Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season) (28 page)

D
aphne Bevington smiled at her sister’s obvious excitement for the Heseldons’ ball. Clarissa looked like a princess in blush-pink silk, a color Daphne would never, as long as she lived, choose to wear. She’d developed an aversion for the color in her youth, when Lady Harwick had oftentimes insisted on dressing her and her sisters in matching pink dresses. Daphne shivered at the memory but reminded herself not to lose focus. She had to get her sister and her mother out of the house as quickly as possible.

“I wish you were coming.” Clarissa pouted. “But I understand how fond you are of Miss Fickett. I do hope she improves very soon. You’re such a dear to offer to stay and nurse her and the others. I wish I’d thought of it first. They are all going to like you better now!” She laughed, and merriment lit her eyes.

“I only want to keep an eye on Miss Fickett and the others, Clarissa. Will you keep an eye on Mama? She didn’t want to leave me here alone.” At Clarissa’s nod, Daphne continued, leading her closer to the front door. “The physician believes the illnesses are the result of tainted sausages on the servants’ midafternoon tea sideboard and that’s why those who had chosen to eat mutton suffered no symptoms. You should have seen Cook when he came back from confronting the butcher.” Daphne laughed despite herself. “Steam was shooting out of his ears. But at least this time it didn’t require an intervention from the authorities.”

Clarissa waved a gloved hand. “I’ll tell you all the on-dits tonight when we return—what everyone wore and who asked me to dance.”

“I can’t wait to hear, but tomorrow at breakfast, perhaps,” Daphne responded. “Most likely I’ll be asleep when you return.” Balls always ran late, and it would be two or three o’clock before they arrived home.

“Come along, Clarissa,” called her mother. Behind her, the footman opened the door.

In a shimmer of pearls and diamonds, her sister and mother were gone. Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. Finally—time to help Kate! Thank heavens Wolverton had decided to make an early evening of it and take dinner in his room. She’d glimpsed O’Connell, his valet, descending the servants’ staircase some thirty minutes before, having already been dismissed for the night.

“Now, what next?” she whispered to herself, as she rushed down the stairs, returning again to the servants’ corridor.

Daphne’s mind raced and her heart pounded so hard and rapidly she could scarcely breathe. How unjust that a girl like Kate, who worked so hard day to day as a lady’s maid, should have to bear the dreadful burden of her dead father’s unpaid debt.

She had told her friend—
her dearest friend!
—not to worry, that she’d take care of everything, and poor Kate had been too exhausted by illness to do anything but collapse into an exhausted sleep.

She had to come up with a plan. There wasn’t much time. She could no more allow Kate’s elderly grandmother and siblings to be turned out into the streets or sent to the workhouse than she could allow the same misfortune to befall her own family.

But she’d already considered every option. For Daphne, simply paying off the debt wasn’t possible because despite her privileged life, she had no access to money of her own, not of the magnitude required. She couldn’t sell her dresses or her jewels. Anything of value that went missing would be noted immediately either by her mother or the keen-eyed housekeeper, Mrs. Brightmore, and the loss construed as theft. The servants would be questioned, and she would be forced to step forward and declare herself the guilty party in stealing from…well, from her own self. A strange predicament but true.

She alighted on the lower landing and gripped the banister. If only she could go to her grandfather or her mother and simply ask for the money, but she knew from experience their rule about lending money to servants. Her grandfather, no matter how generous he might be, would soundly reject the lending of money to a servant. The problem had presented itself before, and she had heard his reasoning. What he did for one, he must do for all. There would be no loans granted, only fair wages earned, and never in advance.

Likely by opening her mouth she would only find herself on the receiving end of a lecture about proper behavior and boundaries—and Kate in search of a new position.

She could only imagine her grandfather’s explosive reaction to learning that she’d involved herself in the financial affairs of a servant. Her mother’s dismay. She couldn’t even go to her older sister, Sophia, who very well might take pity on Kate’s plight, because the Duke and Duchess of Claxton had not yet returned from Vienna, where his Grace was deeply involved in diplomatic affairs related to the war.

Daphne hadn’t felt this helpless since the day of her father’s death.

Hurriedly, she spoke to the nurse who had been brought in to tend to those servants who had been stricken ill, and afterward, she visited each of the female staff, where she fluffed pillows and coaxed spoonfuls of weak beef tea through unwilling lips. All the while, her brain churned out one useless idea after another. At last she returned to Kate’s door, having arrived at no useful resolution. Inside, thankfully, Kate still slept, her face pallid against the linen pillowcase.

Hands shaking, she took up Kate’s reticule from the table and searched inside until she found what she wanted—a scrap of paper upon which all the necessary particulars had been, in her friend’s familiar handwriting, neatly inscribed. There was no other way.

“Cheatin’ nob!”

Cormack intercepted the fist, which had only a second before been drunkenly presented to his face. Grabbing the red-nosed fellow by his shoulders, he spun him round and shoved him in the direction of his intended opponent.

Lord, he despised bawdy houses. Having only just passed through the well-barricaded door, he elbowed aside the threadbare velvet drape and ventured inside. If only vengeance had not commanded him here tonight.

Tobacco smoke clouded the air, dimming his view of the men who crowded around the faro tables, gentlemen in evening dress intermingled with tradesmen in dark suits and rough-hewn men off the wharves. Gilt-framed mirrors cluttered the walls, and lopsided chandeliers hung from the ceilings, trappings of faux luxury. A ramshackle quartet assembled in the distant corner. The establishment had the feel of transience, as if every fixture, table, and drape could be snatched up at any moment, thrown in the back of a wagon, and installed elsewhere for the same effect. Understandable, as Cormack’s source had warned him the club changed locations often, so as to avoid discovery by the constables. Predators with painted lips and rouged cheeks circled him, already taking note of the newcomer in their midst.

“Looking for a bit of company t’night, good sir?” inquired a redhead, boldly assessing him with kohl-lined eyes.

“Two is good company. Three is a party.” The brunette sidled closer, offering Cormack an unrestricted view of her breasts, only barely constrained by a bodice of sheer muslin. “You look like the sort of man who likes more than just one.”

Hmmm…perhaps. But his tastes were far more refined than what he would find here.

As far as London brothels went, the Blue Swan was the seediest he’d visited thus far, though he’d paid a handsome bribe to the bully at the door for the pleasure of entering without the required referral. But he wasn’t here to drink, gamble, or to whore. He was here to find the man he had sworn to destroy. If only he knew who the hell he was looking for.

His hand passed over his coat pocket, confirming the existence of the hard lump within—the gold amulet he’d taken from Laura’s hand in the moments after her death, one bearing a severed Medusa’s head and the Latin word
Invisibilis
.

Three years had passed. At last, he felt…close.

His hatred renewed, Cormack made his selection carefully and caught her wrist as she moved past, a woman in a jade-green gown. Older than the others with a faded complexion and dull hair, perhaps she would be more eager than her competitors to earn a bit of coin in exchange for a whispered, forbidden secret.

“’Ay!” The harridan’s eyes widened in outrage, but upon assessing him, they softened into heavy-lidded seduction. “Well, ’ow do you do, ’andsome?” she breathed. “’Aven’t seen you ’ere before. I’m Nellie. What are y’ lookin’ for tonight?”

“I’m looking for you, Nellie.” He took care to remain in the deepest of shadows. Though few would recognize him in London, he expected that might change, depending on how long this business of retribution kept him here.

In the crush of the crowd, she pressed against him, curling her hands into his lapels. “I’ve a room upstairs, nice and cozy. What do you say? I’ll get us a bottle, just for ourselves.”

“Actually, I’ve become separated from friends and would like to rejoin them. I was hoping that perhaps you know them?”

“Friends?” Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of friends?”

He pressed a crown into her palm.

After a quick glance to assess the coin’s worth, a smile eased onto her lips. “Per’aps I do know them. I’ve known everyone ’ere at one time or another, it seems.”

He murmured near her ear, “They follow this club from place to place. Meet here on occasion.” He did not know that to be certain, but he had a strong hunch that’s how the men he sought remained…well, invisible.

“Oh…” Her face went slack. “Indeed. A mysterious lot, they are. Don’t come here for the entertainments, for the most part.”

The beat of his heart increased. “Can you provide their names?”

She glanced over her shoulder before whispering, “Never actually seen their faces, but gentlemen they be, all of them, with fancy clothes and carriages. They’ve not yet arrived, but soon, I think. Keep an eye over there beside the stage. They’ll come through the back.”

He stepped away, and her hands fell from his coat. “Thank you, Nellie.”

“Wot, that’s all?” She pouted, a saucy smile tilting her carmine lips. “You paid for better than just a bit of chitchat.”

“Forget about me, if anyone comes asking later. That’s all I ask.”

“Beshrew me, forget that ’andsome face?” Her gaze traveled over him longingly. Regretfully. She sighed. “Don’t think that’s possible, but Nellie don’t tell tales on her favorites, and you’ll forever be one of mine.” She came near, her voice lowered. “But be careful with those ones. They’re dangerous men.”

“How do you know I’m not one of them?”

“I know,” she answered softly, and with a shrug of her bare shoulder, she disappeared into the crowd.

Just then, the musicians struck up a tune. Beside them, curtains jerked apart on ropes to reveal a makeshift stage made out of wooden shipping crates, a common sight on the nearby quay. On each of the four corners stood a young lady, frozen in a dramatic pose. Elaborate scarlet carnival masks studded with paste jewels concealed their faces above their painted lips. Close-fitting, flesh-toned body stockings conveyed the illusion of nudity. Those men not otherwise engaged at the gaming tables surged forward to jostle for position along the edges of the stage, shouting out expressions of vulgar admiration. The stage rocked and several of the girls wavered from their poses.

A bulldog-faced man in an ill-fitted greatcoat and top hat strutted to the center of the stage and bellowed, “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Do control yourselves!”

Hands held high for quiet, he waited for the clamor to subside.

“We have assembled here for your personal erudition and viewing pleasure, four of the foremost actresses of Drury Lane presenting the finest in
tableaux vivants
.” He gestured toward the young women. “For your eyes only they will enact the most memorable scenes of the classics, the first being the story of Electra and the grievous murder of her father, the king, Agamemnon.”

Cormack chuckled. Actresses, indeed. Having studied the classics intensively at university, he could not discern what any of their poses had to do with Electra or Agamemnon, but he supposed that wasn’t the point.

Though he could not claim to be an expert on strumpets, these four were clearly of a higher quality than the others who crowded the room. Young and pretty, at least from this distance, they had bodies to match with high breasts, pinched waists, and flared hips.

His attention lingered on one in particular, a young woman with blonde hair and luminous skin. Something about her engaged him and refused to let go. Perhaps it was the bright blue flash of temper in her eyes or the querulous set of her pretty mouth. He could not help but feel he’d caught sight of an angel who had unknowingly alighted among lesser mortals and who, now entangled in mankind’s sin, had become helpless to escape.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had noticed her, for suddenly the young woman yelped and smacked the hand of the patron closest to her, a man who, after being so rebuffed, snatched his hand away from the girl’s well-turned ankle. The collective thunder of male laughter shook the floor beneath Cormack’s boots.

Cormack did not laugh. Instead, he maneuvered closer to the stage, fixated. Inexplicably smitten. A bright flush moved up the girl’s throat into her cheeks to disappear beneath her mask. She resumed her pose, and yet…her hands trembled.

He knew in an instant she didn’t belong in this place.

With each step forward, a tangle of memories and regrets welled up inside him, along with a sudden impulse to protect her, to make whatever had gone wrong right. Something he’d been helpless to do for Laura.

So distracted by the girl was he that he almost…
almost
missed the man ducking down the back corridor, dressed in the clothes of a gentleman, his top hat tilted so as to conceal his face.

Daphne cast another glare at the filthy creature who had grabbed her leg and resumed her pose. Was it only her imagination, or did her skin now
itch
where he had touched her?
Ugh.
A shiver of revulsion rippled through her.

Perhaps it had been unwise to take Kate’s place after all. Not that Kate even knew she was here, of course. The girl would never have allowed her to walk out the door if she’d realized Daphne’s intentions. Unwise decision or no, she wouldn’t change a thing. Given the urgency of the situation, taking Kate’s place had seemed the only alternative. A true friend would never balk at doing the same.