The Love List (15 page)

The girl looked away.

She knelt down, not caring what the street did to her soft yellow skirts.  “You come to me, after we finish our business with Hatch, and I’ll tell you how you can eat your fill tonight—without risking your ticklers.”  The punishment for pickpockets was often transportation, and occasionally the loss of a hand.

The girl raked her with a hard, measuring look, then shrugged.  “Hatch is waiting.”

Brynne met Aldmere’s gaze.  Heat still lived in her cheeks, but he was all business, now, as if that kiss had never happened. “It should only be a couple of blocks,” he said, and with a sweeping hand, indicated that she should precede him.

The girl set off, sliding through the crowd and they were forced to hustle to keep up with her.  Brynne’s worry about their surroundings faded.  Everything passed in a blur as she struggled to forget the shocking rush and taste of passion as easily as the duke did.  In no time, it seemed, they arrived at a timber-framed jetty house, old but large and at the end of a street, shoved cheek by jowl with several other similar lodgings.

Brynne slowed, gathering courage.  “I recognize the men hanging about in the street,” she whispered to the duke.  “Hatch’s bullies.”

Aldmere glared, but it appeared they were expected.  The men postured, but waved them through. 

They followed the girl in, stepping over a man lying snoring beyond the door.  Brynne pretended not to see the couple in the doorway to the right, mere minutes and a scrap of fabric from completing their transaction.  She kept her eyes on the rickety staircase the girl started up.

“Let me speak first, when we go in,” Aldmere said in a harsh whisper.  “I have a feeling Hatch is a man who understands a bribe.  We should at least try to finish this business quickly and easily.”

Frowning, Brynne stepped out of the way of a gentleman descending the stairs.  The man doffed his hat and nodded as he passed, as if they strolled on Bond Street instead of in a notorious criminal’s den.  “Wait.  What did you just say?” she said, putting out a hand to halt the duke’s progress.

“Yes, yes,” he snapped, impatient.  “I know you are very capable, but I have deep pockets and if there’s a chance that we could handle this quickly, man to man, then we should make the attempt.”

The girl had stopped on the landing ahead.  She’d turned and was looking strangely at Aldmere as well.  Her heart sinking, Brynne thought quickly back over the discussions they had held over the course of the day.  “Ah, Aldmere, I think you should listen to me for a moment.”

“Is he daft?” the girl asked.  She cast the duke a scathing glance and crossed to a door directly across the passage.

“What?” he asked.

“Somehow I think that we’ve managed to leave out a very important piece of the picture,” Brynne whispered hurriedly as they climbed the last few steps.

“Aye,” the girl proclaimed.  She knocked loudly.  “Doncha know?”

“Know what?” he demanded.

The door swung open.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed.  The duke snatched Brynne’s arm and hissed in her ear.  “Hatch—the pimp, the bully, the
kidnapper
—is a
woman
?”

Eight

Ah, First Love.  It is often strongest, if not best.  The passions of youth flow so deeply and are felt so keenly.  And it was passion we felt, hot and stirring.  And the sweet strains of love.  I was lost, as in a dream, and the captain felt the same . . .

—from the Journals of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright

Damn.  And damn again
.  Brynne nodded and stood a moment.  Here she was again, at another turning point.  Another spot in which life changing events waited across a threshold. 

She had to cross it with a sharp, clear mind.  And that meant leaving the mistakes she’d made behind.  Starting with that kiss—and all the textures and spiraling sensations that had lived within it.  Her first true kiss—and it had come from the Duke of Aldmere.  Absurd, and yet she could not regret it. 

She had to gather herself and recover from it, though, and from her oversight in forgetting that the duke wouldn’t know about Hatch what she and Callie and all of London’s lower orders did.

It was as much his fault as hers.  Good heavens, but he addled her senses.  She stole a glance at him, moving briskly up to her side, his features a mask of granite angles.  All of it, his size, his gruff humor, that aura of power and responsibility, they all merged into a battering ram of masculinity that pounded at her defenses.

But she must resist.  She had to remind herself and convince everyone else that she was strong and independent.  A force to be reckoned with.

One more deep breath and she shook off Aldmere’s hold and moved forward, drawing strength and poise from the jaunty swing of her skirts.  Ahead of her, the street urchin scuttled further into a room that resembled nothing so much as the misbegotten offspring of a brothel and an accounting office.  High, narrow windows let in the sun and illuminated a mix of tall clerk’s desks and mismatched, faded furniture interspersed throughout the large space.  The panels were pulled tight, though, and the room stank of old meals, harsh ink and a heavy, lingering musk.  Several carpets had been rolled up against the wall, but the floor was bare, littered in the corners with dirty bottles and crushed papers.

A similarly ragtag group of people occupied the place.  An Asian woman dressed in silks sat at one desk, bent over a ledger.  Closer, a young woman sat quietly sewing on a sagging settee, a lit cigar hanging from her lips,further polluting the air in the room.  Their young escort moved quickly to perch beside her even as a movement drew Brynne’s eye to the back of the room, where an enormous man lounged on a red velvet chaise.  He didn’t bother to look their way, just continued to eat from a pottle of strawberries. 

But all of that was peripheral, taken in at an instant.  For Hatch herself stood at the center of the room, demanding attention as she always did.  Each of those others looked to be well occupied, but there was a subtle tension to each of them, a sense of awareness and wariness all directed at the figure at their midst.  Brynne tried to look upon her objectively, as if seeing her the first time, as Aldmere would.

Head to toe, Hatch wore masculine attire.  The shine of her boots would have rivaled the duke’s—before the puddles.  Her breeches fit as snug as any gentleman’s.  Her waistcoat had clearly been made to her measurements.  Yet perhaps to her frustration, she didn’t look like a gentleman.  She looked exactly what she was: a fine-featured, fair woman adopting all the accoutrements of a man.

It was shocking, or it had been the first time Brynne encountered her.  Until the pimp had spoken, and then she’d realized that the other woman had lost, or never possessed, an ounce of feminine softness, warmth or empathy.

Or until one met her eyes.  Hatch turned at their entrance, and Brynne thought once more, as she met that hard, flat gaze, that beyond lacking femininity, there were times the bawd looked barely human. 

“Sally Jenks is short again this month,” Hatch said to a bespectacled young man standing close, notepad in hand.  “Hasn’t learned the difference between business and pleasure, that one.  Send Spriggs ’round to see her, with a warning.  She’ll be making up the difference next month, or she won’t enjoy the consequences.”

The lackey dutifully made a note, while his mistress cocked an eyebrow in their direction.  “Well, here she is,” Hatch purred.  “Hestia’s little bird.”  Her hand smoothed over the tight blonde queue of her hair.  “You very nearly caught me by surprise.”  She smirked.  “Letty is smarter than I gave her credit for, sending our little Jenny with a warning.”  She waved her hand and a figure detached itself from the shadows in the back of the room.  The shop girl.

“Are these the ones you spoke of, Jenny?” Hatch asked as she beckoned the girl forward.

Never taking her gaze from the floor, Jenny nodded her head. 

“Well done, then.  You can go.” 

The pale girl scurried quickly past.

“Wait!”  The call, loud in the tensely quiet room, came from the young urchin.  The woman with the sewing shushed her.

“But she didn’t get her shillin’,” the young girl complained.

Hatch, ignoring the outburst, focused on Brynne.  “I believe you’ve surprised me after all, Miss Wilmott, bringing a great, strapping specimen like this along.”  She transferred her appreciative gaze to the duke.  “He’s too fine to be one of Hestia’s footmen.  Where’d you find him—and how far are you willing to let him roam?”  She smirked.  “This is a new game, is it, down in Craven Street?”

“I know it is difficult for you, Hatch, but do try not to be foul.  And do forgive my manners, won’t you?  I don’t suppose you’ve had the opportunity to meet his grace, the Duke of Aldmere?”

He stepped forward, his expression a study of ducal disdain.  “No, we’ve not met.  Although I do believe you are more than passing acquainted with my brother.”

Only a small reaction.  A tiny tightening of the skin around her eyes.  But Brynne glanced over at Aldmere and caught the barely perceptible nod meant for her.  They might be at odds over philosophy and their primary goals here today.  They might be in for an awkward word or two about that kiss, but right now, in this moment, they were in accord.

“In fact,” Brynne continued, “we’ve come because we’d like to hear all about your acquaintance with Lord Truitt.”

“Would you?”  Hatch looked back and forth between the two of them and Brynne saw the moment some sort of decision was made.  “Well, I have met the gentleman.  Briefly.  In passing.  He seems a decent fellow.”

A bit of Aldmere’s forced affability slipped.  “Well, that’s as lukewarm a reaction to my brother as I’ve ever heard.  Surely there’s more you can say.”  Brynne recognized the clenching of his jaw for the sign of danger that it was.  “Especially after all the trouble we’ve been through to ask.”

Hatch raised a brow.  “I’m not sure, then, what sort of response you are looking for, your Grace.  Lord Truitt has been popular enough with the women about here, but cheeky young noblemen are scarcely the sort to set me aflutter.” 

The lout on the chaise let out a guffaw, but Hatch only frowned.  “If pressed, I suppose I could call him clever.  He did write some genuinely amusing descriptions of my girls for his List.”

“
His
list?” Aldmere asked, before shrugging a shoulder as if it were no matter.  “Well, then as you say, we aren’t familiar with each other, I suppose I must ask if you commonly try to drug the decent, clever fellows of your acquaintance?  Or set your henchmen to harassing them?” 

Hatch came instantly alert.  “No indeed, your Grace.  I usually save that treatment for men who try to cheat me.  Or for those who get too rough with my girls.” 

“You’ll never convince me that my brother did either,” he growled, taking a step nearer.

“No?  Well, I am known to make exceptions.”  She eyed the scant space between them.  “For those who get too close, as well.”

At her words, the big man in the back thrust his snack aside and lumbered to his feet.  He stayed there, still glowering, when Hatch raised her hand.  The pimp shot Brynne a disdainful glance, then twisted her mouth in a semblance of a smile.  “People being what they are, your Grace, it won’t do to believe everything that you hear.  There are a shocking number of lies floating about out there.”

Brynne took a step to come even with the duke.  “There are a shocking number of truths
not
being told, as well, but that hasn’t stopped us from hearing them.”

The other woman stilled. 

“Yes, that truth,” Brynne said.  “We know who’s behind the List.”

Hatch froze, for the briefest moment.  “Everybody out!”  Her sudden command rang sharply through the room. 

Clearly, the order shocked them all.  The young man at her shoulder froze, pen poised in mid-air.  The Asian lady looked up from her figures for the first time.  The woman with the sewing stared.  The hulking lackey crossed his arms.

Hatch raised a finger and pointed toward the door.  No one moved for another long moment, then, like floodwater over a dam they quickly all filed past Brynne and the duke.  Brynne tried to catch the urchin’s eye as she passed, but the girl was staring speculatively at Hatch over her shoulder.   Only the large man balked, coming to a stop at Hatch’s side, but she snapped her fingers and he grumpily followed the rest and pulled the door closed with a bang.

“How—?”  Hatch began.  She halted and furious color rushed into her face.  “Ah, Letty.  I will—”

“No,” Brynne stopped her.  “The foolish girl stayed loyal to you even when we confronted her.”  She raised a brow.  “It would seem you have a serious problem, Hatch, for we heard it from another source entirely.”

“Nor will we hesitate to share it,” Aldmere rumbled.  He paused and cocked his head.  “Such an unusual color she’s turning,” he said to Brynne.  “Do you suppose Marstoke will produce a similar shade when we speak to him?”

Hatch flinched at the marquess’s name.

“I hope not,” Brynne mused.  “He never looks his best when he’s in a fury.”

The other woman’s complexion had gone mottled now.  Clearly, stifling anger was not one of her strong suits.  “What do you want?” she asked, her voice raspy with effort.

“I want my brother, damn you.”  Aldmere’s mask of calm fell away and the transformation to utterly masculine strength was swift and captivating.  Abruptly, the duke was all boldly cut lines and insistent demand.  Brynne’s brain stuttered and stumbled.  Heat flared inside her and she barely kept her mouth from dropping open.

“Enough games.  I want Truitt.  Now.  Within the hour, Hatch, or . . .” mockingly, he used her own words against her, “you won’t enjoy the consequences.”

But Brynne tore her attention away from the duke just in time to catch the startling mix of emotions that crossed the other woman’s face.  Surprise first.  Followed by a flash of cunning, which rapidly dissolved into fear.