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Lord Martindale, Averil’s father, had been completely respectable, and by cutting himself and Averil off from her mother, he had retained the respect of the society he moved in. Not so Lady Anastasia Martindale. She’d become a social outcast, and her shadow had followed Averil all her life. So what was it that the earl of Southbrook had done to earn society’s disapproval?
Averil knew if she was any other young lady she would remove herself from his company forthwith, or her own reputation, already vulnerable, would be damaged perhaps beyond repair. But Averil had other things on her mind.
“Where are you taking me, my lord?” she said in what she hoped was a firm voice. “I think you should put me down. Jackson will—”
“I am taking you to my coach, Lady Averil.”
“Oh no, please!” Suddenly she’d remembered why she was here and clutched his coat, peering up at him anxiously. “Please, Lord Southbrook. Jackson was taking me
to a place called The Tin Soldier where my-my . . . I need to go there. I have an appointment with someone called Sally and if I don’t do it now then it may be too late.”
Her voice caught and to her horror tears filled her eyes. Good Lord, she must not cry in front of him!
He was watching her uneasily, probably thinking the exact same thing, and then he sighed. “We are very close to The Tin Soldier,” he said in that deep, soft voice that seemed to ripple over her skin in the most sensuous way. “I can take you there. As a matter of fact, I have some business there myself.”
She lowered her lashes. “Thank you,” she said more calmly. “I am most grateful to you, Lord Southbrook.”
“My pleasure, Lady Averil,” he replied with mockery.
She glared at him and by the quirk of his mouth she knew he found her behavior amusing. “Please put me down. I can walk.”
“Can you?” He deliberated and then lowered her feet toward the cobbles.
Of course, when she tried to walk, Averil found she was in too much pain, and he lifted her again with a long-suffering sigh.
“I should take you straight to the coach,” he said sternly.
“No! I must see Sally. You don’t understand how important it is. I may not get another opportunity like this, and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she fought once more with her emotions.
“Perhaps if you were to tell me?” he suggested.
“It is personal.”
He looked down at her, his dark eyes fixed on her face as if he could read the truth from her expression, and then he said, “Very well. The Tin Soldier it is,” and to her relief set off once more.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
The Tin Soldier was all lit up like a beacon, or perhaps more appropriately a glowing spider in its web of dark alleys and lanes. Averil thought the noise coming from the tall building was quite jolly. Laughter and singing and voices raised to be heard. Jackson had told her it was still a popular club for London’s rich bohemians, who liked to rub shoulders with the underclasses, and also a popular spot for the serious gamblers who preferred, for one reason or another, not to visit the more well-known clubs—Averil took that to mean that they had been blackballed. Jackson admitted that The Tin Soldier had gone downhill since her mother was here, but Averil imagined the circumstances of the staff and the needs of the customers were much the same, which was probably why her mother had been drawn here, desperate and ill as she was.
“Sally Jakes, the woman you want to see, runs the place,” Southbrook spoke, adjusting his grip on her. “Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind, Lady Averil? This is hardly the spot for a young woman like you, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Averil gave him a decided stare. “Of course I haven’t changed my mind. Put me down and I’ll go inside and find her.”
Another mocking look. “I think not.” And with that he carried her up the stone steps and inside one of the most notorious gambling dens in London.
Noise and color swirled around her, and her nose twitched with the smells of alcohol and tobacco smoke, as well as other less easily discernible odors. In this room there were people gathered about a small stage, where a woman in a short skirt was singing her heart out, as well as groups seated at tables or standing about. Through a far door she could see another room, where it looked as though the serious gamblers were gathered.
It was the place to which desperation had driven her mother in the final months of her life. Not back to her father; he had washed his hands of her and put notices in the newspapers to that effect, refusing to pay her debts or help her in any way. Averil understood his bitterness, but she still couldn’t forgive him.
A girl who appeared to be barely more than a child, dressed in a style of clothing far too old for her, looked up and gasped with surprise when she saw the earl carrying a young lady in his arms.
“Lady Averil has met with an unfortunate accident,” he said. “However she has an appointment with Mrs. Jakes she wishes to keep.”
The girl goggled at him a moment and then pulled herself together and pointed toward some narrow stairs. “Up there. Room at the end of the passage. Sal’s waiting for ’er ladyship.”
The earl looked up the stairs, then looked at Averil, and then he sighed. “You’re getting rather heavy,” he said unflatteringly.
