Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (36 page)

But no one in the house at Number 12 Half Moon Street even noticed their departure.

As it happened, only one person noticed. And the pair of eyes that watched Francesca Cameron board a hired hackney were anything but kindly.

 “What do you mean, our man has disappeared?”

The white-haired leader of the secret Triad band sat in the shadows, incense curling in long plumes around him.

The man before him fell to his knees. “A thousand apologies, lord. One of the foreign devils followed him on the way back to the boat. They must have captured him.”

The Triad leader steepled his fingers. “He is loyal?”

“Completely, lord. He is brave. Nothing can make him talk.”

The figure in the shadows laughed darkly. “All men talk, you fool. It is simply a matter of time. Now because of that son of a turtle we will have to change our plans. I am indeed surrounded by worthless fools!” His eyes closed as he inhaled the fragrant incense for a moment. “But all is not lost. We will start with the woman. We know her weak point.”

“The Englishman on Half Moon Street?”

The old man nodded. “Exactly. You will make an able Triad yet. Now listen carefully. I have learned of a foreign devil who is much interested in pillow books. He lives in secrecy and will be difficult to find, however.”

“I
can find him, lord.”

The old Triad smiled at arrogance. “Can you? If so, then you will be well rewarded, since the man may be involved somehow already. Hire whatever help you require. The English foreign devils near the docks will do anything for a few pieces of gold. But first take care of the yellow-haired earl
.
And do not fail this time, as you did before. Pick your moment carefully, and make the poison strong. The Englishman must die, since he distracts the woman from finding the pillow book.”

“I understand, lord.”

“Be prepared to obey me perfectly. Otherwise, you and all your descendants will die a long, slow death.”

As the incense curled up, the warrior sat forward and listened.

~ ~ ~

 “What do you mean, the Cameron chit just vanished?”

Arrayed in a fuchsia silk peignoir that left very little of her voluptuous anatomy to the imagination, Lady Louisa Landringham jerked upright on her velvet settee.

Unguents and perfume vials struck the floor with a crack.

The man before her, dressed in the pale blue livery of a groom, shrugged nonchalantly, but his brow was beaded with sweat.

Louisa came slowly to her feet, her peignoir sliding apart to reveal ivory thighs and a thick tangle of hair nestled between.

The groom swallowed audibly. His eyes fell, riveted on the lushly curving breasts that thrust against the décolletage of the gossamer silk.

“You are…” His employer frowned slightly, moving closer. Her fingers slid along his satin-clad shoulders. “Wilson, isn’t it?”

The servant could only nod, red-faced and stupefied.

Blood red nails trailed across his neck and skimmed his ear. “Wilson. Such a bold name.” The crimson-tipped fingers fell, brushing along his breeches. “Such a hard name…”

“Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but you never said nothing about—”

Abruptly his face contorted. The clever fingers found the first button on his breeches and inched it free. “Ah, yes, Wilson.” Louisa Landringham’s small pink tongue swept her lips, leaving them agleam with moisture. It was not Wilson she was thinking of, however, but a blond earl with eyes of mocking sapphire.

Another button slid free. “Of course, if you’d rather
not
be in my employ, I would not dream of holding you. If you have a more promising position in mind …”

The servant’s voice caught in a raw gasp as his manhood slid free. He stared down in disbelief as the blood red nails circled his aching flesh. “N—no, Lady Landringham. That is—” A shudder shook him as the skillful fingers curved, sending blood hammering to his groin. “Sweet Lord above, I didn’t never—”

“That is good, Wilson, Very good.” The half-clad woman smiled coldly. So vulnerable. Just as Tony Morland would soon be. And then she would repay him for humiliating her. She had the perfect person to help her do it.

Her lips twisted. “And now you will listen, my dear Wilson. You will listen well.” She began to talk as she stroked him, her words low and smooth as satin. She made them sound almost like love words, though the task they described was precisely the opposite of lover like.

When she finished speaking, the servant was red-faced, gasping, incoherent with need. “You understand what I have told you to do?”

“Y-yes.”

“And you will perform it exactly?”

“Yes. M-my lady.”

“Excellent. And now, Wilson, since you’ve been such a naughty boy, I’m afraid I really must punish you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Something very hard, I think. Something that will make you hot. Something that will make you groan…”

She went slowly to her knees. Her eyes were dark, unreadable. She pushed the satin from her perfumed shoulders and raised her head.

Her ruby lips parted. “Come here, Wilson,” she whispered.

The groom moved closer. Lady Landringham was still smiling when her lips circled him and the first raw groan was torn from his throat.

~ ~ ~

 “I don’t bloody believe it! How could she just vanish?” Whitby tried not to quiver beneath his employer’s fierce inquisition. He stared stiffly at a flowered motif on the silk-covered walls. “I was just striving to ascertain that for myself when your lordship rang.”

Lord Morland strode across the hall to the front salon and stood staring down at the street, his face harsh. “Didn’t
anyone
see her go?”

Whitby tugged nervously at his sober waistcoat. “She was last seen in the kitchen, I believe.”

“In the kitchen? What in God’s name was she doing in the
kitchen
?”

“She was, er—sampling Mrs. Harris’s lemon tarts.”

“Sampling lemon tarts? What sort of fool do you take me for, Whitby?”

The servant flushed. “None, of course. I did not mean to imply—”

Morland’s hands tightened into fists. “Then give me the truth this time, and make it bloody quick, man!” He threw back the curtains and moved closer to the window. He found he had to put a hand to the sill for support.

Only by iron force of will did Whitby keep from going to his aid. He knew only too well how any attempt at assistance would be met. Which was exactly why he had been so thankful to Miss Cameron for stepping in when the earl had needed her. No one else could have kept him still while his wound healed. Certainly no one else could have saved him from that monstrous poison inflicted through the intruder’s knife.

The servant frowned faintly. But where in the devil had the girl disappeared to? And why? She was needed here, after all. Somehow in the course of a few short hours, it appeared that they had
all
come to rely on her calm good sense.

Perhaps the stony-faced earl most of all.

Whitby sighed as Morland began to pace the room furiously, one hand clenched about his throbbing forearm.

“Well, man?”

“His Grace, the young duke, said she just—vanished.”

“Jeremy? Never tell me
he
saw her?”

Whitby nodded morosely. “It was not long after the pair arrived, accompanied by a very flustered and nearly incomprehensible governess and two grooms. Miss Twitchett, I believe the woman’s name was. I heard her say that she had never had the misfortune to be saddled with two more ungracious, unteachable, ani—er … charges. Well,
charges
was not quite the word she used.” Whitby coughed. “My lord.”

Morland’s face took on a dark cast. “Oh, she called my wards
animals,
did she?”

Whitby nodded. “That was just after she pulled a mouse from her portmanteau, I believe.”

Morland broke into a reluctant grin. “Did she just?” He rubbed his jaw. “Miss Twitchett is the Friday-faced creature with the shrill titter, isn’t she?”

Whitby nodded at this damning description. Morland raked a hand through his long bronze hair. “Don’t know why in hell I ever engaged the bloody woman in the first place. A perfect bird-wit, and not a shred of patience about her. The woman has no business having anything to do with children.”

“So you said at the time, I believe, my lord,” Whitby said stiffly.

“Then
why
did I hire her?”

“I believe there was that business with breeding stock requiring your presence in York. And then there were the races at Newmarket, and—”

“Don’t remind me, Whitby.” Morland rubbed his jaw irritably. “Well, it’s the devil of a coil. Don’t know what’s to be done with the pair now.” Morland’s eyes began to gleam. “A mouse, did you say? I wish I might have seen that.”

“And then there was the snake, your lordship.”

“Snake?”

“Rather large and spotted, as I recall. The creature escaped from the governess’s valise and went after the mouse. One of the under-housemaids fainted, and there was a great commotion in the foyer. The duchess was just on the point of leaving, you see, and—”

“The Duchess of Cranford?
She
was there too?”

Whitby’s lips began to twitch. “Indeed, your lordship. I believe—that is, it appeared that the duchess and the children had reached some sort of understanding. When Miss Twitchett reached out and seized young Jeremy by the ear, the duchess was overheard to say that she would expect the woman to release the boy on the instant. And then she could take herself off, for her services would no longer be required.” The servant’s face assumed an impassive mask. “Not that one likes to eavesdrop, of course.”

“Of course not,” Morland said dryly. “And where was Miss Cameron during this great melee?”

“Well, that’s just it, your lordship. In all the botheration, she just—just—”

“Vanished?”

Whitby nodded his head gravely.

The earl’s face took on a thoughtful look. “Did she? I wonder.”

~ ~ ~

It was raining.

Chessy fingered the frayed muslin curtain. Frowning, she let it fall back across the window above the rain-soaked street.

Rain suited her mood exactly.

But she would not cry. She would not grieve in any way. Not even the note that had arrived while she was at Half Moon Street would make her cry.

Chessy turned, straightening her practice tunic. She took a deep breath and focused low, struggling to push away bitter, clinging memories.

Once more her hands began to move, sliding forward like arching swallows. Her face was a study in composure as she found her pace, moving slowly and silently through the dim beam of light in the empty room. Only her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil, dark and haunted.

The note in Chinese had been short but very precise.

Do not see the yellow-haired Englishman again. He is too curious about the pillow book already. And he distracts you, making you useless in your search. Heed this warning well. If you ignore it, the Englishman will die. Very slowly. Very painfully.

And your father will follow. His death will be even slower.

Her cloth slipper hissed over the wooden floor, raising tiny specks or dust that danced in the sunlight. The air was still, rich with the scent of lemon oil.

That would be Mrs. Harris’s handiwork, Chessy thought. And Lord Morland had turned down an offer from the Prince Regent himself for the woman’s services!

Her foot slipped. Her ankle twisted and struck the floor, raking up a long sliver. She muttered and reached down to tug the slipper free. But the wood clung to the black silk, like an obscure symbol that Chessy could not quite understand.

Angrily she plucked at it, frowning when it slid through her fingers. She tried again, harder this time.