A Moment of Passion (The Ladies Book of Pleasures)

by Jess Michaels

  “Perhaps if my family had fought for me, what happened could have been mitigated,” she said, teeth gritted.

  Her father’s smile fell. “Watch your tone.”

  She shook her head. “I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”

  She said it as a statement, not a question, and to her surprise no one argued with her. She nodded her acknowledgments to her brother and sister. When she let her gaze fall on Mr. Cass, he stared at her, eyes bleary with drink.

  “Quite right, a piss poor excuse for a driver,” he snapped.

  She blinked at the completely confusing statement and glanced over at her sister. Lisbeth rolled her eyes and swept up her own drink without explanation or any acknowledgment of her husband’s drunkenly incoherent ramblings.

  With a shake of her head, Jacinda left the room and trudged upstairs. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it as she looked around. She had been placed in the same chamber she had grown up in, with its narrow bed and tiny wardrobe. Her room at her aunt’s had been spare, but it had at least been meant for an adult. Here even her window was tiny and it squeaked when it was opened.

  She did so now and flinched at the sharp sound. “No one will be able to sneak in my window now,” she murmured to the night air. “Not that anyone will ever again.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tried to calm herself. But there was no calm for this situation. She was trapped back in her father’s house, with a family who at turns despised her and yet expected her to land some rich man to elevate their fortunes. It was as if she had been sent backward through time and she would have to relive the worst days of her life over again as punishment.

  She covered her face.

  “I can’t do this,” she murmured out loud, the words sharp as knives to her ears. “Not again. Not again.”

  She had felt so helpless as a girl, unable to escape her father, her siblings, her failures, her life. But it was different now...wasn’t it? As a child, even as a young woman, she had no options.

  But didn’t she have some options now?

  She pushed to her feet. She could leave. Run.

  She glanced around the tiny room a second time and then her feet began to move, almost of their own accord. She grabbed a wrap and her worn reticule. Inside she had a small amount of money, not enough to truly help her, but something.

  She opened her door and found the hall empty. Her body was moving of its own accord now, her mind separated from it as she walked down the hall, clutching her bag against herself to hide it just in case a servant saw her.

  She moved down the stairs, her heart rate increasing with every step. She would have to walk past the parlor where her family remained. If they saw her, she would be forced to rejoin them or make up an excuse for why she was back downstairs. Knowing her father, he might get suspicious and lock her in her chamber next, like something out of a wicked children’s story.

  Only she doubted her prince would come save her, not when he had made it clear that he couldn’t ever care for her.

  She winced and edged toward the wall opposite the parlor. She could hear her family talking now, hints of sharp tones and just a few words here and there.

  “Jacinda...failure...never…”

  She slipped by, trying not to wonder what horrible things were being said inside and made her way toward the front door. There she hesitated. She was on the cusp of running away, with no plan on what to do next.

  She looked back through the shabby foyer. She could go back and no one would know. And the old her would have done it.

  “The old me never would have thought of escape in the first place,” she corrected herself and stared at the door. “But the old me isn’t here anymore.”

  She turned the door handle and stepped into the cool night air. It was a short distance to the street and she crossed it at what felt like snail’s pace. Any moment she expected to hear someone cry out her name, demand she stop. But it didn’t happen. She reached the street, panting not from exertion, but from the thrill of what she’d just dared to do.

  And then she stood there, uncertain. She had never hailed a hack before. The neighborhoods around her father’s were not the best and she had no way to send word to her friends without alerting her family to her escape.

  So she stood, unable to move as she pondered her options.

  But to her surprise, she didn’t have to ponder long. A dark carriage pulled up, stopping before her. It had a crest on the door, so it wasn’t a hack. The door opened and she peered into the darkness to see who had approached her.

  The man inside leaned into the street light, and she caught her breath.

  “Lord Carnthorn,” she gasped, stepping back.

  He smiled at her and stretched out a hand. “Get in.”

  She stared at the hand he offered. Thought about the escape he offered, both now and perhaps forever. And she took his hand and stepped into his vehicle to be swept away to who knew what.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “When you know what you want, take it. You may never get a second chance.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures

  Jason stared at the rather startled-looking footman and repeated the question. “Is the family at home?”

  “I-I—it’s quite late sir,” the young man stammered.

  Jason fought the urge to curse and said, “It is not yet ten and I need to see Lord Whitehearth.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. He had come here tonight to see Jacinda. Since his afternoon with Seth, she had been all he thought about. He hoped by visiting her he would clear his mind of its wildness and perhaps even think of a way to get her out of the mess he had created by going behind her back.

  At the very least, he would be able to touch her, even innocently, breathe in the scent of her skin. Those things calmed him and he needed calm.

  He grabbed the servant’s hand and forced the card he had been holding out into it. “Ask them if they will see me,” he ordered.

  The boy nodded and walked to a parlor just a few doors down from the foyer. Almost immediately, Lord Whitehearth himself came bursting out the door, nearly knocking the servant aside in his hurry to ingratiate himself to Jason.

  “My lord,” he said, holding out a hand, which Jason took with reluctance. The other man shook it hard and all but dragged him toward the parlor he had exited. “What a surprise, but a most pleasant one. You must come in and join in our merriment. There are people here I’m certain you wish to see.”

  Jason yanked his hand free as they entered the parlor and immediately began looking for Jacinda. He saw Charles, a man he had once called friend, though he could no longer remember why.

  There was a lady in the room, Lisbeth, Jacinda’s sister. She tilted her head in a flirtatious display that turned Jason’s stomach rather than his head. Her husband, Mr. Cass, was also there, drunk, as was his normal state any time Jason had seen him at a gathering or club.

  But there was no Jacinda in sight.

  “May I get you a drink?” Whitehearth said. He laughed. “Why do I ask, of course you’ll join us for a drink. It will be like old times, won’t it, Charles?”

  “Won’t it,” Charles replied in a totally flat tone as he downed the entirety of his current drink and held the glass out toward his father to refill.

  Jason ignored them all. “Where is Jacinda?”

  Whitehearth froze on his way to the sidebar and turned back, his face blank. Jason almost expected him to say, “Jacinda who?” but instead, he simply shook his head sadly.

  “Dear girl was tired after all the joy and excitement of returning home to the support of her family,” he explained.

  Jason arched a brow. He doubted the second part was true. “And?”

  “She went up to bed not half an hour ago.” Whitehearth smiled, almost with relief as he returned his attention to making drinks.

  “A bore, that one,” Lisbeth added, and the entire family began to laugh as if it was the funniest joke ever told.

  Jason stif
fened. With their attitudes, no wonder she had struggled in her first Season. No wonder she had turned to a man who paid her any attention during her second.

  “I want to see her,” Jason said through clenched teeth.

  The laughter in the room faded and Whitehearth swallowed hard before he stopped fussing with the decanters on the sidebar, marched to the door and tugged the bell. The same browbeaten footman who had answered the door came at his master’s call a moment later.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Whitehearth’s face was hard and his voice cold. “Send a maid up to get my daughter. Have them tell her she has a visitor and not to dally.”

  The boy nodded and scurried off. Jason shook his head. He felt sorry for anyone who had to work in this house. Or live here. A thought that gave him yet another pang of guilt.

  “So you court my sister.”

  Jason turned at Charles’s tight words and forced a smile. “A funny thing, isn’t it? After all these years of knowing each other.”

  Charles narrowed his eyes. “Very funny indeed. You never saw anything in her before.”

  Jason shook his head. “Actually, Jacinda and I have been friends a good long time.”

  Longer than he and Charles had been, at any rate, though he didn’t add that.

  “Yes, so they say.” His former friend’s eyes glittered with something cruel and Jason stiffened as he prepared for whatever was coming next. “I’ve always wondered what in the world would make you want to be friends with my drab mouse of a sister.”

  Jason arched a brow. “If you wish her to wed, I don’t know why you would berate her in front of a suitor,” he said, looking long and hard at Charles and then her father.

  Whitehearth looked uncomfortable, but he made no effort to stop his son. Jason shook his head. The baron had taught Charles well, it seemed, to crush what he saw as weakness. But they were wrong, because Jacinda was anything but weak. Jason had seen that truth often recently.

  “I don’t think you have any intention of marrying her,” Charles continued, moving toward Jason with an ugly sneer. “I think you might bed her for fun, knowing her past and that she is desperate for any man’s interest, but most especially yours.”

  Jason gripped his fists at his sides. “Have a care, Charlie,” he said, low and dangerous. His patience was stretched thin already and it wouldn’t take much to snap him.

  “Why?” Charles asked. “You know she’s been in love with you for years, probably a decade. I suppose it is kind of you to throw a dog a bone, especially if you get a boon.”

  Jason would have swung on him for the second comment, but he was so shocked by the first that he froze. Jacinda? In love with him for a decade?

  “I think that’s enough, Charlie,” Whitehearth said, finally pressing a hand to his son’s shoulder and easing him out of range of Jason’s fist. The baron then faced Jason. “I too have my doubts of your sincerity in your suit, my lord, though I haven’t said anything about it as of yet.”

  Jason continued to glare at Charles, but he forced himself to speak to Whitehearth. “I assure you—”

  “It’s not that I’d blame you for using her,” Whitehearth said. “But I do hope that after the years you have been a friend to this family, you would not dishonor us by allowing any indiscretion to ruin us further.”

  Jason’s lips parted. They thought he was using Jacinda as a plaything, taking advantage of her past, while only pretending to court her...they thought he would break her heart and that was what they cared about? That when he set her aside, he simply do it in a way that reduced the embarrassment to their family?

  Anger bubbled up in him, rage at the way Jacinda had been mistreated by this gaggle of socially grasping fools who weren’t fit to take her hand, let alone judge her past. He fought to control that emotion, fought to recall that if he lashed out, it would only hurt Jacinda.

  To his relief, he was saved from the struggle when Jacinda’s maid Hattie stepped into the doorway. He thought she might announce that Jacinda was on her way, but when he looked closer, he saw the girl was pale. His heart sank.

  “Lord Whitehearth,” the maid said softly. “I-I—”

  “What is it?” the baron snapped, clearly relishing the power he held over the servants. “Where is my daughter?”

  Hattie shot a glance toward Jason. “She’s gone, sir.”

  “Gone?” Jason repeated, at the same time as Whitehearth, but certainly not in the same tone. The baron seemed annoyed rather than concerned.

  “Yes, my lord.” Hattie now directed her comments toward Jason. “She isn’t in her room and I’ve checked everywhere else I can think of. She’s...she’s gone, as is her reticule and the wrap she was wearing when we arrived here this afternoon.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence at this news, and then the room seemed to explode.

  “That little bitch!” Lisbeth Cass raged, her pale face darkening with very unattractive redness. “She will ruin us all!”

  Jason blinked at her sudden anger, but saw that it was repeated by all in her family. Her father was also angry and Charles had a wicked smile on his face.

  “What is that look for?” he snapped, crossing the room to grab his former friend’s lapel and shaking him. “Why would you smile to know that your sister is missing, in the middle of the night, in a neighborhood that butts against some of the less savory ones in London?”

  Charles yanked himself free and shook his head. “I should have bet money that my stupid sister would ruin anything she had.”

  “We need to find her,” Whitehearth said, his tone calm amidst the storm of Lisbeth’s wailing and Charlie’s crowing. Jason turned toward him.

  “I agree, she could be in danger if she went into the street.”

  He shivered as he thought of just what kind of danger. He pushed those thoughts away. If he was afraid for her, he would not think clearly.

  Whitehearth blinked. “Yes, yes, that too. But I am more concerned about her being seen by someone, roaming about unchaperoned. The last thing we need is more gossip.”

  Jason stepped back. “None of you give a damn about her,” he said, the truth of it fully sinking in. It was one thing to have Jacinda tell him that, but another to see it in action.

  Charles laughed. “Do you?” he asked, incredulous.

  Jason didn’t hesitate, he didn’t think—he just nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  Then he turned on his heel and left them to argue amongst themselves, a conversation that seemed to be more about the consequences of what Jacinda had done rather than finding her.

  As he stepped outside, a servant appeared from the side of the house where the small stable was situated.

  “Need your horse, my lord?” the young man called out. Like every other servant of Whitehearth’s home, he looked ragged and tired.

  “I do,” he said, moving closer. “But also information.”

  The boy looked wary, but he didn’t turn away. “Information?”

  Jason dug into his pocket and pulled out a sovereign. The boy’s eyes lit up at the flash of coin.

  “Did you see Miss Downing, the baron’s eldest daughter, leave the house tonight?” he asked. “Not long ago, less than an hour?”

  The boy looked wary again. “Miss Jacinda?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so, my lord.”

  He eyed the coin again and Jason frowned. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

  The boy hesitated. “There was someone standing outside the gate by the street about half an hour ago, not five minutes before you arrived, my lord.”

  “Man or woman?” he asked.

  “A woman,” the boy admitted. “Though I don’t think it could have been Miss Jacinda, not at this time of night.”

  Jason ignored the servant’s assumptions and pressed the coin into his palm. “What did you see this woman do?”

  The boy shoved the coin into his pocket with a quick glance toward the house. “She was just standing there, looking around. I was ab
out to approach her, shoo her away, when a fine carriage pulled up and a man leaned out and offered her a hand up.”

  Jason tensed. “Did she take it?”

  “’Course,” the young man said with a shrug. “I assume she was a whore, waiting for her man for the night.”

  Jason rubbed his eyes. If the carriage was fine, it could have been sent by Grace or Isabel, though he had no idea how Jacinda would get word to them, nor why a man would have offered her a hand up rather than one of her friends.

  “Do you know what the carriage looked like?” he asked, knowing it was an unlikely help to him. A carriage was a carriage, though perhaps not to a boy who worked in the stable.

  “It was a huge thing, only the best,” the young man said, eyes wide and shining with appreciation. “And it had a big seal on the door, one that those fops use to announce that they’re important.”

  Jason dug for another sovereign as his heart leapt with hope. A seal could tell him exactly who had taken the woman.

  “What did it look like?” he asked, holding up the coin to the light of the house behind them.

  “Hard to tell from so far away,” the boy admitted. “But it looked like there were two horses or some kind of animal, facing each other on the seal.”

  Jason stared at him, his grip tightening on the coin. “Are you certain?”

  He nodded. “As certain as I could be, my lord.”

  “Thank you,” Jason said, giving him the coin. “Now run, run and fetch my horse.”

  The boy scurried off at top speed and Jason stood in the drive, his heart pounding, his head throbbing. Although he had little interest in the seals of the titled families of Society, the one the servant had described was one Jason knew well.

  It belonged to the Duke of Carnthorn.

  Jacinda had never been to the Duke of Carnthorn’s London estate. His parties had never been ones she had been included in. But she doubted the house he had taken her to was the one he shared with his wife or used to entertain his important friends.

  For one, it was small...perhaps cozy was a better way to describe it. From the outside it didn’t scream wealth the way the house of a man like the duke—a man who liked to show off to the world—normally did.