Rebecca Hagan Lee (6 page)

He hurried through the rabbit's warren of passages through the servant's wing until he reached one of the back entrances. Opening the back door, Blake signaled his coachman. The vehicle halted in front of him. He snatched open the door and held his hand out to the passenger just as it started to rain.

"Hurry," Blake urged. "We haven't much time."

"All right, all right. Take it easy, guvnor." The cockney dialect coming from the lips of the beautiful woman startled him.

She was older than Cristina, but her carefully painted face made her appear younger. Her hair was brighter, a brassier shade of red than Cristina's burnished copper, but her eyes were green. Blake couldn't believe his good fortune. Her resemblance to Cristina was astonishing. But her voice could give her away.

"Don't talk," he warned. "The gentleman is sure to know the difference if you talk."

"All right."

"Don't talk," Blake warned again. "Just listen and nod your head yes or no."

Her head bobbed up and down to indicate she understood.

"Good. Now, are you certain you want to do this?"

She nodded vigorously.

"You can back out if you like," Blake told her. "I can find another means."

"It's all right, guvnor. I know wot I'm doing. It ain't like I'm a bleedin'

virgin or anything. For fifty pounds, I'd sleep with the queen herself. You ain't corruptin' me. I've been corrupted afore this."

He clenched his jaw.

She patted his arm. "I'm shuttin' up. I just wanted you to know I appreciate 'onesty. And, I really don't mind sleepin' with a crown prince for a night. Cor', wait till I tell the other girls!" She made a motion as if to button her lips.

Blake lifted her down. "Then let's go."

"Right behind ya, guv."

Blake shot her a warning glare.

"All right, all right, I'm shutting it!" She buttoned her lips a second time. "For good."

Blake shook his head in exasperation. This whole scheme of his was too crazy to be believed and the worst of it was he didn't have the faintest idea why he was creeping around Marlborough House's halls in the middle of the night with a Cockney prostitute who couldn't keep her mouth shut. Why was he doing this? Why was he risking so much? It didn't make a damned bit of sense.

Running to Cristina Fairfax's rescue like a damned knight in shining armor. He was mad.

"Slow down!" The girl beside him hissed the order.

He automatically slowed his stride, reached down and gripped her elbow, then propelled her along beside him. He took the first set of stairs almost at a run. When she failed to keep stride, Blake swung her up and over his shoulder.

"Now, wait a bloody minute!" She began as he placed one hand firmly against her rear end. "Ouch!" Her skirts cushioned the soft blow to her bottom. Her cry was one of surprise, rather than pain.

"I thought your lips were buttoned," Blake muttered more to himself than to her.

"They are!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed. It must be the grating noise coming from them that keeps distracting me."

"Are we there yet?" the girl asked when Blake came to an abrupt halt some minutes later.

"Yes. Sssh!"

"Put me down. I'm dizzy!"

"Be quiet." Blake crept to the door of the apartments Rudolf was temporarily occupying. A silver tray containing an empty wine bottle and one glass sat on the floor in the hallway in front of the door. He knew Cristina was inside. He just hoped to God she was alone. Stepping around the tray he grasped the handle on the door and silently eased it open. It yielded an inch or so, then refused to go any farther.

"Hurry before I toss up my dinner!"

"Don't you dare!" Blake hastily stood the girl on her feet, eyeing her with suspicion.

"Works like a charm." She smiled angelically. "Why don'tcha open the door?"

"It's blocked with something. Probably furniture."

The girl peered through the keyhole. "Looks like you're right, guv. She is unwilling, ain't she?"

"Naturally," Blake snapped, concentrating on widening the opening without making any noise. "She's a young lady."

Blake turned to look at his companion. "Can you squeeze through?" He stopped.

Her expression was belligerent. Her eyes, so like Cristina's, shimmered in the meager light from the lamps.

He realized what he'd said almost immediately and began to apologize. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't a young lady. You are."

"No, I'm not, guvnor." She brightened suddenly. "But it was nice of you to say so." She gave him a smile, then squeezed through the doorway.

Blake waited impatiently while she cleared the furniture.

"She ain't here, guvnor," the girl said as he shoved his way past the furniture.

"Then where is she?"

"Down there." She pointed toward an open window. A crude rope of knotted bed sheets hung over the casement.

His heart almost stopped. "She didn't!"

"She sure did." The girl whistled low in admiration. "Cut up the Prince of Wales's bed sheets, she did."

"I don't give a damn about the bed sheets." Blake crossed the room in three quick strides. He kicked a half-empty wineglass as he reached the window.

The prostitute hurried to join him. "Do you see her down there?"

"Good God!" He leaned out the window and searched the courtyard below first, squinting against the falling rain and the darkness looking for a mass of red hair against the gray stone. The makeshift rope reached below the second-floor windows but he couldn't see her. An experienced climber might make the jump without serious injury, but a young woman? "Cristina?" he called in a low, urgent voice.

She heard him call her name and knew that one of the men she'd been trying to escape from had found her hanging for dear life, onto a rope made of bed sheets. "I'm here," she answered, afraid of what would happen when he rescued her, but more afraid of letting go of the rope.

Blake grabbed hold of the pile of bed sheets and jerked.

"Don't!" He heard the panic in her voice. "I can't hold on much longer. I'm slipping."

"Bloody hell, Cristina! I thought you said you had good sense. Just hold on. I'm coming."

"She ain't got a bloody lick!" The prostitute whistled again.

"Stay here," Blake said to the girl, "and don't let anyone into the room except me." He raked his wet hair out of his eyes. "Christ! I've heard stories of girls who prefer death to ... to ... this!" he finished, at a loss for words.

" 'Appens all the time in my line of work. But not tonight. Not to your young lady, guvnor." She grinned. "We got 'ere in time to save 'er."

"Lord Lawrence?" Cristina called from below. "Hurry!"

"I'm on my way." He sprinted out the door and down a flight of stairs, praying all the while that he would get to Cristina in time.

When he reached the second floor, Blake tried door after door until he found one that wasn't locked. He pulled the heavy velvet drapes open and spotting the white rope, quickly unfastened the window, swung it open, and glanced down. Cristina clung to the knot of sheets about two feet away.

"Cristina?"

She looked up and breathed a grateful sigh when she saw him. "Lord Lawrence."

"I'm going to pull you up," he explained. "Hold on tight."

Blake carefully pulled the line of sheets up the wall and over the window casement until Cristina Fairfax lay huddled on the floor. She wore one petticoat and her traveling cloak. A bare, shapely calf was exposed to his view and she was soaked to the skin. He struggled out of his coat and placed it around her, before he leaned forward to pick her up.

Cristina wrapped her arms around his neck in a stranglehold and buried her face against his damp shirtfront. She listened to the thumping of his heart and admitted, "I was more afraid of falling than I was of you."

"It's all right. You're safe," he said, inhaling the scent of her. She smelled of rainwater and strong wine and a floral perfume he couldn't name.

"I've got some business to attend to upstairs," Blake explained, "then I'll take you home."

"No."

He saw the flash of alarm in her green eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm taking you someplace safe."

Too tired and wet and cold to do anything else, Cristina huddled against Blake as he carried her out of the room and back up a flight of stairs.

The young prostitute met him at the door to Rudolf's apartments. "Looks like she was bolstering her nerve a bit." She held up another half-empty bottle of wine.

Blake placed Cristina on the chair near the fire and tucked a lap robe around her. Cristina closed her eyes, too exhausted to fight any longer.

The prostitute followed him to the chair, then leaned in for a closer look at Cristina and whispered, "Cor! She looks almost like me!"

"She doesn't talk like you," Blake reminded her.

"I bet she doesn't do lots of things like me." She glanced pointedly at the empty bed, then licked her lips.

Blake ignored her flirtation. "In that case, grab those sheets--you'll need them."

The girl muttered beneath her breath as she hauled the rope of wet linens inside the window and carried them back to the bed. She untied the knots in the sheets, then flipped back the top covers. The mattresses were bare.

"These ain't going to do me no good," she said, showing Blake the halves of a monogrammed sheet.

"Give them to me," he ordered.

She tossed the sheets at him.

"Lie on top of the covers. Maybe he won't notice that there aren't any sheets."

The prostitute laughed seductively. "I can guarantee he won't notice if I'm on top of the covers." She flopped down on the bed and struck a classic pose.

"Turn around."

"Why?" Blake asked.

"I've got to get ready."

"No, you don't," Blake decided. "I'll think of something else."

"A deal's a deal, guvnor," she said.

Blake turned to face her.

"Don't look!" she ordered.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, guvnor, 'cept I like you, you see. And I don't want ya comparing her and me." Her voice dropped to a whisper, before she regained her bravado. "Your ladybird might not measure up." She finished with a sad laugh.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Blake asked again.

" 'Course I am. It's a pleasure helping ya out. Doing business with ya, so to speak. Wot's your name, guvnor?"

Knowing he was opening himself up to potential scandal or blackmail, but somehow trusting this girl of the streets, Blake answered. "Lawrence. Blake Ashford, Lord Lawrence."

She tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned to find her encased in the coverlet, her hand outstretched.

"Frances Kilkenny," she told him. "My customers call me Fran."

Blake took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "A pleasure, Miss Kilkenny."

Tears sparkled in her eyes. She brushed them aside. "You better get going, guvnor. From wot you told me, that royal gent could come anytime." She winked at the double entendre.

Blake scooped Cristina up in his arms. She was breathing heavily. Sound asleep.

Frances held up the bottle of wine. "No sense letting this go to waste."

Blake smiled at her. "If you change your mind ..."

"And lose this golden opportunity to sleep with a real prince? Not a chance, guvnor." She opened the door for him. "I'll be just like bloody Cinderella."

Blake glanced at the hallway. Footsteps sounded on the stairs to his right.

Unsteady footsteps. Drunken footsteps. He hoisted Cristina higher into his arms and turned to the left.

"Lucky girl." Frances Kilkenny took a drink from the wine bottle, then lifted it in salute, watching as handsome Lord Lawrence carried his lady friend away.

Was it a vision, or a waging dream?

Fled is the music:-- Do I wake or sleep?

--JOHN KEATS 1795-1821

*Chapter Five*

Cristina dreamed of warmth pressed intimately against her and snuggled closer to the source, enjoying the novelty of sleeping nestled in between two warm arms. She dreamed of his gentle hands with long, strong fingers and the enticing roughness of knuckles decorated with coarse, black hair that stroked her body through the silk of her shift. She dreamed vividly of the man who had haunted her thoughts since the night of the ball, perfectly recreating his face in her mind.

She luxuriated in the sensual dreams as she allowed her long-dormant emotions to come to life. She pictured his black eyes burning into hers, his long legs nakedly entwined with hers and the feel of his dark hair, rough and crisp beneath her questing fingers. Her instant attraction to him was as confusing as it was overwhelming, but he had somehow become her dream lover.

He was her fantasy and she was loath to give him up. Cristina strained, arching her back, moving even closer in her dreams to the lover waiting to fulfill her desires and make her his woman.

He responded to her body with an answering moan.

Cristina opened her eyes and recoiled in horror as she realized she was not alone in her bedroom. She fought to piece together the fragments of her memory--to separate the dreams from the reality.

Glancing down at the strong arm wrapped around her waist, she discovered that it was not part of her dream. It was real. She was in a bedroom in Marlborough House with the man selected to be her lover.

Cristina pushed back the covers, struggling with the insistent hands that pulled her body back into the circle of his warmth.

"Be still," he hissed. "I'm not going to hurt you. We can't leave until the party breaks up. And I need a little sleep."

Leave? She couldn't leave with him. Any more than she could continue to share a bed with him. Cristina turned and shoved him away.

He grabbed at her again, one hand reaching around her waist while the other caught the back of her camisole. "Lie back down. We'll leave just before daybreak. By then everyone else will have retired for the night."

"Let go of me. I'm leaving now.'" Cristina turned on him in fury, lashing out with her hands. Her clenched fist connected with the bones of his face.