Ripe for Pleasure (24 page)

“Are you a- a- a—” De Moulines’s eyes wandered about the ceiling as he searched for the proper word in English.

“An idiot? A simpleton? A madman? Yes.”

“A simpleton.
Oui.
That will do to a nicety.” He caught his lips between his teeth. “She doesn’t hate you,
mon ami.
Far from it. Sometimes you English are so very, well,
English.
”

“I’m a Scot.”

De Moulines waved away his objection. “Bah, your temper, that is Scottish, but this oh-so-droll inability to grasp what the
lady is telling you? Very English.
Je vous assure.
”

CHAPTER 26

V
iola accepted a glass of sherry from Lady Harrington and sipped it while the excited chatter of her friends washed over her.
At her feet, Pen lay panting softly as Lady Grosvenor’s pug excitedly groomed the larger dog’s ear.

“No word from Lord Leonidas?” Lady Ligonier said softly enough that everyone else continued to listen to Mrs. Newton’s tale
of her latest conquest.

Viola shook her head. It had been three days since her row with Lord Leonidas, and true to her command, he had not returned.
“Not so much as a posy of flowers, though his footmen continue to arrive with clockwork regularity.”

Her friend nodded. “He’s giving you time to miss him, savvy devil that he is. And it’s working, too, from the wan look of
you. Do you really want him back?”

Viola felt the tightness in her chest increase, and her eyes welled up. She blinked rapidly to clear them. “Much as I know
I should be happy to be shot of him, I don’t feel happy about it.”

“Then do something about it,” Lady Harrington said from across the room. “You girls give me the bellyache sometime. In my
day, we weren’t too proud or too miss-ish to go after what we wanted.”

Lady Ligonier clapped her hand over her mouth, cutting off a giggle like a child caught misbehaving by her governess.

“And take Penelope there with you. The two of you should be more than capable of formulating a plan of attack.”

The countess gave them a dismissive wave of her hand and turned her attention back to Lady Grosvenor. Lady Ligonier stood
and dragged Viola up from the settee. “Let’s go before she decides she wants the details of our plan.”

Viola followed her friend out to the hall where they donned their hats and gloves. Pen shuffled out after them, the pug following
until Lady Grosvenor called it back.

At the bottom of the steps, Lady Ligonier linked arms with her, and together they set off down the street with Pen and one
of Leo’s footmen trailing behind them. A coach rolled past them, the team mincing in their traces.

The footman’s oath and Pen’s growl brought Viola’s attention sharply around. The former soldier was struggling with two men
in ill-fitting coats. Pen leapt into the fray, her bay startling one of the men into loosening his grip on the footman.

Hands caught her from behind. Lady Ligonier screamed, clinging to Viola. The man tore them apart, sending Penelope crashing
to the ground, and dragged Viola into the coach.

The stench of dirt and horse droppings and sweat rolled off the man pinning her to the seat. One hand gripped her wrist till
the bones ground against one another; the other hand clamped over her mouth.

Shouts and oaths broke out as the coach rumbled into motion. Her friend’s cries for help faded away as the coach rumbled down
the street.

“Cooper, Mrs. Whedon isn’t going anywhere. You can let go of her now.”

The hand left her mouth, and her hands were suddenly free. Viola wiped her lips with the back of her glove, her stomach roiling
in protest.

The man with the silky voice wore a coat that fit him to perfection. A sliver of sunlight cut past the curtain and slid across
him, flashing off his coat’s spangled buttons. And what a coat. Blue leopard-spotted velvet. It was hideous. His easy demeanor
seemed entirely out of place with abducting women off the streets and spoke just as eloquently of malice as his coat did of
dandyish aspersions.

In the dimness of the coach, Viola could make out that he was not young, certainly in his forties, if not a bit older. She
knew with certainty that she’d never seen him before. She pushed back into the squabs, not wanting to touch him or his servant.

Panic seized her lungs and squeezed her heart. There was no air in the coach, just the stench of the stables and the heavy
scent of the gentleman’s cologne. It was impossible to draw a full breath without choking.

The stranger smiled, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh. “I wouldn’t advise it. If you scream, Cooper here has my permission
to silence you however he sees fit.
That’s right, my dear, sit quietly and behave yourself. You’ll live longer.”

A commotion in the hall caught Leo’s attention. The clear sound of the butler’s raised voice preceded the door being thrown
open. His sister looked up from the paper and turned her head toward the door.

Lady Ligonier, hat missing, hair wild, with her gown muddied and torn, shoved past the glowering butler. The older man shut
the door behind him with a disapproving snap. Leo’s pulse jumped. Something was terribly wrong. “My lord, your cousin has—”
She glanced at Beau, her words ending abruptly.

“I rather think Lady Boudicea will survive hearing Mrs. Whedon’s name spoken in our mother’s breakfast parlor.”

Lady Ligonier glared at him. “Very well. Your damn cousin has taken Mrs. Whedon, my lord. And I want to know what you’re going
to do about it.”

“Did you actually see him?” Beau asked. The paper had fallen from her hands, one corner drooping into her coffee, the wet
stain rapidly wicking across the page.

“His face? No, my lady.” Lady Ligonier smoothed her hair back and squared her shoulders. “But the man inside the coach was
wearing a blue leopard-spotted coat. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

His sister drew a sharp breath. Charles was inordinately proud of that coat. He’d bought it in Paris just before their grandfather
died. Just like him to spurn something more nondescript.

“Did you see where they took her?”

Lady Ligonier shook her head. “No, but your footman and Viola’s dog gave chase. He said to tell you to wait for him at The
Red Lion.”

“Thank you, my lady. Beau, can see that a hack is fetched to carry Lady Ligonier home?”

Leo dropped a quick kiss on his sister’s brow and raced upstairs to don his coat and boots. He’d have to send footmen racing
all over town if he had any hope of rounding up the League.

Leo reached The Red Lion to find Sandison and Thane already awaiting them. Devere and de Moulines arrived on his heels. Other
League members, their morning coffee disrupted, pricked up their ears at the obvious signs of action.

His father’s footman erupted through the door, his wig clutched in his hand. He was breathing hard, sweat glistening off his
dark skin, soaking his wilted collar. One stocking was down around his ankle, and his lip was swollen and bloody.

“Do you know where he’s taken Mrs. Whedon, Ezekiel?”

The footman nodded. “Followed them all the way past Denmark Street, my lord. Me and the dog both. Left her there tearing into
the front door like a demon possessed.”

“How many men did Charles have?”

“I saw only the one, but there could have been more inside.”

“Even if he does, we’ll have surprise on our side.”

“Or so you hope,” Devere said, not looking up from the pistol he was busy loading.

CHAPTER 27

V
iola’s head rocked back as the gaudily dressed gentleman’s lackey backhanded her across the face. She tested her teeth with
her tongue, relieved to find they were all still there. Blood pooled in her mouth. She spat onto the already filthy floor
of the garret room where they’d taken her.

“Cooper!” The gentleman’s tone was full of reproach, but his mouth was fighting an unmistakable smile. Viola shoved her hair
back and held the man’s gaze. “No need to begin quite so roughly. Help Mrs. Whedon to a chair.”

Her hands shook as Cooper half dragged her across the room. A single wooden chair with a broken stretcher sagged beside a
grimy window. She fell heavily into the chair, and it creaked alarmingly.
No need to begin quite so roughly,
but clearly every intention of getting there eventually.

“Now, my dear, a few simple answers and you can go home.”

The promise rang patently false, but her pulse raced
all the same. The man’s eyes weren’t merely cold; they were flat. She was a thing when he looked at her, not a person. A thing
to be broken and disposed of.

No matter what his questions were or what answers she gave, there was very little chance she’d ever leave this room alive,
and they both knew it. The best she could hope for was a delayed sentence while she became Cooper’s plaything.

“How much has my cousin told you about the
prince’s treasure
?” He twirled his quizzing glass in idle circles, watching the refracted light play across the wall like a child with a cut
crystal making rainbows in the nursery.

Viola shook her head, mind racing. The man’s brows rose. He tipped his head as he studied her, eyes tracing over her impersonally.
“Cooper?”

The servant’s open hand across her face knocked her from the chair. “I had hoped you’d be reasonable about this, Mrs. Whedon.
I’ve no desire to see a woman hurt, not even a whore.”

Viola climbed shakily to her feet. If she stayed on the floor, Cooper’s next blow might be with his foot, and she was fairly
certain he’d break a bone if he kicked her. In the distance, a church bell rang and a dog barked furiously.

“I don’t know anything about a prince, or a treasure. I don’t even know who your cousin is.”

The man laughed. “Ah, I’ve been too precipitate. My apologies. The cousin in question is Leonidas Vaughn, and the treasure
was sent by the King of France to support Bonnie Prince Charlie’s bid to unseat the Hanoverian usurpers.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Blood trickled out her nose, tracing a searing path across her lips. She wiped it
away with her hand. She stared at the dark stain on the yellow kidskin of her glove and shuddered.