The Notorious Scoundrel Page 6

  “What’s the matter, Amy? Do you know them?”

  Unfortunately, she thought grimly. It was the same two assailants from the Pleasure Palace. The men had looked confused, prowling the street as if searching for the right building. Perhaps someone at the club had confessed she lived in St. Giles? But who? The guards staunchly shielded her true identity. The queen paid them handsomely for their silence…and yet the thugs had infiltrated her dressing room the other night. There was a snitcher at the club.

  Edward had quickly guessed her thoughts about the thugs, for his eyes darkened and he suddenly stormed from the room.

  “Edward, wait!”

  But he was gone. She looked out the window again and watched him with bated breath as he moved through the throng in the direction of the assailants. He disappeared from view and she wrung her fingers.

  “Oh, bullocks.”

  She snatched her shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and descended into the congested street. She passed the lemonade vendor, the lavender seller. She circumvented the young girls and boys fencing stolen goods from the previous night.

  Amy pushed her way through the pressing crowd, looking for Edward. He was a skilled pugilist, she thought. He had already trounced the attackers, but he had injured himself in the fight, too. He was still recovering from his head wound. If he ended up in another scuffle so soon, he’d likely come out the loser…bloody…broken.

  As the images in her head grew more gruesome, she hastened her steps and broadened her search, making her way toward the river. She followed the natural flow of heavy traffic into Billingsgate Fish Market on Lower Thames Street. The costermongers hawked herrings, stockfish, oysters. The robust shouts and pungent smells filled the wharf. She peered over myriad heads, searching for Edward’s tall figure. He wasn’t at the market, though. She had lost him.

  Amy cursed under her breath. She treaded back toward her lodgings, determined to wait for the scoundrel there. As she traversed the narrow lanes, she passed the charity school for female foundlings.

  The gloomy structure chilled her. She had survived her girlhood in a similar asylum. She preferred not to reflect upon those wretched days, though, and she skirted past the building…when lyrical laughter arrested her rushed movements.

  Amy stilled, muscles pinched. She slowly looked over her shoulder at the charity school and spotted the back of a well-dressed lady as she entered a regal-looking vehicle. A white-gloved hand waved through the parted window at the children. The girls wished their benefactor cheerful good days in return before the carriage set off.

  The warm figure soon approached her and knelt, and Amy sensed a pair of gloved hands squeeze and tickle her midriff.

  She squealed with delight.

  Amy stared after the vehicle, feeling dizzy. She sorted through the shadowed figures, the muddled sounds in her head…

  “Watch it, girl!”

  She stumbled as a bounder bumped into her backside, pitching her into another pedestrian, the missteps causing a calamity.

  “Troublemaker!”

  “Rioter!”

  Amy girded her muscles, befuddled. “It was an accident.”

  But the swelling mob wasn’t so sympathetic, their expressions black. She fisted her fingers in anticipation of a brawl, but a hard hand gripped her wrist and jerked her roughly away from the rankled crowd.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing, Amy?”

  She was rattled, breathless. “I-I was looking for you.”

  Edward frowned. “Why?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me,” he said firmly. “You, on the other hand, need protecting.” He ushered her toward her lodgings. “You almost started a rampage.”

  “It wasn’t my intent,” she snapped. “I saw…”

  “What did you see?”

  The vehicle. The laughter. The gloved hand. She had remembered…but the vision vanished.

  Amy mumbled, “Never mind.”

  The moment they entered the apartment again, she wondered, “What happened with the thugs?”

  “I lost sight of them in the crowd,” he returned in a surly manner.

  She sighed. “Damn fools! Why won’t they give over and trouble some other, more sociable barmaid?”

  “I doubt there’s any as pretty as you.”

  The man’s gruff voice had softened at the expression, making her cheeks warm. She looked at the floor and observed his booted feet approaching her. The muscles in her midriff tightened, and she sensed the blood pulse in her ears.

  “I think you’re right, Amy.”

  He tipped her chin up with his forefinger, meeting her gaze…that smoldering gaze; it singed her flesh, unsettled her nerves.

  “I think I should stay with you for a little while more—until my memory returns.”

  He was staying to protect her. It was there in his eyes, the gentlemanly impulse. Funny he should be such a gentleman now, without his memory. If the scoundrel ever regained his thoughts and former bad habits…

  In truth, she didn’t mind him staying awhile longer at the apartment with her, and so long as he stayed away from the club and the vicious queen, there wasn’t any harm in keeping him for a short time more, she supposed.

  Edward sniffed…then sniffed again.

  Indignant, she took a step back, glowering, but she quickly smelled the burning oats and kicked up her heels. “Oh no!”

  “Everything all right in there?”

  She removed the bubbling pot from the stove, the oatmeal ruined. She would have to begin anew, though she hoped the wasted grains weren’t an ill omen, that she wasn’t making a mistake in letting the seaman reside with her.

  The coal fire in the hearth warmed Edward’s toes as he sat, slumped, in an oak chair, arms folded across his chest, frowning. He peered at Amy through the parted bedchamber door. She was seated on a stool at her dressing table, oblivious to his darkening mood. He observed her with growing impatience as she brushed her lengthy locks, dolling herself up for an evening shift at the gentlemen’s club, where she’d have to gratify another party of overbearing patrons. And thanks to him, she’d get half her usual earnings for her trouble.

  “Well, I’m off.” She grabbed a shawl and draped it over her head and shoulders as she entered the sitting room, and looked at him pointedly with her sharp green eyes. “I’ll be home late, so I suggest you get some rest.”

  Rest? He snorted. He lifted out of the seat and approached the front entrance.

  “Where are you going, Edward?”

  “I’m escorting you to the club.”

  Amy’s eyes swelled. “No.”

  He ignored the woman’s brusque retort and opened the door. “You were attacked two nights ago.”

  She sighed. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need an escort.”

  “I think you do,” he returned evenly.

  “I have been going to the club alone every night for almost three years, and there’s no reason for me to change my habits now. Besides, when you regain your memory and return home, I’ll still be working at the club. You can’t protect me all the time—and I don’t want to depend on you.”

  He eyed her mulishly. “I can protect you tonight.”

  “I’ll be fine, really.” She pried his fingers off the door’s latch. “Madame Rafaramanjaka knows about the attack. She’ll make sure the guards are more vigilant.”

  Edward took her hand and squeezed her warm fingers, sensing her rapid pulse. “Do you really think I’m going to sit here idly, while you walk the streets alone at night?”

  “Are you daft?” She glowered at him. “I just told you, I’ve been walking the streets alone at night for almost three years. I’ve yet to meet my Maker.” She wrested her fingers away, lips pinched. “You’ll never get inside the club, anyway.”

  “I got inside two nights ago.”

  She looked him over in a quick, keen manner. “How did you get inside th
e club?” She waved her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Perhaps you sneaked inside the establishment.”

  “You see? You have poor security at the club if I was permitted within its walls.”

  “You have to stay here and rest, Edward.”

  “I can at least escort you to the club’s door.”

  “No!” She flounced off and entered the passageway. “If Madame Rafaramanjaka thinks I have a beau, she’ll dismiss me from the club. Stay here, Edward. Please!”

  She skirted through the darkened hall.

  He stared after her bustling figure, the blood in his veins pounding. He took one step back inside the apartment, reached around the door to locate the iron key on the hook, then shut and locked the entrance, skulking in the shadows after Amy.

  Edward followed her to the impressive establishment in Covent Garden. There he waited for her in the streets for more than an hour, restless. He waited for her to come out again, so he could walk her home, but as he witnessed more and more posh gentlemen flood the club’s premises, the irritability in his blood strengthened, and he itched with the profound need to smash their aquiline noses into the pavement.

  Edward crossed the street with wide strides. He had sneaked inside the club the other night. How hard would it be for him to sneak inside again?

  Slowly he climbed the three stone steps leading to the front door and stealthily attempted to part the main entranceway. The thick door was secured.

  No, it wouldn’t be so easy, he supposed. He headed down the steps and decided to make his way around to the back of the building. Perhaps there was another door there? The sound of heavy iron hinges rooted him to the paved walkway, though.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the surly-looking guard peering at him suspiciously through the slightly parted door. He must have detected Edward’s endeavors to steal inside the club. Edward anticipated a rude remark and a threatening show of fists…he wasn’t prepared for the gatekeeper’s welcoming gesture.

  The gruff sentry opened the door fully and bowed. “Good evening, sir.”

  Edward hesitated for a second before he composed himself and scaled the steps again, walking into the sensuous club with confidence. Had he impersonated a gentleman the other night? Was that how he’d entered the club? Was that why the gatekeeper was being so welcoming now?

  It was the only logical conclusion, and keeping the thought in his mind, he headed through the elaborate passageway and up the flight of winding steps with aplomb. He intended to keep a close watch over Amy. He would remain in the shadows; he wouldn’t give off the impression that he was her “beau,” and risk her losing her livelihood. However, he would safeguard her well-being…for tonight.

  Chapter 6

  Amy danced under the brilliant white limelight. She performed the scandalous choreography with ease, having memorized the steps. She shuffled sideways, rolling her hips and moving her hands to the rhythmic music. Twisting and undulating in her red silk skirt and coin belt, she maintained her eyes on the crowd.

  She didn’t meet the patrons’ gazes, though, or focus on one side of the room for too long. She loathed connecting intimately with the visitors, however briefly. She loathed the way they looked at her, salivated over her.

  Amy moved across the stage with methodical grace. As she dropped, then rolled her right hip, she spotted a tall figure approaching the stage with uncharacteristic urgency. The limelight in her eyes, she wasn’t able to see the man’s face clearly…until he neared the platform.

  She gasped.

  Heart cramped, she stumbled, but quickly regained her footing as she stared into Edward’s bewildered blue eyes. He looked confused—and furious. She was wearing a veil that concealed her lips, but he had plainly recognized her painted eyes.

  She wanted to dash off the stage. An uncomfortable heat scorched her cheeks, her belly. She wanted to hide behind the curtains and evade his critical glare, for a deep shame welled in her breast. He had discovered her true, sinful occupation at the club—again! That he might reveal her identity right then didn’t trouble her; that he looked at her with such disapproval disturbed her beyond words.

  The drumbeats ended and Amy shuffled off the stage in a maladroit fashion. She quickly peeled the veil off her features, feeling stifled even under the loose silk scarf.

  “What must he think of me?” she said in a panic.

  She rushed through the dimly lit passageway, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was following her. There were guards posted at every door, and yet she sensed the “resourceful” seaman would find some way of getting past them.

  She entered her dressing room and with fingers trembling removed the exotic costume and headpiece. She swiftly donned her usual, unassuming attire and grabbed her shawl, leaving the charcoal paint around her eyes. She would remove the makeup at home. She was anxious to flee the Pleasure Palace.

  Amy skirted through the empty passageway again, hazily illuminated with innovative gas lighting. The hissing flames burned in her ears, like malicious hecklers.

  She burst through the back entranceway—right into the sturdy arms of a vagabond…two vagabonds, for she spotted another shadow rounding the corner. The same two devils who had accosted her the other evening!

  “You two do not give up, do you?” she cried in frustration.

  One devil grinned. “I get one hundred pounds if I deliver you to my master.”

  She firmed her lips and nailed him right in the nose with her knuckles. “Tell your master to go to hell!”

  Swiftly Amy slipped back inside the club and bolted the door. The vagabonds banged on the door and rattled the latch, cursing up a storm.

  “Trouble, Amy?”

  She whirled around and spotted Edward’s muscular figure stalking through the ghostly passageway, charging her. The brooding fellow grabbed her arms and pierced her soul with his glare, making her shiver.

  “How did you get back here, Edward?”

  He ignored her query and demanded, “Why did you lie to me?”

  Amy was overwhelmed by the man’s biting words and rough manner. She tamped the indignity she was feeling into the very tips of her toes, letting loose her frustration and fury instead.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything about me!” She struggled in his arms and swatted at his chest. “Let me go!”

  She was prepared to kick him in the leg, when the vagabonds slammed their shoulders into the sturdy door in an attempt to break it.

  Edward curtailed their row with a brief scowl before he yanked her arm and dragged her through the rear of the club. “We’ll finish this at your apartment.”

  “Arrgh!” She punched him in the arm. “You promised me you wouldn’t come to the club.”

  “I did no such thing,” he returned stiffly, steering her toward an alternate exit.

  He smuggled her away from the establishment undetected, and pulled her alongside him. She quarreled with him all the way back to her lodgings.

  “You lied to me, Amy.”

  He unlocked the apartment and pushed her inside the sitting room. Two candles sheltered in glass lamps still burned on the table.

  “You told me you were a barmaid.” He pointed at her eyes and flicked his finger. “But you’re…you’re…I don’t even know who you are.”

  She tossed the shawl aside, the blood burning in her veins. She scooped up a candle and strutted through the sitting room. She entered her bedroom, where she set the candle aside and poured clear water from an earthenware pitcher into a basin.

  “I don’t need a lecture from you about honesty.” She grabbed a small white towel and immersed it in the basin before she scrubbed the black ink off her eyes. “You’re an admitted thief!”

  She peered into the mirror on the dressing table as she removed the cosmetic paint. She then observed the man’s wide, shadowy figure as he stood under the door frame, glowering at her.

  “How can you prance on stage, arousing so many men? I thought you said you weren’t a whore?”
>
  “I’m not, you blackguard!” She dunked the towel into the basin again, the water turning grimy. “But I need the money.”

  “Aye, so you can purchase more mirrors,” he returned dryly. “Such vanity, Amy. I’m disappointed in you.”

  “How dare you!” She scrubbed her skin with more vigor, the black makeup clinging to her flesh like baked filth. “The mirrors have nothing to do with vanity.”

  “Then why collect them?”

  Amy peered even deeper into the dark glass. The candlelight in the bedchamber danced, casting rippled waves of fire across the shiny surface.

  Amy picked up the small mirror with an ivory handle and gazed at her features. The soft swooshing sound of petticoats flirted with her ears as the older woman moved lightly about the room, fluffing her carefully pressed curls and pinning her glittering earrings.

  The warm figure soon approached her and knelt, and Amy sensed a pair of gloved hands squeeze and tickle her midriff.

  She squealed with delight.

  “Never mind about the mirrors.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “And keep your voice down or you’ll disturb the other tenants.”

  “Oh? Do you mean the couple fighting on one side of the wall? Or the couple shagging on the other?”

  She flushed. The level of noise from the other residents was troubling. She had one set of neighbors who bickered every night, their rows often ending in vicious blows. A prostitute regularly entertained her clients in the other apartment, leaving Amy boxed in between all the commotion.

  “I suspect the other tenants won’t mind our quarreling,” he said with wry humor.

  “We are not quarreling; you are quarreling. Unjustly, I might add.” She dropped the dirty towel into the basin, the water splashing. “I don’t owe you an explanation regarding my life or my choices.”

  She picked up the candlestick and glass orb, the flame flickering, and brushed past him into the other room.

  He followed her.

  “You have to quit the club, Amy.”

  She placed the candle on the table in the sitting room, fingers quivering. “No.”

  A strong hand grasped her wrist, and she pivoted.