Touch of Passion Read online

  Touch of Passion

  Susan Spencer Paul

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Copyright

  Prologue

  London, 1811

  Not the Red Fox again. We’ve gone there almost every night this past month and I’m sore weary of it. Dyfed threw a card onto the table and looked with consternation at his brother, who sat idly across from him. And you’ve already had all the women there at least once, and most of them twice and three times. I don’t know why you want to go to that filthy pit again.

  Kian regarded the cards he held with a smile. “Speak aloud, if you please, fy gefell,” he said. “You’re not to use the silent speech while we’re in London, remember, lest you make a mistake while we’re in company with mere mortals.” With care, he placed three cards down, one next to the other. “As to the Red Fox,” he continued pleasantly, “I happen to like it. And since you haven’t had all the women there, I should think you’d want to go. You hate unfinished business.” He glanced up at his brother with a knowing look, grinning.

  Dyfed’s cheeks pinked with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “You’ve kept them all too occupied for anyone else to have a share. I can scarce be blamed for the outcome of your”—he cast about for the right word—“extravagance,” then regretted the choice when Kian laughed with clear amusement.

  “What’s that you’re saying, lad?” a gravelly voice demanded from the high-backed chair set near the fire. The next moment their father’s well-lined face, framed by both a crown of shaggy, unkempt hair and an equally disheveled beard, peered around at them. “Kian’s taking two at a time again, is he? I’ve warned you against such behavior, my boy. You’re far too young for such nonsense, and will do yourself an injury. No more of that, now, or it’s back to Wales for the both of you.”

  “It isn’t two at a time, Father,” Kian assured his parent. “It’s just Dyfed being slow. His usual thorough self. He can’t keep up, as ever.”

  “That’s all right then,” Baron Tylluan replied before Dyfed could make an angry rejoinder. “But I want you being careful. If your cousin the earl, may God bless and keep him, hears that I’ve let you loose in London again, he’ll be at our door before we can think of any good excuse. You’ll remember what he thought of your last visit to Town.”

  Even Kian lost his usual smirk. “Could we ever forget?” he asked. “I’ve never seen Malachi so angry.”

  “Have you not?” said his father. “Then I fear you’ve a short memory, my lad, for you’ve forgotten his fury after that fire you started on the docks. That was but three years past. And the riot that the two of you sparked in that gaming hell two years past. God help us, but that was a bad time. It wasn’t only the earl who was obliged to keep you from the law, then, but your cousin Niclas, as well.”

  “Don’t speak of it,” Dyfed murmured pleadingly. “There’s nothing so awful as having both the Dewin Mawr and Cousin Niclas furious at us.”

  “I should be glad never to speak of any of those unpleasant times again,” their father replied sternly, “and far more glad if you’ll give no cause for a repeat of such occasions. No fires,” he commanded. “No burning anything. No riots. And above all, no magic.”

  * * *

  The inn was busier than usual for a midweek night, for which Loris was grateful. The keeper and his wife were both in a foul mood, and having more customers to clean up after kept Loris from having to work either behind the bar or in the kitchen quite so much, where their hard, callused hands so often found cause to strike her cheeks.

  And there was much cleaning to do, for the crowd was already unruly, spilling drinks and tobacco ashes on tables and chairs and on Loris, too, when she made the mistake of passing too close by. But she had learned to be quick and careful at the inn, especially on nights like this. Some of the rougher customers were given to touching any passing female if they had the chance, and she couldn’t bear to feel their hands slapping, pinching, or roaming over her. The girls who worked above the inn called her foolish, but Loris could never accustom herself to the thought of letting any man grope her. Not even for money. The girls assured her that one day it would be otherwise, for she’d have little choice if she wished to keep eating, but the very thought made Loris ill.

  And so she scrubbed the floors and tables and worked very hard, hoping that it would be enough to make the Goodbodys keep her as a servant. Her labor for them was free, excepting food and keep, but, of late, the Goodbodys had complained even about that small expense.

  Two men sitting at one of the far tables rose to join a card game taking place at another, and Loris snatched up her tray and a cloth and moved quickly to clear it before anyone else sat there. Mrs. Goodbody didn’t care so much about the comfort of the customers, but she kept close count of her tankards and glasses, and if one should go missing, Loris would find herself the worse for it.

  She made her way through the smoke and noise, squeezing past the rough horde and striving to keep from being knocked aside.

  Shifting the heavy wooden tray comfortably against her hip, Loris began to clear the table of mugs and glasses. The battered top was wet with ale and sour-smelling wine, and it was a difficult task to wipe it clean while balancing the tray. She did so quickly, though, for she still had bruises from the slaps Mrs. Goodbody had given her that morning for being too slow in sweeping the floors.

  “Where’s the serving wench?” A rough hand tugged at her sleeve, nearly sending the tray to the floor.

  Loris purposefully kept her eyes on the table before her. It never did to look into the faces of the patrons. They were rough and lewd, on the main, and she had discovered that paying them any attention at all could lead to trouble.

  “I’ll go and find her, sir,” she said loudly over the tavern’s raucous din, and reached to wipe away the last few wet spots from the tabletop.

  “Find her now!” he demanded, grabbing Loris by the elbow and forcibly swinging her about.

  The tray slipped; Loris struggled to free herself in time to grab it, but it was impossible. She shut her eyes against the impending crash … only to find that it didn’t happen.

  “Let her go.”

  She recognized the voice, and her eyes flew open. It was one of the young gentlemen who’d been causing such a stir in the Red Fox these past few weeks. Twins, they were, handsome, rich young lordlings, slender and tall, with remarkable white-blond hair and chilling blue eyes. She had never seen anyone like them before.

  They seemed hardly to be much older than Loris, and yet they had proved to be equal to the most dangerous rogues who frequented the tavern. The girls above stairs fought over the twins’ favors, while the men below sought their company for gambling and fighting. One night Loris had seen the one who’d just spoken take on a much older, stronger man in a contest of swords
and win. Another night he had gambled thousands of pounds against a notorious pirate merely for the company of one of the upstairs girls—a girl who would eagerly greet him at any time of day or night—and had come away with both the money and the desired companionship.

  The pirate had protested, a brawl had ensued, and the young lordling had still come out on his feet, laughing merrily once all the fighting was done and the pirate and his crew vanquished.

  His brother, who stood on Loris’s other side, was as different as he could possibly be. He was far gentler and quieter in manner and, according to the girls who had lain with him, exceedingly kind and considerate. He gambled but little and only fought if his wild brother needed aid. But that, as Loris had seen, was seldom the case, for the first appeared to be fully capable of defending himself. More often than not it was left to the gentler brother to stop brawls before they began and to make peace when his sibling had angered a rival.

  “I said,” the first repeated in a soft, menacing tone, “let her go. Now.”

  The grip on her elbow tightened until Loris nearly buckled from the pain, and her angry captor rose, pulling her up with him until she stood on her toes. He was a big, tall man and very strong. With a single jerk of his wrist he brought her hard up against his side.

  “And I suppose you’ll make me, boy?”

  The noise in the tavern began to die away. With a sinking heart, Loris could see Mr. Goodbody frantically pushing his way out from behind the bar, an angry expression on his florid face.

  The handsome young gentleman smiled and lifted a slender, long-fingered hand. “Yes,” he murmured, “I shall.”

  With a swiftness that seemed inhuman, he had placed his outstretched fingers upon the hand that gripped Loris, and the next thing she knew, she was released. The man cried out and fell to the floor, writhing beneath the fingers that still touched him as if their simple pressure alone were somehow imparting great pain to his entire body.

  It was impossible that such a big, brawny man could be harmed merely by a touch, yet he knelt on the floor before her very eyes, crying out and begging for mercy.

  The young gentleman scarce paid his captive any mind and instead glanced at his twin. “I remember precisely what Father said, Dyfed,” he commented, as if in answer to some silent question. “I’m not burning anything, and this could hardly qualify as a riot. As to the other, I’m only using a very little, and only for the noble cause of rescuing a helpless female. Malachi would scarcely be alarmed. And if you’re so concerned about spectacle, you might recall that we’re in public.”

  “I forgot,” his brother replied with a flush of obvious aggravation. “You made me forget with your wild … your wild …” He seemed not to be able to find the right word and, when his brother laughed, finished angrily, saying, “Why must you always go straight into every trouble that presents itself? For pity’s sake, let the man go!”

  “In a moment,” said the other, calmly returning his gaze to the pleading man who knelt before him. “I want to make certain he’s learned his lesson.”

  His brother set aside the tray he’d yet been holding and, with a gentle hand on Loris’s arm, pulled her back from the shocking sight. All around them the crowd pressed in, as amazed by the spectacle as Loris.

  “Malachi will be furious,” he shouted above the keen cries of pain. “Regardless of the circumstances. Do you really want to have another audience of that sort with the Dewin Mawr?”

  “Oh, very well,” the other replied, reluctantly releasing his victim.

  The big man fell to the ground, whimpering with relief, and was at once dragged away by his friends, some of whom glanced back at the young lordling with fear and disbelief.

  “Aye, take him away,” he advised, “and teach him some manners. Ah, Mr. Goodbody”—his tone cheered as the innkeeper reached them—“well met, sir.”

  The Goodbodys found the custom of these particular young gentlemen to be most welcome, for they always had money and spent it freely. Mr. Goodbody, at the moment, looked very nervous about the thought of losing such desirable patrons.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said at once, his breathing labored from his hurry to reach them. “We do get that kind in from time to time. I apologize if you were bothered. He’ll not be let in again, nor his friends. Loris! Stupid girl!” Grabbing her by the shoulder, he gave her a rough push toward the bar. “Get out of here and stop causing trouble. Leave these gentlemen be and fetch Tilda to serve them.”

  “Stop,” the gentleman who’d rescued Loris said, in a tone of voice that even Mr. Goodbody was forced to obey. “The young miss did nothing wrong. She must not be scolded.” Moving nearer, he handed Loris her tray. “Indeed, she was merely clearing a table for us when she was so rudely assaulted.” He gazed at her for a long moment before turning back to Mr. Goodbody and saying, “Don’t ever touch her in such a manner again. She is never to be harmed.”

  Loris’s eyes widened, and she glanced at the innkeeper. If any other man had said such a thing to Mr. Goodbody, no matter how rich, he would have been barred from the Red Fox forever. But the way this young lord had spoken seemed to have stunned Mr. Goodbody into submission, for he merely nodded, bowed, and moved away.

  “Are you all right now, miss?”

  He was gazing at her with genuine concern, she saw when she dared to glance at him, the usually mocking expression absent from his handsome face.

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured, clutching the tray against her chest. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Leave the poor girl be, Kian,” his brother said. “Can’t you see that she’s afraid of you?”

  Without another word Loris curtsied and turned about, heading through the smoke toward the kitchen.

  Five minutes later she stood in the damp alleyway, shivering in the cold, foggy night air, her ears yet ringing with Mrs. Goodbody’s angry voice and her cheek stinging from the sharp slap she’d been given for being the cause of so much trouble. It occurred to her that the young gentleman had perhaps given his command to the wrong person.

  Loris was grateful for a brief respite, though it was likely to earn her another slap, for she had sneaked outside without permission. And she was glad, too, for the cold air, despite her shivering, because the very sharpness of it helped to clear the remnants of noise and bitter smoke out of her ears and eyes.

  With a sigh, Loris leaned against the clammy brick wall and relaxed. The shouts and laughter coming from the tavern’s side door were dimmed here, sounding far more pleasant and cheerful. They were among the earliest sounds she could remember from her childhood: men and women laughing, drinking, and shouting with merriment or sudden anger. There were variations, depending upon the place and time and mood of the customers, but the sounds were always the same.

  She often wondered what life beyond London’s docks was like. Her parents had told her stories of other places, of the beautiful countryside where they had both grown up, but these had seemed like nothing more than unreal fairy tales to Loris. Her father had promised to take her out of London someday, to show her that he and her mother were speaking the truth about flowers and trees and unending valleys carpeted with green, but, like most of his hopes, it had never come to pass. His love of gaming had made all three of them captives to the docks and rookeries. When her mother died, Loris had felt, along with the loss and grief, a measure of envy. Heaven, she believed, would be welcome to all those who had lived in London’s cold, dark, filthy alleyways.

  There had just been the two of them after that, Loris and her father. Somewhere, she knew, there were other relatives, for once she’d overheard her mother speak wistfully of going home to repair matters with her parents, but Loris’s father had quickly hushed her and insisted that there was no going back. And he had forbidden her to speak of such things in front of Loris again. Even as her mother neared death and had pleaded with him to at least let their families know about Loris, her father had remained unmoved. It was the only thing Loris could remember him denying h
is wife and, realizing how strongly he felt about their families, she’d never found the courage to question him about them. Not a day went by now that she didn’t regret that reticence. Even if her parents’ families had been cruel and horrid, throwing herself on their mercies surely wouldn’t have been worse than being dependent on the Goodbodys. At the very least she would have been among her own people.

  Perhaps her father had not been the best or wisest of parents, spending so much of his time and their modest funds in taverns and gaming hells, but he’d done his best to keep her safe and clothed and fed. More than that, he’d called upon the formal education he’d received in his youth and taught Loris to read, write, and do simple sums.

  Those had been happy times, when Loris and her father had talked of so many better dreams, when he had foolishly thought that his daughter might somehow find her way out of the docks. Perhaps if he’d realized that his gaming and drinking would one day leave Loris without any hope at all, he would have stopped.

  But it was foolish to recall such things now. She had been born in a tavern, would live all her life in and among them, and would die either in or because of one, just as both her parents had done.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  The voice startled her, but she knew at once who it was and turned her head to look at him.

  He stood but a few steps away, near the open kitchen door, the tavern’s dim light and smoke drifting out behind him, both illuminating and obscuring his tall, slender figure.

  “No,” she said without thought, stupidly, then, realizing how foolish that sounded, especially as she stood there shivering, amended, “Yes.”

  He took a step nearer; Loris pushed away from the wall and stood upright, watching him warily. He had been kind to her, but she had learned in her childhood to be careful with all men, even those who seemed kind.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said soothingly as he came near, his face and figure growing clearer in the mist. “I could not harm you, Loris, even if I had some wrong wish to do so.” He stopped and gazed at her very directly. “But that moment will never come.”