by Lauren Smith
The woman wore a deep-red dress and had the most beautiful blonde hair he’d ever seen, caught in a loose Grecian style with ribbons threaded through it. Her creamy skin had been marred where it looked as though she’d been struck, and she had the purest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
Despite the red dress and the torchlit tunnels of this hellish hole, she looked like an angel. A terrified one. She struggled, but the gag in her mouth muffled her cries. Rage burst inside Charles, and he faced his opponent. His body spiked with a renewed vigor for the fight. He wouldn’t have wagered to win a willing woman, but to rescue an unwilling one? Absolutely.
“There are plenty of ladies on the streets. You had to go and take one that was not for sale?”
The brute nodded. “Much better to hear ’em scream. I like it when they fight.”
“Well, that does it,” Charles declared in a disgusted tone. “I was going to let you have it easy since I was bored, but now you’ve gone and upset me.”
The man leered. “The fancy gent thinks he can take me, eh?” The crowd around them roared with excitement, but Charles paid little attention. He instead focused on the man in front of him, the way he moved, the slightly uneven gait that forced him to favor his left leg, possibly an old injury. His breathing indicated he hadn’t fully rested from his last fight. These were useful things to know.
Charles let go of every thought outside of the ring and gave himself over to the moment. The brute raised his hands and without warning lunged for Charles, swinging a meaty fist. He wanted to end this quickly rather than study his opponent. Foolish.
Charles danced back, letting the blow pass. His opponent stumbled forward, and Charles gave his arse a hearty kick as the man stumbled right by him. The men in the crowd cheered for Charles, and this only enraged the brute, as it was intended to.
They danced, a mongoose and a king cobra, rounding each other counterclockwise, Charles carefully avoiding each blow, forcing the man to favor his injured leg, letting the man tire himself out as he stumbled again and again.
“Too much…of a bleeding coward…to hit me,” the man panted, wiping sweat from his eyes.
When the man came at him this time, Charles swung. Hard. His fist struck the man in the jaw, and he went down like a stone, landing in a heap in the wood ring. He didn’t move except for the faint rise and fall of his back as he breathed.
Didn’t even need a second blow, did I?
The crowds around the ring roared, and Charles waved them off as he climbed down the platform to free the woman. She was breathing hard, eyes wide. As he got closer, he noticed that there was something about her, like a half-remembered dream. He shot glares at the men still holding her, and their hands fell away. He expected the woman to melt into him and cover him with grateful kisses.
That didn’t happen. Instead, she struck out, kneeing one man in the groin before she punched the second in the throat.
This angel could fight—an archangel without the flaming sword. He was about ready to applaud her efforts, but then she whirled on him next. He barely caught her fist before it landed, and he tugged her against him, using his body to still hers.
“Easy, love, I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone here hurt you.” He gazed down into her eyes, feeling strange, like those twin pools were drawing him in. “I…” He cleared his throat and she looked away, breaking the powerful spell.
“I’m going to release you now. Please believe me, I mean you no harm.” He let go of her, and she withdrew from him. But she didn’t go far because of the lingering group of men around the boxing ring.
“I need to leave.” Her tone was breathy, reminding him of how girls often spoke during their first season in the ton, trying too hard to sound like they belonged. She tried to flee, but Charles caught one of her hands.
“Not that way. Please, allow me to play the gentleman and escort you safely from this place.”
The woman looked away but reluctantly nodded, allowing him to lead her back the way he’d come. He curled his fingers around her slender hand and marveled at how wonderful it felt. No doubt this was all simply due to the exhilaration of having rescued someone, but he still intended to enjoy it.
He saw the boy he’d left his belongings with and waved him over, handing over the promised tuppence. He noticed the woman smile at the lad as he scampered off. Did his angel have a soft spot for children? He was much the same. The boys in the tunnels faced a hard and dangerous life. Every bit of coin mattered.
“You know the way out, sir?” she asked as they passed through the crowds, who were already waiting for the next match.
“I do.” They walked in silence through the now empty system of tunnels, but he kept alert in case the brute had friends who did not believe in the spirit of fair play. It was not easy, however, given how distracting it was to simply hold this woman’s hand.
Finally, they reached the steep incline that would return them to the surface, and a chill wind from the outside teased his nose. The gatekeeper was still at his post by the door to Lewis Street. He opened it without a word and allowed them to pass.
Charles blinked as they stepped out from under the eaves. Rain was misting down now, soft and icy. His angel had no cloak and wouldn’t get far in this weather without catching a chill.
“I’ll call a hackney to take you to wherever you wish,” he said as he offered her his coat. She waved it away, and in doing so deftly freed her hand from his. The loss of contact filled him with a strange desperation. He didn’t want her to leave, he wanted… What did he want? He wanted her, wanted to take her home, to warm her by a fire, to explore the mysteries gleaming in her eyes.
“Thank you for the rescue, but I really must go.” She wiped a hand over her eyes, dashing the rain from her dark gold lashes, and hurried away.
“Wait!” He ran after her into the street. “You must at least tell me your name.” He flashed her his most devastating smile, the one known to send flutters through any feminine heart within a hundred feet of him.
The melancholy expression she returned was like a punch to his gut. She seemed unaffected by him, or worse, unimpressed. She had just escaped a terrifying fate, he supposed, but still, it was not the reaction he’d expected.
She paused, the rain darkening her red gown into a deep berry color that clung to her skin. “My name…”
“My reward for your rescue,” Charles said, redoubling his efforts. “Though I could argue that was reward enough in itself.”
He swallowed down the shame that was growing inside him. After what she had been through, she needed a white knight on a charger to protect her, not a damned rogue. Yet he could not stop himself. She had bewitched him.
At last she broke the silence. “Lily.”
“Lily,” he echoed. The name was soft, delicate, and feminine, much like the way she spoke. “May I come to call on you? When…when you are suitably recovered from your adventure, of course.” The idea of letting this mysterious woman go didn’t feel right. He feared that if he let her go it would be the biggest mistake of his life.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, my lord.”
“How did you know I’m a lord?”
She smiled again. “Your opponent was right. You are too fancy of a gent.” She let her words reflect the brute’s accent, and it made Charles laugh.
“I suppose I am.” He glanced down at the silver and gold embroidered waistcoat. “But I’d like very much to be your fancy gent.”
Her smile, so oddly bittersweet, tore at his heart. For a moment he thought she would run away into the night, but instead she caught him by the shoulders and kissed him.
He was startled, just for a second, before he gripped her by the waist and took control. It was a moment of fire and light, like a jolt to his system. He was a master of seduction, had built his life upon creating perfect kisses, and yet at this moment he felt like a boy fumbling with his first maiden. It wasn’t possible, yet here he was.
After a
long moment their mouths broke apart, the rain still coming down in a light mist as she shivered against him. He rested his forehead against hers, their ragged breath matching in perfect rhythm. Every sense came alight as he struggled to burn this memory into his mind. Her body pressed to his, the blue of her eyes like sapphires, the velvet of her lips, and the rasp of her breath.
“There is your reward,” she said.
“Please, let me escort you home,” he begged. Charles feared that she would vanish if he let her go, that he had somehow lost his fight and this entire moment was but a dream as he lay knocked out on the floor. A woman like this could not be real.
She pushed away, glancing at something behind him, startled with fear. Charles turned to face the dark mews behind them, fists raised, ready to take on whatever might be coming after them from the Lewis Street tunnels.
But nothing was there, only darkness and rain.
He turned back and found the mews was empty. Lily was gone.
He glanced up at the skies, letting the icy rain coat his face. Perhaps it really had been a dream. How could a moment like that have been real? To find the perfect woman only to lose her the very same night.
2
Lily hurried up the steps to her small room. The drunken revelry of the gambling hell one floor below was now a distant roar. She slid her key into the lock, blinking rain out of her eyes as she continued to shiver. Her gown was soaked clear through and possibly ruined.
This tiny room was her only true place of refuge, with its small wooden bed frame tucked away in one corner and a dusty brick fireplace in the opposite. It would be damp tonight, and she’d have to use all of her blankets to warm up after she removed her gown.
Tonight had not gone as planned. So much had gone wrong, and she didn’t want to think about it. She trudged over to the fireplace and retrieved the flint and kindling from a tin box on the dresser. Once a healthy flame was burning, she added a few logs until a steady blaze warmed the room. She rubbed her arms, desperate for warmth. Those brutes in the tunnel had ripped her cloak from her when they had grabbed her from Vauxhall Gardens.
Of course, that had been expected. Everything had been arranged so that she would be taken into the Lewis Street tunnels, where the head of a local gang of smugglers was known to favor willing victims inside the ring and unwilling victims in bed—not that she would have allowed anything to go that far. She could handle herself well enough. Once she had what she wanted, escape would be easy. Everything had been going according to plan…
And then he came along and ruined everything. How was she ever going to explain this?
“I trust you had a productive evening?” a cold voice asked from the shadows behind her.
Lily grabbed the poker and spun to face the man who had spoken. She had been sure the room was empty when she arrived. When she realized who it was, she relaxed. But only a little. Her master, Sir Hugo Waverly, was a coldhearted bastard and did not tolerate failure.
She raised her chin and answered nonchalantly. “No more than was expected.”
The last thing she wanted was for this man to see her afraid. Fear was a weakness, and he killed those who were foolish enough to show any.
Hugo chuckled. “And the mission? Was it a success?”
Lily frowned. “I learned a little from the ones who abducted me. They didn’t seem to care what they said once we were in the tunnels. However, their leader lost the wager, and I wasn’t about to leave with the victor.”
“No, of course not. Well, even the best plans are subject to the whims of chance, I suppose.”
That was unusually understanding of him. “Why are you here?” Lily sounded bold, unafraid, but everything about this man filled her with deep fear. He’d caused her so much pain over the last few years, playing the puppet master, jerking her marionette strings at his whim. He’d taught her how to fight, how to deceive, how to survive, and she’d become stronger for it, but it didn’t erase the truth that he was in control of her life.
“You failed to send me your weekly report on Lonsdale’s movements.”
Lily flinched. Her primary duty was to watch the Earl of Lonsdale and report his movements back to her master. She’d always been prompt, never showing any hint of distaste at the work.
But over time something had shifted. She had glimpsed the real earl, Charles, the rogue with a heart of gold, the man who would jump into a fray to aid his companions, no matter the cost. That man had caused her to rethink her duty, yet she pressed on, because she had no alternative.
“I would have sent it on time if you hadn’t summoned me for tonight’s task.”
“That sounds like an excuse,” he countered, but seemed to let the matter drop. It burned at her how she was always at his beck and call—or, as he put it, “at the service of the nation.” She could also tell when he knew there was more to be said than she was telling him. The silence gnawed at her, drawing out the truth.
“There was a complication,” she said at last.
“Oh?” He didn’t sound surprised, more like he already knew everything and was waiting for her to confirm it.
“Lonsdale was there tonight.”
Her master growled and her body tensed, ready to brace herself for any blow he might deal. “What does he know?”
“Nothing. I believe it was an unfortunate coincidence.” She kept her voice calm, even though she was stiff with fear. “We know he enjoys pugilism, including the unregulated matches. Lonsdale rescued me from those men in the boxing tunnels.”
“Rescued?” he snorted.
“From his perspective. I eluded him once he escorted me out of the tunnels. But…I told him my name.” She saw his eyes flare and quickly added, “Only my given name.”
“That was foolish. I thought you were more careful than that. Still…” Her master stroked his chin, a gleam in his dark eyes. The last time she’d seen that look, she’d learned of his plans to have Audrey Sheridan, a young lady Charles was friends with, murdered in France. That plan hadn’t played out as he’d intended, and Audrey had escaped with her life, but it didn’t stop Lily from worrying now.
“Would you say he found you…enticing?”
Lily remained still. If she showed any emotion, he would only use it against her.
“He likes women, as you well know,” Lily said coolly.
He scowled and grabbed her roughly by the arm, shoving her up against the wall. She bit back a cry of pain as her back collided with the wooden slats. For a moment she was younger, more naïve, her body pressed facedown on a bed, her throat raw from screams and tears soaking the bedclothes.
Would she ever be free of this man?
His face pressed up against hers, and she felt her heart pound in her chest. “Do not think yourself clever. I taught you all that you know.” He stepped back, releasing her so that she dropped to her knees.
“He hungers for you, like any man would.” She nearly curled into herself, trying to make herself less visible to the predator he was. But that Lily had died years before; the one who remained had learned the value of strength.
“I think we will use that to our advantage,” he began.
“No. I have done your bidding on every matter. I will not—”
Smack!
Her master struck her hard across the face. “I have given you more than most women in your position could ever hope for, and you will continue to do my bidding until I have no further use for you. Do you understand?”
Lily raised a trembling hand to her lips where she tasted blood. He paced the room a moment before settling back on his heels, his powerful frame a menacing presence in the tiny bedchamber.
He suddenly let out a mirthless laugh, hit by some dark inspiration. “Yes, of course. You will be my young innocent cousin from the country. Melanie is in Cornwall for Christmas, and she won’t see you.”
Lily nodded numbly. “What would you have me do?” she asked, surrendering to the inevitable. Whenever Hugo wanted something or someone,
he got it. Resistance would be futile. Had this been any other man, she would’ve struck back, but not with him. He held a bond over her that could not be broken.
“Lord Merton is throwing a ball in a week’s time. Since he’s acquainted with Lonsdale and his ilk, I expect they will be invited. That may work to our favor.” He retrieved his cane from against the wall and tapped it against the floorboards, a habit she recognized whenever he was plotting. Each thud of the metal tip vibrated within her like nails being pounded into a coffin.
“I will let it be known that my cousin is in town and she and I will be in attendance. Once there”—he pinned her with a look—“he will realize you’re the Lily he rescued. Knowing your relation to me, he may seek to gain information about me through you. I suppose I could provide you with something useful to dangle as bait. Then, once he’s completely infatuated with you, we strike.” These last words were uttered with such delight that she nearly tossed her accounts. He was inhuman at times, the way he viewed everyone as chess pieces in his own twisted game.
He stroked his chin as his focus turned back to her. “We’ll have to pretty you up, of course. New gowns, jewelry, and the like. Perhaps a reminder on the ways of seduction. I suspect you are out of practice.”
Lily shivered, unable to control her fear. If her master thought he would be the one to teach her seduction, he was wrong. She would never let him touch her like that again. Spying for him was one thing, but he would never take anything else from her again.
“You forget. I know Lonsdale better than he knows himself.” Just as she’d known that kissing him tonight would distract him, muddle his thoughts and give her a chance to flee.
But it had also been an intense, wonderful kiss. A dream she hadn’t wanted to wake from. “I know his likes and his desires. There is nothing you or anyone else can teach me that I don’t already know.”
Something about her tone must have had an effect. He seemed flustered somehow, muttering as he faced the door. “I’ve been here too long. I should go.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. But before she could relax, her master whipped back around.
