Wedded in Scandal

Chapter 5

He was kissing her! Lord Redhill was kissing her, and it was wonderful!

Certainly she had been kissed before. There were any number of unscrupulous men who had tried to take advantage of her, especially after her father’s perfidy was known. And in truth, she had known on some level that Lord Redhill would fall into that category eventually. He was not a man to be denied anything, and if she caught his fancy—which she knew she had—then he would of course be required to act upon the impulse. He was a man, after all, and that was what men did.

So she had expected the kiss, had seen the signs, and had her defense ready. After all, she was experienced in stopping all manner of advances. In fact, that was why she had developed the fictitious persona of Mrs. Mortimer, Lord Metzger’s mistress. Lord Metzger had no more been her lover than her driver, but the widespread belief that he was her protector had helped her keep her virtue without all that unnecessary grabbing and demanding that men did. Then poor Lord Metzger had died. Lord Redhill had sauntered into her life. And now he was doing things to her mouth that she had never imagined possible.

He’d started with a simple press of lips to hers, but at her gasp of surprise, he had swept inside. One other man had done that to her, back when she was at school, and she had choked on his invasion. She had wasted no time in shoving the man so hard he landed on his backside.

But Lord Redhill didn’t invade with such brute strength. Instead he teased her, coaxed her, and indeed, something about the sweep of his tongue, the nip of his teeth, even the delightful taste of his breath set her body to humming. Humming, by God, when she was absolutely not a woman who hummed.

She felt his hand at her neck, a single finger, then two, caressing beneath her jaw, slowly coaxing her head backward to rest cupped in his other hand. She couldn’t stop herself from complying. His stroke trailed fire along her skin and, unlike anything else in her life, that heat slid beneath her flesh and into her blood. And with her surrender, Lord Redhill increased his conquest. The press of his body grew harder, the penetration of her mouth more dominant.

This could not be happening. She could not allow this! Her mind screamed at her to wake up and stop him. She had to. And so she did, though it took every ounce of her willpower. She curled her hand, the one that pressed limply against his chest, and she dug her fingernails in. Then she bit down. Not hard, just a steady closing pressure that forced him to withdraw or have his tongue cut in half.

“Trust me—,” he said against her temple.

“Try that again and I shall draw blood.” Then she shoved as hard as she could with her nails against his chest.

His eyes darkened, and he did not move even so much as an inch. She had to be hurting him. Or perhaps not, given the muscles she felt beneath her fingertips. But he had to see the firm determination in her eyes. He had to, because she very much doubted she could keep it up for much longer. He was so close, his scent an intoxicating mixture of sandalwood, citrus, and something else, something drugging to her senses.

Then someone screamed.

Lord Redhill stiffened, his body jerking backward. Helaine gasped and scrambled away as well, knocking over her chair as she moved. And all that happened before she even realized who had interrupted them. But once she was on the opposite side of the room, her hand pressed to her lips in shock and simple pleasure, Helaine found the presence of mind to focus.

The screecher was Lady Gwen, Lord Redhill’s sister. The woman was petite, her cheeks flushed from the weather outside, but she was a virago of fury as she advanced upon her brother.

“Robert! How could you? How dare you! She’s my modiste!”

“Gwen!” squeaked Lord Redhill, and it was indeed a squeak. Or at least as much of a squeak as a man with a deep voice could make. “What are you doing here?”

“She is my dresser!” snapped Lady Gwen. “Really, Robert, I expect such depravity from Father, but from you? I thought the help was safe!”

“Gwen, really, that’s not—”

Lady Gwen wasn’t listening. She spun around, turning her back on her brother in order to step forward to grasp Helaine’s shaking hands. “I am deeply sorry, Mrs. Mortimer. I cannot imagine how horrible this must be for you.”

Helaine tried to speak. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but she hadn’t the presence of mind to think of words. Her blood was still simmering with a heat that could only be described as passion. Passion! Inside her! She had long ago given up hope that any man could move her. She was not a passionate woman. But his kiss had stirred her. And the shock of that left her slack jawed and stupid.

“Lady Gwen,” she began, stalling for time as she tried to order her thoughts.

“No, no, don’t say anything. He is a beast to accost you in such a manner, but never fear. He has given me access to my funds, so you shall never have to see him again.”

On the opposite side of the room, Lord Redhill snorted in derision. “Gwen, you cannot think that I forced myself anywhere. I—”

Gwen spun around. “Don’t say it, Robert! Just don’t! You and I have both heard that exact faradiddle from Father countless times. What was it you told me right after you demanded he find rooms elsewhere?” Gwen tapped her finger with her chin. “Oh, yes, you said that just being titled put Father in an unfair position over the maids. Willing or not, he was forcing himself on them and you wouldn’t stand for it.”

Lord Redhill’s face turned a blistering shade of red. Helaine might have said he was angry, except that he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked more embarrassed. “She’s not a maid in my household, Gwen,” he said, his voice low but no less powerful.

Helaine touched Lady Gwen’s arm, her sense of justice forcing her to confess part of the truth. “Please,” she said as she drew the woman around. “Your brother has learned of my past. He was simply applying as a replacement protector.”

It took a moment for Gwen to understand what she meant, and when the information finally processed, the woman blushed to the roots of her fine blond hair. “Oh. Oh! Oh, but does that mean—”

“I have turned him down,” Helaine said.

Gwen frowned, her gaze darting between the two of them. “That was a refusal?”

Helaine sighed. “Men usually don’t take ‘no’ on the first try. Your brother is no more and no less than any other man in that regard.” She said the words and tried not to choke on them. The truth was that one kiss had shown her that Lord Redhill was a great deal more spectacular than any other man.

“Oh, well,” said Gwen, her eyes flashing fire at her brother again. “Never fear. I shall be sure to emphasize that point to him in the future.” Then she straightened and crossed to the door, hauling it open with a dramatic flourish. “I believe you have your answer, Robert. Good-bye.”

Lord Redhill’s gaze narrowed on his sister, clearly annoyed by her high-handedness. But it was his next look—the one that rested long and heavy on Helaine—that had her squirming where she stood. It brought to mind all that they had done in the space of a few seconds, and all that might have happened had his sister not appeared precipitously. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she could not hold his gaze.

He waited an interminable minute longer, then finally spoke. “You are right, Gwen. I believe I shall take my leave. But pray, my dear, do not let my actions influence your financial decisions. Her request for early payment is not the usual course of—”

“Oh, just get out!” Gwen snapped. “You are the most pompous ass I have ever known!” And with that, the petite woman grabbed her brother’s arm and shoved him out the door. Never had Helaine seen the like, and a part of her was thrilled to see that someone was capable of putting the arrogant, managing, incredibly seductive Lord Redhill in his place. Especially as the door slammed on his behind.

“I vow you are a most amazing woman,” Helaine said. “How can I express my gratitude?”

“What? Oh, Mrs. Mortimer, you should be the one demanding my forgiveness. Really, Robert can be such a bully. But never you fear, I have been putting him in his place since he was in shortcoats. I shall most certainly continue to do so on your behalf.”

Helaine released a halfhearted laugh. On the one hand, Lady Gwen was delightful when she spoke with such righteous indignation. On the other hand, she had no wish to come between the two siblings and certainly not about something as confusing as a kiss. “Please, my lady, you will do me the greatest favor if you just forget this entire incident.”

“Of course, of course. Ring for some fresh tea, and we shall talk of something much more pleasant than my wretched brother.”

Helaine did as she was bidden, grateful to settle into a discussion of clothing and dress styles. She was able to bring out the sketches for Gwen’s trousseau that she’d done early that morning, and was pleased when the lady began to embellish the designs to just what she desired. Gwen was working extra hard to be pleasant, and Helaine was inordinately grateful for the respite from her feelings.

And yet, no amount of time spent in fashion discourse could completely erase the memory of Lord Redhill. It could not hide the fact that her body still heated at just the thought of the handsome man. It could not prevent her lips from tingling slightly whenever she chanced to look at the chair where he had kissed her. Nor could it completely stop her wayward thoughts from reliving every sweet sensation that he had stroked to glorious life.

There was no doubt in her mind that she had just been seduced. In the space of a few seconds, the irritating man had conquered her. It mattered not that she had only given him a kiss. The horrid man had awoken something inside her and, try as she might, she couldn’t lie to herself about that simple fact.

He had seduced her, and what made it even worse was that the whole thing had nothing to do with attraction. Well, perhaps she was attracted to him, and she would go to her grave regretting that. But he wasn’t attracted to her. Not in the usual way.

His offer, and consequent seduction, was simply about asserting dominance. She and Francine had bested him. They had all but called him an idiot, and they had done it in front of Anthony, another man. What was any male’s reaction to humiliation? Why, sexual domination, of course. And she had succumbed! For the space of a few heartbeats, she had given in to his dominance like any weak-willed woman.

Oh, what a fool she was! After all, she wasn’t a young girl, innocent to the ways of men. Her naïveté had been stripped away the moment her father’s name had been destroyed. Then all manner of men had shown up, planning to take what her father could not defend. None of them had counted on her strength of character, on her resilience, or on her changing her name to become a dressmaker. She had resources beyond becoming someone’s mistress!

And so she would tell him if she ever saw him again. And God forbid he should try anything like that on her again! She was prepared now. She would put him in his place so fast, his head would be ringing for a week!

If…When…She bit her lip and tried to get hold of her raging temper. She was only angry at herself. After all, he was acting as all men did. Meanwhile, she had a customer—and one whom she desperately needed to charm.

Sadly, that was where they encountered a problem. It turned out that Lady Gwen had indeed heard her brother’s warnings. She was not in the least bit inclined to pay even so much as a groat ahead of time. Or, at least, she wasn’t unless Helaine agreed to a rather spectacularly bad idea.

“I-I’m sorry?” Helaine stammered. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you exactly.” She had, in fact, heard everything clearly, but couldn’t believe the request.

“Well, you see,” Lady Gwen began, obviously embarrassed and yet excited at the same time, “my brother might be obnoxious, but he did impress upon me that proper management of money required thought and maturity. He did say—”

“Yes, I know,” Helaine interrupted. “He believes that advance payment is a ridiculous notion. But we are in a special circumstance.”

“I know, I know! Which is why my solution works perfectly!”

Helaine sighed. “My dear, you are a gently bred woman. Commerce requires something of a less refined nature.”

“But you are a gently bred woman as well. Don’t try to deny it. I can hear it in your voice.”

She was right. Helaine had once traveled in the most elite circles. But that was a long time ago. “Lady Gwen—”

“No, no! My mind is quite made up. If you wish to make my trousseau, then you must simply allow me to go with you to purchase the cloth. I wish to see everything. Then I can pay the merchants directly—and on credit, I might add—and you shall have what you need to make my clothing!”

Helaine tried not to squirm in her seat. Lady Gwen had no idea what would be involved in purchasing the items required. Especially since some of these merchants could be downright nasty. “But if you have the money, there is no reason to purchase on credit.”

The girl brightened considerably at that. “Well, that is where you are wrong! Robert talked to me about interest. Said having money earns more money! Just imagine! It simply earns money because you have not spent it. Therefore, credit makes the best sense of all. I get to earn interest, and you still have the wherewithal to buy fabric and the like.”

Fabric, yes. Tomorrow’s dinner, no. But she couldn’t say that. In truth, as a businesswoman, Helaine had learned about the miracle of interest as well. Except, of course, they never had enough money to earn interest.

“That’s all very clever of you,” Helaine began, “but you don’t understand the locations I must go to get things. And truthfully, I have just entered an arrangement with another lady to purchase things on my behalf. She is much more capable of handling herself in the rougher locations. Lace, for example, is often negotiated right on the docks.”

Far from being deterred, Lady Gwen actually clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, my! That does sound like an adventure.”

“It’s not,” Helaine returned with as dampening an attitude as she could manage.

“Well, it will be for me!” Gwen said happily.

Helaine stalled by drinking her tea. It had long since gone cold, but she sipped at it nonetheless. There had to be some way to dissuade the girl, but try as she might, she simply couldn’t think of a thing. But one look at the girl’s face and she knew Gwen would not be dissuaded easily. In the end, Helaine set down her cup with a definitive click.

“Very well,” she said slowly, “on one condition. You shall not go anywhere without me. Ever. Truly, Lady Gwen, that is for your own safety.”

“Of course, of course,” Gwen returned happily.

“And you shall bring a footman with you. A big, burly one. Perhaps two.”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “You truly think it is that dangerous?”

“I do,” she said firmly.

“Very well then. Two footmen of extra large stature.”

Helaine leaned back in her seat, her nefarious plot accomplished. There was no way that the girl could get the use of two footmen without her brother finding out. And once he did, there was absolutely no way the man would allow his sister into such a potentially dangerous situation. It was horrible of her, but she did not see another way.

Meanwhile, Lady Gwen was practically bouncing in her seat. “So? When do we go and to where?”

Helaine pretended to think hard about it. “Well,” she drawled, pulling out the most reprehensible name on her list of suppliers, “as soon as you send word that you have the footmen, we shall go to Captain Johnny Bono’s Excellent Mercantile. Mind that you let your butler know where you are going. Dribbs would want to know where his staff is working.” And he would be sure to let his lordship know as well.

“An excellent suggestion,” the girl crowed. “I shall send word tonight!”

Five hours later, Helaine discovered all her manipulations had failed. A letter arrived from Lady Gwen stating that she had obtained the necessary protection and would arrive at the shop at noon on the morrow. But it wasn’t until the postscript that Helaine truly began to panic. It read:

P.S. I’m terribly sorry, but Robert has insisted on coming along as well.

Robert wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when they entered Mrs. Mortimer’s dress shop. He knew she would be there. He guessed she would be somewhat on guard against him. After all, he had attempted to seduce her, and frankly, he was still intent on doing the deed.

Despite the scolding from his sister, Robert did not feel as though he was violating any ethical code of behavior. If Mrs. Mortimer were just a dressmaker, then she would naturally be off-limits. But she’d been mistress to Lord Metzger long before she became a dressmaker. As Lord Metzger was conveniently dead, Mrs. Mortimer was open game. And Robert was more than willing to be a hunter.

So he had decided to accompany his sister on her shopping expedition. He would risk a day of boredom if it meant he could continue his pursuit of the exquisite Mrs. Mortimer. At least those were his thoughts before he saw her that morning.

She was dressed all in black, as a widow, complete with bonnet and umbrella. But the dress itself was a study in contrasts. The fabric was cheap wool, but the cut was exquisite, showing off her swells and hollows in a way that made him look twice. Especially because she looked plump. He frowned, studying her more closely. The swell of her bosom looked natural. Beautifully natural, but the rest of the dress…

“Are you wearing padding?” he gasped. Her form had added in girth by at least an inch if not more.

She arched a brow at him, color tingeing her cheeks. “What I wear and why is none of your concern, my lord.”

A well-intoned set-down, but color was still building in her cheeks. She was embarrassed, but why? Meanwhile, she had turned to his sister.

“Please, Lady Gwen, I cannot think this is wise. Even with the presence of your brother. Especially with his presence.”

Gwen frowned, both irritation and confusion in her words. “I don’t understand. You said you buy much of your supplies from this Johnny Bono.”

Mrs. Mortimer bit her lip in consternation. “I do, Lady Gwen, but he is exactly the reason I hired Irene. However, Irene is not available this morning. And this is hardly the place—”

“I am sick to death of people telling me where it is and is not appropriate for me to go. If you are safe there, then I most certainly shall be, especially with Robert and Jack along.”

Jack was their burliest footman and he was waiting on the carriage seat along with their coachman. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mortimer smiled her most winning smile and touched his sister’s hands.

“I know you are most brave, but believe me when I say that there are places I would certainly not go if I had no need. I spent the morning writing to other vendors, requesting a private audience for you, but none are available. I’m afraid they don’t believe I’ve landed a client such as you.”

“Private!” gasped Gwen as she rolled her eyes. “I am not so delicate that I need such exalted service. And as for their beliefs, it is their loss. You are an excellent dressmaker, Mrs. Mortimer, and I wish to begin purchasing my dresses. Now, if you please.”

Mrs. Mortimer gave in. Indeed, what choice did she have with Gwen so insistent? But Robert had heard the fear underlying the woman’s tone and was not so sanguine as his naive sister.

“Why ‘especially’ with me?” he asked.

Both ladies turned to him in confusion.

“You said you didn’t want to go especially in my presence. Why is that?”

Mrs. Mortimer shrugged. “Johnny Bono is a man of moods, my lord. A happy mood and his goodwill shows through. He will lower his price, and I have only moderate difficulty with him. But bring in a lord, and his price triples. Bring in an arrogant, domineering lord, and he will be surly indeed.”

He arched a brow. “I’m not always arrogant and domineering, you know.”

“Oh, of course you are,” Gwen answered before anyone else could. “But we shall bargain him down with the offer of more sales in the future.”

Mrs. Mortimer obviously did not like that idea, but she tried for a conciliatory tone. “Perhaps, Lady Gwen—”

“Come, come, I insist. We shall go now and find some lovely bargains for me and my in-laws-to-be.”

The dressmaker gave in with a regal nod of her head. But before they left the shop, she touched Gwen’s arm. “Please do not mention future sales. I do not like being beholden to Mr. Bono, even by implication.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up at that, and she was about to argue, but Robert cut her off.

“An excellent suggestion,” he said firmly. “As Mrs. Mortimer knows this Bono fellow best, I believe we should take her advice.”

Mrs. Mortimer’s smile of relief was reward enough. But as Robert helped his sister into his carriage, he had cause to fear. He paused as he extended his hand to the dressmaker.

“Exactly how dangerous is this place?”

The woman sighed, and the sound came from deep within her. “There is likely no danger to you or your sister, my lord.”

“So why the resistance?”

“Because I must return there after you are done. Or Irene in my stead. And the situation will not be so…safe.”

His eyebrows narrowed in anger at that. It had never occurred to him that women in London would fear for their safety on British soil. But of course, that was ridiculous. Woman were vulnerable whatever their station in life.

But there was no time to reconsider, and in truth, he had no wish to. He wanted to see this Johnny Bono and ascertain for himself if Mrs. Mortimer was simply exaggerating her fears or if there was true danger right here in his own backyard.

Some fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a location that could only be described as vile. It was a warehouse conveniently located near the docks and tucked in tight to the fish yards. The stench was overpowering and, worse, the buildings sat too close to let the air blow the scent away. Two blocks before, Mrs. Mortimer had passed his sister a sachet of sweet-smelling herbs. Both ladies had one pressed to their nose, and Robert envied them the feminine accoutrement. But if he thought the smell alone would deter his sister, he was sadly mistaken. As soon as the carriage came to a halt, she grabbed her reticule and made for the door. After a shared expression of resignation with Mrs. Mortimer, Robert assisted the ladies to disembark.

Then he met Mr. Bono and had the overwhelming desire to shove them both back inside the carriage. The man was standing at the doorway to the warehouse, a smile of welcome on his face. He was tall, dressed immaculately, and was, by any account, handsome as sin. He also had a way of looking at the women that raised Robert’s every protective instinct.

“Mrs. Mortimer! How very delightful it is to see you again.” He stepped forward and took her hand in greeting. The dressmaker allowed it, even seemed to smile in welcome, but Robert could see the tension in her body as the man pressed the back of her hand to his lips.

“It is always an adventure seeing you as well,” she said dryly. “Allow me to present Lord Redhill and his sister, Lady Gwen.”

The man immediately changed his attention to Robert’s sister, clasping her hand in a nearly reverent embrace. “Exquisite, my lady. Welcome,” he said as he pressed his lips to Gwen’s hand. If it weren’t for the gloves she wore, Robert would have had a hard time allowing even this intimacy. Which was ridiculous, since the gentleman had acted—so far—only in a most proper manner. Especially as he finally released Gwen to bow politely before Robert. “My lord.”

Robert gave him the barest of nods as he looked about. “Which is your warehouse?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice urbane. They were surrounded on all sides by the dark, ugly buildings.

“Why, all of them!” Mr. Bono said with a sweeping gesture. “Did not Mrs. Mortimer explain? I am the only place to find the most exquisite items. Unique purchases from around the world. Treasures, my lady,” he said to Gwen. “Around every turn, veritable treasures from China, India, and even some countries as you have never heard of before.”

“Oh, my!” Gwen gasped. “Truly?”

Before Mr. Bono could answer, Mrs. Mortimer stepped forward. “Your silks, please. We are shopping for silks today.”

“Excellent choice,” the man returned. “Most excellent. Come along. I shall show you what has arrived just today.”

They followed docilely enough, the ladies, Robert, and Jack. The coachman would not leave the horses and knew to keep a pistol in his lap just in case. But that would not help the ladies any as they stepped into the dark interior of a massive warehouse.

“Mind your step!” Mr. Bono called as he gestured to four of his workers. They were filthy brutes who smelled terrible, but they held aloft lamps as Bono led them on a meandering path through furniture, crates of odd metal lamps, and even a pen of roosting chickens.

“Just got a parcel of them from a farmer who had too many.”

The chickens, he supposed.

“But what you ladies want is back ’ere, but then you know that, don’t ye, Mrs. Mortimer? She and I, we been back ’ere many a time, ain’t we?” He made it sound like he and the dressmaker had been doing much more than selecting fabrics, and Robert could see Mrs. Mortimer stiffen at the innuendo. But she didn’t say anything, which led Robert to believe that such suggestive banter was typical of the man. Which made Robert like him less and less.

They continued to wander through a maze of items, the pathways getting narrower and narrower. And then, abruptly, a woman appeared beside him. She was clean and had big fat curls of hair and a dark red dress cut down almost to her belly. It would take the work of a moment to rid her of that gown, as she no doubt knew.

“Oh, guv,” she cooed as she stepped between him and the ladies. “There be a better cut of cloth just over there.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said stiffly as he tried to push past her. But there was no room to move. He’d have to climb over crates of what he thought might be onions and turnips.

“Coo, gov’ner, you won’t be far from yer ladies. Just over there.”

There might be men who’d be tempted. She smelled good, and her charms were more than ample, but Robert wasn’t in the least bit interested. And the women were moving farther away. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He smiled as warmly as he could manage. He stepped close to her and put his hands on her waist. As expected, she melted forward. Which gave him the leverage he needed to lift her high up in the air, around the crates, though she did bang her leg on one, and set her firmly down behind him.

“No, thank you, ma’am. Sorry about your leg.” Then he turned and hurried forward to catch up with the others. Which was when he noticed that he wasn’t the only one being trapped in the tight confines. The lanes around the bolts of fabrics were so narrow that only one person could pass at a time.

Gwen was in the lead, inspecting the various fabrics as best she could in the lamplight. Mrs. Mortimer came next, doing her best to point out flaws in the cloth where it was damaged by water or vermin. Mr. Bono stood right behind Mrs. Mortimer, protesting whatever flaws she saw, as any merchant might. It was all very civilized except for one thing. At first Robert couldn’t be sure he was seeing correctly, but a minute’s observation showed him the truth.

Mr. Bono was fondling Mrs. Mortimer. It might appear that he was leaning forward to point out the sumptuousness of some bit of velvet, but as he did it, his opposite hand slid down the lady’s buttocks. Robert didn’t for one moment think she welcomed his attention. Her attire and attitude toward Mr. Bono had been absolutely neutral. And yet, she stood there and accepted his caresses without complaint.

Or at least not without obvious objection. As Robert was maneuvering his way forward, he saw her “accidentally” elbow the bastard backward. At one point, Mr. Bono even gasped and shied his booted foot sideways, as Mrs. Mortimer must have stomped on it. But she was in a doomed position. The pathway was such that there was no room at all. Mr. Bono must, of course, touch her. And she must, of course, tolerate it if she wished to purchase his goods.

And all the while, Gwen kept a running prattle about this fabric and the other, obviously unaware of what was happening right beside her. Fortunately, Robert was not so oblivious.

He reached forward and grabbed the man by his collar. Or at least he intended to. Before he could grab hold, one of the lamp holders shoved out a billy stick and it cracked into his wrist.

“Oh, yer lordship! Begging your pardon!” cried the man. “I thought to hit a fly.”

“The hell you did,” Robert grumbled. Damn, his hand was numb from the wrist down. He glared around him. Everyone looked the picture of innocence, from Johnny Bono all the way through his four burly lantern carriers. Everyone, that is, except Mrs. Mortimer, who understood exactly what was happening and had turned a mortified dark red. Meanwhile, Robert turned a dark eye to his sister. “Gwen,” he said sternly, “we are done with this cad. You will—”

“Aw, now, your lordship,” interrupted Mr. Bono. “I expect you saw my bit o’ fun with Mrs. Mortimer and took the wrong idea. Why, she and me, we be the best of friends, and she’s used to a bit o’ fun from me. Gets a might bit insulted, she does, if there ain’t no touches between friends. And as you can see, it’s close in here. Hard to avoid, but I can be seeing as how you’d get the wrong idea.”

“It’s close in here by your design, Mr. Bono. And I have no interest—”

“But your sis ’ere been loving the silks and velvets. Best on the docks, an’ I’ll give you a good price. Don’t be misunderstanding me an’ Mrs. Mortimer. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Mort? You and me, we do this ever’ time.”

Robert could not clearly see the dressmaker’s face. Mr. Bono was standing directly in front of her, his expression hidden. Robert didn’t need to see it, though, to know exactly what was happening. The man was giving her a hard look, silently threatening her unless she complied. He almost smiled. Given the way she had spoken to Robert throughout their acquaintance, he looked forward to the set-down she was about to give the man. But it never came.

“O-of course, my lord,” she stammered, her voice audible but not invested with the power he usually heard from her. “Mr. Bono and I are old friends. And friends are allowed certain liberties. In fact,” she said, turning a winning smile up to Mr. Bono, “I find him most masterful. The way he manages all his domain. It quite turns my head.”

Robert stared at the woman. He could not be more shocked if she had turned green and sprouted horns. Was it possible? Could he have misread the situation so drastically? She couldn’t possibly want this man’s attention, and yet her expression was almost…dreamy as she looked at Mr. Bono.

Meanwhile, the man turned back to Robert, his face all smiles. “Mrs. Mort knows that after a bit o’ fun, I will give ’er—and you—the best I gots. In fact,” he said as he gestured to one of the lamp bearers, “there’s a few bolts I separated out jes’ for her. And while we’re waiting, ’haps my sweet Miriam can be getting you a drink, what? Put some fire in yer belly, it can.”

Miriam was the tart dressed in red, and she immediately stepped forward from the shadows, a bottle of brandy in one hand and scotch in the other.

“Definitely fine stuff,” she cooed. “An’ there’s more in the back.”

Robert barely even looked at her. He was busy searching Mrs. Mortimer’s face for a clue. In truth, he was rather disappointed in her. She seemed of a higher sort than to accept advances from the likes of Bono. But whatever the reason, the man obviously had her under his thumb. He knew it the moment she flashed him a wan smile and turned to Gwen.

“Lady Gwen, it is up to you. If you prefer, I can…um…return later and make the selections.”

“Absolutely not!” snapped Robert. The last thing he wanted was for Mrs. Mortimer to return here alone. If they were to buy fabrics from this cretin, then they would do it now.

“Aw, don’t be fretting, dove!” said Mr. Bono to Gwen. “And ’ere’s the silk, jes’ for you.”

A cascade of palest yellow silk spilled out before them. Beside them Gwen gasped. Even Mrs. Mortimer couldn’t seem to resist reaching out to stroke the beautiful material. But Robert was done with this fiasco. He had no understanding of what exactly was between Mrs. Mortimer and the repulsive Mr. Bono, and at the moment he didn’t truly care. He just wanted done with this business.

“Gwen,” he snapped, “it is time to depart. We will not be purchasing any of Mr. Bono’s wares.”

“But Robert!” his sister cried.

Mrs. Mortimer, too, seemed abruptly very alarmed. “Please, my lord, I know this is not what you are used to, but if you will recall I did try to tell you that the situation here was unusual.”

“Mrs. Mort and I have a special relationship,” began Mr. Bono, but Robert never gave him the chance to continue.

“There will be no business done here today,” Robert snapped. “Gwen, he is not an honest businessman, and I’ll have no truck with him.”

“’Ey, now! There’s no need t’ be insulting! I’m an honest man.”

And to his shock, even Mrs. Mortimer objected, her voice high with alarm. “Pray don’t say that, Lord Redhill! Mr. Bono is the most excellent of gentlemen!” She turned to the man, panic clear in her expression. “The yellow silk, Mr. Bono. Please. Right away.”

“No! There will be no purchase at all today,” Robert said as he held out his hand to Gwen. Her mouth was set in a mulish line, but he glared her into submission. In the end, the girl huffed.

“You are the worst sort of brother, you know that?” she spat. “Generous one moment, then high-handed and obnoxious the next.”

Robert didn’t bother to respond. Gwen knew when he would brook no interference. She took his hand and they began the business of leaving. Mrs. Mortimer, however, stood back, her panicked eyes going between Lord Redhill and Mr. Bono.

“Yes, there will be,” she snapped. “The yellow silk!” Then she swallowed. “I shall have to purchase it on credit, you know. But I shall pay you back as soon as—”

Mr. Bono’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, you will, Mrs. Mort. Ain’t no cause for you to be bringing customers here who ain’t customers and insulting my good name.”

“I know, Mr. Bono. Please understand, they had every intention of buying—”

“Harry,” he snapped at one of his men, “wrap up the silk.” Then his eyes hardened as he looked back at the dressmaker. “We’ll be negotiatin’ the price when you return.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Mr. Bono. We’ll be settling this now.”

“Not when it’s credit, ducky.”

“Then I won’t be taking the silk.”

The two were at a standoff, with Robert getting more impatient by the second. “We are leaving, Mrs. Mortimer,” he said, his words coming out as a low growl. “I cannot think what you are about, but I have had enough. Do you wish us to leave without you?” It was an idle threat. He had no intention of abandoning her here, but he also didn’t want to loiter here while she played at whatever game was going on between them.

Bono arched a brow, his expression turning to a smug superiority. “Would you prefer to stay here, Mrs. Mortimer?”

Robert watched her swallow nervously, her gaze darting between the door and Mr. Bono, but her voice came out hard and cold. “Name your price, Mr. Bono.”

“Two guinea.”

She gasped with horror. “That’s outrageous,” she cried, “and you know it!”

“That’s the price.”

“I won’t pay—”

Robert released a curse that was not meant for ladies’ ears, but he was rapidly beginning to wonder at Mrs. Mortimer’s claim to that title. After all, she was standing here dickering with a man who had been molesting her person. But one glance at the “lamp bearers,” and he knew they were out of time. The men surrounding them were moving in. If it came to a fight, then there was no way Robert could protect himself, much less either woman.

Loath though he was to do it, Robert pulled out his own purse. With a curse of disgust, he fished out two coins and tossed them on top of a nearby crate.

“There’s your money,” he all but snarled. Then he grabbed the bolt from the thug and jerked his head at Gwen. “Outside. Now.”

It took them much too long to escape the warehouse, but they did. Gwen made to slow as she took a deep breath of the fish-scented air. It was foul, but it was better than what was inside the closely packed warehouse. Robert tagged her bottom with the end of the bolt. “Go!” he breathed. He had already ascertained that Mrs. Mortimer was behind them, moving just as rapidly as Robert. But none of them were faster than Mr. Bono himself. He must have some secret pathway through the warren, Robert thought uncharitably, because before they made it to the carriage, he saw the man crossing to stand before Gwen.

Urbane as ever, Mr. Bono bowed deeply over Gwen’s hand. “I can see that I have offended your brother, Lady Gwen. Please let me apologize. Perhaps we can find a way to do business another day.”

“I would not count on that,” Robert growled as he handed off the bolt of silk to the coachman.

The man turned and executed a deep bow, but kept his eye on Gwen. “Perhaps not today, but Mrs. Mortimer and I can come to some arrangement for other silks. I believe a soft rose would be exactly your color, don’t you think? As sweet as your lovely cheeks. Makes a man think of things he ought not with a lady like you.”

“Oh, Mr. Bono!” said Gwen, her blush burning hotter as she looked away.

“Get back!” Robert growled as he was at last free to step forward aggressively against the bastard.

Mr. Bono backed away immediately, his bow deep and deferential. “Don’t you worry, guv,” he said. “I know I can’t do anything but look at the likes of yer sister.” He cast a wink at Gwen that had Robert growling anew. “And don’t you be mad at him,” he said to Gwen. “It’s a man’s right to protect his sister from the likes of me.”

That was the moment Robert realized the man’s cleverness. With one sentence, he had cast Robert in the role of overprotective brother, while Bono was the charming rogue. He laid even odds that Gwen would come back again, only this time without her bear of a brother. Damnation!

And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the man turned to the dressmaker.

“A pleasure as always, Mrs. Mortimer.”

“Of course, Mr. Bono,” she said with a smile. She made a valiant effort, but Robert could see the strain in her eyes and the pinched tightness to her smile. Then she turned toward the carriage while Bono winked at Robert.

“I won’t lay a hand on yer sister, I swear. Thankfully, other women are not so exalted, what?” And with that the man abruptly swatted Mrs. Mortimer’s behind. She released a squeak of alarm as she completed the climb into the carriage, but she said nothing while Mr. Bono released a hearty chuckle. “You have a good afternoon, now!” And with that he dropped into a low, mocking bow. Robert didn’t know how the man could make a deep bow insolent, but somehow he did. And he had half a mind to whip the man, except of course that it would only prove him insane and overprotective. Bloody cheek.

All he could do was to climb into the carriage and slam the door shut. Lord, he was so livid, he expected to take the rest of the ride back home just to find the calm to not punch something. Sadly, he was not given a respite in which to fume. As soon as the carriage began moving, Gwen turned on him.

“Really, Robert, what did you mean by all this? How can you insist on coming and then keep me from purchasing anything? If this is what you mean by my being responsible for my own funds, then I cannot think that you are serious. Why, you—”

“Gwen, please!” he said, exasperated as he leaned forward to look earnestly at Mrs. Mortimer. “Are you all right?”

The lady’s eyes narrowed and her color was high. She took a moment, as if she, too, were trying to get hold of her temper, but she obviously failed. Because a second later she was blasting him as if he had been the one to accost her. “I knew I should not have let you come. I knew it! But no, I trusted to your understanding of business, to your promise to be discreet. My God, do you know what you have done today?”

“Done?” he snapped back, his own temper slipping free. “What have I done but pay two guineas for some blasted silk? And to that bastard!”

“That bastard is the only one who will give me credit! And now his prices will be tripled! What you have done, my high-handed lord, is ruin me and my business!”

“Ruin you? I paid for the damn silk!”

“And how many dresses can I make from that? One, maybe two? What about muslin and lace, thread and buttons? Did you think about that while you were ruining me?”

“He was accosting you!”

“He was most certainly not!” she snapped back.

He slammed back against the seat, and his mind’s eye unerringly repeated what he had seen. “So it’s true. You are his mistress.”

Crack! The slap of her hand across his face surprised him as much from the speed as the vehemence of her attack. His head shot to the side. He hadn’t even seen the blow coming.

“I am no man’s mistress. Not his and certainly not yours!”

He didn’t move, but he felt the imprint of her hand burning on his cheek and his fury coalesced into a cold, ugly thing. “I know what I saw, Mrs. Mortimer. But of course, it is no business of mine. And,” he added, his eyes narrowing into hard slits, “no business of ours will be exactly what you get.”

He saw that Mrs. Mortimer understood immediately what he meant. She blanched to a ghostly white, but didn’t say a word. It took Gwen a moment longer to comprehend, but when she did, she bristled with all her youthful contrariness.

“Why, you interfering, high-handed, arrogant…brother!” Gwen spat the last word as if it were the gravest insult. “I do not have the slightest understanding of what just happened, but I completely agree with Mrs. Mortimer. It is all your fault, Robert! All of it!” Then, to prove that she wasn’t completely at a loss, she turned to Mrs. Mortimer, her expression concerned. “Am I to understand that Mr. Bono accosted you?”

Mrs. Mortimer released a sigh of frustration. “Gwen, dear, please do not be concerned. It is the sad truth that women in my position are accosted constantly. Your brother yesterday, Mr. Bono today. It is a game they play—”

“Do not think to put me in the same category as that villain,” Robert snapped, but guilt was burning a dark hole in his gut.

Mrs. Mortimer went on as if she had not heard him. “It is why I wear padding when I visit Mr. Bono. He likes to…er…touch. And if I allow just a little touching, the price is better. I praise his masterly skills in front of his men, I giggle and simper, and yes, I even tease. If I could afford to go elsewhere, I would. Indeed, that is why I am working with a new woman who will hopefully solve this problem. But she has only just begun to work and was unavailable this morning.”

Gwen frowned. “But you shouldn’t have to do business that way.”

Mrs. Mortimer reached out and touched Gwen’s hand. “Should and shouldn’t do not apply to some of us. Be grateful that you are protected.”

“Well,” huffed Gwen, “you shall not be punished because of my brother’s boorishness.” She shot a withering glare at Robert. “I believe, Mrs. Mortimer, that I shall double my trousseau purchase. And I think I will get all of my friends to visit you as well. It shall be a condition of attending my wedding. They must all wear a gown made by you.”

Color returned to the dressmaker’s cheeks, and Robert had the churlish instinct to be furious at her for impelling his sister to do such a thing. He had been trying to protect the woman, damn her. And she had somehow managed to turn him into a villain and his sister into her greatest patron.

“My God,” he whispered, “you are the most brilliant businessman it has ever been my misfortune to meet.”

Both women turned to look at him, but it was the dressmaker who spoke, with an arched brow, no less. “I am not a businessman at all, my lord. In fact, I believe that is the source of our difficulties. You have no idea what to do with a woman in business.”

“Because a woman ought not to be in business,” he groused. And then he could have bitten off his own tongue for his stupidity. He merely meant that she ought to have a man to do her purchasing and the like. After all, if a man were to go to Mr. Bono’s, then all this havy cavy nonsense would not happen. It was all perfectly logical, and yet it was absolutely not the thing to say to these two women. To say that they were insulted was a mild understatement. Gwen huffed and called him the type of names he had long since learned to tune out. Mrs. Mortimer simply looked at him with pity in her dark eyes. Pity! When he was the damned viscount and she was a nobody dressmaker!

Good Lord, but he was beyond grateful when they finally arrived at the shop. He leaped out immediately, simply to remove himself from the diatribe Gwen continued to level at his head.

“Gwen, my dear,” he said, interrupting her in midword, “I believe I shall walk from here. Pray go home and let Mother know what has happened. I’m sure she would love to know the exact details of my perfidy.”

If there was one thing his mother enjoyed, it was a lively discussion of his faults. In the meantime, he gestured to the coachman. The footman was already carrying the bolt of blasted yellow silk into the shop. If Robert had his choice, he would turn around and depart immediately. But politeness required that he open the shop door for Mrs. Mortimer. She smiled her thanks, her expression tight. And politeness also required that she invite him inside.

“It has been a long day, my lord. Would you like some tea before you depart?” Her words were no more and no less than what he expected. But some devil in his heart made him look her in the eye, waiting until she finally met his gaze. “My lord?”

“This is not done between us. I will not stay now, but I will return.”

He watched understanding and dismay fill her expression. But there was a spark of excitement there. He was sure of it. Excitement, desire, all of the feminine reactions that said, Do come back. Do challenge me again. He read them in her eyes. Or so he told himself. Then he spun on his heel and walked away.