He was so different than anyone she had ever met. Sometimes he seemed more like the gypsies of her youth in their passions and intense, focused emotions. But whereas they were loud in their joys and sorrows, everything about Mr. Frazier seemed contained, quieted, and kept under the strictest control. She saw flashes of humor, such as when they restrained Alex. They had seemed so in accord then, though they’d only just met. Then last night, he had been moody and dark. One moment he was in pain, yearning for information about his own family, then the next moment he was angry, his hands clenched into fists, his mouth tight with fury.
Which brought her right back to this morning’s kiss. She had sensed no anger from him then, at least not toward herself. His touch had been sweetly passionate in the gentle exploration of his mouth on hers, and her response had verged on alarming. Her heart had started pounding in her chest, her belly had quivered, and a tide of hunger washed through her. Desire had burned through her, and yet he had pulled away. She didn’t know if the look he gave her was one of banked passion or if she were simply reading her own needs in him.
It was all so confusing and incredibly wonderful at the same time. And yet it was folly, sheer folly! How could she even think of a deeper connection with a man who had almost murdered her? God knew she never wanted to disturb his rest again!
But, of course, this was all ridiculous speculation. Normally, she would dismiss these thoughts entirely, but her mind kept wandering back to that kiss. Well, that and her horrible conversation with Uncle Frank. If she were to become a fallen woman, would it be better to be with the uncertain but decidedly intriguing Mr. Frazier? Or the known quantity of her uncle Frank?
Ugh! The very idea of Uncle Frank was repulsive, though she supposed starving on the street was repulsive as well. Thankfully, she did have other options. She could become a paid companion. She had even kept her eyes open for just such an opportunity. But everyone assumed she was Rose’s paid companion and so they believed her already employed.
She could become a governess. In fact, she might be very good at it. But she was holding on to hope of making a match this season. That would solve all her problems. If only there were a man interested in applying for the position, so to speak.
“The tarts not to your liking?” asked a warm male voice to her left.
“What?” She blinked and encountered the very calm and very brown countenance of Mr. Mitchell Wakely.
“You were pursing your lips, as if tasting something sour.”
“Oh. No. Sorry. I remembered the tarts from last month’s musicale, and so declined.”
“Ah,” he said with a warm smile. “Then you have a fortunate memory.”
“Or the tarts are simply very memorable,” she countered. “I doubt you will forget next month.”
He nodded. “Very true. So what, may I inquire, had you looking so sour?”
She tilted her head, unwilling to share those particular thoughts with anyone, and opted for flirting instead. “That’s very unkind of you, Mr. Wakely, to suggest I looked sour.”
“But I was merely referring to your expression. Right now, I would say you look quite delightful.”
“You are too kind.”
“I assure you, Miss Wilson, no one has ever accused me of that.”
She arched her brow. “On the contrary, I believe I have heard that often about you.”
“That I am kind? No, you have not. Bland, brown, annoyingly inquisitive, certainly. Dog terrier-like mind with the puzzles, perhaps, but not kind. Never, ever kind.”
She looked away because she had indeed heard every single one of those words when referred to him. His skin tended toward a dull tan, his hair and his eyes were brown, and his attire did nothing to change that impression. She did know that he enjoyed puzzles and that he was often seen with the political set. She also knew that he had modest income and was on the search for a wife. Which made him the perfect man with whom to chat right now.
“Well then, sir,” she said smartly. “Allow me to say it. You seem very kind to me.”
He touched his hand to his chest and gave her a slight bow. “I am touched. But you have not told me what soured your thoughts.”
“Nor am I like to, sir, until we are very much better acquainted.”
“A challenge!” he crowed, though not overly loud. Mr. Wakely was never overly loud. “Or perhaps, I should view it as more of a puzzle. Shall I try it?”
She leaned back slightly, not sure what to make of Mr. Wakely’s sudden attention. As much as she wanted to believe in his interest, experience had taught her to question such a thing.
She tapped her fan closed and regarded the gentleman somewhat coolly. “I do not know what you mean, sir.”
“And you do not like that. Not knowing, that is. And there you understand exactly my daily condition.”
She frowned, trying to follow his twisted words. “Very well, sir, you may try. And I promise that I shall tell you if you guess correctly.”
He grinned, and suddenly his rather dull face became much more interesting. “Well, as I saw you yawn a moment before, I shall guess that you are tired and wish to go home.”
“Too easy an answer, sir. And here I thought you were counted an excellent puzzler.”
He held up a finger. “Ah, but I have not actually made my guess yet. I am merely speaking my thoughts aloud.”
She made no response, choosing instead to arch a brow. She thought that was one of her best expressions as it smoothed out her skin’s tendency to darken under her eyes. And though she didn’t have any wrinkles yet, she was certainly not in her first flush of youth, so the look also brought attention to her eyes and not the less-than-perfect peach tone of her skin.
“I see you are not convinced, but like a terrier, I must keep on until I have found the truth. I believe that while Lady Rose spent her night resting in the blissful sleep of a beautiful miss, you were up dealing with the added work caused by two unexpected guests, one possibly mad.”
“Neither guest is mad, I assure you.”
“No, but they aren’t exactly well either. And even so, there is always linens to change, baths to arrange, and an extra couple mouths at the table. Perhaps with delicate stomachs.” He glanced to the side where Rose trilled a laugh that could be heard across the room. “Lady Rose is a delightful girl, but never say she assisted with any of that.”
“I would never say anything about it at all. Domestic matters are not for polite discussion.” Her response was more tart than she intended, but his reference to a bath had unsettled her nerves. And his guesses were indeed amazingly accurate.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Mr. Wakely returned, completely unaffected by her tone. “You are much too circumspect to say such a thing. I find I like that about you.”
Maddy didn’t know what to say. She found herself looking into his brown eyes and feeling the unaccountable need to cry. What was wrong with her? Three times now in the space of twenty-four hours, she had found unacceptable tears threatening. It was ridiculous! And yet, she could not deny that she found herself grateful—eternally grateful—that someone had noticed her character!
She swallowed and looked away. “Even if what you say is true, sir, why would that produce a sour expression?”
“Ah, but don’t you see? The hour is not late by Lady Rose’s standards, but you must be up again, early in the morning to do it all again.”
“Don’t be absurd. Our guests have removed themselves from our home. There is no additional work, no new people to entertain or feed.”
“And is that,” he said softly, “perhaps the reason for your sour expression? That these rather interesting men have left your abode?”
Her gaze jumped to his as surprise radiated through her body. He was completely wrong, of course. Her thoughts had been on the possibilities of her future, not on Mr. Frazier’s whereabouts. And yet, something in what he’d said echoed true. More true than anything she had been thinking on all day.
“You promised,” he said when she was silent. “You said you would tell me if I guessed true.”
“I did indeed,” she answered, her mind still whirling. “But I’m afraid I cannot gratify your curiosity. As I don’t precisely remember making a sour expression, I certainly cannot answer as to what I was thinking at the time.”
Disappointment skated across his features. “I cry foul, Miss Wilson. I had not thought you would stoop to lying.”
She shook her head, doing her best to be honest
and
circumspect. “Not a lie, Mr. Wakely. Sometimes a lady’s thoughts are so torturous that even we have no wish to revisit them.”
“Then your expression comes from something deeper than extra work and more profound than departed guests.”
She gave him a soft smile. It was the best she could manage at the time. “Only one guess allowed, Mr. Wakely. And now, I’m afraid Lady Rose and I must be going. The performers have finished and our hostess looks like she intends to press more tarts upon us all.”
He shot an alarmed look over to the dessert table. No one was there except for a rather bored footman, and so his gaze hopped immediately back to her. “Now that, Miss Wilson, was a definite lie.”
“Not so,” she said as she pushed to her feet. “Look behind you.” There, indeed, stood Mrs. Hughes with an extremely overladen tray of her chef’s terrible lemon tarts.
He turned around to look, and in that time, Maddy managed to shoot Rose a stern look. Fortunately her cousin also had little love for the lemon tarts, so she began her good-byes. By the time Mr. Wakely turned back, they were all caught up in the general leave-taking of fully half the party.
Minutes later, she and Rose were climbing into their carriage and heading home. And now Maddy had yet more things to speculate about: What exactly were Mr. Wakely’s intentions and how did she feel about them?
Fortunately, she had little opportunity to stew. Immediately upon returning home, Maddy pretended to yawn and seek her bed. Then she changed her clothes and donned a shapeless brown wrap that reminded her of a female version of Mr. Wakely’s attire.
That thought had her smiling even as she pocketed the last of the household coins. Moments later, she descended the servants staircase and crept through the kitchen and out of the house.
Chapter 7
Maddy descended from the hackney and wrinkled her nose. The neighborhood that hosted the Tavern Playhouse was not in a sweet-smelling area of London. Fish and stale drink were the primary scents this evening as the wind was blowing from the docks. But there was no help for it. She had a task to do.
She pursed her lips, walking slowly around the building as she planned her course of action. Fortunately, it was a warm evening for early spring. The windows were cracked to allow in the breeze. It also allowed her—and a few street boys—a view inside.
The main doorway led straight to the central tavern, where men gathered to drink and jeer at the production. The stage area was at the back of the room and she could hear a male singer, though what she saw were scantily clad women dancing.
Those girls would not be Lady Blackstone. That’s who she was looking for: the lady herself or someone who would get a message to her. Maddy continued wandering around the building, stepping gingerly past a gin whore and the refuse pile on which she slept.
Luck was with her tonight. A back door was open to let in the night air. A man sat there, his big face calm though he seemed to be scowling at someone inside. She stepped forward. She didn’t try to sneak past him. It simply wouldn’t be possible. So she stood waiting while he glared at some boys backstage. And then he turned to look at her with the same angry scowl on his face.
She tried a soft smile, but it wavered in the face of his stare. “Please. I need to see Lady Blackstone.” She dropped the hood of her cloak and allowed the moonlight to shine full on her face. Hopefully, her clean appearance and cultured accents would gain her some credibility.
It did. The man’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. But then he simply folded his arms across his chest.
“I merely wish to speak with her. I have no need for money or influence. I just need to discuss—”
“Angel! What are you doing here?”
Maddy flinched backward away from the light. She had no wish to be seen, even by the only man who called her angel. Especially by him. But there he was, standing behind the big man and looking much better than he had just this morning.
“Come inside,” he said. Then he glanced at the big man blocking the way. “It’s all right, Seth. She’s a friend.”
The guard nodded, and Maddy was surprised to see that there was a softness in him. When he looked at Mr. Frazier, a sadness came into his eyes and the pinched look left his mouth, as if the two men had shared a past that wasn’t especially kind.
“Come in, angel,” Mr. Frazier repeated.
“Thank you, sir,” she said to the guard, who nodded to her.
“That’s Seth, by the by,” said Mr. Frazier. “He’s mute, but we all understand him well enough. And God knows he understands us!”
“Oh . . .” began Maddy, but there was no time for more as Mr. Frazier tugged her away into the flickering lights behind the stage.
“Are you cold?” he asked as he rubbed her arms up and down. It was too familiar a movement, but she found she didn’t object. His hands were on top of her cloak. She was hardly being improper, and yet it felt as though she were allowing a gross liberty made worse when he tucked her close to his side.
“I had forgotten the cold,” he said. “There was a time I thought I’d never feel it again.”
She had no answer to that. She didn’t want to bring up painful memories, so she chose to remark on his new appearance. “You’ve bought new clothing. It looks quite nice.”
The attire was modest by Uncle Frank’s standards, but she found the outfit to be perfect for Mr. Frazier. Simple lines that showed off his excellent physique. Of course, looking at him dressed like this, she couldn’t help but remember the scars that crisscrossed the skin underneath. Was it strange that it made him even more handsome to her?
Meanwhile, he tugged at his cravat and managed to look better rather than worse. “I managed to free up a few groats. What money I had before I left is all gone now. Here I’d been thinking that I’d have seven years of income waiting for me.”
“But they declared you dead.”
“Yes. They declared me dead,” he echoed hollowly. “My brothers got my money. And spent it, no doubt.”
“But surely they will return it to you, once they learn that you’re alive.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t much. They may have it with my blessing.”
They fell silent, listening to the singer and the pound of the dancers’ feet. The crowd was hooting and calling, so it was hardly silent where they stood. And yet, it felt quiet. She felt the weight of it in the very air she breathed.
“You haven’t told them, have you? You haven’t written your family to say that you are alive.”
He glanced sharply at her. “I wrote a brief missive to my eldest brother. I do not know how to find Lucas or Paul.”
“Did you post it?”
He looked away. And that in turn prompted her to step away from his body enough to stare him in the eye. “Surely you should contact them. Do not let them hear of it from someone else.”
He blanched at that. He knew she was right. And yet, he stubbornly refused to speak.
“Mr. Frazier, they are your family.”
“So are Michael and Lily, but they left me to rot.”
She could see the fury in his eyes, hatred radiating from every tight muscle in his frame. And yet anyone else looking at him would think him relaxed. She reached forward and touched his arm, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the fabric. “If I had to guess, I would say that the earl and his countess acted alone. Your brothers probably didn’t even know you were alive.”
His mouth tightened but she did not allow him to turn away. When he tried, she simply stepped back into his line of sight.
“Mr. Frazier? Did they know you lived?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped.
“And you don’t want to know, do you?” she abruptly realized. She couldn’t begin to imagine the betrayal he felt from the Earl and Countess of Thornedale. How much more terrible would it be to know that his parents and brothers had done the same?
“They didn’t know,” she said firmly. “They couldn’t have.”
He looked in her eyes, and she saw him struggle. Part of him desperately wanted to believe it was true, but the other part clearly felt betrayed in the worst way. So much so that he couldn’t force himself to believe.
The sight was heart wrenching, but she couldn’t properly do more than she was right now. She couldn’t embrace him or even touch his skin. So she used her voice instead, trying to reach him with her words. “They didn’t know. And they will be so overjoyed to see you again, you cannot imagine the happiness that will ensue.”
He searched her face, for what she had no idea. And in that moment, the music stopped, the act finished, and people began crossing behind the stage.
“Come,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We can get to the Green Room now.”
“But—”
“Shhh! Not until the Green Room. And cover your face.” He didn’t wait for her to do it, but tugged the hood of her cloak up. Then he rushed them across the unlit portion of the stage. People could see her, of course. There was no curtain at the front of the stage, just an army of boys setting out props. She hunched even farther when a cheer went up from the crowd at the sight of her female form, but she was anonymous in her dull cloak. Then they were across the stage and heading down a dark hallway.
“Make way, guv’ner,” said a boy as he carried a small table on stage.
“Mind your head,” said another as he danced across a walkway above them, a large bucket dangling from a rope that he carried.
Mr. Frazier moved rapidly, pressing her into a tight, dark space between a wall and a rack of costumes. He pushed her deep, keeping his back to the chaos, his body shielding her from harm. But, of course, she had been in little danger from swinging buckets or boys with props. What was dangerous were her thoughts as his body enfolded hers.
His legs were on either side of hers, and he braced her with his knees. His hands were on her waist, large and possessive. His chest bumped against her breasts, not hard, just enough for her to feel the tightening of her nipples in response. And then there was his face, tucked to the side of hers, his chin resting against her temple. She heard his breath as short, quick pants, and his hands tensed around her hips.
Heat. That’s what she noticed the most. His body radiated such heat she might have thought he was feverish. It left her breathless.
“Mr. Frazier,” she whispered. “I believe the danger has passed.”
He looked down at her, his eyes dark shadows. Then he glanced upward at the boy with the bucket. The child was leering down at them, his lips pursed as he made a loud kissing noise.
Maddy felt her face heat to the roots of her hair, but Mr. Frazier did not seem remotely embarrassed. Instead, he looked to her with an arch to his brow.
“Well, I am in a quandary,” he drawled.
“Mr. Frazier!” she hissed. “You must step back!”
“Can’t quite yet, you see. Grit up there has seen us.”
“Grit?”
“The boy’s name because he has a lot of it.”
She sighed. Of course that was the boy’s name. Couldn’t be anything more sensible like Tom or Joseph.
“Grit has seen us now, and there’s a price to be paid or my reputation’s lost.”
“I care little for your reputation, Mr. Frazier,” she said tartly. “Mine, on the other hand—”
“No one knows who you are here,” he said softly, his head lowering toward hers as he spoke. “I called you angel—”
“Which you really should not—”
“But I did.” One of his hands left her waist to come up to her cheek. He stroked her so softly that a shiver skated down her spine. “I did, angel. And I have been dreaming of kissing you forever.”
She looked up at his eyes. They were again dark pools, but she imagined a mischievous light there. A spark of humor that had been missing in him before. “We only just met yesterday. And you kissed me once already.”
The hand on her hip tightened, pulling her closer to him. His breath feathered across her cheeks and then it heated her lips. “That was years ago,” he whispered.
“Mr.—” Too late for protest, halfhearted though it was. Truthfully, she had been thinking of his kiss as well. Daydreams, fantasies, nighttime desires all meshed together into this moment. So much so, she told herself, that perhaps this caress of his mouth on hers was yet another dream.
But it was real in so many wonderful ways. His body was hard and hot against hers. His hand on her cheek slipped behind her neck to support her head. And his mouth on hers was infinitely delightful. Not hard, not soft, but a constant mixing of both. While his lips moved on hers, his tongue began a quick tease. A lick here and there, a darting thrust, and soon she found herself opening to him, a soft murmur trembling through her mouth to him.
He took it, and he took her. He slanted across her mouth, thrusting inside. Never before had she experienced so carnal a kiss. He thrust into her, he stroked every part of her, and God help her, she loved every moment of it. She opened herself to him, releasing a soft sigh of delight. And at the sound, his hands tightened, his body pushed harder against her such that she felt his organ like a hot brand on her belly.
She trembled beneath the onslaught, her mind still numb with shock, even as her arms wrapped around him. His hand on her hip shifted, rolling to her behind, where he cupped her boldly. She did not intend to return the pressure against his groin. This was well beyond anything any man had done with her before. But her body wasn’t listening to her mind. Her thighs tightened, her stomach too, while he ground his delicious heat into her.
His mouth left hers to press kisses along her jaw and throat. His hand at the back of her head slid down her front to stroke her breast. She cried out, the sound lost behind the roar of the audience. The play was starting. Some part of her mind grasped on to that rather than speak the obvious: This was improper. This was dangerous!
“Oh!” she gasped. “No!”
His free hand left her breast to start rucking up her skirt. His knee was beginning to press between hers.
“Mr. Frazier! Stop!” She tried to push against his chest, but she had no strength in his arms. He was a solid wall against her and he was gripping her thigh, pulling it high.
She couldn’t do this! She could
not
! She had a second at most to save herself, so she took it. She made a fist as the gypsies had taught her, and then she struck. She slammed downward onto him. Her aim was true, hitting his organ through his breeches. And then, before he could do more than rear back, the bucket slammed against his head. Grit, the stagehand from above, glared down even as he kept swinging the bucket close enough to hit again.
“She said no, guv’nor!”
Mr. Frazier roared in shock as he clutched his head. The sound echoed backstage but simply mixed with the noise of the crowd out front. He stumbled backward, pain twisting his face into a feral snarl. Maddy stared at him in shock as she saw the same mindless fury enter his face that young Alex had worn when he was pummeling the Earl of Thornedale.
“Mr. Frazier!” she cried. “Mr. Frazier!”
He did not seem to hear her. And then something even worse happened. She did not understand it, nor could she fight it.
A boom roared on stage. It was part of the production, she supposed. A loud bang complete with female screams. The audience roared its approval, but that only added to the general mayhem of sound that came from just a few feet away.
Mr. Frazier ducked. He more than ducked, he flattened to a crouch on all fours, dropping so low that his face touched the floor. And then another big bang hit, followed by the cries of the audience. It was a large crowd so the sound was deafening. Mr. Frazier shrank into himself while his gaze darted one way and the next. The air was smoky to begin with, but down by the floor, he was kicking up dust that surely blinded him.
“Mr. Frazier,” she said as loudly as she could manage. Then she touched his shoulders.
He flinched as a wild dog might. He recoiled and glared at her with a snarl. But she didn’t move. She had faced a few angry dogs in her time. At this moment, Mr. Frazier was no different.