Virginia Henley (23 page)

“Nay, the fair lady refuses to be any man’s mistress,” Sherry informed her.

“He ain’t any man, he’s a prince. She’s very clever. She’s probably ’olding out for jewels.”

“Or something beyond the price of rubies,” Sherry remarked to Tony. Then he smiled at Dolly. “What leads you to believe she is clever, my dear?”

“She called ’er ’ouse Marble Hills didn’t she? That’s like advertising how beautiful her breasts are.”

“Like something out of a play, begod!”

Dolly looked at Sheridan with speculative eyes and confided, “I’m an actress.”

“Never!” Sherry said with a perfectly straight face, but Amoret slipped a possessive arm through his and steered him away from the ambitious Dolly.

His Royal Highness could not keep his eyes from Maria
Fitzherbert’s marble hills, and he longed to hold them in the palms of his hands. The thought aroused and hardened him for the umpteenth time. In fact, he’d been up and down so many times this afternoon, it felt like a flagpole.

Prince George had expended every effort to lure Maria inside White Lodge so she could explore the rooms and so he could do a little exploring of his own. He’d driven to Richmond every day for a week. She’d given him tea and cake, comfits and kisses, but she had not put him out of his misery.

At first Maria had thought him just a boy. She was six years older and had been twice married and widowed. When she realized his feelings were of an amorous nature she was flattered. He was a new experience for Maria because both her husbands had been elderly gentlemen and quite easily handled. His Highness had such an impetuous nature, it quite excited her, yet she still felt worldly when she compared herself with her very royal, but very young, admirer.

The Prince captured Maria’s hand and squeezed it meaningfully. He drew closer and she could tell he meant to steal a kiss at any cost. She jumped up, at last amenable to his suggestion that they retire indoors. If she allowed him a kiss it would have to be in private.

“Sweet puss, pop your little paw in mine,” George pleaded.

Maria again bestowed her hand upon him and wondered if it was within the realm of possibility to bestow her hand upon him in marriage. She would be the Princess of Wales, then later on, Queen of England! It was impossible, of course, because of that wretched Marriage Act that had been passed. Still, if it was written in the stars, all things were possible.

George’s good manners prevented him from taking her to a bedchamber, so he led her to a private salon, elegantly furnished with brocaded chairs and settees. He
closed the door firmly and drew Maria into his arms. She allowed him a kiss, then tried to draw away, but one kiss did not satisfy His Highness, indeed it barely whetted his appetite for this delectable female. His arms imprisoned her as his mouth descended. This time the kiss was not sweet, but hot.

“Your Highness.” She gasped, her breasts rising and falling with a growing excitement.

“Pussycat, don’t call me that. I don’t want us to be formal, I want us to be intimate.”

Maria blushed deeply. She had been intimate occasionally, but only with a faithful, elderly husband.

George kissed her again, but this time his lips forced hers apart slightly and he slipped the tip of his tongue into her mouth. Then he pressed his sex against her soft thighs to show her he was hard for her. “Don’t be cruel, Pussykins, don’t break my heart, Maria.”

A young rampant male was a new experience for her. He was society’s darling, extremely spoiled and able to have his own way about everything. Maria suddenly realized her power. She could have the young stallion eating out of her hand. “Prince George, if you do not behave, I shall faint.”

“Sweet Pussy, if you do not be kind, I shall die.” He rubbed himself against her belly, his hand firmly reaching for a love apple.

Just as firmly she removed his hand. “If you promise to behave, I will let you take me home in your carriage, but we must go back outside now or my reputation will be blackened beyond redemption.”

“Ah, Pussy, you are so hard, yet so soft. Let it be known that a prince obeys your commands.” He had a little golden locket for her holding a miniature portrait of himself, but he would give it to her in the carriage where she couldn’t escape him. He would order a closed carriage to escort her home to Marble Hill.

* * *

Tony glanced at the sun and guessed it was about four o’clock. She was anxious to get Savage’s team back to London without incident. She made her way to the paddock where the horses were grazing and asked a postilion to help her harness them into the burgundy phaeton. Dolly looked reluctant. “Stay, if you like,” Tony urged.

“No, I can’t really, I have to get back to the theater.” She hesitated. “Could you go a bit slower on the way back?”

“Snail’s pace, I promise you,” Tony vowed. She checked to make sure the bits were tight beneath the horses’ tongues and took a firm grip on the reins the moment she climbed onto the high perch. Miraculously the horses had decided to behave and Tony, lulled by the rhythmic, springy motion of the phaeton, began to daydream about Adam Savage.

She was startled from her reverie by the sound of galloping horses coming up close behind. She turned in alarm to see Bernard Lamb standing up at the reins whipping his team. The moment she slacked on the reins her own team lunged forward, spurred on by the speed of the other horses.

The space between the carriages widened as the blood stock proved their superiority. Tony was frightened. She knew her cousin Bernard wasn’t trying to race. He was trying to kill her!

He hadn’t a hope in hell of catching up out here in the country, but London was only a mile away and she would have to slow the team down to maneuver safely. It was the other traffic rather than Tony’s efforts that curbed the team’s speed, but still they seemed to surge along the city streets at a frightening pace. She was thankful that darkness was still hours away, fervently counting on the hope that Bernard Lamb would not attempt murder in broad daylight.

As they started up Constitution Hill, Tony gave a prayer of thanks that their pace slackened enough so that she’d
be able to turn the corner. She thought she was home free as she approached Stable Yard Road, but at that moment her cousin’s team pulled alongside and careened into her.

If it hadn’t been for the horse and cart delivering coal to Lancaster House, Tony would have been able to swerve out of Bernard’s path, but as it was, there was nowhere for her to go. The burgundy phaeton overturned, throwing both Tony and Dolly to the pavement. The horses plunged madly, but miraculously, they were not dragged down by the light phaeton.

Bernard Lamb’s carriage was unharmed, but the impact had flung both him and Angela from the rig. Tony’s long legs saved her from hitting her head on the curb. Dolly sat crying, holding her ankle, while coal littered the entire road as if there had been an explosion at a colliery.

Pandemonium reigned. The coal carter cursed a blue streak. The hostlers from Stable Yard ran out, as did the entire staff of servants from Lancaster House.

Tony was livid. Never before in her life had she experienced such a blinding rage. She picked up the horsewhip and advanced upon the prone figure of her hated cousin. He threw up his arms to protect himself and shouted, “You’ve busted my bloody rib!”

“You bastard, I’ll kill you,” screamed Tony.

Suddenly the whip was wrenched from her hand. “What in Christ’s name is going on here?” She looked into ice-pale eyes and froze.

Savage’s day had been unbelievably successful. His horses were all snug and tight in their new stables at Edenwood and the clipper had skimmed up the Thames from Gravesend with a minimum of sail. He negotiated his own price and had decided to spruce her up a bit and name her the
Flying Dragon.

When he stabled his horse he noticed immediately his phaeton and high-steppers were missing.

“Where are my other horses?” he inquired.

“This is the day of the phaeton race to Richmond, sir,” the head groom announced.

Savage raised dark brows. “Your point being?”

“Lord Lamb—” He got no further.

“The young son of a bitch wouldn’t dare!” Savage thundered. It was at this point that all hell had broken loose.

“The bastard tried to kill me!” Tony informed Savage.

It looked the other way about to Adam. Not only had Tony taken his cattle and smashed his phaeton to pieces, he had been about to horsewhip his cousin to vent his temper.

“Too bad he didn’t succeed. It would save me the trouble,” Savage said between his teeth.

Adam helped a distraught Angela Brown to her feet, but a twisted knee prevented her from standing. He lifted her onto the seat of Bernard’s carriage. Next he picked up Dolly and lifted her up beside Angela. Savage helped the stablemen unharness his thoroughbreds from the wrecked phaeton. He examined them carefully, running his hands over their fetlocks and hocks.

When he saw they suffered from no more than a frothy
coat of lather, he went back into the street to deal with the belligerent carter.

“Wot about my bloody coal?” A shower of abusive curses followed.

“I suggest you pick it up from the road before you are charged with causing an accident.” The deadly tone of authority made the coal man swallow his curses. Savage swept Tony with an incensed look. “You can help him!” He strode over to where Bernard Lamb was just picking himself up off the ground.

“What happened?” Savage demanded.

Bernard shrugged. “We were racing. The coal wagon got in the way.” He held his side.

“Will you be able to drive?” Savage asked.

Bernard grinned. “Take more than a cracked rib to stop me.”

“Good man,” Savage approved. He turned to the girls whose tears had transformed into looks of speculation. “Are you both all right?” he asked kindly.

“Well, I’ll be off the stage with this a week, won’t I?” Angela said, showing him her swollen ankle.

Savage reached into his billfold and slipped the girls some folded pound notes, then saw Bernard and the actresses on their way long before Tony and the carter had picked up all the coal. Savage still held his wallet. “Haul this away on your wagon and I’ll make it worth your while.”

The coal man touched his blackened cap with a blackened hand and reached for the crisp pound notes with blackened fingers. When the pieces of the phaeton were loaded, Savage said curtly to Tony, “When you are done here, present yourself in Half-Moon Street.” He strode off without deigning to glance in her direction.

Once Savage had departed, the servants from Lancaster House began to snicker at the young lord who had been ordered to pick up lumps of coal from the front street.
“When yer finished, we ‘ave a chimney needs sweepin’,” a footman taunted.

“Shut your bloody cake hole,” Tony spat, taking aim with a shiny cob of anthracite.

Her feet dragged later as she climbed the front steps of the town house, but she was determined to tell him of the danger she’d been in and how Bernard Lamb intended to eliminate Lord Lamb so that he could inherit.

Tony climbed to the library and was thankful that Sloane was nowhere about. Savage sat smoking and sipping a brandy. Tony opened her mouth, “My cousin followed me to Richmond for the sole purpose of—”

“Don’t dare offer me excuses, for what you did was inexcusable,” Savage stated flatly.

Tony flushed. “I know I shouldn’t have taken your horses without permission, but if I’d asked, you would have refused.”

“Correct.” Silence filled the room.

“I wouldn’t have gotten roped into the race if I hadn’t had too much to drink.”

“Correct.” Silence and smoke now filled the room.

Tony should have known the day would be a disaster from the moment she had drawn number thirteen. It had been an omen. She didn’t dare offer bad luck as an excuse, however, for Savage was the kind of man who believed you made your own luck. There wasn’t much point in accusing her cousin of plotting her murder, either, for he’d treat it with contempt. To hell with Savage; a tyrant couldn’t be appeased.

Tony lifted her chin and drew the heavy purse from her pocket. She dropped it on his desk. “You’ll think what the hell you like, no matter what I say, but I won the bloody race and that took guts.” She sneered at him. “That’ll pay for your precious phaeton.”

Savage ground out his cigar. “You’ve missed the point again, unless you are being deliberately obtuse. You put
the animals in jeopardy, to say nothing of the girls. Fortunately the horses are unharmed; not so the ladies.”

“The
ladies”
—she said the word with heavy sarcasm— “sustained nothing more than sprained ankles. I think they’ll live!”

Adam’s eyes and voice lost none of their iciness. “Unlike you, they have to earn their living. They won’t be walking the boards of the stage for at least a week.” His eyes acknowledged the money on the desk. “This should keep them from starving.”

Tony’s mouth tightened. “They’ll still be able to earn money on their backs; it was their bloody ankles they hurt.”

Savage said through his teeth, “The thing I most detest about you is your snobbery.”

Antonia felt pierced to the heart. She knew Anthony would never cry in front of Savage, yet she felt her throat constrict. To stop the tears from forming she swiped her hand across her nose in a gesture of disrespect, leaving a black streak of coal dust.

Savage shook his head. “Two young bucks trying to outdo each other to impress the ladies. Get the hell out of my sight.”

Another young buck was trying to impress a lady at this same hour. His Royal Highness sat in a closed carriage outside Marble Hill. His blue satin leg pressed against Maria Fitzherbert’s soft thigh as he brushed back a golden curl. “Darling Pussy, let me stay the night?” he begged.

Pussy pretended outrage. “Prince George, how can you offer me such an insult?”

“Please don’t call me Prince George, Pussykins. And I do not offer you insult, I offer you honor. I would honor you with my body,” he whispered, pressing close and capturing her hands.

“That is in the marriage ceremony. Pray do not mock marriage, Sire.”

“I do not mock marriage, Maria. I would make you my wife if that were possible.”

Maria’s heart soared. “Alas, Sire, it is not. It grows late, I must go in.”

“Don’t call me Sire, Pussycat. Have you no pity in your heart? If you will not take me into Marble Hill, at least stay here with me awhile.”

“A little while,” she conceded. “What would you like me to call you? I cannot simply use your Christian name, it shows no respect.”

“Pussy, I don’t want your respect, I want your heart,” he said fervently, slipping his arm about her waist, allowing his fingers to graze the underside of her tempting breast.

“May I call you Prinny?” Maria suggested.

“Yes, yes, that is perfect. Pussy and Prinny! I have a little gift for you.” He pulled out the locket, wishing it were jewels. “Forgive me my sentimental nature, darling Pussy, but you know you hold my heart in your hands. Wear this golden symbol to show me you will treat it kindly.”

“You do me more honor than I deserve.” She lifted her lovely golden locks so that he might fasten the little heart about her neck and he groaned as his fingers came in contact with her warm flesh. His strong hands could not be stayed. He unbuttoned the front of her gown and buried his face against her swelling globes. Maria knew she could not make a scene. If the carriage driver and the postilions became privy to what she did in the coach, she would be branded a strumpet.

“Prinny, you mustn’t!” she whispered.

“Pussy, I must!” he murmured thickly, pressing her back against the squabs as his hands filled with the glory of her and his mouth came down on hers demanding entrance.

Maria came up for air realizing that her body was not immune to his lovemaking. She was becoming aroused and it was a pleasurable novelty for her.

“Darling Pussy, I am in agony, only see what you do to me.” He drew her hand to his male center.

Maria was astounded at its hardness. She tried to give it a little squeeze, but it was as solid as marble. Suddenly she withdrew her hand. In another minute he would have her skirts over her head, and this was not in Maria’s plans at all. She buttoned the front of her gown and began to cry. “I have allowed you such liberties, the blush will never leave my cheek. I am such a wanton, you will have a disgust of me.”

“Sweetest Pussy, don’t cry, you will break my heart. There is nothing wanton about you, beloved. ’tis I who am wicked and lecherous,”

She allowed him to brush the tears from her cheeks and to kiss her good-night. And it had been a good night, she decided. A very good night.

In contrast Tony Lamb was having a bad night. She sat in the bathtub washing black coal dust from her hands and face. She bit her lip as she recalled how gently Savage had carried Angela and Dolly. He treated trollops like ladies, yet she was a real lady and he treated her like a lackey. The thing that really rankled was his accusation of snobbery. It was a totally unfair charge, and the cause of it had been that swine Bernard Lamb. He was evil. In her heart she knew he had sabotaged the
Seagull
and caused Anthony to drown.

Tony wiped away tears, managed to get soap in her eyes, and swore a blue streak. She hoped Bernard died tonight of his injuries. The bastard deserved to die. She indulged in a fantasy that removed the threat of the dreaded Bernard Lamb from her life. She could go back to being a lady … well, perhaps not exactly a lady, she’d been exposed to too many worldly things to be a lady, but she could be a woman. Wasn’t that a thousand times better than being a lady?

Tony blushed, then lifted her chin. If Adam Savage fell at her feet, she’d step over him! Well, she might as well
stop dreaming. Her hated cousin wasn’t going to expire from a broken rib. If she wanted him dead, she would have to kill him. A duel! That was the answer. She’d challenge him to a duel and shoot him!

She shuddered and climbed from the cooling water. She would avenge her twin! Even the Bible approved an eye for an eye.

Adam Savage pondered what to do about Tony. At least the virginity thing would be taken care of with Dolly on the job. He again shook his head at the sheer crust of the young devil taking his thoroughbreds and racing them to Richmond. And winning, no less!

The lad was right about one thing. It had taken guts. It was definitely time to channel some of those high spirits along more productive lines. Savage decided to take him along on his voyage to the Continent.

Tony could select and buy his cargo for the Indies. It would be a perfect cover for the smuggling operation he himself was about to set up. He could pick up some art treasures for Edenwood, and if he wasn’t mistaken the Carnival of Venice would be taking place shortly. It was the epitome of decadence, where masked men and women roamed the streets seeking liaisons. He’d seen it from the deck of a ship once. A week-long spectacle of music, lights, and fantastic costumes never to be forgotten. This time he would take part.

While the
Flying Dragon
was being readied, there would be enough time to hold Edenwood’s housewarming. The house would display his wealth to London’s nobility and show his neighbors who would control the entire district. He had bought his seat in the House of Commons, but when election time came around later in the year, he would need votes to keep the seat. Savage wasn’t worried. He could win a majority by the simple expedient of promising five shillings to everyone who voted for him.

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Savage was
on the London docks hiring his crew. He even signed on a couple of lascars who had crewed for him years back on the China runs.

By breakfasttime he was giving Sloane the guest list so he could issue invitations for the weekend at Edenwood. By eleven he was in Curzon Street inviting Lady Randolph to Edenwood and handing Tony a long list of furnishings that were still needed for the guest bedchambers.

Tony was amazed that he harbored no ill feelings for what had taken place yesterday, and flattered he had enough confidence in her taste to give her the responsibility of furnishing his beloved Edenwood.

“Why don’t you go down to Gravesend a couple of days early? John Bull would welcome your suggestions for the party. This is his first effort at entertaining the English and the first time I’ve seen him a bit overwhelmed.”

Tony looked at the endless list in her hand, then raised her brows as she wondered if he were serious. “I’ve only got a week,” she said faintly.

“Good God, boy, the universe was created in a week,” Adam pointed out.