The Artist and the Rake: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Four

by Hutton, Callie

  “No. You won’t.”

  She clenched her jaw. “Yes. I will.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” He waved his hand.

  Lizbeth raised her stubborn chin. “They are my belongings and I will go with you. As I said before, I will not sit still like a good little girl while everyone else ‘solves’ my problem. I will go with you and that is the end of it.”

  He was beginning to learn more about Lizbeth every day. She was loyal, courageous…and stubborn.

  “Also, aside from the paintings, which would be obvious, you don’t know what my belongings look like. You might take some other woman’s personal female things.”

  Lord Berkshire walked up to them. “I have no idea why you are discussing women’s personal female things, but I understand the orchestra is going to start and I’d rather see the two of you dancing than arguing.”

  “Ah, not arguing, Berkshire, but debating,” Marcus said with a nod. Lizbeth grinned and they all laughed.

  “Now I must find my wife. She is much too bulky to dance, but if I don’t keep my eye on her she will be overtaxing herself.” He gave them a slight salute and left.

  True to his words, the orchestra started up and a waltz began. Marcus bowed in Lizbeth’s direction. “Our dance, I believe?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I will go with you to the boarding house?”

  “Ah. Does whether you dance with me or not depend on my answer?”

  “Hmm. You might say that.”

  He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to hold Lizbeth in his arms. She fit him perfectly, and in all fairness, it would be best if she went with him. She knew what her possessions looked like and knew the house. As much as he hated putting her in danger, he relented, knowing this was her fight. “Very well. You may go with me.”

  Her brilliant smile almost brought him to his knees. “Then yes, Mr. Mallory, I believe this is our dance.” She held out her hand as if she were a queen offering her subject her hand to kiss.

  Marcus couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, and taking her hand, led her to the dance area. He swung her into his arms, the sweet scent of roses and lemon drifting from her.

  “Be ready tomorrow night. We’ll meet in the drawing room just before midnight. Wear something dark.” He shifted her into a turn to avoid another couple.

  “I will be ready.” She smiled sweetly and he grinned back.

  10

  “What is that you are wearing? And where in heaven’s name did you get it?” Marcus’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Lizbeth as she came down the stairs, ready for their trek to the boarding house. Her delectable legs were outlined in snug-fitting men’s trousers.

  She lifted her chin. “I see nothing wrong with what I’m wearing, and I borrowed the trousers from the gardener’s son.”

  “You can see all your…your legs.”

  “Oh, how terrible!” She actually laughed. “I can move much better in trousers and if we need to run, I don’t want to end up in a heap on the ground entangled in my skirts.”

  Truth be known, he had hoped she would not have dressed in such a practical manner so he could convince her to stay in the carriage while he searched the storage room at the boarding house. No such luck there. It seemed Lizbeth was always one step ahead of him.

  He scowled at her and took her arm to escort her from the house to the hackney he’d hired for the night. In the event they were discovered and had to make a quick exit, he didn’t want the Berkshire carriage, with the crest emblazoned on the door, involved in their venture. Using a hired carriage had been a much safer idea.

  He was almost forced to close his eyes as she entered the carriage before him, her lovely little bottom outlined in the trousers and right in his face. He broke into a sweat and hurried to sit across from her before his reaction became visible.

  It must be that it had been far too long since he’d enjoyed the comfort of a woman’s body. He’d never had a problem before controlling his body’s reaction to an attractive woman. However, for some reason since he’d fist laid eyes on Lizbeth Davenport, he’d been thinking of her, wanting her, and at the same time, chastising himself.

  The poor girl had gone through something terrible for an innocent young lady and here he was thinking of ways he could pleasure her—and himself—instead of focusing on finding who was responsible and seeing that justice was done.

  How he would deal with these feelings after this had all been put to rest remained a mystery. Were Lizbeth just any other unmarried woman, he would pursue her and see where the courtship led. Although she’d been slowly allowing some touching on her hand, back and cheek, that was a far cry from intimacy.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, he looked out the window as they came to a rolling stop in a well-kept neighborhood of what appeared to be mostly boarding houses. They’d chosen their night well since all was dark as there was no moon and the typical English fog shrouded them.

  He’d learned from those he’d hired to watch the house that the doorman retired once the front door was locked for the night. If a resident was not inside by eleven-thirty, she was not allowed in until morning, Lizbeth had told him. One would think Mrs. O’Leary’s Boarding House was one of the most respectable boarding houses for women in all of Bath. Appearances were deceptive.

  They stepped out of the hackney and Marcus gave instructions to the driver to wait for them on the next street. They did not want to attract any notice, just get in and out of the house as quickly as possible.

  Without speaking they walked together in silence to the back of the older white clapboard house.

  He’d handed a small lantern to Lizbeth to carry. Marcus patted his pockets where he held a lock-picking kit, two candles, matches, and a pistol. He hoped they would not encounter any trouble, but he preferred to be prepared.

  They had discussed their manner of entry and ruled out breaking a window. Instead, Marcus had bought the lock-picking tools. He’d gotten instructions from the man who sold him the set. It was noteworthy that the seller never questioned why Marcus wanted to pick locks.

  Marcus handed Lizbeth matches. “This will give me a little bit of light without attracting neighbors,” he murmured.

  Lizbeth struck a match and held it next to the lock as Marcus squatted and inserted the implement into the opening. The lock provided scant security for the house. He, a novice, had it opened in only a few seconds.

  “Let me lead the way,” Lizbeth whispered as she blew out the match.

  “Just a minute.” Marcus opened the door and looked in to make sure no one was waiting for them. Then he waved her in front of him and she made her way up the back stairs. He thanked his lucky stars that it was so dark he couldn’t see very much of her figure in front of him. Of course, just the memory of what he’d seen entering the carriage was enough to awaken his body.

  They both paused and held their breath when Lizbeth stepped on one of the stairs and it made a loud squeaking noise. She reached back and grabbed Marcus’s hand. He gave it a slight squeeze.

  After a minute of straining their ears to listen for the sound of shouting and thumping down the stairs, they continued. Once they reached the third floor, where Lizbeth said the storage room was located, they both stopped to catch their breath. Lizbeth waved him on, and they proceeded to the end of the corridor.

  She pointed to the last door on the right side. She tried the doorknob, but it didn’t turn. Once again Marcus got his tools out and squatted in front of the lock. He questioned why a storage room would be locked but received his answer once the door opened.

  He let out a low whistle as they observed shadows of shelves full of objects barely outlined in the dimness, no doubt belonging to the women who had ‘disappeared’ from the boarding house over the years. As they grew closer to the shelves Marcus lit one of the candles so they could make out various items of clothing, shoes, jewelry, mirrors, hairbrushes, and all sorts of pictures and personal items, like a well-stocked shop. Some in contain
ers or boxes, some just sitting on the bare wood.

  Marcus moved to the only window in the room and looked out. He could see nothing with the thick fog, so he was fairly certain no one would see them. “We can light the lantern and leave it on the floor. You should take the other candle now and do a complete search.”

  Lizbeth stood in the center of the room and turned in a complete circle, shaking her head. “Do you realize how many women must have resided in that room? How many were also kidnapped and sent to brothels? This must have been going on for years.”

  Marcus walked up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Too many, sweeting. Hell, even one is too many.”

  Lizbeth turned to him and took his hands. “Thank you for rescuing me. I’m not sure if I ever thanked you properly.”

  “There is no need. I was happy to see you away from that horrible place.” He rested his palm on her cheek and removed it when she flinched. “Try to put all this behind you. It will be hard, but I believe a woman as strong as you are can do that.”

  He dropped his hand and looked around the room. “But now we must do a search for your belongings.”

  Lizbeth struck another match and lit the second candle and the lantern. “You won’t recognize my belongings, so I will search for those. You can look—probably stacked against the walls I would imagine—for my paintings. I doubt there were many tenants who were also artists. To think she used to praise my paintings and encourage me to paint in between helping her. She was so fake.” Lizbeth shook her head. “So very, very fake.”

  They separated and Lizbeth began combing through the containers and cardboard boxes holding so many other young women’s possessions. Her eyes teared when she picked up an old, battered doll, obviously a treasured toy one unfortunate woman had kept with her after childhood had ended. Her hand shook as she returned the doll to the box. So many lives ruined, so many young women’s dreams smashed.

  Mrs. O’Leary will pay.

  She grew angrier with each box she searched. How dare Mrs. O’Leary take in woman after woman and sell them off, all the time acting like a perfectly wonderful, caring woman. She vowed again that if anyone received retribution from her kidnapping, Lizbeth would make sure it was her.

  After about ten minutes, Marcus spoke softly from across the room. “Did you find any of your things yet?”

  “No.” She grunted as she pulled out a box. In the scant light from the candle she’d set on the floor, a few things looked familiar. “Oh, wait. I think this is mine.” She removed the box completely and set it on the floor.

  “If you’re sure it’s yours, don’t go through it now. We want to be here the shortest time possible.”

  Lizbeth moved a few items around. “Yes. It’s mine. I can’t tell if everything is here, but I’ll look later. Any luck with paintings?”

  “No.” He bent down and lifted his candle, searching the wall beneath the shelves. “But I still have the other wall to go through.”

  Lizbeth stood and brushed herself off. “I’ll start at this end and you can start from the other.”

  They both froze as footsteps sounded on the wooden floor coming from the other end of the corridor. Marcus snuffed out his candle and signaled her to do the same. He walked quietly to the lantern and blew out the flame.

  Lizbeth extinguished her candle and moved quietly to where Marcus stood. He took her hand and they both backed into a dark corner, partially hidden by one of the shelves. He pushed her behind him and pulled a pistol out of his pocket.

  Lizbeth was certain whoever was on the other side of the door could hear her heart pounding in her chest. The doorknob rattled and the door opened. “How many times do I have to tell that fool to lock this door,” Mrs. O’Leary mumbled.

  Lizbeth remembered from her time in the boarding house that Mrs. O’Leary had a problem with seeing distances. Since she and Marcus were both dressed in dark clothing and with the dimness of the night, they were virtually invisible to the woman. As long as they didn’t move, or she didn’t come into the room and step closer.

  Mrs. O’Leary shut the door, followed by the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. A click sounded as the lock turned. Lizbeth placed her hands on Marcus’s arms and rested her forehead on his back, giving her heart time to slow down. She looked around his body. She couldn’t see anything herself.

  “We know she’s awake and wandering the halls, so we need to finish up as quickly as possible while I think of a way to get us out of here unnoticed.”

  “She probably can’t sleep because of her conscience,” Lizbeth added. “I have my box, so all we need to do is look on that last wall for my paintings.” Lizbeth walked around Marcus as he put the weapon back into his jacket pocket.

  They worked in silence until they met in the center of the last wall.

  Lizbeth stood and placed her hands on her hips. “They’re not here,” she whispered. “I don’t understand. What did she do with them? I hope she didn’t destroy them.”

  Marcus shook his head “Not likely. But now we have to get out of here.” He walked to the window and looked out. “Too far to jump and I can’t even see the ground. We’ll have to take a chance that Mrs. O’Leary has returned to her bed and go out the way we came in.”

  “She locked the door, so you will have to use your newly acquired lock-picking skills to get us out.”

  Marcus nodded and squatted down, quickly unlocking the door. He hefted the box with her things in it on his shoulder. “Go ahead of me.”

  Lizbeth quietly opened the door and peeked out. No one was about that she could see. They moved quietly down the corridor to the door leading to the back staircase. Her heart sped up as they started down the stairs. She held her breath until they reached the outside door.

  Marcus pushed her behind him again and opened the door. He looked back and forth and stepped out. “Let’s go.”

  They made their way around the building to the front, then down the street to where the hired vehicle awaited them. Marcus opened the door, shoved the box in, and without waiting for her to climb up, grabbed her around the waist and tossed her in, following right behind her.

  The carriage took off before the door was closed and they both sat back and inhaled deeply. “I don’t think I would like to make a habit of breaking into houses.” Lizbeth smiled and pushed the hair back from her forehead with a shaky hand. Marcus returned her smile and said, “I agree.”

  Then he reached out and took her hand, pulling her across the way, depositing her alongside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Now about that kiss.” His lazy half smile did strange things to her insides.

  She hesitated, her insides roiling. She’d only been kissed once before and that was from a young man who cornered her behind a tree at the church social when she was a mere sixteen years. It had been fast, wet, and sloppy.

  Her experience at the brothel had not included kisses, but the rest of it had been dirty, smelly, and painful. But if she were to regain her life, and possibly one day feel strong enough to consider a husband and family, she would have to start somewhere. Marcus Mallory was a gentleman. He would never hurt her or force himself on her. She just knew that.

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and slowly nodded. Her heart pounded, but this time not so much from fear of being caught by Mrs. O’Leary in her storage room, but from curiosity. Would she hate having Marcus’s mouth on hers? Would a kiss remind her of the two worst nights of her life?

  She felt his movement as he closed the distance between them, the scent of his body soap reaching her nose before he cupped her cheeks in his large hands and lowered his head to cover her mouth with his.

  Her first reaction was to push him away, but she gave herself a few seconds and didn’t move, waiting for the panic to overcome her. It did not. His lips were warm and soft. She leaned in farther, closing the distance he’d left between their bodies That seemed to spur him on as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her softness flush against his
hardness.

  Visions of the horrid man in the brothel climbing over her flashed before her eyes. “No!” She shoved his chest and scurried to the other side of the carriage, her breaths coming in short spurts. “That’s enough. You’ve had your kiss.” She pushed the hair back from her forehead with a shaky hand.

  He studied her for a moment. “It is all right, Lizbeth. I will stay right here. I won’t force you.”

  She nodded and twisted her hands in her lap. “I know that.”

  She had to admit before that nasty picture flashed in her mind, she had felt safe in Marcus’s arms. He tasted like mint, and that combined with the familiar scent that was Marcus added to her sense of security.

  He stayed in his seat, but leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “I love kissing you, and one day when you’re ready I hope we can try again.”

  She drew back and shook her head. “Why? From what I’ve been told you can kiss, and do much more, with any woman you want.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Not any woman I want.” He waved at her. “You are one example, but I am attracted to you, and I care for you. I can’t help it, it’s just there. You are the only woman I want to kiss, and maybe one day when you are ready, make love to.”

  “No. I don’t think so.” She huddled in the corner, wrapping protective arms around herself. “I will never be ready for that.” Tears flooded her eyes and she swallowed a few times. “But I want to. I know that sounds contradictory, but I’ve always wanted love. A husband. A home. Children. But…”

  Not easily dissuaded, he smiled. “I am a patient man, Lizbeth. I’m not going anywhere. And as I said, when you’re ready.”

  She looked out the window at the darkness. Like the darkness that resided in her soul. Would she ever be ready? Was she to remain unmarried and unloved for the rest of her life? No loving husband, or snug little house like the one she was raised in? No children? The horrible people who had kidnapped her would then win. Would she allow that?

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked into his quiet and steady eyes. “Will you…help me?”