Chapter Nine

J owan's detour and the time he'd spent copying out the verses had taken longer than he'd expected. Bran was already at the hotel and waiting eagerly to tell him about their disappointment.

They had, as planned, hidden themselves to watch Coombe take his young victim into a brothel that catered to those attracted to young boys. After that, nothing went to plan.

It transpired that the youthful peer was not nearly as drunk or drugged as Coombe believed. He very quickly realized the main business of the house and lost his temper. The Wakefield agent who was inside the house said the more Coombe tried to charm his mark into a better mood, the louder the man became.

Hearing the shouting, the viscount's uncle, who had insisted on coming along but had promised not to interfere, forgot his promises and raced into the building to rescue his nephew. That led to more shouting, as the uncle explained his presence by telling the young man, at full volume, everything Wakefield had found out about Coombe's habit of inveigling young men into his orbit and then keeping them there with drugs, alcohol, sex, and blackmail.

Wakefield sent in the constables he'd alerted to the practices happening in the house, but the proprietor and her stock had taken alarm at the noise and left by a secret exit in the cellar. With nothing to show what happened in the building, the constables could do nothing. Coombe declared that he and his friend had accidentally arrived at the wrong house, and no one could prove otherwise.

"Wakefield says they have nothing that will stand up in court," Bran explained. "On the good side, the viscount didn't believe Coombe any more than we did. He went home with his uncle."

He took a sip of the brandy Jowan had poured for him. "I hope you did better."

"I don't know," Jowan said. "I saw Tamsyn but didn't speak to her. On the other hand, she sent me a message. The Ballad of Tam Lin ."

" The Ballad of Tam Lin ?" Bran frowned. "That's it? That's the message?"

"Not the whole of it. Apparently, Mac knows."

Bran's frown deepened. "Who is Mac? And what does he know?"

Jowan sighed. "I have no idea. But I did find the lyrics of the ballad. Two ballads, actually. The biggest bookshop I've ever seen had books with them inside, and they sold me writing materials to make copies." He picked up the sheets and passed them to Bran.

"She wants to be rescued," Bran commented. "It's the same story, only with Coombe as the elf king and her as his prisoner."

"And me as the fair Janet," Jowan agreed, with a grimace. He didn't much like the casting. "That's what I figured, but I wondered if I was reading my own desires into it."

"I don't think so." Bran grimaced. "Jowan, Wakefield says that Coombe is known to use drugs to keep his victims compliant. Opium, ether, alcohol, magic mushroom. Other stuff, too, that he brought back with him from his travels. Hashish and more. Once people are slaves to the drugs, they will do anything, he says, for a dose. Your Tamsyn might be past saving."

"I can't accept that," Jowan said. "I have to try. The question is how to get close enough. She is always guarded."

"I can think of a few more questions. How will you take her, yes. Also, where will you take her? Coombe will claim she is under contract, or she is his ward, or some other relationship exists that means you are breaking the law."

Jowan nodded. "You make good points."

"I have more. What will you do once you have her? If she needs the drugs to survive, will you provide them? And where will you get them?"

"I need more information," Jowan decided.

"We can take Drew into our confidence," Bran suggested. "Possibly Wakefield, too. Probably Wakefield. He really, really does not like Coombe."

"You will help me, then?" Jowan asked. Bran hadn't sounded at all enthusiastic.

"Of course," Bran told him. "You need to do this. At the moment, you are stuck. If it turns out to be a disaster, at least, you will know."

*

Guy returned from his afternoon excursion in an evil temper. By the time he sent for Tammie, the whole house knew he had been crossed in some way, and would be dangerously unpredictable until he had calmed down.

"Sing for me," he demanded when she entered the room; it stank of brandy. A quick scan showed a decanter that had been hurled into the—fortunately empty—fireplace with sufficient force to shatter it. The broken remnants of a vase showed it must also have offended Guy in some way.

He had a footman on his knees, the man's arm twisted up behind his back. Who knew what the poor man's sin was? Guy always required perfection and was impossibly particular when angry.

"Sing!" Guy bellowed, making Tammie jump.

She opened her mouth and began belting out the first song she thought of—the silly ditty about the barmaid she'd amused an audience with earlier this afternoon, but she knew before she got to the chorus that it was the wrong choice. Guy didn't want to hear about excuses for poor service.

The music at the front of her mind was the ballad with her hope of escape, and that would never do. She had to think fast, and the laudanum she'd taken when she arrived home was casting a fog over her mind. Fortunately, one occurred to her before Guy could take out his impatience on her.

Ah! That would do. A remarkably filthy song about a sailor Guy had enjoyed teaching her when she was still a shy virgin. When she was still Tamsyn, who hadn't understood most of the references or a lot of the words.

She began to belt it out, surprising Guy into a smirk when he realized what she was singing. The tension went out of him as she sang verse after verse, interspersed with the highly suggestive chorus. The risk was that she'd arouse him, but he had a new pet, a little violinist he was personally coaching, so he'd probably call for her, and sure enough, after ten or more verses, he was fondling his crotch and calling for a footman to fetch Miss Tempest.

Hadn't he been more charming and less offensive when Tamsyn first met him? Or had the naive girl just been too stupid to see what he was like? Perhaps he no longer made an effort when Tammie was his main audience.

Certainly, he stopped rubbing himself as Miss Tempest hurried into the room, her face eager. "Guy? You sent for me?"

"Deidre, darling," he cooed. "I am upset. Won't you play for me? That's enough, Miss Lind. Miss Tempest will soothe me now. Everyone else, get out."

Tamsyn was only too glad to obey.

The following day, Guy had talked himself—or more probably screwed himself—into a more cheerful mood. He decreed his entourage would once again make a display at Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. Miss Tempest would ride alongside him, while Miss Lind rode near the back.

Miss Tempest, foolish girl, stuck her tongue out at Tammie when Guy turned his back. Tammie swept her a full-court curtsey in response, which had Miss Tempest furrowing her brow as she tried to work out whether or not she had been insulted.

Was it worth trying to talk to the girl, to tell her what Guy was truly like? Tammie felt that she ought to, even if she was punished for it. On the other hand, Miss Tempest was unlikely to listen any more than Tamsyn would have in the beginning, when Guy was exerting his full charm to ensorcel her.

The two cases were different. Tamsyn had taken two years to allow Guy to bed her, whereas Miss Tempest had been in Guy's bed from the day he'd brought her home. That, though, made it more likely the girl would not hear anything against him.

But, from what Tammie had heard, Deidre Tempest was a much tougher female than Tamsyn had been. The shy country girl sent away against her wishes had few defenses against Guy's persuasion and manipulations.

Only her love for Jowan had kept her from submitting to Guy for the two years it took to accept that Jowan was not going to even reply to her letters, let alone come looking for her. Later, of course, she realized Guy had kept their correspondence from reaching one another.

La Tempest was a city child, born to a stage dancer, raised in London theaters, and orphaned since she was thirteen. She'd made her way doing odd jobs until she'd gained enough skill with the violin to join the theatre's orchestra.

Unlike Tamsyn, who had been sold by her mother, Deidre had sold herself, placing herself in front of Guy, demanding an audition, and impressing Guy enough that he had signed a contract with her then and there, and brought her home. Who seduced whom was an open question.

Did Deidre mean to take Tammie's place as Guy's princess? She was welcome to it, but Tammie still felt she should warn the girl about the likely costs.

The company was turning in through the gates to Hyde Park, riding four abreast. They split into two columns to pass an open carriage, and Tammie nodded and smiled at the ladies and the gentleman in the carriage. One of the ladies waved, but the others looked as if they had swallowed something sour.

The procession was having the intended effect. People looked, even if they refused to acknowledge the riders. Gentlemen on their own hailed Guy and well-born members of his entourage, as did some ladies. A few gentlemen even waved at some of Guy's musicians and singers.

But even those who pretended Guy and his people did not exist altered their course around the group of riders. And those of the lower sort had no hesitation in enjoying the display, waving and calling out. Several boys ran along beside the horses.

Tammie imagined Guy's pleasure at the response, though he was too far ahead for her to see his face. Nonetheless, she felt her tension ease. Nobody in his household or his wider orbit could relax when Guy was out of sorts.

They did a complete circuit around the park's main ride. Tammie wished they would hurry. The craving had started, reminding her it was time for another dose of laudanum—Guy continued to allow her enough to prevent the worst of the suffering of going without, and not enough to fully immerse herself in the dreams.

She shifted uncomfortably, glad they were once again approaching the gate on the way home. The craving had, as always, started as an itch at the back of her mind, but was now beginning to crawl over her body.

She looked around again, hoping for a distraction. A man stepped out from the shelter of several trees and removed his hat. Jowan! He was looking directly at Tammie, and she could not prevent her smile. A quick look around suggested that no one had noticed.

She turned her eyes back to Jowan. He was still watching. He nodded, his face still and his gaze intent. Had he received her message? Did he know she was a prisoner of the elf king? She returned the nod, then tore her attention away before someone in the company remarked on her interest.

She tried to tell herself that Jowan would rescue her, but hope was too precious, too pure for the likes of her. He had only to ask in theatrical circles and he would soon know that Tamsyn was lost beyond redemption, and Tammie was too corrupted, too broken to save.