A Riding Crop for Two (7 page)

Gideon adjusted the ruby
cuff links on his shirt, his coat sleeves, and sat his hat on the seat next to
him. The southeast English countryside whizzed by his window, but it could not
pass quick enough for him. He ached for
Liv
. Not just
his cock, but his damned heart. Standing up to his father and declaring his
feelings cemented them further into his weary soul. He
did
love her, and he should have told her the night before last
while she lay in his arms.

His stomach grumbled. He
had to forgo breakfast. The desire to be out of his father’s presence and be
back in
Liv’s
spurned his actions.

Marriage.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he knew
at some point he would have to marry. If he hadn’t met
Liv
,
perhaps he would have taken his father’s folded piece of paper and coolly
chosen a random name from it. But he
had
met
Liv
, and it had changed everything.

A traditional marriage
was out of the question. Be damned if he would wait weeks for banns to be read,
and months for a traditional betrothal. He had been beyond the strictures of
society for years. He hadn’t been to church since the age of nineteen. He did
not need the permission of
Liv’s
father, as she was
past the age of consent and by her own admission had not had contact with him
in three years. How surprising that they both had fractured relationships with
their respective fathers. If at a later date he wished to re-enter society, he
could go about it then. Having a title caused a lot of past sins to be washed
away.
Probably when they had children.
He squirmed in
his seat.

Children.
One thing he would make damned sure of, he would
never be like his father.
 
Or hers.
He would show how he felt, give his love and
support freely. He would pledge the same to
Liv
. Deep
down in the murky recesses of his blackened soul, he knew he could very easily
become a man such as his cold, unsympathetic father. Hell, he had been that man
for a few years. He would have to fight it for the rest of his days. With
Liv
at his side, the battle—and the war—would be easily
won. Already she was his touchstone to humanity.

Hang it all. If he
couldn’t obtain a special license, they would both
hie
off to
Scotland
and see the vows done there.
As soon as possible, no need to
wait about.

Gideon sat back in his
seat and gazed at the scenery through the window. A sense of calm settled him.
For once a bleak future did not yawn before him. Satisfied he had resolved any
possible
problems,
he lowered his head and dozed.

****

Olivia opened her eyes
to find James sitting by her bedside. She could open her swollen eye slightly,
so she gazed about taking in her surroundings. She was back in her old room at
The Riding Crop. Relief ran through her, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

James took her hand.
“There now, Olivia. No need for tears. You are safe.”

“Mary Kelly?”

“The woman who brought
you?
I gave her two
pounds for her trouble and thanked her on your behalf. It’s morning now.
Near noon actually.
You slept all night. The doctor examined
you while you were unconscious, and there are no broken bones. Your ribs might
be a bit bruised, but you should be up and around by tomorrow.”

“My face?”

“Not bad as it looked
last night.
Bruising around the eye.
Your lip is split
and a little swollen.”

Olivia pushed herself in
an upright position. Sore, but it could have been so much worse.

“I am such a fool,” she
whispered.

“Olivia, you are not the
first person to toss caution to the wind and embrace love. Now, what on earth
happened? Mary Kelly says there were two men in an alley.”

Olivia pulled the quilt
tighter around her body and shivered. “They burst into the bedroom at eleven
o’clock last night. Dragged me out and tossed me in an alley here in
Whitechapel
. They said they were acting on behalf of Lord
Cravenbrook
. That he had his fill of me and I was not to
contact him in future.” She started to sob and squeaked, “He is done with me.”

James took her hand and
squeezed. He did not speak, but Olivia could see the sympathy and pity in his
eyes. She exhaled and wiped away her tears.

“Help me, James. Can one
of the boys escort me to the Ten Bells?”

“Dearest, you should
stay abed.”

Olivia pulled her hand
from his and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m fine. I have
someone to see. Would you consider giving Mary Kelly employment and your
protection? I owe her so much. They were about to rape me. I shudder to think
what would have happened to me if she and her friends had not stepped in.”

“Of course.
But I must protest. You’ve had a terrible
experience...”

She laid her hand on
James’ cheek. “My dear, I have lived through worse. I survived. I will survive
this.”

Though her words sounded
strong and determined to her own ears, inside, her heart had been smashed to
bits. In the clear light of day, she was now convinced Lord Craven had
instigated her abduction and attack. So be it. She would never make the mistake
of falling in love or trusting any man again.

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

Gideon entered the
townhouse calling
Liv’s
name. He’d stopped at a
vendor’s at the train station and bought her flowers, red roses in fact. The
seller told him red roses spoke of a declaration of love. What did he know of
such things? He had never courted or wooed a woman before. He dropped his
overnight bag in the front hall and headed toward the stairs.

“
Your
Pardon, My Lord, but Miss Durham is not here.”

Gideon turned to face Hobson.
“What do you mean, she went out?”

“No, My Lord.
When the staff rose early this morning, we found Miss
Durham had left and taken her belongings. I assume it was after the house was
abed. The rooms upstairs remain undisturbed. I thought you would want to see
them.” Hobson reached in his side pocket. “I found this in the parlor; it is
addressed to a Mr. James Sidle in
Whitechapel
. She
wrote it two days ago, but never had it delivered.”

Gideon snatched the
letter from Hobson’s gloved hand and thrust the roses toward him. Slipping the
note in his pocket, he took the stairs two at a time. He entered his room
first. His bed looked to be in shambles, as if someone had slept there. He
stalked down the hall and kicked open the guestroom door. He pulled open the
wardrobe.
Nothing.
The bed had not been slept in, so
she’d been in his. Then what had possessed her to decide to leave in the middle
of night? He glanced down and saw the riding crop sticking out from under the
bed.

He picked it up. She had
left this behind. A stab of pain shot through his heart. Was this a message?
His fingers stroked the leather. The crop was such an intricate part of their
short-term affair. To him, it represented the trust and intimacy they shared.
She left it behind, kicked it under the bed like it meant nothing.

He threw it across the
room in frustration and swore. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached in
his pocket for the note and tore it open.
Addressed to James
Sidle at The Riding Crop.
It appeared that Pan, the owner, could be this
Sidle bastard. He snapped the note open and read.

James, I sit here three days after leaving
The
Riding Crop, and my anger has turned to bitter
disappointment. You must think me foolhardy; to go off with a man I barely knew
a few hours. But I did. I cannot explain the reasons, except I felt I had met
my soul mate. We are so much alike it is frightening. I sensed in him so much
that is wrong with
myself
. We are broken things.
Together, we make a whole being. Gideon hides behind a cold, icy mask, but I
have felt his heart beat.

I was prepared to give him all that I am, but he
abandoned me. Dropped me at this mausoleum of a townhouse and left for parts
unknown. I am giving him until this evening to return and if he does not, I ask
that you please allow me return to The Crop. Please send back your reply as
soon as you get this. I promise never again to allow my heart to lead me
astray.

Your dearest friend,

Olivia

We are broken things.

Gideon crumbled the
letter in his fist. She spoke the truth. They were very much alike.
 
Soul mates did indeed fit what they were. His
upbringing was Spartan, absent of love and affection. His mother too wrapped up
in her own depressing state to take notice of a small boy tugging on her gown
seeking attention. His father answered his pleas with the back of his hand or a
caning. When he was sent away to school at
Eton
he had no choice but to toughen up. The upper boys also liked to brandish a
cane and two or three of the more cruel bullies like to wield their cocks on
the lower boys as well. Gideon made damn sure he was not subjected to either
cruelty. The armor had been in place since then. Perhaps he should have kept it
there. The one time he lowered his guard, and a damned woman trampled his
heart.

Gideon smoothed the letter
and read it again. She had not mailed it. Why? Putting aside his hurt pride and
smashed male ego, the fact she slept in his bed, then left in the middle of the
night made no sense whatsoever.

It was patently obvious
where she went.
The Riding Crop.

Gideon ran into the
hall.
“Hobson!
Get me a Hansom cab!
Now!”

****

Olivia walked into the
Ten Bells on

Commercial Street

.
Gordon, one of the lads from The Crop, stayed right on her heels. For one in
the afternoon the place was quite lively. She had never been here or any other
pub for that matter. The walls were adorned with blue and white floral tiling
and dark wood trim. The tiled mural on the far wall was the decorative
centerpiece.
A weaver in his shop, plying his wares from an
era long ago.
She scanned the busy pub, and Mary’s red hair caught her
eye. She strolled to the table where Mary sat with four other women. They might
have been the same women in the alley last night, but the darkness had made it
difficult to tell.

“Well, look at you, up
and about. How are you feeling, love?” Mary asked.

“Better, thank you. Is
there somewhere we can talk?”

Mary stood, took her
elbow and steered her toward a small table in the corner. A man walked up to
them, a bar towel tossed over his shoulders. Gordon stood off to the side,
keeping watch.

“What will it be? You
have to order something or push off.”

“Steady on, Mike,” Mary
said.

“Beef stew and bread for
us both and for those ladies over at that table. Give them whatever they wish
to drink.” Olivia reached in her reticule and laid a handful of shillings on
the table. “We’ll have bitter. And be quick about it.”

The man touched his
forelock and moved off. Olivia could hear him snort and mutter derisively under
his breath.
“Right.
Ladies.
In a
pig’s eye.”

“I didn’t think to see
you so soon, love.”

Olivia smoothed her
skirt. She wore a plain, wool gray gown. Though she did have a few fancier
ones, they weren’t suitable for sitting in a pub.

“I am not one to lie
about. I do feel better. Makeup helped to hide some of the more ugly bruises.”

“Who were those
bastards, anyway?” Mary asked.

“Hired by an aristocrat
to throw me out like yesterday’s rubbish.”

Mary sat back and nodded
knowingly. “Got tired of you, did he?
Bloody cheek.
Those high in the instep
lordlings
can do as they like.”

Olivia nodded. She did
not want to speak of Gideon, the hurt still too raw to be borne. His cold
rejection stung. The wound festered and would not likely heal anytime soon. The
man returned with glass mugs of bitter. Sitting them on the table, he sauntered
back to the bar.

Mary picked up the mug
and took a long swallow. “Ah, it’s good, that is. Thanks, love; I do enjoy a
mug of cold beer, maybe a wee bit too much. Your man gave me two pound.
More than generous.
Should keep me and the
girls set up in decent rooms for a month at least.”

“That’s why I am here,
Mary. Pan is very generous to his people and kind and protective. He said I can
offer you a job. You’ll have your own room. A private place all your own. He
shares the profits and does not force you to do anything you don’t want. It
will be safe, a warm bed.
Three hot meals a day.”
She
clutched Mary’s arm. “The streets are not safe. Why ply your wares in a cold,
dark alley, when you can do the same under a roof? Pan keeps bully-boys to
protect us.” She inclined her head toward Gordon. “Say you’ll come back with
me, Mary.”