The Duke and the Lady in Red (11 page)

“A few of them have banded together and are accusing me of thievery. I have only a day to pay what I owe or they have threatened to go to Scotland Yard.”

He couldn't recall hearing of such a thing, but he supposed those who extended credit needed some recourse. At that moment, light filtered in and her gloves stood out in stark relief as she knotted her fingers. “How much do you owe?” he asked.

“I'm too embarrassed to say. I spoke with a bank this afternoon, but they would not loan me the funds I require. I can hardly blame them when my husband's estate is still unsettled. Bless him. He was not the most organized of men. He has left me in quite the pickle. I am trying desperately not to resent him, but it is becoming increasingly difficult when he made such a muck of things.”

The man sounded like a blistering fool. Leaning forward, Avendale worked her hands free of the choking hold she had on them and wrapped his fingers around them. “Let me help you, Rose.”

“I would only be exchanging one type of debt for another.” Through the dim interior he could feel her sharp gaze homed in on him. “I know the sort of payment you would require.”

Her words stung. A first for him. He'd never cared what ­people thought of him or said about him. He'd made himself impervious to slander. He lived a debauched life, held no moral high ground because it was so damned difficult to defend. He'd never cared how his actions were perceived, but her belief that he would assist her in exchange for her coming to his bed . . .

It rankled.

Releasing her hands, he leaned back. “I am not so desperate that I have to pay for a woman to come to my bed. If you join me there, Rose, it will be because you want to be there and only because you want to be there. I have the means to lend you the money you need. It comes with no obligations, no expectations. If it will reassure you, we can wait until you have repaid me before we take things further.”

“You don't think it will taint our relationship? I've heard the worst thing a person can do is loan money to a friend.”

“I'm not certain I'd label you as a friend, but I am quite certain that I can lend you money and not hold it over you. It's not as though I need it. Pay it back at your leisure.”

He heard her take a deep breath. “I don't know, Avendale. Am I not jumping from the pan into the fire? I like you, a great deal. I don't want to take advantage of what you feel for me.”

“We can write out terms if you like, sign a contract.”

She laughed lightly. “I don't think that's necessary. Unless you do, of course.”

“No, I trust you, Rose.” He gave her a devilish grin. “And I know where to find you.”

She shook her head. “Still, I don't know. It's a ghastly amount.”

“How much?”

“Five thousand quid.”

“Pittance.”

She laughed more fully this time and her gloved hand covered her mouth. “You are a godsend. So generous. I can hardly believe it. If you are certain it won't change things between us, I will gladly accept your offer.”

With a rap on the roof, he signaled to his driver to go to his residence. “You'll have the money within the hour.”

 

Chapter 8

C
lutching her reticule, Rose swept into her residence. “Merrick!”

Avendale had taken her into the grand study of his magnificent residence. After opening a safe located behind a seascape, he'd handed her five thousand quid with the same ease with which she handed over a penny for candy. Without demanding anything else of her, not even a kiss, he had returned her to the Twin Dragons.

She'd promptly made her excuses—­she needed to contact those to whom she owed money so she could settle her accounts—­promised to play cards with him in a private room tomorrow evening, had a young man fetch her carriage, and quickly returned home. The fashionable carriage and four for which she'd promised to pay a ghastly sum were waiting in the front.

“Merrick!”

Carrying a mug, he finally wandered out from the hallway that led to the dining room and the kitchen beyond. “You're home early.”

“Pack up. We're leaving.”

His brown eyes widened. “Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. Straightaway, as soon as we can.”

“What do we take?”

“Only what we own. Leave the rest.”

He scurried over to her. “How much did you get?”

“Enough. Now see to matters posthaste.”

She hurried down the hallway from which he'd emerged. Outside the door to the library, she stopped for a moment, took a deep breath to compose herself. Then another. She could hardly fathom that Avendale had handed over five thousand pounds without so much as a blink. For a heartbeat she almost felt guilty about it, but she knew that was an emotion she did not have the luxury to feel. She denied herself most emotions, any that would deter her from her purpose. Another breath. She was about to deal with the most critical part of the plan.

Opening the door, she strolled in, glad to see that Harry was still awake. Sitting at the desk, scratching pen over paper, he looked up. She smiled with confidence. “Hello, dearest.”

Moving around behind him, she hugged his shoulders, kissed his head. Then she came to stand in front of him because it was imperative that he understood the significance of what she was about to say. “I apologize for disturbing your writing, but you need to pack up your things. We'll be leaving tonight.”

“Is it because of that duke?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”

She was taken off-­guard for a moment that he would draw that conclusion. Avendale would never hurt her. Pity she couldn't offer him the same courtesy. “Oh no. I simply decided I'd like to see Scotland.” They could become lost there. “The streets of London are so crowded during the day that we want to leave now, while we can travel swiftly.” Reaching across, she squeezed his hand. “Take your writing materials and your favorite books. We have only the one carriage so we can't take everything, only the items you truly treasure. Can you pack quickly?”

“Yes, all right.”

She heard the hesitation, the sadness in his voice. They'd never lived anyplace quite this fine. She also knew his quickness would still be slow. As soon as she was finished getting her things together, she would assist him. “Thank you, dearest. I think you'll like Scotland.”

Not that she'd ever been there to judge it, but she'd heard things. Leaving him then, she rushed to her bedchamber. She considered changing into something more practical for travel but she didn't want to take the time.

Pulling her small trunk from its place against the wall, she threw back the lid and got down to the business of stuffing her clothes into it. Unlike her instructions to the others, she would pack things that had not yet been paid for. She wished she could take everything but it wasn't possible, so she selected only the finest gowns because they might come in handy in the future.

It was half an hour later when her coachman came up to get the trunk. Joseph was nearly seven feet tall and as slender as a reed. She feared his bones might snap when he lifted the trunk up but he carried it with no problem at all. She wished she had jewelry. It wouldn't take up much room and selling it would have provided them with more money than anything else they might sell, but jewelers were not as quick to part with their treasures when one could only offer a letter of credit. She gave a last glance around the room.

She was leaving far too much behind but she wanted to ensure Harry had all the room he required.

She traipsed quickly down the stairs and went outside to check on the status of things. Joseph was hefting her trunk onto the roof. Several bags and boxes were already there. It seemed they were making great progress. Now if she could simply rush Harry along—­

“Sneaking off somewhere, Mrs. Sharpe?” a deep voice, one she knew far too intimately, asked from behind her.

Spinning around, she found herself squarely facing Avendale. God help her. She was surprised the fury burning in his dark eyes didn't ignite her on the spot.

A
vendale was livid.

It had nagged at him—­that he'd never been able to read her accurately until tonight. Suddenly it had been as though she'd opened the book of her soul to him for a private viewing.

He'd been vain enough to think that he possessed amazing powers of observation, that he had come to know her, understand her. He'd even dared to consider that there might be something more between them than the physical, that she stirred something to life that had been dead for far too long.

He'd been playing a private game with several lords, Lovingdon, and his wife, Grace. Grace, who was so damned skilled at cheating, who could make you believe she was bluffing until you had wagered everything of value knowing—­
knowing
—­it would all be yours, only to watch with a muttered curse as she turned over her cards, smiled victoriously, and swept everything into her little pile of ill-­gotten gains.

Suspicion had reared its ugly head and he'd begun to suspect that he might have been playing another game entirely from the moment he'd spied the lady in red walking into the club. If a lady wanted to swindle someone, she would be wise to select a fellow who wouldn't ask too many questions because all his interest rested in lifting her skirts, a known womanizer, a scapegrace with a reputation for having a singular purpose in life: pleasure.

That treacherous wench now angled her chin. “I returned home to a missive from my husband's mother. She's taken ill—­”

“Don't,” he commanded, his voice low, feral. “Don't further insult me with more lies.”

“I didn't lie. I am in debt. It's only that five thousand isn't nearly enough.”

The giant—­the man had to be at least seven feet tall—­who had been hoisting trunks, bags, and boxes onto the top of the carriage, blinked in wonder. Obviously he'd not been privy to the amount.

“What would be?” Avendale asked.

He could see the shrewdness in her eyes as she calculated. The bitch. He'd bet all he owned that she wasn't calculating her debt but how much he would willingly part with and the odds that she could convince him that she was a frightened woman instead of a conniving one.

She licked her lips, opened her mouth—­

A small man stepped out from behind her skirts. A dwarf and a giant. Avendale was the fool she'd added to her odd mix of curiosities.

“Give him back the money, Rose,” the little man said.

“Merrick—­” she began.

“The money is yours for a week,” Avendale interrupted, determined to regain and retain the upper hand in this situation.

Giving her attention back to him, she laughed. “What good is it to me if I have it for only a week?”

“I was referring to your spending a week with me.”

“In your bed, I presume.”

“Goes without saying.”

“You want me to be your whore for a week?”

“Better than a thief. I'll call in Scotland Yard for a thief.” It seemed he was intent on proving the full extent of his idiocy. If she gave back the money she was still going to leave and he would lose his leverage. He had a feeling this Merrick fellow could convince her to give back every ha'penny. Something in the small fellow's voice when he spoke to Rose alerted Avendale they had been friends for a good many years. He didn't want to consider that they might be more than that.

Didn't matter. Didn't matter how many men she'd had. He'd enjoyed his fair share of women. He wasn't hypocrite enough to hold it against her if she welcomed other men into her bed. Besides, when it came to pleasuring her, he'd already won that contest, and he had shared only the beginning. Her reaction in the coach had contained too much surprise for it to have been part of her ruse. No other fellow had made her feel what he did. He hated that he nearly busted the buttons on his waistcoat with the thought.

Her chin came up again and she leveled her gaze on him. “Three conditions.”

“As long as they don't interfere with our trade, name them.”

“Don't do it, Rose,” the little man urged again. “Just give him the money. We'll find another way.”

She rubbed his shoulder as though to ease the hurt that was going to come because she wasn't going to accept his counsel. Avendale knew she wasn't. He saw the determination in her eyes, a warrior's gaze, one that came from knowing the battle was lost but not yet giving up on the final outcome of the war. He could have told her the truth: she was going to lose it as well. But he was too angry, so he kept that little tidbit to himself. Let her learn the hard way.

She'd taken him for a fool, and he intended to ensure she regretted that folly—­every second that she was in his company.

Clasping her hands in front of her, she said, “First, as we've been living here on only the promise of payment, you'll pay what I owe on the lease of this residence through the end of the month so my companions have a place in which to live without fear of being cast out. Then we do, in fact, have a few other creditors who need to be appeased. Pay them all that is owed to them. And last, each afternoon, for one hour, I may return here unaccompanied.”

“You could pay off your creditors with the five thousand pounds.”

“No. I walk away with the five thousand quid intact. Any expenses that occur during the next week, you will cover without questioning or quibbling over the cost.”

“You're not in a position to negotiate.”

“If I have accurately judged how badly you want what you want, I believe I am. I won't give it cheaply.”

Had he truly told her only this evening that he wasn't desperate enough for any woman that he had to pay to have her? She was going to take his last farthing, the little witch. If he possessed an ounce of intelligence, he'd tell her to go to the devil and to return his money. If he possessed
any
intelligence at all—­

Apparently he didn't possess so much as a drop.

“Is one of those trunks yours?” he asked.

She nodded. “The red one.”

“My coach is at the end of the street. We'll take your trunk with us.”

“You expect me to leave with you at this precise moment?”

“If you want to keep the money.”

“You agree to the conditions?”

It grated. “I do.”

“I require ten minutes inside.”

“No. I've made all the concessions I intend to make.” He signaled for his coachman to bring the coach forward. “We leave now or you immediately hand over the money. And even then I'll likely report you to Scotland Yard. You should know that an old family friend is an inspector there, and I'll have him hunt you down like a dog. As many a criminal can attest, he has the skills to do it.”

Bending down, she whispered something to the small gent. Avendale almost grabbed her arm and jerked her away. She'd held enough secrets from him.

As his coach came to a stop, she straightened and walked forward until she stood by the door. She arched a brow. “Your Grace?”

The dwarf stepped toward him. “If you hurt her, I'll—­”

“I won't hurt her,” Avendale cut in. Sliding his gaze to her, he gave her his most devilish grin. “Causing her pain is the farthest thing from my mind.”

S
itting in the well-­sprung coach, Rose wasn't quite sure she trusted Avendale's words or his smile. “I know you're angry.”

“Angry does not even begin to describe my fury at being duped. Although I can hardly complain. I initially lent you the money to keep you near. Now you shall be all the nearer.”

He crossed over to her bench, crowding her, but she refused to be cowed. She met his gaze head-­on.

“I ought to put you over my knee, hike up your skirts, and give your bare backside a sound thrashing,” he ground out.

“I believe you'll find our time together more pleasant if I'm willing, which I won't be if you're going to cast out threats of bodily harm. I know you won't see them through and it will merely serve to irritate me that you would think I would be intimidated by such poppycock.”

“I'm far more dangerous than you think.”

Reaching up, she cradled his bristled jaw with the palm of her hand. “I know precisely how dangerous you are.” It had been part of the reasoning behind her decision to leave quickly, not so much for fear he'd uncover what she was about, but fear that she was very close to giving in to the allure of him. “I suspect by the end of the week that I shall be more scarred, scored, and branded than you can possibly imagine. Even as I dread how much I will ache at the end of it, I believe I shall relish every moment spent with you. You hold the power to destroy the very essence of me, and yet here I am. Do your worst.”

“Damn you,” he growled. “Damn you.”

His arms tightened around her like strong bands as his mouth descended to claim hers. By now, she thought that she shouldn't be surprised by the power of him, the force of her attraction to him, and yet it always took her a bit off-­guard. Pleasure swept through her, hunger for him roared to the surface. Suddenly his bare hands were in her hair and she felt the weight of it as it began to tumble, down, down, down.