When Marrying a Scoundrel (7 page)

What the devil kind of name was Friday anyway?

T
he telegram Jack sent to Trystan was as succinct and to the point as possible. Basically he told his friend that he had misgivings about “Mrs. Moon’s” business and wondered if renting to her was a wise course given the potential for fraud and police involvement.

He felt a little guilty after it was done and sent. Even when they were young Sadie had, on occasion, mentioned how she’d like to have her own shop someday. It didn’t really seem to matter what kind of shop, and if she’d told him she planned to open a simple café or perhaps even a restaurant, he wouldn’t have reacted nearly as badly as he had.

She saw him as a villain. His letter to Tryst no doubt proved him just that. There was no way he could make her see that he was thinking of her as well. Good lord, what if someone brought fraud charges against her? London was rife with those who claimed to be clairvoyants, mediums, and psychic communicators and who were really nothing more than actors. When their charades
were revealed, it was ruination for them, and often they were arrested.

Her and those damn tea leaves. They’d always meant so much to her. Sometimes he believed they meant more to her then he did. In their youth it had been a lark—a way of relieving rich women of a few coin and keeping food on their own table. When he’d seen how much success Sadie had, Jack added to the show with a few “mystical” occurrences. He’d even talked her into doing the odd spiritual connection. Then they’d attracted the wrong attention, and if it hadn’t been for Trystan Kane’s intervention, they both could have ended up in jail. Instead, Jack ended up with the chance for a new beginning and Sadie…

She was still running the same old game, preying on the hopes and fears of others to earn a living. On one hand, he didn’t begrudge her the right. If people were foolish enough to believe their fate could be divined from the bottom of a cup, then they deserved to have their purses lightened. On the other hand, he had left England—left her—to make a better life for both of them and she’d turned her back on that. How long had it taken her to fall back on the old scheme? Had his ship even left port before she went back to that life?

He’d left her and their life to run off into the unknown and make a better one for both of them. If she hadn’t wanted something better, why hadn’t she told him? Had she wanted to be rid of him? If that were true, why act the injured party now?

If the system of punishment wasn’t so damned awful
he’d be inclined to think she deserved to be caught.

But she didn’t deserve that. The idea of Sadie being put in gaol, possibly transported, turned his stomach. So his telegram to Trystan was as much for her benefit as it was to protect his own business interests. She may have chosen this, but that didn’t mean he had to give her the opportunity to hang herself. He still had some feeling for her, after all. Damn her for it.

Upon his return to the Barrington he found Vienne La Rieux waiting for him in the lounge. He had to admit it wasn’t just business that made him want to fight Sadie. And obviously from the way La Rieux looked at him, she knew it as well.

“
Bonjour
,
Monsieur Friday
,” she greeted him with cool cordiality. She was dressed in a blue walking costume that matched her eyes, a tiny stylish hat perched on top her head.

“Madame La Rieux. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

She smiled then, and Jack thought he saw frost on her lips. This change in demeanor could only be owed to Sadie. “My coffee has not yet arrived.”

Jack seated himself in the plush wing-backed chair facing hers across a small table. The coffee arrived then and he was surprised to see that there were two cups on the tray, along with the pot, cream, and sugar.

“I thought you might like a cup as well,” she said.

Jack thanked the waiter and dismissed the young man before returning his attention to La Rieux. He regarded her warily as she poured for the both of them. The smell
of coffee drifted to his nostrils, seducing him with its rich scent. What had the world done before the gods blessed them with this alternative to weak, spineless tea?

“Thank you. Does this mean you have not decided to despise me completely? Or are you simply trying to lull me into a false sense of ease so that castrating me is that much more pleasurable?”

That warmed her expression a bit. “Right to the point. I’ve not yet decided. Cream and sugar?” When he nodded, she continued: “I want to like you, Mr. Friday. I truly do, and it would make our dealings that much more pleasant. But you threatened my friend—”

“I didn’t threaten anyone,” he interjected hotly, not bothering to pretend ignorance. He lowered his voice, “If you want to offer such entertainment at your place of business that is your concern, but I would be remiss if I didn’t share with my partner my misgivings concerning the possible ramifications of supporting such an enterprise.”

“You speak as though you think Sadie is a fraud.”

Jack looked away. He didn’t want to discuss Sadie with this woman. His marriage had no place in a business relationship. Or rather, his
lack
of a marriage had no place.

There was the gentle click of cup meeting saucer. He could feel La Rieux’s gaze upon him. “
Mon Dieu
. That’s exactly what you think. How can you think so lowly of your own wife?”

His head whipped around and he met her accusing gaze with a hard one of his own. “I no more claim her as
my wife than she would claim me as a husband.” And he was certain Sadie had made no claim whatsoever.

La Rieux sat back in her chair, a strange expression on her fair face. “
D’accord
.”

Jack arched a brow when she said nothing else. “That’s it?”

She nodded, red hair glinting in the light. “It is none of my business what happened between you and Sadie. I should not try to make it so. I’m sure you had your reasons for abandoning her as you did.”

Heat rushed up Jack’s neck. “I didn’t
abandon
anyone. I came back to England to discover my home empty, and that my wife—the woman I loved—had walked out on me.”

La Rieux arched a fine brow in that way only women could, managing to look both haughty and amused. “And who could blame her when you so charmingly consider her a charlatan?”

Who the hell did this woman think she was to comment on his relationship with Sadie when she knew nothing of it? He’d seen Sadie read leaves. He had seen how often she’d been wrong, and how often she’d been right. Sometimes she got so caught up in it she truly believed she could divine the future, but in private she would simply shrug and say that they were only leaves. Only tea.

“Fate does not reside in the bottom of a tea cup,” Jack bit out in way of defense—though he knew he shouldn’t explain himself. “Do you think she never read my leaves? Nothing she said has come true. It’s all a load of bollocks. She knows it, and I know it.” She’d said they’d be
reunited after a long separation and then ran off when he hadn’t even been gone, what, a year? Her letters became strained, as though written by a stranger, and then stopped altogether.

The leaves had said they’d love each other forever. That’s what Sadie claimed, and he had believed her then. But the leaves didn’t know shit.

“Is that why you left, because you thought she lied?”

He did not want to discuss this, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I didn’t know she’d lied then.” That sorry realization came much later—standing in the doorway of their empty flat, smelling the dust and seeing the shrouded furniture. “I was twenty when I left, determined to make a new life for her, the kind of life I should have been able to give her if not—” He stopped, but it was too late. He’d revealed too much. “But that hardly matters now.”

“I suppose you are right.” La Rieux watched him for a moment before inclining her head slightly to the side. “Are the contracts legally binding when Friday is not your real name?”

“They are and it is,” he informed her from between clenched teeth. “But for your information, so long as I don’t commit a crime it doesn’t matter what I choose to call myself.” It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest she tell that to Sadie, but he kept it to himself.

Smiling now, the Frenchwoman regarded him with interest. She didn’t like him, but she was obviously intrigued by him. Any other time, any other woman, and he’d be sharing her bed tonight. “So, I suppose you could say that my friend Sadie is married to another man?”

“Given the circumstances I would say your friend Sadie isn’t legally married at all,” said Friday, and a sharp pain stabbed him in the stomach. He winced and La Rieux saw it. Fabulous, she probably thought he pined for Sadie when really it was his bowels that were the source of his discomfort. “Regardless, you agreed that it was none of your concern, remember?”

“Ah,
oui
. I will keep that promise. From here on, you will not hear another word of it from me.” She stood. “And now I believe we are done. I will take my leave of you.”

What a frigging relief that was, Jack thought, rising to his feet as well. He just wanted to get the rest of this business over with as quickly as possible. As soon as Trystan was in town to take over, he could leave. And he planned to get as far away from England and Sadie as he could.

“In fact, as a gesture of my goodwill, why don’t you come by the club tonight?” Her smile turned warmer, but Jack didn’t trust it. “The magician Nathan Xavier is giving a special performance.”

“I’ve heard he’s amazing. I would enjoy the chance to witness his art for myself.” He spoke the truth, though he knew he had just walked into whatever trap she had baited for him.

Fortunately, she didn’t make him wait for long. La Rieux grinned. “Perhaps you will think him a fraud as well, though I challenge you to prove it.”

“So long as he doesn’t take my money or impinge upon
my
business, I don’t care what he is.”

“You protect what is yours. A noble quality in a man.” Her head tilted again. “Does that extend outside of commerce I wonder?”

Jack didn’t have a chance to respond, because she bid him good-day and turned on her heel to make a snappy exit. What the hell?

Hand on his hip, he rested the other on the back of the chair and stood there. He didn’t watch her leave, rather he stared at a painting on the opposite wall—some evocative mythological scene these modern painters seemed so fond of. It had been Trystan’s idea to buy it. Said the painter was destined for greatness. Jack believed him because Tryst had believed in him when he advised him to get in on this “telephone” contraption invented by Alexander Graham Bell. It was going to revolutionize communications, he was sure of it.

But he wasn’t really looking at the painting, it was just something to stare at. He had arranged to meet La Rieux today to talk business, and possible other ventures that she might care to invest in now that Trystan—and Jack, though not as deeply—was involved in her plans to build a universal provider or “department” store in Bayswater. Last year there had been something akin to a riot against William Whiteley and his corruption of feminine morals by offering so many goods in one spot, but Trystan agreed with La Rieux’s insistence that such a venture would be a huge moneymaker. Jack only hoped his friend knew what he was getting into. Vienne La Rieux struck him as the kind of woman who could rob a man of his bollocks without him even knowing.

Jack was rather partial to his own bollocks, thank you very much. Still, life would be easier if he and La Rieux could get on all right. If that meant being cordial to, and about, Sadie while he was in town, then he would do it.

After all, it wasn’t as though he hated Sadie. Not really. He hated what she’d done, hated that she’d left so easily, but he couldn’t hate her. That was part of the problem. He’d be much happier if he could hate her. Hate gave a man purpose. What he felt for Sadie…well, there didn’t seem to be much purpose to it.

He was thankfully rescued from the direction of his thoughts by a gentle hand upon his arm. “Mr. Friday?”

He looked down into saucy green eyes and pushed thoughts of Sadie as deep into the back of his mind as he could. “Lady Gosling, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

The tilt of the lady’s soft lips told him she knew all manner of pleasures, unexpected and otherwise. A man would have to be a eunuch not to have his prick harden in response. Thank God, Jack felt a slight stirring of interest below his waist. Sadie hadn’t totally robbed him of his manhood.

“Forgive my intrusion, sir, but I was having tea with a friend when I saw you standing here and I couldn’t let such an opportunity pass.”

“I’m delighted to be intruded upon, though no man would view your company as such.”

She knew flirtation when she heard it, and obviously knew when a man was interested. She took a step closer,
brushing her breast against his arm. “I was wondering, Mr. Friday, if you had any interest in magic?”

Now, this was unexpected. Had she heard some of his conversation with La Rieux? Or was this entirely coincidence? He could see nothing in her eyes that would indicate otherwise. “I find I do, Lady Gosling.”

“Would you care to attend a performance at Saint’s Row with me this evening?”

Performance indeed. He could well imagine what kind of performance her ladyship had in mind. “What of Lord Gosling?”

She glanced down, giving a demure appearance, but meanwhile her tit was still mashed against his biceps. “My husband doesn’t appreciate such spectacles.”

“While you do.”

“Yes.” Her delicate chin lifted, giving him a lovely view of flawless skin and wide, tempting eyes. “There are a great many things my husband doesn’t appreciate.”

“A pity. He must miss out on many pleasures.”

“He does.”

Jack’s hand closed over the one on his arm. A few inches to the left and he could cup her with his palm, give her a discreet little squeeze to tease them both, but his fingers didn’t move, no matter how much his libido willed them to. His mind was too busy trying to make him think of all the pleasures he’d missed while estranged from Sadie. “Then it would be my pleasure to join you at Saint’s Row tonight.”