A Baron for Becky

Chapter two

Trapped in the seat, with Sarah's light weight heavier by the minute, the woman known as the Rose of Frampton listened with growing appreciation as her rescuer played Smite's men like an orchestra. She'd heard of the Merry Marquis-who hadn't? The Marquis of Aldridge: one of the richest men in England, and one of the randiest, too, by all accounts.

Among mistresses and courtesans, his generosity with women of their kind was legendary-and of far more interest to Rose than his rumoured prowess in the act by which she made her living.

Aldridge talked circles around his audience: cajoling, commanding, teasing, amusing, coaxing; by turns haughty, friendly, and bored. Rose understood very little of the London argot, but the tension eased from the air, the men's voices changed as they relaxed their battle-ready awareness and fell under Aldridge's spell.

By the time he sent them off on their wild goose chase around the countryside, Sarah had fallen asleep. Rose hoped they would all leave, but the leader said he would wait here for his followers' reports. Rose felt the bench seat shift slightly as someone sat on it, and she heard Aldridge's voice directly above her, addressing the leader of the heavies.

"You do not have to keep me company, Tiny. I'm happy to go back to sleep until Rede's carriage arrives."

Tiny muttered something, and Aldridge answered as if he could not care a bean. "Search the garden? Why not. Help yourself, old chap." His weight shifted above her, and suddenly his voice was only inches above her head. "I'll just check out the back of my eyelids."

Long moments passed before Tiny grunted, and his boots sounded on their way to the door and down the steps.

Aldridge spoke, his voice a whisper. "Best stay there, ladies. I hope you are not too uncomfortable."

She whispered back. "Sarah is asleep. We can stay as long as we must. Thank you."

"No talking," he warned. She was tempted to tell him he had started it, but she stayed silent.

Sarah slept on as the minutes slowly passed. Rose ignored her increasing discomfort, straining her ears to hear Tiny as he searched the garden, grumbling loudly to himself. He must have a couple of men still here, since she heard him talking to one down by the back gate, and another up near the house. Thank all the powers of Heaven he didn't think to poke in the low shrubbery around the summerhouse, where Aldridge had stowed their bundles.

Several times, he came into the summerhouse to talk. Aldridge asked after the woman they were hunting.

"She, I must suppose," he said, "is this Rose that Perry spoke of so highly. I must say, if she is as good in bed as she is to look at, she's worth every penny Perry wanted for her. If your men find her, I would like to make an offer."

Tiny made an answer, in which 'The Rose of Frampton' was the only familiar phrase, and that only because Rose was accustomed to the label she'd been given, ten years ago, by the abbess who had taken her when her father cast her out.

After the brothel, she had moved from protector to protector. Perry, may he roast in Hell forever, was to have been her last. He'd promised her the cottage, showered her with jewellery, even let her keep Sarah with her. But when he tied her up, he'd told her the cottage was never hers, that the deeds he'd given her were fake. And he'd sorted through her jewels while she sat cuffed to the bed cursing him, leaving the ones he said were paste, and taking the few good pieces.

When she had stashed some clothes and jewellery in the bench seat in case she needed to run, she had laughed at her own fears. Why would she wish to escape from her own house? From her last protector, who was a gambler and a drunkard, but not a violent man? But her escape baskets were a habit established for years, and into the seat they went.