by Lynsay Sands
“Lady Margaret.”
Maggie gave a start at that hiss from behind her. Turning, she peered into the shadows cast by the awning of the building, barely able to discern a cloaked and masked figure several steps away. “Maisey?” she asked.
Nodding, the girl moved forward to the edge of the shadows. “Why are you dressed as a man? You should have worn a gown.”
“I did not think it would matter. Does it?” Maggie asked worriedly.
Maisey hesitated, her eyes moving along the street, then across the road to the house, where yet another masked couple was spilling from their carriage; then she shifted impatiently. “It will have to do. Come.”
Turning away, the prostitute led her across the street at a quick clip that didn’t slow until they neared the door to the “club.” Gesturing for Maggie to wait there, Maisey approached one of the two doorman standing on either side of the entrance a few steps away and held a brief, whispered conversation with him. It concluded with her dropping several coins into his open palm. Then, gesturing for Maggie to follow, the young woman entered the house, hardly glancing at the second doorman.
Offering a weak smile when the man turned his gaze on her, Maggie followed Maisey reluctantly into an entryway. There, another pair was handing over their cloaks to a servant. Maisey whipped off her own, tossed the expensive item onto the already weighed down man, then waited impatiently for Maggie to do the same. She removed her borrowed cape and handed it to the servant with an apologetic expression, then followed her guide and the other couple into a room filled with noise and color.
Maggie’s eyes widened behind her mask as she absorbed the multitudes inside. The room was crammed to capacity, and she struggled to push her way through to keep up with Maisey. The masked occupants were both men and women, all talking and crowding together. There wasn’t much out of the ordinary here that she could see, however. It was true that everyone seemed to be standing a bit closer than was absolutely proper, but space constraints dictated they had little choice in the matter.
Realizing that Maisey was outstripping her, and afraid she would lose the woman in the crowd, Maggie forced her way through the throng a bit faster, apologizing for her rudeness as she attempted to catch up. She did so just as Maisey started up a set of stairs to a second level, and caught at her arm anxiously. “Where are we going?”
“Upstairs is where all the action is,” the girl paused to whisper, then continued on apparently confident Maggie would follow. Which she did, looking back over her shoulder as they went. From above, it was clear that everything wasn’t as ordinary as she had first thought. While the majority of people were standing talking in the center of the room, there appeared to be a great deal of inappropriate touching going on. Scanning the edges of the crowd, Maggie discerned the true nature of this gathering. There were couples crammed into all manner of corners and recesses, indulging in the most improper behavior. She’d heard of members of the ton sneaking away into the gardens—shocking as that was!—but copulating against the wall was not acceptable at any of the balls she had ever attended.
“Come on!” Maisey called.
Realizing that she had stopped to gape down at the crowd below the stairs, Maggie turned to see her young guide moving off down the hall. Starting after her, Maggie did her best to ignore the lascivious couples lining the corridor, and hoped fervently that this article was worth this. She felt sullied just being in this place. Briefly she considered fleeing, but then she thought of the fire and the expenses incurred daily to repair her home, and she stiffened her spine. An hour—no, half an hour—and she would surely have the information she needed and be out of here. She assured herself of that with more hope than certainty and moved determinedly forward.
She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when a scream from behind a door she was passing brought her to an abrupt halt. It had been a cry of agony, and Maggie felt chills run down her back. Was someone being murdered behind this wooden portal?
“Come on!” Maisey was suddenly at her side, taking her arm and dragging her forward again.
“But it sounded like someone was—”
“Games,” the prostitute said in a hiss; then she showed Maggie the back of her head as she dragged her forward. For a moment Maggie felt trepidation race through her. Then, recalling some of the tales the prostitutes at Madame Dubarry’s had told her, she forced herself to relax. She had seen for herself the games that Pastor Frances had enjoyed. They were just games, she assured herself silently. Then she frowned. If all this was just some sort of sex club . . . But Maisey had said “dastardly things” happened here.
Confused and unhappy, Maggie sped up until she drew abreast of her short guide. “You said ‘dastardly things’ happened here. What—”
“You’ll see soon enough,” the other woman assured her, pausing near the door at the end of the hall and producing a key. After turning it in the lock, she pocketed the item and went through the now open door leaving Maggie to follow. After a quick glance down the hall, Maggie did so. Inside, her gaze moved over the room’s odd trappings as Maisey lit a single candle by the bedside, then carried it to the window to stare at the street below.
“What—?”
“Shh,” Maisey hissed, then hesitated before setting the candle on the window ledge and walking to the door. “There is a peep hole in that painting on the wall. Through it, you can see the room next door. I’ll return shortly.”
“But . . .” Maggie started anxiously toward the prostitute, breaking into a run when the girl stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed. She heard the lock click as she reached it, and she cursed. Maisey certainly liked to lock her in uncomfortable places, she thought with disgust. She twisted the doorknob futilely.
Giving the door an angry kick, she turned and surveyed the chamber. The bed was the only ordinary item in the room. An oddly angled bench with chains on it and an oddly shaped chair with wrist locks made her wonder just what went on here. Her second thought, as she peered at chains dangling from the ceiling and affixed to the walls, and a selection of whips and various other unpleasant-looking items along one wall, was that she probably didn’t want to know.
Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she glanced at the painting Maisey said had a peep hole and moved for a better view. It didn’t take long for her to realize that the eyes in the rather naughty portrait were hollowed out. Unfortunately, they were a good foot above her head. Moving to the chair with the wrist locks, she dragged it over to position it beneath the painting, then climbed onto it and peered through the eyeholes. A room similarly outfitted to the one she was in was all there was to see. It was empty.
Sighing, she stepped back down off the chair and glanced around, then paced the room, examining each various item therein. When she reached the door, she tried the doorknob again, but it was still locked. On impulse, she knelt and pressed her eye to the keyhole. Despite the fact that the room she was in was at the end of a hall and presented a clear view of its length, there wasn’t much to see. The corridor was still crowded with couples indulging in libertine behavior she had barely touched on in those frantic moments in the Ramsey library. She supposed this was quite an education—and more like what she’d expected in Maisey’s closet—but not one she really wanted. Maggie was about to straighten from the keyhole when a figure mounting the last few stairs at the end of the passage caught her attention. Surprised, she stared at the man as he moved up the hallway.
He wasn’t wearing a mask.
That was what had originally caught her attention, but as he drew closer and his face came into better focus, her eyes froze on the scar. Sucking in her breath on an alarmed gasp and shoving instinctively back from the door, she tumbled from her knees onto her behind. She stared at the keyhole briefly, as if it were a snake, then just as quickly returned to her kneeling position. Much to her horror, she saw as she again peeked outside that the man was moving straight up the hallway. It seemed she hadn’t given him the slip with her
disguise after all. He must have followed her, had probably just been waiting for her to be alone! Dammit! Where was Maisey?
Realizing that the girl wouldn’t return in time, and probably wouldn’t be much help against the brute in any case, Maggie cursed and leaped to her feet. She searched frantically around the room for a weapon.
Her gaze flew over whips and chains in agitation; she somehow didn’t see herself wielding any of them with much success. Still she grabbed the nearest one, then took an empty candleholder in her other hand for good measure. Turning grimly to face the door, she readied herself for battle. Her intrepid stance lasted until she heard the key in the lock; then Maggie’s courage failed her and she scrambled in a panicked shuffle to the wall behind the door. Perhaps she might take him by surprise and bash him over the head as he entered.
The door opened, and Maggie reacted out of hysteria more than anything else. She leaped from her hiding place with a shriek, which made the intruder turn with a start. She brought the candleholder down on the side of his head with all her terrified strength. Much to her amazement, the man gaped at her, then went down like a felled tree.
Maggie stared uncomprehendingly at his unconscious form for a moment, hardly believing it had been so easy, then regained her scattered wits enough to drop her makeshift weapons and scramble over the man’s legs and out the door. She was running at full-tilt, paying no attention to the startled reactions of the people in the hallway in her haste to flee the scene, so that when she suddenly found someone in her path, she smashed blindly into his bulk. With a moan of despair at the delay, she scrabbled to break free of the hands that rose automatically to restrain her.
“Maggie?”
Some of her hysteria slipping away, Maggie focused on the face of the man gawking down at her. Lord Ramsey’s wonderfully familiar features took shape.
“James,” she said with relief.
His expression immediately turned from shock to anger. Maggie bit her lip, then glanced back the way she had come.
“That man . . .” was as far as she got before she found herself being jerked along the hall by her arm. James was obviously furious, she realized, and peered over her shoulder toward the room where she’d left her attacker. He was beginning to stir. She considered telling James about the man, then decided against it. Scarface was a very strong man—bigger than Lord Ramsey—and she didn’t want to see James hurt. Perhaps it was best all around if they simply left well enough alone and got out of there.
She made no protest as James jogged her down the stairs and dragged her through the crowded room to the exit. He had hauled her out of the house and crammed her into his carriage before she recalled that her borrowed cloak was still inside.
Chapter Fifteen
“I . . .” Maggie began in an effort to explain herself as soon as the carriage door shut, enclosing them in darkness and privacy, but James raised a hand to silence her.
“Not one word. Not one,” he said in a furious hiss. “Or I might very well take you over my knee and . . .” His threat ended on a hiss of air.
Maggie stared, fascinated, at the tic of his eye for a moment, then, deciding she might do better to follow his advice, she turned her head to stare out the window. Neither of them said a word the entire ride back to Lady Barlow’s. Maggie watched blindly out the window, her body stiff as she did her best to ignore the glare boring into her across the dark space between herself and Lord Ramsey.
When the carriage came to a halt, Maggie focused her eyes to see that they had arrived. She had hardly deduced their location when James thrust the door open, snatched her hand in his, and bounded out of the coach, hauling her after him. She was barely able to keep her feet as he dragged her to the door, his boots clacking angrily with each step. It was perhaps telling how angry he was that he did not knock or wait for anyone to open the front door of his aunt’s town house, but thrust it aside as he had his carriage door. He pulled her inside.
Meeks rushed up as they entered, his eyes widening at the sight of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but James held up his hand as he had done with Maggie and merely sailed into the library with her.
The door slammed behind them as he tugged her across the room toward the fire. Then he paused and glanced around. Maggie wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she’d had just about enough of being lugged around like a horse by its reins. She pulled her hand free, the suddenness of the action probably the only reason she succeeded. James turned on her at once, and Maggie opened her mouth to go on the offensive, but she never managed a word. It seemed James had reached the end of his tether. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he pulled her abruptly against his chest. The action startled Maggie into closing her mouth, which was a darn good thing, since his lips then slammed onto hers with all the finesse of a charging bull. Had her mouth been open, she might have done him injury.
As it was, she winced as the inside of her lips were ground against her teeth in a brutal kiss. Then she began to struggle instinctively against his punishing grasp. James shifted his hold, wrapping one arm around her back, his other hand clasping her head and holding her in place as the kiss changed, becoming less harsh yet more demanding.
Maggie continued to struggle for a moment, then stopped, a gasp of shock escaping her as the arm around her waist shifted. One of James’s hands slapped her bottom lightly through the pants she wore, then gently squeezed even as he urged her against him.
James took immediate advantage of her reaction. His tongue slipped inside her open mouth, but while she wasn’t fighting him any longer, she didn’t respond at once to his kiss. He pulled away and glared at her.
Maggie stared back, knowing that her confusion and a vague sense of hurt at his treatment were evident on her face. It took a moment before he seemed to see past his anger and notice; then he sighed and leaned his forehead against hers, still holding her tightly.
“I have never been so worried or frightened in my life as I was when I realized you were running about on your own. After those accidents, the fire . . . I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”
His voice was low and husky. Maggie’s eyes widened, her hands relaxing against his chest. The basis of this anger was fear. This was all because he feared losing her! And he had every right to that fear, she realized, recalling the man she’d left unconscious in that awful place. Her heart softening, Maggie slid her arms around James’s waist, holding him.
“But you didn’t. I am here. I am fine,” she whispered.
His eyes opening, James pulled away enough that he could look at her again. Seeing her understanding expression, he managed a crooked smile. “I never want to feel like that again. Please don’t go out again on your own like that. I will help you if you need to investigate a story. I—”
“Shhh.” Maggie pressed a finger gently to his lips. “I promise never again to investigate a story without at least telling you. It was very foolish of me to go to meet Maisey alone. I should have known better after all that’s happened, but I thought that I would be fine if I went in disguise. I was wrong,” she added quickly when he would have interrupted. “I see that. And I am sorry I worried you. It will not happen again.”
He remained speechless for a moment, staring into her face; then she felt the hand on her derriere move curiously against her bottom. A small smile crossed his lips. “You look rather delectable in men’s clothing.”
Maggie felt a blush rise from her chest to cover her throat and face, but she remained still in his arms, unresisting when he used the hand on her bottom to urge her lower body tighter against his. She could feel him growing hard against her. His gaze sought hers, and she met it unflinchingly; then his eyes dropped to her lips. She held her breath, letting it out on a disappointed sigh as his gaze traveled up over her face to her hair.
Smiling more devilishly, he reached behind her head and pulled her ponytail out of the back of her shirt, then removed the bit of ribbon she had used to tie it. The pale strands fell free, tumbling around
her face and over her shoulders. Maggie remained still as he brushed his fingers through the tousled mane, smoothing it; then he caught her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips.
The kiss started out gentle, James’s lips soothing any hurt he might have caused with his earlier brutality, but it did not stay gentle for long. The moment Maggie opened her lips beneath his, kissing him back with innocent fervor, something seemed to ignite within them both. The embrace became consuming, his hands sliding away from her cheeks and beginning to explore her body, moving over the men’s clothes she wore with curiosity and determination. One moment they were traveling over her breasts, through the shirt and binding that covered them; then his hands had slid back to her bottom, squeezing and lifting her against him so that his swollen arousal rubbed between her thighs.
Gasping, Maggie threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself tighter against him—eagerly, as he was pressing into her. He groaned into her mouth, then began to back her up until she felt the hard edge of Lady Barlow’s desk pressing into her behind. Lifting her, gripping her buttocks, he sat her on the desk, then urged her legs apart so that he could step between them. He was still kissing her, his lips and tongue doing things that left her quivering and moaning into his mouth even as she kissed him in return. His hands were busy between them, working at her clothing.
She felt the cravat fall loose, then slide across the back of her neck as he drew it off her, but she hardly paid any attention, easing back slightly at his insistence, uncaring of the inappropriate nature of what he was doing as his hands moved over the front of her clothing. She hardly noticed when he pushed her waistcoat off her shoulders, or when her vest followed—except for a touch of impatience as her arms were briefly forced away from him. All she felt as the cloth slid off her to drop to the floor was relief that she could hold him again. She raised her hands at once to slide her fingers through his silky hair, thrusting her tongue out experimentally to tangle with his.
