| |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | Suzanne Forster, Lori Foster, Kimberly Randell, Maggie Shayne |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
 | |
Excerpt No one seemed to even notice their plight, much less Ophelia’s calls. Cordelia—who had taken the measure of this London neighborhood long ago—did not waste her breath on cries for help. Poorly dressed passers-by averted their eyes, and no one seemed to take note of a mere case of kidnaping. No, no one would help them here. She and her twin would have to look out for themselves. Oh, why had they come to this miserable city! Kicking and punching, Cordelia fought for her life, sure that if these two villains succeeded in parting her from her sister, she might never see light of day again. After an evil assault, her throat would be cut and her body thrown into the Thames, or else she’d be taken away and given over to some living hell of a brothel, and even if she had the chance to escape, she might be too wounded in body and spirit to seek out anyone who knew her— She fought harder. She kicked the first man in the groin with her heavy boot and was gratified to hear him grunt in pain. But although she clawed next at his face, the man—wiry though he might be—was stronger in the arms and shoulders than she. Despite her efforts, soon he was pinning her arms back against her body. "No!" Ophelia shrieked from just beyond. "Help, we must save my sister!" She threw herself upon the first man, trying to pull him away from Cordelia. But the assailant tossed her off as if she were as light as the merest autumn leaf, then the second man punched her in her stomach, causing her to fold in two and collapse onto the street. With no help at all, Cordelia bit back a moan of despair. The men were scrawny as ill-fed roosters, but there were two of them, and they knew every trick. Although she bit and kicked and scratched and pummeled, they pushed her arms down, evaded her feet and pulled her steadily toward a twisting alley. Stunned and helpless, Ophelia lay still in the dirt, and no one else was here to care— "Got spirit, this un ‘as," the first man muttered. "I should get extra blunt for such a wildcat." "Yeah, be sure to tell Madam Nell that, won’t ya," the other man answered, curling his lips. "I bet she’ll be right struck." They chortled, their breath rank upon her face. These words were so ominous that, terrified, Cordelia was spurred to a last burst of furious energy. For a few moments her struggles kept them all rooted to the pavement as she fought with every ounce of strength in her. But again, the men, through sheer brute force, pushed her hands down and forced her toward the next alley with its denser shadows. Cordelia thought she could glimpse inside the blackness a future too appalling to imagine. Perhaps she should try another tack. Cordelia shut her eyes and let her body go limp. "Eh, she’s swooned. ‘Bout time, too, the little hellcat. You pick up ‘er feet and we can make better time," the first man ordered his henchman. To her disappointment, the other man still held her firmly by the upper body. But as the first villain bent to take hold of her legs, she lifted her feet and kicked him hard in the stomach. " For Ophelia—" Cordelia muttered, then turned her attention to wresting loose of the other assailant’s hold. Almost, she did it. But the first thug recovered too quickly, and the second man would not let go, although he puffed at the exertion as she pulled against his grip, swearing as she kicked his shins. "Od’s bod, that smarts, that does. Have do, girl!" "I got ‘er!" The first man had recovered. Now he held a compact but nasty looking bludgeon in one hand, and his expression was ugly. "Don’t like to mar the goods, as it were, but sometimes, we got no choice, eh, Dinty?" "Don’t kill ‘er, mate, or we won’t get nutting for our pains. I got bruises from this ‘ellion, and I want me coppers for ‘er," the smaller man argued, although he eyed the weapon with resignation. Cordelia’s eyes widened, and she held her breath as the ruffian raised the club. Waiting for the blow to fall, she was so focused on the weapon in the man’s fist that she hardly noticed the newcomer come up from behind until he hooked the man’s feet out from under him and sent the villain crashing to the ground. The club fell on the man’s own shoulder instead of upon Cordelia’s head. The ruffian shouted in surprise and pain, but the newcomer gave him two quick jabs that seemed to put him rapidly out of the fight. Then—before the second villain, too startled by this interruption to do more than stare—had as yet moved, Cordelia found the newcomer’s strong hand gripping her upper arm and his steely gray eyes accessing the situation. "I would suggest that you unhand the lady," the stranger said. He had handsome if somewhat rugged features with a firm jaw and arching dark brows. The smaller thug stuttered. "I—I got a knife, gov," he said. Fumbling in his ragged clothing, he pulled out a blade about six inches long. Cordelia, who had enjoyed the briefest taste of relief, now held her breath again. "Oh, come," the stranger said. "How uncivil." Dressed in fashionable evening clothes, he lifted an ebony walking stick. The second thug chortled, and Cordelia swallowed hard. "You gonna bow to me, next?" the man sneered. "Should I run away screamin’ in fear or drop ‘ee a curtsy, like?" The newcomer twisted the top of the cane and pulled out a thin, silvery blade. The ruffian’s laughter stopped abruptly. He swore again, then suddenly released his grip on Cordelia’s arm and pushed her toward the new arrival. Afraid she would be skewered like a roasted piglet, she exclaimed involuntarily. But the stranger lowered the thin sword in time. Cordelia found herself propelled into his arms as the second thug took to his heels and disappeared down the twisting alleyway. For a moment Cordelia thought she might swoon for real. She swayed as the stranger slipped the long blade back into the walking stick and reached to steady her. But it would be a shame to waste the touch of his hand on her arm, or the feel of the other arm that now wrapped itself around her shoulders. He felt firm with muscle, like a weapon himself, ready to protect a lady alone in an alien and dangerous city. You don’t even know this man, she scolded herself. Have a care, Cordelia, remember your common sense! I know he has come to my aid, she answered herself, at a time when I was never more in need. The fear had been so deep, and her peril so real. It still lingered in the back of her mind, leaving her knees rubbery and her limbs strangely weak. Finding it a little hard to take a breath, she clutched at the coat fabric that covered his well muscled chest. "It’s all right," he murmured into her ear. "Take long breaths, slowly. I know you’ve had a shock. But you are safe, now." Unable as yet to command her voice, she nodded. She clung to him, feeling more secure inside his arms than she had ever felt in her life. She might have felt this protected as a child perched on her father’s knee, but this man was not in the least fatherly, and what she felt, standing so close, inhaling the masculine scent of him, clean linen and the faintest hint of male skin, perspiration and soap in a somehow pleasing mixture, was nothing like what a child would feel. . . Surprised at the feelings inside her, Cordelia found she was blushing, and she looked away from the cool eyes that seemed to see too deeply inside her. And yet— "It was you!" She stood up straighter inside the circle of his arms, and even the realization that shocked her did not—she only realized later—make her break out of his hold. "You’re the man we saw trying to break into the theater! Are you a thief, sir, an ordinary house breaker?" He lifted those dark arching brows. "So it appears. And you cried out for the crowd, alerted them to my presence. They would have shouted for the Watch, tried to have me charged and taken before the magistrate, leaving me both poorer and with my neck in certain jeopardy." She felt a ridiculous urge to protest. "But—" He ignored her interruption. "Under the circumstances, do you not think it noble of me to save your honor, perhaps your neck, too, regardless that you so recently put mine at risk?" He lifted one hand and touched her neck lightly, just beneath her chin. His fingers felt so warm against her skin that she shivered, and while she should have been appalled, perhaps even afraid, she found that she still felt strangely conflicted. His odd-colored eyes were mocking, and his tone. . . seemed to be mocking, too, she wasn’t sure. But he sounded like an educated man, a gentleman. How could he be a thief? Yet they had seen him at the window. He didn’t argue with her label. And if he were, how could she in good conscience associate with such a man? Yet how could she not be grateful to a man who had just saved her from such villains? And he held her firmly but so gently, and his face—it really was very handsome, and his physique was so good—his nearness caused a strange weakness inside her and his touch on her skin sent ripples of awareness through her whole body, causing a curious thrill all the way down to her belly— She blushed even more deeply. "Yes, I must thank you for your fortuitous rescue, sir. We would not have been here at all, it was just that my sister was determined to have her chance to go on stage—oh, heavens, my sister!" They found Ophelia moaning and holding her stomach. Cordelia helped her up, disturbed to see that the future Toast of London still looked green and had to cling to her sister in order to stand. "Are you all right?" Cordelia asked, remembering how weak she herself had felt. Ophelia tried to nod. "And you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Those awful men—what—" "This man—I—I’m afraid I don’t know your name, sir?" She almost hoped that Ophelia would not realize just who their Good Samaritan was, and in fact, at the moment, her twin did not seem inclined to stare closely at his face. Besides, it was now so dark in this back lane that it was hard to see anyone’s features closely. Cordelia had heard that more prosperous parts of the city had modern gas street lights, but this lane showed few lights of any kind, and the ones she had glimpsed were old fashioned lamps with oil wicks, and even they were few and far between. The stranger gazed about them. "We had better be on the move, ladies, this is not a prosperous neighborhood, and there are worse than those two thugs about." At his warning, Ophelia shuddered. "Do you have someone to stay with, an address I can escort you to?" he asked. The girls looked at each other. "Surely you didn’t come to London without a friend or relative to take refuge with?" He sounded incredulous, and well he might, Cordelia thought, her spirits sinking even lower. "You expected to present yourself to the manager of the Malory Lane Theater and obtain a position at once?" "I am, sir, a fine actress!" Ophelia straightened her shoulders, regardless of her powdered gray hair and black weeds, which he could not see well, anyhow. "Really? And just where have you played, my dear?" He appeared to have penetrated her sister’s disguise, Cordelia thought. Bristling at the intimate tone—but then, he thought he was talking to an actress, not a lady, so what could she say—Cordelia bit her lip as she waited for her twin to reply. Ophelia hesitated. "I thought so. It’s not that simple, my innocent country miss, and Mr. Nettles, the manager of the Malory Lane Theater, will eat your liver for dinner and have the rest of you, body and soul, for dessert, if you don’t look out. It’s not just plays that he makes his blunt off, you see, and a pretty young thing with no one there to protect you—you’d be gist for his flesh mill, I’m afraid." Cordelia had been following behind the man, eyes down as she tried to see the rough stones of the pavement, clutching her sister’s hand so that Ophelia did not disappear again, and for a moment the meaning of their rescuer’s cryptic words eluded her. Then Ophelia stopped abruptly and she, too, paused as their meaning became clear. Join the ranks of the demimonde? Good heavens! "Never!" Ophelia declared, her voice carrying her usual theatrical flourish. "I would never do such a thing—surrender my virtue for common coin? Never!" "Certainly not!" Cordelia agreed, with less drama but a firm tone. "Indeed?" She could hear his scepticism. "Your sense of virtue is commendable, but an empty belly has vanquished many a conscience e’re now, I fear. Come along, you don’t want to be lost in this neighborhood." They ran to catch up. The night air was damp, and they had to almost hug the buildings to avoid the occasional carriage that went by. In the vehicles’ carriage lights, she noted that fog was forming in wispy patches. It seemed that they walked a long way, and Cordelia’s imagination, never as wild as her sister’s, was nonetheless working just fine. Where was he taking them? To his own rooms? They could not stay with a man, a perfect stranger, much less a man of ill repute, a thief, even if he had saved them from kidnapers and, likely, white slavers. Yet, even if she demanded that they be taken to a reputable hotel, she was not sure that any hotel in this rundown part of town would be safe. Even if such a thing existed, she was not sure they had enough money left to pay for two people’s lodgings. Oh, they should not have spent their coin on that hackney, drat Ophelia’s ambitious schemes, anyhow! Their coach fares south had cost more than they’d expected, and then there had been meals along the way, they should have just gone hungry and saved their money. Remembering meals of overdone mutton and stringy chicken, she swallowed. Posting houses dreadfully overcharged travelers who had little choice in venue, but going without meals had been surprisingly hard to do when one’s stomach was empty. She thought of his warning and sighed again. Frowning, Cordelia considered their current situation. At least she had a last desperate card up her sleeve. Lord Gabriel Sinclair, their half-brother, might still be in London. Even though they barely knew him, he would surely lend them enough money to get them back home to Yorkshire, at least if she could convince her sister to go! Even Ophelia must see that she had tried to get an audition and what more could she do? She could not condemn herself and her twin to starvation and death on the London streets—enough was enough! After all, they had almost been abducted over this foolish scheme of hers. Cordelia was no longer in humor for indulging lifelong dreams, even for a beloved sister, not when it led them into such perilous straits. But where was this man taking them? How long would they trek through the dark? "Need a good time, gov?" a female voice inquired out of the darkness Cordelia jumped. They were approaching a rare street light, and she saw the woman standing at the edge of the small circle of yellow light, her face rouged and her dress low cut. It was a streetwalker. She felt Ophelia shiver. Was this someone whom hunger had forced into the direst of fates? Cordelia felt a stirring of pity. If the kidnapers had had their way, this could have been her— "No, thank you," the man who led them said, his tone polite. "Guess not, you already got a damn ‘areem," the prostitute said as she made out their shapes in the growing mist. "Lawd, ‘ow many women you need, gov?" "I am a man of surprising talents," he answered, his tone smooth. Her laughter faded behind them as they walked on. Cordelia found she was clenching her fist. Wonderful, perhaps he was a white slaver, too, she thought darkly. Beside her, she sensed her sister’s growing tension. Where was he taking them? She should not have told him that they had no family here. "We have a half-brother who is a lord," she said, her voice a little too loud. "And I am a gentleman of means," he agreed, in his usual sardonic tone. "But taking two young ladies home with me could cause gossip. For tonight, you should be safe where we are going." But they had only his word for that, the word of a stranger. He saved you from the men who attacked you, she told herself. Perhaps only for his own ends, she answered herself. He was a thief, he had not denied it. No one even knew they were here. If they disappeared, who would know— "What shall we do?" Ophelia leaned closer to whisper. Cordelia wanted very much to box her twin’s ear. "I don’t know!" she answered, keeping her voice low. "We can’t sleep on the street. We don’t have the money to try to locate our half-brother tonight, if he’s even in London. This plan was madness, Ophelia, didn’t I say so!" They walked a few more feet in the darkness, the clouds above them scudding across the sky and the moon flicking in and out. Ophelia suddenly tightened her grip on her hand. "Run!" |
|
