Wicked Widow

by Amanda Quick

  Satisfied there was no one in the corridor, she slipped into the room. The tub he had recently used sat in front of the fire, partially concealed by a screen. Damp towels hung over the edge. A tray containing a pot of tea, a cup and saucer, and a plate of bread and cheese was on a table. None of the food appeared to have been touched.

  She stopped short when she saw the single amber-colored taper burning on the low table. She recognized it immediately as a Vanza candle. The melting wax gave off a faint, complex, distinctive scent, the product of a unique blend of Vanzagarian herbs. Artemas was a full master of Vanza. Every master created his own personal blend of herbs that forever distinguished his candles from those of other masters.

  She heard the door close behind her. She turned quickly. The unease she had been feeling grew more unsettling.

  Artemas’s face was shuttered and drawn, all hard angles and grim planes. She knew at once that the dead man, whoever he was, had not been a stranger to him. But there was no grief in his eyes, only a controlled fury.

  She had never seen him look more dangerous than at that moment. She was forcibly reminded that in spite of the intimacy that had passed between them, there was a great deal she did not know about this man.

  “I am sorry to disturb you at your meditations, sir.” She edged toward the door. “I will leave you in peace. We can talk later.”

  “Stay.” It was a command. ‘Whether or not you wished to do so, you involved yourself in my affairs when we made our pact. There are things you must be told.”

  “But your meditations—”

  “A futile exercise, to say the least.”

  He crossed the bedchamber to the low table, reached down, and snuffed out the taper.

  She clasped her hands together and faced him. “Who was he, Artemas?”

  “His name was Charles Oswynn.” Artemas contemplated the thin trail of smoky vapor that marked the death of the small flame. “He was one of three men who destroyed a woman named Catherine Jensen. They kidnapped her for a lark one night. They raped her. She fell to her death attempting to flee. Her body was found three days later by a farmer in search of some of his sheep.”

  The lack of inflection in his words only heightened their impact.

  Madeline did not move. “She was a friend of yours? “

  “More than a friend. We had much in common, you see. We were both alone in the world. Catherine’s mother had died when she was young. She was raised by distant relatives who used her as an unpaid servant. She ran off to become an actress. I met her one night after a performance in Bath. We dreamed our dreams together for a while.”

  “You were lovers? “

  “For a time.” He did not take his eyes off the unlit candle. “But in those days I was penniless. I could not give her the security she craved.”

  “What happened?”

  “I made the acquaintance of a master of Vanza. I was fortunate. He took an interest in me. Arranged for me to study in the Garden Temples. I made plans to sail for Vanzagara. Before I left, I promised Catherine that when I concluded my studies, I would make my fortune and we would be wed. I sailed back to England every summer to see her. But when I returned the last time, I learned that she was dead.”

  “How did you discover the names of the men responsible for her death? “

  “I went to see the farmer who had found her body. He helped me search the area. I discovered the cave where they had taken her.” He stopped talking and went to a small desk. He opened a drawer and removed an object. “I found this on the floor of the cave. I believe Catherine seized it during her battle with the three men. I traced it to a shop off Bond Street.”

  Madeline walked to where he stood. She took the watch fob and seal from him and examined the stallion head engraved on it. “The shopkeeper who made this told you who had purchased it? “

  “He told me that he had been commissioned to craft identical seals for three gentlemen of the ton, Glenthorpe, Oswynn, and Flood. I made some more inquiries and learned that the three were close friends and had formed a small club devoted to, as they described it, the exquisite pleasures of debauchery.”

  She looked up from the seal. “You vowed revenge.”

  “At first I simply planned to kill them.”

  She swallowed. “All three men? “

  “Yes. But I concluded that would have been too easy. I determined to destroy each of them, socially and financially, instead. I wanted to savor the exquisite pleasures of their descent into poverty. I wanted them to know what it was like to be an outcast from the Social World, to have no protection because of their low status and lack of resources. I wanted them to understand to some extent what it was like to be in Catherine’s position.”

  “And when you had achieved your goal? What did you plan to do then, Artemas? “

  He said nothing. There was no need for him to speak. She knew the answer.

  A terrible fear arced through her. Very carefully she put the watch fob and seal down on the table beside the unlit candle.

  “That is why you have endeavored to keep your ownership of the Dream Pavilions secret. It is not because you fear Society’s censure if it should discover that you are in trade. You are not hunting for a wife.”

  “No.”

  “You kept your secrets because you needed access to the world in which Oswynn and the others moved in order to carry out your revenge.”

  “The scheme worked quite well until now. My income from the gardens made it possible for me to meet Oswynn and the others on their own ground. It took me months to set up the snare that was designed to ruin them.” Artemas picked up the empty teacup and turned it gently between his hands. “I was so close. So very, very close. And now he has deprived me of one of my targets.”

  She took a step forward, reaching out with her hand. “Artemas—”

  “The bloody bastard. How does he dare to interfere in my affairs?” Without warning, Artemas hurled the cup against the wall. “Five years I worked to put it all together. Five damned years.”

  Madeline froze as the dainty china shattered into dozens of jagged pieces. It was not the small explosion that stunned her. It was the shock of seeing Artemas in the grip of such fierce emotion.

  In all the time she had known him, he had been so controlled, so unshakably in command of himself. Even when he had made love to her, his self-mastery had been complete.

  He looked down at the shards as if he were looking into the mouth of hell. “Five years.”

  She could not bear his pain any longer. It was too much a reflection of her own inner anguish. She ran to him, threw her arms around his waist, and pressed her face against his shoulder.

  “You blame yourself for her death,” she whispered.

  “I left her alone.” He stood unyielding in her embrace, as cold as stone. “She had no one to protect her while I was away. She told me that she was a woman of the world. Said she could take care of herself. But in the end. . .”

  “I understand.” She hugged him with all of her strength, trying to impart some of her own warmth into his chilled body. “I know how it feels to live with the knowledge that your decisions brought about another’s death. Dear God, I understand.”

  “Madeline.” He turned abruptly. His hands closed convulsively around her head.

  “At times I thought I would go mad.” She buried her face against his black silk dressing gown. “Indeed, if it had not been for Bernice, I would have long since been consigned to a house for the insane.”

  “What a pair we make,” he muttered into her hair. “I have lived for revenge and you have cursed yourself for your father’s death.”

  “Now I have brought some malign force into your life that threatens the thing you care about most, your vengeance.” She fought to squeeze back the tears. “I am so very sorry, Artemas.”

  “Do not say that.” He cradled her face and raised her head so that she had to meet his eyes. “I vow, I will not have you bearing the blame for what happened tonight
.”

  “But it is my fault. If I had not sought your help, none of this would have happened.”

  “I made my own decision in the matter.”

  “That’s not true. It all started that night when I virtually blackmailed you into helping me find Nellie.”

  “Enough.” He covered her mouth, silencing her with a heavy, drugging kiss.

  The need she sensed in him tore at her heart. Instinctively she wanted to offer comfort, but his desire was sudden and overwhelming. She was lost beneath the crashing wave.

  He dragged her down onto the bed. She sank into the quilts and clung to him as his mouth moved on hers. Then he shifted to kiss her throat. Her wrapper parted beneath the onslaught. His hands closed over her breasts.

  The desperate urgency in him ignited a response deep within her. She pushed her hands beneath his dressing gown and sought the sleek, hard contours of his body. He muttered something unintelligible when she stroked his muscled back and arched herself into his fierce heat. She felt him slide his hand up along the inside of her thigh beneath her nightgown. She gasped when he cupped her with his palm.

  She opened herself to him and he claimed what she offered. She felt herself grow damp and warm and full. Lost in the spiraling need, she touched every part of him that she could reach. He pushed his thick, hard shaft into her fingers. She stroked him gently, learning the feel of him.

  He groaned and then he rolled onto his back and pulled her down on top of him. The edges of her wrapper fluttered. She gripped him with her knees and cried out when his hands moved between her legs.

  She looked down at him. He was watching her with an intensity that left no room for words. At that moment the only thing that mattered in the whole world was satisfying the dark hunger that she could see in his eyes.

  She felt his hands close around her hips, guiding her as she struggled to fit herself to his heavily aroused body. When he started to enter her, she felt herself tighten against the intrusion. She was still tender from their last encounter.

  “Slowly,” he promised, his voice low and husky. “We’ll take it slowly this time.”

  He eased himself gently, deliberately, and carefully into her. He stilled, allowing her to adjust to the feel of him buried so deeply inside her. She breathed in cautiously and allowed herself to relax. She still felt too full but there was no pain this time, only a growing anticipation.

  He found the sensitive bud with his thumb. She sucked in her breath. His fingers glided against her, slick and warm and unbearably thrilling.

  “Artemas.” She sank her nails into his shoulders.

  “Yes.” His eyes gleamed in the shadows. “Just like that.”

  He began to move within her. A great tension seized her. She tossed her head and grappled with him, seeking some inexplicable release from the heady demands of her body.

  He refused to increase the pace. She wanted to scream with frustration. He continued to move slowly, unpredictably within her.

  She seized his shoulders and took control, establishing her own rhythm. She did not know what it was she sought so desperately, but she sensed that the magic was out there, waiting for her to find it.

  Artemas laughed silently up at her and in that moment she knew that he had plotted all along to bring her to this point. She did not care. An end to the coiled need was the only thing that mattered now.

  Without warning, the dam inside her burst. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her. Artemas pulled her head down, covering her mouth with his own when she would have cried out.

  For a few dizzying seconds he seemed to savor the tiny shivers of her release. Then he gave a hoarse, muffled groan and pumped himself into her until they were both exhausted.

  ———

  He roused himself reluctantly from the sweet lethargy a few minutes later. The cold rage that had flowed through his veins for the past few hours had dissipated, at least for a while. Madeline’s doing, he thought. Her passion had served as a poultice to the old wound that had opened within him. He knew now that it had never healed.

  Beside him she stirred, sat up quickly, and blinked, as though dazed. Then her eyes cleared. She looked at him steadily.

  “You must have loved her very much,” she whispered.

  “I cared for her. I felt responsible for her. We were lovers. I do not know if it was love. I do not know how love feels. But I do know that what I felt for her was important.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He held her gaze and struggled to find the words to explain. “Whatever Catherine and I had between us has faded in the five years since her death. I am not haunted by her memory, only by the knowledge that I failed her. I promised her ghost that I would avenge her. It was the only thing left that I could do for her.”

  Madeline smiled wistfully. “I understand. You have lived for your revenge, and now, in helping me, you have put your vengeance at risk. I’m sorry, Artemas.”

  “Madeline—”

  “Good heavens, look at the time.” She stirred and groped for the sash of her wrapper. “I must get back to my bedchamber. Someone might come in here at any moment.”

  “No one will enter this room without my permission.”

  “One of the maids, perhaps.” She got to her feet and hastily tied the sash. “It would be very awkward for both of us.”

  “Madeline, we must talk.”

  “Yes, I know. Perhaps after breakfast.” She took a step back and came up hard against the dressing table.

  She put out a hand to steady herself. He saw her fingers brush against the note he had found pinned to Oswynn’s coat. She glanced at it.

  “You may as well read it.” He sat up slowly on the edge of the bed.

  She looked at him. “It is addressed to you.”

  “The killer left it.”

  Fresh alarm sparked in her gaze. “The villain wrote a note to you? “

  “A warning to keep out of this business.” He stood and went to the dressing table to pick up the bloodstained message. Without a word he opened it and handed it to her.

  She read it quickly and he knew precisely when she came to the last line. Her fingers shook slightly as she read it aloud.

  “ ‘By the bye, be so kind as to give my regards to my wife.’ “ She raised her head. Dread filled her eyes. “Dear God, it’s true. Renwick is alive.”

  “No.” He ripped the note out of her fingers and pulled her close against him. “We don’t know that.”

  “But he mentions me.” A thin veil of barely concealed horror underscored her words. “ ‘Give my regards to my wife.’ “

  “Madeline, think. It is far more likely that someone wants us to believe he is alive,” Artemas said.

  “But why?”

  “Because it suits his purpose.”

  “None of this makes any sense.” She put her hands to her temples. “What is happening? What is this all about? “

  “I don’t know yet, but I promise you that we will discover the truth.”

  She shook her head once. Determination settled on her like a dark cloak. “I regret everything I have done to involve you in this affair, sir. Bernice and I must leave this house today.”

  He raised his brows. “I trust you will not put me to the effort of posting a guard to keep the pair of you here. It would be extremely inconvenient.”

  “This has gone too far, Artemas. The note is a warning. Who knows what he will do next?”

  “I doubt that he will take it upon himself to dispatch two more gentlemen of the ton in short order.”

  “But he has already killed one of them.”

  “Oswynn was an easy target because he has little in the way of family who will be concerned by his death. Given his reputation, it will not surprise anyone to learn that he got himself killed by a footpad on the way home from one of the hells. But murdering Flood and Glenthorpe will involve far more risk. I believe our mysterious villain is smart enough to know that.”

  “But Oswynn’s body was fou
nd on the grounds of the Dream Pavilions. That will surely involve you in a great scandal.”

  “No,” Artemas said evenly. “Oswynn’s body, when it is eventually discovered, will turn up floating in the Thames. Zachary and I took care of the matter an hour ago.”

  “I see.” She absorbed the implications of that statement and frowned. “But that does not solve our problem. The villain obviously knows about your connection to the Dream Pavilions. That is why he left Oswynn’s body there for you to discover.”

  “Yes.”

  “He also knows about your plans for revenge.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at him with a troubled expression. “He can cause you a great deal of mischief.”

  “If he does, I will deal with it.”

  “But, Artemas—”

  He closed his hands around her shoulders. “Listen to me, Madeline. Regardless of what happens, we are in this together. It is too late for either of us to change our course.”

  She watched him for several taut seconds. Then, without a word, she put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  He held her tightly. Outside the window the first gloomy light of a fog-shrouded dawn appeared.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I vow, I believe I would have gone mad if we had not escaped from Hunt’s house for a while this morning.” Bernice studied the street through the carriage window. “Do not mistake me, I appreciate his concern for your safety, but I confess I had begun to feel quite trapped.”

  “Our freedom this morning is little more than an illusion,” Madeline said wryly.

  Latimer was on the box but he was not alone. Zachary sat beside him, armed with a pistol. He had been at the house when Madeline and Bernice summoned the carriage. He had insisted upon accompanying them.

  “Yes, it is rather as if we are traveling under armed guard, is it not?” Bernice said. “Nevertheless, it is good to be outside again, even in this fog.”

  “Yes.”

  “A pity Mr. Leggett was not around when we left the house,” Bernice said casually. “I would have suggested that he accompany us.”