“When her grace confided in me that he threatened to ship her off, I discreetly went to see the port master, who owed me a boon. The gent confirmed, for a parsel of change, there were arrangements in place to have her shipped to the continent where an Italian man would collect her on the shores of Versailles. The manner of business was not clear, but the port master did say it was not the first time.”
Blood rushed from Avonlea’s face and a chill swept through his body as if he had crawled out of the Thames. “Do you mean to tell me his grace has made those arrangements before Cordelia?” he whispered, clinging to the table.
“Yes. And I doubt he will stop. It is no secret the man is in debt. And a desperate man will go to many lengths to get what he wants.”
Charles closed his eyes. How many women have gone missing over the years? He could not think of anyone. Yet, if necessary, he could pose the question to the local magistrate. At this point, any information to help break the engagement would be helpful.
“You are absolutely positive the port master identified the Duke of Downsbury as the one making the transactions?”
“How many times do I have to say yes, Avonlea? The duke is indeed up to his neck in a scandal all his own, and one can imagine what he’s thinking of doing to the innocent he plans on marrying. Did you know Cordelia came with her own inheritance, and that should she perish before Richard, all the funds would go to him? What do you think now? It all sounds too suspicious, doesn’t it? And in addition, everyone in London knows the young Miss Thompson comes with a dowry that includes her inheritance.”
Charles put up his hand and refused to hear anymore. He could barely see straight. Fury raged through him. If he did not get his temper in control, he was likely to do something he might regret rather than find a means to rescue Emily before she was sent overseas.
Wycliffe pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “I know that look, Avonlea. It was the same one you gave when you found out what Downsbury had done to the marquess.”
“Is it now? This is the look of wanting to a kill a man, yet knowing you can’t within the confines of our laws. Pity we do not live in more barbaric times, or I would take immense pleasure in torturing the bastard any way I can.”
“What you need, my friend, is another drink, maybe two.” Wycliffe flagged down a server and had another brought over. “This round is on me. Now that you’ve consoled me, it is my turn to aid you in any way I can.”
Avonlea doubted his friend could help him, but the thought gave him comfort, knowing the option was there.
* * * *
“Mama, was it truly necessary to hide me in the middle of London?”
“Yes, my dear, it was. If that dreaded earl interferes one more time, I will be the least of his concerns.”
Emily, for the life of her, could not understand why her mother despised the earl. His lordship had been nothing but kind to her and had shown her mother the utmost respect, until now. And what on earth did she mean she was the least of his worries? What kind of plan was the wretched woman up to?
Emily sat at the writing table in the cozy morning room of Lady Talbot’s townhouse, and began scrawling a note to her beloved brother. Someone had to know her mother was up to mischief, and if anyone could stop her, Nathaniel could. She desired he visit her at once, as she doubted she had be permitted to leave without a proper chaperone.
A servant stopped, placing some tea and biscuits in front of her. “Will that be all, miss?”
“Not quite. See that this is sent immediately and, of course, without Mama’s attention, please.”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
There. Now that she had sent word to her brother, she had time to contemplate how to get out of this arrangement with the duke. But every time she thought of him, her thoughts ended up in her evening with Lord Avonlea. His lordship had a wicked tongue to put it plainly. But an oh so devilish charm, and talented fingers, and…
Her mother dashed into the room, ending the visual she was getting of Avonlea and his impeccable male form.
“My dear, I have it on good authority we will be dining with his grace tonight. Come along, we mustn’t tarry. We have some items we must pick up in order to complete your look for the evening.”
“But, Mama, we just passed through town yesterday, and only now you want to pick up things?”
“I will not have you looking so paltry and meager. I have had a few more gowns made up and, to clarify, you’ll be returning again before the week is out to be fitted for your wedding dress and trousseau.”
Emily sighed inwardly. What she would not do to be hidden in a nunnery at this moment. Things were getting far too out of hand, and there was no end in sight she could foresee.
From the moment they returned to town, came home, and changed her gown, Emily could not find a moment of peace. Her dear mama prattled on endlessly. Whether she was to be a duchess or not—the dowager failed to comprehend—the wealth all belonged to her future husband.
That her mother thought that she would be elevated was beyond her scope of understanding. What she did understand was that, the moment a woman is married, she becomes the property of the husband. Losing any voice they may have once had, and no say in how money is spent.
Emily clenched her fists at her side the moment she stepped out of the duke’s carriage. She now understood why his palatial manor was held in high regard. Columns, six of them, graced the façade, much like the paintings of the ancient Greek and Roman palaces. The servants lined up outside the door, where they saw to his entrance. “Your grace,” Emily and her mother said in unison as they curtsied.
“Come along, ladies. I am sure you will find the food and service stupendous and far more superior than what you are accustomed to. Lady Thompson, if you would kindly follow Myles, I would like to take a moment alone with Emily and show her around. She might as well become familiar with her future.”
“Why, of course, your grace,” her mother said, following the butler.
His grace extended his hand, offering it to her, and inclined his head. “Allow me to show you around, my little innocent.”
She shivered. If he only knew the mischief she and Avonlea had gotten into last evening, he would not think of her in that light. In fact, perhaps telling his grace that their engagement is a mistake would help. Yet, a niggle of doubt shadowed her thoughts. She was positive the duke would consider it a relief she had had some exposure to such carnal delights.
When she ascended the final steps of the west wing, the lavishly decorated apartments immediately drew her attention. Just where exactly is he taking me? They stopped at a set of double doors guarded by a footman, who then opened them.
“Your grace. My lady.” The man bowed and stepped aside.
Emily could not believe what she was looking at. The bedchamber was equipped with what had to be the largest platform bed she had have ever seen. Extravagant linens and silk hung down from the canopy. “Good heavens! Is this my room, your grace?”
“It is indeed. I take it you approve? I, of course, understand your demeanor is of contrast to how modestly you’ve been living as of late. Though, I assure you, you will be very comfortable here. Now come along, there is another suite I would like to show you.”
She followed the duke to the end of the hall where another footman bowed then opened the doors. The room’s elegance far exceeded her own. While the bed appeared to be the same in size, the bureau, desk, and the remainder of the furniture were ornately decorated. She suspected she was in his grace’s bedchambers. “It is quite large, your grace.”
“I know. Not that I need your approval, but I am glad you think so.”
He slipped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. A chill crept up her spine, and her skin broke out in goose flesh. She could not have been more disgusted and repulsed by his behavior. His hands wandered up the front of her bodice, stopping at her bosom. He grabbed both her breasts, kneading them hard and making her uncomfortable at how alone s
he truly was in the moment.
“Have you given my offer any consideration, Emily? Would you like to stay here until we are married? That way I can educate you when we are alone on how I would like things done. Mmm. I rather like the idea myself and grow hard at the mention.”
She tried to pull away, but his grace was determined to keep her in his embrace. Then, he released one arm and pulled up her skirts.
“Please stop, your grace. This is wrong. I do not want to marry you!” Emily struggled to pull away from his strong grasp. Yet everytime she pulled back, he leaned in further and harder.
The duke released her, taking her by the hand and leading her deeper into his chambers. She soon found herself staring at a wall of beautiful but nude artwork. “These pieces, I had personally commissioned. They’re stunning, and very well depict some of my true passions. There is much to be learned with the carnal pleasures. Once we are together, I plan on taking you every way shown in all the scenes.”
She covered her mouth to silence her gasp. Some portrayed numerous women pleasuring one man at the same time. Another was an exact replica of the compromising position she had walked in on nights ago.
Emily felt the duke’s heated presence behind her. When she stopped at the next painting, she stumbled back in horror. Heat burned her cheeks. “Good Lord! The men in that painting… How is it even possible for a woman to accommodate so many? You say these pieces were commissioned? Where were they painted? These should be confiscated!”
He sneered. “Are you shocked, my dear? Most excellent… These were all painted by individuals who consented to the acts. I do believe they were all done at a local establishment where your beloved earl frequents.”
How can he say such lies? His lordship would never stoop to such depths of depravity. “I have had quite enough of this, your grace. I am disgusted, embarrassed, and thoroughly shocked.”
He simply laughed. “Get used to it my dear, for once we are wed, it is my expectation that you will master each of those positions. Of that you can be certain.”
Emily’s stomach lurched, and she began to feel faint. Tears fell mercilessly, and his grace only smirked at how sucessfully he held her. “Please, your grace, we’ve tarried long enough.”
He released her after chuckling hard, but just as quickly as he let go, he spun her around to she face him. The duke lifted her chin and secured her so she could not move. “I will not be denied, Emily. You may not live here right now, but when you leave after dinner, the arrangements will commence. The sooner you are deflowered, the better, and the easier it’ll be for both of us. I have big plans for you, but you need instruction first.”
His grace finally removed his hold. “Stay if you want, but if you remain any longer you will not be permitted to leave my chambers anytime soon.”
Emily ripped away. She flew out the door and ran as fast as she could until he caught up with her. She turned to him. “I will not be thusly humiliated. If it is all the same to you, I would rather we waited until the marriage bed. Besides, you have not even proposed yet, and just so we are clear, I refuse!”
The duke growled. “You insolent girl! Who do you think paid for that dress you are wearing? You will do exactly what I say, when I say it, and whom with. Am I understood? You are mine. There is no way out of this contract, whatsoever. Once you give me an heir, I will have no other use for you, and you will be free to do as you want. But, until then, I will fuck you as I want, how I want, and as many times as I want.”
And there it was. Her future husband, the Duke of Downsbury, talking like a bounder from Covent Garden trying to solicit his soiled doves to the patrons. Avonlea, I need you now.
* * * *
Charles had left White’s with Wycliffe hours ago, but when he returned to his townhouse, he could not stop thinking of what his friend had said. His imagination ran rampant with wild and completely impossible things. But were they entirely impossible given what Wycliffe had discussed of the nature of the threats the former duchess received? There had to be some truth.
First thing in the morning, he had visit the magistrate and conducted his own investigation. One, he hoped, would bring down shame and scorn upon the duke. If he could find a way to have the duke’s title stripped and leave him powerless, he and Nathaniel would surely have an opportunity to knock some sense into the man.
Tired, frustrated, and still thirsty, Avonlea rang for his butler.
“Sir?”
“The port, man. Where is it? I have been trying to find it and have not yet.”
“I will fetch another from the cellar, my lord. Was there anything else?”
He pondered the question for a moment. “Actually, there is. What do you know of girls—women—disappearing without a trace?”
“It happens all the time, sir. In White Chapel, it isn’t uncommon—”
“No, no, that is not what I meant. I mean here, in London, ladies of the ton, or girls fresh out of school some may have thought ran off to the Gretna Green.”
The aging man rubbed his chin. “There was a Baron Foster. His daughter of ten and nine was never seen after attending some ball two summers ago. There were rumors she was carrying on with a distinguished gentleman, but no one came forth to confirm who the gent was. Her poor family. The gel was engaged to Lord Broxton’s eldest. T’was an embarrassment to find out his betrothed had run off.”
“Surely, that can’t be the only occurrence of a disappearance?”
“There was the matter of the dowager Duchess of Hamptonshire. She was supposedly having an affair with another gent and was last seen at a ball.”
How convenient, and all too coincidental, that both women went missing after a dance. If Downsbury was up to his neck in this one, Charles planned to expose him at once. “That’ll be all. Now, run and find me some port. I have much planning to do and would like the warmth to settle my rattled nerves.”
A quarter of an hour passed before the elderly butler rejoined him in the library. “My lord, are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do for you?”
“No, old chap. Go on to bed. I have kept you up long enough.”
“Very well, sir, but should you require anything, please ring for me.”
Charles gazed into the fire for some time, watching the flames flicker up, dancing the devil’s jig. Just how can I even begin to approach the magistrate about these supposed disappearances? What were the chances those women were sold to an Italian man in Versailles, to keep silent about the duke’s affairs or other crimes he might have committed?
The earl was now entering into dangerous territory, but in the end, if it kept Emily out of the arms of the brutes, then his job was done. Well almost. Until she was his bride, no one would be safe while London’s menace was on the loose.
After a night of fitfull sleep, Avonlea entered the century old building where the magistrate conducted his business. He approached the reception desk and waited impatiently for the clerk to spare a moment to look up.
The short, stout man lifted his head and pushed up his spectacles so they sat on the bridge of his nose. With a nasally voice, he asked, “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“I do not.”
“And who exactly are you expecting to see without an appointment?”
“The magistrate, of course.”
“His honor is not available for random walk-ins. Would you care to make an appointment? But, before you do so, state your business.”
“No, I do not have time to come back. It is a matter that is delicate and requires urgent attention.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, perhaps I might be of some assistance,” a man said from behind him.
The earl turned to find a tall, lean, and gray haired gent approaching them. “And who might you be?”
“An excellent question, Lord Avonlea. I am the Chief Prosecutor, William Sayers, at your service. Follow me, and I will see what I can do in the magistrate’s place.”
Avonlea nodded and followed the man past a pair
of French doors and through a long passageway.
“You will have to forgive Byron’s manners. The man has aspirations of becoming a solicitor in his late age, so he is a bit hard to discuss anything that is beyond the rules, including making appointments. So, what is the delicate matter you were looking to talk over?”
Something about the man did not sit well with Avonlea. His dark eyes followed every movement. “I am here to discuss some disappearances that might have occurred over the course of two years.”
The prosecutor chuckled and poured them brandy. “I had no idea you had become a runner, Lord Avonlea. What has brought on this sudden interest?”
Accepting the amber liquid, Charles took a swig. “I have reason to believe some ladies of society may have been sold to an Italian in Versailles as a means to keep silent. Who else is involved and what the reasons, I do not know. However, I do have every intention of uncovering the truth, no matter the cost. Do you know anything about the disappearances I speak of?”
Sayers went rigid, all the humor from his face lost. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but you are sputtering about nonsense. All my cases are closed and have been closed for the last two years. Some of my cases were of chits running off to Scotland to get married. It is not my business where they go after that or where they take residence.
“If you want my advice, my lord, you must drop this at once. Stirring up trouble will not gain you any favors, and you might ask for more trouble by bringing up embarrassing moments for local noblemen.”
Just who does this man think he is? Charles pushed his glass away and stood from the rickety chair. “Mr. Sayers, I know when I smell a rat, and you stink of scandal. I will take my leave now. But know this, if you are involved in any way, you too will be destroyed. I hope for your sake, you have not done something to shame your family as well.”
“Is that a threat, my lord? For if it is, I caution you to think wisely before continuing. There are no missing girls, other than the soiled doves from White Chapel and Covet Garden. If you are insinuating I had anything to do with those disapearances, you are mad and have overstayed your welcome, sir!”
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