Wounds of A Viscount: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Read online

  Protection.

  She’d had their protection—unbeknownst to them— for the last two years, but in two days, the couple would be leaving her behind to see George off to school. Therefore, Nora would need a different kind of protection.

  When the tone and twang of voices changed, Nora knew she was drawing closer to the part of Covent Garden that would ruin her reputation and risk her employment if anyone were to find her here. The laughter was different. The music as well. She heard whispers and a few moans in deeper alleyways.

  She’d come to the center gambling and brothel district of London, a place she’d never been in her life. She had come because she had no other choice.

  When she arrived at her destination, which was nothing more than a crossroads, she pulled out her pocket watch and held it up toward a lamp that burned outside a nearby tavern.

  “You risk losing your treasure and your life to a cutthroat holding it up and showing it off that way.”

  She gasped at the voice that seemed to come from the shadows. Then a man stepped out. He was about her height, and he sized her up cautiously.

  Nora quickly placed the watch back in her pocket and pulled her hood farther upon her head.

  “You’re the lady, aren’t you? The one in need of a gun.”

  Nora shivered when a breeze played around her ankles. “How did you know it was me?”

  He gave a haughty grunt. He was thin. Nora likely weighed more than him, but he if attacked her, she was certain he’d win. “The price on the pistol just went up.”

  She gasped. “Why?”

  He nodded toward her pocket. “The watch. I want that as well as the agreed upon price.”

  Nora frowned. She knew it unwise to argue with a man she didn’t know in the dark nefarious corners of London, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You do realize that I could have simply walked into any shop and purchased a gun, don’t you?” There were no laws that would stop her. If she could afford it, she could have it. That was the only law England had where guns were concerned. The prices usually kept the lower class from obtaining them, which was all Parliament seemed to care for.

  “Yes, you could have gone to any ironworker,” the stranger, who’d yet to introduce, himself said. His words and manner lacked the articulation of West London. “But you came to me and you came to me for a reason. Be glad I don’t make your name and the reason why you need the gun the price of business.”

  Nora stilled. He couldn’t have threatened her better. She could never tell him her name. She’d gone to great lengths to hide this transaction for a reason. She swallowed and took a pull of the cold air. “Do you have the one I asked for?”

  He turned and cleared his throat. “I do.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a double-barrel flintlock pistol. She reached for it, but he held it away.

  She didn’t bother to ask why. She knew. He wanted his money. “Where did you get it?”

  “I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.”

  She said nothing else as she handed over her purse and her watch— glad it had no true value to her— and took the gun. He also handed her ammunition.

  She pocketed the bullets and then focused on the weapon. It was heavy.

  “That isn’t a lady’s pistol,” her purveyor said. “You sure you know what you’re doing with it?”

  She did. “This gun is more accurate.”

  “If you can manage to aim it steady enough.” He flashed his teeth in the dark as he stared at the watch. Then he looked up. “We’re done here. Good night, my lady, and a safe journey home.” Then he turned and disappeared from the light.

  Nora quickly hid the gun in her skirts. She didn’t even know if it would work. Perhaps she’d never have to use it. Perhaps just the sight of it would scare him away. She turned and started back the way she’d come. She moved through the alley quickly now. She was ready to get home. She worried about Miriam even though she knew she had no reason to. Miriam was safe so long as she was in Lord Ganden’s residence.

  In her haste, she wasn’t paying attention to the ground and tripped over something large. Her hands and knees hit the ground hard. Pain shot through her, and she grunted. The cold of the brick was beginning to slip through her gloves, so she made a move to rise.

  It was only when a hand landed on her back that she realized what she’d tripped on had not been the discards of a passerby. It was not trash that made her fall but a person.

  “The best gifts are the ones that fall into your lap, are they not?” The man gave a hard laugh as his hands traveled up and then back down her back, gripping her sides.

  Nora scrambled away, getting her dress dirty in the process.

  The man, who was using the wall to keep his upper body erect, didn’t bother coming after her. He simply laughed again. “Where you going? Come sit with ol’ Saint Luke. That’s a fine cloak you have. Is it yours? You seem off in a rush. Where are you going? Mind if I come?” He chuckled at his own joke.

  Nora’s heart raced as she stared at the man. She wanted to rise but wasn’t sure how he’d react. Would he come for her then? Did she have enough time to pull out her gun? It wasn’t loaded and would take precious minutes she didn’t have to actually have it ready to fire, but again, she wondered if simply showing off the weapon would make this man leave her alone.

  But he didn’t move. He simply kept grinning at her. His head leaned to the side, but she didn’t think he’d done it on purpose. He was likely drunk, unable to hold up his own head for long.

  He didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but given their location, she knew it best to move slowly.

  In a painfully slow move, she lifted her hands off the ground, grabbed her skirts, and then righted one leg after the other. She could not hold back the groan of pain in her knees. She was also certain that her palms were bruised.

  “I suppose you’re leaving me then, dear?” the man asked quietly, a touch of true loneliness in his voice.

  He wasn’t going to come after her.

  Nora suddenly felt pity for him. He hadn’t hurt her necessarily, but that didn’t mean she planned to stay around any longer.

  With a sigh, she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a few coins.

  The man watched her movement.

  She held the coin in her hands and said, “Swear you won’t spend this in a tavern when I’m gone.”

  He placed his hand on his heart. “If I do, it will be on a bowl of Miss Esther's stew. She makes the best in all of London. In fact…” He turned and grinned.

  It was then that Nora saw movement from another alley. The newcomer was large, and Nora realized just how foolish she’d been to stay around as long as she had. She should have left the moment she was standing again.

  The larger man bent down toward ol’ Saint Luke and gave him something. A bowl.

  “Eat,” the newest stranger said, demanded actually.

  Luke chuckled. “As his lordship commands.” He lifted the spoon he’d been given with the bowl and began to eat. Then he moaned and turned to Nora. “The best stew. You visit Miss Esther and find out for yourself.”

  The man who’d been called nothing more than ‘his lordship’ turned to her then and straightened.

  He was well dressed, she realized. His suit could not have been stolen, as it fit his sinewy physique to perfection. His jacket cupped his shoulders and clung to his middle while his buckskins emphasized his slim waist and toned thighs. His boots reflected what little light fell into the alley. His hat covered his crown and hid his eyes from the light.

  Luke pointed his spoon at her. “She’s a lady, Rick. A real lady. Either that or an upstairs servant. She talks like one of them. She could be a lady’s maid.”

  Nora swallowed. A silly sense of betrayal stuck her chest. How dare Luke point her out? There had been a chance that the man would have left her alone if he hadn’t.

  The stranger turned to Luke and in the light, Nora saw his profile. The definition of his nose an
d mouth gave her the strange sense of familiarity.

  Then the man, Rick, turned back to her.

  Luke spoke again. “She doesn’t belong here, Rick. You got to get her home. Be the good gentleman that you are and see the lady on her way.”

  “No!” Nora took a step back. “I… I mean, that isn’t necessary. I got here on my own. I can get home. Thank you, but I best be on my way.”

  She held out her fisted coin.

  Luke dropped his spoon in its bowl and held up his hands.

  Nora tossed the money and heard it land in his hands.

  “Good toss, my lady,” Luke praised. “Good aim, indeed.”

  Nora smiled. George had given her plenty of opportunities to practice her throw. “Good night.” She turned to leave.

  Rick blocked her.

  Her pulse rushed.

  “Rick will see you home,” Luke said. “Don’t you fear him. He’s a true gentleman. He’s the kindest man I know.”

  Nora backed away. She’d known kind men in the past as well, but one could never truly know anyone. “No thank you. I must be on my way.”

  Rick tilted his head, and Nora pulled her hood down farther. “Hackney,” he murmured.

  He’d see her to a hackney?

  Is that what he’d meant?

  If so, why was he speaking…

  Panic squeezed her throat.

  Rick. Garrick. The Viscount of Coalwater. She’d done the one thing tonight that she feared, running into someone she knew.

  She couldn’t see him, but her face rose to her vision from memory. He was a man any woman would find impossible to forget. He was mute, but his eyes spoke far easier than any she’d seen before. Their blue was warm and shone like reflecting water. His face was strong with a chiseled jaw that she’d often fantasized her fingers stroking over.

  She’d fantasized about stroking his mouth as well. It was full and sat below a broad nose. He was the only man who’d ever left her weakened by a glance.

  Already she was feeling hot. This man always managed to wake needs that had long since been dormant. He made her have thoughts unsuitable for society and her evening dreams dirtier than the alley they stood in.

  She shook her head wildly. She needed to get away. “No. I can get my own hackney.” Whatever was he doing in an alley at this time of night?

  “Let Rick get it for you,” Luke pleaded. “Come on, my lady. Do it for ol’ Saint Luke. I’d fear for your safety if you didn’t.”

  Nora sighed. She supposed she could take one to a house close to Lord and Lady Ganden’s and then walk from there. She’d do whatever would get her away fastest. “All right. I’ll allow you to escort me to a hackney, but I will pay for it myself.”

  “That’s good with us, isn’t it, Rick?” Luke asked.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 2

  * * *

  Garrick Amdon, the Viscount of Coalwater, stared at the woman in the hood and had little doubt to her identity. Lady Honora Baxter. Her voice was more distinct than most. It had a breathiness to it that made her sound as though she were perpetually flushed.

  Or perpetually being made love to. It was as though her every word came from the very depths of her being. Her moderate cadence and angelic intonation made it easy for Garrick to find her in a crowd.

  And the more she talked tonight, the more he was certain it was her. Yet, another part of him fought against what he knew the be the truth. A portion of his mind wouldn’t allow him to place Nora here, amongst the ruffians and rakes like himself. He couldn’t understand why

  his nephew’s governess would be on this side of the city and at this late hour. Nothing respectable ever took place here.

  Which meant she could be up to nothing respectable, with didn’t fit what he knew about her. Nora was of good character.

  How often had Nora come to this side of town? Did Kent, George’s uncle, know? Did Lucy know? He doubted it. Otherwise, Garrick was certain the earl and countess would never leave George with the woman.

  Did she come to meet a man? Offer him the use of her body for a few coins? Was the salary the earl provided for her not enough? He couldn’t see that being the case… unless Nora was in debt. Deep debt. Though he doubted the debt was her own. She didn’t gamble. Perhaps Miriam, her daughter, had fallen ill before she came to work for Ganden, and the medical expense was too high. Perhaps, the debt had originally belonged to her husband and his creditors were demanding the heavy sum.

  There were few ways one could earn a sizable debt if they didn’t gamble.

  Debt.

  In the heart of London’s brothel and gambling hell district, it was the only plausible explanation he could come up with at the moment, because he was certain that whatever Nora was up to, she had not come to Covent Garden for her own pleasures.

  He thought about his next words, concentrated, and said, “My lady?” He held out his arm to her, and she stiffened. But then her fingers stuck out of her cloak and wrapped around his forearm.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her gloves were dirty. What had happened to her?

  It frustrated him that he couldn’t ask her until he had a pen and paper nearby. It was always when he needed a pen that one could not be found. He had an assistant, Andreas, who followed him during the day, always at the ready to provide him with pen and ink and a journal to write if need be.

  He’d hired Andreas over a year ago. At first, Garrick had pretended to not have a problem and allowed people to assume he was ignoring them, but after realizing just how accepted he was amongst his friends, he lost the feeling of shame that such a servant would bring and hired Andreas.

  But Andreas had been in possession of greater talent. He knew the manual alphabet. He’d also read George Dalgarno’s The Deaf and Dumb Man’s Tutor.

  Dalgarno was a Scotsman and a linguist who’d taught at Oxford over a hundred years ago. His book was published in 1680, specifically for the deaf-mute. It just so happened that Andreas’ father had been deaf and so he’d learned to communicate with him. Currently, Andreas was teaching Garrick’s friends to do the same.

  Garrick himself had known manual language since he was a boy but had met very few who understood it.

  But when Garrick came to Covent Garden, he told Andreas to stay home. Here, he didn’t need his words to speak for him. Coin was enough.

  He guided Nora through the alley and onto the main road. She kept her head down, which was wise.

  “Should I call for the hackney?” she asked softly, pointedly. People tended to ask such questions from him, questions where he would only have to reply with a simple yes or no, a nod or the shake of his head.

  What woman asked a man if she should call for the hackney? The answer was simple: one who thought the gentleman could not call for it himself.

  She was aware of who he was then. At the moment, she didn’t know that he knew who she was, so he decided he would keep it that way. But this chance meeting would not end here. He planned to speak to Kent and the others. Whatever situation Nora was in, they would get her out of it quietly.

  Garrick held out a hand and shouted for a hackney. The horses and small coach came to a stop before them, and he assisted Nora inside.

  Once she was seated, he leaned in and her head went down. She was still trying to keep her face from him. Did she think him a fool? People often assumed that since he couldn’t speak. He pulled in a breath to cool his anger. “It’s dangerous.”

  “It’s dangerous in Covent Garden? I know that.” She hadn’t asked him to explain his words. Instead, she guessed and completed his thought, which was what all his friends did. She most certainly was aware of who he was. He almost said her name.

  Almost.

  “W-why h-here?” he asked instead. Why did you come here?

  “Thank you for the escort. It was very courteous of you, but I do not plan to stay a minute longer.”

  She’d used a manual gesture when she’d said the word stay. She likely didn’t realize it, but
she’d given her identity to him once again.

  He hadn’t known Nora was learning with the others, though if she were watching George during his lessons, she would surely pick up enough.

  He held onto the door. He suspected he would get no more out of her unless he exposed her. Therefore, he stepped back, closed the coach, and watched it roll away.

  Then he turned and started for his original destination, Seat of Venus. It was a brothel he oversaw, for lack of a better word, though most days people thought him the owner. And perhaps, the changes he’d made had only made that assumption all the more real. He’d purchased it the first year after gaining his freedom four years ago. When he wasn’t busy with other matters, he was here for both pleasure and business.

  The door was made of red stained glass. One could see the light of the fireplace that pulsed with life across the room. It gave the appearance that one was entering the underworld, which was exactly what Garrick wanted.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  * * *

  Garrick was let inside Seat of Venus with ease. The main room was designed to make the visitor feel as though they’d reached the top of Mount Olympus and had entered Venus’ room. Red illustrated what many writers had described the color of her hair. White stone covered the floor and walls and made up most of the furniture. Dozens of pillows and cushions were thrown about. Currently, most of the room was occupied.

  Garrick ignored the music, the voices, and even the female hands that reached out to him as he headed down the hall into his office. His friends joked and called this place his personal harem. They were not wrong. He’d taken nearly every woman in the building. He’d tried more than once to take them all, but he was no god. Still, the memories of those first goes had entertained him for months afterward.

  But in the years since he’d taken over the brothel, gutted it internally, and transformed it to a throne for any man who wished to play god and could afford it, his own enjoyment had vanished.

  He took his seat and looked around the only room that seemed normal in the entire establishment. In the beginning, he hadn’t even come to the brothel for the pleasure. Not entirely. Instead, he needed what came after it, the sweet oblivion of nothing as he’d finally exhausted himself into a sleep so deep he didn’t dream.