The figure paused just inside the threshold of the seedy establishment known as Lucifer’s Fork and pushed back her hood. Watchful eyes adjusted to the dim interior while surreptitiously scanning the sparse activity. When they lit on two thugs tucked back in a corner, that gaze immediately narrowed.
The two men were bent together in a hushed murmur, so they didn't pay attention to the stealth approach of the newcomer until she was standing right next to their table. She cleared her throat reproachfully. “Tsk, tsk. It’s a bit early in the day for spirits, isn’t it, Spalling?”
At the sound of the familiar voice, a half empty mug of ale hit the wooden table with a thud. The Clara Belle’s captain looked up and frowned. Sticking a thumb toward his barrel chest, he growled, “Whot I do o’ me own time is my business!”
Her lips curved upward. “Not when you and your time are an investment to me.”
Spalling turned back to his drink with a dry, humorless chuckle. “Aye. Don’t I know it?”
She pointedly ignored his sarcasm. “If I recall correctly, I do pay you quite well to ensure your full cooperation.” He chose not to reply to this, but instead, took another hearty swig. “And I would like to remind you of your loyalties...” She paused for effect. “...for you can easily be expunged from my employ.” The captain’s tankard of ale abruptly halted in mid-air and she could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. The action caused her smile to broaden. “I see we understand each other.”
She slid her gaze to his companion, an unknown man wearing a black eye patch. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And why wasn’t I told about him?”
“’E’s my new first mate,” the captain interceded sourly. “An’ I hired ’im this mornin’.”
The man in question touched a finger to his brow, the single black eye that was revealed looking right at her. “Name’s One-Eye.”
She felt a ripple of unease at that direct stare. While she’d been around her share of disreputable criminals, there was something… different about this one. He was intimidating, which meant he could also be dangerous, a marked contradiction to Spalling, who was rather easy to bend to her will. She knew this man would not be so easy to maneuver. He would be worth watching closely.
She straightened her glove and addressed the captain. “I assume you have done your job properly?” Every man had to be checked out thoroughly if they wanted to set foot on board the Clara Belle. Unfortunately, for the captain’s former first mate, Griffin, he’d dared to cross words with her. Within the hour, he’d found himself at the bottom of Davy Jones’ Locker.
Spalling gave a curt nod. “Aye, m’lady. Everythin’ checked out.”
“Good.” She spun on her heel, but not before tossing back over her shoulder, “Oh, and captain? I would watch how much bitter you drink so early in the day. You never know when you might find yourself suffering from more than just a simple headache.”
***
Ridge Claymoore watched as Captain Spalling paled as he slammed his mug down with enough force that it sent the remaining contents sloshing over the side, dampening his beefy hand. As the sound of the woman’s laughter faded, he scowled. “Damn bitch,” he mumbled gruffly. “I wouldn’t put it past her to poison me.”
“I take it she’s the one callin’ the shots?”
“Aye. That’d be her, all right. Satan’s wench. ’Course we don’t say that t’ ’er face if’n we don’t want t’ take a dirt nap.” With a growl, the captain pushed his mug away. “But I get damned tired o’ her bossin’. I can’t even ’ave a blasted drink without ’er interferin’!”
“Why don’t ye just find a new ship, then?” Ridge picked up a coin from the table and began to thread it through his tanned, muscular fingers.
Spalling just shook his head. “’Tain’t that easy, One-Eye. Whot I’m haulin’ for ’er is a rath’r hefty payday. Don’t wanna give tha’ kinda money up afore thinkin’ real hard.”
His single dark eye narrowed thoughtfully. “Surely there ain’t nothin’ so important that it can’t be replaced wit’ other blunt.”
There was a lengthy pause as the captain rubbed his gray, grizzled beard. He was likely thinking if his new first mate would be worth the chance to trust, especially when he’d been told what had happened to his predecessor.
Finally, Spalling leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “You’ll find out everythin’ ye need t’ know once ye show yer worth t’ me crew. Agreed?” He held out his callused hand as they shook to seal the deal. “Welcome t’ th’ Clara Belle, One-Eye.”
Standing, the captain stretched. Turning back to his companion, he said with a mischievous wink, “Now, let’s go find us a wench t’ pass th’ mornin’! We got a long night ahead o’ us.”
As Spalling sauntered up to the bar to further his acquaintance with their serving maid, a rather buxom redhead, Ridge feigned enjoyment in the last dregs of his ale. Once he was confident the captain was fully distracted, he headed toward his room above the tavern, stopping there only briefly to scribble a few short lines. He folded the single sheet of vellum and sealed it with a small dollop of wax, before stepping back into the hallway.
He paused to listen and wasn’t surprised to hear Spalling’s coarse laughter floating up the stairs, while muffled snores from the rest of the crew could clearly be heard from the closed doors on either side of his. He knew most were likely to sleep off their first rowdy night ashore, but even so, he wasn’t about to take any unnecessary time.
He headed down the servant’s staircase, his boots making a whisper of sound, as he slipped into the dim alley. He walked hastily and kept close to the wall in order to shadow his tall frame, until he found what he was looking for.
Or, more particularly, whom.
His contact was slouched on the front steps of a rundown flat, but the hunched figure quickly straightened at the unmistakable trod of footsteps on the cobblestones. “It’s about time ye got ’ere,” the messenger grumbled nervously, though he reached out his hand, as was the customary routine of this repeated encounter.
A gold guinea was placed into his palm, along with a sealed packet. “Make sure this reaches the Duke of Chiltern posthaste.”
A pair of worn, brown eyes rolled with exasperation, although he nodded. “Aye. I know whot t’ do, guv’nr.”
Shoving both items into his ragged, old coat, he shuffled off, while Ridge watched his retreat with a touch of wary unease.
Chapter Eight
“Oh, you look just lovely, my lady! Come and see!” Genevieve exclaimed, standing back and examining her handiwork. Triana reluctantly glanced at the cheval mirror at her ladies’ maid’s enthusiastic request — and blinked at the beautiful image reflected back at her.
Her sable hair had been pulled up into an elegant mass of shining curls; a few seed pearls had been laced throughout the coiffure, the same of which also adorned her slender neck and dainty ears. Long, thick lashes outlined brilliant, blue eyes, and due to the silver silk and lace adorning the gown, had succeeded in illuminating them to an astounding shade of aquamarine. The sweeping neckline and empire waist hinted at her curves without giving them away, while a pair of lily-white gloves ended above her elbow, just shy of a tiny puffed sleeve.
In all appearances, she had the look of a well-bred, sophisticated lady, but inwardly, she certainly didn’t feel like one.
Ever since her intimate interlude with Gabriel in the parlor three days before, Triana had come to a conclusion. While she was a virgin, it didn’t mean she was ignorant about what happened between a man and a woman. She had lived part of her life in the country, after all. She’d seen the mating habits of animals. It was obvious that Gabriel desired her. While she might just be a plain spinster to the ton, she had been aptly schooled in the art of feminine flirtation, just the same as any other twittering debutante in her first season. Wouldn’t it be a shame to put all that knowledge to waste?
Thus, she had formulated a new plan.
If Gabriel could use pleasure to keep
her from delving into his secrets, then why couldn’t she do the same and use his weakness for her into confessing them?
With her resolve in place, she accepted her shawl from Genevieve and headed downstairs, prepared to do battle. Travell and her mother were already waiting for her. Upon seeing her, conversation abruptly ceased and Triana knew they had been discussing her, for even now, Amelia had trouble meeting her gaze.
However, her brother offered her a compliment and a warm smile, being the first to break the awkward silence. “You look absolutely enchanting, Tri.”
She inclined her head, trying to appear poised, but she still couldn’t quite forget that he had lied to her. “Thank you. And as always, you make a lasting impression.” She wondered if he might have caught the slight inflection to her tone, for his eyes narrowed slightly. Although the moment quickly passed as he smoothed his hands down his charcoal evening wear and shot her a mischievous wink.
Amelia threw a shawl about her shoulders with a decided huff, her pinched expression showing quite plainly that she would not be praising either of them. “Shall we be off? It would be in very bad taste to arrive too late.”
Travell rolled his eyes dramatically at Triana before gathering his cane. Offering his arm to both of the ladies, he led the way to their waiting barouche, where he first handed in Lady Trenton and then Triana, and then finally climbed inside and tapped on the roof to let their driver know they were ready to go.
***
The scene that awaited them at number 94 St. George’s Square in Piccadilly was a lavish affair, akin to something out of a fairytale. Even Triana, who had made up her mind to make a single purpose out of the evening, was not immune to the charm that radiated from the three-story, Palladian mansion.
After waiting in line for several moments, the carriage finally rolled up to the front of the building, but even before it had completely halted, one of the footmen was there to let down the steps and offer a hand. Triana carefully held up her gown with one hand and allowed the servant to assist her down. She took a moment to admire the gold and silver ornamentation that made the grand entrance to the home sparkle in invitation.
“By your awe-struck expression,” Travell teased at her side, “one would think you’d never seen Egremont House before.”
“I have. It just seems even more remarkable tonight.” She gave a meaningful pause. “However, it just goes to prove that no matter how well you think you know something, there’s always something new to discover.”
She could practically feel Travell’s curious frown on her, although she calmly stared ahead.
“Indeed,” he murmured slowly, almost cautiously. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were speaking from experience.”
“Perhaps I am,” Triana said lightly, before handing her wrap to another footman at the front door.
His frown deepened at her answer, as they made their way to the second floor. Travell handed their cards to the starched butler, who was waiting to formally announce them to the sea of people already in attendance. “The Countess of Trenton. The Viscount of Curdiff. Lady Triana Abernathy.”
Almost immediately, a discernable hush fell over the crowd as the trio descended the expansive staircase that led into the gleaming ballroom. Triana was quite sure an entire hothouse had been emptied; as the room was filled with fragrant, white lilies intermingled amongst several, blazing candelabra. Unfortunately, the sudden commotion buzzing about the room was likely not in any effort to remark on the extravagant décor.
It was the first big foray Triana had made into public since the second Times article had been printed. Thankfully, she had prepared herself for the onslaught of jeers she was bound to endure tonight, but when Travell winked at her and offered an encouraging smile, it was one slight she couldn’t allow to pass.
“Don’t act as if you’re any better than them,” she snapped angrily, but careful to keep her voice low. “I trusted you, which makes your betrayal with Chiltern so much worse than anything I might ever endure here.”
She held her breath, hoping that all this time she’d been wrong, but the look of shock mixed with guilt that passed over his features was enough evidence to condemn him. “How did you…?”
He didn’t get to continue as a dark-haired man of similar age walked up to them with a polite greeting to her brother.
Travell grudgingly turned to her to make an introduction. “Tri, I’m sure you know our Secretary of War, Henry John Temple, Viscount Palmerston. My lord, this is my sister, Lady Triana Abernathy.”
The man inclined his head. “Charmed, I’m sure.” He turned back to Travell. “If you are available, I’ve been looking for an occasion to speak with you. Would you be so kind as to join me in the smoking room for a brandy and a cigar?”
Triana saw Travell clench his jaw, but he replied, “I’m sure I can spare a moment.” His expression was determined as he said in an aside to her, “We’ll talk later.”
With that, the two men walked off.
Triana saw that her mother was in full-fledged conversation with Lady Cowper, who also happened to be Palmerston’s mistress, and one of the patronesses of Almack’s, so she quickly headed in the opposite direction. If she remained, her mother would surely expect her to make meaningless conversation in order to attempt to gain entrée to the prestigious social club. Needless to say, that was the last thing on Triana’s mind at the moment.
She caught sight of Korina by the open terrace doors, and went to join her.
“Ah, the prodigal returns,” the blond declared mirthfully, her hazel eyes flashing with undisguised humor when they lit on Triana. “I read your latest scandal, by the way. Really, how do you find the time?”
Triana ignored the harmless barb with a tolerant smile and said, “I wouldn’t be a true member of society without offering anything exciting to talk about, now would I?”
Korina laughed. “Touché.”
Triana wanted to change the subject, so she asked, “Where is everyone?”
“As I understand it, Ro’s mother had other plans for her daughter this evening.” She rolled her eyes, and Triana nodded, for they both knew that the lady was wont to suffer from any number of incurable maladies. “I saw Alyssa earlier…” Korina’s voice trailed off as she attempted a quick scan of the room, before shaking her head, as if the effort to locate her was too much trouble. “As for Izzy…” She gestured to the dance floor with a wave of her hand.
Triana scanned the flurry of dancers and couldn’t help but wince when she spied Isabella with Lord Wistenberry. “She seems to be spending a lot of time with him lately.” She murmured.
Korina gave a shrug, either of agreement or denial, before glancing over Triana’s shoulder. “Ah, here comes Alyssa now.”
As Triana greeted her friend, Alyssa said, “I’m afraid I just heard some rather distressing news.” She looked at Triana grimly, and instantly, her stomach began to churn with anxiety.
“What a surprise,” Korina said dryly. “Do tell.”
Again, Alyssa looked at Triana. “Rumor has it that the Duke of Chiltern and Lady Worthington have announced their betrothal.”
Triana’s breath froze in her chest. Could it be?
“Everyone knew he was bound to offer for her at some point,” Korina pointed out.
“True.” Alyssa agreed slowly, “Although I didn’t think it would actually happen.” In an aside to Triana, her brow knitted in concern, she asked, “Are you well? You look a bit pale.”
Triana forced a smile. “I’m perfectly fine. Perhaps now my life will finally return to normal. However, I do feel the need for some fresh air. If you will excuse me?”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and retreated to the sanctity of the night.
***
Triana walked through the lavish gardens outside Egremont House, pausing now and again to touch the silky petal of a rose or smell their fragrant blossoms. But it wasn’t until she reached a marble fountain; the statue in the middle
depicting a Greek warrior with his sword raised in battle as an army of fish swam about him, that she found her solace. The scene of turmoil suited her mood rather appropriately, so she sat down and hugged herself against the chill of the stone.
She let the melody of the splashing water envelope her in its song, while her gaze drifted to the celestial formations laid out like a sparkling map in the inky, black sky. Even the lavish décor surrounding tonight’s merrymaking couldn’t compete with the natural glory of the heavens.
How many times had she studied the stars when she was a little girl? Too numerous to guess, she would imagine. Many of her special, childhood memories had been of staring at this same sky. She closed her eyes and recalled an almost forgotten stitch in time. She saw her father by her side, helping her pick out the different constellations. She had been in a state of pure awe as the image of an archer had been drawn for her, like a scrambled canvas that had suddenly become a work of art. She remembered throwing her arms around her father’s neck and kissing him on the cheek, thanking him for showing her such a wondrous and magical display.
Sighing, Triana opened her eyes and wondered how many times she’d wanted to forget those memories. Now, she felt that same frustration toward Travell. He was supposed to be different from their father. He shouldn’t have secrets and he certainly shouldn’t have kept them from her. He knew how hard it had been for her when their father had left, and how much she’d suffered after that dreaded night of her debut ball.
She kicked at a stray stone with the toe of her slipper and had to snort at the irony of her current circumstances. Not only had her brother betrayed her, but the duke had also claimed to care, had touched her more intimately than anyone else had ever dared, and yet he was now engaged to another woman.
The sad part about it all is that she’d allowed her heart to become truly bruised because of it.
The man was a plague.
Triana's Spring Seduction Page 9
