Page 6 of One Night with a Rake

“It ain’t locked,” she whispered as she turned the knob. “And best we goes quiet-like. That way we might be out again before Mr. Duggins knows we was in.”

Three

It didn’t take long for Nathaniel to find the Marquis of Yorkingham’s magnificent carriage in Covent Garden. It was drawing a sizable crowd of lookee-loos in the squalid neighborhood.

The solid-looking footman and the driver were doing their best to keep the riffraff from disturbing the matched pair of bays, but they couldn’t keep light-fingered wretches from breaking off pieces of the elegant gilt filigree on the back side of the coach. One enterprising crone had even reached into the windows with a pair of shears and liberated a section of the velvet curtains.

“I hear that the Marquis of Yorkingham’s daughter has wandered into these environs and I’m concerned for her welfare,” Nate said to the footman. “Can you tell me where Lady Georgette has gone?”

The fellow flicked him a quick assessing glance. Nate was glad he’d taken pains with his appearance before he went to White’s to fleece the willing yesterday. Even if his cuffs hadn’t glinted with gold, the cut of his clothing proclaimed him a gentleman. Relief sagged the footman’s shoulders.

“I’m fair concerned myself, milord. Her ladyship went down Lackaday Lane with her maid. Halfway down, red door, Mercy said. That’s where they’re bound. I’d have gone with milady,” the footman said, “but she left strict orders as I was to stay with the carriage.”

“Then you’d better do so, my good man. But be ready to go on the quick. I have a feeling the sooner Lady Georgette vacates this place, the better. Oh, and hang onto my hat and garrick until I return, would you?” Nate would have given the fellow his jacket as well since he fully expected fisticuffs at the least in the very near future, but it was far too cold to go without it.

The footman tugged his forelock in assent and Nate strode away down the fetid alley.

What on earth is the silly goose up to?

The lewd antics of the Prince Regent’s court had sparked a backlash in some quarters. Since returning to London, Nathaniel had encountered his share of moralists intent on improving everyone within earshot. Evidently, Georgette had become one of those insufferable bores.

Only a few “ladies of the night” were larks as well, but a handful had already positioned themselves by the windows in varying degrees of dishabille in order to entice new patrons. They blew kisses to Nate, and one of the bolder ones displayed her charms to him by dropping her filmy wrapper off one smooth shoulder.

He didn’t slow his pace.

Did Anne’s sister really believe she could bring an end to prostitution? Women fell into the life because it was easier than domestic service and the pay was buckets better. And men frequented light-heeled lasses because they were…well, men.

There was no stopping it.

Lady Georgette might as well try to make the sun go backward in the sky.

He lengthened his stride as he searched his memory for glimpses of her. Truth to tell, he found few of them. Maybe because it had been hard for him to have eyes for anyone else when his quicksilver Annie was about.

It seemed Georgette had always been there, on the fringes of social and family gatherings, taking part but certainly not taking the lead. A bookish sort, he recalled. Not that she was an ugly duckling. Georgette was pretty enough, in the manner of a small brown squirrel, he supposed. Simply unremarkable. He didn’t remember her ever expressing a strong opinion on anything.

When had Georgette turned into a fire-breathing crusader?

He heard a loud wail from up ahead and broke into a trot.

Must be the fire-breathing crusader herself.

What a colossal waste of time. He could have told her that no bawd would sit on her hands while some “holier-than-thou” made off with her meal tickets.

When he reached the red door, the unmistakable crash of broken crockery resounded behind it, along with another shriek. Nathaniel put his shoulder to the portal and gave it a shove.

The door swung open so quickly, he stumbled into the parlor, barely keeping his feet.

“Release me at once, you beast!” came a vaguely familiar voice.

The owner of it was slung over the shoulder of a monstrous big chap. He was carting the woman up the staircase. Judging from her fine clothing and ridiculously fashionable hat, she could only be Lady Georgette. A girl with a mobcap, who was likely Georgette’s maid, hopped up and down at the foot of the stairs, yelping like a demented pup. The giant ignored her pleas and, despite Georgette’s fists pummeling his back, he continued his ascent as if she were no more trouble to carry than a goodly sized sack of yams.

“I insist you unhand me this instant!” she demanded.

“I’ll unsomething ye, missy, and no mistake.” The fellow pronounced “I’ll” as if it were “oil.” “Madam always lets ol’ Duggins prick her new girls first. Break ye in good and proper, I will.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Nathaniel said in a calm, strong voice from his position at the threshold.

Georgette’s head jerked up and their gazes met. “Lord Nathaniel?”