One Night with a Rake (Regency Rakes) (24 page)

Nathaniel laid the crop to the black gelding’s haunches, spurring it to more speed. The high-strung animal had been used for stately trots around Hyde Park or ceremonial occasions when the marquis was required to appear mounted. It had never been driven to its limits before, but Nate wasn’t about to spare the horse now. Every second Georgette spent with the man who’d been murdering whores and scullery maids was a second too long.

He flew through the dark streets of London. Only a blur of movement, a flash of light reflecting from the gelding’s metal bit, a spark from iron horseshoes on the cobbles, betrayed his presence. If not for the clattering sound of the horse’s hooves, anyone who saw him might mistake him for a vengeful wraith on ghostly horseback.

Nate rode as one possessed. He rode as he’d never ridden in the most furious cavalry charge, head down, leaning over the horse’s neck chanting, “Fly, damn you, fly!”

He’d failed in so many areas of his life—the way he’d dealt so poorly with Anne’s death, the miserable end to his military career, the time frittered away after that as a rake and a wastrel.

But he couldn’t fail now.

Nate would have borne losing Georgette to the royal duke, because she’d at least be safe, but he couldn’t bear losing her to Fishwick.

He loosed a terrifying war cry. The gelding laid its ears back and stretched into a careening gallop that would have left the fastest racehorse in its wake.

***

The interior of Sadie O’Toole’s place was a good deal warmer than the streets of Whitechapel, but Georgette still couldn’t stop shivering. The common room stank of cigar smoke and a stale fug of alcohol. A poque game was being played in one corner, and near the center of the room, a roulette wheel whirred, its silver spike at the center a mesmerizing blur as patrons cried out for their number and color.

Georgette tamped down her fear, looking for a way out if she could wiggle out of Roger’s iron grip. There might be an alley behind the house, but she’d have to make it through the sea of men between her and the door at the rear. Her shiver grew more pronounced and she knew it had nothing to do with cold.

A staircase on the right wall led up to a narrow balcony with doors leading off from it at intervals. Whores in various levels of dishabille, some with nipples boldly bared, leaned over the wooden banister and called out to the men to join them upstairs. Some came down and wandered among the patrons, asking the men to buy them a drink.

“Lookin’s free, guv,” one hussy said to a patron who’d fondled her. “But if ye wants to handle the merchandise, ye needs to come with me upstairs.”

“And that’s where we’re going,” Roger hissed into Georgette’s ear as he scuffled her toward the staircase.

Panic rose in the back of Georgette’s throat, a big unswallowable wad of terror. She scanned the faces of the men in the common room, hoping she might see someone she knew. Someone who might be shamed into helping her.

There was no one.

Her courage broke then. The thin veneer of self-control she’d wrapped around herself shattered. She began to scream and found she could not stop.

***

When Nate reached Sadie O’Toole’s place, he pulled back so violently on the reins, the gelding nearly sat down. Panting and snorting, the horse’s sides heaved, but he was still upright. Nate’s conscience pricked him.

“Sorry, old man,” he whispered to the animal. “Get us through this and I promise you a bucket of oats.”

He couldn’t just leave the gelding on the street unattended. Since he expected to make a speedy retreat once he found Georgette, he couldn’t afford to be caught afoot.

“You there, boy.” He pointed to a gangly lad with a link torch in his hand. He flipped the boy a shiny florin. “Mind this animal for me. Have him ready to go right here and there’ll be half a crown more for you. Can you do it?”

“Right-o, guv. If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, you’re a dang sight freer with the coin than my usual employer. I’d a done it for a shilling.”

An
honest
urchin.
Nate took note of the boy’s face so he could offer him a position at his Cheapside flat. If the lad worked out well there, Nathaniel would see if he’d like to move to the little country place Nate owned in Wiltshire.

“Your usual employer wouldn’t happen to be Lord Fishwick, would it?”

“The very same.”

“Have you seen him this evening?”

The lad nodded. “Him and a lady come by about half an hour ago. They went in there.” He pointed to Sadie O’Toole’s red door. “It’s not my place to say, but the lady din’t look a bit happy ’bout being here.”

Nate squared his shoulders and strode to the door. Every ounce of his being urged him to charge, but there were too many unknowns. He didn’t know where Georgette was or how many bodies he’d have to go through to reach her. The defeat at Maubeuge was the result of not doing his own reconnoitering before he led his men into enemy territory.

He couldn’t face a defeat this time.

To make matters worse, he was once again trying to rescue Georgette with only a handful of fingers. No pistol. No walking stick with a cunningly hidden blade. No boot knife.

“With my luck, there won’t even be an umbrella stand inside the door,” he muttered as he pushed into the whorehouse-cum-gaming-hell.

Nate scoured the main room with his gaze, but didn’t see any evidence of Georgette anywhere. He didn’t dare ask if anyone had seen her. Since by all accounts Roger was backing this establishment with his coin, chances were good these ruffians were what passed for his friends.

The bully who guarded the door was a square-jawed, barrel-chested chap, as formidable as Mr. Bagley had been. He sent Nate a warning glare.

“Ah, Lord Nathaniel, I didn’t think we’d see you again.” Sadie O’Toole sashayed toward him. Decked out in a poisonous green gown, she looked plumper and more prosperous than she had the last time he’d visited. “I’ll admit you had me fooled when you set up my old place as a sanctuary for reformed whores. Took you for one o’ those prickless do-gooders. Then when you came here a few days back, I realized your blood runs just as hot as the rest of ’em. Now what kept you away so long?”

“I’ve been busy,” he said, checking the line of whores leaning over the balustrade for the timid girl whom he’d hired for an hour which was spent only in conversation. He’d expected her to turn up at the House of Sirens any day, but she never did come. “I don’t suppose the girl I had last time is still here and available.”

“Lily?” Her brows arched in surprise. “She’s here, and I’ll be bound she’s not busy. Truth to tell, we get nothin’ but complaints over her lack of enthusiasm. Why don’t you let me fix you up with May?”

Sadie motioned to a buxom brunette up on the balcony who was flashing her breasts at the patrons below and waggling her fingers enticingly.

“Thank you, no,” Nathaniel said. “I have specific…tastes. Is Lily still in the last room off the balcony?”

“No,” Sadie said with vehemence. “That room is let to a private party now. Lily’s been moved to next door if ye want her. Same rate as before.” She glanced at her pendant watch. “Clock’s tickin’, milord.”

A
private
party.
At least he knew where Georgette probably was now. Nate bounded up the stairs and worked his way through the gauntlet of whores who hadn’t yet secured a john for the evening. When he reached the one named May, he pulled her off the line.

“Evenin’, guv,” she said, draping herself over him. “Ye’re a big strappin’ thing, ain’t ya? Look at the arms on ye. Makes a girl wonder what else ye got worth seein’. Now what can May do for you?”

He pressed a sufficiently impressive number of coins into her hand. “I want you to start a fight with someone and then get the bully drunk.”

Her lip poked out in a pout. “Is that all?”

Nate smiled. “For now.”

She tossed her head and shrugged. “Suits me. Once I get Mr. Philpot frog-eyed, I’ll see ye after.”

May flounced off toward the stairs, pulling the hair of several of the other girls as she went. The last girl didn’t take it with much grace and promptly pounced on her, nails flashing.

The brawling women drew every eye in the place, especially when they tumbled together down the staircase. Nate pushed toward the last door through the rest of the whores who crowded to get a better view. With a little luck, he’d be able to invade Roger Fishwick’s lair with no one the wiser.

***

Georgette’s throat burned like fire. She could only draw a shallow breath, but even that hurt so badly she hardly dared do it. She didn’t open her eyes. It would make everything real if she opened her eyes.

She couldn’t feel her right hand. It took her a moment to remember it was bound to the iron bedstead. Her left one rested on her abdomen, but she didn’t allow herself to twitch a fingertip. She took a mental inventory of herself and discovered she was fully dressed with her silky gown covering her legs.

Footsteps, measured and heavy, pounded in her ears. Roger was still there, pacing the small room.

She was lying in a damp spot. Shame washed over her as she realized she’d wet herself before her vision had tunneled for the final time and everything went black.

“Too quick,” he muttered. “It was too damn quick.”

She felt his brooding presence standing over her so she held her breath.

“Why couldn’t you quit screaming? Why couldn’t you just relax and let yourself go quiet? You should have trusted me. I wouldn’t have taken you down all the way the first time.”

He settled on the bed beside her. “It’s a beautiful thing, you know. The way a woman’s eyes go all fuzzy and out of focus. The way her muscles go limp, soft, and surrendered. It’s restful. For both of us.”

She shivered inside, terrified he’d realize she wasn’t gone. She was still there, still listening to his macabre confessional. Why on earth had she gone with him? Even if Mercy had been in trouble, why had she thought she could handle it on her own? Nate had always warned her that it wasn’t safe to go haring off. Why hadn’t she heeded him?

“All you had to do was let me do what was needful,” Roger said softly. Then his voice turned hard. “But not you. Not high-and-mighty Lady Georgette.”

He stroked her cheek with his knuckles and she couldn’t suppress the way her muscles jerked beneath his touch.

“So, you’re playing possum,” he said with a chuckle. “Come back then, my little possum. We have another chance to get it right, you and me. Now be quiet and we’ll go slow this time.”

Georgette opened her eyes and tried to cry out, but no sound came out of her throat. Roger stood and began to unbutton his shirt. She rolled and began to claw at the knot holding her hand fast to the headboard.

Oh, Nate!

Then the door flew open and, big as life, Nathaniel Colton rushed in. She’d wished to see him so violently, Georgette feared she was hallucinating. But if the fierce man with the heaving chest and murder in his eyes was her imagination, it was more vivid than her wildest dream.

Head down, Nate charged Roger and plowed into his midsection. The pair of them boiled across the room in a flurry of punches and kicks. The snarls and grunts coming from the two men sounded more like a bear-baiting than a fight between humans.

Georgette redoubled her efforts on the knot that held her captive.

Nathaniel sent a blow to Roger’s jaw that snapped his head around. Roger gave himself a shake, then picked up a chair and brought it crashing down on Nate’s head and shoulder. Nate staggered and Roger roared toward him.

Momentum propelled them through the door and they slammed into the rickety railing. The old wood splintered under the force of their weight and, twisting and turning, the two men plummeted off the balcony and down to the common room below.

The shouts and screams were deafening. Then everyone went deathly quiet, which was far worse.

“Oh, please, God. Help us, God,” Georgette chanted softly as she wiggled her hand free. She skittered to the edge of the ruined balcony and knelt to peer down.

Roger stared sightlessly back up at her. His body was splayed across the roulette table, the sharp spike at its center protruding obscenely through his neck.

Nathaniel was face down on the scuffed hardwood. A pool of red was spreading beneath his head.

Pain dragged him up from oblivion. When Nathaniel opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself lying in a bed beneath cool, clean sheets. He had no recollection of how he’d come to be there.

He tried to sit up, but the throbbing at his temple arched into a wicked spike of agony. He lifted a hand to his head and found a thick bandage wrapped around it. Nate eased back onto the down pillow and let his gaze wander the room.

A woman dozed in a chair beside his bed. Her soft brown hair was tumbled around her shoulders and faint gray smudges beneath her eyes told of a sleepless night. Nate had the niggling feeling he ought to know her, but no name sprang to his lips.

A cheerful maid entered the room with an armful of fresh linens. To his very great relief, Nate recognized her.

“Mercy,” he said.

“Well, look who’s come back to us.” She dropped her load on the foot of the bed and hurried to the sleeping woman’s side. “Milady, Lord Nathaniel’s awake.”

The woman roused and came to stand over him, placing a cool palm on his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Her voice was all wrong, damaged somehow. It crackled like an autumn leaf under foot.

“Like I’ve been trampled by a coach-and-six.” He knew exactly what this woman looked like naked. Why couldn’t he remember her name?

“Not quite a coach-and-six, milord,” said a boy who brought in a breakfast tray and set it down on the commode next to the porcelain pitcher and ewer. “But I expect that ride here in Lord Fishwick’s gig din’t do ye no favors.”

“Fishwick lent us his conveyance?” Nate asked. A kaleidoscope of images flashed in his brain, none of them suggesting that Lord Fishwick shared anything with others but misery.

The boy slanted his gaze to the woman. When she nodded, he answered. “Well, Lord Fishwick weren’t like to use it again, were he? Ye kilt him dead, and no one to grieve overmuch for him, neither.”

“Father convinced the magistrate that the death was an accident,” the woman said softly. “And in many ways, it was.”

Mercy and the woman plumped pillows behind Nathaniel’s back and helped him sit up whether he wanted to or not. In the face of such feminine insistence, it was easier not to protest.

“I remember you, boy.”

“I should hope you would,” the woman rasped softly. “Young Caleb helped me get you out of Whitechapel and back to Yorkingham House last night. He even went back for my father’s horse.” She leaned down and whispered, “I promised him a position for his assistance.”

Nate nodded.
Yorkingham.
She was a Yorkingham. The name Anne bubbled to his consciousness, but somehow it didn’t seem right. He couldn’t associate Anne with the straining ache he felt for this woman.

“What’s wrong with your voice?” he asked.

She put a hand to her throat and he noticed purple mottling on her tender skin. “You don’t remember? The doctor said you might not. What do you recall?”

“Lord Nathaniel don’t want to hash over all that,” Mercy said. “Better he should learn something new. Whilst ye and milady were gallivanting hither and yon, Mr. Darling and me went and got ourselves betrothed at the Ladies’ Maids’ Ball!”

Nate smiled weakly. “Good for you.”

“Good for him, ye mean.” She gave Nate a saucy wink. “And good for you too, milord. Milady didn’t get herself engaged to marry the royal duke last night.”

“No?” He looked askance at the woman he could only call “milady,” even though his chest tightened in a hard lump each time her delicate violet fragrance reached his nostrils.

“No,” she said. “I won’t be a duchess in this lifetime. Apparently, being abducted by a murderer and bringing home the unconscious man who saved me is not at all the done thing. His Highness deems me too flighty to become a member of the royal family.”

He caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “Are you sad about it?”

She shook her head. “How can you ask that?”

“Come, Caleb,” Mercy said suddenly. “Ye aren’t being paid to stand around all day gawkin’ at the quality folk. Don’t ye be fretting about Lord Nathaniel. He only took a bad fall. Say, have I told you how a good clout to the head was the making of Mr. Darling?”

The little maid shepherded the boy out of the room and down the hallway, spouting copious advice about his new duties as she went.

“I see a question in your eyes.” The woman settled a hip on the side of his bed. “You don’t know me, do you, Nate?”

“I do. I know you. Your heart is so big there’s room for everyone in it, even those who don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do for them.” He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes, willing himself to remember her name. “I know you’re afraid to dance in public and you can’t play the piano worth shooting. I know you want to please everyone around you so badly, you forget to please yourself.”

“That last part is not true. I’m entirely too willful. Everyone says so and—”

He silenced her by reaching up to cup the back of her head and pull her down for a kiss. Memories of a vigorous tussle with this luscious woman careened through his mind, sending his blood singing. A name echoed through his brain, all right and true.

“Georgette,” he whispered. “You’re my Georgette. The bane of my existence and the love of my life. I don’t deserve it, but if you could love me a little in return—”

“Oh, Nate, do shut up. I wouldn’t know how to love you a little. I can only love you with all I am.”

The world went all wet and warm and smelled deliciously of violets as they kissed each other to a new sort of oblivion. When he started to reach under her hem, she pushed away from him.

“No, Nathaniel, we can’t. The doctor says you’re to keep quiet and not overexert yourself.”

“Bollocks! Can’t a man shag his future wife without some doctor nattering about it?” he demanded.

“Your future wife?”

“Yes.” He palmed her cheeks and felt himself tumble into her wide hazel eyes. “I don’t deserve you, but you’ll make me the happiest man alive if you say you’ll marry me.”

She threw her arms around him and peppered his face with kisses.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said when she finally let him come up for air. “Now, why don’t you practice a little wifely obedience and bolt the door so I can love you to exhaustion in peace?”

She tilted her head at him. “What if the doctor is right?”

“He’s not,” Nate said as she went to throw the bolt. “But if he is, I’ll die a happy man.”