Seventeen

Their destination was in Southwark, a coffee house called Peg’s. It was grander on the inside than she’d expected. The parlor promised comfort and relaxation, with its heavy ornate furnishings and silk and velvet covered chairs. Gilt-framed portraits and landscapes dotted wainscoted walls, giving the impression one had entered a substantial private home. It had the same rich smells of coffee, chocolate, and tobacco, the same excited bustle and hum of conversation, as the other places she’d visited that day, but the sounds were interspersed with feminine shrieks and giggles, and the smell was overlaid by perfume and the succulent flavor of slowly roasting beef.

Gripped by a sudden pang of hunger, Catherine’s mouth watered and her nostrils flared. She looked about her, trying to trace the scent. It was only then she noted a large round table in a second parlor across the hall. It was full of men and women playing cards, all of them, it seemed, in various states of undress. One fellow was holding his cards with one hand while the other squeezed the naked breast of a woman who was straddling him, her skirt hiked above her hips. She was bouncing up and down, breasts bobbing energetically, the one that was unhindered brushing her lover’s face as she rose and fell.

Catherine watched wide-eyed as he dropped his cards and grabbed his rider with both hands, jerking the chair itself up and down before collapsing against her with a groan. Next to them another fellow lounged, elbow on the table, legs stretched out, his head resting back against the ample midriff of a woman wearing only her chemise. She stood behind him, leaning over his shoulders, one hand caressing him under his shirt and another clearly playing about inside his breeches! The man’s eyes were closed and he moaned as if in pain as his hips thrust up and down, but he didn’t put down his drink.

Catherine took a step backward and gave an involuntary squeak as she bumped into something hard. A hand clamped her shoulder to steady her.

“It’s rude to stare, Will. I thought I told you to stay close?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, her face burning.

“Well, come along, lad. You said you were hungry. Peg has a meal for us in the dining room.”

She followed Jamie up the stairs and down a hall to the second-floor dining room. Despite her attempts to look straight ahead, a flash of movement through an open door to her left caught her eye and she craned her neck to see. A well-dressed gentleman stood by a fireplace, his breeches about his ankles, as a redheaded woman stroked and kissed his—

She was jerked by her collar, sideways and back, a moment before smacking into a doorjamb. “Careful Will, don’t gawk.”

“Is this the lad’s first time?” Peg inquired, giving Catherine a motherly smile.

“Indeed, Peg, he’s as innocent as an untried maid, but at the moment he’s rather more starved for food than affection.”

“Don’t you worry, young man,” Peg said, taking her by the arm and leading her into the dining room. “English Peg can take care of all your needs.”

The dining room housed a massive table piled high with meat on silver dishes, and was crowded with men, serving girls, and a couple of well-dressed women. “I thought you said there were no ladies here?” she whispered to Jamie.

“Those are courtesans, my dear,” he whispered back. “High-end trade for the gentry.”

Catherine settled into a chair, somewhat overwhelmed. She found this place unsettling. The garish display of naked lust devoid of commitment or affection seemed a strange and hollow thing to her. She wondered why men sought it, yet she was fascinated also; for didn’t lovers do those very things to one another, too? She glanced at Jamie, who was deep in conversation with another furtive-looking man. What’s he up to? A serving maid approached him, balancing on his shoulders as she leaned across the table with a platter full of meat, her pendulous breasts shoved tight against his arm. He rewarded her attentions with a charming grin. Why must he seek to charm every woman he meets?

It seemed they knew him well. She narrowed her eyes and watched him closely. Not for Jamie wigs or powder. His hair fell in tangled strands, loose about his shoulders. Her gaze moved to his full, sensual lips, and she wondered if he’d ever kissed the serving girl. She wondered how many times he’d sat at tables or at cards with a woman in his lap or kneeling before him. Had he done those things with the maid? With Peg? With other girls? How many? He’d been sitting with his hand down a woman’s dress when she’d arrived in London, after all. No doubt he couldn’t help himself. Men are pigs! It was none of her business, of course, provided he was discreet.

He caught her watching him and gave her a sympathetic look. She glared back at him in return.

Picking up his wine glass, he came to sit beside her. “Feeling better now you’ve a full belly, Will? I’m almost finished. One more coffee and then for home?”

She gave him a sullen nod.

“Is there something amiss?”

Before she could answer, a pleasant-faced, ginger-headed sea captain, dressed in uniform and sporting an engaging grin, came over to join them.

“Sinclair! Or Carlyle, or whatever they call you these days. Finally laid the vicious old bastard to rest, I hear. And you inherited after all. Congratulations!”

“I thank you for your condolences.”

“Not at all, man. Not at all. It’s damned good to see you!”

“And you, Harry. I thought you were in Holland.”

“Was there… here now… You heard the news, I suppose, so I expect I’ll be heading back. Who’s the lad?”

“My cousin, William Sinclair.”

“He’s a pretty boy.”

“I know. I’m trying to keep him from being buggered, and I’m showing him the ropes. I’ve had to warn off Buckingham already.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Aye, but he won’t last long at the rate he’s going.”

Annoyed at being spoken of as if she wasn’t present, Catherine folded her arms across her chest and leaned back, making no attempt to join the conversation. Closing her eyes, she pretended to sleep, and settled in to listen.

“Look there, Sinclair. You’ve an admirer.”

Catherine opened her eyes and sat up straight, looking to where Captain Carrot Top was pointing. It was one of the courtesans, a voluptuous, dark-haired beauty in red silk, sporting glittering jewels and a heart-shaped beauty patch near her mouth. Why would anyone use them? They look ridiculous! she thought. She rolled her eyes and grunted, settling down again. She looks like she forgot to use her napkin after dinner.

“She’s a beauty, don’t you think? And only just arrived from the continent. An actress in need of a protector, and she’s had her eye on you ever since you arrived.”

Jamie gave him a sideways look. “Apparently you have, too.”

“Would you like an introduction?”

“I couldn’t afford her. Haven’t you heard? My wife is up from the country. It’s a sad business, really, but she controls the purse strings.”

“What? Have you become a Tom Otter? I can’t believe it from you, of all men!”

“You’ve been away from London too long, Harry. Between Old Rawley and Dismal Jimmy, it’s become the fashion now.”

“True enough, Sinclair,” the captain said with a laugh. “Leave it to the Stuart boys, but they were hen-pecked by their mistresses, not their wives. What’s the worst she can do?”

“She’ll bite me and make me bleed.”

“Ah! She sounds a veritable Gorgon. Well then, if you’re not here for pleasure, let’s get to business. Some place a little more private, perhaps?”

“Aye, if you make it quick. Come along, Will, you lazy lump. You’re the only lad I know who’d fall asleep in a whorehouse.”

“I thought you said it was a coffee house,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Either or, it’s a singular accomplishment. Wait for me here. I’ll not be long.” He deposited her in the front hallway by the parlor where they’d first come in, and retreated to an alcove with the captain, looking up every few minutes to be sure she was still there.

Catherine returned his glances with a little wave, and tapped her feet impatiently. The night had been a grand adventure, but she was tired now, and bored. Her imagination had been captured every other place they went, but there was nothing for her here. She had a sudden image of the woman upstairs, cupping the man’s ballocks and kissing his… well, she’d never realized women kissed a man there. It certainly seemed they liked it. He’d been moaning and trembling and—

“All by yourself, young sir? That won’t do. Old Peg promised she’d take care of you, didn’t she?”

Catherine reddened as the bawd reached for the front of her breeches and struggled to shrug her off, looking around desperately for Jamie.

“Here now, Peg! Leave the lad alone. He’s already spent his allowance.” Jamie spoke from right behind her.

“What’s wrong with the boy, milord? Shy, is he?”

“Aye, Peg,” he replied with a wicked grin. “I promise you it would be Willie’s first time with a woman. He’s inexperienced yet. It’s enough for him to ogle.”

“But I have girls that specialize in making a lad’s first adventure a memorable success,” she said, motioning to a virginal looking blonde in white lace petticoats.

Jamie examined her, as if considering. “Well… ”

Catherine shot him a murderous look. “I thank you and the young lady for your kindness, madam,” she managed, with a barely perceptible squeak, “but I fear I’ve eaten something that doesn’t agree. I’m in need of air.” She backed out of the hall, bowing and flourishing her hat, then bolted into the street.

“Well!” Peg sniffed, mortally offended by the slur on her food.

Jamie shrugged and bowed apologetically, then hurried out the door to retrieve his wife. Still laughing when he caught up with her, he put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. “It seems your education in the manly arts is sadly lacking in some respects, love.”

She elbowed him hard in the rib cage, but he didn’t let her go.

“I’m glad I provide you so much entertainment, Sinclair.”

“As am I, mouse. As am I.” He looked up and down the narrow street. “Our driver seems to have abandoned us. It’s not safe to wander about at this hour. We’d best find another carriage or a chair. You there! Boy!”

A scruffy young linkboy with a hungry look came trotting over, waving his torch, and Jamie tossed him a farthing. “Two more when you find us a carriage.”

The boy’s face sharpened with interest; it was triple his usual fee. “It’s been right busy here tonight, sirs, but there be a couple looking for business just down the way. Follow me, milords.”

“Look over there.” Catherine tugged at Jamie’s elbow. “Across the street under that sign. I think those men are watching us.”

“Of course they are. We’re a handsome pair,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

The boy led them through an alley to the next street over and then turned toward a well-lit building further down the road. They’d only gone a few yards when a mocking voice called from the alley.

“Tsk tsk! Are ya afraid of the dark then, gentlemen? Two such likely lads as yerselves? Ya needn’t run away. We just want to talk. Pass on a message, as it were.”

The linkboy dropped his torch and scampered off down the street. Jamie caught it and raised it high. Two men stood behind them, bulky figures in ragged clothes. The stench of alcohol, tobacco, and unwashed bodies wafted from them, noticeable even on the streets of London. The speaker stepped forward into the light, tossing and catching a wicked looking club. He was huge, with a broken nose, a broken face, and the remnants of an ear that looked to have been bitten off. A boxer, Jamie decided. They were somebody’s bullyboys, but whose?

There was a metallic whine, as the smaller of the two, waiting in the background, pulled out a sword and took a step forward.

“It seems I’ve been asking too many questions,” Jamie said to Catherine, putting her behind him and unsheathing his own weapon. “And who’s this message from, gentlemen?”

“You’ve angered a very fine lady, pretty sir.”

“Ah! You’ve no quarrel with the lad, then. Let him pass. He’ll just be in the way.”

“If he steps back and minds his own affairs, we’ll leave him be. He can go once we’re finished with you. Can’t have him running for help now, can we?”

“There’s two more,” Catherine said calmly, “coming from the other direction.”

Jamie looked down the street where the boy had disappeared. Two hulking forms had detached from the shadows and were heading purposely their way. He cursed under his breath. He’d had no right to bring her with him, no matter how prettily she’d begged. Pray God they never realized she wasn’t a man. “Step away, Cat, and run,” he whispered. “They won’t chase you, it’s me they want.”

“I’m a Drummond, Sinclair. I’ve never run from a battle and I’m not ready to be a widow just yet,” she said under her breath. Drawing her own sword, she faced away from him, so they were standing back to back. She stood, body balanced, elbows bent and close to her body, feet spread shoulder-width apart, with her sword held in a middle position that covered her from her torso to the top of her head.

“You promised to obey me, Will,” Jamie said evenly.

“Well, it’s a bit too late for that, Sinclair,” she retorted, and then she put him out of her mind, concentrating instead on her opponents’ advance. Jamie had fixed the torch in a wall bracket behind them, and she strained to make them out as they approached the pool of light. They moved without caution, sure of their bulk and numbers, and Catherine reflected that they’d never seen her husband fight. She focused on a tall, rat-faced man with greasy hair. He held his sword straight out in front of him, arms extended like a novice, his gaping grin revealing blackened, broken teeth. The other had a skinning knife.

Her sword was light and nimble, quick and made for stabbing, and she held it at the ready, pointed toward the tall man’s throat. She saw the flicker of hesitation as he checked his advance and the glint of brute determination when he decided to charge. His reach exceeded hers, but he was clearly no trained swordsman, and he left his legs exposed. She took a step to the left and pushed his weapon off to the right, grunting with the effort, then used the opening to attack, stabbing at his groin and catching him deep in his thigh. He stepped back cursing and dropped his sword. It clattered on the ground as he grabbed his leg with both hands, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“Damn it, Catherine, are you alright?” Jamie shouted, forgetting her disguise as he cut through his opponent’s defenses, leaving a foot-long gash from shoulder to elbow and another across his chest.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she gasped, as the one with the knife moved in. “Oh God, Jamie! I can see three more.”

His opponent was tiring rapidly from loss of blood, and as Jamie ducked the other man’s swinging club, he thrust forward, catching the swordsman through the throat. The man looked startled, then afraid, and then with a gurgle he slid to the ground. Jamie reached for Catherine and slammed her back against the wall of the building so they stood side by side instead of back to back, and looked down the street. Three more men were indeed headed their way, all of them with swords drawn.

“Take the fellow with the knife and I’ll do for the one with the club. We need them finished before the others arrive. Keep your back to the wall and mind you don’t slip in the blood. We can do this.”

“I know.”

“Good girl! That was nicely done, by the way,” he added, nodding at the rat-faced man who was now unconscious on the ground.

“Thank you.” Catherine took a deep breath and readied her sword, but their remaining two opponents had learned caution and wouldn’t comply, staying just out of reach as they waited for reinforcements to arrive. She should have been frightened. It was foolish to think they could best five armed men, three of them fresh to the battle, but she was gripped by a wild exhilaration. She’d felt it on occasion in the past, but this was different, just she and Jamie, balanced on a knife’s edge, forced to work together and trust each other to survive. They were comrades in that fierce and singular way known only to those who have fought together side by side. She turned to him with a wide grin, her eyes sparking with excitement, and he grabbed the front of her coat, pulled her close, and kissed her. It was fierce and violent and he let her go right away, but it left her heart hammering in her chest in a way the forthcoming battle had not.

“Just in case, hellcat. I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Here now, the lad’s a lass!”

“And worth more in a battle than the two of you,” Jamie taunted, but they still wouldn’t come.

As the other men drew near, Jamie reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Ready?”

“Aye, I’m—

The loud clatter of iron-shod hooves on cobblestone made them all look up, startled as a heavy coach and four came careening around the corner and barreled down the street, heading straight for them.

“Bloody hell!” one of the newcomers shouted. Jamie pressed Catherine into a recessed doorway in the wall and the men who’d been menacing them dove out of the way, then scrambled to their feet and hared off down the alley. The vehicle screeched to a halt amidst the jingle of harness and an alarmed snorting and stamping of feet.

“Evening, governor,” the driver called back to them, doffing his cap with a spit and a grin. He had a handsome face, despite a few missing teeth and a pockmark here and there. “Name’s Johnnie Mercer. The boy here said you were in a spot of trouble and you’d be wanting a ride. Said you’d pay well, too.” He tipped his head towards the linkboy, who clung, white-faced, on the seat beside him.

“And what’s your name, lad?” Jamie asked the boy.

“Tim, sir.”

“Mr. Mercer, young Tim,” Jamie said with a deep bow. “I am indebted to you both.”

“Aye, that’d be two farthings worth to me, milord, just like you promised.”

Jamie tossed the boy a guinea. It was nearly as much money as he made in a year and more than he’d ever held in his life.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You and Mr. Mercer might well have saved our hides. You earned it, lad. If either of you ever need employment, go to the home of Lord Carlyle, south of St. James Park, and ask for Mr. Sullivan.” He threw another guinea to the coachman. “Mr. Mercer, will you take us home?”

“Be glad to, governor! For a guinea I’d carry you there on my back and treat you to dinner at me poor old mothers on the way.”

The coach was a good deal more luxurious than the hackney they’d taken earlier, and Jamie leaned back against the cushions and relaxed. He’d never been so frightened in his life. The men had been nothing more than hired ruffians, no doubt in the pay of Caroline Ware. They were untrained, brutish, and cowardly, and attacked in packs like dogs. He’d had a reasonable chance of holding his own against the four of them, but he’d feared Catherine might be harmed. Seven was a stretch, even for him. He chuckled under his breath. Damn the chit! She’d defied him and refused to flee, but she knew her way around the business end of a sword and she’d held his back as well as any man. Damn Caro anyway! She’d pay for endangering his wife, the vindictive bitch.

“You make a fine companion, Catherine. A fellow could do worse than have you at his side.”

She wanted to say something brave and witty, but her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering long enough to let her reply.

Jamie tapped on the roof and the carriage rolled to a stop. A moment later Johnny Mercer poked his head inside.

“What can I help you with, governor?”

“Have you anything to ward off an evening’s chill, Mr. Mercer?”

“That I do, sir,” Mr. Mercer replied with a grin. After a few seconds of rummaging, he returned with a worn silver flask. “My compliments, gentlemen. You’ll not find anything finer to warm your bellies this side of hell. Enjoy!”

Jamie passed Catherine the flask and she took a long swallow before giving it back. The fiery liquid left a blaze of heat in her throat and belly, but it was his warmth she craved.

He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her, and then hauled her into his lap, enfolding her tight in his arms. She made a token struggle and he shushed her. “You’re shivering, love. Let me warm you.”

A monotonous drizzle had started almost the moment they climbed into the carriage, and the steady clopping of hooves was gradually changing to a loud splashing as rain pattered against the roof. It was intimate and cozy inside the cab, and she melted against him, burrowing her head into his shoulder and holding him tight.

He kissed her temple and hugged her, clutching her as if afraid to let her go. “Try and sleep now, mouse. You’ve had a full night.”

She could hear his heart, beating slow and steady against her cheek, and she wished he’d kiss her again, but other than his blistering kiss in the alley, he made no attempt on her virtue at all. The rational part of her brain reminded her he thought her a virgin, and a stab of fear more violent than any she felt in the alley made her catch her breath. How would he react when she finally told him she wasn’t what he thought? She gave a worried moan and his fingers brushed her hair to soothe her. Damn it, why did he have to be so nice? And why can’t I keep him?