Chapter 9

9

L ily nodded at the footman as he took her cloak and made her way to the lush but dainty chair strategically placed close enough to the front of the theatre box for her to see and hear bur far enough in the shadows not to be seen. Not that being seen would prove to be an issue. Between her blonde wig and the delicate black and gold demi-mask and long black velvet hooded cloak she’d worn over her gown to traverse the foyer and stairs of the Theatre Royal, she suspected her own dearly departed Mama would be hard-pressed to recognize her.

She relaxed into her chair and opened her fan. Despite the chilly November evening the press of bodies and the heat of hundreds of candles warmed the theatre to the point where beads of sweat had popped out on her forehead and across the portion of her chest and shoulders bared by her gown. A vision of Ari, sprawled across her bed and snoring crossed her mind and she experienced a moment of regret. This evening at the theatre lacked only his presence to be complete.

Over the past few days, she’d contemplated more than once asking him to accompany her tonight. However, since he’d moved into her house, he’d denied her even a brief shopping trip to her modiste’s. A request to enjoy an evening in London’s most popular theatre would have no doubt resulted in her being confined to her chambers like some disobedient child. Not bloody likely. Not when Mister Charpentier had arranged for her to use Lady Camilla’s private box and provided her with tickets to a play she’d wanted to see since before she’d fled Edinburgh. Wallack was performing in John Home’s play Douglas , a play she’d witnessed once backstage many years ago. She hoped on a second hearing she might remember the lines enough to perhaps write them down once Ari had taught her to do so.

Ari.

He’d filled the past few days with learning and laughter and the past few nights with a passion and erotic fulfillment she’d never thought herself to ever know. They’d enjoyed an early supper tonight, accompanied by copious amounts of wine and vigorous bedsport before she’d sneaked into her dressing room, donned her gown and disguise, and crept out the doors into her garden to meet a hackney Mary had summoned to arrive at the back of the mews. Ari would sleep until nearly dawn, and by then, Lily would be back at home with him none the wiser. She wanted to congratulate herself on her cleverness, but somehow her enjoyment of spending time alone had been dimmed by Ari’s constant presence.

A tap at the door drew her attention to the rear of the box. The orchestra struck up a melancholy tune, but the play would not start for a while yet. Nathaniel Charpentier stuck his head in the door and Lily waved him inside. He took her outstretched hands and kissed each one in turn.

“I do love your disguise,” he said as he took the seat beside her. “You are quite fetching with blond hair.”

“I agree,” a deep and all too familiar voice said from the box doorway. “Mister Charpentier, I presume?” Ari stepped into the light provided by the lamps mounted on either side of Lady Camilla’s box. Lily muttered a curse which had the famous chef smiling and shaking his head as he stood.

“Indeed,” Nathaniel said. “And you are Mister Barker-Finch, I take it?” He extended a hand to Ari which the interfering barrister shook, staring at Lily the entire time.

“Will you be staying to enjoy the play with us?” Ari asked when he finally looked away from Lily and actually acknowledged Nathaniel.

“Alas, no. My assistant is overseeing preparations for a dinner I am catering for Mister Price, the new director of the theatre. That is how I was able to secure your ticket at such short notice. I must go and ensure all goes well. But I do hope you both enjoy the play. Wallack is supposed to be superb in the role of Norval. And in spite of being an American. Price has managed to lure a highly praised actress from Edinburgh to play the role of Lady Randolph, a Mrs. Easterling.”

Lily’s blood ran cold. She fluttered her fan rapidly across her face. Dear God, let Ari keep his attention on Nathaniel. The two men continued to converse, though their voices sounded very far away. She blinked hard and fought to stay upright in her chair. Ari having discovered she’d sneaked out to the theatre without him was nothing compared to this latest news. She forced herself to take slow even breaths. Mrs. Easterling. Fanny Easterling. A name she’d hoped never to hear again.

“Easterling,” Ari was saying. “I saw her perform in Edinburgh years ago. Quite talented.”

“So I have heard,” Nathaniel said. “I understand she has been traveling and performing in Europe these ten years. Some scandal to do with her husband discovering some girl stealing Mrs. Easterling’s jewelry and the girl murdering him to escape. Bad business, that.”

“Yes…I remember something about the case. They never found the girl, did they?” Something in the way he spoke made goose flesh pop up across the back of her neck. She dared not look at him and risk betraying herself.

“Speaking of bad business,” Ari continued and turned to Lily once more. “Was it necessary for you to resort to such underhanded methods to attend the theatre?”

“I wanted to see the play,” she managed to say, her throat raw with dread. “ Douglas is one of the plays I want to…learn.” She swallowed. Her eyes blurred when he nodded as if he knew what she meant. “You hardly allow me to leave the house. Mister Barker-Finch is my tutor and my gaoler, hired by the earl.”

“A necessary precaution from what I understand from CB,” Nathaniel replied. “Though I can assure you she is safe here, sir. I have footmen posted outside the door.”

“I saw them and I thank you,” Ari replied. He studied her face and Lily’s heart sank. Had he noticed her expression at the mention of Mrs. Easterling’s name? She struggled to find something to say to indicate there was nothing at all the matter with her. Sudden recognition crossed his features and he turned back to Nathaniel. “You are Carrington-Bowles…friend.”

Nathaniel nodded. “I am.” Lily saw the hesitation in his eyes, the moment of uncertainty.

“He is a good man,” Ari said. “You are most fortunate.”

“Very much so.”

“Though he may be more fortunate. Your reputation as a chef is unmatched. And a number of the sweets Miss Venable serves are due to your skill I understand.” He glanced at Lily. “I should take you over my knee and take you home at once.”

“Try it, sir, and I shall shy more than a book at you.” She crossed her arms and turned toward the stage with a huff. She heard Ari and Nathaniel move to the back of the box. They spoke quietly for a few moments and then she heard to door close. Ari came to the front of the box and sat beside her. The theatre was fairly full, especially down below in the pit. The noise of conversation had begun to rise which meant the play would soon begin.

“I would have brought you had you asked,” Ari said. He touched her mask, but did not remove the light gold fabric piece.

“No, you wouldn’t.” She still refused to look at him, half in pique at him following her to the theatre and half in fear of sitting through the entire play knowing Fanny Easterling was in the same building and, might, on the barest of chances, recognize her.

“Very well, I would not. I can keep you safe on Grosvenor Street. Lily, you have no idea the danger you are in, love.” He clasped her hand and used the fingers of his free hand to tilt her face toward him. “You know you can tell me anything. Anything at all. Yes?”

“I might say the same of you,” she replied. The intensity of his gaze and voice set her nerves on edge. “You speak of protecting me. From what? You speak of my learning to read as saving my life. How? I will tell you my secrets, Ari. If you will tell me yours.”

Yet another knock at the door and he leapt from the chair to hurry to the back of the box. When he returned to her side he handed her a thick bound sheaf of pages. He settled back into his chair as the orchestra struck up the entr’acte.

“What is this?” she asked as she leaned close enough not to shout above the music.

“The play.” He shrugged. “I asked your friend Charpentier to ask Mister Price for one.”

She stared at him, incredulous.

“We will watch the play, and then tomorrow we will begin to teach you to read John Home’s words. Come. The play is about to begin.” He moved his chair close to hers and opened the bound pages. The light from the lamps in the box illuminated the printed words but also drew her attention to how handsome he was in his evening jacket and breeches.

His waistcoat had a pattern in red thread, and his shirt and neck cloth were snowy white. Slow Rutherford had likely tied his neck cloth and given him the clean shave that emphasized the sharpness of Ari’s features. Traitorous footman. Under other circumstances she and Ari might have been any ton couple out for a night at the theatre. Save for the fact she was another man’s mistress, and he was with her only until the unnamed danger passed.

She listened intently to the players and all the while watched as his finger moved beneath the words of the play. His breath teased the side of her neck where he’d pushed the wig’s curls over her shoulder. Then she heard a familiar voice onstage and could not help but look. Even from the distance of Lady Camilla’s box Lily recognized the actress who’d ruined her life out of jealousy and spite. The woman who had forced her to flee Edinburgh for London where she might have starved or worse if not for the intervention of a street urchin named Dickie Jones and a lady sea captain, now the Duchess of Chelmsford.

“Lily, are you well?” Ari touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Do you wish to leave?”

“No,” she drew in a steadying breath and centered her thoughts as she had to play a role. “I want to see the play. Even if you decide to punish me for disobeying you about leaving the house.” She offered him a saucy grin.

“Watch the play, madam.” He nipped her earlobe. “We will speak of your form of punishment later.” He smiled, but there was something in his smile that disturbed her. They sat through the rest of the play in relative silence. Each time she glanced at him he appeared far more intent on watching her than the players. She might have been flattered. His eyes had not failed to rouse her desire since that first night. Now, however, his gaze did more. Something had shifted, changed, and she had to discover what before he became more important to her than he was in this moment.

Once the play was ended, Lily did her best to hasten their leaving the theatre without appearing to do so. She allowed her hands to stray to his body, to caress him as if her haste had to do with desire and not abject terror. There was little chance they would meet Fanny Easterling, but she dared not take the chance. She had not come by her own carriage, and neither had he. Ari, however, with his height and commanding presence summoned a hackney quite quickly, gave the coachman their direction, and soon had her safely ensconced on the rear facing seat with him next to her.

“Lily, I—” She cut him off with a searing kiss, hungry for the reassurance of his lips on hers. His powerful hands slid inside her cloak and pulled her against his hard, warm body. He thrust his tongue along hers and soon they were engaged in a tangle to imitate a far more intimate and powerful connection. They kissed and kissed, hungry and unwilling to release each other save for a brief breath only to meld their mouths together once more, as if their very lives depended on it. He moved one hand to the top of her bodice and slid two fingers inside to trap her nipple, to pluck and pinch. She shivered at the shards of pleasurable pain he drew from her sensitive flesh.

The hackney began to slow and bump along. The streets of Mayfair were never this rough and uneven. Several loud thumps sounded against the vehicle. Ari broke of their kiss, tucked her back into her gown, and lifted her to sit behind him on the seat. Lily reached under her petticoats and drew a long dagger from the sheath strapped to her thigh. The blade glinted as the moonlight slipped into the carriage. Ari looked back, saw the blade, and his mouth kicked up in a wicked grin. He shifted closer to the door and pulled a pistol from the pocket of the greatcoat he’d donned as they left the theatre.

Rough voices, three or four, moved toward the door as the hackney jerked to a stop. Lily heard the coachman jump down and the sound of swiftly retreating footsteps told her the man had left them there, likely on purpose. She held her hand to her nose against the rancid smell of the river. Where were they? Nowhere near Grosvenor Street, that much was certain.

“Bugger this,” Ari muttered. “Stay here. Stab anyone who tries to take you.”

“Ari—.”

He kicked the hackney door open and leapt out into the night. The muffled sounds of fists hitting flesh, curses, a cry of pain, and finally a gunshot, all in the space of mere seconds, had Lily scrambling for the door, knife in hand. She leaned out to see Ari engaged in battling three large men. The voice of the largest man sounded vaguely familiar. She started to put one foot down onto the filthy cobblestones when someone appeared from the other side of the hackney.

“Hold, Miss Venable,” a cultured voice ordered. “Armed or not, you are a distraction. Damn!” The man stepped in front of her to meet one of the ruffians who had broken off from the fight. He kicked the attacker in the knee and planted him a facer so hard she heard bones crack. The villain went down screaming. When the man turned back, Lily saw his face and the glint of his guinea gold hair. Mister Carrington-Bowles . Dressed in a black cape and with all the appearance of an avenging angel.

“Good ’un, sir,” a thick voice croaked. Lily glanced over to see a large figure of a woman climb onto the coachman’s seat of the hackney. “Want I should shoot ’im?”

“Not necessary, Meg.” He gently pushed Lily back inside and closed the hackney door. “I believe Barker-Finch has this well in hand.”

“CB?” Ari gasped, as he pounded the second man against a nearby building. “What the bloody hell are you—Shite!”

“Ari!” Lily cried, as she leaned out the carriage window. The third man, the one whose voice she’d recognized raised his hand. A blade shone for a moment. Ari turned and grabbed the third man’s arm. The man he’d been punching slid down the brick face of the building and slumped over. The man with the knife gave a sharp, shrill whistle. Mister Carrington-Bowles opened the hackney door and tossed two bags on the rear-facing seat.

“Make haste, Barker-Finch. The murdering rogue just called in reinforcements. Into the carriage. Now!” He climbed in and held Lily back as she tried to see out the window. She heard one more hard blow of a fist onto flesh and suddenly Ari threw himself onto the seat beside her. He slammed the door closed and collapsed against the threadbare squabs.

“Go,” he rasped with a groan.

Mister Carrington-Bowles pounded against the wall behind the driver’s bench. “Mayfair, Meg. Quick as you may.”

“Aye, sir. Ye and the other quality best hold onta summat.” The woman shouted at the horses and the conveyance slid and skidded down the street at a terrifying pace.

“Where’d he nick you?” Mister Carrington-Bowles reached across to pull Ari’s greatcoat open.

“My back, dammit.” Ari shrugged out of his coat and flinched. Lily tugged at his sleeve and turned him gently toward her. “I am losing clothes at an alarming rate. This is my best coat.”

Lily gasped as she saw the long cut across the back of Ari’s evening jacket and shirt. Though the stain appeared black in the dim moonlight inside the carriage she realized his white shirt was stained red with blood. Her heart began to race. She glanced at Carrington-Bowles, but he did not appear overly concerned. “Is it bad?” she asked softly. She blinked back tears and fought against the raw ached in her throat.

“He’s had worse,” the handsome blond god of a man said. “We went to school together. Barker-Finch is no stranger to mayhem.” He dragged one of the bags he’d brought with him closer and fished around until he pulled out a thick square of muslin and a bottle of clear liquid. He handed them to Lily. “Soak the cloth in this and press it to the wound firmly. Not deep enough for stitches this time. We were fortunate.” He used another cloth to wipe away the blood and Lily saw the wound was long but not deep. She sighed and her shoulders sagged in relief. Mr. Carrington-Bowles squeezed her hand and smiled.

“Bloody buggering hell,” Ari shouted when Lily pressed the soaked muslin to his shoulder and back. He nearly jumped off the seat.

“Y-yelper,” she said, and forced herself to adopt a put-upon expression. Her hand against his back was firm. She dropped her knife on the seat and tucked her other hand into her pocket so he would not see how badly she was trembling.

“Care to tell me what you were doing in Limehouse after dark?” Ari asked.

“Not particularly. I had some business to attend to at a certain tavern. I heard something about an attack on a certain red-haired lady under the protection of our mutual friend Framlingwood and followed those three. Simply a matter of right place, right time, so to speak.”

“Hmmm.”

Lily knew Ari’s voice well enough to know he didn’t believe his friend’s explanation. Not completely. Neither did she. The hackney slid to a stop.

“Grosvenor Street,” the woman called out from the coachman’s box. “Put yer friends down ’ere, yer nibs?”

“Yes, Meg. Try not to awaken the entire street.” Carrington-Bowles closed his bag and stepped out of the hackney. He let down the steps and helped Ari out onto the pavement. “Keep the bottle,” he told Lily when she tried to return it to him. “Clean the wound and use that several times a day. He should be fine. Send for me if he shows signs of fever.”

“Thank you.” Lily stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “For everything.”

“Of course.” He inclined his head.

“No matter your reasons for being there, I am grateful, CB,” Ari said.

“You’re not going to kiss me too, are you?”

“I suspect Charpentier would have my head if I did.”

Carrington-Bowles laughed. “He’d have your something. I will be telling Framlingwood about this. I suspect you’ll be hearing from him. Good night, Miss Venable.” He climbed into the hackney. “St James Square, Meg.”

Slow Rutherford stood in the open doorway. “Exciting evening?” he inquired.

“You could say that,” Lily replied. “Bring some brandy, hot water, and a pot of tea to Mister Barker-Finch’s room, please.” She handed Ari’s greatcoat to the footman and put her arm around Ari’s waist as she helped him up the stairs.

“Bugger me,” Rutherford muttered as he shook out the coat and saw the long rent made by the Limehouse brawler’s knife. “Does everyone in London want to poke holes in our barrister?”

“I heard that,” Ari called over his shoulder.

Once they reached his bedchamber, Lily helped him to sit on the side of the bed. She started with his crumpled neckcloth and very carefully removed his clothing a piece at the time. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but her words refused to move past the lump in her throat. By the time Rutherford arrived with the items she’d sent for, Ari was down to his breeches alone. She had torn a strip from one of her petticoats and fastened the muslin pad soaked in Carrington-Bowles fiery medicine in place over the cut on Ari’s back.

“Do you have a nightshirt?” she went to the highboy and began to rummage through the drawers. Once she found a plain cotton nightshirt she placed it over a chair near the fire.

“Done you a nice one, sir,” Rutherford observed as he used the basin of hot water and a flannel to help Ari to bathe.

“There were three of them.” Ari’s voice, tinged with the onset of overwhelming weariness still managed to sound affronted.

“One of them was the man from the fight in the garden,” Lily said. She wandered to the fireplace and picked up the beautifully carved horse on the mantel. She stroked the silky, smooth wood and her nerves settled somewhat.” Ari and Rutherford turned as one to stare at her.

“I recognized his voice. The one you shot, Rutherford. He was limping tonight.”

“Told you I hit him,” he mumbled at Ari, who rolled his eyes. The footman toweled Ari dry and helped him into the nightshirt. He piled several pillows against the head of the bed and soon had Ari sitting up with the covers pulled to his waist.

“Thank you, Rutherford. Good night,” Lily said. “And please check all the doors and windows.”

“Will do, Miss. Wouldn’t want anyone else out for this one’s blood to make his way into the house.”

“Go away, Rutherford,” Ari said hoarsely. “You are not the least bit amusing.”

Lily prepared a cup pf tea and added a generous portion of brandy to the cup, which she held to Ari’s lips as he drank. When she put the cup on the bedside table he grasped her hand.

“I am happy you are safe, Lily. Had you been alone tonight…” His eyes were filled with pain, and somehow, she knew it wasn’t from his wound. He cared for her. A dangerous, intoxicating thought. One she could not entertain. Especially not with this night’s events and the arrival of Fanny Easterling in London. She picked up the horse from the place on the counterpane where she’d lain it.

“I wasn’t alone. Neither of us was. I don’t suppose you would tell me what these attacks are all about, would you?” He shook his head.

“Then tell me where you acquired this beautiful carving. I have never seen anything so exquisite.” He stared at the horse for a long time, and she saw his throat work with words unspoken and emotions he refused to make known.

“Nor will you ever see the like again. The horse was a gift from a young boy in Edinburgh. A boy dead now. Because I killed him.”