Karen Harbaugh (2 page)

Innocent? Rothwick shook himself mentally. Nonsense. This must be Cassey Pickens, and thus she’d be far from innocent. “Ma’am, your servant.” He turned to Paul and with a jerk of his head indicated to his nephew that they go.

The woman turned a startled gaze upon him. “But, sir, we are in the middle of Bond Street! You cannot leave me here alone!”

“I am sure,” Lord Rothwick said tightly, “that you will not be alone long.” He noticed her face flamed red with apparent understanding. There were no ladies’ shops on Old Bond Street; there could be no reason for her to be there.

“I say, Uncle!” protested Paul, but he was cut off by the young woman.

Eyes flashing, she cried, “The sort of company I would encounter here would put me at some peril, as I am sure you are aware!”

Bold as brass, thought Rothwick, reluctantly admiring her angrily flashing eyes. But he relented, though he would not stoop to converse with her further. The earl motioned to his tiger and instructed him to escort Paul’s companion to her destination. She accepted with a haughty grace, which almost caused Rothwick to smile, but he suppressed it.

He seized Paul’s arm in a viselike grip and propelled him firmly away from his fair companion.

“I say, old boy! No need to be rough! Just got this from Weston’s, you know.” He managed to pull himself away and smoothed down his sleeve with an injured air. “And not quite the thing, abandoning a lady. Just escorting Miss—”

“Quiet!” thundered Rothwick. He had needed only one look at the “lady” to confirm his fears. He would bet his inheritance the woman was the harpy his sister had told him of. It was easy to see how Paul would be caught by one such as she. Her figure improved at close range, and though her half-mourning dress seemed on the surface modest enough and even dowdy, it fit her too close in the bosom for absolute modesty. He had surveyed her half mourning in reluctant admiration. She was obviously posing as a widow to lure young men with the double attraction of her looks and supposedly pitiful situation. The earl was experienced enough to fence with women of that caliber, but Paul was not fair game for women of that sort.

Paul gazed at him warily. “Not in a scrape now, I promise you. Just escorting a lady on an errand: no harm in that.”

“Your mother told me about her, Paul; there is no need to hedge the matter with me,” said Rothwick. “Good God, boy! Don’t you know it has reached your mother’s ears? I thought you knew better than to take a woman of that stamp so seriously.”

Paul stiffened. “Never thought you were that high in the instep, Uncle! Seems a perfectly respectable girl to me. Just orphaned, daughter of a vicar—no portion, of course, but that’s no matter—related to Lady Boothe!”

Rothwick almost gasped at Miss Pickens’s audacity. He had heard that old orphaned-daughter-of-a-vicar story before, but to claim relatives amongst the ton! That was gall indeed. Fie sneered. “And of course, Lady Boothe being one of the best-dressed ladies in society, she sees fit to dress one of her own likewise.”

“I—I, well, she’s someone’s companion right now, and they don’t treat her right, I can tell you that!”

“They never do,” replied Rothwick. “Good God, Paul, I thought you were more up to snuff than that. Can you not see when you’ve been taken in? That story’s as old as Eve! Why, my father heard that one when he first came out on the town.”

“It’s true!” protested Paul.

“They are always true.” His uncle sighed wearily. The earl looked down the street. He could see his tiger driving atop his curricle, threading his way back through the afternoon crowd. “But if I have anything to say about it, you are not going to marry a woman like that.”

A quick puzzled look crossed Paul’s face but was erased with his next words: “By
that,
I suppose you mean Miss Pickens. I can marry whom I wish!”

Lord Rothwick smiled grimly and stepped up into his curricle. “That you can, but it will be a bit difficult to support two on your allowance. Pray remember: you do not gain the whole of your inheritance until you reach five-and-twenty.”

His nephew grew pale, then reddened in anger. “As if that would matter with anyone! I shall do well enough!”

Rothwick laughed and gathered the reins. “You tell her! I’ll wager she hedges off!” he threw over his shoulder.

* * * *

Lord Rothwick was more worried than he cared to show when he told Lydia of the incident. It was just as well, for she was anxious enough for two. “And he refused to cut the connection?” she cried.

“Yes, but he is at the height of infatuation. We shall see if it lasts,” he replied.

“ ‘We shall see’! Why, it may be too late. It must be nipped in the bud!”

“I have said, my dear sister, that his infatuation is already full-blown.”

Lydia jumped up from her chair and paced agitatedly around the room. She stopped, clasping her hands. “William! You must pay her off!”

He grimaced. “That is hardly any guarantee she will leave him. What is to stop her from taking the money and marrying him all the same?”

My lady sank back onto her chair. “We must think of something! I know if he is pushed to it, my dear boy might, just might, run off with her.”

Rothwick gave a short laugh. “Well, she is comely enough. Perhaps I shall run off with her myself.”

Lydia turned, gazing at him round-eyed and hopeful. “Oh, Will! That is a wonderful idea!”

It is not to be thought that Lady Wrenton would countenance her brother marrying a courtesan any more than she would her son. She well knew, however, the charm her brother could turn on the most disagreeable of women that rendered them meek as doves; could he not do this with the despicable Cassey Pickens? Of course he would not marry her, but she was sure that woman would not mind being carried off by someone as rich and handsome as her brother. And William, after all, was no innocent boy. He could easily fob off the woman when he was done with her.

Her brother was wont to protest, of course. “I might remind you, Lydia, that I am newly betrothed. Hardly the time to be selecting a mistress, don’t you think?” he said ironically.

“Oh, pooh. You are scarcely going to announce it to the world, after all. If it should come to Sophia’s ears, why, she knows the ways of the world and what is expected of your wife. It is hardly a love match, after all.” Lydia could not resist sticking this last pin into his cool veneer. It irritated her that he had barely acknowledged her candidates for matrimony and had selected Sophia Amberley, whom she had always thought an ice-hearted chit. To be fair, it hurt Lydia, too. For all her lightness and frivolity, she loved her brother and would have liked to see him in love as well as married. But with Sophia! She could not conceive how it could happen, for all the girl’s beauty. Certainly he had not changed his ways at all since his betrothal.

The pin, if it pierced, made no mark. Rothwick waved a careless hand. “You are right, of course. Nevertheless, one must be careful of appearances....”

Lydia smiled smugly. “You, of all people, should know how to keep up appearances. Why, it is rumored you have had a string of mistresses, yet I have never seen you with one.”

He said nothing but gazed at her sadly and raised his eyebrows in mocking reproof.

“Well, I did—” Lydia stopped and gave an irritated moue. She would not be diverted from the purpose of their tête à tête. “So you will lure this—this creature away from Paul?”

“I have not said it, have I?”

“You are disobliging!” she returned crossly. “No, sensible, I think.” Rothwick sighed. “We shall see.”

“Ha! I wager that you are afraid you cannot!” Lady Wrenton leaned back on her chair. She was not going to ruin her challenge by seeming too eager.

“I said, ‘We shall see,’“ he replied. But then the earl smiled slightly and said: “How much do you want to wager, dear sister?”

Chapter 2

Linnea pulled her cloak closer around her. She wished she had something other than the lavender half-mourning gown she wore, but it was the least shabby one she had. The cloak was not as warm as her pelisse, but it was a dark grey, and she did not want to attract any notice. She was glad of the gas lamps put in but a year before in Pall Mall, but the streets between Cousin Boothe’s house and Lady Strahan’s in Pall Mall were not so well lighted. She looked about her, peering into shadowed corners, and walked as quickly as her tired feet would let her.

“I will not have to be Cousin Boothe’s unpaid servant for long,” she said to herself. “The employment registry will send me a message soon. I will then be out of Cousin Boothe’s house and into a respectable home where I can be a governess.”

Linnea allowed herself a little smile. Her words were her litany against fear. She felt frightened more often these days, for Lady Boothe had suffered reverses at the gaming table lately and could not afford a servant to accompany Linnea on the errands she had to run. It was very late; she had told her cousin that it was past eleven o’clock and Lady Strahan’s ball would be half over by the time she arrived there. But her cousin had slapped her, accusing her of being ungrateful; it did little good to argue with her. Linnea had left, hoping she would not meet anyone on the way to Lady Strahan’s house. She was prepared, however.

Twice a man had accosted her while she was delivering messages in the evening. The first time the man was inebriated, and she managed to wrench herself away. The second time she brought a small knitting-pin, which proved very useful. She also had a large rock in her reticule.

The walk always seemed long at night. Linnea knew it was because she was anxious, for Pall Mall was but a few streets away from Lord and Lady Boothe’s house.
You are tired as well,
a stubborn part of her insisted.
Yes, but it is only right that you earn your keep,
she argued back to herself. But for all that she had been the sole caretaker for her father and the vicarage when he became ill, she had never worked as hard in her life as she did now at Lady Boothe’s. She wished again that her brother Jack had not died at Ciudad Rodrigo, that her father had not given up on life at the news, and that she did not have to make her own way in the world. She shook her head. Useless to think of it! The employment registry should call for her any day now; two weeks had passed already…

“Eh, what’s this?” cried a man’s voice, hoarse with drink. “A little grey ladybird, do you think, Charlie?”

Linnea’s heart hammered, and she walked faster. She slipped the knitting-pin from her sleeve.

“Aye, but I think she won’t be flying to your arms, eh, Arnie?” The second man sounded equally foxed. Linnea started to run. “Wager a yellow boy I’ll catch her before you do!”

“Done!” said Arnie.

Linnea picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could. She could hear the men’s footsteps coming closer. Wildly she glanced around, but she could escape nowhere. A hand pulled at her skirt, and then another grasped her arm.

“Let me go!” she cried.

“Now, now, my dear, I won. Let me have a look at you.” A grinning face peered into hers. “Well, Charlie, look at this! We’ve got ourselves a pretty little pigeon for our supper. Let’s see if she tastes as good as she looks—” The face came closer.

“Stay away!” hissed Linnea. She whipped out the knitting-pin.

“Ow! What the devil!”

“Get away from me, you horrid man!” Linnea turned to Charlie. “And you, too! How dare you accost a respectable woman!”

“Respectable—ha!” jeered Charlie. He glanced at Arnie. “Seems you’re too foxed to do much, eh, old man? Let me try.” He made a grab at Linnea.

She jumped away and waved her knitting-pin. “I’ll hurt you!” she said through gritted teeth.

Charlie grinned and lunged for her.

Linnea stepped aside, but not quickly enough to avoid him. He took hold of her arm and pulled her toward him. The knitting-pin struck again, and for good measure she kicked whatever parts of him she could reach. Charlie fell, clutching himself. A large scratch on his chin bled freely.

Arnie came at her. “Leave me alone!” Linnea cried, and swung her rock-laden reticule with all her might. The string broke, and the reticule escaped her grasp. She lost her balance and fell. Pain shot through her right ankle. She closed her eyes. Lord help me, she prayed.

She heard horses, a yell, the sound of someone falling; and then a different voice said: “A female David, and two drunken Goliaths! How novel.”

The voice sounded familiar, but the man’s beaver hat obscured his face. “Please go away,” she said. She looked around her. Charlie was sitting on the ground, holding his jaw, and staring with dismay at her rescuer. Arnie lay unconscious on the ground. A snore emanating from his open mouth reassured her that he was not hurt badly. She rose slowly. “I must go.” She clenched her teeth at the pain in her ankle and started limping away.

“But you are hurt! Come, let me help you.”

Linnea could hear his steps behind her. She tried to walk faster but stumbled and cried out with the pain. She felt a strong hand supporting her elbow.

“Come,” the man commanded, and led her to his waiting carriage.

She felt sick with the terror just past. Her body ached with fatigue, her ankle hurt, and she knew when she came back to Cousin Boothe’s house she would have more work to do. It was so very easy to do as her rescuer bade her. She could not know whether he was truly any better than Charlie or Arnie—but he
did
come to her rescue. Just for a little while, she thought. It would be heaven to sit in a carriage.

At the door of the carriage, she brushed briefly at her skirt, then looked up at him. “I thank you, sir, for helping me....” She faltered, then stopped. The man was Paul’s rude uncle, Lord Rothwick. She drew back at the look of surprise on his face, then said: “But I think I can do well enough by myself.”

“My dear ma’am, I was only jesting when I called you a female David,” he said irritably. “There are other Goliaths who may not know they are supposed to be defeated. I suggest you do as I say, and I will take you away from here.”

“No, I cannot! That is...” She hesitated. “That is, I should not go with you. It is quite unseemly.”