by Suzi Love
“I stayed cool and calm last night even when he asked─” Carina half-turned back to the window so she wasn’t facing Gertie. “No! Demanded that I agreed to his terms of becoming his latest courtesan. To service his needs, was how he expressed it.”
Gertie gasped. Despite the depravity her friend had viewed during her life, such vulgarity from the Duke upset her. “You didn’t mention that His Grace propositioned you, and in such a crude manner. Perhaps this is a mistake after all and we can find another way to verify the whereabouts of those dreadful men who paid your husband.”
“I’m not scared of the Duke of Stirkton, nor his demands. I’m confident I can coerce him into giving me what I need. Then we never have to see him again. Ever.”
“My dear, I suspect that you mightn’t need to see His Grace, but you’re drawn to him nevertheless. And though his standing doesn’t intimidate you, the old emotions he dredges up for you scare you to death.”
“No, Gertie, the past needs to be resolved once and for all. Then we can concentrate on sorting out Georgie’s problems.”
“Now that we’re in London, we can ensure that your sisters are introduced to some gentlemen; decent gentlemen.”
“We must move faster on that account too, because our disgusting stepbrother is already making plans to sell them off to the highest bidder in the same way he did with me.”
“Oh, no, not already. Poor, poor Georgie. She hasn’t recovered enough to be in the same room as men, and certainly not enough to be put in the hands of another husband.”
Carina walked to the settee, dropped down next to her friend and took Gertie’s free hand. “I’ll fight Peter if he tries to sell Georgie for a second time, and I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him.” She clutched Gertie’s fingers. “The worst part is knowing that all Peter’s plans and the horrors he’s brought into our lives are simply to fill his ever-diminishing coffers.”
Gertie’s brow creased with worry lines and reminded Carina again of how lucky she was to have found such a stalwart friend after the Earl’s death, at a time when most of the county had labelled her as a murderess. Gertie had convinced their village that Carina was a giver rather than a taker and too kind a person to have taken the Earl’s life, no matter how much that evil old man had deserved to have it snuffed out.
“We need to reintroduce Georgie into society in a slow and careful manner,” Gertie said. “Without having to deal with your brother.”
“Stepbrother!”
“I apologize, and I can well understand why you hate any hint of a blood relationship between you.”
“I despise Peter and I always have, and so do Georgie and Lucy. Oooh! As for that scheming wife of his—” Carina shuddered. “There’s something cold and calculating about Clara and I’ve never trusted her.”
Gertie nodded. “There was something sinister and unsavory about the way she watched the girls yesterday when we visited. As if─”
“Go ahead and say it. As if she wished someone would abduct the girls, or even murder them in their sleep.”
“No, it was more like she was totting up in her head how much money the two of them might fetch if she sold them to a bawdy house.”
“Good grief!”
Carina jumped up and resumed her pacing as she thought about Gertie’s observations. Her friend was an excellent judge of people and their motives. “Either way,” she said at last, “Peter wants more gambling money and Clara…Well, I can’t even guess at her motives, but it’s obvious the girls can’t stay in that sinister household.”
“If we put our heads together, we’ll come up with a plausible excuse to remove them. After that, we can work out how to keep the girls away from Peter.”
“We’re running out of time and I dread to think of Georgie’s future, and then Lucy’s when she reaches a marriageable age.”
Carina glanced out at the square for the twentieth time and clutched the window casing for support when she saw that striding along the pavement towards her house was an exceedingly tall man, dressed in up-to-the minute fashion and wreathed in an aura of power and control. The Duke of Stirkton cut such a superior figure that men stepped aside and women turned to stare as he passed them on the footpath. The fact that he was oblivious to their attention and admiration made him more interesting, and for the first time in many years Carina felt a glimmer of hope.
“Oh, Gertie, yes, yes,” she said, clapping her hands and spinning in a giddy circle before the window. “I think Georgie’s way out is about to present itself, and sooner than we thought.”
Gertie joined her at the window but groaned aloud. “Oh, no, no, no, Carina! Not him. The Duke of Stirkton is not the best person to help us introduce the girls to gentlemen.”
“Why not? He may not be a perfect solution but, with his influence in society, he may provide our best way forward.”
“You were only going to ask to see his grandfather’s papers. Look at whatever the Duke may have already found, whether it’s letters, directions, or anything else to help us work out the names and locations of those two men.”
“And to reveal the identity of that fourth man who paid so much money to spend a night with me.” Carina gave an exaggerated shudder. “To take my fourth virginity.”
“Thank the good Lord that man hasn’t come looking for you in the last three years.”
“My original plan was to ask the Duke if I could see his grandfather’s old papers. But he may be more help than we expected, a veritable Good Samaritan. And the best thing is that the Duke need never know. With a little subtle coercion, he can be made to believe that helping the girls is entirely his idea.”
“Good heavens! His Grace was correct to label what you’re doing as blackmail. The man is no fool, Carina, and the more involved he is in your plots and deceptions, the more of a threat he is to us.”
“It’s his fault, not mine. He raised the stakes by stipulating that I must go to bed with him in exchange for helping me, so it’s only fair that I increase my own demands. The Duke was raised to protect the Meacham name at all costs and he can’t afford to let me expose him.”
“I think you’re underestimating the man. He’ll not be manipulated by anyone and especially not a woman. After all, he was raised to think of women as objects to keep his house and warm his bed, and nothing more. The Duke refuses to dance more than twice in an evening and barely acknowledges women, apart from the wives of business associates.”
Despite knowing Gertie meant her insights as a warning, Carina was more intrigued than ever with the man and used the safety of her curtain to hide behind and study him. The perfection of his clothing indicated the pretty penny he spent on his appearance, although his wealthy estates ensured he’d never need to agonize over any merchant’s accounts.
Maximus Meacham held his head at a haughty angle, his long legs striding up her steps, his large frame stretched as tautly a hunting tiger’s. Though it wasn’t his outer trappings but his innate hauteur that commanded attention on the street.
“If Max has such a low opinion of women, it’ll be even more satisfying when I bring him to his knees.”
Gertie put her hands to her head and moaned. “You’ve that look on your face again and it never bodes well.”
“Nonsense. I’d never upset someone of His Grace’s standing.” She gave Gertie her best falsely innocent smile, and reinforced her lie by fluttering her eyelids, pursing her lips, and clasping her hands to her bosom. “I always, always, play fair. At least, with anyone who plays fair with me.”
Her theatrical performance made her long-suffering friend drop her head in a fit of despair and when Gertie finally looked up again, she scowled at Carina.
“But do you consider that the present Duke played you fair, or did you wrong? Please, please, do the right thing and lay the blame where it belongs: with your step-brother, your husband, and the late Duke. Max was controlled by an evil old man and his tortured childhood would have destroyed a weaker man, the way it did his father
and uncle.”
“How can you defend him after what he did to me?”
“Small villages keep no secrets. Everyone knew the Duke abused his sons and then later his grandson. Birch branches were readily available and easily replaced.”
The door knocker clanged three rimes in a row and their butler shuffled as fast as he could to answer. By the time Tompkins announced their caller, Carina and Gertie sat with their sewing basket between them and were working on their mending. They rose and curtsied in unison, and Carina hid her smile when Max was forced to sketch an impatient bow.
“Your Grace, how nice of you to call.” The only indication of his irritation was one raised eyebrow as she took her time introducing her companion.
“Lady Dorchester,” he said as soon as she’d finished, “I am here as commanded.”
Carina made a show of looking at the clock. “And early, so you must have been eager to see me again, Your Grace.”
“Do you have any more tests for me, my lady? Because it wasted the time of two footman to follow your carriage last night and locate your residence.
Carina experienced a small pang of guilt at Gertie’s hissed breath. But her friend merely said, “I’ll ask Thompkins to bring refreshments,” before she rushed away, leaving Carina face to face with a man whose heated looks could ignite a fire.
“I’m a busy man,” he snapped, once Gertie was out of earshot. “May we now discuss our arrangements for the next month?”
“Fine, let us discuss terms. I possess several letters that involve you.” Max paced her drawing room the same way she’d been doing, creating the same whorls in the same carpet. He made a quick assessment of her room, noting the clock, the settee and every other indication of her wealth. She clasped her hands and hoped he wouldn’t guess why she was flaunting her new social status. Finally, he stopped beside the fireplace and fixed her with his dark stare, while reaching up to caress every curve of her gilded time piece. She shivered when she imagined those same sensual strokes drifting across her body, and when he recognized her helpless reaction, a flare of pure male interest lit his eyes with heat.
“Letters,” he repeated in a low voice.
She willed herself to not lower her gaze and reveal any hint of weakness. This man would squash a weak woman like a bug under his boot.
He said again, “You’ve letters.” A tiny quaver in his voice showed his displeasure. “From whom?”
Good, she wanted him to be flustered, or at least as aware of her as a woman as she was of his masculinity. “Letters from several of the women you’ve kept at your Brent Street cottage over the last two years.”
He stiffened. “What possible interest would I have in letters, or any other worthless pieces of information you’ve acquired in order to blackmail me?”
“Blackmail is such a harsh term for our partnership. I’ve my own set of rules for our time together and if you don’t agree to them, I’ll be forced to make these letters public.”
“My poor deluded Countess, half the men in England keep mistresses and no one cares.” He shrugged. “Try blackmailing some of the married men instead of bachelors like me.”
His casual dismissal of the evidence she’d painstakingly collected over three long year stirred Carina’s irritation and she itched to burst his arrogant bubble. The old general who resided near her at Dorchester swore that the best defense was offense. Along with sage advice, she’d sweeten her offense with a little honey. Before she left London, she’d put an end to the Duke’s treatment of women and show the arrogant man that women, or at least the one woman he was presently dealing with, were as capable of deciding their own fate as men.
“Your Grace. No, no, that’s far too formal, and I prefer your given name.”
He stiffened. “I’m addressed by my title, Stirkton. My given name is Maximus.”
She’d need a large jug of syrup in addition to that honey. “Maximus is too formal for two people who’ve shared such intimate times.” At his shocked look, she pretended to cough to cover her laughter. “As we’re to be such good friends, I’ll call you Max.”
His hands clenched at his sides and he sucked in a long breath. If she rattled his composure often enough he might be desperate to get rid of her by handing over the notebooks, and then she could go back to where she belonged.
He dipped a sketchy nod of agreement. “Address me that way if it’ll make our agreement run smoother, but in return, I will call you ... Carina.”
Her name rolled off his tongue in a slow and seductive wave that sent ripples of awareness up her spine. Despite his blanked expression, her suspicions were aroused. His sensual voice was most likely another expert weapon that he’d developed after he’d spent so much time with practiced courtesans. The Duke’s arsenal of sexual tricks was obviously larger than hers, as she’d had limited experience dealing with the male gender.
“Please do. Friends don’t need formality. I’ve been introduced to your betrothed, Lady Alice Johnston, who I understand is barely eighteen years old.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek and he flexed and relaxed his fingers several times. She’d found his Achilles heel and she was more than capable of applying pressure until he acquiesced to her demands.
“Yes, Lady Johnston is a young girl.”
Interesting that he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “And a very sheltered young girl.”
Having only a moment before resumed his pacing, Max halted in his tracks but kept his back to her. “I’m sure I don’t have to warn you, Countess,” he said, without turning around, “that I’d take it amiss if anyone upset Lady Alice.”
“She’s so innocent and so...” She waited until he turned to face her before waving a nonchalant hand. “…So virginal.”
Max made a noise that was almost a gasp, before resuming his slow pacing around the fringe of the carpet.
“Lady Johnston and her family would be dismayed, shocked even, to hear the details about Brent Street and your past.” She waited until she held his complete attention. “Such a shame to expose someone so sweet and pure to the sordid realities of gentlemen’s lives. To be the object of gossip.” She gave a sigh worthy of a Drury Lane drama and watched his teeth clench.
“Lady Dorchester—”
“Carina.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement of her small victory. “Carina, do you remember the concept I explained last night about women being interchangeable? One bride is the same as another.”
“Not when this particular girl was selected by your grandfather years ago for her perfect lineage.”
“Do your worst. London swarms with fresh chits whose blood lines are as impeccable.” His voice had an edge to it when he said, “I’ll not submit to coercion.”
She strolled to an elegant corner table and retrieved the sheaf of papers weighted down by a paperweight. “Then perhaps these may be of more interest.”
“What? More irrelevant missives about my unbecoming behavior.”
“These are testimonies dictated to me in the presence of witnesses by the girls your grandfather purchased as your birthday gifts in the years before me. And, in one case, by the husband of one of the girls. Your grandfather paid him a handsome sum to remove her from the area, so there’d be no chance of you meeting her again.”
Goading Max was dangerous. He wasn’t known in the city for his largesse, but rather for aggressive business tactics. Bribes to his household staff had revealed that his servants were treated fairly, though Max’s aloofness discouraged familiarity. Chambermaids weren’t subjected to unwanted advances and wages were paid on time. His houses and estates ran like well-oiled machines, rather like the Meacham men.
However, she’d wager that Max would be hard pressed to name more than a handful out of the hundreds of servants who worked in Mayfair, or on his estates in Stirkton. It had taken her three long years after the death of her husband to piece together enough information to feel prepared enough to confront Max. Even then, she’d prayed she didn’t
regret her decision.
“It seems you have something I want after all. How much do you want for them?”
“I explained that it’s not money I want. The one good thing about my marriage is that I’m now extremely wealthy. Oh, and that he was incapable of pestering me in bed. Such a relief to not have another man paw at my body like an animal.”
He swiveled so fast that one leg knocked hard into the side of a chair, though his eyes were so wide with shock at her words that he felt no pain.
“Did I do that? Paw you like an animal?” A jumble of emotions raced across his face, regret followed by horror and, for such a rigidly self-contained man, his outburst made him more human and, somehow, more manly.
No, no; too much was at stake to let down her guard, no matter how much she longed to appease his fears. Eight years had passed, and she no longer believed in fairy tale endings because life was hard and harsh.
But the air sizzled with awareness, and the bond that had tied them years earlier tugged again, and tugged hard. Releasing the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, she shook her head. “No, you spoke to me and took time to comfort me, even though it cost you dearly.”
A deep shudder racked his tall frame. He dipped his head for a moment before re-meeting her gaze, but his light gray eyes had clouded to a stormier, angrier hue.
“What it cost me doesn’t matter.”
“You earned another beating for daring to speak to me.”
His shoulders slumped before he straightened again, but his momentary lapse confirmed the truth of Gertie’s story that his kindness to a frightened virgin had been rewarded with a beating. She pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and surreptitiously dabbed her eyes.
“Grandfather disciplined me often, but it was no harsher than I deserved.”
“Utter rot! If you believe you deserved his punishments, then I pity you because no boy─”
“Man! I was a man. I’d reached my majority when taken to you, and I knew how to follow rules.”
“No, you weren’t allowed to develop into a man at a normal pace, because that evil old man robbed you of your youth.”