The Lady Hellion

“I wish I could remove my stockings,” she murmured. “But even this feels heavenly.”

Quint swallowed hard and crossed his arms over his chest. The image of her sliding stockings down her bare legs was too erotic to dwell on—not if he didn’t want an obvious erection frightening her. “I am not surprised. Traipsing through the mews of Mayfair is exhausting business.”

“Indeed it is,” she returned cheerfully.

“Why have you returned, Sophie?”

She stared at her toes, moving them back and forth, hesitating. He sensed she was attempting to fabricate a reason because she didn’t want to tell him the real one.

“The truth,” he said.

“It seemed a nice night for a stroll. You are generally up late, so I thought I’d see if you were still awake.”

He snorted. No lady strolled by herself in the middle of the night. “You are aware I live alone. That this is a bachelor’s residence?”

“Should I be worried? Are you planning to chain me to your bed and ravish me at your whim?”

He strove not to combine the words “ravish” and “Sophie” in his head; the idea only served to remind him of what he could never have. “Indeed. Merely allow me to remove the other woman there first.”

She chuckled. “That’s one thing hardly anyone realizes about you: how amusing you are.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The
L
ADY
H
ELLION

J
OANNA
S
HUPE

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

Acknowledgments

Many people were instrumental in shaping the Wicked Deceptions series. Thank you to the countless friends and acquaintances who patiently answered my questions about titles, pistols, science, and everything else I struggled with.

 

I am so grateful for the New Jersey Romance Writers, as well as my own critique group, The Violet Femmes. To Janet, Michele, Maria, Tina, Diana, Julie, RoseAnn: Thank you for all of the advice, the last-minute reads, the toasts, and the friendship.

 

Thank you to Laura Bradford for her guidance and for believing in me. I am so grateful to have her in my corner. Also thank you to Peter Senftleben for loving this series as much as I do and giving it life. I love when my writing makes him laugh.

 

Grateful does not begin to describe how I feel about Diana Quincy, Michele Mannon, and JB Schroeder. These ladies are my rocks. And a giant thank-you to my plot maven, Lin Gavin, who reads everything first and (usually) insists I can do better. She is my harshest critic, my biggest fan, and my first line of defense.

 

Thank you to my sister, Denise, who started me on this crazy journey. And to my mom, who first introduced me to romance books, thank you for believing in me. You’re a tireless champion, and I hope I made you proud.

 

To my two little girls, I hope you both grow up to be strong, smart, kind, and kick ass women. Thank you for understanding when Mommy sneaks away with her laptop for an hour or two every day.

 

I need to thank my amazing husband, who has always supported my dream to write. He goes above and beyond, smoothing the way for me to pursue this career, and I appreciate him more than I can say. I am one lucky lady.

 

To the readers, bloggers, reviewers, writers, and fans, thank you for supporting romance, most especially historical romance. You make this the greatest job in the world.

Chapter One

 

Padding the crotch of one’s trousers required a surprising amount of skill. Too big of a bulge drew attention. Too small and you risked the thing slipping down your leg.

Fortunately, Lady Sophia Barnes had enough experience to achieve the perfect balance. No one looking at her now would believe her a lady of twenty-seven, the daughter of a wealthy and powerful marquess—not dressed as she was, in gentleman’s finery from head to toe.

Just as no one would believe her spare time was spent investigating matters for a class of women most Londoners did not even want to think about.

The evening, though chilly and unpleasant, had been moderately productive. As Sophie approached the hackney, the driver jumped down to open the door. Her maid, Alice, sat inside, huddled under blankets. Alice waited until the door closed before she spoke. “Well, my lady?”

Sophie knocked on the roof to signal the driver. Then she pulled a folded paper out of the pocket of her greatcoat. “No trace of Natalia, but I did find this.” Beth, the girl who’d hired Sophie, was worried that ill had befallen her friend. Though Beth had now found herself a protector, Natalia still worked in a tavern near the docks, where extra coins meant taking a customer to the second-floor rooms. The two girls corresponded every week without fail, and Natalia hadn’t sent word for almost a month.

Tonight, Sophie had gained access to Natalia’s room and searched it. The only letter she’d found was in Russian.

Sophie stretched her unencumbered legs in the small space as the carriage rumbled forth into the night. Breeches really were a spectacular invention. “I wish I knew what it said. Beth only speaks English.”

“We’d need to find someone who can speak Russian, my lady.”

A name came to mind. A name she tried not to think of more than five—or ten—times a day. She often failed even at that. “I do know someone who speaks Russian. Lord Quint. He gave a short lecture during a gathering at the Russian Embassy three years ago.” Sophie had attended, standing in the rear of the room. She hadn’t understood a word, but oh, he’d been glorious. Speaking on some recent scientific discovery, he’d commanded the attention of everyone present, even making the dour-faced Russians laugh at several points.

Alice clucked her tongue. “La, his lordship won’t be speaking it for long, that’s for certain.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Her sharp tone caught Alice’s attention. “I thought your ladyship knew. He’s near death’s door, that one. I saw one of his lordship’s kitchen maids three—no, maybe four days ago. Fever’s set in. His lordship won’t let any of the staff tend to him and won’t allow a physician in.”

Sophie’s stomach plummeted through the carriage floor and onto the dirty Southwark streets. No doubt Alice told the truth. The maid’s network of servants would put any foreign spy service to shame.
Quint
. . . near death’s door. Oh, God. She knew a bullet had grazed him that night at Maggie’s house, right before the fire had swept in. But she’d assumed he’d recovered. Everyone had said the injury wasn’t serious. Damn, if only she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own life—

Her fist banged the roof. The driver opened the small partition and Sophie barked in her low register, “Stop at the southwest corner of Berkeley Square instead.” Quint lived just down the square from her father’s town house so she would get out and let Alice continue on.

“What are you going to do, my lady?”

Was it not obvious? “I’m going to save him.”

Alice gasped. “You cannot very well show up at his front door”—her hand waved at Sophie’s attire—“dressed like that.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll not let a stranger inside to see him, even one dressed as a gent. And besides—”

“Do not even start lecturing me on propriety. We bid farewell to that ship eons ago, Alice. Not to worry, I’ll manage a way into his house.”

By the time she arrived at the servants’ door of Quint’s town house, Sophie had conjured a plausible story. A bleary-eyed older woman in a nightcap opened the door, a frown on her wrinkled face. “Yes?”

“I am here”—Sophie deepened her voice—“at the behest of His Grace the Duke of Colton to attend to his lordship.”

The woman held up her light, looked Sophie up and down. “You’re a surgeon?”

“A valet, though I do have extensive medical knowledge.”

“From a duke, you say?”

Sophie lifted her chin. “Indeed. And I do not think His Grace would appreciate you leaving me on the stoop to freeze.”

The woman stood aside to allow Sophie to enter. They went into the kitchens, where Sophie removed her hat and greatcoat. “Where may I find his lordship?”

“His chambers. Won’t let anyone in, not even a doctor. Most of the staff’s already left. Figure every one of us will be out on the street in a day or two.”

Without another word, the woman turned and shuffled to the corridor.
Must be his cook
, Sophie thought, and followed. “Stairs,” the woman mumbled, handed Sophie her lamp, and continued on.

A few wrong turns, but Sophie finally found the master apartments. Inside, the air was cold and stale, the fire left untended. Moonlight trickled in from the windows, enough to allow her to see a large shape, motionless, under the coverlet. Quint.
Please God, let him be alive.

She rushed over, and then nearly gasped.
Dear heavens
. His condition was worse than she’d feared. His skin was waxen, his lips cracked and swollen. His eyes were closed, with blue-black smudges underneath them. She shot her hand out to feel the side of his throat not covered with a bandage. Though his skin burned to the touch, she exhaled in relief. A pulse. Weak, but there.

She set her light on the table beside him. “Oh, Damien,” she whispered, unable to resist gently smoothing the damp hair off his fevered brow. “This is what you get for eschewing a valet, you stupid man.”

A strangled, pained sound came out of his throat when she checked the wound. Now red and ugly, the hole oozed when she gently poked it. He made another noise and weakly tried to shift away. At least he’d shown signs of life. Striding to the bell pull, she began a mental list of all the items she required.

Had she arrived in time, or was it too late? Ignoring the worry in her gut, she vowed not to fail. He would not die.

“Hear that, Quint?” she said loudly. “You. Will. Not. Die.”

After ten minutes and many tugs on the bell, a weary, rumpled footman finally arrived. He’d clearly been asleep, but she felt absolutely no sympathy for the servants. They’d abandoned their master, which, whether he’d asked for it or not, was unacceptable as far as she was concerned. And Quint deserved better.

“Rouse every servant. Tell the cook to boil hot water. I need fresh bed linens and clean towels. Bring every medical supply in the house. And send for a physician.”

“But—”

“No arguments. His lordship is near death and I mean to save him, so do what I say. Now, go!”