All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess (18 page)

“Yes, Madame.”

She was not surprised when Anna followed her into the passageway.

“How did Royles gain entry into the Golden Pearl?” Madame Venna demanded, her slender body vibrating with suppressed fury.

“Abram and his men would have never let any man with that name enter. He must have given another name at the door,” Anna said, frowning with concern.

“Or someone was bribed.” She held up her hand to halt her friend’s protest. “Every man has his price, and not everyone’s weakness is money. However, you are probably correct. Royles did not reveal his true name.”

She’d already paid off the father. Perhaps the son had decided he deserved compensation as well. The only thing that man deserved was a sharp blade in his belly.

“Madame V?”

She looked past Anna’s shoulder to see Abram’s hurried approach. “Tell me you have them.”

His face was shiny with sweat as if he had been running up and down the stairs. “I have failed you, Madame. These men who hurt our girl … they disappeared into the night. Hours passed before someone thought to check on Mina.”

One evening away from the Golden Pearl, and everything had unraveled. “I do not blame you, Abram. You cannot watch everyone. However, I want to know how these men were able to stroll into my house and walk away without alerting the guards. Find me the fool who admitted them. And if you cannot bring me the man, I’ll settle for just his head.”

“Very good, Madame.” Abram bowed low. “I will see to this task personally.”

Her pace was slower than her servant’s as she headed for the stairs. “Anna, summon the girls and staff for a meeting. Have Esther provide descriptions of Royles and Halward. Any gentleman who fits their descriptions will be discreetly pulled aside until his identity can be confirmed. Remind everyone of the house rules. If anyone complains, I want to know about it.”

“You do not have to worry. I will take care of everything.” Anna lifted the hem of her skirt to keep up with her employer. She reached out and grabbed Madame Venna by the arm to keep her from descending the stairs. “My dear friend, you are not to blame for the attack on Mina. You could have been here, and the outcome would have been the same.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded, though it did little to cool her anger and guilt. “Regardless, this is my house. The blame is still mine to bear.” She did not need the police to deal with miscreants.

“One more thing. Lord Sainthill—”

A frisson of unease rippled underneath her skin. “What of the marquess?”

“Lord Sainthill was here.” She took a deep breath, since she was quite aware that Catherine had spent the evening with Saint. “He asked to speak with you.”

Madame Venna muttered a curse as her knees gave out. She winced as her backside landed inelegantly on the top step of the staircase. The scoundrel must have driven straight to the Golden Pearl after he had kissed her good night. “Well, that’s just grand. I knew this courtship was doomed.”

*   *   *

“You devilish fellow. Come drink with us,” Frost said, kicking the empty chair in Saint’s direction.

He had come to Nox for companionship, only to discover that just Hunter and Frost were drinking downstairs in the public portion of the gaming hell.

Frost picked up the bottle of wine on the table and poured him a drink. “Sit and share with Hunter and I your drive home with the fair and quite deceitful Catherine Deverall. Do not spare the details. The more depraved, the more I will be impressed.”

Saint scowled at his cheerful friend. “Exactly what part of
not a word to the others
did you not understand, Frost?” he asked, sitting down at the table.

Hunter eyed both of his friends with mild curiosity. “What the hell are you two babbling about?”

Whether it was due to the bottles of wine he had consumed or unrepentant wickedness, Frost was eager to reply, “The lovely Miss Deverall.”

“Hold your tongue, gent.” Nothing short of violence was going to silence the earl.

He waved Saint’s warning away as if it were a foul smell. “Bah, it is miraculous that no one has deduced the truth before now.” Frost brought his fist up to his lips to stifle a soft belch. “Of course, both Saint and I have pleasured ourselves between the woman’s soft inviting thighs. Who but a lover would not see through her crafty guises?”

Hunter’s expression of disbelief was comical. Saint would have laughed if he had not been a player in Frost’s amusing little tale. Noting Saint’s thunderous expression, His Grace leaned forward to ensure that their conversation was private. “You are both bedding Miss Deverall. Why am I not surprised? No, wait—I assume from Sainthill’s sullen expression that he was not aware of the lady’s duplicitous love play.”

Saint glared at Hunter. “Show some respect. I have
not
bedded Miss Deverall.”

Granted, he was not opposed to the notion or the deed, but the facts were muddled enough without his friend making assumptions.

Frost sipped his wine. “Nor have I.”

Hunter threaded his fingers through his dark hair. “Neither one of you is making any sense.”

Frost gave him a bemused, lopsided grin. “Of course we are.”

Before Hunter could reply, one of Madame Venna’s girls approached the table. It suddenly occurred to Saint that the women had probably been reporting back to their mistress, telling her their observations of his activities and those of his friends. Their intimate conversations. Outraged, he glanced at Frost, but he was not looking at him. Knowing Frost, his friend had already come to the same conclusion and did not care. Very few details escaped the man. Instead, the earl’s gaze was lingering on the woman’s generous breasts, spilling out of her bodice, while his hand rubbed her backside.

“Well, gents, it appears you could use a few more bottles,” the woman said, though her gaze had not left Frost’s face. “Berus has been detained so he sent me over to see to your needs personally.”

Her name was Judith. Saint recalled that he once had won a wager from Frost with the woman’s assistance. There might have been an occasion or two when he had enjoyed the wench’s wares himself. Had Judith told her mistress about it? He closed his eyes and groaned. Of course she had. Madame Venna knew every naughty detail.

“Leave us,” Saint said, not bothering to open his eyes.

“There is no need to be rude, gent,” Frost said, his cheerful demeanor as stinging as lemon juice on Saint’s raw temper. “I’m more than willing to share. A fact that you are very well aware of.”

Saint did not recall lunging for Frost. One minute he was sitting in his chair, and the next he was straddling his friend and the overturned chair while he tried to strangle the man. It took Hunter and two other men to pry his fingers from Frost’s throat.

Frost sat on the floor, grinning up at Saint. “Lost your head, gent? Or maybe your troubles are slightly lower?”

“You have a death wish, my friend,” he said, struggling against the hands that were holding him in place. “Keep talking and I will grant your release from the burdens of this world with pleasure.”

“What are you two arguing about?” Vane growled in Saint’s ear. It was then that Saint noticed that Vane and Dare were the ones wrinkling his evening coat.

“In their cups, all three of them,” Dare said as he moved over to Frost to help the man stand.

“I’m not drunk,” Saint snapped. “Before I took my first sip, our good friend started baiting me.”

He did not bother trying to comprehend the why of it. Mischief was a part of his friend like the color of his eyes. Most of the time, he was highly amused by Frost and his double-edged words. But not this evening. Not ever, when it concerned
her.
This was what love did to a man. It made him so crazed, he was willing to strike down his closest friends for the slightest insult.

Hunter decided an explanation was in order. “We were discussing—”

“Enough,” Saint warned and shifted his body as he prepared to silence his friend if Frost told the truth.

“An old disagreement,” Frost said, standing but not quite so steady on his feet. Judith slipped under his arm to help him keep his balance. “Definitely not worth spilling wine over, let alone blood. More important,
mine.
So there is not much point in bloodying Hunter’s nose when the gent can’t appreciate the finer details of our discussion.”

Hunter’s gaze switched from Frost’s sly, mildly inebriated expression to Saint’s undisguised rage. “Right. No point bloodying my nose,” he echoed the earl’s words.

Saint was relieved that Hunter was reluctant to air their business to all and sundry. “Are Reign and Sin joining us later?”

Vane released his grip on Saint’s arm and smoothed away the wrinkles. “No. They remained at the opera house with the ladies. We volunteered to find you.”

“Why? Has something happened?”

Vane looked at Dare as if seeking his support. “Dare thought you might want to know there is trouble brewing at the theater.”

Frost laughed. “Rather typical of you married gents. I thought your ladies had cured you of public fighting.”

“Not us,” Dare said, his eyebrows dropping low, a sign that he was serious as his gaze locked on Saint’s. “Your favorite madame.”

“Why would you—” Of course, his friends knew that he had an affection for the woman. His friends were aware of the time he spent at the Golden Pearl. He mentally shoved his surprise aside and walked over to Judith. “Why is your mistress at the opera house?” When her lips parted, he added, “The truth.”

For once, Judith was not pleased to have the Lords of Vice’s attention. “It’s for Mina. She was attacked and beaten by two men last evening. One of them claimed to have a connection to Lord Mulcaster. When Madame V learned that Mulcaster would be attending the theater, she decided—”

Saint vehemently cursed.

“She only intends to confront him. Nothing more,” Judith hastily added, just in case something tragic did happen to the man.

Madame V was protective of her girls and the Golden Pearl. If Mulcaster was foolish enough to cross her, then the stubborn woman was going to deal with the matter herself.

“Madame Venna has been good to Nox and the Lords of Vice,” Hunter reminded them all. “If you were worried about her, why didn’t one of you interfere?”

Frost tossed his head back and laughed. “How very awkward for you all,” he said to Vane and Dare. “Hunter, our dear friends are as impotent as a gout-ridden ninety-year-old vicar.”

“I would not have chosen those exact words, but, yes, Frost is essentially correct,” Vane said grimly.

Hunter smirked. “I disagree. The only muscle Mulcaster works on a weekly basis is the flesh between his legs. My beloved grandmother could knock the wind out of him, if she were still with us.”

Even if his friend was too drunk to understand, Saint knew exactly why the other men didn’t interfere. “It has nothing to do with strength. It’s the commitments they’ve made to their ladies that stay their fists.” He nodded at Dare. “Defending the honor of a whore would be a public declaration to the
ton
that they were well acquainted with the despoiled beauty. While I suspect the ladies are not ignorant of your pasts, none of them deserves the public humiliation.”

“Then you do understand,” Dare murmured.

“I do.” Saint was not pleased, but if he had been in the same situation, he would have done the same thing.

“That’s why Dare and I have come for you. Actually, any one of you would suffice since you three are unmarried,” Vane admitted, but he was staring at Saint. “Mulcaster has the advantage, because no one will support our dear friend publicly.”

“Mulcaster is a bully,” Dare spat. “Hurting women is cowardly.”

“I’ll go,” Hunter said.

Frost nuzzled Judith’s ear. “Count me in, as well.”

Saint was not surprised that Hunter and Frost would volunteer. Despite Frost’s behavior this evening, both were decent, honorable men and worthy seconds in a duel. “If all seven of us are present, it will appear that we are provoking an unfair fight with Mulcaster.”

Dare shrugged. “It won’t be the first time we’ve been tossed out of the theater.”

“Are you mad? Do you want your pregnant wife in the middle of a bloody fight?” Vane asked.

Dare’s face paled. “Christ, no!”

Regan might be a lady, but she was Frost’s younger sister. The woman was fearless.

“There is no reason for the ladies to know anything about this.” Saint clapped Vane on the back, grateful the men had cared enough to warn him. “And for that reason, it is best that I meet with Madame Venna alone. Perhaps I can persuade her from denouncing Mulcaster in public.”

“We tried to talk her out of it,” Judith confessed, her provocative demeanor absent for once. “But she would not listen to any of us.”

“She will listen to me,” Saint said, praying he was speaking the truth.

Chapter Twenty-three

Madame Venna was in no mood to be pleasant or reasonable.

And both were required of her as she sat in a small private theater box and waited for Lord Mulcaster to present her with an opportunity to confront him. For the moment, he was flirting with Lady Gredell and her companions. It was a pity the countess was not in the trade. Madame Venna could have made her a rich woman. Instead, if the rumors were true, the lady gave her favors away for free.

Her attention returned to Lord Mulcaster. Would he come to her? she wondered. He was aware of her presence. The man was definitely arrogant enough to pay his respects, uncaring that he had sent that animal Halward into her house. And Royles. She had not forgotten about him.

She rarely attended the theater. While courtesans used their private theater boxes to court new protectors, she had the Golden Pearl. It was her nightly theater, and it was just as majestic as this one. One could find elaborate costumes, beautiful ladies, and performances. The only difference was that her players used bedchambers instead of the stage. Even wearing a half-mask and jewelry that rivaled most duchesses’, Madame Venna discovered that her colorful lavishness fit the surroundings rather nicely.

Except there was an unseen line that few were willing to cross where she was concerned. While the masses mingled below, the
ton
ruled above them. It surprised her how many faces she recognized. Naturally, the majority of them were gentlemen: fresh young faces, the debauched, and those past their prime. Her pleasure house serviced them all. Women, too, though most did not flaunt their carnal appetites.