Star Crossed Seduction (16 page)

The large woman in the coffee-stained apron brought them their muffins. He took a bite. It was surprisingly good. Temperance nibbled hers nervously, while he sipped from the foaming pint pot, waiting.

When he’d given her enough time, he forced his voice to be as gentle as he could make it, and once again he asked, “What is it you hid from me, Tem? The truth cannot be worse than my suspicions.”

She looked around the room, as if drawing strength from the rough men who filled it. Then she stared straight at him, and whispered, “Randall isn’t dead.”

Not dead?
No wild dog defending its territory could have felt more jealous.

“Then why aren’t you with
him
?” His voice had turned back into a growl.

“I’ll never be with him again. I hate the very thought of him.”

“But you told me you loved him. Now you say you hate him. Which is true? How can I believe you?”

“So much for all your fine talk of truces.” Her voice was bitter.

She was right. He would have to try harder. “I want to. But I don’t understand you. If Randall is alive, why did you keep that secret from me? Did you give yourself to me to spite him? To make him jealous? Will you go back to him now and taunt him with what you did with me?”

“Never!” The look of alarm in her eyes warned him to back off if he wished to extract the whole story from her.

In a gentler tone, he begged,“Help me make sense of this, Tem. If Randall is alive, why did you make such a pretense of being his grieving widow? Why did you tell me he was dead? Did you think it would be more of a challenge to me to seduce you if I thought you had given your heart elsewhere?”

“No!” Her voice rose. “When I met you, I believed he was dead—murdered for his role in the Cato Street Conspiracy. I’d believed that for nine long months, mourning him, sanctifying his memory. I only learned he was alive the night of the masquerade, right after you had left. Someone told me then.”

“Snake?”

Her angled eyebrows shot up. ”How do you know about Snake?”

“You probably thought I’d left,” he said, evasively.

She drew in breath between set teeth. “Yes, it was Snake who told me.”

His heart sank. So she
had
met with Snake, just as Fanshawe said she had. He picked his next words carefully. “When you learned that Randall was alive, after grieving for him so long, why did it make you throw yourself at me? You told me you loved him.”

“Because,” she said, biting her lip, “when Snake told me Randall was alive, he also told me he had been working for the Weaver.”

The Weaver.
Trev’s heart sank. Her beloved Randall was working for the enemy. Had Fanshawe been right all along?

It took all his control to keep his voice even as he asked, “Was that why you wished to do away with yourself, because your beloved Randall showed up again, and forced you to give yourself to me in service to his master?”

He couldn’t tell what was worse, the thought that she had been working for the Weaver all along, or that she’d done it at the command of that bastard who’d never deserved her. But he struggled to keep his anger under control. He had sworn he would listen to her and believe what she told him. He couldn’t fail her as soon as she had trusted him with a single truth.

“He’s not
my
Randall, anymore,” she snarled. “And he’ll never make me do another thing for him. He’s in America now with that drab Sukey. He deceived me all along. The Weaver paid him to betray the Cato Street conspirators, then sent him off to safety in America as part of the deal. My beloved Randall was only in it for what he could get, and the Weaver paid better than what he’d got skimming off our earnings.”

“You learned all this from Snake, after the masquerade?”

The pain in her storm-wracked eyes answered his question.

He was starting to believe her, strange as her story sounded. “Is that why you threw away the locket when I finally gave it to you, that next day?”

She nodded, and when her eyes met his, there was no hint in them of the guile he’d come to expect of her.

“I hated you,” she said, “because I thought you were like the dragoons I believed had murdered him, and I hated myself, too, because despite my hatred, you’d made me want you with those kisses of yours. I couldn’t resist you. But once I learned how Randall had bubbled me, there was no reason to fight my attraction any longer. Why shouldn’t I take my pleasure with you? And besides”—she gave him a meaningful look—“Snake told me to stay away from you when I refused to take his dirty job. I don’t take well to being told what not to do.”

“You could have told me all that when I asked you why you came with me. Why didn’t you?”

“I have my pride. I didn’t want you to know how they’d gulled me. I could barely stand to think of it myself. I wanted you to think I was wise and canny. Not just another stupid girl from the provinces seduced by a cad and abandoned.” She compressed her lips until their rosy hue went pale. “That’s the truth, Trev. The whole of it. Now, do you believe me?”

S
he watched as he cradled his chin in one hand, thinking through his answer, while in the background the Cheapside Songbird sang about the captain bold from Halifax and the unfortunate Miss Bailey. Her fingers, which had been resting on the scarred wooden tabletop, tightened into a fist. Even to herself, her story sounded a bit too much like something from one of the Songbird’s ballads. How could she expect him to believe it?

He might pretend to, to keep her from leaving him until he was done with her, but that he could really trust her seemed impossible. As she awaited his response, she hardened her heart. Whatever he made of it, she’d done what he asked of her. He couldn’t accuse her of being the one to break their truce.

He took a sip from his tankard and savored it for longer than necessary. Only after he’d swallowed did he speak. “I believe you. You
are
telling the truth. I feel it here.” He pointed to his heart. “It makes sense that you would deceive me about something so painful. Why should you have trusted me with it? I was a stranger to you, and, besides, if you’d told me about it, the very act of describing it would have brought back all the pain. Of course you feared I’d pity you. A woman as brave as you would despise being pitied. Far better to keep me in the dark and wall away your memories where no one but you need ever know the price you paid for hiding them.”

He took another sip. “I know all too well what that feels like.”

His words enraged her. “How could you possibly know, a man like you. You could never have been betrayed like that by someone you’d given your whole heart.”

“I do know,” he said softly. “I’ve known since I was six.”

Six? What could he mean?

His eyes narrowed under their overhanging brows and took on a faraway look. “I may be a man,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “But once I was a child. A child without a father—he was far off in India, a hero, my ideal. But it was my mother who was my family and the center of my life.

“We lived in the country with her parents, the General and his wife. They were old—she’d been born late in her father’s life—and their manners were those of an earlier day, stiff and formal. They frightened me, but my mother was always there to defend me from the old man when my noise was too much for him and to deflect my grandmother’s scolding when I dirtied my clothes or dragged in whatever treasure I’d found out in the stables.” He paused and took another stiff pull from the tankard.

“One day, my mother took me aside and told me she must go away for the night and leave me alone with my grandparents. She asked me to kiss her and held me tightly. Something about the way she clung to me and wouldn’t let me go frightened me. I started to weep.”

He stopped, and the corner of his mouth twisted up in that way it did when he was trying to suppress strong emotion. “She told me to be a good boy and not cry. She said if I was good, when she returned the next day, she’d bring me a cake. I was six. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for a cake, so I quieted, and she left. I went to sleep alone, without tears, a good little boy, awaiting my cake.” His voice trailed off.

“But she didn’t bring it when she came back?” she asked, uncertain what he was getting at.

“She didn’t come back. She’d gone to join my father in India. I waited patiently for six days, a good little boy, never crying, waiting for her to come back and bring me that cake. Then my grandfather took me aside and told me where she’d gone and that it would be many years until I’d see her next. He praised me for my bravery and told me my courage meant I’d grow up to be a fine soldier like my father.” He sat up straighter. “And I did.”

“Didn’t you ever cry?” she asked, appalled.

“Never. I
was
a brave boy.”

“But you must have been furious at her for leaving you that way.”

“I didn’t let myself feel it. I did my duty. I do it still.” He lifted his eyes to hers, before lowering his long lashes over their indigo depths. “You must believe me, Temperance. I didn’t know how much anger lay hid inside me—until tonight.”

“But couldn’t your mother have taken you with her?”

“My parents had already lost five children to Indian fevers. She couldn’t risk losing another. Not only out of love for her children, but because my father’s estate was entailed. If he died without an heir, she’d be left with nothing—as she will be if I should die before her, too. That’s why I must wed though it goes against my inclination.”

He paused and took a sip of the porter, before continuing. “My mother did her duty and stayed with me in England for those six years until it was clear I would live. Then she returned to my father. When she left, she didn’t want the memory of me she carried away from our parting to be defiled by tears. She didn’t think I’d want that either. The men of her family were heroes, and I was to be one, too. She only did what was best for all of us.”

“Is that why you don’t want to love the woman you marry?”

He looked down into his lap. “I don’t want my wife to have to choose between me and the child who needs her love.”

But, of course, there was more to it than that. Carefully, she said, “You thought I, too, had betrayed you, tonight, didn’t you?”

He clenched his jaw. “I did.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not? You demanded full honesty from me.”

He sighed. “There are secrets I must keep because they are not mine to give away. My loyalty to those I serve forces me to keep silent.”

He reached across the table for her hand and squeezed it gently. “Forgive me.”

For what? For the secrets he must keep, or something else—for what he’d done to her under the influence of the rage connected with those secrets?

“Do you still think I betrayed you?” she asked.

“No. I don’t. I can tell you that. I jumped to a false conclusion and will never forgive myself for doing it.”

“Then I will forgive you,” she said. “I know all too well how strong that anger is that we feel when we believe ourselves betrayed.”

He reached for her hand, and this time she let him take it. With her other hand she stroked the backs of his strong, square fingers, while she thought out what she would say next.

At length, she said, “I know what it is that you need, besides my honesty, to be able to give up doing battle.”

“What?” The way his eyes widened told her she’d taken him by surprise.

“I will make you a solemn promise, and keep it as long as you keep the vow you made me, that you will believe I speak the truth.”

“And what is it that you’ll promise?”

“That
I
won’t disappear on you without warning.”

She took a deep breath. “I know our time together must be brief, and that when it’s over, you’ll go off to India with your bride, and I’ll go to America. But this is what I can give you, the promise that, before we must part, we’ll say farewell. We’ll cry the tears we must cry, together, so we don’t have to carry them around with us for life. There will be no more cruel surprises. Is that a fair trade for the trust you’ve given me?”

“It is. It is more than fair. It takes my breath away.”

“Then our truce will hold,” she said.

“It must. Let us pray it will lead us to a lasting peace.”

Chapter 14

T
he sun was rising behind thick clouds as they left the Rat and Castle behind. As Trev led Temperance out to the street, he took her hand, as much for his own comfort as to give her support. She didn’t flinch or withdraw it from his grasp.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him as her fingers twined around his. It would be all right—though what exactly
it
might be, he couldn’t say.

When they reached a spot not far from where he had first seen her in the crowd that had gathered around the ballad singer, Temperance’s grip tightened. A richly appointed coach had drawn up beside them. Its tall wheels were painted red, and it was so covered with gilding that even in the pale light of dawn, it almost blinded him. Within it rode a woman of uncertain age whose expression still bore traces of what must at one time have been a startling beauty. She lowered the glass.

Temperance ignored her and hastened her pace, pulling Trev along with her. But he stopped, his free hand on the hilt of his sword. Close up, the woman’s expression was downright malevolent.

“The prancer’s using you, moll,” the woman sneered. “You should have thrown in your lot with us when you had the chance.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Temperance shot back.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. As you’ll find out soon enough. Don’t come crawling to me when he’s done with you. I gave you your chance, but you were too proud to take it.” She pushed up the glass, and the coachman flicked his whip over the lead horse and set them going again.

“Who’s that?” he asked in a low voice.

“Mother Bristwick.”

The woman who ran the major’s favorite bordello.

“How do you know her?” he asked, afraid he might already know the answer.

“Everyone who dwells in the rookeries knows her.”

“Because she’s a buttock broker?” His voice came out harsher than he had meant it to.

“That, yes, but she does a brisk business in stolen goods, too. Whoever you are, Mother Bristwick can always find a way to help you come up with the ready.”

“And did she help you?”

She turned to face him. “I’ve sold her a ticker or two in my day. Who hasn’t? But that’s all. I told you the truth when I said I’d never sold myself—before you.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “You didn’t sell yourself to me. You came to me of your own free will.”

Her hand tightened on his in what he hoped was a gesture of affection, though it was hard to tell. He was on untrod territory with her now. His interactions with women in the past had never gone beyond simple couplings, gift giving, and parting—always parting.

But he did know one thing. “I didn’t like the way she spoke to you,” he said. “Has she threatened you like that before?”

“She threatens everyone. It makes the stupider girls afraid of her. But I’ve always ignored her threats, and I’m still here.”

He was touched by her bravado, but it worried him. She wasn’t as strong as she pretended.

“If she tries anything with you, she’ll have to answer to me,” he said sternly, putting his arm around her shoulder. But could he keep her safe? He would be departing within the week. The thought of leaving her unprotected disturbed him. For that matter, so did the thought of leaving her at all.

In the distance, he saw the slight form of a sweeper, already at his station at this early hour. He remarked on it.

“He sleeps in the doorway there,” Temperance explained. “All the crossing boys sleep rough, to keep someone else from taking their place.” She plunged her hand into her pocket and cursed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I let my pride get the better of me when I threw those banknotes back at you. Now I have nothing to give him.” A worried look swept over her face. “When I go off to America, there will be no one to look after him. And that will be so soon.”

How soon? Would that farewell she’d promised him come even sooner than he expected? Somehow, he’d interpreted the careful truce they’d arrived at as meaning she’d be staying with him until he had to end it.

He reached into his pocket. “Would you allow me to give you something for him?”

“Oh yes. My pride would be a poor thing if it let Danny freeze to death.”

He extracted a handful of coins from his pocket and gave them to her. She made her way over to the boy and led him to the shadows, where she could give him the money unobserved.

Perhaps it would be better for them both if she did leave for America now and pursued her dream of freedom in a land where no one would know what she’d been or what mistakes she’d made, for he was becoming far too attached to her. Just the thought of losing her had sent pain stabbing through his gut.

But as she concluded her business with the crossing boy and glided back toward him, he gave up pretending he could be that selfless. Wrong as it was, he couldn’t stop himself from giving in to the selfish desire to hold on to her as long as he could even though barely a week remained before he must set off for the nabob’s, retrieve the jewel, and board the merchantman that would take him back to India.

But he must not let his selfish wishes get in the way of her doing what was right for her. He’d already been selfish enough. So when she returned after waving farewell to the crossing boy, he said in as casual a tone as he could manage, “Those notes I gave you at the coffeehouse are yours still. You could use them to buy your passage to America right now.”

“Is that what you wish me to do?”

“No.” He couldn’t keep the vehemence out of his voice. “But perhaps it would be best.”

“Because you don’t want me anymore?”

“Because I want you too much. But I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been hurt enough.”

She sighed. “I will indeed be glad to set off for America, and breathe, at last, the air of liberty.”

He bit down hard, trying to give her no sign of how much it hurt that she could imagine herself happy without him.

“But I won’t go yet—I will stay with you until you have to leave me.” She gently stroked his cheek, rough with early-morning stubble. “Or until you no longer want me.”

“That time will never come,” he said quietly. “But I must thank you for giving me another chance. I couldn’t have borne it if you’d left me now, when I’ve shown you only my worst side. There is more to me than my anger.”

She smiled up at him through thick lashes, but her voice held no trace of flirtatiousness as she replied, “There is more to me than my impulsiveness. You aren’t the only one who’s shown off the worst parts of his character.”

He nodded. “We must start out fresh and live up to the vows we made to each other when we made our truce.”

“I will tell the truth, and you will believe me,” she said with a hopeful smile.

“Yes. And you will not abandon me without warning.”

They walked on in silence for a few paces. Then he said, “Because we are so alike—and not only in our anger—perhaps we
can
heal each other.”

“Perhaps we can. You are the only one who has ever pledged me even this much loyalty.”

He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it gently, filled once again with the intoxicating sense that they were two halves of one whole and bound to each other by more than just the casual vows of a single evening.

A
fter he had returned her to her lodgings, Trev stayed only as long as it took to make sure she got into the room safely before he took his leave of her. Temperance was relieved he had made no attempt to renew the physical attentions that had been so treacherous for them both. Despite the revolution in her feelings for him, she would need time to mull over what had passed between them and prepare herself for what must happen next.

For it would be very different, the next time they joined their bodies. Until now, in all her dealings with him, she had acted out of fear, convinced she was the weaker one and that he had the advantage over her. But she’d been wrong. What she’d learned about him tonight had changed everything. She knew now why he had pursued her so relentlessly after she had left him so suddenly that first night in the alley—and it wasn’t what she’d thought.

He wasn’t a callous man seeking revenge for the tricks she’d played on him, a man she must defend herself against, using every weapon that she had, but something else entirely: a lonely man, convinced he must not feel anything but lust. A man whose deepest wound, inflicted by abandonment, had never healed.

She had torn that wound open when she’d lured him in, and then deceived him. She’d danced a dance of betrayal, not knowing what it meant to him, until it had all come out in that brutal act of union that had frightened them both and made them face the price they paid for hiding from their pain.

It must be different now. She could no longer toy with him, knowing what she knew. And he, too, knew how close she was to the edge, for he’d taken the measure of her desperation when he’d drawn her away from the river. If they were to meet again, naked in body and soul, they must leave off wounding. They must find some path to joy besides their rage. She longed to attempt it, yet she feared the price she might pay should it succeed. For no matter what happiness they might find together, he must leave her, impossibly soon. How would she go on alone if she let him take her heart along with him?

T
he deep sleep that eventually claimed her was terminated by a sharp rap on her door.

“Message for you, Miss,” a rough voice called out.

A message? It must be from Trev. She hoped he wrote to say he would be back to see her soon. Sleep had restored much of her confidence and even more of her desire for him. But when she tore open the note, it wasn’t from Trev. And it wasn’t good news.

Scrawled in a spindly hand, the note said, “Meet me at five tonight at Mother B’s and the crossing boy will stay safe.” It was signed with an S terminated at the top by a forked tongue. Snake.

Her stomach lurched. She should have known better than to think she could ignore him. She hadn’t kept her concern for the boy a secret, so of course they’d used it against her. The Weaver knew everything about everyone. That was what gave him so much power. And she didn’t doubt for a moment that they’d carry out their threat against Danny if she didn’t obey. They’d given her no choice but to do their bidding. She couldn’t let the child pay the price for her rebellion. She’d have to find out what Snake wanted from her.

When she arrived at the bawdy ken to which Snake had summoned her, he took her into one of the lavishly furnished rooms the girls used to entertain their customers and lounged back against the scarlet satin quilt that covered the bed, his gray clothing and angular form contrasting strangely with the lush furnishings.

“The prancer’s using you, moll,” he said.

The way his words echoed those of Mother Bristwick chilled her. “For what?”

“The usual—and for something else I ain’t gonna tell you ’bout. But ’taint love that’s driving him, I promise you that, and it will go better for you if you choose to go in with our lot. We got your Randall to safety, and we could do the same for you.”

“And if I don’t?”

Snake shrugged. “You’ll regret it. And so will the little crossing boy.”

She felt the ground shifting beneath her feet. “What do I have to do if I go in with you?”

“Stay with the prancer and await orders. We ain’t asking you to do nothing you ain’t doing already.”

“Will I have to harm him?” She couldn’t face that. Would they force her to?

“No,” Snake replied. “Just keep him busy for a while. Distracted, if you know what I mean. And do what we tell you when the time comes.”

They probably would want her to harm him. And when the time came, they’d make it so she had to unless she could think of some way out in the meantime. But she must give Snake no hint she didn’t believe his reassurances.

Carefully, she asked, “If I do what you ask, will you swear Danny stays safe?”

“Of course, moll. The Weaver keeps his word. Go along with us, and the crossing boy will be fine.”

She bit her lip, calculating the chances, and came to a decision. “I’ll stay with the prancer.”

Snake raised an eyebrow. “And take our orders?”

“If it will keep Danny safe.” It was a good thing she hadn’t promised Trev she’d tell the truth to everyone.

Snake did that thing with his lips that was supposed to be a smile. “I knew you’d see reason. Now go back to your lodgings and keep him sweet. You’ll hear from us next when it’s time.”

W
hen Trev awoke the next morning, he turned his attention reluctantly to the myriad of practical details he must take care of before he could embark for India. His task was complicated by the need to keep his mother from knowing the truth, for she couldn’t be depended upon to keep a secret, and the safety of the jewel required that no one know his plans.

But even with the weight of affairs pressing in on him, he couldn’t stop thinking about the disturbing way Mother Bristwick had looked at Temperance. For all of her bravado, the girl was so vulnerable. It shamed him to realize that, little as she had, Temperance had given more thought to what would happen to the crossing boy she’d taken under her wing, after she was gone, than he’d given to what she would face when he departed. It was a horrifying omission. She might even now be carrying his child.