Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (18 page)

A necklace, bracelet, and earrings lay nestled on a bed of crimson satin. The glittering set had been a gift from her father on her twenty-first birthday. A double strand of perfectly matched pink pearls circled a gold medallion worked with dragons and phoenixes. Scattered over the golden face was a fortune in
cabochon
rubies and emeralds.

The set was fit for an empress, her father had told her, and later Chessy learned that the set actually
had
belonged to a Chinese empress. But five centuries ago the junk carrying the precious cargo had been blown off course in a typhoon and had sunk with all hands.

James Cameron had discovered the wreck by studying old Chinese shipping documents. The blue-green waters of the South China Sea had revealed many treasures that day, but this set was the very finest.

And now Chessy meant to pawn part of it to a stranger.

Her heart rebelled at the thought. Her fingers gently stroked the delicate golden medallion.

Swiftly, before she could change her mind, she snapped the case shut. There was no choice. Any bit of information might provide the key to save her father’s life.

Clutching the box in unsteady fingers, Chessy went to summon Swithin. The rout was set for Thursday, two days hence, so the duchess had said.

That would leave her very little time.

~ ~ ~

Two hours later, at a very discreet establishment on Curzon Street, a white-haired jeweler sat studying one of the finest bracelets he had seen in forty years of providing gems and fashionable ornaments to the
ton.

The bracelet was of an Oriental style, its large unfastened emeralds and rubies fitted with hammered gold. Clearly, the piece was old and very rare. What was even more curious, the jeweler decided, was that the piece was vaguely familiar.

Frowning, he consulted a row of small wooden boxes that contained his notes on a lifetime spent buying, selling, and repairing the finest jewels in Europe. Finally he found what he was seeking.

He sat back with an audible hiss of shock. If this was true …

Quickly his pen scratched back and forth across a crisp sheet of vellum, which he folded and sealed with not-quite-steady fingers. Immediately he dispatched the missive.

After the runner left, he simply sat staring at the gems that lay before him, glittering in the sunlight.

He was unable to believe the amazing good fortune that had just come into his path. The Duchess of Cranford had been searching for just such a piece for five years.

And she had made it very clear that she would pay well for any information that came her way.

 “There you are, miss, done at last. And very fine you look too.” The superior lady’s maid whom Whitby had secured for Chessy stepped back from the mirror, smiling triumphantly.

Chessy could only stare in wonder at the elegant woman who looked back at her in the
cheval
glass.

It was impossible. This could
not
be
her
.

Her cheeks were flushed, not from human device but from the heat of excitement. Her long hair was upswept with a few dark strands left to coil artlessly about her face and neck.

But it was the dress that glimmered and shone like a living thing, holding her awed gaze. As she turned back and forth, the candlelight flashed off rich folds of violet damask. At each movement woven cranes and phoenixes seemed to dart and dive across a sky of richest amethyst.

“Magnificent,” the dresser said softly, and with this Chessy could only agree. Indeed the modiste whom the Duchess of Cranford had suggested had outdone herself.

Chessy had sent around a note of acceptance the afternoon of the duchess’s visit, and an answer had come back instantly. She was to wait upon the duchess that very evening to discuss details of her gown. It was, further, to be kept an express secret, the duchess added, for she meant to teach Lord Morland a lesson.

To that Chessy had happily assented. And now, staring in wonder at the reflection in the glass, she could only be thankful that she had put herself so completely in the duchess’s hands. Even the use of this unusual damask had been her idea. Chessy had to admit that against her glowing skin and dark hair the effect was remarkable, drawing attention to the rare hue of her eyes.

She touched the rich damask gently, feeling a pang of regret that she had been forced to part with the precious bracelet that had been her father’s gift. But there had been no choice. She had a staff to feed, and now she had to cover the cost of fashionable apparel.

For the gown had been only the start, of course. Next had come the satin slippers and embroidered gloves of silk and finest doeskin. There had to be an ivory fan and an evening cloak of black velvet lined with matching violet silk. Since Chessy had only a few gowns that were not threadbare, she had consented to have several new morning dresses made up, along with a walking costume and matching velvet pelisse and muff. The duchess had been most insistent.

She turned from the mirror. “Madame
Grès
has indeed outdone herself. I can hardly believe that person in the mirror is me.”

“Of course it’s you, miss. And a more elegant carriage and graceful deportment I’ve yet to see,” the servant said crisply, well pleased. Not one girl in a thousand would make the entrance that
this
one would tonight, the dresser thought smugly.

But Chessy could only grimace as she thought of the evening ahead of her and the sea of strange faces.

Her only comfort was the thought that the duchess would be present and had expressed a keen pleasure in her company.

“Shall I add the flowers now, miss?” The dresser lifted a pair of creamy hothouse gardenias. At Chessy’s abstracted nod, the woman slid the pale blooms into the lustrous depths of Chessy’s blue-black hair. “Oh, miss, you look the very picture of beauty. Like spring come to life, I’m thinking.” The woman flushed, afraid of what must appear an impertinence.

But Chessy merely laughed. “Do you think so, Miss Henderson? As for myself, I feel more like winter than spring, I assure you. But thank you for the lovely compliment.”

The maidservant blushed. “And now for the necklace?”

Chessy nodded. In the flickering candlelight the necklace seemed to glow with an unearthly light. Across the face of the
repoussé
golden plaque at the center of the necklace, two imperial dragons seemed to spin and fly, vying for the
cabochon
rubies, emeralds, and amethysts studding the exquisite golden medallion.

She had parted with the bracelet, but Chessy knew she could never, never part with this.

“Oh, miss, it’s—it’s ever so beautiful. Fit for an empress, it is.” The dresser watched in awe as Chessy slid the priceless necklace into place. A matching pair of earrings followed.

The jewels felt cold against Chessy’s skin, but the effect was striking. The gold and pearls made her skin glow, while the
cabochon
gems added just the right touch of color to her gown.

Swithin knocked at the door. “The carriage is below, miss. If you’re ready?”

Chessy felt her heart lurch. Carriage? And a sea of malicious faces? A host of
ton
beauties just waiting to cut her to shreds?

The realization of exactly what she was doing hit her then. It was no longer a game, a prank between her and the duchess to floor Tony Morland. As she stood frozen before the
cheval
glass, Chessy had a wild urge to send around a note to the duchess with apologies due to illness.

And what if she had to
read
a menu or even a dance card? Chessy shivered. What fun the English misses would find in
that.

No, most likely she would simply be
ignored as the awkward, backwater colonial that she was.

Then Chessy straightened her shoulders. She was every inch James Cameron’s daughter. She hadn’t come this far just to turn mush-kneed now! Not when her father needed her desperately and tonight might bring some clue to help him.

“Thank you, Miss Henderson. You have worked magic.”

After the maidservant left, Chessy stood staring at Swithin. “Well, old friend?” she said softly. “Do I pass muster? I feel dreadfully out of place, you know, and am longing for my digging costume of buckskins and battered straw hat. I certainly never aspired to anything so fine as
this.”

As she spoke, she smoothed a lustrous fold of damask. Light shot off the silk. A phoenix seemed to tremble and then disappear into violet waters.

Chessy’s old servant shook his head wonderingly. “I reckon I’ll never be able to think of you as a hoyden again. Miss Chessy. Not after seeing you rigged out like that. You do your father mightily proud. If only he could be here to see you.”

Chessy felt pain tighten her throat. “Do you think so, Swithin? I suppose I must take heart in that.” She gave the servant a crooked smile. “Perhaps it will help me forget how my knees are trembling and my slippers are pinching my toes.”

Taking a long breath, she laid her hand on Swithin’s crooked arm. “I-I believe I am ready.”

Liar,
a mocking voice whispered as she swept up her skirts and descended the stairs.

Oh, father, where are you when I need you most?

~ ~ ~

Kings Reach

The Thames

The small space was damp, pungent with the smell of sea salt and the cargo of fish that slapped in the ship’s hold. Water gurgled and sucked against the wooden hull.

A man lay sleeping in the darkness, but his sleep was not peaceful. Again and again he twisted, muttering darkly and clutching at the threadbare blanket his jailers had thrown over him.

Damp. Always damp. And so bloody cold.

He began to cough, and this time it was worse than the others. He could not seem to stop. He felt blood well up in his throat.

He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the door in the darkness. It must be almost time for them to bring that wretched gruel that passed for his food. Maybe this time, if he was waiting just beside the door…

He heard the clang of boots in the companionway. He slid back against the wall, trying to fight back a cough.

If only it weren’t so cold. If only he weren’t so tired.

A key grated in the lock. He raised his fist, waiting for a glimpse of his captors. A shadow formed, moved closer in the darkness. He heard the rattle of tin.

Now!

His foot cracked against bone and muscle, and he heard a sharp curse. But that was the last thing James Cameron heard. The next minute, a fist slammed into his head and he pitched forward onto the floor with a groan.

“Get him back to bed.” A stocky man gestured from the doorway, a jagged scar down the length of his cheek. He shoved Cameron over with his foot. “He won’t give you any more trouble now.”

He smiled and the movement made the jagged scar pucker obscenely. “Be sure to put more laudanum in his food. And cover him too. He’s been coughing the night through. Damn, who’d a thought the old bleater had gamey lungs?”

His eyes narrowed as his confederate tossed the dingy blanket over James Cameron’s motionless form. He laughed coldly. “After all, we can’t let our brave English friend die before we get paid, can we?”

~ ~ ~

 “It looks like an infernal crush.” Morland muttered irritably, surveying the line of vehicles brought to a halt in the street.

He had planned to be no more than half an hour late. According to
ton
notions of time, that would have been unfashionably early. But he hadn’t counted on the mob before him.

He recalled the duchess’s words to Chessy:
“Nothing special. Just a small affair.”

Morland laughed grimly, surveying the throng ahead. A few old friends, indeed! There had to be fifty carriages there. If he arrived under an hour late, he could consider himself lucky!