Chapter 25

January 17, 1872

Last Wednesday

Corbin's jaw sagged as he watched Io disappear into a scrofulous shack two streets away from the waterfront, a structure that even he would hesitate to enter alone.

Very few things or people in life rendered Corbin speechless, but Lady Io Hale was one of those people who did it without even trying.

Last Tuesday, after she had confided her painful past to him, Corbin had hoped their relationship was heading in a new, more emotionally intimate, direction.

That hope had been bolstered when Io had shown up the following day—their Wednesday—and they had fallen into bed and made love and talked and made love again and then talked some more. By the time they had left room 320, Corbin had been more optimistic than he'd felt in ages.

They had not spoken during the week, of course, but whenever Corbin had stolen glances at her at dinner or breakfast, he'd caught her peeking back at him.

Everything appeared to be going so well.

And then today, this happened.

Io had not done anything this reckless for weeks. But suddenly, an hour ago, she had sneaked out the side entrance of Hastings House and only by chance had one of the footmen—Nathan, an uppity Londoner Corbin did not care for—come directly to Corbin as Hastings was tied up with Parliamentary duties.

Corbin had been damned fortunate that he'd been able to catch up to her before she disappeared.

He'd been furious and terrified when his cab had followed her down to the docks just in time to see her stroll—just as careless and heedless as ever—into a nasty-looking building.

"Wot next, guv?" the London cabbie asked, interrupting his roiling thoughts.

"Do you know what sort of business is in that building?" he asked.

The driver shrugged. "Jes some shippin' ‘ouse."

Shipping? What was she—Corbin groaned. Condoms. That must be what she was about.

He chewed the inside of his cheek; should he march in there and drag her out?

He winced at the thought of the scene she would cause.

Corbin glanced around them. There was nowhere unobtrusive to wait, and he could hardly ask the man to keep his horse standing in such frigid weather. "I want to keep an eye on that building. Just drive back and forth, keeping it in sight, until that lady comes back out."

***

Io glowered at the man across from her, deeply displeased. "Mr. Gordon said you would handle all legal requirements. The crates my associates were offered when they came to retrieve them this morning had no customs stamps. These people traveled a long way and at great expense to collect the promised shipment. Now they will need to make another journey. Not only that, but I suspect that you have implicated me in criminal activity by avoiding paying the proper duties, Mr. Branson."

Branson, a skinny, pockmarked weasel of a man, just smirked and shrugged. "It ain't up to me, is it?"

"That is not what you said when we made this agreement," she retorted sharply. "Now, I am here to arrange for yet another delivery date—this time with the proper customs stamps."

Again he shrugged. "Too late. I already sold that batch."

"What? You had them this morning!"

"I did then. But now they be gone. You want the next shipment comin', or not?"

Io ground her teeth to keep from giving him the sharp edge of her tongue. Although it nearly killed her, she politely said, rather than yelled, "Of course, I want them. As long as they go through the proper channels."

He stared for a long moment and then said. "Fine. But that will cost extra."

"How much extra?"

"The same again."

"Double?"

"Aye."

"That is outrageous!"

"You needn't buy ‘em."

Io dearly wanted to turn around and walk out of this odious swine's office, but that would only mean more delays.

And so she forced herself to ask, "When will you have them?"

"I dunno, ‘zackly. I'll send word to Gordon when they come in—jes like last time." He chuckled. "But after they've gone through the proper channels," he said, doing a fair job of mocking her accent.

"See that you do." Io reached into her bag and took out the money she'd counted out at home—money that should have bought a second batch of condoms—and tossed the packet onto his cluttered desk. "It's all there. But feel free to count it," she added when his none-too-clean hand reached for the money.

He halted at her snide words, his eyes narrowing in a way that suddenly reminded her she was alone in his office. "Naw, a lady like you would never cheat such a man as me, eh?"

She snorted, sliding her hand unobtrusively into her satchel and closing her fingers around the handle of the pistol she had pilfered from her brother's gunroom, just in case she had need of it. "When can I expect the shipment? A day? A week? A month?" she demanded, keeping her hand in the bag.

Branson lolled in his seat, leering up at her in a way that sorely tempted her to shoot him. "Next week sometime. You tell ‘em I'll only make the delivery at night the next time."

"At night," she repeated flatly, not liking the thought of anyone coming to this slimy office to meet this slimy man at any time, most certainly at night.

"Aye. At night," he repeated with more iron in his voice. "Your sort showin' up ‘ere in broad daylight ain't the type o' attention I need."

Of course, he would say that. "Fine," Io snapped, eager to get away from. Also eager to get to her Wednesday rendezvous. She would already be late as it was. And Corbin would grill her, no doubt.

Io slammed the door behind her and then looked up the street for the cabbie she'd told to return in a quarter of an hour, pleased when it came rolling up just as she stepped away from the house.

Io was squinting up at the driver; he did not look the same.

The cab door flew open, and a hand shot out and clamped around her upper arm.

"Get in!" Corbin hissed at her, yanking her inside none too gently. He pushed her into the seat across from him before slamming the door.

"What in the name of hell are you doing down here, Io? I thought we came to an understanding weeks ago about you leaving without taking—"

"I don't recall any such understanding!" Io lashed back, her heart still pounding from the shock he'd just given her. But that shock quickly turned to fury. "And just what are you doing following me again, Masterson? Because I thought we'd come to an understanding about that."

"Answer me, dammit."

Io flinched back from the anger in his tone. "Who do you think—"

He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. "Do you not recall what almost happened to you in the Five Points? This part of London is every bit as bad."

Io jerked away from him—or tried to, but he held her for a moment, making her feel his greater strength before allowing her to slip free.

"What I want to do is manage my affairs without anyone interfering. I refuse to live in fear of what some man might do. And that includes you, Corbin."

A vein pulsed in his temple and he glared for a long moment, chewing the inside of his cheek, doubtless to keep from losing his temper.

Io had never seen him quite so…unhinged.

"What was it you went to do inside that building?" he asked in a firm but cool voice after a long, unpleasant silence, his expression stern and unrelenting.

Io ignored him and crossed her arms, turning away to stare out the window at the slate-gray afternoon. There had been no new snow for weeks, but the weather had been brutally cold and the nasty grayish-black crust that seemed to cover every surface refused to melt.

"Are you going to answer me, Io?"

"What I was doing in there is none of your concern."

Oh, Io. Why not just tell him?

"I beg to differ." Something that looked almost like desperation flickered across his severe features, but it was gone before she could be sure.

But the one emotion that she did recognize was his obvious effort to rein in his temper.

"Right now is a delicate time for your brother. He is—" Masterson broke off, his jaw flexing. "He is forming associations that will make a great deal of difference for him in the years ahead."

"You mean he is forming alliances in Parliament so that his banks may receive the most beneficial treatment."

His face hardened. "That is not the only issue of interest to him."

"Oh? Tell me one single matter that interests my brother that doesn't involve making money?"

"If you want an answer to that you can ask him yourself and I am sure he will gladly tell you. But all that is beside the point."

"What is your point? That I should stop pursuing my goals—stop fulfilling promises I've made to people in New York and here—and instead pursue a flirtation with one of the fools I am forced to see and speak with at every ton function? Perhaps Lord Danvers? He has shown a marked interest in me. I daresay he could be persuaded to offer marriage with very little effort on my part. Is that the sort of activity you would prefer I pursue?"

"Danvers is a fool and—"

"Ah, but he is a marquess and can trace his family tree back to the Conquest. Probably back to the Bible. Not as far as Adam and Eve, perhaps, but—"

"Neither I nor your brother are saying you should marry," Masterson seethed.

"Danvers is said to be one of the catches of the Season," Io went on.

"All I am saying," Masterson continued grimly, "is that for the first year, if you could comport yourself more as a—"

"If you say lady, I shall scream."

He clamped his jaws shut and glared.

Io could not take his censure one moment longer. "For your information, I might have gone to that scoundrel's office alone today, but the money I gave him came from none other than Viscountess Kendrick and the Duchess of Malverton"—Io nodded at his look of disbelief. "Yes, Malverton. While the paragon of the ton is drinking tea with ladylike Edith, she is slipping me donations under the table. Unsolicited donations, by the way."

Masterson's shock was like a fine wine and Io savored it.

"Does this have to do with—"

"Contraception and prophylactics," she finished for him. "Yes."

"But…the Duke of Malverton has—"

"Supported legislation that would make the sale or distribution of contraceptive devices if not illegal, then certainly close to impossible for most women to access," she finished. "Especially poor, powerless ones." Her eyes narrowed. "I must admit the duchess's motives are not entirely altruistic."

"What do you mean?"

She scoffed. "Oh, come now. Despite His Grace's disgusting taste for virgins the man still keeps two mistresses mounted, visits brothels, and has managed to infect his wife with syphilis—along with a great many other women, I should imagine."

Masterson's jaw shifted from side to side as he masticated on the matter. "That is a subject—"

"Which subject? Whores? Syphilis? His Grace's myriad mistresses? Or purchasing virgins?" Io goaded, not letting him answer before adding, "Let me guess: you were going to say they are all subjects that are unfit for ladies?"

"As it turns out," he said acidly, "you do not yet know everything I am thinking. It will surprise you to learn that what I was about to say before you interrupted me was that the Duke of Malverton's unsavory engagement in the virgin trade is a subject your brother and like-minded men in Parliament are determined to bring an end to."

"I am surprised to hear that," Io wasn't ashamed to admit. "It is yet one more reason I am increasingly fond of my oldest sibling. It also makes it all the more curious as to why you disapprove of what I am doing so fiercely."

"It is your methods I disapprove of." He regarded her steadily before adding. "As I think you well know, as much as you seem to derive amusement from accusing me of possessing the social opinions of a cave dweller."

Io snorted at the image of proper Corbin Masterson living in a cave with his tidy three-piece suits and meticulous ledgers.

"What is so amusing?"

"Nothing," she lied. "As for the other matters you mentioned—brothels, mistresses, and disease—I daresay my brother will not be addressing any of those matters with his like-minded Parliamentarians. No, those are all jealously guarded privileges of males of all classes, but most especially the wealthiest ones." She paused and amended. "Well, not the diseases, but the unfettered access to female bodies."

"And do you count me among that number, my lady?"

"I don't know, Masterson. Have you visited a brothel? Employed a mistress?" She snorted at the color that darkened his cheeks and directed her disappointed gaze back to the window. "Never mind. Don't answer that," she said.

"Ah, I see."

She turned at the sound of his bitter words. "And what do you see?"

"You have already sat as judge, jury, and executioner on my character."

She crossed her arms. "Are you telling me you have not treated women as commodities you can purchase—like a pound of nails from a mercantile or a loaf of bread from a baker?"

"Aren't you the woman who said—and I quote—men are only good for one thing and most of them are not even good for that?"

"You know I said it because I said it to your face, Masterson. What of it?"

"Men are all the same to you. Different faces and bodies but the person inside them is interchangeable." He suddenly leaned forward, his mask of cool civility sliding off to reveal molten intensity. "Isn't it treating men as commodities—things that are only good for a fuck—to espouse an opinion like that?"

Io jolted at the crude word. Masterson almost never cursed, which made it all the more startling.

"Tell me, Io," he said, his voice so low she had to lean forward to hear him over the sound of the hansom wheels. "How would you have reacted if I'd said that women were only good for sex?"

Shame, as sharp as a slap, caused Io to flinch back.

He gave a slight nod and then turned to look out the window, leaving her to her unwanted thoughts.

If he had said something like that you would have clawed his eyes out.

That was true; she would have.

"I told the driver to take us to the hotel," Masterson said. "If you'd rather go home to Hastings House, speak now and I will tell him to change direction."

When she did not immediately answer, he turned to her.

Io studied his expression, searching for clues as to his thoughts. After a moment, she gave up looking. "I do not wish to go home. But neither do I want to be harangued about what I was doing today."

His jaw flexed and he nodded. "Very well. No haranguing."

Tell him why you went alone today! Tell him!

Io clamped her jaws shut. She did not owe him, or anyone else, excuses for what she did.

You will regret not telling him…

"The reason I didn't bring Moira today is because she had already left on her half-day when I received the message to go to the docks. As for why I didn't bring a footman—or take one of my brother's carriages?" She snorted. "Well, I should think that would be obvious, Masterson. It would be damned difficult to explain to one of my brother's servants why I was headed to Boynton Hotel, wouldn't it? Or," she added, "I suppose there is a third option: I could have just missed our meeting this week. In any event, that is why I behaved recklessly and chose to take a cab."

He regarded her levelly but did not respond.

Io turned away from him with a huff and stared out the window.

Not another word was exchanged between them until they reached Room 320.