"Oh, some skirmish about ten years ago."
Theo nodded and looked up at him, into his face, where she saw the lingering pain behind the cool gray eyes. Her husband bore more scars than those visible on his body, and if she was ever going to understand him, she had to understand those scars too.
"Come on, back to bed," Sylvester said with sudden briskness. Catching her up, he carried her back to bed and dropped her on the feather mattress. He leaned over and smoothed her hair from her brow, smiling slightly. "What an intrepid, ramshackle gypsy I have for a wife."
"And you'd prefer another kind?" She couldn't prevent the flicker of anxiety in her eyes, but Sylvester shook his head.
"No, I've told you before we suit very well, you and I." He climbed in beside her, slipping an arm beneath her, rolling her into his embrace. "But there'd better be no more of these impetuous excursions, my love, however gratifying the reason for them."
Theo made no answer but lay quietly against him, relaxing into the warmth of his body. There was no point in further discussion. Prohibition or not, she'd have to conduct her own investigation. Maybe Edward would go with her to the Fisherman's Rest, and they could ask their own questions.
As the October sun rose over the Thames, Neil Gerard paced the small bare room in his anonymous lodgings, wondering what had gone wrong the previous afternoon. His men hadn't appeared for payment at the Fisherman's Rest, but Sylvester Gilbraith had come in their stead.
How he'd managed to overpower three armed thugs was a mystery when his only companions were a gaggle of young women, a child, and a one-armed cripple. Neil had only seen them from a distance, but it looked as if Gilbraith were escorting a schoolroom party. That notwithstanding, he'd overpowered his assailants and managed to learn about the rendezvous.
Neil's only comfort was the certainty that Gilbraith hadn't seen him, huddled in his shadowy corner behind a rickety wooden pillar. Gilbraith had been in the place just long enough to order a drink before the girl had arrived, and in the excitement and disturbance of that arrival, he certainly hadn't had a chance either to look around the room or to ask questions.
What a startling creature she was with that scarlet cloak and midnight-dark hair. Young, though. Very young for Sylvester Gilbraith. But her arrival had certainly annoyed and surprised the earl. Despite her confident smiles and the proprietary hand on his sleeve, he'd removed her in very short order.
She was presumably the earl's mistress. A woman not too unfamiliar with taverns like the Fisherman's Rest. Of course, Stoneridge had just married the Belmont chit. Probably he needed a little meat in his diet. A marriage of interest could make a thin meal, and there must have been an ulterior motive for that connection. Something to do with the entail. It was a common enough arrangement.
However, speculating about Gilbraith's marriage and extramarital connections wasn't throwing any light onto what had gone wrong at Astley's. Whatever it was had brought Gilbraith a dangerously close step toward Neil Gerard. It was time to change his tactics.
He glanced round the bare room with its few sticks of furniture and thin curtains. Wind gusted through the ill-fitting panes of the grimy window, and the small fire in the grate spurted.
He'd hoped to leave this miserable lodging with his problem solved and return to his elegant house on Half Moon Street and the life of the carefree bachelor, no longer obliged to pay his weekly visits to Spitalfields to hand over his blackmail.
A scrupulously cautious man, Neil Gerard had ensured that no one knew he was in London while he plotted the downfall of the Earl of Stoneridge. At these rooms on Ludgate Hill he was an anonymous lodger who paid his rent without fuss, and at the Fisherman's Rest he was an anonymous customer who had business other than drinking. As long as he conducted his business in these places, there was little chance he would accidentally run up against someone from his real life. But now his cover had been destroyed, and there was no point suffering this wretched discomfort any longer.
There was a scratch at the door, and a scrawny maidservant came in, her nose pink from the cold, a scuttle of coals in her hand.
"Make up the fire, sir?"
He nodded and stood watching her as she bent to the task, her skinny hips pressing against the rough linen of her skirt. The image of the girl in the Fisherman's Rest flashed through his mind. There was no comparison between that vibrant image and this work-roughened, scrawny creature, but he hadn't had a woman in several weeks, and his present failure-induced annoyance required soothing.
He moved to the dresser, selected a small coin from a pile, and tossed it to the floor beside the kneeling girl.
She looked up, her eyes widening. "Fer me, sir?"
"Are you clean?" He unfastened the tie of his dressing gown.
A flash of fright crossed her eyes, but she nodded dumbly, picking up the coin as she rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron.
"If you please, sir -"
"Well?" he said when she seemed unable to go on.
"I ain't never done it before." She dropped her eyes to the floor, twisting her hands in her apron.
Neil raised his eyes heavenward. It was an old trick. Virgins had a higher price, and he knew of several in the houses in Covent Garden who'd had their virginity restored at least half a dozen times. This girl was just trying to improve her own price.
"What kind of a gull d'you think me?" he said. When she still stood staring at the floor, he said impatiently, "If you're willing, get on the bed, girl. If you're not, get out of here."
The girl took a hesitant step to the bed, then lay down, closing her eyes tightly.
Neil threw off his robe and clambered over her. She shuddered as he pushed up her apron and petticoat. She was wearing no undergarments. It took him no more than a minute to realize she'd been telling the truth about her virginity. It increased his pleasure significantly, and when he'd finished with her, he took another coin from the dresser and tossed it to her as she limped from the room, weeping softly.
Considering that he'd been more than generous, he went back to bed, feeling sufficiently relaxed to return to sleep.
Later in the day he would leave this miserable place and resume the life of Captain Neil Gerard of Half Moon Street. An eligible bachelor of good though untitled family, with a respectable fortune and a starred army career.
He'd approach the problem of Sylvester Gilbraith from another angle. With the hand of friendship.
Chapter Twenty
"The Honorable Mrs. Lacey and Mr. Jonathan Lacey, Lady Theo," Foster announced the next morning from the drawing-room door.
"There, Clarry, I told you they would call," Theo said. "Show them up, Foster."
"Oh, this is so embarrassing," Clarissa said, dropping the skein of wool she was holding for Emily to roll. "Can you imagine what Mama would say if she knew what you'd done?"
"She'd say it was vulgar," Theo replied cheerfully. "But she's not going to know, is she?"
"Not unless Rosie lets something slip," Emily observed, bending to pick up the dropped wool.
Theo was on her feet, turned toward the door when Foster opened it and announced their guests.
"Mrs. Lacey, how good of you to call." She crossed the room, her hand outstretched. "And Mr. Lacey. I'm so happy to see you. Such a silly mistake of mine at the Pantheon, but I trust we can turn it to good purpose and become friends."
A strangled sound came from behind her, and Emily swiftly moved in front of the stricken Clarissa.
"Allow me to present my sisters," Theo said with complete composure. "Lady Emily Belmont."
Emily was as composed as her sister as she greeted the visitors, and by the time the courtesies had been exchanged, Clarissa was sufficiently mistress of herself to rise and be introduced.