Chapter 22

Thatcher House Ball

" B ree?" Thomas Walsh whispered from the hedgerow below the terrace.

"Yes, I'm here," Briana replied as she climbed down the wall and jumped to the ground beside her cousin. They stood in the shadows of the darkened gardens.

"How the devil did you manage such a feat wearing that diaphanous gown?" Thomas asked, peering up at the wall before turning back to her.

"With a fair amount of practice," Briana replied.

"You have it then?"

"Yes, the entire collection." Briana handed over a parure set of matching sapphire necklace, brooch, bracelet and earrings.

"Well, you took your damned time about it," Thomas huffed as he slipped the valuables into his satchel.

"I had no time to escape before Lady Thatcher and Lord Jersey appeared in her boudoir. They fell upon one another like rabid dogs and all I could do was patiently wait until they were finished, if you understand my meaning."

"Lord Jersey and Lady Thatcher are carrying on a tryst? Are they not married... to other people?"

"Indeed, for about a year now. However, their assignation is tame in comparison to some of the sordid liaisons I have witnessed whilst hiding in ton bedchambers."

"Is it not strange how nobles can appear so bloody proper, yet behind closed doors they're fornicating like wild rabbits?" Thomas said.

"That is precisely why I intend never to marry any of them."

Thomas grinned. "Wise choice, my dearest cousin. We cannot have the rotten blighters tainting our impoverished merchant bloodlines! Now, you had best return before your cantankerous chaperone misses you."

"Indeed. Guard them with your life, Thomas, until I can arrange a safe handover."

"Please be careful, Bree. I truly do not like any of this. Surely this has gone far enough—we should take it to the authorities."

"No! Promise me you will not interfere. The earl's influence stretches far beyond the ton and into prison walls. But this is the last of it for tomorrow I cut all ties with the earl. Everything is now in place. My clientele is slowly growing and soon the establishment will take notice."

“Bree, your new clientele is made up of prostitutes, ex-pirates and lunatic asylum inmates. I doubt the establishment is ready to welcome you with open arms.”

“Cease talking, Thomas. I’m beginning to find your voice grating on my nerves.”

"Very well. Me and my irritating voice know when we’ve overstayed our welcome. By the by, will you be attending the theatre tomorrow night?"

"I apologize, I cannot. I promised to assist Betsy Fry in distributing prison pamphlets at Covent Garden."

"Of all the causes in the world! Why could you not have joined a crocheting society? The worst they do is knit scarves for babies."

"You know as well as I do, I cannot knit."

"More's the pity. That do-gooder Elizabeth Fry has much to answer for, taking up so much of your time."

Briana became defensive. "Betsy Fry is a beacon of change for London. Mark my words, her social reform shall go down in history long after we're all dead and buried."

Thomas snorted. "Well, if you're not careful, you'll be both, way before your time. Please, cousin, I urge you to end this now. I'd hate to see that lovely neck of yours swinging from the gallows at Newgate."

"Do not fret, Thomas. I shall be cautious."

"Fair warning: if you are caught, I shall feign all knowledge of your existence. 'Never seen this tart before in my life, Your Honor,' shall be my catchcry," Thomas whispered. He winked at her then disappeared into the darkness.

Briana shook her head and made her way to her next destination. Once there, she began her climb to a secret terrace where she could re-enter the ballroom unseen. She cleared the top and hoisted herself and her diaphanous gown over the balustrade. Unfortunately, it was the most unladylike display as she toppled over the other side, her dress riding up to her thigh, flashing stockings, buttocks, and a fair amount of nudity—right before she slammed into what felt like a very hard wall.

"MISS WALSH! NORMAL people tend to use the stairs," a deep voice rumbled.

Briana regained her balance, quickly pushed her skirts back down, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Of course, the one person she had the misfortune of encountering on the only discreet terrace was none other than Lord Victor Cambridge, the most disagreeable man of her acquaintance. The worst part was that now her best friend Caitlin was happily married to Lucas, their paths crossed more often than Briana cared to count.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head to behold a gorgeous, well-built man glaring down at her, his jaw clenched. He towered over her, arms casually placed upon his hips, feet slightly spaced apart. Briana thought it tragic that such a handsome specimen could become so disagreeable upon opening his enormous, overly opinionated mouth. It was bad enough that his brawl on Rotten Row made the scandal sheets further ostracising her among the ton. She braced herself for the altercation she knew would follow.

"I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not see you there. What a rare delight," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm. Briana gave a slight nod and moved to bypass him, hoping to prevent further conversation and embarrassment. But Victor blocked her path.

"A rare delight indeed. Might I enquire why you felt the need to skulk about in the dark, climbing walls in a ball gown?" He looked over the side and stepped away. "Good Lord, woman, how did you manage such a height in slippers?"

"With a fair amount of difficulty, my lord. But it was the shortest route from the supper room to the ballroom, and I decided to take it."

Victor whipped his head back to her and fixed her with his piercing gaze once more. He raked his eyes over her from head to toe. Briana knew it was only to find fault, as usual. Long gone was the passionate warmth they had shared months ago, and ever since she had caught him speaking so ill of her to Lords Faville and Buckley, she refused to delude herself that he saw her as his equal. Not to mention she had seen him escorting several beautiful women about town. Briana could feel nothing but his censure from a mile away.

Victor said, "That is most singular. I do not know any woman of my acquaintance who would scale a terrace wall to find a more suitable route."

"Well, congratulations to all the women of your acquaintance. If you will excuse me—"

"No, I shall not," Victor replied, once again stepping in her way and blocking her escape.

Briana was fast losing her patience. She merely huffed and waited for what she knew was coming. Now she wished she had not worn such a tight gown that displayed a touch too much cleavage. For she noticed Victor's gaze lingered upon her chest, then languidly made its way to her throat until pausing at her lips. His eyes snapped up to hers as he growled, "Were you alone down there... in the garden?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, feeling rather wary.

"I asked you a direct question, Miss Walsh. Were you alone in the garden where you took your short cut? Or were you meeting a gentleman below stairs? I have noticed many male suitors pursuing you these past months, and I urge you to act with propriety."

Briana kept her breathing steady. She worried that perhaps he had seen Thomas and knew the jig was up. She was scrambling for an answer when he continued.

"A woman of good breeding does not venture alone in the dark lest they be compromised. You, of all people, should know that. I trust you were not arranging an assignation with a gentleman—one I may have to call out," Victor said, glaring down at her.

IT WAS brIANA'S TURN to frown in confusion. She wondered what the devil he was about. And what did he mean about noticing her male suitors? Why should he have to call anyone out on her behalf? Then she realized what he truly meant with his use of the word 'skulk' and the term 'good breeding'—namely, that she lacked the latter.

And there it is, Briana thought. That usual condescending tone she had grown accustomed to from entitled members of the ton. Briana would not have a bar of it. Her confusion turned to anger.

"I may be a commoner, Lord Victor, but I can assure you, I do not skulk. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my friends before I am missed."

Victor's expression shifted as he clenched his jaw. "Miss Walsh, you mistake me. I did not mean to imply—"

"You most certainly did imply that I lack good breeding, my lord. The least you can do is own it. Good evening to you." With that, Briana stepped around him and took two paces before she yelped in surprise, for Victor had clasped her arm and pulled her back before she could reach for the door handle.

"Do not walk away from me when we are in the midst of an argument!" he growled.

"Do not presume to tell me what to do. Now unhand me," she hissed.

Victor released her arm but continued to glare at her. "I apologize if you read more into my words than intended. I am merely concerned for your welfare. Should anything untoward happen to you due to your rather unusual behavior, you would be ruined, Miss Walsh."

"I understand your concern, but I can assure you, my lord, I am not carrying on an illicit affair in the dark with some unknown gentleman you feel the need to call out. Be that as it may, even were I to do so, it would certainly be none of your concern!"

Victor moved with startling swiftness then, and had her backing against the wall. This time his lips were mere inches from hers when he replied, "Miss Walsh, I see you choose to misconstrue my meaning at every turn. So let me make myself perfectly clear. If any man were to compromise you without the benefit of marriage, or cause you harm in any way, it would most certainly be my concern, because I would kill them with my bare hands!" he growled.

Briana stilled, for she was standing far too close for comfort now, and lord, did he smell divine as always. It was a heady mixture of bergamot and cognac. Good grief, she had to admit she still missed him. She missed their stolen kisses and the easy rapport they once shared. She had even clung to every scrap of news she could glean from Caitlin, forever worried about his safety, wondering whether any attempts had been made upon his life.

Damn him, but Victor had to admit he missed her. Her mere presence hit him with full force, and the thought of Briana Walsh having a secret meeting with a gentleman in the gardens, or trading stolen kisses as she once had with him, made him see red. Briana Walsh had featured in every single erotic dream since they had parted that fateful morning months ago. Her joy, her anger—even when she was piqued—he missed every interaction. Now he dreaded the day he should receive word of her engagement. He would probably have to murder the blighter. But now standing so close to her again, trading barbs, desperately wanting to talk to her and clear the air, he felt alive for the first time in months. Suddenly Victor was aware of their surroundings. Anyone could walk upon them. They needed to talk but not here, not like this.

As Briana stared upon his countenance, Victor reminded her of a caged lion ready to strike out or roar to the heavens. His eyes locked with hers, stormy grey as if he were angry for no apparent reason. The intensity of his gaze felt as though she might spontaneously combust. She had to admit she felt quite undone just being in his mere presence again, as if she were about to swoon from the heady sensation. Before she could respond, Victor stepped away and demanded, “Save me a dance, Briana, because you and I are going to have a discussion about the past, the present and our future!” Then he was gone.

Briana remained rooted to the spot, breathing heavily, and feeling rather flushed from the encounter. She took a steadying breath before pushing herself away from the wall, gathering her wits about her, and heading back inside. What in heaven's name is wrong with that man?

VICTOR STORMED BACK into the ballroom, struggling to master his breathing. In truth, he was most disturbed. Every altercation with that infuriating woman left him quite undone. But he knew it was time to clear the air between them and stop these nonsensical games. He had busied himself for months investigating his large number of cases, almost deliberately threw himself into his work. But what he should have done was pour all his resources into finding out who the real Briana Walsh was and why she thought he did not know her. That was going to change starting now.

He brushed past several ladies moving toward him for introductions to their daughters and made his way directly to the refreshments table. He needed a stiff drink... Briana Walsh was trouble with a capital 'T' and he knew it well. Yet for some inexplicable reason she was the only woman who captured his entire attention.

His eyes blazed with fury at the thought of her sneaking off to meet gentlemen in the garden. He would need to keep a closer watch upon her. She had no notion of the lascivious nature of ton gentlemen who harbored no honorable intentions behind their advances. His conscience called out his hypocracy. You shared intimacies with her in your bed then booted her out the following morning. His palms had clenched into tight fists when he remembered that day. If only he had listened to her instead of taking her rejection personally and bundling her out of his house with nary a word. Now she avoided him like the plague. But that would end tonight.

Victor shook his head and snorted. What was it about the headstrong woman that piqued his interest so? Women fell over themselves trying to please him and curry favor. They practically threw themselves at him with merely a glance. But not this little minx. This kitten had claws, and she had no compunction about striking out at him whenever he tried to protect her or caution her in some way. It was unheard of! The little hoyden. The moment she answered him back on the terrace, he had wanted to pick her up, throw her over his knee, lift her skirts, and give her luscious backside a sound thrashing. Then take her against the wall and drive into her repeatedly until she screamed his name in pleasure. Victor was pacing now; he felt hot beneath his collar and found himself tugging at his cravat to draw breath. All the while he wondered what it was about Briana that left him so thoroughly unhinged.

Lost in his reverie, Victor stilled when he felt soft fingers trail across his arm before a sultry voice whispered in his ear, "What has you in such a black mood, my darling? I can only imagine 'tis because you have missed me."

Victor caught her cloying scent. Good Lord, how could he have forgotten about Lydia? Now he regretted escorting her to the ball. She had pestered him for an invite and simply so he could get a moment’s peace, he agreed, thinking nothing of it. But now that he finally had Briana right where he wanted, Lydia would pose a problem.

Despite Victor suffering the longest case of blue balls in his existence. He had not taken up with any woman since Briana and he still had no idea why. He had been propositioned by several ladies in the interim but for some reason none of them interested him including Lydia. He constantly found fault with every single one. Their scent was all wrong, the conversation stilted, their hair was too dark, too light, too straight, too curly and now Lydia’s fingers tracing his arm felt like stinging nettles. No, he simply could not bear other women touching him.

Victor remained perfectly still and smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "Lady Seymour. You have found me out. I was indeed sulking that it has been too long." Victor inwardly grimaced at his own lie.

"I knew you missed me. I have been patiently waiting for you to return to my bed. I believe it is only a matter of time before you realize no other woman can satisfy you as I do."

They were now standing in a shadowed alcove, and Lydia's lips were mere inches from his, her bosoms pushed up against his chest.

Victor wanted to roll his eyes. Lydia did not hold a candle to Briana Walsh. No woman did. Just the thought of Briana Walsh in his bed made him hard. Whereas he recalled how he had been forced to fake orgasms whenever he was with Lydia and past mistresses. He was startled when Lydia brushed her lips against his. Victor pulled away trying to put some distance between them, but Lydia surged forward and pressed her lips forcefully against his, leaving him no room to retreat. He inwardly cursed himself for the trouble he had just borrowed.

brIANA ROUNDED THE corner, determined to get her riotous emotions under control, but halted in a dimly lit hallway overlooking a small alcove. The reason being because Victor and that insufferable Lydia were locked in an intimate embrace. Rather than back away like some timid little virgin, she saw red. Blazing hot red. The man dared to accuse her of assignations in the garden, yet there he was, engaging in wanton behavior with a paramour where anyone might see. A pang of jealousy churned in her gut, imagining all the women Victor had most likely bedded since their time together. After all, Victor was a virile man. Gentlemen of his ilk never went without feminine companionship for long. She knew that well enough from her observations of the ton. Before she thought better of it, she stormed towards them and hissed, "It is highly improper to be copulating in the shadows of a public ball where anyone might stumble upon you. The least you can do is move your debauchery to a private chamber!"

With that parting shot, Briana stormed away, not waiting for a response. Had she looked back, she would have noticed Lydia looking quite aghast and Victor grinning like a fool, for unbeknownst to Briana, she had revealed her hand. Victor realized she was jealous just as he was whenever he saw her with another man. That passion she displayed meant that somewhere inside, she still harbored feelings for him, and that was something he could work with.