Meanwhile, the man turned back to Robert, his face all smiles. “Mrs. Mort knows that after a bit o’ fun, I will give ’er—and you—the best I gots. In fact,” he said as he gestured to one of the lamp bearers, “there’s a few bolts I separated out jes’ for her. And while we’re waiting, ’haps my sweet Miriam can be getting you a drink, what? Put some fire in yer belly, it can.”
Miriam was the tart dressed in red, and she immediately stepped forward from the shadows, a bottle of brandy in one hand and scotch in the other.
“Definitely fine stuff,” she cooed. “An’ there’s more in the back.”
Robert barely even looked at her. He was busy searching Mrs. Mortimer’s face for a clue. In truth, he was rather disappointed in her. She seemed of a higher sort than to accept advances from the likes of Bono. But whatever the reason, the man obviously had her under his thumb. He knew it the moment she flashed him a wan smile and turned to Gwen.
“Lady Gwen, it is up to you. If you prefer, I can…um…return later and make the selections.”
“Absolutely not!” snapped Robert. The last thing he wanted was for Mrs. Mortimer to return here alone. If they were to buy fabrics from this cretin, then they would do it now.
“Aw, don’t be fretting, dove!” said Mr. Bono to Gwen. “And ’ere’s the silk, jes’ for you.”
A cascade of palest yellow silk spilled out before them. Beside them Gwen gasped. Even Mrs. Mortimer couldn’t seem to resist reaching out to stroke the beautiful material. But Robert was done with this fiasco. He had no understanding of what exactly was between Mrs. Mortimer and the repulsive Mr. Bono, and at the moment he didn’t truly care. He just wanted done with this business.
“Gwen,” he snapped, “it is time to depart. We will not be purchasing any of Mr. Bono’s wares.”
“But Robert!” his sister cried.
Mrs. Mortimer, too, seemed abruptly very alarmed. “Please, my lord, I know this is not what you are used to, but if you will recall I did try to tell you that the situation here was unusual.”
“Mrs. Mort and I have a special relationship,” began Mr. Bono, but Robert never gave him the chance to continue.
“There will be no business done here today,” Robert snapped. “Gwen, he is not an honest businessman, and I’ll have no truck with him.”
“’Ey, now! There’s no need t’ be insulting! I’m an honest man.”
And to his shock, even Mrs. Mortimer objected, her voice high with alarm. “Pray don’t say that, Lord Redhill! Mr. Bono is the most excellent of gentlemen!” She turned to the man, panic clear in her expression. “The yellow silk, Mr. Bono. Please. Right away.”
“
“You are the worst sort of brother, you know that?” she spat. “Generous one moment, then high-handed and obnoxious the next.”
Robert didn’t bother to respond. Gwen knew when he would brook no interference. She took his hand and they began the business of leaving. Mrs. Mortimer, however, stood back, her panicked eyes going between Lord Redhill and Mr. Bono.
“Yes, there will be,” she snapped. “The yellow silk!” Then she swallowed. “I shall have to purchase it on credit, you know. But I shall pay you back as soon as—”
Mr. Bono’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, you will, Mrs. Mort. Ain’t no cause for you to be bringing customers here who ain’t customers and insulting my good name.”
“I know, Mr. Bono. Please understand, they had every intention of buying—”
“Harry,” he snapped at one of his men, “wrap up the silk.” Then his eyes hardened as he looked back at the dressmaker. “We’ll be negotiatin’ the price when you return.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Mr. Bono. We’ll be settling this now.”
“Not when it’s credit, ducky.”
“Then I won’t be taking the silk.”
The two were at a standoff, with Robert getting more impatient by the second. “We are leaving, Mrs. Mortimer,” he said, his words coming out as a low growl. “I cannot think what you are about, but I have had enough. Do you wish us to leave without you?” It was an idle threat. He had no intention of abandoning her here, but he also didn’t want to loiter here while she played at whatever game was going on between them.
Bono arched a brow, his expression turning to a smug superiority. “Would you prefer to stay here, Mrs. Mortimer?”
Robert watched her swallow nervously, her gaze darting between the door and Mr. Bono, but her voice came out hard and cold. “Name your price, Mr. Bono.”
“Two guinea.”
She gasped with horror. “That’s outrageous,” she cried, “and you know it!”
“That’s the price.”
“I won’t pay—”
Robert released a curse that was not meant for ladies’ ears, but he was rapidly beginning to wonder at Mrs. Mortimer’s claim to that title. After all, she was standing here dickering with a man who had been molesting her person. But one glance at the “lamp bearers,” and he knew they were out of time. The men surrounding them were moving in. If it came to a fight, then there was no way Robert could protect himself, much less either woman.
Loath though he was to do it, Robert pulled out his own purse. With a curse of disgust, he fished out two coins and tossed them on top of a nearby crate.
“There’s your money,” he all but snarled. Then he grabbed the bolt from the thug and jerked his head at Gwen. “Outside. Now.”
It took them much too long to escape the warehouse, but they did. Gwen made to slow as she took a deep breath of the fish-scented air. It was foul, but it was better than what was inside the closely packed warehouse. Robert tagged her bottom with the end of the bolt. “Go!” he breathed. He had already ascertained that Mrs. Mortimer was behind them, moving just as rapidly as Robert. But none of them were faster than Mr. Bono himself. He must have some secret pathway through the warren, Robert thought uncharitably, because before they made it to the carriage, he saw the man crossing to stand before Gwen.
Urbane as ever, Mr. Bono bowed deeply over Gwen’s hand. “I can see that I have offended your brother, Lady Gwen. Please let me apologize. Perhaps we can find a way to do business another day.”
“I would not count on that,” Robert growled as he handed off the bolt of silk to the coachman.
The man turned and executed a deep bow, but kept his eye on Gwen. “Perhaps not today, but Mrs. Mortimer and I can come to some arrangement for other silks. I believe a soft rose would be exactly your color, don’t you think? As sweet as your lovely cheeks. Makes a man think of things he ought not with a lady like you.”
“Oh, Mr. Bono!” said Gwen, her blush burning hotter as she looked away.
“Get back!” Robert growled as he was at last free to step forward aggressively against the bastard.
Mr. Bono backed away immediately, his bow deep and deferential. “Don’t you worry, guv,” he said. “I know I can’t do anything but look at the likes of yer sister.” He cast a wink at Gwen that had Robert growling anew. “And don’t you be mad at him,” he said to Gwen. “It’s a man’s right to protect his sister from the likes of me.”
That was the moment Robert realized the man’s cleverness. With one sentence, he had cast Robert in the role of overprotective brother, while Bono was the charming rogue. He laid even odds that Gwen would come back again, only this time without her bear of a brother. Damnation!
And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the man turned to the dressmaker.
“A pleasure as always, Mrs. Mortimer.”
“Of course, Mr. Bono,” she said with a smile. She made a valiant effort, but Robert could see the strain in her eyes and the pinched tightness to her smile. Then she turned toward the carriage while Bono winked at Robert.
“I won’t lay a hand on yer sister, I swear. Thankfully, other women are not so exalted, what?” And with that the man abruptly swatted Mrs. Mortimer’s behind. She released a squeak of alarm as she completed the climb into the carriage, but she said nothing while Mr. Bono released a hearty chuckle. “You have a good afternoon, now!” And with that he dropped into a low, mocking bow. Robert didn’t know how the man could make a deep bow
