“I have not forgotten, but do not expect me to tolerate their viciousness for long,” she said.
It was a reasonable request. As they readied for bed, they did not speak again. The tension between them was palpable as Abby spent the night clinging to her side of the bed. Michael stayed with her, staring up at the ceiling until the wee hours of the morning.
When he was fairly certain the rest of the household was settled in for the night, he rose and dressed in his discarded evening clothes. Again, if he were caught in the hallway, his rumpled clothing would simply be part of his cover. He would look as if he were returning from a midnight tryst, rather than a search of the premises.
He paused before leaving the room, and moved to her side of the bed. Gently, he swept the hair back from her face. Even in sleep, she appeared tense. Quietly, he said, “I have to give the appearance of being the unrepentant libertine…It is the only way to move freely through the house.”
Her eyes opened, “I know,” she replied just as softly. “But that doesn't mean I have to like it.”
It wasn’t exactly a truce, but it was close enough for him. He kissed her, taking her lips in a searing kiss. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. This may be my only chance to search Rupert’s study.”
She didn’t offer to go with him, knowing that he would refuse, that it would undermine the disguise of meeting with a lover. When the door closed quietly behind him, Abby felt the hot sting of tears. She'd held them at bay for long enough. They spilled over her cheeks, dampening the pillow beneath her. She'd come to realize that it didn't matter whether Michael would ever be a faithful husband or not. No one in society would believe it of him, and if she did, they would call her a fool. She'd be a laughing stock before everyone, just as her mother had been.
Abbi rolled onto her back and stared up at the heavy canopy draping their bed. She wanted to return to Blagdon Hall and the relative peace there. She wanted to return to a time when his vast array of lovers had been nameless, faceless whispers in gossip rags and not a glittering display of all that she would never be.
Chapter Ten
Michael paused in rummaging through Rupert’s desk; he'd found a few things of note, primarily that Rupert appeared to be living on appearances only. The Whitbys were nearly insolvent; most of their debts appeared to have accrued through the acquisition of ancient artifacts from questionable sources.
The items weren’t named in the ledgers; but the sources were known for the connection to the world of black market Greco-Roman antiquities. A dark suspicion began to form in his mind as he considered his own collection of relics, inherited from his father. Rupert had expressed an interest in them that first night. Could that be the reason for luring him into their social circle? While not extensive, the items were rare and highly prized, some of them carried a dark history.
He had never moved in the same circle as Lavinia and Rupert; given his reputation as a lover, he'd never needed to seek such entertainments. Women had always sought him out, when the offers appealed to him, he had accepted. When they hadn’t, he declined as kindly as possible. Though the number of liaisons was cause enough for a few raised eyebrows, his preferences had run to the pedestrian.
He had never reached the point of being so bored with the glorious wonders of a feminine body that he needed to add spice the way the Whitbys did. They delved into perversions that had never held any appeal for him.
As he turned to the next page in the ledger, a folded piece of paper slipped from between the pages. He perused it quickly in the dim light of the candle and the contents were damning. Rupert had been a bit too enthusiastic in abusing the wife of one of their compatriots, and the couple was regretfully bowing out of coming entertainments. The truly curious part of the letter was that it was signed with only the use of a Roman numeral.
He had just stuffed the letter into his pocket when he heard the sound of voices coming from just beyond the door. Moving quickly, his steps sure even in the darkness, he crouched behind a large chair in the corner, his eyes trained on the door as it began to open. Rupert stepped inside, followed by Squire Blevins who carried a small candelabrum to light the room; he closed the door behind them.
“There was no sign of the girl… I searched along the banks of the stream but found nothing. She can’t have gone far, if she survived at all,” the Squire said.
Rupert nodded, “I agree. At this point, it’s a question of locating her remains.”
“Blagdon Hall is close by,” the Squire offered. “If she'd sought aid there, all could be lost.”
Rupert dismissed the concerns with a wave of his hand, “If she’d made it to Blagdon Hall; Ellersleigh would have said something”
The Squire nodded his agreement, “He isn’t the type to let something like that go, even if she was just a village girl.”
Rupert coughed softly, holding a handkerchief to his lips. Michael recalled his coughing during the first dinner he'd attended at Wilhaven and considered the medications he'd discovered in their chambers. Rupert was clearly ill, and given the symptoms, it was likely consumption.
“Just so,” Rupert agreed. “But I don’t like his presence here. Lavinia’s plan to seduce the artifact out from under him has failed miserably, and we must have that piece for the final ritual.”
“And Abigail?” Blevins asked.
Rupert smiled, “When Ellersleigh is out of the way, and the staff is in our possession, we will both have our fill of her, without the burden of virgin missishness… Who knows, Squire? Now that she’s had a man betwixt her thighs, she might be a bit more amenable to our advances.”
Blevins chuckled, “I hope not. I prefer it when there’s a bit of a fight in them.”
Michael watched the two men leave, his fists clenched and anger boiling inside him. With everything in him, he wanted to challenge them openly, but he couldn’t. He needed proof of what they were doing, and more than ever, he needed to know what their ultimate goal was. First and foremost, he needed to get Abby somewhere safe, and figure out what bloody artifact it was that they wanted.
Michael made his way back up the servant’s stairs, and into the hallway that housed his and Abigail’s rooms. In only his breeches and shirt, he gave every impression of a man returning from a tryst. Lavinia was waiting for him outside the door. Her hair was mussed, her clothing rumpled, and she smelled of sex.
“Ellersleigh,” she said in greeting, her tongue stroking her bottom lip. “I see you’ve been partaking of the bounty I provided for you.”
“What are you doing here, Lavinia?”
She laughed softly, “I was hoping you would show your appreciation for my unparalleled skill as a hostess. Every woman under this roof has had you or wishes to. It’s a dream come true for most men.”
Exhausted beyond belief and disgusted beyond measure by her and her cohorts, he didn't bother to conceal his disdain as he spoke. “I do not need you to act as a procuress for me, Lavinia.”
Her hands stroked over her breasts, tugging the bodice of her gown so that the rouged circles of her aureolas were visible to him. She continued to touch herself, her hands stroking over her belly to press between her thighs. “I could be anything you needed… Do anything you needed. Whatever you desire, no matter how dark and depraved, you have but to speak it to me, and it will be yours.”
Michael leaned close to her, “Then I will speak clearly, Lavinia. I only desire for you to return to your husband and leave me be. Abigail and I will leave in the morning.”
She smiled, though the expression was far from warm. It was a bit like a cat baring its teeth in threat. “Enjoy your newly wedded bliss.”
Michael stomach turned in revulsion. She had already serviced Squire Blevins, and there were no limit of options for whom he’d just been with, and yet she stood outside the room where his wife slept, attempting to seduce him. “Stay away from us both, Lavinia. I want no part of you, and if you badger Abigail in any way, I will make you regret it.”
Sh
e laughed again, maniacally, “Will you beat me? It isn’t the punishment that you imagine, Lord Ellersleigh. There is a point where the pain transcends everything, and the body achieves a state of bliss like nothing else.”
He didn’t touch her but remained completely aloof, when he said, “No, I will not beat you. I will ruin you. I will see to it that no Society hostess will even give you admittance… How quickly will your circle of lovers dwindle then?”
“Burn in hell, Ellersleigh.”
“Without a doubt, Lady Whitby, but I imagine you will be there first.”
After Lavinia had disappeared down the length of the hall, Michael entered the room to find Abigail sitting up in the middle of the bed. She was wide awake and staring at him with concern. “How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to know that Lavinia has somehow crossed from perversion into madness,” she replied.
He didn’t discount what she said though he knew that sometimes it was a much finer line than he hoped she would ever realize. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“You found something didn’t you?”
He debated for a moment but then decided that the truth was the best of the options. Being prepared might very well keep her alive. “I’m not sure, but I did overhear enough to know that we are both in danger here. I believe that Rupert is ill... and nothing makes a man more dangerous than desperation.”
He didn't tell her what he'd overheard between the Squire and Rupert. He doubted it would surprise her at any rate, she knew Rupert's motives well enough already. He just couldn't bring himself to speak of it. “We will leave for London day after tomorrow, and I know you won’t like it, but I intend to ask Lady Westerbrook to accompany us. Regardless of our past relationship, the people here are not the sort she normally associates with. I fear that she is very much in over her head, and only because of her association with me.”
Abby shook her head. “No, absolutely not. She will not go with us and you will not speak with her. I will. I can impress upon her how dangerous Wilhaven can be. It will be assumed by every gossip in this house that we are having a jealous confrontation, which will precipitate our departure.”
“Will it be a jealous confrontation?”
Her eyebrow lifted slightly but her expression remained calm and aloof otherwise. “No. Jealousy is a wasted emotion, my lord. You will do what you will do regardless of whether or not I obsess about it. It just so happens that in this case, it is to our benefit to feign such poor self-control.”
Chastened, Michael stripped off his clothing and climbed into bed for the second time that evening. Given what he had seen and heard, and all he had to think about, he didn’t imagine that sleep would come anytime soon. He’d spent many sleepless nights in bed with women, but they had normally been of a more pleasant variety.
Chapter Eleven
The following morning, Abby confronted Lady Westerbrook in a quiet corner of the morning room while most of the other guests were still abed. “I realize that while I have little enough control over my husband’s behavior, I have no control over yours. I do ask though, that at the very least, you manage discretion in your encounters.” Abby's voice was perfectly cordial, if somewhat chilly and just loud enough to be overheard by others.
Lady Caroline Westerbrook smiled. In spite of her tender feelings for Lord Ellersleigh, she did not envy the young viscountess. It would take a strong woman to survive the reformation of such a rogue. “You misunderstand the situation, Lady Ellersleigh. While I hold your husband in very high regard, the nature of our relationship has changed dramatically, given the current circumstances. There will be no encounters between us that would require discretion.”
Abby thought she might have liked Lady Caroline had the circumstances been different. Glancing about the room as if remembering herself, she took Lady Westerbrook by the elbow and steered her toward a small alcove. More quietly, she added, “Thank you for the assurances. I would also like to impart a warning to you. There are serious matters that you are not privy to, Lady Westerbrook, and it is not safe for you to be in this house. I would advise you to leave for London today and to decline any future invitations from Lady Whitby.”
Caroline let out a harried sigh. “Of course Lady Ellersleigh, I had reached much the same conclusion myself. I spent the better part of the evening praying that the lock on my door would hold. This is not the sort of house party I am used to attending.”
“It is regrettable that my stepsister's machinations have drawn you into such unpleasant and dangerous circumstances. Have a safe and pleasant journey,” Abby said dismissing the other woman with both her tone and her gesture as she turned to walk away.
“He has feelings for you. I think more than either of you realize,” Caroline offered softly in the same tone one would use when imparting a juicy bit of gossip. .
Abby looked over her shoulder, “I beg your pardon?”
Caroline chuckled, “Lord Ellersleigh. Your husband has feelings for you that I imagine are somewhat unexpected for him. Just as I suspect that your feelings for him are growing quite complex, as well…It’s a different thing altogether to enter into an affair with a man than to have those intimacies within one’s marriage bed. They take on a different significance when sanctioned by the church.”
Abby met the other woman's speculative expression with a glacial one of her own. She would not gossip about her husband with his former lover. “You are very bold with your... assessment, Lady Westerbrook.”
The other woman moved nearer, her lovely blue eyes filled with a curious mixture of sadness and kindness. She was the most unlikely of allies. “It’s in his eyes. He looks at you in a way that he never looked at me, in a way that he has never looked at another woman in all the years that I have known him…He is a good and honorable man, and I think he has a great deal of pain inside him. If he feels for you what I believe he does, you could heal him.”
“You have known him for a very long time, I take it.” The admission was reluctant and halting, but the question hidden within it was clearly not lost on Lady Westerbrook.
“Yes. He was a friend of my husband for many years. We were never lovers then. While Michael certainly dallied with married women, they have never been the wives of his friends. But you understand that about him, don't you?”
“Understand what precisely?” Abby countered.
Lady Westerbrook nodded. “You are wise to be cautious with me, and with everyone here. I understand your hesitation in speaking freely with me, but rest assured that I want only the very best for Lord Ellersleigh and that, my dear girl, is you.”
“You will forgive me for being skeptical,” Abby replied stiffly.
Lady Westerbrook continued in the same manner as before, speaking to Abby as if they were acquaintances or friends, rather than romantic rivals. “After my dear Charles had passed, Michael was a great comfort to me, but only as a friend. It was last year that we became lovers, and only because I asked it of him. I had been alone for a very long time, you see. Charles had been so sick, that we hadn’t — well, the physical side of our relationship suffered tremendously.”
“You really needn’t tell me all this.” She truly did not want to know.
Caroline took Abby’s hand imploringly. “On the contrary, I must. Michael never actually desired me. We were friends, our relationship was one of convenience, not passion. There is passion between the two of you, and if you will allow it, that passion can blossom into something wonderful.”
“You take a great deal upon yourself when you advise the wife of your former lover on how to be happy in her marriage, Lady Westerbrook,” Abby said. The words were not heated, but a reflection of her confusion and Caroline interpreted it as such.
“Not so much really. I love Michael, though I have never been in love with him. I did have designs on him though. It isn’t that I wanted to marry him so much as that I wanted to be married again. I enjoyed being a wife, my lady, of having a man to love and tend to,” she paus
ed and drew a deep breath. “Loving Michael as I do, it is only natural that I would want him to be happy. Lady Ellersleigh, I believe that you could make him very happy.”
Abby hadn't expected that the woman she'd prepared herself to despise would be warm and giving, even helpful. “I will take it under advisement.”
“I sense that you have suffered enough pain and disappointment in your own short life that you deserve a bit of happiness for yourself, my lady. Godspeed” Lady Westerbrook said with a soft laugh.
It was too much. Abby had her fill of the conversation and the rush of emotion that accompanied it. Hope was not something she often let herself experience, it was too fragile and far too easily dashed. To have it spring from such an unlikely source only made it more suspect. “Thank you for your kind words and your goodwill.” Abby quickly exited the morning room.
Michael was waiting for her in the foyer; their bags already loaded into the waiting gig. Noting the odd expression on her face, Michael asked, “Are you all right?”
Abby didn’t really know how to answer him, she felt unsettled and far more frightened by what Lady Westerbrook had said than anything else that occurred. “I’m fine, just eager to be home and away from all this.”
“As am I,” he said.
During the short ride back to Blagdon Hall, Michael wondered at her strangely quiet mood but didn’t question it. Though she seemed subdued, the tension and anger between them seemed to have abated, and he had no wish to resurrect it.
The next morning, they left for London. Sarah accompanied them, as Michael intended to use the trip to not only research what sort of artifact it was that Lavinia and Rupert were after, but also to supplement Abby’s wardrobe. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that plying her with gifts would completely eradicate the tension between them. But he did hope that it would be well received as the peace offering he intended; if the clothes didn’t work, then perhaps the jewelry would.
The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set Page 37