The Artist and the Rake Read online

  The rain had turned from a light drizzle to a downpour by the time they stepped out of the building. Even with the umbrella over them, her coat and lower part of her gown were wet. She shivered as the coach pulled away from the theater.

  “You seem cold, however, I don’t want to distress you, so I will give you the choice of either allowing me to give you my coat or I can sit next to you and put my arm around you to warm you up. ‘Tis your decision.”

  Her chin quivered with the cold. “Thank you so m-much, but you can’t g-give me your coat, then you’ll be c-cold.”

  “No matter.” He began to shrug out of the garment.

  “No. D-don’t do that. I will be all r-right if you sit n-next to me.” She held her breath, afraid of what her reaction would be to his nearness. He slowly moved across the way and after settling in, gingerly put his arm around her, pulling her against his warmth. She sighed with relief when her body had no adverse reaction.

  The heat that came from him was enough to stop her shivers.

  “Is this all right?” He looked down at her, studying her with concern. He was truly such a nice man. She’d yet to see the ‘rake’ in him that Pamela had told her was his reputation.

  “Yes. It’s fine.” She thought for a minute, then said, “I…I want to tell you what happened to me.”

  She obviously had surprised him because he turned from gazing out the window, his brows furrowed. “Are you referring to when you were kidnapped?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. I think if I tell someone I will start to feel better about myself. But I don’t want to burden your sister with it, and I learned today that Pamela will not be returning to Bath because she has decided to move back in with her brother in London.”

  “How odd,” Marcus said. “I was under the impression that Nick Smith was going to offer her marriage.”

  Lizbeth smiled, thinking of how nice it would be for her friend to find happiness. “How lovely. They would be perfect together. I wonder what happened?”

  “I have no idea. However, since I am certain Addie and her husband will already be retired for the night when we return, I suggest we wait until we are home before you tell me your story.”

  Lizbeth nodded and pulled her coat closer against her body, causing Marcus to hug her even tighter.

  “Yes, I think I could use a sherry when we talk.” Now that she’d decided to tell Marcus every nasty detail of her ordeal she wondered if she’d made the correct decision. Maybe keeping it all inside would have been the better choice.

  After they arrived home, they handed off their coats and made their way to the drawing room. Lizbeth took a seat, her heart pounding. She twisted her fingers in her lap and told herself she could do this.

  Marcus walked up to her and handed her a sherry. He eyed the space alongside her on the settee with raised eyebrows.

  She nodded, silently thanking him for being mindful of her concerns about closeness. “Yes.”

  He settled next to her, leaving enough room for another person to sit there, and after taking a sip for fortification, she said, “The morning after I was taken from the boarding house I woke up in a strange bedroom with a dreadful headache. I had almost no memory of being transported, only of being confused and extremely tired.”

  “Had you been drugged?”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize it at the time, however, just that I was befuddled and disoriented. Mrs. O’Leary had appeared at my bedroom door shortly before I retired for the night and offered me a tisane because she said I had been sniffing at dinner—which in retrospect I realize was not true—and the tisane would help me sleep better.”

  Marcus snorted and took a hardy sip of his brandy. “Go on.”

  * * *

  Being the gentleman he was, Marcus forced himself to sit in the drawing room, sipping on his brandy, and listening to Lizbeth. All the while his heart pounded and his stomach muscles twisted.

  With every word she said, he wanted to return to the theater, track down Barton and beat him to a pulp. After he got every name out of him who had been involved in Lizbeth’s abduction. However, he had to do his best to calm down since he knew the feeling was only going to get worse as Lizbeth continued with her story.

  “Once I awoke a woman came into my room and told me I was to be prepared to receive a client in a couple of days, that I would spend the time before then being ‘educated’ in my duties.” Lizbeth’s voice shook and Marcus covered her hand with his. She didn’t pull away.

  “Naturally, I told her I had no idea what she was talking about and asked her where I was and demanded that I be returned home. She said I was in a brothel and would remain there as long as they wanted me to. While I was in shock, she continued telling me that there would be an auction in two nights for my…” She stopped and closed her eyes.

  “For your virginity?” he said softly.

  She nodded, and the tears began to fall. Marcus’s hand clenched and unclenched, but he had to remain calm for her. Lizbeth needed to get the story out. If she were to heal, she had to do this. As much as he hated to be the one to hear the tale, there was truly no one else.

  Lizbeth took in a shuddering breath. “They spent two days coaching me, examining me—” her voice faltered, and she took another sip of sherry. “Then the night arrived, and they put makeup on my face, fixed my hair and left me in another room that was obviously a brothel room. I was dressed in a sort of nightgown, but nothing like I’d ever worn before.”

  Marcus tried to block from his mind the vision of Lizbeth when they took her out of the brothel. She would have brought a high price for a night with her.

  “When they left me in the room, I paced for over an hour and then I took notice of the dinner tray they had forgotten to remove. There was a knife on the tray that I took and hid it in the folds of my nightgown and sat on the bed.

  When the door opened, I jumped up and flew at the man and stabbed him in his shoulder. Unfortunately, that man was not the customer, he was one of the owners and Joey Barton was with him. He flew into a rage and I attacked him, too, biting, kicking, anything I could do.”

  “Good girl.”

  “Yes. But between the two of them they subdued me, and Joey ordered the beating. They dragged me from that room and the beating I received—as a warning Joey said—kept me from being able to accept ‘clients’ for over a week.”

  Marcus took her glass out of her hand and walked to the sideboard. He refilled her glass, thinking it should probably be brandy. Once he was settled alongside her again, she continued, “Once the bruises no longer showed, I was again bathed, made-up and put into a nightgown. Then the same woman from the first day came into the room and forced me to take a small dose of laudanum.

  “Since the process was for the man to pay for the entire night, I only had two ‘clients.’ The third night was when Mr. Smith paid for me and you and he got me out of there. You know the rest of the story.”

  So, Lizbeth had only been subjected to two men. Thank God he and Nick had arrived when they had. “That explains why the man who told me you were in that brothel said you had only just arrived a couple of days before that. We had speculated on where you had been up until then.”

  She gave him a bitter smile. “Recovering.”

  All through her tale, the tears had fallen. But with the courage he’d seen in her before now, she was able to do it without hysteria or swooning. A truly remarkable woman.

  “Do you feel better?”

  She shook her head with a sad smile. “No. But I think in time I will since I’ve gotten it all out.” She put the sherry glass down on the table and turned to him. “What I am now is very, very angry. Outraged, in fact. I did nothing to deserve this. And I will tell you this: I will get my revenge.” She stood and shook out her skirts. “Now I am exhausted and wish to find my bed.”

  Marcus downed his drink. “I will walk with you. You have given me much to think about.”

  “If you truly want to help, you can
consider a way to make these people pay for what they’ve done.” They began their trek upstairs.

  Once they reached Lizbeth’s door, she turned to him, her hand on the door latch. “Based on what Pamela told me about that room in Mrs. O’Leary’s boarding house, there are probably several other young ladies who experienced the same thing I did. We might not be able to help them, but I want to make sure no one else occupies that room.”

  Marcus reached out and touched her cheek. Such soft skin. “I will do whatever it takes to stop that woman.”

  “No. You will help me do whatever it takes to stop her. I won’t be pushed aside. This is my battle, and I am happy to have your help, but I am not a sniveling, swooning female who will wait at home while her knight in shining armor fights her battle.”

  Marcus grinned. “Am I your knight in shining armor, then?”

  Her eyes grew wide, probably not completely aware of what she said. “Maybe. Maybe not. It depends.”

  He leaned his forearm against the door jamb, smiling down at her. “Depends on what?”

  “On whether you intend to treat me like a child. Or a partner.”

  “Partner it is.” He raised his hand as she smiled brightly. “However, you will not go off on your own, putting yourself into danger.”

  “Um, I was planning on going to see Mrs. O’Leary sometime soon.”

  Marcus backed up. “What? You cannot go anywhere near her. What are you thinking?”

  Lizbeth crossed her arms over her chest. “I am thinking I want my belongings back. Particularly my paintings.”

  “Paintings?”

  “Yes. I am an artist. An accomplished artist, I might add. I had been planning an art show in the town close to where I lived in Somerset when my family died. I couldn’t stay in that house because of the memories, so I moved to Bath with all my paintings.”

  Marcus tapped his lips with his fingertip. “I agree. You should get your things back. But you cannot go alone. Mrs. O’Leary might not even know that you are no longer at the brothel and I don’t know how she will react.”

  “I’m going,” she said. “Tomorrow, in fact.”

  He blew out a deep breath and looked upward, hoping a greater power would give him strength to deal with this woman. “I will go with you.”

  Lizbeth nodded. “Good. Thank you. Good night.” With those abrupt words she entered her room and closed the door, leaving him standing there, staring at it.

  He knocked on her door. “Don’t you dare go without me.” When there was no response, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor to his room.

  Obstinate woman.

  Chapter 7

  Shortly after luncheon, Lizbeth entered the drawing room in the Berkshire House to await Marcus. They were going to Mrs. O’Leary’s house, and Lizbeth was honest enough with herself to admit she was nervous. The thought of facing that woman terrified and angered her at the same time.

  “Ah, I see you’re ready to go.” Marcus strolled into the room, looking as calm as a cat sleeping in the sun.

  “Yes. I am ready.” She moved past him and headed for the door, anxious to get the visit over with.

  Marcus followed behind her and took her wrist. “Slow down. We want to appear as though this is nothing more than a rightful request for your belongings.”

  She nodded but continued at her fast pace to the carriage waiting at the edge of the pavement. The driver held the door open and Lizbeth gave him the direction of where they were headed. They climbed in and sat facing each other.

  “I would love all my things back, since there are pieces of jewelry—not worth much in money—but that have sentimental value for me. But my main concern is my paintings. There are quite a few because I was preparing for that art show, plus all my art supplies that I spent way too much money on were left behind.”

  Marcus merely nodded and continued to study her.

  “Is there something wrong? Do I have dirt on my face?” Lord, that came out churlish. It was just that she was strung tight and wanted this confrontation over.

  “No. I was just thinking how lovely you look this morning.” He smiled at her and despite her angst and her snapping at him, she relaxed a bit and smiled back. “Thank you. Truth be known, I don’t feel lovely. I feel nervous and angry.”

  They remained silent for the rest of the trip to the boarding house. Once they arrived, Marcus stepped out and helped her out of the carriage. Lizbeth straightened her dress, tugged on the cuffs of her—borrowed—jacket and headed up the steps, Marcus right alongside her. She dropped the knocker and after a few minutes the door opened.

  “Yes?”

  She raised her chin. “Mr. Andrews, it’s me, Miss Davenport.”

  The man’s face paled and his eyes grew wide. “I’m afraid I do not know you, young lady.” He moved to close the door but was stopped when Marcus’s foot blocked his movement.

  “It is of no concern to us whether you recognize Miss Davenport or not. We are here to speak with Mrs. O’Leary.” Marcus’s tone caused the hairs on the back of Lizbeth’s neck to rise. He could certainly sound dangerous when he wanted to.

  Mr. Andrews shrank a bit and licked his lips. “I’m afraid she is not at home.” He tried again to close the door, but Marcus placed his hand on the door and pushed it open, stepping into the entrance hall and pulling Lizbeth along with him.

  “We will be happy to do a search of the premises and see for ourselves.” He continued to hold Lizbeth’s hand, and gave her a slight squeeze.

  “Now see here, you cannot barge into a private home like this. If you don’t leave, I shall find it necessary to summon the police.” The man’s face had turned from pale to quite red and he darted glances down the corridor.

  Marcus crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at the man. “That is an excellent idea. Why don’t you summon the police? We will gladly wait here for them.”

  Lizbeth also crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the man. Her eyes caught a movement and she dropped her arms and straightened as Mrs. O’Leary came hurrying down the corridor, her eyes also growing wide when she saw Lizbeth.

  “Why, Miss Davenport, how lovely to see you.” She extended her hands as if they were old friends. The woman was wasting her talents, she should be treading the boards at Drury Lane.

  “Indeed?” Lizbeth raised her brows and stepped back to avoid being touched by the woman. “Apparently, Mr. Andrews’s memory is not as good as yours, Mrs. O’Leary.”

  Marcus had suggested she not engage the woman in a verbal battle about what happened, but to merely ask for her things and leave. Until they visited with the Bath Police, showing any hint of pending retribution to Mrs. O’Leary was not a wise step.

  A visit to the Bath Police Station was next on his agenda, since they had not contacted Lizbeth as the Bobbies in London had promised.

  Mrs. O’Leary waved off Lizbeth’s comment. “Mr. Andrews sight is not as strong as it used to be. What can I do for you?”

  Lizbeth straightened and looked the woman in the eye. “You can give me my things back.”

  Completely cool and calm, Mrs. O’Leary said, “My dear, I’m afraid you took everything with you when you so abruptly moved out.”

  Lizbeth almost choked at the woman’s statement. She squeezed Marcus’s hand so hard she would probably bruise him. It was either that or go for Mrs. O’Leary’s throat. The woman looked so unflustered that for a moment Lizbeth worried that Marcus would think she made the entire story up. “I did not move out on my own, as you well know.”

  Marcus began rubbing the inside of her wrist with his finger which calmed her as she took a deep breath. “I left all my personal belongings when I was unexpectedly removed from the premises. I want them back.”

  Mrs. O’Leary shook her head. “I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, Miss Davenport because there is nothing here in the house that belongs to you.”

  Lizbeth stepped forward. “I want to search my room.”

  Mrs. O’L
eary sighed, as if filled with sorrow at her request. “I’m afraid that is not possible since we have a new resident in that room now.”

  Lizbeth’s nervousness vanished. Her heart pounded so loud surely Marcus could hear it. She had another resident in that room?

  “Does she know what your plans are for her? Is she aware of what happens to every woman in that room? Does she—”

  Marcus wrapped his arm around her middle and drew her flush against his body. “Good day, Mrs. O’Leary.” He opened the door and dragged her from the building.

  “Let me go!” She pounded on his arm with her fists and kicked back with her heel in an attempt to strike his leg.

  “No. You are getting nowhere and anything else you say might tip her off about our intentions.”

  Lizbeth twisted in Marcus’s arms. “I want my paintings back. I worked for years on those.” Then to her utter humiliation she sagged against him and burst into tears.

  As if she were a small child, he scooped her into his arms and walked to the carriage. He helped her in, gave the driver instructions to return home and settled Lizbeth on his lap.

  She clung to his jacket lapels and cried her heart out. All those paintings she’s slaved over for years! Would her life ever be happy again? Marcus rubbed his hand up and down her back. He shifted her so he could reach his pocket where he drew out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

  Truly, she’d thought there were no more tears left inside her, but apparently, she’d been wrong. Thoughts of all the hours she spent working on those paintings, and all the money spent on the best supplies, brought on a new torrent of tears.

  There were paintings of her family members, their pets, the lovely sunrise from the back of her house. The early ones when she was still learning. Eventually her tears ended as the carriage made its way through the traffic. Marcus continued to hold her, rub her back and murmur soothing words as she drew in shuddering breaths. Just as she wiped her face once more and sat up, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Berkshire residence.