An Indiscreet Debutante

by Lorelie Brown

  She went home reluctantly, but she had nowhere else to go. She stopped by her mother’s room on her way upstairs. Darkness pervaded, of course. Mama was little more than a pile of blankets and pillows in the center of the bed.

  Lottie stroked reddish strands of hair that streaked across a lace-covered pillow. “Mama? How are you today?”

  She smiled, though it seemed forced to Lottie’s practiced gaze. When she squeaked open her eyes, they were reddened. Watery. “Pleasant enough. I’ve plans for tomorrow. I’m going to paint by the river.”

  Lottie didn’t believe that at all. Mama didn’t believe it either. She could barely muster the smallest bit of conviction. But Lottie smoothed back her hair and then straightened the ribbon marking her mother’s place in a book. “Mary Shelley? Is that really what you should be reading?”

  Her mother’s expression fell. She pressed her cheek into the pillow, and her eyes drifted near to shut. “It distracts me.”

  Lottie’s chest pinched and her spine fused. She never intended to hurt her mother, but she had, hadn’t she? She’d hurt herself too, but worst she had pushed Ian away forever. Maybe he’d be better off without her, but one thing was for certain.

  In this darkened room, facing her mother’s unbearable sadness, Lottie knew she needed Ian. She needed his strength and the way that he’d believed in her.

  She’d lost him. It had been her fault, as most things seemed to be. “I’ve a social tonight. I’ll be out of the house late.”

  Mama tried weakly to push up to a sitting position against the pillows. Carefully, she rearranged her features into a pleasant scheme of concentration. Her mouth smiled and her eyes were fixed on Lottie, but she wasn’t there. Her sadness had taken her wandering, until she was lost with no way home. She nodded anyway. “You must ensure all the girls are seen home safely. Anything less wouldn’t be you.”

  Lottie was crumbling under the weight of her own fears.

  If it weren’t for Lottie, her mama would be completely alone. Having a man in her life was no help with the way Lottie’s father ran at every opportunity.

  Was that what she truly feared? Not the fact that she’d slip into madness herself, but that she’d be alone when it finally happened? Fear licked across her palms in a clenching tingle and streaked up her forearms. Her eyes filled with tears at the very idea, which in itself indicated there might be truth.

  The irony was terrible. Awful. If that were the very thing she most feared—she’d ensured it would happen all on her own. All but guaranteed it.

  IAN TRIED TO CONVINCE himself he was looking forward to the school’s soiree simply because they had every reason to believe Patricia would be there. Tonight he’d have his hands on the erstwhile woman and soon after he’d have the proof of Etta’s indelicate marriage. Everything tied up in a neat and pretty bow.

  How unfortunate that bow didn’t include Lottie in any way.

  It would be bad enough he’d soon be forced to see her. Though he wouldn’t care, shouldn’t care.

  He had no need for such an example of womanhood. Her beauty and charm meant nothing if everything beneath her surface was false. He’d thought her more than that. He’d thought her someone remarkable and beautiful all the way through.

  She’d fooled him, of course, but she had also seemed to fool herself.

  The devastation on her face had been awful. She’d refused to talk. Kicked him out. Forced him away.

  He’d tried to hold her when the tears started. She’d literally held him at arm’s length. There’d been nothing more to do after that, and words failed to break through. He’d sent the carriage off and walked the streets the rest of the night. Part of him had nearly hoped for an attacker. A footpad after a good row. Anything to fight against.

  After the whole tumultuous night, Ian would have loved to have been able to plant a fist in someone’s face. Anyone’s. But there were no enemies in a situation like this. Not when he knew exactly how badly Lottie hurt.

  How goddamned stupid she’d been as well.

  He had very few hopes with regard to the evening. Finding Patricia and seeing her immediately punished was the most he could look forward to.

  Two months ago, that was the only thing on his mind. Now it seemed small consolation as he straggled into the foyer of his house, drawing on his gloves and gathering his top hat from a servant.

  His mother appeared in the library doorway. “Good luck, Ian.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I need no luck. Every bit of information I have directs me toward Patricia tonight. You know how grasping she is.”

  His mother nodded, but the lines that drove between her brows didn’t ease. “You’ll see Miss Vale tonight too, won’t you?”

  “I will.” He missed her despite how much he shouldn’t. Being so decidedly unwanted and venturing forth anyway seemed foolhardy. “Our interactions will be kept to a minimum. You have no reason to fear.”

  “Good. You need to stay away from that woman.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “I never would have thought it the first time I met her, but she’s obviously a bad sort. Her mother must be unbearably disappointed in her.”

  Ian’s teeth ground together. “No, Mother. I won’t tolerate such talk.”

  “It’s truth.”

  “I don’t care to hear it.”

  And yet that was all he could do in her defense. Lottie had decided she didn’t need him in her life. But what would be worth fighting her stubbornness for? Why did part of him keep slamming up against that wall in his mind, over and over again?

  He should have given up already.

  There was no reason for this.

  He bade his mother farewell and let the carriage convey him to the address he’d previously obtained from Lottie. The reception room was in a middling sort of area of town. Below stairs was a tailor, a butcher and a confectioner. Upstairs, Ian found three women gathered around the entrance. He nodded. “Ladies.”

  “Gor,” one of them whispered as he passed. “If they’re all like that, I’ll be coming every time.”

  Inside was more crowded. Men and women stood about in groups. A general atmosphere of awkwardness was found in forced giggles and the stiffness of men’s shoulders, but it was also mixed with a healthy dose of excitement. The air fairly swirled. The decorations, while simple, had transformed the large room into a taste of anticipation.

  Ian stood inside the double doors and looked about.

  He saw Lottie, and then he knew why his mind had been unable to let her go.

  She looked beautiful. The pale lilac of her dress played to her creamy complexion. It seemed she’d tried to mute her beauty, because the dress was absent of any sort of decoration or adornment. There was no helping it. She was the most beautiful woman in the room to Ian.

  Because he loved her.

  What a bloody fool he was. No halves or almost about it. Nothing should have been able to push him away. Not if he’d had a scrap of awareness. Or if he’d realized how much he needed her. She lit him up from within.

  And yet he could see the strain in her. She held herself carefully. The smile she flashed was not real as she slipped through knots of her girls and introduced them to men. Not really. Her skin was whiter than her usual cream, barring two hectic flags of red high on her cheekbones. The pinched way she walked made each step brittle.

  It only got worse when she saw him. She tossed away the smile she’d been clinging to as if throwing it into a coal bin. Discarded.

  Loving someone who was determined not to be loved seemed an exercise in futility. He’d never been the sort, but he’d found no shortcut to get rid of these feelings. His arms burned with the need to wrap around her.

  Except she was all prickles and nerves as she approached him. “You’re here.”

  “Did you expect any different?”

  Her gaze darted over his face like she was looking for something. “Fletcher’s men are already here.” She flicked her fingers in a little circle about her sh
oulder. “Here and there. Dressed to fit in.”

  “And Finna?”

  “Waiting in the corner.” She pointed to where the young woman sat, her hands folded in her lap. “Patricia will come. Either for money from you, or from the sympathetic gentleman.”

  His fingertips curled against the impulse to touch her throat. That vulnerable length was beauty and strength, with a flutter at the base above her collarbones. She wasn’t comfortable.

  He ought to feel bad about that. He didn’t. He wanted her uncomfortable. He wanted her as miserable as he was. If he were to be alone in love, he’d not be alone in the pain. “Have you been well?”

  She turned large, liquid eyes up toward him. Her voice was husky. “You’re not the sort to be unnecessarily cruel. I know you better than that.”

  He needed her desperately. This all seemed ridiculous. “Maybe I don’t know myself.”

  “I know you.” She looked out toward the crowds as she spoke, and kept her voice so soft he almost thought he’d imagined it. “I know you more than I know myself, I think.”

  Except he hadn’t any chance to follow up. A tiny flurry of activity near the back of the room caught his eye. Finally. Something to do. Someone he could direct all this rage at. “I see her.”

  He found himself grinning with feral intent as he stormed across the room.

  Patricia must have felt his focus upon her, because she flinched and turned. It was certainly her. That she was well put together and nicely dressed only aggravated Ian further. For someone who had been on the run for two months, she had a healthy flush in her cheeks. Her eyes flashed wide and her mouth dropped open—but she didn’t look surprised. She looked...pleased.

  She ran.

  Patricia’s movements were rushed and flailing. When another woman accidentally stepped into her path, Patricia shoved her to the side. The blonde fell to the floor, but she was quickly surrounded by plenty of friends.

  He almost preferred that the bitch ran. Giving chase forced a rush of energy through his body and down his legs. It was an outlet.

  They darted around and through the groups and to the back door. It banged behind her as a gentleman in a narrow-collared jacket stepped in front of him. “God damn it, move!” Ian barked.

  “Now,” added Lottie.

  He was startled to realize she was right behind him, but then he shouldn’t have been.

  The man moved. The back door slammed shut. Ian ran for it, jerked it open.

  There was no one there. “Blast it.”

  “Down the stairs.” Lottie pointed at another door across the landing. “It’s the only way out.”

  The stairs let out onto a narrow, stone-lined alley, but there was still no sight of Patricia. “Where the hell did she go?”

  Lottie turned in a circle. Her hair fell around her shoulders from the dash down the stairs. The far end of the alley opened on the street. “The alley doesn’t end, it bends.”

  He rather regretted not having Fletcher or one of his dense bullies when he turned the shallow corner.

  Patricia wasn’t alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Of all the things she’d expected, it hadn’t been that Patricia would be aligned with such a proper-looking man. Patricia herself was blowsy. Though her dress was nicely made, it fit badly over her stomach and pulled tight. Her hair was well pinned but lank and greasy, as if she’d not washed. Over her whole face was a slight sheen of sweat and oily nerves.

  The girls who’d attended Lottie’s school regularly knew better than to let their hygiene drop to such unappealing levels.

  The man at her side was another matter. He was...normal. He had brown hair, a decently sewn suit of brown wool and was of middling height. His waistcoat was an inoffensive green that brought out flecks of color in otherwise brown eyes.

  But those eyes were cold and empty of compassion.

  Lottie’s stomach did a nifty little flip and landed somewhere around her throat. She tried vainly to swallow it down. “Patricia,” she said as calmly as she could. “You’ve not introduced me to your gentleman.”

  “Are you mad?” The woman tipped her head. “It’s not as if this is some sort of tea party.”

  The man stepped forward. “Do forgive my wife. She’s feeling a bit puckish lately. I’m Bertrand Heeler.”

  “I couldn’t give a shit.” Ian tipped forward onto the balls of his feet. His shoulders snapped taut. “I want the certificate.”

  “And I want a life of comfort.” He gave a rather suave shrug. “This means we must have the money you promised.”

  “I haven’t got it.”

  “That’s unacceptable. After the piss-worthy amount you sent last time, you’ll forgive me if I came prepared for more of the same.” Seemingly out of nowhere, a pistol appeared in the man’s hand. Lottie gasped. Ian yanked her to the side and pushed her behind himself for protection. His hand remained wrapped around her forearm. He gripped her too tight. A pinch of pain ran up her flesh.

  She stayed where he’d put her. She liked it. Liked that he’d put himself before her. Maybe that was petty or childish. It most certainly wasn’t noble of her.

  But it was what she’d wanted all along. On the most elemental level she’d craved a man willing to take care of her.

  Only to push it away once she’d finally found what she needed.

  What a great, bloody fool she was.

  She stepped to the side so that she could see the desperate Mr. Heeler, though she didn’t try to pull her arm away from Ian. Let him hold on to her. She didn’t mind. “I’m sure you are unsurprised that we haven’t got it.”

  “Bugger off, cunt,” Patricia screeched. “I need that money.”

  “Such language,” she said in her most airy way. “You obviously should have come for many more classes. We could have found you a more long-term venture that would give you the life you’d like.”

  “As a shop girl, married to a clerk?”

  “Are you with child?” Lottie asked abruptly.

  Patricia’s hand flew to her belly. The curve wasn’t pronounced until she drew the material taut. Then it became as clear as day. “That’s none of your business.”

  Lottie sighed. “Is that why you resorted to blackmail? Your...husband couldn’t sustain you sufficiently?”

  She shook her head and snapped her chin toward her husband. “I found me the right man.”

  “You should have run off with him. You made a terrible mistake in coming after my family. Or in coming after Lottie,” Ian said. “I protect those who are mine.”

  “And damn you for it.” Patricia sidled nearer to her husband, but he held her off.

  “Got the pistol, lovey,” he said in a not-unkind voice. “Don’t break up my aim.”

  She fluttered her lashes at him. The girl was pleasant-featured. How sad that she would fall to this level. “See?” she said to Lottie and Ian. “My man takes care of me. In return, I follow his ideas.”

  “So that’s why you tried blackmail after a year of silence.” Ian shook his head. “I’d wondered. Put in a bad way by the blighter, were you? Does he gamble?”

  “I’m a card player, not a gambler or blighter.” Heeler’s face turned red. “But I am getting damned irritated with this conversation. If you haven’t any money here, I know you’ve access to plenty.” He twitched the gaping barrel of the pistol. “Walk ahead of me. Down the alley. We’re going to take a trip.”

  “To where?” Lottie asked, as kindly as she could manage. For what it was worth.

  “You tell us,” Patricia snarled. “Where can you get the most funds in the shortest amount of time? I know you, Sir Ian. Arthur said you always had a bit of blunt in your study.”

  Nudged by the invisible hand of the pistol’s aim into walking side by side, Lottie and Ian exchanged a look. It was a short one that lasted only a second, maybe less. In his eyes, Lottie saw more than she’d ever thought possible. Trust. Determination. Even the oddest hint of humor, at a time like this.


  Her love.

  She shuddered as she jerked her head back around. That was this never-ending pain, the feeling that she’d gone off the rails. Not madness. Not the edge of dropping into nothingness and her mother’s damnation.

  It was love for Ian.

  How insanely terrifying.

  Her footsteps faltered. Something cold and hard poked her in the back. Terror skittered down her spine and turned her veins to shards of ice.

  If they made it out of this alive, she’d never let fear manage her life again. Somehow. She’d figure it out.

  With Ian. If he’d have her back, though maybe he’d be a fool to take that risk. Not like she’d proved herself particularly reliable.

  The mouth of the alleyway opened before them. Night draped the street in shadows the streetlamps could barely push back. Lottie’s slippers crossed the threshold of the entryway and stopped.

  “Move on,” Heeler said. He poked her with the barrel of the pistol. “Let’s keep on now.”

  Slowly, so slowly, she shook her head. “No. I think not.”

  And then she screamed.

  Ian launched into immediate response. He spun, knocking a hard blow into Heeler’s chin. The other man flew backwards. His elbow landed in Patricia’s side, but the woman didn’t go down. She screeched.

  Lottie kicked her. Really, she was aiming for the gun in Heeler’s hand, but that proved too fast of a target and limbs were flying and things happened. Her toe connected with Patricia’s ribs. The other woman flipped and scrabbled toward Lottie.

  Ian wrestled with Heeler for the pistol. It exploded with a pop in the small alleyway. The rocks pinged with a sharp sound. The bullet, probably bouncing wherever it liked. Lottie flinched, narrowly avoiding Patricia’s nails across her cheek.

  She kicked again, this time intentionally aiming for ribs. Patricia dropped to the flagstones. Her eyes pinched shut around fat, welling tears.