Chapter 7
During the weeks that followed, Jessica won a great amount at Madame’s. It seemed that no one could beat her. The games in which she played had stakes that were incredibly high, even for Madame’s establishment, but Jessica was forced to risk losing everything in order to win the large stipend which Margaret wanted.
The gossip concerning her, and Damien had died away, to be replaced by speculation about the games with the tremendously high stakes. At the end of the evening, everyone would watch as her game finished to see if she had won again. There were some who even placed bets on whether she won or lost on a particular evening.
For Jessica, it was a very exhilarating time, but her nerves were stretched to the limit. She could not go on in this manner much longer and remain sane. Her one, steadying influence was Damien. She did not speak with him. The most she ever did was exchange a smile across the room. He was keeping his promise to her. But knowing he was near gave her a sense of security.
One evening about a week before she was due to leave for Braeleigh, she arrived at Madame’s a bit earlier than usual. After paying her respects to Madame, she wandered to the room where her game would be played. It was empty. Not even any of the servants were about. She strolled to the table set up with new decks of cards and surveyed her battlefield. Tonight, if she played well, she could make the balance of the stipend which Margaret had demanded. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves.
“She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow do I live dead, that live to tell it now.”
Jessica swung about at the deep voice quoting Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Damien stood in the doorway.
“Hello, my love.” He smiled.
He looked magnificent. The green of his silk coat enhanced the color of his eyes, his black trousers fit his trim legs closely, his pale yellow waistcoat embroidered in white threads set off the intricate knot of his stock which held a glittering emerald in its folds. Jessica’s heart hammered in her chest. She felt her throat close up as a delicious thrill ran through her.
Smiling happily, feeling foolish for allowing her feelings to be so transparent, she managed to whisper, “Hello.”
“Is that all I get?” he asked as he strolled toward her.
Torn between a desire to fling herself into his arms and the restrictions she had placed on their relationship, she retreated a step. “You startled me,” she said, disconcerted at his approach. She retreated another step. Unable to think of anything else to say, she asked, “You have been well?”
Damien raised an amused eyebrow. “Do I look like I have been ill?” He advanced another step.
She backed away and smiled at her foolishness. “No.”
He grabbed her hand and drew her to him. “Why are you running away, my love? Do I suddenly repulse you?”
“You know that is not true.” Feebly, she tried to wriggle out of his embrace, then gave up.
“Then what is it?”
“Please,” she pleaded. “I have a game soon. Someone will see us.”
“What if they do?” he murmured as he nibbled at her ear and rained light kisses on her neck.
Jessica felt her willpower weakening as the effect of his touch took hold of her. “Please, Damien,” she tried once more. “Not here, not now. I cannot be connected in any way with a man. Any man. The gossip…”
“The gossip be damned,” he growled as he captured her mouth with his.
Jessica resisted for as long as it took to draw a breath. She finally gave herself up to the inevitable and melted against him. It had been torture for her these past few weeks. Seeing Damien every night, knowing he was near, yet not being able to be with him had been painful. Hungrily, she drank him in, his touch, his taste, his scent. For just a few moments, she would allow herself this tiny glimpse of heaven.
Some sixth sense brought her back to reality. She heard a small movement in the room. She stiffened and pulled away from Damien. When she looked up, she saw Charles Durham, Marquis of Bellingham, standing just inside the door.
“A thousand pardons, my lady, Your Grace,” he leered. His bow was sarcastically perfect. “I was under the impression that there was to be a card game in this room this evening. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
The Marquis of Bellingham was the worst person who could have caught her with Damien. He was always trying to put his hands on her, but her obvious disdain of a relationship with any man had kept her reasonably safe. Now, he would look upon her as fair game.
Jessica turned away to hide the deep blush rising in her cheeks, but her voice was cool as she answered, “You were not mistaken, my lord, but the game is not scheduled to begin for another half of an hour. If you would be so kind to find the other players, perhaps we could begin earlier.”
“Of course,” he agreed smoothly. His eyes flicked to Damien. “My congratulations, Wyndham, on your victory. I should have realized it would be you who would breach the wall.”
Insulted, Jessica’s chin went up. “Cities have walls, sir,” she said coldly, “not ladies.”
The Marquis gave Jessica a long stare. Bowing once more, he said again, “Of course. Excuse me.” Turning on his heel, he left.
Damien glared at the empty doorway. “Bellingham’s manners need some improvement,” he muttered, then turned to Jessica with a grin. “But you have put the dog to rout. Bravo.”
Jessica’s fear of Bellingham made her lash out. “You made a promise to me. I cannot abide that man, and now he thinks he is free to impose his attentions upon me. You have ruined everything.”
Damien sobered. He wrapped his warm fingers around her arms. “If I have ruined anything, I apologize, but I did not break my promise to you, Jessica. I have not forced you to be with me. If you need help, you only have to ask for it.” He brushed his lips lightly across her mouth. “For luck,” he whispered, then he was gone.
Jessica put her fingers to her lips. Damien’s touch still lingered. Her anger gone, she smiled to herself. It was going to be a very lucky evening. She could feel it.
Damien had used every ounce of willpower he possessed not to carry Jessica off to his home and make love to her for the rest of the night. He berated himself for allowing even the one, stolen kiss. But she was so vulnerable, so desirable, as she’d shied away from him. He’d wanted to envelope her in an invisible cocoon of safety. Instead, he had held himself tightly in check, remembering the true purpose of his watch over her.
She had been in his thoughts constantly since the last time they had been together, much to his dismay. Unbidden, her face would appear before his eyes when he least expected. To remedy the situation, he spent hours each day pouring over the accounts of his estate. In the evening, he accepted all the invitations to dinners and other social gatherings which had begun to pour in when news of his return to society had become known. Nothing had helped. Jessica still haunted him.
He made a point of stopping at Madame’s every evening to check on Jessica. He told himself it was because of the job he was doing as Le Chat, but he would not admit the truth to himself. He wanted to see her. He found himself comparing every woman with whom he came into contact with Jessica.
He did not know why she bewitched him. He could have almost any woman he wanted. Mothers were throwing their unmarried daughters at him whenever they had the chance. Married women gave him sultry looks of invitation. Neither interested him. He’d decided he was not about to be married to anyone, especially some scatterbrained twit, and the thought of fighting a duel with a jealous husband over some unsatisfied, hot-blooded woman with the morals of an alley cat bored him. Perhaps what intrigued him so about Jessica was that she always seemed remote, always kept a part of herself secret. The reason behind her gambling was part of her secret, but the reason for her helping a spy baffled and angered him.
On the one hand, he wanted to make love to her, day and night, and on the other, he wanted to strangle her. He’d decided she was probably in the spying business for the money, although it most likely did not pay as well as her gambling. Or, perhaps, she was in it merely for the excitement, seeing it as just another game.
He knew women who attempted dangerous liaisons with their lovers just for the excitement of possible discovery by their husbands. He did not think Jessica was that type of woman. Jessica had no jealous husband with which to contend. He surmised there was not even a jealous lover. He had been her first, and as far as he knew, her only one. She could not have time for another, for she spent all her nights gambling. She was an enigma that he could not decipher. Truly, she was the Ice Witch.
His moods swung from elated, to dark and brooding. He felt as if he were caught in the throes of some mysterious disease without a cure. His one consolation during these times was his knowledge that he would soon find out exactly what Jessica’s secret was.
Several days after her meeting with Damien, Jessica was in the middle of a game when she received a message from Madame. The note asked to meet with her in one of the upstairs rooms. Jessica thought the request odd, for Madame never interrupted a card game for anyone or anything. She decided that Madame wished to see her about the letter she would be delivering to Monsieur Montaigne in a few days.
During a break in the game, Jessica excused herself. As she emerged from the room where she had been playing, she saw the Marquis of Bellingham staring at her. When their eyes met, he grinned lecherously. Ever since that night he had seen her with Damien, he had been a nuisance. He engaged her in conversation several times, always when Damien could see him, and usually, his hand just happened to land on her arm or take hold of her fingers. Jessica tried desperately to discourage him without making a scene, but he would not be put off.
One night, he had gone so far as to corner her in one of the quiet cubicles that Madame had about the main room for intimate conversations. As Jessica tried to get past him, he had ripped off her mask and tried to kiss her. She had slapped him soundly across the face for his efforts. Damien had appeared as she was replacing her mask, and just his threatening presence had made the Marquis scurry away into the crowd. Since then, she’d stayed as far away from Bellingham as possible, but his leering, knowing smile followed her whenever their paths crossed. When she saw his lecherous grin on this night, a chill ran down her spine. She needed to speak to Madame about him.
The room where Madame had asked for the meeting was on the third floor of her establishment, an unusual spot. These rooms were used for illicit liaisons, perhaps if a woman had lost a bet to a man, or vice versa, and they wished to settle the debt with something other than a monetary exchange, or maybe secret liaisons where one or both of the partners had a spouse to deceive. Jessica had never been above the second floor apartment in which Madame lived. She supposed the strange meeting place had to do with the secrecy involved as messenger for Madame.
When Jessica reached the room, she knocked, but there was no answer. Finding the door unlocked, she opened it. Curiously, she glanced around. It appeared as any other bedroom would. Candles were lit, but the room was empty. Madame was not there.
Jessica walked in to wait for her. A footstep behind her made her turn, but it was not Madame who stood there. Instead, the Marquis of Bellingham blocked the door.
“Lady Fortuna,” the Marquis leered. “What an unexpected pleasure to find you here.”
Jessica raised her chin, determined not to show her fear. “I am waiting for Madame du Barré. We have private matters to discuss.”
“How mysterious,” he said as he walked into the room. He closed and locked the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” Jessica demanded. Apprehension slithered through her.
“I do not think Madame will mind if I keep you company while you wait for her.” He sauntered toward her.
“Why did you lock the door?” Jessica stepped back. Her heart raced. “Madame will be here any moment.”
“I think not, my lady.” His smile was evil. “You see, Madame does not know you are here. As a matter of fact, no one knows where you are.”
She understood now why the game had been interrupted. “Then it was you who sent the note.” Her temper rose.
“How very perceptive you are, Jessica.” He snickered.
She blinked in surprise. “How do you know my name?”
His gaze turned crafty. “I have made it my business to know everything there is to know about you, everything, that is, that one can discover about the mysterious Ice Witch. But, to me, you are no mystery. I know whom you see when you leave London. You would have no letters to deliver for Madame if it were not for me.”
As he spoke, he stalked closer. She retreated.
“What do you mean?” she asked, pretending ignorance. “What letters?” While she tried to protect the secret of Madame’s letters, her attention was on keeping her distance from the Marquis.
Bellingham ignored her question. “Don’t run away, Jessica. We can have a wonderful time together.”
“Don’t touch me or I will scream,” she warned. She glanced around for a weapon. She saw only a candlestick on a table in the corner. She had to keep him talking until she could reach it. “Everyone will hear, and you will be embarrassed and dishonored.”
His smile turned smug. “Scream all you wish. No one will care, that is, if anyone hears you. These rooms are quite soundproof.”
She saw her chance and darted toward the table and the candlestick. He lunged, grabbed her, and dragged her hard against him. He pinned her arms against her sides. She tried to push away, to escape, but she was helpless in his grip. His cruel lips descended on her mouth, crushing her lips against her teeth. She stood as stone in his arms, not even fighting to free herself.
She wanted him aware that she felt nothing for him. His mouth violated where Damien’s seduced and loved. His fingers clawed at her skin, where Damien’s touch had been tender. When he became conscious that she was motionless and unresponsive, he raised his head, but kept hold of her arms. Anger burned in his eyes.
“Am I not good enough for you?” he sneered. “Or do you only tumble into bed for a duke? What does he pay you? I will triple it.”
“You are not man enough to polish his boots,” she spat.
His nostrils dilated, and his eyes narrowed at her insult. “You little slut,” he rasped.
His hand lashed out and struck her face. Pain erupted across her lips and cheek. Her head rocked back, but she remained tight in his hold. She could taste blood. Tears blurred her vision.
“I was willing to pay you handsomely,” he sneered, “but now you will have to make do with the pleasure you’ll get from our coupling.”
Jessica’s fear paralyzed her. Then an idea flashed in her mind. If she could reduce his urges to nothing, she might be safe.
“What coupling?” she taunted. “Am I supposed to drool over a eunuch?”
His face twisted in cruel anger. With a tremendous shove, he pushed her back onto the bed. She missed the mattress, banged her head on the bedpost, and fell heavily to the floor. Lights exploded in her brain. Stunned, she lay in a heap, knowing she should do something, but she could not get her brain or body to work.
The Marquis pulled her up and tossed her onto the bed. She tried to crawl away, but he pounced on her. He straddled her and yanked up her skirt. She heard the sound of rending cloth.
“I will show you what a true man feels like, you whore,” he panted as he fumbled at his breeches. “We shall see if I am man enough for you.” He laughed viciously.
Jessica shoved at him, trying to fend him off, but he was too heavy. Her head spun. She could not think clearly. Fear turned her cold.
“Stop,” she protested. “No!” She tried to squirm away.
He caught her wrists and loomed over her, blocking the light. With a deft movement, he forced her legs apart. She felt him between her thighs, pushing at her, trying to gain entrance. Horror overwhelmed her. She screamed until her throat was raw.
The sound of splintering wood exploded into the room. The heavy body of the Marquis was swept off her. She heard a flurry of blows, the crack of knuckles against flesh, thumps, grunts and moans that indicated a fight. And then it was over. Damien had the Marquis pinned against the wall with a hand around his throat. Her attacker’s face was turning purple.
“If you even look at her again,” Damien warned, his tone cold and dangerous, “I will cut off your balls.”
Bellingham pulled at Damien’s grip around his throat with one hand. The other hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out a deadly little pistol.
“Look out!” Jessica warned.
Damien grabbed Bellingham’s wrist. The gun waved wildly back and forth as they struggled. Her attacker tried desperately to aim at Damien, while Damien fought to deflect it away. The barrel swept around and pointed at Jessica. She rolled off the bed, huddled as close to the floor as she could, and watched in horror as the Marquis forced the pistol between them. They grappled, barely moving, evenly matched in their intent, one man desperate, the other furious.
And then the pistol fired, the sound muffled by their two bodies.
The two men stood motionless. All Jessica could see was Bellingham’s stunned expression and a muscle working fiercely in Damien’s jaw. Dread and anxiety sat like two weights in her chest. Had the bullet pierced Damien? Was he bleeding from a death wound? She was paralyzed, terrified to discover what had happened.
Damien stepped back. Bellingham slumped to the floor. A large, red stain spread across the middle of the Marquis’s yellow-striped, satin waistcoat. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Jessica covered her mouth with both hands, as she sobbed with relief.
Damien dropped the pistol, and, as if the world had slowed, she watched him turn to her. She could not move. Now that she knew he was still alive, now that she knew Bellingham was dead, she became aware of all her hurts. She felt a trickle of blood from her split lip, and a bruise throbbed on her temple. Her gown was ripped in several places, exposing bruises and scrapes and bare skin in intimate places. She shivered as cold from inside out seeped through her, and she curled into a ball on the floor. Damien placed his coat about her shoulders and rearranged her skirt and bodice to cover her. He pulled her up to sit on the bed, then sat beside her and dabbed the blood at her mouth with his handkerchief.
Jessica allowed him to do as he wished. She had no energy left to dissuade him and she could not stop shivering. In an expressionless tone, she said, “You’re not dead.”
His mouth quirked. “No.”
“How did you know where I was?” she asked.
“I was just arriving when I saw you go up the stairs,” he said. “Then I saw Bellingham follow you. I became suspicious, so I followed.” He pushed a stray hair out of her face.
Jessica nodded. She was relieved that Bellingham was dead. She was grateful to Damien for saving her. And very, very glad he was still alive. Yet her brain circled around one painful thought. If Damien had been discreet on the night he had kissed her when the Marquis had seen them together, or if he had left her alone as she had asked, would this have happened?
And now that she was involved in a murder, what would happen next? Would Madame banish her? How could she survive? She had no means to earn money, other than gambling. How would she be able to fulfill her obligation to Margaret and keep her brother safe?
“Jessica, are you all right? Is there something I can do?” he asked.
She gazed at him. She felt numb except for the dull ache of despair. “Please,” she pleaded, the words wrenched from her body. “Leave me alone. You have ruined everything.”
He stood swiftly, as if she had threatened him with a weapon. Before he could respond, Madame burst into the room, followed by two burly servants.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” she demanded. What is this? Then she saw Bellingham’s body. “Oh, mon Dieu!” She glanced from Jessica to Damien. “You protected her,” she said to him. “Merci. Now go. We will take care of this, and I will care for ma petite.”
Madame motioned to the two servants to remove the body, then she rushed to Jessica and enfolded her in her arms. As Madame crooned to her and examined her bruises, across the woman’s shoulder, Jessica watched Damien stiffen, then without a word, he turned and left.
Damien shut the door quietly behind him. All he could see were Jessica’s stark eyes in her very pale face. Her lack of tears or emotion in reaction to the horrible ordeal she had just been through disconcerted him. He’d wanted to hold and comfort her, but her stoniness prevented him. Her cold words had initially cut him deeply and yet desperation had been stamped clearly on her face. Her life was not as carefree as she wanted it to appear. Was she truly an adventuress or was there something more going on? Either way, it was his fault. Unwittingly, he had caused this attack, as she had accused. He had erred, allowing his lust to overcome his good sense. Guilt twisted through him. Even if she was an adventuress and Madame’s courier, she did not deserve what Bellingham had done. Satisfaction at the man’s death mingled with the revulsion of taking a life. He needed a drink. And he needed to decide what to do about the entrancing woman he had just saved. A woman who was fast becoming too important to him.
By the time he reached the main floor, his concern for the woman who caused the blood to sing in his veins made his decision for him. He would warn Jessica, the Lady Fortuna and possible messenger for Madame, that she was navigating through very treacherous waters. At least then, he might still be able to protect her from what could happen.
For the next several days, Jessica remained in her rooms as she recuperated from the attack by the Marquis of Bellingham. She’d won the sum of the stipend she was to deliver to Margaret the night before Bellingham’s attack, so she did not have to go back to Madame’s until after her return from Braeleigh. The Marquis was buried. The gossipmongers had enough tidbits to chew over for weeks. Jessica just wanted the nightmare to end.
The day before she was to leave for Braeleigh, a messenger arrived with a single rose and a note. He did not wait for a reply, but disappeared as soon as the items were in her hands. She thought Damien had sent them and debated whether to throw them out the window. Resentment against him smoldered and sparked. He had caused her enough problems with his arrogant pursuit. She was glad he had not been injured in his struggle with Bellingham, but as much as it pained her, she wanted nothing more to do with him.
The note remained on her dressing table with the rose for most of the morning. Finally, her curiosity overcame her anger, and she opened the parchment. It read:
A simple rose is not so simple. It hides its essence under many layers. One by one, the petals are peeled away until its heart is laid bare. Beware that all your secrets are not opened to the light. The countryside is no place for a delicate flower.
The note was signed only with the footprint of a cat.
Jessica realized it was a warning of some kind, but the reason behind it eluded her. No one except Madame knew of her secret, and she did not think Madame would betray her identity and the reason for her gambling to anyone. And no one except Damien knew where she lived in London. The signature of the cat’s paw was another puzzle. If the note had been sent by him, why be so cryptic?
Jessica threw the note and flower back onto the dressing table with impatience. She had enough things to worry about without puzzling over some silly note. She had not bled at her usual time this month. Perhaps it was because of the stress she had been under to meet Margaret’s demands. Perhaps because of the trauma of the attack by Bellingham. Or perhaps, a more likely reason, she was carrying Damien’s child. She had been stupid and careless. Now she would pay the price.
If she was truly enceinte, she would have only another three or four months before she would have to stop her visits to Madame’s because of her swollen belly. How would she manage after that? Could she swallow her pride and go to Damien to beg for her child? His child? Their child? The thought of begging repulsed her. She would not be a kept woman. She knew Margaret would disown her when she found out. What, then, would happen to Jason?
Jessica could not arrive at any acceptable solution. Putting the troubled thoughts out of her mind, she decided she would only concern herself with the present. The need for a solution was still several months away. For the moment, all she would think about was leaving for Braeleigh on the morrow. And delivering Madame’s letter to Monsieur Montaigne.