other palm flat against the wall. He eased himself slowly, reluctantly, away from her.
"What is that?" The room reeked of spent passion, he thought. Hardly for the first time.
The reality of what had just happened hit him with a force that left him stunned. Bloody hell. What had he done? It was not possible. Surely he had not just made love to Beatrice for the first time in a harlot's bedchamber.
She would likely never forgive him for this.
"I lied about my marriage," Beatrice said very precisely. "I beg your pardon?" A sense of desperation clutched his insides like a vise. He must, indeed, be mad.
- She cleared her throat. "Contrary to family legend, my marriage to Justin Poole was not a perfect, harmonious union of the physical and the metaphysical."
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"I see." Leo, steeled for her withering outrage, stared at, her blankly for a moment. Then the full import of her words struck him. Out of nowhere, he felt laughter well up inside him.
"Leo?" She gave him a small shake. "What is it? I do not see anything particularly amusing in this situation."
"Your husband must have been a bloody idiot, Mrs. Poole."
"You do not understand. Justin was a man who experienced passion and desire in a way that few can. He had the soul of a poet. His only crime was that he loved too deeply." "But it was not you he loved?"
"No. He gave his heart to another woman before he met me. But she was forced to marry a man who was old enough to be her grandfather. Justin could not bear it. On our wedding night he called out her name. And then he wept. I was obliged to comfort him until dawn." Beatrice paused. "Things never improved in the course of our marriage.'
"I was right," Leo said dryly. "He was a dolt."
"I tried to save him from his obsession. But in the end I failed."
"What do you mean, you failed?"
She sighed. "I told you that Justin was shot dead by a highwayman, but that was not true."
"How did he die?"
"At the hands of a jealous husband. Her husband." "The elderly man who was married to the woman he wanted?"
Beatrice nodded. "The husband collapsed immediately after he pulled the trigger. The doctor said the cause was a surfeit of unhealthy excitement. It affected his heart. The whole thing was hushed up, of course. The widow, who inherited a vast estate, had no more interest in having the truth come out than anyone else."
"Who invented the highwayman tale?" "I did."
T'_
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Leo could not help himself. He started to laugh again. "It is not amusing," Beatrice said reproachfully.
"I know it is not." He laughed harder. "Really, Leo."
"I shall tell you something even more entertaining," he said when he finally got control of his laughter.
"What is that?"
"I also have a confession to make." He paused to kiss the tip of her nose. "I, too, lied about the state of my marriage. It was not a model of connubial bliss."
She searched his face in the shadows. "You said she was perfect in every way. An angel."
"She was." He smiled briefly, ruefully. "Absolutely perfect."
"I do not understand.'
"Do you have any notion of how bloody difficult it is to live with a paragon? She was as fragile and delicate as fine porcelain. I was obliged to watch every word I said for fear of sending her into a spate of tears."
"I see."
"My physical passion shocked her to the core. She found that side of marriage dirty, unpleasant, and unsatisfying. The more I tried to please her, the more repulsed she was. But she did her duty."
"Your sons?"
"Yes. She gave them to me and I shall always be grateful to her memory. But I was consumed with guilt and anger every time I went to her bed, and I shall never forget that either."
"You need say no more, Leo." Beatrice put her fingertips on his lips. "I understand far better than you can possibly know."
He caught her fingers in his own and kissed them. "She would have fainted if I had brought her to a whore's room and taken her against the wall."
"Good heavens. That is precisely what has happened,
has it not?" Beatrice stepped away from the wall and hastily jerked her bodice back into place. "I will say one thing, sir. Life is never dull in your company."
He smiled slowly, his eyes on the pale apple of her breast as it disappeared into the top of her gown. "Oddly enough, Beatrice, I was about to make the same observation of YOU."
ap le r
The specter hovered there, mouth agape in silent
warning. But it was too late for a change of heart.
FRom CHAPTER ELEVEN oF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
J he three short knocks came less than fifteen minutes later. Beatrice was not startled. She and Leo had watched the lanterns of the returning searchers moments earlier.
Pistol in hand, Leo went to the door and opened it. Beatrice shook out her crumpled skirts. She felt as if she had just been caught up in the vortex of a ferociously exciting storm. She feared that she also looked that way. She still felt warm and flustered and she knew that her hair was in a dreadful tangle.
Leo, on the other hand, looked the way he always did, casually, effortlessly, elegantly in control. His clothing did not even appear to be rumpled. It was not at all fair, she thought.
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"Whew." Clarinda wrinkled her nose as she walked into the small room. "Thought I'd aired the place out after my last customer. Sorry, I didn't do a proper job of it. Ye should have opened the window. Oh." She broke off to give Beatrice's disheveled figure a quick, knowing survey. "Well, now. Looks like the two of ye found a way to pass the time while I was gone.-
Leo glided smoothly in front of Beatrice, shielding her from Clarinda's view. "What did you learn in the tavern?" "Yes, Clarinda." Beatrice stepped out from behind Leo and smiled at the other woman. "Any useful news?"
"One or two things." Clarinda tossed aside her worn cloak, plopped down on the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes, and began to massage one stocking-clad foot. "Ye can rest easy. The hunt is over for the night. Ginwilly Jack's assistants lost interest once the fog sank into their bones. They're all back in the tavern, warming themselves with ale and gin."
"Ginwilly Jack?" Leo repeated softly.
"The coachman what tried to nab the two of ye. His friend is called Ned Longtooth. Ned's not too bright, if ye take my meanin'." Clarinda tapped her head. "He does whatever Ginwilly says."
"Did they go back to the tavern with the others?" "Ginwilly Jack did. But he sent Ned off to retrieve the coach and team they had to leave in the street when they followed ye." Clarinda chuckled. "I doubt Ned will find the carriage waitin'. Not in this neighborhood. Ginwilly Jack will have to steal another one. He won't like havin' to go to the trouble, I can tell ye."
"This Ginwilly Jack," Leo said slowly. "Do you know where he can be found?"
Beatrice glanced at him sharply but said nothing. Clarinda shrugged. "Don't know where he keeps his lodgings. But I know where he'll be for the rest of the night." "The tavern?" Leo asked.
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"Bloody right. He ain't named Ginwilly for nothing, ye know. After a job, he likes his gin."
"I see." Leo produced a few more banknotes and handed them to Clarinda. "You've been very helpful. We'll be on our way now."
Clarinda fanned the money. "For what ye've paid me, yer welcome to spend the night." She winked at Beatrice. "Both of ye."
"Thank you, but that will not be necessary," Leo said. "Now that our pursuers have abandoned the search, I think we can safely find our way back to a street where we can hail a hackney.'
Clarinda looked dubious. "Ye can no doubt pass forjust another drunken rake on the prowl, m1ord. But ye'd better do somethin' about yer friend here. Mrs. Poole looks much too fancy to be workin' in this neighborhood."
Beatrice looked down at her own attire. "You're quite right, Clarinda. Would you care to trade cloaks? You may keep mine if you will allow me to keep yours."
"Done." Clarinda scooped up her cloak and handed it to Beatrice.
The exchange took only a moment. Beatrice sniffed surreptitiously and caught the smoky odor of the tavern on the folds of her new garment. She put it on and fastened it at her throat. When she was ready, she looked at Clarinda.
"Will I do?"
Clarinda stroked her new handsomely embroidered cloak as if it were a beloved kitten. "With that cloak ye won't be able to pass as one of the fancy sort what caters to the highclass trade, so ye'd better keep yer mouth closed. If someone hears ye talk, he'll know yer not from this part of town.'
"I'll keep that in mind," Beatrice promised.
"'Just giggle and laugh a lot." A shuttered expression crossed Clarinda's face. She looked down at the new addition to her wardrobe. "The gentlemen always like to think that yer enjoyin'yerself when yer with them."
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Q u i c k
"Even though you hate every minute of it?" Beatrice, ignored Leo's impatient frown.
"Aye." Clarinda squared her shoulders. "But business is business."
Beatrice moved closer to her. "If you ever think of changing careers, present yourself at the back door of Madame D'Arbois's shop. Do you know it?"
"That place they call The Academy? Where they teach French and show ye how to be a seamstress or a fancy lady's maid? Aye, I know it. A friend of mine went there. Works in a grand house now, she does. But it's not for me. I've got other plans."
"What other plans?"
Leo moved. "Beatrice, we should be on our way."
"As it 'appens," Clarinda said with growing enthusiasm, "I won't be in this line of work much longer. One of these days I'll have enough blunt to buy the Drunken Cat. I won't have to toss up me skirts for any man ever again."
Beatrice's heart sank. She did not know how much it cost to purchase a tavern, but she knew very well that such a dream was well beyond the reach of a prostitute who plied her trade in a doorway.
"A tavern sounds expensive," she said gently. "Beatrice." Leo spoke from the door. "We must be off. Now."
"Old Tom across the street wants to retire," Clarinda explained to Beatrice. "He told me he'd give me a bargain on the Drunken Cat."
"You have likely saved our lives tonight, Clarinda," Beatrice said. "His lordship and I are very grateful. Is that not correct, my lord?"
"'Yes, of course." Leo leaned out to survey the hall. "I already told her as much."
Beatrice hesitated. She and Lucy were able to teach some of the young women who came to them enough in the way of manners and bad French to enable them to find employment
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as upper-class ladies'maids and fancy seamstresses. But they could not afford to finance the purchase of a tavern.
She knew someone who could afford it, however. She glanced at Leo, who was slipping out into the hall.
"His lordship is so grateful," Beatrice said to Clarinda, "that he will make arrangements for you to purchase the Drunken Cat."
That got Leo's attention. He turned back quickly. "I'll do what?"
Clarinda frowned. "Why would he do that?"
"Because we owe you our lives," Beatrice said. She met Leo's laconic gaze. "Is that not right, my lord?"
His mouth kicked up wryly. "Quite right." He looked at Clarinda. "Present yourself at 5 Upper Wells Street. My solicitor will make the arrangements.'
Clarinda stared at him and then turned to Beatrice, mouth agape. "Is this some kind of bloody joke?"
"No." Beatrice hurried toward the door. "I told you, his lordship and I are extremely grateful."
Clarinda clutched Beatrice's cloak very tightly in her thin hand. "I don't know whether or not to believe you." Beatrice smiled at her from the doorway. "You have the
promise of the Earl of Monkcrest himself. You may put your complete faith in it."
Clarinda moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She looked dazed. "There is one other thing I learned in the tavern tonight."
Leo came back to the door, frowning. "What was that?" "The men who joined in the search grumbled a lot about the way the two of ye just up and vanished the way ye did. But Ned Longtoath said he knew how ye managed it."
"How?" Leo demanded.
Clarinda lowered her voice. "He said he'd heard that ye knew a bit about magic and such. Said ye was a sorcerer." Leo gave a grunt of disgust. "Bloody nonsense. Come, Beatrice." He started back toward the stairs.
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Beatrice hesitated. She thought about the astonishing example of sorcery she had recently experienced at Leo's hands. She smiled at Clarinda.
"Ned Longtooth was right," Beatrice whispered.
Beatrice was exhausted by the time she finally tumbled into bed. She could hardly believe that it was only three-thirty in the morning. Winifred and Arabella were not even home yet.
She folded her arms behind her head, gazed at the shadows on the ceiling, and smiled to herself. She was not quite the same woman she had been when she had set out for the theater that evening. How could her entire life have undergone such a monumental change in such a short period of time?
The journey home had been remarkably swift and uneventful. Three streets over from Cunning Lane she and Leo had encountered a hackney that had just deposited a group of rowdy young rakes at the door of a gaming hall. The coachman's knowing wink and sly comments told Beatrice that she had successfully carried off her role as a bawd.
Leo's reaction to her successful deception amused her no end. She saw the mingled relief and seething annoyance in his eyes when he climbed into the coach and sat down across from her. She had to muffle her laughter with a cupped hand.
Leo scowled. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I have never done any playacting. It is rather entertaining."
He watched her for a moment longer, his eyes enigmatic, and then he gave her an odd smile. "You are a most unusual female, Mrs. Poole."
"I am in excellent company, my lord. When it comes to the unusual, I believe we are well matched."
"Yes."' He said nothing else for the duration of the drive. At her
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door he left her with a brief, glancing kiss and a brusque farewell.
"I will call upon you tomorrow afternoon," he said as he turned to go down the steps to the waiting hackney.
"A moment, my lord," she said in equally crisp tones. He paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. "What is it?"
"I trust you will not attempt to deal with that Ginwilly Jack person on your own. It would be extremely dangerous.-
"I would not think of taking any risks." He went on down the steps and got into the coach.
He was lying through his teeth, she thought as she climbed the stairs. But there was not a thing she could do about it. He was as fiercely independent as herself. She could not hope to chain him with the bonds of her concern for him. She could only pray that he would be careful.
As she prepared for sleep, she listened to the sound of carriages in the street and thought about the glorious excitement she had experienced in Leo's arms. His desire had been unmistakable and overwhelming. For better or worse, he had made her shatteringly aware of her own capacity for passion.
But she must not read too much into what had happened tonight, she told herself. It was highly doubtful that Leo had been as transfixed by the lovemaking as herself. He was a man in his prime who had no doubt had a great deal more experience of physical passion than herself. Very likely he had frequently been transported by the sensations which she herself had discovered only for the first time that night. A sorcerer.
After a while Beatrice curled on her side and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. Whatever happened, she must not make the grand mistake that she frequently allowed her heroines to make. She must not confuse sensual passion with true love,
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An hour later Leo waited in the thick, dark shadows of an alley and listened to the scrape of uneven boot steps on paving stones. Beneath his hand, he felt Elf's ears prick to sharp attention. Sleek muscles strained under dark fur.
"Not yet," Leo murmured.
The flickering light of a lantern danced, wraithlike in the heavy fog. Spectral shadows spilled wildly about.
"Bloody bastard." Ginwilly Jack's voice rose in drunken protest against the fates. "Goddamned bloody bastard. Where the hell did ye vanish? Cost me a fine coach and team, blast yer eyes. Where did ye go?"