Promise of Pleasure (38 page)

A brothel! How fitting!

In her entire life, had any single thing ever gone right?

She’d been disowned by her kin, then duped and kidnapped and drugged inside a brothel.

What else could possibly go wrong?

“What is so funny, Miss Barnes?”

Mary just shook her head. “No. Thank you for the offer, but I never could.”

“I urge you to reconsider. What you don’t understand is that we intend to proceed whether you consent or not. It will be much easier for you if you’re amenable.”

Mary’s laughter rumbled to a halt, and she glared at Mrs. Monroe.

“What are you saying?”

“You will work for me of your own volition, or you will work against your will.”

“What do you mean, against my will?”

“We are about to hold an auction, where patrons will bid on you.”

Mary gasped. “You’re selling me?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In a few minutes.”

A vicious rage swept over Mary, and she jumped off the couch and lunged at Mrs. Monroe; she must not have been the first beleaguered woman to attack. The chain on Mary’s ankle grew taut as she discovered that Mrs. Monroe was positioned just out of reach so that Mary could inflict no damage.

Still, Mary stretched and strained, trying to grab Mrs. Monroe, as Mrs. Monroe silently and unemotionally watched her failed attempts.

Ultimately, the footman approached and wrestled her onto the sofa. A towel was pressed over her nose. It smelled of chemicals, and though Mary struggled to avoid its effect, she was swiftly overcome.

She went limp and sagged onto the cushions.

The man drew away.

As she lost consciousness again, Mrs. Monroe said, “Go fetch our guests.”

JORDAN leapt off his horse, his riding crop clutched in his fist, as he raced up the steps of Monroe’s bordello.

Over the years, he’d been to the place many times, had partaken of the whores, had drunk and gambled, so he was aware of the routines.

A customer was supposed to politely knock, to request entrance, then speak with Mrs. Monroe so that money could change hands.

The harlots with whom Jordan fornicated had always been happy with their lot, had remained because they enjoyed the high wages and access to the upper echelons of London’s male society.

He hadn’t met a single one who’d been coerced into staying, but rumors about Monroe abounded. If they turned out to be true, he’d likely commit murder before the night was out.

He marched to the door, planted his boot in the middle, and kicked it open. Wood shattered, shards flying into the front parlor.

The salon was full, and at his abrupt arrival, there were shocked glances. Several men shot to their feet as others grumbled over the rude interruption.

“Where is Barbara?” he bellowed.

“Calm yourself, old boy,” an acquaintance advised. “She’ll be here shortly.”

He gazed up the staircase and saw her hiding on the landing, peeking over the railing to assess the commotion. On espying him, she blanched with fear, indicating her complicity in Bainbridge’s scheme.

As he’d hurried to her establishment, he’d been curious if Bainbridge had lied about Mary in order to garner Monroe’s assistance, but there had been no deception.

Monroe had freely participated, so Jordan would show no mercy.

“Redvers?” she wheezed. “Why are you back so early? I thought you’d be gone another week.”

“Is that what Bainbridge told you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, sealing her fate.

“Well, Bainbridge was wrong.”

He ran over, taking the stairs two at a time. He seized her by the throat and started up, dragging her along as she choked and sputtered and fought to escape.

“Where is she?” he roared, as he stomped down the corridor, slamming open each door. None of the rooms was occupied, and there was no sign of Mary.

“Redvers, let’s discuss this.”

“You will make no deals with me!”

He tightened his grasp, and she winced. “Redvers! Please!”

“Tell me where she is,” he demanded. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

“The next floor. The blue bedchamber at the end of the hall.”

He continued on, pulling her with him, wanting her to be close by when he saw what she’d allowed. He would give her no chance to slip away before he extracted his vengeance.

On the third floor, he burst into the room as an inebriated man staggered over and asked, “Barbara? Redvers? What’s the meaning of this?”

Jordan knocked him aside, his grip on Monroe still very firm.

Mary was prone on a divan, and she appeared to be unconscious. There were four scoundrels present, lounging in chairs and watching her.

The degenerate reprobate, Chippingham, was leaned over Mary and lecherously ogling her.

“Move away from her,” Jordan commanded, “or I will kill you where you stand.”

“Redvers? Have you come to bid?” Chippingham was drunk, slurring his words. “It’s not sporting of you to enter the wagering after we’ve already started.”

Jordan stormed over and hit the man so hard that he flew back against the wall, his head banging with a dull thud. For a moment, he hovered, looking perplexed, then he slid to the rug in a dazed heap.

Jordan spun on the others, and he began flogging them with his riding crop, lashing wounds on their faces and arms.

They cowered and tried to protect themselves, but they couldn’t evade his wrath.

“It’s pistols at dawn, you bastards,” he shouted. “I’ll see each of you at Marley Field tomorrow morning.”

“Redvers, stop!” one of them nagged, which provoked him to a greater frenzy.

He was herding them out, slashing and slashing until they were in the hall and running for their lives.

“I know all of you!” he warned as they reached the stairs and tumbled down. “Choose your seconds!”

A noise sounded behind him, and he whipped around. Monroe was over in the corner, agog with terror.

Jordan strode over to her.

“Has she been raped?” he hissed.

“No, no. She’s asleep. She’s fine.”

He raised the crop and slapped Monroe across the face, rending a deep gash that would leave her scarred for life. Blood welled up and flooded down her cheek, staining her dress.

“Bring me the warmest blanket you have,” he ordered.

She skittered by him and returned in a thrice. She went to the couch and carefully wrapped the quilt over Mary, easing a flap over her head to shield her features as he carried her out.

She stood, seeming ashamed and petrified, a prisoner at the gallows.

“Depart England tonight,” he said, “and wherever you slither ashore, don’t ever own or manage another brothel. If I discover that you are, I will hunt you down and murder you.”

“Yes, Lord Redvers.” She curtsied as she swiped at the dripping blood on her cheek.

“You might think I am joking. You might think you can trick or deceive me.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t dare.”

“Be gone by first light, or I’ll have you hanged.”

Gently, he picked up Mary and walked out.

MARY opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, feeling very groggy; her sense of disorientation was extreme. For the second time, she’d roused while having no idea where she was.

Her head pounded, her body ached. She was lying on a bed, and furtively, she moved her foot, relieved to note that it wasn’t shackled. If she was in a bad situation, she’d be able to make a run for it.

As she peeked to the side, she braced for any catastrophe, and the sight that greeted her was so bizarre she blinked and blinked to clear her vision.

“Lord Redvers?”

“Oh, Mary, I was beginning to think you’d never awaken.” He sagged into his chair. “She must have used a potent drug to knock you out for so long.”

She was certain she was dreaming, but as he rose and came over to her, as he eased a hip down on the mattress, his presence seemed very real.

He was disheveled, in his shirtsleeves, with his shirt partially unbuttoned. He hadn’t shaved or combed his hair, and he appeared rugged and masculine and nothing like the elegant gentleman he’d been while visiting Barnes Manor.

“What time is it?” Mary asked.

“Almost dawn.”

“Lord Redvers?” she said again, incredulous.

“Don’t call me Redvers, and don’t look so surprised.”

“But I am ... surprised.”

She glanced down to find that she was still dressed, even though it was in the skimpy negligee and robe that had been placed on her by Mrs. Monroe. Thankfully, she wasn’t naked.

A hideous notion occurred to her: Mrs. Monroe had claimed that men were coming to bid on her, to buy her.

Had Redvers participated in the auction? Could he be that callous? That cruel?

Suddenly afraid, she scooted to the opposite side of the bed, until she was pressed up against the wall and could go no farther.

“What do you want from me?” she snapped.

On viewing her reaction, he frowned. “I found you at Monroe’s establishment, and I took you away from there. You’re safe now.”

“How much did you pay for me?”

“Pay for you? What do you mean?”

“There was to be an auction, and since you’re here, I assume you were the highest bidder.”

He was aghast, which made her feel a tiny bit better. “She was holding an ... an ... auction? To sell you?”

“Yes.”

“Someone mentioned a wager”—he let out a heavy breath—“but I was a tad overwrought. I wasn’t aware of any auction.”

“Then how did you know where I was?”

“As I was leaving Barnes Manor, I talked to your friend, that peddler, Mr. Dubois. He’d seen you get into my carriage with Mrs. Bainbridge, and I realized at once that you were in danger.”

“Mrs. Bainbridge told me it was a boardinghouse. She said I could rent a room there, but they put something in my tea, and I—”

“Hush,” he soothed. “I’m sorry. I’m very distressed about this, and at the moment, I can’t bear to hear the details. Tomorrow, though, when I’m more myself, I’ll have you tell me everything.”

His guard was down, and he seemed very troubled, very conflicted.

“All right,” Mary agreed. “I’m happy to discuss it later. It was awful, and I was very afraid.”

“Don’t worry: Everyone who hurt you will pay and pay dearly.”

There was a grim finality to the comment that unnerved her. He sounded very aggrieved on her behalf, as if he might rashly avenge her, but she didn’t want that.

With how her luck was running, if he tried to inflict punishment on Mrs. Bainbridge or Mrs. Monroe,
he
would be the one who was injured.

“You don’t need to extract any revenge for me. I’m just glad to be out of there.” She sat up, the blankets clutched to her chest, and she peered around, seeing a bedroom that was sparsely furnished, but clean and cozy. “Where am I?”

“We’re in Paxton Adair’s home.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I would have taken you to mine, but I don’t have one.”

She was very confused. It had to be his wedding night. Why was he racing around London, rescuing her from insane people?

“Where is Felicity?”

“I have no idea.”

“You didn’t marry her?”

“No. I couldn’t.”

It was a strange answer, and she watched, perplexed, as he stood and walked to the window to stare out at the starry sky. He leaned against the sill, appearing to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. She was amazed by his visible woe.

In the short while they’d been acquainted, he’d flitted through life with no qualms or cares. Nothing mattered to him, so nothing concerned him. What had happened to have him acting so out of character?

She wished it had been her predicament that rattled loose a burst of conscience, but she knew better.