Читать книгу The Major and the Pickpocket - Lucy Ashford, Lucy Ashford - Страница 11

Tassie woke to find herself in a big four-poster bed curtained with damask drapes. Feeling suddenly as if she couldn’t breathe, she pushed her way out to find that it was daytime, and she was in a vast room full of dark mahogany furniture with gloomy paintings on the walls. Fear dried her throat. There was no sound at all, except for the ticking of an ormolu clock on the marble mantelshelf above the fireplace. The fingers pointed to just past three o’clock. She must have slept all night—and half the day.

She flew to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. Her panic mounting, she hurried across to the big, velvet-draped window through which the low February sun was sending slanting rays of pale afternoon light. There was no escaping this way either, for from the window it was a straight drop of thirty feet or more to the broad pavement below. Now there’s a bone-breaker of a fall, Georgie Jay would say…

Where was she? How far away were her friends? She knew she was still in London, because beyond the huge stuccoed houses that lined this wide square she could see slate rooftops and white church spires stretching away to the familiar golden dome of St Paul’s. But there was no sign at all of the seething bustle of humanity that filled the noisy streets around Covent Garden. A solitary carriage was pulling up further down the road, and a footman held open the door to let out a beautifully dressed woman and a small girl.

The way the woman held the child’s hand, and smiled down at her, with love, brought a sudden ache to Tassie’s heart. Then her mind was filled with other emotions, because she’d suddenly realised that she was no longer wearing Moll’s shabby old gown, but was swathed in a white lawn nightdress, with lacings at her throat, and with skirts that fell down to her bare ankles. She touched it with distaste and growing alarm. Who had undressed her, and put her in this? She couldn’t remember a thing about arriving at the house! But she did remember those men last night. Marcus and his fancy friend Hal. Had they brought her here? If so, why? Why hadn’t Marcus just handed her over to the constables? Then she remembered. And felt rather sick again. She sat suddenly on the edge of the vast bed, and recalled how Marcus and his friend had been discussing her hair, her voice, her skill with cards. Talking about her—as if she was for sale.

Moll’s brash voice came back to her, as she warned, ‘You must have seen the way men are starting to look at her! There’ll be trouble soon if you don’t look out…‘

She clasped her hands together tightly. Something told her that what the men Marcus and Hal had in mind for her could be a good deal more dangerous even than being hauled up before the magistrates. Frantically she started to search the room for her shoes, her stockings, the horrible gown she’d stolen from Moll; but it was no good. Every chest, every closet was quite empty.

And besides, the door was locked.

She stood very still in the centre of the room, trying to keep calm, trying to think what her friends would do. ‘Stay in charge, Tass,’ Georgie Jay was always telling her. ‘Size up your enemy’s weakness—and remember every card that’s been played in the game.’

But her game so far, with the man called Marcus, had been a simple path to disaster. Again her heart quailed within her. She’d been stupid enough—yes, and ungrateful enough—to pick his temptingly placed pocket as he hid her from the Watch yesterday—and then, as if Fortune was wreaking revenge, she’d been challenged by him to a game of piquet at the Angel. She’d recognised him immediately, of course, with his thick dark hair and his lean, hard face and his limp. A little shiver had gone through her as he assessed her. But she still hadn’t been able to resist cheating him, playing a dangerous game as ever; and if it hadn’t been for the place being raided she’d have escaped with her winnings, despite the fact that the man called Marcus had realised she was cheating him. But the general alarm, the rush to get out, had meant that she was trapped, literally, in her enemy’s arms. And then he’d recognised her as the thief who’d taken his wallet.

He’d also assumed that she was a doxy, and that Lemuel was her keeper. Lemuel, in charge of her! That was a joke, but nothing else about her situation was very funny at all.

Tassie curled up, shivering, on the big bed. She couldn’t help but remember the moment when Marcus had pulled her against his long, powerful body—how he’d felt dangerously strong and full of hard-packed muscle. Then he’d kissed her, so casually, as if he’d done that sort of thing with women a hundred times before…She clenched her hands tightly.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that she’d been wildly disturbed. Her whole body had pounded with agitation. She should have pushed him away, should have defended herself, as she had that time with Billy, but instead she’d found herself melting treacherously in his arms. She remembered all too vividly how her small breasts had tingled, her nipples growing hard, almost painful as they were crushed against his broad chest. And all the time, as he pressed his lips mercilessly against hers, all the time, as his strong hands played across her back for the benefit of the constables, pulling her even closer, she’d felt an insistent ache of longing, a melting in the pit of her stomach, as though a flame had been kindled there…

Worst of all, though, had been the cold, shivery feeling that engulfed her when at last he let her go, and insulted her so hatefully in front of those leering constables.

They had some plan afoot, the arrogant Marcus and his friend Hal—something to do with a man called Corbridge. Then when she’d tried to run away, they’d kidnapped her and brought her here. Why? Oh, this was playing deeper than she’d ever intended when she planned her stunt with Lemuel last night. She had to get out of here.

Just then she heard the sound of footsteps coming towards her door. She jumped up, her arms folded defensively across her breasts as she heard a key turning in the lock. Her heart thumped so heavily she thought she might choke. The door opened, and a woman glided into the room. She wore a black gown, edged frugally with lace; her brown hair was gathered tightly at the nape of her neck. She was young, yet she was dressed like a middle-aged matron. Was she perhaps the housekeeper here? Behind her followed a thin female servant, also in black, but with a starched white apron over her skirt and a white lace cap on her head. She carried a tray of food, and her expression was dauntingly grim. But the first woman smiled at Tassie and, to Tassie’s astonishment, her unremarkable face was quite transformed by the kindness that shone from within her.

‘My dear,’ she said softly, ‘you should not have got out of bed! You should still be resting.’ She turned to the maid, who had put the tray down on a small satinwood table. ‘That will be all, thank you, Emilia. You may go.’

The maid gave Tassie a far from friendly look, which Tassie duly registered. Then she left, and Tassie waited, tense, silent. ‘You looked so ill, my dear,’ the woman was continuing, ‘when Hal and Major Forrester—Marcus—brought you here last night. You need to rest. And you need plenty of good, nourishing food.’

Major Forrester. An army officer. Tassie shut her eyes and opened them, both frightened and perplexed. If Hal and Marcus had brought her here, why hadn’t they told this kind woman—who clearly had authority—that Tassie was a common thief and a cheat to boot?

‘We thought you might enjoy a light meal after your rest.’ The woman pointed encouragingly at the tray. ‘What is your name, pray?’

Tassie took a deep breath. ‘Tassie. That’s all—ma’ am.’

‘Then welcome to this house, Tassie. Hal has instructed me to look after you until you get your strength back.’

Tassie muttered, ‘Saints and fiddlesticks, I don’t believe—’ She corrected herself rapidly. ‘I mean—why, ma’am?’

‘Oh, you poor thing, of course, you’ll hardly remember! You’re here because Hal and Marcus found you, hungry and near-frozen with cold, out on the streets last night. You fainted; they couldn’t just leave you there.’

Tassie blinked. So the two men hadn’t told this lady anything like the truth, and the omission did nothing to reassure her. She glanced quickly at the door, wondering whether to make a run for it right now. ‘They have acted very—nobly,’ she breathed.

Her irony was completely lost on the other woman. ‘Well, naturally!’ She smiled. ‘Hal is sometimes rash and impetuous, but he has a most generous heart. And so, of course, has Marcus. Gracious me, here I am, rattling on, and your food is growing cold! I’ll leave you to eat in peace—but first, can I let anyone know you are here? Friends, or family?’

‘No one, ma’am,’ said Tassie in a small voice. No one at all—she should be used to it by now, but even so she was caught unawares by the sudden ache in her throat. ‘But you are kind to think of it. My—my thanks.’

The lady in black frowned, her head a little on one side. ‘Strange,’ she murmured. ‘Hal and Marcus said you were from one of the poorest quarters of the city, but your voice, your manner of speaking, give that the lie. Surely you have not always lived in poverty?’

‘I was brought up in the country,’ said Tassie quickly. ‘I am an orphan.’

‘Ah, one hears such sad stories about orphans…Were you treated kindly?’

Tassie shrugged. ‘I was fed, and given a roof over my head, ma’am.’

‘I see. Tassie. Tassie. What an interesting name. Well, enough of my questions. Enjoy your food. I will visit you later; no doubt Marcus will also.’

The lady left the room, closing the door behind her. Tassie, bracing herself anew at the sound of Marcus’s name, heard her footsteps retreating softly down the corridor, and drew a deep, deep breath to steady herself. For the kind lady had helped her more than she would ever know, in that she had forgotten to lock the door…

Marcus, who had been restlessly pacing the first-floor drawing room as the afternoon sun sank low in the sky, turned questioningly towards the black-gowned Caro Blakesley as she came to join him. Hal’s sister was one of the kindest, sweetest people he knew, and the death of her husband in a riding accident a year ago was a tragedy she had borne with dignity. Now he asked her, quickly, ‘Is she awake, Caro? She’s not ill, is she?’

‘She seems well, Marcus. I think the girl slept for so long simply because she was totally exhausted, and weak with hunger, poor thing. I took her a hot meal and told her to rest. She was most grateful.’

Marcus’s grey eyes narrowed. ‘Grateful? Are you sure of that?’

‘Yes! Contrary to what you said, she seems to me to have a shy but sweet nature. Her name is Tassie. I was quite enchanted by—’

Marcus broke in. ‘Caro. You did lock the door to her room again, didn’t you?’

Caro hesitated. ‘Why, no, I did not. It seems so hard to keep her a prisoner, when she is such a meek, gentle thing! She was an orphan, you know, brought up in the country…’

But Marcus was no longer listening, because he was already heading for the hallway.

He caught Tassie at the top of the stairs. She turned to run, but he was on her in seconds, grasping her firmly as her arms and legs flailed amidst the loose folds of her voluminous nightdress. Breathing hard, a little too conscious of her strikingly feminine form beneath the enveloping garment, Marcus carted her back down the corridor and threw her on to the four-poster bed, then very firmly shut the door. Outside, the February dusk was gathering into chilly darkness; he quickly closed the curtains, and lit a candle from the low-burning fire, while Tassie lay there glaring at him.

He went to stand over her, his hands on his hips, and said in a voice calculated to frighten her far more than any ranting or raving, ‘I was informed that you were resting.’

‘Yes. Yes, I was!’

‘Caro—like her brother, Hal—is good, and kind, and far too trusting.’

Tassie heaved herself up. ‘Caro—that lady—she is Hal’s sister?’

‘Of course. Why, what else could she be?’

Tassie muttered, ‘I thought she was p’raps the housekeeper here.’

‘Housekeeper!’

‘Well, how was I supposed to know different? Nobody said!’ She felt her heart thumping rather hard again, but tossed back her loose hair defiantly. ‘Any rate, one thing’s for sure: Caro is kinder than you!’

‘Certainly I’m not so easily taken in by a cunning trickster.’ He smiled dangerously. ‘Trying to escape, were you? Decided to do a runner?’

Tassie bit her lip. She certainly wasn’t going to try to run past him, even if he did have a limp. She was nearly as tall as Lemuel, but this man towered over her, six foot of hardened muscle, shoulders forbiddingly broad beneath his riding coat, strong booted legs set firmly apart. Major Marcus Forrester. All ready for action, she thought rather faintly. His long dark hair was tied loosely back from his face in a way that only emphasised the implacable set of his jaw, the iron glint in his grey eyes. And she couldn’t help but remember his kiss…One way or another, she really was in trouble. Time for desperate measures.

Slowly she pulled herself up off the bed. She let a couple of tears pool in her eyes, then, as soon as she guessed he’d noticed them, she looked away and swallowed. ‘It’s a bit difficult to explain. You see, I—I was just going to look for the serving maid who brought me my food. I was hoping she would help me. It is my monthly time, sir, and—and…’

Instantly Marcus’s face was all concern. He said, ‘Dear God, how stupid of me. You mean Emilia: I shall fetch her to you straight away, with all that you require.’

Tassie blushed shyly and glanced up at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes. ‘My thanks.’

But then, suddenly, his eyes flashed with anger and he sprang towards her. ‘By God, you impudent wench,’ he roared, ‘is there no end to your trickery?’

He’d grabbed her by the arm, and with his free hand was grasping at the deep pockets of her nightdress. And Tassie realised with horror that he had seen, outlined against the fine lawn fabric, the little silver mirror and the gilt scent phial that she’d hidden there. She grabbed for them at the same time he did, but she was too late, and as he scooped the precious objects into his hands, Tassie dived instinctively for the door.

A futile attempt. Thrusting the objects on to a nearby table, he hauled her back, and she was overpowered by the sheer masculine force of him. He was breathing hard as he fought her into submission: every plane and angle of his lean face seemed carved in granite, and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. ‘You little thief!’ he exploded. ‘How could you steal from Caro, who has made you a welcome guest in her house?’

She cursed her survivor’s instinct to take what she could, born of years of hardship. Trying vainly to still the wild beating of her heart, Tassie gazed up at him with despairing defiance. ‘I didn’t know this was her house, did I?’

‘Even so, this goes beyond all bounds.’

‘And so do you, you’re a bully and a—a prig!’ she declared, taking refuge in attack. ‘You’ve no right to keep me here against my will, no right at all, and you will let me go, this minute!’

He shrugged, and to Tassie’s surprise, a slow smile started to soften his features as he gazed down at her. He spread his hands wide. ‘Playing the street minx again? I’m not stopping you.’ A positively wicked grin curved his mouth. ‘But you’d not be wise to go out on the streets looking like that, I assure you.’

Bewildered by his sudden change of heart, still breathless from her outburst, Tassie followed the raking line of his hard grey eyes and looked down at herself. To her utter dismay, she realised that in the struggle for the trinkets, the laces that fastened the neck of her nightgown had come undone, leaving her bosom completely exposed. He was watching her with cynical amusement, and she gave a horrified gasp and tried to pull the fabric back across her throat. But her fingers fumbled with the unaccustomed laces, giving him time to lazily reach out his hand and brush his palm across her pink-tipped breasts; and as her nipples pulled and tightened to his touch, Tassie felt a sensation flood through her so strongly that she could scarcely stand. Like his kiss, only—only…Her breasts ached almost unbearably, and her stomach churned with dark longing. She tried to back away, but her legs were weak; she was struggling for control, yet felt quite helpless as his long fingers toyed with those incredibly sensitive crests.

And Marcus, too, was shaken. God, but she was beautiful, this girl! Common thief she might be, but she was also a young woman, and all that any man could desire; that was why the heat seared his flesh and pounded between his thighs. Watch yourself, Marcus, he warned himself. Douse that flame at your loins, man, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Aloud he drawled, ‘A tempting doxy, indeed, in spite of that hot temper! Well played, my resourceful vagabond. You certainly know how to distract your opponent when caught in the wrong, don’t you? But you should take care, you know. Not every man would react to your teasing with such restraint.’

Tassie almost groaned with shame. He thought she’d revealed herself to him deliberately! Desperately she tried to push him away, but he knocked her hands aside, then reached with almost dismissive casualness to catch at the laces of her nightgown and proceeded, with those same long, sensitive fingers that had just tormented her so wickedly, to tie the laces into perfect bows across her throat. Tassie slapped at him blindly, overwhelmed by his nearness. ‘Get your hands off me,’ she faltered. ‘Or I’ll—I’ll…’

Marcus was in control again. An iron self-control he’d learned in battle. Obediently he took a step backwards and admired his handiwork. ‘You’ll what, minx? Call for the constables?’

Tassie, white-faced, let her gaze swing towards the door; Marcus quickly moved to block her path. ‘Oh, no. No escape that way, my dear. At least—not before I’ve informed you of a proposition I’ve got in mind for you.’

Tassie pulled herself together with an effort. ‘Indeed?’ she flashed back. ‘A proposition? And there was I thinking you’d already made several! Let me go now; give me back my clothes, or I’ll tell that kind lady, Caro, that you’ve tried to kidnap me!’

He smiled, his teeth white and even in the shadowy light of the fire. ‘Just as I could tell her you’re a thief. Save your histrionics for the low-class dives of Covent Garden, Tassie. Yes, I know your name; Caro told me. Let me repeat that I’m not in the market for light-fingered doxies.’ She flinched again; he pressed on. ‘But you do happen to have several qualities in which I am interested. Firstly, you’re obviously an expert at all forms of trickery—cards, thievery, and so on. Secondly—you’re rather a good little actress, aren’t you? I’ve noticed how quickly you’re able to switch from ranting hussy to poor, beleaguered innocent, from spouting street cant to quite respectable English. Tell me, where did you learn to speak so well when you’ve a mind to it?’

Her heart thudded again, but she tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Why, sir, it just comes natural to me!’ she declared, putting her hands on her hips and deliberately adopting her ripest city slang. ‘Anyone can speak proper when they choose!’

‘That I take leave to doubt. But now I’ll move on to my third point. You, as I see it, are in deep trouble. You stole my wallet, and were cheating at the Angel; by rights you should be locked up in Newgate. Not a pretty prospect, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’

Tassie did agree. She’d heard about Newgate, and the very thought of being inside that foul place made her feel quite sick. ‘I thought you were talking about a proposition,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But it sounds more to me like some kind of threat. And I warn you, if you turn me in I’ll deny everything!’

He said evenly, in a voice that made her shiver, ‘You could try. But I would advise against it.’ He took a few uneven paces round the room, and paused eventually with one hand on the mantelpiece, and his booted right foot on the fender. The firelight flickered over his lean, vivid face and made sparks appear to dance in his disturbing grey eyes. ‘Let me take you to the heart of the matter. There is a man in London on whom I wish, very badly, to be revenged. He has several weaknesses, and I intend to attack accordingly. Firstly, he is a gambler, who cannot resist a challenge when the stakes are high. And, secondly, he has a marked liking for pretty women who are skilled at card play.’

‘So I’m ruled out for certain, surely, if you are looking for someone pretty? Since you make it quite clear that I am nothing of the kind!’

She saw a half-smile flicker across his strong mouth—a dangerous, all-male smile. Those weren’t my precise words, minx,’ he softly said. ‘I think, in fact, that you could be very, very pretty.’

She felt the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘You jest with me,’ Tassie said flatly.

‘I assure you, this is no jest.’ No, indeed. His voice, his expression told her he was in deadly earnest. ‘To put it briefly, Tassie, you and I could help each other out, quite considerably.’

Tassie clasped her hands together tightly. ‘So far I’ve gathered that you want me to play cards with your cousin. Sebastian Corbridge.’

She’d taken him by surprise. ‘How on earth do you know his name?’

‘I heard you talking about him last night, with your friend—Hal.’ She looked up at him directly. ‘But why bother with me, Marcus? Fie, it would only take a skilled card cheat one night to fleece this man Corbridge, and you must know there are plenty of those in London town! Why not look one of them up, and leave me out—’ she let scorn trickle into her words ‘—of your petty scheme of revenge?’

Marcus was silent for a while, but he was still assessing her with those iron-hard eyes that made her feel so uneasy. At last he said, ‘This isn’t about me, Tassie. Corbridge, you see, has cheated not me, but my godfather, a kindly, honest old man who has no idea how to protect himself against rogues. That is why I am acting for him. I want to lay a trap for Corbridge, I want him lured into deep, deep play; and I want you to be the bait at the heart of it.’

Bait. Tassie swallowed rather hard on the sudden dryness in her throat. His coat of dark grey broadcloth had fallen open as he talked, and the moulded softness of his white silk shirt did nothing to diminish the breadth or the power of his shoulders and chest. She found her gaze flickering with some agitation over the strong muscles of his thighs beneath his tight-cut breeches and remembered a little faintly how she’d felt, all too clearly, the evidence of his arousal as he’d casually fondled her breasts.

Bait. This man wanted to make a bargain with her. He wanted to cold-bloodedly use her to trap an enemy he despised.

Oh, this was possibly the most dangerous man she had ever met. She would have to keep her defences up, every minute, until she got well away from here. She tilted her chin in defiance, though really she felt more alone and more afraid than she had for many years. ‘And how exactly were you thinking of paying me, Marcus? By the hour? By the day? How do you usually hire your—your sluts, pray?’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I thought I’d reassured you several times that you’re really not to my taste. I was merely offering to pay you for your time, and skills—’

Her fear was banished by anger. ‘Oh, this I will not endure! You think your fancy words and fine money give you the right to insult whomsoever you please—but you’ve truly picked the wrong person this time, believe me, Major Forrester! Now, I’d be extremely obliged if you’d give me back my clothes and let me go, this very minute.’

‘No!’

There was a pause. Then Marcus said slowly, regretfully, ‘It really is a great pity, Tassie, but I think you’d be wise to go along with my plan.’

Tassie paled. ‘Why?’

‘Unfortunately, some things are beyond my power. You see, the constables have got hold of that young red-headed scamp who was with you last night.’

She was shaking her head, feeling unsteady. ‘No. Lemuel got away from the Angel, I know he did. You’re lying!’

He shook his head. ‘He made the mistake of going back to the Angel once the fuss had died down, to look for you; that was when the constables arrested him. Lemuel’s not as clever as you, is he, Tassie? He’s the kind who talks too much. If he’s not released pretty quickly, he could get you and all your friends into serious trouble.’

Her heart was thudding again and she felt rather sick. ‘So what must I do? To help him?’ Oh, poor Lemuel, always the most loyal of friends, and ‘tis all my fault… Marcus’s eyes were hard as granite. ‘I have a certain amount of influence at the Bow Street office. I could get your friend out of there, without a charge. But only if you agree to help me with my plan against Corbridge.’

Tassie gazed at him, her heart aching with distress. ‘So—so you’re prepared to blackmail me now, are you, in order to get what you want?’

‘Blackmail?’ he queried sharply. ‘Hardly. All you have to do is dress yourself up like a lady—in clothes which I will provide—and speak charmingly, as I know very well you can. When the time is right I want you to play cards with my cousin Lord Sebastian Corbridge, making quite sure that you win; in return, I’ll help your foolish friend and reward you handsomely.’

‘How much?’

‘I’m willing to offer you the sum of fifty guineas.’

The ground rocked beneath Tassie’s feet. She had never seen so much money in her life. Fifty guineas… She drew a deep breath and tossed her hair back from her face. ‘Aren’t you afraid that I might rob and cheat you again, Marcus?’

Marcus laughed, and in his laughter was a sudden chill. ‘No, I’m not. Not in the slightest. You see, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you, Tassie. I hold all the aces this time. From now on, don’t even think of getting the better of me.’

She would think of nothing else, Tassie vowed resolutely. But her answer had to be yes. Yes, she would accept his offer—firstly, because Lemuel was in trouble, and, secondly, because this man’s money, so casually offered, could mean more than he would ever guess.

It might help her to find out who she really was.

Only a few days ago, back at the Blue Bell, Tassie had asked Georgie Jay casually, ‘How would you find out, Georgie? If there was some mystery about your past? If you wanted to know where you really, truly belonged?’

Georgie Jay had frowned. ‘It’s the same old story if you want anything, Tass. You need money. Money for fancy investigators—money for lawyers. You’d need a whole purseful of guineas to go down that road, girl. Not thinkin’ about that place you ran from all those years ago, are you now?’ She’d shaken her head. And yet she was always thinking about it, always. Now, in this bedroom, alone with Marcus, she swallowed down the sudden ache in her throat. She’d known for months that her time with kind Georgie Jay and his friends could not go on for ever. You need money…

Bait, Marcus had said. She’d be the bait in the trap; the lure to tempt his enemy Corbridge into a deep, deep game. But once Lemuel was safe, she, Tassie, would make very sure that she was the one deciding on the order of play. She faced Marcus squarely, hiding all her inner turmoil like the player, the trickster he took her to be. ‘Fifty guineas, you said?’

‘I did.’

‘And you promise to pay me as soon as I’ve done what you want?’

‘Most certainly I promise.’

‘And you’ll get Lemuel away from the constables…’ Tassie thrust out her hand. ‘We have a bargain, Marcus, you and I.’ But the touch of his warm, strong fingers as he grasped hers unsettled her anew. She dragged her hand away quickly. He proceeded to tell her then that she would be staying here, with Caro to look after her, until the time was right to tackle Corbridge; and Tassie nodded coolly, as if it were every day that she made a bargain for fifty guineas with a complete stranger. But her heart was thudding against her chest like a caged bird by the time he finally left her. And after he’d shut the door, she heard the key being turned in the lock outside.