?”

  They shook their heads as one, and the redhead stepped forward. “I’m from Bethnal Green, and Tim’s from Southwark. The other two mates are from the north.”

  She turned away to focus on the knot of choices laid out before her. Sir Ian’s gaze upon the nape of her neck made her less inclined to mutter the curses she wished. Instead she nibbled on her lip until a flash of pain made her let go.

  Then she saw it. A door opened two buildings down and disgorged three women into the street. They laughed and giggled in a way that made Lottie miss her friends.

  “Ah-hah,” she said with no small measure of satisfaction. “We’ll have our direction in no time.”

  Sir Ian’s hand flashed out, wrapping around her elbow. His grip was firm but not painfully so, and yet her first inclination was to yank away. Her heart fluttered. She didn’t like things that affected her strongly. They made her nervous. She couldn’t risk feeling something so intense.

  “You can’t go speak with them. Send a footman.”

  “Can I not?” She jerked her arm away and smiled as widely as she could manage. Curling her fingers under his lapel was beyond rude considering they’d recently met, but she did it anyway and was gratified that the dark centers of his eyes flared. From such a close distance, his crisp scent undercut the sticky rot of the open gutter. She patted his chest, which was solid, despite its narrowness. “I recommend you never, ever tell me what I can and cannot do. You won’t like the results.”

  Ian hadn’t thought before speaking. There had been a moment, as the words slipped out from between his lips, when he’d known he’d spoken wrong. Miss Vale wasn’t the sort to take bold-faced direction. She bristled. Her green eyes went wider, her lips parting on an affronted sharp intake of air.

  He’d never admit it, but she looked more handsome for the emotion. Mostly because he thought it might be one of the few true reactions he’d seen from her in their short acquaintance.

  She gathered two handfuls of her fine, silk skirts and hopped over the trickling line of liquid that wandered down the center of the road. As bold as anyone he’d ever met, she walked right up to the trio of women. The three watched her warily and clutched wool wraps about their shoulders.

  Henrietta would never, ever have been capable of such boldness. Of course, had they approached her, Etta would have been talked into giving up every scrap of clothing on her back, but that wasn’t at all the same thing. Etta was sweet, though inclined to be too sweet. Her involvement with Archie and Patricia had proved that. Gullible and inclined to accept people at their word. Who in the name of God gave her marriage certificate to her sister-in-law to keep safe?

  But that was different. Ian and his family were lower gentry at best. Association with the middle rungs was necessary if one wanted to have any socializing at all in their little village.

  Miss Vale was obviously of a different sort, fine and high flying. She was the kind of girl who was lovely to look at and enjoyable to watch, but not exactly the sort who’d make a good wife. Not for Ian. He wanted the kind of woman who’d settle down in a true love match with him. Eventually. It wasn’t as if he were looking to shove his head in the parson’s noose the next day.

  It had taken him six months to track the unsigned, threatening notes from Devon to London, and that was even with their money demands. Patricia had taken a while to work up her courage to full larceny. Ian had no hope this would be figured out in a matter of days.

  He hustled as quickly as he could without running to catch up with the girl before she made a hash of things. These women wouldn’t take kindly to arrogance, as Miss Vale seemed likely to issue.

  But Miss Vale surprised him. She walked right up to the cluster of women and smiled brightly. “Hello, ladies.”

  Obvious suspicion wrinkled across their careworn faces. Their mouths were all turned up in smiles that wavered under Miss Vale’s attention. The one in the back of the knot nodded and stepped forward. Her hair was a dingy, dark blonde and dropping around her cheeks, but under papery skin it was apparent she’d once been a beauty. Her eyes were wide and innocent, though wary. “Hullo, missus.”

  In contrast, Miss Vale shone like a bright star dropped to earth. Her pale lilac skirts all but glowed with color compared to the dark, work-ready colors of the other women. “It’s Miss. Miss Charlotte Vale.”

  The flash of recognition that turned two of the women’s smiles real was surprising. The one who’d spoken remained cautious, however. “We haven’t many visitors of your cant around here.”

  Miss Vale shrugged. “I know. Terrible, isn’t it? Those fancy pieces like me who stay in our faraway castles and can’t be bothered to spread some blunt around.”

  Ian grabbed her by the arm again. This time she didn’t pull away. He’d have gambled ready money that the working women would have been offended by such impudence, but instead the last one melted under Miss Vale’s charm and honesty.

  “We around here could always do with a little of the extra.”

  The one with dark hair on the right smiled. Her eyetooth was black at the gums, but the way her eyes lit up made up for it. She was still a pretty woman. “It makes a girl almost tempted to give in to some of them lads a
bout here, for an extra coin.”

  Ian sealed his lips and kept his expression calm. He couldn’t believe either the crudeness of the group, nor that Miss Vale seemed so inclined to chat along, smiling and nodding along with the rest of them.

  “You can’t let them have it, though. That coin will be fast spent and you’ll be left up against the wall with your skirts a mess and your pride tinier.” She pulled a tiny sheaf of calling cards from the reticule hanging by braided cord from her wrist. “Are you already married?”

  “Pshaw,” said the one in front. “Not the three of us. Same boys keep asking the same questions and they’re not apt to get us anywhere good.”

  “If you’d like a step up, you’d best come to see me. My friends and I will teach you a few tricks. No cost involved for you in any way. After, we’ll introduce you to choice men looking for wives.” She handed over three of the small, cream-colored cards.

  “Miss Vale,” Ian interjected. He hadn’t time for her to recruit victims for whatever scam she ran. He wanted to wrap his hands around Patricia’s scrawny neck and destroy her for having threatened his sister. He wouldn’t, of course. He’d have to settle for her rotting in prison while he carried away the key.

  Didn’t mean he liked standing around.

  Miss Vale waved a hand at him. But then she shot him a glance out the corner of her eyes that said she entirely knew what she did to him. “Did we have a deadline, Sir Ian? Somewhere we have to be?”

  “Sir Ian?” echoed the girl who’d been silent up until now. She added a tipsy-sounding giggle at the end. “I’ve not met a sir before. Not out walking on the street in this part of town.”