The Wildest Rake

CHAPTER TWO

Mistress Brent stepped in front of her daughter, shielding her from the pack of wild gentlemen. ‘Let us pass. You will find the sort of creature you look for in Southwark stews.’

Over her mother’s shoulder Cornelia saw the glitter of pale eyes through the mask, and the man’s thin mouth curled in an ironic smile.

‘Are you well acquainted with such places, Madam?’

His friends laughed.

‘We are honest women, sir. Let us pass,’ said Mistress Brent.

Another voice spoke, flippant to the point of insolence, yet the others all turned and looked at the speaker, as though this was their leader.

‘Damn, Rendel. I fear she’s right. Hold up the lantern.’ And when the lantern was raised, illuminating Mistress Brent’s white, angry face, he shook his head. ‘Let them go. Look at that face. I swear, I’d sooner kiss my wife.’

A burst of laughter from the others, but the man called Rendel was staring at Cornelia. He pushed past Mistress Brent and caught at the girl’s shoulder. Struggling away from him, her hood fell back, and the lantern light glinted on her thick chestnut curls, turning it to gold. Her hazel eyes glared furiously at him.

‘Let me go, you drunken brute. ‘

He laughed softly, staring down at her. His gloved hand came up and touched one of the curls which fell over her temples.

Mistress Brent’s voice shook as she tried to wriggle past him and reach her daughter. ‘Oh, sir, pray. She is but eighteen and as innocent a child as any in London. You are frightening her. Let her go—if you want gold, I have some here.’

She fumbled in her purse, fingers shaking, and brought out a handful of money. The yellow coins gleamed under the lantern, but he barely glanced at it.

The pale eyes were watching Cornelia unwaveringly. There was no longer a smile of any sort upon the thin lips, and the hand which held her shoulder had tightened until she felt the bite of his fingers through her cloak.

‘Rendel!’

The flippant voice held the lash of authority. Rendel looked round, slowly, as though reluctant to take his eyes from Cornelia.

The other man sauntered forward and touched him lightly on the arm. ‘Damn, this child is shaking like a leaf. I have no taste for such sport. Let them go. The night’s young yet. There are many merry ladies who will welcome us elsewhere.’

Rendel released Cornelia and turned, shrugging. ‘We swore we would demand a forfeit from every female we met, sir. I hate to break an oath.’

The other men laughed again and agreed with him. ‘‘A kiss is no great matter,’ one cried. ‘What harm in that?’

Cornelia stamped her foot, her cheeks hot. ‘I think it shameful,’ she burst out angrily, ‘that the King’s honest subjects may not walk the streets of London in safety. Go away at once or I’ll have you taken up by the watch as drunken rogues. An hour in the pillory would do you all the good in the world.’

The man who had interceded for them laughed, and she glared at him. He had an ugly crooked mouth beneath the black mask, his chin was tough, but there was dancing humour in the eyes which gleamed at her.

‘You’re a bloodthirsty little creature, girl, for all your lovely face. Have you no pity? Such a sweet face should cover a gentle tongue.’

‘You have no right to swagger through our streets by night, roaring and rioting like mad dogs,’ she spat back, unashamed.

There was an angry stir among the others, but he held up his hand, still smiling. ‘Oh, the child has the right of it,’ he drawled cynically. ‘Let the King’s honest subjects go in peace.’

‘I think I’ll claim my forfeit first,’ said the man he had called Rendel.

He caught Cornelia, before she was aware of his intention, pulling her into his arms, his hands clamping her tight.

She struggled vainly. Bending her back he kissed her, his lips cold at first, brushing hers, then suddenly hard and hot, wringing a bewildered, smothered sob from her.

He lifted his head after a long moment. Trembling, breathing so hard it hurt, she looked up at him. A slow smile twitched the corners of his thin mouth.

‘Did you dislike that, Mistress?’ he asked mockingly.

She stared, hating him, and as he straightened, clawed, with curled fingers, at his face.