Sattler, Veronica (17 page)

Brett
looked at the woman sitting across from him and smiled, but it was a cynical
smile. No warmth shone in his eyes. "Then, if I am to understand you
correctly, Madame, you not only intend to keep the handsome sum my
grandfather's solicitor paid you for a totally inexperienced woman—indeed, you
admit, a total nonprofessional who was sent by mistake—but you are now asking
an even greater sum for her return."

Madame's
gray-green eyes leveled with his for a moment before their lids half closed and
she answered him with bored indifference in her tone. "It would appear to
me, Your Grace, that the mistake you speak of was entirely in your favor.
Ashleigh Sinclair was a virgin when she left these premises several days ago.
Now she sits upstairs sobbing that she is one no longer. Do you have any notion
of the price commanded by young virgins these days? And this is not to mention
one as beautiful as our lovely Ashleigh. Let's be honest, Your Grace, you have
already received a bargain."

"It
was a bargain we did not request."

"Ah!
Just so," nodded Madame. "And so now you feel you have every right to
come here and demand
further
use of this 'unrequested bargain'?" It
was Madame's turn to smile cynically.

"Touché,"
Brett returned. "But the fact remains, if what you have told me of the
girl's background is true, the mistake you were responsible for has caused a
great deal of embarrassment on both sides and—"

A
sharp trill of laughter cut him off. "Come, come, Your Grace, surely you
can do better than that! What you really mean is that it is
you
and your
family's
lofty reputation that stand to suffer a great deal of
embarrassment—ah, that is, should word get out as to how you used the poor
child." One red-gold eyebrow arched in shrewd assessment. "I'm told
she has several bruises on her person—one, in fact, on her sweetly rounded
little—"

"Enough!"
snapped Brett with a look of disgust. "I realize it's pointless to assure
you I could not have been responsible for such physical damage to her person,
so I suggest we come to the heart of the matter. What if I were to walk out of
here without accepting your terms? What would happen to the girl then?"

Madame's
eyes widened in a look of arranged surprise. "Why, I'd assumed that was
obvious, Your Grace. She'd be put to work here, of course. I have a soft enough
heart, but I cannot afford to run a house of charity, sir—ah, Your Grace."

"And
I suppose that by 'work' you don't mean to signify her previous position as a
menial?"

"Really,
Your Grace." Madame smiled. "What kind of a businesswoman do you take
me for? The girl is young, beautiful and orphaned. When she was still untouched
I allowed myself to be persuaded to send her away from here to secure—ah—
honest
employment
of a common sort. But now..." She shrugged. "As I have
said, she is a bargain."

"To
you,
you mean."

"To
me, to you, to whoever can afford her, Your Grace."

Brett
sighed. He knew when he'd been bested. He wanted the girl, and this woman knew
it, although what she did not know was that it was not the exorbitant price she
was asking that made him hesitate; no, nor was it the threat of scandal she'd
implied that drove him to accept her terms. What caused him his dilemma was the
astounding story she'd told of how Ashleigh Sinclair came to be a ward of this
house and the reaction this engendered in him. The girl had been a true
innocent, and he had run roughshod over her; violated her, despite her
protests. This did not sit well with him, to say the least. Indeed, when he had
first come here this evening, it had been for the sole purpose of resecuring
the "diversion" he'd felt he needed. That, and perhaps a restoration
of his pride that had been slighted somewhat by the girl's running away from
him after he'd made her a handsome offer.

But
now something more was at work. He'd always been abrupt in his treatment of
women, knowing what they were like by their very nature, but he felt it had
always been with a sense of utmost fairness. Never had he trifled with a female
who hadn't asked to be trifled with; indeed, to a woman, they had all sought
him
out first.

But
this Ashleigh was another story. True, she was a woman, and therefore someone
to be taken not altogether seriously, but still.... If he were to sleep with a
clear conscience, he would have to make some amends, even if it meant meeting
this creature on her own terms!

Sighing
a second time, Brett rose from his seat. "Very well, Madame, I'll meet
your demands. Do you require my promissory note now or—"

"That
will hardly be necessary, Your Grace." Madame was smiling as she too rose
from her chair. "You can have your solicitor come around in the
morning." She gave him a side-wise glance. "I suppose you realize
your reputation for prompt payment in this city is without blemish? Quite a
recommendation, I assure you! There are not many of your set that can
boast—"

"Yes,
yes. Now, where is the girl, and how soon can I have her?"

Now
Madame sighed. "I'm afraid it isn't going to be that easy. I'm informed
she arrived rather badly shaken, and she's upstairs now in the care of one of
my other employees who refuses to leave her side." She cocked her head to
one side, looking up at him. "There may be some—ah—problem in prying her
loose from this self-appointed watchdog, Your Grace. And... I'm afraid I'm
going to leave the business of getting her to go with you, up to you."

Brett
gave a grimace of displeasure. He hadn't thought of how to get the chit to come
with him! He was silent for several seconds while he pondered this dilemma. At
last he met the gaze of Madame, who waited with the patience that could only be
ascribed to one who is wholly satisfied with her bargain.

"Very
well, Madame," he told her. "Lead the way."

Upstairs
in Megan's private chamber Ashleigh sat before a satinwood dressing table as
she allowed Megan to towel-dry her hair. "Really, Megan, you needn't put
yourself to all this fuss," she scolded good-naturedly. "You've been
wonderful enough to me already."

"Sure,
and I'd be doin' far more than the meager business o' helpin' ye bathe and the
like, darlin' girl, if I thought it might help ye forget the ordeal ye've been
through," said Megan as their eyes met in the mirror above the dressing
table. Then the redhead's eyes narrowed to slanting green slits. "Faith, I
don't know which I'd like t' get me hands on first, yer wicked duke or that stinkin'
piece o' blond slime, Monica!"

Ashleigh
shuddered, as much from the venom in her friend's voice as her mention of the
two people who had recently done her so much injury. Then she shook her head
while her eyes held the green ones in the mirror. "Oh, Megan, never think
I consider him
my
duke!"

"Softly,
darlin'," Megan replied. "'Twas merely an expression." She cast
aside the towel she'd been using and reached for a mother-of-pearl-backed
hairbrush, then carefully began pulling it through Ashleigh's long hair. "'Tis
odd," she continued, "but with all I've heard o' the former Viscount
Westmont, I've never actually laid eyes on him. He certainly avoided showin'
his fancy face around here!"

Growing
increasingly uncomfortable with the subject under discussion, Ashleigh was
about to try changing the topic when a frantic onslaught of scrambling and
shuffling sounds drew both women's attention. Suddenly the door swung open, and
three figures burst into the chamber.

"No,
ye don't, ye hairy beast!" Dorcas's voice rang through the room as she
wielded a stout broom in the direction of a gray blur that was heading straight
for Ashleigh. "'Tis bad enough ye found yer way up here where ye're not
supposed t' be, but I'll not have ye herdin' yer little beastie as well!"

Ashleigh's
arms were encircling Finn's muscular neck as she heard this, and she was just
puzzling over what Dorcas had meant by "yer little beastie" when a
loud, high-pitched squeal answered her question.

There,
trying frantically to burrow under the velvet skirt of the dressing gown Megan
had lent her, squirmed a small pink pig!

"Saints
preserve us, 'tis the pesty porker!" cried Megan. She bent forward to
thrust a wagging finger in Finn's direction. "Don't ye know better than t'
be bringin' yer friend up here?"

Ashleigh
watched in amazement as Finn withdrew from her embrace and bent to give the
piglet a swipe with his long tongue. And her amazement grew when she saw the
small, plump animal immediately begin to calm at the gesture, settling down
with a series of contented grunting sounds onto the carpet. "Megan,
Dorcas, what on earth—?"

"Ah,
lass!" Dorcas exclaimed as she slowly lowered the broom she'd been
brandishing. "I'm so sorry t' be troublin' ye with this interruption at
such a difficult time, but ye know how quick Finn can be when he—"

"Yes,
but—" Ashleigh's glance shifted from Dorcas to the softly grunting form at
her feet "—
the pig?"

"'Tis
a long tale," Megan offered, "but I'll try t' make it brief. Shortly
after ye left, himself here—" she cast a disapproving glance at Finn
"—took up with makin' his own trips t' Mr. Tidley, the butcher, fer
handouts. Well, all went smoothly enough the first few trips. Mr. Tidley seemed
well-disposed t' be sendin' Finn back with all kinds o' scraps, and Finn seemed
pleased as a leprechaun with his gold over the whole business. But
then
—"
Megan's eyes returned to the wolfhound who was in the process of bestowing yet
another lick on the contented pig.

"But
then,
what?"
encouraged Ashleigh.

"But
then the most outlandish thing happened." It was Dorcas's voice that had
taken up the story. "I might as well tell it, as I was there!" she
added with a glare at the tail-wagging Finn. "It was the day Mr. Tidley
asked me t' come by and approve the choice he'd made fer the main course fer
Madame's special spring banquet—a main course o'
roast sucklin' pig!
Well,
Mr. Tidley had just gone out back t' fetch the little bugger, when all of a
sudden, we customers in the shop heard the most ferocious growlin' comin' from
the back o' Mr. Tidley's shop, and a moment later, the poor butcher's
frightened voice. 'Dorcas,' cries he, 'Dorcas Ainsley, come here and help—
please!'

"Well,"
said Dorcas, her blue eyes bright in her rosy face, "ye could have knocked
me over with a feather, I was that surprised t' be hearin' him callin'
me!
But
still, I wasted no time answerin' the poor man's request, and in a minute I was
runnin' t' see what the trouble was. And I did." Again a damning glare in
Finn's direction. "What I saw was yer beastie there, standin', with all
his hackles raised, squarely over this pork chop! And he was barin' his fangs
and growlin' in a menacin' way at Mr. Tidley, who was shakin' and backed
against the wall!

"Well,
it took me only a moment t' size up the situation, I can tell ye! 'Finn,' says
I, 'ye leave this place at once! That pig is Madame's dinner!'" Dorcas
gave an exasperated sigh. "And what do ye think that outrageous beast did
next?" She paused to bestow a disgusted look upon the object under
discussion. "Oh, he left the premises, all right. But only after lookin'
me square in the eye and then proceedin' t' pick that four-footed piece o' pork
up carefully in his great jaws and take it with him!"

Ashleigh's
jaw hung open for a moment as she digested Dorcas's words. "Finn
kidnapped
a pig?"

"Aye,"
nodded Megan, "and there's been no separatin' them since. Kidnapped him
and adopted him, all in the same minute."

There
was a moment of astonished silence as all three women looked at Finn. As for
the wolfhound, he was looking mighty pleased with himself; indeed, Ashleigh
would have sworn he was grinning as he sat there with his mouth widely agape,
his great tail thumping and his eyes bright and happy.

It
was Megan who broke the silence. "Ye needn't look so pleased with yerself,
me boy! 'Tis bad enough we've had a problem keepin'
one
beast out from
under Madame's skirts. With
two
o' ye, 'tis well nigh
impossible!
And
then there's poor Mr. Tidley! How, in the name o' the saints are we t' continue
traffickin' with him when ye're daft enough t' keep goin'
back
there fer
more handouts—and after what ye did?" She turned to Ashleigh. "Why,
last evenin' it nearly scared the life out o' me t' be glancin' out the back
window and seein' Finn makin' a beeline straight fer home, with the butcher hot
on his heels, wavin' a meat cleaver like he meant business!"

"'Tis
true," echoed Dorcas. "I saw it too, and
heard
it! 'Keep that
thievin' animal out o' my shop!' says Tidley, 'or ye'll be buyin' yer meat
across town!'"

"Oh,
dear!" exclaimed Ashleigh. She bent her gaze on Finn. "You certainly
have made a hash of things, haven't you?" Then, to the two women across
from her, "Er—what does Madame have to say of all this?"

"Those
animals have until tomorrow morning to be gone from this house," said the
adamant voice that came through the partially ajar door.