Royal's Bride (15 page)

L
ily sat nervously next to her uncle in the backroom of the Red Rooster Inn. Charles Sinclair sat across from them, his leonine mane of silver hair gleaming in the light of the candle in the center of the table. Royal would arrive any minute.

Lily steeled herself for his appearance, torn between despair and a ridiculous eagerness to see him. She wondered what he would say when he saw the way she was dressed—in flowing, bright-colored silk skirts that showed a bit of ankle, glittering fake gold jewelry and a glossy black wig.

Not pleased, she didn’t imagine.

He didn’t want her involved in this and today it would be clear how deeply she would be.

There was some comfort in that, she supposed, that he was concerned for her welfare. It was a notion she would hold on to as all of this progressed.

She smoothed the red silk blouse that was part of her costume, the gathered neckline modestly cut so as not
to offend her hostess at whatever affair she attended. The skirt was even more colorful, a garment she had fashioned from scarves and scraps of diaphanous fabric. Though the skirt and blouse were of far better quality than the ones she had worn when she was sixteen, she wasn’t used to the sideways glances and raised eyebrows she had garnered as she walked down the street.

It didn’t matter. Once she immersed herself in whatever role she played, she became completely that person. And she had played the role of Gypsy several times before.

She sighed as she silently sat waiting. At least one good thing had come of this. After six lonely years, she had been reunited with her uncle. Uncle Jack was the only connection she had to her parents and the happy memories of her childhood. No matter the poverty she had suffered when she had lived with him, no matter the sort of life he led, she had missed him. And she loved him.

“There he is.” Sinclair rose, along with her uncle, to greet the duke. Salutations were exchanged and Sinclair and Uncle Jack sat back down.

For an instant, Royal remained standing, his gaze riveted on Lily. Then the pieces fell together, recognition dawned and he hissed in a breath.

“Good God, I can scarcely believe it is you. I wouldn’t have recognized you at all if I hadn’t expected you to be here.”

Jack gave up a rough chuckle. “She can play a dozen different parts. Girl has a real talent for acting.”

But she hated every moment of it, hated the deception and being in the spotlight, and from his tight-jawed expression, she thought Royal somehow knew.

“She should be making hats,” he said darkly, taking a seat across from her.

“Oh, she will be,” Jack said. “Soon as we finish the job. Lily never was a quitter.”

No, she had always seen the sham through to the end. They had to eat and this was how her uncle earned what little money he had. Of course, they had never tried anything as monumental as this.

“So what is the plan?” Royal asked.

Charles Sinclair spoke up in answer. “Before we come to that, you need to understand a bit about our mark.”

“Loomis, you mean.”

“Exactly so. On the surface, Preston Loomis is a rather dull fellow. He likes to gamble, but only in moderation. He enjoys betting on sporting events, though again, not overmuch. He drinks, but not to excess.”

“Sounds like a bloody saint,” grumbled Jack.

“What about women?” Royal asked.

“The man’s no eunuch. He enjoys women, particularly beautiful ones, but he is careful to keep them at a distance. He’s never had a mistress.”

“Doesn’t sound like an extravagant spender,” Royal said. “Likely, he’ll have at least a portion of the money he stole from my father.”

“Most of it, from what I could discover. As I said, Loomis is fairly dull. It is Dick Flynn who is intriguing.” Sinclair smiled as if he relished relaying the information he had gathered. “As you may know, Your Grace, Flynn’s mother was a prostitute, but that was mostly a sideline. She made her living by reading palms and casting tarot cards, a trade she learned from an old Gypsy woman named Madam Medela who lived in the
Haymarket District. Flynn’s mother went there for readings, herself, and she always took her son.”

Royal flicked a glance at Lily, his gaze running over her Gypsy costume and straight black, shoulder-length wig—an item he had unknowingly paid for. “I gather his background figures into what you have planned.”

“Precisely. You see, even after his mother died, Flynn continued to visit the old Gypsy woman, seeking advice on personal matters and ofttimes matters of finance. He returned to her house even after he became Preston Loomis.”

“She still alive?” Jack asked.

Sinclair shook his head. “She died several years ago. Apparently, Loomis still laments her passing.”

“The information you’ve collected is impressive,” Royal said. “I’m still not certain how you plan to use it.”

Sinclair flashed a self-satisfied smile. “We are simply going to provide Mr. Loomis with a substitute…Madam Medela’s grand-niece, Madam Tsaya.”

Royal’s gaze swung back to Lily and she read the doubt in his face. “The man is a confidence artist. Won’t he be suspicious that Madam Tsaya is a fake?”

Sinclair chuckled. “Ofttimes a confidence man is the easiest mark of all. To be successful, you must believe you are smarter than everyone else. Loomis thinks he is invincible. Add to that, he has never worked with a woman.” Sinclair smiled. “And Lily can be extremely convincing.”

Royal’s jaw flexed. “Whatever he is, I don’t think the man is a fool. I don’t like involving Lily in something as dangerous as this.”

Sinclair dismissed his protest with a wave of his
hand. “We’ve been through all that before. You want Loomis. This is the best way to get to him and we need Lily in order to see it done.”

Uncle Jack broke in before Royal could summon another protest. “So what’s our next move?” Jack asked with undisguised excitement. He had always enjoyed his work, Lily knew, even when one of his schemes had gone wrong and they had to go into hiding from the law.

“How we proceed from here is up to His Grace,” Sinclair said. “We need to begin introducing Madam Tsaya into Loomis’s social circles. After she attends her first party, she will undoubtedly be invited to others. She’s an oddity, entertainment for people who live jaded, bored existences and have very little to keep themselves occupied. Jack, Lily and I will work out the details. You just get her invited and let Lily take care of the rest.”

“How can we be sure Loomis will attend?” Royal asked.

“It’s been a while since your father died. I have a feeling Loomis will be on the prowl for fresh game. The man is a professional. It is simply what he does.”

Royal leaned back in his chair. “You seem to have everything worked out.”

“That, sir, is what I do.”

Royal rose from his seat. “It appears our business here is finished. I’ll send word as soon as arrangements have been made.” His gaze lingered a moment too long on Lily’s face, making her heart start to clatter. “Miss Moran…gentlemen.” Grabbing his cloak off the back of his chair, he swirled it round his shoulders and with long, purposeful strides, exited the room.

Lily let out a breath. She managed a shaky smile. “Well, it looks as if we are off and running.”

“Indeed,” said Sinclair.

“I’ve got us a mob,” Jack said, “and they’re being fitted out as we speak.”

“Good work,” said Sinclair. “Lily, you and I will go over the information I was able to collect on Madam Medela. You needn’t claim to know her well since you are merely her grand-niece. Just let Loomis know you have inherited some of her same talents—except that you use the stars as your guide instead of a deck of cards. You have used that ruse before as I recall.”

“Why, yes.”

“It will give your story an intriguing twist.”

Lily liked the idea. Since she loved the stars and knew most of the constellations by name, it wasn’t a difficult thing to do.

More details were discussed and decided upon before Lily and her uncle made their way out to the street and Lily hailed a hansom cab to return her to the Caulfields’ mansion.

Three days later a note arrived from Royal. Lord and Lady Nightingale would be hosting a soiree on Saturday next. Preston Loomis was listed among the invited guests. If he accepted the invitation, their plan would be set in motion.

Lily’s stomach roiled with nerves at the thought of the performance she would have to give. Still, she was ready. She wanted to do this, wanted Royal to have the justice he deserved.

And she simply wanted to be with him. It was foolish, but there it was.

She couldn’t stop a rush of anticipation, knowing she would see him again very soon.

The weather warmed over the following week. The early March air was still chilly that Friday afternoon, but Jocelyn welcomed the respite, however brief, from the bone-chilling cold.

Her spirits were high as she entered the private, curtained booth at Chez le Mer, an elegant restaurant known for its intimate dining rooms and its discretion.

It hadn’t been difficult to find such a place. She had friends among the most sophisticated women in London. They gossiped about illicit affairs, who met who in places like Chez le Mer, secretly yearning to be one of the women who went there to meet her lover.

Jocelyn glanced up at the clock, her fingers drumming against the linen cloth on the table. She turned at the sound of Christopher’s familiar deep voice. He was only a few minutes late and yet it annoyed her.

“So you are here at last,” she said. “Don’t you know it is impolite to keep a lady waiting? I was just about to leave.”

“Were you, indeed?” Bending his dark head, he pressed a light kiss on her lips, and the taste of him filled her senses. The man had unmitigated nerve and yet Jocelyn didn’t resist his attentions. She liked that she couldn’t dominate him as she could others, that he didn’t fawn over her the way most men did.

Except of course for her fiancé, who rarely paid her any attention at all.

The irritating thought bolstered her courage. She ignored a rush of nerves as Christopher took a seat
across from her, pulled the bottle of champagne from the silver bucket beside the table and poured each of them a glass.

He lifted his goblet, waited till she lifted hers, then took a sip and savored the flavor. “An excellent choice. Knowing your tastes, I am not surprised.” He set the glass back down on the table. “I am here at your invitation. I could be wrong, but I don’t believe you suggested our meeting to enjoy the delicious food. Tell me, sweet, why did you ask me to come?”

“You don’t believe in being subtle, do you?”

“Not really.”

Jocelyn sipped her champagne, deciding how best to proceed. “All right, then, I shall tell you. I have given the matter a good deal of thought and I have decided I want us to become lovers.”

His deep brown eyes darkened. His gaze moved over her face as if he caressed her and a little shiver went through her. “You certainly don’t mince words.”

“I don’t see any point.”

“Neither do I. But I admit you have taken me by surprise. You are a maiden yet. Or at least I believe you to be one. Your husband will expect you to come to him a virgin.”

She colored faintly, but held her ground. “I shall marry for reasons other than passion. I would like to know true passion before that day comes. I believe I can know it with you.”

A gleam came into his eyes and his nostrils flared. “You understand…given our circumstances…should we embark upon such a course, whatever happens between us will come to naught. Desire is all we will ever share.”

She was on safer ground here. “The course of my life has already been decided. Desire is all I want from you, Christopher.”

He studied her as if he was weighing the possible consequences before making a decision. Shoving back his chair, he rose to his feet. He caught her hand, drew her up beside him and straight into his arms.

“Desire and pleasure,” he whispered against the side of her neck. “Those are the only things I can give you. If that is enough…”

Soft kisses trailed over her throat, raising goose bumps across her skin. Jocelyn dragged his mouth to hers for a wet, burning kiss, telling him with her lips and tongue that his offer was exactly what she wanted.

“When can we meet?” he asked between deep, drugging kisses that left her gasping for breath and her body on fire.

“Tomorrow night. I’ve taken a suite for our use at the Parkland Hotel under the name Mrs. Middleton.”

He bit down on her earlobe as he drew her into the vee between his legs, letting her feel how hard he was. “Sure of yourself, weren’t you.”

She smiled wickedly. “I can’t imagine a man of your sexuality refusing a woman he wants.”

He laughed harshly. “I suppose there is no point in denying it.” He kissed her again, taking her deeply with his tongue. He began inching up her heavy silk skirts, and Jocelyn knew a moment of uncertainty.

Christopher must have sensed it, for he paused, began to kiss her softly again. “So…you
are
a virgin.”

She stiffened in his arms and her chin inched up. “I won’t be after tomorrow night.”