The Bridegroom (10 page)

Reggie stared at Mick. She felt nauseated. “Are you suggesting the earl is courting me for some reason other than the pleasure of my company?”

Mick’s face looked troubled. “I’m sorry if you have let yourself like the man, Reggie, but I cannot believe it is simply coincidence that Carlisle sought you out.”

“I sought him out,” Reggie countered, her face heating. “Despite what you say, I believe the earl has developed a genuine fondness for me.”

“You are only fooling yourself,” Mick said. “I think—”

“Are you suggesting I’m incapable of knowing when a man is dissembling? Why do you think I have waited so long to marry?” Reggie said angrily. “I have never met a man I could like as much as I like the earl. I have tested him in every way I can conceive, and he has never failed to impress me with his goodness, his kindness, his—”

“Perhaps we should sit down and discuss this calmly,” Becky suggested.

Reggie felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She was afraid to examine Mick’s accusations too closely. Afraid of what she would discover. “I cannot stay. As you must have heard me tell Lord Carlisle, I have an appointment at Miss Henwick’s Home this afternoon.”

Reggie felt like sobbing. And would have, if she were the sort of female who allowed herself to become a watering pot. She had an awful premonition that once Mick told her everything he knew about Carlisle, she might
never want to see the earl again. Carlisle could not have kept the truth so well hidden from her. He must have a care for her; she would have discovered a lie. She was not like her sister. She had been so very, very careful to look before she leaped.

“I will return in time to join you for supper,” Reggie said as she fled the room.

She would deal with everything at supper. She would listen to what Mick had to say about Carlisle. And she would distract Penrith, so he perceived no evidence of the obvious attraction between Michael O’Malley and his wife.

“P
ike and Jarvey understand they’re not to strike her?” Clay said to Pegg as they stopped near Miss Henwick’s Home in a closed carriage that was purposely absent the Carlisle crest.

“They’ve been with ye since the Sea Dragon first set sail,” Pegg said. “They’ll do their best.”

Which meant, Clay thought, they might be provoked to violence. He shoved aside any second thoughts. Reggie had given him no choice. “I should have kidnapped her a month ago and saved myself the trouble of a courtship,” he muttered as he stared out into the black, starless night. A misty rain made the cobblestones glisten in the light from a flickering gas lamp on the corner.

“ ’Twas not time wasted,” Pegg said. “The lass trusts ye now. When ye rescue her from a fate worse than death, she’ll be glad to marry ye.”

Clay was upset with himself for not broaching the
subject of a leg shackle sooner with Reggie. He should have known his luck would run out. But he did not intend to see his plans foiled by the sudden appearance of Blackthorne’s steward, Michael O’Malley, even if it meant arranging things so the duke’s daughter would be forced to marry him.

He had not believed Reggie’s story that she had an appointment at Miss Henwick’s Home, so it had been a relief to see her leaving Penrith’s town house within minutes of his own departure earlier in the afternoon. The foolish female had not even bothered to disguise herself in old clothes and had hailed a public hackney to reach her destination. She had stayed long past an hour when it was safe to be in such a disreputable neighborhood.

Clay was waiting now in the shadows for the drama he had set in motion to unfold. “I warned the chit she should not linger here after dark. She is fortunate no one else has done what I am about to do.”

“When do we sail?” Pegg asked.

“Tomorrow morning with the tide.” Clay patted the pocket of his jacket. “I have procured a special license that will allow us to be married at any time of day, and without the banns being read in church, in anticipation of precisely the situation which has presented itself. Have you arranged to bring someone aboard tomorrow morning long enough to perform the ceremony?”

“All is in hand,” Pegg said. “Are ye sure ye want to go through with this, lad?”

Clay stared out the window to avoid answering. And
caught sight of Reggie being accosted on the lamplit street by two rough-looking villains.

The play had begun.

Clay watched as a grimy hand covered Reggie’s mouth to cut off her scream. He pursed his lips in admiration when Reggie gave Pike a vicious jab in the belly with her elbow, causing him to lose his hold on her. Clay winced as she clawed red furrows down Jarvey’s cheek, then laughed aloud when she took off running. Damned if the chit wasn’t about to escape!

His amusement vanished when Pike caught her by the tail end of her skirt, reined her in like some desperate animal on a tether, then clouted her hard on the chin with his fisted hand.

Clay growled in fury and lurched toward the carriage door.

Pegg manacled his arm to hold him in place. “Ye must have known she would fight, lad.”

“I warned them not to hit her!” he said in a savage voice.

Pegg pointed to the lifeless body being hoisted over Jarvey’s broad back. “ ’Tis better this way. By the time the lass wakes, ’twill all be over.”

Clay settled back into the velvet seat, but his shoulders were knotted with tension. His insides turned when he imagined how Reggie’s face would look, blackened and bruised by Pike’s blow.

Clay turned away from Pegg, fearing the other man would see his anguish, hating himself for feeling sympathy for the daughter of his enemy. He reminded himself why he had begun courting the chit in the first place.
Made himself remember the bitter bite of the lash on his back, the agony of the saltwater that had been used to salve his wounds, the unending ache in his chest where his heart should be.

He had lost a wife and a son. In return, he would take Blackthorne’s daughter from him and get on her a child to replace the one he had lost.

Clay watched, forcing himself to remain impassive, as the two men carted their burden down a darkened alley toward the brothel he had selected as the site of Lady Regina’s ruin. He had arranged for her to be sold to the worst of the Covent Garden abbesses, a woman who catered to the worst lechers, the most depraved gentlemen. It would not be long now before Reggie’s innocence was lost.

Once she was ruined, she would be glad to marry him.

Clay felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and swallowed it down.

He felt dread. And summoned hate.

He felt regret. And summoned rage.

He had been a victim. It was only fair that Blackthorne’s daughter should suffer as he had.

But the mere thought of Reggie submitting to some wretched goat with sweaty hands and the money to buy her virginity made Clay want to do violence. Lady Regina Wharton was no longer merely his enemy’s daughter. Sometime over the past four weeks, and despite his best efforts to avoid caring, Reggie had become a person to him, someone with wishes and hopes and dreams.

He knew she wanted children, several of them. He knew she wanted to be more than an object of beauty to her husband, that she wanted to share her thoughts with him and to have an equal say in decisions about their future. And he knew she was romantic enough to believe that passion should be a part of marriage.

He regretted never kissing her again, though she had given him opportunities enough to do so. They had even walked alone together along one of the darkened pathways in Vauxhall Gardens, stopping to admire the fireworks that had exploded overhead. Her eyes had glowed with excitement, and she had turned her face up to his, inviting his kiss, inviting his touch.

He had known it was a test. He had leaned close, his mouth a breath from hers and said, “You are tempting, my sweet. I would love a taste of your lips. But I can wait.”

He had resisted the urge to drag her into his arms, to align them body to body, to feel her softness against the places where he was hard. He had felt a grim satisfaction in her small moue of disappointment and exulted in the knowledge that when she was his at last, his seduction of her would be all the more satisfying.

A sudden pounding on the carriage door startled Clay from his reverie. He opened the door and stepped out.

“The girl has been delivered—”

He hit Pike without thinking, flattening the man and making his nose spurt blood.

“Why’d ye do that, Captain?” Pike said angrily, as he shoved himself to his feet.

“That was for disobeying an order.” The instant Pike was on his feet, Clay hit him again. “And that was for bruising the girl.”

Jarvey kept his distance. “She’s been sold to the School of Venus, Captain, like you said.” Jarvey held out a wad of paper notes. “They was glad to get her, her bein’ a virgin and all.”

When Clay made an animal sound in his throat, Jarvey grabbed Pike by the arm to haul him to his feet, shoved the money into Clay’s hand and said, “Pike and me’ll just be headin’ back to the ship.”

Clay shook his hand to ease the sting in his torn knuckles. He turned to the coachman and said, “Take me to the School of Venus,” then stepped back inside the coach where Pegg waited for him.

“I thought ye planned to leave her overnight,” Pegg said.

“My plans have changed.”

Clay stared at the wad of dirty paper that represented the value of Reggie’s virginity. He set the money on the plush scarlet velvet beside him and did not look at it again. He still had not decided what course of action he should follow, when his carriage rolled to a stop before the School of Venus, the house of ill repute where Reggie was now held prisoner. “Wait here for me,” he said to Pegg.

“What would ye be doin’, if I might ask?”

“Rescuing the fair damsel,” Clay said in disgust.

“But there hasna been time—”

“Stubble it, Pegg.”

The door knocker at the School of Venus was made of iron and clanked in a minor key when Clay used it. The knock was answered by a sticklike woman, dressed very much like the caretaker at Miss Henwick’s Home, who invited him inside.

The walls of the drawing room were covered with Chinese hand-painted wallpaper that featured pheasants and flowers, and Clay’s boots sank in the plush weave of a Brussels carpet. A harp sat in one corner, while a gilded chaise longue with carved arms had been angled in front of a white marble fireplace. In the opposite corner, two Hepplewhite chairs braced a small parquet gaming table. The exquisite furnishings made it plain that the School of Venus catered to the Quality.

Clay knew there were gentlemen with an appetite for virgins, the younger the better, and the money to pay for such a treasure, but he had never let himself dwell on the matter. Now he could not force the thought from his mind.

“What can I do for you, milord?” the abbess asked.

“I have a fear of diseases,” Clay improvised. “Have you any girls who are untouched?”

The abbess smiled, revealing a missing eyetooth. “You are in luck, milord. A girl came here only today from the country saying she was pure as snow and wanted a real gentleman to pluck the bud from her—”

“Are you sure she is untouched?” Clay demanded, his voice sharp with fear that he was already too late.

“I do not promise what I cannot deliver,” the madam
said. “She is pure. I checked her myself. But the price—”

“How much?”

“A hundred pounds?” the abbess ventured.

“What does she look like?” Clay asked. It would be his luck to pay for a “virgin” who was not Reggie.

“Small and shapely, milord, with black curls above and below, eyes the color of the deepest blue sea, skin that will taste of peaches and cream, excellent teeth, sweet breath—”

“Done,” Clay said, his mouth dry with unexpected desire.

Realizing that he would have paid much more, the woman said, “Of course, clean sheets are extra. And if you choose to spend the night—”

“I will take the room until tomorrow morning,” he said. “How much?”

She named the amount she wanted, which he paid, along with the hundred pounds for Reggie’s virginity. It was four times the amount for which she had been sold. Acid surged into his throat. He did not know why he had said he would spend the night. Surely he did not intend to do so. To take her against her will? To make her his own in a place such as this?

“Do you have a pen and paper?” he asked.

“On the desk against the wall, milord,” the abbess said.

Clay scribbled a note and sealed it with wax from one of the three tapers burning in what appeared to be a silver candelabra on the desk, imprinting it with the Carlisle
seal etched in the gold ring he had inherited from his brother along with the title.

“Deliver this to the man with a peg leg you will find waiting in the carriage outside,” he said.

She eyed him askance but said, “It shall be done, milord.”

“Now,” he said. “Show me where she is.”

He followed the abbess upstairs and then along a narrow, carpeted hallway, disconcerted by the serenity he felt in such a place. One would never have suspected the debauchery he knew must be occurring behind closed doors.

When they reached the end of the hall, the woman unlocked the door and shoved it open. Clay half expected Reggie to throw herself into his arms, but there was no sound, no movement, and very little light.

“Where is she?” he asked, taking a step into the gloom.

“There, on the bed.”

Clay followed the woman’s gnarled finger and felt his body tighten viscerally as he spied Reggie lying stark naked on the bed. Her hair tumbled across the pillow in abandon, and her legs were spread wide in readiness, but her hands were folded peacefully across her breasts. Clay swallowed hard.

“What is wrong with her?” he demanded. “Why is she so still?”

“Oh, well, I gave her a bit of laudanum. For the pain. And to make her compliant for whatever you wish, milord.”

His mouth flattened in repugnance at the leer on her
face. “That will be all,” he bit out. “Leave the key with me.”

He closed the door, shutting out the world of demireps and doxies, then put the key in the bolt and turned it, locking himself inside with Lady Regina Wharton.