My Lady Notorious (19 page)

“Yes on both counts,” said Cyn, sprawled at ease in his chair. “But
don’t feed him too much. It’s a tender sprig not long from its mother.”

Chastity grimaced at this description but enjoyed the delicious,
spicy drink. She felt the hot spirits weave into her blood and relax
her. She leaned her head against the wall and refused to worry about
anything for the moment.

Lord, to have peace, and friends, and ordinary days…

She listened with half an ear to the conversation, but heard only
war news and anecdotes about people she didn’t know. The two men
laughed uproariously at things that didn’t seem the least bit funny to
her.

She began to feel left out, cut off from Cyn’s real world. She even
sniffed back a tear. At that she sat up with a jerk and stared
suspiciously at the drink in her glass. ‘Struth, was she becoming a
maudlin drunk?

At that moment two more men erupted into the taproom. “Fear not,”
one declared dramatically. “We are arrived to carry you from this dull
spot unto Elysium!” This dark-haired gallant was not in uniform but in
a magnificent, if disordered, suit of green satin, richly trimmed. It
became clear this was Heather—Lord Heatherington—owner of Rood House.
His companion was Lieutenant Toby Berrisford.

It was Toby who said, “Cyn! I’d heard you were recovered, but I’m glad of the evidence of my own eyes!”

Lord Heatherington, who was visibly drunk, focused his gaze with
difficulty. “It is, by gad, the mad Malloren himself. What blessed day!
Our festivities have yet another cause!”

The scene degenerated into pandemonium. The locals grinned at the
young men, but Chastity scowled. Could Cyn Malloren not keep a serious
task in mind once revelry was available? Perhaps there had been good
reason for her to accompany him after all.

When everything was sorted out, it appeared Cyn was going to spend
the night at Rood House, to help Lord Heatherington celebrate the death
of his grandfather, which long-anticipated event had finally put the
viscount, an ex-captain, in possession of a fortune.

Cyn took Chastity aside. “It would cause more talk if I refuse. You had best stay here.”

“No!” said Chastity. Lord knows when he’d emerge, and in what state.

“You’ll be safe enough. This place is off any main route.”

“You need someone along who’ll keep a sober head.”

“If I know Heather, it’ll be wild up there,” said Cyn with crisp authority. “You stay here.”

Before Chastity could react to the order, they were interrupted.

“Odso! What have we here?” Lord Heatherington asked with drunken bonhomie. “Your man? Where’s Jerome?”

“Resting,” said Cyn. “His leg’s bothering him. This is just a local lad acting as groom. He may as well stay here.”

“Not at all! Room for all, and my staff are having the devil of a
party as well. Come along, lad. We’ll put hairs on your chest, and
starch where you need it most!”

Chastity found herself swept toward Lord Heatherington’s coach. She
threw an alarmed glance at Cyn, but he merely shrugged, though she
thought he looked vexed. It was as he said, however—to make a fuss
would just raise questions. Toby Berrisford, for example, might
recognize the young man who had been with Mrs. Inchcliff, and thus
start thinking about Mrs. Inchcliff and a baby.

They were cramped with five in the coach, especially as both Gresham and Heatherington were large men.

“Should have left Charles to ride on the box,” said Cyn, and pushed
Chastity down on the floor in such a position that her face was hidden
against her knees. “Stay down there, lad, and keep out of everyone’s
way.”“

Chastity grimaced to herself but knew she had to be careful.
Berrisford was no fool and didn’t appear to be drunk. At least, she
thought stoically, the carriage had a thick, luxurious carpet on the
floor, not lousy straw as would be the case with a hired one.

As the carriage picked up speed, Heatherington burst into song and the others soon joined in.

Oh, here is a ditty, in praise of a titty, That’s pretty as
pretty can be. Tra-la! Come give me a titty, my sweet little pretty,
And you’ll have your jollies of me. Tra-la!

Chastity glanced up between knee and hat-brim, wanting to share her
amusement at this silly song with Cyn. He wasn’t looking at her at all
but taking a healthy swig from a bottle between verses. He seemed
thoroughly in tune with his company, rot him.

The men seemed to have an unlimited store of similar songs. The
tunes were monotonous, the words lacked any claims to poetry, and the
subjects were all lewd. Chastity would have received a first-rate
education in bawdy matters if she understood any of it.

She frowned over it. “Nether hole” she feared she did understand,
though the song which involved it made no sense. But what did drinking
from the nether cup refer to? The obvious interpretation was too
ridiculous.

It all sounded ridiculous anyway.

The men roared their approval of being tied up, tied down, eaten—
eaten
!—and
having five women in a row. Chastity was distracted by the logistics of
this. Did that mean actually lined up, she wondered, or one after the
other?

They roared their approval of smooth shoulders, round buttocks, and
enormous breasts. Chastity thought sadly of her own modest ones. They’d
hardly spill out of anyone’s hands.

They sang of the glory of a great bushy thatch between a wench’s
legs. Chastity lacked that too. Just a modest amount of brown curls.

In Society men paid pretty compliments to soft cherry lips and
shining cornflower eyes. Was this what they really wanted? If so, what
had she to offer? No breasts like melons, no bulging buttocks, no
thicket between her thighs.

Now they were on about kissing a rosy bum. That sounded as if someone had had a spanking.

Ah, now they were singing of more normal matters— cherry lips. Cherry
nether
lips… ?

She was hauled up and shoved out of the door to find they had
arrived at their destination. Her hauler was Cyn and he looked vexed
again. In fact, he looked in a rage.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I couldn’t think of a way not to come.”

“Nor could I,” he admitted. He dragged her close. “Listen carefully.
I’m going to find you a safe spot, and when I do you’re to stay there
at all costs, or I promise you, you’ll have the rosiest bum around.”

She stared at him. “Is that what that meant?”

He looked briefly heavenward. “Just keep your eyes and ears shut.” His hand shackled her arm as they went into the house.

Rood House was a handsome Jacobean construction, with leaded windows
and steep gables. It was made for elegance and madrigals, but behind
the carved doors, Bedlam reigned.

The gracious oak hall with its wide staircase was lit by only a
couple of flaring, smoky lamps, but it was full of people. Some were
felled on floor or stairs by drink and lust. Others wove before
Chastity’s eyes en route to other chambers. If the shrieks, raucous
singing, and discordant music were any indication, this house was the
scene of a bacchanalian revel. The air was sickly-sweet with smoke,
spirit fumes, and sweaty perfumes.

The noise deafened Chastity, but it was the smell that made her head
spin. She swayed against Cyn, and his hold became less controlling and
more supportive.

Berrisford and Gresham disappeared immediately into the throng. Heatherington smiled benignly on his revelers.

“Quite a party, eh? Your lad can go and join the festivities below.”

“No,” said Cyn. “I’d rather keep him with me.”

Heatherington gave them a distinctly strange look, but shrugged. “Come on, then. Come see our theater.”

Cyn held back. “You didn’t say this was an orgy, Heather.”

“What good party isn’t?” Their host frowned blearily at them. “Getting prissy in your old age, Cyn?”

“Merely giving thought to my uniform,” said Cyn. “It’s new. Have you a room where I can change?”

“Must have…” said Heatherington vaguely. A voluptuous redhead had
attached herself to his arm and was rubbing against him. Her breasts
were as good as naked, but her face was covered to just above the lush
red lips by a silver mask. Her attentions enthralled their host. “Big
place, this…” he muttered. “Must have room…”

It was no wonder the man couldn’t string four words together in view
of the way the redhead was distracting him. Chastity swallowed a
nervous giggle. If anyone groped her like that, she’d be in trouble!
Strangely, the woman was vaguely familiar. Chastity looked around.
About half the women were masked. This suggested they might be ladies
of Society out for amorous adventure, as was said to happen at the
Hell-Fire Club.

“Whoa, puss,” said their host to his tormentor, slapping her
invasive hand. “Steady on there a minute.” He turned to Cyn. “Just go
upstairs and help yourself. Any room you fancy. Help yourself… Help
yourself to anything…” He turned to his disobedient companion, and was
lost to them.

Chastity edged closer, trying to identify the woman, but Cyn hauled
her away. “Into voyeurism, are you? I’ve certainly brought you to the
right place then, haven’t I?”

He steered a steady course through the shifting, drunken throng
despite being propositioned three times before they reached the stairs.
He paused to give each female mild, postponed encouragement.

“My, you
are
going to be busy,” said Chastity through her teeth.

His grip on her arm tightened to the bruising point.

“All in a good cause. Don’t want anyone asking awkward questions, do we?”

They stepped over a couple who had passed out in one another’s arms, and climbed the stairs.

A young, unmasked woman was coming down. Heavy paint and many
patches couldn’t hide the pockmarks on her face, but her figure was
admirably curvaceous. She eased her bodice lower, which hardly seemed
possible, and swayed her hips. “My, what do we have here? Two handsome
lovers for Sal. Lucky me…” She licked her lips and eyed them with
professional expertise. She sidled up to press against Chastity. Sour
sweat and heavy perfume washed out from her body. “I love ‘em young,”
she whispered. “My specialty, young ones is. Let Sally show you how,
sweet.” Her hand reached out. Chastity twisted away and pressed against
Cyn.

He put an arm around her.

The whore shook her head. “That way, is it? Bloody waste. Your sort
are in the library, luvs.” She wandered down the stairs in search of
other partners.

Cyn dragged Chastity up the stairs. “You do realize you’re ruining
my reputation,” he snarled. “I’ll have to roll every woman in the house
just to prove I’m not a flaming sodomite.”

Chastity glared at him. “It’s your fault we’re in this stew. You’re the one with the disreputable friends!”

He looked as if he wanted to murder her.

It was quieter above stairs, but no more decorous.

The noise from below faded and blended with bumps, groans, and
shrieks from the nearby rooms. Perhaps some people hadn’t made it to
the rooms, for items of clothing were scattered about. Two odd shoes
littered the floor; a pair of striped stockings festooned a picture
frame; a lace-trimmed cravat hung from a sconce. A goblet had been
knocked over on an oak chest, and the pooled wine had dried to a sticky
stain.

“How long has this been going on?” Chastity asked.

Cyn ran his hand through his hair and looked around distractedly.
“God knows, but they’re on their second wind…” A noise and a blast of
cold air made them both look down into the hall. A new batch of people
was pushing in. “Or they just keep getting new blood,” Cyn added. “Word
of this revel has probably traveled the Home Counties. One thing,” he
said with a wry glance at Chastity. “It’s doubtless crippling the
search. Toby’s hardly keeping his mind on it…”

Chastity could not pay attention. She was frozen with horror. One of
the new arrivals was her brother, Fortitude Harleigh Ware, Lord
Thornhill. She had no doubt he would recognize her in a moment, even in
her disguise. Her face after all was unchanged, and he’d seen her shorn.

“What is it?” asked Cyn sharply.

At that moment they had to press together to avoid being run down by
a couple—a bedraggled, masked wench fleeing a red-faced man. The wench
laughed as she screamed, and did not run very fast. She ducked into a
room just opposite Chastity. Her pursuer lunged after.

“Got you, you saucy tease!”

The woman, who certainly had the required breasts like melons, and
was showing the fact to the whole world, fluttered her hands and batted
her darkened lashes. “Oh, sir, I fear you have…”

The man unfastened his breeches and leaped at her.

Cyn slammed the door, muttering, his question clearly driven from his mind.

Chastity was dazed by the scenes around her, but it was Fort’s
arrival that had her sick with fear. What in God’s name would her
brother do if he found her here? Beat her? He’d more likely murder her.
He’d believed that she’d invited Vernham to her bed, and raged at her
for not stopping the scandal by marrying the man. If he found her in
this place, and in men’s clothes…

And she had Cyn to worry about. It would come to a fight and Cyn
could be no match for Fort, who was a huge, strong man, skilled with
pistol and sword.

“Come on!” Cyn snapped. “Let’s find a room for you.”

Chastity didn’t need to be dragged, but he dragged her anyway.
Without a qualm, he opened every unlocked door. Every room was
occupied. In most she saw just a heaving quilt—though Chastity could
swear there were more than four feet at the end of one bed—but in one
room she glimpsed a pair of pale pumping buttocks.

She giggled. It looked so silly.

Cyn was back to muttering.

At last he opened a door on an unoccupied room. Cyn flung her into
it and shut and locked the door. He leaned against it. “Plague take the
lot of ‘em,” he muttered.