Page 25 of Hold Me Fast
Bran’s frown deepened. “Who is Mac? And what does he know?”
Jowan sighed. “I have no idea. But I did find the lyrics of the ballad. Two ballads, actually. The biggest bookshop I’ve ever seen had books with them inside, and they sold me writing materials to make copies.” He picked up the sheets and passed them to Bran.
“She wants to be rescued,” Bran commented. “It’s the same story, only with Coombe as the elf king and her as his prisoner.”
“And me as the fair Janet,” Jowan agreed, with a grimace. He didn’t much like the casting. “That’s what I figured, but I wondered if I was reading my own desires into it.”
“I don’t think so.” Bran grimaced. “Jowan, Wakefield says that Coombe is known to use drugs to keep his victims compliant. Opium, ether, alcohol, magic mushroom. Other stuff, too, that he brought back with him from his travels. Hashish and more. Once people are slaves to the drugs, they will do anything, he says, for a dose. Your Tamsyn might be past saving.”
“I can’t accept that,” Jowan said. “I have to try. The question is how to get close enough. She is always guarded.”
“I can think of a few more questions. How will you take her, yes. Also, where will you take her? Coombe will claim she is under contract, or she is his ward, or some other relationship exists that means you are breaking the law.”
Jowan nodded. “You make good points.”
“I have more. What will you do once you have her? If she needs the drugs to survive, will you provide them? And where will you get them?”
“I need more information,” Jowan decided.
“We can take Drew into our confidence,” Bran suggested. “Possibly Wakefield, too. Probably Wakefield. He really,reallydoes not like Coombe.”
“You will help me, then?” Jowan asked. Bran hadn’t sounded at all enthusiastic.
“Of course,” Bran told him. “You need to do this. At the moment, you are stuck. If it turns out to be a disaster, at least, you will know.”
*
Guy returned fromhis afternoon excursion in an evil temper. By the time he sent for Tammie, the whole house knew he had been crossed in some way, and would be dangerously unpredictable until he had calmed down.
“Sing for me,” he demanded when she entered the room; it stank of brandy. A quick scan showed a decanter that had been hurled into the—fortunately empty—fireplace with sufficient force to shatter it. The broken remnants of a vase showed it must also have offended Guy in some way.
He had a footman on his knees, the man’s arm twisted up behind his back. Who knew what the poor man’s sin was? Guy always required perfection and was impossibly particular when angry.
“Sing!” Guy bellowed, making Tammie jump.
She opened her mouth and began belting out the first song she thought of—the silly ditty about the barmaid she’d amused an audience with earlier this afternoon, but she knew before she got to the chorus that it was the wrong choice. Guy didn’t want to hear about excuses for poor service.
The music at the front of her mind was the ballad with her hope of escape, and that would never do. She had to think fast, and the laudanum she’d taken when she arrived home was casting a fog over her mind. Fortunately, one occurred to her before Guy could take out his impatience on her.
Ah!That would do. A remarkably filthy song about a sailor Guy had enjoyed teaching her when she was still a shy virgin. When she was still Tamsyn, who hadn’t understood most of the references or a lot of the words.
She began to belt it out, surprising Guy into a smirk when he realized what she was singing. The tension went out of him as she sang verse after verse, interspersed with the highly suggestive chorus. The risk was that she’d arouse him, but he had a new pet, a little violinist he was personally coaching, so he’d probably call for her, and sure enough, after ten or more verses, he was fondling his crotch and calling for a footman to fetch Miss Tempest.
Hadn’t he been more charming and less offensive when Tamsyn first met him? Or had the naive girl just been too stupid to see what he was like? Perhaps he no longer made an effort when Tammie was his main audience.
Certainly, he stopped rubbing himself as Miss Tempest hurried into the room, her face eager. “Guy? You sent for me?”
“Deidre, darling,” he cooed. “I am upset. Won’t you play for me? That’s enough, Miss Lind. Miss Tempest will soothe me now. Everyone else, get out.”
Tamsyn was only too glad to obey.
The following day, Guy had talked himself—or more probably screwed himself—into a more cheerful mood. He decreed his entourage would once again make a display at Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. Miss Tempest would ride alongside him, while Miss Lind rode near the back.
Miss Tempest, foolish girl, stuck her tongue out at Tammie when Guy turned his back. Tammie swept her a full-court curtsey in response, which had Miss Tempest furrowing her brow as she tried to work out whether or not she had been insulted.
Was it worth trying to talk to the girl, to tell her what Guy was truly like? Tammie felt that she ought to, even if she was punished for it. On the other hand, Miss Tempest was unlikely to listen any more than Tamsyn would have in the beginning, when Guy was exerting his full charm to ensorcel her.
The two cases were different. Tamsyn had taken two years to allow Guy to bed her, whereas Miss Tempest had been in Guy’s bed from the day he’d brought her home. That, though, made it more likely the girl would not hear anything against him.
