Prologue
The Tramp
Flesh met flesh with a meaty thunk.
A howl of pain.
Blood spurted.
Henry Trampine examined the red liquid, streaking his knuckles, in the flicking, dim light of the tunnels.
Hanging by his arms between two burly men, Cardinal Burr’s mouth and nose, poured blood down the front of his chest, dripping over his skin and hair, running in small rivulets to his stomach. His flaccid member hung between his legs, small and shriveled, barely visible under his rounded belly.
“I’m sorry, Tramp,” the cardinal gasped. “I’m sorry... I’ll get you the money... I will...”
Taller, more broad-shouldered than the average man, when Henry crouched down to the cardinal’s level, the other man still had to look up to meet his eyes. Bull and Frank, Henry’s left- and right-hand men, kept their tight grip on him. He was no match for either of them, but they never took chances.
It was why Henry considered them his best men.
“I know you will, Cardinal,” he replied, his voice low and calm, almost reassuring. The cardinal shuddered. “This is your final warning.”
Standing back up, he jerked his head, and Bull and Frank started dragging the man away, still spouting promises. Pulling a rag from the inside of his jacket, Henry wiped the blood off of his hand, his mind already moving on to other things.
Strolling out of the tunnel, Henry barely noticed as people scurried out of his way, averting their eyes when his gaze passed over them. The nobility ruled Mayfair and their estates, and the Prince Regent ruled them, but here in the Warrens, the Tramp was King.
Lady Delilah Darling
“Oh, how lovely,” Lady Delilah Darling exclaimed. She lifted her heels and turned, very slowly, on the dressmaker’s pedestal, staring delightedly into the mirror. Behind her, Madame Bisset smiled broadly at Delilah before looking at Lady Jane Greene, Delilah’s guardian. The older woman’s expression was much harder to read, but Delilah was not deterred. She was going to have this walking dress. It was utter perfection.
The rose color set off her coloring perfectly, making her hair appear more fashionably blonde—blondes were more fashionable this Season—her cheeks pinker, and her wide hazel eyes brighter. The trim waist was quite flattering as well, emphasizing her youthful figure. Twisting her hips, the skirts swished around her legs with a gentle shushing sound.
Lady Delilah loved beautiful things. Moreover, she appreciated them. From the soft, pink fabric of her dress to the pale lacy parasol, she was already planning to use with it to the song of the bird outside the window. Life was beautiful, especially for her. This was her first Season in London, and she was determined to make the most of it as it was likely to be her only Season. Lord Greene had been a fast friend of her late father and had agreed to sponsor her Season, fulfilling her father’s final request before his passing. It was the best thing he’d ever done for her. As soon as her mourning period was over, Delilah had made her way to the capital and the Greene’s splendid household.
Her father had been a mere baron while Lord Greene was an Earl, but he had taken her in nonetheless as he and her father had been great friends at Cambridge.
She knew the Greene’s thought her to be far too spirited, flippant even, but after a year and a half of mourning a father who had barely been part of her life, she truly appreciated all the Season had to offer—the gaudy clothing, the sweaty palms of a nervous gentleman, the glittering throngs. While part of her felt guilty for not mourning her father’s death more, it was not as though they had truly known each other. He had spent all of his time in London, leaving her to rusticate at his estate under the care of a nanny, then a governess, and finally, a companion. The companion had been the worst of all, an older woman whose fussy personality had driven Delilah quite mad during her mourning period. She had been very happy indeed to leave the old bat in the country.
The baron had blamed Delilah for her mother’s death, though her mother had died of a fever when Delilah was just over a year old. Delilah had caught the fever first, but she had recovered. For some reason, her mother had not. Truthfully, Delilah mourned the mother she’d never known far more than the father who had made it clear he did not want to know her.
Finally spinning around to face her guardian, Delilah clasped her hands in front of her.
“Oh, please, Lady Jane. It is by far the loveliest walking gown I have ever laid eyes on.”
Lady Greene’s lips pursed, but she was not immune to her young charge’s pleas. Ten years older than Delilah, she had so far not been blessed with a child. The second wife of Lord Greene. Rumor had it, he’d married a woman so much younger than himself because he had been desperate for an heir. Ten years later, he still did not have the heir, and gossip said it was likely he never would now, even if Lady Greene were to meet an untimely end, and he was able to marry again. Delilah thought it too bad; the pair would certainly make better parents than her father had.
Even if she was twenty years younger, Lady Greene clearly held her husband in affection, and from all Delilah could see, it was returned. They were certainly happier than most couples among the ton.
They seemed to view their guardianship of her as their chance to be parents, at least in a small way. At nineteen years of age, Delilah was not a child, but her sheltered upbringing and inexperience with Society meant she required guidance, not just chaperones. And if Lady Greene felt inclined to spoil her... well, so much the better. Delilah had blossomed under the Greenes’ attention and care, and she was happier than she had ever been in the country. Life was beautiful, exciting, and so very lovely.
“Very well,” Lady Greene finally said with a sigh, shaking her head, but her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. Delilah preened happily under her gaze. “But this is the last gown.”
Which brought their total for today to ten gowns, rather than the five they had initially planned on purchasing. Over dinner tonight, Lord Greene would shake his head, in much the same manner as his wife, when they confessed their sins, then sigh and hide his own smile before reminiscing about his friendship with Delilah’s father. She would listen, but only for Lord Greene’s sake. The tales he told did not match her remembrances of the man, but she would not ruin his memories for anything in the world.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Delilah jumped down from the pedestal and threw her arms around Lady Greene. The lady laughed, hugging Delilah back. Delilah always savored such moments. After her nanny had been dismissed when she was five, no one had hugged her again until she came to live with the Greenes. “I am going to be the belle of the park when we go walking!”
“I am sure you shall be,” Lady Jane said, still shaking her head and smiling.
The Tramp
Hyde Park—where the beauty of nature was sullied by the grotesqueness of human existence.
Tucked away under the overgrown branches of a willow along the banks of the Serpentine, Henry sneered at the passing ton. Young idiots, prancing about with padded breeches and jackets, posturing like peacocks to impress the simpering young ladies, who cared more about the quality of their purses than their characters. More than one of those young men would be in Warrens tonight, trying their hands at the Tramp’s gaming tables.