Taste of Temptation (43 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Holt

Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction

BOOK: Taste of Temptation
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Bromley gulped. Michael was one of the most influential men in the land. If he chose to wield his power, he could have Bromley fired in an instant.
“Who is Mr. Rafferty?” Tristan asked.
“I’ve told you, Captain,” Bromley complained, “I don’t know. Perhaps we could question some of the guards.”
“Yes, let’s do.”
Michael stood. “While we wait for you to assemble them, I would like a tom.”
“A tour?” Bromley was horrified.
“I’m about to begin my duties in parliament, so a visit would be highly informational.”
“Lord Hastings, I really don’t think you ought to—”
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t explore? If I didn’t know better, I might imagine that you didn’t want me to see the condition of the place.”
“It’s not that. It’s just... just...”
“Just what?” Michael snapped, his impatience clear.
Boots sounded in the hall, and Tristan whipped around as the door was flung open. A ruffian was pushed into the room, and Phillip Dudley followed him in.
“Meet Mr. Rafferty,” Dudley said without preamble.
“How did you locate him?”
“I bribed a guard.”
Michael and Tristan turned to glare at Bromley, and he protested, “I can’t fathom how that would be possible.”
“I just bet you can’t,” Tristan seethed.
“He’s a local reprobate,” Dudley explained, “known to every criminal in the area.” He whacked Rafferty in the back. “Tell the captain what you told me.”
“They’re here. I brought them in myself.”
“On what grounds?”
“Theft. What else? Why are you raising such a fuss? I was acting on your orders.”
Tristan frowned. “My orders?”
Rafferty pulled some papers from his coat and Tristan snatched them out of his hand. As he perused them, his temper boiled over.
“What do they say?” Michael asked.
“It’s an affidavit,” Rafferty responded, “that accuses the ladies of stealing a valuable emerald ring and a pouch of gold coins. It was sworn to by the captain. His signature is there, plain as day.”
Tristan shook his head. “No, Mr. Rafferty, not my signature.”
Tristan scowled at Michael, and in unison, they muttered, “Maud.”
Michael glowered at Bromley. “I demand that you escort us personally. We don’t have time to waste.”
 
 
HELEN leaned against the wall, enjoying the sun that shone on her face. She shut her eyes to block out the miserable souls around her, and she whispered a prayer for Amelia. That she was with Clarinda Dudley. That Helen would see her again.
She and Jane had survived their first night. It had been cold and scary, and sleep difficult. She was exhausted—and hungry—but alive and in one piece.
She’d worried over the sorts of treacherous felons they might encounter, but her fellow inmates were a mix of desperate people from all walks of life—the common factor being their poverty. Men, women, and many mothers with their children were huddled together, so no one had bothered her.
Fleetingly, she thought of Captain Odell. Was he aware of what had transpired? Would he ever learn of it?
Most likely, he was glad of her and Jane’s disappearance. It would solve many of his problems. He was probably celebrating!
“No, you may not have it!”
Jane’s terse voice echoed through Helen’s reverie, and Helen lurched up and peered about, finding her sister surrounded by three burly, filthy brigands.
Jane had heard that soup was being dispensed, and she’d gone to look, while Helen had stayed behind to keep their spot along the wall. Jane was carrying a bowl and crust of bread, and the men yanked them away.
“Leave the poor girl alone,” an older gentleman scolded.
“Mind your own business,” one of the criminals retorted.
The older man stood, as if to argue with the trio, but he was shoved to the ground and landed hard on the bricks.
With his assistance so easily foiled, everyone in the crowd glanced away, not eager to be dragged into the mess.
Helen was afraid, but she couldn’t sit by and allow Jane to be abused.
“Jane, come here,” she said.
“But he took our food,” she complained, “and I’m famished.”
“It’s just food, Jane. It’s not worth fighting over.”
“He can stand in line like everybody else; he can get his own.”
“He could, but he won’t. Come away from there. Now.”
Helen approached them, as the trio spun to see who’d had the gall to interfere. They were tall and frightening, and she and Jane were in terrible danger, but Helen couldn’t back down.
She pasted on her most stern governess frown. “You have her food, so please go away. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Aren’t you a sassy wench?” the largest man jeered, and he reached out and mussed Helen’s hair.
She batted him away.
“Don’t touch me,” she said very quietly. “Don’t touch my sister.”
“Blimey, boys. She’s givin’ me orders!”
“Will you obey, Harry?”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Let’s show her what’s done to those what tries to boss us about.”
“A grand idea, gents, but let’s find a place that’s a tad more private.”
Before Helen realized his plan, she was grabbed by the waist and swooped off her feet. The man—Harry—carted her off, as if she was a sack of potatoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Jane had been seized in the same despicable way.
“Help! Help us!” Helen screamed, fully expecting others to leap up and rescue her, but no one did.
From up above on a rampart, several guards watched the fracas, as well, and she called out to them, too, but they blithely observed, as unmoved as if they were ancient Romans and she a Christian that had been thrown to the lions.
Helen kicked and clawed but made no progress in stopping him. Harry quickly marched toward a dark corridor, and Helen could only imagine what fate awaited them when they vanished from view.
Harry stepped into the hallway, the sunlight fading, his strides increasing in speed when, to her surprise, a man emerged from the shadows and blocked their path.
“Put her down,” he curtly said.
“You can have a turn when I’m finished,” Harry replied.
“Put her down or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“Did you hear that, lads?” Harry sneered over his shoulder at his companions. “The fool thinks to kill me.”
They laughed and laughed, as if Harry was immortal. He tried to push past the brave fellow, but a skirmish broke out, though Helen was unsure who hit whom. It all happened so fast.
Harry’s arms went slack, and he dropped her. Panicked, on her hands and knees, she crawled toward the open area among the other prisoners. She was completely rattled, trembling, crying, reaching out for Jane, but unable to locate her.
Behind her, the sounds of fighting were brutally clear. Bone cracked on bone, body parts smacking stone, and much sooner than seemed possible, all was silent.
She skittered into the courtyard and huddled in a ball, taking deep breaths, wondering if she would ever calm. It was only her second day in the accursed jail! How would she survive? How would she keep her sanity?
Suddenly, a pair of strong arms encircled her. For a moment, deeming it the miscreant Harry again, she lashed out. She bit and scratched, but gradually, the man managed to clasp hold of her wrists and halt her struggles. She was immobilized, and a male voice crooned words of comfort.
“Helen... Helen...” he was saying. “You’re all right now.”
Confused, she pulled away and gaped at him. Was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating?
“Tristan?”
“Yes, Helen, it’s me. I’ve come for you. I’ve come, and you’re safe.”
“Where is Jane?” she frantically inquired.
“She’s fine. Michael is here, too. He’s with her.”
“I was so afraid,” she murmured.
“I know you were.”
He drew her to his chest, and she nestled with him, her ear over his heart. Her pulse was thundering like a war cannon, while his was hardly elevated, providing no evidence that he’d just thwarted three combatants.
He stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders, as he repeated that she was all right, all right, all right.
After such trial and tribulation, the solace was exactly what she needed. For a time, she wallowed in his embrace, enjoying the realization that he’d been distraught over her plight, that he’d searched for her. But as she relaxed, she remembered who
he
was, and who
she
was. She remembered what he’d done to her, how he’d insulted her family, her father, her sisters, herself.
She recalled Maud and Lydia, his mistresses and illicit children, and she eased away, forcing a cool, bland expression onto her face.
“Thank you, Captain Odell. I appreciate your assistance.”
“Oh, Helen, when I returned to London and you weren’t at the town house, I was so frightened.”
“You needn’t have been.”
“I’m so glad I found you.”
He moved as if to hug her again, but she jumped away and stood.
“I must check on my sister.”
She walked into the dim corridor, her last sight of him on his knees, his hand stretched out to her in supplication.
He looked hurt and perplexed by her detachment.
What had he expected? Had he presumed she would immediately fall for him again?
Apparently so.
He was insane, and her days of playing the gullible fool were over.
She hurried to Jane’s side.
“CAPTAIN, you wished to speak with us?”
“Actually, Maud, Michael summoned you. Come in.”
Maud entered the library, Miriam trailing after her. Tristan gestured for them to sit, and as Maud neared, she was unnerved.
Michael was seated behind the desk, and Tristan was standing at his right hand—as if Michael was in charge and Tristan merely a valued advisor.
It was a minor modification, but the implications were monumental. Michael was indicating that he’d assumed the reins of power. A message was being sent that he was in control and his commands would be paramount.
Maud should have been excited about the change. After all, she’d always been able to manipulate Michael, but his tense gaze boded ill.
“There appears to have been some trouble,” Maud pointed out, intending to steer the conversation in a direction to her liking. “A maid told me that the Hamiltons have returned. Is it true?”
Neither man replied, and Maud panicked. How had the women been located? Why had Tristan brought them home? What had they revealed?
Tristan waved toward the corner, and Lydia approached, her head down, as if she was terrified or ashamed. Nothing in her demeanor signified that she was acting. She seemed genuinely cowed.
“You know Lydia, of course,” Tristan said.
“Yes. I hired her.”
Maud glared a visual warning that Lydia should keep her mouth shut and all would be well, but Lydia was too much of a coward to peek up.
“Miss Hamilton and Rose both suggested that Michael and I have a long chat with Lydia,” Tristan said. “So we did. Before we begin, Maud, is there anything you’d like to say to me?”
Maud’s mind whirred over what her answer should be. What had Lydia confessed? How should Maud handle the situation?
When she failed to respond, Tristan focused on Miriam. “How about you, Miriam? Is there anything you’d like to say?”
“Honestly, Captain,” Miriam scoffed, “I have no idea why we’re here, and I most especially have no idea why I should care that you’ve been talking with a housemaid.”

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