Andrea Kane (17 page)

“You want me to be your lady’s maid?”

“In name only,” Sammy assured her. Rushing on, she added, “Would you mind very much? I don’t really need a maid, but I do need a friend. You were right—I have been sheltered. There’s so much I don’t understand, so many questions I have about men. Alexandria would answer them, but she’s at Allonshire birthing a child. And there’s no other woman I can talk to.” Sammy paused only to inhale. “Anyway, since my lady’s maid spends so much time with me … well, it would give us a chance to get to know each other, to share confidences.”

A soft smile touched Cynthia’s lips. “Samantha—pardon me—
my lady,
” she corrected herself, this time with a twinkle. “I would be honored to accept the position.”

T
HE FOG CLUNG TO
Petticoat Lane, making the already menacing alley appear even more daunting, especially at the ungodly hour of 3
A.M.

Rem turned his collar up higher, ignoring the disreputable characters who stared at him from concealed corners, sizing him up as cohort or prey. Keeping his step purposeful, Rem’s fingers slid into his pocket, closing around the pistol that was securely secreted there, ready to be extracted in a flash.

Reaching the designated area, he stopped.

“Lookin’ fer someone, are ye?” An unsavory boy of no more than ten approached Rem, an ugly blade in his hand.

“Perhaps.” Rem stared the urchin down.

“’Ave ye got money?”

“None.”

“A watch, then?”

“No.”

“Ah, come on”—the blade glinted—“surely ye must ’ave something in those pockets. Maybe I should ’ave a look … ?”

“I’ll save you the trouble. The only thing I have in my pockets is this.” In a heartbeat the pistol was leveled at the boy’s chest. “Now, are there any other questions?”

His eyes wide, the boy backed off, shaking his head. “No. No questions. I meant no ’arm. J’st lookin’ for a shillin’ to feed myself, is all.”

“Fine.” Rem groped at his coat with his free hand and tossed a shilling at the boy’s feet. “Go get yourself a meal … honestly, for a change.”

Before Rem’s words were out, the boy had snatched up the coin and bolted.

“Gresham?”

The gravelly voice came from beside Rem’s elbow.

Veering abruptly, Rem aimed the pistol at the stranger’s heart.

“Now, now, put that away,” the stout man instructed calmly.

Pudgy. Unruly gray hair. Pale blue eyes. Of middle years. Goddfrey’s description clicked in Rem’s mind, leaving no doubt as to whom he was addressing.

“Knollwood.” Rem tucked his pistol away. “I see you made it.”

“I don’t forget business appointments. I also don’t believe in procrastinating. You wanted to see me. What can I do for you?”

“I need money.”

“So I’ve heard.” Knollwood took out a snuffbox, fingering it thoughtfully. “What makes you think I can help you?”

“I’ve heard tell that you’re extremely liberal when it comes to loans.”

“On occasion, yes. It depends on what the loan is for and how certain I am it will be repaid.”

“It’s for a ship, and I always repay my debts.”

“A ship?” Knollwood’s brows rose. “What sort of ship?”

Rem lit a cheroot, slowly exhaling into the night. “It’s no secret that quite a few British ships have disappeared these past months. Many of them belonged to colleagues of mine. Knowing them as I do … well, let’s say that instinct tells me carelessness played a big part in the losses.”

“You believe you can manage things differently, I presume?”

“I believe that if I commission a ship, see it built to my specifications, and supply it with my own captain and crew, I can not only avoid the disastrous fate these other ships have suffered, but make a fortune in the process—for myself
and
for you.”

Knollwood’s beady eyes gleamed. “Quite an undertaking.”

“Are you interested?”

“I might be.” Knollwood flipped open his box and pinched a healthy portion of snuff between his fingers. “How would you manage to earn this fortune?”

“Think about it. Merchants are terrified to send their goods, for fear of losing them all. Let’s say my ship traverses the seas once, twice, several times without incident. How much do you think merchants would pay to ensure that their cargo was carried on a consistently reliable vessel? My profits would soar. I could use them to purchase additional ships. Why, the investment could result in a whole fleet that would put all other fleets out of business.”

“You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, Gresham. What happens in the meantime? It will take months until your fleet has established a reputation—preceded by months, maybe years, for it to become a fleet. How is my loan going to be protected? How do I know you’ll be able to repay me? And what if your instincts are wrong and your so-called superior ship sinks like all the others?”

“I’m not a fool, Knollwood. I’ll insure my vessel with a portion of the money I borrow. Your funds will be secure.”

“It’s a time of high risk.”

“True. But it’s also a time of high reward. If my intuition is wrong, you’ll be repaid and I’ll be bankrupt. However, if it’s accurate, I’ll be rich and you’ll be richer.”

“We have yet to discuss my terms.”

“Whatever they are, I’ll meet them. As I’m certain your sources told you, I’ve run out of options.”

“How badly do you want this money?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“How much will it take to buy and insure your ship?”

“I want more than my investment requires. I want enough to maintain my status—and my reputation—with the
beau monde.
”

“How much?”

Rem thought of Goddfrey. “Two hundred thousand pounds.”

“An outrageous sum.” Calmly, Knollwood inhaled his snuff, then snapped the lid shut. “I assume you’re willing to sign a note?”

“Of course.”

“Without even knowing my terms?”

“Yes.”

“You’re that confident?”

“I am.”

Knollwood nodded. “All right, Gresham. I’ll need a few days to amass such a huge sum of money. Meet me here Monday night, same time. I’ll bring your loan … and the necessary papers. You bring a quill to inscribe your name.”

“Very well.” Rem ground the cheroot beneath his heel. “You won’t regret this decision. Others fail. I don’t.”

An ominous silence. “That remains to be seen, Gresham.”

Knollwood disappeared into the night.

“My butler said you were here.” Rem closed the sitting room door behind him. “Do you have so little faith in my ability to defend myself that you were worried … or is there some other reason you couldn’t sleep?”

Boyd scowled. “Very funny.”

“Your Cynthia did vanish rather suddenly, didn’t she?” Rem strolled across the room and lowered himself into a chair. “It certainly altered your plans for the evening.”

“I had no plans.”

Rem cocked a disbelieving brow.

“All right, then. I had plans. Apparently, Cynthia didn’t. In any case, I’m not here to discuss my romantic encounters, or lack of them.”

“You really
are
upset, aren’t you?” Rem stoked the fire, trying to oust the chill from his bones.

“Not upset. Stymied. Obviously, I read her signals all wrong.”

“I don’t think so … since I read her signals the same way you did.” Rem cleared his throat. “Perhaps Annie had already committed Cynthia elsewhere for the evening.”

Boyd gripped his chair arms so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Can we change the subject? I didn’t come out at five
A.M
. to speculate about Cynthia’s actions, or her whereabouts.”

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Rem nodded. “My meeting with Knollwood.” With calm precision, he recounted the details.

“Evidently, he didn’t harm you. Did he threaten you?”

“No … at least not yet. But remember, he hasn’t handed the money over either. I’m certain the threats will come once he owns me.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Boyd squinted as the first patch of early morning sunlight seeped through the window, a reminder that it was nearly day. “Do you plan to handle this one alone, too?”

Rem shook his head. “No. I plan to find out if Knollwood will offer me his own personal insurance policy.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, will he promise to make certain my ship remains safe, my venture secure, in exchange for an immense additional sum? If so, he’s our man.”

“Ah, I begin to see. You think he’s been blackmailing men into buying his protection.”

“Um-hum. And convincing those who are reluctant to do so by providing firsthand demonstrations of what will happen if they refuse to comply,” Rem added.

“Interesting speculation. Now, what if Knollwood doesn’t offer you this unique opportunity?”

“Then he’s merely a bloodsucking, heartless parasite, rather than a mass murderer.” Rem calmly crossed one leg over the other. “To answer your original question, I want Harris and Templar ready to grab Knollwood immediately after I meet with him Monday night.” Rem’s eyes gleamed with the triumph of ensuring justice would soon be served. “At which point, the ‘terms’ of my agreement with Mr. Knollwood will alter … as will the person dictating them.”

Muffled laughter intruded on Sammy’s last remnants of sleep, coaxing her eyelids to open. At first she wasn’t certain where the sound came from, only that it was close by. Curious, she sat up in bed … and smiled.

Romping on the floor, both buoyant and panting, were Rascal and Cynthia. They were evidently in the middle of a competitive bid for Cynthia’s stocking, one end of which was tightly clenched in Cynthia’s hand, the other firmly fixed between Rascal’s small but effective teeth.

“I’d let you have it, honestly,” Cynthia was promising between chuckles. “But it’s my best pair. Can I substitute a different one, perhaps?”

Rascal wagged his tail cheerfully, but made no attempt to relinquish the garment.

“Don’t humor him, Cynthia.” Sammy climbed out of bed. “He’s entirely too spoiled as it is.” She snapped her fingers. “Drop it!”

Rascal eyed Sammy, apparently debating which meant more, his mistress’s affection or his new possession.

The decision, thankfully, never needed to be made.

“Oh, you’re awake, my lady.” Millie pressed open the door and inched in, carrying a tray of hot chocolate and scones.

Seeing his opportunity, Rascal bolted down the hallway, stocking in mouth.

“I’m sorry, Cynthia.” Sammy rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Rascal is well-named—he’s still as devilish as the day I got him.”

“He’s precious.”

“He’s impossible.” Sammy sighed. “But luckily for him, I happen to adore him. I’ll replace your stockings.”

“Pardon me, my lady …” Millie still hovered in the doorway, looking bewilderedly from the fleeing pup to his mistress. “I brought your breakfast—Cook thought you’d be tired after your evening at the opera. But I didn’t know you had a guest. I have only enough for one.”

“It’s not your fault, Millie,” Sammy hastened to assure her. “Cynthia spent the night unexpectedly.” Already Millie’s eyes were growing suspiciously damp. The last thing Sammy needed right now was for her maid to dissolve into a customary round of tears. “This is my friend, Cynthia. Cynthia, this is Millie”—Sammy shot Cynthia a meaningful look—“my lady’s maid.”

Cynthia nodded her understanding. “Nice to meet you, Millie.”

Millie curtsied, nearly upsetting the tray. “Oh dear!” She steadied the rattling china and sped across the room to deposit the tray on Sammy’s nightstand. “I’ll get more,” she blurted, backing from the room. “Food, I mean. I’ll only be a moment. I’ll be right back. It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am.” Like a terrified rabbit, she bolted.

“Do you see what I mean?” Sammy asked, noting the spark of amusement in Cynthia’s eyes.

“I do.”

“Well, we’ll soon remedy that. After breakfast, you and I will talk to Smitty and everything will be resolved.”

“Surely you don’t think I should go with you to consult your guardian.”

“Why not? It’s your life we’re discussing.”

“But I’m just—”

“You’re not
just
anything, Cynthia.” Sammy seized her new friend’s hand, dragging her over to the looking glass. “You’re a beautiful, sensitive woman who’s been scandalously mistreated. Stop demeaning yourself—I won’t have it.”

Cynthia stared at her reflection, her dark eyes wide, vulnerable. The pristine nightrail Samantha had loaned her billowed about her slender form, seeming to mock her by its very presence. Her masses of wheat-colored hair were disheveled, draped about her shoulders. How did she look?

Like a whore.

Unable to bear the shame, Cynthia lowered her eyes. “It’s ironic. What happened to me wasn’t my fault, and I know it. I despise the man responsible, and all the men who have followed in his wake. But when all is said and done, they’ve managed to reduce me to exactly what they believe me to be—a common prostitute.” She wrapped her arms about herself and averted her head. “The only emotion left inside me is enmity; I hate them … and I hate myself.”

“You saved my life,” Sammy returned in an unsteady voice. “Not many women would have risked their own safety to protect a total stranger. How can you doubt your worth?”

“Women judge other women differently than men judge them, Samantha. And since it’s men’s opinions that matter, I’m unworthy for any decent life, and unfit company for you.”

“Not all men think like that.”

“I beg to differ with you, my naive friend. Men relegate women to two varieties, each separate, but necessary: a chaste paragon on their arm and a skillful whore in their bed. No woman can be both.”

“Drake’s not like that. He loves Alex.”

“And keeps only unto her?” Cynthia returned sardonically.

“Yes.”

“You’re a fool.”

“You’re wrong.”

Cynthia gave a shiver of distaste. “I can’t imagine ever marrying. Why would any woman
choose
to condemn herself to a lifetime in her husband’s bed, subjecting herself to his lust, night after night?”

“Alex says making love is wonderful.”

“Making love?” Cynthia gave a bitter laugh. “Is that what you call it?”

“When you care for someone, yes.” Sammy perched on the edge of her bed. “You’re right about my being naive, Cynthia. I am. I don’t profess to knowing firsthand what it’s like to lie with a man. But I do know that when you’re in love, you merge with your hearts as well as your bodies. You join in passion and tenderness, not lust. I see the wealth of feeling in Drake’s eyes when he looks at Alex … and in hers when she looks back.”