"It's so hard to imagine you as a child." Her mask did nothing to hide the frank inquisitiveness in her expression. "What was it like, back then?"
"The setting was different." He gave her a jaded smile. "But people don't change, not even over the course of millennia. When I was a boy, everything was titles, estates, and royal favor. Today it's degrees, jobs, and retirement portfolios. The motivation remains the same, however; caring for those who belong to you. Protecting them from harm. Trying to carve out a little happiness. It was that way then and it is that way now."
Denise didn't say anything for several moments. Spade studied her, not bothering to hide the intentness in his gaze. Her hair was up, but stray curls had been left deliberately trailing in places, swinging to the music as they moved. Her mask covered from her eyebrows to the top of her nose, curving around her cheekbones and leaving the lower half of her face bare. She licked her lower lip in contemplation, not knowing how that simple gesture inflamed him.
"And you met Bones on the ship to the penal colonies." Her voice lowered. "Can I ask what you were in jail for, if it's not too personal?"
In fact it was very personal. So much that not even Crispin knew the whole story behind it.
"My father was a good man. Stern, perhaps, but that was common for the time. Yet he had a weakness: He couldn't stop gambling. Today he'd be called an addict, but back then, it was seen as lack of sound judgment. He'd run deeply into debt by the time I was twenty-five. I was his only son, his heir, which meant I couldn't take to the sea or the military to garner funds to repay his debts. So I did the only thing I could - I married an heiress."
Denise stopped dancing. "You're married?" she blurted.
Several heads turned and Denise flushed. Spade bit back his laughter.
"When I was human, darling. She's been dead these past centuries."
The vampires around them resumed their dancing. Marriage in undead terms was far more rigid than a human marriage. He'd be risking Denise's life if he were married by vampire law. The punishment for anyone committing adultery with a vampire's spouse was death without reprisal, should the wronged spouse choose to exercise his or her right. With their very long lives, no wonder marriage was an uncommon state for vampires. Humans had enough trouble with marriage when it was only a half-century commitment at best.
Denise's cheeks were still darker than her makeup accounted for. Spade didn't mind her outburst; it pleased him. If she wasn't jealous at the idea that he might be married, then she didn't care for him as he wanted her to.
"You married someone for her money?" Denise whispered, disapproval clear in her tone.
He leaned down. "She married me for my title," he whispered back. "It was mercenary the whole way 'round, I assure you."
"Did you love her?"
As soon as Denise asked the question, she sucked in a breath, looking away. It was clear she regretted it.
He didn't, for the same reason her jealousy had pleased him. "No, nor she me," he replied evenly. "Madeline wanted to increase her station at court and I made no secret about needing her money. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement."
And a miserable one, as many arranged marriages were at the time. "Still, despite Madeline's fat coffers, it was only a matter of time until my father was in debt once more."
The years made it possible for Spade to recount the rest without emotion staining his tone.
"He hid it from me, at first. Explained away the letters from his acquaintances or the mutterings at court. But then when he indebted himself to the Duke of Warwick over a game of whist, and he couldn't pay, the duke complained to the king."
And since his father had also gotten caught bedding the lovely young duchess, Warwick had been in no mood for mercy. He'd rounded up every courtier his father owed, whipped them into a frenzy, and then implored the king for justice on behalf of all of them.
"They came for my father at night, taking him away to Newgate, where he'd rot until every last farthing was repaid," Spade said. "Warwick knew my father wouldn't live long enough for me to find a way to repay his debts. Even young, strong prisoners died all the time at Newgate. He'd done it not to jail him, but to kill him."
"I can't believe he could be jailed over debts," Denise gasped.
Spade let out a wry chuckle, turning her in time to the music. "Indeed, one of the things different back then was that there was no declaring bankruptcy and going on with your life, especially if you incurred royal ire. My family's estate was seized by the crown, Madeline left me since my title was now worthless, and my father grew ever sicker in jail. So I went to the duke to offer him a bargain: Transfer my father's debt to me."
The memory of that day still scalded; Warwick laughing at him, taunting him that soon he'd be burying his father, and then finally demanding that Spade beg for him to transfer the debt. Spade had done it, accepting the humiliation to secure his father's life, not realizing that ultimately Warwick agreed only because he knew this would hurt his father more. It had. His father drank himself to death less than two years after Spade's deportation.
"But you knew you'd go to jail..."
"Denise." Spade held her gaze. "I had nothing left to lose but my freedom, and I knew after a time, I'd get that back. Yet my father would have surely died in prison. What choice did I have?"
He knew that she of all people would understand, considering how Denise had endangered herself for her family these past few weeks. It was yet another thing they had in common.
She sighed. "So that's why you were sent to jail."
"Didn't expect my sentence to be different than my father's, but Warwick thought it would be grand fun to convince the king that I would be more useful to the crown sent to the New South Wales colonies than just sitting in prison. And on the voyage there is where I met Crispin, Ian, and Timothy."
"And became friends." Her voice was soft.
"Not at first." Spade raised a brow. "Me, the future Earl of Ashcroft, chained to common miscreants who'd no doubt earned every moment of their sentences? I didn't deign to even speak to them for days."
Denise smiled at his deliberately haughty tone. "What broke the ice?"
"After several days of enduring my silent disdain, Ian began to bait me. Said I must have been the bas tard son of a fishmonger born with no tongue, or some such. Finally I informed them all rather snootily that I was Baron Charles Thomas DeMortimer, a nobleman and not deserving of my circumstances. I thought Crispin had been sleeping, but at that, he opened one eye and said, 'DeMortimer, aye? Blue bedchamber, purple drapes, bloody what were you thinking with all those peacock feathers everywhere?'"