by Andrea Kane
"Ah, I see." A small smile played about Cynthia's lips. "You're concerned about your man's fidelity, are you? Well, I wouldn't take his visits here too much to heart. I'm sure he places you on the appropriate pedestal—his chaste and precious possession. Unfortunately, he, like all men, are governed primarily by their sordid needs. Sex is their compulsion, indulging in it their God-given right."
"If you feel that way, why do you provide it?"
Cynthia's eyes glittered with suppressed emotion. "The answer is ugly—I assure you, you don't want to hear it."
"What is it I don't want to hear? That you've chosen to service men for a living?"
"Chosen?"
Bitterness clogged Cynthia's throat. "Do you honestly believe I've chosen this sort of life? No, genteel lady, my vile job was thrust upon me." '"You're forced to lie with men?" Sammy was horrified.
"I told you the truth was ugly."
"How deplorable! I never imagined ..." Reflexively, Sammy squeezed Cynthia's hand, totally forgetting her own harrowing ordeal in lieu of this poor woman's plight.
Cynthia stared down at Sammy's smooth hand clasping her own work-worn one, a blunt reminder of the differences in their stations, the futures that awaited them. Suddenly all the repressed pain of the past weeks converged and exploded, sliding down Cynthia's cheeks in a bitter flow of tears. "Forgive me ... I don't normally weep in front of total strangers."
"I'm not a stranger—you just saved my life," Sammy reminded her. "And I, too, am a good listener."
Bleakly, Cynthia studied Sammy's earnest face. "You're a sheltered, innocent little thing. Nobly bred, of course. My story is not for your ears."
"Who forces you to service these men?" Sammy demanded.
"Circumstances. The unshakable power of the nobility."
"Cynthia... that is your name, isn't it? I heard that horrid"—she shuddered—"Gates person call you by it." Waiting only for a nod, Sammy continued, "I cannot deny my naiveté nor my heritage. But being titled does not preclude having a heart. I'd like to help. Truly."
"There's nothing you can do. The damage has already been done."
"Damage? What damage?" Sammy gripped Cynthia's hand tightly. "Tell me."
"Very well, my lady." Cynthia took a deep, shuddering breath. "I was born to a decent, hardworking family whose only misfortune was to be poor. Early on, I was encouraged to strive high, to be the first to emerge from my parents' poverty. To that end, I studied incessantly. I was elated when my hard work paid off. After but one application, I was hired as a governess at a magnificent estate in Surrey. The gentleman who hired me was wealthy, titled ... and very solicitous." Cynthia gave a hollow laugh. "How naive I was! I believed he was the kindest of men, devoted to his wife, interested in his children's well-being, and therefore in my suitability."
"He wasn't?"
"Oh, he was interested in my suitability, all right... but in the bedroom, not the nursery."
Sammy gasped. "He made advances?"
"He raped me."
All the color drained from Samantha's face. "Dear God. What did you do?"
"What could I do? I cried until I was hollow and dead inside. Then I packed and left."
"Who is this man? Surely he was arrested, or punished in some manner."
"As I said, you're a sheltered, innocent child. No, he wasn't punished; I was. He? He came to my room mere hours later, stunned to find me packing. He assured me there was no reason for me to leave, that I'd pleased him enormously and that I could continue to do so. How proud he looked, as if he were bestowing upon me the greatest of honors.
"When I became hysterical, sobbing out my hatred, my intentions to seek out another job at once, he laughed in my face. He then assured me that, after he was finished spreading the word of what a common trollop I was, no respectable family would hire me. He was right. Time and again I was turned away . . . as if I were unwanted refuse of some kind."
"What about your family?"
"My mother is gone now. My father is old, and very set in his ways. He wouldn't even listen to me."
"He thought you were lying?"
"It didn't matter. The end result was the same. I was ruined. What was done could not be undone. Then there was the matter of money. We had none. My wages as a governess was our only hope—a hope I had extinguished. My father couldn't bear the sight of me ... and I couldn't bear the guilt. So I ran."
"To Annie's?"
"Not right away. Not until I recognized the truth . . . that thanks to what that nobleman did to me, Annie's is all I'm suited for."
"Oh, Cynthia, don't say that." Sammy dashed the tears from her cheeks. "How long have you worked here?"
"A week ... the most torturous week of my life."
"Well, it's over now."
"Another week will begin."
"Not here it won't. At least not for you."
Cynthia blinked. "Pardon me?"
Sammy seized Cynthia's sleeve. "You're coming home with me."
"I'm what? But I don't even know you!"
"My name is Samantha Barrett. I'm in London for my first Season. I'm staying with my aunt Gertrude. I have a brother named Drake, a temporary guardian named Smitty, a puppy named Rascal, and a collection of books as long as this street. What more do you need to know?"
"Why would you do this for me?"
"Because I like you. Because you saved my life. Because I hate what you've endured. Because it causes me great heartache to think of you forcing yourself to lie with men you care nothing for. Are those reasons enough?"
Cynthia shook her head in disbelief. "Does the Earl of Gresham know what he's getting himself into?"
The light in Sammy's eyes dimmed. "Evidently, whatever he's getting himself into tonight doesn't involve me."
"You're in love with him."
"Hopelessly."
"You're a fool."
"Definitely."
"Perhaps I will go home with you after all, Samantha," Cynthia decided on impulse. "I begin to see that you need help as much as I do. By accepting your kind offer, I'll be able to offer you the benefit of my insight."
"Wonderful! Can you leave right away?"
"Let me talk with Annie," Cynthia glanced curiously up and down the deserted street. "Is your carriage around back?"
"My carriage? Oh, goodness, I have none!"
"Then how did you get here?"
"In Remington's phaeton."
"He allowed you to accompany him to—"
"He didn't know. I hid."
Cynthia threw back her head and laughed. "Remington Worth has quite a challenge ahead of him." She drew Sammy to the door of the brothel. "Stand right here. That way I'll be able to see you, but your earl won't. Once I explain the situation to Annie, she'll arrange a ride for us."
"Will she be angry?"
"No. Contrary to what you might believe, the women here are far more honest and straightforward than the men who visit them. Many do this only as a means of survival. . . and Annie knows it. She's very shrewd. And, while I never told her exactly what happened to me, I'm sure she suspects. She won't stand in my way."
"Go ahead, then. I'll wait."
"Don't wander," Cynthia warned.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't even consider it." Sammy huddled nervously against the door.
Twenty minutes later Cynthia and Sammy were settled in a carriage, speeding toward the fashionable West End of London and Abingdon Street.
"What will you tell your aunt?" Cynthia asked curiously.
"Something loud enough for her to hear. But Aunt Gertie won't be my problem. My problem will be Smitty."
"Smitty?"
"The guardian I spoke of—a trusted servant and family friend. My brother appointed him to watch over me ... at least for the duration of the Season."
"Where is your brother?"
"In Berkshire. His wife is about to deliver their second child."
"And this Smitty won't approve of me?"
"Smitty won't even approve of me
if I tell him where you and I met. He is terribly conventional. . . but he has the most loving heart. I'll tell him as much of the truth as I dare." Sammy tapped her chin thoughtfully. "He knows I attended the opera tonight. Therefore, I came upon you in Covent Garden, weeping. We spoke. You told me that your employer had made improper advances, forcing you to flee. Smitty's protective instincts would never permit me to turn you away."
"Samantha . . ." Cynthia fingered her plain frock. "What will I do at your Town house? I detest being idle. And I refuse to accept your kindness as charity. Is there no position open? A laundress, or a chambermaid?"
"That's it!" Sammy sat bolt upright.
"What's it?"
"Millie—my lady's maid!" Impulsively, Sammy hugged Cynthia. "Just tonight she begged me to allow her to return to her customary position in Hampshire. She loathes her job in Town. But Aunt Gertie would never permit her to leave unless I had a suitable replacement. Well, now I do!"
"You want me to be your lady's maid?"
"In name only," Sammy assured her. Rushing on, she added, "Would you mind very much? I don't really need a maid, but I do need a friend. You were right—I have been sheltered. There's so much I don't understand, so many questions I have about men. Alexandria would answer them, but she's at Allonshire birthing a child. And there's no other woman I can talk to." Sammy paused only to inhale. "Anyway, since my lady's maid spends so much time with me ... well, it would give us a chance to get to know each other, to share confidences."
A soft smile touched Cynthia's lips. "Samantha—pardon me—my lady," she corrected herself, this time with a twinkle. "I would be honored to accept the position."
9
The fog clung to Petticoat Lane, making the already menacing alley appear even more daunting, especially at the ungodly hour of 3 a.m.
Rem turned his collar up higher, ignoring the disreputable characters who stared at him from concealed corners, sizing him up as cohort or prey. Keeping his step purposeful, Rem's fingers slid into his pocket, closing around the pistol that was securely secreted there, ready to be extracted in a flash.
Reaching the designated area, he stopped.
"Lookin' fer someone, are ye?" An unsavory boy of no more than ten approached Rem, an ugly blade in his hand.
"Perhaps." Rem stared the urchin down.
"'Ave ye got money?"
"None."
"A watch, then?"
"No."
"Ah, come on"—the blade glinted—"surely ye must 'ave something in those pockets. Maybe I should 'ave a look ... ?"
"I'll save you the trouble. The only thing I have in my pockets is this." In a heartbeat the pistol was leveled at the boy's chest. "Now, are there any other questions?"
His eyes wide, the boy backed off, shaking his head. "No. No questions. I meant no 'arm. J'st lookin' for a shillin' to feed myself, is all."
"Fine." Rem groped at his coat with his free hand and tossed a shilling at the boy's feet. "Go get yourself a meal... honestly, for a change."
Before Rem's words were out, the boy had snatched up the coin and bolted.
"Gresham?"
The gravelly voice came from beside Rem's elbow.
Veering abruptly, Rem aimed the pistol at the stranger's heart.
"Now, now, put that away," the stout man instructed calmly.
Pudgy. Unruly gray hair. Pale blue eyes. Of middle years. Goddfrey's description clicked in Rem's mind, leaving no doubt as to whom he was addressing.
"Knollwood." Rem tucked his pistol away. "I see you made it."
"I don't forget business appointments. I also don't believe in procrastinating. You wanted to see me. What can I do for you?"
"I need money."
"So I've heard." Knollwood took out a snuff box, fingering it thoughtfully. "What makes you think I can help you?"
"I've heard tell that you're extremely liberal when it comes to loans."
"On occasion, yes. It depends on what the loan is for and how certain I am it will be repaid."
"It's for a ship, and I always repay my debts."
"A ship?" Knollwood's brows rose. "What sort of ship?"
Rem lit a cheroot, slowly exhaling into the night. "It's no secret that quite a few British ships have disappeared these past months. Many of them belonged to colleagues of mine. Knowing them as I do ... well, let's say that instinct tells me carelessness played a big part in the losses."
"You believe you can manage things differently, I presume?"
"I believe that if I commission a ship, see it built to my specifications, and supply it with my own captain and crew, I can not only avoid the disastrous fate these other ships have suffered, but make a fortune in the process—for myself and for you."
Knollwood's beady eyes gleamed. "Quite an undertaking."
"Are you interested?"
"I might be." Knollwood flipped open his box and pinched a healthy portion of snuff between his fingers. "How would you manage to earn this fortune?"
"Think about it. Merchants are terrified to send their goods, for fear of losing them all. Let's say my ship traverses the seas once, twice, several times without incident. How much do you think merchants would pay to ensure that their cargo was carried on a consistently reliable vessel? My profits would soar. I could use them to purchase additional ships. Why, the investment could result in a whole fleet that would put all other fleets out of business."
"You're getting a bit ahead of yourself, Gresham. What happens in the meantime? It will take months until your fleet has established a reputation—preceded by months, maybe years, for it to become a fleet. How is my loan going to be protected? How do I know you'll be able to repay me? And what if your instincts are wrong and your so-called superior ship sinks like all the others?"
"I'm not a fool, Knollwood. I'll insure my vessel with a portion of the money I borrow. Your funds will be secure."
"It's a time of high risk."
"True. But it's also a time of high reward. If my intuition is wrong, you'll be repaid and I'll be bankrupt. However, if it's accurate, I'll be rich and you'll be richer."
"We have yet to discuss my terms."
"Whatever they are, I'll meet them. As I'm certain your sources told you, I've run out of options."
"How badly do you want this money?"
"You know the answer to that."
"How much will it take to buy and insure your ship?"
"I want more than my investment requires. I want enough to maintain my status—and my reputation—with the beau monde."
"How much?"
Rem thought of Goddfrey. "Two hundred thousand pounds."
"An outrageous sum." Calmly, Knollwood inhaled his snuff, then snapped the lid shut. "I assume you're willing to sign a note?"
"Of course."
"Without even knowing my terms?"
"Yes."
"You're that confident?"
"I am."
Knollwood nodded. "All right, Gresham. I'll need a few days to amass such a huge sum of money. Meet me here Monday night, same time. I'll bring your loan ... and the necessary papers. You bring a quill to inscribe your name."
"Very well." Rem ground the cheroot beneath his heel. "You won't regret this decision. Others fail. I don't."
An ominous silence. "That remains to be seen, Gresham."
Knollwood disappeared into the night.
"My butler said you were here." Rem closed the sitting room door behind him. "Do you have so little faith in my ability to defend myself that you were worried ... or is there some other reason you couldn't sleep?"
Boyd scowled. "Very funny."
"Your Cynthia did vanish rather suddenly, didn't she?" Rem strolled across the room and lowered himself into a chair. "It certainly altered your plans for the evening."
"I had no plans."
Rem cocked a disbelieving brow.
"All right, then. I had plans. Apparently, Cynthia didn't. In any case, I'm not here to discuss my romantic encounters, or lack of them."
"You really are upset, aren't you?" Rem stoked the fire, trying to oust the chill from his bones.
"Not upset. Stymied. Obviously, I read her signals all wrong."
"I don't think so ... since I read her signals the same way you did." Rem cleared his throat. "Perhaps Annie had already committed Cynthia elsewhere for the evening."
Boyd gripped his chair arms so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Can we change the subject? I didn't come out at five A.M. to speculate about Cynthia's actions, or her where-abouts."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Rem nodded. "My meeting with Knollwood." With calm precision, he recounted the details.
"Evidently, he didn't harm you. Did he threaten you?"
"No ... at least not yet. But remember, he hasn't handed the money over either. I'm certain the threats will come once he owns me."
"I don't doubt it." Boyd squinted as the first patch of early morning sunlight seeped through the window, a reminder that it was nearly day. "Do you plan to handle this one alone, too?"
Rem shook his head. "No. I plan to find out if Knollwood will offer me his own personal insurance policy."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, will he promise to make certain my ship remains safe, my venture secure, in exchange for an immense additional sum? If so, he's our man."
"Ah, I begin to see. You think he's been blackmailing men into buying his protection."
"Um-hum. And convincing those who are reluctant to do so by providing firsthand demonstrations of what will happen if they refuse to comply," Rem added.
"Interesting speculation. Now, what if Knollwood doesn't offer you this unique opportunity?"
"Then he's merely a bloodsucking, heartless parasite, rather than a mass murderer." Rem calmly crossed one leg over the other. "To answer your original question, I want Harris and Templar ready to grab Knollwood immediately after I meet with him Monday night." Rem's eyes gleamed with the triumph of ensuring justice would soon be served. "At which point, the 'terms' of my agreement with Mr. Knollwood will alter ... as will the person dictating them."
Muffled laughter intruded on Sammy's last remnants of sleep, coaxing her eyelids to open. At first she wasn't certain where the sound came from, only that it was close by. Curious, she sat up in bed . . . and smiled.
