To Please A Lady (The Seduction Series) (7 page)

He smoothed down his jacket and glanced around the garden, looking for signs of a gown, the giggle of feminine laughter. No one. He moved down the shallow steps and followed the gravel path around the corner to the rose gardens, the air heavy with the sweet scent of roses. A scent that reminded him all to clearly of Lady Beckett. He paused near a fountain of a naked baby spewing water from his mouth.

Not a soul, which was odd. Usually there was at least a couple or two kissing in the privacy of the gardens. He started to turn when he was greeted by the crunch of feet over gravel. Not the soft whisper of feminine slippers. No, these were heavy, hurried. A shiver of unease raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. James spun around.

The two hulking forms that suddenly appeared from the shadows didn’t exactly make him feel better. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Gentlemen, for they were dressed in evening attire. But they were young, pocked-faced lads who were barely out of the schoolroom; spoiled brutes who were all too common in the
ton
. They were looking to prove their worth, and unless he could talk his way out of the situation, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

“Yes, you can help us by leaving,” the shorter man said, heading left as his friend went right. “You don’t belong here.”

Contempt hovered heavily around them. James knew society thought of him as the scum of the earth, the worst of all sinners. Yet Lady Lavender kept them so isolated he’d rarely dealt with such men.

“I’m sorry to report that we were actually invited. In fact, Lady Rutherford practically begs us to join her gathering every year.”

“Blasphemous,” the shorter man hissed. “Your kind are only welcome in hell!”

His surprise gave way to anger. “Certainly you can respect a man who is merely trying to make a living,” James said, spreading his arms wide in mock innocence. He could feel the cold press of the dagger he had strapped to the inside of his jacket sleeve, and he itched to take it out and show them just who he was. One didn’t grow up where he had without leaving home prepared. But he knew very well that he’d hang if he cut a gent.

“You’re sinning, and you’re destroying our women by seducing them. You think society won’t see you in the gaols? It’s coming, whore.”

James’s worry flared. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard rumors about the government closing Lavender Hills. Is that why Ophelia had been acting so odd lately? Was she worried about her business? “Oh no, they come quite willingly, I promise. Perhaps if you spent less time harassing innocent men and more time learning to please your women, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The taller man growled, his hands curling into fists. James felt a grim sense of satisfaction. They thought to toy with him? He was itching to hit someone, and these men would do quite well. To hell with them all.

“Demon spawn,” the shorter man hissed.

“Let he who cast the first stone and all that,” James said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it atop a box hedge. He wouldn’t use the knife. No, he would hang, and as discontent as he felt with life at the moment, he didn’t want to bloody hang. But he sure as hell
wasn’t going to give in without showing them exactly who they taunted. Perhaps next time they’d think twice.

“We aren’t sinners. There’s a difference between gambling and drinking and becoming a whore,” the taller man said, tossing his own jacket aside. They were getting down to business, and frankly, James looked forward to thinking about something other than Ophelia and Lady Beckett.

“Ah, but doesn’t the Bible say that all sins are the same in the eyes of the Lord?” James rolled his sleeves to his elbows, unveiling the dagger strapped to his forearm. A little warning they took to heart, if their nervous gazes were any indication.

“It also says to smite your enemies,” the man hissed. “You are destroying good people and good families because of your sinful ways.”

“A bit dramatic, aren’t you?” James released a wry laugh. “And which good people do you speak of…
you
?” His mocking laughter sent them over the edge.

“Better than you, rat.”

James expected the first punch and ducked easily, jumping to the side and avoiding the shorter man’s reach. What he couldn’t avoid was the third man who snuck up behind him. He heard the thump of feet only too late. Suddenly James’s arms were pinned behind him.

“Bastard!” James cried out, trying to twist away. “Cowards!”

The shorter man swung his arm forward, his fist connecting with James’s stomach. The air burst from his lungs and stars flared to life. He would have sunk to the ground if the third man hadn’t been holding him. Another fist connected with his chin, jerking his head back. Pain shot across his jaw, down his spine. He would not cry out. No, he welcomed the pain because it meant he would feel again, feel something,
anything
.

“Teach him,” the man holding him said, “that no one touches our women.”

Another fist hit him in the gut. His stomach cramped, and he had to swallow the bile that surged up into his throat. He didn’t have time to recuperate before someone punched him in the cheek, snapping his head to the side. The animalistic need that he’d buried deep within years ago raged to the surface. The urge to rip them to pieces surged to the forefront.

With a roar, James jerked free, spinning out of reach. He hit the short man first, propelling him back into a rosebush. The anger within him would not be sated; it pushed, pulsed, becoming a thing unto itself. He swung his fist toward the taller man at the same time the coward who had held his arms kicked him in the stomach. James stumbled back, doubled over.

“Who’s out there?” someone called from the back stoop, the voice echoing across the garden.

Just as suddenly as his attackers had arrived, they were gone, fleeing the scene, even leaving behind their jackets. James fell to his knees, and then onto his back, staring up at the dark sky. Weak, spent, he lay there gasping for air as music from the orchestra drifted out the ballroom windows.

He heard the rustle of a silk skirt, just barely audible over the roar of blood to his ears. The scent of roses whispered around him, and for a moment he thought he dreamt, or perhaps they’d knocked his knob too many times.

“Is he well, my lady?” A footman hovered over James, his concerned face fading in and out of focus.

“I’m not sure. Go find Lady Lavender.”

Yes, it was her voice. Lady Beckett. He couldn’t quite believe she was there. Stunned, he remained silent, afraid of scaring her off. A silken dress caressed his hand as she leaned down near him. He had to resist the urge to reach out and grasp onto her ankle and beg her to stay.

“What have you done?” she whispered, shaking her head. The golden curls, silver in the moonlight, swayed hypnotically over
her shoulders. She pushed her mask to her forehead and scanned his face with concern.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he muttered through his swollen jaw. He wanted her, but he didn’t want her bloody sympathy.

“Nonsense,” she whispered, sliding her arm around his waist. “Now come, sit up. You’ll feel better.”

He doubted that very much, but allowed her to slip her warm arm around his waist and help him to his feet. Taking advantage of the situation, he leaned into her slight frame, breathing in her rose scent. She was stronger than she looked, and he was impressed when she helped him to a crate outside the back door. The lanterns hanging from the eves spun, the merry sounds of the ball fading and pulsing in and out of focus. Aye, he’d been hit a few too many times, drunk a little too much brandy.

“Speak to me, James,” she whispered, standing in front of him with her gloved hands clasped tightly against her bosom, almost as if… as if she cared.

“I’m well enough,” he said gruffly. He would not mistake her worry for affection. No, she was merely sympathetic. He curled his hands against his hard thighs, resisting the urge to reach out to her, to bring her close and crush his mouth to hers. He merely wanted that hollow, empty feeling inside his chest to be gone. Damn it all, he wanted the peace he’d had before she arrived.

“You’re not well.” She settled beside him and gripped his chin, turning his face toward her. The gasp of shock and dismay that separated her lips warmed his unwilling heart. “What happened?”

“Just having a bit of fun.”

She tsked. When she took out her handkerchief and started to reach toward the cut near his mouth, he leaned back. Too much. Hell, it was too much. He’d lived over ten years on his own, and this woman, with her sad eyes and kind touch, was making him crave things he couldn’t have.

Her brows drew together. “Perhaps they were having fun, but I doubt you were.”

“On the contrary.” He took her handkerchief. Hell, he didn’t even remember getting hit in the mouth. “You should leave, go back to your ball before you’re missed. There is no need to risk your reputation for me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, sending her bosom so high it threatened to spill from the low neckline of her gown. Her arms were bare and the air chill, but she didn’t complain. “I’m the eldest of five. Helping others comes rather naturally to me.”

“I see.” But he didn’t see. He didn’t understand how this woman who had been so cold, who had fled Lady Lavender’s so quickly, could be here now, attending to his wounds. Bold as you please. He pressed the handkerchief to his lip. It smelled of rosewater, refinement, cleanliness, wealth,
her
.

“Does this happen often?” she asked, her voice softening.

There was that blasted sympathy back in her blue eyes. “No, not often. We don’t go out into polite society enough for it to happen often.”

“I see.”

And yes, of course she saw. She saw that he was shunned. She saw that he was belittled. She saw that he was someone she should not be in association with. He shoved the handkerchief toward her. For some reason he no longer wanted her here.

“Why did you follow me?” he asked, despite himself.

Even under the dim light of the lanterns he could see her flush. “I… I…”

Slowly, James stood. “You could very well have ruined your reputation. In fact, you still could.”

“I know.” She stood, tucking the bloodied handkerchief into her cleavage, right where her heart beat. James swallowed hard, his chest feeling suddenly tight. She did not cringe over the dirty linen, she did not toss it aside, but pressed it there… close to her delicate breastbone. “It was stupid.”

“Indeed.”

She frowned, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I just… couldn’t let them beat you to a pulp, you know.”

She still hadn’t answered his question. He worked his jaw, rolling it around and around, attempting to ease the ache, attempting to understand the confusing and tumultuous emotions that swirled within. “Yes, but why are you here?”

He didn’t know why he asked, and perhaps he would regret the question, but the words slipped from his split lips before he could take them back. She looked away, gazing toward the windows alight with lanterns from the party. Guests danced and flirted, completely unaware that they were being watched. Once again he was on the outside, but she was there with him this time.

“I merely wanted a chance to talk to you.”

The sudden murmur of kitchen maids caught them both off guard. Lady Beckett glanced toward the kitchen. He could sense her unease. Part of him wished she would just go and leave him be already; part of him wanted her to stay forever. Although she could be caught at any moment… she remained.

“What is it?” he asked warily.

She boldly met his gaze. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like a meeting with you.”

His heart slammed wildly in his chest as sinful images flashed to mind. This woman’s long, pale limbs wrapped around him, her naked body writhing underneath, her gentle moans tickling his ear. A heated flush of desire pierced his groin.

“I see.” He was surprised and, yes, bloody well interested in the prospect. The night was suddenly looking much brighter, the world a better place. “When?”

She rubbed her forehead. “Thursday next. Three o’clock.”

It was all so formal. Yes, it had always been formal, a basic business transaction. But for some reason he didn’t want to do business with her. He merely wanted…
her
. He wanted to see the coldness melt from her eyes, wanted to hear her moan his name.

“Well?” she asked, her voice a breathless, husky whisper of excitement and nerves.

“I’ll pencil you in,” he said dryly.

She tilted her chin high, that ice goddess back. His mockery had not gone unnoticed. “Good.”

James was suddenly tired. So very tired of it all. He sank back onto the crate. He didn’t want to think over his troubling emotions. He didn’t want to contemplate Lady Beckett’s interest. Perhaps he should start drinking to numb it all, as Gideon was prone to do. “You best return now.”

“Of course.” But she remained. There, in that back garden between the kitchen plants and the roses, she paused, her cool façade slipping away and worry taking its place. “You’ll be all right?”

“Fine,” he snapped a little too harshly.

She nodded. Biting her lower lip, she turned and fled toward the back balcony, the swishing of her skirts the only sound in the quiet night. For one long moment he merely stood there, staring at the doors where she’d disappeared inside. Had her entire presence been a dream? No, he could still smell her rose perfume surrounding him, or maybe that was merely the garden.

He followed her path as quickly as his aching body would allow, moving up the shallow staircase even though every step hurt. Through the windows he watched the wealthiest of London. Inside, the crowds had swelled but he found her moving elegantly along the outskirts of the ballroom. She belonged there, with them. Wealthy, titled, acceptable.

“James?”

Startled, he turned to face Lady Lavender. And he belonged with Ophelia, hidden away from polite society.

She lifted the hem of her skirts and started up the staircase. “Are you all right?”

He met her halfway, eager to be done with the night. “I’ll heal.”