Notorious Pleasures (34 page)

Silence blinked and glanced up at her savior.

And then she could only stare. The man before her looked like something out of a pantomime. He wore breeches and a tunic patterned all over in a harlequin’s red and black diamonds. On his feet were tall black jackboots, and cuffed black gloves covered his hands. A grotesque half-mask with an enormous hooked nose concealed his features, leaving only his mouth and chin bare. As she looked at him, he doffed a huge wide-brimmed black hat and swept her a courtly bow.

“You’re the Ghost of St. Giles!” she blurted.

His mouth curled at the corner, but he made no sound, simply gesturing with his hat before him as if to direct her path.

“I live over there,” she said, feeling a bit foolish for talking with a mute comic actor.

His mouth tightened, and again he bowed and most definitely directed her in the
opposite
way from the home.

“I suppose I can trust you?” she said.

He grinned, which did not at all set her mind at rest. On the other hand, he
had
saved her, and with such a notorious escort, she had no fear of being accosted again.

“Very well.” She lifted her skirts and then stopped as she saw someone beyond him.

There on the other side of the street was Mickey O’Connor. He stood facing her, hands on hips, a slight frown between his beautiful brows, making no attempt to conceal himself from her.

But then why would he have any reason to hide from her?

He nodded, acknowledging he knew she’d seen him, and she looked away, her breath trembling in her throat. That was when she realized that the Ghost had tightened his fist on the hilt of his sword.

“No, don’t,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

He looked at her, his head cocked to the side in inquiry.

Silence didn’t know if she was worried for him or for Mr. O’Connor. She only knew she’d seen enough bloodshed for the night. “Please.”

He nodded once and removed his hand from the hilt of his sword.

Silence couldn’t help it. She looked again across the street.

Mr. O’Connor’s black gaze bored into her. He didn’t look at all happy.

She deliberately turned away. “This way, did you say?”

The Ghost nodded and they set off. For the first couple of minutes, as Silence picked her way over the cobblestones, she felt Mr. O’Connor’s gaze on her back. She refused to turn around, to acknowledge him in any way, and after a bit she no longer felt the sensation.

She let out a breath and concentrated on her surroundings. The Ghost walked with an almost soundless tread, light and athletic. His head was up, and he seemed almost to
scent
the wind. Twice he stopped and turned down a different street as if to avoid the mob. Once he took her arm and urged her into a run, just before she heard shouts from behind them. Oddly, though he never spoke and she couldn’t see most of his face, she never felt afraid of him.

When at last they came within sight of the temporary home, Silence stopped short. There was a crowd of people outside the home’s doors, but she could see in the light of the lanterns they held that they were soldiers.

“Whatever are soldiers doing here?” she asked.

Obviously she didn’t expect an answer, but when she turned, she was surprised to find herself alone. She glanced quickly up the street, but there was no sign of the Ghost.

The Ghost had disappeared as abruptly as he’d appeared.

“Men are so maddening,” Silence muttered to herself, and started for the home.

“Mrs. Hollingbrook!” Nell appeared at the home’s door and ran toward her. “Oh, ma’am! We were that worried for you. Three informers have been murdered tonight—or so they say. There was rioting in the streets, and Mr. Makepeace has been beside himself. I’ve never seen him in such a state before.”

“Where is Winter?” Silence asked distractedly. “Is that Lady Hero?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nell said. “And the Duke of Wakefield himself! You can’t credit the excitement there’s been.”

Silence squinted. It looked very much as if…“Is Lady Hero kissing Lord Griffin?”

Nell nodded. “She’s engaged to him.”

“But I thought she was engaged to his
brother
, the Marquess of Mandeville,” Silence said, feeling very confused.

Nell shrugged. “Not by the looks of it.”

And indeed Lady Hero seemed quite affectionate with Lord Griffin. Silence was still trying to puzzle the matter out when Winter suddenly appeared, hatless and panting.

“Thank God!” He wrapped her in a bear hug, an extraordinary demonstration of affection for Winter. “We feared the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Silence gasped. “I had to move the baby to a new wet nurse, and by the time I was done, it was already dark.”

Winter stepped back and closed his eyes. “Well, no more. I don’t think I could survive another night like this one. From now on, we only go out in pairs.”

Silence nodded. “You’re right. If it hadn’t been for the Ghost of St. Giles—”

He turned suddenly and pierced her with a stare. “What?”

She blinked, taken aback. “The Ghost of St. Giles. I saw him. He was the one who escorted me home safely.”

No need to go into
how
he’d found her. Winter was already anxious about her well-being without telling him how close she’d come to rape—and worse.

Winter lifted his head, glancing about the dark street. “He was here?”

“Yes,” Silence said slowly. “He brought me here and then disappeared. Why do you ask?”

Winter shrugged. “The Ghost always seems to be about when I’m not. I’d like to catch a glimpse of this phantom apparition someday.”

“He isn’t a phantom, that I can assure you,” Silence said. “He was as real as you and I.”

Winter grunted. “Well, in any case, we don’t have the time to speculate about the Ghost at the moment. Our illustrious visitors require our attention.”

“Lady Hero said she had something to speak to you about,” Nell said. “I just remembered.”

“What is it?” Silence asked.

Nell knit her brows. “Something about spinning. I can’t think what, but she did seem most insistent.”

“Spinning?” Silence couldn’t think how spinning might concern Lady Hero, but then the aristocracy was a breed apart at times. “We’d best go see.”

“Humph.” Griffin crossed his arms on his chest and attempted to glare at Hero but was somewhat diverted by the magnificence of her décolletage. “Is that a new frock?”

“Yes, and don’t change the subject,” she replied with adorable severity. It always rather aroused him when she attempted to be severe with him.

Of course, his wife could arouse him by reciting the alphabet, too.

“What are you going to do today?” he asked, ignoring her order.

“I’m going to inspect the progress Mr. Templeton’s made on the new home. He thinks they may actually be done before spring. After that, I’ll stop by the home and see how the spinning lessons are going.”

“Splendid!” Griffin had already bought a prize ram and breeding ewes. By spring the children would have new wool to spin.

She smiled. “And then I’m off to a tea at Lady Beckinhall’s, where I hope to persuade her to join my Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.”

He made a show of shuddering. “The name alone strikes fear into my heart.”

“Why?”

“A syndication of ladies involving both one’s wife and one’s sister,” he replied darkly, “would strike fear into any man’s heart.”

“Silly,” she said blithely. “Margaret will laugh when I tell her you said so.”

“And prove my point.”

She gave him a look and set down her cup of tea. “Now, as to your brother—”

“Name me one good reason why I should see him”—Griffin held up a finger as she opened her lips—“
besides
the fact that I’m unfortunately related to him.”

She smiled sweetly, which he had begun to realize in the last week was a warning sign. “It would please your mother.”

“Huh,” was his devastating reply. The fact was that he’d do almost anything to make Mater happy, and Hero well knew it.

“And,” she said, picking up a piece of toast, “it would please me as well.”

Griffin straightened in outrage at that. “He
hit
you!”

“And I’ve forgiven him,” she said. “He did give me that incredibly expensive emerald necklace in apology.”

“Lavinia made him do that,” he pointed out.

“It was still a lovely gesture nonetheless.” She eyed him as she crunched her toast. “And that was after he sent me roses daily for three weeks straight. I don’t know why you stopped him.”

“Whole damned house smelled of wilting roses,” Griffin muttered. “Irritating as hell.”

His wife looked at him with those diamond eyes. “Don’t you think that if I can forgive him, you should, too?”

“Huh.” He was huhing a lot since marrying Hero. Rather lowering for one’s self-esteem, that. A devious thought suddenly presented itself. Griffin widened his eyes. “If I endure what will no doubt be a horrible dinner with Thomas, will you kiss me?”

She narrowed her eyes. Lovely, but no fool, was his wife. “I always kiss you.”

“Not,” he said silkily, “
that
kind of kiss.”

He watched as pink rose in her cheeks. Married a week and he could still make his wife blush, by God! One had to take one’s victories where one could.

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” she hissed incredulously. “That’s rather low, even for you.”

He straightened the cuffs on his coat. “I prefer to think of it as an incentive.”

She snorted delicately.

“Just one kiss.” His eyelids drooped lazily at the thought of her kissing him
there
. “One tiny, little kiss.”

It was a delight to see her cheeks flame pinker. “Rogue.”

He smiled lazily. “Tease.”

“Will you go?”

“Will you kiss me?”

She bit her lip, and his cock stood at attention. “Perhaps.”

Which was why, several hours later, Griffin found himself mounting the steps of Mandeville House. Not even the remembrance of Hero’s eyes as she’d murmured that “perhaps” improved his mood. He knocked, half hoping that his brother wouldn’t answer and he could just go home to his wife.

But the door opened, and he was admitted and escorted into a dining room. Griffin looked around. At one end of a long mahogany table, his brother was seated. One other place setting lay at Thomas’s right hand. Otherwise the table was empty.

He hadn’t seen Thomas since the day they’d argued. In the intervening weeks, they’d both married, and Thomas—in an interesting role reversal—had endured something of a miniature scandal for marrying the notorious Mrs. Tate.

Griffin strolled toward Thomas. “Where is Lavinia?”

Thomas, who had stood on his entrance, picked up his glass of wine and took a deep drink, eyeing Griffin sourly over the rim. “She said it would be best if we dined alone.”

Griffin dropped into his chair. “Hero wouldn’t come either.”

Thomas’s gaze lowered. “I’m truly sorry for hurting her.”

“As well you should be,” Griffin growled. He looked away. “She says she’s forgiven you.”

Thomas sighed. “I’m glad.”

Griffin stared at his glass for a bit. If he drank it down, he might keep drinking and on the whole, he’d rather be sober when he returned home to Hero and her kiss.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Lavinia says I must tell you that I believe you.”

It took a moment for Griffin to work out that complicated comment; then he straightened in his chair. “You do?”

Thomas nodded, sipping his wine.

Griffin slammed his palm down on the table. All the dishes jumped, and a fork fell off the edge. “Then why the hell didn’t you say so earlier?”

Thomas scowled. “She always liked you.”

“Anne?” Griffin asked incredulously.

Thomas nodded.

“So?
You
were the one she married.”

“But if I hadn’t had the title—”

“But you
did
have the title,” Griffin near roared. Of all the stupid, soft-brained—

Thomas slammed his own hand down. A glass crashed to the floor. “You don’t understand! You’ve never understood.
I
might have the title and Father’s affections, but
you
have Mother’s and everyone else’s!”

Griffin blinked. “You were…
jealous
? Of me?”

Thomas looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

And it was suddenly too much for Griffin. He shouted with laughter, holding his belly, doubled over the table.

“It’s not that funny,” Thomas said when Griffin paused to take a breath.

“It bloody well is,” Griffin assured him. “You’ve barely talked to me for over three years and all because you were jealous. Jesus, Thomas! You’re richer, older, and scads more handsome than me. What more do you want?”

Thomas shrugged. “She always liked you better.”

Griffin sobered. “Who? Anne or Mater?”

“Both.” Thomas stared moodily into his glass. “When Father died, I thought I’d be the one in charge. I was the marquess, after all. But then we realized Father’s debts, and she called you home from Cambridge.”

“I do have the better head for business.”

Thomas nodded stiffly. “You do. You did. Even though you were only twenty—and two years younger than I—you immediately set to improving our finances.”

“Would you prefer I’d let us all go to debtor’s prison?” Griffin asked drily.

“No.” Thomas raised his face and looked him frankly in the eye. “I’d prefer that I were the one who could save Mother from financial ruin.”

Griffin stared at him for a moment and thought about what it must have cost Thomas to admit that he wasn’t good at something.

He leaned forward and poured his brother some more wine. “Every time you’ve ever made a speech in parliament, Mater has written all about it to me—pages and pages of details, the points you made and the reaction of the Lords.”

Thomas’s mouth dropped open. “Truly?”

Griffin nodded. “Truly. Haven’t you ever noticed her in the ladies’ gallery?”

“No.” Thomas shook his head, looking a little dazed. “I had no idea.”

“Well, now you do.” Griffin set the bottle down and leaned back in the chair. “Besides, what good would
two
financial geniuses in the family do?”