Masquerading The Marquess(42)

"Well, then, I have a question for you. How did a virgin become a courtesan and manage to remain a virgin?"

Panic flowed through her and she looked to the door for escape.

"What game were you and Stephen playing?"

Calliope pulled herself together and stammered an answer. "W-we were just waiting. He was giving me time to adjust."

James looked unconvinced.

She tried again. "You know what a gentleman Stephen is."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Can’t say that I do."

"Well, he is. He was allowing me to adjust to my new role." Calliope panicked and forced herself to continue the charade. It wasn’t time to tell him. Not yet, not when he was looking at her with such heat.

"Well, I’m not Stephen. And I want you."

"I, uh, that is-"

"Money, protection, security for life. I can give you all you desire."

The look he gave her promised just that. It made her sizzle, but visions of her mother anxiously waiting for Salisbury to appear each night danced through her head. There had always been the uncertainty and sometimes the disappointment.

"I am quite sure you don’t know what I desire."

"I know enough." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let his hand trail down the back of her neck.

The room was getting warmer by the minute and if she wasn’t careful she’d find herself blissfully entwined and begging for all he offered. Time to change the subject. "How shall we proceed today, my lord? Do you know who was chasing us last night?"

"Back to ‘my lord’ and business, are we? Pity. I could think of plenty of stimulating things we could do with the day. I suppose what I have in mind will have to wait until this evening."

Calliope tried to breathe normally and ignore his comments, even as her traitorous body responded to the look in his eyes.

"My men have been out all night making inquiries. We’ll have an answer soon. Meanwhile, we’ll stop by your townhouse so you can change."

His eyes turned mischievous. "Then we can take some air. You are looking a trifle overset."

James bundled her into his coach and they set off for Stephen’s townhouse. She hid beneath a large bonnet, another piece from his mother’s closet, in case they encountered anyone while entering or exiting the coach. They reached the residence and James talked to his two men while she changed.

The violet dress winked at her as she set it down. It was only then that she remembered her forgotten breeches and shirt. Throwing on a light tan day dress, her wig and makeup, she rushed downstairs as quickly as possible. She could hear the men talking.

"Two blokes tried entering last night. One man stood in the shadows watching the whole time. Couldn’t make out any features but he set my teeth on edge. We got the two lackwits but weren’t able to nab the third man."

"Good work. I’ll talk to them later. Stay here just in case."

"Right-o."

James caught sight of Calliope and walked toward her. The two men bowed awkwardly and left the room.




***



"Are you ready? I thought we might drive by Holt’s and then walk down the Strand, since we didn’t bring the curricle."

Calliope nodded. A walk sounded good. Brisk fresh air, lots of people, limited personal conversation.

They got into the coach and drove briskly until Holt’s house came into view. It looked empty. Oddly, there appeared to be no activity inside or out.

"Let’s continue. I’ll make a social call later and see what he’s about. I sent Finn to Ternberry’s to talk to the servants. Hopefully we can piece this mess together."

They reached the Strand, parked and exited the coach. The driver would rendezvous with them on the other side.

"It’s a beautiful day to be out. I have frequently wondered how the pasty ladies get by without being in the sun."

She relaxed into his small talk and soon found herself enjoying the gorgeous day and being with him.

A man sullenly walked by and Calliope instantly recognized him as George Cruikshank, Robert’s brother. George was also a caricaturist. He was a staunch moralist, the opposite of Robert in personality and decorum. George knew nothing of Thomas Landes’s identity, of whom he would disapprove mightily. The two brothers were as different as night and day.

A small crowd was gathered outside a shop. The ladies were tittering. As James and Calliope neared the window, one of the ladies caught sight of them and giggled behind her hand. The group looked their way and hurried off in the other direction.

James frowned. Calliope was bemused. She glanced down at her gown and touched her wig, trying to figure out what was amiss.

James’s frown turned to a scowl as they neared the shop. "I should have known."

Calliope looked up at his stormy visage and then to the area that had been vacated. Large windows lined the shop and prints were hanging in the windows. They had reached Ackermanns.

Calliope gasped, a cold knot forming in her stomach. Since teaming with James she had been too involved to keep track of the caricatures she had given Robert. Her vendetta with the marquess had slipped by the wayside. James had charmed her with his intelligence, friendship and caring.

Calliope did some quick arithmetic.

Why today? Why today of all days?

Calliope instinctively placed a restraining hand on James’s arm. He gripped it and pulled her along with him.

Her last drawing of James adorned the center window.

"Damn and blast it, I’d like to get my hands around that malicious artist’s neck."

Calliope swallowed, trying to keep her throat from closing.

James was furious, and for good reason. This illustration was her coup de grace, the one that had spoken from her hurt feelings. The moment at the Killroys’ ball when she had thought he was poking fun at her by offering the beautiful flower. Of course, with a new perspective that moment seemed different. She had found it convenient to place the blame for the entire night at his feet. But it was far too late. The damage was done. The illustration was visible for all Londoners to see.

"Maybe the artist made a mistake."

"Right. And the other drawings of me showed that the artist had fallen hopelessly in love," he drawled.

Not a good sign. A tightening sense of dismay enveloped her. "Possibly."

James shook his head. "Do not defend the man, Cal. He is vindictive."

Had he just called her Cal? She was finding it hard to breathe.

"I mean, look at the position he has placed me in. I am offering a flower to that governess in mockery while a crowd of my peers dances and laughs. And look at what I am doing with my hands. I will kill him, I promise."

Calliope swallowed, but there was no moisture in her throat.

He continued his tirade without response from her, still examining the picture with an odd contemplative quality to his voice. "It’s odd where Landes gets his ideas. I’ve never been one to frequent parties. In fact, I only started going because of- Oh, never mind." James smoothed over whatever he was going to say. "Besides, I’d never offer anything pretty to a lady of the ton. It would be quite out of character-"

He stopped abruptly and frowned.

The frown deepened and Calliope felt moisture gather down her back, just as it had the night of the Killroys’ ball.

"Should we keep walking, my lord?"

"My lord?" His look was penetrating and Calliope’s legs readied for flight.

"I think it’s time we get back. After all, you are going to Holt’s and I need to get ready for the Ordines’ ball and there are so many things to do between now and then. I should really stop by and tell my family that I’m well. Do you think we might stop there on the way back?" Calliope knew she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop. Especially when she saw the cold light appear in his eyes.

"You are the only woman I have ever offered a flower to. And no one was there to witness it."

"Oh, really, my lord. There must be dozens of women for whom you buy flowers."

He shook his head, anger replacing the shock. "Not a single one."

"Well, I do believe I might have mentioned it to Lady Simpson, and you know how she has the tendency to talk." Calliope couldn’t stop herself. One part of her had stepped away and was looking at the remaining part in horror.

"No, I don’t believe you ever saw Lady Simpson again. But soon afterward there was quite an unflattering rendition of your confrontation with her done by this same artist. I started following his work after it appeared I had become his primary target."

"Then he must have been at the Killroys’ party."

"Yes, I do believe you are right. "

Calliope fought the tears and desire to flee as she stared at him mutely, pain in her heart.

"Why, Calliope? What did I do to earn your scorn?"

A tear slipped down her cheek. "You were the epitome of a haughty aristocrat. And I was just another piece of dirt on your way to the ball."

His face was still angry but he wiped the tear away with his thumb. "Didn’t you run into that with others? The ton is full of such people. Why me?"

Her voice cracked. "Because you were such an arrogant ass. You always riled me. Lady Simpson fired me because of our final interchange." And the reactions he always caused had unnerved her.

"What if I told you that you were the reason I went to all those dull parties?" His face softened a notch.