Viscountess of Vice Read online

  “Mr. Biedermeier, don’t tease!” She slapped his arm gently with her closed fan. Lady V was back—and she would know how to maneuver out of this situation. It was merely a question of getting the man refocused on Jessica. “Everybody knows you’ve developed a tendre for Jessica, sir!”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I was rather fond of Amélie. She was very…accommodating. But it appears her affections have been diverted. I should have known better. One shouldn’t expect more from a whore.”

  The venom in his voice gave her gooseflesh. “Oh, come now!”

  He shook his head and sneered. “I learned my lesson. Diversification is my new strategy.”

  Catharine felt the cold fingers of panic beginning to grasp at her lungs again. “Jessica has been watching you all evening, sir. I do believe you’re breaking her heart a little!”

  He glanced over his shoulder, causing Jessica to look away rapidly. When his gaze returned to Catharine, his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t care for Jessica. I won’t have her again.”

  She almost gasped in dismay as she glanced around the room, assessing the options. There were two ladies without gentlemen. Was there a way she could get Biedermeier to choose one of them but also speak to the woman herself beforehand to offer a bribe? But what about Mr. Bailey? Her heart sank. He was hidden in Jessica’s room.

  “No, Lady V, I’m determined to have you.” The pronouncement came like a guillotine, slicing through whatever hope she’d held out that she could influence his behavior. Before she could think what to do next, the clammy finger reappeared, but this time it slipped lower, dipping slightly below the edge of her bodice, making her skin crawl. His other hand grasped her left hip. “And if you can’t be persuaded to feel flexible, I’ll find my evening’s entertainment elsewhere. As diverting as this place has been, I think perhaps it’s time for me to move on.”

  No! He was going to slip away. Her mind reeled as her vision blurred with unshed tears. It took a moment before she realized they were no longer alone.

  Madame Cherie. Never had she been happier to see the old meddler. Biedermeier removed his hands from her and took a step back.

  “Is everything all right here, my dears?” Madame looked significantly at Catharine, who could only nod mutely. From the way Madame’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, Catharine surmised that her assent had been less than convincing. A small part of her mind, a part that was not preoccupied with escaping the situation, was surprised that the older woman seemed concerned. Did she have a heart after all?

  “Well,” Madame purred, laying her hand on Biedermeier’s sleeve, “I’ve come with a very important invitation for you, sir.” Glancing around the room, she lowered her voice. “It’s an invitation only for the favorite gentlemen of the house. And I must ask you to keep it to yourself, because the event in question is meant to be exclusive.” She motioned toward a group of younger men, including the golden boy Catharine had spurned the night she first met James. “Exclusive to the more…mature set.”

  The woman was a marvel. She’d managed to shift Biedermeier’s attention so that he was hanging on her every word. “It happens that next Saturday is the fortieth anniversary of this fine establishment, and we’re having a grand soirée to celebrate.”

  Yes, Catharine had heard about this. The girls were upset because they would have to forgo seeing clients that evening—and hence, wouldn’t be paid.

  “You can’t have been mistress of this house for forty years, Madame!” Biedermeier protested.

  “Mon Dieu! Of course not! But I shall take that as a compliment if I may.” The man nodded. “No, I took over as proprietress some time ago. Longer ago than I care to admit, mind you.” She laughed flirtatiously. “I know you come to us only once a fortnight, Mr. Biedermeier, but I beg you to make an exception and come next week. It will be a party the likes of which you have never seen. I guarantee it.”

  She’d hooked him. Biedermeier confirmed his attendance, and the two carried on a conversation about the details. It gave Catharine a chance to gather her thoughts.

  It gave her time to face up to what she must do. There was no other way. She spent a moment assessing whether they could extract the necessary information from Biedermeier at the party next week, but she knew it was impossible. Despite Madame’s claim of exclusivity, it would be a complete crush. It would be noisy and manic and next to impossible to navigate.

  She gulped back a sob. No, the only way to get out of this mess without endangering the entire mission was to entertain Biedermeier herself. If he meant what he said about moving on, he would never come back to Madame Cherie’s if she rebuffed him. She thought back to her waltz with Blackstone. He was right. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done the very same thing, with other men, dozens of times.

  Closing her eyes, she could almost feel James pressed against her, his hand guiding hers as they skipped rocks across the lake in St. James’s park. Her throat tightened as she heard him whisper, there’s always enough love to go around.

  She’d been unsettled all week, telling herself that she needed to put off deciding what to do about James. The truth was she knew what to do.

  She loved him, but the idea of being with him terrified her. It wasn’t just giving up the protections and independence of widowhood. It was truly giving him her heart. She wasn’t sure she knew how to do that.

  And now she wouldn’t even get to try, because even if he could forgive what she was about to do, she wasn’t sure she could. It wasn’t the notion of giving herself to Biedermeier so much, but everything that had gotten her to this point. Had she really taken up spying because she was bored? Because she thought it would be amusing? She had been shallow, leading a trifling, meaningless life, while holding everyone who wanted a genuine relationship at bay. Well, she’d gotten what she signed up for. Her actions had delivered her to this point.

  Biedermeier brushed her arm, drawing her from her thoughts.

  She needed to remember who she was, not who she wished to be. She was the Viscountess Cranbrook. She was Lady V. Neither of those women would flinch here, given the opportunity to entrap a traitor with so little cost. So she straightened her spine, papered over the immense chasm of grief that had opened inside her, and whispered good-bye to James.

  Madame and Biedermeier were finishing their conversation. “Mr. Biedermeier, I don’t believe you’ve had the opportunity to meet Susan.” The older woman gestured at one of the two unpartnered ladies, a reedy, dark-haired beauty. Catharine was again astonished at the emergence of this unexpected protective streak in Madame.

  “Too waifish,” Biedermeier said.

  Catharine took a deep breath. “Thank you, Madame Cherie, but Mr. Biedermeier and I have already made an arrangement.” She laid her hand on the man’s sleeve and raised her brows at his surprised look. “I find myself feeling somewhat flexible this evening, after all.”

  Biedermeier’s wolfish grin bordered on a leer as he looked around for Madame’s footmen, who were engaged making other transactions. “Madame, will you allow me to settle my debt later this evening?” He put his arm around Catharine. “Frankly, I can’t believe my good fortune, and I’m loath to let this one get away.”

  “Of course,” said Madame, continuing to watch Catharine with her eyes narrowed. Catharine stared back blandly, willing the woman to give up. After a moment of silence, Madame nodded, seemingly satisfied. “But you will understand, I’m sure, that flexibility will cost a great deal more.”

  Biedermeier began towing her toward the stairs. “And it shall be worth every penny.”

  As she allowed him to lead her away, Catharine met Blackstone’s stony gaze. A part of her prayed he would intervene somehow. But how could he? He merely watched, unflinching, as she passed.

  Think of Alfie, she told herself as she led her client up the steep staircase to her room. And the other children. What were two meaningless hours in exchange for the freedom of twenty children?

  She felt his hand on her backside as she fum
bled with her key, using every ounce of her will to refrain from slapping his hand away. She inserted the key and the door clicked open, revealing the room that had become her millstone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  James didn’t stop running until he reached the courtyard behind Madame Cherie’s. He had to get inside the house, but it wasn’t going to be through the front door. Money from his mother had already paid for two audiences with Catharine here, padding Madame’s purse. He’d vowed to use his mother’s money to do good in the world. He was done spending it here.

  Besides, it was nearly one o’clock. Catharine was exceedingly popular. It was too much to expect that she’d have been overlooked, that he would find her passing the time alone in Madame’s drawing room.

  If she was in the house, she was up there.

  He wanted to trust her, to believe that she was somewhere among friends, dancing, dining, laughing. But he couldn’t shake the sense that there was something else going on. She had stubbornly refused when he’d asked her to quit Madame’s before. Why had she agreed so readily last time?

  Because it was different last time.

  How badly he wanted to believe that. Craning his neck to look up at the top of the house—he did seem to be spending rather a lot of time lately craning his neck to look at houses that might contain Catharine—he worked out which window was hers. There was a telltale flickering. Candlelight.

  Unease pooled in his gut. He tried to look at the situation through his scientist’s eyes. Just because someone was up there didn’t mean it was Catharine. Indeed, Madame, nothing if not a shrewd merchant, surely wouldn’t allow the room to sit empty on nights Catharine wasn’t there to occupy it.

  It’s just that the room had seemed so much like her. The beautiful, airy space was so very much hers. It felt impossible that another woman should occupy it.

  There was the unease again, moving up to his chest, quickening his heartbeat.

  It was important to be logical. The way to satisfy the rage and the scientist was to have a look inside. He glanced around. A trellis covered with thick ivy rested against the house, but it only reached to the second story. An ancient ash tree in the courtyard extended long limbs toward the house. One of those boughs reached close enough to her window. The challenge would be getting to it: the tree’s trunk was a sheer face until it branched a good ten feet up. He tugged on the ivy. The vines were strong.

  Strong enough to hold him? Throwing aside his coat and waistcoat and rolling up his sleeves, his thoughts traveled back to the time she’d threatened to enter his rooms via a trellis. She’d found the notion of a suitor climbing up to reach his lady romantic. At the time, he’d been charmed that she thought anything romantic, since she seemed so immune to frivolous sentiment. Thinking back, he realized that was the first time he’d caught a glimpse of the real Catharine. And he could see now that when he entered her, when she sank down on the length of him, he’d given himself over to her completely—body and soul. He’d gone off to mount a wild stunt in Birmingham, keeping his activities a secret from the Society, from his most trusted colleagues. He would do anything she asked, obviously.

  The question was, had she done what he’d asked?

  The climb was easier than he’d expected. The vines held, and he went slowly, moving up like a hunter, focused intently on his prey. When he reached the tree’s first bough, he levered himself up onto it, and the rest was easier. Climbing to the next large limb, he crept out until he was adjacent her room. The window stood open an inch. He took hold of the sill and hauled himself over, using a small ledge as a toehold to keep him clinging to the side of the mansion. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on what was happening inside the room. Exertion and anticipation sped up his heart. It thudded wildly.

  And then it broke.

  There she stood, facing the window, illuminated by dozens of candles. She was a radiant angel, wearing only a corset, stockings, garters, and gloves. Hips undulating, she slowly peeled off one of her long white evening gloves. With a seductive smile, she pitched it forward so that it landed on the lap of a man seated in an armchair. James couldn’t see the man’s face, since the back of the chair faced him, but he could make out the details of a familiar hat over the top. A tricorn hat.

  Swallowing a cry and clamping his fingers down hard on the sill, he closed his eyes and pressed his ear to the opening in the window.

  “There’s a fellow by the name of Bailey who might be able to get me some beech I can use, at a better price than I’m paying now.”

  “So why not take him up on it?”

  “Ah, ah, ah, Lady V. Have you forgotten the rules?” said Biedermeier, his speech slightly slurred. “Why you wanted to converse is beyond me, but since you’re intent on mixing in a drawing room conversation, you’ll do well to remember our agreement. If you want to talk, it will cost you an item of clothing. Let’s have the other glove now, girl.”

  “It’s just that I’m a little nervous, Mr. Biedermeier. Conversation calms me.” She peeled off the glove.

  “I don’t trust Mr. Bailey yet,” said Biedermeier, answering her previous question. “I need to spend more time with him before we enter into a business agreement. Now a stocking.”

  She must have removed it, because he heard the next question. “Mr. Biedermeier, how did you come to know about Madame’s?”

  “A…colleague recommended it.”

  “Oh, is he a regular client here? Perhaps I know him.”

  “Not anymore. I’m afraid his…business has taken a turn for the worse.”

  James, his head still turned, imagined the disrobing that no doubt accompanied the conversation. Concentrating on his pulse thundering in his ears, he allowed their voices to recede. His hands began to shake, and he had to concentrate on maintaining his grasp on the building. A great wall of grief hit him, so palpable he could practically feel its thick, heavy texture.

  It was happening again. Except this was worse than his mother. At least when his mother chose her gilded life over him, he had been a mere baby. She hadn’t been rejecting him so much as the idea of him.

  “Oh,” he heard Catharine say as he laid his cheek against the cool stone of the building, concentrating on slowing his breath. “What other parts are involved? How many employees do you have?”

  “You’re very interested in my business. And that was two questions, yet you only have one item of clothing left.” James could hear the man’s drunken sneer. He tried to summon anger. It would be better than this boundless grief. It seemed like anger might help propel him through the rest of the evening—he’d have to go to the Home Office alone now—but he didn’t know where to direct it. At her for betraying him, or at Biedermeier, for treating her with such disrespect?

  He was disgusted with himself. How could he still feel loyalty to her? It was completely illogical to be offended on her behalf. He forced himself to peek inside again. Catharine was loosening the laces of her corset and was otherwise naked, except for her feathered mask. Bathed in candlelight, red hair flaming, she looked like a resplendent mythological bird. The sight of her still pierced through him, as surely as a dagger to the heart.

  “Well, I think it’s stimulating. Guns! What could be a more exciting thing to manufacture?”

  “And you’re ever in search of excitement, I gather.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.” She pouted as she playfully toyed with the corset’s laces, moving teasingly slow. “I move on to one thing, and then when it loses its luster I’m compelled to discard it. I’m frightfully difficult to keep entertained, you know.” With that, she opened the corset, exposing every part of herself to Biedermeier, who emitted only a small grunt that was difficult to interpret.

  James swallowed, forcing back the sense that he needed to vomit.

  “Why don’t you pay me a visit?” Biedermeier said, his voice gravelly with desire. “I’ll give you a tour of the works, if you’re so interested.”

  “No, no,” Catharine said—ra
ther too quickly, James thought. “I adore London. I can’t be made to leave it!”

  She must be thinking of the school, of him. Wouldn’t do to run into both her lovers simultaneously, would it? Bitterness was the next in the avalanche of emotions hitting him. The impulse to weep had been replaced by acid churning in his stomach.

  Biedermeier stood. “Will you take off your mask?”

  “Not now, love. Next time.” Evading the gunmaker, whose steps were unsteady, she made a beeline for the window.

  James quickly lowered himself so his head was below the sill. Next time? He swallowed a laugh of self-disgust. Of course there would be a next time. He should have known better.

  The acid boiled over. He recoiled and slammed a fist into the stone wall. The searing pain focused his attention, helped him tamp down the nausea. Grief, rage, bitterness—none of it did him any good. He’d always said emotions were dangerous, and he’d been a fool to let her make him believe otherwise.

  Logic. Logic was the only thing that had ever gotten him anywhere. And right now logic was telling him to get the hell out of here. There was nothing to be gained from witnessing any more. He turned and leaped back to his tree branch.

  Time to do what he’d come to London to do. He didn’t need her for that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Will you take off your mask?”

  How Catharine wished she could. Her face was ablaze underneath it, hot with disgust, shame, regret. She’d shown him her body, but she’d be damned before she’d show him her face.

  She couldn’t even cling to the comfort that this was the last time she would ever have to wear the mask. Despite her best efforts to probe, Biedermeier had given no hint there was anything untoward going on at the gun works. The most she’d learned was that Mr. Bailey had more work ahead if he wanted to ingratiate himself. She hadn’t uncovered anything she imagined would be of any use to Blackstone. How was she ever going to make herself do this again so she could actually procure something useful? Worse, how was she going to face life without James?