Beth Henderson - Wicked

Lilly wanted to believe Deegan, wanted to very badly. Experience had convinced her otherwise. “I’m too tall.”

“Just right.”

“I’m not beautiful. In fact, only kind people would even term me a pretty woman.”

“Then they are not merely kind, they are blind,” Deegan assured her. “You have a beauty that transcends time.”

Lilly linked her arms around his neck. “I see you are one of the blind, then.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps I am. Blinded by your loveliness.”

“What is it they claim the Irish practice? Blarney?”

“It isn’t a religion, it’s a gift,” he corrected, “and I haven’t uttered a bit of blarney to you, my lass. If things were different, I would court you in earnest.”

If things were different. But they weren’t. She was still the strapping daughter of a city clerk and he was still a man in love with someone else….

“An elegantly told tale in a Gilded Age shower of mystery and romance. Enjoy.”

—Mary Jo Putney

“Packed with interesting characters and an intriguing plot, Reckless will give the readers hours of pure pleasure.”

—Rendezvous

“The romantic intrigue storyline wrapped inside a nineteenth-century historical brings a freshness to both sub-genres.”

—Affaire de Coeur

#595 CARPETBAGGER’S WIFE

Deborah Hale

#596 HIS LADY FAIR

Margo Maguire

#597 THE DOCTOR’S HOMECOMING

Kate Bridges

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Reckless #370

Wicked #598

Other Harlequin works include:

Silhouette Special Edition

New Year’s Eve #935

Mr. Angel #1002

Maternal Instincts #1338

Yours Truly

A Week til the Wedding

Seducing Santa

In Memory of the Olde Pages Mom Squad:

Jean Kemper Kastner

and

Dorothy Lupp Murray

We miss you, ladies.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

San Francisco, January 1880

The noise from the surrounding bars was muted from what it had been earlier in the evening. Outside, the fog had risen, inching its way up the streets from the bay, turning the byways into a netherworld where men disappeared easily, some with the help of a crimper, others out of natural orneriness or through the manipulations of a local devil’s minion.

Wrapping a threadbare shawl around her shoulders, Belle Tauber leaned against the cool, clammy brickwork in the doorway of her crib, watching as her last john of the night stumbled away into the mist. It must be her lucky day, she thought ruefully. Not only had half the men Severn steered her way been quick to reach their pleasure and leave, but one had passed out before his trousers hit the floor, and another two had fallen into a stupor after a few halfhearted pokes, and been unceremoniously tossed out by one of Severn’s flunkies. She’d managed to empty the pockets of each of the unconscious johns; Severn’s men no doubt had relieved the conscious ones of their valuables as they stumbled home along the dark, dank alleyways.

Belle wasted few thoughts on the hapless victims. Any man who trod the streets of the Barbary Coast knew he would pay for the privilege, though whether with cash or his life depended upon the wheel of fortune that night. Belle only hoped that Severn wouldn’t divine that she had held back a few coins for herself from the evening’s take. She shivered slightly, the chill along her spine owing nothing to the inclement weather. There was still time to replace the money and thus guarantee that when Severn’s hand touched her it would be only with tenderness.

When dawn broke and the sun burned its way through the encroaching fog, she would greet the day a year older. Belle doubted that the women in the neighboring cribs would recall it was the anniversary of her birth, but Miss Lilly would remember. She had promised to deliver a special copy of a photograph she had taken of Belle the week before, a fitting gift to celebrate her twentieth year, Miss Lilly had said kindly. Belle knew her profession had stripped any semblance of youth from her face and form long ago. It was why she was reduced to working in a crib rather than the high-priced bordello where the madam had once sold Belle’s innocence to the highest bidder. She had been pretty then. The photograph Miss Lilly had taken would show she was no longer.

She wouldn’t hand over the extra coins to Severn, Belle decided. The small hoard was her grubstake, a start for a better life. The meager amount was not enough to outrun him, so she’d wait for Severn to run up against a man who bested him, for only then would she truly manage to escape.

A second chill shook her thin body. Belle pulled the shawl even tighter around her shoulders. She should go in. The grubby shift she wore was no protection against the evils of night air. Severn would be furious with her if she became ill. A woman with the ague rarely made enough to please her man, much less enough to enable her to skim a coin or two for the future. Quietly, so as not to disturb those who already slept, Belle reentered the building.

In Severn’s room down the hall a man laughed. Severn’s familiar growl answered, although Belle didn’t catch what was said. They were probably viewing Severn’s large collection of erotic stereographs, three-dimensional pictures of plump, nude or nearly nude women posed in improbable positions. He occasionally used them to get a man’s blood up, and thus increase the price he’d receive for the services of one of his stable of whores. If the man with him was yet another customer, Belle hoped it was one of the other doves he disturbed and not her. She was just about to shut the door to her narrow crib when her attention was caught by another sound—the ring of cascading coins.

The clatter went on far longer than she expected, causing gilded dreams to dance in her head. As if unable to resist the alluring music, Belle stole closer, her bare feet soundless on the unvarnished floorboards. Was Severn boasting of his wealth to his visitor? And if so, to whom? It was dangerous to flaunt a fortune hereabouts. Even those who claimed to be a friend would willingly stick a knife in a man’s ribs to gain a single twenty-dollar gold piece, or less.

The door hadn’t closed entirely behind Severn and his companion. The aged flooring was warped, so that the panel near the portal sagged, leaving a gap just wide enough to show Belle a narrow glimpse of the gaslit room.