Edith Layton (13 page)

It was almost criminal even to entertain the notion of how Alasdair might have been damaged. Kate had tried not to for the last two days. But he might have been, that was why she was heading toward his house. Still, much as she wanted to see him, just thinking about his injuries made her steps falter.

“Oh, my dear child!” a soft voice said. “Are you lost? In any distress? May I help?”

Kate’s head snapped up. She froze. The woman who had spoken was so well dressed in the latest stare of fashion that Kate had to stop and think if they’d met before at any of the elegant affairs she’d been taken to. But she couldn’t place that lovely face and was sure she’d have remembered had she even glimpsed it before. The woman was raven-haired, slender, of middle years, but still attractive, dressed in lavender to match her remarkable eyes. Her maid stood a pace behind her, watching Kate suspiciously.

“Oh. No, thank you, ma’am…missus,” Kate stammered, remembering her role just in time. “Just gettin’ my wind, mum. I been walking a ways. But thankee for asking.”

“Have you lost your way?” the woman asked. “I shouldn’t wonder if you have. London’s vast and very confusing, is it not? Lud! I can remember when I first arrived here, indeed I shall never forget. It was nothing like my country home. I suspect it’s the same for you. You
are
from the countryside? Perhaps I can help you?”

Kate ducked her head, ashamed of her imposture,
embarrassed because she’d troubled this kind lady, terrified that the kind lady might know her. “No, mum,” she blurted, casting her gaze down, “I know where I’m bound.”

“But you may have gone astray,” the lady persisted. “Where
are
you bound, my dear?”

Kate was sure that if she said she was going to the Swanson house, that’s where she’d be led. If the servants saw her, how could she explain her way out of that? Even if she managed to sneak back in the house, if she went there she might jog something in the lady’s memory and be discovered for who she was. But she could scarcely pick up her skirts and run for it. She was almost at her destination, the lady would know that, so there was nothing for it but the truth. The truth—a wobbly little bow, a hurried “thank you”—and then she could be off again, with no one the wiser, she hoped.

“Sir Alasdair St. Erth’s house, my lady,” Kate said quickly. She ducked into a bow—and stopped short before she could move on. Because the lady was laughing merrily.

“I thought I was on to something, but I’ve come with too little too late. St. Erth, is it? Gawd love the rascal!” The lady laughed. “He could be on his deathbed—as I heard he was—and still be looking for a tasty morsel between the sheets. What a stallion—just as I always heard. I wished I’d believed all the stories, I could have sent him a rare bouquet to help him recover—or plant him under, but at least with a smile on his face. Who sent you?” she asked Kate. “Madame Birch? She deals in the country trade. Some men like them rosy-cheeked—top and bottom.”

The lady’s maid laughed with her this time.

“But I’d think a fellow who wasn’t feeling up to par
wouldn’t have the energy to break in a virgin…” the woman said thoughtfully. “Or are you not what you seem? Then was it Madame Johnston who sent you to him? Depend on it,” she told her maid. “That old horror has all the actresses. A great mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “Trust me,
I’d
never have sent him a piece like this one. A fellow on a sickbed don’t need games, he needs a game bit of muslin who can get the deed done even if he can’t move a muscle—a lass with ways to move at least one. Aye, a piece who can do it neat, slick and quick, by word or mouth, hook or crook, or handily.” She grinned at her maid’s fit of giggles.

“Now, me,” the woman in lavender went on, “I’d have sent Violet—or Tansy, those two know more tricks than an organ grinder’s monkey—and can they grind organs!” She laughed along with her maid. “Come, who was it?” she asked Kate, sobering. “I like to know my competition.”

Kate could only stand gaping at the lady, who she now realized was no lady, but a bawd. But bawds were all fat, and old…at least the caricatures of them she’d seen had shown them like that.

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Kate’s flaming cheeks.

“She don’t know what you’re saying,” her maid murmured.

“Indeed?” the woman mused, watching Kate. “Then just why are you going to St. Erth’s, girl?”

Kate had heard that London bawds accosted girls from the countryside, luring or even kidnapping them to force them into a life of sin. She’d always thought that was a fiction to keep wayward girls at home. Now she felt her bones turning to ice. Too late to bolt and run. Besides, that would cause a commotion.

“I am…I was…” Kate thought fast, looking up, trying to look dumb as a clod of soil. Which gave her an inspiration. “Begging your pardon, mum,” she said, “but I were sent to help with his garden. Aye! See, I come to town with the others when our mistress, Miss Prine,” she invented quickly, remembering the starchiest old lady she’d met in London, “needed extra help with her garden here. I’ve a fair hand with flowers and such, and when my mistress she heard Sir St. Erth was sick, she sent them that works for her to help where they could. Jem, he went to the stables this morning early,” she said, praying Alasdair kept a stable, “Lizzie to the kitchens, and I were sent to help with the garden.” She hung her head again.

There was a silence. The woman stared at Kate, obviously thinking hard. Then she smiled. Kate’s stomach clenched.

“Well, my dear, if you find yourself weary of such backbreaking toil, I’d be willing to find an easier, more amusing, and better-paying job for you. Yes indeed, you could make a great deal of money. Simply call on me, in Clarke Street. Ask anyone for Madame Pansy.” She lifted a gloved hand, raised Kate’s chin, and looked at her. “I’m famous for the lovely flowers in my garden, and I believe you could be one of them.”

Kate nodded, ducked a bow, and, heart beating like a drum, backed away. Then she scurried off.

It was a white-faced, subdued young woman who raised a shaking hand to sound the knocker on Sir Alasdair St. Erth’s front door a short time later. Kate stood on the doorstep, catching her breath, and finally
found the resolve to let the door knocker drop. Then she held her breath. She’d always thought she was capable, intelligent, and resourceful. But she was very afraid of what she’d learn here. And now she was also too frightened to run away.

“T
he servants’ entrance is in back,” the butler said, and slammed the door in Kate’s face.

She raised the knocker again, her face flaming. When the door opened, and then immediately began to close again, she spoke up sharply. “I am not what I appear to be,” she said, mimicking her cousins when they were being insufferable. “Do not close the door again, my good man, or there will be consequences.”

The door stayed open. Kate went on speaking, but into thin air. She didn’t so much as look at the butler, because she’d noticed that the finest ladies in town never looked directly at servants. “I am Miss Corbet, from Kent, presently staying with my cousins, Lord and Lady Swanson,” she declared. “I can perhaps forgive your ignorance, because I realize I am in dishabille at the moment. When I heard of your master’s accident, I was gardening, and not wanting to waste a moment, I simply came here at once.”

Kate paused, head high, and prayed. She knew
there were more holes in her story than in any garden she’d ever seen, but hoped her name and attitude would carry the day.

“Sir Alasdair sent me a message,” she added a little desperately, and then clenched her teeth and suppressed a silent yelp at the folly of the weakness of
that
lie. What if he couldn’t have done that because he was insensible? Or worse?

“If you will wait a moment, miss,” the butler said after a long moment.

He didn’t ask her in. But he didn’t order her off the front step. And he left the door open. Kate saw a footman peeping out at her, but stood rooted to the spot, feeling shamed, wishing she weren’t so impetuous, while at the same time wishing she were a man so she could be done with this nonsense and stride right in.

The door swung wide. “Kate!” Leigh said in astonishment, looking her up and down, then looking to see who else was there. “What the devil…! Is no one with you?”

“No,” she said, holding her head high. “But I had to come and find out how he is, and no one knew, and no one would come with me, and it’s not fair that I should have to sit and wait, like a ninny or a child, just because of some ridiculous rules of etiquette.” She paused for breath, surprised to feel tears prickling at her eyes.

Leigh took her hand and pulled her into the house. “They aren’t ridiculous!” he said, “But the devil is that the situation certainly will be if you stay out there. You came alone? And dressed like that? A disguise, I suppose,” he said on a huff of a sigh. “Of all the foolishness…I thought better of you. If no one would come for you, why didn’t you send for me?”

“Because I’m not a beggar. Nor should I be made to feel like one. Can’t you see the folly of it?” she asked in
exasperation. “That I should have to go to such rigs simply to see if a friend’s alive or dead?”

He hesitated at the word “friend.” “Yes,” he admitted. “But, oh, blast. What’s done is done. He’s fine. He’ll live. And so long as you’re here, you may as well see him before I take you back. Which I will as soon as I can. But I think it might do him good, actually. If he’s up to it, you can visit with him and see for yourself. Wait here,” he said, taking her elbow and ushering her into a side room.

He went to the door and paused. “Who knows you’re here?” he said suddenly.

“Only Sibyl,” she assured him.

“Of course,” he murmured, nodding. “The bland leading the blind.”

“I
beg
your pardon!” Kate said angrily.

He chuckled. “Just wanted to see you look a little livelier. You do look as though you expected lions lurking in the woodwork, you know.”

Kate thought she’d been very daring, and his criticism stung. “I just think that’s a terrible thing to say about Sibyl,” she said haughtily.

“Yes, it was,” he admitted. “Unjust as well. The child can’t help the fact that they try to keep her invisible, can she? Forgive me, and please don’t tell her.”

Kate nodded imperiously.

He sketched a bow. “Now, if you’ll wait, I’ll be right back.”

Once he’d left, Kate’s bravado faded. She hugged herself and glanced around the room. She supposed Leigh was right, she
had
expected the equivalent of lions in the woodwork, and felt curiously let down, because this was nothing like what she’d imagined Alasdair’s home to be. She stood in a study furnished with a desk and a few comfortable chairs. Bookshelves
lined the walls, a few ancient prints of horses adorned the cream-colored walls. The floors were polished, and covered by faded patterned carpets. It smelled of beeswax and lemon polish, and the lingering, faint scent of past woodfires.

She didn’t know why this commonplace room made her feel both safer and sadder. Maybe it was because she’d envisioned Alasdair living in sumptuous rooms done in tones of red, crimson, black, and gold, instead of this simple masculine austerity.

“All right,” Leigh said, interrupting her thoughts as he came back into the room. “We’ve talked it over, and he’s convinced you’re not trying to compromise him. Come along.”

“As if
I
…!” Kate sputtered. “I saved him from that once, remember?” But he’d already turned and started up the long stair. Kate followed, telling him exactly what she thought of his estimate of her character, only stopping when they got to the head of the stair and he paused outside a door there.

“Alasdair,” he called as he gently pushed open the door and peered in. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” a familiar deep voice answered. “The opium pipe’s hidden, and the dancing girls have climbed out the window. Bring in the human sacrifice.”

Kate entered Alasdair’s bedchamber warily. Now that she heard his voice and knew he lived, she was aware of how improper it was for her to be in a man’s bedchamber. Worse, to be going into not just any man’s bedroom, but Sir Alasdair St. Erth’s! Then she saw him, and all her apprehensions faded, to be replaced by a flood of shock, horror, and wrenching sympathy.

She didn’t notice the furnishings, but she’d got the colors right. Her eyes were instantly assailed by red,
black, and gold. Alasdair sat in a chair by the window, dressed in a crimson-and-gold dressing gown. His face was battered, marred by vivid patches of red and black. There was a deep black circle under one puffed, half-shut bloodshot eye. A dark bruise spread over that same cheek. There was a scrape on his forehead, a scratch along the top of his nose, and crisscrossing stripes of red were etched into his long jaw.

He saw her reaction, and his mouth—untouched, she noticed with a surge of wild relief—tilted in a crooked smile.

“
That
bad, eh?” he asked.

“Oh, no—that is to say…Yes,” she said. “What happened?”

“Do have a seat,” he said.

Leigh indicated a chair opposite Alasdair. Kate absently sank into it, leaning forward as Alasdair told the story of the attack on him. The tale was brief and to the point, since he didn’t remember much after he’d fallen.

“So I’ve a few contusions that will mend soon enough,” he said. “And yes, the luck of the devil was with me, and so everyone will be sure to say. Because the knife slid in alongside a rib, bruising it but missing everything vital. Now it’s just a matter of inconvenience, waiting for things to mend. The fellow with the knife wasn’t as lucky. He didn’t rise again. The other one got away.”

“And it was all for your money?” Kate asked. “But I thought this was a safe district!”

“No part of London is entirely safe,” Alasdair said with a shrug that made him wince. Kate saw how stiffly he held himself and realized he must be bandaged tightly.

“Should you be out of bed?” she asked worriedly.

“See?” Alasdair asked Leigh, “They all want me in bed, even respectable ones like Miss Corbet. It’s like a curse, isn’t it?”

Kate’s face flushed.

“Now you see why it’s not proper to visit him,” Leigh said. “Under
any
circumstances.”

“I’ve nothing to fear from him even when he is healthy,” she said absently, her eyes never leaving Alasdair’s bruised face. So she didn’t see Leigh’s eyebrow go up, and couldn’t interpret the rueful look that came into Alasdair’s one good eye.

“And now I hope you also see what a bad idea it is to travel around this wicked city by yourself,” Alasdair told her with sincerity. “What made you do such a foolish thing?”

“Necessity,” she said briefly. “And convention. How could I sit waiting for news, when I was so worried about you?”

“I’m flattered,” he said, “but appalled at the risks you took. You should have sent word to me. Do you know the risk you ran—and not just to your reputation?”

“Well, now I do,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but the most awful thing happened on the way here!” She paused and bit her lip at the blunder she’d made. Now that she’d mentioned her meeting with the madam, of course they’d want to know about it, and apart from convincing them that she’d acted wrongly, she wasn’t sure it was a conversation she should repeat to gentlemen she wasn’t related to.

Of course they insisted. So, taking great care with her words, pausing to search for and insert euphemisms wherever she could, she told them about Madame Pansy and their meeting.

Alasdair had to stop laughing every so often, his
hand on his ribs, to assure Kate that the laughter was worth the pain it caused.

“It was brave of you not to take to your heels and run,” Leigh said when she was done.

“Nonsense,” Alasdair said with a grin, his good eye on Kate. “Bravery had nothing to do with it. She was too captivated by Madame Pansy’s offer to stir a foot from her.”

Kate shook her head. “You know? I think I
was
! Not captivated, but fascinated, I think. As well as horrified, of course,” she hastily added. “But to be fair, consider: I couldn’t run. I didn’t want to attract attention.”

“You were lucky,” Alasdair said more seriously. “Because this
is
a good district. Mrs. P is famous, or rather, infamous. She has plenty of money, but even she hasn’t got enough nerve to buy herself apartments here. I wonder what her errand was, but the streets are free. She’s proud of her own sordid reputation, which is honest enough, in its fashion, so I doubt she’d have resorted to violence. But some of her competitors might have.”

He looked at her gravely. “Tell me you’ll never do anything like this again, please, Kate. I’m grateful for your concern, and I do understand how frustrated you must have felt at not being able to find out what had happened to me. I don’t think I could stand to bear a woman’s burden in society for one minute. But then,” he added with a tilt to his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile, “I don’t bear many of society’s burdens, do I?

“Yes, precisely,” he answered himself more briskly. “And that leads me directly to our situation, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, but obviously, I’ll have to skip our appointments for the remainder of this week. Still, I mend fast. I hope to be able to continue to escort you here, there, and everywhere by next week.”

Kate looked down at her lap. “Maybe. But your injuries will surely win you sympathy. Do you want to go on with this? Are you sure you still need me?”

She held her breath. She hadn’t wanted to ask, but her newfound vulnerability toward him forced her to. It was only prudent. She hated being so prudent and didn’t know what she’d do if he said no, any more than if he said yes.

There was a moment’s silence. Alasdair gazed at her and tried not to smile. Her clothes were really appalling. She didn’t wear a ribbon or a feather, and her hair was a tangled mop under that dreadful kerchief she had on. And yet though she’d been appealing before, now she was the most adorable thing he’d seen in weeks…years…longer than he could recall.

She looked charming. More than that, she looked available. It wasn’t that her gown was indecent. It was so absolutely innocent of adornment it let a fellow focus attention on what was under it. Alasdair, usually the most suave of men, had a hard time not focusing all his attention on that. But he could scarcely ignore the fact that her breasts lifted high from her slender frame and swayed when she bent forward. When she’d taken her chair he couldn’t help noticing her charming bottom. Clothes might make the man, he thought, they certainly changed his perception of this woman.

She looked like a simple countrywoman. Someone he could approach with honest lust because at the very least she’d be flattered, and at the most, would consent to a request for lovemaking. Raw as his wounds still were, Alasdair was surprised to find his body yearning—no—actually straining—toward hers. The pain he’d suffered must have weakened his usual self-control, he thought in astonishment, and was
glad he was seated, enveloped in a dressing gown. He ached in every part except that one, although that ached, too, of course, if in a different way. She couldn’t notice his discomfort. That, at least, was a mercy. Bad enough he surprised himself, he didn’t need to embarrass her with it.

Yes, definitely. He still needed her. But not as she’d meant. He needed to take her in his arms, bear her to his bed, and warm himself at her warmth, seek her heat, and match heat for heat.

But of course he couldn’t. Not now, wounded as he was. Not ever, damaged as his soul was. It was an inconvenient desire brought about by stress and circumstance. He’d deal with it by not dealing with it at all, relegating it to the recesses of his mind, where all inconvenient yearnings went. It wasn’t difficult. After all, he had one desire—all else was always subordinate to it.

“Yes, I still do need you,” he said mildly. “My reputation isn’t established yet, not by a long shot. People feel sorry for homeless beggars, too, that doesn’t make them socially acceptable. So, if you don’t mind, can we go on a bit longer?”

“Oh well, then, yes. Of course.” She hesitated. “How much longer, do you think?”

“It’s hard to say. Is there any particular hurry?”

“Well, I never intended to stay until autumn,” she said thoughtfully.

“Nor did I intend to ask you to. But a little while longer?”

She was studying his scrapes and bruises. She couldn’t deny him anything now. “Fine,” she said. “The Swansons don’t mind, and though my parents miss me, as I miss them, they’ll understand.”