Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart

‘A virgin.’

She stopped. ‘You are?’ Morgana had always thought Rose came to the courtesan school already ruined, like the others.

Rose nodded.

Morgana was mystified. ‘But why desire to be a courtesan unless you…?’

‘I didn’t,’ Rose said. ‘I never desired to be one of those types of ladies.’

Morgana gaped at her. ‘Why did you come to me, then?’

Rose gave a wan smile. ‘I overheard Katy and Mary talking in the street. I knew they were talking about lessons from a lady, as you are a lady, to be sure. So I thought you would teach me some pretty behaviour, like ladies have, and that is what you have done.’

Morgana still stared. ‘But pretty behaviour for what? Why did you want to learn such things?’

‘Some of the things I did not wish t’learn.’ Rose shook her head. Then her eyes filled with tears. ‘More than anything, I want to be a songstress. The kind who has posters all over town to advertise her singing. The kind Vauxhall or Covent Garden or some such place will pay a lot of money and the newspapers will write pretty things about.’

‘A songstress?’

A tear trickled down her flawlessly perfect cheek. ‘I—I would have had employment, too. I met Mr Hook at Vauxhall and again at the masquerade. He wanted to hire me.’

Morgana was too taken aback to address the girl’s tears. ‘Who is Mr Hook?’

Rose gave a loud sniffle. ‘He is the composer of songs and organist at Vauxhall. Surely everyone knows of Mr Hook.’

Morgana almost smiled. Everyone who had a musician for a father and an aspiration to sing, perhaps. ‘Was he the balding man who attended you at the masquerade?’

Rose nodded again and swiped at her eyes with her fingers.

‘You did not wish to become a courtesan,’ Morgana said it again.

‘No.’ She looked at Morgana with her huge, glistening green eyes. ‘Miss Hart, what will happen to me now?’

Nothing, Morgana thought. ‘We must escape this place.’

‘I—I hoped Mr Sloane or Mr Elliot would come save us,’ Rose said with a shuddering breath.

Sloane. Would he even discover they were taken until it was too late—too late for Rose, and until Lucy and Katy were forced to degrade themselves? And Mr Elliot had been hit so hard. Was he even alive? Sloane would come for them when he could, she believed with all her heart. He would charge in like a one-man avenging army and wipe out all these horrible people, but Morgana could not wait for him. They needed to escape now.

Morgana began pacing again.

She grabbed one of the wine bottles and sat next to Rose on the barrel that lay on its side. ‘I have an idea…’

A few minutes later the sound of crashing glass reached the ears of the man sitting outside the locked door, and screams of ‘Oh, help! Help! Stop her. You must stop her!’

When the locked door opened, Rose was huddled in the corner surrounded by broken glass and spilled wine. She scraped at her wrist with a jagged piece and blood covered her arms.

‘You must stop her!’ Morgana begged the man. ‘Hurry.’

He rushed over to the beautiful girl, squatting down to both reach her and try to pull her up. Morgana followed him. Rose struggled and moaned that she would rather be dead. Such a lovely creature in so much distress would be difficult for any man to resist.

He was no different. While he was distracted by Rose, Morgana came up behind him and hit him hard on the head with one of the bottles of wine.

He fumbled, but did not fall. Instead, he came at her. She swung the bottle as hard as she could and hit him in the stomach, as Sloane had done to the man in the park so long ago. This man doubled over and staggered backwards.

‘I have the key,’ shouted Rose, holding it up in the air.

Morgana grabbed her and pulled her towards the door. She slammed the door shut and leaned on it while Rose turned the key in the lock.

A roar of outrage came from the inside of their cellar prison. Their captor banged loudly on the door, but would not be heard any better than they had been.

‘Are you all right, Morgana?’ Rose asked. She caught Morgana’s hand and looked at the cut Morgana had made to smear blood on Rose’s arms.

Morgana’s hand throbbed, but she said, ‘It is nothing. We must hurry.’

They made their way down the cellar corridor until they came to a staircase. Creeping up each step as softly as they could, they heard the sounds of voices above them.

‘Let us try the other way.’

Morgana led Rose past the wine cellar door where their captor still pounded and swore at the top of his lungs. At the other end they discovered the wooden door leading to the outside. It had a heavy metal bolt. Morgana’s cut hand shot with pain as she forced the bolt sideways and pushed on the door.

They were met by a crisp breeze and freedom. It was night, but the new gas lamps on nearby St James’s Street gave a faint illumination. Rose turned to her.

‘Go,’ Morgana said. ‘Return home. Find Sloane. Tell him to come.’

‘What about you?’ Rose asked.

‘I must go after Lucy and Katy. Please, Rose. Hurry. Bring Sloane.’

Rose gave her a quick hug and, after a look to see if anyone was watching, slipped out of the door into the night.

Morgana hurried back through the cellar to the stairway they’d found before. She heard voices, but she crept up the stairs and into a dark room. A sliver of light shone from under its door. Morgana groped around the room, making her way to the door. She felt something soft on a shelf against the wall.

Gloves.

She picked one up and put it on the hand she had cut with the piece of glass. It helped relieve the sting and the soft kid kept her hand supple. Shrugging, Morgana put on the glove’s mate.

Morgana inched her way to the door. She hoped to find a way to the upper floors where she supposed Lucy and Katy were kept. She opened the door a crack and peered through it. It led to a hallway at the end of which was the stairway to the upper floors. To the left was another room separated by a curtain. Morgana took a deep breath and started to cross towards the stairs.

She heard Mrs Rice’s voice coming from behind the curtain.

‘I do not care how you do it. Dispose of her. She is trouble. Have her put on a ship or something—that would serve her right—or toss her in the Thames. It is of no consequence to me as long as I am rid of her.’

Chapter Eighteen

Morgana stifled a gasp. Mrs Rice was speaking of her! Morgana had fought her captivity, and Mrs Rice had not been pleased. Morgana shuddered. The woman wanted her killed.

Even if it came to her death, she could not leave Lucy and Katy. She would see them safe or die trying.