Too Wicked to Wed (9 page)

There was no resentment or self-pity in her voice, only a note of wry irony. Connor certainly hadn’t expected an aristocratic young lady to have experienced the grim realities of encroaching poverty. Somewhat taken aback, he covered his uncertainty by propping his elbows upon the desk and steepling his fingers.

Damn.
He couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for the chit. Or any emotion, for that matter.

Regrouping, Connor tried another line of attack. “Look, despite the dribble of ink on a rip of foolscap, you have no business being here,” He flung a hand out to indicate the roughhewn file cabinets and hard back chairs crammed into the cramped space, the empty bottles scattered across the threadbare carpet and the peeling plaster walls, dulled by the tallowed film of cheap candles. “This is hardly the sort of environment that a gently reared young lady should be exposed to.”

His grand gesture ended up emphasizing his point to a greater degree than he had intended.

Set behind his desk, atop one of empty crates of rum shoved up against the wainscoting, sat a statue of a phallus, anatomically correct in every little detail, save for being over three feet tall. In the dingy shadows, the pristine whiteness of its smooth marble stood out like…a sore thumb.

Bloody hell.

Snatching his coat from the back of his chair, Connor quickly draped it over the offending member.

On turning back, he found that Alexa’s head had dropped so low that all he could see was a topknot of wheaten curls. The silky strands were bobbing about as her shoulders quivered, and though muffled by the folds of her India shawl, a choked hiccuping was audible.

Bloody hell
. Next time he wished to reduce an innocent young lady to hysterics, he would cut right to the chase and haul out an oversized penis.

Not his own, he might add. It would be conspicuously absent from his body, along with his testicles, if Sebastian ever got wind of what had just occurred.

“Accept my apologies, Lady Alexa.” With a gruff cough, he fished a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and held it out. “I intended to be uncivil, but not offensive.”

Her only reaction was a more pronounced rocking to and fro.

Worried that she was about to fall into a dead faint, he half rose from his chair. “Shall I fetch you a glass of sherry? I’m sure there must be a drop left somewhere—”

Alexa finally looked up, her cheeks wet with tears of suppressed mirth. “Oh, no need to waste the last of our precious stock on me,” she gasped. After several deep breaths, she steadied herself and angled a glance over his left shoulder. “How very interesting. Though I only caught a fleeting look, there appear to be a number of differences from that of a ram or a stallion. But I imagine the thrust is the same.”

Connor dropped like a hunk of stone back into his chair. He opened his mouth, fully intending to let fly with a curse that would send any female fleeing from the room.

What came out instead was a bark of laughter. “Don’t tell me you are acquainted with the breeding of sheep and horses?”

Her mouth curved upward, revealing a peek of pink as the tip of her tongue briefly touched her lower lip. “Intimately.”

Another rumble sounded deep in his throat. “You are, without question, the most audaciously outrageous young lady I have ever encountered.”

“So I have been told.
Ad nauseam.
”

“A scholar of Latin, as well as animal husbandry?”

“And Greek,” she replied. “Along with geometry, trigonometry, biology, soil chemistry, and a host of other subjects considered unfit for females. But then again, ‘feminine’ is not usually an adjective used to describe me.”

No?
To his eyes, she looked unquestionably feminine.
Alluringly feminine.
So much so that he had to lace his hands behind his head to keep them from stealing across the expanse of wood that separated them.

“How does Sebastian manage to keep you out of trouble?” he asked, hoping the mention of her brother would serve to distract his attention from her physical charms.

“He doesn’t. Never has, though not for lack of trying.” She picked at the hem of her glove. “And now, of course, he has his hands full with his new bride. Which, in some ways, is rather like shifting one’s fingers from the frying pan to the fire.”

The earl’s lips twitched.

“But Nicola always appears extraordinarily calm, collected, and ladylike when she is defying a direct order, or issuing commands of her own. So Seb doesn’t even notice the heat. While I, on the other hand, only manage to singe everyone’s nerves when I kick up a dust. Including my own.”

She said the words so softly, Connor wondered whether they were meant more for her than for him. Still, he could not help but respond. “You ought not compare yourself to Lady Becton.”

“Ha! Believe me, I am more than aware of that, sir.”

Her laugh had brittleness to it. For an instant, the layers of clever retorts and feisty attitude slipped and he caught a glimpse of just how fragile she was.

Prickly pride. Uncertain anger. Pinching vulnerability.
Oh, she might hide behind a pugnacious attitude and dowdy gown, but right now she was naked to his eye. Perhaps because he recognized the feelings all too well.

“The qualities you describe are not the only ones that appeal to a gentleman, Lady Alexa.”

“You certainly have a great deal of empirical knowledge in that subject, sir,” said Alexa tartly, her armor back in place. “Though from what I have witnessed, you aren’t overly discriminating.” She hesitated for just a fraction. “It seems anyone who wears a skirt will do. After all, you kissed
me
.”

“You needn’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

She looked away, but not before he caught the overbright sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes. “I am well aware of that, sir.”

Damnation.
It wasn’t often that a stab of guilt—or any other emotion—penetrated his hide, and he found the feeling damned uncomfortable. The sooner the meeting came to an end, the better it would be for both of them.

With a brusque sweep, he cleared several of the ledgers from his blotter. “Seeing as I have already offended you, I might as well continue speaking bluntly. I can ill-afford to waste time in idle conversation, so unless there is some specific reason you are here, Lady Alexa, and not just idle curiosity, I suggest you return as quickly as possible to more genteel surroundings. And stay there. I meant it when I said you don’t belong here.”

Her lowered lashes hid any reaction to the deliberate roughness of his voice. “In fact, sir, there is—”

Alexa’s voice cut off abruptly. She had been regarding one of the ruled pages rather than his face and was now leaning in for a closer look.

“There is a mistake here,” she announced. Peeling off a glove, Alexa pointed out the sum entered beneath one of the accounts receivable columns. Her finger then shifted slightly. “And here.”

“You needn’t take your role as half-owner quite so literally,” he growled. “I was just about to make those corrections.”

A faint flush rose up from the collar of her gown, but her only reply to his sarcasm was a dignified silence.

Which only made him feel more of a beast.

Alexa started to close the ledger when the pages fell open to a section on expenses. A frown crossed her face as she looked up. “You are paying far too much for bed linens. Given the quantity listed here, you could order straight from a mill and get much better price.”

“Hmmph.” Loath though he was to admit it, the suggestion was an astute one.

“You know, you could also consider joining with some of the other establishments to buy in bulk,” she went on. “Which would result in an even more substantial saving.” As she spoke, she thumbed quickly through several more of the pages. “If you like, I could make a more thorough study of the monthly purchases and give you a list of other suggestions. I may be ignorant about certain aspects of this business, as you have taken pains to point out, but I do have a great deal of experience in ordering supplies on a limited budget. I have learned a number of ways to cut costs.”

Connor’s fingers began to drum upon the ink-stained blotter. He had caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. And vulnerability. All it would take was another casual slap of sarcasm to send the young lady on her way. The sting would fade soon enough. She would recover.

He flexed his hand. Then rubbed at his jaw. “I would never have thought to say it, but I admit that a partnership with a lady of your talents would have great potential…to be profitable.” Softly, almost gently, he added, “However, what you suggest is impossible.”

“Why?”

Unwilling to witness the disappointment he knew was writ on her face, the earl looked at the still-open ledger. “Come now. If I added up all the reasons, I should fill the rest of those pages.”

A sigh sounded in response, along with a faint rustle of silk as she folded her hands in her lap. “And then some, I suppose.”

Somehow, it now didn’t surprise him that she met adversity with show of dry humor rather than a torrent of tears.

“But it is deucedly unfair,” she quickly added, the defiant little tilt of her chin accentuating the graceful arch of her neck. “I could do a better job of it than most men, if given half a chance.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said gruffly.

She blushed and for some unaccountable reason, it brought a warmth to his own blood that he had given her a small spark of pleasure.

Still gripping the ledgers, Alexa shifted in her seat. “However, to rail at the reality of the situation is not the real reason I came here tonight.”

“If you are seeking to arouse my curiosity, I confess you have done so. In spades.” Alexa had also given rise to a far more visceral reaction. Her movement had pulled her bodice tight to her breasts, allowing a tantalizing hint of the nubbed tips to show through the wool.

Beast.
Connor felt an overwhelming urge to thrust his hands inside her bodice and caress her lush curves, just as he had done once before. He could still recall the heat of her flesh, and the fire in her eyes as she had melted at his touch. The memory made him feel even more like a ravening wolf, ready to devour every tender morsel of flesh…

“I owe you an apology, my lord.”

Drawing in a measured breath, he wrenched his attention away from such evil thoughts.

“It was wrong to take this from Lord Haddan by means of deceit.” Alexa laid the vowel on the table. “That is, by dressing as a man.” A martial gleam came to her gaze and she couldn’t help but add, “Aside from that, I did win it fair and square.”

Connor found himself smiling. “Yes, Haddan says you are very skilled at cards. A shame we can’t have a game—
mano a mano
, as our Spanish allies would say.”

“Hand to hand,” she repeated softly.

“It strips the conflict down to the bare essentials…in a manner of speaking. I confess, I should like to see you in action.”

“We could deal the cards and engage in a round or two of hand-to-hand combat…in a manner of speaking.”

Connor steeled his expression. “Not tonight, Lady Alexa. Luck is a fickle mistress, as perhaps you will learn one day. I’ve learned from experience when not to tempt her ire.” His nails dug into his palms. “Nor do I care to rouse Sebastian’s fury. Let us leave it at that.”

The scrap of paper still lay untouched.

“As for this…” With a flick of his hand, the earl nudged the promissory note back across the scarred oak. “The way it works among honorable gentlemen is, I redeem it when I have the money. Which I don’t. Not at the present moment.” He pushed back from the desk. “You keep it. But unlike Haddan, try not to sink all my hopes in a bout of deep play, if you please. It should only be for another few days.”

“However long, you need not worry. I am not usually reckless, and after tonight, I shall no doubt revert to my normal, staid self,” she replied. “So your future is safe with me, Lord Killingworth.”

He didn’t feel nearly so sanguine. Perhaps his current run of bad luck had his nerves on edge, but instinct warned him that things might not play out quite so easily.

Alexa took the scrape of his chair as a note of dismissal. She rose quickly, gathering her reticule along with the vowel, and turned for the door—not without a last longing look at the ledgers. “I shall let you get back to…whatever it is you do within these walls, sir.”

“A moment.” He reached for his coat.

“You needn’t stir from your Lair, sir. I came here on my own, and I am perfectly capable of leaving in the same manner. I paid the hackney to wait at the end of the lane.”

“That may be. But as we are partners, at least for the next little while, I have a vested interest in seeing you safely to the vehicle.”

She fixed him with an odd look. “So it’s business before pleasure?”

“Don’t try to goad me into a temper, Lady Alexa.” The earl took her arm. “Surely we can make it through another few minutes in each other’s company without another outburst of hostilities.”

Chapter Eight

A
damp fog had crept in, bringing with it an oppressive closeness and noxious scent of the surrounding stews. Drawing the collar of her cloak up over her nose, Alexa peered up and down the narrow street. The hackney she had come in was nowhere to be seen.

“He must not have heard me ask him to wait.”

“No matter.” The earl took her elbow. “It’s but a short walk up to the right where the jarvies tend to gather and wait for the gentlemen to finish with their revels.”

She allowed herself to be led around a trickle of raw sewage and into a sliver of an alleyway. “Lud, would not a more…pleasant location be better for business?”

“The filth and the danger are part of the allure of a place like The Wolf’s Lair,” replied the earl as he drew her even closer to avoid scraping up against the grimy brick. “You needn’t fear, though. No one in the neighborhood will seek to make trouble with me.”

Alexa wasn’t the least bit afraid. Absurdly enough, despite the muddled squish of garbage and the scratching of feral scavengers, she felt at ease in the crook of his arm. A good deal more so than when she had been dancing amid the glitter and splendor of Mayfair.

Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine the creak of the rusting hinge was the bass note of a cello, and the whistle of the wind through a broken window was the trilling of a flute.

The irony of such imaginings was not lost on her. She sighed into the thick folds of his greatcoat. How like her to find a slog through the muck more romantic than a waltz over polished parquet.

“Pull up your hood.”

So much for girlish reveries.
This was, she reminded herself, business, not pleasure for the earl.

A faint spill of light from one of the shuttered windows showed they were coming to a gap between buildings. From there, another maze of passageways branched out in a series of bewildering twists.

“That hardly seems necessary, sir,” protested Alexa. “It’s pitch black and I am wearing a bonnet and a cloak that comes down to my toes.”

“As soon as we pass through the next alleyway, we come out into the street where the hackneys wait. There are always a few lanterns lit and those glorious guinea-colored curls of yours are much too recognizable, even when half covered by a bonnet.”

Killlingworth considered her hair “glorious”?
She had always thought it a rather drab shade of light brown. “Really, sir, I am quite…unremarkable.”

He stopped abruptly, his gloved hands brushing over her shoulders. “I would rather be safe than sorry—”

For an instant, Alexa thought the loud crack that cut him off was just another of the menacing sounds of the Southwark stews. But then he suddenly slumped forward, his spasming fingers shoving her roughly aside.

With the echo of the gunshot still ringing in her ears, she hit up hard against a planked doorway, the jagged wood spearing through her cloak and tearing the tangled wool. The shadows seemed to come alive, the dark, distorted shapes spinning like whirling-dervish demons. Twisting free of the splinters, she saw that Connor had recovered his footing, though he appeared bent at an odd angle.

An eerie silence hung for a heartbeat over the alleyway, and then was shattered by running footsteps crunching over broken glass.

In blur of black, a figure came barreling out of the heavy mist to their rear.

“Run, Lady Alexa! Ahead, and to the right!” The earl turned awkwardly to block the attack.

Alexa cried out a warning as a pistol shot up, its snout silhouetted against a swirl of ghostly vapor.

Sparks flashed, punctuated by the harsh click of a misfire.

“Run, damn it,
run
!”

Ignoring Connor’s muffled shout, she started toward him, but her foot slipped and she fell heavily against a rusty iron bar sticking out from the planks. It snapped off in her hand.

A guttural curse followed on the heels of the earl’s oath. Coming on at a dead run, his assailant slashed out with the spent weapon, aiming a vicious blow at Connor’s head, just as he started to yell again.

“Lady Alexa—” Forced back, he managed to parry it with his forearm, but the force sent him staggering back. The other man’s momentum carried him past the earl, and in the few seconds it took to spin around, Connor had dropped into a defensive crouch. Shifting warily, he seemed to be searching for firmer footing.

But even amid the confusion of yawing shadows and scudding light, Alexa could see something was seriously wrong. Despite the danger, he kept one arm clenched to his side, and his movements were sluggish. His breathing was ragged as well, its rasp rough with pain.

She dared not make a sound, for fear of distracting him.

Like a predator scenting blood, the earl’s assailant moved in for the kill. Whipping a blade from his boot, the man began jabbing a flurry of quick thrusts through the air.

“The Irish Wolfhound, eh?” he sneered, angling sharply to his right in a move that forced Connor to edge back closer to the dark wall. “Yer more like a bloody French lapdog, fer all the fight ye be putting up.”

Another lunge cut off any further retreat. A quick sidestep and he would have the earl pinned against the pitted bricks.

The squelch of mud covered the sound of Alexa’s rush forward. As the blade flashed up, she swung the bar as hard as she could. Iron collided with bone in a shivering thud.

“Never turn your back on a Yorkshire terrier,” she muttered as the man collapsed in a heap at her feet. Quickly kicking the knife from his limp fingers, she looked up.

“Don’t you ever obey orders?” grunted Connor.

“Very rarely.” Alexa drew in a gulp of air to steady her voice. “For which you ought to be profoundly grateful.”

There was no word from his lips, thanks or otherwise, for he, too, suddenly toppled forward.

She managed to keep a grip on his coat, though his weight nearly knocked her over. Fear hit her with just as much force.

“S-sir?”

His continued silence was even more frightening. Now that the first rush of unthinking bravado was spent, Alexa suddenly realized how scared she was. Despite being fisted in folds of melton wool, her hands began to tremble.

“Killingworth!”

The slight shake had no effect. His long hair, now slick with sweat, brushed against her chest, but still no answer.

With a low groan, the man at her feet began to move.

“Killingworth, we must be gone from here.”
But which way?
She tried desperately to recall his exact words. Had he said “right”?

Think! Think!
Her mind was numb, but a hoarse shout from close by roused her to action.

“Bull! Ye got him?”

Wrapping her arms around Connor’s chest, Alexa managed to stagger forward. He was a large man, broad-shouldered and well muscled. She didn’t know for how long she would be able to handle such a dead weight—

No.
She would
not
allow herself to think in those terms.

Praying that her memory was not as faltering as her courage, she squeezed through the gap in the rookeries and staggered headlong into the alley on the far right. She dared not look back.

“Killingworth,” she gasped between gulps of air. Surely the bumps and scrapes, if not her urgent pleas, would jar him to his senses. “Dear God, can you hear me?”

As if in mocking answer, she heard another shout.

“Bloody ’ell!” The echo, though distorted by the maze of angled walls, did not deflect the note of rage. “Ye let him get away!”

A second voice rose in reply. “’E’s hurt—I know ’e is. Woulda ’ad him dead to rights if he hadn’t had a bloody she-bitch helping him. Nobody said nuffink about there being two o’ dem, but I swear, they won’t get far—”

“Aw, shut yer gob and get up. Which way did they go?”

Spurred on by the sound of pursuit, Alexa summoned an extra surge of strength to maneuver through the twisting passageways. But she knew she couldn’t keep up such a pace for any distance. And while the ruffians might be slowed by a wrong turn or two, they would soon pick up the trail.

Fighting off panic, she paused for a moment to shift her hold on Connor’s coat. Her cheek, already scraped raw from several near falls, hit up against a broken board. In fear and frustration, she wrenched the earl around and gave him a hard shove. “Damnation, sir! Try to move your feet.”

This time, her urgings finally stirred some sign of life, if only a faint groan.

Tears of relief flooded her eyes as she saw his lids flutter open.

“What the devil…”

“Not one, but two of them. Hot on our heels.” Another push inched him forward. “We must hurry.”

Whether or not he comprehended her disjointed explanation, Connor roused himself. Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he gritted his teeth and managed a scuff of his boots.

Still, their progress seemed painfully slow. At any moment, Alexa expected a bullet or a blade to cut them down.

“One more step, one more step.” Over and over, she repeated the words aloud. She had not the energy to think of anything else.

Finally, she spotted a flicker of a light up ahead, and nearly wept for joy.

Another oath richoceted from out of the gloom. Aware of steps drawing ever closer, Alexa pressed on with one last, frantic burst of speed.

She and Connor emerged into a roughly cobbled street. As he had promised, a pair of hackneys were drawn to a halt. One of the nags raised its head and gave a desultory swish of its tail. The drivers, however, remained unmoving, hats pulled low, trying to stay warm on their perches as the wind rattled the bits of worn brass and leather.

It took another cry and a thump on the nearest vehicle to rouse any reaction. “Help me!”

“Help ye?” From beneath the twist of scarf came a harsh cackle. “Ye must be new at this, duckie,” replied the driver. “Ye’ll learn quick enuff that out here, ye got te fend fer yerself.”

“Aye, sweeting,” called the driver’s cohort. “If the toff’s drunk hisself into a stupor, it’s time fer ye te be doing the thrusting. Shove him inside and help yerself to his purse.”

As Connor gave a querulous mutter, Alexa worked the door latch free. “Step up,” she ordered, giving a sharp tug to his trousers.

“That’s the spirit, luv.” Clearly amused by her struggles, the driver held out his whip. “Want to try a touch o’ the lash on his arse? There’s some gennelmon wot like a taste o’ leather.”

“I’d rather you turn it on your horse’s rump.” A last heave, and Connor landed heavily onto the floor of the cab. Alexa started to climb up after him. “Get us away from here fast, and I’ll split the gentleman’s purse with you instead of the jackals on our heels.”

The driver fumbled for the reins. “A pleasure doin’ business with ye.”

Her foot had barely cleared the iron step when Alexa felt a grab catch at her skirts. Falling backwards, she yanked with all her might.

A rip rent the air, and the outstretched hand was left holding naught but a scrap of lace petticoat.

“Spring ’em!” she screamed, slamming the door shut.

The hackney lurched forward.

“Lady Alexa! Lady Alexa!” Along with the clatter of the iron-rimmed wheels, her name rang off the uneven pavement. “Don’t think we’ll ferget the Wolfhound’s bitch.”

“Where to, duckie?” yelled the driver, after the first few careening turns.

Alexa bit her lip. Her aunt’s townhouse was out of the question.
Henry?
She didn’t have much faith in her cousin to keep a cool head in a crisis.
The earl’s own residence?
Good Lord, she hadn’t a clue as to where he lived…

She felt the vehicle starting to slow.

Mouthing a silent prayer that she was making the right decision, Alexa quickly called out a direction.

“Dear me.” After wiping the blood from his well-tended hands, Cameron Daggett smoothed at his cravat, though none of the intricate folds were a fraction out of place. “The coat and shirt appear quite ruined. Not that it is any great loss, seeing as they were fashioned by a far more clumsy hand than Weston or Stutz.”

“T—to hell with my bloody tailor.” Connor’s whisper was barely more than a breath of air.

“Yes, I’ve been telling you that for ages, Wolf. The man ought to have his patterns burned to a crisp and red hot needles stuck under his fingernails.”

Alexa’s clutch on her glass of brandy relaxed slightly. Connor’s halting words were only a ghost of the earl’s usual snarl but they were still somewhat reassuring. He hadn’t uttered a sound during the long ride, not even when she had been forced to be rather rough in wrestling him up from the floorboards.

The Wolfhound muzzled?
She had begun to fear the worst.

After a sip to steady her nerves, she leaned in for a closer look at the jagged hole in his side. And then wished she hadn’t. The sight of blood and gore was nothing new. She had witnessed a good many accidents in the course of managing an estate. But somehow, a bullet wound seemed so very much more…personal.

Quickly averting her eyes, Alexa fought to keep her voice from cracking. “D-don’t you think we should summon a surgeon, Mr. Daggett?”

“I have done so, Lady A.” The earl’s friend had peeled open the torn shirt and was probing gently at the wound. “The bullet does not appear to have penetrated the lung—”

Apparently not, she observed, for the earl managed a sharp snarl. “Goddamn it, Cam, no!”

“Still, it should be removed as soon as possible,” continued Cameron, calmly ignoring the interruption.

“No surgeon,” added Connor through clenched teeth. “Prefer to keep this…quiet.”

“That thought had occurred to me,” replied his friend lightly. “The fellow in question is, like us, a former military man and understands how certain situations call for the utmost discretion.” He paused to take up a pair of scissors and snip away a piece of singed linen. “He can be counted on to keep mum.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Cameron smiled. “First of all, because I pay an obscene amount of money for his silence concerning the occasional services he renders to me. And secondly…” Another bit of cloth was expertly removed. “…Because he knows if he fails to keep his end of the bargain I will break all 27 bones in his right hand.”