Sally MacKenzie Bundle (175 page)

“William Dunlap,” Parks said. “A businessman, yer grace. His birth is murky, don’t ye know, but I gathers he was spawned in a New York brothel. Howsoever that might be, he got into the flesh trade early, first as a worker, if ye will, and then as an owner.”

“A worker, Walter? I don’t suppose you mean he helped with the upkeep of the place, do you?”

“Naw. Ye know there’s men who likes boys. Ye seen enuff of that in the army, right? But Dunlap was a smart lad and saw how the thing should be run. Now he’s got whorehouses in New York and Lunnon and other places.”

“An enterprising man, Mr. Dunlap,” Robbie said. He was lounging by the mantle, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

“That’s right, m’lord. Only, he got into a spot of trouble a year or so ago. Details ain’t quite clear, but Chuckie Phelps, the Earl of Lugington’s heir, ended up dead in Dunlap’s Paris house. Had his pants down around his ankles and Dunlap’s drawers around his neck.”

Robbie straightened. “Good God, man, how could they tell?”

“’Bout the drawers?” Parks shrugged. “Guess lots of coves has seen Dunlap with ’em on or off, whichever. They’re rather special—red silk, with his initials embroidered all over. WAD—middle name’s Anthony.”

“Bloody hell. And this vermin was dancing with my cousin? How did he get through the friggin’ doorways of half the
ton?”

“Richard probably got him the first invitation. He
is
quite an attractive adornment to a gathering—from the purely physical point of view.” James nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Walter. You’ve been invaluable, as always.” He took a generous purse from his desk drawer and offered it to the man.

“Huh, yer grace. Ye know I’d do anything ye asked fer nothing.”

“Yes, Walter, I do know that, but this is business, too, and you have to eat, right? Take it, please, and continue to keep your eyes and ears open. Now that Miss Hamilton and I are betrothed, I’m very much afraid my cousin will intensify his efforts to do me mischief.”

Parks reached out and took the purse, hefted it, and tucked it inside his shirt. “That be true, yer grace. I’ll keep an eye out and have all me friends on the lookout too, but ye watch yer back as well and that of yer lady.”

“I shall, my friend. Believe me, I shall. I want nothing to happen to Miss Hamilton.”

“Except a wedding and a bedding.” Parks grinned. “I do wish ye well, yer grace. Ye deserve happiness and I’m thinking ye’ll find it with yer Miss Hamilton.”

James rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope so, Walter. I sincerely hope so.”

James turned to Robbie as soon as the door closed behind Parks.

“I’m going out tonight to look for Dunlap. Do you want to come along?”

“Of course. I’d love to get my hands on the bugger.”

“I have first dibs, Robbie. If there’s anything left of him when I’m finished, you may have your turn.”

Robbie shrugged. “All right, if you insist. I guess a betrothed’s claim trumps a mere cousin’s. When do we leave?”

“After the Hammershams’ recital.”

Robbie held up his hands as if to ward James off. “The Hammershams?” he said, a distinct note of alarm in his voice. “Ain’t they the spotty, caterwauling twins?”

James laughed. “I’m afraid so. However, I know I can count on you, even at such a cost.”

“But why the Hammershams, James? Take pity on my ears!”

“Because, as painful as the Hammershams’ musical efforts are, the recital will be the perfect place to introduce Sarah as my betrothed. I want to make an immediate public appearance to scotch any rumors.”

“I guess you’re right. Don’t want to give the tabbies any time to sharpen their claws.” Robbie sighed. “Well, I’m off to rest up for the excitements of the evening. Gads, I never thought I’d willingly torture my hearing with the Hammershams.” He paused in the entrance hall.

“New footmen?” he asked, looking at the two men standing there. One was over six feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a door and hands the size of melons. The other was shorter but beefier. His cauliflower-shaped nose looked as though it had been on the receiving end of one boxing punch too many.

“Temporary hires, I hope. Both are also connected with Bow Street.”

“Runners, eh? So you finally convinced Bow Street to take you seriously?”

“No.” James snorted. “They still think I’m an old soldier who sees phantom enemies behind every bush, but they are willing to humor me, for a price.”

“Like the color of your blunt, do they?”

“Precisely.” James shrugged. “But what they think makes little difference. I’m happy. Jonathan and Albert are both quite competent.”

“Don’t think I’d care to meet them in a dark alley.” Robbie collected his hat from Albert. “See you tonight.”

Sarah was coming down the stairs as Robbie was leaving. She froze when she saw James. She would have turned around and retreated to her room if Lizzie hadn’t put her hand on the small of her back and pushed her forward.

James glanced up and saw her. “A moment, Sarah, if you have the time.”

“Lizzie…” Sarah began.

“…will see you later,” Lizzie finished. She laughed and slipped past Sarah.

Sarah stood still, looking down at James. She remembered the touch of his hands so clearly her breasts tingled. He waited for her, and finally she descended. He gestured her into his study and closed the door behind them.

“We need to talk.”

Sarah nodded. She stared at James’s intricately folded neck cloth.

“Sweetheart, my cravat is not that interesting.” The edge of his hand gently tilted her face up. Her eyes met his. He was frowning.

“Are you haunted by last night? Did you have nightmares?” His thumb rubbed lightly over her cheek. “I’m so sorry, love, that you had to endure Dunlap’s attack. I won’t let it happen again.”

Sarah’s hands twisted in her dress. “No, it’s all right. I slept well last night.”

The line between James’s eyes deepened. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Sarah? You must know I would never hurt you.”

“No.” Sarah could only whisper past the lump that suddenly appeared in her chest. “No, James. I’m not afraid of you.”

James’s hand dropped abruptly. “Do I need to apologize, then? Did my touch insult you?”

“No! I’m, I’m just a little…overwhelmed this morning, I guess.”

He studied her face; then he nodded. “It has been a rather intense time, hasn’t it? And you haven’t even been properly proposed to.”

Sarah flushed. “Well, the evening did end somewhat awkwardly.”

James grinned. “I’ll say. I thought Aunt was going to birch me. I can’t say I relished feeling all of nine years old again. Did she give you a scolding?”

“Not really. I’m sure she didn’t want Lizzie to know exactly what had been going on in your study.”

“I should hope not!” James frowned. “Lizzie had better not allow such liberties or I’ll be giving
her
a birching!”

“Oh? And so why is it all right for me to…” Sarah’s indignation quickly died in embarrassment. “To…you know.”

James grinned. “I do know, sweetheart. If I were your brother, I would probably lock you in your room. But I’m your betrothed, not your brother. It is my goal to take as many liberties as possible.”

“James!”

“No, not now, alas. I’m afraid Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda will be keeping a close eye on us until the wedding—though if we are clever and not
too
indiscreet, I imagine we can manage to steal a kiss or two.”

He opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a little box. “As you say, last night ended a little awkwardly. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I would have given you the Alvord engagement ring.” He grinned. “Well, perhaps not. I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I had too many beautiful distractions.”

Sarah flushed as James’s gaze traveled slowly from her lips to her breasts. Then he took her left hand in a strong clasp and slipped a ring on her finger. It was a simple band, a single emerald flanked by two diamonds. Beautiful. Elegant. A lie.

She should tell him that she couldn’t marry a rake. She would tell him now, if only she could get the words past her lips.

“And I’m certain that even the strictest chaperone would agree it is appropriate for a newly betrothed couple to exchange a kiss, wouldn’t you say?”

“Um?”

James did not wait for a more coherent reply. He brushed his lips across her mouth.

It was the lightest touch, but she felt it in her soul. An odd little whimper of need slipped from her, calling his mouth back to hers.

She was dying of thirst and he offered her moisture. She drank greedily, even dipping her tongue past his lips. He growled, sucking her deeper into his hot, wet mouth.

She was on fire. Flames lapped up her thighs, across her belly, over her breasts. She needed his mouth in those places too, though whether his touch would soothe or burn, she couldn’t say. She just knew she needed him with a hunger she had never felt before.

His hands pressed her against his hardness. They slipped up her sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs teased her nipples through her muslin dress. It was not enough. She wanted to feel his fingers on her naked flesh.

There was a banging on the study door.

“James, if I come in there now, will I be scandalized?”

“Just a minute, Aunt.”

“Only a minute, James.”

Sarah gaped up at James. Even the threat of his aunt’s appearance could not douse the fire in her veins.

He had turned her into a wanton.

She saw him swallow. His breathing sounded as fast and heavy as her own as he straightened the neck of her dress.

“Remember, a
short
betrothal,” he whispered. “A very short betrothal.”

His aunt rattled the doorknob.

“Come in, Aunt. Your sensibilities are safe.”

James sat at his desk after Aunt Gladys had taken Sarah off shopping for her trousseau. He contemplated pouring himself a stiff brandy. How was he going to survive to his wedding? It wasn’t Richard’s plotting that concerned him now, but his own body.

He hadn’t slept well. When he’d closed his eyes, all he had seen were Sarah’s beautiful, creamy skin and her small, firm breasts with their slightly darker, delicate nipples. He had felt their gentle weight and warmth in his hands. When he had managed to get that image out of his mind, it was replaced by her flushed face, her small gasps of passion. He had wanted to taste her skin again, breathe her sweet smell, run his fingers over the silk of her shoulders. His blood had felt molten, heavy, ready to erupt.

It was a good thing that his aunt had interrupted them this morning, or he would have anticipated his wedding vows on the floor of his study. It was clear Sarah would not have stopped him—and he was afraid he could not have stopped himself.

Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda had better prove to be very good chaperones.

Chapter 12

“The bloody bastard’s
engaged
to the whore!” Richard threw the newspaper across the room. It fluttered to the floor at Philip’s feet.

“There’s a difference between engaged and wed,” Philip said quietly.

“The only friggin’ difference is time, which we seem to be running out of!” Richard glared at Dunlap.
“You
were supposed to take care of this, you incompetent ass.”

“
I
did not spread the juicy rumor throughout Palmerson’s ballroom that the duke had been cavorting naked with his charming American whore.”

Richard pushed the remains of his breakfast out of his way. “How the
hell
could you have failed to rape that skinny bitch?”

Dunlap shrugged and picked an imaginary bit of lint off his breeches. “I’ll not fail again.”

“You’d better not. I’ll be damned if James gets an heir before he gets a gravestone.” Richard drummed his fingers on the table. “No, I think it is time to return to my original plan. It yields a more permanent solution.”

“You want me to have the girl killed?”

“No, I was thinking of something more permanent than that.”

Dunlap frowned. “What’s more permanent than death?”

“Nothing, you imbecile.
Whose
death is the issue. Kill the girl and there is a chance that someday James will find another. Kill James and I become Duke of Alvord now.”

“You want me to have Alvord killed?” Dunlap shifted in his seat.

“No, I want you to kill him yourself.”

“Are you crazy?” Dunlap surged out of his chair. “I can’t kill the Duke of Alvord.”

Richard shrugged. “You have the reputation of being good at what you do. So far you have not demonstrated your competence, but I am willing to give you another chance.”

“I’m good at being a brothel keeper. I am not a murderer, for God’s sake.”

“The word on the street says differently.”

Dunlap shook his head, raising his hand in dismissal. “Exaggerations and lies, some fostered, I admit, to make my business associates think twice before crossing me.”

Richard smiled—a cold, unpleasant expression. “Not quite. There
is
Chuckie Phelps. And Tom Bellington of New York City, Walter Cunningham of Boston, Pierre Lafontaine of Paris.”

“You
have
done your homework.” Dunlap ran a hand through his hair. “Chuckie was an accident. The others—those were in my early days, when I was establishing my business. I haven’t murdered anyone in years.”

“Well, then, this is your opportunity to brush up on your skills.”

“No, I—”

“Yes,” Richard interrupted. “You will dispatch James to the hereafter promptly or you will be seeing caricatures of Chuckie Phelps with your oh-so-distinctive drawers around his neck everywhere you turn in London. The Earl of Lugington will be most interested to discover the identity of the man who murdered his heir.”

Dunlap scowled. “You need to give me some time.”

“Some. Not much. I expect to be attending my dear cousin’s funeral within the fortnight.”

Sarah faced the front steps of the Hammershams’ townhouse with a queasy stomach. She dreaded having everyone stare at her. Last night had been horrible. Tonight should be better—being a duke’s intended had to be better than being a duke’s whore. James had assured her that the ring on her finger would silence all gossip. Perhaps. Sarah suspected she would still be the subject of speculation.