Читать книгу Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake's Final Conquest - Gail Ranstrom - Страница 13

God help him, Jamie knew better. Gina wanted nothing to do with him, she’d made that clear enough. But when she looked at him with those doe eyes, when he saw the spark—half question, half plea—in her eyes, he had responded without thinking. When she’d fit herself against his body, his own had hardened with his long-suppressed need.

Her lips parted with a sigh and he teased her tongue, relishing her boldness mingled with timidity in the way she tasted him and in the sweetness of her moan. He’d been afraid she would turn away so he held her tight, preventing her from slipping away from him. He needn’t have worried.

From the moment he’d seen her tonight in her ivory gown with the daring décolletage, he’d been longing to do this very thing.

His fingers were tangled in her hair and he pulled her head back, the better to kiss her. The better to nuzzle his way from her earlobe to the hollow of her throat. He nudged the ivory ribbon around her neck aside and kissed the little line of thickened tissue where she’d been nicked by Daschel’s dagger. He could not see that scar without remembering that horrible moment before he’d swept her from the altar when he’d feared she was dead.

He was afraid she would protest at his recognition of her wound, but the sweet vibration of her sigh against his lips nearly drove him wild with desire. Where? Where could he take her? He could not soil her gown on the grass and return her to the fireworks. Nor could he whisk her from the gardens and take her to a private inn, no matter how much he wanted to. But he couldn’t let her go without tasting just a bit more because, when she came to her senses, she would never let anything like this happen again.

He edged his kisses lower, this time nudging the lace of her bodice out of his way and freeing one rose-peaked bud. She shivered, but he did not take pity on her yet. Instead he captured that little bud between his lips and circled it with his tongue. It hardened and formed a taut bead that tasted vaguely of sugared cream and made him hunger for more.

She made a whimpering sound and cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer and whispering something that sounded like his name. What wild music that made in his mind. He nipped gently in response and her hand tightened through his hair.

He relished her unpracticed responses, knowing she’d never done anything like this before. Whatever had been done to her the night of the ritual, whatever she had felt that night, could have been nothing like this. She was too surprised. Too caught up in the madness that possessed them both.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her heartbeat hammered against his lips. He knew the signs. She was his for the taking, and he was painfully capable of doing just that. Desperate to do it, in fact. But this was Eugenia. Stunning, brave and principled Eugenia. How could he disregard her wishes or sate himself at her expense? How could he risk loving her, knowing her, only to have her leave him?

A chill went through him and he slowly separated himself from her, straightening and steadying her until she could support herself again. “I…I apologize, Eugenia. I shouldn’t have done that. I know I’ve said that before, but you have my oath it will not happen again.”

She blinked, as if trying to recall where she was or what they’d done, blissfully unaware that the deepened pink of one areola still peeked above her décolletage—a temptation that nearly undid his good intentions. She winced as he sighed and reached out to tug the fabric upward.

Even through the deepened twilight he could see the stain of a blush rise to her cheeks as she turned away from him and struggled to put herself to rights. “You should not start something you do not intend to finish, Mr. Hunter.”

Finish? Everything inside him begged to finish what he’d started. But her accusation…was it a rebuke for stopping? Or for beginning? He wanted to reassure her, and he touched her shoulder in what he hoped she would interpret as support. “Eugenia, my concern was for you. You cannot know what a man—”

She shrugged his hand away and turned to face him, her eyes burning like dark coals. “This is precisely the point, is it not? I cannot, but I should.”

“What—”

“Never mind, Mr. Hunter. It is my problem and has nothing to do with you.” She smoothed the hair he’d tangled and tucked it back into the ribbons.

He wanted to tell her that anything to do with her was his concern, but he knew that would only make her angrier. He was saved the necessity of a reply by a reverberating boom, the first of the fireworks.

She jumped, startled by the sound. “We should be getting back before your sister comes looking for us.”

“Eugenia, about the matter we discussed …”

She took several steps back toward the path. “Our ‘courtship,’ Mr. Hunter?”

“Yes. Perhaps I should have asked you if you are husband hunting.” He followed close on her heels, barely daring to breathe until he had the answer to that question.

She laughed. “That is the last thing on my mind at the minute.”

He exhaled with relief. “Then I cannot see what objection you could have regarding our charade.”

“Your charade,” she corrected as she took the arm he offered.

“You can make this as difficult as you please, Eugenia, or you can cooperate. What you cannot do is stop me. My course is set. And you might want to consider the benefits.”

“There are benefits? For whom?”

“If society thinks I am near to making an offer for you, my name may lend you some measure of protection.”

She looked up at him through the deepening twilight. “Why are you so determined to carry out this scheme…James?”

“I am responsible for you. Had I succeeded in capturing Henley …”

She considered this as they entered the clearing and heeded a wave from Lady Sarah. “You most certainly are not responsible for me, but I…I suppose there can be no harm in pretending if you will try to use a bit of discretion. The less you flaunt it, the less there will be to explain when it ends.”

“Agreed.”

Gina glanced down at her décolletage to be certain everything had been put back in place. She was already humiliated enough and she did not want to rejoin their party betraying any sign of impropriety.

That kiss, more seductive than the last, warned her not to become entangled any further with James Hunter. Indeed, how would she manage to coax information from young men if James was always lurking? How could she trace the only clue she had?

She dropped her hand from his arm to smooth the fabric of her gown, trying to brush away any remaining trace of their indiscretion. Her fingers skimmed a small lump of metal dangling from the corset strings beneath her gown. The shape seemed to burn its impression into her skin. Thank heavens James had gone no further or he might have found the key Christina Race had given her. She must find the lock it fit.

Standing on the steps of St. Mary’s Church as the bell rang the hour of twelve, Gina scanned the crowd for any sign of the street urchins Lilly had introduced to her. In the distance, she could see Nancy amongst the stalls of vegetable vendors. Soon she would rejoin Gina, and they would walk home.

She felt conspicuous and realized meeting so openly with a street child would be noted by any of the family’s friends and acquaintances. She would have to think of a different place. Somewhere more private and less open.

A small head sporting a dirty blue cap bobbed through the crowd in a direct line for her. As he drew closer, he waved and finally joined her on the steps. “Mornin’, Miss Eugenia.”

“Good morning, Ned. Do you have anything for me?”

“Not yet, miss. I been lookin’ though. I rounded up some o’ the lads and told ‘em to keep a look out. Promised a shilling to whoever brought the news.”

Ned was a clever lad. The more eyes on the watch, the more likely Henley would be sighted. “Thank you, Ned. Is there some way you could send to me immediately when you have news? “

“Instead o’ waiting until noon, y’ mean? I dunno. Could knock on yer kitchen door, I suppose.”

“No!” Gina could just imagine the questions she’d face if a street child turned up asking for her. “I…I could meet you twice a day.”

The boy removed his cap and swiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Naw. Shouldn’t take us long to spot ‘im, but that Henley is a wily one. If ‘e catches us. An’ we gots bigger problems than that, miss. If you wants him real quick-like, I’m gonna need ‘elp. One of me mates thinks ‘e saw the gent goin’ into a gamblin’ ‘ell. I can’t get in some o’ the places ‘e goes. I know ‘e’s one fer the ladies, an’ I can’t get in those places either.”

Gina’s mind whirled. She could not ask any of Henley’s peers without alerting James. And he was likely pursuing that angle himself. Aside from that, she could not know if they’d been in league with Henley, which would only land her squarely in more trouble. And she dare not hire a woman for fear of the danger that might befall her.

No, apart from her own inquiries, her best chance of finding Henley lay with Mr. Renquist and this savvy urchin. But the threat of James watching her every minute would keep her from pursuing the matter. Unless she could find a way around him.

He’d declared his intention to escort her home every night. But what if she did not stay at home? What if she met with Ned, instead? She’d sneaked out at night before and managed quite well before she’d run afoul of Mr. Henley. And she’d learned her lesson there—never again would she go anywhere with someone she did not know very, very well.

“Ned, how late are you about at nights?”

“Don’t usually sleep until dawn, miss. Some o’ my best pickin’s are in the wee hours when the gents are deep in their cups and not payin’ attention.”

“Then would you meet me after midnight? I could help you. Perhaps I could disguise myself and gain entry to the places you cannot. I will reimburse you for your losses and also pay anyone else you think may help. But we mustn’t involve too many people. The more who know, the more likely our secret will get out.”

He seemed to consider the matter for a moment, then brightened. “Aye. There’s a few I know ‘oo could ‘elp. An’ they won’t tell, neither. When do y’ wanna start, miss?”

The Morris masquerade was tonight. She was attending with the Thayer twins, but she could beg a headache just before midnight, allow James to escort her home, then sneak away as soon as his carriage disappeared around the corner. But tonight she had important business. If fortune favored her, once she spoke with Mr. Metcalfe, she would have no need of Ned’s services. She would have all the answers she needed.

But Gina had learned nothing if not to be cautious. “Tomorrow night, Ned? Quarter past midnight?” Wherever she found herself tomorrow, she would be sure to be home by then.

“Aye, miss. I’ll wait for ye down the street.”

“Stay hidden, Ned. The neighbors are a bit nosy.”

The atmosphere in the Morris ballroom—indeed, in all the rooms the masquerade spilled into—was lively and gay. More than half the attendees wore elaborate costumes. Others, like Gina, wore bright colors in lieu of a costume and merely sported a mask or a domino. Her mask was crafted from silk sewn with yellow feathers and sparkling jewels to complement her bright yellow gown and she dangled a yellow feathered fan from her left wrist. Hortense had dressed as a shepherdess while Harriett wore a nun’s habit. And James, who had arrived to escort them true to his threat, wore a domino with his usual evening attire. When he had delivered them safely to the ballroom, he’d excused himself to greet some of his friends in the billiards room.

Under the protection of disguise, and relieved of the usual restraint of propriety, the gathering was rife with hilarity and spontaneity. And, unless Gina missed her guess, all were imbibing more than the usual amount of punch laced with alcohol, along with wine and ale.

She wondered how she might find Miss Race in the crush, but removed her mask often enough to make certain Christina could find her. But, so far, not a single trace of a leper. Surely Mr. Metcalfe would not fail to come. Christina had told her how anxious he was to speak with her. She felt the key hidden in her bodice and said a quick silent prayer that her long nightmare would end tonight.

“I do so love masques,” Hortense said, shifting her hooked staff to her other hand. “Though I do wonder how I shall dance with this thing.”

Mr. Booth, another guest who had deigned to wear a domino rather than full costume, approached them with a rakish smile. “I have always had fantasies about dancing with a nun. You must have pity on me, Miss Thayer, and fulfill my dreams at last.”

Harriett laughed in a way no nun would ever laugh, both seductive and pleased. “Granted, Mr. Booth. But mind your manners, sir. I have friends in high places.”

Hortense chuckled as Mr. Booth led her sister away. “And Harri has always had fantasies about Mr. Booth. Two wishes satisfied with one dance.”

“Let us hope that everyone’s wish comes true tonight.”

“Whatever do you mean, Gina? What do you wish for?”

Answers. The truth. “Happy endings,” she murmured.

“Amen,” Hortense agreed. “And sooner would be better. But I think you need not worry over that. James Hunter has very obviously set his intentions on you. Any girl would be mad to refuse him. Charm, looks, wealth. What more could you ask? “

What more indeed? “He has not proposed yet, Hortense, and may not. And should he, I have not decided what my answer will be.” There. That should cut short the wagging tongues of the ton and not raise any unrealistic expectations.

“Mark me, he will be back to claim a waltz. You will see him often before it is time to go and he calls for his carriage.”

“I hope he will not hover,” she said. She did not want Mr. Metcalfe to be hesitant to approach her.

She caught sight of Christina, in an elaborate peacock mask, just entering the ballroom. She was on the arm of a man Gina hadn’t met and she wondered if this was the elusive Mr. Metcalfe. But where was his leper disguise? She waved and caught Christina’s eye.

Hortense followed her glance and grinned widely. “Oh! ‘Tis Christina and her cousin, Mr. Marley. He knows every dance ever and has the most devilish wit. Almost as devilish as Charles Hunter’s. How lovely, they are coming our way.”

The man in question bowed deeply to them as Christina made the introductions and then he promptly swept Hortense into the rollicking reel, leaving Gina to hold her staff. When they were alone, she asked, “Where is Mr. Metcalfe?”

“He said he would meet us here,” Christina told her.

Mr. Metcalfe was clearly afraid of something. Even his costume had likely been chosen to veil his identity. She took a sip of punch, wondering what could cause him to be so cautious.

When the dance ended, Mr. Marley returned Hortense and claimed Christina with a promise that Gina would be next. A quick glance toward the punch bowl told her that Harriett was still occupied with Mr. Booth. When a figure dressed in a long black robe with a cowl pulled low over his face and a small bell around his neck approached her, her heartbeat sped. Mr. Metcalfe, at last!

He held his hand out to her without speaking and she returned Hortense’s staff. Once on the dance floor, the leper turned and lifted his cowl just enough that she could see his face. Yes, this was the man who had been at the tableau with Christina. The dance was a waltz, which would allow them to talk without the interruptions of a reel. Very wise of Mr. Metcalfe.

“Miss O’Rourke, I implore you to drop this matter at once.”

Whatever she’d expected to hear, it was not this earnest plea. “I cannot, sir. I am committed.”

“You are ill prepared for what lies ahead. You cannot succeed.”

“You do not even know what I plan, sir. How can you presume—”

“Because I know Henley. Far too well.”

Gina almost panicked when she noted James on the sidelines, watching her. Had he come to dance with her? Or had someone alerted him?

“I cannot let him get away with what he’s done to my family.”

“And to you, Miss O’Rourke?”

Her cheeks burned. “You were there…that night?”

“To my shame.”

She tried to pull away and caused him to stumble, but he held tight and resumed the step. “You must believe me, Miss O’Rourke. That was the first night I attended one of Daschel and Henley’s ‘passion plays.’ I was appalled when I realized what was going to happen. But…there were so many there that I could not expose myself by going against them.”

“Yet you were willing to allow them to defile and murder me?”

“Murder? I did not know about the murders until the following day, when the news spread like wildfire through the clubs and hells of town.”

Oh, how she dreaded the answer, but she could not stop herself from asking. “How many? How many ‘postulants’ knew who I was? “

“Perhaps a handful. Perhaps less. I was not certain until I saw you here tonight. Most of them were so far gone in their cups and with the hashish Daschel had burning in the incense bowls that they wouldn’t have known their own mothers. Henley laced the wine with opium, you know.”

Opium—enough of it—would explain her drugged state and her inability to remember what had happened to her in the hours before the ritual began. That, at least, could be the answer to one of her questions.

“Still, I cannot let him get away with it,” she murmured more to herself than to Mr. Metcalfe.

“Believe me, I understand. But you must leave this for others. Others more ruthless.”

“I can be as ruthless as I must, Mr. Metcalfe.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You are not a match for a man of Henley’s ilk. You have no idea—”

“Then, pray, enlighten me so that I will not go into battle unprepared.”

There was a long hesitation while Mr. Metcalfe evidently struggled with his conscience, then continued in a lowered voice. “Henley is a patient man. He has been waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to finish off his enemies. I am one of his loose ends. I know too much. I know who—” He stopped as if afraid he’d said too much. But when he continued, his words surprised her.

“And you, Miss O’Rourke, are top of his list. London is not safe for either of us unless, or until, Henley has been dealt with.”

“By whom? Who is left to deal with him, Mr. Metcalfe?

The Home Office has failed twice. If not me, if not you, then who?”

He shook his head as if to deny her words. “I am merely trying to stay alive until he has been caught. I’d advise you to do the same.”

She squeezed his arm to make her point. “I need your help, Mr. Metcalfe. Tell me what you know that makes you fear for your life. Tell me anything you know that could bring him down. Tell me what lock your little key fits and what I will find there.”

“I’ve already said too much.”

The dance ended and Mr. Metcalfe released her, glancing over his shoulder with a harried look. Before she could form a protest, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd almost instantly.

At least she finally had an answer to one of her questions. Now she knew why she couldn’t remember the events of that night. But there was still so much more she needed to know. If she could not remember herself, surely there was someone, somewhere, who could fill in those lost hours.

Her head whirled with the implications of Mr. Metcalfe’s warnings. She needed a moment to think, to gather her composure and plan what she should do next. As the next dance began, she crossed the dance floor to the wide terrace doors and slipped through, ignoring the couples gathered there and others strolling along the paths. She needed to find just a single moment in a quiet place.

She stopped at an ivy-covered arbor and gripped the latticework until her knuckles were white. Gradually she became aware that she’d punctured her thumb on a hidden thorn. She shook her hand. “Ouch!”

Mr. Metcalfe appeared out of the shadows and came to her side. Had he decided to tell her about the key?

He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He licked the little droplet of blood. Shocked, she pulled her hand away. “Sir!”

He produced a handkerchief from the folds of his black robe and she accepted it reluctantly.

“Delicious,” he said.

A chill spiraled up her spine. That was not Mr. Metcalfe’s voice! Instinctively, she spun around to make a dash for the terrace doors, but the leper’s hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked back against a hard chest.

“How nice to see you again, my dear. You look just like a pretty little canary. I wonder if your neck will be as easy to break.”

Henley! Dear God!

He began dragging her backward. “But you and I are like the phoenix, m’dear. We have both risen from the ashes, eh? Though I shall rise and soar whilst you shall burn again. Poor little bird.”

A sound, half moan, half muted scream, rose from her throat and he clamped his hand tighter, mashing her lips against her teeth and closing her nostrils.

Henley’s breath was hot and foul against her cheek. “Ah, and here comes your erstwhile savior. How fortunate for me. Now, if I only had a pistol. My, my. Yes, a knife will have to do again.”

James was looking for her, turning in every direction, but he could not see them in the shadows of the arbor. Henley could slash him when he walked past! “Eugenia? Miss O’Rourke?”

Henley chortled. “So proper? Are you not his whore yet?” he asked in a raspy voice.

She brought her heel down sharply on his instep and pulled away at the same time. “Jamie!” she screamed.

He turned toward her voice and came running at full speed. Henley uttered a foul curse and ran in the opposite direction.

Jamie reached her and gripped both her arms as he looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She forced her tears back as she nodded and pointed in the opposite direction, her throat raw. “Henley!”

“Run to the house. Do not stop until you are there. Find Charlie and tell him what’s happened.” He took off in pursuit and she thought she heard him utter an equally foul curse.