To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) Read online

  “Who knows why Hughe does what he does?” he said.

  She rubbed the pan with her sleeve. “Can he help us with the authorities? Talk to them or vouch for your character?”

  If Hughe did that, he would draw attention to himself. The wrong attention. Another thing Rafe couldn’t tell her. “He’s not in London at present.”

  “Oh yes. I forgot. Do you think he could help when he returns?”

  “No.”

  “But he must have some influence at court.”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little?”

  “Not even.”

  “But he’s an earl!”

  For a shy little thing, she had a tenacity about her when she forgot she was afraid of him. “An earl with no influence.”

  With a shake of her head, she removed a gridiron from the hook where it hung and weighed it in her hand. “Is he married? I imagine a gentleman of Lord Oxley’s station would have a wife or betrothed.”

  Or a mistress or several. “You’re full of questions all of a sudden.”

  She colored and pretended the gridiron was the most interesting thing in the room. The topic of Hughe St. Alban, the earl of Oxley was laid to rest, thank God. Rafe didn’t need reminding that his friend had a way of making sensible ladies lose their heads or shy ones find their voice.

  He left her to her inspection of the kitchen utensils and made his way back to the main room. He peered out through the single window facing the street but could see little except the houses across the road. Upstairs, he stood next to the window of the front bedchamber and watched the street below for a long time. A group of five men walked by twice. None of them were the men he’d fought. All of them were alert and scanning their surroundings, but Rafe knew he couldn’t be seen. The bedchamber was dark thanks to the thick layer of grime covering the windowpanes.

  One of their number, a thin man wearing a tall black hat and short cloak, asked questions of the neighboring shopkeepers but he didn’t visit the houses. If anyone had seen Rafe and Lizzy enter the building, they were keeping their mouths shut. The people of Southwark had no love for the authorities or for disruption to their daily lives.

  Dusk crept up and calmly extinguished daylight and the activity that went with it. The constables didn’t show their faces again and wouldn’t until morning. Rafe went downstairs and found Lizzy sitting on a chair near the hearth, her back to him. The light from the fire edged her hair in gold and he had a sudden urge to touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked.

  He curled his fingers and dug the nails into his palms. “Hungry?”

  She jumped and he wished he’d made more noise coming down the stairs.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  She shook her head and held up a leather-bound book. He laughed. Bloody Hughe and his books. He always had at least one stashed in a chest in each of his houses to stave off boredom, so he claimed. When Rafe or one of the others urged him to remove them to Oxley House on Hughe’s estate for safekeeping, he merely shrugged and said it didn’t matter if they were stolen, as he’d read them all anyway.

  “I am a little,” she said. “Hungry,” she added, when he gave her a blank look.

  “I’ll fetch us something to eat.”

  “You have money?”

  “Yes,” he lied. No need to add to her troubles by telling her he would steal to feed them.

  He stretched his hands out to the fire to warm them but her small, desperate voice beckoned his attention. “Rafe.”

  “Yes?” The word caught in his throat at the sight of those big eyes turned on him, despair trembling in their depths.

  “What do we do now?”

  He crouched at her feet and caught both her hands in his. He wanted to bring them to his lips, taste them, kiss them, press them to his heart. But instead he simply said, “Now I get us something to eat. When our stomachs are full, we talk.”

  Rafe took bread and a pie from the baker and in a nearby house he found a bottle of ale and a wedge of cheese in the untended kitchen. He followed the smell of cooking meat to a large house and waited a long time for the occupants to retire before he relieved them of bacon and pigeon. He packed everything into the sack he’d taken from the storeroom of Hughe’s house, the bottom tied up to close the hole nibbled by the rats.

  He spared a thought for James as he ate a slice of bacon. Rafe needed to see him and soon. The food he’d given him wouldn’t last much longer. Then there was the danger of what the big ogre of a prisoner might do out of hunger, frustration, or boredom. Hold on, brother.

  Rafe made his way back to the house and Lizzy. As he passed the Tabard, a drunk lurched out of the archway and pissed against the wall beneath a lit torch. A thin man followed him, his steps steadier. He wore a tall black hat and a short cloak. The leader of the constables. His blunt gaze connected with Rafe’s and narrowed, sizing him up. He would have been given a description of his quarry, but had not seen him in person.

  Rafe staggered off, just another drunkard on his way home. He’d almost left the inn behind when another man cradling his arm joined Tall Hat and the Pisser. A man Rafe recognized as one he’d fought in the alley.

  “It’s him!” he shouted.

  “Arrest him!” yelled Tall Hat. “Sound the hue and cry, NOW!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rafe hoisted the sack over his shoulder and set off at a run in the opposite direction of Lizzy and Hughe’s house. Behind him, dozens of voices rose into the night air, some of them sounding excited but most of them drunkenly slurred. Those he lost at the first fence.

  He leapt over it and into the yard of a house. A pig squealed and a hen clucked in indignation. Mud splattered over his boots and up his legs but didn’t slow his progress. He jumped the next fence then the next. The shouts followed him, although most seemed farther away.

  He dropped into another yard, startling a woman standing in the doorway of her house, a candle in hand. She wore nothing but a shift, the top unlaced to reveal an immodest amount of her extraordinarily large breasts.

  “Get out!” she shouted and made a rude gesture.

  “Gladly,” Rafe said as he climbed over the back fence.

  “Moll!” one of the leading pursuers called out. “Got a wench and an ale inside?”

  “Sure do, Hal,” she said with a welcome in her voice. “Which will it be first?”

  Rafe scaled one more fence and found himself on a street outside another inn. Those that hadn’t stopped at Moll’s establishment might be inclined to stop for a drink. Southwark men weren’t the sort to pursue a stranger to aid a constable once it grew too hard or the thrill of the hunt wore off. He glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see the group’s leader, minus his tall hat, closer than expected. His cloak billowed behind him as he ran. Five others followed, panting heavily. They wouldn’t last much longer. The leader, however, was a wiry fellow and fleet of foot. He would be difficult to shake.

  Time to get creative.

  Rafe hoisted the sack higher onto his shoulder and ran faster. Another glance back proved it was a good tactic—only two men had kept up, the leader and one other, a sprightly lad with long hair. Rafe liked those odds.

  He slipped into an alley and found the perfect hiding spot. A few moments later his pursuers entered and stopped. Looked around.

  “Where is he?” the lad asked between gasps of air.

  Come closer. A few steps.

  “Must have gone straight through,” the leader said. He was breathing hard but not as much as the lad. “Where’s this lane go?”

  “To another street. He’s fast for a big fellow, ain’t he?” The lad sounded impressed. Rafe was beginning to like him.

  “He’s a murderer.” As if that explained it. The leader drew his sword and nodded at the lad to go first.

  The boy set off like an eager puppy on his first hunt.

  Rafe timed the drop perfectly. The laden sack hit the boy on the head and he crumpled to the ground without a
sound.

  The leader glanced up. “What in—”

  Rafe swung from the beam of the overhanging upper story and booted Tall Hat’s sword out of his hand before he had time to wield it. He landed on the ground near the disarmed leader and got in a swift punch before the man had time to think.

  “London is my favorite place for playing hide-and-seek,” Rafe said, drawing his rapier. He lunged at the fellow but gave him only a minor cut to the chin, enough to scare him but not enough to do any grave injury. “Now, let’s come to an agreement. You let me go and I won’t kill either of you.”

  “I can’t do that.” It was too dark in the alley to see more than an outline, but Rafe could hear him clearly enough—he didn’t sound in the least afraid. Nor was he cocky. Just very determined. “My job is to arrest you.”

  “Then you might die. But what about the lad? Is it his job to arrest me too?”

  The man hesitated. Rafe flexed his fingers around his sword hilt. He didn’t have time for this. He was hungry and he wanted to get back to Lizzy. She might be worried about him. He smiled into the darkness. He quite liked the thought of that.

  “Sorry, my friend, I’m an innocent man. Innocent of Gripp’s murder, at least. I’m also very busy.” He sheathed his sword and saw the leader sag a little, relieved. Fool. Never relax in the presence of a threat. Ever.

  He feinted a punch to Tall Hat’s stomach, but when he moved to protect that area, Rafe hit him in the jaw instead. The crunch of bone on bone echoed through the silence. Another blow to the head saw his opponent fall to the ground, out cold.

  Rafe set off but didn’t get far. The lad jumped on his back and landed blow upon blow on Rafe’s sides and head.

  Rafe reached around and grabbed him by his jerkin and tossed him against the wall. The boy slid to the ground, his hair covering his face so Rafe couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not.

  “Good try,” he said and picked up the sack. “Next time, use a blade, not your fists.”

  He set off down the alley. No one followed. He ran down streets, climbed more fences, zigged and zagged through Southwark. He snatched clothing off washing lines and just before he reached Hughe’s house, he found two buckets full of water tied to either end of a pole. He settled the pole across his shoulders, picked up the bulging sack, and headed home.

  Lizzy gasped with relief when Rafe came through the back door. He wasn’t harmed. Thank God. She’d heard the hue and cry and had been worried sick ever since. When he didn’t return she thought the worst. Yet here he was, unharmed and smiling, carrying provisions.

  He set down the buckets of water and dumped the sack on the kitchen table before she could decide how best to react. “Miss me?”

  Somehow she held back a sob and managed to smile despite her thundering heart. “Yes. My stomach has been reminding me how much.”

  He chuckled. “And here I thought you were growing to like me for me and not for what I could provide.”

  “I do like you for you,” she said, feeling giddy and happy and so very, very relieved. “I like you for the way you can carry two buckets of water, a sack of food, and…” She peered into the sack and pulled out a woman’s shift. “Clothes!”

  “I hope it fits.”

  “You thought of everything.” She blinked up at him and was granted another big, open smile.

  He moved closer. It would be so easy to touch the tiny creases on either side of his mouth, caress those curving lips, and capture his happiness in her hands. She wanted to see him grinning forever, wanted this Rafe, the joyful, boyish Rafe. She could almost forget the other when he smiled at her like that.

  But his smile slipped and his eyelids lowered, smothering the shining, dancing eyes. He stepped away and ran a hand through his hair.

  “The fire in the hall will be visible through the front window,” he said and moved off.

  “I doused it as soon as I heard the hue and cry go up.”

  He nodded his approval. “We’ll have to avoid that room except to access the stairs.”

  He poured a bucket of water into the pot over the fire while she unpacked the contents of the sack. There was enough food for two days if they were careful, and a spare set of clothes for each of them. There were actually two ladies’ bodices, but one was built for a woman of extremely generous proportions. Lizzy could take it in and use the excess fabric for something. One of the trunks had contained a serviceable sewing kit along with the book and spare candles. She’d moved all the contents into the storeroom for easy access.

  “I think the pie has split,” she said, removing it from the sack. “It looks edible anyway.”

  They ate some of the pie cold and stored the rest in the bread box in the storeroom, wrapped in a cloth along with the bread, cheese, and meat. Rafe checked the water in the pot then fetched two bowls and two cloths from the storeroom. “For washing,” he said. He set them down on the table and sat on a stool. She sat too and although she wasn’t watching him, she could feel his gaze on her. It made her hot all over. Her skin prickled. She tucked her hands between her knees and stared down at the knotty wood of the table surface.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

  Was she afraid? Yes, but not as much as she probably should be. Not since Rafe had returned. Having him with her was a comfort and not a cause for increasing her fears the way his presence usually did. That surprised her. Perhaps she could even speak to him without turning into a radish.

  “I know you’re worried about your parents,” he said.

  “I am, but Antony and the others will take care of them. Word will reach Blake and Min soon enough too, and they’ll ensure Mama and Papa are not left alone, as well as write to my sisters.” She passed a hand over her eyes and blew out a breath. “I’m only worried about them because they’ll be so worried about me. Is there any way we can let them know we’re safe?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lizzy, we can’t risk it. For their sakes as well as our own.” He reached for her hand but she withdrew it out of instinct.

  His fingers closed on empty air and he let his hand fall. A small ache lodged in her chest. He’d only been trying to comfort her. She shouldn’t treat him as if he really was the murderer. He’d been nothing but kind and helpful. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to completely set aside her apprehension.

  And she would be alone with him all night.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, breaking the awkward silence.

  He sighed. “Now we wait. Tomorrow they’ll start looking for us. They spotted me outside the Tabard, so they’ll likely concentrate their efforts near here. I expect them to search the houses and shops now that they have reason to believe we’re close.”

  Search! Then they would be discovered! “So we have to leave tonight?” She was so tired from running and worrying, but if she had to go then she would. There was nothing else to be done.

  “I have a better plan.”

  “Oh?”

  He gave her that odd half smile, the one that made him look a little like James. “Have you ever wanted to perform on the stage alongside Antony and the others?”

  He outlined his plan. By the time he was finished she was staring at him, awed by his deviousness. It obviously wasn’t the first time he’d been pursued by the authorities.

  “I’ll wake you early to get ready,” he said.

  “And afterward? We may avoid our pursuers, but how will we prove our innocence?”

  “Leave that up to me.”

  She pressed her lips together to bite back a retort. Did he think her useless? A hindrance? Perhaps she would be, but sitting around waiting for him while he sought the real murderer and worrying if Rafe was dead or injured was not how she wanted to spend her day. She would simply have to think of a way to be helpful. So helpful he had no option but to include her.

  “The water should be warm now,” he said, rising. He dipped a bowl into the pot and handed it to her then filled the other one for himself. “I’ll go up
stairs,” he said.

  “No, I will.” She left, but realized she’d forgotten the cloth and returned to the kitchen.

  Rafe, his back to her, was in the process of undoing his jerkin. She should look away or alert him to her presence but she didn’t. She watched as he removed his shirt.

  God’s blood, look at him.

  She’d never known the male back could be so magnificent. His skin was the color of warmed honey and looked just as smooth. It stretched taut over muscles, across wide shoulders, and down to his narrow waist. Scars of varying lengths and shapes marked his skin but only enhanced the magnificence, the way intricate carvings turned a plain piece of wood into a beautiful one. There was a curved scar on his left shoulder, a straight one on his right, and another ringing his upper arm.

  Without either doublet or jerkin fastenings to hold them up, his hose began to slip off. And then they were completely off and he was entirely, utterly, gloriously naked.

  Oh. My. Heavens.

  She should leave. But how could a girl not look at all that hard, smooth flesh when it was put in front of her? And those buttocks…Was it sinful to want to sink her teeth into them? Probably. Anything that delicious had to be wicked. She would pray twice as long next Sunday to save her soul.

  He picked up the cloth and she held her breath. If she had any sense she would turn away but it seemed sense had fled and her mind was empty of every thought except one—that many women, and perhaps some men, would pay dearly to have a front-row position at this performance.

  He squeezed water out of the cloth and scrubbed it across one shoulder. Droplets slid over the undulations of muscle, down his back to one perfectly mounded buttock.

  Lizzy licked her top lip and pressed her palm to her rapidly beating chest. She was suddenly thirsty. Parched. A few drops of water would rectify that. A lick here and there. Oh yes, there for certain. All over his—