The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,37
there,” his brother finished, glancing down at his feet.
Impatient for the details that had sent Derek racing here, Charles controlled himself, allowing his sibling the time he required.
“She wasn’t dressed like the other women. She was attired like a proper lady, in modest garments. And she was pale . . . and”—Derek dragged a hand through his hair—“I managed to speak to her alone.” His brother’s mouth hardened. “Some cad told her he loved her, ruined her, and sold her. She is just seventeen.”
She is just seventeen.
Oh, God.
Sweat slicked Charles’s palms. His stomach roiled.
The past came rushing up to meet him, and he thought of another young lady who’d suffered such a fate. Not a stranger, but his sister, Camille. Who’d been differently but similarly ruined by the dissolute lord who’d inherited the ramshackle properties next to their Kent country estates. That rake, who’d met her secretly, had seduced her out of her virtue, then left her with a babe in her belly—the babe Charles had come to pass off as his own in a bid to protect Camille from the scandal and suffering that would await her as a single mother.
Since the moment he’d learned of his sister’s fate, Charles had been left desperately trying to put together the pieces of something that could never truly be fixed . . . But even so, he’d tried like hell anyway.
“Charles? Charles?” his brother repeated a second time, more insistently, pulling Charles back from the abyss of so many regrets.
“Yes, forgive me.”
“I couldn’t get her out,” his brother said tightly. “The chap was quite condescending, and I couldn’t. I’m not a lord with any influence. I don’t have the funds to even try. I—” His features spasmed, and he slammed a fist on the table, that thump an echo of his fury and frustration, attracting attention from nearby patrons.
“Shh,” Charles urged. “It is fine.” He willed a thread of firmness into that assurance. “Tell me where they are. I’ll coordinate what must be done.”
“Thank you,” his brother mouthed, his shoulders sagging, revealing just how young he still was.
A short while later, he and his brother rode for Cannon Street.
Chapter 7
THE LONDONER
SUSPICIONS ABOUND
The town agitator, none other than Miss Gately, presuming to know what is best for all ladies everywhere, has been spied gallivanting throughout different ends of London, haranguing fathers and guardians, attempting to bully those gentlemen into her way of thinking. Is there no level to which this jilted miss will not sink?
M. FAIRPOINT
Two murders had been committed on Ratcliff Highway.
Two families, within two weeks of one another.
In all, seven victims had lost their lives on these very streets.
Granted, those atrocities had been committed more than seventeen years ago.
Never more did Emma Gately regret having listened to that ominous tale told by Daria, one of the Viscountess St. John’s sisters-in-law.
At the time, Emma had been fascinated by the telling, particularly by the young lady. Now she recognized her privilege, which had also blinded her to the fact that people lived in these parts of London.
That one of their members, Emma’s new friend, Cressida, had lived there.
Did live here.
And riding through the clogged roadway of Artichoke Hill only heightened the sense of impending peril that hung in the air.
The carriage lurched to a jolting stop, and Emma gripped the edge of her bench to keep from being flung, even as her maid went flying into the side.
A moment later, the carriage door opened, and her family’s driver, Tensly, looked up, his eyes reflecting her own concern. “Streets are too full,” he shouted loudly enough to be heard over the circus of sounds outside. He doffed his hat and wiped at his damp brow. “Cannot get any farther than this, miss.”
Emma leaned over and peered out. At her side, her maid, Heather, followed suit.
People filled the streets, vendors selling their goods.
It was, however, still broad daylight. How much peril could—?
A fellow in tattered garments with a ladder hoisted about his back shouted at Tensly. “Outta the damned way!”
As one, Emma and Heather immediately pulled back inside, with Tensly pushing the door shut behind them. “I don’t know, miss,” the young woman murmured, echoing Emma’s own reservations. “It isn’t the . . . safest place, and your parents would have my head if anything were to happen to you.”
“No, they’d have mine, and know that I was to blame, and appreciate that you were good enough, at least, to accompany me.”
“I don’t know about that,” the young girl muttered.