All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess (17 page)

It was a riddle neither Catherine nor Madame Venna could solve.

When the coach halted in front of her terraced house, regret and relief battled within her heart. She reached for his evening coat as she prepared to return it to him.

“Leave it on.”

The coachman opened the door, dividing her attention.

Saint pulled the fallen fabric over her bared shoulder. “I’ll collect my property after I escort you to the door.” To the coachman, he said, “Drive on. When you can turn the equipage about, return and I shall be ready.”

The coachman touched the brim of his hat. “Aye, milord.”

“Saint, I can manage on my own,” Catherine mildly protested. “It is but a short walk.” Regardless, she felt his firm grasp on her arm.

“Indulge me,” Saint said, nodding to the coachman as the servant handed him the small lantern.

“Tomorrow I will send a note to Lady Sinclair and thank her for the fine evening,” Catherine said when they reached the front steps.

“Juliana will appreciate your kindness,” he replied, his voice hinting that his thoughts were directed elsewhere. “If I ask you to join me and my friends again, then you will accept?”

“I would be honored.”

Saint raised the lantern while she reached into her reticule to retrieve her key. The few servants she had would be in their beds. With her late hours at the Golden Pearl, Catherine was too used to looking after herself in the evening.

“And yet you declined the ladies’ invitation to join them and their husbands at Vauxhall. Why is that?”

Catherine hesitated at the question. Recovering quickly, she went about unlocking the door. “On the contrary, I did accept. I just refused to attend the gathering in costume as they were insisting.” She turned the key within the lock enthusiastically, and opened the door.

“It is a masquerade, Catherine,” he said drily. “Everyone dons masks and behaves like an arse.”

Not expecting him to follow, she stepped into the narrow dark vestibule. She did not need his lantern to find her way. “There is a candelabrum … here. If I may use your lantern to light a candle—”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.” She pivoted, stiffened as she gasped. Saint was standing directly behind her. “It is not fear that compels me, but rather disinterest. I have little patience for silly games.”

Saint smiled, his teeth gleaming in the shadowed interior. “Such modesty.” He opened the tiny glass door of the lantern to give her access to the flame. “I have a feeling you would excel at them given the proper incentive.”

The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled, cautioning her to tread carefully. With an inscrutable expression, she leaned closer to the lamp so she could ignite her candle. “My dress may be elegant enough for a nobleman’s table and my manners pleasing, but I am an outsider to your world, Saint. I do not belong.”

“Wrong. You choose not to belong.”

“On this, we will forever disagree. What I am, Lord Sainthill, is living proof that Lord Greenshield was reckless at least once in his youth.” She straightened, and her level gaze met his. “The man paid strangers to make his mistake disappear. What troubles him is that I have returned to London, and cannot be bought off or intimidated.”

Catherine turned away. Returning to the candelabrum, she began lighting the remaining candles. She heard Saint’s soft sigh.

“You will never know what Greenshield truly wants until you speak to him.”

“I am content with my life, Saint.” The corners of her mouth curled upward into a sad smile. “A noble sire and nightly masquerades will not turn me into a proper lady suitable to be seen with a handsome marquess.”

She twisted the remaining candle back into its socket. “Your coachman will sure—”

Unbeknownst to her, Saint lowered the lantern to the floor. He seized her by the shoulders and roughly spun her around. “You think I do not care? That I am solely motivated by my own interests?”

Catherine was so startled by his angry outburst, she answered him honestly. “I cannot trust myself around you. When I am around you, all sound reasoning escapes me. Why are you here, Saint?” Her fingers dug into his upper arms as fiercely as he gripped hers. “I am an inferior companion for a man in your position, and there are others … other women who are clever enough to profit from such arrangements. If that is what you are seeking, you have been flattering the wrong woman.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing,
Catherine
?”

She flinched at the harsh manner in which he uttered her name.

“You find my attentions flattering?” He did not wait for an answer. “It is the first time you have admitted it. Do you think I introduce courtesans to my friends and their wives? I may not have tried to live up to my name, but even I am not that contemptible.”

“I never thought—”

He ruthlessly spoke over her explanation. “How could you when you spend all of our time together contemplating the reasons why we should stay away from each other.”

To her utter surprise and shame, tears blurred her vision. “I cannot afford to be reckless with my reputation.”
Or heart.
“You, however, like my father, can walk away whenever you like.”

He lowered his head until they were nose-to-nose. “I realize that you are a little thickheaded when it comes to your low opinion of noblemen, but I want you to heed my next words. I am not your father,” he said, enunciating the five words. “Cease speculating on my intentions and judge me on my actions.”

The tears were gone. Now she just wanted to scream at him in frustration. The man had a way with words. He could debate and cajole until she was spinning in circles. “What are you trying to say?”

Some of her confusion must have been visible on her face. Saint cupped her face gently in his hands and used his thumbs to smooth away strands of hair. “Sweet Catherine, have you lived such a sheltered life that you’ve never been courted by a man?”

Catherine glanced away, letting him believe she was overwhelmed, which wasn’t far from the truth. However, it was not shyness that ruled her actions. While she had managed to live a quiet life as Catherine, her mind and body had not been honored and protected as Saint believed. His assumptions about her character made her feel ashamed. At least, when she confronted him as Madame Venna, he knew she was a whore and a liar.

“What? Tears?” Saint pressed his lips to the tear sliding down her cheek. “I liked it better when you were flattered.”

Catherine sniffed. She shook her head and softly chuckled at her reaction. Saint was dangerous to her heart when he was tender. His kindness weakened her in ways that frightened her, and she had a bad habit of striking out at any threat. It was one of the many reasons why she had shut him out of her life six years ago.

“You cannot court me, Lord Sainthill.”

“Ah, so you were listening. I was not certain you were paying attention,” he teased, tugging playfully on her right earlobe. “And I can do anything I please, Miss Deverall.”

She shouldn’t have laughed. It would only encourage him. “Your coachman is waiting for you.”

His lips quirked as he fought not to grin. “I knew you were different. When I court a woman, she usually begs me to stay.”

“How awkward for you,” Catherine said with feigned sympathy. She turned him around and bent down to retrieve the lantern on the floor. “Now go before you wake the servants.”

“You’re a hard woman, Miss Deverall.”

For both their sakes, she prayed he was right. “Leave.” She offered him the lantern.

Saint groaned. Catherine smiled, enjoying his exaggerated reluctance. It would be too easy to believe he was the smitten gentleman and she was simply Catherine Deverall. He reached for the lantern, but his fingers wrapped around her forearm and pulled her against him.

Her bodice flat against his chest, she tipped her head back to speak. Saint was anticipating this telling action. His mouth covered hers as if they had practiced their embrace hundreds of times. Catherine savored the feel of his lips as his hot flesh pressed and rubbed possessively against hers. Good grief, the man knew how to kiss! Worried that she was going to douse them in hot lamp oil, she tightened her grip on the lantern.

Regret was in his gaze when he pulled away. “Your reputation.” Saint backed away.

Catherine nodded and offered him a weak smile. A part of her wanted him to stay even if it complicated her life in ways Saint could not fathom.

“Wait!” she called out as he opened the front door. “The lantern.”

He accepted the lantern she pressed into his hand, and caught her fingers before she could escape. “This is a courtship, Catherine Deverall.”

Stubborn man. “Lest you forget, Lord Sainthill. The lady has to be willing.”

“Oh, she’s willing, Miss Deverall,” he said, his gaze as intimate as a caress. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

He closed the door before she could deny it.

*   *   *

The coachman was waiting for him when he emerged from Catherine Deverall’s terrace house.

“Turned ye away, did she?” The man grinned as he opened the coach door for Saint. “Sharp, she is, this one.”

Saint merely grunted and handed him the lantern. The lady had certainly fooled him. He bowed his head as he entered the coach. “We have one more stop before we head home. The Golden Pearl.”

The coachman glanced back at the shut door. “Tied ye in knots, eh?”

“Nothing I cannot untangle on my own,” Saint replied smoothly, earning a gruff chuckle from the older man. He settled back into the leather seat cushion. The light fragrance Catherine had worn this evening teased his nose. “I only plan to tarry at the Golden Pearl long enough to deliver a message.”

Chapter Twenty-two

The transformation from Catherine Deverall to Madame Venna was relatively simple. No one on the street ever paid attention to the demurely attired woman with a veil obscuring her face who entered the Golden Pearl through the servants’ back entrance. The staff were used to her costumes and demands for secrecy. She certainly paid them well for their silence. Those who knew her only as Madame Venna thought she was eccentric, and the few who knew her as Catherine understood her need to escape the gilt cage she had built for herself.

“How bad is it?” Madame Venna asked, entering one of the private bedchambers used by her girls. Anna, Honoria, and Esther moved aside so she could examine the young woman reclining on the bed. “Oh, Mina.”

Her grip on the front of her skirt tightened as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. The blackguard had struck Mina several times in the face. The small cut and ugly swelling on her left cheekbone suggested he had been wearing a ring.

“Are you in much pain?”

The dark-haired woman shook her head. She pulled the damp cloth away from her jaw to reveal more bruising. “The cold compresses have helped,” she said, her eyes reminding Madame Venna of black glass beads.

“So has the laudanum,” Anna said, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. Her light motherly caress seemed to comfort Mina. The woman sagged against her and shuddered.

Honoria placed her hand on Madame Venna’s shoulder. “I will see if Cook has prepared that tray for our girl.” She quietly excused herself from the bedchamber.

Madame Venna was content to leave the coddling to Anna and the other women. She had a business to run and—if it was within her powers—a gentleman to castrate for his cruelty.

“Mina, who did this to you?” she demanded.

Abram had yet to appear. Madame Venna wondered if the steward had detained the man responsible. She wanted to look him in the eye before her men tore off his limbs and tossed him in the Thames.

It was the least the bastard deserved.

Unfortunately, such matters required a more delicate hand. The police were useless. If she brought charges against the man, the law was inclined to haul Mina before the magistrate instead of her wealthy abuser.

“Was it one of our regular patrons?”

“Not a regular,” Mina said, struggling to keep awake. “Though I have seen him wandering the main ballroom once or twice.”

“And the gentleman’s name?”

Mina grimaced. “Not sure if he ever offered it. When we went upstairs, he got down to business by tying his cravat over my mouth and then binding my arms and legs.”

Esther cleared her throat. “I spoke to him briefly in the ballroom. He introduced himself as an acquaintance of Lord Mulcaster’s. I believe that is how he gained entry into the Golden Pearl. His name was Halward. There was another gentleman at his side for a time. A Mr. Royles.”

Madame Venna’s throat went dry. “Young or old?”

The question seemed to fluster Esther. “I beg your pardon?”

“This Royles … was he an older man or someone younger. Mayhap a man in his midthirties?”

“Y-young. Thirties would be about right,” the woman stammered.

She and Anna exchanged knowing looks. “Damn him. And in my own house, too.” She leaned forward and kissed Mina on the forehead. She stood and noted her hands were trembling. “Did Royles join you and Halward in the bedchamber?”

“Not immediately.” Mina looked pale and fragile as she slid lower into the bedding. “I know I broke the rules by allowing two strangers into the room with me. But this Halward claimed to know Mulcaster and Royles—”

“Yes.”

“Well, Mr. Royles … he said that he knew you quite well,” Mina confessed. “I’m usually not so foolish, but I did not think there was any danger.”

She was partially to blame for Mina’s ordeal, Madame Venna thought. Instead of spending the evening at the Golden Pearl, she had been sitting at Lord and Lady Sinclair’s dining table, claiming for a few hours that she belonged. Juliana, Sophia, Isabel, and Regan would be appalled if they ever learned that they’d shared the same air with a notorious brothel owner.

“I beg your forgiveness, Madame.”

Mina’s weak voice distracted Madame Venna from her thoughts. “You have it, though it is unnecessary. The harsh lesson Halward delivered will suffice.”

She was not quite certain who Halward was, but Mulcaster might provide her with an answer. “Rest, Mina.” She glanced up and that noticed Honoria had returned with a tray. “Excellent. Make certain she drinks some of that hot broth before she sleeps.”