Bodice Ripper Page 6

  Still, they were a team in this. It was a struggle to balance that against his better senses, his knowledge that through her very presence he was seduced by her. It was time for him to start trying to shift the balance the other way.

  "Mary—Miss Geis," he said. She stopped without turning to face him. "I should know where you'll be staying. So that I can keep you appraised of the situation."

  When she turned to face him, he couldn't understand her expression.

  "I'll be staying at Hyde Park, of course. My family always stays there. We have a regular room, so it should be no trouble at all. Just ask for me."

  "Of course," he said. "You've seen my address, of course, but let me write it down for you. In case there are any emergencies."

  He took a notebook from his jacket pocket and jotted down his address before tearing it off.

  "There. I'll come and speak with you tonight, after I've had time to speak with Mr. Stump. Once he's told me what I need to know, we'll be able to make plans for what to do next."

  "Very good," Mary said, and then turned and left.

  James didn't have time to worry about why she was acting strangely. Before he had left, he'd sent off a letter to the hospital asking for only a couple of weeks' extension on his father's bills. With some luck, he would have an answer from them. With a little more, they would have agreed.

  There was an envelope, stuck into the mail slot of his front door. He yanked it loose when he closed the door. It was marked as having been sent by the hospital. He tore it open.

  It began professionally. They always did, particularly when there was bad news. They had considered his petition for an extension. Then they'd decided against it. When would be convenient for them to come and pick up the money he owed?

  He let the paper drop onto the bedside table and laid down in his own bed. It was strange; he'd been gone less than a week, and it seemed like his bed was an exotic luxury. Familiar, pleasant, and at the same time, distant. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

  13

  Mary

  James seemed mad. What did he want from her? Mary frowned and kept walking, trying to make her entire posture seem controlled. Everything about him was erratic. First he tries to leave without a word to her. She'd been waiting for him to say something the entire ride, and the more that he didn't, the more frustrated it made her.

  Then they arrive, and he wants to know where her hotel is, like he was her keeper? How could one man frustrate her so? Every other thing he did only served to render the thing before it meaningless. She needed him, she knew. And she wanted him. But that didn't mean she had to like him, did it? If it did, he was making it awfully difficult.

  It had been years since Mary had been to the hotel, not long after they had first started to keep the room, but remembering where it was seemed natural, and she didn't have to stop for directions once. Of course, when she got close it became easier and easier to remember, and then the letters over the door told her that she'd found the right place.

  A doorman held the door for her and she stepped in. A boy came in a uniform and took her bag from her, and followed her up to the desk. She came up to the desk and waited only a moment.

  "Can I help you, ma'am?"

  "Yes, I'm Mary Geis, my family keeps a room here?"

  He looked at her a moment before nodding, and looked down at the counter in front of him. She could see him running his finger down a page, and then a second, and then his brow furrowed.

  That was a bad sign.

  He turned to the young man standing beside him, and whispered something. Then he smiled at her reassuringly, and the other fellow walked off hurriedly.

  That was just as bad.

  Mary wished they would just tell her what the problem was, surely it was all a mistake that they could resolve easily. After all, her family had kept a room here, all paid and accounted-for since it opened. She had personally met Otto Goring.

  "It'll be just one moment, there seems to have been some sort of confusion."

  Mary bit her lip and tried not to lose her temper. She knew that she had a bad habit of becoming incensed when things didn't turn out exactly the way she had wanted, and she could feel the anger rising up in the pit of her belly. What sort of incompetent fools were these?

  Someone came over, in a finely-tailored suit and was immediately pointed over to her.

  "What's the issue here, Brian?"

  "Well, sir—this is Mary Geis. The Geis family has one of our Belgravia suites, and, ah..."

  Brian made a gesture at the counter, tapping it to show what he was pointing at. The manager leaned over to look, and then pursed his lips. Then he stood and put on a masking smile.

  "Ah, Miss Geis, so wonderful to have you here. Your family has had a long relationship with our hotel, and we are glad to have you staying. There seems to have been some sort of mix-up, though—the room is occupied, you see. Perhaps you and your uncle made plans for the same weekend?"

  Mary blanched. Her uncle wasn't supposed to be here. He was in Belgium. She tried to cover her surprise as best she could.

  "I'm sorry, my uncle is here?"

  "Ah, no. I'm sorry, I wasn't clear." She had to stop herself from letting out an audible sigh. "Your uncle's man is here, on business. We had a letter signed by Mr. Oliver Geis himself granting him use of the room. Only for two nights, but the room won't be available until he checks out tomorrow, you see, so..."

  Mary looked at him levelly, and tried to decide what the right approach would be. The anger was mixing with worry in her stomach.

  "So just give me another room," she said. "There's been a mistake, I can't be held to account for it."

  The manager winced and then went back to smiling at her, and she could see that he wasn't going to give it to her.

  "I'm sorry, Miss—"

  "Thank you for your time," she cut off. "I'll stay with friends for the night, and be back when the room is vacant."

  The man in front of her visibly deflated, and his smile widened just a little.

  "Thank you very much for your understanding, Miss Geis. I hope that this confusion hasn't hurt your view of our humble establishment. I know Mr. Goring has had a long-standing relationship with your family, and I hope that can continue going forward."

  "Thank you, sir."

  She started walking out, and the boy followed her to the door. Then she took the bag back and started walking. She'd never been to Lisson Grove, and only been in Westminster a handful of times. With any luck, she thought, she'd happen across his address, but it didn't seem very likely.

  Asking after it was a last resort. Until then, she'd wander, and with some luck someone she knew would find her. She started north.

  Hyde Park provided a wonderful distraction, and a welcome chance to find a bench and rest her tiring legs. She was nearly giving up hope when she heard a familiar voice call out.

  "Miss Geis?"

  She turned to look. That was Davis's voice. What on earth was he doing in London? He lived in Dover. She'd met his wife and sons, knew the street he lived on.

  "Davis? What are you doing here?"

  "Ah, I knew it was you! What a surprise." He smiled and stood at a respectable distance.

  "Davis, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for someplace, and..." she shook her head and made a face. "I don't know London very well, perhaps you could direct me?"

  "I can do my best, ma'am, but where are you hoping to go?"

  "Do you know where Lisson Grove is?"

  She saw something in his eyes, and it made her uneasy. He knew where she was going. She tried to write it off—he was concerned for her, or perhaps there was a bit of judgment.

  But it wasn't. She'd known Davis for nearly all of her twenty years. He was a fixture in her family. And in that time, he'd been one of the gentlest men she knew, short only of her father. But what she saw in his eyes was a foreign hardness. He hadn't been judging her, he'd been taking her int
o account.

  "Yes, of course. I can take you there, if you like."

  She realized, with a sick feeling in her stomach, that she wouldn't like. She'd trusted him before, but now she was beginning to wonder, and she needed time away from him if she was going to rebuild that trust. Time to write off his behavior. Even now, her brain worked overtime to explain away his strange, off-balance expression.

  "No, that's alright. I just need directions, and I'll be back on my way."

  He picked up her bag. "Don't be absurd, Miss Geis. I was just on my way there now."

  She wanted to get away, and she wanted to get away now. Perhaps she was mistaken. She hoped that she was mistaken. But it seemed that the more time passed, the less she could trust her old servant Davis. He seemed menacing, now, looming over her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  But he had her bag. If she was mistaken, he'd be hurt. If she weren't, she was now entirely without luggage, and her identity papers were in that bag. If she asked for the bag back, he would know that she doubted him. She tried to force a smile onto her cheeks.

  "Of course, then it's no issue at all. Lead on."

  He helped her up with his free hand and then started down the street.

  They spoke pleasantries as a rule, and walked at a respectable distance. For all the world, she could see nothing of the man she'd been afraid of a moment ago.

  A voice called out, and when she looked she could see James walking towards the both of them.

  "Miss Geis," he started, obviously unsure. "Is anything amiss?"

  "There's been some confusion with the hotel," she said. She was acutely aware that somewhere in the city, someone working for her uncle was roaming around. Davis seemed a likely, if worrying, candidate, and it stung in the back of her mind.

  "Well, of course you can use my flat. I can get a room for the night." He paused a long moment. "If that's not a problem."

  "Oh, no," she said softly. James took the bag from Davis, though he didn't offer it. Clearly he had an issue with this plan, but he didn't voice it. "Oh, Davis. Where were you staying? Maybe James can stay with you, I'm sure you know a good place."

  There was a crinkle in the corner of his eyes that made her doubt, and then he said, softly, "Oh—I'm staying with friends, ma'am."

  14

  James

  James could see the tension in Mary's body, and before he could feel frustrated with the fact that he was looking closely enough to notice, he had to come to her rescue.

  Davis shouldn't have been there. That much, he knew immediately. He hadn't lived in Dover long—so far, he was more like a house guest—but he had employee records. Davis lived in town. He shouldn't have been here, unless it was on business, but what business could he have?

  When they were finally apart, Mary made an apologetic face.

  "You don't have to get a room, you know. I'm sure you've got a sofa, or something, that you can sleep on. I wouldn't mind if you did that."

  It rankled him badly. She didn't mean what he thought she meant. He kept reminding himself of it, but she kept sounding so very much like she did. The way she looked at him, the way she acted, the way she talked…it had to be his imagination. It didn't make it any easier to ignore.

  His flat wasn't far, and then he could give her the tour and be off.

  He pushed the door open and gestured that she should go in first. She stepped in and set her bag down.

  It was a shabby room. He'd liked it for his purposes, but now he was acutely aware of the cheapness of it. He felt as if Mary was slowly cataloging every thing that she could find wrong, and marking it off as a criticism of him. He could feel it burning hot in his throat.

  "It's not much, but it's home," he said in a vague defense that Mary waved away.

  "Nonsense," she said. "For a single gentleman, it's perfectly nice."

  "Well," he said, reluctant to argue with her, "the bedroom is through there. The sheets should be in the closet, I'll make the bed before night, don't you worry."

  He closed the bedroom door and walked back out into the front room. "Through there's the kitchen, the water closet's right there…"

  He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and tried not to feel too bad about the place, but it was a struggle to maintain his mood. The place felt odd, and he wanted little more than to get out. When she didn't dismiss him, he cleared his throat.

  "I'll, ah…let you get comfortable, and I'll be back around time for supper to tell you what I could find, if that's alright with you, Miss—"

  "Call me Mary, I said." She sounded annoyed, and he swallowed his response.

  "Of course, I'm sorry. Mary."

  He pushed his door open and stepped out into the open air. He'd never wanted to be gone so badly. The air in the room felt heavy. Like he'd never been there before in his life. He looked up at the sky.

  London generally had poor weather, and today was no exception, but today was particularly oppressive. But he had work to do.

  The Law Office of Roy Stump was in Soho, and it had always struck James as odd that a Baron would have gone there. He dismissed it right away, and repeatedly. As long as the job would pay, there wasn't any reason to question anyone's motives, but it had rankled at his mind badly. What on earth could have been the motive?

  He stopped just down the street and dusted his pants off, straightened his jacket. He was tired from all the walking, but it had done his mind a world of good to have an excuse to be away from his flat. Away from Mary, and the curvy hips that swayed when she walked.

  He almost knocked on the door before he saw the sign:

  Closed. Mr. Stump is on vacation in Europe and cannot be reached.

  It struck him as odd, immediately. What struck him as more odd was that he'd been here less than a week ago, going over last-minute details of his work in Dover, and he'd made no mention of any plans to leave the country. It wasn't as big a deal as going to, say, America, but a lengthy trip wasn't something to be undertaken lightly.

  He frowned. That meant that he'd had to have left within the last week, at the very outside.

  He shaded his eyes and looked in through the window. There were the desks in the office that he remembered. They had papers on them, seemingly thrown at random when whoever had sat at the desk had decided they weren't worth keeping.

  Whatever had happened here, James thought, they had left in a hurry afterward. There was an eerie feeling of stillness and calm in the sight. It was obvious that whatever the case, there had been a great deal of movement here, of energy. They hadn't bothered to straighten up; in fact, the mess inside was worse than he'd seen it in several visits to the office.

  But all of it was gone, now, and all he saw were shades and fragments of memories long-since passed.

  James nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice near his ear. "Can I help you?"

  He gasped and turned on his heel. A pleasant-looking man past middle age was standing behind him on the sidewalk, smiling faintly.

  "Yes, I suppose so…My name is Poole, I was contracted by Mr. Stump, and now I can't seem to get in touch with him, can you shed some light on the situation?" He pulled out identification papers and showed them to the man.

  "Ah," the plump man muttered. He rubbed his beard for a moment. "Yes, it seems as if he left some time yesterday afternoon. I wasn't informed until this morning, of course, so now I have to keep an eye on the place to keep out for robbers and sneak-thieves. I'm sorry to have bothered you, but you can't be too careful, you know."

  "Of course. Are you…are you the landlord, here?"

  The man hummed in assent and smiled.

  "Thank you for all of your help, it's most appreciated."

  "Any time, young man."

  James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His feet ached, and he was aware of the woman in his flat like a splinter just under the skin. It chafed and rubbed in all the wrong places, and he couldn't help but want it gone.

  Even if this splinter was
a beautiful woman, and she was going to be laying in his bed that night.

  He tried to pretend it was a coincidence when his path took him by the pub down the street, even though it was at least two blocks out of the way. He hadn't been thinking, obviously that had to be it. It couldn't be that he was avoiding going home.

  The bartender greeted him happily enough, and for a brief moment, James almost managed to forget about Mary, to forget about the Geis family's problems and the missing man he'd come back into the city to speak to.

  The whole thing couldn't be a coincidence, he knew. But sometimes it was easier not to think about it, and this was one of those times. He needed to sleep, and not just a few minutes' rest before going out like he'd gotten when he came back into town. He needed a night's rest.

  What was worse, though, was that he didn't want a rest. He had other appetites, gnawing hunger that he couldn't repress, no matter how he tried. He tried to shake it off. He was a man, and she was…well, she was all sorts of woman. An unforgettable woman, if ever he'd met one.

  All he wanted to do was put her behind him, but he had work to do outside of the bedroom. Work that was more pressing than his desire to act chivalrous in front of a lady.

  He got up and paid for his drink, and then made his way to the door. His face felt hot and he thought that maybe he'd overdone it a little more than he thought. It wasn't long, but he could feel his mind drifting. He could practically imagine Mary, nude and beneath him.

  It was a tempting thought.

  But it wasn't going to happen, he reminded himself. That was absurd, the stuff of lewd penny dreadfuls. He was a gentleman, if not noble, and he would conduct himself as a gentleman. He'd slipped once, but he was stronger now. Smarter, and he knew what to look for.

  He'd lose his only lead. The last thing on his mind should have been intimacy. Even if it was a woman as beautiful as Mary Geis.

  He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  15

  Mary

  The room was small and shabby. Mary knew it, and she wasn't exactly afraid to admit it, but it had seemed like it would be rude to say so in front of James. He was young, though, she thought. It wasn't as if he'd had years to make his fortune. Her eyes fell on an envelope with his name on it, and the sign of a hospital.