by Lynsay Sands
Maggie hesitated, obviously shamed by the reminder of what her befouled state had already done to Lord Mullin’s seat. Then her shoulders bowed with resignation. James was grateful to see that the hoyden wasn’t completely unreasonable.
“Very well. I shall take a bath,” she announced, turning to start up the stairs. Her attempt at dignity was ruined when she suddenly whirled back, transfixing Lord Mullin with her eyes. “Please promise you will still be here when I finish? If not for my sake, then as a favor to my brother?”
“Of course,” Robert said quickly, his shoulders drawn up. “I shall be here when you return, and I shall help you in any way I can.”
Satisfied with that, she delayed only long enough to toss a half-triumphant, half-furious glare in James’s direction, then spun away to take her bath.
James watched her go, then glanced at Webster. The butler promptly straightened, a staunch look coming to his face. “Annie was told not to let Lady Margaret out of her sight until she retired. Also, the dogs were released at night as you requested.”
“The dogs released?” Lord Mullin echoed in dismay.
Ignoring him, James rubbed his hands through the back of his hair with frustration. “If Annie was sitting outside her door, Margaret must have climbed off the balcony.”
“The balcony?” Robert was goggling at the idea, but James continued to ignore him.
“Have the dogs released after you arrange for her bath, Webster. And tell Annie not to let her out of her sight for a minute.”
“Yes, my lord. Shall I arrange a bath for you, as well?”
The butler’s question drew James’s attention to the fact that a good deal of the mud originally on Lady Margaret had rubbed off on him. He grimaced, but shook his head. “Not right away; I need to talk to Lord Mullin first. We will be in the library. Send Lady Margaret there when she is ready.”
Gesturing for his friend to follow, James led the way into the study, heading first for the sideboard and the liquor that waited there; he had little doubt that this was going to be at least a two-drink conversation. Fortunately, Robert followed him in silence, accepting the drink James poured and taking a seat to patiently await an explanation.
James paced between the chair Robert had chosen and the fireplace, searching for a way to begin his exposition, but nothing came to mind. At last he paused, turned to face his friend, and blurted, “Gerald’s sister is Lady X.”
The silence that followed was complete. Robert gaped at him and James waited, silently counting to twenty-three before the other man blurted, “Lady X?”
He certainly understood his friend’s horrified disbelief, for he had felt much the same way when Johnstone had revealed the information to him. It was unbelievable. Gerald’s innocent little sister, a prostitute? If James were to be entirely honest, he hadn’t even believed the runner until he had actually captured Margaret leaving that room in the brothel in a mask—and then he’d had to see her without the mask to be fully convinced it was the right woman. The idea of Gerald’s sainted sister behaving so scandalously was untenable.
And yet he had seen the proof with his own eyes. Lady Margaret Wentworth, the sister of their late friend, was none other than Lady X. He doubted Lord Mullin would believe him out of hand any more than he himself had believed Johnstone.
“But—”
James raised a hand to interrupt his friend. “Let me explain before you start speaking your doubts—and I know you doubt me. I doubted this myself.” Much to his relief the other lord fell silent and took a drink. Tugging at his cravat, James settled into the seat across from Robert, his gaze moving to the cold hearth before them. He supposed he should light a fire, or at least call a servant to do so, but he was feeling too weary at the moment to be bothered. Besides, the servants would be busy preparing Margaret’s bath, not to mention preparing the evening meal. It was growing late in the day.
“As you know, Gerald’s last request was that I watch after his sister,” he finally began.
Lord Mullin nodded solemnly. “I was there both when he saved your life and when he gasped those words.”
“Yes, well . . . as you remember, we were not released from service right away.”
Robert nodded. Just because Gerald had died did not mean the whole unit was released; they had continued to fight old Boney until just a month ago.
“Well, by the time I returned, Wentworth’s estate had been settled. The title and castle are going to some cousin or other who went off to make his way in America. At the time of my return they had not yet found the fellow, though they probably have by now. At any rate, while the estate’s solicitors could tell me that much, no one seemed able, or at least willing, to give me Gerald’s sister’s whereabouts since leaving Clarendon—the seat of the Wentworth title—or in aiding me to find her. I had to hire a Bow Street runner named Johnstone to locate the girl.”
“And you found her at Dubarry’s?” Robert interrupted in outrage. “My God, lawyers are such cold-hearted bastards! To dump the woman out on the road without a second thought, leaving her to take up—”
“Nay,” James interjected before Lord Mullin got too carried away. “Johnstone, the Bow Street runner I hired, did not find her at Dubarry’s. Well, not at first.” He heaved a sigh and shifted in his seat. “He found her at Gerald’s town house in London. It seems that while he could not leave her the title and castle, he could and did leave her his personal property: his town house, a few small investments, his servants.” James shifted again and took another drink. It gave Robert the opportunity to speak.
“But if she has the town house in London and money, why take up—”
“Greed, I suppose,” James answered, staring into the swirling liquid in his glass with a morose expression. “Gerald’s investments weren’t enough to run the household for any length of time without the funds that are now going to Margaret’s cousin. Had she sold the town house and purchased a small cottage in the country, then invested the money left over from the sale, she most likely would have been fine. But it seems such . . . rural living is not to her taste. Or at least that is what I must presume from the choices she has made. She settled in the London town house and, apparently, set to work at Madame Dubarry’s to supplement her income.”
“Good Lord,” Robert murmured with consternation. “Who would have believed it of Gerald’s sister? He always made her sound so sweet and naive.”
“Yes, well, I could hardly believe it when Johnstone came to me with the news.”
Robert’s eyebrows rose slightly. “How did he find out?”
James shrugged. “He found her at the same time he learned the contents of the will. Which should have been the end of his investigation, I suppose, but it did not go unnoticed by me that financially she should be in a bad way and yet she had retained all the servants. I was . . . curious as to how she was managing, so I asked Johnstone to look into the matter.”
“And he discovered she was Lady X,” Lord Mullin finished.
“Aye.” James took another drink. “I hadn’t heard from him for a week or so; then he came to me the other night and announced, rather proudly, that he had sorted it all out. He’d had a man watching her, but the fellow hadn’t come up with anything. Suspecting his comrade was slacking on the job, he had watched her himself and followed her to Dubarry’s. I am ashamed to admit it was already his supposition that Margaret is Lady X, though he had no proof of it. Of course, the only way to find out if it was true was to unmask Lady X.”
Robert stiffened. “You didn’t!”
“What? Sample her favors and unmask her that way?” James asked sardonically, then shook his head. “Nay. I arranged a . . . er . . . meeting. But I never intended to sample anything, just to get her out of there and unmask her. Which I did. We smuggled her out of Dubarry’s, got her in my carriage, and brought her here. Unfortunately, they convened the House of Lords this morning, so I had to turn around and head right back to London. I left Margaret here while I did. I headed
back again directly after.”
“No wonder you look exhausted,” his friend commented.
“Yes.”
They were both quiet for a moment; then Robert asked, “Did you hire someone to guard her?”
James shook his head. “I didn’t think it was necessary. I told the staff that no one was to aid her in leaving, and that I would return as soon as possible. I ordered Webster to have Annie stick with Margaret all day, not to let her out of her sight until she retired. And I assumed the dogs loosed at night would discourage her from trying anything then. I even wrote her a note explaining that no one would abet her escape, and that we would discuss alternate career choices when I returned. I thought such a note would assure her she would not be harmed. I never imagined for a moment that she would still run.”
“No. Most ladies would simply have awaited your return,” Robert sympathized. Then he added, “Of course, most women in her situation would never have taken up the career she did.”
Ramsey frowned. “You sound almost admiring.”
“Well . . .” The fellow shrugged and smiled slightly. “I guess I do admire her a bit. You have to give her credit for at least attempting to take care of matters rather than sit about and cry.”
James was scandalized. “Taking up as Lady X is hardly an honorable way of ‘taking care of matters,’” he snapped. He scowled at the other man for even suggesting the thought, but Lord Mullin merely shrugged.
“Well, it is better than the poorhouse perhaps. Anyway, what was she supposed to do—marry? Most marriages these days are a form of prostitution, anyway. At least she is honest about it.” Robert laughed.
Though James shook his head at his friend’s argument, he had to admit he’d indulged a thought or two along those lines himself. Certainly every mistress he’d ever had had been like a wife: he’d paid for her home, her clothes, her entertainment, and her servants—at least for as long as they’ve been involved. He supposed the only difference was that his mistresses were short-term. Of course, Lady X’s customers did not bother with manors or servants; they had only to hand over cold, hard coin for services rendered.
He didn’t admit any of this to Robert, though. He would never allude to anything but dismay at her profession. This was Gerald Wentworth’s sister, after all!
“So? What do you plan to do with her?”
James glanced up at that question and grimaced. He had been pondering little else since smuggling her out of the brothel. What was he to do with her? His promise to her brother would not allow him simply to let her go about her business as a notorious demimondaine. At the very least he had to offer her options, to attempt to talk Margaret into giving up this life of shattered morals. But how?
He was saved from admitting his bafflement by the crash of the study door slamming open and banging against the wall. Both men glanced with startled surprise at the woman now standing in the doorway glaring at them. She was a sight to behold. Bathed, powdered, and dressed in a fresh gown that almost fit, her fiery eyes snapped from James to Lord Mullin and settled on the latter with relief. She promptly pushed away from the door and rushed to Robert as he stood.
“Thank God you are still here, my lord! I was so afraid that you might leave.”
“Of course I am still here,” Lord Mullin assured her, looking terribly uncomfortable as he did. “I said I would wait.”
“Yes, you did.” She beamed at him, then clasped his hands. “I wish to leave. Surely you will see me rid of this place? You will not let him hold me here against my will? He is a madman. He kidnapped me.”
Lord Mullin’s obvious discomfort grew; he avoided her eyes and looked everywhere in the room but at her. “Ah . . . well, as to that, my lady, Lord Ramsey merely wishes to help you. He wants to allow you time to consider your options for a better life.”
“Options?” Margaret Wentworth scowled. “What options? I was doing well enough without his interference. Surely, as a friend of my late brother’s, you will not leave me here?”
Robert straightened his shoulders. “It is precisely because I was a friend of your brother’s that I have to agree with Ramsey. Surely you do not imagine that your brother would approve of your present employment?”
She had the grace to look slightly ashamed at the question, but then her chin lifted defiantly. “He might not approve, but he would understand that under the circumstances—”
“And which circumstances would those be?” James interrupted. His dry words drew her irritated attention. “Your desire not to give up the excitement of life in town? I suspect your brother expected you to sell his town house, purchase a cottage, and live in the country off the proceeds.”
“Oh?” She turned, her hands resting on her hips. Her pretty face twisted with derision. “So you knew my brother better than I, who knew him all his life, did you? I think my brother never expected to die so young. He planned to see me married and settled happily. Unfortunately, such was not the case. Instead he died and left the town house and the responsibility of those servants to me. I could hardly sell the house and leave them all unemployed.”
Robert touched her arm, drawing her gaze back to his amazed face. “Are you saying that you took up as a pr—that career to keep your brother’s servants employed?”
Maggie scowled at Lord Mullin’s shock. Writing articles for the Daily Express wasn’t that shameful an occupation. The way these two were acting, one would think she had taken up prostitution! “What else was I to do? Every one of those servants was loyal to Gerald, and to my parents before him. Most of them have been in service to my family all of their lives. I could hardly see them on the street.”
“Dear Lord,” the younger nobleman said under his breath.
“You see?” Maggie smiled. He, too, was obviously horrified at the idea of such loyal men and women being left to fend for themselves. “I realize that it must seem a risky business, but it wasn’t. Not really. I was always in disguise, or veiled, or masked—as I was when he grabbed me.” She threw a disgusted look in Lord Ramsey’s direction.
“Aye, but . . . I mean . . .” Lord Mullin gave a nervous laugh, then went on delicately: “Risk aside, surely you do not enjoy the work?”
She blinked in surprise at the question, then found herself reluctantly admitting what she had not yet admitted to herself. “Perhaps not always. At times . . .”
Both men leaned forward expectantly as she considered the matter, so consider it she did, forcing herself to be painfully honest about everything for a change—something she did not do often because she undoubtedly needed the money from her work. But if she were to be honest, she did not always enjoy being G. W. Clark. For instance, she had not liked climbing that ledge at the brothel. Though, now that it was over, it seemed just another adventure, at the time she had been nauseatingly terrified. And, in truth, she found some of the tales the women told her that night distressing. Some had even left her feeling tainted. The things those women did . . .
“Yes?” Lord Ramsey prompted, and Maggie met his gaze with some difficulty.
“Well, really,” she admitted reluctantly, “sometimes it is frightening and unpleasant. But . . .”
“But?” Lord Mullin prompted when she hesitated.
Shrugging, she admitted, “But sometimes it is exciting, too.”
“Exciting?” Both men echoed.
“Yes, of course.” She shifted impatiently at their horrified expressions. Likely they were thinking of the gleaning of information for specific articles—such as the one about the gambling hells that cheated their customers, or the Four Horsemen’s club, where young knobs went to race. She supposed those exposés had been a bit dangerous to write, but they had also been fun. Besides, both articles were about places these two had surely been a time or two themselves. Why should she be forced to remain ignorant of their particulars just because she was a woman? “Well, why should it be any different for me than for you?” she asked. “By all accounts you men certainly enjoy such pastimes. Why shoul
d I not?”
“Oh, dear.” Lord Mullin tossed back the last of his brandy and set the glass down with a thunk, then he straightened and eyed Lord Ramsey meaningfully. “I wish you luck, my friend, but I fear you shall have a rough time rehabilitating her. Keep me posted on how you do.” And with that the young noble rose to leave.
Maggie was horrified. Glancing at Lord Ramsey, she noted a similarly displeased look on his face. Why was he looking so resigned? He wasn’t the one being left alone to deal with a situation with no way out!
“Surely you will not leave me here?” she cried, following Lord Mullin to the door. “I really do have to return to London. And you promised to help me.”
“Yes, I did,” the young man agreed. “But that was before I understood all the particulars. Now I realize that James is only trying to help. You will not come to any harm in his care.”
“Perhaps not,” Maggie allowed, then shook her head miserably. “But I do have to return. If for no other reason than that my servants have no idea where I am. They must be greatly distressed by my disappearance.”
Lord Mullin took her hands briefly, then dropped them as though they were hot. “It is my considered opinion, my lady, that you exert far too much energy on your servants’ behalf,” he said stiffly. At her bemused expression, he added, “Really, this is for the best, my lady. Let Ramsey aid you in this matter.”
Then he walked out, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving her standing alone and bereft in the house of her captor.
Lord Ramsey was silent for a moment, watching her obvious unhappiness; then he downed his drink and stood. The movement drew her wary gaze to him. As she watched suspiciously, the man gave an expansive sigh. She didn’t trust him, and she never would. Kidnapping her had not been a propitious start, no matter his oath to her brother. He didn’t try to explain himself, though. Instead, he paused several feet away and gave a slight bow.
“Please make yourself comfortable in my home, my lady. As Robert said, you are perfectly safe here. I have only the best intentions toward you.” He spoke sincerely, but what was that glinting in the depths of his dark eyes? Maggie was taken off guard by his next words. “And you really have nothing to be concerned about when it comes to your servants. I had a letter delivered to them the night I brought you here, stating that you were coming to my country home for several days’ relaxation. If you are concerned, however, you are welcome to write a letter to them and I will see it delivered on the morrow.”
