“And you understand that being associated with me will only add fuel to the fire of your notoriety. There is a reason I spend so much time abroad.”
He had shot Lord Cockram in a duel after discovering he was responsible for the beating in the alley. He had shot two other dishonourable devils since. And he would put a lead ball between Lord Steele’s brows were he not rotting beneath the ground.
The lady arched a brow. “I am counting on it. You may call at my house in Bedford Street tomorrow, and I shall tell you anything you feel pertinent to my case.”
A man need not be an intelligent enquiry agent to know it was better to meet on neutral ground. When he entered her house, he would have full knowledge of the situation.
“No. Have your coachman bring you to The Cock and Magpie in Drury Lane at noon.”
She seemed to find something amusing. “I’m sure my coachwoman will ensure I arrive at the appointed time.”
Damian smirked. “A woman drives your carriage? No wonder you need my protection.”
The widow arched a brow. “I advise you to have a care when in her company, Mr Wycliff. She tends to hurl a fist before asking questions, and has a thorough dislike of arrogant, controlling men.”
“Ah, a woman scorned?” They were the worst kind.
“She served her time in the underground boxing dens in Whitechapel before buying her freedom.”
Hell’s teeth. The women who fought there were ruthless. Savage.
“Then I shall mind my manners,” he said, for he could never hit a woman regardless of how hard she attacked.
Laughter and loud voices from beyond the locked door reached his ears. No doubt people had heard that London’s most scandalous rake was alone in a room with the Scarlet Widow. Come the morning there would be an amusing and bawdy caricature in the broadsheets involving a billiard table, cue and two balls.
The widow glanced at the door, though she did not look the least bit anxious. “Well, I shall take my leave, but will meet you at noon tomorrow.”
Some fool rattled the doorknob, made loud groaning noises and shouted, “What the devil’s going on in there?”
“Just the childish antics of the demi-monde,” he said, wondering why—for the first time in his life—he felt a little ashamed. Whoever it was would need to call a doctor to reset his impending broken nose.
“Actually, it rather works in my favour as there is something I must do before I leave. As a man with a scandalous reputation, I hope you have no objection.”
“Objection?”
It was then that the Scarlet Widow drew on her experiences as an actress. She came up to him, dragged his shirt out of his breeches and ruffled his hair before proceeding to make the amorous moans of a woman being thoroughly ravished. Such was her skill that every fake pant made the muscles in his abdomen clench.
“Carpe diem,” she said, unwinding the braid to let the soft ebony waves drape over her shoulders. “I trust you will use your winnings wisely.”
The widow scooped her red cloak off the floor and draped it around her shoulders. She unlocked the door and yanked it open to find a host of excited guests lingering in the hallway.
“Wycliff proved most satisfactory,” she said in the breathless, husky voice of a woman descending the dizzying heights of her climax. And then she disappeared down the crowded corridor.
Damian felt as though he’d been whipped up into a whirlwind, his ragged emotions tossed aside with all the other debris. The Scarlet Widow knew how to leave a lasting impression.
“Well?” Trent said, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. “How was she?”
Noting Damian’s flagging equilibrium, Trent offered his lit cheroot.
Damian snatched the cigar and drew deep. He blew a puff of white mist into the air before flopping down onto the velvet sofa. “So damn good I needed this smoke.”
Chapter Four
“There is no need to accompany me into the tavern,” Scarlett said to Alcock, who had climbed down from her box to play escort. “Stay with Kemp. The streets are so busy today, no doubt someone will complain that my carriage is blocking their way.” She took hold of Kemp’s outstretched hand as the groom assisted her descent to the cobblestones of Drury Lane.
Alcock tugged her greatcoat firmly across her body and shook her head. “When those drunken sots catch sight of a woman, they forget they’re suppin’ in a tavern and think they’ve come to grope in the apple dumplin’ shop.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together to stifle an amused snort. “I am certain Mr Wycliff will be an adequate chaperone.”