Hot Silk (24 page)

Venetia had opened her mouth, and Grace had stiffened, expecting a lecture, when a footman opened the drawing room door. “A visitor has arrived for Miss Grace Hamilton,” he said on a bow. “Lady Prudence Collins. She has been shown to the west parlor.”

As the door shut behind the servant, Venetia stared at her in astonishment. “Lord Wesley’s sister? What could she want?”

“I expect to blame me for her brother’s failed life as a highwayman and his flight from England,” Grace said airily, and she left them gaping at her in surprise.

A long time ago she would have been bubbling with excitement to see Prudence. They would fall naturally and comfortably into conversation, laughing, gossiping, hugging. Her friendship with Lady Prudence had made Grace believe she belonged in that world—the privileged world, the world of blue blood, elegance, titles, and wealth.

Grace walked with a purposefully slow gait down Venetia’s hallway. Painted in white and pastels, it looked bright; Brighton was where London escaped oppressive heat for breezy sunshine. Who belonged less in this house right now? Lady Prudence or her?

One of the west parlor doors had been left open and Grace paused there. The rustle of silk came from within. Grace smoothed her skirts, though she didn’t care how she appeared to the woman who had once been her friend, yet had rudely cut her.

She just needed a moment. A moment to compose herself.

She strode into the room, head high, spine straight, her walk imbued with the elegance of a lady. One look at Lady Prudence and she faltered—her ladyship wore a lavish gown and spencer of sky-blue silk trimmed with a fringe that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Her bonnet appeared to be a bouquet of roses held together with ribbon.

No. Clothes would not intimidate her—not when she’d survived a knife at her throat and a pistol pointed at her head.

“Hello, Lady Prudence. Might I ask what you have come for?” As a greeting it was neither deferential or polite. But it was the truth. All she wanted to know was what Prudence wanted.

Startled by her voice, Lady Prudence swept around. She had been standing by the window, staring out at the garden, drenched in sunlight. Her black curls gleamed and her gray-blue eyes were as hard and flat as the sea before a storm.

“My brother has left for the Continent, and our family name is blackened by scandal. The fault lies with you and that horrible criminal, Devlin Sharpe!” Prudence stood, shaking, like a slender tree buffeted by stormy winds.

“Your brother is running from what he believes is cowardice,” Grace responded. She could not bring herself to use soothing words when she knew Prudence only wished to shout and rail at her. “Not to mention his disgusting behavior toward innocent women.”

“What are you speaking of?” Lady Prudence snapped. Apparently, Prudence believed Grace’s inferior social status meant that she must accept being used as a whipping post, but Grace refused to do it.

“Lord Wesley held up Mr. Sharpe’s carriage,” Grace continued. “He was quite drunk, he almost shot Mr. Sharpe, and he almost got himself killed.”

“That murderer wounded him—”

“No, Prudence, keep quiet. Devlin told me about your suitor. He told me about the bruises, that your lover had hit you. Prudence! How could you have accepted that?”

Prudence recoiled. Her hands flew up to her throat as though she could not believe Grace would attack her. “Nothing changes the fact that Sharpe killed him—”

“Your suitor cheated and shot first.” She didn’t want to hurt Prudence; she wanted to make her see the truth.

“He killed him.”

“It is true, my lady, but do you not understand that Devlin was forced to do it to protect you?”

Tears welled in Prudence’s eyes and sympathy twisted so hard within Grace that it physically hurt. She moved forward, to offer a hug, to offer support, but Prudence lifted her hand as if to slap her.

“Don’t touch me!” Prudence cried. “You’ve bewitched Wesley. You’ve stolen him from me, stolen his heart.” Clutching her lovely skirts, Prudence retreated toward the bank of windows.

“That’s madness. Wesley pursued me to hurt Devlin—he doesn’t care one jot about me. In fact, I believe he thinks of no one but himself. That is why he has left you, Prudence. He has fled to indulge himself, lick his wounds, and behave like a spoiled child—and unfortunately he is not mature enough to spare you a thought.”

“That’s not true. You destroyed him, you calculating tart. I warned you, but you went after him, seduced him, and—”

“Enough!” Grace cried. “You cannot speak to me that way. Do you know that your brother belonged to a club of gentlemen who specifically preyed on innocent girls? They made wagers on how many virtuous girls they could destroy.” She had told her family about this, though she had not specifically explained how she knew. And she’d felt guilty that she had not said anything two years before. “My brothers-in-law, the Earl of Trent and Viscount Swansborough, put a stop to their horrible club. Wesley fled, I’m sure, because he feared what they would do to him. Because he is a coward. Any scandal is his own fault. He deserves a much worse punishment than escaping England.”

Prudence’s face turned pale.

Grace softened her voice. “Prudence, you must carve your own way in the world—you should find love, marry, have a family. You must not blame others for the mistakes you and Wesley have made. You have to accept responsibility and strive to do better, strive to find happiness.”

Prudence stormed toward the door, following a path that led between the wing chairs and octagonal tables and settees and away from her.

Carve out your own way in the world.
Those had been Devlin’s words to her.

As she watched Prudence run out of the room, Grace realized that she had not been worrying about what Prudence thought of her. Her worries had been for Prudence herself.

She no longer cared what the ton thought of her.

She felt as though that was beneath her now. Love and hope and kindness were far more important.

“So you see, her plan is to try to break Devlin out of jail. I can just imagine the thoughts in her mind—she will sneak in and somehow free him and it will all be very adventurous and exciting. She’s always been dramatic and she refuses to even think of how dangerous it will be.”

Venetia gave her husband her most imploring look but sighed inside. All she had ever wanted to do was save herself and her family.

Now her impetuous youngest sister wanted to be the rescuer. But Grace was too naïve to understand how very dangerous that was.

“She’ll get herself killed,” Marcus growled, and Venetia felt a spurt of calming relief. She’d known Marcus would understand.

“I doubt you’ll be able to stop her.” Dash slipped his arm around Maryanne and kissed the top of her head. The implication was clear—Maryanne had risked so much out of love for him, just as he had risked all for Maryanne.

“I can’t let her race headlong into danger.” Marcus groaned. Venetia saw that streak of gray in his hair, that he had teasingly argued had been placed there by the entire trio of Rodesson’s daughters.

“I think there’s a way to have Devlin exonerated,” Marcus continued. “He’s done much clandestine work for the Navy—secured land, raged battles, all in secret. And he’s kept those secrets, despite his flagrant disregard for the law in other ways.”

“He was trying to make his way in the world!” Maryanne leaned forward, waving her hands to include them all. “Haven’t we all struggled to do that? Each and every one of us? We all had to make mistakes to find our places! As did our mother and Rodesson.”

Venetia met Maryanne’s firm gaze and nodded. She so admired her younger sister, who had always been quiet and who had proved she had a deep understanding of human nature. No wonder Maryanne’s stories were so well loved.

Dash rested back, his dark looks dramatic against her ivory settee. He’d worn all black today, which once had reflected his torment but now meant that he intended to indulge in some naughty games with Maryanne all night. It was one of their secret codes, and Venetia smiled.

She did so want Grace to be happy. She’d just wanted to see Grace happy and
safe
.

But perhaps, even after all she’d learned about partnerships and trust and love, she still needed to recognize when to let go.

“There’s a way, I think,” Dash drawled, “to give Grace exactly what she wants.”

“What is it?” Venetia almost leapt upon him. What had he thought of?

Dash looked to Marcus. “Do you believe you could convince the crown to forgive Devlin his crimes?”

“With both of us working on it—given the fact I loaned our king a lot of money while he was still regent—I think it could be done.” He rubbed his jaw in the way that Venetia loved. She loved to see him lost in thought, planning. “So, a marriage between Grace and a freed Devlin could go ahead, but she’d still be marrying a man known to be a pirate and thought to be a highwayman—”

Dash held up his hand. “Grace needs her adventure. I say we give her one.”

Marcus groaned. “Damnation, I think I see where your mind is going, Swansborough.”

Venetia gaped at both men. She knew they had conspired together to ensure she and Marcus could find happiness, and she saw the devilish grin first come to Dash’s handsome mouth, then slowly, seductively, spread across her husband’s beautiful, enticing lips.

Marcus’s turquoise eyes lit up and Venetia felt her breath whoosh from her chest. He still did that, her handsome husband—he still took her breath away. And he told her, when he whispered by her ear when they were in bed together, that she still did the same to him.

She held Marcus’s gaze, so aware of him—of the strong line of his jaw, the smooth, lightly tanned skin of his throat, the beautiful lines that framed his mouth and his eyes.

Maryanne clapped her hands, and Venetia snapped out of studying her husband’s gorgeous darkly lashed eyes. “I think this is going to be one of our best plots!” Maryanne exclaimed.

And Venetia saw then what a happy family was about. It wasn’t guiding the people you loved into the places you felt they should be. It was about accepting, helping, and loving.

“We will be helping our sister marry a pirate,” she cautioned, but she knew it was too late. She couldn’t object to Grace being happy and neither could anyone else.

“But really, Venetia,” Maryanne protested with a mock air of hauteur, “whatever good is marriage if not with a man worth taming?”

“Do you think he can be tamed?” Venetia threw out.

“Not in the important ways.” That teasing comment came from Dash, who was grinning at his wife. “And he doesn’t need to be tamed in the others. He’s like all wild men—he was looking for a woman he had to fight for.”

“Fight? But who—the only ones he has to fight are us, isn’t that so?” Venetia asked. “Because we are the ones who should not approve.”

Marcus shook his head. “I understand what Dash means. He means that Devlin had to fight within himself to find the strength to claim Grace—he had to fight his own demons.”

“Demons that have led him to break the law his entire life,” Venetia pointed out. Could Devlin Sharpe, who had retired from life as a pirate to become a highwayman, change? “How does allowing himself to be arrested mean he is fighting for Grace?”

“He’s trying to make himself honorable, and for his entire life, I believe that’s something he felt he could never do,” Marcus explained. As always, his deep voice rippled over her, like a warm caress against her skin.

“Grace thinks he’s a hero.”

“And Grace needs to be a heroine,” Marcus said.

Venetia threw up her hands. “All right, I agree to this, whatever scheme you have in mind. But I think the truth here is that neither of you men, both of you fathers now, have ever really grown up!”

“Of course not,” Dash drawled. “And isn’t that why you love us?”

“A
re you going to shoot your way in?” Bess asked as she brandished a silver pistol and waved it around to show it off to the circle of women.

“No! And put that away!” Grace glanced down Newgate Street toward the imposing stone façade of Newgate Prison.

“Stay in the shadows,” Grace warned, but Katie, another of the six women of Devlin’s gang, was bouncing up and down with excitement, her blond curls dancing. The women would not listen to her warnings. At least they lurked in the shadows cast by the buildings at the corner of Newgate Street and Old Bailey as she’d insisted, but they were not being cautious, quiet, and circumspect.

Katie grasped her arm, her bosom jiggling, and confided, “Devlin has escaped from jail before, but I don’t know exactly how he did it!”

A hand fell gently on her other arm and Grace turned to meet Lucy’s wide eyes filled with guilt and worry. “Thank you for letting me help, for letting me come with you, Miss Hamilton. But after how I betrayed you, I don’t understand why you would.”

Was she mad for asking Devlin’s “harem” of six women to help her free him from jail? Her family thought so. Devlin’s own men did—they thought her insane for relying on a bevy of beautiful women they saw as playful courtesans. But Grace understood why Devlin had taken the women in, why he took care of them. They all deserved to be something more. Each woman deserved to play a part in the world. To direct her own life.

That was what he had wanted for her—to find her courage, to carve her path.

“Devlin would believe you deserve a second chance,” Grace said.

“Then you know Devlin far better than I do, Miss Hamilton,” Lucy whispered. “I believed he would never forgive me.”

Ensconced in the long fingers of dark shadow, Lucy looked uncertain and frightened. Grace saw the nervous glances Lucy threw toward the other women and the cold, awkward way they behaved around Lucy.

Had she been wrong? Would the women’s unspoken anger and Lucy’s guilt cause them disaster?

Grace knew there was no more time to talk, to linger, to delve into worries and concerns. She gathered the women around her. All wore breeches and tight-fitting white shirts. None wore corsets, so their abundant bosoms bounced freely beneath the snug lawn. The women had left their shirts open and the array of shadowed cleavage was rather mesmerizing.

“Do you all know the roles you are to play?”

Each woman—Lucy, Bess, Katie, Annie, Sally, and Nan—nodded. Each woman glowed with pride and excitement.

“Then we go,” Grace said.

She had never known such a thrill—except when making love to Devlin. This was almost, but not quite, as delicious as that. She was in charge, just as she had been in her dream when she was at the wheel of Devlin’s ship. She felt exhilarated enough to fly! She could understand how Devlin had vowed he would never give up being a pirate to become an ordinary man.

Grace walked up to the door. It was late summer and the stench of the prison turned Grace’s stomach. Some of the cells were reputed to contain rotting corpses waiting for relatives to find the money to pay for their release. God, it was so horrible to think Devlin was in there.

She lifted the black knocker on Newgate’s door and let it fall. The hard thud vibrated through her feet and up her spine.

“Who goes there?” demanded one of the guards as he came out of the guard hut to see who was at the outside door. He was a portly man and as Nan and Katie, both blondes with large breasts, strolled forward cooing and offering him drink, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from their curves. The second guard was younger, and he had been slumped against the stone wall inside, but he promptly straightened up.

Katie now stood in front of the older guard, so close that his nose almost grazed her bosom.

She pointed to Nan, who invitingly stroked her hands over her full hips. “My friends wish to see their men, who are locked up in here. There’s no harm, is there? And we’ll make it worth your while to help us.”

Nan held up a bottle of fine brandy.

The guard warred with duty for only seconds. “Come ’ere, my lovelies,” he crooned.

Katie snatched the bottle from Nan, took a convincingly large swig of the potent liquor, then sashayed forward. “Indeed we will, sirrah,” she answered cheerfully.

“You, Thomas.” The guard gave his young partner a shove toward the door. “Escort the lasses in.”

“What’s in it for me?” Thomas demanded.

Bess rushed forward to press her body against his. “If you’re a good fellow, you’ll get your reward,” she whispered, her voice a sultry purr against the hot night air.

“It stinks in there,” he argued. “I’d need a good reason to go in.”

Grace saw Bess’s hand abruptly cup the young man’s crotch and caress it through his trousers. He gave a shocked squeak, surprisingly high pitched; then he moaned.

“Shall I lead you by these,” Bess teased.

But he pushed away her hand. “I don’t want a prisoner’s whore—”

Katie pouted at the other guard. “If you gents won’t help…”

The guard planted his booted foot against Thomas’s backside. “Get moving, you whelp.”

Grace planted herself in front of Thomas and pressed a few gold guineas into his palm. “Enough to make you forget the smell?”

The angular youth nodded, flashed a grimace that revealed a few missing teeth, and pocketed the money. He drew out his key, attached to his waist with a glinting chain. Grace held her breath as the key turned in the lock and he hauled open a heavy wooden door. She was so much closer to Devlin, but she still had to get him on this side of that door.

She still had to get him outside the stone walls, the barred windows, and the thick oak doors.

Distracted by two beautiful women, the older guard never even glanced their way. Grace sighed with relief as they plunged through the doorway and within the stone walls that held Devlin captive. She almost gagged on the smell rolling down the corridor.

“Which ones do you want?” the young man asked sullenly.

Bess squeezed his bottom and a flush hit his pockmarked cheeks; then she tugged at her open neckline to give him a glimpse of her breast.

Grace took advantage of Bess’s show. “Mr. Devlin Sharpe.”

She expected Thomas would refuse, that he would claim he could not let them go to that particular prisoner.

But he gave her an indifferent stare. “And who else?”

“No one else,” Bess answered. “Just Devlin.”

“All of you? For him?”

“We’re his harem, lad,” Annie said, winking. He stared at the long waves of vivid red hair that flowed loosely over her shoulder.

“Now, look here,” Thomas protested, waving his precious cell keys. “I don’t believe you—”

“Oh, we all know that the men who can afford it have their women in here,” Annie snapped as she pressed both hands to the young guard’s thin chest and gave a frustrated shove.

“Enough,” Grace warned. Her heart beat so loudly in her own head she was certain the sound must be echoing off the stone walls. She pulled out a few more coins, the gold glinting even in the dim and dusty light, and held them out. “Just take us to his cell.”

“Bloody women,” Thomas muttered, but he crooked his finger. “This way and keep your mouths shut.”

Shuffling his feet, he led them to a narrow staircase, and he slowly hauled his feet up each step. Grace had to bite her lip to keep from screaming at him to move faster. She stayed close to Thomas, in front of the other women, ready to hand him more money if necessary.

The stairwell closed around them like a tunnel leading to hell, even though they were climbing upward on chiseled stone steps. Shrieks and groans echoed through the small space, the sounds thrown about crazily by the stone walls. Grace swallowed hard—she remembered that night when Devlin had returned her to her room through the secret stairways of Lord Wesley’s home.

She owed Devlin so much.

He had been the first to give her a glimpse of adventure.

Ahead, Thomas stopped at a cell door, drew out his ring of keys and put the key in the lock.

“We’ll let you watch if you’re a good boy,” Annie called out.

That got the young man’s attention. Red-faced, he jerked around, but Sally, who had the strongest swing, hit him in the back of the head with a cosh. He slumped to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Grace walked around him, fighting the surge of guilt. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“I’m no amateur,” Sally protested, “I’ve coshed many men in my lifetime. I know just how to do it.”

“Ladies, what in the blazes are you doing here?”

At Devlin’s voice, Grace found herself racing forward through the narrow opening in the iron bars. But Lucy, Bess, and Annie were already in his cell, and Bess pointed to her the instant she stumbled in. “It was Miss Hamilton’s idea. We’re your rescuers.”

Devlin blinked. “Grace? You arranged this?”

He looked well; he looked safe. His face was unshaven, covered in toffee-colored stubble, but his skin was surprisingly clean. Loose, his hair fell around his shoulders, but it wasn’t tangled and unkempt. He wore his trousers, shirt, and boots, and though they were streaked with dirt and they smelled, he filled them out robustly.

True, he’d been in prison for only two weeks, but she’d had fears that he’d already contracted gaol fever and was wasting away.

Thank heaven he hadn’t suffered.

Then she saw he was looking at her.

His gaze swept over her, lingered on her, feasted on her. He looked at her clothes—the snug white shirt and skintight breeches—with a hunger he had not shown any of the other beautiful women who crowded his small cell.

“A private cell. And they gave you washing water.” It was as though she had not seen him for years and she was hiding behind inanities.

“I have money, love. And someone was paying to ensure I was well treated.”

He prowled forward, and her heartbeat sped faster with his every step until he swept her off her booted feet into his embrace and she was certain her heart had stopped. The other women surrounded them with sighs and “aahs” as his lips came down over hers.

Grace threaded her arms around his neck and wrapped one leg around his, holding him tight. She loved this—her breasts squashed against him, his erection crushed against her.

Devlin drew back. She knew his expression—the sharp lines of lustful agony around his mouth, the brilliant blue fire of desire in his eyes. “If you don’t start rescuing me, we might end up on that bed there, love.”

She gripped his hand. “Then come on.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Distraction and bribery.”

Devlin laughed wickedly, exactly like a pirate should—as though he had the world at his feet and he knew that he’d flaunt death and survive. “An excellent plan.” But he caught hold of her wrist. “Grace, I cannot put you at this much risk. I told you I would not come to you as a wanted man.”

“And I’ve come to you. You are a wanted man—wanted by me.”

When he frowned, she faced him, seriously. “This is what I want, Devlin. I would rather be a fugitive than live without you. I cannot let you go.” She cupped his stubble-covered cheek, smiling at the rasp of his whiskers against her palm. “This is my path, Devlin. Adventure and you. I’ll take the path of adventure without you if I have to, but come with me. You belong with me and I with you.”

“I want to follow you on your path, Grace.”

She glowed at that, at his simple statement telling her that he wanted to be with her. She nodded. “But I am in charge. Do remember that, Captain Sharpe,” she teased. “You have rescued me enough times. Now it is my turn.”

“I won’t forget it, Grace,” he murmured. “Rescue me.”

Shouts and cries echoed down the corridor. A few other prisoners had awoken, some close enough to see the women. Sally and Annie had dragged in the fallen guard, but the other male inmates had glimpsed enough female flesh in tight clothing to be aroused and aggressive.

They smashed the bars and hooted and howled at the women. Begged them to come over. Some, the more deranged, the ones who had been in so long they had begun to forget they were human, screamed insults or just shrieked.

Escaping through this was going to prove bloody difficult. But Devlin knew they had to get out—he couldn’t let Grace be arrested and locked up for an attempted escape.

Though it cost him precious seconds, Devlin bent down to the guard and pressed his fingers into the throat to find a pulse. It flickered against his skin, slow and faint, but there.

He looked up to see lines creasing Grace’s forehead and her mouth stiff with doubt. “Is he—?”

“Unconscious, but alive, and I wouldn’t envy him the sore head he’s going to have.”

Sally held the keys. “Let’s hurry,” she urged from the cell door. She leaned out and looked up and down the corridor. Bars rang as men hammered their cups, their feet, their arms against the iron.

Grace slanted him a glance as they hurried behind Lucy, Bess, and Annie through the door. “I was hoping at this point you would know the way out—the best way. Since you’ve escaped from here twice. Though I did study the layout of the prison. Marcus acquired copies of the building plans.”

Devlin felt his brows launch up. “Your brother-in-law, an earl, gave you building plans?”

She nodded. “My family supports this.”

“Your family must be mad,” he muttered. It couldn’t be so. The Earl of Trent and Viscount Swansborough had allowed Grace to put herself at such great risk?

Impossible.

Annie shoved his back from behind. “Get moving, Dev, you great lummox. Otherwise we’ll be caught.”

“How did you escape before?” Sally demanded. The women were keeping watch on the corridors. Why hadn’t all the rumpus brought the guards?

“I climbed out my window and crawled up onto the roof, then followed the roof line around to the end on Newgate Street and jumped off. And no, I am not about to take you ladies up on the roof.”

“Then what are we going to do?” The plaintive voice belonged to a woman with long auburn hair, who had her hands clasped together in front of her mouth.

He blinked twice before realizing the woman was Lucy. Grace had brought Lucy—a damned forgiving act. Admiration flooded through him as he looked to the woman he loved—Grace Hamilton.