Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A s Drake stood near the bridge overlooking the boundary between the Serpentine and the Long Water, he was alert for any movement or shadow that might be lurking around. He wasn't taking any chances on this meeting, because he had yet to learn who he was supposed to encounter. The note he'd received had not been signed and could have come from anyone at that auction. Not only that, but word traveled fast in London considering the size of the city. It wouldn't have taken long for anyone to learn that he had gained a paramour at an exclusive gentleman's club.

The question that remained was – what did this person want?

Drake was careful not to glance behind him where Amos remained out of site, as well as the other two men who had accompanied him. A third man had remained at the townhouse to watch over things while Fleur was blessedly oblivious to this evening's activities. He didn't need to worry about her safety when he couldn't guarantee his own.

Boldly walking to the middle of the bridge at precisely eleven o'clock, he waited for something to happen. His senses told him that he wouldn't have to wait long. He had been playing this game long enough to know when someone intended to follow through on their threats. While he waited, he took a cheroot out of his coat pocket and lit it.

He'd exhaled the first plume of white smoke when a feminine purr announced, "Mr. Porter. How good to see you again."

"Miss Wilson," he returned curtly as he reluctantly turned around. "I was under the impression that I didn't have much choice."

To look at the former courtesan, one could see how she might have been alluring at one time with her dark upswept hair, but there was also a certain hard glint in her dark eyes that told of her experiences and not all of them had been kind. He would have felt pity for her if she wasn't so calculating. "I lured you here this evening because I started to consider the prospect of your… generosity toward Miss Davies, and I wonder if that might be extended?"

Money. Of course, it was always about money. And this wasn't the first time that someone had attempted to tempt Drake away from his sizeable coffers. However, it was the first time that something he actually wanted to keep was on the line.

He exhaled a plume of smoke, allowing it to filter into the lady's face. It wasn't exactly the cut direct but it proved that he wasn't one to be moved by idle threats. "I'm not sure I understand what you're saying," he drawled.

"Come now," she cajoled, waving away the cloud. "I know that you must have some sort of fascination with Miss Davies or you wouldn't have paid such a high price for her. My question is, how much more would you be willing to pay to ensure her safety?" She paused. "Or that of her dear brother?" She blinked in a coquettish way. "You know how much he means to her, don't you?"

He grinned tightly. "How is Flavian doing these days?"

"Quite well." She nodded. "I am doing my best to turn him into an exceptional lover, but I fear we have a long way to go. He is so immature." She clucked her tongue and moved closer to him. "Not like us, Mr. Porter. We have both experienced much of the world. I'm sure I am making myself clear enough now."

He lifted a brow. "Indeed. However, I have heard that your grand following has dwindled recently, most notably after the release of your memoirs."

She nearly lost her composure. However, she managed to keep herself together when she countered with, "Make no mistake. I am more than capable of gaining what I want thanks to your kind consideration during the auction. If need be, I will use it all to rip you to shreds to gain what I want."

Drake narrowed his gaze, because he knew the woman finally spoke the truth. When desperation entered the fray, it was proof there was nothing left to lose. For Miss Wilson, she had reached that point, whereas Drake had suddenly found something he didn't want to give up just yet.

He ground out the cheroot beneath his heel. "Name your price."

She smiled brilliantly. "I do enjoy a profitable discussion." She appeared to think for a moment but Drake knew it was all a ruse. He guaranteed that she had already thought of a sum the moment the auction had ended. "Shall we say another five thousand pounds?"

Drake didn't bat an eyelash. He had the blunt to cover it. What he didn't care for was her eagerness to take it off of his hands when he'd done everything to gain his wealth—by whatever means necessary.

Apparently, he wouldn't be turning over a new leaf just yet.

"I admit that you are bold."

"I can be much more," she returned coyly, but Drake wasn't interested in anything else she might have to offer. He just wanted to be rid of her. For good.

"I'll pass," he said flatly.

She frowned but didn't press the issue. Instead, she returned to the previous topic. "Once I have the funds in my possession, I can promise that both Miss Davies and her brother are free of any further obligation to me. I might even move to Paris to live out the rest of my days."

He snorted. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to do that now?"

She lifted a brow. "I will send word when I'm ready for the funds. Don't disappoint me, Mr. Porter. I can be a strong ally—or a worthy adversary. It's up to you which one you choose."

With her parting words hanging in the air, she spun around and headed into the darkness.

Drake watched until she was lost to the night and then he lit another cheroot.

It appeared he would be making one more stop.

* * *

Fleur wasn't sure what woke her, but she sat up in bed with her heart pounding in her chest. Struggling to catch her breath, she threw back the covers and stood.

Walking over to the window, she opened the pane and inhaled large gulps of the slight breeze that wafted inside the room. Although the days were still warm, the nights were starting to become cooler with the dawning autumn. Fleur had always loved the slight temperatures that the waning summer had brought to England. As she looked up at the dark sky, it showed the signs of moving storm clouds overhead. She had to appreciate the fresh scent that a new rain would bring. It cleansed all of the chimneys from their soot and the streets from the various refuse. It made everything new again.

She wished it might do the same for her. If only she could turn back the hands of time and keep her brother from going to that pub and exchanging hands with Mr. Porter none of this nightmare would have ever occurred. She would be back in Greenwich with Flavian and enjoying her students and happily oblivious to Harriette Wilson and the anger she had sent toward her brother before they were parted.

She feared for what he might be subjected to under the roof of such a woman. Fleur had been na?ve to believe she might have held a charitable nature. The sting of her betrayal still felt heavy on Fleur's chest. But she would forgive her all of her transgressions if Harriette would only look after her brother to ensure he didn't get into trouble. Fleur knew she had allowed him too many freedoms but she was afraid that he might leave her and then she wouldn't have anyone. She would be truly alone.

His faults could be laid at her feet and she would admit to every single one of them. They weren't in this mess because of her brother. They were here because of her . It had been Fleur's decision to flee in the middle of the night and go to London to escape Mr. Porter. It wasn't that she had been that terrified of what he might do, but rather how he had made her feel. She wanted to fall down into the depths of hell with him and that scared her more than words could say.

Fleur didn't know how long she stood there and allowed the cool night air to envelop her, but as she was starting to close the window and go back to bed to try to get some sleep, she glanced down at the street and gasped. Standing and observing with the lit tip of a cheroot as the only light to be had, other than the gas lamp flickering softly, was the object of her fascination. Mr. Porter was looking up at her window, as if he could see her silhouette from the other side of the curtain.

Acting on impulse, she quickly slammed the frame of the window down and rushed back to the bed. She shivered, although she couldn't say if it was from fear—or something else entirely.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she ordered herself to go to sleep, but when she heard the sound of footfalls outside of the chamber, she froze. Would he continue on, or would he dare to come in? If he had noticed her, he would know that she was awake.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for his next move.

The seconds ticked with endless torture until finally, he moved away from the door. She released a breath, but was it from relief or disappointment? It would almost be better if he would take her to his bed rather than endure this torment of wondering if or when he might decide to collect on his payment.

Unfortunately, she would never know the answers to those questions.

* * *

Light rain was pelting her window the next time Fleur opened her eyes. Her room held a soft glow, but it wasn't due to the sun that was enveloped by the clouds she'd witnessed the night before. Instead, there was a cheery fire in the grate.

And that wasn't all.

A silver dining service sat on top of the dressing table.

That caused Fleur to sit up.

Climbing out of bed, she padded over to the offering and lifted the lid to see an enticing array of delights awaiting her. Eggs, ham, fruit, scones—there was enough to tempt every pallet and she eagerly dove in. There was a pot of tea, still warm, and she poured herself a restorative cup. She sighed in delight and wondered if Mr. Porter had followed through on his promise of a cook.

She glanced toward the wardrobe and wondered if perhaps…

Fleur walked over to the large piece of furniture and opened it to reveal?—

There was nothing inside.

Her heart sank slightly but at least she had something to keep her stomach from growling.

A light knock at the door caused Fleur to spin around. She waited for Mr. Porter to stride inside with his usual commanding air, but when there was nothing but another light knock, she called out to enter.

Fleur was surprised when a young girl dressed as a maid stood over the threshold and bobbed a light curtsy. "Good morning, miss. I thought you would like to know that the modiste is here to take your measurements."

It took a moment for Fleur's brain to catch up to what was happening. She closed her mouth, knowing it had fallen open and said, "Pardon me, but—who are you?"

The girl giggled. "Beg your pardon, miss. My name is Erin. I am here to serve as your maid."

"I see…" Fleur cleared her throat. "Is there anyone else here?"

"Oh, yes!" The girl's face broke out into a wide grin. "There is Mrs. Bright, the cook and Mrs. Honeywell, the housekeeper. Not to mention the excitement from the new furnishings and?—"

That was when Fleur's ears picked up the commotion going on beyond the door. "New furnishings?" She knew she was sounding as though she had escaped from Bedlam, but Fleur couldn't fathom that Mr. Porter would allow all of these people intruding on his personal solitude, traipsing in and out of a house that he had not dared to turn into any semblance of a home. However, all of that seemed to be changing today.

And she could feel her cheeks warm, because she knew she was the reason for it all.

She hugged herself. "Is Mr. Porter in?"

Erin bobbed her head. "He's in his study."

With an acknowledging incline of her head, Fleur started to head for the door, but before she could make her escape, Erin said, "I was told that you were to stay in your chamber until the modiste arrived and you could be properly attired," Erin noted.

Fleur had to wonder exactly what the maid knew. Crossing her arms, Fleur asked, "Do you know the… situation between Mr. Porter and myself?"

"I don't ask questions, miss," the maid said promptly. "I am the sole of prudence should anyone ask it of me. I have never been prone to gossip. I actually abhor it."

"And the rest of the staff?" Fleur prompted. "Are they the same?"

"Indeed. The master was very clear when he came to the agency personally this morning. He needed immediate help and would pay well if discretion and punctuality were strong virtues."

"I see." Fleur was astonished that Mr. Porter had managed to put together a modest, but functioning staff in a matter of hours but she supposed money spoke volumes.

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of a buxom woman wearing the finest fashion and a look that promised no nonsense. She breezed into the room with two other women on her heels and made a complete circle around Fleur, muttering to herself as she did so. "You will be a diamond when I am finished with you," she clucked firmly.

Fleur was about to tell her that she didn't want to be anything more than simply dressed but the woman was already barking out orders to her assistants and so she fell silent and allowed herself to be poked and prodded for the next two hours.

Once the modiste was finished, she handed a gown to the maid. "Your master was quite accurate of his description of his lady. This should fit her like a new glove." She turned to face Fleur. "My ladies will work all day and night just for you. Your fabulous wardrobe will be ready for you first thing tomorrow."

"That's not necessary. I'm more than happy to wait?—"

"No," the modiste waved a hand. "Mr. Porter was most insistent that you were properly dressed with the finest items from my shop. And he has paid me handsomely to see it done."

She was out the door in the same whirlwind manner in which she'd entered. It was enough to make Fleur's head spin.

"Would you like to get dressed?" Erin held up the ivory dress with an expectant look, as if Fleur couldn't wait to get outfitted in the satin garment.

Instead, Fleur was eager to speak to Mr. Porter. When she had asked for gowns, she hadn't intended for him to engage in the expensive services of a personal modiste to do it.

Unless this was his way of starting their affair.

She swallowed nervously, not sure if she was prepared to follow through with her commitment but knowing she had no choice if she wanted to remain in his good graces. In that regard, she would willingly oblige, because something told her it wasn't wise to be on Mr. Porter's bad side.

Fleur was patient as Erin styled her hair into a becoming chignon and assisted her into her new gown and undergarments that had also been provided. By the time she was laced into the corset and donned the petticoats and silk stockings, Fleur donned her old boots. It made her feel ridiculous to have such finery intertwined with her worn, scuffed shoes, but it was enough of a contrast that it gave her the courage to head downstairs to confront Mr. Porter in his study.

The door was open, so she walked inside. He had his cap on and was bent over a ledger, scribbling on the page. He seemed intent on his task but when he heard her enter, he glanced up and looked her up and down. "We shall outfit you in shoes and visit the millinery once the rest of your gowns arrive." He promptly went back to his ledger, as if she were dismissed.

Stalking to the desk, she set both of her palms on top. "When I asked to be outfitted properly, I didn't mean to empty London of all their material. A few simple dresses were perfectly fine so I didn't have to keep wearing that shirt."

His gaze flicked up at her, the silver piercing as always. "You find fault with your new wardrobe?"

She sighed. "I don't want to seem ungrateful but surely you can see it is too much. I am not a member of the ton , and I find it unnecessary to dress in such high fashion. I'm not even part of the demimonde ." She straightened. "At this point, I'm not a courtesan. I am just a common Englishwoman."

He was silent for a moment, and then he returned his pen to the inkwell. Leaning back in his chair, he set his arms on either side. To the casual onlooker, he appeared perfectly at ease, but Fleur could feel the tension coiled up inside of him because it was always present—like a snake preparing to strike. "You are anything but common, Miss Davies, and perhaps it was my choice to attire you thus because it pleases me to see you outfitted like a duchess."

"But why? I am nothing to you but a prize you won, the sister of the man who owes you a large debt."

His nostrils flared slightly. "If you believe that, Miss Davies, you aren't as perceptive as I originally believed."

* * *

Drake wasn't in the habit of telling anyone how he felt, but surely, she could see that she was more than just a means to an end, more than an object of desire, but something else he couldn't dare understand. All he knew was that he wanted to keep her safe, and after his second meeting last night, those wheels had already been set into motion. Amos's son, Devon, would soon be part of his household, not just to keep an eye on Miss Davies when Drake wasn't around but to ensure that the rest of his staff were innocent of any foul deeds.

It was strange to have so many people under his roof. For years he'd always preferred his privacy and solitude. However, he no longer had his own comfort to oversee. Until he parted ways with Miss Davies, he had to make some adjustments. He might not have foreseen them at the time he had attended that auction, but then, he had attended because of this absurd fascination he had with her.

"What is the purpose of this finery if I'm to be confined inside this house?"

His attention returned to the matter at hand. He got to his feet and rounded the desk. He was impressed that she stood her ground and didn't shy away from him like so many others did. Not only did his reputation proceed him but he had intimidation down to an art. He'd spent years perfecting the persona that he portrayed to the world. There were times he wasn't sure he could ever be the man he once was again.

He decided it was better that way. Mr. Porter was feared and respected. Both were qualities that had served him well in this life.

"I have been thinking that we might attend some gatherings together."

Her green eyes narrowed slightly and she tilted her black head slightly. She made such a charming picture that he nearly acted on his lustful impulses and dragged her into his arms for a passionate kiss. "What sort of gatherings? If it is another boxing match, I'm quite content to remain here."

"Not quite," he smirked. "I was thinking more along the lines of the opera. And perhaps Vauxhall."

She blinked. "You make it sound as though we are embarking on a courtship."

He mirrored her pose by tilting his head. "I hadn't considered it in those terms but consider it however you prefer. You wanted a chance to experience something other than the same four walls. I'm giving you that opportunity."

She shook her head in obvious bewilderment. "I don't understand why you would go to so much trouble when you have already won my body."

Reaching out a hand, he grasped her chin lightly with his thumb and forefinger. "It isn't just your body I intend to own. But your very soul."

He saw her swallow. "You sound as if you are the devil preparing to drag me to hell."

"I have been called as much," he murmured, his head dipping toward her lips. "But I can assure you that you would find nothing but paradise in my arms."

He held her gaze captive, his innermost thoughts temporarily revealed. For an endless span of time they didn't speak, just looked into each other's eyes, trying to ascertain what it was they wanted from this arrangement. Considering the awareness that swirled around them, it was obvious that they were both in agreement when it came to desire. Drake had no doubt that they would have a satisfying sexual relationship, but once he took that step, what then? He had dared to allow another woman the power over him and he'd nearly perished because of it. Although something told him that Miss Davies was different than her predecessor, he wasn't going to rush into anything blindly, where he would be betrayed again.

One mistake was quite enough.

He didn't wish to make another.