Royal's Bride (20 page)

“I’ll do my best.” Tilting the glass up and draining the contents, Bart shoved himself up from the chair and lumbered toward the door.

Preston watched him walk into the hall, thinking what an incongruous picture he made, perfectly dressed in the expensively tailored clothes Preston had bought for him, his short brown hair parted in the middle and neatly slicked back. At the same time, his big, ruddy features and lumpy broken nose were as coarse as those of the burly dockworker whose bastard son he was.

McGrew closed the door and Preston returned his attention to the flames curling over the grate, but he couldn’t keep a small portion of his brain from straying to the beautiful and mysterious Tsaya, and wondering what Bart would find out.

Lily arrived a few minutes late for their weekly Wednesday meeting at the Red Rooster Inn. Shoving back the hood of her cloak as she headed down the stairs into the basement taproom, she hurried toward the room at the rear of the inn. The men at the table rose as she entered: Charles Sinclair, Uncle Jack and the duke.

Lily ignored a little pinch in her chest at the sight of him, so tall and incredibly handsome, and fixed her attention on the person who remained seated, a small woman with silver hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, a sturdy, attractive woman in her fifties.

Her name was Molly Daniels, Jack had told Lily, a
very good friend of his. More than a friend, in truth, for she and Jack were lovers. Lily couldn’t help noticing the way he looked at her, with a sort of softness and pride. She belonged to him, that look said, and there would be hell to pay should any man try to take her from him.

Lily started to smile, would have if her gaze hadn’t strayed at that moment to Royal. Unlike Jack, his features were carefully schooled into blandness, and Lily hadn’t the slightest notion what he was thinking.

“Lily, meet Molly,” her uncle said by way of introduction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Daniels,” Lily said.

“Same here, but it’s just Molly. Always has been. Your uncle Jack’s real proud of you, luv.”

Lily turned a smile in her uncle’s direction then Charles Sinclair began the meeting.

“It would appear things are going exactly as we’ve planned. Loomis has made contact. He’ll be trying to discover whether or not Tsaya is real or merely playing a role in some sort of operation. His man, Barton McGrew, handles anything of a personal nature Loomis might require. Fortunately for us, McGrew isn’t long on brains. He’s a dangerous man, though, utterly without conscience, and he will do anything Loomis asks.”

“McGrew will be going to Tsaya’s flat,” Jack added. “Dottie Hobbs is there, acting as Tsaya’s housekeeper, and she’ll know what to say.”

Dottie was one of
the mob
, people Jack had brought in to play different roles in the con. Her daughters, Darcy and Mary, would be Tsaya’s cook and chambermaid during the day, the minimum household staff for someone of the middle class, which Tsaya purported to
be, all of them dressed in freshly starched servants’ garb at Royal’s expense.

“You don’t expect Lily to stay there, do you?” he asked, his expression changing from bland to worried. “You said yourself, this man, McGrew, is dangerous.”

“She needs to drop by as Tsaya as often as possible,” Sinclair said. “She needs to be seen going in and out.”

“I don’t like it,” Royal said darkly.

Lily tried not to notice the way the indentation in his chin became more pronounced when his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes kept straying toward her.

Jack’s shrewd gaze swung toward him. “My girl knows how to take care of herself—leastwise most of the time.”

It was a not-so-subtle message that Royal was more a threat to Lily than McGrew. A muscle bunched in his cheek but he made no comment.

“When do I go in?” Molly Daniels asked, speaking up for the first time.

Royal answered, “Annabelle Townsend has a friend, Lady Sabrina Jeffers, the daughter of a marquess. Annabelle trusts her entirely and the girl has agreed to help us. Lady Sabrina has convinced her mother to hold a soiree the end of next week. The marchioness has invited Tsaya—who seems to have become all the rage. Tsaya’s name is mentioned on the invitations and Lady Sabrina has made certain to include Preston Loomis on the guest list.”

“I daresay, your friends have been quite useful,” Sinclair said. “Let us hope they say nothing that will get back to Loomis.”

“My friends are extremely loyal, and they all had a great respect for my father. They’ll keep silent.”

Sinclair nodded, seemed satisfied. “All right then, the soiree should do nicely. If Loomis knows Tsaya will be there, odds are he will come. And since he is expecting to meet an older woman who will enhance his fortune, we shall make a point to see that he does.”

Sinclair explained that the plan was for Molly, heavily aged by theatrical paint, to be introduced as an eccentric, extremely wealthy, dotty old woman—the sort ripe for a man like Preston Loomis.

Sinclair turned his attention to Molly. “Lady Sabrina will introduce you as Mrs. Hortense Crowley, a friend of the family’s just arrived from her estate in York.”

Molly grinned. “Oh, I can’t wait. I love a good part and this one’s a pip.”

Royal eyed her with uncertainty. “Are you sure about this, Mrs. Daniels? Mrs. Crowley would…well, there is the problem of the way she would speak.”

Molly straightened and one of her silver eyebrows arched up in disdain. “Are you implying, young man, that I am anything other than a lady of the upper class?” The words were perfectly intonated and spoken with a haughty demeanor that could only belong to a well-bred lady.

Royal laughed and Lily found herself smiling as well. “You have my most humble apologies,” he said, playing along with the role. “I cannot imagine what I was thinking.”

“It takes a bit of practice,” Molly said in her natural voice, “but it’s not so hard—once ye get the ’ang of it.” She added the cockney to show him how versatile she was, and Royal laughed again.

“I think our friend Loomis is in trouble,” he said.

“My Molly’s got real talent,” Jack said proudly.

“So I see, but won’t Loomis find out the Crowley woman doesn’t actually exist?”

“He has no reason to doubt the word of the daughter of a marquess. York is a very good distance away, and though the jewels she will be wearing will be paste, they’ll look real enough to be convincing.”

The meeting continued until the details were all worked out. Once Loomis met Molly—Mrs. Crowley—an old woman who could enhance his fortune as Tsaya predicted—he would be convinced the Gypsy was real. Sinclair believed Loomis would seek Tsaya out for more advice and the Gypsy would very gladly give it.

The meeting adjourned and Lily rose from the table. Royal looked as if there was something he wished to say, but with Jack and Molly protectively surrounding her, he merely stepped out of the way.

As they walked toward the door, Lily forced herself not to look back at him and instead walked out of the inn.

I
t was overcast and cloudy as Lily walked beside Jack and Molly to the cab stand. They waited until she was able to hail a hansom then waved goodbye as the carriage rolled away.

She was headed back to her millinery shop, where she had been working most days, though the shop wouldn’t be officially open till Monday. She kept several versions of her Gypsy garb there and she needed to change before making the trip to the small house in Piccadilly that had been rented for Tsaya.

She was climbing the stairs to the small apartment on the second floor when she heard a knock on the door to the shop. Hoping it was a customer, she hurried down then came to a sudden halt at the sight of the tall blond man on the opposite side of the mullioned panes.

Her heart took a leap and started thrumming. Lily took a deep breath, unlocked and opened the door.

“What’s happened?” she asked, and though she
didn’t invite him inside, he brushed past her into the shop. “Is it Loomis? Has something gone wrong?”

“I don’t want you going to Tsaya’s house, not when McGrew will likely show up there.”

“I have to go. I have to make it look real.”

He blew out a breath, shoved a hand through his hair. “I never wanted you involved in this, Lily. If I’d truly understood the risks you would be taking, I never would have started this.”

“But you did start, Royal. And we’ve gone too far to stop.” She looked up at him, saw the worry in his eyes. “I won’t be alone when I’m there. Dottie Hobbs will be there. She is staying in the house until this is over.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Lily, and I’m afraid that’s going to happen.”

In truth, she was already hurting, but it had nothing to do with their confidence scheme.

“I’ll be fine. So far everything has gone exactly as we’ve planned. As long as we do what needs to be done, that isn’t going to change.”

Those golden eyes ran over her face. “Everything in my life has changed,” he said softly. “It changed the day I met you.” And then he reached for her and drew her into his arms, bent his head and very softly kissed her. “I’m tired of fighting what I feel for you, Lily. I need you so much.”

Lily’s eyes slid closed and she swayed against him. She knew what they were doing was wrong and yet it felt so good to be held by him, to feel the warmth of his lips, the solid strength of his body. Deep, seductive kisses had her clinging to his shoulders, ravishing, mind-numbing kisses made her forget all the reasons they should stop.

Instead, when he lifted her into his arms and started
for the stairs, Lily slid her arms around his neck and let him carry her up to her apartment.

The door was partially open. Royal nudged it wide with the toe of his boot and strode across the tiny living room into the bedroom. When he set her on her feet and started kissing her again, the last fleeting thoughts of protest died away.

Royal kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if he wanted to absorb her into his very skin. Hot, wet kisses rained over her neck and behind her ears. Tiny shivers moved over her skin as he drew an earlobe into his mouth and nibbled gently. Ripples of pleasure poured through her. Heat and need rose up, and burning desire for the man she loved.

The front of her gown tipped forward and she realized he had unbuttoned her dress. His mouth scorched a path across her shoulders, over the swell of her breasts above her corset. He dispatched the gown and petticoats with a skill that made her a little uneasy, but as he unlaced her corset and slid her drawers down over her hips, the thought melted away.

She stood before him naked except for her blue satin garters and white silk stockings, and his gaze fixed for an instant on the pale, downy curls above her sex.

“I’ve imagined this,” he said between soft, coaxing kisses. “Imagined seeing you in nothing at all. Imagined making love to you slowly and completely as I should have done the first time.”

She trembled as he knelt in front of her, untied her satin garters and began to roll down her stockings. A gasp escaped as he cupped her bottom and pressed his mouth against the sensitive bud at the entrance to her sex.

“I’ve dreamt of tasting you, giving you pleasure this way.” And then, shockingly, his tongue found its way through her curls, and even as she tried to push him away, pleasure swept through her, so fierce and hot she thought she might faint.

A whimper escaped. “Royal…”

He steadied her, but didn’t stop, just settled his mouth over the swollen bud, laved and tasted until the pleasure was so intense, so incredibly sweet, she cried out his name. Her body drew as taut as a bowstring. She felt as if she were breaking apart as a shattering climax hit her, pulsed out through her limbs. Dear God, she had never felt anything like it.

She was limp and pliant in his arms as he carried her over to the bed and settled her on the mattress, left her for a moment to strip off his clothes. She roused herself enough to watch him walk toward her, felt a renewed hum of excitement at the width of his powerful shoulders, the way they veed to a narrow waist and slim hips.

A light furring of golden hair covered a chest that was solidly muscled. Long, sinewy legs carried him to the bed, a heavy erection riding against his flat belly.

He was big and hard, and just thinking of having him inside her made her squirm on the mattress. Royal came up over her, bent his head and captured her lips.

“Lily…” he whispered between fierce, plundering kisses that heated her body and scorched through her blood. All she could think of was Royal and how much he wanted her and how much she wanted him.

“It won’t hurt this time,” he promised as he bent to her breasts and began to suckle the fullness. His teeth
grazed the crest, turning her nipples diamond hard, and her skin seemed to burn.

“Please…” she whispered, urging him to take her, desperate to feel his powerful erection moving inside her.

Royal kissed her again and parted her legs, forming a cradle for himself, positioning his shaft at the entrance to her passage. She was wet and ready, slick and welcoming, and as he promised, when he thrust deeply, this time there was no pain, only delicious sensation, overwhelming heat and a need so fierce she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

His hips moved, setting up an erotic rhythm that had her whole body tingling. The heavy thrust and drag of his shaft seemed to have no end, stirring the pleasure, making each second more intense. Lily wrapped her legs around his muscular calves and arched upward to receive each of his penetrating thrusts.

His taking was relentless, driving harder and faster until Lily reached the pinnacle and soared out over the edge. Her body tightened around him, urging him to follow, and Royal’s muscles clenched. At the last instant, he withdrew from her body as he reached a powerful release.

For seconds they lay together, their hearts beating in unison. Then Royal lifted himself away and lay down beside her, curled Lily spoon fashion against him. He kissed the top of her head, then tucked her securely beneath his chin, and Lily wished they could stay this way forever.

They must have slept for a time, for she awakened to the brush of his mouth against her shoulder, the press of his arousal against her thigh. They made love slowly
this time, and there was a sort of desperate sadness about it. Their affair couldn’t continue. This had to be the end. But the thoughts burned away in the incredible heat, and when she reached release, it was as powerful as before.

They slept again and by the time she awakened it was dark outside. Dear Lord, she had to get back to Meadowbrook. She still lived with the Caulfields and they would begin to be concerned.

Her cousin’s image rose into her mind, along with a shot of guilt. Lily slipped from the bed only to discover Royal sitting in a chair across the room fully clothed. She grabbed her silk wrapper from the foot of the bed and hurriedly pulled it on, trying not to think of the intimate things they had done. But a warm blush rose into her cheeks.

“I—I have to get home. I’ll go to Tsaya’s tomorrow.”

He came toward her like a lion on the prowl. “I don’t want you going there at all. I want to keep you safe. I have been thinking on this a great deal, Lily.” He looked down at her, his gaze on her face. “Once I am…financially settled, I intend to see you well cared for. I’ll make certain you have everything you want.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Royal reached for her, drew her into his arms. “This thing between us, Lily, it isn’t going to go away. I’ll find a place where we can be together. I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

She struggled to make her mind work, to make sense of what he was saying. The fog slowly cleared and anger rose in its place.

Lily stepped out of Royal’s embrace. “Are you…are…you saying you wish me to become your mistress?
You are going to marry Jocelyn and I am to be the other woman?”

“That’s not how it is between us and you know it. My marriage was arranged before my father died. Jocelyn gets the title she wants and I get the money I need to rebuild my family’s fortune. You’ve known that from the start. I am trying to find a way for us to be together.”

Her eyes welled. She
had
known. The plan had been set the day she had first seen him kneeling beside her in the snow. And yet she hadn’t been able to keep herself from falling in love with him.

She swallowed past the bitter lump in her throat. “I have a life, Royal. I told you that before. I wanted you and I am not sorry for what we have shared. But I won’t become your paid-for woman. I won’t walk around ashamed of who I am.”

He reached for her. “Sweetheart, please…”

Lily backed away. “What happened today is what we both wanted. But this has to be the end of it, Royal.”

“Lily…” There was something in his face, something deep and yearning.

Lily struggled to ignore it. “Give Jocelyn a chance,” she said, having to force out the words. “Perhaps you will discover a way for the two of you to make your marriage work.”

He glanced toward the window, seemed to be fighting for control. When he turned back, his jaw was set in a determined line she had begun to recognize. “I am sending a man to the house in Piccadilly, someone who can look out for you if there is trouble. He can be Tsaya’s butler or footman, or whatever it is you wish to call him.”

“I told you, I don’t need—”

“He’ll be there tomorrow. Let Mrs. Hobbs know he is coming.” With a last glance her way, he turned and strode out of the apartment.

Lily heard his footsteps on the stairs leading down to the shop. “Lock the door behind me,” he called over his shoulder and then he was gone.

Tears blurred her vision. She told herself she would not cry, but the wetness seeped down her cheeks.

Barton McGrew knocked on the door of the small house in Piccadilly where Madam Tsaya lived. He could hear footsteps inside the house, then muttering on the other side of the door. When it swung open, a heavyset woman wearing a mobcap and carrying a broom stood in the entry.

“May I help you?”

“Heard tell there was a woman here could predict the future. I was hoping she could help me.”

The stout woman looked up at him, moving a strand of mouse-brown hair streaked with gray that had slipped from beneath her cap.

“That’d be my employer, Madam Tsaya. I’m her housekeeper, Mrs. Hobbs. But Tsaya don’t tell fortunes—she just sees things sometimes. If she sees something good, she lets the person know.”

“I’d sure like to meet her. What time do you think she’ll be back?”

She shrugged her plump shoulders. “You never know with Tsaya. She’s real independent. Comes and goes as she pleases.”

“You think I might wait a while, see if she comes home?”

“What’s your name?”

“Bart McGrew. Me mother’s took sick. I’m real worried about her. I thought the lady might be able to tell me if me mum is gonna get well.”

He tried to look worried. He figured the mention of his mother might soften the old bag up. From the way she seemed to be thinking it over, he thought it just might work. The Hobbs woman scrunched up her nose as she surveyed the cut of his clothes: the expensive tailored trousers, dark brown tailcoat and matching waistcoat that Dick had bought for him. The boss took real good care of him. And he took real good care of the boss.

‘Course, he had learned to call him Preston, the way he liked, but deep down, Bart would always think of him as his boyhood friend from Southwark, Dicky Flynn, who’d taught him how to survive in the streets.

“I suppose I could make ye a cup of tea,” the stout woman said. “But ye can’t stay long. I’ve got to get back to work.”

The old gal wanted company. He’d figured that right off. And he wanted some answers. Be interesting to see what he could learn.

They went into the kitchen and he sat down at a small round table while she set the teakettle on the stove.

“If she can tell fortunes, how come no one’s heard of her till now?”

“I told you, she can’t tell fortunes. She just sees things sometimes. And she only just got to London two months ago. Afore that, she lived in France.” The teakettle whistled and the woman poured the boiling water into a china teapot.