Wicked Proposition (4 page)

Catherine nodded miserably and drank her tea.
She was feeling a sense of dread in the pit of her belly. Her
tongue burned to ask the question, putting it into words seemed
difficult.

“Might you know a woman of a more relaxed virtue
to explain such things without having to…to…have…relations with
anyone else? I fear I cannot bring myself to do such a thing,”
Catherine stammered uncomfortably, blushing to the roots of her
hairline.

“I know of many such creatures,” the Countess
disclosed and snickered gleefully. “Half the ladies of the ton
could instruct you on how to bed a man. We will want a true whore.
Those tittering gossips cannot be trusted. When coin is involved,
you can insure discretion in these matters. If anyone discovers
what we plan, it is over. Gabriel would expect me to employ such
efforts to stop him.”

Catherine felt exhausted and earned a concerned
clucking from the Countess. “You must rest now, my dear,” she said
solicitously and rang for the maid. “I shall have your things moved
to your room and have a bath prepared. Cook will have a tray sent
up.”

Catherine nodded, exhausted from her journey. A
maid arrived and she was shown upstairs. She couldn’t help but
admire the decor as they made their way down the endless
corridors.

Dunleavy Hall had been luxurious, but nothing
compared to this. She was brought to a door at the end of the
hallway and the maid opened it and stood aside for her to
enter.

The bedchamber was large and decorated with
muted pastels. The bed was covered with a silk comforter that
matched the gilt-edged wall coverings. Catherine thanked the maid
who introduced herself as Amy. She relaxed by the fireplace as her
trunk was brought in and several servants arrived with water for
her bath. She felt her eyes drooping as Amy helped her undress.

In the adjoining sitting room was a large copper
tub, filled with steaming water. She sighed with delight as she
proceeded to enjoy the first real bath she had since leaving the
hall.

The next day she was moved to a small room at a
boarding house nearby. The room was modest, but clean and
comfortable. Mister Treadwell arrived at her room that week. He was
an older man with a balding head and a small, fixed stare. He had
the papers prepared. All was in order in regard to the transfer of
funds, she noted in relief.

He handed her some that were quite lengthy and
explained each. They were in regard to the guardianship and her
rights restored once she came of age. She was spared reading them
and signed each paper dutifully, all the while feeling she sold her
soul.

Catherine looked around the stark room when the
barrister left. The reality of what she was doing hit her finally.
She felt trapped into it now. Tears made her wipe at her eyes
viciously. It was her idea, springing from desperation. Catherine
trembled and her hands shook. She took a deep, calming breath, and
reminded herself that she had no options.

They had no one now. Her parent’s dying left
them dependent upon a man who had no intentions of honoring his
responsibilities. It appeared unless Lilly remained married to Lord
Iverleigh, they were all doomed.

###

“She agreed to it? How did you manage it?”
Clarice Devereaux’s garishly-painted face was even more horrid in
surprise. The woman relaxed on the settee of Lady Iverligh’s salon.
She was eager to conclude her matter with the Countess. The scent
of money had drawn her there before noon.

“She thinks I mean to restore my brother’s
inheritance, the little fool,” Lilly replied with a smirk. The
madam didn’t need to know all the particulars.

“It is too bad she is not willing to auction her
virginity,” Clarice lamented sourly. “I could have fetched a goodly
sum for it.”

Lilly eyed the madam of one of London’s most
exclusive brothels with a raised eyebrow. Contempt simmered in her
eyes. Thanks to Edward’s inept bumbling and loose talk, she now had
this creature to contend with. It was bad enough she had to endure
the woman’s extorting her. Clarice’s presence in her elegant salon
quite nauseated Lilly.

Clarice Devereaux had proved to be quite
resourceful, but her methods of gaining Catherine’s cooperation
were no longer necessary. Drugs and restraints would not be
necessary.

The uncouth woman had the audacity to seek her
out at home. Clarice raised considerable eyebrows with the staff
when she arrived. There was no doubt of the woman’s occupation with
her painted face and flamboyant dress.

“She has agreed. That is all that matters,”
Lilly said simply. “Gabriel would never force himself on any woman,
even a drugged prostitute. He is too much of a gentleman for
that.”

Clarice was admiring the painting hanging over
the hearth. She looked about the Countess’s salon with an
appreciation for the richness there.

“Lord Iverleigh may not want her. Men in my
business are known to be fickle,” Clarice said bluntly.

Lilly smiled tightly. Her elegantly coiffed head
tilted as she watched the woman taking inventory of her wealth
under her nose. The desire to have Dunstan toss her out the door
was strong. Soon, she thought. She would rid herself of this
grasping creature.

“If you saw her you would agree. I know my
husband, Clarice. She will please him,” the Countess informed her
knowingly. “You getting paid will depend upon him wanting her.”

“Why must it be her, Lady Iverleigh?” Clarice
demanded suddenly. The madam frowned, her suspicion obvious. “Any
one of my girls could do what you ask of your sister.”

“Let us just say that it satisfies me,” Lilly
murmured softly, unwilling to admit that she had any other motives.
“At least I need not worry of Catherine bleeding me as you
have.”

“Secrets are a part of my business, Lady
Iverleigh,” Clarice replied smugly. “Your final payment will
conclude our matter. Never fear, three thousand pounds and our
association ends.”

Lilly stirred her tea, longing to fling the
contents into the madam’s painted face. She smiled sweetly instead.
Clarice would find she didn’t respond well to blackmail or
threats.

“You will give me the diary then?”

“That was our agreement.”

“I want no other men visiting my sister while
she is there, Clarice,” Lilly said knowingly.

“Where is my newest pupil? I think it best if
she were brought to my house for these lessons. The longer I am
gone the more likely those sluts will rob me blind!” Clarice
complained bitterly.

“It is too much of a risk. It must be at her
rooms away from prying eyes. If I am to pay you at all this must be
accomplished.”

Clarice grumbled, obviously resigned to her lost
revenues. She complained the girls she employed would be snatching
customers off the street in her absence.

“As you wish, Lady Iverleigh, it is your money,”
Clarice replied smugly. She sat back upon the settee to sip her
tea.

Lilly scrawled the address upon a piece of paper
and handed it to her. “See that you remember that, Clarice,” Lilly
advised. “We will discuss what is to be done with her later.”

“You will not send her home?”

“I think we both know that is not an option,”
Lilly replied. “If all goes well, you can have her when I no longer
require her.”

“Very well Lady Iverleigh, I will begin your
sister’s lessons tomorrow,” Clarice agreed.

###

The coach pulled up to the curb. A tall,
elegantly-dressed man stepped out. The crest on the elaborate coach
denoted his status as the Earl of Iverleigh.

Gabriel St. Armand was paying a call on an old
friend. He nodded to the people who passed him on the busy walk. He
flipped open his timepiece and grinned, displaying even white
teeth. It was half-past two. It was time he woke up his friend. The
day was almost over.

Gabriel opened the wrought-iron gate that led to
the large two- story brick house. The housekeeper smiled brightly
when she opened the door.

He greeted her warmly, his dark eyes twinkling
as he smiled down into her round face. “Is the Captain awake yet,
Maggie?” Gabriel asked pleasantly after inquiring after her
family.

She filled him in on her large brood first,
proudly stating each grandchild’s accomplishments.

“No, my lord, he sleeps,” the housekeeper
answered finally. “His ship docked late last night. I can send
Hennessey above stairs to wake him.”

Gabriel nodded and showed himself into his
friend’s study. He helped himself to the man’s stash of French
brandy, and sat before the fire to wait.

Captain Nicholas Van Ryker strode into the room
at last.

Nicholas looked like he had been out to sea much
longer than three months. The sea captain acquired a full, black
beard. He wore stained breeches and was barefoot. His curly ebony
hair was in sore need of a trim. He hadn’t even bothered to button
the shirt that dangled open, displaying a rippling, muscled abdomen
and a wicked scar across his chest.

“Pour me one, Gabriel.” Nicholas yawned tiredly
as he came forward, his bright blue gaze the only thing Gabriel
recognized in his sun-darkened face.

Nicholas arched a dark brow at the look of shock
on Lord Iverleigh’s face at his unkempt appearance.

“I trust you are going to shave before we step
out this evening? You look like a damned monkey,” Gabriel informed
him mockingly. He held his nose as he handed his friend a snifter
of brandy. “And do bathe, you smell like one.”

Nicholas threw back his head and laughed. He
further offended his noble friend by promptly draining the snifter
in one gulp.

“I will endeavor to appear civilized for your
sake, but the ladies always prefer me best.” Nicholas sipped
thoughtfully at his brandy. “I think it’s the scar. Gives me an air
of danger, it does.” He traced the fearsome scar that slashed
across his chest from shoulder to hip bone and chuckled in
amusement.

Gabriel eyed the scar and his smile faded. He
remembered how his friend had nearly died five years before. A
lesser man wouldn’t have survived it. The mystery of the man’s past
was his own. Nicholas rarely spoke of his illegal smuggling
activities. The Earl could only wonder how he had come to be half
dead on the Warf that night.

Nicholas was no novice with a rapier. He was
returning from an evening out with Gabriel when he was waylaid in
the Earl’s coach. The men attacked him unprovoked. The footman was
killed in the fray. Nicholas managed to get to his ship after the
attack. His first mate found his Captain bleeding to death on the
deck. The man hastily brought his Captain to the Earl’s residence
where a surgeon had been summoned.

After weeks of lingering between life and death,
Nicholas survived. He didn’t offer reasons for the attack. Gabriel
was left to assume it had something to do with his smuggling
activities. Gabriel always had the nagging suspicion Nicholas
wasn’t the intended victim that night.

He theorized he’d been the target. The ruffians
had not robbed his friend. They were there to do murder instead.
Gabriel had been ever watchful since. He told himself it was his
imagination and suspicious nature.

“You have been gone far too long, good friend,”
Gabriel remarked. He raised his snifter to salute him. “I trust you
have many cases of this stashed away in my warehouse? I know I
shouldn’t condone your current hobby, but I do like a good
brandy.”

Nicholas smiled widely and held his snifter up.
“To the French, let us hope we stay at odds with them, for I’m
making a bloody fortune.”

“When will you allow me to help you invest it
all? You can’t smuggle forever, Nick.”

“You sound like my brothers,” Nicholas observed
sourly. “Had they any balls left to them after they married, they
would be right along with me.”

“I wouldn’t like to see you get caught,” Gabriel
warned softly, his dark eyes flaring in concern.

Nicholas shrugged, unconcerned. “I have had many
close calls. I’ll quit when I have enough wealth put aside. I don’t
want to end up in a French prison. Have no worries, I have
plans.”

Gabriel did not ask what his friend planned.
Nicholas was a private person. The fact he disclosed his occupation
as a smuggler at all to him was just a means to an end. Nicholas
needed his vacant warehouse on the docks to hide his ill-gotten
goods before he sold them. In exchange, he kept Gabriel stocked
with his favorite brandy.

“You may be disappointed that redhead you
admired at Clarice’s disappeared. We will have to find you a
suitable replacement,” Gabriel remarked, changing the subject,
sensing Nicholas would speak no more of his illicit dealings. “Nan
could always bring a smile to your face, as I recall.”

“When are you going to start trying for heirs,
Old Man? Don’t you have a title to worry about?” Nicholas asked in
amused curiosity, not seeing the flash of pain that crossed his
friend’s features.

“I have been trying to separate from Lady
Iverleigh for the last few years,” Gabriel confided with a grimace.
“It is a trifle late for starting a nursery.”

“How is that possible?”

Gabriel had no hesitation in confiding in
Nicholas. Their unlikely friendship began fighting over a woman.
The woman was seeing them both. When they discovered it, they
promptly left the woman and sought the nearest pub. The chance
meeting had sparked an enduring friendship, despite their
differences in background.

“It is not unobtainable, if you know the right
people. It is very expensive and a lengthy proceeding. I just want
out of this farce of a marriage my father arranged.”

Nicholas nodded in understanding and wisely
changed the subject. “Where did Nan run off to?”

Gabriel was grateful to talk of anything but his
wife. “Clarice claims she ran out on her debt. Lester and Harry
never tracked her down.”