How to Best a Marquess (Raven Club), page 10
She laughed, a high-pitched sound. “Never. Why are you here?”
“We should talk about what happened in the carriage.”
“We said all that needs to be said about the matter. The next time I plan to shield a beaten woman, you want to be informed.”
“You did not promise, as I recall.”
“You recall correctly.”
“Stubborn as ever.”
He shot her an all-too-familiar devilish grin. She should despise him for the ease and smoothness for which his lips curved. He was a man confident with the fair sex. She had no doubt he’d known more than his share—in and out of the bedroom.
Isabelle immediately came to mind.
Hugh broke the silence, his sharp eyes watching her. “I want you to know that you are the only woman on my mind.”
Her stomach tightened. Why would he say such a thing?
Unless he knew she spotted him with Isabelle, knew how much the mere sight of the woman disturbed her. No matter how many years had passed, Ellie’s gut still tightened in anticipation of a painful blow. And to see Hugh speak with her? Ellie would rather die a thousand deaths than see the two of them in the same room together. She needn’t subject herself to such misery.
“I attended Lady Emberly’s party because I knew you would be here,” he said. “I stopped by your brother’s residence, and he mentioned you and your sister had accepted an invitation. I headed here straightaway.”
“Why?”
“We should speak about our kiss. It’s been on my mind.”
Was he serious? Or was he manipulating her? Was everything a game of conquest for the Marquess of Deveril?
“It’s of little consequence. Not worth discussing or thinking about.”
Liar. She’d thought of little else.
“Hmm,” he said simply, as if he knew her thoughts. His gaze roamed an unhurried path over her features. She could feel the heat graze her cheek, then her lips, and her pulse quickened. “I think you’re lying.”
“You do not know me.”
He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through her body. “To the contrary, I think I do know you. Shall I demonstrate how well?”
“What does that mean?”
Rather than kiss her, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her gloved hand. Even through the satin, her skin prickled pleasurably and her breathing grew shallow. A slow burn began in her stomach then spread to her limbs and the secret place between her legs. She felt her face heat. She hated that her body reacted this way to him. And he must know, damn him.
“It’s only about you, Ellie.”
Her heart pounded in her chest so forcefully she wondered if he could hear. It was as if he knew her deepest insecurities and was spewing what she needed to hear.
He knew.
He’d seen her flee. He knew how much the mere presence of Isabelle disturbed her. He knew, and he was trying to ease her torment.
“Do you believe me?”
Did she? Looking into his eyes, he seemed sincere, but she also knew she wasn’t the best judge of men. How could she be when he’d been the one to show her just how foolish she could be?
And what of the Raven Club? Nothing changed the fact that they were rivals. A fateful night in which they both helped a battered woman in need, a kiss in a carriage on the way home—neither event changed her goals.
“It no longer matters.” And with that final statement, she turned on her heel and fled the gardens.
Chapter Eleven
Hugh walked into a tavern and chose an empty table in the corner. The tavern was doing a brisk business tonight, and several tables were crowded with men wearing corduroy jackets and patched trousers who had arrived straight from the factories to drink their ale. Well-dressed young gentlemen sat at another table, deep in their cups, exchanging crude jokes and coarse laughter. University fops away from school.
Hugh was in no mood for company. His thoughts were consumed with the Raven Club, but not with his plans for the boxing room.
With Ellie.
He’d told her the truth that afternoon. He had attended Lady Emberly’s garden party because he knew Ellie would be there. He needed to speak with her, and he wanted to do it away from the club, away from the place where her competitive nature flourished and was a constant reminder of both of their goals.
Things were changing between them, at least for him. The night he’d discovered her hidden activities to protect Lady Willoughby had opened his eyes. He began to understand more of why she desperately wanted to win the club. She’d put herself in danger to aid another for a few hours of respite in her hidden room. He hadn’t lied when he’d called her admirable. But that didn’t mean he’d approve of her putting herself at risk. His mind had clouded at the thought, and he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss sense into her.
Thank God she’d consented. But what had started as a simple kiss had quickly changed. Her kisses had affected him even more than he thought they would. She was brave, loyal, and oh so stubborn.
Most men would find the last trait undesirable in a woman. They sought compliance, complicity, a stable household.
Not Hugh. He would find a docile partner boring and not one who would hold his interest for long.
No matter how admirable, he could never condone Ellie’s dangerous activities. Hiding a lady, even for the evening, was risky. Baron Willoughby had been angry, jealous, and drunk—a volatile combination in any man, let alone a bastard like him. A man that treated his wife the way the baron had hurt his wasn’t worth the dirt beneath Hugh’s boot. And when he’d glared at Ellie with fury, Hugh wanted to tear the man from limb to limb.
A buxom, blond tavern maid approached with a tray of ale. “A drink, me lord?”
He nodded and she leaned far over the table as she placed the mug before her, her ample breasts on display in her low bodice. “Anything else I can get ye, me lord?”
Not long ago, he would have been tempted. He would have easily accepted her offer and eased his worries in a warm, willing body. But now he found himself unmoved by her…unmoved by the thought of any other woman.
“Just the ale.”
She looked at him, her bold stare trained on his face. “Ah, a lady has seized your heart.”
“Hardly,” Hugh scoffed. “I’ve business on my mind.”
She gave him a sly look that said she didn’t believe a word out of his mouth. She took her leave, her hips sashaying toward the kitchens. He wanted to call her back and argue.
Just because he did not want to see Ellie hurt, did not mean she’d seized his heart.
Damn.
His mind turned as he drank from the tankard. It wasn’t just Baron Willoughby that bothered him. Things hadn’t gone as he’d planned at the garden party, either, and soon after he’d stepped foot through the garden gate, he’d been waylaid by Lady Fabry. He’d seen the moment Ellie had spotted Isabelle beside him. Ellie’s delicate brow had furrowed, her eyes had widened with astonishment, not with joy or recognition, but with torment, and she’d fled into the gardens.
Without a thought, he’d followed her.
He’d wanted to tell her Lady Fabry meant nothing to him—then or now. But how? And would she believe him?
Instinct told him never to bring up Isabelle or speak her name, but to somehow confirm that Ellie was the only woman on his mind.
She hadn’t believed him. Or at least, she hadn’t wanted to. In her mind, she’d returned to a place from years ago, a different hostess’s garden, and the event that had altered both of their futures. He never liked Isabelle and he hadn’t enjoyed their kiss. He’d already told Ellie once, but he knew telling her again without revealing the entire truth would be fruitless and even more harmful.
He hadn’t lied today. He could not care less about Isabelle, or any other woman in society.
After returning into Ellie’s life, how could it be any other way?
…
He was avoiding her.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget their brief encounter by Lady Emberly’s pond. His words had left a mark on her mind just as his kiss had left a tingling on the back of her hand. This attraction to him was perilous and would do her no good. She needed to keep her mind on her goal: the Raven Club. Too much was at stake to behave recklessly and risk heartache.
So she’d kept to herself, careful not to run into Hugh on the casino floor. She’d been successful. At first, she’d thought it was because of her evasive efforts. She’d carefully look out the window onto the casino floor before leaving the second-floor office. If Hugh was within sight, she would remain upstairs. That’s when she’d spotted one of the boys who worked in the boxing room open the door to glance out and then return inside. Only then did Hugh step outside.
She felt deflated, a deep, unaccustomed ache in her chest. How could she avoid him, then feel hurt when she discovered he was doing the same?
Her tumultuous thoughts raced. Did he regret what he’d told her in the gardens? Perhaps she wasn’t the only woman on his mind? Ellie had claimed a headache and had left the Lady Emberly’s home soon after. Had Hugh remained to flirt with his many female admirers, or heaven help her, Lady Fabry?
Ugh.
At least the women’s gambling room was near complete. The room had been painted an inviting pale gold, and the gambling tables had arrived. Faro, hazard, and whist tables were now arranged alongside the roulette table. She’d selected croupiers and staff and picked out different liveried uniforms for them to wear to set them apart from the workers in the main casino. A blue dress with silver trim for the female servants and a blue coat and striped waistcoat for the male servants to match the blue silk curtains. Despite what she’d told Hugh, they weren’t all men.
It had been a week since the harrowing incident with Baron Willoughby. She hadn’t heard a word from Violet Lasher, but for the first time, Ellie wasn’t worried. Olivia had visited Lady Willoughby twice and had reported that the baron had kept his distance from his wife.
Perhaps one good thing had resulted from the Marquess of Deveril coming back into her life.
A low knock on the office door drew her attention. “Yes?”
The door opened and Brooks stepped inside, his large frame blocking the doorway. He held a letter in his hand. “This just arrived for you, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated after handing the letter to her, shifting from foot to foot in apparent unease, and she looked up. “Is there something else?”
His square jaw tightened, and darkness clouded his eyes. “I never told you, but I’m sorry I was not here the other night.”
She didn’t ask. She knew which evening he was referring to. No doubt, if Brooks were guarding the door of the Raven Club a week ago, he could have easily handled the unruly baron. “It was your evening to yourself. You could not have known that Baron Willoughby would appear in such a state.”
“Still. I’m glad Deveril was here in my stead.”
Must everyone champion Hugh? First Grace, now Brooks. Ellie tried to disguise her annoyance and cleared her throat. She needed to look at things from Brooks’s point of view. He was right, of course. Deveril had taken care of matters that evening and had handled the unruly, intoxicated baron. But must Hugh continue to win over those closest to her? Was Olivia next?
She waited until Brooks closed the door behind him and she was alone before opening the letter. The flowery script was unique and recognizable. Violet Lasher had finally written.
Our plans have changed. Meet this afternoon at the tobacconists, Fribourg & Treyer’s.
Ellie pinched the foolscap between her thumb and forefinger. What could have changed? Was another lady in need of assistance?
It was possible. Violet’s position ensured she had secret knowledge of the aristocracy that Ellie could never dream of obtaining.
Ellie folded the letter and slipped it into her dress pocket. They had never met in such a public place. It must be important for Violet to pick such a location. Moments later, Ellie left the club, walked to the end of the street, and hailed a hackney.
Fribourg & Treyer’s tobacconists was located in a busy section of Piccadilly. Men and women strode down the street and in and out of neighboring shops. Ellie couldn’t fathom why Violet had picked this location at this time of day. Surely, they would be seen. Even if Violet appeared in her carriage with the shades drawn, there was risk.
The courtesan’s news must be urgent. Had something happened to Samantha Willoughby? Or was there another woman in dire need? Feeling a sickening sense of dread to come, Ellie approached the tobacconist shop. The little bell above the door chimed as she opened and closed the door to a gust of wind and stepped inside. A shopkeeper was assisting a middle-aged couple as the man perused a table of snuff.
Ellie feigned interest in the wares displayed on a table across the room where dozens of varieties and flavors of snuff were displayed. She overheard the shopkeeper talking about the different types of snuff—from texture to color to scent. She opened several tins, and the pleasant fragrances of honey, vanilla, apricot, cinnamon, and Attar of Roses teased her senses.
Ian had an intricate gold snuffbox with a hidden compartment that displayed a miniature portrait of Grace. He rarely used snuff, but she knew he occasionally indulged. She randomly selected one tin of snuff scented with orange and decided to gift it to him.
Once again, the shop’s bells chimed, and Violet Lasher walked inside. Dressed in a blue dress that enhanced the vivid blue of her eyes, she was striking. Her blond hair was upswept into a mass of curls that appeared somewhat haphazard but artfully arranged at the same time. Her breasts swelled from her tight bodice. All eyes turned to her—the clerk’s and his customers’. The husband gaped, and his wife scowled, then slapped him on his arm.
How on earth was Ellie to speak with the courtesan unnoticed?
But Violet was as shrewd as she was stunning. She approached Ellie’s table and randomly picked up a tin of snuff without ever making eye contact with her. If anyone looked, it appeared as if they did not know each other.
“Baron Willoughby found his wife’s mask,” Violet said as she sniffed a tin of camphor-scented snuff.
Ellie froze, then lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “The mask she wore to the Raven Club?”
“Yes. He knows she was there. She does not have much time.”
A stab of fear centered in Ellie’s chest, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, Violet was still watching her. “Good God. What do we do?”
The thought of telling Hugh crossed her mind. He had frightened the baron into staying away from his wife, but this was different. Baron Willoughby knew his wife had lied. He could drink too much and lose his temper at any time. One swing of his fist could end his young wife’s life. Even Hugh could not prevent such a tragedy.
“She has to leave London,” Violet said.
Ellie steeled herself for Violet’s instructions. “How do you intend to fake her death?”
“There is no time. She must go,” Violet said.
“Will she agree?”
Violet set down the tin and picked up another. “I believe she is wise enough to recognize her plight.”
“When?”
“Two evenings from tonight,” Violet said. “She must arrive at the club and you will usher her out the back. My carriage will be waiting for her in the mews.”
Two evenings.
That’s when Ellie had planned to open her ladies’ gambling club. All her hard work and preparation had been in anticipation for that night. Could she do both? Open her room and arrange to ferry Samantha Willoughby to safety? She would have to. Another thought occurred to her: it would be the perfect distraction. No one would notice her missing for an hour. She’d arranged for a competent staff who were well experienced, and Brooks could oversee everything while she claimed she needed to work upstairs.
“It’ll work,” Ellie said.
Violet waved at the shopkeeper and smiled. The older man left the couple he’d been helping and nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to assist her.
After Violet paid for her purchase and departed, Ellie remained by the table. Her eyes glazed over the tins of snuff. Her mind was in tumult over what she’d just learned. The shop’s bells jingled, but Ellie didn’t turn to see who had entered. She had much work to do in two days’ time. As if in a daze, she turned to head for the counter to make her purchase, when a hand settled on her elbow.
“I didn’t know you preferred snuff.”
She whirled to find Hugh standing behind her. Dressed in a brown greatcoat that emphasized his broad shoulders, he watched her. His heated gaze made her breath catch and her belly tighten.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you following me?”
Chapter Twelve
Hugh’s mouth curved in a grin that made Ellie’s heart skip a beat. “I should lie and say yes, but the truth is no. My appearance here is a coincidence.”
“Hmm.”
He eyed the tin in her hand. “You’re buying snuff?”
“It is for my brother,” she blurted out. Heaven forbid he learn the true reason she was in the tobacconist’s shop today. She prayed he hadn’t seen Violet Lasher leave.
“The earl prefers Havana snuff.”
“Pardon?”
“If you are purchasing it for your brother, the earl will not enjoy orange-scented snuff. He used a pinch of Havana snuff when I first met with him, the same day he told me the Raven Club was for sale.”
Her cheeks grew warm. If he was trying to intimidate her, she refused to rise to the bait and give him the satisfaction of a scathing response in public. “Good to know, however, I will keep my selection.”
“Of course you will. I would not expect anything else.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Only that you are the most stubborn female I have ever met.”
She glared at him. “And you are the most infuriating male I’ve ever known.”
“Touché. Come. Let us make our purchases. Then I will see you home.”
