“This isn’t about some woman.” He choked back his anger. “’Tis a matter of import to the whole country,” he risked adding.
“And I’m the queen of England.” Her lips thinned. “You men are all alike, full of lies and deceit”.
Jamie cut her off with a string of creative curses garnered from ten years at sea. He strained and thrashed against the chains, but they didn’t give an inch.
“You will cease spewing such filth.”
“Want I should gag him?” Toby asked eagerly.
“Nay. We will remove ourselves from earshot”. Emmeline stood and glared down at him, her arms crossed over her chest. The gesture was robbed of its militancy by the way the plain brown cloth molded to her surprisingly generous breasts.
Jamie was in no mood to appreciate the sight. “I’ll take you with me, and Toby, too, if it would make you feel safer.” Lies and more lies. He couldn’t afford to have anyone witness his meeting with DeGrys. But he was desperate enough to promise anything to get away.
“As if I’d trust you.” Her lips curled. “You’ll find I’m not the gullible fool my sister was where men are concerned.”
“Nay, I’d say you’ve shriveled into a vengeful prune because no man would have you,” he snapped.
“I thank God I am not a target for every puffed-up male who fancies himself nature’s gift to women.” She marched out, head held high as a queen, the faithful Toby close on her heels.
“Damn you, let me out!” Jamie shouted at the top of his voice.
“Not till you confess,” Emmeline snapped. She punctuated the statement by slamming the door.
“But I’m innocent,” Jamie shouted.
“Men are born guilty” came the muted response.
“Come back here.” But beyond the door, all was quiet She’d left him here. Bloody left him here. Enraged, he tugged on the chains till the rusted cuffs bit into his wrist and ankles.
“Damn. Damn!” Seething with impotent rage, he closed his eyes. If he wasn’t there when DeGrys landed, months of planning, hundreds of pounds in bribes would be wasted. Worse, he might not get another chance to act.
All because of one puny woman’s misguided sense of justice. A niggle of respect for her boldness and loyalty Worked its way past his anger. Jamie shook it away and set his mind on the only course open to him.
Escape.
By fair means or foul, he had to get out of here.
“What do ye mean ye can only give me a pound for this.” Lily picked up the brooch and shook it in the old man’s face. “Tis solid silver, and my lady set great store by it.”
“The unicorn design is unique, I grant. But it has no gemstones, and the silver’s not of the best quality,” the pawnbroker insisted. “Mayhap it had sentimental meaning to her.”
Lily sighed glumly. “Aye, her sister, Mistress Emmeline, gave it to her. My lady sold off the pieces her husband had given her after he died…so as she could buy new gowñs and such and go to court to find another. Husband, that is.” She stared into the old man’s crafty eyes, trying to gauge his honesty.
The pawnbroker was licensed, she’d asked to see the parchment. Though the words made no sense, the seal was that of London’s mayor. And the broker was hardly skulking in an alleyway. He’d set up his table outside a fine inn a block from the tavern in which she’d found work serving at table. It was early evening, and there were few about to see her barter the trinkets she’d taken when she’d left Lady Celia’s house. Not that she felt guilty. ‘Twas her due. She’d been cast into the streets with no reference to help her get another post, and Lady Celia had owed her a quarter’s wages.
“Make up yer mind,” the pawnbroker grumbled.
Lily sighed. “I’ll take the pound ye offered for the plate, but I’ll keep the brooch.” Mayhap she’d find a way to return it to Mistress Emmeline. She carefully tucked it and the coins the broker gave her into the pouch behind her belt. The cutpurses weren’t getting what little she had.
Lily headed off in the direction of the tavern. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night and hoped the cook would give her a good price on whatever was left over from the—
“Lily?” inquired a deep voice.
She whirled and saw a man behind her. He wore a long, fur-trimmed cloak, the cowl pulled forward to obscure his face. “Wh-what?” She backed away, eyes darting about for an escape route.
“Easy. I mean you no harm.” He took a step toward her. The door of a nearby inn opened, sending a brief flood of yellow light over his face.
All she saw was the patch…a slash of black over his left eye. It was him. The dark pirate who’d been Lady Celia’s lover.
“Oh, God.” She’d known he’d find her. Sobbing, she put up a hand to ward him off. “What…what do ye want?”
“Only to make certain you are all right. You disappeared so abruptly, I feared you’d seen Celia’s killer and he’d found you.”
“Nay. I…I didn’t see anything that night.”
“Really?” His single eye glittered in the shadows of his cowl, slithering over her like a snake’s.
She shivered, wondering how her gay, frivolous lady could have loved such a dark lord. Lily had never been this close to him before. He’d always come at night, mysterious and secretive as a wraith, and gone directly to Lady Celia’s chamber. Once or twice Lily had brought them refreshments, but always her lady had taken the tray at the door. She knew who he was, of course. Lord Jamie Harcourt. “Really, milord. I was in my room…sleeping.”
“You didn’t hear or see anything?”
Voices, arguing. They’d wakened her, alarmed her enough so she’d crept up the stairs to her lady’s chamber to investigate. She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Pity, if you had, you might have seen her killer.” The very silkiness of his voice raised her hackles.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, had he done it? Had he been in London? In Lady Celia’s chamber, instead of out to sea? Lily was taking no chances. She had survived for years on her wits; she hoped they’d save her now. “I’m a sound sleeper.”
The lie stuck in her throat, clogged by the memory of what she’d seen when she’d crept up the stairs and peeked through the keyhole…her poor lady lying on the floor, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Lily had known Lady Celia was dead, but she’d started to go to her anyway. A sound had stopped her.
A rasping sob. The harsh breathing of someone else in that chamber. An instant later, a shadow had fallen across Lady Celia’s face. A man’s hand had reached out to touch her face.
Lily hadn’t waited to see anything more. She’d fled down the stairs and out the back door. Clad only in her shift, she’d cowered in the privy till dawn when the cook had came out and rousted her from her hiding place. Lily had been tempted to pack and run, but she’d been more afraid of being accused of the lady’s murder herself than that the murderer would guess she’d seen him. It seemed she’d made a tragic mistake.
“Why did you leave Celia’s?” Lord Jamie asked.
She itched to run, but he was too close. The street was empty except for a drunk snoring in the gutter. “To find work.”
“Of course. I’d not thought of that. Poor Ceila was fond of you, she’d be saddened to know you’d been forced to earn your way serving in a tavern.”
“Y-ye know where I work?”