Morgan chuckled. He set down his armful of pies next to him. “Here, let me show you.” Taking hold of her pie, he neatly ripped the paper across the top about two inches down, revealing the flakey golden-brown pastry. He made to hand it back to her but paused. “Perhaps you better remove your gloves. They’ll likely get stained.”
Caroline removed her gloves. Then she accepted the meat pasty from him. The delicious smell of thyme and turkey wafted up as she bit into the little pie. It tasted even better than it smelled. She grinned as she wiped flaky bits of pastry from her chin. Diving in, she took another bite and hit a pocket of gravy, thick and salty. “Mmmmm,” she murmured.
Next to her, Morgan let out a small, choked cough. Glancing up, she saw him staring at her; his meat pasty still unwrapped in his lap. “It’s delicious. Aren’t you going to eat yours?” she asked.
“Um, yes. Of course, I am.” He quickly averted his gaze and tore open the brown paper wrapper on his own. He shoved it in his mouth, devouring the thing in three large bites.
Caroline savored hers, nibbling at the fragrant pasty. She enjoyed every messy bite. Morgan had been right to have her remove her gloves; she had gravy drips on several fingertips. As she went to lick off the mess, Morgan grasped her hand. “Please, allow me.”
His gaze collided with hers, and the fire in his eyes made her gulp. Slowly, he lifted her thumb to his mouth. His tongue darted out to lick gravy from the tip. Then he drew her pointerfinger into his mouth in one long slow suck. Caroline felt a hot flush travel up her neck and into her cheeks. For one breathless moment, she forgot they were in a public place, and she almost leaned closer to him, drawn in by the promises of passion his gaze held.
Afraid of losing her head, she pulled her hand from his. Clearing the lump that had formed in her throat, she scooted farther down the bench. Morgan seemed likewise to realize their surroundings. He grabbed up his other pasty and took a bite. Caroline berated herself; she was wasting her opportunity to speak with him about the bacchanal.
“Morgan, I wanted to ask your help with something. And I know it will seem outlandish but hear me out.”
He turned his body sideways to face her. “What kind of help?” he asked.
“Well, I spoke with Alice, the young girl I took from Mrs. Gwyn’s, and she said that Mrs. Gwyn had special plans for her, that her virginity was going to bring the madam a hefty sum.”
Morgan’s brows lowered, and his mouth set into a thin line.
“Alice said some nob hired Mrs. Gwyn to provide girls for a big party this weekend—” she raised one eyebrow, “—a bacchanal.”
“Caroline…” he began.
She rushed on. “What I can’t stop thinking about is who will be the poor girl who replaces Alice as the virginal sacrifice? I must go and rescue this girl!”
Morgan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Caroline, you cannot save every girl. There are hundreds of women who prostitute themselves in this city.”
“But I can save this one! She isn’t a prostitute yet. She is an innocent who has been sold or coerced. The bacchanal must be Devonshire’s party. Miss Sullivan atThe Spectatortold me hethrows it every year. It’s a masquerade, and the theme changes each year, but the debauchery does not. It’s quite infamous.”
“This is what you and the newspaper lady discussed?” Morgan looked baffled.
“I do my research.” She speared him with her best pleading look. “Please help me. I need to procure an invitation to the party. Once inside, I will find the girl to be auctioned and sneak her out the back.” She folded her hands neatly on her lap and smiled up at Morgan. He had to see it would be easy.
“And how will you navigate through the party without being recognized? How will you fend off the numerous advances of drunken men and women? How will you avoid the notice of servants and Mrs. Gwyn herself?”
“I will dress incognito.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I have been avoiding handsy gentlemen for four seasons. Plus, I will have my stiletto handy.”
“Your what?” Morgan sighed as he contemplated her.
She sat quietly. He was about to say yes. She knew it.
“You’re going to go whether I help you or not, aren’t you?”
Caroline nodded. She couldn’t let some innocent have her life ruined if she could help. “Think of that girl, sold to the highest bidder. You could get invited to the party. I’ve seen you hang about with the jaded bachelor club. They’ll get you into Devonshire’s party.” She shivered. “I knew there was something off about that man.”
“Your brother’s going to kill me,” he muttered. “I’m in. But—” He held a hand up. “You have to listen to all my instructions. And we do this together. You do not leave my sight while we are inside the party.”
Caroline gripped his arm and leaned close. “I will do whatever you say. As long as you let me get the girl out.”
Morgan nodded once, his expression still grim. He stood and brushed crumbs off his breeches. “Well, let’s get you home. Ineed to spend some time at White’s. See if I can get myself invited to this infamous bacchanal.”
Chapter 17
Cage waited impatiently among the half dozen carriages and curricles that crowded the front drive to Cresthaven, Lord Devonshire’s house. The estate sat on a pretty piece of land neighboring the village of Waltham Cross. Hulking and gothic, the manor suited Cage’s mood tonight. He paced back and forth in a tight military heel-toe march.
Where was she? Caroline should have arrived by now. Perhaps she changed her mind at the last moment when she saw the dress he sent over for her to wear. The costume’s cut, daring and dramatic, was meant for the stage. A dry laugh escaped his lips. Not bloody likely.
