Regency Seduction: The Captain's Courtesan / The Outrageous Belle Marchmain

* * *

On, on flew Rosalie’s memories, to the December of last year. A cold evening, a bitter evening, in damp, bleak London. Rosalie had by then been staying with Helen for two months, searching all the daylight hours and more for Linette; asking at the theatres, the opera houses, everywhere she could think of for her sister; following clues that too quickly went cold. Rosalie, I’m in London. I’m in trouble. Please help me.

But it was Helen, who regularly went out at night with a group of her church friends to take soup and bread to the hungry in some of the worst districts of London, who found Linette at last.

Rosalie had been reading little Toby his bedtime story when she’d received Helen’s message. Biddy, their good young neighbour, had come in to look after Toby, while Rosalie, with one of Biddy’s brothers, hurried to meet Helen at the address she’d give her—a rubbish-strewn attic off the Ratcliffe Highway. There, on a dank mattress beneath a broken skylight, lay her nineteen-year-old sister, her once-lovely face pinched with grief and illness, while at her side a beautiful little girl with dark curls gazed up at the newcomers, clutching a battered rag doll and whispering, ‘Mama. Mama.’

Rosalie’s search for her sister was at an end.

Helen had immediately taken the crying infant to her house in Clerkenwell. In the meantime Rosalie had fought hard to conceal not just her grief, but her overwhelming rage as she’d held her sister in her arms and stroked back her hair from her forehead. ‘Take me to him,’ Linette had whispered as she clutched her sister’s hand.

‘Who, Linette?’ Rosalie had tried so hard to keep her voice steady, though the pain in her heart had threatened to choke her.

‘He has a castle. A wonderful castle. Take me to him, please …’ Linette had been struggling to speak by then. Faintly she’d breathed his name—then died, moments later, in Rosalie’s arms.

Since then, Rosalie had redoubled her efforts to find Linette’s destroyer, working her way round every London theatre, high and low. Not asking outright, for that brought danger; but pretending she was looking for a lost friend. And a few days ago, fast running out of hope, she’d visited a seedy little theatre off the Strand.

The greasy-haired manager, Alfred Marchmont, had said curiously, ‘I remember a girl called Linette. Linette Lavalle, that was it—pretty, she was, well spoken, with fair hair …’

For a moment she could hardly breathe. Emotion twisted her insides. At last she nodded. ‘When was she here?’

‘Well, she came for an audition—it would be, oh, spring three years ago; I’ve a good memory for faces and names.’ Marchmont looked at her curiously. ‘She was pretty, as I said, but she moved on after a couple of months to Dr Barnard’s.’

Three years ago. ‘Does this Dr Barnard run a theatre, then?’

Marchmont had hesitated. ‘He runs a stage show. Of sorts.’

So now, at Dr Barnard’s famous Temple of Beauty, Rosalie prepared herself to endure the company of the half-drunken roués upstairs. But as soon as Dr Barnard appeared and observed her there, she would slip down to his office to see if his secret book went back to the summer of 1813, when Linette might have worked here—and met Katy’s father.

Chapter Four

‘Look, lads, it’s Captain Stewart! He was one of Wellington’s officers at Waterloo!’

Alec Stewart was all set to leave the Temple of Beauty. There was no sign of his brother; Garrett must have been wrong. But now these friends of Lord Harry Nugent’s had clustered around him in the smoke-filled bar, blocking his exit.

Alec made a half-hearted effort to answer their eager questions, but he was tired of battle talk. He wanted to point out to these young blades that war was a damnable business, then get the hell out of here. But then Harry himself appeared and accosted Alec with delight.

‘So you decided to come after all, Alec! Weren’t the girls just wonderful?’

‘They were about as I expected, yes,’ said Alec steadily. This wasn’t the place or time to explain to Harry that actually he thought they looked greedy and desperate. Though not quite all. His eyes had been tugged reluctantly back to the stage by just one of the goddesses—Athena—the slender one who tossed her long fair hair and looked almost angry, as though she hated being there amongst those plump, painted courtesans …

For God’s sake, man. She has to be a courtesan, too!

‘Must go, Harry,’ Alec said. But Harry was babbling in his ear, to make himself heard above the general din.

‘You’re not leaving yet, are you, Alec? You must stay for the dancing upstairs.’ Harry was pointing eagerly to one of the many winding staircases that threaded through this tall, ancient building. ‘You could have your pick, if they knew who you were!’

‘Really not my style.’ Alec clapped the curly-haired young man lightly on the shoulder. ‘I only came because I thought my brother might be here—and he’s not. Enjoy the rest of your birthday and don’t let yourself be fleeced too badly, will you?’ Alec started towards the exit.

‘But, Alec, your brother is here!’

Alec ground to a halt. ‘What?’

‘He was too late for the show, but he went straight upstairs to the Inner Temple to take a look at the girls on offer there … Alec? Alec, if you’re going up there, too, don’t forget you’ll have to get a ticket first!’

Alec, already making for the stairs, swung back. ‘I’m not going to be paying for my pleasure, believe me.’

‘But you need a ticket to get in! Look, you can buy one over there!’

Damn. Alec could see the queue snaking along one of the passageways. But—Stephen was here. And this was a matter—a family matter—that could not be put off any longer.

‘And so, you see, sir,’ Rosalie was saying earnestly, ‘that the education of young women is absolutely vital to the future of social enlightenment, wouldn’t you agree? By education, I mean, of course, not just needlework and a little French, but a full grounding in mathematics, the sciences …’

The young buck who’d waited so eagerly for a dance and possibly more with the extremely striking new blonde goddess was beginning to look distinctly alarmed. He muttered hastily, ‘Just remembered. There’s this fellow I’ve got to see …’

With narrowed eyes Rosalie watched the man hurry off across the crowded room towards the door. Five customers had so far bought tickets from the footman at the door to dance with her. Five customers had beaten a rapid retreat as soon as they decently could, thanks to her unexpected—and unwelcome—topics of conversation. Rosalie held up five fingers to Sal and mouthed, ‘Enough?’

Sal, busy coping with the attentions of a drunken admirer in a loud plum coat, nodded and whispered back, ‘Certainly is—thanks!’

Rosalie heaved a sigh of relief. She’d got Sal out of trouble and had managed to scare all her admirers to death within moments. Now all she had to do was wait for Dr Barnard to appear, then she could change out of this ridiculous outfit, slip down to his office, check his green book and get out of here. Mrs Barnard shouldn’t be a problem; the old harridan was still playing the pianoforte with clunking determination, while couples waltzed and groped their way around the floor. Though Rosalie decided to move out of her line of sight, into an alcove away from the light of the candles, just to be on the safe side.

But someone was blocking her way. ‘Oh!’ Her hand flew to her throat.

For a fleeting moment, some faint physical resemblance made her think of the Captain. But even as her pulse started to race, she realised this man was older and not as tall, with a fleshier face and just a hint of a weak chin. And his clothes were—expensive. His coat was of bottle-green kerseymere, his cuffs were edged with lace and a diamond-studded silver pin nestled in the folds of his cravat. The rather strong scent of citrus cologne clung to him.

‘My dear girl,’ he said, ‘I do apologise if I startled you—that wasn’t my intention in the least. I wonder, would you do me the very great honour of dancing with me?’

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said quickly, ‘I was just about to leave.’

A shadow of something—was it anxiety?—crossed his face. ‘And I respect your wishes wholeheartedly, but might I mention that there could be a slight problem?’

‘A problem?’

‘Indeed. You see, I was talking to your Dr Barnard on the stairs only a moment ago. He’s just returned to his office for more tickets for his doormen. But he’ll be arriving here any minute; since I’ve paid him personally for a dance with you, he would be a little angry, I fear, to discover that you’d slipped away.’

Rosalie’s heart sank. So it still wasn’t safe to get into Dr Barnard’s office—bother. She swallowed. ‘Yes. I see …’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ offered the man. ‘Instead of dancing, I’ll fetch you a glass of wine, shall I?’

‘I would prefer lemonade,’ she interrupted quickly. ‘And I really cannot stay long.’

‘I am honoured to be given even a few minutes of your time,’ he said softly. ‘You can’t believe how eager I am for this chance to get to know you.’

Alec frowned as the footman took his ticket and waved him into the Inner Temple. The candle-lit room was filled with gaudy splashes of colour, thanks to the cheap gowns of the women and the scarlet and mauve wall-hangings. In one corner an older woman with red-dyed hair played the piano with more determination than skill and a dozen or more couples moved around the floor in a manner that clearly hinted at more intimate encounters. The odours of stale perfume and tobacco assailed his senses.

And there—Alec’s square jaw tightened—there was his brother, Stephen, dressed to the nines as usual and talking to someone Alec couldn’t quite see since Stephen’s back blocked his view.

Alec walked with deceptive nonchalance across the room. People moved out of his way, as they tended to.

‘Stephen,’ he said softly at his brother’s shoulder.

His brother swung round, the blood leaving his face. ‘You,’ he muttered. ‘Always you. What in hell are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to speak with you, Stephen.’ Alec gazed thoughtfully at his brother. ‘Since you’re too scared to let me into your house, I thought we could have a pleasant little chat right here.’

‘This is hardly the place or time to discuss private business!’

‘Believe me—’ and Alec’s voice was suddenly harsher ‘—I take no pleasure at all in having to step anywhere near the dungheap of your private business. But you give me little option.’

Stephen’s eyes darted round. Quite a few people were watching; some couples had actually stopped dancing to stare. Stephen turned to the person at his side. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘I do apologise for this gross intrusion.’

And for the first time, Alec realised who Stephen had been talking to.

He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted her to be here. Blue eyes, as he’d thought: turquoise blue. He absorbed the slender delicacy of her figure, the perfect outline of her profile, the way her silver-blonde hair trailed down the silken white column of her graceful neck …

Athena. He felt, for one wild moment, the overwhelming desire to haul her over his shoulder and carry her out of this tawdry place.

Then he realised she was wearing fresh face paint. Rouge, badly applied. Disillusion flooded him. She is a whore, you fool. Alec’s gaze locked again with his brother’s. ‘Pay her off,’ he said. ‘This is just between you and me.’

He saw the girl whiten beneath that rouge as if he’d struck her. But at that very moment Stephen touched her shoulder. ‘Listen, my dear,’ Alec heard him murmur. ‘If you will just wait for me over there, I’ll be free in a moment, I promise you …’

‘I said—pay her off,’ interrupted Alec. ‘Or I will.’

Stephen flushed and dipped into his pocket, then thrust some coins in the girl’s hand. ‘Here,’ Alec heard him mutter. ‘And there’ll be more, if you’ll wait for me …’ He bent to whisper something.

Alec expected Athena to give Stephen an enticing smile, perhaps, or a curtsy of promise as she left.

But her blue eyes flashed scorn. Two spots of colour burned in her cheeks; then the girl just let those damned coins clatter one by one to the floor as if they scorched her. The noise interrupted the pianist, who stopped playing. And the girl stalked off without a backward glance, blonde head held high. Stephen clenched his fists and looked after her. ‘Damn it, I needed to talk to her!’

‘Wrong, Stephen,’ Alec shot back. ‘You need to talk to me.’

‘Not here.’ Stephen sounded quite feverish. ‘For God’s sake, not here, in public!’

This time Alec’s voice was like a whiplash. ‘You make it impossible for me to hold a conversation with you anywhere else. Now, I think you were about to explain to me why you were seen today by the whole of society driving in the park—and you were with her again. Then you come whoring, here. You are—unbelievable.’

‘I had my reasons for coming here! A matter of unexpected business—’

‘Business? Listen, Stephen. Don’t you think it might be a good idea if you suddenly found some unexpected business to take you out of town, for a week, or two, or even longer?’

Stephen moistened dry lips. ‘Are you attempting to threaten me?’

‘If you think I’m merely attempting it, then I’m obviously not making myself clear enough. Let me put it this way. It would be as well for you, brother—it would be very much in your interests—if you disappeared from London for a while.’

‘Damn you! You will not interfere like this!’ Stephen looked round quickly at the avid onlookers who gathered closer. ‘You know, I hold some cards, too, Alec. Push me too far and I’ll play them, I swear!’

Alec gave a lethal half-smile. ‘Then play them, brother mine. Damn well play them. Unlike you, I have nothing whatsoever to lose.’

‘If you think—’

‘For our father’s sake, Stephen,’ broke in Alec warningly, ‘I’ll expect news of your departure in the next day or so.’ He looked around the room and its occupants with scorn. ‘Now, my God, I’m out of here.’

‘Back to your old soldiers,’ muttered Stephen.

Alec swung round on him. ‘My old soldiers smell sweeter than this sewer of a place.’ And he strode off, the crowd parting to make way for him, the door crashing shut after him as he left.

The murmuring rose to excited chatter. All eyes were now fastened on Stephen, who, still flushed with anger, walked quickly towards the ante-room where refreshments were being served, looking, looking all the time. That girl, Stephen swore under his breath. Thanks to his damned brother, that girl, who looked like the other one, had got clean away.

In fact, Rosalie was still there, pressed into a shadowed alcove. She saw that slowly the room was returning to normal. Dr Barnard had arrived and, suspecting there’d been trouble of some kind, he spoke curtly to his wife, who began to play the piano again extremely loudly. Dr Barnard called out that the wine was on the house and a cheer was raised; couples started returning to the dance floor.

But Rosalie’s pulse rate showed no sign of calming.

Something had happened to her when the Captain drew near. It wasn’t just that he was so handsome. It was because he was so different from all these other men. It was as if he was some kind of rebel, walking alone and unarmed into an enemy camp, quite heedless of any consequences. And close up, she’d been able to see even more clearly how his overlong dark hair, his ill-tied neckcloth, the shabby long coat that moulded itself to the powerful muscles of his shoulders and chest, only added to the hint of danger that blazed in those emotion-packed eyes.

He was, quite simply, devastating. And he thought her a whore. Pay her off—or I will.

She shivered. She saw that the man Stephen was now talking in a low voice to some footmen at the door. She didn’t want to see any more of him either, and the sooner she was out of here the better …

‘Ros. Ros? Thank God I’ve found you, girl.’ It was Sal, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Now listen, you’ve done me a favour, so I’ll do you one, right? Dr Barnard, he’s after you. Someone’s said to him you’ve got some connection with a London gossip rag.’

Oh, no. Rosalie caught her breath and tried to laugh. ‘Ridiculous—what on earth makes him think that?’

‘No use trying flummery with this one, gal. Our Danny-boy’s told Dr B. he’s seen you out deliverin’ news sheets. And soon as he’s got everyone back and busy on the dance floor, Dr Barnard is going to be huntin’ for you, see?’

Oh, Lord. Rosalie was already on her way, hurrying through the crowd to the back staircase.

Down to the office first, for that all-important book of clients. Then—she’d be on her way.

Alec was walking steadily down the stairs. His brother would do as he’d said and clear out of town for a while, no doubt of that—Stephen’s knees had actually been shaking. Though whether Stephen’s departure was the solution to a stinking mess or merely a temporary reprieve was another matter altogether.

And Alec was still puzzled as to why Stephen was here. He’d said he had business here—unexpected business. But … with a sweet-faced whore who refused his money almost in disgust?

Alec paused at a branching of the stairs, his brow dark with thought. When, exactly, had Stephen started hating him? Probably the day Alec was born, unfortunately.

‘You. Always you,’ Stephen had hissed just now.

Long ago, on his fifth birthday, Alec had been tearing round the estate on a lively pony—his birthday gift—when it stumbled over a fallen branch on a woodland path. Alec had been thrown, breaking his leg.

He’d imagined he saw Stephen, a little ahead of him between the trees, watching him. And days later, lying bed-bound and drowsy with medicines for the pain, he’d heard their father say to their mother, in Alec’s bedroom, ‘To think that Stephen was capable of such mischief. God help me, but, young though they are, I find myself wishing more and more that Alec were the heir …’

His parents had not seen, as Alec had, his brother lurking outside the half-open door, his eyes venomous with the beginnings of the hatred Alec had noticed just now.

Yes, it was Stephen who’d laid that branch across Alec’s path and their father knew it. So did the groom, who warned Alec, grim-faced, when he was getting used to riding again after his leg healed, You watch out for that brother of yours, Master Alec, sir.

As he grew up, Alec had never cared that Stephen was the heir rather than himself. But he knew that Stephen would never forgive him for what their father had said—ever.

He’d barely reached the first-floor landing of the Temple of Beauty when he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs above him. He glanced around. Two of Dr Barnard’s footmen, burly brutes both, were heading downwards also and he stepped aside to let them pass.

They didn’t.

They came directly towards him. Their faces were twisted with an emotion Alec recognised all too easily. The hunger for a fight. Damn it.

The bigger one, a beefy wretch with some missing teeth, went for Alec with his fist, clearly intending a blow straight to the gut. But Alec caught the man a swinging punch to the jaw that made his victim stagger and fall with his hand to his mouth. More of his teeth gone, hopefully. In virtually the same moment Alec whipped back his elbow into the stomach of the other brute, driving the wind from his lungs so that he bent double and had to gasp for air.

If they wanted a mill, they’d got it. But Alec knew this would be Stephen’s doing. And now—hell, now was going to be difficult, because three more of Dr Barnard’s henchmen were coming from the other direction, speeding up as they saw their two felled comrades struggling to their feet …

Not playing fair, Stephen. But then, you never did. With a bit of luck Alec knew he could fling a couple of his opponents down the nearby staircase. But even so, the odds were not good. They were coming for him purposefully, with evil leers on their faces.

‘Oh, my brave, brave boys,’ said Alec Stewart gently, ‘five against one—but even so I’d bet money on me. Do you know why? Because you’re a bunch of thick-skulled bastards who would just turn and run at the prospect of any real fighting …’

They charged him like enraged bulls, which was Alec’s intention. Anger slowed both brains and fists, especially when Alec, moving with light ease, tripped two of them up as they blundered forwards, then sliced another across the throat with the edge of his hand and brought his fist up beneath the fourth one’s jaw so the ruffian bit on his own tongue and let out a bloody cry of pain. But Alec knew the odds were against him; it was only a matter of time before he went down.

Suddenly he glimpsed someone else sidling down those damned stairs. A girl looking as if she didn’t want to be seen, glancing behind her all the time as if fearing pursuit. But on hearing the noise of the fight, she turned to look down and Alec saw her gasp with shock.

Hell. He flung another punch as one of the brutes ventured too close. It was Athena, in her diaphanous gown. Another enemy. Would the blonde-haired whore stand and gloat at his plight? Or actually join in? The latter at present seemed most likely, because as more of the brutes closed in on him she hurried down the last few steps to the landing where the action was and picked up a small pedestal table that stood in a corner.

Dear God, thought Alec a little faintly, I’m in for it now. There was an expression on her face of utter and relentless determination. Alec mentally prepared himself for a final, nasty blow from that small but heavy table.

Shifting her grip to hold it by its base, she swung the table hard against the thighs of his biggest opponent. The man let out a howl of outrage and toppled to his knees. Another man reached out to grab her with an oath—’Come here, you blasted—’—but she dropped the table, slipped neatly from his grasp and kneed him in the groin.

Alec blinked. Ouch. Dirty tactics. But he could hear more footsteps, running up the stairs this time; then a familiar voice accosted his ears.

‘Captain! What ho, Captain Stewart, is that you?’

Not more of Dr Barnard’s men, but curly-haired Lord Harry Nugent. Swiftly Harry took in the scene, then gestured his friends forwards with a whoop of delight. ‘Come on, lads!’ Harry cried. ‘Don’t like the odds here, against a hero of Waterloo! Let’s show ‘em a bit of the homebrewed!’ Instantly the crowd of young men launched themselves at the footmen, cheering.

The footmen, aghast, tried to flee up the stairs, to the room where the dancing was. But Harry’s friends followed and within seconds, Dr Barnard’s Inner Temple was more like a rowdy backstreet tavern than a gentlemen’s club. As more footmen joined the battle, Harry fought at Alec’s side; Alec watched with widening eyes as each of Harry’s vigorous punches found its mark—perhaps Harry should take up boxing rather than the foil.

But then Alec began to realise that the girl had disappeared.

Harry caught his eye as the number of assailants dwindled. ‘A more exciting night than you thought, Captain!’ he called. ‘Did you see me draw the stout one’s cork?’

Alec shrugged his wide shoulders, laughing. ‘Indeed. I underestimated the Temple of Beauty. But do you know what happened to the girl who was here a few moments ago, Harry? The blonde girl who played Athena?’

‘She ran past us, on her way down the stairs.’ Harry paused to enthusiastically thump a footman who was trying to sneak away. ‘Apparently she’s in trouble with Dr Barnard’s men, too.’