CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jason read the small article at the bottom of the Morning Chronicle then read it once again. Had the earl of B, it asked, succumbed to the tantalizing allure of the charming Lady V? They had been seen in company on a number of recent occasions. The rakehell earl was looking for a wife and according to the article, the lady in question also seemed eager for the match.

Does a wedding loom on the horizon? Dear reader, we will all simply have to wait and see.

Jason cursed roundly. Damn the little wench. She had only just climbed out of bed with him and already she was dallying with Balfour. The thought infuriated him. He couldn’t remember when a woman had made him quite so angry. Then again, Velvet had a way of doing that.

For the balance of the day, she haunted his thoughts and his temper remained at just below simmer. Good Christ, did the lady have ice in her veins? Had she cared nothing at all for him? Or perhaps their one hasty tryst had simply given her a taste for more.

By evening he had worked himself into a slow-burning fury. For weeks he had been lusting after the little wench and yet he had left her alone. She was an innocent, he’d reasoned, he had taken enough from her already. He had tried to protect her from his own base urges when all the while the rakehell earl had been sampling her charms.

Damn her! Damn her to bloody perdition!

Jason began to pace, his fists balled up, when a swift knock sounded and the door creaked open.

“Are you ready?” Dressed all in black as he had been doing on their evening forays, Litchfield stood in the hallway.

“Aye, more than ready. One minute more in this accursed dwelling and I fear I shall explode.”

Lucien chuckled softly. “The carriage awaits. We shall find him this night—I am certain of it. The man can’t elude us forever.”

Jason hoped they would find him tonight. He was itching for a fight and Elias Foote deserved the pounding he would love to mete out.

“Where are we headed?” he asked. They had narrowed the list, but so far had made little progress.

“Bell Yard. An alehouse called Turnbull’s, one of Foote’s favorites, according to Barnstable.”

A section of old Westminster—Thieving Lane, Petty France, The Sanctuaries—the kind of places he hoped he would never see the likes of again. A cold thread of memory snaked through him of places much the same, of crime and poverty, and a past he worked to forget. It had surfaced of late, as they traversed Southwark gutters, scoured Shoreditch, the Spittle, St. Giles in the Fields, Saffron Hill—every rotten slum in the city. Foote was known in those places, they’d confirmed, but they had yet to spot him.

They’d had to be careful, take it slow and easy. If Foote deduced the reason they searched him out, he would run. They couldn’t afford for him to escape.

“Perhaps tonight we’ll get lucky,” Jason said, climbing into the rented hackney that was parked in front of the town house. Dressed in plain brown breeches and a homespun shirt, he carried a battered tricorn though he rarely wore a hat at all. His cloak was of simple brown wool, and yet when they reached the alehouse, they would still look out of place in their seedy surroundings.

Knowing their appearance would cause a stir, they had let it be known they were searching for Foote in order to hire him. The task they had in mind required a special skill, and they had heard Elias Foote was the man for the job. Jason hoped Foote was arrogant enough to buy it.

It didn’t take long to reach the alehouse, a true den of thieves just off a filth-laden alley. A wooden sign swung above the door, creaking in the wind, its red paint chipped and peeling. It was well past midnight, the place crowded with drunken men and bawdy whores.

Jason shoved through the door and tried to ignore the stench of gin-soaked bodies and cheap perfume. It was even harder to shove back the memories that rose as swiftly as the stench.

“’Ello there, ’andsome.” A big-bosomed redhead sidled up to him the moment he stepped inside the room. “Buy a gel a drink, will ye?” She gave him a lusty wink. “I promise ye won’t be sorry.”

Jason smiled, though it was all he could do not to push the woman away. She reeked of gin and the stale smoke that hovered in patches above the tables and hung in ropy wisps beneath the low beams. Instead he slid an arm around her waist, reached down and fondled her bottom.

“A tankard of ale, sweet lady, and one here for my friend.”

The redhead grinned. “Right ye are, ducks. I’ll be back afore ye can snap yer fingers.” She was gone as quickly as she appeared, leaving Jason to survey the room.

“God’s breath, I hate places like this.”

Litchfield eyed him darkly. “I daresay I’ve been to spots I prefer. Though ’tisn’t surprising a man like Foote would enjoy a slice of hell like this.”

“’Ere ye are, lads.” She set the pewter mugs on the scarred wooden table in front of them. “Drink ’er down, ’andsome. When ye’ve finished, for a bit o’ coin, I’ll take ye upstairs for a tumble.”

Jason forced another smile. “Much as I’d like to, I’m afraid we’re here on business. Perhaps you might be able to help us.”

“Business? What kind of business?”

“We’re looking for a man named Foote,” Lucien said. “We’ve got a job for him that pays very well. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

“Aye, that I have.”

Litchfield dropped a coin between the plump mounds rising above the neckline of her blouse. When she giggled and fished it out, Jason caught a glimpse of her red-rouged nipples.

“So it’s Foote who brings ye ’ere. Well, Elias has been out of town for a bit. Word is, ’e’s due back at the end of the week. ’E’ll come here when ’e does—’e lives in a garret upstairs. I can see he gets yer message.”

Lucien slid another coin between her breasts. “Tell him we’ll be back at midnight on Monday next.”

Jason added a coin of his own. “Tell him it will be well worth his while if he meets us.”

“I’ll tell ’im, ducks. Ye can count on Gracie—I promise ye that.”

Jason smiled dryly. “Thank you, Gracie. We’ll see you next week.”

They left the alehouse, and outside Jason paused to drag in a breath of fresh air. It wasn’t much better than the fetid air inside. Still he was glad to be shed of the place, and hopeful that Foote’s greed would bring him to their meeting.

“I don’t want to dampen your spirits,” Lucien said, once they were back in the rented carriage, “but there is a chance, even if we get hold of Foote, what he tells us may not lead to Avery.”

Jason’s eyes swung to Lucien’s face, which moved in and out of shadow as the carriage rolled along in the moonlight. “I know.”

But he was no longer thinking of Foote. That problem he would face Monday next. Another, more pressing matter had returned to the forefront of his mind and he meant to do something about it.

Lucien’s voice broke the silence in the carriage. “The night is young. We could stop for a nightcap at Madam Charmaine’s. They say she has a new girl who is really quite something.”

“Sorry, Lucien, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” He rapped on the top of the carriage. “Take me to Berkley Square,” he called up to the driver, and in the shadows, Lucien quirked a thick black brow.

“Lady Velvet?”

“Aye. The lady and I have some unfinished business.”

Litchfield smiled faintly. “I see.”

Jason wondered if he did, wondered how he could when it wasn’t all that clear to him. Whatever the case, little more was said and eventually the hack turned onto the square.

“Take me down the alley behind the house,” Jason instructed the driver, who let him off near the carriage house at the rear.

“Good luck,” Lucien called softly as he walked away, but Jason’s thoughts were already focused on the lady he hoped to find upstairs.

Unfortunately, when he checked the carriage house, the Haversham coach was missing. Velvet was probably attending the lavish house party being given by the earl of Whitmore. Everyone who was anyone in the ton was bound to be there. Since her arrival in London, Velvet had made a practice of placing herself in the middle of such affairs.

Jason’s mouth twisted into a bitter line. He wouldn’t have guessed her to be so taken with Society when she had been at the lodge. Obviously he was mistaken.

Clamping his jaw against the unwelcome thought, he made his way among the shadows, moving quietly through the garden till he reached the rear of the house. Unless she was with Balfour, Velvet would be home sooner or later. Patience wasn’t normally one of his virtues, but once in a while, if he had good cause, he could be a surprisingly patient man.

*   *   *

Ignoring the chill in the house, Velvet wearily climbed the stairs. Coal was expensive. They could no longer afford to heat empty rooms, and her grandfather had already retired to his bedchamber.

Pulling her satin-trimmed pelerine from around her shoulders, Velvet pushed open the door to her bedchamber and walked in. A groggy Tabitha hurried in behind her to light the lamps and start the fire, then began to help her undress.

“Did ye have a good time, milady?”

Velvet sighed. “As good as could be expected, considering it was that lecher Whitmore’s affair. Lord Balfour’s presence helped to fend him off, thank heaven, but I was certainly glad when I could finally make my way home.” She’d attended the affair with the earl and countess of Briarwood, friends of Lord Balfour’s who, of late, had also become friends of hers.

Tabby hung up her gown and whalebone panniers, then returned to help her put on her night clothes. When Velvet saw the weary circles beneath the stout woman’s eyes, she waved her away.

“It’s all right, Tabby, I can do the rest myself. Go back to your bed before it gets cold, and try to get some sleep.”

“Are ye certain?”

“I’ll be fine, Tabby.”

“Aye, milady. Thanks be to ye.”

Tabby waddled off, closing the door behind her, and Velvet sat down at her bureau to pull the pins from her hair. It tumbled in waves past her waist. She’d just begun to pull the bristle brush through it when a disturbance at the window gave her pause. Turning in that direction, Velvet gasped as the shadow of a man took shape on the balcony, then the doors swung open and a tall broad-shouldered figure stepped into the room.

Jason! Velvet jumped to her feet, her heart slamming hard then setting up a painful thudding. “Jason—what on earth are you doing here?”

In the glow of the lamplight, his features looked harsh, his strong jaw rigid and determined. His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. “Why, I came to see you, my lady. Don’t tell me you are not glad to see me.”

“Of course I am glad. I’ve been worried sick about you. I was afraid someone would discover who you are.”

He started toward her, his impressive height and build nearly overwhelming in the softly feminine room. He was simply dressed, she saw, in course brown breeches and a homespun shirt, his dark hair queued back with a thin black ribbon. He was as plainly garbed as any commoner off the street, yet she had never seen a more handsome man.

When he reached the place in front of her, Velvet stared into his face, taking in his carved male features, her breath wedged somewhere in her throat.

“The hour is late,” he said, his eyes roaming over her thin chemise and white silk stockings, all that she yet wore. “You must have enjoyed the evening.”

Heat rose into her cheeks at his bold appraisal, a hungry glance that seemed to burn through her scanty attire. Turning away from him, she reached for her quilted silk wrapper and pulled it on, fastened several buttons down the front.

“The evening was not one of my favorites. In truth, I should have preferred to stay home.”

A dark brow arched in mocking regard. “Would you?” There was something in his voice, a chord of anger he wasn’t quite able to disguise. “Perhaps you would have preferred to be here—if you could have been with Balfour.”

“Balfour! You believe I am interested in Balfour?”

“You are telling me you are not!”

“Well, I … I, we are acquainted. He has expressed an interest in me and I … I have—”

“You have what, my lady? Encouraged his pursuit? Allowed him liberties? Spent time in his bed! Well, you certainly wasted no time.” His gaze ran over her once more. “Then again, I discovered what a hot little piece you were when I took you that day at the cottage.”

Anger surged with the speed of a bolt of lightning. “How dare you!” Velvet’s hand snaked out and cracked across his cheek so loud it echoed against the walls. “Lord Balfour has been a perfect gentleman—which is more than I can say for you!”

Rage darkened his features. Jason loomed above her, his blue eyes glittering, a muscle knotted in his jaw, and for a moment she was afraid. “You are right, Lady Velvet. I am no gentleman. I told you that from the start.” His arm went around her waist and he hauled her against him. “I take what I want—and right now I want you!” His mouth crushed down with bruising force.

The kiss was punishing, savage, filled with anger and brutal purpose, yet the fear receded and small fires sparked in its place. Flames licked over her skin and heat scorched through her. She tried to twist free, shoved against his muscled chest, but his unbreakable hold only tightened.

Damn you! She struggled a moment more, but his hard grip never faltered. Beneath her fingers, his heart thundered madly and solid muscle quivered with the fury of his rage. Forcing her lips apart, he thrust his tongue inside, delving deeply, taking what he wanted. Velvet gasped as he gripped the top of her quilted wrapper and ripped it down the front. Her pretty embroidered chemise met that same fate, leaving her in only her dainty pink garters and sheer white silk stockings.

“I want you,” he whispered, tearing his lips away, planting hot, damp kisses along the line of her jaw, his mouth moving with purpose down the column of her throat. “God, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The admission escaped of its own accord. There was pain in his words and distress in his beautiful eyes. The knowledge ended her struggles. She had hurt him, she suddenly knew, wishing she had told him the truth from the start. He didn’t care for her in the way she cared for him, but the pain was there just the same.

“Jason…” Sliding her arms around his neck, she gave herself up to his hands and his mouth, letting his closeness fire her passions. She had thought of him, too, and she had missed him. Dear God, how she had missed him.

He kissed her again, gentler now, coaxing instead of demanding. His breath was hot and male. The sweep of his tongue sent tendrils of heat into her stomach.

“I need you…” he whispered, filling his hands with her breasts, teasing the peaks until they stiffened, then lowering his head to take one of the tight little crests into his mouth.

Velvet moaned and arched against him, felt his palm cupping her bottom to lift her against his thick arousal. He kneaded her buttocks, slid a finger deeply inside her. Sweet Lord, she was wet and ready, aching for him to take her.

“You want me,” he said softly, his voice husky with male satisfaction. “Just as much as I want you.”

She didn’t deny it, didn’t resist when he backed her against the wall and unbuttoned his breeches, cupped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her up. She moaned as she slid atop his heavy arousal. She was wet but so tight she gasped when he impaled her full length, felt a white-hot jolt of pleasure/pain.

“Easy,” he whispered, kissing her deeply, wrapping her legs around his waist then beginning to move inside her. One of his hands laced through her hair. Jason pulled her mouth down to his for a hot, wet kiss, and her tongue slid hotly between his teeth. Tightening her hold around his neck, she let him guide her, lifting her up then plunging her down on his stiff arousal. Each heavy thrust went deeper, pounded harder, demanded more.

Jason! her mind screamed, her nails digging into the muscles across his shoulders, her head thrown back as waves of fire washed over her. He filled her completely, driving hard against her, stroking with fierce determination.

“Jason!” she cried out at the fury and the heat seething through her. Great waves of pleasure tore loose inside, spirals of heat, sparks of fiery sweetness. Her body contracted, tightened around him, and Jason groaned. With a huge force of will, he dragged himself free of her body, and Velvet despaired to realize he had spilled his seed outside her womb. The knowledge left her feeling strangely empty.

The fine tremors of her passion began to fade. Velvet pressed her lips to his shoulder and the sinews there went tense. He let go of her legs and she slid down his tall hard frame till her feet once more touched the floor. Wordlessly, he turned away and began to work the buttons at the front of his breeches. Velvet dragged a white cotton night gown from her top dresser drawer and pulled it on, then turned to face him.

Her breath caught when she saw he stood at the balcony doors. Her heart squeezed. He was leaving. He had taken her in anger, used her like a whore, and one look at his face said that he would not return.

“A pleasure as always, my lady.” The line of his jaw appeared carved in stone. “Give my best to Lord Balfour.” He started through the doors, but the sound of her voice gave him pause.

“I have to marry Balfour,” Velvet said softly. “’Twill be unfair of me … after what has happened this night, but I must do so all the same.”

His dark brows drew together. “What do you mean you have to marry him? Are you telling me I have gotten you with child?” He turned away from the doors and long strides carried him closer, the muscles once more rigid across his shoulders. “Or perhaps it is his babe you carry.” He paused directly in front of her, his blue eyes dark and stormy.

Velvet did not look away. “I am not with child. I have committed an even graver sin, your grace—I am impoverished. In my world that is a crime of magnificent proportions.”

She smiled with bitter despair. “Take a look around, your grace. If the furnishings appear a bit shabby, the walls a trifle bare, that is because they are. Much as I regret to say it. In truth, your brother, Avery, and I were taking the very same journey. I was marrying him because he was wealthy. My father gambled away the Haversham fortune. The only money my grandfather and I have left is what my father set aside for my dowry.” When he started to speak, she rushed on, afraid that if she stopped, she might not have the courage to continue.

“Unfortunately, I cannot get hold of the money. Only my husband can do that. The man I marry will receive a small fortune—along with it, I’m afraid, he will also inherit the Haversham debts.”

Jason looked stunned. “I can hardly credit what you’re saying.”

“I assure you, your grace, it is all completely true.”

His eyes darted around the room, taking in the barren walls and the sturdy, unpretentious furnishings. “And Balfour is the man you have chosen?”

“I chose Avery. Not a particularly singular choice, as you well know. You saved me from that particular fate, but unfortunately that only means I must find someone else.”

Troubled blue eyes ran over her face. “And that man is Balfour.”

“Actually, the earl found me. What I told you was true, Jason. He has always played the gentleman. The only man to touch me has been you.”

Jason said nothing, but his eyes grew cloudy with pain or perhaps it was simply regret. He looked at her, took in her swollen, passion-bruised lips, the tangled disarray of her hair, and a low groan rumbled from his throat.

He was standing just a few feet away. Two long strides and he caught her against him, buried his face in her hair. “Ah, God, Duchess, I’m sorry. So damned sorry. Good Christ, but you bring out the worst in me.”

Velvet clung to him, knowing she shouldn’t, that holding him would only make losing him harder, yet craving the strength of his arms.

“I should have told you the truth in the beginning. I suppose I was embarrassed. You had enough problems of your own and mine were hardly your concern.”

He drew back to look at her. “It is my concern. I’ve damaged your reputation. I’ve taken your innocence. In the marriage mart, those are two of your most valuable commodities. That makes it my concern.”

He kissed the top of her head. “If I were any kind of man, I would marry you myself. But odds are, I’ll be swinging from a gibbet before this is over. Even if I manage to cheat fate again, there is no guarantee I’ll be able to prove my innocence, and even if I do, I won’t be staying in England.”

“You’re going to leave?” Something painful clenched inside her. He was leaving. Sooner or later, he would be gone from her life for good. “Where … where will you go?”

“Back where I came from. The West Indies. That’s where I belong, Velvet, not here in England. I’m not civilized enough for that anymore. I just don’t fit in.”

She thought of the dance they had shared, of how magnificent he had looked at the costume ball. She could have argued that he could fit wherever he wanted, but she didn’t. If Jason wished to leave England, she had no right to stop him.

“I can’t marry you, Velvet, but I can help you. I have money—quite a goodly sum. I own a plantation on a small island off St. Kitts. I have more than enough to set your debts in order and see that you and your grandfather are comfortable for as long as you need. You won’t be forced into marriage. You can wait until you find the right man.”

Velvet ignored the dull ache inside her, the pressure building in her chest. She had found the right man. But marriage was not his intention. “In truth, if I had my way, I would not marry at all. I’ve come to enjoy my independence. Once I marry I shall have to give it up.”

“What of children?” Jason asked. “Surely you want a family. All women do.”

Velvet shrugged her shoulders. “Actually, I’ve given the matter little thought. I presumed they would come as a result of the marriage. Other than that, I’ve not thought overmuch about it.” Until tonight. Having children with Jason was another matter entirely. She couldn’t imagine anything that would give her more pleasure than bearing him a son.

She felt his hand on her cheek. “I’m sorry about tonight, Duchess, but I’m not sorry I’ve come. Now that I know the truth, everything is going to be all right—I promise you.” He brushed her mouth with a feather-soft kiss, their lips clung, and the kiss grew more fierce. “Dammit, I want you again already.”

Warmth invaded her cheeks. In truth she wanted him, too.

But Jason turned to leave. “It’s getting light outside. I’ve got to get out of here before someone sees me.” A quick glance toward the window, then he looked back at her. “I meant what I said. Everything is going to be all right.”

“I don’t want your money, Jason. I have money of my own, I simply must marry to get it.”

But Jason ignored her. With a last hard kiss, he headed for the door leading out to the balcony. Waving a final goodbye, he swung his long legs over the railing, and began his descent down the trellis he had climbed up. He cursed as a rose thorn cut into his hand, she heard his boots hit the ground, and then he was gone.

Velvet sagged down on the bench in front of her dresser. The clock ticked into the darkness, a hollow, echoey sound, but she did not stir. Since she had met Jason, she had never felt so alone.

*   *   *

Though her body was pleasantly sated, Velvet slept little for the balance of the night. Jason had come to her, made love to her in this very room. Memories of his hard-muscled body surging into hers made her skin grow damp with perspiration. Her nipple tightened to think of Jason’s slick tongue brushing over it, to remember the way he had taken the fullness into his mouth. With a trembling hand, she touched herself there, wishing he were still with her.

Instead she lay in bed alone, aching for a man who wanted her but had no interest in marriage, as least not to her.

It was late when she dragged herself from beneath the covers. Crossing to the window, she shoved it open and inhaled a breath of the damp, misty air. Tabby helped her into a simple muslin day dress and she made her way downstairs.

“Good morning, Grandfather.”

“That it is, my dear, that it is.” Seated at the dining table, his aging countenance broke into a smile. “Slept well, I trust. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Velvet wasn’t surprised. He rarely ever heard her, and even if he had, he likely wouldn’t remember. “I slept fine, Grandfather.” The lie slipped out without conscious thought. Recalling what had actually occurred made the heat rise into her cheeks. “I hope you haven’t been waiting for me. I’m afraid I lazed around a bit this morning.”

He nodded, then glanced down at the small white calling card he held in his hand. He pondered it for a moment, then his lined, wrinkled face lit up.

“Blast it, I nearly forgot. You’ve a visitor coming to call. The marquess of Litchfield, don’t ya know. Ought to be here any minute.”

“Litchfield!” Her stomach tightened with nerves. Sweet God, had something happened to Jason? “What … what does he want?”

“Haven’t the foggiest, my dear. Guess you’ll find out when he gets here.”

Which was, as her grandfather said, not long after. She had only just finished her morning chocolate and biscuits, barely able to get them down for the fear balling tightly in her stomach, when Snead appeared in the dining room doorway.

“You’ve a guest, milady. Lord Litchfield has come to call. I’ve shown him into the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Snead.” Taking a breath for courage, she slid back her chair and came to her feet. Please don’t let it be Jason.

Her hands were shaking as she walked down the hall and stepped into the drawing room, closing the doors behind her. She felt a hint of relief when the black-haired marquess began walking toward her with a smile.

“Good morning, Lady Velvet.”

“Lord Litchfield.” They exchanged pleasantries but only for a moment. Then the marquess handed her a wax sealed message, which Velvet immediately broke open. A piece of paper, folded up inside, fluttered neatly to the floor. When she bent to retrieve it, she saw that it was a bank draft for ten thousand pounds.

“Sweet God in heaven.” A scan of the paper proved her instincts correct—the money had come from Jason. Velvet’s jaw clamped. “Do you know what is in here, my lord?”

“I do, my lady. I hope you realize you may count me among your friends. Your secrets—and Jason’s—are completely safe with me.”

She believed that was the truth. It didn’t lessen the shame she felt that Jason would send her money. She wondered how much Litchfield had been told of their relationship and how much more he had simply guessed.

“You may tell our mutual friend, that however good his intentions, he is gravely in error if he believes I will accept his money.” She tore the paper in half, once, twice, three times. Once she got started she couldn’t seem to stop until the tiny bits of paper looked more like a handful of confetti than the money she needed so badly. Refolding the message, she dumped the bits of paper back inside, marched over to the marquess and handed him the note.

“You may tell him that he may take his good intentions and shove them up his nose.”

A corner of Litchfield’s mouth kicked up. “Is there anything else, my lady?”

“You may tell his grace he owes me nothing. What I gave, I gave of my own free will. Money was not then, nor is it now the reason for what happened between us. You may also remind him I have money of my own, that soon it will be used to solve my problems, and I will no longer be in need of his assistance.”

Litchfield looked even more amused. “I will tell him, my lady.” He started toward the door.

“Oh—and Litchfield.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“You may also tell him that I said thank you. I enjoyed our last … meeting … very much.”

The marquess actually grinned. “I will be certain to tell him, Lady Velvet.” A word of farewell and the marquess was gone.

Velvet sank down on the tapestry sofa. The more she thought about what had just transpired the angrier she got. How dare he! How dare he try to salve his miserable conscience with an offer of money! She wasn’t some doxy! She wasn’t his whore! Just because Jason regretted their passionate lovemaking didn’t mean that she did. In fact, she was superbly grateful she had been given the chance to enjoy such a wondrous experience with a man she cared for so greatly.

Velvet jumped up off the sofa and started toward the stairs. She didn’t want Jason’s money. If he offered it again, she would tell him to go straight to Hades!