[Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) (3 page)

Jack sighed again. ‘I would like to trust you, Miss Bowes, but I do not. Do I look as though I came down in the last shower?’ He shook his head slightly. ‘You could easily be party to this affair and simply to accept your word would be very green of me.’ His contemptuous gaze swept over her, leaving Sally hot with anger and mortification. ‘You should know that my uncle is elderly and has been increasingly frail for some years,’ Jack added. ‘Recently we were told that he did not have long to live. A matter such as this will hasten his end. But perhaps you do not care about that.’

‘Perhaps you should speak to your cousin,’ Sally snapped back, ‘and persuade him not to write ill-considered love letters. There are, after all, two sides to every affair!’

Jack smiled. ‘Indeed there are, Miss Bowes, and I will be speaking to Bertie and suggesting that he does not involve himself in future with good-time girls on the make.’

‘You are offensive, Mr Kestrel,’ Sally said. Her voice shook with anger and the strain of remaining civil.

‘I beg your pardon.’ Jack did not sound remotely apologetic. ‘I dislike blackmail and extortion, Miss Bowes. It tends to bring out the worst in me.’

Sally shook her head irritably. ‘I do not believe that this is helping us progress the matter, Mr Kestrel.’

‘No, you are quite right,’ Jack said. ‘And until I can tell my uncle that I have destroyed those letters with my own hand, I cannot rest easy. Surely you would not expect me to do otherwise, Miss Bowes?’

Sally would not have expected it. A forceful man like Jack Kestrel was not going to back down on a matter like this. Which left her with a huge problem. How could she protect Connie and yet ensure that the letters were either returned or destroyed? She had always defended Connie, it was a habit with her, even though she thought these days that her sister was as hard as nails and did not really need her protection.

‘Miss Bowes?’ Jack’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘You seem to be having some difficulty making your decision. Perhaps it might concentrate your mind if I tell you that, if you do not hand over the letters, I shall call the police in.’

Sally spun around on him, her eyes flashing. ‘You would not do that!’

‘Yes, I would.’ Although there was amusement in Jack Kestrel’s eyes, his tone was cold. ‘As I said, I don’t like blackmailers, Miss Bowes. It is only out of deference to my uncle that I did not go directly to the authorities.’ His expression hardened further. ‘Oh, and I will do everything I may to ruin the reputation of the Blue Parrot and to put you out of business. And you may be certain that my influence is extensive.’

Sally stared at him, two bright spots of angry colour vivid in her cheeks. She had no doubt that he could put his threat into practice. He was rich and well connected, a member of King Edward’s exclusive, excessive circle of friends, able to turn the fickle monarch’s attention in other directions. At present the Blue Parrot was fashionable, but how long would that last if the gilded crowds who thronged its doors chose to take their business elsewhere? And she had just taken a huge loan from the bank in order to improve her business. She was dependent on her investors. It would be all too easy to ruin her financially…

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again. Jack Kestrel was standing looking at her with the same quizzical expression in his eyes that she had seen there before. Her heart thumped once, then settled to its normal beat.

‘You are harsh in your threats, Mr Kestrel,’ she said, as steadily as she could. ‘This is nothing to do with me and yet you seek to make me pay for it. It is not the behaviour of a gentleman.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I play the game by the rules that are set for me, Miss Bowes. It was your sister who raised the stakes.’

Sally pressed her hands together. She could see no point in arguing. She knew he would make no concessions. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘If you would give me a couple of hours to deal with this matter—’

‘One hour. I will give you one hour only.’

‘But I need longer that that! I don’t know where Connie—’ Sally caught herself a moment too late.

‘So it is Connie who is the Beautiful Miss Bowes?’ Jack raised his brows. ‘Of course.’ He took a letter from the pocket of his coat and unfolded it. ‘I see that the initial in the signature is a C. How slow of me. I should have spotted that.’

‘You should certainly be surer of your ground before you make wild accusations,’ Sally said. ‘You are extremely discourteous, Mr Kestrel.’

Jack laughed, refolded the letter and put it away. ‘I am direct, Sally. It is a quality of mine.’

The warm tone in his voice, the way he said her name, made Sally’s heart turn over even as she deplored his familiarity.

‘I did not give you leave to use my name, Mr Kestrel,’ she snapped.

‘No?’ Jack gave her a mocking glance. ‘I must admit that you do seem given to formality. Do your clients have to address you as Miss Bowes as well?’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Actually, I suppose a touch of severity probably appeals to some of them, if it comes accompanied by a cane and some chastisement.’

Sally felt the bright red colour sting her cheeks again. Jack Kestrel was not alone in assuming that the Blue Parrot Club was a high-class brothel; indeed, Sally herself often suspected that some of the girls made their own arrangements with their clients. In the early days her concern for their safety had made her try to stop them selling their bodies as well as their company, but in the end she knew they would go their own way and only stipulated that they made no such arrangements on the premises. Nevertheless she worried about them and she knew that, though they were touched at her concern, they thought her naïve. Sally sometimes thought so herself. She lived in a world of glittering sophistication and racy excitement and her sister maintained she had the morals of a Victorian maiden aunt.

‘You are labouring under several false assumptions, Mr Kestrel,’ she said icily. ‘On these premises the only expensive commodity that the customers can buy is the champagne. I have my licence to think of. I am the
owner
of the Blue Parrot, Mr Kestrel, which means that I am no more than a glorified office clerk.’ Once again she gestured to the pile of bills and orders on her desk. ‘As you see.’

Jack Kestrel laughed sardonically. ‘I am more than happy to accept your protestations of virtue, Miss Bowes.’

‘You misunderstand me,’ Sally snapped. ‘I do not feel the need to justify myself to you, Mr Kestrel, merely to explain matters.’

Jack inclined his head. ‘And your sister, Miss Bowes? Surely she cannot also work in the office?’

‘Connie is a hostess,’ Sally said. ‘Their task is to entertain the customers with their conversation, Mr Kestrel, and to help them to part with their money.’

‘A task which your sister seems eminently qualified for, given the evidence of her letter to my uncle,’ Jack said.

Sally gritted her teeth. She could not really argue with that.

‘Is your sister working tonight?’ Jack asked. ‘I will go and speak with her immediately.’ He started to move towards the door.

Panic flared within Sally. She knew he would go and demand answers from Connie and he was high-handed enough not to care whether he disrupted the business of the entire club in doing so. A public row would cause the sort of scene she could not really afford.

‘Wait!’ she said, hurrying after him. To her relief, he stopped. ‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if Connie is working tonight or not. I will go and find out.’

She was very conscious of Jack at her shoulder as she walked up the stairs from the basement. One of the waiters passed them, a tray piled high with empty plates balanced on his arm. The Blue Parrot had a dining room to rival any gentleman’s club and a French chef as temperamental as any employed in the great country houses. Tonight, however,
Monsieur
Claydon sounded to be relatively calm and Sally gave silent thanks for small mercies. She did not think she could bear a kitchen disaster on top of everything else.

Jack held the green baize door open for her with scrupulous courtesy and Sally went out into the hall. The entrance to the Blue Parrot had been designed to be like a private house and had a black-and-white marble floor with potted palms and tastefully draped statuary. By the main door were two men in livery who, at first glance, might have been taken for footmen. A second glance, however, showed that they had the physique of prizefighters and the expressions to match. The elder of the two was Sally’s general manager, Dan O’Neill, who had in fact been an Irish champion boxer and now ran the Blue Parrot on a day-to-day basis and was in charge of the floor when the club was open. His pugilist qualifications were extremely useful. It was not unheard of for some of the clients at the Blue Parrot to have a little too much champagne, play a little too deep at
chemin de fer
and need to be encouraged to leave quietly.

On seeing Sally, both men straightened up automatically.

‘Good evening, Miss Bowes,’ Dan said respectfully.

‘Good evening, Dan,’ Sally said, smiling. ‘Evening, Alfred.’

‘Miss Sally.’ The second man shuffled a little bashfully, blushing like a schoolboy with a crush.

‘Do either of you know whether Miss Connie is working this evening?’ Sally asked.

The men exchanged glances. ‘She went out earlier,’ Alfred volunteered. ‘I called a hansom for her.’

‘Said it was her night off,’ Dan added.

‘Do you know where she went?’ Jack Kestrel asked. Sally was very aware of him beside her, could feel his tension and sense the way he was watching the other men very closely.

Dan looked at Sally for guidance and then cleared his throat as she nodded. ‘I think she was dining with Mr Basset,’ he said.

Sally heard Jack’s swift, indrawn breath. ‘Well, well,’ he said pleasantly, ‘how interesting. Perhaps she is hedging her bets in case her blackmail doesn’t work?’

Sally bit her lip, trying to ignore his insinuation. ‘My apologies, Mr Kestrel,’ she said. ‘It seems you will have to wait a while to speak with my sister—unless you are party to the places where your cousin would take a lady to dine.’

‘I am quite happy to wait,’ Jack drawled. He looked at her. ‘As long as you are sure your sister will come home tonight, Miss Bowes.’

Sally flushed at this thinly veiled slur on Connie’s virtue. She saw Dan take a step forward, his face flushed with anger, and Jack Kestrel square his shoulders as though preparing for a fight. She waved her manager back. She did not want a brawl, especially one that for once she was not sure that Dan would win. Jack Kestrel looked as though he might be a useful man in a fight. And, in truth, she could not be certain that Connie
would
come home. There had been times when her sister had been out all night, but after the first, terrible scene when Connie had screamed at her that she was not their mother, Sally had tried not to interfere. Her heart ached that she did not seem able to reach Connie, who went her own wayward path.

‘Then perhaps,’ Sally said, ‘you would like to take dinner whilst you wait, Mr Kestrel? On the house, of course.’

Jack smiled a challenge. ‘I will gladly take dinner if you will join me, Miss Bowes.’

Sally was shocked. If he had asked her the previous night, then she would not have been surprised, but now she could not imagine why Jack would want her company. Then she realised, with an odd little jolt of disappointment, that it was probably because he wanted to keep an eye on her and make sure that she did not slip away to warn Connie of what was going on. He did not trust her.

And she did not feel like indulging him.

‘I do not dine with the guests, Mr Kestrel,’ she said coldly.

Jack held her gaze. ‘Humour me,’ he said.

The air between them fizzed with confrontation. Sally hesitated. She never dined with the customers at the Blue Parrot in order that there should be no misunderstandings about her role at the club. It was the job of the hostesses to mix with the patrons and to entertain them. The owner might mingle with her guests, but she preserved a distance from them. But if Jack Kestrel did not get what he wanted, she knew he could cause a great deal of trouble for her, and one dinner seemed a small price to pay whilst they waited for Connie to return. Then, she hoped against hope, she would be able to deal with this matter and remove the unexpected and wholly unwelcome threat to her business that Jack Kestrel posed.

‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But you will need to give me time to change my gown.’

Jack bowed. ‘I am happy to wait for you.’

Sally saw Alfred’s brows shoot up towards his hairline. The staff had never seen her break her own rules before.

‘Dan,’ she said, ‘please show Mr Kestrel to my table in the blue dining room.’ She paused, her gaze sweeping over Jack. He might not be in evening dress, but she could not deny that he looked pretty good. Many men would kill for a physique like Jack Kestrel’s and the elegance of his tailoring could not be faulted. ‘We have a dress code, Mr Kestrel,’ she said, ‘but I suppose we can waive it on this occasion. Dan, make sure that Mr Kestrel has anything he asks for.’

Jack inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Miss Bowes.’

‘My pleasure.’ Sally met his eyes and felt something pass between them, something hot and strong and heady as a draught of the finest champagne. She felt a little dizzy. Then Jack smiled and the breathless feeling inside her intensified. Damn and damn. She did not want to be reminded of the previous night and the fact that he possessed that fabled Kestrel charm. She had never felt quite like this before. She was never remotely attracted to any of the clients at the Blue Parrot. And why it had to happen now, with Jack Kestrel of all people, whose reputation was dangerous and intimidating and whose word could ruin her business, was not only deeply disturbing but also absolutely impossible.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, masking her awareness of him with the cool composure she had cultivated for her role of a woman of business. ‘I shall not keep you waiting long.’

And she turned and hurried away from him before she gave away too much of her feelings.