Chapter 13

 

 

 

Sitting in his townhouse waiting for Eleanora to contact him had him feeling much like an anxious horse waiting for selection at Tattersall’s at Knightsbridge Green. Or how he imagined one must feel. When he’d finally received word, his apprehension had turned to excitement. An indication his life had been tedious of late.

But more than anything, he ached to see her. Talk with her. Be with her.

Although he’d never expected a note delivered by a street lad. The youth, who claimed to work for Eleanora, had stood in the hall waiting for an immediate response.

 

 

Allenby,

I’ve decided to give you an assignment. Meet me at your club four days from now at eleven in the morning. Do not shave. I will provide the garments and other accessories.

Eleanora

 

 

When the day arrived, Christian made certain that he came early. The place was silent, except for the faint noises from the streets of people milling about and carriages moving past. He had left the door open to hear her knock. And she did, right at the stroke of eleven.

Christian rushed down the stairs, then halted. Overeager would not be prudent. Arranging his features to show an air of calm he did not feel; he opened the door, and the sight of her nearly knocked him off his feet.

Eleanora was dressed provocatively—at least to him. Wearing a low-cut faded red gown that had seen better days, fingerless lace gloves, and a worn shawl that barely covered her ample cleavage, a black wig finished off the disguise. The sight of her stunned him, and blood rushed to Christian’s cock, stiffening it.

Gulping, he stepped aside, reaching to take her carpetbag and hopefully use it as a shield to mask his arousal.

Once Eleanora stepped across the threshold and closed the door, she trailed the tips of her fingers along his whiskered jawline. Heat traveled to all points not already sparking with sensual energy.

“Heavy whiskers for four days,” she murmured.

“I sometimes have to shave twice a day.”

Eleanora began to pull her fingers away, but Christian held her hand still, then moved it slowly across his chin until she cupped his cheek. The yearning moan that escaped him perhaps told more than he wished to reveal about what she did to him, but hang it all. He closed his eyes, reveling in her warmth, rubbing his cheek against the lace of her thin glove.

“Christian,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“We should get ready.”

Right.

He opened his eyes slowly. Eleanora stared at him as if trying to ascertain what exactly was going on between them. Tempting though it may be to explore that exact thing; he instead grasped her hand, then led her upstairs.

As soon as they entered the large room, Eleanora pulled her hand away, then pointed at the carpetbag. “Dress quickly. You’re to act as my procurer.”

He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “Beg pardon?”

“It’s a role you will play. We will position ourselves outside the Rusty Anchor pub before noon. I have it on good authority that the ladies of The Chrysalis take lunch there every day. You’re to grab my arm and shake me, threaten me, demand that I make you more money. Growl in my ear, be menacing. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes. Then what?”

“I will go into the pub and act like a beaten dog, scrambling to count my coins to buy a meat pie. If all goes well, they will take pity on me and invite me to their table.”

Christian scoffed. “And why would they do that, perchance?”

“It has been my experience that the lower classes are welcoming and sympathetic to others in dire straits, especially prostitutes towards other prostitutes. Those ladies of The Chrysalis are lucky. They have a roof over their head and are well fed and cared for. They are but one step from the street, and they never forget that fact. Some or most of them no doubt were back-alley Sallys and will be empathetic to my plight. Which means you must be convincing.”

“Be damned if I will hurt you!” he exclaimed.

Eleanora blew out an exasperated breath. “Squeeze my arm gently, but I’ll yelp as if you’re hurting me. Same with putting your hand around my neck. Act as if you’re squeezing and I will grimace—wasn’t drama taught at your high-brow schools and universities?”

Christian smirked. “I never bothered with it. I wish now that I had.” He opened the bag and peered in. “What a garish suit. Purple plaid?”

“It is what those criminal types wear. Quickly, get dressed. There are gloves in the bag, keep them on. We have to hide your smooth aristocratic hands. I have a little makeup here to blacken a tooth or two.”

“You enjoy dressing as another and playing a role, don’t you?”

“Wait until you try it. It can be exhilarating. Hurry along, now.”

“Yes, Miss Galway,” he replied, his voice low and sensual. By the deviled hell, he liked it when she ordered him about.

Slipping into the small storage room, he swiftly changed. The frayed suit was not a great fit, too loose and the sleeves too short, but it was no doubt what Eleanora wanted to convey. The boots were scuffed, but at least they fit comfortably. Christian placed the rumpled derby hat on his head.

Stepping out of the room, he held his arms out for inspection. “How do I look?”

She stepped in front of him. “Very convincing. Smile. Show your teeth.”

He did as commanded, and Eleanora rubbed a black substance on a couple of his front teeth.

“I do hope that is easy to remove.”

“We will see,” Eleanora replied. “Your accent has to go. Try to say as little as possible. Drop your ‘h’s’ Mangle your syntax. If you’re convincing, I will use you for other duties—if you wish.”

Christian clasped her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I do wish. Cor, darlin’, but yer a dazzler.”

Eleanora laughed. “Close enough. I assume you heard such speech in your East End travels?”

“Perhaps. And I do want you—to use me—for other duties.”

Suggestive talk, but he couldn’t help it. Eleanora had captured and captivated him as no other.

Despite his vow to keep such emotions hidden, he had the distinct feeling he showed more than he intended, for her expression softened. Gently, she brushed the back of her hand across his whiskered cheek. An affectionate motion that had his heart skipping several beats.

“We must leave.” Taking his arm, Eleanora pulled him toward the stairs. Once outside, she pointed to his carriage. “We’ll take a hansom instead.”

“Why not make use of my carriage? It’s a damned sight more comfortable.”

“We cannot go traipsing about the streets of London in such a fancy conveyance. Your seal is on the door; it would draw attention.”

“It was worth a try.” Christian followed her to the front of Colosseum Terrace as she waved down a cab. The horse nickered as it came to a stop next to them.

“Basinghall Street. I will tell you where exactly when we arrive,” she told the driver.

The driver, wearing crisp black livery, gave them a dubious look. “I’ll need payment upfront,” he grumbled disrespectfully.

Bravo, their disguises were convincing.

Eleanora slipped two shillings into the driver’s gloved hand. “Be sharpish about it.”

The journey lasted only a few minutes. Christian had to admit, he was excited about participating in and assisting with the investigation—and thoroughly stimulated in all ways.

Eleanora banged on the ceiling of the cab, and it came to a halt. “We’ll get out here as it is a short walk to the pub.”

They sauntered along the sidewalk. “I do hope the police stay well clear. The coppers are a little more diligent in keeping these streets free of riffraff more than in the East End,” Eleanora said, her voice low. She slipped her arm through his, causing him to draw a sharp breath when her ample breasts brushed against him.

“There it is,” she said, tugging on his arm.

Ahead was a Tudor-style building with a wooden sign swaying above the window by the large double doors. Eleanora leaned against the building, facing the length of the street. Christian stood in front of her and nuzzled her neck.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Playing the part. The procurer who is staking his territory. Making sure all see that you are mine to do with as I please.”

Those huskily spoken words merely caused his arousal to spring to life once again. He bit gently on her earlobe, causing a soft sigh to escape her lips. Yes, she was as affected as him. How gratifying.

“Don’t knock my wig askew. I don’t have it pinned on as firmly as I would like,” Eleanora whispered.

“I will heed your warning. Best I face this way, in case any of them recognize me. I doubt it, but you never know.” He nibbled again on her ear, and a breathy sigh escaped her lips. Not caring if anyone was watching, he briefly clasped her breast, and she moaned in response. Then he trailed his hand down her side, reveling in her curves.

By the devilled hell, he wanted her, as he wanted no other woman ever before. Despite his best-laid plans, Christian was falling for this magnificent woman—and fast.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eleanora’s insides roiled with enough intense heat to singe them both. All her trepidations and rules of engagement?

Gone, in a flash.

Instead of pushing him away, she hauled him against her and rolled her hips. Even through their layers of clothes she felt the hardness of his arousal.

Being impulsive again. Not going to fight it.

“Hell,” he moaned. Christian captured her lips with his, kissing her deeply and distracting her from her task. He swirled the inside of her mouth with his talented tongue, and she replied in kind.

Eleanora allowed it to linger a moment, savored the hot, exciting taste of him before she reluctantly pulled away.

“They’re coming,” she whispered in his ear.

That kiss, though brief, was more intense than the one in the alley.

Concentrate, Eleanora. On the task before me.

A congregation of about seven women strolled confidently toward them, laughing and talking. It’s not as if the ladies dressed provocatively, but they certainly were not dressed in what is considered proper by society. They did not wear hats, shawls, or gloves, nor did they wear demure afternoon walking gowns buttoned up to the neck. A couple of them had their hair down as well, a definite violation of the rules.

With a sudden move, Christian clasped her wrist and held it against the wall. “Listen to me, my girl,” he growled rather loudly. “You’ll be makin’ me more coin or you’ll be more than sorry.”

The women were within earshot.

“Leave me alone! I do what I can,” she whimpered in reply.

His hand moved to her neck, and he gently squeezed, and Eleanora gave a performance worthy of The Gaiety Theater. Gasping, she gave a terrified look. The women slowed, watching the exchange as they headed toward the door. But they did not intervene. For they understood one did not step between a prossie and her pimp.

“Right you are. I’ll be back at supper, you better ’ave coin aplenty or I’ll be sellin’ you to the traders, see that I won’t.” His voice was laced with menace and venom, he certainly had her convinced.

Well done, Your Grace, Eleanora thought admiringly.

She cringed as if he were going to strike her.

The women headed through the entrance, one tsked and muttered, “Miserable bastard.”

Once the door closed, Christian laid a gentle kiss on her neck. “Did I hurt you?” he asked worriedly.

“No.” With decided reluctance, she gently pushed him away. The solid warmth of him was intoxicating—and far too distracting.

But beyond such pleasurable sensations, too many men treated women roughly as if they were property. Eleanora was relieved to learn her trust in Christian was not misplaced. He would never physically hurt her; she knew it to the depths of her soul.

“Head toward where the carriage dropped us off. There is an alley near, wait for me there,” she instructed.

Christian strode away, and with one last admiring gaze at his broad shoulders, Eleanora arranged her features into a fearful look of complete capitulation.

Stepping across the threshold of the Rusty Anchor, her senses were inundated with the odors of tobacco, beef and onions, and humanity. The wall and ceilings had large wood beams like the ones in the bowels of a ship. Nonchalantly she gazed about her surroundings, finding that the women had taken a large table in the back corner. The pub was crowded being it was noon, with laughter and clinking glasses drowning out all other noise.

With a slow and hesitant meander, Eleanora made her way to the end of the bar, adjoining the women. She made a show of counting her insufficient coins.

“Here, what do you want?” the barman called out to her.

She looked up at the older man wearing a neat apron. He stared at her impatiently.

“How much will this buy?” Meekly, Eleanora held up her upturned palm with the few coins upon it.

“Nothing. Get out, this ain’t no charity soup kitchen,” the barman snapped, turning to move away to his next customer.

“Charlie, a beefsteak pie for the lady and a pint of bitter. Have it brought to our table,” a voice called out.

Eleanora turned to stare into the face of a beautiful woman with hair in the shade of fireplace flame. With a shaky smile, she murmured, “thank you.”

“Come and sit with us, ducks,” another woman called out from the table.

The redhead slipped her arm through Eleanora’s. “What’s your name, love?”

“Bridget.”

“I’m Sandra, that there who spoke is Annie.” Sandra introduced the others, and the ladies scrunched in closer about the round table to make room for her.

Eleanora sat. “I cannot thank you all enough, I’m that hungry.”

Luckily, when at The Chrysalis, she was whisked into Bathsheba’s office and had not laid eyes on any of the prostitutes. No doubt busy with customers.

“We saw you with your man there. Bloody bastard,” Annie said, shaking her head. “Ducks, you’d be better off on your own than with the likes of a man like that. His treatment of you will only get worse.”

“He offers protection,” Eleanora whispered.

“Aye, that’s how they frame it. Then your so-called protector starts demanding more.” Two barmen brought pies and pints, and Sandra laid a pound note on the tray. “Divide that with Charlie and the rest.”

“Thanks, Sandra.” The man smiled and moved away.

“I don’t usually tip that much, but I wanted to show you what coin can be made if you find a good safe house to work out of,” Sandra said. “You need to find one, my girl, and quick like. We’re at The Chrysalis, a few doors down.”

Eleanora cut into her pie and shoved two forkfuls in one after the other to show her faux hunger. “How can I find such a place?” she asked between mouthfuls. The beefsteak pie was delicious; she must inform Althea, for her sister enjoyed them.

“Our place ain’t looking for new ones, but I know of a few,” Sandra offered. She sipped her bitter, then took a bite of the pie.

Eleanora couldn’t spend much time here. Last night she toyed with a particular line of inquiry but dismissed it as being too obvious. But she knew of no other way of getting to the point and procuring the information required. Those who worked in brothels rarely shared their pasts. Or so Eleanora had been told. Might as well plunge in. She shoved in another mouthful, a dribble of gravy trailing down the side of her mouth.

“There, ducks, easy now. Pace yourself,” Annie purred as she wiped the gravy away with the tip of her finger. Then she sucked on it, giving Eleanora a seductive look.

Good God.

“Annie, leave be. The poor girl is hungry for food, not for you,” Sandra admonished.

“Wait, you said The Chrysalis? I knew one who works there, though it be a few years back,” Eleanora said, then she gulped down a large swallow of bitter. Not her favorite beverage by any stretch. “Do you know her? Fiona Mapleton?”

Asking after the prossie who departed because of a protector instead of Lucinda/Emily was the prudent move.

Why? Those who left under suspicious circumstances were not to be discussed in any company. Another fact of street life Eleanora had learned through her years investigating.

One of the ladies snorted.

“Oh, aye. That particular cat landed on her feet, and no mistake,” Annie scoffed.

Eleanora looked questioningly between the women as she continued to eat.

“Fiona departed over a year ago, got herself a protector. The good kind. She services one as a paid paramour. A mistress. You don’t have to worry about her. She’s set up good and proper, until the man tires of her. Hopefully by then, she will have saved some money.” Sandra patted her hand.

“Do you know where she is set up? Perhaps she will see me, help me out,” Eleanora asked.

“You don’t want to be flouncin’ around Half Moon Street; the coppers will run you off quick as spit,” Annie stated. “She’s too good for us and all, acting high and mighty with her toff banker, Gillis Mawles and—”

“That enough, Annie,” Sandra cautioned. Sandra glared at Eleanora with narrowed eyes. Suspicion was creeping in; Eleanora could sense it. Yes, time to depart. She had all the information she needed.

Thank you, Annie.

Eleanora wiped her mouth with the serviette and placed it on the near empty plate. “I thank you, again. I’d best be off. Got to earn coin or he’ll—anyway, thanks and all.” Eleanora made movement to depart, but Sandra clasped her arm.

“You come here at noon in two days’ time. I will have a list of safe places you can check out. Stay clear of Fiona. You know the rule. She’s out of our sphere, and good luck to her.” Sandra slid a couple of shillings across the table. “Here, you give Mr. Misery Guts this coin toward your earnings today.”

Eleanora nodded, and scooped the money into her hand. Holding the fisted coins to her heart, she whispered in a trembling voice, “Thank you. You are all that kind.”

Without a backward look, she darted away. Once outside, she leaned against the pub wall and exhaled. Eleanora was not certain what the rule was that Sandra mentioned. Perhaps once someone was out of the life, there was no further contact. Which boded well for her future inquiries.

Hurrying along the street, she ducked into a small chapel. Taking the shillings she had acquired from Sandra and adding a few of her own, she deposited them into the poor box. Once she departed and entered the alley, strong arms pulled Eleanora into an embrace.

The familiar warmth and enticing spicy scent had her toes curling in her well-worn boots.

“God, Eleanora. What you do to me,” he growled. “Tell me that you feel it too.”

The wise thing to do would be to deny the sizzling heat between them, but when he held her like this, she could not.

“Christian, I cannot deny it. I feel it.”

He cupped her rear and brought her tight against him. “Feel this. I want you. We could have sex right here in the alley. No one would care.” His words were gruffly spoken, but eager and sensual. And it caused such a wave of desire to roll through her that it threatened to obliterate all common sense.

“You tempt me. Perhaps far too much.”

Christian swept her up into another devastating kiss. She knocked his hat to the cobbles as she grabbed fistfuls of his hair, kissing him with the same hungry enthusiasm that he showed.

But soon, that pesky common sense crept back in, and she pulled away. Eleanora clasped his hand and pulled him toward the street.

“We must go. I have to return home and change, and then I’m off to find Miss Mapleton. I have the street and the name of the man keeping her.” She turned to depart the alley, but Christian halted her.

He picked up his hat and brushed it off. “Wait, that’s it? And where am I to go?”

Eleanora blinked. “Why, to your townhouse.”

“I thought we were going to spend time together—as in concerning this investigation?”

“We are. I’ve allowed you to assist me. That is a huge step on my part. I never, ever allow anyone to become involved in my investigations. I’m going against my sister’s objections, let alone my own rules on the subject.”

Christian released her arm and leaned against the wall. “I also meant time together. Alone. Sharing a meal—and more. Or am I being too blunt? Perhaps I am. I apologize for suggesting sex in the alley. I became lost in my role.”

“Don’t apologize, I liked your suggestion. But all in good time.” Eleanora clapped her hands excitedly. “I have a lead; I must follow it up right away. I’m not sure if the ladies of The Chrysalis will contact Miss Mapleton or not, but I want to interview her immediately on the outside chance that they might.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Why would they contact Miss Mapleton?”

“To remind her to stay quiet about any of the doings at the brothel. Bathsheba would have told us nothing if you hadn’t threatened her.”

He gave her a quirky smile. “See? I am important to this case.”

There was no denying it; the duke was quite adorable. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. “Come. We will return to your club, then you can drop me at Cleveland Street and continue on home and I—”

“No.” Christian shook off her hand and wouldn’t budge. He stubbornly stood his ground.

“No?”

“I am going with you to Miss Mapleton. Introduce me as your assistant. I want all in, Eleanora. I have to admit I do enjoy your ordering me about, but not on this point. We travel this path together. The investigation—and whatever comes. I will brook no argument. What say you?” His voice was firm. Confident.

Well, she had to admit it gave her a decided thrill to order him about as well, but she also found it arousing when he returned the sentiment. That he stood up to her.

Eleanora held out her hand. “Then let’s shake on it. We travel together. All in.”

He clasped her hand and pulled her next to him until her breasts mashed against his broad chest. Then Christian cupped her rear once again and brought her in close until the apex of her thighs met his hard arousal.

“All in,” he rasped huskily in her ear.

Oh. Oh.

The temptation was hard to resist. Eleanora rubbed against the tempting duke until they were both moaning. Only the approaching footsteps of conversing men broke them apart.

“We’d best be off.” Eleanora took his arm, and they strolled out of the alley. Only Eleanora’s legs were trembling.

These complicated emotions were uncharted territory.

While it was indeed thrilling, she also harbored nagging doubts if she was doing the right thing.