Perilous Risk

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  He focused on what he already knew. Maria Seymour, the new Duchess of Saxby, had once been the Earl of Ruel’s mistress. Something had happened between them about five years previous because Ruel had apparently taken certain intimate letters he’d held in his possession and shared them with several influential persons. It had quite ruined the lady. The resultant scandal and shunning by Society had sent her to live abroad for several years.

  The Earl of Ruel. Now there was a potentially explosive keg of powder.

  Stephen recalled not but a fortnight before, he had been observing Ruel through a peephole at the office of one of his agents, a private investigator.

  The severity of dark green painted walls, walnut wainscoting and furniture was mitigated somewhat by the lamps’ soft yellow glow.

  “Her husband’s lingering illness is most suspicious.” The tall blond man sat back in his chair and drew his brows together. Pinched skin over the bridge of the nose and his hard-boned facial structure gave him an expression as though he were perpetually scowling.

  He certainly wasn’t the handsomest of men.

  But Lord Ruel had been Rebecca Howland’s choice. Then he had cast her aside to wed a wealthy ice-princess. Such was a nobleman’s repayment for loyalty. “And her association with the Earl of Barnet cannot be a wholesome one. I know her too well,” Ruel said.

  Ah yes, the Earl of Barnet. Here was the interesting portion. Stephen had asked his network to report anything they heard related to the Earl of Barnet. Ruel’s tone had betrayed his rancour toward Barnet. The reason for that was easy to guess. An inveterate Whig, Ruel was an up and coming star within the House of Lords but his rival, the powerful, older Earl of Barnet blocked his further progress.

  But what was the reason for Ruel’s continued grudge against his former mistress? And how might that information, once gleaned, be of benefit to Stephen?

  The thin red-haired man coughed delicately and adjusted his spectacles. “Lord Ruel, I can investigate these matters for you, but it will cost a good deal of money.”

  “I don’t care about the expense.” Ruel crushed his cigar out with particular vigour.

  “All right, so you wish me to find something so incriminating that the lady will be forced to leave England again?”

  Lord Ruel had looked up. “I wish to see her sent to gaol.”

  The words had been spoken with perfect calm. Deathly, chilly calm.

  “I understand, my lord.”

  Lord Ruel had stood. “No need to usher me out.”

  Mr Smith had stood. “Very well, my lord, I shall be in touch as soon as I know more.”

  The Earl of Ruel’s vengeful zeal was disturbing but if it interfered with Stephen’s mission in any way, he would simply place Lord Ruel under house arrest or some other means of keeping him away.

  The situation could be managed.

  Excitement had surged through Stephen. A puzzle to solve, with perhaps some significance to national security. Who could say? Time would tell.

  A few moments later, the door to the chamber where Stephen waited opened.

  Mr Smith stood there quietly. “You were wise to send for me,” Stephen said. “Charge Lord Ruel whatever your customary rate is and keep it. I shall tend to this business.”

  Coming back into the present moment, aware suddenly of the damp chill sinking into his bones and the steady drum of rain on the carriage roof, Stephen frowned. All his earlier excitement to engage his mission had now been crushed. Now it was a tricky matter that he must deal with using extreme caution.

  How the devil had Mrs Rebecca Howland come to be involved in this quagmire? Moreover, what could Stephen do to keep her safe?

  At the intense emotion that thought evoked, the rat grew peckish again and began to chew once more. Unthinkingly, Stephen placed a protective hand on his stomach.

  Christ. How long did he have now?

  No mental activity. Absolutely nothing emotionally straining. The grey-haired doctor’s expression had grown sober as he had prescribed bed rest—bed rest—and that he employ a nurse and take warm milk or beef’s broth at short intervals round the clock.

  If you don’t do exactly as I say, you’ll be dead in a matter of months. The doctor peered over his spectacles. A matter of months.

  So, Stephen had given up everything that made life worth living. His work. Palatable food. Claret. Even oranges, which he loved more than anything else. And he had adhered to the prescribed regimen for months.

  And whist he had not yet died, the treatment hadn’t done him much earthly good either. He had decided that he might as well live right up until the end. Still, he saw no reason to force death’s hand. He fished in his pocket for his bottle of pills and his flask of watered claret and washed the medication down. Then he sat patiently, rubbing his stomach and willing the medication to work.

  * * * *

  “He was recovering.” The words, icily said, put a heavy weight into Rebecca’s guts and she gaped at the other woman.

  Masses of dark brown hair that glinted in tones of deep, fiery auburn and sparkling gold lay about her shoulders, fanned out upon a jade green velvet gown that accentuated her lush figure. She seemed impossibly tall. Sensual. Beautiful. Yet Maria Seymour’s eyes were like sleet-coated agates. “That is, he was recovering until that latest—what was it you called it?”

  “A strengthening posset.”

  Rebecca glanced at the bed. The alabaster cast to the patrician features didn’t seem so very out of place for such a fair-haired young man. In the large mahogany bed, beneath the gold and green satin coverlet, with his lashes laying like sandy-red crescents on his cheeks, the duke appeared to be sleeping. She turned her attention back to Maria. “It was mild. You could have given it to a baby with no ill-effects.”

  Maria raised her brows in a sceptical expression. “Well, your medicines have killed my husband.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, no. He was ill. It was God’s will.”

  Maria’s eyes narrowed. “You did this for Ruel. He never forgave Saxby.”

  The young Duke of Saxby had tried to come between the Earl of Ruel and his countess. What exactly had happened, Rebecca never knew.

  “I am here as a nurse, only because you asked me to have a look at His Grace to see if there was anything I could do for him.”

  “I should call for the watch right now.” Maria walked to the night table and lifted a pale blue bottle. “My maid saw you give him this potion and then when it made him sleep, you came and pressed a pillow over his face and held it there.”

  “I did no such thing!” Rebecca compressed her lips and balled her fists at her sides, trying to hold back any further outburst. She was shaking with anger.

  The lying bitch!

  Maria laughed softly. “I am not saddened, as you might have suspected. Saxby, like most dukes, was far too taken with his own self, humourless and deadly dull in bed. He appears to have been infertile as well. I am well rid of him.”

  Revulsion rippled through her. “God, woman, you disgust me.”

  “I am of a mind to put this behind us.”

  Rebecca scoffed. “Are you? How generous.”

  “I do require a favour in return.”

  “I hesitate to ask what this favour might be.”

  Maria rolled one shoulder, an elegant gesture. “It’s a just a little sharing. That’s all.”

  Wariness curled through Rebecca’s stomach. “Sharing?”

  The other woman caressed her double strand of baroque pearls. “Ruel likes to write letters.”

  When Jon was foxed, yes, he had been prone to writing letters. Long, overly detailed letters. Most he never sent once sober. But in the past he had sent them to Rebecca and also to Maria.

  “Those letters often shared some salaciously intimate details.”

  “What can any of them mean to you?”

  “You and Ruel often took others to your bed. I mean, took them to bed together.”

  “Yes.” Rebecca frowned.
“You and Jon often took others to your bed. Together.”

  “Yes, but those were women,” Maria said in a tone that suggested Rebecca was a dunce.

  Rebecca stiffened her spine. “Jon and I took women to our bed as well.”

  “Yes, but sometimes you and he took other men to your shared bed.”

  “I don’t understand what it matters now.” Rebecca crossed her hands over her chest and frowned.

  “Ruel likes novelty. In fact, he’s a bit jaded, easily bored.”

  “Yes, many gentlemen are like that.”

  “Compared to other gentlemen, I’d say Ruel has a greater than normal liking for novelty. Now all you have to do is share with me a letter that details what he did with those other men.”

  “What do you mean, ‘what he did with those other men’?”

  “Sodomy.”

  Rebecca laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Jon never engaged in sodomy with other men.”

  Maria pursed her lips and her eyes flashed fire. “Yes, he did!”

  “He didn’t.” What else could Rebecca say?

  “You will stop lying to me!” Maria charged forward until she stood directly in front of Rebecca, towering over her. Rebecca often forgot how petite she was compared to other women. She was made painfully aware of it now.

  She squared her shoulders and tried to make the most of her diminutive stature.

  Maria glowered down at her, her eyes like smouldering grey smoke. “Listen to me, Mrs Howland, I know exactly the kinds of perverse things you did with the Earl of Ruel.”

  Maria’s tone was so scathing, so disgusted, it sent crawling sensations all over Rebecca’s skin. She stepped back.

  The woman followed and leant down over her, glowering even more menacingly. “Lady Scott saw the two of you in the stables—”

  “She spied on us!” Rebecca exclaimed. The sense of invasion burned through her. Those moments had been private, and Lady Scott had certainly never, ever been invited to join Jon and her in any intimacy.

  Maria pursed her lips then continued. “The things Lady Scott saw made her end her affaire with Ruel.”

  So that had been what had finished the vexing and frankly sickening liaison between Jon and the irritating Lady Scott. Yet, even at this late date in finding out the reason, panic made Rebecca’s heart escalate in a dizzying cascade. That anyone would ever learn of their secret carnal games mortified her. They had shared that part of their lives with no one.

  No one.

  Because no one would ever understand.

  “And yet, Your Grace, you never broke your engagement.” Rebecca cringed at the quaver in her voice. She hated letting the other woman see how all of this was affecting her. Hated to give her anything. “You couldn’t have been all that disgusted.”

  “Only because he assured me that if I allowed him to keep you I would never be expected to serve those unspeakable needs.” Maria came so close, her breath was hot and claret-scented in Rebecca’s face.

  Rebecca flinched and backed away hastily. The back of her legs made contact with the bed and, remembering Saxby lay there newly dead, she startled.

  Maria leapt towards her and grasped her by the arms. The look on her face was so angry that for a moment Rebecca froze. Then she struggled to free herself but, devil take her, Maria was strong.

  Maria glowered at her. “The things you let that man do to you—binding your hands and ankles, whipping you with his crop, sharing you with other men—it all makes me ashamed even to be associated with you by virtue of belonging to the same sex!” She said the last with such vehemence that her spit hit Rebecca in the face.

  Rebecca dragged her sleeve over her face to clean it. Then she glared back at Maria. “You are a vile, vile woman. You have no right to judge me.”

  “La, how modest, how charitable you always pretend to be. But don’t think you can fool me with your innocent looks.” Maria curled her lip. “You were always bending Ruel’s ear, working on his sympathies, trying to take him away from me. He was never, ever going to wed a deviant such as you. A man may enjoy novelty from time to time but he’d never marry his whore.”

  “Better to be a whore than a—”

  Maria tightened her hold on her arms. “Ah, I wouldn’t be so free with my opinions if I were you. Need I remind you? I am the Duchess of Saxby and I am now a very wealthy and powerful woman, again. You are just a common little harlot. The former plaything of the Earl of Ruel and even he doesn’t want you anymore. You’re a worthless little gutter rat and if I were to squash you, the world would take as little heed as though you had been vermin in truth.”

  Fear washed over Rebecca, trickles of chills racing all through her body. Her heart began to beat harder and she reminded herself she had better rein in her tongue and find out what the bloody she-devil wanted. “You’ve made your opinion of me quite clear. But I still don’t understand what you want from me.”

  Maria let go of her arms and stepped back. A cunning, cat-like smile curved her lush red mouth. “You will testify, swear under oath on your very soul, that the Earl of Ruel engaged in sodomy with a variety of men.”

  Shock washed over Rebecca like the sleet that had been falling outside earlier. “I can’t do that. Not only is it a complete falsehood, it would ruin him. It could sentence him to death.”

  Maria smiled broadly, her eyes lighting with pure pleasure. “Yes, it could.”

  Nausea erupted within Rebecca’s stomach and acid lurched up her throat. She swallowed it back. Then swallowed a second time. She had to take several deep breaths before she could speak and when she did so, she spoke slowly, carefully. “It is an absolute lie.”

  A mean glint in Maria’s stare turned the smile into something truly terrifying. “Then you had better be convincing when it comes time to testify.”

  “I’ll never tell lies about Jon—or do anything else that could possibly hurt him.”

  “Do you know what Ruel did to me?”

  “No, just as I am not entirely sure what you did to make him act in such a drastic way towards yourself. But I am sure you did something. Something utterly wicked.”

  “I merely told that mousy little bride of his the truth about her late husband. It was Lady Scott who really upset Anne Lloyd.”

  “Lady Scott is your puppet, everyone knows that.”

  “Nothing was done to Anne Lloyd that would have warranted his despicable actions towards me. He flattered and bribed my maids until one of them gave in and stole—stole!—my private diaries and letters. All of them. Then he showed them to select members of Society.”

  “What could possibly have been in those diaries to cause Society to respond so decisively and to shun you?”

  “Certainly nothing as bad as you have done. Or Ruel himself for that matter. But no one cares what whores do. And no one cares what gentlemen do, either.” Maria paused briefly. “Except when gentlemen do what they do to each other.”

  “Whatever happened between you and Jon, that remains between you and him. I will not lie for you. I will not hurt him, not in any way possible.”

  Maria’s face grew mottled, splotchy red and white, and her smile vanished. Those pale grey eyes seemed to burst into flames of pure rage. “If you don’t do this favour for me, I’ll see you hang!”

  * * * *

  I’ll see you hang!

  Rebecca pulled the collar of her pelisse together against the biting wind and hurried up the stone steps. When she had refused again, Maria had become enraged, screaming at her. Rebecca had run from the chamber, all the way down the stairs and out into the night. No one had tried to stop her. But Maria’s threats had echoed in her ears the whole way. And having seen the woman’s manic fury, Rebecca had become almost as unhinged herself. Feeling like the devil himself was breathing hot fire on her neck, she had run faster and faster, until she’d had to stop in an alleyway to catch her breath in huge gulps, so dizzy she had bent over and nearly become ill.

  Now the back of her nape prickled and she
couldn’t lose the feeling that she was being followed. Watched.

  She shook herself. It was just her imagination. She must regain control of herself. She rapped the ornate knocker on the large green door.

  You better do as I bid or you’ll hang!

  The words hammered so strongly in her mind, they seemed to echo on that same blustering wind that penetrated her clothes, chilling her to the bone. Icy rain pelted her face, causing several loose ringlets to cling to her skin as they were blown over her eyes. She raked her hand over her face to clear them away. Shivers wracked her body.

  The door opened and through rattling teeth, she gave her name to the servant. Allowed inside, she refused to give up her wrap. She’d hurried here to Mr David Kean’s residence because his was the closest friendly house to the Saxbys’ mansion. She didn’t want to risk the time it would have taken to go to Father’s shop or even her own home in Marylebone. Familiar with this house, she hurried to the main hall.

  Low laughter and lingering moans echoed throughout the large chamber. Large brass-framed mirrors reflected the bared breasts and entwined limbs displayed on the various chaises and settees that were upholstered in lush satin and velvet and shimmered in shades of deep pink and rich burgundy. The scents of sensual musk and spicy cinnabar and cigar smoke mingled with the odour of sex.

  Rebecca’s heart pounded in her ears and she swallowed hard, trying to hold herself together.

  Jon would know how to help.

  He would know what to do.

  Surely he would…

  No, no, she must think positive thoughts. She must not give in to panic. Not yet.

  She had intended to ask Kean for paper and pen so she could send a note to Father and tell him she wouldn’t be home tonight. Then she would send for Jon. He could come here directly and meet with her without any risk of undue talk.

  But no, wait. What would happen in Jon’s house, with its large staff of gossipy servants, if a letter bearing feminine handwriting on the address came this late in the evening?

  Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all.

  She would have Kean write the note and send it. If it bore his name and handwriting, there would be less chance of causing suspicion and distress for Jon’s young—and frankly, rather nervous—little countess.