A Lady's Guide to Kiss A Rake: Misadventures of the heart

by Wilde, Tanya

  With an unsteady hand she brushed a bloodied curl out of her friends face. “Belle?” she whispered in a soothing voice, “Wake up.”

  Tears openly streamed down her face and blinded her vision. She wiped at her wet cheeks in furious movements. This was all her fault. She should never have included her friends in any of her projects.

  “Do not dare cry,” Belle’s hoarse voice croaked in her ear.

  Jo still wiped at her tears, glancing down at Belle, who stared at her through swollen eyes, fury evident.

  “Belle,” Jo’s breath came out in a relieved whoosh.

  “How does my face look?”

  “Beautiful.”

  Belle scoffed, propping herself up on her elbows. “It hurts like hell so I know it looks like hell.”

  “You always had terrible logic.”

  “We’re not dead yet, Jo. The men will find us.”

  But Jo knew better. It could be hours before anyone realized they were missing, and by then they may be dead.

  “I’m not afraid to die; I’m afraid for my friends.”

  Belle grunted. “Do be more positive. What we lack in height and form, we make up for in spirit and determination.”

  “Damien and I had an affair,” Jo blurted, feeling the need to at least tell her friend that much. “My brother discovered the truth and demanded we marry. I refused, of course. He wished to do the right thing and I called him rotten to the core.”

  “How did your brother learn the truth?”

  Jo gave her a pointed stare and Belle nodded. “My cousins.”

  “I’m sorry I never told you.”

  Belle’s lip twitched and she flinched in pain. “I knew about the affair.”

  Jo’s eyes flew to hers. “You did?”

  “Of course. You may fault my logic, but I still have eyes.” She suddenly chuckled. “So you called him rotten. That must have been something.”

  Jo managed a small smile. “Evelyn shall kill us when she learns of our deception.”

  “Hopefully we’ll be dead by then.”

  Jo did laugh then, the sounds echoing off the hollow walls of the room. She huddled closer to Belle, noting when Belle flinched. “How bad did they beat you?”

  Belle shrugged. “I may have to forgo corsets for a while. They cracked some of my ribs, I imagine.”

  Jo cursed, anger replacing fear for the first time since she’d gained consciousness. So the torture had already begun? Well, she would not give Cartwright the pleasure of allowing any weakness to show and judging by the stubborn look on her friend’s face, neither did Belle. She understood now why Belle jested to keep the mood light, even in the face of death. Cartwright expected them to cower and cry. He would not know what to do with laughter and defiance.

  “Why did you refuse St. Aldwyn? You obviously love him.”

  Jo sighed. Even now in the face of her imminent doom, she still wasn’t ready to admit that she loved him aloud.

  “You possess a reluctant heart,” Belle murmured. “Nothing wrong with that. There is risk to open your heart to pain, but perhaps it may be more painful to take no risk at all.”

  Jo looked away. They were the same age, yet Belle was far wiser than her. “Why did you decide against marriage?” Jo asked instead. They’d all shared the same reluctance to wed until Evelyn had tied the knot.

  “I’ve never met a man that I believed worthy of all my baggage.”

  Jo blinked. Not the deep heartfelt response she’d been expecting, she promptly burst out in laughter. How like Belle to place it all in perspective. Belle joined in on the laughter, and for a brief moment, happiness bloomed in her heart, glad to have her friend by her side.

  Their reprieve, however, was short lived when they heard the sound of an eerie whistle, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps. The tone caused the hair on Jo’s neck to rise.

  Cartwright.

  “No matter what happens,” Belle whispered, gripping Jo’s hand, the first sign of distress Jo had seen since her friend opened her eyes. “We will stay strong.”

  The door swung open with a whoosh and a tall man entered. The beautiful angel Jo recognized from the theatre. His cold gaze drifted over them, a hawk inspecting its prey. When he noted the bruises on their faces his implacable mask transformed into a fierce scowl.

  His displeasure made it clear he did not like the fact that he had not been the one who inflicted pain upon them. Jo, once again startled by his elegance, gripped Belle’s hand. It may be naïve to presume beauty did not equal evil, but how could such an attractive being be so cruel?

  “If I hear laughter,” he said, a snarl forming on his lips. “I must be doing something wrong.”

  The cool hatred in his voice caused both women to flinch. He sounded so calm and sure of himself. It was frightening. Jo would never give him the satisfaction of their fear, however, so she plastered a smile on her face. “You have only figured that out now?”

  When his icy gaze rested on her Jo had to force herself not to cringe under those merciless eyes, wondering how they’d become so empty.

  “Lady Josephine,” he said, her name rolling over his tongue like some ancient curse. “I’ve heard so much about you these past days. It seems as though we’ve been acquainted forever. Alas, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side, one I intend to pluck out.”

  “I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”

  “Such spirit,” he said delighted. “I will enjoy breaking it.”

  Josephine scoffed. “My spirit is the one thing you’ll never break.”

  Cartwright did not possess an evil smile or even a cruel one. If it had been but so, Jo might not have been so terrified. Instead his smile was euphoric, like she’d just given a small boy a big Christmas present.

  “I’m going to enjoy making you scream.”

  The men arrived at the abandoned butcher’s farm two hours later. Damien cursed at the time they’d wasted, deliberating on a plan and knocking out Warton, twice. When it became apparent that informing Lady Josephine’s brother had been a mistake and after the second knock out, they locked him in the pantry. The man refused to listen to logic or calm his raging emotions. How Jo managed that grizzly astounded Damien. It also attested to her strength, or at least that was what he’d told himself for the past two hours.

  Six hours.

  He should’ve told her he loved her. Now, in the midst of regret, he prayed to the heavens she’d been able to hold onto that strength.

  Derek Shaw motioned the men forward. They had the building surrounded, moving forward from every side. It remained unclear how many men Cartwright stationed inside, but on the outside it appeared too silent. Eerily so. He also understood now why Jo allowed Derek to take the lead on their projects. By all appearances, the Shaws were government men, trained to slip in and out of places without detection. Spies, perhaps?

  It afforded him some comfort, but not much. He glimpsed Craven motion with his hands in James’s direction as they came up to the side of the structure. A loud crack drew his attention to his right, just in time to witness a body falling before James’s feet, the man’s broken neck a telling tale. Damien suppressed a shudder as he stepped over the dead man, following James inside. He spared only the slightest of glances to Derek, whose face displayed no sign of remorse.

  The building, Damien noted, was bigger than he’d anticipated. His heart sank when they searched for a sign of Jo’s presence but found none. Not even a sound could be heard over the rapid beating of his heart. Was she still alive? Were they even at the right place?

  Westfield and Craven entered through another door and shook their heads. Dread crept up his spine at the thought of the women alone somewhere, with no hope of being rescued. Fear choked him. He could not bear her being hurt. What sense did his life make if she was not there to spar with? He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

  “We’ll get her back,” Craven said, coming up behind him.

  Damien nodded, not trusting h
is voice. He would be damned if he started to howl in front of grown men.

  “Would you two stop gossiping like two girls and focus your energy on finding the women?” Westfield snapped.

  Damien attempted a smile at his friend’s disgruntled tone, but his spirits plummeted when a piercing scream filled the air. Not a scream of terror, but one of profound pain.

  His chest hurt. He strained to breathe.

  Josephine.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Damien did not think, only ran toward the sound full speed, uncaring of any danger.

  Jo had refused to scream until pain radiated through her body, causing her vision to dim. They’d tied her down on a table, like a beast, restraining her arms and legs. Up until then, she had not given Cartwright the pleasure of her screams, but she found it hard not to react to the knife that sliced into her body.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead and her gaze flitted to Belle, where they’d shackled her in chains, suspending from the roof, blood dripping from her mouth. Her wrists were scratched open and had to hurt, but still she glared at Cartwright, the only sound uttered from her lips were curses. So this was to be their end, butchered in a slaughter house.

  Her tired eyes flicked back to Cartwright. He must have had hopes and dreams once. How had he become so cold and empty? Was one born with the desire to inflict pain?

  “What happened to you?” Her voice came out as a raspy whisper. The knife stopped, hovering inches above her skin, and for a moment, so did the pain.

  Blue eyes stared at her dispassionately. “Excuse me?” he asked softly, deadly. It was obvious the question annoyed him, irritated by the fact she could ask him such a thing in the middle of his torture session.

  “What happened to you to make you like this?”

  His lips twisted into a snarl, and he seemed more beast than man. “Not everyone grows up in mansions and castles. Some, like me, have to claw their way up from the gutter. It tends to wipe away fancy notions and lofty ideals.” The knife pierced her skin with sudden force, and Jo almost screamed at the pain, but managed to only whimper.

  “Not everyone. I see people rise above their circumstances every day. I help people,” she choked out.

  “You truly believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  Malevolent laughter echoed through the room. “You and I are not so different from one another.”

  “I’m nothing like you. You enjoy torturing people and inflicting pain on others.”

  “And you don’t?” he asked with an evil smile. “You torture people Lady Josephine, you just hide behind your methods.”

  “I do not know what you mean,” Jo whispered in confusion, pain making her dizzy.

  “Hope, Lady Josephine. I’m talking about hope. You torture people with hope, which I might add, is the worst kind of torture. Do you truly believe you help them? You retreat back to your big mansion, eat an eight course meal and live in luxury, safely tucked away in your Mayfair bed. Those people return to their meager belongings and rotten food in their rat-infested homes, believing in a future that will never come to pass.” He leaned closer to her, until his mouth was at her ear, “That is torture Lady Josephine. It causes pain. It might be a different kind and even a different pain than what I inflict, but it still is what it is.”

  “Not true.”

  Cartwright straightened. “Oh come now Lady Josephine, of course it is. Just because you decide to call a rose a flower, does not mean it won’t have thorns. You see, my lady, you and I are much more alike than you think.”

  “You’re an evil bastard, Cartwright,” Belle spat. “You do not know the first thing about what we do.”

  “Ah, Lady Belle, I know far more than you would imagine. You are, however, still going to die, painfully, at my hands and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.”

  “Westfield will come for us.”

  “Westfield?” Cartwright said, laughing. “Westfield doesn’t know the difference between left and right, do you honestly believe he can outsmart me?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jo interrupted. “I’m not afraid to die and you will never break my spirit.”

  He moved so fast she had no time to perceive his intent before a fiery heat ripped through her hand, as he drove his knife straight through her palm. A scream tore through her throat as her whole body trembled in agony. Tears stained her cheeks as the pain worsened with intolerable force. White specks danced before her eyes.

  A whisper of a familiar voice tugged at her, her name on his lips. Damien. Regret filled her heart as she thought about leaving him behind. Here, in peace on her cloud of darkness, Jo could admit to herself that she loved him. She loved him more than she’d ever loved anything in her life. What sweet torture it would be when she looked down from her dark cloud, to find that he loved her back.

  From a distance she heard shouts and recognized Belle’s voice, cursing obscenities at Cartwright, sobs racking her body. Jo tried to reassure her, but her mouth did not seem to move. Darkness beckoned. She floated upward and upward, then a loud crash and then other voices as well, but Jo drifted on a cloud of blackness, happy to be away from the beautiful man with the cold eyes.

  Curses sounded behind Damien, followed by the plodding of footsteps as they rushed after him. Westfield came in beside him, his face as pale as Damien’s, urgency riding them hard.

  Four big men filled the hallway, ready to stop their rescue.

  “Oh good, company. I’ve been itching for a fight,” James said with in an ominous tone.

  The men hesitated for a slight moment, but it was enough for Damien to charge passed them, leaving them for the others.

  Another scream tore through the halls and bile rose at the image of what he might find. Damien steeled himself for the worst. He heard the voice of Lady Belle, shouting obscenities at Cartwright. He must be near.

  With his resolve steeled he burst through the door, the sight that greeted him stealing his strength and his knees hit the floor with a thud. Westfield burst in moments later and an audible gasp tore from his throat. Derek Shaw also appeared, a pistol aimed straight at Cartwright’s heart. Only then did Damien realize he’d sunken to the floor. The pistol fired, hitting Cartwright in the shoulder.

  Westfield grabbed Damien by the jacket, hauling him up and without a word pushed him in the direction of Jo, who lay lifeless on a table, strapped down. The monster had strapped her down. He stumbled in her direction, ignoring the sobs of Lady Belle, as he dragged his feet over to Jo, tears welling at the sight of her bruised and battered body.

  With shaky fingers Damien trailed Josephine’s cheek, her skin still wet where his finger traced. He was too late. Cartwright had tortured her. A bloody knife protruded from her palm. Tears flowed freely now and he wiped at the wetness. He’d lost her.

  “I’m so sorry, Jo,” he murmured in a hoarse voice against her lifeless lips.

  “She’s not dead,” a voice croaked. “She’s not dead.”

  But Damien refused to listen, his attention focused on the peaceful expression on Jo’s face. James, who’d been frozen at the door until Belle’s words penetrated, came up beside him, hitting Damien over the head with a resounding slap.

  “She’s not dead, you dolt,” he snapped and flinched at the sight of the knife still embedded in the palm of her hand.

  “You need to remove that,” he said to Damien, slapping him again.

  “Hit me again and I will beat you to a pulp.” But still Damien felt for the throb of a pulse, not quite believing the man.

  The gentle thud of her heart beat caused him to straighten, his eyes alive with relief and fire. Her pulse was faint, but there.

  “Good. You’re back. We need to remove that knife.”

  Damien balked at the sight, the image now somehow more unbearable.

  “I’ll do it.”

  All eyes turned to Craven, his voice hard and certain. James nodded and stepped aside, leaving Damien at Jo’s side. Westfield had successfully
gotten Lady Belle free and was tending to her wounds in silence. Of Cartwright there was no sight.

  “St. Aldwyn?”

  With a curt nod Damien stepped aside, watching as Craven’s hand gripped the hilt of the knife in a tight grip. In one smooth motion and without warning he ripped it out, causing Jo to whimper in pain.

  Damien’s eyes never left her as he gathered her into his arms while Craven tore a piece of his shirt to wrap her wound.

  “She needs a doctor.”

  Damien nodded. “I’ll take her home, you take care of the monster.”

  “Oh don’t you worry,” Derek said, “he will wish he was dead once we’re through with him.”

  With a nod Damien carried Jo out of the room, Westfield following on his heels with Belle. Josephine lived. Now all that remained was convince her he would be the best husband in Britain and would never fail her again. He did not wish to continue on his journey without her by his side.

  Even if she hated him, he did not care. His arms tightening around her, he dropped his head against hers. “I love you, Josephine,” he whispered in her hair and placed a small kiss on the tip of nose. By now her brother would be livid and broken out of the pantry. So Damien would have some explaining to do, but no one would take her from him again.

  Chapter 20

  Four days later

  “I cannot believe the two of you did all that behind my back.”

  Jo lay in her bed, her back propped up against the wall. She had awoken only an hour ago to find Evelyn seated beside her, holding her hand. According to Evelyn, Belle refused to go home until Jo gained consciousness and remained in the room adjacent to hers. In fact, the entire Middleton clan had moved in, much to her brother’s annoyance.

  Damien hadn’t come to see her yet, but Jo took comfort in her dream where he sat beside her, asleep in the chair Evelyn now occupied. What a wonderful dream, one that had warmed her heart.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Evelyn sighed, trading places with the chair to take a seat on the bed alongside Jo. “I nearly died when Grey told me what happened and demanded to know if I was part of it. He did not believe me when I said no. The deranged man almost took me over his knee!”