The Artist and the Rake Read online

She looked out the window. “I have nothing,” she whispered.

  Marcus placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to look in her eyes. “Yes. You do. You have talent, you have friends, and those who care about you.”

  She snorted.

  He placed his fingertip under her chin and raised her head up. “I care about you. A great deal. Remember, we are in this together. You will see justice done. I promise you that.” Staring at her lips, he slowly lowered his head and she turned aside, stopping him from what she knew he’d planned to do. She wasn’t ready for that. She would probably never be ready. Something else that had been stolen from her.

  * * *

  Marcus smiled as Lizbeth made it clear she was not open to a kiss. Perhaps she was right, and he was taking advantage of her distressed state. However, kissing her had been on his mind since the first time he laid eyes on her.

  Not wishing to push her, he made nothing of her action and released her so she could scramble from his lap. The door opened and he climbed from the vehicle. He offered his hand and she stepped out. “Do I look terrible?” she asked, knowing her eyes were probably red and swollen, as well as her nose and cheeks.

  He smiled at her. “You look fine.”

  She took a deep breath and started up the steps. “Liar.”

  Addie was sitting in the drawing room when they arrived. She looked up from a needlepoint she was working on. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” Lizbeth collapsed on the sofa. “Well, not really.”

  Marcus was still irate from the meeting with Mrs. O’Leary and her bold denial of having Lizbeth’s things and insisting she moved out on her own. He was naturally concerned that she would most likely contact her people and let them know that Lizbeth was back in Bath.

  Would they attempt to kidnap her again? Would they be so bold? On the other hand, if it became known that one of their captives had managed to escape the brothel, it would not look good.

  “Marcus, are you paying attention?” Addie scowled at him.

  He gave her a lazy, crooked smile. One that got many a woman into his bed. Hence his reputation. “Yes. I was certainly paying attention. Don’t I always, Sister?”

  Addie huffed. “I was just telling Lizbeth that the store I sold last year has an opening for a clerk for part time hours. I think Lizbeth would be perfect for that job.”

  Lizbeth patted Addie’s hand. “As much as I appreciate that, I prefer to work a full-time job so I can pay my own way.” Lizbeth didn’t look as determined as her words were. Actually, what she looked like was a lost little waif, which put Marcus’s sense of protection in action.

  “I disagree.” He sat across from the ladies. “Addie, Lizbeth is an artist. She was planning an art show in her town before she moved to Bath. In fact, we just tried to reclaim her belongings in the boarding house, which includes her artwork.”

  Addie smiled brightly. “Oh, how wonderful. I so wish I had some talent. I’m dyslexic, you know, and can barely make it through the day without some sort of catastrophe.”

  “Don’t disparage yourself, Addie,” Marcus said, “you have many talents and your husband thinks you are the finest of women.”

  “He told you that?” Addie said, her brows raised.

  “He doesn’t need to. It’s in his eyes every time he looks at you.”

  Addie blushed and he turned his attention back to Lizbeth. “I think you need time to spend on your painting.”

  “Yes. I agree,” Addie said. “I really don’t want you to leave me too soon. With the new baby coming, I would appreciate the company.”

  “I thought Mother was going to be here,” Marcus said.

  His sister laughed. “Yes. Mother will probably be here a lot, but that is precisely why I need another woman.” Addie turned back to Lizbeth. “I love my mother dearly, but she can be trying, and having someone else available for me to roll my eyes at would be wonderful. In fact, you will be doing me a favor. The hours at the store are just a few each week, which will leave you time to do your painting and help me with my mother.”

  Lizbeth chewed on her lip as she took in Addie’s words. “I have the feeling you are making this all up to keep me from feeling guilty.”

  Addie shook her head. “Marcus, tell Lizbeth about Mother.”

  He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Our mother is wonderful. In small doses. Don’t get me wrong, we both love her to death, but she can be, shall we say…trying?”

  Addie clapped her hands. “Then it’s settled. You can take the job at Once Upon a Book and continue with your art.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lizbeth said. “Don’t I have to interview and offer references to the owner? Remember, I was fired for stealing. I doubt if anyone who owns a store wants a thief handing money.”

  “Stop it!” Marcus leaned forward. “You are not a thief and you know how that entire thing came about. Take the job, since it appears Addie has already offered your services to Mr. Finch.” He could tell by the look on her face that his sister had already made the arrangements for Lizbeth’s employment.

  “He is the owner?” Lizbeth asked.

  “Yes.” Addie looked at the long clock in the corner. “He will be there for another two hours or so. If you present yourself this afternoon, he will probably have you begin tomorrow. When I spoke with him yesterday, he was in dire need of an employee.”

  “You went to the store yesterday?” Lizbeth stared at Addie’s large stomach as if it would explode any minute. Which was precisely what it looked like to him, too.

  Addie flushed and began to smooth her skirt out. “No. I invited him to tea yesterday—to see how things were going in the store—and while he was here, he mentioned it.” She linked her fingers and placed them where her lap used to be, giving Lizbeth a sweet smile.

  Marcus knew she was lying through her teeth. She had invited the man for tea to coerce him into giving Lizbeth a job. Chances were she intended to pay Lizbeth’s wages herself, too. Hopefully, Lizbeth wouldn’t learn that. In the short time he knew her, he was certain the woman was too prideful to take a hand-out.

  “How very convenient,” Lizbeth said slowly, her brows rising to her hairline as she regarded Addie. It appeared Lizbeth was as smart as Marcus thought she was and didn’t fall for Addie’s shenanigans. He had to hide his smile.

  Addie continued to look very innocent. “Yes. I thought it was rather convenient myself.” She shifted to stand, and Marcus hopped up and took her hands to pull her up.

  “I believe I will take a short rest now. If you will excuse me.” Addie waddled from the room.

  “It seems lying runs in the Mallory family.” Lizbeth watched Addie leave.

  At least Addie’s offer of a job seemed to have taken Lizbeth’s mind off her troubles.

  Penrose entered the room with a folded piece of paper. “Mr. Mallory, this missive just arrived for you.”

  Marcus took the note from his hand and opened it and skimmed the contents. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  Lizbeth stood and walked over to him. “What?”

  “It is a note from the Bath Police Department. We are requested—you and I—to visit with them either this afternoon or tomorrow morning.” He folded the paper up and looked up at her. “It appears the London Bobbies did notify the Bath Police after all.”

  “But will it do any good?” Lizbeth asked.

  Marcus didn’t have the heart to tell her they would probably be no more helpful than the London police had been. Even if they were investigating the group of criminals involved in the kidnappings, they would not share the information with them. “There is only one way to find out. Since you’ve had a trying afternoon, I suggest we put this off until tomorrow morning.”

  “I agree. What I need to do now, however, is visit Mr. Finch at the bookstore. I do want to start work as quickly as possible. I need to replenish my art supplies.”

  “I will buy your supplies; we can visit one of the art stores after you meet Mr. Finch.”<
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  “No.” Lizbeth turned and headed to the drawing room door. “I will buy my own supplies.” She turned back as she reached the doorway. “I’m off to see Mr. Finch.”

  “Wait! After our visit with Mrs. O’Leary, I don’t want you wandering about town by yourself. It may not be safe for you.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she rubbed her eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it, you may be right.”

  “I am always right.” He grinned and joined her at the front door.

  Chapter 8

  Around ten o’clock the next morning, Lizbeth and Marcus arrived at Orange Grove, the Bath Central Police Station to answer the summons from the Bobbies, or Peelers as they were also known, named after Robert Peel who began the Metropolitan Police in London years before.

  Lizbeth approached the building with more anger than fear. She’d gotten through her encounter with Mrs. O’Leary, so she felt confident she could deal with the police. She hadn’t given up on claiming her possessions from the boarding house and was working on a plan. Which she had not shared with Marcus. He would most likely attempt to thwart her.

  “We are here to see Inspector Lewis,” Marcus said as they stepped up to the young man seated at a desk in the front office.

  Dressed in a police uniform, the officer appeared to be barely old enough to have experienced his first shave. He stood and bowed his head. “Yes, sir. May I ask your names?”

  “Mr. Marcus Mallory and Miss Lizbeth Davenport.”

  “I will be right with you. You may take a seat there,” he pointed at a group of chairs arranged in a circle around a low table, and then walked off.

  Lizbeth looked around the station, taking in the stark décor that was obviously not planned with ambiance in mind. While not small, the Bath station was not as large as London’s.

  About fifty years before, the Bath authorities had organized and patterned their guardians of the law after the London Metropolitan Police. The idea of an official police department had initially been met with resistance from the street vendors because of the police’s ‘move along’ policy. However, citizens who were anxious for a dependable form of protection were happy to see the bobbies on the streets.

  Within minutes the officer returned. “Please follow me.”

  Marcus assisted Lizbeth to stand and placed his hand on her lower back as they followed their escort. The touch of his warm hand caused shivers. She wasn’t quite sure if it was pleasurable shivers or please don’t touch me shivers.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what his kiss would have been like had she not turned her head. When she’d had her two customers at the brothel, she had refused kisses on the mouth. Had she only been able to refuse all the rest.

  For some strange reason she had felt that if she did not allow kisses then she could survive. Luckily for her the men had honored her request, since it could have very well ended in another beating, which she would have endured if it meant a reprieve for another week or so while she healed and devised a plan to escape.

  In her twisted sense of survival, she reasoned if she ever reached a point where she was comfortable with a man’s touch, at least she could offer some part of herself that hadn’t been soiled.

  That led her to recent thoughts she’d had about Marcus. He seemed to be far more interested in her beyond just helping. Although the thought was there, she’d yet to give herself time to consider what that meant.

  Her meanderings came to an end as they entered a room that was apparently used to conduct interviews. A battered wooden table stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by several chairs in not much better condition.

  Two men stood as they entered and nodded to them. “Mr. Mallory? Miss Davenport? Please have a seat.”

  “I am Inspector Lewis,” he waved in the direction of the other man, “and this is Constable Pemberton.” The second man nodded and pushed his spectacles further up on his nose. They all murmured the expected responses and once settled in chairs the inspector drew a pad of paper to him and picked up a pencil.

  “We have a report here from the London Metropolitan Police that you believe you were kidnapped.”

  Lizbeth’s jaw dropped. What nonsense was this? “Believe I was kidnapped? I was indeed kidnapped.”

  The inspector did not look up but began to write. “Where were you taken from?”

  “The boarding house where I lived. I was taken from my bed in the middle of the night and transported to a place I didn’t know.”

  The man nodded and continued to write. Lizbeth had the desire to pull the pad away so he would look at her.

  “I see. Why did you allow them to take you from your bed?”

  “I didn’t allow them. I was abducted.”

  He looked up. “Did someone threaten you with a weapon?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  “Did they tie your hands and feet?”

  “No.”

  He continued to write. “Did they use any force at all on you?”

  Lizbeth sat forward, growing more agitated as the man continued. “I was drugged.”

  The inspector looked over at the constable and then back at her. “I see. How were you drugged. Was it put into your food?”

  “No.” She gritted her teeth. “Mrs. O’Leary gave me a tisane to drink before I went to bed that night.”

  “Ah, Mrs. O’Leary.” He flipped back pages on the pad and looked up at her. “The landlady?” he asked.

  Whatever was wrong with this man? She began to feel as though she was the one under suspicion. “Yes.”

  “Did she do that every night?”

  Lizbeth sighed. “Do what?”

  “Give you a tisane to drink.” The inspector offered her a tight smile. “Did you not think it odd that she decided to give you a tisane? Did you request it?”

  “No. Until the next day I had no reason to believe Mrs. O’Leary was anything but a kind, considerate women. She said I had been sniffling at dinner, and it would help me sleep.”

  Again, he bent his head and began writing. After almost a full minute of silence, he said, “And were you?”

  “Was I what?” Honestly the man was very annoying. Although she’d never had the necessity to be questioned by the police before, she wondered if this was normal procedure.

  “Sniffling at dinner.” He grinned at her like she was an idiot.

  “No.”

  The two men looked at each other again. “Did you not find it odd that she offered you a tisane, that you claim drugged you, yet you were not—” he looked down at his notes “—sniffling?”

  “No. Well, actually, yes. I mean it wasn’t until later that I realized I had not been sniffling. As I’ve said, I had no reason to distrust her.” Lizbeth hurried on, “At least not then, anyway.”

  “Was that the only time she offered you a tisane?”

  “No. Once before she did.”

  “Because you were sniffling?”

  “I don’t remember.” Lizbeth looked over at Marcus who looked about ready to jump across the table and assault the man.

  “Did you feel exceptionally sleepy when she gave you the tisane the first time?” Scratch, scratch, scratch on the pad. Each stroke set her nerves on edge.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I remember I slept quite well.”

  Inspector Lewis nodded and continued scrawling on the page. He finally stopped and looked up at her. “If you felt exceedingly tired when she gave you the tisane the first time, why did you take it a second time?”

  “Because I didn’t know what had been planned.”

  “And what do you think had been planned?”

  Lizbeth spoke between her teeth. “My kidnapping.” She wanted to add you dolt but didn’t want to end up in jail herself.

  “I didn’t expect to be so drugged from the drink that I would be taken from my bed and end up in a brothel.” Lizbeth’s voice raised with every word she spoke.

  Marcus made a noise that sounded like a growl. His hands were clenched into fis
ts on his thighs. At least she was not the only one who found this questioning insulting.

  He cleared his throat and looked at the inspector. “Inspector, I don’t understand your questions. It seems as though you are trying to have Miss Davenport admit that she was not kidnapped at all but went to a brothel in London of her own accord.”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m merely questioning her so I can understand what she thinks happened.”

  Lizbeth shot from her chair. “What I think happened? Are you suggesting I was in some sort of delusion? That I would all of a sudden leave the boarding house where I lived and travel to London on my own to obtain employment at a bawdy house?”

  “Sit down, Miss Davenport,” the inspector said softly. “I am gathering facts. If you find the questions uncomfortable, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about that. It is not my job to judge what happened, but to merely record it to see if there is reason to pursue charges.”

  “You might only be gathering information, Inspector,” Marcus said, “but it sounds to me like you have already made up your mind that what happened to Miss Davenport is a Banbury tale.”

  Inspector Lewis laid his pencil down, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “We have here a young lady,” he nodded at Lizbeth, “who was out of work, desperate for a job, and no family to turn to.” He shrugged. “It’s happened before. After all, it is a way to earn a living.”

  Marcus stood and took Lizbeth by the elbow. “We are finished here. If you wish to question Miss Davenport further, you may contact my solicitor here in Bath, Mr. Carter Westbrooke.”

  He hurried her out of the office and down the corridor. She was so angry and confused she felt as though she could easily strangle someone. Counting didn’t help, praying didn’t help, and visions of fashioning a voodoo doll with Inspector Lewis’s likeness didn’t help.

  Marcus waved for their driver to bring the carriage forward. They climbed in and Marcus directed the man to drive them to the Pump Room.

  “Why there?”

  “Because I don’t want to return to Berkshire’s house just yet. I feel as though we both have a lot to say. And I prefer to not upset Addie.”