Rescued By A Wicked Baron (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  He had not been sleeping well. Most nights he managed two or three hours at most. Perhaps it was the possibility that Thorne and his men were in league with someone in the household. Perhaps it was the anticipation of what would happen at the Lady’s Grace that night.

  Perhaps it was because he missed Catherine.

  Those fleeting few weeks of having her in his life had left him with a deep hollowness within him. A hollowness Patrick knew would never be filled by anyone else.

  He had done his best to be honest with her. But such a thing had only served to heighten her suspicions. Knowing the truth about his father’s debts had no doubt made it easier to believe he spent his nights shuffling cards at the Red Queen.

  He had found himself replaying the night of the ball in his mind. Imagining how it might have ended differently had Thorne and his men not appeared when they had. He had imagined, over and over, how it would feel to have Catherine’s body moving, writhing beneath his. Imagined what he would do to bring more of those husky sounds of pleasure from deep within her. And he imagined how it would feel to have those delicate white fingers exploring every inch of him.

  He had had just the barest of tastes of her. And it was not nearly enough.

  He climbed wearily to his feet and made his way upstairs. Tonight, he would return to The Lady’s Grace. Do his best to locate the elusive George Thorne.

  He would venture to Seven Dials alone tonight. Patrick knew he was asking a lot of Simon and Edmund. He couldn’t ask them to lower themselves to a night in a bawdy house as well. Though he was sure most of the clientele were noblemen in disguise, there was only so much he was willing to ask of his friends. This was a search he would have to undertake single-handedly.

  He made his way to The Lady’s Grace once he had forced down a little supper. The night was warm and unseasonal. Patrick felt uncomfortably hot in his greatcoat as he strode toward Seven Dials. He felt a line of sweat run down his back.

  He knew there was every chance the bawdy house had been closed down after the raid.

  Why had the soldiers ventured into this part of the city, he wondered. He knew Simon was right—the authorities rarely made their way into this area. Certainly no watchman would be foolish enough to try and clean the streets of St. Giles. Whatever the soldiers had come looking for, Patrick decided he didn’t want to know.

  As he made his way down the street, he saw that The Lady’s Grace had not been closed down. Lamps flickered in the windows and several men stood outside the doors laughing and cursing, overflowing tankards in their hands.

  Patrick drew in his breath and made his way inside.

  He found himself in a small bar, decorated in dark wood paneling. The windows were draped in red velvet curtains and candles flickered on each of the tables, making shadows dance across the room. The place reminded him oddly of the Grand Hotel. It was far classier than the Red Queen. Far classier than he had been expecting.

  He eyed the bar. He longed for a drink to steady his nerves. Reluctantly, he decided against it.

  I best be at my sharpest. I need to keep my wits about me.

  As he stood dithering in the doorway, a young woman sashayed toward him. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders, her eyelids thick with lampblack and her lips a vivid red.

  Patrick swallowed heavily.

  “You need a little attention, My Lord?”

  My Lord?

  Was his nobility so obvious, even dressed in his scruffiest greatcoat? He shook the thought away. Maybe these women spoke to all their clients this way. Made them feel powerful, perhaps.

  “I’m after information,” he told the woman, his voice low. “I can pay you for it.”

  She arched a dark eyebrow. “Information?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for a man named George Thorne. I’ve word he frequents this place. Perhaps you might have heard of him.”

  “George Thorne.” The woman batted her long lashes. “I’m sorry, My Lord, the name ain’t familiar. But it don’t mean he never come in here. Half the gentleman in this place are using an alias, you can be sure of it.”

  “Short, stocky fellow,” said Patrick. “A scar on his chin. Wears a coat that’s far too big for him.”

  “I know such a man,” said a voice behind Patrick.

  He whirled around to find another woman standing close. She was much older than the first, with red hair was piled messily on top of her head and loose pieces clinging to her cheeks. Her breasts strained against the overtight bodice of a deep purple dress.

  “You know him?” Patrick managed.

  “I know a man who fits that description, aye. Couldn’t promise it were the same fellow though. We see plenty of men come through these doors.”

  Patrick managed a small smile. “I’m sure. When did you last see him?”

  The redhead hesitated, then nodded toward the staircase out of the bar. “Upstairs. It ain’t safe to talk down here. Anyone could be listening.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. “Very well.”

  He slid a coin from his pocket and pressed it into the hand of the dark-haired woman. “Thank you for your help,” he murmured.

  He followed the redhead up the narrow stairs, each one creaking loudly beneath their feet. At the top, a long narrow corridor stretched out before them, doors on each side. Muffled grunts and groans floated out from inside the rooms.

  Patrick felt exceptionally hot. And exceptionally uncomfortable.

  The woman unlocked a door and motioned for him to enter. Hesitantly, he stepped inside. The room was small, most of the space taken up by the bed in the center. A single candle flickered in a holder on the wall, casting thick shadows over the room. Even in the dim light, Patrick could see the paint was chipped and peeling. The place smelled of pipe smoke and bodies.

  The woman came toward him and shoved against his shoulder. Patrick stumbled backwards with the shock of it and found himself sitting on the edge of the bed.

  The woman stood close, her breasts inches from his nose. She leaned over him, a thread of her hair tickling his nose.

  He froze.

  “My name’s Evie,” she told him in a silky voice. “So you want to tell my why you’re really here?” She trailed a rough finger down the side of his face. “You got some sordid fantasy you need me to bring to life?”

  Patrick swallowed. “Erm, no,” he managed. “I really am here to find George Thorne.”

  Evie stepped back, scratching her chin. “I see.”

  Patrick felt a faint sinking in his chest. “So I assume you don’t actually know the man I’m looking for?”

  “Oh I know him,” said Evie. “He’s here all the time. One of my regulars. I’m surprised Ruby down there didn’t know who you were talking about.” She gave Patrick a dark smile. “Maybe she did. Maybe she just didn’t like the look of you. Wanted to send you on your way.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps.”

  Evie laughed. “I’m just teasing, My Lord.” She cupped his chin in her hand. “You’re all right. Seen far worse than you come through these doors.”

  Patrick climbed from the bed. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Comes to see me every Thursday,” she told him, picking at a scrap of dirt beneath her fingernails. “He’s a creature of habit, all right.”

  Patrick sighed. No doubt the coins Thorne had stolen from him would find their way into the woman’s pocket soon.

  “Does he come alone?” he asked. “When he comes to the tavern, I mean. I know when he sees you he…well…he’s not with other men...”

  Evie laughed. “Some men like it,” she said.

  Patrick’s eyebrows quirked. “Pardon?”

  “Some men come to see me with other men,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh,” said Patrick, unsure how to respond. “Do they?”

  Evie reached out and ran a gentle hand down the side of his face. “You’re far too squeaky clean for a place like this. What’s a man like you doing in these parts?�
�

  Patrick sighed. “Trying to find George Thorne.”

  “Of course.” Evie met his eyes, suddenly business-like. “Sometimes he comes here alone. Sometimes he drinks with other men. I don’t like the look of them. And I don’t like this Thorne fellow a scrap.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s rough. Dirty. Tries to underpay me.” She eyed Patrick. “What’s the bastard done to you then?”

  “He’s making threats against me. Taking my money. But he’s working for someone else. Acting on someone else’s orders. I need to know who. I’ve got to get that information out of him.” He began to pace across the tiny room, his thoughts knocking together. “Every Thursday, you say?”

  “Like clockwork.” Evie nodded at his coat. “You got money in those pockets, My Lord?”

  “I do.”

  Though they’re far lighter since Thorne decided to pay me a visit.

  She held out a lined hand. “Six shillings and I’ll deliver this George Thorne right into your hands.”

  Chapter 29

  Edmund was buzzing with energy. He and Simon were standing on Patrick’s doorstep and he was itching to hear if there had been any further developments.

  Simon had been reluctant to come. Edmund had appeared at his manor that afternoon, knowing a visit would be more persuasive than a message.

  “I’m going to call on Ramshay,” Edmund had told him. “See how things are progressing.”

  Simon sighed. “Call on him and we’ll end up being dragged into another underworld adventure, you just watch.”

  Edmund didn’t reply at once. Though he didn’t want to admit it, there was a part of him that wanted very much to be dragged into another underworld adventure.

  “Come on now, Ayton. Patrick needs our help. He’s always been a good friend to us. We owe him this.”

  Simon rubbed his eyes. “You’re right.” He let out an enormous sigh. “Let me fetch my coat.”

  When Patrick’s butler opened the door, Edmund found himself eying him with suspicion.

  Thorne and his men had found their way into the house, Patrick had said. No sign of forced entry. Yes, Edmund had to admit, it seemed likely that a member of the household was involved. Perhaps they had been forced into involvement. Coerced and threatened. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but wonder whether someone in this townhouse knew more than they were letting on.

  “Good afternoon, My Lords.” The butler bobbed his head in greeting, seemingly oblivious to Edmund’s scrutinizing gaze.

  “Is Lord Ramshay in?” he asked.

  “Yes sir. Please come in.”

  Edmund found himself eying everyone he came across; the housemaid dusting the shelves in the parlor, the young girl who served their tea.

  How ludicrous that I might be so suspicious of a young kitchen maid.

  This whole episode was vaguely humorous.

  At least, it would be vaguely humorous if his friend’s life and livelihood weren’t being threatened.

  When Patrick arrived, he was scruffily dressed in rolled-up shirtsleeves, but he looked less exhausted than Edmund had seen him in days. He nodded to each of his friends, then sat in an armchair opposite them.

  “You’ve gone quiet on us,” Edmund said, his voice coming out more accusatory than he had intended. “You got any tales to tell?”

  The tale was a good one. A working girl at the bawdy house had agreed to help locate George Thorne.

  “This Thursday?” Edmund asked. “As in, tomorrow?”

  Patrick nodded. “As in tomorrow.”

  “You’ll need our help,” Edmund said earnestly. “What if Thorne brings the rest of the men?”

  Patrick shook his head. “I’ve asked enough of you. I—”

  “Nonsense,” said Edmund. He wasn’t going to miss this for the world. “We’ve only just begun. We’re coming with you. Isn’t that right, Ayton?”

  He fixed the Marquess with hard eyes.

  Simon nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

  Patrick let out his breath, raking a hand through his fair hair. “Thank you. I appreciate it more than you could know.”

  * * *

  Edmund and Simon left the townhouse, promising to return the following evening. A fine rain was beginning to fall and they climbed hurriedly back into their cab.

  Edmund’s heart was quick.

  A trap to catch George Thorne. Involving a working girl, no less!

  This adventure was just getting better and better. He felt rather guilty. He was sure he ought not be enjoying it as much as he was.

  He glanced at Simon. The Marquess was looking out the rain-splattered window, chin resting in his hands. He seemed deep in thought.

  “There’s something I wish to discuss with you, Featherstone,” he told Edmund finally. “It’s a rather delicate matter.”

  Edmund raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”

  “It’s about your cousin. Catherine.” He drummed his fingers against the edge of his knee. “I should like to call on her.”

  Edmund opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. He had not been expecting this. “Ramshay is in love with her,” he said finally.

  “I know. I know.” Simon sighed. “And believe me, I feel like a dog about the whole matter. But the truth is, I enjoyed our tea together immensely. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about her since. I would very much like to see her again.”

  Edmund said nothing. The sighing of the carriage wheels cut through the thick silence.

  What am I to do? Ramshay and Ayton are both dear friends…

  He felt a faint flush of anger at Simon. Ayton knew well of Patrick’s feelings for Catherine. Still, Edmund had heard that a person simply could not control who they fell in love with. He believed it, even if he was yet to experience it himself.

  Before Edmund could speak again, Simon said: “You can’t honestly tell me you believe Ramshay will make a good husband for her? Just look at what he has us doing.”

  “We’re doing all this so we might put an end to this mess,” Edmund reminded him.

  “I know. And I truly hope we can. But how long until it happens again? Even if we get to the bottom of who this Thorne fellow is working for, Ramshay still has men on his doorstep each month collecting his father’s debts. Do you truly want Catherine to have that kind of life?”

  Edmund rubbed his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Simon was right. It didn’t matter how good a man Patrick Connolly was, the shadow of his father’s debts would always hang over him. Was that really the life Catherine deserved? The thought was an uncomfortable one. In spite of his initial reaction to Patrick and Catherine’s courtship, Edmund had found himself hoping they might find actually their way down the aisle.

  But Simon Moore was a good man too. A marquess. A man without shady figures on his doorstep. If he truly cared for Catherine, surely it wasn’t Edmund’s place to stop him showing her his heart.

  “I will speak with Catherine,” he said finally. “I will tell her you wish to call on her.” He knotted his fingers together. This awkward new development had taken the fun right out of their impending visit to the bawdy house. “But the decision will be hers.”

  Chapter 30

  Evie was waiting for Patrick outside The Lady’s Grace. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, watching passers-by with narrowed eyes. She gave him a nod in greeting. “Thorne is in the bar,” she told him.

  He lurched for the door, but she pressed a firm hand to his shoulder, holding him back.

  “It’s busy in there. No place to go making trouble.”

  “I’ll not make trouble,” Patrick assured her.

  Evie chuckled. “Course you won’t. But if you’re patient, I can get Thorne in a far more compromising position for you.”

  Patrick arched his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

  He glanced sideways at his friends. Edmund was hovering by his side, doing his best not to stare Evie’s ample cleavage. Simon was standing in the
shadows with his collar pulled up and his gaze averted, as though dreading the thought of seeing anyone he knew.

  “Best you stay out here,” Evie told them. She glanced edgily over her shoulder. “I’ve asked Ruby to keep watch. When I take Thorne upstairs, she’ll give you a signal. Come up to my room and knock three times. I’ll make sure he don’t escape.”