7


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From the doorway of the small room she occupied on the bottom floor of the house in Buford Street, Mary Goodhouse waited in the darkness as Annie kissed baby Jillian good night. She smoothed back the infant's fine, light brown hair, then tucked the child into the cradle Miss Durant had provided each of the newborns at birth.

"Sleep tight, sweet luv," Annie whispered.

As soon as Annie disappeared upstairs to the bedchamber she shared with Rose, Mary drew her shawl around her shoulders and slipped quietly out of her room. The floors creaked in the hall and so did the hinges on the door at the back of the house, but none of the lamps came on inside as she slipped out into the darkness.

It was cold this late in the evening, the stars like crystal specks in the black expanse of sky above her head. Mary shivered as she walked the deserted streets, unnerved by the echo of her worn soles on the cobbles. An occasional hackney rumbled past. She spotted a ladybird talking to a group of sailors and kept on walking.

There was something important she had to do, a matter that would secure a future for herself and her babe and provide the money she needed to make the long sea voyage to the Colonies.

Freddie would be waiting. He had sailed for a town named Charleston in a place called South Carolina and she intended to find him. But she had to leave soon, before it was too near her time to make the journey.

Mary pulled her shawl a little tighter and kept on walking. She had sent a message with one of the local chimney sweeps, a note she had hired a scribe to write that simply read I know everything. Meet me at the Cock and Thistle Tuesday at midnight.

Mary was certain he would come. He had too much to lose not to answer her summons.

It was a bit of a walk to the tavern, but she didn't have much money, not enough for a hackney, at any rate. She had picked the Cock and Thistle because it was far enough away that she wouldn't be recognized but not so far that she couldn't make it afoot.

She glanced at her surroundings. In the daytime, she hadn't really noticed the dilapidated buildings with their boarded-up windows or the scraps of paper and trash lying in the gutters. She hadn't smelled the odor of sewage or seen the darkened alleys where drunken men slept off their stupor against the rough brick walls.

Mary ignored a trickle of fear and told herself not to worry; she was almost to the tavern. In the distance, she could see the glow of lamplight shining through the letters on the glass in the wide front window, hear the muted laughter of the patrons inside.

Still, as she passed the entrance to a deserted alley and a man stepped out of the shadows, a chill swept through her. His clothes were worn and a battered brown slouch hat covered most of his greasy hair. She would simply cross the street, she told herself, put herself a safe distance away from him. She turned and started walking in that direction when a second man appeared, this one wearing a woolen hat, tattered greatcoat, and old knit gloves with his fingers poking out through the ends.

The men were on her before she had time to run. Mary tried to scream but a dirty hand clamped over her mouth and an arm tightened viciously around her belly. She thought of the babe and kicked backward, connecting with the man's shin as he dragged her off the street and into the darkness of the alley. Mary struggled but his arms were like steel, his hold so tight she could barely breathe. Her heels bumped over the cobbles, then slid into the mud and dirt of the alley, and fear unlike anything she had known welled up inside her.

" 'Urry up, Shamus," the first man said. "We 'aven't got all night."

"Od's teeth! The bawd is heavier than she looks," the second man grumbled. "Got a bun in the oven, can't ye see?"

The first man moved closer, and in a thin ray of moonlight she could see the blackened stumps of his teeth, the perspiration glistening in the deep grooves and lines in his forehead.

"Ye shouldna' tried ta bargain with the devil, luv. 'Tis only gonna buy ye a ticket straight ta hell."

Fresh fear shot through her. Mary looked into the man's grizzled face and knew in that instant the message she had sent was a warrant for her death. She would never see her Freddie again, never live to birth her babe. Trying to get money from the man she had overheard that night at Parklands was the maddest, most dangerous thing she had ever done.

As Mary stared into the brooding dark eyes of her attacker, felt his fingers wrap around her neck and begin to squeeze, they were the last thoughts she ever had.


Dressed in breeches and boots, standing next to Arlie in the middle of the barn, Lee watched Caleb Tanner shoveling manure from one of the open stalls. His week was over. When he finished today, the wager he had lost would be paid.

Arlie chuckled softly. " 'E won, ye know."

She dragged her attention from Caleb back to her ancient groom. "What are you talking about? I won the race. That is why he is paying the forfeit."

His thin lips curved, showing a couple of missing teeth. "Pulled up, 'e did. Just at the last. Seen it plain. Standin' right outside when 'e did it."

Disbelief widened her eyes. "What are you talking about? Are you telling me Caleb Tanner let me win that race?"

"I'm sayin' the man 'ad ye beat. Behaved like a real gen'l'man, 'e did."

Lee shook her head. "I don't believe it. Caleb Tanner would have liked nothing better than to see me out here mucking out those stalls." She cast him a look. "If he won the race, why didn't you say something sooner?"

Arlie shrugged a pair of bony shoulders. "Couldn't do that now, could I? Ain't fittin' fer a lady ta be doin' that sorta' work. Figured better 'im doin' the shovelin' than ye doin' it yerself."

Lee fixed her gaze on Caleb, who bent to his task down at the end of the barn. His shirt was gone, draped over the side of the stall. The muscles in his broad back gleamed with sweat, flexing every time he hefted the shovel. His skin was smooth and tanned dark from the sun, his hair damp with sweat and curling at the back of his neck. For a moment, she just stood there, mesmerized by the sight of him, trying to ignore an odd sort of breathlessness and a funny little flutter in the pit of her stomach.

Arlie shuffled away, still chuckling, and Lee's temper heated. Jerking a pitchfork off the wall, she stormed down to the end of the barn.

"Get out! You're finished in here." Ignoring the astonished look on his face, she bent over and started forking the wet straw and manure out of the stall.

Caleb jerked the pitchfork out of her hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lee whirled toward him, clamping her hands on her hips. "You won that race! Arlie said so! Now get out of this stall and let me go to work!"

Caleb started to smile, then he grinned. "You actually would have done it? You would have cleaned out the stalls?"

"What did you think? That I wouldn't stand by my wager? You figured you might as well let me win because it really wouldn't matter?" She reached out, grabbed the pitchfork out of his hands, and started furiously filling the wheelbarrow.

Caleb frowned. Stalking toward her, he reached over and jerked the pitchfork away. "Arlie's mistaken. You won the race."

She eyed him skeptically. "You're lying—I can see it in your eyes. What I can't figure out is why. Arlie says you were playing the gentleman. But you aren't a gentleman, are you, Caleb Tanner?"

His gaze ran over her, skimming the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips, outlined so clearly by the breeches. He reached out and caught the tops of her arms, and she didn't resist when he drew her toward him. His eyes were a darker shade of brown and there was a glint in them that hadn't been there before. Unconsciously, her palms came to rest on his naked, sweat-slick chest.

"No…" he said softly, "I'm no gentleman." Their eyes locked for an instant, then his mouth came down over hers.

Lee staggered at the jolt of unexpected heat. Beneath her palms, his skin felt hot and slick. He smelled of sweat and horses, and the powerful muscles across his chest flexed each time he moved. He took what he wanted, but his lips felt softer than they should have and heat spiraled out through her limbs. His tongue slid into her mouth as he deepened the kiss and she started to tremble.

All too soon, Caleb ended the kiss. He let her go and when he stepped away, she could see the heavy ridge of his sex pressing against the front of his breeches. Instead of fear or repulsion, she felt a strange blend of curiosity and excitement.

"The week is over," Caleb said as if the kiss had never occurred. "Which of us won no longer matters. With your permission, now that Jimmy will be busy riding for you, I'll hire one of the village lads to help Billy do the dirty work in here."

Lee swallowed and nodded, tried to sound as nonchalant as he. "All right, that will be fine." She turned and started walking, her heart still beating madly, her legs like India rubber. Outside the stall, she stopped and turned. "I want a rematch. You owe me at least that much."

Caleb's lips curved. She remembered the heat of them moving over hers. "Anytime, Miss Durant." But the hunger in his eyes warned that racing him today could have dangerous consequences. Lee ignored the little voice daring her to accept the unspoken challenge; she turned and walked away.


It was later that same night that Vermillion joined her aunt Gabriella and a small party for a night at the theater. Jonathan Parker, Lord Nash, was their escort, handsome with his silver-touched brown hair, impeccably dressed in a blue, velvet-collared tailcoat, blue-and-silver waistcoat, and dove gray breeches.

"I'm glad you and your aunt accepted my invitation," he said as he escorted Vermillion into the Theatre Royale in Haymarket for a production of Richard III. "It seems eons since we've enjoyed a moment to ourselves."

Which was true, of course, with Wingate and Mondale hovering over her every moment, to say nothing of Aunt Gabby's usual throng of hangers-on. But she had purposely excluded the others tonight. If she were going to make the right choice, she needed to get to know each of the men a little better.

And Nash was certainly charming. He smiled as he offered his arm and led her through the lobby, which blazed with the light of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Candles gleamed against the deep-red velvet draperies, and gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls. Nash guided them up the sweeping staircase to his private box on the second floor and they sat down in small, round, velvet-covered chairs.

He leaned toward her and she felt the brush of his coat. "I hear Noir will be racing at Newmarket come week's end. I imagine he'll sweep the field."

"It's going to be a difficult race, but I believe Noir will win."

The red velvet curtains moved just then and Aunt Gabby, dressed to kill in an exquisite gown of black and silver, turned to see Lord Claymont walk in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, smiling at Gabriella. "Though it doesn't appear I've missed anything yet." The earl was average in height and build, with lightly graying black hair and intense blue eyes. He was attractive and intelligent, a generous, kind-hearted man, and Vermillion had grown extremely fond of him.

"We've been invited to a party in honor of Michael Cutberth, darling. Isn't that exciting?" The actor was one of England's most renowned thespians and Gabriella was wild to meet him.

Not surprising. Aunt Gabby lived for nights like this.

The earl whispered something in Gabriella's ear and she laughed.

The viscount moved a little closer. "You must be looking forward to the race," he said. "When will you be leaving?"

"On the seventh. The horses have already departed."

He flashed her one of his charming smiles. He really was a handsome man. "I'm sure they'll all do very well."

Aunt Gabby tapped his sleeve with her painted fan. "It's going to be great fun, Jon. I've taken a house for the occasion—quite a lovely place, actually. I plan to do a little entertaining. Why don't you come with us?"

He flicked a glance at Vermillion, but regretfully shook his head. "I should like nothing better, believe me. Unfortunately, I've a ministers' meeting I cannot escape." He smiled. "I promise, however, I shall find a way to make amends." His eyes were warm on her face and Vermillion felt a smile of her own appearing.

They talked more of racing and a little of the war, the threat of invasion a constant worry on everyone's mind.