Rogue in Red Velvet (15 page)

When she finally put down her spoon, she was surprised at how much she’d eaten.

“Four days’ near abstinence will make you hungry.” He took their plates, stacked them on the tray and put them outside the room. “You should be feeling better now.”

He closed the door and stood in the middle of the room, gazing at her, his eyes tender. “Perhaps you should rest a little. You’ll feel much better when you wake up.”

“Not immediately.” She shifted uncomfortably. She might be in a whorehouse but she didn’t have their ways. She still had her modesty.

“Ah.” He nodded. “There’s a powder room through that door. You’ll find what you need in there.”

She was only wearing a shift. Heat flowed under her cheeks.

Alex smiled and picked something up from the bottom of the bed. A substantial wrap. She breathed a sigh of relief, even more when he averted his eyes. She folded back the covers and stepped out of the bed. Luckily, it wasn’t too high.

Without looking at her, he held the wrap so she could slip her arms into the sleeves, and then she drew the fine, yellow silken fabric around her. “Thank you,” she murmured and took her first steps since she’d arrived here.

She stumbled and immediately, he banded his arms around her waist, steadying her.

His body pressed against hers, his chest to her back, his groin to her buttocks and it felt so good. His strong, masculine hardness surrounded her, giving her the illusion that nothing bad would happen to her while she stood like this. She wanted more of it, in a way that heated her cheeks even more. And the rest of her.

Before she could feel any more of him, or do something rash like lean back against him, she drew away and headed for the door he’d indicated.

It led to a blind room, with no way out other than the door she’d come in by. She suspected it might once have been part of the bedroom but it now contained toiletry materials. After lighting the candle she used the pot and then poured some water into the basin and rinsed her hands. After pouring that away in the slop basin by the washstand, she was too tempted not to put herself to rights.

She poured more water, stripped and washed. The relief was almost as good as using the necessary. She hated being dirty, always had, but she might never wash away the experience she’d just gone through.

When she poured her washing water away, she let herself imagine that all her experience in the house next door went with it. Discarded. That all went in the basin and then she poured it in the slop bucket. Gone, done with. She dusted her hands together, as she did when she’d completed an onerous task at home.

Although she might think about it, might even relive it some lonely nights, she would never let it become part of her. She swore it, even though only her reflection could bear witness to her oath.

She found a brush and cleaned her teeth, freshening her mouth. Even better. Now all trace of the drugs they’d given her had gone. She’d ask if someone could help her wash her hair later, perhaps wash again to make doubly sure any trace of her ordeal had gone.

Now she had to face the music, whatever that turned out to be. She still didn’t know why Jasper would do this to her. When she’d last seen him, they’d signed a contract for something that would never happen now. And that night, the night before he’d left so precipitately, she’d given him permission to come to her room. She shuddered. A narrow escape, as it had turned out.

She put the shift and robe back on then went back into the bedroom.

Alex was sitting in the chair, his head leaning against the back, his feet up on a small table. He hurriedly restored his feet to the floor.

She shook her head and climbed back into bed as quickly as she could. Wearing only a shift and wrap made her vulnerable and she kept the wrap on until the sheet covered most of her, although part of her, the wanton part she’d never known what to do with, urged her to let it drop and flaunt herself. “How did you find out where I was?”

“Your maid came to me and told me you’d gone missing on your arrival in London. I retraced your steps, found out that Dankworth was involved and hunted him down. That was how I heard of the auction. He has no idea that I had anything to do with the raid. I suspect he heard of the auction and decided to make use of it.” He frowned. “Either that, or someone gave him the money. Setting up a new brothel in Covent Garden doesn’t come cheap.” He glanced at her and his face cleared. “The authorities raided the house and took everyone away after we left. That was my doing. I wanted you out of there first, but the audience saw you.”

“They knew me?”

His chest heaved. “Yes. Dankworth made sure of it.”

She blinked her tears away. No time for them now. “What can I do?”

He stared at her, face stark and serious. He’d had a twinkle in his eyes before, at the Downholland’s, but now those dark pools were completely serious. They held a gravity and concern she badly wanted to see more of, but knew she had no right to demand. He had helped her, and that was that. He’d saved her from a fate she shuddered to consider but consider it she must. Connie had never shirked from the truth. Raped, maybe hurt worse, maybe even dead from the drugs they were feeding her.

“I have a plan,” he said. “Saxton and I are the only people apart from Dankworth who know you’re in London. Know for sure, that is. You may quietly and discreetly return from whence you came. Then I will tell everyone that I know you well and Dankworth was mistaken, that you never came to London. The woman might have looked like you but she certainly wasn’t you. Since I bought your lookalike and bore you off, they’d probably believe that I wanted some illicit fantasies brought to life.”

Clever. Yes, that would work. So why did she feel so deflated? Just a natural reaction to the horror she’d suffered, her body’s reaction to her ordeal, was all. “If I go home and tell them I fell ill on the road, nobody will know I reached London. I can write to my godfather and tell him I don’t wish to marry Jasper.”

Slowly, this nightmare began to make sense. Why Jasper would put such a terrible series of events in train. In short, money.

“I’ll give him a full accounting of Dankworth’s activities recently. That will ensure you receive none of his lordship’s opprobrium. He might even decide to name another heir.”

She nodded and met his gaze for a fraught moment. Without him, she’d be completely ruined. He deserved the truth. “I know why Jasper did this.”

“So do I. The morality clause. You had one, isn’t that right?”

She nodded. Many marriage contracts had them, so she hadn’t thought it too unusual. If she was proved of unsound mind, or if her behavior was proved immoral in some way, then her estate would be forfeit to Jasper in default of a court case. Of course, the clause only went one way. Jasper could keep a string of whores and nobody would call him for it.

“We can’t afford to lose much time,” he said. “As soon as you’re well enough to travel, you must go. I’ll hire a chaise for you.” He filled this room with his powerful presence. Not that she’d see him again. Thus the reason for her lingering sadness.

“Not all the way home,” she said quickly. “Chaises are remarked on in my village. I’ll go to York and then claim I fell ill there and stayed at the coaching inn until I felt better. I’ll return home on the stagecoach.” She lifted her knees and dropped her chin on them, feeling unaccountably sad. She couldn’t deny that she’d been looking forward to her visit to London with more than a little excitement but the only part of it she was destined to see was the view from her window. The wedding, yes, but also getting out of the place where she’d spent most of her life and outgrown a long time ago.

He shook his head. “It goes against the grain for me to do it. I want to keep you close, ensure you come to no more harm.”

She wanted it too. But it was not to be.

He forced a smile, one that didn’t reach as far as his eyes. “But the plan is a sound one. Society will forget. I can, at least, ensure you’re comfortable on the road and send a man to bespeak good rooms for you.” He leaned forward. “Let me go out and arrange a few matters.”

He crossed the room to where his coat still lay, thrown over the chair. “I wish I could accompany you but perhaps I should not. I will, however, come to see you as soon as I’ve assured myself that matters are as they should be in town.” He turned to face her, his expression grave. “I promise you that, Connie.” He hesitated, gazing at her. “I want more for us.”

She met his gaze frankly. “So do I.”

Neither said any more, but her mind went back to those kisses they’d shared once and the promise of so much more, now destroyed forever. There was no future here. She was lucky if she had any kind of future, but certainly, it didn’t lie with this man.

With her relentlessly realistic view on life, she couldn’t see it happening. She’d realized what he was and how important his position in society was when she’d seen that caricature in Leicester. She didn’t belong to that world.

After he left Connie gave in to her overpowering urge to weep.

* * * *

After stopping at his house to wash, shave and change, Alex walked to the Cocoa Tree coffee house, a place of commerce and superlative gossip.

On his entrance, he gained several furtive looks. Hell, the bastard had been busy already. Alex had chosen dark brown today, sober and industrious, except it was in the best cloth money could buy and the merchants here would recognize that. And his waistcoat was a riot of twining vines and glittering cut steel buttons, a reference to his frivolous side. Julius Winterton had taught him the value of dressing well
in extremis
.

Dankworth couldn’t hope to compete with Alex’s wardrobe, or, for that matter, his contacts but he could make a hell of a stink and make it impossible to restore Connie’s good name. That was what Alex had come to scotch and that was why he couldn’t escort Connie on her journey north.

“Alex, just the man!”

Devereaux was sitting at one of the long tables in the center of the room. Around and in front of the windows ranged smaller booths, benches facing large tables but the center held two large tables where men could conduct their business and there was his cousin, Maximilian, the Marquess of Devereaux.

Not the person he wanted to see most in the world but one he had to face, since Devereaux was as influential as the rest of their family and at the moment Alex needed all the allies he could muster.

Alex strolled across the room, taking his time, nodding to people and then sat in the space Devereaux had indicated. The bastard slapped his back. Hard. “I heard you made a fine purchase last night, my man. How was she? Still a virgin?”

Alex shrugged. “The evening turned out not as I expected. It was deeply unsavory. I merely got the woman away from Dankworth. The man annoyed me and I decided to pay him back for it.”

“How did he annoy you?” Devereaux’s green eyes narrowed but his face remained mildly amused, his mouth quirked in a smile. “Apart from being a Dankworth of course.”

“Just by being alive.” Better he gave no details in public.

Devereaux’s mouth flattened into a straight line and his expression sharpened, creases appearing between his brows. “The Dankworths have caused me more than a little trouble recently. I never considered Jasper more than an irritation. He’s from a minor branch of the clan.” He raised a brow and Alex nodded in comprehension. Devereaux shrugged and went on. “I saw him at Lady Wren’s last night. He seemed in good spirits, said he was on his way to a new bawdyhouse. When I saw him later, he was damned put out. Bow Street raided the house, apparently and spoiled his fun. Did you see any of that?”

“It must have happened after I left.” Devereaux would understand some of what Alex wasn’t saying. “I bought two girls and left. They were both drugged. I didn’t use either of them.” He paused. “I’m not so desperate that I need to render my women insensible.”

Devereaux tsked. He moved closer but didn’t lower his voice. Everyone in the coffee house would hear and then everyone in London. That was the point of coming here today. “Poor show. I like my girls willing. Vicious practice, that.”

Alex lifted a finger and ordered a coffee from the pretty girl serving the table. “The waiters here are a damn sight better than the ones at White’s.” He got an approving nod from the woman sitting at the cash desk just inside the door and a laugh from the other people at the large table. Good, they were listening.

“Alex, tell me if this is true. Was one of the women Dankworth’s previous fiancée?”

He’d known this question had to come but Devereaux did him a favor by asking, giving the opportunity to explain. He thought he’d prepared himself to answer but rage rose inside him all over again. Only Devereaux would see the spark of fury. Alex fought to keep his sangfroid, his languid air of aristocratic hauteur. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s all over town, dear boy.” The green eyes flashed a warning now and Devereaux—Max—had used Alex’s Christian name, not his title, something he rarely did in public. That was a warning, too. Devereux’s father had died young and consequently Max, elevated to marquess at a young age, had more formality about him than his cousins. And probably a harder edge, though that would be difficult to assess, with a family packed, as theirs was, with influence and wealth. Max had fought for his, after his father had left him all-but bankrupt.