Love's Tender Fury Read online

  “It’s almost dawn,” he remarked.

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t even turn to look at him.

  “That needn’t bother us, though,” he continued. “We have days and days to play our little games.”

  “And then?” I said.

  “And then you’ll go on acting as governess to my children, and whenever I feel the urge, I’ll visit your room. Agatha will find out about it, of course—she probably suspects already—but that won’t make any difference.”

  “I’m to go on teaching your children? After … after this?”

  “Naturally.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve no intention of staying on under those circumstances.”

  “You’ll do as I say,” he informed me.

  I heard the bed springs creak as he got up. I turned to see him yawn and stretch, a sleek, splendid male animal, entirely naked, but that splendid male beauty left me utterly cold. I felt chilled through and through, felt I would never be warm again. Shoving the fringe of hair from his brow, he smiled lazily and padded across the room to stand in front of me.

  “God, you’re a magnificent creature,” he said. “You were beautiful before, of course, but there’s something new—an unmistakable glow. I knew you were a sensual creature, Marietta. Tonight proved it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it. After that first time, you took to it readily enough. You were made for love.”

  “And you’re going to have your fill in days to come?”

  “You can count on it.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t,” I told him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I told you—I’ve no intention of staying on here—in this house, in this room. I’ve no intention of continuing as governess to your children, not after this. If you intend to use me as your mistress, I want—”

  One dark brow lifted. “You want?” he interrupted.

  “I want lodgings of my own—fine lodgings—and a generous monthly allowance.”

  “Could you possibly be making demands?”

  “I suppose you could phrase it that way. I’m not some illiterate little scullery maid like Jenny. I’m an educated woman. If you’re going to use me like a whore, I intend to be paid like one.”

  Lord Mallory’s eyes were dark with amusement, he shook his head in mock dismay.

  “My, my,” he said, “you’re certainly learning quickly. Where is that demure Miss Danver with meek expression and lowered eyes?”

  “I’m afraid she vanished—along with her maidenhead.”

  My voice was hard. I gazed at him with cool, level eyes, making no effort to conceal my loathing. This seemed to amuse him all the more. Again he shook his head, dark eyes gleaming.

  “You’re being very unwise, love,” he drawled.

  “Am I?”

  “With no job, no references, you’d be in rather unfortunate straits.”

  “I’m at your mercy—is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “You’re at my mercy, love, and you’d better not forget it. You’ll do as I say, when I say, on any terms I decide to set. This is beginning to bore me, Marietta. You’d better watch yourself. You could find yourself out on the streets”—he snapped his fingers—“like that!”

  “I really don’t think it would be necessary for me to walk the streets, Lord Mallory. I’m a ‘magnificent creature,’ as you put it, and I’m also intelligent. I feel quite certain there are dozens of fine, wealthy gentlemen in London who’d be delighted to provide lodgings and an allowance. I imagine I could do quite well for myself in that particular market.”

  “I don’t like this, Marietta. No woman is going to dictate terms to me. It’s never happened before. It’s not about to happen now.”

  “I don’t intend to be your victim, Lord Mallory. I don’t intend to let you use me and then toss me out like you did Jenny. If you want me, you’re going to pay, and you’re going to pay dearly.”

  “If I don’t set you up in lodgings and give you money, you’ll find someone else who will. Is that it?”

  “That’s it,” I replied calmly.

  “That sounds suspiciously like blackmail.”

  “Call it what you like.”

  Lord Mallory sighed. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and silken, almost gentle.

  “You’re going to regret this, love.”

  “Am I? There’s nothing you can do but turn me out. That doesn’t worry me in the least. It shouldn’t take me long to find a protector.”

  Before Lord Mallory could reply, there came the sound of a carriage clattering down the alley, wheels rumbling, horse hooves pounding. Leaning out of the window, he peered down. The carriage came to a halt directly below the window. He drew back quickly.

  “Damn!” he exclaimed. “Agatha’s back!”

  “That worries you?” I asked idly. “I thought you controlled your wife with an iron fist. I thought she wouldn’t dare interfere with one of your affairs—”

  “Christ! What a bloody nuisance! I’ll have to get to the bedroom and climb in bed before she comes up. Where are my boots?”

  He scowled as a querulous feminine voices rose from the mews below, followed by the husky voices of coachman and groom. Lord Mallory hastily gathered up his clothes. There was a bumping noise as luggage was unstrapped and taken down from the top of the coach. Clutching breeches, shirt, and boots, Lord Mallory scowled.

  “She suspected all along, damn her soul! She could at least have had the decency to wait till morning!”

  “Life is filled with these little tragedies,” I remarked.

  Lord Mallory looked at me, extremely displeased. For a moment those dark eyes held my own, and then, hearing more noises below, he said “I’ve got to leave now, but I’ll be in the nursery at eleven o’clock to talk to you.” His voice was smooth and silken, yet there was an undeniable menace as he continued. “I suggest you think things over, Marietta. I suggest you forget your little blackmail scheme—for your own good.”

  He left the room then, quickly, and as I heard his bare feet padding down the hall I remembered that subtle menace in his voice. I wasn’t afraid of him, I told myself. I tried hard to convince myself of that.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows and as I sat in front of the dressing table I could hear the grooms talking in husky voices in the mews below. A bird was warbling throatily. It was a gorgeous day, a day for strolls in the park, for buying flowers from the carts, for flying kites and sailing boats on the pond, a day for lovers. It might as well have been bleak and gray as far as I was concerned, for I knew he would soon come up to the nursery.

  He couldn’t possibly do anything worse than what he’s already done, I assured myself. I brushed my hair briskly, and then, putting the brush down, I gazed at the woman in the glass. There was a new hardness that hadn’t been there before, in the set of the chin, in the curve of the mouth. The deep-blue eyes were filled with a steely determination. The nervous, vulnerable nineteen-year-old girl had vanished completely, and the woman who looked back at me was much more interesting. There was a patina of sensuality that had been latent before, a new maturity that sharply defined the classic, patrician features. Marietta Danver had become a woman, and with the new knowledge had come a sense of power that was immediately evident.

  Leaving my hair spilling about my shoulders, I stepped over to the wardrobe to select a dress. I ignored the drab browns, the plain grays, and finally chose a sumptuous bronze taffeta with long tight sleeves, a low, form-fitting bodice, and a full skirt that stood out over the bouffant petticoats. The prim, self-effacing governess was gone forever. No longer would I try to hide my beauty with plain dresses and severe hair styles. That beauty was my only commodity now—that and the lessons I had learned so well the night before.

  I had meant every word I said to him. If he wouldn’t find me other lodgings, I would find someone else who would be
only too happy to keep me in style. A month ago such an idea would have appalled me, but I had grown up since then. I knew now who I was: I was the bastard daughter of an illiterate barmaid and a peer of the realm. I belonged to neither her world nor his. I had been thrown out of my father’s house, abruptly banished from the way of life I had known there, and the training I had received had made it impossible for me to return to my mother’s way of life. I had come to London naively believing I could put my education to good use. My education didn’t matter. My wits did. In order to survive I would have to use them at every turn, for it was a hard, cruel, unfeeling world for a woman alone.

  I hated Lord Mallory for what he had done to me, but the day might come when I would actually be grateful to him, for in one act of relentless violence he had shown me exactly where I stood in the world. He had shattered my every illusion, but, unknowingly, he had given me the determination I needed to forge ahead. Poor Jenny would probably be dead from starvation or venereal disease before the year was out, but that wasn’t going to happen to me. I would never again be penniless, and never again be dependent solely on what others were willing to allow me.

  Lord Mallory strolled into the nursery shortly after eleven, looking unusually handsome in a dark-blue suit and a stunning white satin waistcoat embroidered with silver thread. A sky-blue stock was carefully folded under his chin. Lids dropped heavily over his eyes, and a lazy smile was on his lips as he looked at me.

  “Superb,” he said. “There’s not a woman in London who could come anywhere near you—and to think you’re all mine.”

  “You’ve decided to provide lodgings and an allowance?”

  Lord Mallory lifted a brow, surprised. “I told you last night, I don’t like to be blackmailed. I assumed you’d come to your senses.”

  “I’d best start packing,” I replied. “I have very little money, but there’s enough to pay for a room for two or three nights. I don’t imagine I’ll need much longer to find a … suitable protector.”

  “You intend to go through with it, then?”

  “I intend to go through with it,” I said calmly.

  “I do wish you’d change your mind, love.”

  “My mind is made up.”

  “Women don’t leave me,” he said. “I leave them—usually leave them in tears, begging me to stay. I don’t intend to take this gracefully, love. You’ll regret it, I promise you.”

  “You don’t intimidate me, Lord Mallory.”

  “I could beat you, of course, but that would only provide a momentary satisfaction. No, I … uh … don’t think I shall use my fists. I’ll have to think of something a bit more refined.”

  “You can’t do a thing to me.”

  He smiled wryly. “No? We shall see, love.”

  He sauntered out of the room then, and after a moment I returned to my bedroom. Taking down my two bags, I opened them on the bed and began to pack. I did it neatly, methodically, folding the clothes carefully and smoothing them down. I was perfectly calm, not at all frightened by the step I was taking. I had little money, true, but I doubted I would need much. London was full of wealthy rakes on the look-out for someone new, someone to tantalize their jaded appetites. I would take a room at one of the finest inns, and tonight I would visit one of the notorious gambling halls where elegant courtesans plied their trade. I had no doubt the venture would be eminently successful.

  It was almost one o’clock before I finally finished packing. I had just closed the bags and fastened them when there came a timid knock on the door. Millie stepped inside, her face pale, her blue eyes wide with apprehension. Her cap was askew atop her tarnished gold curls, and the apron she wore over her black dress was twisted and crumpled, as though she had been wringing it in her hands.

  “Mi—milady wants to see you downstairs in th’ parlor,” she said. Her voice trembled. “She—she wants to see all of us. Somethin’s afoot, Miss Danver. Somethin’ awful ’as ’appened, I just know it! Cook’s in tears, she is, threatening to quit, an’ even Jeffers is upset—’e’s to come to th’ parlor, too. All of us are.”

  “What’s wrong, Millie?”

  “I—I don’t know, Miss. Th’ master an’ th’ mistress ’ad ’em a long talk in th’ sittin’ room, talkin’ for over a hour, like they was plannin’ somethin’, an’ then th’ master comes out wearing’ a grin an’ e’ fetches Alfie an’ sends ’im off to Bow Street to deliver a message to milady’s uncle. You know who ’e is, don’t-ja?”

  “I believe he’s a magistrate.”

  “That ’e is! ’E’s got twenty thief-takers workin’ for ’im, scoundrels who round up wrong-doers ’n bring ’em in to ’im. ’E sits there behind ’is desk ’n sentences ’em. ’E sends ’em to Newgate, Miss Danver, ’n if ’e don’t like their looks ’e sends ’em to th’ gallows!”

  “Relax, Millie,” I said gently. “You’ve done nothing wrong, have you?”

  “No, Miss, but—”

  “Then you’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “Alfie came back in a big black coach. Two of them thief-takers were with ’im, rough, churlish-lookin’ blokes with mean eyes. They’re in th’ parlor now, talkin’ with Lord Mallory—”

  Millie shuddered. Like most of the lower class, she had a terrible fear of the thief takers, a rough, vicious crew who were frequently much more corrupt than the criminals they pursued. They were paid a small sum for every culprit they brought in. Some of the “culprits” were children, street urchins who, on the point of starvation, might have snatched a loaf of bread. The real criminals, the rich and powerful hooligans who reigned with terror, were rarely brought in, for the thief-takers could be bought off easily enough for a share of the spoils, as, indeed, could the magistrates themselves. A newspaper had recently stated that there was very little difference between those who enforced the law and those who broke it, and reforms were already underway to remove corrupt officials who used their position for gain, thriving on blackmail and bribery and actually encouraging crime. The present system of law enforcement was a net that pulled in all the little fish while allowing the big fish to swim in smooth waters. Although there were, of course, scrupulously honest magistrates with complete integrity, most of them were thoroughly venal.

  “We—we’re to join ’em down there,” Millie stammered.

  “Very well, Millie. I’m sure there’s just been some kind of misunderstanding. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  “Oh, Miss Danver, I’m scared…”

  I patted the girl’s hand and left the room with her. I was not at all worried, nor in the least suspicious, not even when Lord Mallory passed us on the staircase. He nodded and stood aside to let us pass, a sly smile on his lips, and then he went on up as we continued to descend. I wondered what it was all about. Whatever it was, it was highly inconvenient, and I wouldn’t have bothered to come downstairs at all had I not felt Millie needed my support. As soon as this meeting in the parlor was over, I would ask Alfie to bring my bags down and fetch a cab for me, and then I would leave number 10 Montagu Square forever.

  The parlor was a large, spacious room on the ground floor with ivory walls and a gilt ceiling from which hung a superb chandelier dripping with glittering crystal pendants. A rich blue carpet covered the floor, and the draperies were a darker blue damask. The white-and-gold furniture was exquisite, each piece imported from France. I wondered why Lady Mallory should be holding this meeting in such elegant surroundings, but as we entered I realized it was the only room in the house sizable enough to hold all the servants without crowding. The others had already arrived, and they stood in a nervous cluster: Cook belligerent, Jeffers pale and alarmed, Mrs. Branderson tearful. The maids were all as jittery and upset as Millie, the footmen apprehensive, the grooms and coachman surly.

  Two strangers stood apart, observing them all.

  One of the strangers, a tall, skinny man dressed all in black, had a face like a death mask, with gaunt, deep hollows beneath his cheekbones, gray smudges beneat
h eyes as black as coals. His lips were thin, his nose a sharp beak, his hair a blazing red. The other was a husky, burly fellow with enormous shoulders and a coarse, brutal face. His mouth was too large. His nose was humped, obviously broken in some brawl and never properly mended. Heavy lids drooped like hoods over fierce brown eyes. He wore muddy brown boots, a dark tan suit and a waistcoat of brown broadcloth, a burnt-orange stock untidily puffed under his chin. The pair of them looked like denizens of some dark, foul back alley, capable of the vilest crimes, and I tried to suppress a shudder as the burly one looked at me with unmitigated lust.

  “These th’ last of th’ lot?” the redhead asked.

  “These are the last,” Lady Mallory said.

  She had been standing behind a small white table, casually turning the pages of a book. Now she set the book down and came toward us. She was wearing a lovely pearl-gray gown adorned with pink velvet bows, and although it was exceedingly elegant, it did nothing for her thin, scrawny body. Her faded blond hair was fashionably arranged in a style that merely emphasized her sour, pinched features. As Millie and I went to stand with the other servants, Lady Mallory glanced at me. A thin smile flickered on her lips, and there was a malicious glitter in her eyes.

  “Now that you’re all here, allow me to introduce these gentlemen,” she said. She indicated the redhead. “This is Mr. Clancy. His colleague is Mr. Higgins. They are law enforcers, commonly referred to as ‘thief-takers,’ and they are employed by my uncle, Roderick Mann. As you may know, he’s a magistrate on Bow Street.”

  “What’s that got to do with us!” Cook exclaimed, herhuge body quivering with indignation. “We ain’t done nothin’! Not a one of us! Been workin’ here nigh on ten years, I ’ave, and never once ’ave I been so … so ’umiliated! I’m not gonna stand ’ere and—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Higgins growled.