Julia Justiss (8 page)

Scrawny and obviously undernourished, the child had hair that stuck up at odd angles, as if barbered by a blind man. With his narrow face, sharp nose and small, gleaming eyes that reminded Jack of a rodent, the child was one
of the ugliest specimens of boyhood Jack had ever beheld. Where, Jack wondered, had this little street rat come from?

“Thank you for bringing up the tray so quickly, Jem. You may return to assist Watson—in the kitchen.”

The boy groaned. “Be I still in the kitchen?”

“For another week, Jem.”

“But Miss Belle—”

“No arguing, Jem,” Belle cut him off.

If the child weren’t too old—and far too unattractive—to make such a relationship possible, Jack could almost suspect the boy was Belle’s son rather than her servant. Though from what he’d seen, while Lady Belle’s
house
was similar to those of London’s ton, the appearance of her staff and the familiarity of their behavior was decidedly not.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Cap’n,” the boy said. His face mournful, he walked with dragging steps toward the door.

On impulse Jack called out, “Wait, Jem.” To Lady Belle’s sharp look, he said blandly, “If the boy isn’t needed now, perhaps he can keep me company while I eat.”

The lad hastened back, his thin, homely face turned toward Belle. “Couldn’t I, Miss Belle? I be very good company when I wants to.”

Belle bent her penetrating regard on the boy for a long moment before sighing. “I have some work that really needs attention. I suppose you can remain, if the captain will allow you to assist him with his breakfast.”

“I won’t hurt him none, ma’am! And I’ll get his gruel into him faster’n a fly lighting on a sticky bun.”

“Is that arrangement agreeable to you, Captain?”

Jack would much prefer Belle’s to be the hands that assisted him, but since so far he’d learned little about Belle from the lady herself, maybe he could discover more from the boy—especially if Belle were not present. “If it will not inconvenience the household, ma’am.”

She lifted an eyebrow at that and turned to the boy. “Don’t tease him with too much chatter, Jem. He should rest and converse as little as possible.”

Jack watched her graceful glide of a walk as she exited. Meanwhile Jem removed the cover from the tray, unveiling a pot that wafted the siren scent of fresh coffee and a surprisingly appealing bowl of gruel.

“Don’t you stir them nabsters, Cap’n,” Jem advised as Jack tried to lift a hand to reach the spoon. “Jem’ll feed you right and proper.”

Surmising that Jem meant he was good with his hands, Jack subsided back against the pillows. He’d best hope the boy didn’t spill his breakfast all over him, since his own feeble attempt to feed himself had failed dismally. Silently cursing his recurrent weakness and the pain that skewered him every time he moved, Jack said, “I’d be much obliged for your help, Jem.”

“Don’t wonder you need it, Lady Belle sticking you like she done. Watson says your togs was soaked right through in blood. Here’s your broth, now.”

For a few minutes Jack contented himself with slurping down all the soup that Jem spooned in as handily as promised. His immediate hunger subsiding, Jack decided to see what information he could eke from the boy.

Before his stint in the army, where men from all ranks
and walks of life were obligated to work together, Jack might have felt awkward, attempting to converse with a servant. Having long since mastered any such discomfort—and certainly the erstwhile servant seemed to feel none, Jack said, “You don’t like working in the kitchen, Jem?”

“It ain’t my usual lay, helping old Watson. I’d rather be back at the mews, learning to tend the bits of blood and hoof and swabbing the tinkle and jangle.”

“You prefer working with horses and tack?” Jack guessed.

Jem paused for a minute and gave Jack a gap-toothed grin. “You be right smart, for a toff.”

Jack felt the urge to chuckle and, mindful of his chest, restrained it. “I am moved by your accolade.”

“Watson says you was in the cavalry. Did you have a bloody great horse? Did you slash the Frogs to bits with your sword?”

Jack’s smile turned grim as he suppressed the memories. “Yes, I had a fine, big horse. I’d rather not talk about the slashing, if you please. How did you—”

“But that be the best part!” Jem interrupted, clearly disappointed. “Here’s your last sip, anyways.”

As Jem spoke, Lady Belle entered. Though she moved silently, the almost palpable change in the air telegraphed her presence to him instantly, even before Jack caught her faint scent of lavender.

If being in the same room with her disturbed him so profoundly, how might his body react to greater intimacy?

“Bloodthirsty whelp,” Belle murmured. “That will be enough, Jem. I’m sure the captain is tired.”

“Can I come back later, after he’s rested, Miss Belle? We ain’t hardly talked yet. It musta been powerful exciting, killing Frenchies over in them foreign parts. Was you ever wounded afore Miss Belle sliced you, Cap’n? Would you show me your scars? Your sword, maybe—”

“Jem!” Belle interrupted. “Watson needs your assistance in the kitchen.”

“All right, I be going,” the boy said, picking up the tray. “But iff’n I was a soldier, I’d want to show off my scars. Impresses the females, I’ll wager,” he added, his dark eyes mischievous.

“One more minute, Jem,” Belle said. “Put down the tray and let me see your hands.”

“Aw, Miss Belle!” the boy protested.

“Now, if you please, Jem.”

Reluctantly the boy set down his burden and opened his hands. “See—bare as a baby’s bottom.”

“Turn out your pockets.”

For a moment Jem eyed Belle resentfully. Then he heaved a sigh, slid Jack’s pocket watch from under his sleeve and laid it back on the table. “Don’t let a man have no fun,” he muttered.

“You ought to be ashamed,” Belle reproved, “stealing from the captain when he is ill!”

Jem shrugged. “Best time to snarf him, I’d say. Weren’t as if I was going to keep it. Not with him being a soldier ’n all. Just exercising the twiddlies.”

“More ‘exercise’ like that and you’ll serve another week in the kitchen. I cannot have you picking the pocket of everyone who enters this house! Besides, ply those tricks
on the street again and the magistrate will be happy to stretch your neck—over a penny or a pocket watch. Now, get on with you.”

“Thank you for your help, Jem,” Jack said, not sure whether to be amused or outraged.

“You’re welcome, Cap’n. No hard feelings about the watch?”

“Not if you heed Lady Belle’s orders.”

Seeming to ponder that, the boy went out. Once the door closed behind him, Jack asked, “Wherever did you find him? On his way to the gallows?”

Belle returned a faint smile, even that slight response warming him. “Jem has a rather…storied past.”

As do you, I’ll wager, Jack thought. And how he would like to discover more about both!

“Rest now, Captain. Your friends will be calling later.”

To his annoyance, the cursed weakness was overcoming him again. Though he’d hoped to try to lure Belle to linger, the effort of conversing had set his chest to throbbing and brought back that damnable shortness of breath. He barely managed to croak out a thank-you.

As she exited the room, a vision of golden hair and light blue merino wrapped in the summer-rich scent of lavender, Jack eased back against the pillows. How, he wondered groggily, had a courtesan come to be attended by a not-quite-reformed thief and a retired prize-fighter?

Sometime before he left the shelter of her roof, he promised himself before sleep claimed him, he would find out about them—and their mistress.

A
FTERNOON SUNLIGHT
warmed the room when next Jack woke. As he stirred, hunger roiling in his innards, he suddenly realized he was not alone.

His pulse leapt, then slowed as he recognized his attendant—not Lady Belle, but the woman who had shared Belle’s theater box. Though it was still daylight, she wore face paint and a gown cut so low that her jutting breasts looked likely at any moment to tumble free.

“Afternoon, Captain. I be Mae, Belle’s companion—and relieved I am to see you looking so much better! You must be fair starving, you having eaten next to nothing for nigh on five days. I’ve brought soup.” With that, the lady lifted the cover from a tray on the bedside table.

“Thank you, Mrs….” he said, easing himself upright.

“Mae be good enough, Captain. Now eat up,” she admonished, putting a spoon to his lips. “Belle said you was to swallow every last bit.”

“Lady Belle is resting?” he asked between spoonfuls.

“No, she be working on her account books. ’Tis an amazement to me, being as I could never add two figures together, but she’s fearsome clever. I should have helped her care for you much sooner, for which I do apologize,
but such a sight you was at first, blood all over and looking like a corpse! I nearly swooned dead away. Even tidied up, you looked as if you was about to stick your spoon in the wall at any moment. Belle hardly left your side that first night, bless her, what with her feeling so guilty, though why she should blame herself I don’t know, for it stands to reason in a fencing match there’d be blades a’crossing. It worries me fierce, her taking them lessons—and why should she, when so many gents would fight the devil himself for her if only she asked ’em. Though she won’t look at none of ’em, more’s the pity. But here I am rattling on, which Belle told me most particular not to.”

Obligingly eating his soup during this monologue, Jack felt his spirits rise. The woman Mae might be as vulgar as she could stare, but in a few short minutes she’d already offered more information about Belle than he’d been able to discover from the lady herself in several meetings. With a little encouragement, Jack hoped, her “companion” might be induced to relate the history of everyone in the house.

“Nay, madam, I enjoy conversation.”

“None for you,” Mae said, presenting him another spoonful. “The doctor says you mustn’t strain yourself talking. Just swallow down this good broth Cook made you and keep that wound healing.”

Either he was more famished than he’d thought, or the soup was particularly delicious. Realizing his chances of questioning Mae were slim while the woman, with an amusingly serious expression, continued to shovel in broth, he settled for finishing every drop.

“Excellent,” he pronounced, liberated at last by the empty bowl. “I am much obliged, Mae, for your kindness.”

“’Twas a pleasure to serve a fine young gent like you, Captain.” Picking up the tray, the lady rose.

“Stay, please?” Jack begged. “I shall remain silent. I find your company charming, and a fellow can’t help but recover faster, attended by such beauty.”

A natural blush darkened her rouged cheeks. “Ain’t you the gallant one? If Belle wasn’t my dearest friend and me too old besides, I might have a mind to offer you more than soup! But Belle says you was to rest now, being as how your friends and the doctor be expected later. I’d be happy to come back later while Belle tends her business.”

He wanted to ask what business that was. But simply sitting upright and sipping soup had sapped his tiny store of strength. His chest aching again, he hadn’t the energy to force the words through his lips. For now he would have to be content at having discovered that the loquacious Mae might prove a font of useful information—once he had the stamina to chat with her.

“Th-thank you—” he struggled.

“Nay, don’t speak,” Mae said. “Just rest some now.” Her smile as open and friendly as a child’s, she tucked the coverlet under his chin.

With a sigh, Jack subsided into the pillows. Mae might be a stranger to gentility and his mother truly would have palpitations if she knew he was encouraging this aging harlot to visit. But aside from the behavior he’d witnessed in the opera box, Jack did find her charming.

Her sunny disposition glowed in her clear blue eyes and artless chatter, despite the garish dress and nearly bare bosom. His soldier’s knack for quickly evaluating character told him that whatever she said would be the truth as she knew it. The only artifice about her was the paint on her face.

Apparently the discreet Lady Belle had warned her voluble companion as well as her servants not to converse with him—for more than just a desire to spare his recovering lungs, he suspected. But if plumbing Mae’s knowledge would bring him closer to the lady who was fast coming to fascinate him, he thought as he drifted to sleep, he was quite willing to encourage this much older woman who’d virtually propositioned him in his sickbed.

A short time later he roused from his nap to see Watson escorting in the doctor.

“You’re much more alert than when last I checked you,” the military physician said approvingly as Watson helped him remove the bandages around Jack’s shoulder.

“I’ve not yet thanked you sufficiently,” Jack said, trying to gird himself for the discomfort sure to follow.

“Thank your strong constitution as much as my efforts, and the care your friends gave you,” the doctor replied as he examined Jack’s wound. “Still red and swollen, which is to be expected,” he pronounced, “but no signs of putre-faction. By the looks of that shoulder, you’ve had need of a strong constitution in the past. Saber?”

Though the doctor’s ministrations weren’t as agonizing as during his previous visits, sweat had broken out on Jack’s brow and he had to use all his meager strength to
keep from crying out. “Yes. At Corunna,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“’Twas a fearsome time, I hear,” Dr. Thompson replied as he applied a clean pad over the wound and began re-wrapping the bandages. “I was in the Americas with 29
^th
Foot myself. Didn’t return until just before Waterloo.” He laughed and shook his head. “How quixotic is life, eh? A man survives a saber blow at Corunna and the killing fields of Waterloo, only to nearly cock up his toes at a London fencing match! Well, let’s have a listen.”

After putting his ear to Jack’s chest for a few minutes, the physician said, “Still a hint of a whistle, but less than before. Thank you, Watson,” he said, turning to the butler. “I can find my own way out.”

Watson hesitated before bowing. “If you say so, sir.”

The doctor waited until Watson had closed the door. “Captain, I now know that this is…not your house. You are doubtless wishing to return home as soon as possible. If you have lodgings here in the city and someone to tend you, I believe you could remove there now, at an easy pace. If not, I suggest that you beg your…hostess to allow you to remain here a few more days. You can expect the weakness to continue, and both your wound and your lungs still bear watching. In any event, I’ll check you again tomorrow.”

“I’m greatly in your debt, Doctor. Let me give you my banker’s direction so that you may forward your bill.”

With a slight smile, Dr. Thompson shook his head. “The, ah, lady has already settled it. Stunning, isn’t she? At first I thought she was your wife, but…” The doctor bent an inquiring look on him.

Clearly the man was hoping for an explanation. Nonsensical as it was, for no man breathing could look at Lady Belle without desiring her, Jack felt an immediate rush of possessive jealousy. He could not, in truth, state there was an understanding between them, but if the doctor were trying to size up the nature of their relationship so he might make an overture to Lady Belle himself, neither did Jack wish to deny a connection. He settled for meeting the doctor’s eyes with a cold, unblinking stare.

Coloring, the doctor cleared his throat. “A lovely lady. One would never suspect she was…well, you know.”

More illogically still, Jack found himself resenting the doctor’s implication—though he couldn’t argue with the truth of it. “Lady Belle has been a gracious, kind and devoted hostess,” he replied stiffly.

“Yes, indeed,” the doctor replied, his flush deepening. “I didn’t meant to insinuate—”

“Then don’t,” Jack snapped.

“May I come in?” Aubrey peeped in at the doorway. “Watson said the doctor was finished.”

“I’m just leaving,” Dr. Thompson replied. “I shall see you—where tomorrow, Captain?”

“Here, for the present. Good day, Doctor.”

With a bow, tinges of redness still in his cheeks, the doctor left the room. His eyes following the physician’s speedy exit, Aubrey said, “Sawbones put you through torture again? You were rather short with him. Give you agonies or no, you ought to be grateful. Probably wouldn’t still be among us, had we not secured his timely assistance.”

Guilt nibbling at him, Jack managed a rueful smile.
“You’re right, and I shall apologize later.” Not wishing to detail what he needed to apologize for, Jack continued, “But where is Edmund?”

Aubrey shook his head. “Another interminable meeting, his note said. He’ll be by later—and will be delighted to see how much better you look. Gave us quite a scare, you did!”

“I am better,” Jack said, noting that the pressure in his chest had eased and speaking was no longer as taxing.

“Must be Lady Belle’s tender touch. I hear she’s hardly left your side since you arrived.”

“So I understand. I’ve been mostly unconscious until this morning. I do know I owe her a great debt.”

“Aside from the fact that she wounded you—though I still don’t understand how, superb fencer that you are, you could have given her such an opening! But no matter. I don’t envy you the ordeal you’ve suffered, but now, what an opportunity is yours! Here in Belle’s own home, the focus of her solicitous attention. You’re a fool if you don’t use this chance to fix her interest.”

Jack was surprised into a laugh, which immediately changed to a groan as pain knifed through him. “I’m not a very commanding figure at present,” he replied when he could catch his breath.

“Find an excuse to linger. She’s already admitted feeling guilty over wounding you. Play on that until you’re recovered enough to charm her with your manliness.”

“Play on the lady’s guilt over what was my own damn fault in order to somehow winkle my way into her affections? Such artifice and trickery appalls!”

“Oh, Jack, don’t be so particular,” Aubrey advised.
“What’s wrong with a little artifice, with a prize as luscious as Belle for the winning?”

“When,” Jack demanded, eyeing Aubrey narrowly, “did you become such a rogue?”

“Call me what you will, but
I
say you’re attics-to-let if you allow yourself to be hurried into exchanging Lady Belle’s sweet hands soothing your fevered brow for those of your mama or sister—meaning no disrespect to either lady.”

Jack’s lips twitched at the thought of having the ministrations of his mother, an earl’s daughter of impeccable reputation, or his virginal sister, declared wanting when compared to those of a practiced courtesan.

But perhaps Aubrey did have a point.

“The doctor informs me I’ve not yet healed sufficiently to be able to jolt halfway across England. If neither you nor Edmund wishes to take over nursing me, I must perforce remain where I am.”

Aubrey grinned. “That’s the spirit! I knew you couldn’t let this chance pass you by!”

Jack shook his head. “I believe you’re the one who’s attics-to-let. You know I can’t afford Belle, even if I should recover enough to ‘charm her with my manliness.’”

Aubrey gave an impatient wave. “If money were all she cared about, she would have snapped up Rupert’s offer long ago. Given the consideration with which she treats that idealistic cub, Ansley, I’m convinced she’s attracted to men of a nobler sort. And here you are, positioned conveniently right in her own house. I’ll wager ’tis but a short leap from this bed to hers.”

“And I’m in such prime condition for leaping,” Jack re
torted. But despite his protests to the contrary, the scheme Aubrey proposed was insidiously tempting.

Maybe Jack could afford her. Or maybe she would respond to the admiration and attention of a gentleman who treated her with the respect due a lady. Given the strength of the wordless connection that arced between them, maybe she could be enticed to yield to him….

But enough heated imagining. ’Twas pointless to speculate over capturing Lady Belle’s fancy with Dorrie’s Season about to begin. He should be turning his thoughts to the wooing of a well-bred virgin, not contemplating a scandalous long-term liaison with a concubine—no matter how much she fascinated him.

And long-term it would be, for if Aubrey’s far-fetched scenario were to become a reality, he knew instinctively that a few weeks or months would not be enough for him to penetrate the mystery of—or slake his desire for—the beautiful Lady Belle.

Jack looked up to find Aubrey grinning at him. “I see you’re thinking on it. Reflect well, my friend. I won’t stay longer and tire you, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Perhaps then your comely hostess will grace us—”

Aubrey’s eyes widened and his lips paused in mid-phrase. But even before his friend’s reaction, before the slight stir of air from the silently opened door wafted to him the faint scent of lavender, an instinctive awareness had already informed Jack of Lady Belle’s arrival.