A Seduction at Christmas (2 page)

December 1809

F
iona Lachlan draped her shawl over her head as she pushed her way through the narrow, crowded street. The damp coldness of the December evening air cut right through the thin muslin of her dress. She tried not to shiver as she moved toward a hired coach waiting for her at the corner.

Well, it didn’t actually wait for
her
. The woman who had hired the hack, Hester Bowen, was expecting Annie Jenkins to come. It was up to Fiona to convince Hester to take her in Annie’s place.

The hack driver saw her coming and jumped from the box to open the door. Careful to keep her head down, Fiona climbed inside.

“You’re
late
,” Hester complained. She rapped on
the ceiling. “
Drive,
” she snapped at the coachman who shut the door behind Fiona.

“I said
eight
,” Hester continued as the driver set the coach in motion, “You’ve left me waiting a full
ten
minutes. I’ll tell you, Annie, my time is more valuable than yours…” Her voice trailed off into a beat of suspicious silence.

Fiona kept her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Every turn of the coach wheel was in her favor.

Hester ripped the shawl away. “
You aren’t Annie Jenkins.”

Caught, Fiona quickly confessed, “No, I’m not. She couldn’t come this evening and asked me if I would. My name is Fiona. I’m her neighbor. We let rooms next door to each other—
please
,” she beseeched, reaching for Hester’s arm to stop her from throwing up the window and shouting for the coachman to stop. “Annie sent me. She said it would be all right. She assured me you wouldn’t mind.”

Hester’s eyes were alive with anger. “You are
Scottish
.” She curled her lips and pretended to gag.

“I am, but my accent isn’t thick,” Fiona answered, almost choking on the words. She hated having to defend her heritage, something she seemed to have to do daily in London. “And I do speak well.”
Better than you,
she wanted to add. “Whatever errand you wished Annie to perform, I can do it.”

“Annie and I are friends,” Hester countered. Her voice had a hard edge.

She was a bit older than Fiona’s own three and twenty years. In the coach’s flickering light, her blond hair seemed almost white. Beneath her furlined velvet cape, she wore a beaded and lace gown of the darkest blue. Its bodice was so tight, she appeared to have cleavage up to her neck. All in all, she appeared exactly what she was—the most infamous courtesan in London. “We go back a long way,” Hester said. “I
trust
her.”

“Well, Annie and I are friends, too,” Fiona answered. Necessity made for strange bedfellows. “She knew you needed her and asked me to help.”

Hester sat back against the hard leather seat with a snort of disdain. “So what has happened to Annie this time? Has she deviled herself with gin or fallen in love—again?”

“She eloped,” Fiona answered. “This morning. Her last act before she left was to knock on my door and beg me to help you.”

“Who did she run off with now?” Hester asked without sympathy.

“A soldier. She is in love.”

“Annie is
always
in love.” Hester gave a heavy sigh. “Why are we all such fools when it comes to love?” Her words were laced with the irony of self knowledge. She looked at Fiona, studying her now and then nodding as if in approval. “What did Annie tell you about the task?”

“She said for me to dress well—”

Hester’s keen gaze ran over the white muslin Fiona was wearing, seemingly taking in every detail. There had been a time when Fiona had owned a closet full of the finest dresses. This dress and her dog Tad were all that was left of that former life.

“You look presentable enough,” the courtesan decided. She reached over and picked one of Tad’s dog hairs off Fiona’s shawl, rubbing her fingers and releasing it to the floor.

Fiona gathered her courage. “You offered Annie twenty pounds for this favor. Will you pay me as well?”

Hester’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Desperate for money, are we?”

“Of course. Isn’t everyone?”

“In London,” Hester agreed.

Fiona had been earning her money as a dressmaker but last month Madame Sophie had let her go. Madame’s cousin had arrived from Belgium and took Fiona’s place in the sewing room. As tal
ented as Fiona felt she was with a needle, she was discovering few wanted to hire a Scotswoman, especially one who had the air of “Quality.” They preferred their seamstresses without ambition or intelligence, the better to do as they were bid without questions. They didn’t trust Fiona’s knowledge or her manner.

Meanwhile, she needed money. Her landlord, Mr. Simon, threatened to turn her and Tad out into the streets. Fiona had already discovered how hard it was to find rooms that would let her keep Tad. She didn’t want to lose these.

Of course, with twenty pounds, she might even be able to
leave
London. When her parents were alive, she’d dreamed of having her coming out here, of meeting a gallant gentleman, being swept off her feet. As a well-known magistrate’s daughter, she could have hoped for a brilliant match. Now, she couldn’t wait to kick the dust of this godforsaken place from her heels, and her longings were for a small cottage in the country where the air was free of soot and she could live in peace.

“Annie said it was not—” Fiona stopped, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She forced herself to be blunt. “She said I’d not have to please a man.”

Hester’s sly, lazy smile vanished. Her gloved hand curled into a fist. “You’d best not. I’ll slice
your face so no one would want to look at you if you spread your legs for this one.”

The brutal threat didn’t intimidate Fiona. She’d learned that manners and fine clothes often masked evil in London. “You needn’t worry,” she said stiffly. “I don’t do that.”

Hester’s gaze narrowed in disbelief. “‘Don’t do that?’” She snorted. “We
all
do
that
if it is to our advantage. ’Tis not much work. You close your eyes and let them have it.”

Bile rose in Fiona’s throat. Memories she hated clouded her mind with images she struggled to forget—

“Are you all right?” Hester demanded. “You’ve gone pale. You aren’t going to swoon on me, are you?”

Fiona shook her head, fighting the darkness. It had been a long time since she’d let this fear grip her—

“Then
breathe
,” Hester ordered, something Fiona didn’t think she could do until Hester reached over and slapped her.

The memories were replaced by shock. Fiona lifted a hand to her cheek. The slap had not been hard, but it had been effective.

Hester settled back into her corner of the hack, her expression thoughtful. “When were you raped?”

“A year ago.” Fiona didn’t even think to not an
swer. Tears threatened. She forced them back. Those men had ruined her, robbed her of her chance of a decent man—

“You’ll overcome it,” Hester said. “You are strong. We all are when we must be.” She paused. Speculation gleamed in her eye before she said, “You know, you’ve the face and the body to earn fifty pounds in an hour if you’ve a mind to. You could do very well for yourself.”

“I’d rather starve,” Fiona returned, aware that she was close to doing that right now. Since her rape by a party of soldiers hunting for her rebel brother, there had been only one man who had caught her slightest interest—the Duke of Holburn. She’d seen him at a party almost a year ago when she’d been wearing this same dress. Their gazes had met, held. He’d even followed across the ballroom, but then she’d had to leave the dance to help her brother and his wife escape London before they could be captured.

Since then, she’d learned the duke had a dangerous reputation. Decent women avoided him, not that she was worried. He didn’t travel in the same circles as seamstresses and she doubted if he would remember her even if they should meet again.

“What do you want me to do for the money?” Fiona asked.

Hester lifted a fur muff that matched her cape from the seat beside her and pulled from it a small vial. “I want you to pour this into a man’s drink.”

“What is it?” Fiona wondered, fearing the worst.

“Not poison,” Hester assured her, “although he will wish it was once this starts to act.” She turned the vial toward the light. “It will make him puke his guts out and think twice before betraying me again.”

“Betray?”

Hester’s smile turned bitter. “What? You think I couldn’t fall in love? He thinks I will skulk away like a dog. He’s wrong.”

“Who is
he
?” Fiona asked.

“Lord Belkins,” Hester announced as if Fiona should know him. “He’s been my lover for years.”

“But no more,” Fiona hazarded.

“No,” Hester said, sucking in the word as if she had a physical pain in her chest. But then her gaze turned malevolent. “He said I was growing too old for him. He didn’t even trouble himself with a parting gift. Well, he’s about to receive a parting gift from me. You see, I faked a letter to him. Signed it from a ‘feminine admirer.’ He loves that sort of thing. Fancies all the women adore him.” She smiled at her cleverness. “I suggested a secret meeting. That’s where we are going now.”

“And I’m to be his feminine admirer?”

“Of course. He’ll like you. He likes redheads. His mother was a redhead.” Seeing the look on Fiona’s face, she said, “Don’t think too closely about it, dear. Men are odd.”

Fiona didn’t doubt that. “But I thought you said I wouldn’t be called upon to—” She paused, not wanting to say the words.

Hester understood. She waved Fiona’s concerns away. “Not if you pour this into his wine before matters reach that point. I was told it would act quickly.”

“Won’t he see me?”

“Not if you distract him,” Hester answered as if she was talking to a simpleton. “Be clever. You can’t tell me you don’t know how to be coy.”

She did. Fiona had been the belle of the kirk back home in Scotland. She used to lead many lads on. Those days seemed so long ago. She took the vial from Hester. It seemed a simple thing to do for twenty pounds.

“I’ve hired a private supper room,” Hester continued, “and the wine is already ordered. For all his fine manners, Belkie guzzles like an oarsman. When the contents in that vial start to effect, come for me. I want to watch it work and let him know that I set this whole ruse up. That will teach him not to cross me.”

“But won’t he be angry?”

Hester laughed. “What is in that vial will make him harmless quick enough. Oh, don’t look at me that way. It won’t last long or have a permanent effect. He’ll recover.”

At that moment, the coach pulled to a stop. “We are here,” Hester said with a note of excitement.

Fiona felt the shape of the vial in her gloved hand. Her conscience troubled her. It was a cruel trick she was being asked to play. “I’d like my money now,” she dared to say.

Hester shook her head. “I’ll pay once the deed is done.”

“What if something goes wrong? I should still receive my money.”

The courtesan tilted back her head and laughed. “Nothing will go wrong. Belkie will be like clay in your hands. We’ll be on our way home within the hour—and you’ll be holding your money in your hand.”

The door to the hack opened. The driver waited to help her down. Fiona hesitated. “Where are we?”

“The Swan’s Nest. It’s a cozy little inn, tucked in close to the city and the perfect place for a lover’s tryst. The host’s name is Mr. Denby. He’s expecting you but under Annie’s name.”

“Annie’s name? What if something goes wrong?”

With a lift of one eyebrow, Hester explained, “Well, that won’t bother either of us now, will it? Annie’s long gone from here.”

“How long will I have to wait for Lord Belkins?”

Hester gave a half laugh. “He’s here,” she said with complete assurance. “Belkie was never one to miss an appointment.”

Fiona drew her fringed shawl around her shoulders and climbed out. The ground was damp and soft beneath the kid slippers she had borrowed from Annie that morning before she left. They were a bit too small for her and obviously very worn since the wet seemed to seep into them.

A rising fog gave the Swan’s Nest the appearance of complete isolation. Fiona would be hard pressed if asked to describe exactly where she was.

She slipped the vial into a hidden pocket sewn into the seam of her dress and walked toward the torch-lit front door. It opened before she could reach for the handle.

A balding man with the jovial appearance of someone’s favorite uncle gave her a bow. “Mrs. Jenkins?”

Fiona nodded, resisting an urge to glance back where Hester waited in the hack. “Are you Mr. Denby?”

“I am. Your guest is waiting.”

Her heart leapt to her throat, making it difficult to speak. “Thank you,” she managed to say.

He shut the door. “This way, please.” He led her through an empty tap room.

“You don’t have much custom tonight,” Fiona observed as he led her down a narrow hallway.

“We are a very private establishment.”

“So there aren’t other guests?” she wondered.

“We
always
have guests.” He stopped mid-way down the hall. “Your room is the last door on the right,” he informed her in a low voice. “The table inside is set for dinner as you instructed. There is a scarf on the other side of the door. When you are ready for us to serve, hang it out in the hall.”

“Thank you,” Fiona murmured. As he stepped aside to let her pass, a new idea struck her. “If I need help, would someone come if I gave a shout?”

“We usually don’t interfere in the guests’ games,” he told her. “However, if you are concerned then I’ll keep my ears open for you.”

“Yes, please,” Fiona said, gathering her courage. She went down the hall, checking to be certain the vial was in her pocket as she moved.

At the door, she stopped in indecision. Should she knock? Or enter without any announcement? What did men expect from unknown lovers?

Mr. Denby still stood in the hallway, watching her.

Fiona gave a knock. One light rap to the door. There was no answer from inside. “Belkie” must have assumed she was an idiot for knocking on a door for a room she hired.