Brazen Temptress (3 page)

"Certainly you must be joking?" Mary's gaze returned to their other guest, who sat with one leg propped up on the arm of the chair and her arms crossed over her chest. She turned back to the Lord Admiral. "Why don't you take her to your house? Priscilla has a much better chance of launching her than I ever would. You know I've been out of society for years now."

"My dear cousin hasn't your ... your nerve, Mary. Besides, this venture requires delicate handling," he said, leaving out what Mary knew to be the truth of the matter — Priscilla would never keep her mouth shut or allow such an obvious piece of baggage into their stately Pall Mall house. There was also the other reason — the Lord Admiral's daughter and only child, Eustacia, was making her entrance this Season.

The last thing the widowed Lord Admiral would want was to have anything mar his precious daughter's entrance and acceptance by the creme de society.

The Lord Admiral rose and cleared his throat. "I think it would be more convincing if you were to present her as a long-lost cousin perhaps or a godchild in need of sponsorship. Few would doubt your kindness or your veracity."

Mary wasn't all that convinced. "Surely you aren't asking us to take her in? To have her live with us?" This she directed at her husband.

William shrugged, obviously still unable to speak.

That wasn't the case with their other guest.

"This is a cracker idea if ever there was one." The woman got up, and Mary was loath to even look at the damage done to the needlepoint cushions. "There ain't no way none of the quality is going to take me for a lady, and I don't think I cotton to spending time with the likes of those blokes either." She crossed the room and held out her grimy paw for Mary.

To Mary's utter shock, manacles hung from the girl's narrow wrists, bound together with a short chain.

A criminal? This girl was a criminal?

Too stunned to even consider what she was doing, Mary took the proffered hand, her eyes riveted on the sturdy iron links.

Calluses closed around her own manicured fingers, and the woman pumped her arm enthusiastically, while the chains rattled their own grim tune.

"Sorry for bothering you, milady. They thought you could help me and that I could help them in turn. I can see from your face, this is a bleedin' crazy idea. Me a lady!" The girl laughed, a bitter little sound, as if being a lady was akin to getting to heaven.

Up close Mary could discern the girl's face, which before appeared buried under the striped stocking cap and mop of dark hair. There was structure there and perhaps even a dash of nobility behind the sunburn and freckles spattered across what might be a fair complexion.

"Take me back to the gallows, milord. I'll hang for my deeds, as I should." The girl sighed and braved a smile for Mary's benefit — and a poor smile it was.

There Mary saw it — hope, resignation, and a sisterhood of suffering. All of it passed between them in those few fractured seconds.

Mary had known all those feelings. Hope that her marriage to William would be successful, resignation at the loss of their only child — stillborn while William had been away at sea — and the slow suffering through the years of poverty.

And something else lurched through her heart, reopening a long withheld instinct. Why, this poor girl was obviously motherless! She could only wonder what indignities and shameful dealings the poor thing had had to endure out there, out in the world of rough and ill-mannered men.

Having dropped the woman's hand and retrieved her handkerchief to stave off the foul odor that had only grown more intense with her proximity, Mary found she now needed it to dot at the tears coming to her eyes.

"The gallows? Hanging? What is this creature talking about?" She looked accusingly at her husband.

William shuffled his feet. "This here is Captain Maureen Hawthorne, Mary."

Hawthorne?
Mary's gaze swung back to the girl before her.

It couldn't be. She stared into the eyes that had held her attention before and now saw why they looked so familiar. The girl had her father's eyes and coloring.

William continued, drawing her attention and shock away from the creature before her. "She was convicted of smuggling this afternoon in Porter's court. His lordship has agreed to grant her a pardon in exchange for the information she can provide, but if you don't think she'll make a fitting lady, at least one that you can pass off for a night or two, then she's scheduled to hang in the morning."

Almack's
London
One month later

When Julien D'Artiers entered a London function, every matchmaking mother in the room found herself at sixes and sevens as to what she should do. Their matronly hearts told them to shield their daughters from his roguish attentions. However, the mercenary desire to see their precious darlings married to a rich man nearly always left them pushing their awkward little debutantes into his rakish path.

Tonight at Almack's it was no different.

He entered the sacred rooms, his cynical gaze roaming the room as if in search of likely sport. The sought after acknowledgment passed over the most eligible young misses, both pretty and rich, as if they were just another lot of overpriced cattle at Tattersall's.

With haughty disdain he made his entrance, as if he'd just have to make do with tonight's selection.

How he'd secured vouchers to these hallowed halls was a wonder, but then again, his charm and wealth seemed to open doors wherever he went, despite the sordid tales trailing in his wake.

One of the matrons turned to another and whispered the latest of these
on dits:
It was rumored his last mistress had thrown herself into the Thames in despair over his philandering ways!

The other woman nodded. Everyone had heard the story, though it wasn't quite the Haymarket tragedy some were making it out to be.

The silly chit, an actress of some repute, had been fished out of the filthy water by a passing ferryman, not moments after her ridiculous stunt. And she hadn't been foolish enough to wear any of the expensive jewels Julien had showered upon her.

But still, the first woman insisted, to drive a woman to such lengths, the man was a monster in the very least.

Albeit a very rich one.

That was the other element of mystery about Julien D'Artiers: Where had he acquired his seemingly unlimited wealth?

And such wealth. He'd been known to stake an entire room of players at White's. He'd also been known to be generous to the Society for the Betterment of Girls in Need, a sign that he was neither pernicious with his funds nor unfeeling toward those in dire circumstances.

"Of course," as the well-to-do matron put it, as she shied her daughter out of his path and out of earshot, "he wouldn't have given so generously to the Society if his conscience didn't prick him so roundly over all the girls he's ruined."

Julien, on the other hand, always found the reshuffling of the room as he entered a party a true testament to his hard-won reputation. It didn't take him long to spy his latest prey, preening behind her fan, while her straight-backed chaperone looked more than undecided about his attentions.

He didn't worry about the other woman's opinion. Her spoiled charge was used to getting what she wanted, and there was no doubt she wanted Julien.

And he wanted her.

Though not for the reasons the coddled little baggage thought.

To his dismay, as he started to make his meandering foray to the chit's side, his sisters bore down on him, in tandem and with matching expressions of grim determination on their faces.

Only too late, Julien realized it might have been wiser to go to White's, rather than spend the evening at Almack's.

But business was business, and Almack's was where his quarry was, fluttering her fan and glancing at him with hopeful eyes.

He turned to conceal his presence, but it was too late. Lily and Sophia were on either side of him, their arms linked to his and their firm grips confirming something he'd learned long ago.

His sisters were a force to be reckoned with.

"What is this nonsense about some actress?" Lily demanded, referring to his heartbroken and Thames-soaked mistress. Before he could draw a breath to answer and explain that he'd had nothing to do with the bird-witted creature's theatrics, his eldest sister, Sophia, launched in.

"Julien, why is it that every day I find yet another irate father in my drawing room demanding the family make amends for the disgraceful way you've treated his daughter?"

He would have preferred to ignore them both, but he owed some measure of his acceptance in the London
ton
to their high standings. Few dared snub the brother of the enchanting Sophia, Marchioness of Trahern, or the lovely Lily, Viscountess of Weston, and risk losing their much coveted positions within the sisters' gracious and prestigious social orbit.

Right now, however, Julien wished he were an only child.

Sophia steered him toward the punch bowl, where the crowds were lighter. "I'll not be put off, Julien. I'll have the truth from you."

"The truth?" He laughed heartily. "As if either of you knows how to tell the truth."

They both shot him censorious glances until he broke out laughing at their outrage. "You've become quite the pair of virtuous paragons, haven't you?"

"I quite resent that, Julien," Lily said. "Sophia and I may not always have been honest in the past, but we have positions now, families and reputations to consider. Things you seem to care little about."

Julien shook off her words. She was right. He didn't worry about those things. Yes, he loved his sisters and his nieces and nephews, but a family, a family of his own? That was too far removed from his life to even consider.

No, the ties that bound his sisters' hearts would never entangle his.

Still, her words rattled around inside him. In the spot, he supposed, where he was rumored to be heartless.

He nodded to the servant behind the bowl and then handed glasses of punch to his sisters. "You are both right. I'm a cad, a reckless scoundrel. The fact that either of you still acknowledges me is a veritable wonder."

Sophia wrinkled her nose over the lukewarm brew. "Don't even try your oiled charms on me. I won't be put off any longer, Julien. Why do you persist in these antics? It's scandalous. Why can't you be like most men your age, married and happily settled?"

"My age?"
Julien shook his head. "You make it sound as if I have one foot in the grave."

"You may find more than just one foot in a grave if you don't stop dallying with every miss, mistress, and matron from Edinburgh to Penzance," Lily told him.

"Penzance?" he said. "I don't recall ever going to Penzance."

Both his sisters looked ready to explode, when his unlikely rescue came in the form of Lady Jersey, one of Almack's illustrious patronesses.

"Julien! I'm so glad you received the vouchers I sent over," Lady Jersey said, edging aside Lily and slipping her hand into the crook of Julien's elbow. "The minute I heard you were back in town, I had them delivered immediately. Wednesday nights have been quite dull without you."

Julien grinned at his sisters. He knew they'd been whispering in the ears of all the other patronesses to have him blackballed, but they had yet to exert any influence over Lady Jersey.

As long as he remained in the lady's good graces, offering her tidbits of gossip and making her feel as if she was making headway in reforming his rakish ways, she'd more than likely continue to assist him in his dangerous game, albeit unwittingly.

"Lady Trahern, Lady Weston," Lady Jersey said. "Do you mind terribly if I abscond with your delightful brother? He is in such demand of late, and I have so many people begging for introductions." She smiled sweetly and, without waiting for their assent, pulled Julien away.

There were few women in the
ton
who could have pulled off such a maneuver and dared risk the ire of two of London's leading hostesses, but Lady Jersey was a patroness of Almack's. Neither Sophia, who still had two daughters in the Marriage Mart, nor Lily, whose eldest daughter would be coming of age in a couple of years, wanted to find themselves without vouchers.

Julien tipped his head to his sisters and followed Lady Jersey.

"This isn't finished, Julien," Sophia called after him.

"I don't think it ever will be, sister dear," he said over his shoulder. He turned to Lady Jersey. "I should call you Lady Galahad for coming so gallantly to my rescue."

"They looked positively dreadful," she said. "Whatever were they scolding you about?"

At this Julien smiled. Sally might be a friend, but she was also an incorrigible gossip. Why should he have thought that her rescue would come without a price?

"The usual," he told her. "Julien, get married," he said, mimicking his eldest sister's severe tones. "Julien, stop breaking so many hearts. Julien, you are a disgrace to our family name."

"Oh, but you are." Lady Jersey laughed. "You are a terrible rake, and that is why I love having you here. It is the one place where you must behave."

"Are you so sure?" He wiggled his eyebrows and then narrowed his gaze until it came to rest on a group of young girls, which included no less than a duke's daughter and the heiress of a highly respected marquis, whose lineage was said to go back to the time of William the Conqueror. The circle of misses all broke into nervous giggles or deep red blushes at his bold regard.

"I could be quite uncivilized at any moment," he whispered into Lady Jersey's ear.

Her eyes grew wide. "You wouldn't! Not after
I
gave you the vouchers and promised the others that you were perfectly respectable. Why my reputation would be —" Her words faltered as she studied him for a moment. Then she playfully swatted him in the arm with her fan. "You dreadful cad. I should accede to everyone else's wishes and give you the cut direct, but I just can't. Not yet. Not as long as you continue to enliven these frightfully dull evenings."

"Ah, the terrible woes of being the arbiter of good company," he said, his gaze falling back to the gaggle of young girls. "So are you going to introduce me to yonder flock, or will I have to do something scandalous and approach them on my own?"