In Bed With the Devil (6 page)

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and the light of her lantern caught the silver of his eyes, giving them an unholy gleam. “Frannie is quite bright. I do not question her ability to learn, rather your ability to teach. Once I see that you're able to fulfill your part of the bargain, I shall see to mine.”

“I will not tell you the name until you are ready for the undertaking.”

“I'm agreeable to those terms.”

“And I shall never tell you why.”

“It seems I should at least know what he's done to deserve to die.”

His last few words caused her stomach to tighten painfully. She knew what she was asking, knew what the consequences would be. If she could think of another way to save Winnie, she'd
turn to it. But she knew threats would not sway Avendale. And Winnie was right. The law was of no use to them. So Catherine strengthened her resolve before saying, “It's a private matter.”

“This particular part of our arrangement does not sit well with me.”

“The man you killed—Geoffrey Langdon—why did you kill him?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Did he deserve what you did to him?”

“No, he deserved much worse.”

“I believe you.”

“I don't give a bloody damn if you believe me or not.”

She took a step forward. “I mean, I take you at your word that he deserved it, so why can you not take me at mine that this other gentleman is deserving of death?”

“Because, Lady Catherine, you live in a world where ladies weep because they didn't receive an invitation to a ball. What you might consider insult, I would merely consider inconvenience.”

“You think because you grew up on the streets that you alone are privy to the dark nature of man? How terribly conceited you are.”

“I have seen the worst of men and I have seen the best. Can you say the same?”

Could she? Could she even begin to fathom what horrors he might have witnessed?

“On this matter, I believe I have seen the worst.”

He nodded very slowly. “Very well then. I'll take you at your word that he deserves what I shall deliver.”

She thought she should have been relieved. Instead doubts plagued her. She shoved them aside. Now was not the time to get squeamish about her actions. “Then we have a bargain. Shall I have papers drawn up?”

The man who rarely exhibited emotion looked horrified. “Good God, no! There is to be no evidence, nothing written anywhere that will lead me to Newgate. Even the missive I sent earlier should be burned.”

“Then how do we signify that we're both in agreement?”

“We'll shake on it.” He removed his glove and extended his right hand toward her.

On her skirt, she wiped her palm—which had suddenly dampened—before pressing it against his. His long fingers closed over hers, and he drew her near, so near that she could see the narrow black outline that circled the silver of his eyes. “You are now in league with the devil, my lady. May you rest easier at night than I.”

Her heart hammered as he released his hold, turned away slightly, and began to tug back on his glove. “We shall need to be discreet. I'll have my coach waiting in the alley at midnight tomorrow. Meet me there, and I'll escort you to Frannie.”

“You must love her very much to be willing to do all this.”

He twisted his head slightly and held her gaze. “I'm not doing anything for her that I've not done for her before.”

D
amnation, what was it about the woman that had him confessing things he'd never confessed to anyone else? What was it about her that filled him with shame about his past? What made him want to shock her down to her very toes? What made him want to appear as evil as she believed him to be?

The thoughts had been tormenting him ever since he'd left her garden. He was no doubt a fool for getting involved in this matter without more information. She wouldn't reveal who she wanted killed until he was ready to carry out her bidding. For all he knew, he was the one she wanted done in. Not that he could think of a single reason why she would. A wise man never went into a situation without knowing all the details. He was sadly lacking in details.

He banged on the door of the simple lodging. He waited a minute, banged again. He saw a light flicker in a lower window and banged once more.

The door opened and an elderly woman held
up her lamp. “Are you daft? Are you not aware of the hour?”

“I need to see James Swindler.”

“He's abed.”

“Then get him up.”

She glared at him. “Have you no decency? I'll do no such thing.”

Footsteps echoed on the stairs and then a tall man with broad shoulders was easing the lady aside, lifting his lamp for a clearer view.

“Luke? Good God, what's wrong? Is it Frannie?”

In a way it was.

“We need to talk.”

“Of course, come on up.” Jim patted the woman's shoulder. “It's all right, Mrs. Whitten. He's a friend.”

“No, doubt, one in trouble. Calling on an inspector of Scotland Yard this time of night. It's not what decent folks do.”

“Not to worry. Go back to sleep, madam. I'll keep an eye on things.”

The woman harrumphed and shuffled back toward what Luke assumed was her bedchamber.

“Your landlady is a most unpleasant woman.”

Jim chuckled. “It has been my experience that few people are pleasant when they're awakened in the middle of the night. Come on up.”

Luke followed him up the narrow stairs to a flat that had a sitting room and a sleeping area off to the side. He wasn't surprised to see a small fire going in the fireplace. Regardless of the season, he and his friends relished warmth now that they could afford it.

Jim poured whiskey into two glasses and
handed one to Luke. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Luke sat in one of two chairs set before the fireplace while Jim sat in the other.

“An inspector? When did that happen?” Luke asked.

“Some time back.”

“You're moving up in the world.”

“Hardly. It's an impressive title, but it simply means I no longer walk the streets but oversee those who do.”

Jim had always been humble to a fault. Luke suspected if he were suddenly crowned king of England, he'd brush it off, saying that it simply meant he sat in a fancier chair than anyone else.

“Why did you think my reason for being here had something to do with Frannie?” Luke asked.

“Because she's what we all have in common.”

“No, Feagan is what we all have in common.”

“But Frannie is the one we all circle around to protect.” Jim leaned forward, pressing his elbows against his thighs, holding his glass with two hands, as though he expected bad news. “So if she's not what brought you to my door in the middle of the night, what is?”

“I need you to gather some information for me.”

Jim leaned back, smiling confidently. “That's where my true talent lies.”

Luke was well aware of that fact, and he intended to put James Swindler's skills to good use. He was determined to learn the truth behind
Lady Catherine Mabry's request long before she revealed it. Knowledge was strength, and where she was concerned, Luke needed all the strength he could summon.

 

A gaming hell. Claybourne had brought her through the back door of a gaming hell.

Catherine was still reeling from that realization as she stood in the office doorway watching while Claybourne sought to convince a red-haired lady—who seemed determined not to be convinced—that everything would be all right.

“Frannie, she's going to teach you that being married to a lord is not something to be feared,” Claybourne said.

Unless one was married to the Duke of Avendale,
Catherine thought wryly.

“But I don't want this.”

They continued on, going back and forth. Catherine listened with half an ear, more intrigued by her surroundings than the conversation, even though she couldn't see the main portion of the inside of the building. She was halfway tempted to ask for a tour.

Claybourne wanted to marry a woman who worked in a gaming hell. Who
worked
. In a
gambling establishment
. Society would never accept her. The entire situation had disaster written all over it. Still, Catherine embraced the challenge. She would not only teach her, but she would see that she was accepted into Society. It was worth it to see that Winnie was safe.

The dress Catherine wore was one she used when calling on ladies of quality. It seemed en
tirely inappropriate all of a sudden. What did one wear when going to a gaming establishment? She struggled not to laugh maniacally. The entire situation was simply absurd and at the same time incredibly fascinating. Winnie would absolutely die if she knew where Catherine was spending her evening.

The owner of the establishment, to whom she'd been introduced upon entering, also stood in the doorway, leaning back insolently, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze running from the top of her head to her toes and back up. Even though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel his impudent perusal, as though it was a soft touch. Twisting her head, she glared at Jack Dodger. “Are you pleased with what you see?”

He snapped his gaze up to hers. “Immensely.”

She allowed her gaze to wander over him, stopping for a heartbeat at the burn in the shape of a T that marred the inside of his thumb until she finally settled her gaze on his dark eyes once more. “I can't say the same.”

His chuckle was a low thrumming purr, like that of a large cat preparing to strike. A shiver went slowly down Catherine's spine.

“How is it that a lady of the nobility ended up with a backbone?” he asked.

“It appears you know little of the nobility, sir.”

“I know a great deal about them.” He leaned forward slightly, satisfaction in his dark eyes. “They are some of my best customers.”

She knew his sort—a troublemaker—the reason decent women needed an escort when traveling on the streets. He was attempting to shock her.
She was not easily shocked. She turned her attention back to the arguing couple. “We all have our vices.”

“And what is yours, Lady Catherine?”

“None of your concern.”

“Perhaps not, but it has occurred to me that I might have a position for you in my employ.”

She glared at him once more. “Do tell.”

“I believe you would fulfill a fantasy for my customers who are not of the nobility that my present girls can't. I suspect many a gent fantasizes about bedding a woman of your…ilk.”

“And what of a lady's fantasies? Are you well equipped to see to those?”

He seemed taken aback. Good. She didn't much like him.

“Do ladies fantasize about bedding?”

She arched a brow.

A lazy grin spread over his face. “What do you fantasize?”

She gave him a slow smile in return and shifted her attention back to the arguing couple. Frannie was obviously agitated. Dear God, at this rate, they'd be here all night. Catherine was already tired. She'd spent a good deal of the afternoon with her father's man of business and she'd been too anxious about tonight's meeting with Claybourne to rest earlier that evening.

“That's quite enough already!” Catherine shouted.

Claybourne spun around, clearly irritated with her. Not that she cared a whit about his irritation one way or another.

“You can't bully her into this,” she said.

“I'm not bullying her.”

“You're bullying her. Can't you see that she's terrified by the thought of marriage to you? Not that I can blame her if this is the way you plan to treat her once you're married.”

“No,” Frannie said. “No, not marriage to Luke, but marriage to what he represents.”

“The nobility, the peerage, the upper crust of society. Do you really believe we're so different?”

“Yes. You have all these rules—”

“Which can be learned, and Lord Claybourne assures me you're extremely bright and will pick up on the subtle nuances of our society in no time. So shall we get to it?”

Frannie looked at Claybourne, looked at Catherine. She appeared to be completely defeated. “Yes, of course.”

Catherine stepped into the room, wondering why in the world Claybourne would want a mouse for a wife. It seemed that more than lessons on etiquette were in order. “You, Lord Claybourne, may leave.”

He took a step nearer and leaned toward her. “Be gentle with her.”

“I shall do what needs to be done in order to gain what I want.”

“If you bring her tears—”

“For God's sake, I'm not a monster.”

He started to open his mouth.

“Shh! I'll not tolerate your interference in this matter. Take Mr. Dodger with you as I don't much care for him. Be sure to close the door smartly on your way out.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, and she thought
she should be frightened by the dark look he gave her. But for some strange reason she wasn't afraid of the Devil Earl. She never had been.

He spun on his heel, strode from the room, and slammed the door in his wake. She did take perverse satisfaction in pricking his temper. She turned her attention to the woman who was no doubt older than she, but somehow seemed younger. “Hello, Frannie. I'm Catherine.”

“Lady Catherine.”

“Only in formal situations. Among friends I'm Catherine.”

“And you expect us to be friends?”

“I do indeed.” She sat in a nearby chair. “Now, tell me the true reason you don't want to marry Claybourne.”

 

“I like her,” Jack said. “I like her a lot.”

Luke tossed back the whiskey Jack had poured for him before pressing the glass and his ear to the wall in Jack's sanctuary—a room nestled beside Frannie's. Damnation, he couldn't hear a bloody word.

Jack took the glass from him, refilled it, and handed it back. “She has a lot of spunk.”

“She's damned irritating is what she is. I'm already regretting the bargain.”

“She's a beauty.”

Luke slumped down into a chair. “I hadn't noticed.”

“She'd make a dead man sit up in his coffin. Damn, I might even be willing to kill a bloke myself to earn her favor.”

“I'm not doing it to earn her favor.”

“I know. You're doing it to earn Frannie's.”

They fell into contemplative silence until Jack asked, “Do you think unmarried women fantasize?”

Luke looked up. “About what?”

“About bedding.”

“No. They wouldn't know where to begin.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why wouldn't they know where to begin?”

“Because they don't know the first thing about what goes on between a man and a woman.”

“Once they've learned they could fantasize.”

“Possibly.”

“So Lady Catherine isn't a virgin.”

Luke had a strange reaction. His entire body tightened and he felt a need to…what? Defend the lady's honor? Strike out at whoever had taken her innocence? Had someone forced his attentions on her? Was that the reason she wanted him killed?

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“She indicated that she fantasized about men. Now I'm left to wonder if women would pay to have their fantasies realized. Perhaps we should expand our business to include offerings for ladies.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Men have a need that women don't.”

“I spend a good deal of my day contemplating various tantalizing aspects of women, not to mention all the various exciting things I could do with them. You don't believe they think about men?”

“No, they ponder gowns and tea and needlework.”

“I'm not so certain. Maybe I'll ask Catherine—”

“She's Lady Catherine to you—and stay away from her, Jack.”

“A bit difficult to manage when you bring her into my establishment.”

“I have no choice. Frannie lives here and works here, and she seldom leaves. As you well know, night works best for clandestine encounters.”

“You ordered me to stay away from Frannie, and I have done so. I flirt with her not at all. You can have only one woman, Luke, and you have claimed Frannie. I will do with Catherine as I please.”

Luke came to his feet with such force that his whiskey sloshed over the sides of his glass as he towered over Jack. “You will leave her be.”

He didn't like the way Jack was studying him, with a speculative gleam in his eye. Nor did he particularly like the fury emanating from him at the thought of Jack giving Catherine any attention at all. What was the matter with him? What did he care who gave her attention? But just the thought of her with someone else set his blood to boiling.

“As you wish,” Jack said. “For now. Because you are my friend. But never make the mistake of thinking that you are my master.”

Luke eased back and set the glass on the desk. “I'm off to play cards.”

He needed something to distract himself from his unsettling thoughts. He'd almost smashed his fist into Jack's face, almost ground out that Catherine was his. He'd never had such a visceral reaction where Frannie was concerned, so why did he feel so possessive of Catherine?

She was nothing, simply a means to an end. While Frannie was everything.