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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.’
‘Is she, by God?’ breathed Alec Stewart. ‘Is she, now? Look out behind you, Harry!’
Wham. Harry planted a first-class facer. Alec grinned, then turned his back on the battle. He was off, to find Athena.
Chapter Five
Rosalie’s heart was sinking fast. Where was she in this labyrinth of passages and stairs? How on earth was she going to find her way to Dr Barnard’s office? She needed to see his precious private register, now. Because after tonight, returning to the Temple of Beauty just wasn’t an option.
Coming to the aid of the Captain had been so stupid! She should have just quietly slipped past all those brawling men while she had the chance! But seeing him there, fighting all those ruffians by himself, had struck her as so unfair …
You fool. He believes you to be a whore. And you’re out of your mind to waste precious moments even thinking about him, when Dr Barnard knows you write for The Scribbler, and has sent his men to scour the place for you!
She stole along yet another dimly lit corridor. The sounds of fighting reverberated round the entire building. What an evening. What a place. And she wasn’t out of it yet, because someone else was coming towards her. Someone who reached her before she’d even had a chance to run.
‘So here you are, Athena,’ said the Captain softly. ‘I’ve a few questions for you.’
Damn. She whipped round and went tearing back the way she’d come, but she heard him striding after her. Swinging past a corner, she pushed at a half-open door into a shadowy room where only a single candle spluttered in a sconce. Charging inside, she flattened herself against the wall, closed her eyes and uttered a fervent prayer that he’d go straight past.
He didn’t. He came in. Rosalie dived past him for the still-open door, but he caught her easily by the wrist; when she opened her mouth to utter a scream, she found his other hand clamped firmly across it. She struggled. Yet at the touch of his palm, strong and warm against her lips, a strange tingling sensation started up in all her nerve endings.
‘Keep still,’ he hissed, kicking the door shut with one booted foot.
She tried to bite his hand. He cursed. Then she froze. More heavy footsteps were coming down the corridor outside. Her chest was so tight she could scarcely breathe. Were they after the Captain? Or—her?
The footsteps went past. She sagged, tension leaving her weak.
The Captain was no longer holding her. But there was no chance of escape, because his broad-shouldered figure completely barred the way.
Something else was just starting to dawn on her. This room was one of those rooms that gentlemen paid for. Heavy curtains shrouded the windows and a rather large and obvious velvet couch draped with a shabby silk counterpane filled one corner. The mingled odours of patchouli and tobacco filled the air, and the paintings on the walls—oh, Lord, those paintings …
‘I understand, Athena,’ he said softly, ‘that you’re in trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ Rosalie tried to laugh. ‘What nonsense. I simply work here, as you’ve seen …’
He was watching her with inscrutable eyes. ‘Then why were you running? Why has Dr Barnard set his men at the main exits to stop you escaping?’
As Sal had said. She sagged again.
‘Exactly,’ he went on tersely. ‘And just for the moment, you’re better off—believe it or not—in here. With me.’ He tilted his head to indicate the riotous noise of brawling on every floor of this tall house.
The candles flickered, warningly. And oh, how their shadows highlighted the hard slant of his cheekbones, the wicked curl of his sensual mouth. Rosalie swallowed on the dryness in her throat. His dark eyes—she saw now they were velvet-brown, almost black—glowed with golden flecks as he gazed down at her. For a reason she couldn’t explain, a sudden lick of heat uncoiled from deep within and suffused every part of her body.
In trouble. Oh, yes.
Suddenly, like an eel—my God, thought Alec, this one’s used to fighting her own corner—she twisted from his grasp and ran for another door she’d spied at the far end of this whore’s boudoir. He lunged after her and caught her easily, this time trapping her by planting his hands firmly against the wall on either side of her shoulders. Her small breasts rose and fell in agitation; her amazing turquoise-blue eyes were wide with defiance.
‘Steady. Steady, Athena,’ warned Alec. ‘You know, I’d really like you to explain why you came to my aid in that brawl back there.’
She hadn’t the faintest idea. She jerked her head up. ‘How about you explaining why you’re reduced to paying for your pleasure in a place like this?’
And her lips spouted insults. Surprisingly eloquent insults, registered Alec. And the scent of her gleaming blonde hair was quite bewitching. She tried again to wriggle away, knocking a small painting off its hook on the wall so that it crashed to the floor. He stepped back, involuntarily; she swooped to the ground and picked it up.
‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘Look what you made me do, you fool! Luckily it’s not damaged …’
Alec looked on, incredulous as she turned her back on him and very carefully replaced the painting on the wall. He said at last, ‘You know, you’re in all sorts of trouble, Athena. And you’re worried about—a painting?’
She looked at him furiously. ‘It’s not just a painting, like the other cheap nonsense in here!’ The colour tinged her cheeks as she glanced round at the other works of art, whose content, Alec had noted, was decidedly bawdy. ‘Any fool can see that this painting is by Boucher and he’s famous for his watercolours! His paintings are masterpieces, though what one of them is doing in this dreadful place I cannot imagine!’
Dreadful place. Alec noted that. ‘How, Athena, do you know about art?’
Her hands were on her hips again; she tossed back her hair defiantly. ‘Why shouldn’t I know about art? Anyway, I’m not the only one in trouble—what did you do, to make those men attack you?’
‘I rather think,’ he said, ‘that I offended someone here tonight.’
‘If you go around speaking to people as you did to that man you called Stephen, then I’m not in the least surprised!’ she said tartly. ‘Why were you so rude to him?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t like him very much,’ he said. ‘And judging by the way you threw his money back in his face, you didn’t take to him either.’
Rosalie caught her breath. Something she’d never experienced before surged warmly through her. She, normally so resistant to men and their various wiles, could not even look this one in the eyes—those dark, glinting eyes—without her stomach turning peculiarly upside down.
Alone in a whore’s boudoir. With him.
Outside beyond this room the mayhem continued, with the sounds of men brawling and furniture breaking, followed by the crashing jangle of Mrs Barnard’s piano as it went over on its side. Rosalie forced herself to meet his dark eyes. ‘Do you have this effect wherever you go?’
‘Not my fault. I told you, someone paid those louts to attack me. Though it’s true that I attract attention,’ he said. His sleepy eyes gazed, unblinking, into hers. ‘Yours, for example, Athena. Earlier I saw you watching me. From the stage.’
Her heart juddered. ‘Watching you! Ridiculous! I’m short-sighted, I couldn’t possibly see that far!’
‘Strange, I gained the distinct impression you were watching me quite carefully.’
His hand, unbelievably, was curling round her slender waist. Drawing her close. Even more unbelievably, she was letting him do it. His fingertips were warm and firm through the filmy fabric of this stupid gown … She jerked herself away, the blood racing through her veins. ‘Oh, no! You can stop this, right now!’
