Never Entice an Earl (6 page)

In the crush of the crowd, she pressed against him, curling her hands into his lapels.
“I’ve a room upstairs, nice and cozy. Wot do you say? I’ll get us a bottle, just for
ourselves.”

“Actually, I’ve become separated from friends, and would like to rejoin them. I was
hoping that perhaps you know them?”

“Friends?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wot sort of friends?”

He pressed a crown into her palm.

After a quick glance to assess the coin’s worth, a smile eased onto her lips. “Per’aps
I do know them. I’ve known everyone ’ere, at one time or another, it seems. Tell me
about them.”

He spoke near her ear. “They follow this club from place to place, but keep to themselves,
perhaps in a back room, rarely if ever mingling with the other customers.”

Her face went slack, but she said nothing.

He continued, “Each of them wears a gold medallion depicting—”

“A woman,” she murmured. “With snakes for hair.”

The beat of his heart increased. He nodded, keeping his face expressionless so as
to not reveal the depth of his excitement. “Those would be the same gentlemen. The
Invisibilis.”

“You’re not one of ’em, ’at much I know. And I very much suspect they aren’t your
friends.” She chuckled wryly. “A mysterious lot, they are. Don’t come ’ere for the
entertainments, for the most part, though when they do, they pay the girls well, though
some of them can be a bit…rough.”

“Can you provide their names? Even the name of an associate or lackey?”

She glanced over her shoulder before whispering, “Never actually seen their faces.
They wear ’oods, fashioned of black silk, y’ see, but gentlemen they be, all of them,
with fancy clothes and carriages. They’ve not yet arrived, but soon, I think. Keep
an eye over there, beside the stage. If they’re ’ere tonight, they’ll come through
the back.”

“Thank you, Nellie.” He stepped away, and her hands fell from his coat.

“Wot, that’s all?” She pouted, a saucy smile tilting her carmine lips. “You paid for
better than just a bit of chitchat.”

“If anyone comes asking later, forget about me. That’s all I ask.”

“Beshrew me, forget ’at ’andsome face?” Her gaze traveled over him longingly. Regretfully.
She sighed. “Don’t think ’at’s possible, but Nellie don’t tell tales on her favorites.”
She came near, her voice lowered. “But be careful w’ those ones. They’re dangerous
men.”

“How do you know I’m not the same?”

She answered softly. “You still have a soul. I can see it in your eyes.”

Cormack wasn’t so sure about that.

I
don’t really care wot your name is, just as long as yoov got two of
those
—” Mr. Bynum’s bloodshot gaze dropped to her bosoms. “And one of
these
.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, and with an open hand smacked
her bottom. Daphne yelped and whirled back around, her hands raised to strike, but
he shoved a bundle into them and roughly herded her toward the corner, where a burlap
curtain had been hung crosswise on twine.

“There’s no time to waste,” Mr. Bynum lectured coldly, his eyes touching her everywhere
in a way that made her shiver in disgust. “You’re late. Don’t be late again. We have
a schedule here, and you will do well to keep it, strict as law, else your friend
Miss Fickett will pay the consequences.”

Daphne held the bundle tight to her breast, her gaze moving to two ladies who moved
past in gowns only half there, their faces powdered white and brightly painted. They
stared at her with dull-eyed curiosity, smirking unkindly before passing through a
doorway to a room that seemed to quake with laughter and inharmonious music.

For what had to be the thousandth time, Daphne conceded that perhaps it had been unwise
to take Kate’s place after all. Not that Kate even knew she was here, of course. She
would never have allowed Daphne to walk out the door if she’d realized her intentions.
Unwise decision or no, she wouldn’t change a thing. Given the urgency of the situation,
taking Kate’s place had been the only alternative. As a true friend, she’d had no
other choice. She had no doubt Kate would have done the same for her.

Praying she didn’t look as terrified as she felt, Daphne stood straighter and forced
her shoulders back, assuming a nonchalant pose.

“Pay the consequences how?” she demanded, more forcefully than she’d intended, in
her effort to force the breathlessness from her voice.

Call her foolish, but she’d imagined the Blue Swan to be a slightly more elegant venue.
Instead she felt as if she’d been yanked from the clean and comfortable world she
knew and dropped into hell, or at least purgatory, overcrowded with wretched creatures
and smelling of rubbish and cheap perfume. While it was all keenly interesting, and
her curious mind took in every mortifying detail—including the man and woman shamelessly
groping one another against the far wall—she understood the very real peril in which
she’d placed herself. She couldn’t imagine Kate in this place. If she survived the
night with her life, neither of them were ever coming back.

“By forfeiting her earnings thus far.” He smiled, flashing yellow teeth. “I won’t
’esitate to throw her kin out on the streets and seize every last one of their belongings,
including the contents of that shop, do y’ understand, gel? I know people. Powerful
men, and that makes me powerful as well.”

She didn’t like Mr. Bynum or his threatening words, but she knew better than to give
him the dressing down that exploded on her tongue. He was a dangerous man, and she
was very much at a disadvantage should things go wrong.

“I said do y’ understand?” he repeated lecherously.

“Yes,” she answered through clenched teeth.

He grunted in response and, with a nod, said, “I’ll return to give you your stage
instruction.” He paused and touched a hand to her hair…and then her cheek. Daphne
flinched and twisted away. “You’re very pretty, you know.” He chuckled, low in his
throat. “With hair like that, you and I could make a lot of money together. You like
money, don’t you?”

She understood what he suggested. Her eyes flew wide in outrage and her face burned.
“I—I don’t—”

A man rushed into view. “Mr. Bynum, please come. One of the patrons has hit a dealer
over the head with his walking stick, and the dealer is now quite senseless.”

“Well, get another dealer to take his place. I can’t have a table out of service.”

“I tried, but Charles is nowhere to be found. I think he’s gone upstairs with one
of the gels—”

“Damn it, man, must I tend to everything myself?” Bynum shoved past him, but pivoted
on his heel to point at Daphne. “You. Five minutes. Be dressed in your costume.”

Daphne grabbed hold of the burlap and yanked it closed, concealing herself as well
as she could, though when released the drape sagged several inches from the wall.
Still, she exhaled in relief, thankful for a moment in which to collect herself, to
gasp for breath and tremble in private. Foremost, she considered escape. She’d paid
a kind-eyed, elderly hackney driver to wait for her…but running away wouldn’t help
Kate or her family. She couldn’t take the chance. It was too late for any other resolution.
She had to carry through.

Fearful that Mr. Bynum would return when she was only half dressed, she frantically
changed into the garments, balancing on one foot and pinning the curtain against the
wall with her toe as she struggled to don the close-fitting costume.

“Dearie, are you ready?” shouted a female voice through the curtain.

With shaking hands, Daphne tied the black satin bow at her waist.

“I…ah…am ready. You may pass the rest of the costume through the curtain whenever
you are ready.”

In a dingy flash, a woman’s hand shoved the burlap partition back to reveal a powdered
face and painted lips drawn back in laughter. Three girls stared back at her, each
dressed like her, in flesh-colored, near-transparent pantaloons and matching corsets.

“Wot rest of the costume?” said a cat-eyed, black-haired girl with kohl-lined eyes
that reminded Daphne of Cleopatra.

“’Ere, let me tighten yer stays,” said the closest, a brown-haired beauty, moving
to stand behind her. “We want those lovely bosoms up high, as close to your chin as
we can manage wi’out them poppin’ off and blacking some poor bloke’s eye.”

A sudden jerk of the ties left Daphne gasping for breath.

The third, a redhead who wore a mouse-hair beauty mark affixed to her cheek, appeared
with powder and rouge, which she set about applying to Daphne’s face.

“Wot happened to the gel from last night?” asked the Beauty, before inflicting another
squeeze. Indeed, Daphne felt her breasts had never been quite so near her chin! She
pressed a hand to the wall for support, but then thought better of touching anything
in this place, and snatched her hand away.

“She’s ill, so I’m taking her place.”

“Don’t she talk funny?” The redhead laughed, holding a kohl pencil high.

Didn’t
she
talk funny? She could barely understand what any of them were saying.

Cleo—as Daphne silently called her—sidled closer, eyes narrowed. “Why
do
you talk so funny? Just like that girl last night?” She leaned close, so that her
nose was two inches from Daphne’s. “Good thing she didn’t come back, else I was going
t’ have t’ cut her.” In a flash, she produced a narrow blade from the center of her
corset. “Thought she was better than the rest of us. You don’t think you’re better
than the rest of us, do y’, girly?”

Daphne didn’t cower or break away. She hadn’t done anything to provoke such a threat,
and she found Cleo’s manner and words offensive. The only experience she had with
brawling were a few angry, hair-pulling tussles with her sisters when their governess
wasn’t looking, but that had been years ago. Still, the girl wasn’t all that large,
and if matters took a turn for the worse, she thought she just might be able to take
her.

But Beauty wedged between them and shoved Cleo away.

“Don’t mind Cat.” Ah, so her name was Cat. Beauty continued, “Ain’t a one of us that
’aven’t been cut by ’er at one time or another, and we’ve all lived to see another
day.” She pointed to a narrow scar near her shoulder.

Daphne looked toward Cat, who flashed a dangerous smile and winked. Just then, a crash
sounded from the room next door, sounding something like a table overturned. Voices
shouted curses and laughter.

The redhead reappeared with a bottle in her hand. “We’re all good friends ’ere and
look out for each other. You’ll see!” Her grin revealed a rotten tooth, the only flaw
in an otherwise pretty face. “Care for a nip o’ gin?”

Daphne stared at the offered bottle for a moment before answering, “Why yes, I think
I would.”

Cormack stepped back as another insensible man was carried past, in the direction
of the street.

Just then, the musicians struck up a tune. Beside them, curtains jerked apart on ropes
to reveal a makeshift stage made out of wooden shipping crates, a common sight on
the nearby quay. On each of the four corners stood a young lady, frozen in a dramatic
pose. Elaborate gold Carnival masks, studded with paste jewels and feathers, concealed
their faces above their painted lips. Close-fitting, flesh-toned costumes conveyed
the illusion of nudity. Those men not otherwise engaged at the gaming tables surged
forward to jostle for position along the edges of the stage, shouting out expressions
of vulgar admiration. The stage rocked and several of the girls wavered from their
poses.

A bulldog-faced man in an ill-fitted great coat and top hat strutted to the center
of the stage and bellowed, “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Do control yourselves!”

Hands held high for quiet, he waited for the clamor to subside.

“We have assembled here, for your personal erudition and viewing pleasure, four of
the foremost actresses of Drury Lane presenting the finest in
tableaux vivant
.” He gestured toward the young women. “For your eyes only they will enact the most
memorable scenes of the classics, the first being the story of Electra and the grievous
murder of her father, the king Agamemnon.”

Cormack chuckled. Actresses, indeed. Though he could not claim to be an expert on
strumpets, these four were clearly of a higher quality than the others who crowded
the room. Young and pretty, at least from this distance, they had bodies to match
with high breasts, pinched waists, and flared hips. Having studied the classics, he
could not discern what any of the poses had to do with Electra or Agamemnon, but he
supposed that wasn’t the point.

His attention lingered on one of the dancers in particular, one with starlight-blonde
hair and luminous skin. Something about her commanded his attention. Perhaps it was
the blue flash of temper in her eyes, or the quarrelsome set of her pretty mouth.
He felt as if he’d caught sight of an angel masquerading amongst lesser mortals, who’d
become entangled in mankind’s sin and was now helpless to escape.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who noticed her, for suddenly the young woman yelped
and smacked the hand of the patron closest to her, a man who, after being so rebuffed,
snatched his hand away from the girl’s well-turned ankle. The collective thunder of
male laughter shook the floor beneath Cormack’s boots.

Cormack did not laugh. Instead, he maneuvered closer to the stage, fixated. Inexplicably
smitten. A bright flush moved up the girl’s throat, into her cheeks, to disappear
beneath her mask. She resumed her pose, and yet…her hands trembled.

He realized instantly that she didn’t belong in this place.

With each step forward, a tangle of memories and regrets welled up inside him along
with a sudden impulse to protect her, to make right whatever had gone wrong. Something
he’d been helpless to do for Laura.

So distracted was he by the girl that he almost…
almost
…missed the man ducking down the back corridor, dressed in the clothes of a gentleman,
his top hat tilted so as to conceal his silk-obscured face.

Daphne glared at the filthy creature who had grabbed her leg, and resumed her pose.
Was it only her imagination, or did her skin now
itch
where he had touched her?
Ugh.
A shiver of revulsion rippled through her.

But being on the stage meant her time at the Blue Swan was almost done. In just a
matter of moments, she’d be in the carriage on her way home.

She kept telling herself that, but another, increasingly hysterical voice continued
to break in, emphatically demanding:
What have you done?

It had been easy to imagine doing “the right thing,” but it was completely different
now that she was here on the stage, surrounded by a hundred men with lust in their
eyes. The peril of her situation closed in on her like a thick fog until she found
it difficult to breathe.

Stop it!
It was too late for fear. Hysterics would only draw attention and increase her danger.
She had to push through, not only for herself but for Kate. According to Mr. Bynum,
that foul-mouthed bully of a stage master, they would perform their rotations on the
stage ten times before taking their leave of the stage. Only then would Kate’s debt
be satisfied, at least for the night. Given a day or two, Daphne was certain she could
come up with some other solution for satisfying the remainder of the Fickett family’s
debt.

She simply had to be home tonight by the time Clarissa and her mother returned from
the Heseldons’, else her intricate tangle of not-necessarily untruths would fall to
pieces. If Lady Harwick ever learned the truth of this night, Daphne feared the viscountess
would expire on the spot.

“Pirouette.”

Mr. Bynum’s command jerked Daphne into the present. She mimicked the movements of
the young woman on the stage beside her, and twirled like a ballerina. More like a
drunken
ballerina. Her throat still burned from that single gulp of gin. While spirits no
doubt took the edge off her present humiliation, she hadn’t anticipated its strength.
To her good fortune, no one seemed concerned about talent or proper form, only that
they prance around under the pretense of being actresses, wearing unseemly costumes
for the illicit pleasure of the men salivating at their feet. Coming to a stop, she
sashayed to the next corner and took the place of the girl who had just vacated the
spot.