My Runaway Heart (6 page)

"This part of London rarely sleeps. Take care to
keep your hood pulled down around your face, just as I told you. It would be a
pity if someone recognized you and word flew back to your aunt."

Lindsay nodded, thinking it would be more than a pity.
Yet she quickly shoved away a worrisome vision of Aunt Winifred clamoring for her
smelling salts and took Jared's proffered arm, her hand settling comfortably in
the crook of his elbow as if meant to be there.

Just as she felt as if she were meant to be at his side
as they proceeded down the crowded walk, the strange yet wonderful sensation of
gliding on air once more enveloping her.

The ride to Covent Garden had passed like a dream,
Jared pointing out the sights, although Lindsay was chagrined that she had been
more entranced by the masculine warmth of his voice than by what he had been
saying. And now the strength of his arm and the pressure of his hand covering
hers were proving as disconcerting, which made her wonder if
Corisande
had felt as much about Lord Donovan. Surely she
had—

"
Wot'ave
you got there,
milord, a little mouse hidden under that fine cloak? Ha, it's not even
rainin
' any longer! Is she afraid she'll melt? Send '
er
off and come while away the hours with a woman sure t'
please a
strappin
'
gentl'man
like yourself."

Lindsay's eyes grew round at the stylishly dressed beauty
posed beneath a streetlamp, several other unaccompanied young women casting
admiring glances at Jared as they tittered at their friend's brazen remarks.

"Was she—did she call me a mouse?"

"Pay no mind. They're women of the night."

"I
know
what they are," Lindsay said stiffly, not noticing the look of surprise in
Jared's eyes. Affronted not because of their carnal profession, but because the
lovely redhead had spoken so rudely about her, Lindsay watched the woman
saunter toward a bearded gentleman signaling to her from a parked carriage. The
two exchanged brief words; then the woman spun around with a bold laugh and
called after Jared.

"Too late,
luv
. Come 'round
tomorrow night and I'll be sure to save you a good bit o' my time!"

Then she was gone, disappearing with a swish of bright
green silk into the carriage, which set off at a noisy rumble down the street.
Sighing, Lindsay glanced up to find a deep frown on Jared's face.

"Oh, dear, please don't be angry for my sake—it
was no large insult. I don't know why I allowed her to upset me.
It's
charity I should be feeling;
Corie
taught me that. Charity and compassion. She saved several girls in
Porthleven
from such a life—found them good, honest work,
and one even a husband."

"Sounds like a saint."

"Funny, that's exactly what I said after
Corie
described the man of her—well, the sort of man she
hoped one day to marry, though I told her he sounded dull as well. Mind you,
Corie
isn't dull, oh, no, and I wouldn't call her a saint,
either, not with that temper. But she has a heart of gold—I'm sure you'll like
her when you meet, though right now she and her husband are—"

"So your friend has married."

"Oh, yes, shortly after I arrived in London. And
it's the most incredible story—oh, look! There's a sign for Tom's Cellar up
ahead. Is that the place?"

Jared gave a brusque nod, still disgruntled that
Lindsay hadn't seemed shocked at all by the loose women plying their trade on
the street, a bawdy sight he had hoped might send her scurrying back to their
carriage to demand immediate escort home.

It was clear that the freedom she had enjoyed in
Cornwall had perhaps gained her a wider view of the world than other young
women of her station shared, and her saintly friend
Corisande
had obviously helped things along. Yet Tom's, well, that was another matter.

"Don't forget about your hood," he reminded
her, the sound of raucous singing growing louder as they approached a rather
nondescript brick building at one side of which was an archway leading down a
flank of stone steps. He found some comfort that the entrance stank of cider
and urine, but if Lindsay had noticed, she gave no note of it, her eyes wide
with curiosity.

"Tom's is down there?"

Again he nodded, the breathless excitement in her voice
suddenly making him want to shake her. Did the chit imagine they were about to
come upon some regal ballroom? A fashionable coffeehouse? Couldn't she see the
dinginess all around them?

Almost angrily, he drew her down the damp steps,
holding her arm firmly so she wouldn't slip. Dank moist air clouded with
tobacco smoke enveloped them, hazy light spilling from a half-opened door at
the bottom of the stairs. The singing had grown so boisterous that he couldn't
have heard anything Lindsay said unless she shouted.

And she was trying to get his attention, raising her
voice to ask him what manner of place was Tom's even as she was drawn into a
long, low-ceilinged room that was clearly a cellar, just as the painted sign
outside had read. But her words were drowned out by the noise—
truly,
the cacophony couldn't be described as anything but
noise—of more than a hundred men's voices raised in singsong, the barking of
dogs and a constant outcry for refills of cider and ale.

She blinked, dense whorls of smoke making her eyes
tear, and saw that women moved freely among the clamorous throng, most dressed
quite shabbily, unlike the stylish courtesans on the street, but laughing and
smiling just as boldly. Lindsay tried to smile, too, but she felt her
enthusiasm flagging as she scanned the plainly furnished room, the long trestle
tables and side booths filled with drunken revelers, the feeble light cast from
three iron chandeliers suspended from rustic beams making her surroundings
appear fuzzy and indistinct.

"Come. I see an empty box near the back."

Jared had shouted, startling her, but she accompanied
him with as much eagerness as she could muster, grateful for his guiding hand
at her arm.

He seemed very much at ease no matter the bedlam, and
she reminded herself that he had said Tom's Cellar was one of his favorite
places. Perhaps as a military spy, his life constantly fraught with danger, he
felt he could drop his guard amidst such pandemonium. Either that or it suited
his adventurous nature, which made her resolve to relax and enjoy herself as
well.

Actually, Tom's was little different from Oliver and
Rebecca
Trelawny's
quayside inn in
Porthleven
. Perhaps not as rowdy, Lindsay told herself as
she slid onto a bench Jared pulled out for her, but she had been there with
Corisande
on nights when the village fishermen had
celebrated a record catch of pilchards.

Sea chanteys and lively conversation had drowned out
talk of the next smuggling run from France, Lindsay always listening silently
while Captain
Trelawny
and
Corisande
plotted where it might be safest to land his ship, the Fair Betty. Of course,
she couldn't tell Jared about how she'd sometimes helped with the landings—at
least not until they knew each other better. He worked for King and country,
after all, and fair trading couldn't be more illegal.

"What do you think?"

Lindsay smiled brightly as Jared sat down beside her, a
pretty serving woman plunking two brimming mugs of ale on the table in front of
them. In this far corner the singing seemed not half so loud, so she didn't
have to shout.

"It's lovely—everyone is so merry. I can see why
you enjoy it so much." Gamely she took a sip of ale, trying not to
grimace. "Oh, this is very good. You should try yours."

He did, but his sip—more a draught—lasted much longer
than hers. And when he set the mug down with a
thunk
,
Jared looked so displeased that Lindsay wondered if it was something she had
said. "Is the ale not to your liking?"

"It's fine. Perfect."

"Yes, mine, too." Wondering at the irritation
in his voice, Lindsay took another small sip, her cheeks heating under his
close scrutiny. Lord, had a man's eyes ever been so blue? "If the truth be
known, I've never tasted the drink before—oh!"

She had nearly dropped her mug, Jared moving so close
to her on the bench that his thigh pressed into her leg . . . a hard, wholly
masculine thigh, the heat of him burning through her cloak. Suddenly feeling as
light-headed as she had at the ball, Lindsay glanced around them, her laughter
a shade too bright. "Heavens, look up there! Do you see them? Two little
boys peering down from the beams?"

She pointed, and thankfully Jared's gaze followed her
finger, which presented a chance for her to ease away from him, if only to
relieve the fierce beating of her heart. Yet his low chuckle distracted her;
truly, she couldn't recall hearing him laugh before.

"Pickpockets, I'd wager, keeping a sharp lookout
over the room. Watch."

She did, her eyes widening as one of the boys pointed
wildly at an inebriated gentleman who had just toppled off his chair, a flurry
of hands reaching out to help him. Meanwhile, a third boy, no more than seven
or eight and wearing the dirty rags of a street urchin, scurried as if out of
nowhere and availed himself of the commotion by fleecing the pockets of all
those bending to help the drunken fellow back to his seat. In a flash the young
thief was gone, slipping into the throng.

"Shouldn't we do something? Say something?"
Lindsay began to rise, but Jared stopped her, his hand at her arm.

"Why? I've always admired anyone who can survive
by his wits. Let them be."

The singsong abruptly ending couldn't have been more
jarring to Lindsay than the harshness in Jared's voice, his expression grown
hard, too. As different as night and day from the charming gentleman at the
Oglethorpe ball. She stared at him, stunned. But in the next instant he was
smiling at her, wry amusement in his deep blue eyes, leaving Lindsay to wonder
if perhaps the ale was tampering with her perception.

"It's all part of an evening's entertainment,
wouldn't you say? Look over there."

Lindsay did, following Jared's gaze to an opposite box
where a noisy group of four gentlemen appeared to be poking fun at a fifth
companion, a sullen old fellow who sat slumped against the wall with a mug
balanced upon his prodigious belly.

"By Jove, have you ever seen such a sour face?"
exclaimed one of the men, mimicking a dour expression. "If I was a new
babe born into the honorable Dr. Foote's hands, I'd take one look at that frightful
puss and turn 'round to climb right back into my mother's womb!"

Uproarious laughter erupted, although the old doctor
appeared unconcerned that he was the butt of the joke, his expression not
lightening a whit. He yawned and closed his eyes, in fact, as if to take a
short snooze right there in the box, and therein lay his mistake. Lindsay
watched fascinated as the doctor's comrades appeared to conspire among
themselves in whispers and choked glee; then one of the men rose and
disappeared into the crowd.

"Jared, what—"

She was silenced as Jared raised a finger to his lips
and inclined his head toward the opposite box. The men there were elbowing one
another and grinning as they saw their companion returning. And with the fellow
was as robust a woman as any Lindsay had seen, a grin on her plain face, too,
until she stopped at the table and gave the smirking gentlemen a broad wink.
Then she spread her feet wide and propped her big fists on her hips, her
indignant voice filling the cellar.

"Well, well, Arthur Foote, did you think you could
hide from me forever? Spread me legs and left me nine months later with a
bawlin
' babe, you did, and now I've bloody well found you!"

"A babe? Me? What?" blustered the hapless
doctor, fully awake and struggling to his feet while his companions could
barely contain their mirth around
him.
"I say,
young woman, you've got the wrong—"

"Don't be
speakin
' to me
like a child, you rummy bastard! Deny it if you will, but you're the father
sure as I'm
standin
' here! The poor thing even looks
like you!"

"But that cannot be, dear lady. I've never seen
you before!"

"
Wot
, now? You're
calling me a liar?"

Lindsay gasped, the woman's outraged shriek hanging in
the air.

"No, no—well, yes, yes, I am—God in heaven! Fend
her off me! Fend her off!"

Lindsay watched the wild melee in amazement. The woman
shook her fists and tried to reach the doctor cowering across the table, and
the poor man's friends appeared to be doing their best to hold her back.
Finally a cry went up from one of the gentlemen for the doctor to give the
woman a half guinea to appease her, which the stricken fellow did at once,
although he dared only to flip the coin onto the floor. The woman swept up the
silver with a triumphant laugh, and again perched her hands on her broad hips.

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twas a mistake and you're not
the man I'm
seekin
'. Here, I'll give you a kiss and
be gone."

Under much protestation the doctor was made to come
forward, the woman catching him by his protruding ears and planting her lips
upon his cheek in a noisy smack that sent everyone near into howls of laughter.
But another howl joined theirs, the doctor's eyes grown wide with horror.

"She bit me! The wench bit me! Good God, what
shall I do? She's mad, surely, like a rabid beast! I'm going to die! I'm going
to sicken and die!"

"I say, Foote, a red-hot poker could be used to
cleanse the wound," cried one of the conspirators.