The Perfect Mistress (4 page)

"I shall be missed if I don't return shortly," she insisted.

He studied her, then sat down on the bench across the table from her.

"No doubt a girl as
valuable
as you would indeed be missed." He wagged his head. "This is my home, young woman. And I have brought you here to give you a chance to think upon your sad and immoral mode of living. And, with the proper guidance, to help you see the error of your ways."

"Sad and immoral?" She scowled at him and crossed her arms. Her life wasn't immoral… not
yet
, anyway. "I've done nothing wrong."

Again, those world-weary eyes probed for the truthfulness of her answer.

"There is no need to lie about your profession with me. Your clothes and the fact that you are abroad in the streets on such a night, fairly shout your trade. Confession is a necessary first step toward redemption… a purgative for the soul, which will allow you to get on with the reforming of your wayward and misdirected life."

"I am not the least bit 'wayward' or 'misdirected'!"

"Come, come, my girl. You are scarcely believable as an outraged innocent." He expelled a heavy breath, as if glimpsing a long road ahead, and got to his feet. "Your age places you quite beyond the limits of the loathsome 'maiden trade.' Why, you must be at least
eighteen
. No man in his right mind would believe you to be a virgin, lost and defenseless in the streets."

"How dare you, sir. I am a decent and virtuous young woman." But even as the words left her lips, his expression made her realize that she looked anything but decent with her hair wrecked and her wet clothes clinging to every aspect of her person.

"I dare because I am concerned for your safety, my girl. And for the well-being of your soul." He moved around the table, sending her lurching back a step. "The constables are out in numbers tonight, taking all unescorted women in the streets into custody. You know, of course, what that means."

She, of course, had no idea what it meant.

"A trip to the gaol and a medical examination." He said it as if he expected it to strike fear and trembling into her heart. When it didn't, he frowned and crossed his arms, deciding to be a bit more explicit. "You'll be arrested, plundered by their filthy quacks, then taken before a magistrate and sentenced on the spot for unauthorized prostitution."

Prostitution. The word rattled her to her very core. She sat down abruptly on one end of the bench. "I am
not
one of those poor, wretched women."

Her denial hung on the air, thinning, seeming less plausible and substantial with each minute that passed. In that instant, she understood for the very first time how fragile the truth could be.

"In my experience, few women of the streets think of themselves as members of that degrading profession." He gave her a bitter smile and shook his head. "They think of themselves as 'just givin' a bloke a tumble' to help the family out with 'a quid or a fast fiver.' But it is all one in the same, my girl. A woman who hires her body out to a man for money is a prostitute, regardless of her pretenses or motivations… or her status in life."

He came to stand over her, examining her with a worrisome fire in his eyes.

"You're probably quite a fetching little thing, when you're all done up.

Yes, quite. Fresh skin, uncommonly fine eyes…" He cleared his throat.

"Your manner and speech surpass the common. I imagine the gentlemen of St. James must treat you well… take you to exciting places, make you thrilling promises. But their attentions will not last. The days will turn to months and then to years, and, in the way of all corrupted flesh, your charms will fade. What will you have then, my girl? Broken in health and bereft of spirit, what will become of you?"

What would become of her? The question reverberated in her head. Too clearly she saw her mother's life—
the life her mother wanted for her
—linked to that of the poor, wretched women of the streets. Until now, she had thought of her mother's choice, however flawed, in terms of love, romance, and passion. But in pressing the count's case, her mother had emphasized his wealth and the luxury and material riches… right down to the stock portfolios. Was there really any difference between selling your body for a

"fast fiver" or for an elegant house on Eaton Square?

The butler returned just then from the far end of the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with a china pot and cups, and a plate of shortbread and chocolate-dipped biscuits. Her abductor dismissed the servant and took charge of the tray himself. Before her incredulous eyes, he poured cups of warm cocoa and thrust three-penny sweets into her hands. When she shivered, he shoved the bench closer to the fire and, over her protests, peeled the blanket from her so that she could warm herself and dry her dress. Then, to her astonishment, he got down on one creaking knee to remove her sodden, filthy slippers and lay them near the fire for drying.

"The vile rutting and couplings you must endure are not what you were created for, my child." His voice began to vibrate with urgency. "You were not born to be a slave to the tempests of the flesh, but to be a temple to the eternal, a vessel that is clean and holy and virtuous." He looked up at her, reddened, and held his breath as he pushed to his feet. "I can see in your eyes and sense in your spirit, the desire for better! Don't be afraid, child…

others have made the daunting journey to righteousness ahead of you, and now live lives of dignity and purity and service…"

Gabrielle sat with a fistful of untouched biscuits in each hand, wide-eyed as her kidnapper towered above her and ranted about the rewards of abandoning her life of sin and the dire consequences of clinging to her immoral ways.

She had been kidnapped by a
reformer
, a self-styled rescuer of fallen women! Of all the predatory males who prowled the darkened streets of London, she'd had the luck to be kidnapped by the one man bent on rescuing women from the clutches of immorality. And of all the women in need of moral reform who walked the sordid streets, he'd chosen to "rescue"

the one female who was still a virgin and struggling to stay that way. She bit her lip, trying to prevent a smile of relief. For the first time in two hours she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps she could convince him to send her home…

"And to think"—he impulsively caught her face between his hands and bent toward her—"you were sold into the clutches of a lust-maddened beast by your own mother. It sears the heart, just to think of it."

His words struck her forcefully, missing the truth of her situation by the narrowest of margins… the tense of a verb. "But, my child, you must not let that foul betrayal blight the rest of your life. You must not give in to the enslaving notion that her penchant for sin must necessarily taint your blood as well. You have free will—can choose a different life. You need not become the sad and debauched creature that your mother is!"

She choked on a sharply inhaled breath, and he, thinking her overcome by the shame of her situation, released her. She swayed on the bench, sloshing cocoa on her white voile and watching numbly as he rescued the cup from her.
She didn't have to follow in her mother's hedonistic footsteps. She
could choose
. Gooseflesh rose on her skin.

"You are wrong about me," she said in a whisper. "I
am
a virtuous young woman. Tonight I fled into the streets to escape…" She looked up at him, needing to hear it make sense somewhere besides her own head. "My mother is a grand mistress, and she insists that I take a nobleman, without benefit of vows, just as she did years ago. And I… I don't want…"

"She would make you a rich man's mistress," her captor concluded, reading the confirmation of it in her darkening eyes. "And you don't want to be one."

He straightened, hung his hands on the lapels of his coat, and seemed to grow in both satisfaction and outrage, as if sensing that here at last was a creature not yet beyond his powers of salvation… a true rescue.

Suddenly, it was as if another being had taken him over from the inside; he began to pace and gesture wildly. "Harlotry is a loathsome and reprehensible thing to inflict upon one's own child, one's very own flesh and blood! How low can a woman sink? This so-called demimonde is nothing more than degrading prostitution wrapped in a layer of luxury that temporarily smothers the conscience. A cold exchange of ill-gotten pleasures for money… with the souls of unfortunate women forfeit in the bargain."

His eyes burned as he shoved his face down into hers and demanded, "Tell me your mother's name, my girl. And I shall see her brought up on charges

—taken to the law and held up to the scorn she deserves!"

Gabrielle snapped backward so quickly that she nearly toppled from the bench. The explosion of his anger jarred her back to reality and set her mind scrambling. Arrest her mother for peddling flesh? Bring her up before the courts? The duke would be exposed to ridicule, made a public spectacle.

And with the secret of her origins decried as a humiliating example of degradation, not even the most modest of tradesmen would want her to wife. Panic shuddered through her.

This was no rescue.
His self-righteous zeal for retribution would bring her entire future down around her ears!

"Come, come—don't be afraid, my girl," he demanded, seizing her shoulders in a viselike grip. "I shall see you are protected from her and her unsavory associates. And I shall help you to make a new start as… a maid in a respectable house or a matron in a charity house or perhaps a clerk in a millinery shop. I shall find you good, honest work that will redeem your wayward pride and in the end, save your soul." His eyes gleamed with what could only be called excitement. "Give me the name of that heartless Jezebel and I shall see her roundly punished. I have a few 'connections' in the government myself—"

"William?" A female voice, artificially high and quivering with compressed tension, rang out across the kitchen. Gabrielle's captor released her abruptly and whirled to face the doorway that led to the rest of the house. There stood a delicate, gently aged woman wearing fine black silk, a fragile lace cap, and an expression that contained both surprise and distress.

Her mouth dropped open as her gaze settled on Gabrielle. "What are you doing, William? Who is that creature?"

"Catherine!" William rushed to the woman's side and quickly ushered her back into the corridor. "Dear wife… nothing for you to be concerned about…"

But "Catherine" apparently had other ideas, for she refused to be moved until she had an explanation. Tension pushed her voice higher as William tried to explain and pacify her in calm, reassuring tones. He quickly led her back along the corridor, out of sight. From the fading of their voices, Gabrielle concluded that William was succeeding in removing Catherine to another part of the house… leaving
her
alone in the kitchen.

Alone
. Seizing the moment, she emptied her hands of half-crumbled biscuits and frantically wrestled her feet into slippers that had shrunk as they began to dry. With her heart beating furiously, she raced toward the street, half expecting a shout of discovery or a heavy hand to descend on her shoulder and halt her. But the only sound was hinges creaking as the door swung open. With a furtive look back, she dashed out into the alley.

"Rain again." She groaned as the rivulets of water trickling down her face made it difficult to see. But at least she was free. When she had put some distance between her and the house, she stopped and shielded her eyes to look around. She was in an alley between what appeared to be substantial buildings. Glimpsing the dim glow of streetlamps at one end of the lane, she gathered up her skirts and ran toward them.

Her earlier dilemma now returned in the rain and gloom of the night.

And who knew what her erstwhile rescuer would do when he discovered her missing? She had to get out of this plaguing downpour and find a way back to her mother's house. There was only one solution to both her needs: a horsecab. And where would she find one at this hour?

Cupping her hand over her eyes, she searched the blurry lights in the distance. The street was deserted except for a carriage parked under a sputtering streetlamp a little more than a block away. The creak of iron hinges and the sharp clap of wood behind her spurred her into motion.

Desperately, she snatched up her drooping skirts and dashed off the curb into the puddled street.

The driver of that carriage suddenly came to life, slapping reins, and the carriage was in motion. She gasped as it hurtled toward her. The door flew open and a large, shadowy figure leaned out of the opening. In the blink of an eye, she was being scooped up off the street and hauled inside the moving carriage.

The force that had plucked her from the street abandoned her momentarily, to pull the door shut, but an instant later loomed over her again. Dressed in flowing black and outlined in the yellow glow of the interior lantern, her new captor appeared like an apparition out of Dante's
Inferno
. When she gasped, a hand came down over her mouth, trapping her scream inside.