A Season for Scandal by Golden Angel
Chapter 30
Josie
Beyond the first door into the Tramp’s Den was not impressive, leading into a hall, dimly lit and completely undecorated. The door shut behind them, leaving them in the tiny, enclosed space, making her feel quite claustrophobic. The dark wood walls seemed ready to close in around them. A wood door was in front of them, muffling the sounds coming from within.
Mitchell stepped forward to rap on the door, and it swung open with a burst of sound, making Josie jump. It was a thick door. She had not realized how loud it would be on the other side. Her heart, already beating fast, pounded.
A massive mountain of a man stood in the doorway, eyeing them, his eyes lingering on her. The change in his expression was imperceptible, but she felt sure he realized she was no youth. After a moment, he stepped back, giving Elijah a nod, and Josie suspected if she had been on her own, she would not have been allowed entry.
Mitchell and Elijah seemed perfectly at home walking into the hell, Elijah’s fingers still firmly gripped around her arm. Josie stood out like a sore thumb amid the rowdy patrons, all gentlemen or nobility. Even those in various states of dishevelment were better clothed and not as dirty. Despite that, no one glanced twice at her, far more interested in their own doings.
There were some men she recognized from the ballrooms of London. The atmosphere was rowdy, and most of them were already deep in their cups, oblivious to anything but their bets.
The room was far more lushly decorated than she would have guessed from the entrance, with deep reds and golds, though the actual fabrics were cheaper and tawdrier than those found in more respectable establishments. Josie’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in everything.
Finally, she looked up at the high ceiling and saw a man standing on a balcony, looking down over the crowd like a king surveying his subjects. He must be the owner of the place. Standing next to him was a young woman, with her long hair down and covering her breasts… but nothing else was. She looked like Lady Godiva, naked but for her hair and a collar around her neck. Josie stared until she almost stumbled over her feet. Elijah moved her along, and she was not watching where she was going.
“That’s the Tramp and his lady,” Elijah said into her ear, not bothering to whisper. She would not have heard him, anyway but needed to be close so she could make out his words over the din. “He keeps her on a collar and leash, naked, with a tail plugged into her bottom, and occasionally parades her through the hell. I might take some notes on how to make a woman behave if you keep up your antics, minx.”
Josie gulped, flashing hot, then cold, then hot again. Her body did not know what to make of his threat. She was both aroused and fearful… Surely, he would not… but given everything she had seen at the Society, such a punishment would hardly be exceptional if he were to do it there.
A shiver went down her spine, and her buttocks clenched together.
A tail?
Her eyes drifted back up to the young woman who was now tucked under the Tramp’s arm as he leaned his head down to whisper something in her ear.
“This way,” Mitchell said loudly, dragging Josie’s attention back to the matter at hand. She shook her head. The Tramp and his lady were nothing but a distraction, albeit an extremely interesting one, and she needed to focus. “I secured us a private room. He is waiting there.”
Excitement slid through her, of an entirely different quality than the kind Elijah had stirred within her.
Elijah
Though he wished he could stash Josie in a private room for safekeeping and meet the Frenchman elsewhere, Elijah appreciated Mitchell’s forethought and followed him into the room. A man was lounging in one of the chairs arranged around a small gaming table. The room was used for private games of cards, often with higher stakes and no audience. It was more richly furnished than the main room and only available upon request. The man looked up when Mitchell came in, appearing bored, and when he spoke, it was with a distinct French accent. He was no lord. The cut of his clothing spoke of a well-to-do middle-class gentleman, possibly someone who might be invited to a ton event if he was prosperous and well-connected.
“Took you long enough.” He blew a puff of smoke from the cigarette between his fingers and eyed Elijah as he stepped around Mitchell. “This is the gentleman you wanted me to speak to?”
“I am the Earl of Durham,” Elijah said coldly before Mitchell could respond. Surprise flashed across the man’s face, which was interesting. Apparently, Mitchell had not revealed his identity, and the man had not known it. Elijah did not think even the best actor could pull off such disbelief at the moment. “And you are?”
“You may call me Jacques. And who is this?” the Frenchman asked, transferring his gaze to Josie, his brow furrowing. Thankfully, Josie kept quiet, as Elijah had told her to.
“None of your concern,” Elijah said smoothly, letting go of her arm since she seemed willing to behave. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small purse and tossed it onto the table in front of the Frenchman. “I have a few questions to ask you.”
The man eyed the pouch and waved his hand.
“I have no need of your money. Ask.”
“Did you come over from France with the delegation this Season?”
“Oui.” The man nodded his head. “Obviously, I am not part of the delegation. We happened to be on the same ship. I live in England now and have for many years.”
Interesting.
“Did you attend a ton event a few weeks ago where you delivered a note to a young lady?”
Jacques’ features flickered for a mere moment.
“Non, I do not go to such events.”
“Liar!” Josie’s fury was palpable as she jumped forward. Cursing inwardly, Elijah grabbed her arm again, but it was too late. The cap tumbled from her head, revealing her golden curls, and the Frenchman’s jaw dropped open, too stunned to pretend he did not recognize her. “I remember you!”
“Bloody hell, Josie!” If he had wanted to shake her before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.
“Can you not keep your wife under control?” Mitchell shouted at Elijah.
“Get out of here,” Elijah snarled, glaring at him. “I will call you in if I need you.” Mitchell opened his mouth to protest, but Elijah shouted. “Out!”
He could not deal with Josie, Mitchell, and Jacques at the same time, and the only one he could remove from the situation was Mitchell. Utterly furious, Mitchell bowed jerkily and stomped out of the room, muttering imprecations under his breath and slamming the door behind him.
Jacques said something in a stream of French, too fast for Elijah’s brain to catch. He had never been proficient in the language, outside of the general terms the ton used, commonly called ‘drawing-room French.’ He was far from being fluent, and Jacques was talking quickly.
The look he gave Elijah was almost condemning.
“What did you bring her here for?” He seemed almost horrified.
“I am here to see you! Do you know what happened after you gave me that note? It summoned me to the garden where a man tried to rape me!” Josie, spitting mad, practically launched herself at Jacques, who recoiled, his hand on his heart. His expression was truly horrified now.
“I did not know!” he protested. “I would never harm a lady. I was told to deliver the note to you. I had no idea what was inside.”
Elijah got the distinct impression this was not at all how Jacques had seen this conversation going, and he certainly had not meant to confess to his part in everything—or held out longer without being directly confronted by Josie. So as much as it went against Elijah’s grain, he let Josie keep talking. His job now was to stop her from actually attacking Jacques, who seemed far more intimidated by her than Elijah. Galling, but the truth, and he was willing to use what worked.
“And you think that means you are not culpable? Who sent you? Who gave you the note?”
Josie
Venting her fury on a worthy party felt far too good, especially with Elijah’s broad shoulders and muscles to back her up. Jacques seemed chattier with her than he had with Elijah. His eyes skittered away from hers, and she got the sense he never expected to come face to face with someone he had wronged, especially not a woman and not in a place such as this. The surprise must have thrown him off balance.
“A Russian.” The moment he said the words, Jacques’ mouth snapped shut, a look of consternation flowing over his features. He had not meant to say that. In fact, he looked nervous, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “You must tell no one I told you that.”
“Why not?” This time it was Elijah who asked the question.
“I was threatened not to reveal that… If anyone was to come calling, I was supposed to say an English lord,” Jacques confessed, his face slowly paling. “My life was threatened. You must not tell anyone, please.”
“What was the Russian’s name?” Josie narrowed her eyes at him. While she believed he was telling the truth, she was not too sure she cared about whatever consequences befell Jacques. He might not have meant her harm, but he had been the cause of it, anyway.
“I do not know.” Jacques shook his head, sitting up straighter. “You must believe me. I had never seen him before. I lost a large wager here and owed him a favor, which I fulfilled by delivering the note. I have not seen him again.”
“Describe him to me,” Elijah commanded.
Not long after, they exited the room, leaving behind a sweaty and pale-faced Jacques. There had not been much more to learn from him—a dark-haired Russian man of average height and weight could have described any of the current delegation or any other number of Russian gentlemen in London.
Practically dragging her back through the crowded room of the gaming hell and out onto the street, Mitchell trotting along behind them, Elijah appeared deep in thought.
“My lord? My lord? What did he say?” Mitchell dogged Elijah’s footsteps, almost stepping on them to get Elijah’s attention. Josie scowled at him. She supposed she should be grateful since they would not have known Jacques’ whereabouts without Mitchell, but she did not like his demanding tone. Her dislike of him as a person was coloring her feelings.
“He said a Russian hired him.” Elijah shook his head, frowning.
Mitchell came to an abrupt halt, and Josie glanced over her shoulder to see him standing there looking struck. He rushed forward again, quickly catching up to them because, of course, Elijah had not stopped moving. He seemed to want to get out of the Warrens as soon as possible. Josie was torn. She had no desire to stay in the Warrens any longer, but she was also not looking forward to when Elijah got her to the privacy of their home.
“A Russian?” Mitchell’s voice was oddly strangled. “But… my lord, are you certain he was telling the truth? Everything seems to point to the French…”
“Everything except this, but I cannot talk about it with you now, Mitchell. I have other matters to deal with.” Elijah’s tone was grim, and his fingers did not tighten, yet Josie felt his grip far more keenly. Her heart was beating fast for an entirely different reason, and her mouth had gone dry.
Suddenly, accepting the consequences of her actions as long as she got to be a part of the action no longer seemed quite so fair a trade.
“Of course… I will… I will see what I can discover about the Russians.” There was something odd in Mitchell’s tone, but Elijah did not appear to notice as they finally reached a street with a hackney. Elijah hailed the jarvey, who pulled the carriage up in front of them with a curious look at Josie, though he said nothing when Elijah pushed her into the carriage in front of him.
Sitting on the bench, Josie crossed her arms over her chest, blowing out a long breath, while Elijah gave the jarvey their direction. She did not have long to get comfortable. Elijah got into the carriage, sitting on the bench, and before she could even attempt to apologize or plead her case, he had her tipped over his lap as the carriage lurched into motion.
