A Reckless Encounter

“You are a dreadful rogue, sir.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I am. Could I buy you some punch?”

“You’re very kind, but we were just about to return to our box. This is my cousin, Miss Leverton. This is the gentleman I told you about, Carolyn, who was kind enough to see to it that I arrived safely when I first docked in London.”

Introductions were exchanged, polite pleasantries passed, then they parted company, Celia once more promising to send the directory by courier early the next morning. The crowd had increased, and she was jostled by a man behind her, so that she stumbled forward and was caught by James Carlisle.

“Here, here,” he protested as he held her firmly. A mumbled apology was offered by the clumsy patron before he moved on. “Are you all right, Miss St. Clair?” Carlisle asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt, only jostled. I believe the intermission is ended, sir, and I must return.”

Carlisle held her hands just a shade too long, his smile very wide and very intimate. “I shall count the days until we meet again, Miss St. Clair.”

Disengaging her hands from his grip, she was glad to see him leave.

“A shipboard conquest, Celia?” Carolyn murmured in her ear, and Celia tapped her reprovingly with her fan.

“Just an acquaintance. A rather forward man, I think. Go on to the box without me. I’ll join you shortly,” she said to her cousins. “I must use the convenience before I come up. I can find my way.”

A long corridor led to the ladies’ convenience, well lit by lamps high on the walls. Dark panelled wainscoting and flocked wallpaper gave the hall a luxuriant appearance that was both ornate and garish. Two women passed her, and she heard them laughing and talking as they returned to the lobby.

When she left the convenience, she could hear the soaring voice of Catalani, and she hurried down the corridor.

The lamps ahead had gone out, and dark shadows obscured the carpeted floor. She slowed, frowning. An eerie silence descended on the hallway, and her nape tingled with sudden dread.

It all happened so quickly, she wasn’t certain where he had come from, but there was no time to scream or do more than struggle as a man shoved her against the wall with harsh, bruising force. The breath was knocked from her by his weight, and then his arm pressed hard against her throat. She clawed at it frantically, unable to breathe, but the relentless pressure didn’t lessen. Bright lights exploded in her eyes and there was a ringing in her ears. Somehow she managed to wedge her knee upward, and she heard a rough curse.

Then the pressure was abruptly relieved and she slid to the floor, gasping for breath, holding her aching throat with both hands, aware that she was making horrible noises. Strange, terrifying sounds surrounded her.

A sense of urgency filled her. She knew she must escape before he came after her again but she could barely breathe. Staggering, she lurched to her feet, terror prodding her forward as she stumbled along the dark corridor toward the distant light of the lobby.

When she was grabbed from behind, her bruised throat strangled any cry, so that she was only able to whimper a protest at the rough arm around her waist.

“Be still,” a familiar voice growled in her ear, “so I can get you out of here.”

Northington? But what was he doing? Oh, why would he do this to her?

She struggled, but his steely arm was unyielding as he dragged her effortlessly with him, bundling her out a door that she hadn’t noticed before. Even though it was pitch-black, she knew they were outside again for she could smell the stink of the alley and feel the cold wind on her bare arms.

“Christ, Celia,” he muttered in her ear when she tried to twist free. “Will you be still? There’s three of them and only one of me, and I’m in no mood for that kind of fight right now. I need to get you out of here.”

Everything was so confused. Her head ached and her throat hurt, and all she could think was that Colter had either rescued her or abducted her. Even if she could talk, she didn’t know what to say or ask, or why he was there and what he intended to do next.

After a tumultuous ride in a closed carriage through the London streets, during which he refused to tell her anything other than that she would be safe, they arrived at a narrow house on a dark street. He ushered her inside the back door, through a kitchen and down a hallway, and she glimpsed several women in various stages of undress in what looked to be a parlor.

There was a whispered conversation with someone, then he pulled her with him up a narrow flight of stairs.

A large lavish sitting room was comfortably furnished with two couches upholstered in opulent velvet and tables covered with rich linen and set with silver flatware and gleaming china, as if for an intimate dinner. Through an open door, she saw a huge canopied bed enclosed with opulent hangings. An air of comfortable decadence was rife and as obvious as the unclad females in the downstairs parlor.

It was what she’d heard called a Nunnery or School of Venus—a house of ill repute. A place where men visited women like those she’d seen at the opera, and now he’d brought her here. Oh God, the night had become a horrible nightmare!

“Don’t look so shocked,” he said softly when she glared at him accusingly. “It’s the safest place for you right now. You do realize you’re in danger, don’t you?”

She could only nod, and stood dazedly when he pulled her with him, not ungently, to seat her on a chair before the fire.

“Your clothes are torn,” he said, and she noticed for the first time that her lovely green silk gown was ripped; the sleeve of her Spencer was torn from the armhole, and somehow she had lost one of her lovely slippers. “Madame Poirier no doubt has a gown you can borrow—no, don’t turn shy on me, love. It’s not as if I haven’t seen your charms before, is it? You look as if you’ve been in a carriage wreck. There are bruises on your face. Can you speak at all? Damn the bastards! There are fingermarks on that lovely white skin of yours. I hope I killed them all.”

She stared up at him, shaking. Yes, she remembered now, the grunts, the sounds of a fierce struggle