Joss and The Countess (The Seducers Book 2)

by S. M. LaViolette

  “Pfft! Enamored.”

  “Fine. I love her.”

  “And her?”

  He pulled away far enough to look at her face. “Are you jesting? What do you mean, and her? Of course she doesn’t love me.”

  Mel thrust his arm away, an expression of fury distorting her lovely features. “What do you mean, of course? Because she is a countess and you are a groom? Do you think that is enough to stop people from falling in love?”

  “I think it’s enough to keep people from doing anything foolish about it.” His words gave her pause. “Good Lord, Mel. You, of anyone, should know how hopeless such emotions are. Is there anything more pitiful or predictable than a whore falling in love with her protector?”

  She eyed him scornfully. “So, you think this is all you are to her—a whore?”

  Her words hurt, even though he’d said the very same thing himself. “I don’t think she wanted to hurt me, but I do think she wanted only to play. And me? Well, I’m not built for such games and have no interest in playing them. It was well enough that the situation came to a head when it did. It is not the kind of life I want for myself.” He snorted. “The life of a kept man.”

  She twisted around in his grasp, staring up at him. “Would that have been so bad? After all, you could have spent more time with her.”

  “I didn’t want her that way.”

  “Oh, Joss.”

  He looked down into her sad eyes. “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Because you are such a dreamer. Haven’t you learned yet that life never gives you what you want? Sometimes you have to take what is offered and shape it to your needs. Sometimes you have to take the best you can find.”

  Her eyes had gone distant and he knew she wasn’t just talking about him.

  He wanted to ask her who she was thinking about, but he knew she would never tell him. For all her claim to be open she’d never shared the details of her personal life—at least not the part that dealt with any lovers she might have had. Real lovers, not those who paid her.

  “Is it too late?”

  Joss blinked at her question. “Too late?”

  “Yes, perhaps you can go to her and speak to her—tell her—”

  He snorted. “No. It’s too late.” He recalled her stricken expression—her eyes—from that night.

  “No,” he said again, more firmly this time. “It is far too late.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Alicia held the letter with both hands to keep from shaking:

  “My Lady:

  I have recently learned we have a mutual friend named Joss Gormley.”

  “Joss.” Alicia stared at the page without seeing it. The familiar name was almost enough to cause her physical pain. She lifted up the single page and continued reading.

  “If you are so inclined, I can arrange for you to spend some time with him this Wednesday. All you need to do is arrive at the direction below at 10 o’clock and I will have a carriage waiting for you.

  I apologize in advance if I’ve been mistaken.

  Yours & etc,

  Melissa Griffin”

  Alicia read the letter through three times, just to make sure she hadn’t missed something. That there wasn’t more. But there wasn’t.

  Today was Wednesday.

  How had Mrs. Griffin known Alicia wasn’t busy tonight?

  Not that she wouldn’t have cancelled a dinner with the King himself to see Joss again.

  This last thought jarred her; she hadn’t made up her mind to accept this offer. Had she?

  Why not?

  She shoved away the thrill of excitement the question generated and reread the letter again, as if she might find more answers.

  Who’d told Melissa Griffin about her? There were two people who knew that she knew about The White House.

  She could rule David out.

  And it wouldn’t be Joss; he’d looked at her with hatred in his eyes that last night.

  Who could it have been?

  A memory tickled and teased her, something Joss had said . . .

  Alicia sat up straight: the duchess.

  Joss had believed the Duchess of Beckingdon had told her.

  Alicia swallowed. His words—words she must have purposely pushed to the back of her mind—could only mean one thing: the duchess must have been his lover—or client or whatever they called such women.

  “Listen to you, Alicia,” she said, startling herself with the sound of her own voice. Such women. Who was she to judge a woman for seeking physical pleasure? With Joss. She closed her eyes against the painful image of her lover with another woman and then quickly opened them when pictures flooded her mind.

  It had to be the duchess who’d told Melissa Griffin. But why would a woman—one who barely knew her and didn’t particularly care for her—do such a thing?

  Alicia shook her head. None of this made any sense. But it was the only clue she had.

  She pulled the bell, went to her writing desk, and wrote a terse, unsigned note.

  She was just sealing it when a servant came—a footman, rather than Annie, much to her relief. The girl had been sullen since Maude’s return.

  She handed him the sealed missive. “This is for the Duchess of Beckingdon. It is to go only to her own hand. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Wait for a response if you find her at home.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “You may go,” she said, turning away from his curious stare. What she was doing was beyond the pale when it came to social etiquette, but Her Grace would either respond, or she wouldn’t.

  Alicia would have wagered a great deal on the former.

  ∞∞∞

  The Duchess of Beckingdon’s response was terse in the extreme:

  “This afternoon at 5 o’clock. I will be at the Clarendon for one hour.”

  There was no signature, which was just as well.

  Alicia would have preferred somewhere she was less likely to be recognized than the Clarendon, but the duchess had given her no say in the matter.

  Her fears were realized the moment she stepped in the door and saw Sir Henry Lloyd, the first lover she’d taken.

  Even through her veil, he recognized her, which she supposed was not surprising given that she’d worn a veil to every meeting with him.

  “Lady Selwood, what an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Sir Henry, what a . . . surprise.” Except it wasn’t. His face was flushed and ruddy and Alicia knew exactly what he was doing here. After all, he’d done it with her on a half-dozen occasions: disappointingly quickly, as a matter of fact.

  “Yes, it is a surprise. Lady Lloyd found herself in need of something or other so we trotted into town for a few weeks.”

  Sir Henry had recently married a rich cit—the daughter of an iron monger—and Alicia knew he’d only married the woman because his finances were at sixes and sevens.

  Alicia said a brief prayer that she’d never been so enamored of his handsome face that she’d made the mistake of marrying the man.

  A flash of cerulean velvet caught her eye: it was Lady Frampton.

  Alicia did not know her well, but she could see the woman was in a hurry to leave. She glanced at Sir Henry and saw him watching the other woman’s hasty departure, a smug, satisfied smile on his face.

  So, that’s how it was. Married less than a year and already dallying. The whole reason she’d broken off their liaison was because of his impending marriage. Alicia refused to wreck a marriage. Especially one that hadn’t even begun yet. It seemed Lady Frampton did not have such qualms.

  Well, who was she to judge?

  “I’m afraid I must dash, Sir Henry,” she said when he turned back to her, his eyelids heavy, his full lips moist and repellant. How had she ever found such a self-important ponce attractive?

  He bowed over her hand and grinned suggestively. “Have a delightful afternoon.”

  She felt his sticky eyes on her all the way t
o the desk. “I am Lady Selwood.”

  The concierge all but vaulted over his small wooden counter.

  “Please this way.” He led her away from the large sitting area toward the private parlors, opening the first door.

  Alicia hadn’t really known what to expect. But the duchess wore her usual, distant smile, and gave a slight nod to acknowledge her.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Selwood.” She turned to the hovering lackey. “Please have tea sent in.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.” The man departed with alacrity.

  Alicia tucked her gloves into her reticule. “Thank you for meeting me so quickly.”

  “Your message sounded rather urgent. How may I help you?” Clearly the other woman was not interested in idle chit-chat and was eager to get away from Alicia as quickly as possible.

  “It’s about my former servant, Mr. Jocelyn Gormley.”

  Red stained the duchess’s pale, dignified face like wine on white table linen. The duchess pursed her mouth, resignation and defeat suddenly aging her twenty years. “I thought as much.”

  An awkward silence followed. Alicia had tried to come up with the correct words a hundred times since making her decision to confront the duchess. What came out was not what she’d scripted in her mind’s eye.

  “I want to know how you are acquainted.”

  The door opened and the concierge entered, accompanied by not one, but two, tea tray bearing maids.

  By the time the fussing was over, tea distributed, biscuits and cakes declined, Alicia’s heart had ceased to palpitate.

  The moment the door closed the duchess set down her untouched cup and saucer.

  “I would like to dispense with this as quickly as possible. I don’t know what he told you, but—”

  “He told me nothing.”

  The duchess’s brow wrinkled with obvious perplexity.

  “Mr. Gormley told me nothing,” she reiterated when the duchess did not speak. “Indeed, he rarely speaks at all, on any subject.” She smiled wryly but the other woman did not return the gesture.

  “I paid a man to investigate his activities.” That much was true, but not in the way it sounded. Still, she could hardly tell the duchess that her stepson was blackmailing her with the information.

  “What has he done that you’d do such a thing as have him followed?”

  Alicia’s face scalded. “He did nothing, Your Grace. As to why? Well, the first time I did it to—”

  “You’ve done it more than once?”

  Alicia bit her lip and looked away. She was making a bloody hash of this—and it was unlike her. She took a deep breath and continued. “The first time was because I wished to employ a servant with exceptional discretion.” She gave the other woman a pointed look. “A man strong enough to offer protection and also disinclined to chatter.”

  The duchess chuckled and Alicia’s jaw dropped.

  The older woman saw her expression and waved her hand in the manner of one waving away smoke and clearing the air.

  “I’m laughing because that would certainly be Joss.”

  Jealousy seared her at the other woman’s casual use of his name. A name she’d clutched to her chest like the most precious of all jewels.

  “But please, go on, Lady Selwood.”

  “Yes, well, I had him investigated the first time and The White House came up as a place he frequented.” The duchess’s eyebrows shot up. “What is it?” Alicia asked.

  Color returned to her high, sculpted cheekbones. “Oh, it is nothing. It’s just that I’d been told he left some years ago now.”

  Alicia could imagine too well what lay behind her blush.

  “I don’t believe he is working there. The man who looked into his activities told me he’s acquainted with the woman who operates the, er, house.”

  The duchess merely nodded, but Alicia would have sworn there was a wistfulness in her sharp gray eyes.

  “In the course of his investigation my man recognized you.” Alicia lied, her gaze flickered to the other woman’s trademark, her distinctive hair. She’d decided to say this instead of mentioning Joss’s purely innocent slip.

  “And you put that piece of information along with my awkward behavior Christmas dinner?”

  It was Alicia’s turn to nod. “I did. So it was you I thought of when I received the letter.”

  “Letter?”

  Alicia looked at the other woman’s face and immediately knew it had not been the duchess who’d said anything to Mrs. Griffin.

  Before she could say anything, the duchess took a deep breath and released it. “I always expected to get caught one day, but I thought it would be a servant betraying me, or perhaps one of the employees from . . . there,” she finished lamely, her cheeks again flaring with color and making Alicia understand just how beautiful the woman across from her must have been, and still was. Not only beautiful but obviously passionate.

  “Please, Your Grace. I don’t wish to expose you—I can leave right now if you wish it. I will never say anything to anyone. But—”

  The duchess’s lips pulled into a wry smile. “But you are curious.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Do you wish me to frank you?”

  Alicia blinked. “I’m sorry—frank me?”

  “A turn of phrase. You see, new members are admitted on the word of other members. You need somebody to vouch for you before you are allowed entry. I believe that is true for the other side of the building as well.”

  No wonder Shelly couldn’t buy his way inside.

  “But if Joss is working for you perhaps—” the duchess trailed off, her expression embarrassed but also curious.

  “No, he no longer works for me.”Alicia hastily turned the topic. “What was that you mentioned—franking me?”

  “Oh. Yes, well it is the only way to ensure any amount of discretion, and even that is not perfect, of course. But I’ve managed to escape outside notice for almost ten years.”

  Ten years! Alicia did the mental math—so that meant she would have been going a few years before Joss and would have been there the entire time he’d worked there.

  Lady Beckingdon smiled at whatever she saw on Alicia’s face. “Yes, I went to him as long as he was available. I knew him only by his first name and I used an assumed name, of course.” She paused. “He is an unusual man,” a slight smile tugged at her lips. “In many ways.” She gave an elegant shrug. “I found he suited my . . . requirements admirably and I engaged him whenever possible.” Her smiled grew, and her eyes sparkled as they looked into Alicia’s. “He was in demand and I never saw him as often as I wished. And then,” her smiled drained away. “And then one day he was just gone.” She stared at Alicia. “It is never enjoyable when a person you have come to rely on—perhaps even like—simply vanishes. But he—” she broke off and shook her head, her expression saying what she couldn’t.

  Alicia was surprised when compassion mixed with the envy, jealousy, anger, and—not the least—lust that boiled inside her as she looked at this woman who knew so much about the man who’d come to dominate her waking and sleeping hours.

  The duchess took a sip of tea but grimaced. “It is cold.”

  “Shall I ring for another?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t stay.” The look she gave Alicia seemed genuine, almost as if she would have liked to stay. Her next words surprised her.

  “I can tell you how you contact Mrs. Griffin, who will then send one of their coaches for you. It is all carefully contrived to protect your reputation.” She gave a sad smile. “A shame such Byzantine measures are necessary when our husbands can set up their mistresses and escort them to the theater right before our eyes. But there it is: a woman’s lot.” Her bitter smile turned almost impish. “But Mrs. Griffin gives us a way to seize something for ourselves—as women, not just ladies. Would you like the information, Lady Selwood? You can use it, or not, it is up to you.”

  She didn’t want to tell the woman that she already had an appoint
ment, but she also didn’t want to reject either her offer by appearing above such an arrangement.

  So instead she said, “Yes, Your Grace, I would like the information, very much.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joss despised himself for his duplicity but could see no other way of finding out how Alicia was doing.

  So he’d invited Carling out for a drink, quite shamelessly pumping him for information.

  The older man had been open, treating him almost as if they were still workmates. He’d told Joss how Lady Selwood had at last stopped ordering bottles to her room and that her crotchety servant had returned.

  “Aye, Miss Finch is a cagey one. It was her who had Feehan deny her drink.” Carling had chuckled, his eyes disappearing in mirth. “Lord, you’d have liked to see it, Gormley; Feehan sent running with a flea in his ear.”

  Joss had laughed, but he hadn’t thought it amusing. It had only served to illustrate just how bad things were.

  “So, things are back to normal,” he’d prodded. “Everyone happy.”

  “No, not everyone. That Annie,” he’d shaken his head, his lips twisted in disgust. “She’d been glad to get Finch’s position, which she wouldn’t have had if Finch hadn’t have refused to bring the countess another bottle. Annie was more than happy to all but pour the poison down the mistress’s throat.”

  “I can’t believe she would do that,” Joss had felt compelled to murmur.

  Carling had eyed him curiously. “Can’t you though? I thought you’d done pretty well to avoid her trap—until she came back last half day crowing like a cock about how you’d had her to your family’s for dinner; that you two were walking out together.”

  Joss had flushed at the other man’s words and sharp look. He could hardly deny the story without calling Annie a liar—nor confess he’d been using her shamelessly for information, so he’d let it pass.

  Carling had taken his silence for something else. “I’ll say this, and I might get a pop in the mouth for it—” he’d given Joss a belligerent look that had made Joss laugh and the other man’s tension drain away.