Lady Sarah's Redemption (22 page)

Using the manner of one gentleman to another, the effete,
self-assured Mr Hollingsworth introduced his mother, the fat evil woman who
regarded him speculatively, her eyes tiny pinpricks of steel in their folds of
fat.

The sight of her made his skin crawl. She had grown fat on the
profits of the flesh trade, on human misery. How many fallen women like Kitty
upstairs would willingly have embraced lives of bondage, slaves to the lusts of
men and the greed of people like the Hollingsworths?

“How much do you want for the girls?” Roland did not trouble to hide
his disgust.

Mrs Hollingsworth’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Why, the language
of common bartering sits ill with the likes ’o us,” she said. “We was just
protectin’ your dear ’uns, now, weren’t we, Mr Hollingsworth? Til you got ’ere,
though I must say you’ve taken yer time about it.”

“I’m not in the mood for games. Name your sum,” muttered Roland. The
relief in Sarah’s eyes only made him more wretched.

“Is pecuniary reimbursement for the care of your daughter? Or for
the governess, also?” asked Mr Hollingsworth. “Leaving Lady Sarah out of the
transaction I’m sure we’d soon come to some mutually agreeable negotiation. But
you see, Lady Sarah’s style of beauty is particularly sought after at the
moment.” He smiled. “She is beyond any price.”

“Don’t insult Lady Sarah unless you wish to earn more than my
anger.” Though he spoke through gritted teeth, Roland feared his anger was
something that would be difficult to translate into overt action in his current
state.

“Ah, now, isn’t it wonderful when a real gentleman champions his
lady-love in our establishment?” crowed the fat old crone. “If I were ten years
younger-”

Her son cut in. “The problem, my dear fellow, is this-”

“I don’t care how much,” Roland snarled, closing his eyes as he
swayed.

“Well, money’s one thing, but it ain’t goin’ to please our esteemed
guest whose company we presently await,” purred Mrs Hollingsworth. “Ah, Sir
Richard!” She simpered up at a new arrival whom the clubfoot ushered into the
room with a great deal of supercilious care. “Mr Hawthorne has been ever so
impatient to get down to business. We thought you’d never get here.”

“A street urchin delivered your message when I was up to my wrists
in gold coin at The Hellraker.” The newcomer rose from kissing the back of Mrs
Hollingsworth’s hand, a sardonic smile curling his thin lips as he surveyed the
company.

Roland blinked at the man who’d inhabited so many of his nightmares.

Sir Richard Byrd.

Trickie Dickie, as he was commonly known.

Back from exile.

About five years older than Roland, tall but powerfully built, he
was still a handsome man, although dissolute living had made its inroads.

“Not even a run of good luck could have enticed me to stay, knowing
what other … enticements … were on offer, here.”

His gaze slid over Caro, his velvet tones at odds with the lack of
empathy in his cold, hard eyes, though he smiled as he bit his lip in apparent
contemplation. “This frightened looking damsel must be Miss Hawthorne.
Venetia’s child without the fire and ice.” His eyes travelled to Sarah. “And
this lush little morsel must be the governess, yes?”

“How dare you!”

With a laugh at Roland’s ineffectual outburst, Sir Richard went on,
“Mrs Hollingsworth and her son have been maintaining these two young women at
their own considerable expense. Knowing my interest in the welfare of any
Hawthorne family member, they kindly requested my presence to help resolve an
adequate means of recompense …”

Roland waited. A weary acceptance that matters were about to become
very complicated settled upon him.

Sir Richard moved to the fire to warm his back. He looked at home,
an image he upheld as he said, “Being a regular patron of Mrs Hollingsworth’s
esteemed establishment-”

At Roland’s look of derision, Sir Richard laughed. “Do not make the
mistake of calling me inconstant. Venetia did that. No, my dear Hawthorne, I
have but one fair and faithful creature whom I visit here regularly; the
magnificently endowed Queenie. So it was an unexpected and delightful surprise
when Mrs Hollingsworth sent me the message this evening informing me that Lady
Sarah’s quest to find your daughter had led her here.”

“The last person we’d expected to see!” exclaimed Mrs Hollingsworth,
clapping her hands and leaning forward.

“Certainly a lucky chance I’d never thought would fall into my lap,”
murmured Sir Richard.

Moving stealthily around the back of the small sofa upon which Sarah
and Caro were huddled, Sir Richard took up one of Caro’s smoky ringlets between
two fingers. Lowering his face, he brushed the curl across his face, breathing
deeply before he released it with a kiss.

Roland’s fury ignited at Caro’s frightened intake of breath. He took
a step forward but the menacing effect for which he was striving was marred by
his unsteadiness.

Sir Richard gave a bark of laughter. “So you intend defending the
girl’s honour as you never did her mother’s?” He caressed Caro’s neck and his
lip curled. “Though it would appear Venetia’s daughter is not as willing with
her favours as her mother. Darling Venetia was … so very accommodating.” With
an assessing look, he added, “Nor does she have her mother’s ripe sensuality
but she is very young and that may come.” Leaning further over the sofa he
reached towards Caro’s bodice.

“How dare you?” Sarah hissed, batting away his hand. Sobbing, Caro
sank against her shoulder.

“If you’re after vengeance, not money, then pistols at dawn,” Roland
managed, hoarsely. “You’ll not find me hard to negotiate with when the safety
of Caro and Lady Sarah hang in the balance.”

It was an exhausting speech. Dear Lord, just give him the strength
to endure what he must in order to rescue the women.

“I don’t think Sir Richard was entertaining thoughts of duelling,
but rather had in mind some other kind of challenge.” A tremor of excitement
rippled through Mrs Hollingworth, like a gentle blow to a blancmange. Widening
her eyes and biting her lip like a child barely able to keep a secret, she
turned to Sir Richard. “Are we to play our favourite parlour game, Sir Richard?
Do you wish all of our large, happy company to participate, or just you and Mr
Hawthorne and the two young ladies?”

 
“No one will play any
parlour games!” Roland was surprised at the energy he managed to inject into
his voice. He slid his gaze across to Sarah and she smiled. To his amazement
she raked her eyes upwards, the length of his body in that lazy, maddeningly
sensual manner she had, and then pursed her lips slightly.

He could barely believe it. There they were, in the direst danger,
and she was flirting with him.

Yet was that not her way of bolstering him? Her feelings were
reflected clearly in her gaze. Despite the depths to which Roland was now
reduced, she was reaffirming her desire, sustaining him at this moment when his
manhood had never been more vulnerable. He felt a surge of love and
appreciation for the woman he had banished from his household so recently.

“I am taking my daughter and Lady Sarah home now,” he told Sir
Richard, quietly. “If neither money nor satisfaction at the end of a sword are
what you want-”

Sir Richard began to clap his hands in a desultory fashion. “Heroic
words! And yes, satisfaction is what I’m after, but not at the end of a sword.
Rather, upon the roll of the dice.”

Roland closed his eyes.

“Yes! I’ve in mind a very diverting parlour game which I think we’ll
all enjoy. I can see you’re not up to much, Hawthorne. I’m surprised, and
disappointed, I must say, to find you in your cups but as it’s not a game of
skill it hardly signifies.”

Roland ran the back of his hand across his eyes. “The young ladies
are very tired,” he said, wearily. “It’s time we took our leave.”

“Come! I can see Lady Sarah is eager to enjoy some sport with you,
Hawthorne.” Sir Richard kissed the top of Sarah’s head. “Damned fine filly this
one,” he murmured. “I don’t wonder you’re on fire to bed her.”

Steeling himself against the unwise impulse to lunge at Sir Richard
and thereby provide the man with the perfect excuse to fell him with an easy
blow, Roland blinked at Sir Richard’s yelp of pain.

“The bitch bit me!”

“I’ll do more than bite you if you don’t let us all leave,” hissed
Sarah. Her beautiful eyes were blazing. “If you were a man of any substance you’d
realize your warped plans for revenge could hardly be satisfied by pitting
yourself against a man who is so ill he can hardly stand up!”

Roland’s fear intensified. “Stop, Sarah!” he begged. If they could
suffer in silence just a little longer, if he could only lose consciousness,
even if it was at the cost of his dignity, perhaps they could walk out of here
relatively unscathed.

Sir Richard crossed his arms and directed an admiring look at Sarah.
“The young lady has fair got my blood up, Hawthorne. However, to prove I am
indeed a gentleman, first choice this evening is yours.” He smiled. “Name the
stakes. Shall it be the lovely, innocent and retiring Caro” - he asked,
caressing her shoulder – “or this little filly, the fair and fiery Lady
Sarah?”

Roland did not think he had uttered his horror but Sir Richard
answered as if he had.

He chuckled. “It’s merely a popular party game, old chap, which I’ve
no doubt Lady Sarah has played countless times. Let me explain. Upon the roll
of the dice an item of clothing from the chosen damsel is either removed, or
replaced.”

“The ladies do not wish to play,” muttered Roland. His eyes were
hurting from the light. “Gaming debts sent you into exile once before, sir; I
assure you, your insistence on this route will send you to a place far worse.”

“I did what I had to do … for Venetia,” snarled Sir Richard. “I
sacrificed
everything
for Venetia.”
Violence lit his eyes. “And I paid the price, by God! These past seven years I
have been paying the price as she haunts me from the grave. She was beyond
pearls, that’s what she told me. A string of pearls that cost a king’s ransom
is what she demanded. Yet when I risked everything to give her what she wanted,
she prettily accepted the gift with the most half-hearted of favours” - Sir
Richard’s face contorted grotesquely as he hissed — “and then left me!”
His eyes were pinpricks of malice as he looked at Roland. “Left me and returned
to her husband.”

So that was it. Relief kept Roland upright. He might have known
money would ultimately guarantee their freedom.

“I cannot give you Venetia,” he said, feeling the world closing in
upon him, despite his sudden illumination as to what Sir Richard really wanted.
“She was never mine to give … but I can give you the pearls-”

“The pearls are mine by rights and I mean to claim them. This little
entertainment is the interest upon what you already owe me.”

Mrs Hawthorne clapped her hands. “Oh, this
is
sport.” She quivered with excitement. “Do let us begin. There’s
the table, gentlemen, and there are the dice.”

“I refuse to play.” Roland eyed the die suspiciously. “Certainly,
not with those.”
 

“Always happy to oblige, Hawthorne. If you have them, we’ll play
with yours instead.” Sir Richard pulled a delicate gilt chair into the centre
of the room. “Lady Sarah, if you please?” With courtly exaggeration he assisted
Sarah towards it.

She shrugged off his grasp and faced him with loathing. “Not only
must Mr Hawthorne play with loaded dice, you can see he is seriously ill. If
you force any of us you must know that your title will not protect you from the
law.”

“What a fearsome and tempestuous creature you must be between the
sheets,” he sneered. “Just like your gentleman friend’s admirable predecessor.”
He turned to Roland. “I have to tell you, Hawthorne, I’ve bedded lusty wenches
in my time but your Venetia put the most enthusiastic whores into the shade.
Why do you look at me like that? Perhaps she did not provide the same
excitement in the marital bed? Was she as great a disappointment to you … as
you were to her?”

“Oh dear! The table!” clucked Mrs Hollingsworth as it toppled over
in Roland’s haste to get his hands around his tormentor’s throat. “Archie,
won’t you help poor Mr Hawthorne to his feet? Poor fellow’s in his cups.”

Nauseated, Roland suffered the grip of the young man’s hands beneath
his armpits. He was in no position to struggle, he realized, as he was set back
onto his feet, only to stumble backwards as the world tilted once more on its
axis. His inadequacy was compounded as Sarah, refusing to sit, taunted,
“Perhaps, Sir Richard, you were a disappointment to
her
, since she so willingly returned to her husband once she’d
tired of you.”

Sir Richard’s eyes flared. “Young Miss Hawthorne will suit my
purposes just as well, though her retiring ways are not so pleasing to me.”
Lamplight glinted on the shaft of steel he pressed to Caro’s throat. Roland and
Sarah froze.

“Ah, finally you understand I will not be gainsaid.” A voice of
velvet in keeping with the charade. “Once more, Hawthorne, I ask you to make
your choice. Remember, it’s just a game. A game of chance, a roll of the dice,
your luck against mine. Just tell me, who shall be the stakes? Your daughter?”
He grinned. “Or this luscious wench?”