Engaged in Sin (31 page)

Devon looked so pained. She knew she was flushing with shame. But he said softly, “I’m sorry you went through that, angel,” and her heart gave a tremendous lurch.

“You were very strong to survive it,” he said. “You told me you had rescued a young girl. I suspect that was what prompted you to finally attack the woman.”

She breathed deeply. “Yes. I overheard Madame—her real name is Mrs. Meadows, but she called herself Madame Sin—instruct Mick Taylor to acquire innocent girls for her. She wanted three and he was to kidnap them. She planned to auction the girls’ virginity. On the night of the kidnappings, I witnessed one being brought into the house. From my window, I saw a black carriage stop in the street by the door. Mick got out carrying a sack—a burlap sack that wriggled. At least, it did until he struck it with his fist.” It still hurt to think of that
moment—when she’d realized there had to be a young girl held captive in the sack and that Mick had hit a small defenseless person because he was annoyed by the struggles. She saw, in Devon’s face, answering horror.

“I searched the whole house to try to find the girls. There were rooms in the attic that Madame always kept locked, so I guessed that was their prison.”

“What happened then? Did you confront the woman?”

His voice was now so gentle it eased her nerves. “I didn’t intend to. I knew there was no point. Madame had no conscience at all. My
plan
was to help the girls escape. I worked with my hairpins for two nights before I figured out how to spring the lock.”

“Bravo,” he said quietly.

“Then I slipped inside the room—” As soon as she had seen the three pairs of frightened eyes, as soon as she’d realized the girls were too frightened to even scream, her thoughts toward Madame had been murderous. But she’d known the best revenge was escape.

“Tell me everything, love.”

His voice was gentle and tempting—it sounded like the voice of a man who would believe her.

“I thought all I would have to do was lead the girls out of the house. But they were so scared they could barely move. The poor things had been beaten to the point that they were almost frozen with fright. I forced them to come with me, but we moved too slowly and Mick caught us before we got out. He dragged us to Madame’s private office.”

Suddenly Devon asked for her glass. She surrendered it and watched as he poured more brandy, using his finger to know when he’d given enough. It gave her time to slow her pounding heart—had he known she needed a few moments?

“Madame was furious. She wanted to terrify the girls and punish me. I was … half mad with rage and fear.
There were only the girls and Mick and me in the room with her. I was desperate.”

He held out the glass and she took it. She jumped as her fingers touched his. He let his linger—a gesture of support she savored. She didn’t drink, just cradled the glass. “I insisted she let me take the girls and leave. Madame laughed, and she took a pistol out of a drawer in her desk. She pointed it at one of the girls. She threatened to shoot the child to show the others what would happen if they disobeyed. Her finger went to the trigger, so I—I snatched up her fireplace poker.”

“You hit her to stop her from shooting a child.”

“Yes, I tried to hit her arm so her shot would miss. I put all my strength behind the blow. At the last second she moved toward me and I hit her in the
head
. It was an accident. It wasn’t what I meant to do at
all—
”

“Love, you did it to protect a child.”

Love
. “I thought Madame was dead. I thought I’d killed her, and I felt … sick. But I had to rescue the girls—I was afraid of what Mick would do. I grabbed the pistol before Mick could get to it. I kept it pointed at him, and I made the girls jump out the window. There was a low roof below us, and they landed there, then slid to the ground. As I pushed the last one outside, Mick lunged at me, but I managed to escape.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“I landed in a heap on the roof. Bruised my knees and jarred my elbows.”

“What did you do then?” He leaned forward. “I have to admit, at this moment, you have my every sympathy.”

Did she? But what did that really mean? That he would help her? Or that it would hurt him when he turned her over to the law? “I stuffed the pistol down my bodice, and I grabbed the girls and ran with them.
Mick and some of Madame’s male servants chased us, but we lost them in the stews.” Her voice rose. “But I hadn’t killed Madame. Mick told me that when he caught me in your woods. He told me she was still alive. And he hit Kat badly to learn where I was.”

He stayed silent for a long time, while her heart roared in her ears.

“You got the three girls to safety?”

She blinked. “Yes. I finally made the smallest, Lottie, climb on my back, and I held the other two by their wrists. I got to Kat’s house, then the next day I took the girls to friends of Kat. Friends who ensured the girls were returned to their home in the country. To pay their way, I gave the girls almost all the money I had saved.”

“Leaving you with almost nothing, which was why you came to me.”

“Yes. When Lord Ashton tried to tempt Kat to ‘heal’ you, as he put it, I could not resist. It meant escape from London. I knew I was suspected of Madame’s murder. I thought I was guilty. Coming to you meant … a roof over my head and safety. But I put Kat at risk.”

“And you say Taylor told you the woman was not killed by your blow.”

“Yes. After weeks of thinking I’d killed her, I really hadn’t!”

He frowned. Of course, she had no proof. Only Mick’s word, and he was gone. And Devon’s next words made her fear he thought she was lying. “Miss Beddington, if you did not kill her, how did your madam end up dead?”

“Someone must have hit her again after I escaped with the girls. Perhaps it was one of the other women in the brothel. It might have been one of the clients. I thought of Mick, but he wouldn’t have any reason to want Madame dead.”

“Are there any men you suspect?”

She desperately tried to think. “I don’t know. When I
overheard her talking with Mick, she said she had already told certain gentlemen about her innocents. Maybe one of those men was driven to fury by thwarted lust.”

“I doubt it,” Devon countered gently. “He could have found other young women at another brothel. However, if your madam had already taken money for the girls, that might have enraged a man enough to kill her.” But he frowned, as though he doubted the theory.

Her stomach roiled. Her story sounded implausible: Who would believe she had left the madam alive, then, coincidentally, someone had killed her? Even she found it hard to imagine she was reprieved from the horror of being a murderess.

“Come here, angel.”

She stood, surprised. Why did he want her close? Did he want to grab her, then give her to the magistrate? Her heart stuttered. If he did, she supposed they would keep her in jail here, then eventually transport her to London.

As she came near to him, he settled his hands on her waist. He moved her between his open legs. “Who are you, Anne Beddington?”

She almost lost her balance. “What do you mean?”

“I mean where do you come from? Where were you born? How did you end up in the stews? In the brothel?” One last tug of his hands brought her against him, so his chin pressed to her belly. “I don’t know if anything you told me before is the truth, angel.”

“I didn’t lie exactly,” she admitted numbly. “I tried to hide everything I could. It was because I feared I had killed Madame. In truth, I was a gentleman’s daughter, but my father died and my mother and I were forced to leave our house.” She swallowed hard. “What are you going to do to me? Do you believe I’m innocent?”

He didn’t answer that question. Thoughtfully, he said, “Since Taylor knew you were innocent, he had no reason
to bring you to justice. Why did he really want you?”

To her surprise, he pulled her down, depositing her on his right leg. His thigh was tensed and rock-hard beneath her bottom. “No secrets, love. If you want help.”

Help
. Goodness, he was going to help her. But there was something harsh in his face—and suddenly she understood. “Oh, God, you don’t think Mick and I … I
despised
Mick Taylor. He did
not
come after me for revenge. He hunted me down because my cousin paid him to find me.”

Devon’s hand tightened on her waist. “All right. Who is your cousin?”

“His name is Sebastian Beddington. When my father died, he became Viscount Norbrook.”

His brows arched. “A viscount’s daughter? It explains why you speak and behave like a lady.” He frowned. “Your cousin forced you out of your home? I don’t understand. Your mother would have dower rights.”

His voice was so cool and logical. Did it mean he didn’t believe her? She told him of her father’s sudden death when she was fifteen and the arrival of his heir, her cousin Sebastian. “Sebastian promised we would always have a home, that my mother need not move into the dower house. Within a month he had explained we could stay only if he was allowed to … to marry me. He gloated—he was certain we were in his power. And when Mama refused, he spread vicious lies about her character. He made up stories of love affairs, intrigues, and scandalous orgies. Sebastian could appear to be the most charming gentleman, and he turned my father’s family against her.”

“What of your mother’s family?”

She shook her head. “I never knew them. My mother’s father had married against his parents’ wishes. He was
disowned, and my mother never met her grandparents or her aunts.”

“Your cousin was desperate to marry you—at any cost?”

“Yes. It seems mad, doesn’t it? I’m sure he doesn’t want to marry me now. Though Mick said he still … wants me.” She shuddered.

His mouth tugged down at the corners. “He sounds like a blackguard, but you couldn’t have known that when you first refused his proposal. Why did you?”

She took a huge gulp of brandy, despite all her warnings to him about drink. She’d promised the truth, but she didn’t want to speak of this. “I didn’t … like him. When my mother continued to refuse, he finally became furious and he … he tried to force a marriage between us. Physically.”

Devon’s arms tightened around her and a vein in his temple twitched. “He raped you?”

“No. I threw my chamber pot at him and got his immaculate shirt and trousers wet. And my scream brought my mother and servants running.”

“You saved yourself with a chamber pot.” He tried to pull her closer, but she was tense and rigid, remembering. “That night, my mother decided we must leave. We ran away. We went to London. Mama found work as a seamstress, and she toiled there until she became ill. Then she wasted away.”

How inadequately words expressed her pain and sorrow. How could she describe the way she’d ached with pain, watching her mother massage her cramped hands? Her rage when her mother’s eyesight had failed from sewing by meager candlelight? The guilt she’d felt when her mother had tried to protect her from grueling work, or thievery, or prostitution.

“And the brothel—how did you end up there?”

“A gentleman took me there and gave me to the madam as payment of his outstanding bills.”

“Who?” he growled. “What was his name?”

“It doesn’t matter. I—I thought he wanted to be my protector, but I was naïve and foolish. He did look after me for a few weeks. With that money, I helped my mother as best I could.”

“How old were you?”

“Old enough that I should not have trusted him.”

“Your age,” he demanded.

“I was seventeen.”

“I have four sisters, and I know how naïve and sweet a girl is at that age. Give me his name, angel. Never in my life have I wanted to beat a man and destroy him.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s
dead
. He died years ago, of an illness.” She added impetuously, to defuse his anger, “I met you, five years ago.”

“When? At a ball? In Society?”

“Heavens, no. The first night I decided to become a prostitute. You were the first man I approached.”

He jerked his head down. “Are you saying I was your first? Did I take your virginity, without knowing it?”

“No.
You
told me not to sell my body. You gave me two gold sovereigns for nothing, told me I was pretty, and sent me away.”

His heart thudded by her ear. “I’m pleased to know I didn’t … hurt you, love.”

“You—you were a hero to me. In the end, I had to go back to the Drury Lane theatre.”

“Was that when you met this other man? I don’t sound as though I was much of a savior.”

“But in the end—” It was hard to speak. “You did save me. I understand if you can’t now.”

“Enough, Cerise. You’ve been through hell, and I understand how that feels.”

“Are you going to turn me in?” For she would have to
go to trial and attempt to prove her innocence, wouldn’t she? Bow Street wouldn’t believe her unless Mick told the truth.

“I’m not sending you anywhere tonight.”

You can spend the night
. He said that on the first night she’d come here. She had temporary safety again, her life was in his hands, and she had no idea what he planned to do with her.

Devon paced his study. The scent of brandy was a hellish temptation. But he resisted.

In so many ways, Cerise—no,
Anne
—had given him the ability to cope with his blindness. She’d opened up senses he had believed could never be enough.

He had deposited her in his bedchamber and left two footmen guarding the door. He didn’t know if she would try to run again. And what was he going to do with her? Did he keep her hidden here, harbor her, or take her to the magistrate so they could argue her innocence? She would still be arrested and held until a trial.

Was she innocent? She admitted to hitting the madam. How plausible was it that someone else came on the same night and murdered the woman? She claimed Mick Taylor had told her Mrs. Meadows survived her attack. If she was lying, why would she not simply deny she had hit the woman?

But without Taylor’s evidence, would Bow Street believe her story? Would a jury?

He didn’t blame her for hitting the woman. He understood why she had to do it. He knew what it was like to have to make brutal decisions. Just as when he was at Waterloo and had suddenly realized, in the middle of battle, he was aiming his rifle at a young French boy. And if he didn’t pull the trigger, one of his men would die.…