Vixen

Chapter 22

The clothes did not make her look like a boy, Chloe decided, examining herself in the mirror late that night. Nankeen trousers buttoned onto a white lawn shirt with a frilled collar. A short fitted jacket with a double row of buttons marching from the shoulder to the waist went over the shirt. Denis had even provided white stockings and a pair of flat black shoes. The shoes needed to be stuffed with paper in the toes, but apart from that ever/thing fitted very well… or at least, it seemed to. But something wasn't quite as it should be.

She frowned, turning this way and that in front of the mirror in the quiet house. Dante lay watching her through one eye while Falstaff cackled softly on his perch. The fitted jacket seemed to accentuate the swell of her breasts rather than disguise them, and her hips and backside in the trousers were much more noticeable than in skirts.

In fact, she decided, the whole effect was grossly improper. Lady Smallwood would probably fall into a dead faint from which she'd never recover, and Hugo… well, she'd discover Hugo's reaction soon enough She crammed the black velvet cap on her head, pulling the brim down over her forehead. It didn't seem to make much difference to the overall impression.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck two, and she went to the door, opening it quietly. Dante whined but was now accustomed to being left behind for long periods of the night and merely sighed and curled up into a tight ball when she slipped out into the dark corridor.

Hugo was still out and Samuel would be waiting up for him in the kitchen as usual. So long as Hugo didn't return in the next five minutes, the plan would work. She sped down the stairs, across the hall, and pushed through the swing door into the kitchen.

"Samuel, I'm going out with some friends," she said cheerfully. "Tell Hugo not to worry."

"Wh-wh-what the 'ell…?" Samuel woke from his doze with a start and blinked at the apparition half in and half out of the doorway. "What's that you say?"

"I'm going out," she said. "Tell Hugo I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you don't lock the front door, I won't wake anyone."

Before Samuel could get the blood moving sufficiently to bring him to his feet, she had gone. It took a minute for that unbelievable image to reform in his mind's eye, and when it did, he swore vigorously and ran out of the kitchen. The front door was closed but not locked. He hauled it open and was in time to see Chloe, in her outrageous costume, climbing into a hackney carriage with the help of a young man.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Samuel muttered, closing the door again. The fat was going to be in the fire over this one. He returned to the kitchen, scratching his head, in no doubt that Chloe had her reasons for this madcap flight.

He put the kettle on the range and was making tea when he heard Hugo's step in the hall. "Still awake, Samuel?" Hugo came in. "There's no need to wait up for me, you know."

"I know, but I choose to," Samuel said. "But I'll leave you to wait up for the lass." He put a mug on the table. "There's your tea."

"Wait up for her?" Hugo inquired, alarm bells ringing in his head.

"She's up and gone out," Samuel said, returning to his seat by the fire. "About 'alf an hour ago, cool as you please she comes in 'ere an' says, 'Samuel, I'm goin' out. Tell 'Ugo I'll be back in a couple of hours… don't lock the door,' she says, so she won't wake anyone."

"Gone where, for God's sake? It's two-thirty in the morning!"

"I dunno… and dressed like she was I wouldn't want to guess." He gulped his tea and compressed his lips.

Hugo groaned. "Spit it out, Samuel. I can't bear the suspense."

"Dressed like a lad, she was… although she didn't look like no lad… bumps in all the wrong places," he added.

"What?"

"You 'eard. Got into a 'ackney with some of those lads that're always 'angin' around 'er."

"I knew she was up to something," Hugo muttered. "For some reason, I have signally failed to get her attention over this hoydenish behavior. It's high time I did, it seems to me."

"I must say, Chloe, those clothes don't seem to make you look like a boy at all," Julian said with a hiccup, his slightly glazed eyes staring at the slim figure on the seat opposite him. He grabbed the strap as the hackney swung around a corner, iron wheels rattling over the cobbles.

"I know they don't," Chloe said. "Are you all foxed?"

"Denis isn't," Frank told her with a skewed grin. "Sober as a judge, aren't you, Denis? While we were drinking blue ruin in Cribb's Parlor, our Denis here was doing the pretty in his mama's drawing room."

"It seems fortunate one of us is sober," Denis declared. "Otherwise, we'd never get where we're going."

He could hardly take his eyes off Chloe. Once he'd been in the crypt when they'd had girls dressed as boys. The memories sent a jolt of lust through his loins, and he shifted on the seat, thankful for the gloom within the carriage. He turned his head away from the arousing sight opposite, struggling to contain the rioting images. If he wanted Chloe in that way as reward for his success, he knew Stephen would give him permission…

The carriage came to a halt, rescuing him from a train of thought that couldn't be in the least helpful to present circumstances.

"Here we are." Frank stumbled out, lost his footing on the step, and fell to one knee. Laughing immoderately, as if it were the funniest thing imaginable, he stood up again and weaved to the front to pay the jarvey.

Denis descended with an agile jump and reached up to help Chloe down. She sprang down beside him, observing cheerfully that trousers certainly made some things easier. Julian didn't appear for a few minutes; he was searching through the gloomy interior for a glove that seemed to have gone missing. Finally, however, they were all safe on the ground and the hackney pulled away.

The scene under the flickering orange and red glow of pitch flambeaux, oil lamps, and braziers seethed with life as wagons rolled across the cobbles and men and women ran to unload the wicker baskets of still-wriggling fish. The ground was wet and mired, slippery with fish scales, and Chloe wrinkled her nose at the stench of fish, both fresh and rotting.

The air was filled with a cacophony of shouts as wagon drivers urged their horses on; screams of laughter or violent oaths from women running through the crowd with laden baskets on their heads; the calls of the costermongers as they offered their wares.

"Heavens," Chloe said, listening to a particularly ripe exchange between two massive women with rocklike forearms. "They could give Falstaff a lesson."

"Who's he?" Julian asked fuzzily.

"One of those fellows in Shakespeare," Frank informed him with a knowledgeable nod. "Don't you remember?"

Julian shook his head. "Can't say as I do."

"Actually, I was referring to a parrot," Chloe said.

"Oh, no… not a parrot." It was Frank's turn to shake his head. "Quite mistaken, dear girl. Not a parrot, some fellow in Shakespeare, I remember it very well."

"Yes, but he's a parrot too… oh, never mind." Chloe gave up any possibility of having a sensible conversation with her two inebriated escorts. "Let's find some oysters."

"In that tent over there." Denis took charge, cupping her elbow lightly as he escorted her to a noisome tent pitched on a patch of grass, two lanterns swaying at the entrance, lighting the hands of a woman who was shucking oysters with a dazzling speed. She wore no gloves and her hands were thickly ridged with calluses from years of cuts from the razor-sharp shells.

"Four dozen, my good woman," Frank demanded, swaying in front of her.

"That'll be a shilling," the woman said without looking up.

"Nonsense," Denis said. "They were sixpence last night."

"What does it matter?" Chloe said in an urgent whisper. "It's not fair to short-change her. How would you like to do this night after night?"

Denis stared at her under the flickering lamplight. Her eyes were for some reason now almost purple, her mouth set in a firm line. He'd never heard anyone express such a concept before, and for a minute he could think of no adequate response.

"Chloe's right," Julian declared, fumbling in his pockets. "Quite right… always is, aren't you, Chlo?"

"Don't call me Chlo," she said, half laughing as he peered myopically into his pockets. "And I'm not always right. Except in matters of this nature."

"Here." Denis drew two shillings from his pocket and dropped the coins on the upturned box beside the woman. She cast a quick sideways glance at this munificence and simply nodded her head as her hands continued with their work.

Chloe, however, was more rewarding. She squeezed his hand. "Thank you. That was generous, but think how much difference it will make to her."

Denis offered a deprecating smile that hid his satisfaction.

"Porter," said Frank suddenly. "You get the oysters and I'll get the porter." He set off with a lopsided motion toward a wagon parked in the shadows,

"I don't think he needs any," Chloe observed with a grimace.

A platter of oysters was suddenly thrust at her by the oyster shucker and she took them with a smile of thanks. The smile went unnoticed, or at least without response, as the woman set to work on the next dozen.

Chloe tipped the luscious contents of the shells into her mouth, feeling the gliding slither as the fishy sensation passed over her tongue and down her throat, reveling in the purity of the taste.

"More?" Denis offered her the second plate but she shook her head, smiling.

"No, I'm not going to eat yours. But I do love them."

Frank reappeared, clutching four pewter tankards by the handles. The contents slopped under his uneven progress. "Success," he declared with a radiant smile of self-congratulation. He handed the tankards around and fell upon his own plate of oysters.

Julian had sat down on the cobbles, leaning against a wooden chest, his eyes half closed. He roused himself sufficiently to make short work of the porter and downed his own plate of oysters with a beatific smile.

"Would you like to walk around the market a little, Chloe?" Denis suggested. "It might amuse you."

Chloe shivered. The cropped jacket was not particularly windproof, and suddenly the adventure had lost its savor. "I'm cold and I think Frank and Julian need their beds."

"Then we'll go," he said promptly. "Come on." He tugged at Frank's sleeve. "Unless you want us to leave you."

Grumbling but acquiescent, the other two followed them away from the fishmarket. "We'll find a hackney on the corner," Denis said. He shrugged out of his coat of olive superfine and put it around Chloe's shoulders. "I should have thought to have provided an overcoat."

Chloe smiled up at him as she huddled into the warm folds. "I didn't think about it being cold either. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not in the least." He offered a gallant bow.

They had barely reached the corner, when a wavering lantern ahead caused Frank to shout, "The watch… I see the watch. Let's give him a run for his money."

He and Julian began running toward the watchman with his lantern on a pole.

"What are they doing?" Chloe stopped.

"Childish games," Denis said. "They're just teasing him."

Julian tipped the watchman's hat over his eyes and Frank blew out his lantern, then grabbed the pole, trying to pull it loose from the watchman's grip. The man bellowed in fury, turning around in circles as he tried to push his hat up while keeping hold of his lantern.

"Oh, stop it!" Chloe shouted, running toward them. "Stop it. Leave the man alone."

"Spoilsport," Frank said huffily, releasing the pole.

The watchman had just succeeded in freeing his eyes from his hat and now, gibbering with fury, lunged for Julian with his stick. Julian dodged effortlessly until his fool caught on an uneven cobble and he fell to his knees. The man was upon him in an instant, and Frank rushed to the rescue.

"Come on." Denis had swept Chloe out of the alley before she realized it. "Leave them to it. If you get taken up by the watch, your guardian would be justified in taking a horsewhip to me."

"To me, not you," Chloe said, running with him. "I take responsibility for my own actions, Denis… but of all the silly, childish…"

"Yes, they are," Denis agreed, flagging down a hackney. "But drink does that to people." The pious statement made him chuckle inwardly. Alcohol, as he was privileged to know, should be used to enhance pleasure and free the mind from restraint. Frank and Julian had no knowledge of its best uses. They were mere babies.

It hadn't made Hugo silly and childish, Chloe reflected as she climbed into the carriage. Just rather frightening. It was a function of maturity, she assumed, glancing sideways at her companion. Denis did not seem to lack maturity. She wondered what it was that set him apart from his peers. Perhaps it was just that extra dimension of intelligence she'd noticed before. Whatever it was, it made him a pleasant although unwitting partner in the flirtation that was supposed to pique Hugo into some response. Supposed being the operative word, she reflected a touch glumly. But perhaps that would change after tonight.

The hackney drew up outside the house in Mount Street. "No, don't get out," Chloe said in an urgent whisper as Denis moved to step ahead of her onto the pavement. "Just in case anyone's watching from the house." She had slipped past him on the seat and jumped lightly to the ground before he could remonstrate.

"Good night, Denis, and thank you for a splendid adventure." Standing on tiptoe, she smiled warmly at him through the window.

"I'll see if I can think of some others," he replied. "If you'd like."

"I'd like." She blew him a kiss, turned, and ran up the steps to the front door. The house seemed to be in darkness, and she stooped to peer through the keyhole. A dim glow showed in the hall. Had Samuel also left the door unlocked? Softly, she turned the great brass knob and the door swung open. She whisked herself into the shadowy hall and turned to close the door.

"I trust you had a pleasant evening."

"Hugo!" She spun around. "You startled me."

Hugo, in buckskin britches and shirt-sleeves, was leaning against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, one foot resting on the first step, his arms casually folded across his chest.

"Somehow, my devious little hoyden, I doubt that," he said dryly. "You're not going to tell me you weren't expecting me to wait up for you? That would be a true insult to my intelligence."

When she didn't respond, he examined her with an air of mild curiosity. Samuel had not exaggerated. Her costume was utterly outrageous, every line and curve of her body shamelessly delineated. He shook his head, pursing his lips. "I just don't seem to be able to get your attention, do I, lass?"

But I've got yours. The exultant thought set her blood leaping in her veins as she waited for his next move. She could read the arousal in his eyes as clearly as if he'd spoken it.

"Take them off," he said.

"What? My clothes?" That had startled her.

"If that's what you choose to call them."

"Here?" She glanced around the hall in disbelief.

"Here," he affirmed. "And now. Take them off, fold them up, and put them on the table."

Chloe drew a deep breath, her tongue peeping from between her lips as she contemplated this instruction. The light in the hall was dim and the house was quiet, but there was no absolute guarantee that some member of the household wouldn't appear.

"Don't oblige me to repeat myself," he said evenly.

She swallowed. The game seemed to have acquired an edge, and she was no longer sure of where it was taking them. She shot him a quick glance and was un-reassured by his expression. The arousal was still there, but ominous little flames were aflicker in the green eyes. With a mental shrug of resignation, she tossed the velvet cap onto the marble-topped console table and unbuttoned the jacket.

Hugo watched, unmoving, as she divested herself of the coat, shirt, shoes, nankeen trousers, white socks. She folded them neatly and put them on the table. Then, in her chemise and drawers, she regarded him inquiringly.

"Finish it," he instructed in the same level tone he had used throughout.

A delicate flush bloomed on her cheekbones. "Hugo-"

"I can assure you you'll look no less indecent naked than you did dressed." He interrupted her half-formed protest. "If that's what's worrying you. Although I find it hard to credit… you seem to have not one iota of modesty."

"It was only a game." She could hear how lame it sounded.

"Well, if I can manage to get your attention this time, maybe it'll be one you won't play again. Now, strip."

Chloe pulled the chemise over her head and slipped out of her drawers. "Satisfied?" She glared at him, half angry, half defiant.

Closing his mind to the utter enchantment of her body, the slender limbs quivering in the chill of the hall, the glowing ivory of her skin, he nodded and gestured past him. "Now you may go upstairs."

She blinked. His foot was still on the bottom step and the space between his body and the other newel post was very narrow. It did not look like a safe passage.

Oh, well, she'd just have to shoot the gap. Taking a deep breath, she leapt for the stairs, scrambled past him and upward with the desperate lithe agility of a gazelle fleeing the lion.

Hugo grinned and followed her, enjoying the view.

"My room," he instructed as she reached the head of the stairs.

That sounded more promising, as if there would be a satisfactory conclusion to what had become an uncomfortable situation. Chloe reached Hugo's room at the end of the corridor and put herself on the other side of the door with a sigh of relief. Running naked through the house was not an experience she would choose to repeat.

Hugo followed her in and closed the door. Leaning his shoulders against it, he regarded her with no hint of his inner amusement. She seemed satisfactorily uncertain, he decided, but he had no intention of letting her off lightly. By the time she went to bed, his ward was going to be thoroughly focused on the need to behave with discretion in the future.

He pushed himself off the door and strolled over to a chair by the fire. Sitting down, he beckoned her. "Come here, Chloe."

She approached tentatively, realizing that she had no idea what to expect. In any other circumstances, his awareness of her nakedness would be evident, at least in his eyes, but his expression was now unreadable. She cast a swift secret glance down his body, but there were no overt indications of arousal. Earlier, she had sensed his desire, but now she could feel no stirring of the air between them, and its lack made her more uncomfortable than anything else.

When she reached him, he put his hands on her hips and drew her between his knees. His thighs pressed hard against her bare legs, the buckskin of his britches smooth and supple against her skin.

Leaning back in his chair, Hugo looked up at her, still maintaining his hold on her hips. "Where have you been?"

"To Billingsgate for oysters." It was a relief to be able to give an honest answer. His fingers were curled warm and firm into the flesh of her hips, and her skin began to prickle. The fire spurted and she could feel its heat on her right side. Her nipples hardened and warmth spread slowly through her with the familiar sinking sensation in her lower belly and the moistening of her loins.

It occurred to her with a little jolt that she was becoming aroused by her own nakedness, made all the more aware of it by Hugo's clothed presence. His hands slid around her, kneading the satin curve of her backside, slipping down the backs of her thighs. She shivered.

"And who took you to Billingsgate?" His hands retraced their path in slow, suggestive strokes.

"I don't think I want to tell you that," she said, her voice sounding thick.

Holding her hips again, he leaned forward and kissed her belly, his tongue darting into her navel. "But I think you must," he said, blowing softly, wickedly against her stomach so that she squirmed and he tightened his hold.

"But it's not relevant," she protested weakly. "And it wouldn't be fair for you to be vexed with them. It was my responsibility."

"Oh, I'm aware of that," he said, flicking the pointy hipbones with the tip of his tongue. "Your responsiblity, lass, and your consequences. Nevertheless, I wish to know."

A flat palm slipped sideways between her thighs and she shivered again. What did he mean by consequences? But her mind wouldn't hold the thought as her thighs squeezed on his hand. In an almost distant voice she told him who had been with her.

"I see." A hot tongue stroke seared her belly. "And which of your cavaliers provided you with that indecent costume?"

"I won't tell you that," she said with as much conviction as she could muster. "It can't matter to you." She gasped, biting her lip hard as his fingers moved inside her and his thumb teased the supreme throbbing sensitivity of her sex.

"I suppose it doesn't," he said equably. "You may keep that secret, then."

Something wasn't right. Even through her swiftly mounting passion, Chloe knew it. It was in his voice, so calm and level, even while he was doing the most wonderful things to her, even as he must feel the liquid arousal of her body.

And then as the spiral of delight tightened, Hugo withdrew his hands from her body. "It's time you were in bed," he said matter-of-factly. "After racketing around Billingsgate at such an ungodly hour, you need your sleep." He pushed her away from him as he rose to his feet.

Chloe just stood and stared at him, her eyes wide with dismay.

Hugo scooped her easily into his arms and without further ado carried her back to her room. Chloe was speechless with shock, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

He set her on her feet inside her room and said cheerfully, "Good night, Chloe. I'll leave you to contemplate the consequences of behaving like a wanton hoyden."

He was laughing at her, she realized, as fury rushed into the void created by unfulfilled desire. "You… you… how could you do that to mei" She flew at him, her fists pummeling his chest, her bare feet kicking against his iron-hard calves.

Hugo caught her hands and clipped them behind her back, holding her wrists with one hand. With his other, he cupped her chin and turned up her furious face. Deliberately, he lowered his head and kissed her, pressing her against his body. He kissed her until the fight left her and she was as soft and pliable as putty. Then he raised his head and released his hold on her wrists.

"Good night, Chloe," he repeated as calmly as before.

Her eyes were dazed, her skin flushed, her lips swollen. She shook her head in bewilderment, unable to recapture her earlier fury, recognizing dimly that Hugo had utterly routed her, winning an engagement she'd intended as her own triumph. How could she ever have imagined she was a match for him? He'd exacted a fiendish penalty for her provocative adventure, leaving her miserably uncomfortable and utterly mortified. How could he possibly have remained so cool and unmoved while reducing her to quivering, desperately wanting jelly?

The door closed behind him and she heard his soft laugh. Picking up a slipper, she threw it at the paneling in impotent frustration, before thumping into bed and pulling the covers over her head.