Victorian Dream (22 page)

Lucien sat at her side, apprehension furrowing his brow. My, but he looked so serious. Tonight he treated her like royalty. Maybe he wasn’t such an unsuitable match for her after all. No, that was all wrong. What was she thinking? But he was being sweet, and she felt sorry knowing they would be parting forever after tonight. She gave him an innocent kiss on the cheek, then the strange giddiness she’d felt before struck again, and she laughingly fell back against the pillows. Her body was reacting before she could reason what she was doing. This was not the proper order of things.

“I’ll order food.” Rising, Lucien headed for the door. “We can relax here until you are feeling yourself again.”

She must collect her thoughts. Being alone with Lucien in this private room was highly improbable, no not improbable...improper…that was it, highly improper. She wondered at her confusion then with a sigh stared at the flocked wallpaper. The colors seemed so bright, the patterns swirling about as if they were alive.

“The comestibles will be here shortly,” he reassured, returning with more sparkling wine.

His eyes appeared a deeper blue, almost smoldering. With a brazen half-smile, he poured more champagne and eased down upon the settee.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful, Trelayne,” he crooned.

He pressed the glass of bubbly to her lips. Without thinking, she drank it in, along with his compliments. Boldly, he kissed her, his tongue gently probing. She should be shocked—was indeed shocked, but thoughts would not become actions. A knock on the door gave her a jolt. Leaning away she blushed furiously.

Lucien laughed, and went to answer the call.

The waiter placed a tray upon a nearby table. Again, Lucien signed for the order, but he also gave the lad a large handful of coins. The boy glanced over at her, grinned up at Lucien, and retrieved a small placard from his uniform pocket. He hung the sign by its brass chain on the outside handle, and taking his leave, firmly pulled the door shut.

She should protest, and demand to leave immediately, but her body felt so languid, and her thoughts soared beyond serious contemplation. As the sound of the orchestra seeped into the room, she closed her eyes. She was supposed to talk to Lucien, but all the things she had planned to say were jumbled in her mind, hovering just beyond her grasp.

Where was he? She opened her eyes. There he was, standing near the tray, his back toward her. He seemed to be organizing the food.

Repairing to her side, he offered a strawberry tipped with powdered sugar. She really should eat something. He placed it in her mouth. It tasted a bit odd, but went down easily. She had a second one, then another.

“You must have some too,” she insisted.

“No,” he declined, restraining her hand as she attempted to feed him in kind. “You’re all the sustenance I need.”

The food, rather than making her stronger and clearing her mind, left her feeling all the more fainty and floaty. It wasn’t exactly a bad sensation. In fact it was rather pleasing. Every inch of her skin tingled, the music felt as if it came from inside of her, and the cushions were soft as clouds.

“Oh, Lucien, I don’t know what’s come over me. I can barely catch my breath. Could you open a window?”

“Sorry, darling. The windows are locked tight. The proprietor wouldn’t want anyone sneaking in uninvited or sneaking out without paying.”

“Yes, of course. How clever of him.”

It all made good sense, but the room was stifling. In a haze, she pushed the off-the-shoulder sleeve farther down upon her arm. Lucien trailed a finger along the exposed skin.

“If you are truly in distress, my dear, perhaps I should loosen a button or two on your dress.”

No…he mustn’t. She struggled to put her protest into words, but only a garbled sentence passed her lips. Experienced fingers released several button closures, and her dress gapped, revealing her corset. Lucien grazed his hand across the mounds of her breasts. Alarmed at his behavior, she found the strength to push him away.

“Easy, darling.” He shushed her as if she were a child.

Stroking her hair, he rocked her back and forth. Now his touch was reassuring rather than threatening. Everything was all right. Everything was marvelous.

“Rest your head on my shoulder, sweet. Don’t fight the pleasure surrounding you.”

Closing her eyes, she complied and her thoughts turned to colors, every fiber of her being pulsed with a life of its own. She heard the rustle of fabric, it sounded far away. Lucien slipped his hand beneath her skirts, he touched her knee and inched his way upward.

In the foggy far reaches of her mind, her instinct for self-preservation cried for him to stop. But her arms felt too heavy to lift and wouldn’t respond, but how was that possible when she was floating, so light, so carefree. Yes, delightfully carefree, there was no need for alarm. Walker wouldn’t hurt her. Visions of her wild and wonderful Sea Captain flashed through her mind. She opened her eyes... It was blonde hair that met her gaze, not Walker’s dark thick mane. Something was wrong

With monumental effort, she rallied “Lucien,” she breathed, “we mustn’t.”

He eased back, giving her a comforting smile. “Whatever you wish, my love. There’s no rush. We’ve all the time in the world. Do have another strawberry.”

Chapter Eighteen

Walker shifted the knife and scabbard to a more comfortable position on his belt. Hargis had designed the weapon to replace his Green River blade lost in the fight. This one was smaller, and more suited for concealment in the city, but it was just as deadly. Standing on the stoop outside Lucien’s flat, he had a dark craving to christen it in blood.

Edging closer, he listened at the door. It was quiet as a tomb inside. Damn. It would be just his luck no one was home—delaying his satisfaction for revenge. Upon his return from Brighton, Walker had stopped at Royston Hall. At first, he’d been alarmed to find Trelayne was not present then reassured after being told she was with her friend Penelope. With that worry off his mind, it left the way clear for him to search out Lanteen.

He pounded on the door. The sound echoed through the rooms beyond. Again and again he slammed his fist against the wood. Shockwaves of pain reverberated through his barely healed body, but pretending the oak panel was Lanteen’s face, pain became pleasure.

****

Beatrice heard the summons and quit sobbing long enough to glance in the direction of the front door. Maybe Lucien had changed his mind. Maybe he had come home instead of keeping his assignation with
her
.

For one happy moment, she clung to the sliver of hope. Then it occurred to her—if Lucien had returned he wouldn’t knock, he would use his key.

Slumping back upon the bed, she lay listening to the persistent commotion. Finally, curiosity and concern got the better of her. What if the caller was involved in Lucien’s business dealings? Slipping from the bed, she straightened her crumpled dress, and padded across the room. If she didn’t respond, and it caused him to lose money, she would pay dearly for her poor judgment.

“Who’s there? What you be wanting?” She pressed close in order to hear the reply.

“I’ve a message for Mr. Lanteen.”

“He’s not home, go away.”

“I’ve a package for him too, Miss.”

“Well, leave it outside and get on with you.”

“Please, you don’t understand. You must sign the receipt. That’s the rules, and I’ll be punished if they ain’t followed. I’ll lose me job, or at least get a good beatin’. Please, Miss. It won’t take but a moment.”

The voice sounded so sincere, and knowing what it felt like to taste the master’s whip, Beatrice took pity and unbolted the door. The man revealed gave her a start. Coo, he was a handsome rascal. She couldn’t imagine anyone giving him a beating. He was hardy and manly, not pretty like Lucien. And he was tall, towering over her by a good foot. His eyes had a kindness about them although they appeared commanding as well. Entranced by the sight of him, it took a moment before she realized he wasn’t carrying a parcel.

“Say, where’s this important package you want me to sign for?” As she inspected him more closely, appreciation turned to apprehension.

The man remained silent as if pondering his next move. Her suspicion rose, and gut instinct roared something was wrong. She tried to slam the door shut, but he easily pushed it back and forced his way in. Turning, she searched for a likely weapon.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He stood his ground as if trying to gain her trust.

“Who are you? What’d you want?”

“I’m Captain Walker Garrison. I need your help…please.”

Recognition of his name momentarily overtook fear. So, this was the amazing Captain Garrison. The man Lucien hated and that hussy Trelayne loved. His speech had reverted to American, but wasn’t he ever so polite, asking for her help, not an order but a request. That was a switch.

“What could I know that would help the likes of you?”

****

Walker hesitated. If Lucien was in love with Trelayne, why was this woman here and very much at home in his residence? A residence where no expense had been spared. Even the china upon the table was exquisite. Set only for one, it seemed safe to assume the lady intended to dine alone tonight.

As he pondered the situation, he studied the rest of the room. A painting hanging over the fireplace caught his attention. The scene was that of an old monastery or gatehouse, the rendering flanked by ornate sconces. A lace mantel cloth beneath it, gave the arrangement an alter-like appearance.

He drew closer. The brass plate at the bottom of the picture indicated the structure was Amberley Abbey. Odd Lucien would have such a fascination for an old monastic ruin. His gaze roamed sideways and held fast as it snagged on a miniature of Trelayne, displayed in a singularly beautiful filigreed frame. How revolting. Lucien had her likeness over which to weave his vile dreams and plans. Lovingly, he picked up the tiny portrait and turned it over. An inscription added to the silver work read,
Queen of my desires, Abbess of my soul.
By all that was holy, what was that supposed to mean? Resisting the urge to slip the treasure into his pocket, he precisely replaced the miniature, his fingers lingering on the image.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the woman backing out of the room. She inadvertently brushed against an end table, and the crystal figurines on top collided. The soft tinkling sound broke the silence in the room bringing her up short.

“You’ll never make it to the door before me,” he challenged. “Where is Lanteen? I really must know.”

“He’s out on the town,” the woman snapped, holding her ground, “and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Was she miffed at having been left behind? That could work to his advantage. “Had a fight did you? Is that why you’re here alone?”

“It’s none of your business why I’m here. And once he figures out she ain’t all he dreamed her to be, he’ll come back to me.”

“She?”

The woman nodded at the mantel.

A sick feeling gripped his stomach. “Good God, is he with her now?”

“So what? It don’t mean nothin’.”

How could this be? Was Merrick lying to him, or had Trelayne lied to Merrick? He stalked across the room. If she was with Lanteen, she was in over her head and setting into motion circumstances she might not be able to control.

“Where are they? Her life may be in danger.”

“In danger. That’s a good one. He won’t hurt her none,” she snarled. “He’s infatuated with the skinny bitch.”

“Be careful how you speak about the woman I love,” he growled back. “Those two should not be together, not now, not ever.”

“Sweet mother of God,” the woman bristled. “So you’re in love with her, too.” After a moment, a calculating expression replaced her angry grimace.

“My name’s Beatrice,” she offered. “Maybe we can help each other.”

“In what manner?”

“Well, you want the girl, and I want Lucien. It’s simple as that. You sees the girl is out of the way, and then Lucien will be mine again.”

After getting past the idea that anyone actually wanted Lanteen, Walker considered the offer.

“But you got to promise me one thing,” she added, fear evident in her voice. “If I help you, Lucien must never find out.”

Although he did not trust this woman, he saw no reason not to promise what she asked. “Your part in any plan devised will remain a secret—unless you betray me or Miss St.Christopher. Then you’ll have more than Lucien to contend with.”

The woman blanched. Had he come on too strong? As she appeared to weigh the pros and cons, her gaze flickered over to the miniature of Trelayne. She clenched her jaw, and the color rushed back into her cheeks, jealousy apparently conquering fear.

“I’ll help you. But what assurance do I have you won’t tell on me one way or the other.”

“Only my word.”

Beatrice gave a sniff of sarcasm.

“Ma’am,” he persuaded, “if I were the malicious untrustworthy type, I would be, at this very moment, beating the daylights and information out of you. I have no interest in and nothing to gain by betraying you. Where are they?”

“They’re at The Bond.” The words burst from her lips as if their immediate escape was the only way to ensure they would be heard before she lost her nerve.

“What and where is the Bond?” he demanded.

“The Bond Street Gentlemen’s Consortium. A men’s club what allows women on certain evenings. Many a misadventure takes place there in the wee small hours of the night. I’ve been there once or twice me-self,” she added, with pride.

“How do I get there?” Walker asked, heading for the door, his anxiety rising with every step.

“It’s rather ’round about from here,” Beatrice hedged, following close behind.

He halted and turned around. The woman was trying to keep some control of the situation, but he couldn’t have her tagging along and getting in the way.

“I’d prefer to go by myself,” he said.

“And just how do you plan to find her? It’s a large establishment, open to patrons only, and Lucien has many friends there. You can’t go charging in like some white knight expecting to carry off your fair maiden without a fight. A romantic notion, but poorly advised.”