Wedded in Scandal (11 page)

“It’s not,” Helaine returned with as dampening an attitude as she could manage.

“Well, it will be for me!” Gwen said happily.

Helaine stalled by drinking her tea. It had long since gone cold, but she sipped at it nonetheless. There had to be some way to dissuade the girl, but try as she might, she simply couldn’t think of a thing. But one look at the girl’s face and she knew Gwen would not be dissuaded easily. In the end, Helaine set down her cup with a definitive click.

“Very well,” she said slowly, “on one condition. You shall not go anywhere without me. Ever. Truly, Lady Gwen, that is for your own safety.”

“Of course, of course,” Gwen returned happily.

“And you shall bring a footman with you. A big, burly one. Perhaps two.”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “You truly think it is that dangerous?”

“I do,” she said firmly.

“Very well then. Two footmen of extra large stature.”

Helaine leaned back in her seat, her nefarious plot accomplished. There was no way that the girl could get the use of two footmen without her brother finding out. And once he did, there was absolutely no way the man would allow his sister into such a potentially dangerous situation. It was horrible of her, but she did not see another way.

Meanwhile, Lady Gwen was practically bouncing in her seat. “So? When do we go and to where?”

Helaine pretended to think hard about it. “Well,” she drawled, pulling out the most reprehensible name on her list of suppliers, “as soon as you send word that you have the footmen, we shall go to Captain Johnny Bono’s Excellent Mercantile. Mind that you let your butler know where you are going. Dribbs would want to know where his staff is working.” And he would be sure to let his lordship know as well.

“An excellent suggestion,” the girl crowed. “I shall send word tonight!”

Five hours later, Helaine discovered all her manipulations had failed. A letter arrived from Lady Gwen stating that she had obtained the necessary protection and would arrive at the shop at noon on the morrow. But it wasn’t until the postscript that Helaine truly began to panic. It read:

Robert wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when they
entered Mrs. Mortimer’s dress shop. He knew she would be there. He guessed she would be somewhat on guard against him. After all, he had attempted to seduce her, and frankly, he was still intent on doing the deed.

Despite the scolding from his sister, Robert did not feel
as though he was violating any ethical code of behavior. If Mrs. Mortimer were just a dressmaker, then she would naturally be off-limits. But she’d been mistress to Lord Metzger long before she became a dressmaker. As Lord Metzger was conveniently dead, Mrs. Mortimer was open game. And Robert was more than willing to be a hunter.

So he had decided to accompany his sister on her shopping expedition. He would risk a day of boredom if it meant he could continue his pursuit of the exquisite Mrs. Mortimer. At least those were his thoughts before he saw her that morning.

She was dressed all in black, as a widow, complete with bonnet and umbrella. But the dress itself was a study in contrasts. The fabric was cheap wool, but the cut was exquisite, showing off her swells and hollows in a way that made him look twice. Especially because she looked plump. He frowned, studying her more closely. The swell of her bosom looked natural. Beautifully natural, but the rest of the dress…

“Are you wearing padding?” he gasped. Her form had added in girth by at least an inch if not more.

She arched a brow at him, color tingeing her cheeks. “What I wear and why is none of your concern, my lord.”

A well-intoned set-down, but color was still building in her cheeks. She was embarrassed, but why? Meanwhile, she had turned to his sister.

“Please, Lady Gwen, I cannot think this is wise. Even with the presence of your brother.
Especially
with his presence.”

Gwen frowned, both irritation and confusion in her words. “I don’t understand. You said you buy much of your supplies from this Johnny Bono.”

Mrs. Mortimer bit her lip in consternation. “I do, Lady Gwen, but he is exactly the reason I hired Irene. However, Irene is not available this morning. And this is hardly the place—”

“I am sick to death of people telling me where it is and is not appropriate for me to go. If you are safe there, then
I most certainly shall be, especially with Robert and Jack along.”

Jack was their burliest footman and he was waiting on the carriage seat along with their coachman. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mortimer smiled her most winning smile and touched his sister’s hands.

“I know you are most brave, but believe me when I say that there are places I would certainly not go if I had no need. I spent the morning writing to other vendors, requesting a private audience for you, but none are available. I’m afraid they don’t believe I’ve landed a client such as you.”

“Private!” gasped Gwen as she rolled her eyes. “I am not so delicate that I need such exalted service. And as for their beliefs, it is their loss. You are an excellent dressmaker, Mrs. Mortimer, and I wish to begin purchasing my dresses. Now, if you please.”

Mrs. Mortimer gave in. Indeed, what choice did she have with Gwen so insistent? But Robert had heard the fear underlying the woman’s tone and was not so sanguine as his naive sister.

“Why ‘especially’ with me?” he asked.

Both ladies turned to him in confusion.

“You said you didn’t want to go
especially
in my presence. Why is that?”

Mrs. Mortimer shrugged. “Johnny Bono is a man of moods, my lord. A happy mood and his goodwill shows through. He will lower his price, and I have only moderate difficulty with him. But bring in a lord, and his price triples. Bring in an arrogant, domineering lord, and he will be surly indeed.”

He arched a brow. “I’m not always arrogant and domineering, you know.”

“Oh, of course you are,” Gwen answered before anyone else could. “But we shall bargain him down with the offer of more sales in the future.”

Mrs. Mortimer obviously did not like that idea, but she tried for a conciliatory tone. “Perhaps, Lady Gwen—”

“Come, come, I insist. We shall go now and find some lovely bargains for me and my in-laws-to-be.”

The dressmaker gave in with a regal nod of her head. But before they left the shop, she touched Gwen’s arm. “Please do not mention future sales. I do not like being beholden to Mr. Bono, even by implication.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up at that, and she was about to argue, but Robert cut her off.

“An excellent suggestion,” he said firmly. “As Mrs. Mortimer knows this Bono fellow best, I believe we should take her advice.”

Mrs. Mortimer’s smile of relief was reward enough. But as Robert helped his sister into his carriage, he had cause to fear. He paused as he extended his hand to the dressmaker.

“Exactly how dangerous is this place?”

The woman sighed, and the sound came from deep within her. “There is likely no danger to you or your sister, my lord.”

“So why the resistance?”

“Because I must return there after you are done. Or Irene in my stead. And the situation will not be so…safe.”

His eyebrows narrowed in anger at that. It had never occurred to him that women in London would fear for their safety on British soil. But of course, that was ridiculous. Woman were vulnerable whatever their station in life.

But there was no time to reconsider, and in truth, he had no wish to. He wanted to see this Johnny Bono and ascertain for himself if Mrs. Mortimer was simply exaggerating her fears or if there was true danger right here in his own backyard.

Some fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a location that could only be described as vile. It was a warehouse conveniently located near the docks and tucked in tight to the fish yards. The stench was overpowering and, worse, the buildings sat too close to let the air blow the scent away. Two blocks before, Mrs. Mortimer had passed his sister a sachet of sweet-smelling herbs. Both ladies had one pressed to their nose, and Robert envied them the feminine accoutrement. But if he thought the smell alone would deter his sister, he
was sadly mistaken. As soon as the carriage came to a halt, she grabbed her reticule and made for the door. After a shared expression of resignation with Mrs. Mortimer, Robert assisted the ladies to disembark.

Then he met Mr. Bono and had the overwhelming desire to shove them both back inside the carriage. The man was standing at the doorway to the warehouse, a smile of welcome on his face. He was tall, dressed immaculately, and was, by any account, handsome as sin. He also had a way of looking at the women that raised Robert’s every protective instinct.

“Mrs. Mortimer! How very delightful it is to see you again.” He stepped forward and took her hand in greeting. The dressmaker allowed it, even seemed to smile in welcome, but Robert could see the tension in her body as the man pressed the back of her hand to his lips.

“It is always an adventure seeing you as well,” she said dryly. “Allow me to present Lord Redhill and his sister, Lady Gwen.”

The man immediately changed his attention to Robert’s sister, clasping her hand in a nearly reverent embrace. “Exquisite, my lady. Welcome,” he said as he pressed his lips to Gwen’s hand. If it weren’t for the gloves she wore, Robert would have had a hard time allowing even this intimacy. Which was ridiculous, since the gentleman had acted—so far—only in a most proper manner. Especially as he finally released Gwen to bow politely before Robert. “My lord.”

Robert gave him the barest of nods as he looked about. “Which is your warehouse?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice urbane. They were surrounded on all sides by the dark, ugly buildings.

“Why, all of them!” Mr. Bono said with a sweeping gesture. “Did not Mrs. Mortimer explain? I am the only place to find the most exquisite items. Unique purchases from around the world. Treasures, my lady,” he said to Gwen. “Around every turn, veritable treasures from China, India, and even some countries as you have never heard of before.”

“Oh, my!” Gwen gasped. “Truly?”

Before Mr. Bono could answer, Mrs. Mortimer stepped forward. “Your silks, please. We are shopping for silks today.”

“Excellent choice,” the man returned. “Most excellent. Come along. I shall show you what has arrived just today.”

They followed docilely enough, the ladies, Robert, and Jack. The coachman would not leave the horses and knew to keep a pistol in his lap just in case. But that would not help the ladies any as they stepped into the dark interior of a massive warehouse.

“Mind your step!” Mr. Bono called as he gestured to four of his workers. They were filthy brutes who smelled terrible, but they held aloft lamps as Bono led them on a meandering path through furniture, crates of odd metal lamps, and even a pen of roosting chickens.

“Just got a parcel of them from a farmer who had too many.”

The chickens, he supposed.

“But what you ladies want is back ’ere, but then you know that, don’t ye, Mrs. Mortimer? She and I, we been back ’ere many a time, ain’t we?” He made it sound like he and the dressmaker had been doing much more than selecting fabrics, and Robert could see Mrs. Mortimer stiffen at the innuendo. But she didn’t say anything, which led Robert to believe that such suggestive banter was typical of the man. Which made Robert like him less and less.

They continued to wander through a maze of items, the pathways getting narrower and narrower. And then, abruptly, a woman appeared beside him. She was clean and had big fat curls of hair and a dark red dress cut down almost to her belly. It would take the work of a moment to rid her of that gown, as she no doubt knew.

“Oh, guv,” she cooed as she stepped between him and the ladies. “There be a better cut of cloth just over there.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said stiffly as he tried to push past her. But there was no room to move. He’d have to climb over crates of what he thought might be onions and turnips.

“Coo, gov’ner, you won’t be far from yer ladies. Just over there.”

There might be men who’d be tempted. She smelled good, and her charms were more than ample, but Robert wasn’t in the least bit interested. And the women were moving farther away. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He smiled as warmly as he could manage. He stepped close to her and put his hands on her waist. As expected, she melted forward. Which gave him the leverage he needed to lift her high up in the air, around the crates, though she did bang her leg on one, and set her firmly down behind him.

“No, thank you, ma’am. Sorry about your leg.” Then he turned and hurried forward to catch up with the others. Which was when he noticed that he wasn’t the only one being trapped in the tight confines. The lanes around the bolts of fabrics were so narrow that only one person could pass at a time.

Gwen was in the lead, inspecting the various fabrics as best she could in the lamplight. Mrs. Mortimer came next, doing her best to point out flaws in the cloth where it was damaged by water or vermin. Mr. Bono stood right behind Mrs. Mortimer, protesting whatever flaws she saw, as any merchant might. It was all very civilized except for one thing. At first Robert couldn’t be sure he was seeing correctly, but a minute’s observation showed him the truth.

Mr. Bono was fondling Mrs. Mortimer. It might appear that he was leaning forward to point out the sumptuousness of some bit of velvet, but as he did it, his opposite hand slid down the lady’s buttocks. Robert didn’t for one moment think she welcomed his attention. Her attire and attitude toward Mr. Bono had been absolutely neutral. And yet, she stood there and accepted his caresses without complaint.

Or at least not without obvious objection. As Robert was maneuvering his way forward, he saw her “accidentally” elbow the bastard backward. At one point, Mr. Bono even gasped and shied his booted foot sideways, as Mrs. Mortimer must have stomped on it. But she was in a doomed position. The pathway was such that there was no room at
all. Mr. Bono must, of course, touch her. And she must, of course, tolerate it if she wished to purchase his goods.