Anne Stuart (3 page)

He still couldn’t quite fathom what had inspired his quixotic act in the upstairs bedroom. The words had been out of his mouth before he’d realized it, claiming responsibility for the man’s death. Indeed, it had been no sacrifice on his part. He’d killed before, in duels, and he was known to hold human life in very low esteem.

Besides, as he’d observed, she had such a lovely neck. It would be a shame to bruise it with a thick hemp rope.

He’d done his good deed—it should shave a year or two off his stay in purgatory. Assuming he didn’t go straight to hell, a far more likely eternity for a man like him. And he was a man who believed in hell.

There were times, he thought, staring into the fire, when he wearied of it all. Years ago he had decided, quite simply, that goodness and decency had been denied to him by the vagaries of fate. The innocent rashness of youth had led him to disaster, and made victims of those he loved. He had chosen, then, to be a villain. Never again would a moral imperative cause others harm. He had no morals. Nor any other qualities he could think of, apart from his skill with horses, with women, and with gaming. All of which bored him heartily.

It was far more comfortable to live without soul or conscience. He knew it, since those discarded commodities occasionally attempted to return to haunt him. But he was finding it easier and easier to banish them once more. Soon they wouldn’t trouble him in the slightest.

For example, the fate of the young woman upstairs was nagging at his brain, when he should have been far more interested in concentrating on the landlord’s fine brandy instead of thinking about her and his odd gesture. It had been a whim, brought on by the large amounts of brandy he’d already imbibed, or perhaps by a momentary madness brought about by that flame-red hair, and if he didn’t get away soon, there was no telling what kind of noble behavior might take hold of him. The thought was chilling.

He had no intention of succumbing to a lamentable resurgence of conscience. He drained his glass and started for the hallway, suddenly quite desperate to escape the Pear and Partridge and the titian-haired innocent in the upstairs chamber.

Before he betrayed his determined lack of principles again.

Chapter 2

He was alone in the darkened hallway, her savior, when Emma reached the bottom of the narrow stairs. He halted at the sight of her, and she could see the startled wariness in his silhouette. She started toward him, ready
to fling herself at his feet in gratitude.

His hands reached out to catch her, stop her. Hard hands, pale in the gloom, hauling her to her feet. “Not that I couldn’t find any number of interesting things you could do in such a position,” he drawled, “but this is a public place.”

She had no idea what he meant, but she flushed, anyway. “I owe you my life,” she said. “How can I repay you for your kindness and nobility—”

“
Don’t deceive yourself,” he interrupted her, his voice cool and ironic. “I have not a trace of kindness or nobility in my entire body.”

“
But you saved me. You risked your own life, your reputation, all out of the goodness of your heart.”

“
I have no heart,” he snapped, that mocking drawl sharpening. “Nor a reputation to be damaged, child. And I ran no risk. He wouldn’t have been the first man I’ve killed, and he won’t be the last. One more corpse on my head is of little account.”

“
But still…”

“
But nothing, my love. I didn’t take the blame for your bloodthirsty dispatching of your father out of goodness, kindness, or even for the sake of your magnificent, tear-filled brown eyes.”

“
My uncle,” she said numbly. “My cousin’s father.”

“
Details,” he replied airily. “I did it because it amused me.”

“
Amused you?” she echoed, disbelieving.

“
I was bored. Heartily bored. It entertained me to take the blame for your uncle’s death. But now you’re boring me once more. Do go away.”

She stared at him in shock. He was surveying her with all the interest one might bestow upon a tankard of flat ale. Perhaps even less.

“
Go away?” She heard the helplessness in her voice and hated it.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Were you thinking you might come with me? I assure you, I have no need for a mistress, and you’re a little too well bred for a scullery maid. Of course, you could always work as my paid assassin, but in general, I like to do my own killing.”

His mockery was like a blow, one she almost reeled under. She backed away from him, staring at his black-and-white elegance with a kind of numb contempt. “Forgive me,” she said in a husky voice. “I didn’t mean...”

His smile was wintry sweet. “You’re very pretty, child,” he said, reaching out with one of his slender, strong hands and brushing it against her cheek. She jerked, but he merely smiled at her reaction, and ran his fingertips over her soft lips. “If you just sit in the taproom with your magnificent eyes filled with tears, I’m certain you’ll find someone to take care of you.” He glanced down at her. “You might, however, endeavor to wash some of the blood off your hands. It might put a man’s appetite off a bit.”

She tried to pull back from him, but he was surprisingly fast and surprisingly strong for such an indolent-looking creature, and she found her wrist caught tightly in one of his deceptively pale hands. “Then again,” he murmured, leaning closer, “it does seem to whet mine.” He was dangerously, hypnotically close, and she wondered dazedly what would happen if he moved closer still.

“
Killoran!” A young man stood in the doorway, his body radiating outrage and horror.

The dark man’s smile was sudden, rueful, and oddly charming as he released her, released her hand, released her from his dark, entrapping gaze. “My conscience calls, sweeting,” he murmured. And he walked away from her, clearly dismissing her from his mind.

Emma watched him go. She found she was trembling. She could still feel the heat and strength of his hand on her wrist, still feel the caress against her face. She had the sudden, unmistakable conviction that the threat from the dark man was even more devastating than the bloody death her uncle had planned for her.

And that she’d had a very narrow escape.

“
You can’t be meaning to just leave her there,” Nathaniel said, running to keep up with Killoran as he strode toward his carriage.

He stopped, glancing at his new charge with deliberate boredom. “What do you suggest, dear boy? That we bring her back to the city with us? You were looking at me with such an outraged expression on your face that I assumed you disapproved of any lustful designs on my part.”

“
She’s an innocent.”

“
So she is. As much as any woman ever could be. And that’s one reason we’re not taking her with us. She’s far too pretty. Let me give you a bit of warning—it doesn’t do to tamper with the middle classes. They’re alarmingly rigid. You can’t despoil their daughters and hope to get away with it. The lower orders are one thing—they’re grateful for the attention and benefits. The upper classes as well—they’re beyond rules. Ah, but the middle class is tied up in the most tedious knots of proper behavior, and even the young lady, as compromising a situation as she was in, would have very strict notions of propriety. You’d find yourself leg-shackled in no time, and I expect your father wants better for you. If Miss Pottle wouldn’t do, then I think it even less likely that he’d approve of the young lady upstairs.”

“
Damn it, man, you killed her father!”

“
Uncle,” Killoran corrected him dryly, having finally gotten it right.

“
We can’t just leave her here.”

Killoran paused by the carriage, utterly weary. “If you’re so desperate to tumble her, I suppose I can content myself with the landlord’s brandy, even though I’m used to far better. I can wait for an hour or so.”

“
I should mill you down for that,” Nathaniel said angrily.

“
On whose account? That of the damsel in distress?”

“
My own honor.”

“
You’ll lose it soon enough,” Killoran said. He sighed. “What do you propose I do for the girl?”

“
It was by your act she’s alone and destitute—”

“
Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Killoran drawled. “After all, she came here in the first place.”

“
She’s not the one who ran her... uncle through with a smallsword.”

Killoran’s smile was gentle. “I would say I’d already done her a great service.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a gold coin. The landlord was hovering close by, ready for just such an eventuality, and he caught the coin with a deft hand. “Make certain the girl receives it,” Killoran said in a deceptively pleasant voice.

“
He won’t,” Nathaniel muttered sulkily.

“
You have a soft heart, child,” Killoran murmured. “I do hope you won’t be bringing home stray kittens and chimney sweeps during your sojourn with me.” He fixed the landlord with his suddenly steely gaze. “You’ll oblige me in this matter, Bavers, or it might grow very unpleasant for you. Give the girl the gold, and tell her to apply herself to Mrs. Withersedge, on Mount Street. She’ll find something for her to do.”

“
Mrs. Withersedge, on Mount Street,” Bavers repeated dutifully, casting the gold coin in his hand a sorrowful look.

Nathaniel climbed into the carriage behind his lordship, bristling with anger and contempt. “You are, in truth, the very devil,” he said in a sullen voice.

“
I’m delighted that I live up to your expectations,” Killoran said, leaning back against the tufted velvet squabs. “Exactly how have I managed to convince you of that fact?”

The carriage started smoothly. “Within moments of making your acquaintance, I find that you murder a man.”

“
Believe me, it had nothing to do with your so-charming manner,” Killoran said sweetly. “If it had, I would have murdered
you.”

“
And then you send a poor, innocent girl off to a... a brothel.”

“
What makes you think Mrs. Withersedge runs a brothel?” he asked lazily.

“
Why else would you know such a woman?”

Killoran closed his eyes with sudden weariness. “You will learn soon enough, dear boy, that men in our position do not need to visit brothels unless we care to. And we certainly do not need to help recruit for them. I doubt the young lady would be a great success as a doxy. Despite her glorious figure and that mane of red hair, she hasn’t the look of one.”

“
How so? I would think her looks would aid her if she wished to—I mean—” He broke off, flustered by the conversation.

“
Did you fancy her?” Killoran murmured, just the faintest thread of steel beneath the lazy drawl. “Dear boy, you should have said so. We could have brought her back with us—”

“
I will never love again!”

“
So you say. We’ll see how long that lasts. And I don’t believe we were talking about love, but something almost as short-lived and a great less complicated.” He stretched out his long legs in front of him. “However, if you didn’t lust after the young lady, then I fail to see why she occupies your mind to such an alarming extent. She’s not at all in the common style—it would take a connoisseur to appreciate one such as she, and you’re far too young to be a connoisseur. Don’t worry about her, Nathaniel. She’ll do well if she keeps her wits about her, and I expect she’ll be more than able to do just that. A remarkably coolheaded young lady,” he added with a faint, reminiscent smile.

“
You’re a devil,” Nathaniel muttered again, throwing himself back against the seat with a surly expression marring his handsome young face.

“
I never denied it, dear boy. Cheer up, my child. You can always visit Mrs. Withersedge yourself if you wish to make certain you’ve forsworn the pleasures of the flesh as well as the travails of the heart.”

“
You said she wasn’t a procuress!”

“
You do rise to my bait so nicely,” Killoran said. “How else would you expect a young girl to make her living on the cruel streets of London?”

“
Bastard,” Nathaniel muttered underneath his breath.

“
Quite daring of you, my boy,” Killoran murmured lazily, closing his eyes. “And if I hadn’t already killed my quota for the day, I would skewer you for just such a remark. Your first lesson in polite behavior is never to call into question a man’s parentage. You won’t survive a week in London if you do, and I would hate to have to answer to your father.”

“
She’d be sorry,” he said, more to himself.

“
Doubtless the divine Miss Pottle would. She might even name her firstborn after you. But that would be the extent of it. You wouldn’t be around to enjoy her grief. Your second lesson, Nathaniel. Women are ever fickle, jades every one of them. They have their delights, but they’ll be the ruin of you if you let them.”

“
Was it a woman who ruined you?” Nathaniel asked, bold as ever.

“
I shall thrash you, quite soundly,” Killoran said calmly. “The only woman who ruined me was my sainted mother who made the mistake of bearing me in the first place.”

“
Lord Killoran...”

“
Enough,” Killoran snapped. “If you don’t possess yourself in silence for the remainder of this trip, I’ll send you to Mrs. Withersedge myself. There’s a definite call for handsome young men in establishments such as hers.”

For doubtless the twentieth time in the past hour, Killoran had managed to shock him. “You mean women patronize these places?”

Killoran found his first real amusement of the day, “Seldom, dear boy. You’d be reserved for the gentlemen with refined tastes.”