The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne

by Jayne Fresina

  She hadn’t realized anyone made a sacrifice for her, and it took a moment to compose her countenance. Of course, she might have known this room was far too good for her.

  “I am immensely thankful, sir,” she managed finally, “but I’m afraid I cannot accept this generosity. It is not proper.” Alarmed, she wondered where she could spend the night now, if all the other rooms were indeed taken.

  “It is not a matter for debate, Miss Vyne,” the gentleman replied.

  “Oh but I—”

  “Miss Vyne, you are in my custody until I hand you over to the proper authorities tomorrow. I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.”

  “No choice?” She stared, nonplussed. “Proper authorities?”

  He smiled again, sadly, almost apologetic. “You are under arrest, Miss Vyne. For theft of the Hartley Diamonds.”

  She opened her mouth and tried to push words out. None came.

  “I have kept you from your sleep long enough, Miss Vyne. Good eve to you.” Again he bent his head, revealing a small bald patch as he swept off his hat, backed out swiftly, and shut the door. Immediately, she heard a key turn in the lock.

  Startled, she flung herself at the door and rattled the handle, but it was secured. She sank to her knees, peered through the keyhole, and found a gray eye blinking back at her.

  “Sir,” she exclaimed. “There has been some mistake. A very dreadful mistake. I insist you unlock this door at once.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Vyne. It is more than my life’s worth to let you out.”

  “But I can explain everything.”

  “Indeed, madam, and so you will. To the justice of the peace tomorrow in Morecroft.” The eye disappeared.

  Fuming, Ellie tossed her bonnet across the room. That damned rake Hartley had not bothered to come after her himself, but sent this man to apprehend her. He didn’t know her so well as he imagined, if he thought she’d go meekly to a hanging. She ran to the window and tried the latch, only to find it thickly painted over, impossible to open. Returning to the door, hatpin in one hand, she knelt again and thrust the sharp end into the keyhole, intent on working the lock free.

  She heard a low cough, and then Mr. Grieves’s voice through the door again. “I do not advise it, madam. Evading justice will only make things worse. And you will find no horses free to take you anywhere tonight.”

  She sat back on her heels.

  “I suggest you enjoy your supper, Miss Vyne,” he added. “It may well be your last.”

  ***

  “Did she fall for it, Grieves?”

  The valet climbed up into the hayloft beside his master and sneezed hard. “I believe so, sir. Her comments as I left her locked in were quite strident, and her oaths fulsome.”

  James grinned, falling back on one elbow. “Good. And Ophelia Southwold?”

  “She awaits you in the darkened recesses of a small buttery behind the kitchens. I explained to the lady that you are on a mission of the utmost secrecy and that you will be with her in due course.”

  “How long do you think that will keep her out of the way?”

  “A considerable duration, sir.” Grieves showed him a small key. “I took the liberty of locking her in also. The kitchen maid is a particular friend of mine.”

  “Really, Grieves? You are a dark horse.”

  “One tries one’s best, sir. Pleasures should be taken where they can be found.”

  James chuckled. “Indeed.”

  Grieves rustled about in the hay, burrowing deeper. “’Twill be a bitter-cold night.”

  “Could be worse. At least it’s not snowing.”

  The valet rubbed the end of his nose, where a drip of water had just landed after falling gracefully through the air from a hole in the roof above. “Forgive me, sir, but you did say this is a prank on Miss Vyne?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see, sir. Yes. She must be greatly put out. In that large, warm, comfortable room. That should have been ours.”

  “I hear your tone, Grieves, and I remain unmoved by it.”

  “I am just too ill educated to understand the jest I suppose, not having the benefit of a Cambridge education.”

  James sighed and shook his head. “You keep my coat, Grieves. I’ll manage without it.” He was hot enough, thinking about the punishment soon to be carried out on the wayward Miss Vyne.

  He gave her half an hour before he returned to the room, unlocked her door, and stepped inside. He expected to find her in a state of panic, ready to repent and plead for his help; instead he found the woman calmly seated, filling her face with his supper.

  “There you are, Hartley. Now you can explain to that man, Grieves, that this is all a silly misunderstanding.”

  She took her arrest with a pinch of salt, he thought grimly. Probably been in similar situations before. The wretched liar looked quite at home in her imprisonment. She’d cost him a thousand pounds, he reminded himself yet again. She’d better be worth every penny. Every damn penny. It must be almost twenty years since he’d raced about the country after a woman.

  Crossing the room toward her, he swept off his damp hat, aware of his unsteady hands. Twitches of anticipation moved through his body like dominos falling and tipping into one another. The bed in the room loomed large—as if it had grown since he was last there. He took a breath, reminding himself that he was in charge of this game. He was a Hartley, and Hartleys were always in control.

  He managed a tight smile. “Misunderstanding?”

  “That’s right. I didn’t steal those diamonds, and you know it.” Brazen chit.

  “Do I?”

  Fork halfway to her mouth, she paused. “You know the count won them at cards.”

  “The count?”

  “That’s right,” she replied, slowly and condescendingly, as if to a child.

  He pulled up a chair to sit across the table from her. “I’m not certain I can convince my grandmother of your innocence, since you, and not he, possess the diamonds. She will blame you, naturally, for the theft.” He licked his lips, tasting the rain. “I’m inclined to find you guilty myself. It goes against the grain to do otherwise with you.”

  “James Hartley!” She pushed back her chair and stood swiftly. “Those diamonds were never stolen, and you know it. They were acquired over a game of cards.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Given to the count by your floozy Ophelia Southwold. Can you deny that you are as much at fault for losing them as he is for taking possession?”

  Again he thought she’d missed her calling. Should have been on the stage.

  Leaning back in his chair, James kept his face stern. “The diamond I received this morning came from you, madam. How did you get your hands on his loot?”

  She had a ready answer. “I asked the count to give them to me.”

  “Perhaps you were in it together all along?” He needed to know how much she’d participated in knowingly. “Or is he out to get something more from me, by using you and my diamonds as bait?”

  She shook her head, and agitated curls bounced around her face.

  “I’ll see what can be done to clear your name, but if the count can’t be found…” He slowly crossed his legs and set his hat over his knee. “Save yourself and tell me where he is.”

  She began to pace, and her muddy hem swirled around her ankles. “You know he did not steal that necklace.”

  “Lady Southwold will swear he did steal it from her.”

  “She’s lying, of course! She gave them to him, and she offered much more. Things I am too ladylike to speak about.”

  He laughed scornfully. “And I should believe you…why, exactly?”

  “Don’t then! I’m sure I don’t care.”

  “Where is your lover now? Does he know you’re here with me?”

  She stopped with her back to him, her shoulders tense. “I don’t know where he is.”

  Fibber. He and I have a very close connection. We are almost inseparable.

  Spinning around, she sudde
nly ran over and knelt before him, fingers steepled under her chin. “I know you can save me, James. Please. I didn’t mean any harm. Surely you can speak on my behalf to the justice of the peace in Morecroft.” Her eyes were very big, shining. “I’ll do anything.” She laid the side of her face on his knee, and he almost leapt out of his chair. “Dear James.”

  “Well,” he coughed. “I’ll try my best.” He shifted uncomfortably on the chair, aroused by her closeness, her sudden vulnerability—something he’d never seen in her before. She kissed his knee and then, with her shoulders, nudged his thighs apart, working her way between them. Her soft hands slid up his chest, finally reaching his neck, where she clasped them tightly around his nape. Her face was close enough to kiss.

  “I know you can save me, James,” she whispered.

  With her body pressed against his, he couldn’t speak. The ravenous stirring of desire held him down in that chair, at her mercy.

  “You will save me, won’t you?”

  She kissed his chin, then all the way along his jaw to his ear.

  “I can see now I’ve been a very bad girl.” She licked his earlobe. “Only you can amend my ways.”

  Aha! At last she saw it too. His hands went to her bottom, gripping it tightly, holding her against him. “Yes,” he ground out, eyes closed, teeth grazing her cheek. “Yes.” He stroked her through her gown and squeezed her rounded flesh, lurid ideas of how to amend her ways filling his mind.

  Hands to his shoulders, she pushed back to see his face. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  He stared as his pulse pounded in his temple.

  “Let’s not be foolish. We each have something the other needs. You need a wife and, unfortunately, I need money.” She patted his cheek, hard enough to shake raindrops from his stubble. “But I will not beg you for your help, James. I’ve survived twenty-seven years on my own wits, and I daresay I can find another way to keep my family solvent. I’ve managed this long. So, if you want a weak woman dependent on you for everything, choose someone else.” As she rose to her feet and brushed down her skirt, she added, “If you want a relatively painless marriage with a woman who won’t ask questions, or expect your love and affection, or demand you spend time in her company and sulk when you don’t”—she finally drew a sharp breath—“then you’ll speak to this Grieves person, let him know it was a misunderstanding. Otherwise, I’ll take my chance with the judge, and you can find another woman to marry you. Something you’ve evidently had no luck at, or you’d never consider me.”

  Point made, she returned to her seat and continued her meal. His meal!

  James retrieved his hat from the floor and tapped it on his thigh. So that’s how she wanted to play. She still protected the count—the man who used her for his own blackmail schemes. Perhaps she’d taken a share of that thousand already. It could have been her idea.

  “Why did you drag me into the country like this, Vyne?” No doubt her excuses were colorful and entertaining.

  “I had to get you away from London and all its dissolute distractions, because I want your sole attention.”

  “Why?”

  She sipped her ale, those wide violet eyes watching him over the rim of her tankard. “I’ll give you those diamonds back on one condition. Five conditions, actually.”

  He smiled stiffly, wishing his blood would cool, but her caress left him piping hot, rigid as marble. James didn’t know what to do with himself. As, no doubt, the temptress was aware. “Hmmm?”

  “I want your stud services for five nights. While we’re in the country together.”

  Incapable of speech, he watched her pour ale with a steady hand, her expression unreadable. God in heaven she was a menace, he thought, more dangerous than he gave her credit for in the past.

  “Five nights for five diamonds,” she added as if he might not understand the significance of the number. “You see, I’ve been thinking about your marriage proposal. The truth is, I would like a child.”

  The surprises continued falling around him like ripened walnuts.

  Then she added, “But what if you can’t give me one?”

  “I can’t say the possibility had occurred to me.”

  “Of course not. To save us both unnecessary trouble, I’ll give you five nights to perform your duty. We should make certain everything works. Is that agreeable to you?”

  Words would not form.

  “I don’t mind if the five nights are consecutive, Hartley. Whatever is convenient. If I become pregnant, then we’ll marry to make my child legitimate. If I do not conceive a child, then we’ll both be free to go our separate ways. No harm done.”

  One thing was for sure, he realized, she would never cry on his shoulder with her problems. She didn’t want to be saved by him, or comforted.

  She wanted to be serviced.

  “You’ve been thinking this through, obviously.”

  “Of course. To embark on any arrangement with a man like you is a mistake, unless one considers everything.”

  “Everything?” He was incredulous, although that was perhaps not a strong enough word.

  “You may not be up to it, and I should hate to agree to this convenient marriage arrangement and then one day wake up and find I’m too old to have children.” She shot him a glance that could be described as unladylike at best, blatantly lusty at worst. “Why shouldn’t I give you a chance to provide me with the child I want?” Her eyelids looked heavy again. The tip of her tongue swept her upper lip, wiping off a little froth from the ale. “With your looks and my brains… Don’t look so peevish, Hartley.” She chuckled. “Bedding me won’t put you out too much. I’ll be very good, I promise, and oblige your every desire.”

  Her bold, teasing words made him restless, and his shaft stretched uncomfortably another inch, trying the material of his already too-tight breeches.

  “Five nights for five diamonds, Hartley. You do want them all back, don’t you?” Picking up her fork, she finished the last few bites on her plate, making the most of his hospitality. And his mute confusion. “There is only one other thing,” she added.

  Of course, there must be something more.

  “For those five nights there’d better be no other women.”

  James choked out a response. “And no other men.”

  She nodded. “Good. I shall have your sole attention then for five nights. In the country.”

  He bowed his head. “And I shall have yours.”

  The fire in the hearth fizzled and spat as rain came down the chimney and tried to put it out. He knew the feeling. Nothing had put his flames out either. She’d lit them by crawling between his thighs and pressing her body to his. Now she’d left them to burn, deliberately.

  “Unless, of course,” he added quietly, “you don’t want to give me up in five nights.”

  The impertinent vixen had the gall to laugh. “I’ll take that gamble.”

  James said nothing. His fingers tapped his hat, and his gaze fixed on her lips as she swallowed the last morsel.

  “And this is not an engagement, Hartley. It is an agreement to marry if—and only if—there is a child. I’ve had little fortune with engagements, so I prefer not to call it that.”

  “Whatever you wish.”

  Several moments passed while he gathered his thoughts, which she’d massacred into little pieces with the long sword of her tongue. Just when he thought he was in control of this situation, she’d snatched it away again. He did not like this. Not at all.

  “Perhaps you’d like some ale?” she inquired. “You look rather apoplectic.”

  “No. Thank you.” He could see he’d need his wits about him tonight.

  He stood, walked to the door. When he swung around to face her again, she was licking her fingers and humming carelessly.

  She paused and looked surprised he was still there.

  “We’ll begin now then,” he said, turning the key with a loud click.

  “Now?”

  “You said at my convenien
ce. Madam.” He didn’t trust a curl on her head, and she wasn’t running away from him again. Never again.

  Chapter 10

  She glanced at the remains littered across the table and realized there was nothing left to eat. No excuse to put this off.

  He was pulling his shirt over his head. “Haste, Vyne.”

  Her body stirred, and her pulse beat fast enough to whip egg whites into meringue. “Could you look in my trunk for a Brussels lace bed robe?”

  His knuckles rested on his hips as he glared at her.

  “I’d like to change behind the screen,” she explained.

  Still he hesitated, already half-naked himself. From his expression, she worried he might not only refuse to get her robe but would rip the clothes off her with his teeth. Firelight swept over the ridges of his fine torso as he stretched his arms overhead, delaying.

  “You do know what Brussels lace looks like?” she asked politely and with a deliberate smile. “I’m sure you’ve seen plenty. Or are you usually too inebriated to notice?”

  Finally he stalked to her trunk, kicked the broken lid open, and crouched to rummage inside. He withdrew the flimsy garment and tossed it at her. She scuttled gratefully behind the dressing screen in one corner of the chamber, where she took a few moments to prepare and compose herself. Peeking between the panels of the screen, she watched him undress. He kicked off his boots and then stripped his breeches and smallclothes. His every gesture was sharp, concise, angry. She’d had no idea that demanding a stud service would infuriate him to this degree. But this affair had to be on her terms. She couldn’t let him make the rules. She risked enough to be with him as it was.

  He leapt onto the bed and sprawled there, waiting for her. Of course, he thought her experienced, but Ellie’s practical knowledge was based on her one encounter with Walter Winthorne’s small equipment and a few, merely exploratory misadventures with her father’s groom when she was young and curious. She knew what happened next, but there were variants—mysterious things she’d only heard about. She eyed his muscular length and felt the warm heaviness between her thighs. James Hartley, her wicked plaything for five nights.