“I suggest we indulge this until we have discovered what happened to Mr. Harper.”
“Agreed.”
He narrowed his gaze at her.
“What is it?”
“That was surprisingly easy.”
“I am no fool and—” Her cheeks reddened. She turned her attention back to the crease in her gown.
“And?”
“Well, I have never indulged my widowhood as some women might. I am...eager to learn more.” Her eyes sparkled when she met his gaze and he had the awful feeling he’d just unleashed something so powerful even he could not control it no matter how small he kept his world.
“I like the sound of the library. And the chaise. And whatever else you may come up with.”
Dear God. What had he done?
Chapter Sixteen
Although Chastity prepared herself for seeing Valentine—alone, in the evening, in the close confines of the carriage, she could not prevent the air from leaving her lungs at the sight of him. The last time they’d been in this carriage, they’d decided to become lovers. The days since had been a blur of pleasure and discovery.
He ushered her in and shut the door behind her, sealing them in their own perfect private world. She sat opposite and the glow from the lamps on the outside of the carriage illuminated his sharp features. He always opted for a cravat outside of his house and she could not decide which look she preferred—the cravatted gentleman or the roguish recluse, all open shirted and scruffy. Either way, he struck a handsome figure.
Far too handsome a figure really. Today was about finding this witness. Not about Valentine.
Or the pull between them.
She waited a heartbeat. Maybe two. He said nothing but his gaze told her enough. Breathless with need, burning from the inside out, suffocating in the pull, she shifted forward at the same time as Valentine. His fingers pushed into her hair and around the nape of her neck. His lips met hers, his kiss ferocious and hungry. She gripped the lapels of his dress coat, the dark green wool soft and warm against her fingertips. He kissed her like a man needing air. She could not claim to feel any different.
The carriage rolled forward, urging her closer to him. He eased the kiss and let his bare fingers linger on her cheek, an enigmatic smile on his lips. She wanted him for his body and for what he could do to hers—that was all. Yet she could not help want to know what was behind said smile.
“It’s been too long since I last touched you,” he murmured, grit in his voice.
She gulped down a breath and nodded. Her job as his maid did not make seeing him easy. She still had duties of which to attend and slipping out of her shared room was not easy. If they were ever going to quench this need between them, she feared seeing each other a mere few times a week would not do it.
But she could not continue after this. As exciting as it was, she already felt curiosity tugging at her. What would it be like to wake with him? To live with him? To understand his hopes and dreams? She’d craved that in the past and look where it had led her—a miserable marriage that had left her untrusting of even herself at times. If this continued too long, she might convince herself she was in love, just like last time.
She cleared her throat and moved away from his touch, ignoring the pang in her heart when she did so and the slight shuttering of his expression. “We need to find this witness.”
His gaze landed upon the string bound bundle beside her. “Let me guess. You need to change.”
“Indeed.” She untied the string. Demeter did a fine job of disguising it as an exciting gift though Charlotte had been desperate to see what Chastity had been sent.
The maid had suspicions about her, Chastity reckoned. She’d quizzed her most heartily about what she intended to do with her day off and although her tale of a still dying mother helped, the additional questions implied the maid did not entirely believe her.
At least she had been able to answer them easily. Most of what she had said was based off when her own mother had passed. Her heart panged to think of those moments and using her own mother’s death in such a manner, but she knew her mother would not disapprove. More than anything, she wished for Chastity to look after her sisters when she was gone, and Chastity would do whatever it took to ensure Eleanor’s restored name and future happiness.
Valentine’s brow furrowed when she pulled out the gown and shook it loose. “That’s no lady’s gown.”
“No.” She offered a bold grin. “I am going to be your mistress for the night.”
One brow rose. “My mistress?”
“Well, I almost am, am I not?”
“I have never had a mistress in my life, and I do not intend to start now.”
She cocked her head. “It is only pretend, Valentine. Besides, what do you call this between us?”
His mouth tugged at the corners. “This?” He waved a hand between them. “I am fairly certain this is indefinable. A duke’s daughter pretending to be a maid who is also the master’s lover. How does one define that with a mere word?”
Lover. The word made her shiver from the inside out with delicious anticipation. She had been a debutant, a fiancée, a wife, a widow. But never a lover. And to be Valentine’s lover made it all the more exciting.
“Anyway,” she continued. Dwell any longer on defining them and her mind might trip down a dangerous path. “If I am to accompany you to some of these inns where ladies of ill repute frequent, I do not think I can do so as a lady and certainly not as your maid. But as your mistress...yes.”
“What man in his right mind would take his mistress with him to find a lady of ill repute?”
“Many I imagine. Goodness, Valentine, you are astonishingly unworldly sometimes.”
His eyes darkened. “I am worldly enough. I think I have proven that.”
Her breath caught. Oh yes. He had. Many times now. He seldom touched her without bringing her some sort of pleasure, be it a shiver down the spine, a parting of her lips and a temptation to let her eyes flutter closed.
Or a screaming orgasm.
“There are some men in the world who want more than one woman at a time.”
His brow knitted. “And how in the devil would you know anything about that?”
She fixed him with a look. “I’m a grown woman and one who has been married at that.”
“You do not mean—” His jaw tightened.
“Goodness, I have never done such a thing.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “But I knew of a man who wanted such things.”
“Your husband.”
“Late husband,” she corrected.
“I pity the man.”
“Pity?” She wasn’t sure what she anticipated. Jealousy maybe. Anger perhaps. Not pity.
“Believe me, Chastity, you are more than enough woman for one man, and he was a damned fool if he could not figure that out.”
She sighed. “Perhaps.”
But it did not matter if he was. John was long dead and there were other, bigger things to worry about than whether her husband had ruined her pride by not finding satisfaction in her.
Like helping her sister.
Whatever happened between her and Valentine, she could not let herself forget the real reason she was here. Eleanor needed her.
∞∞∞
Well, if he ever thought he was being punished for his sins, he had confirmation of it in the form of the outrageously low gown Chastity wore. In a deep purple and trimmed in dark lace that looked like elegant webs determined to draw him into her snare, it hugged every blasted curve, and she certainly had the look of a scandalous mistress inclined to enjoy the pleasures of another woman in their bed. He shook his head when she drew down the dark woolen cloak.
The sultry pull of her lips and lowered lashes finished the picture to perfection. He had to pause a moment and wonder where the devil a duke’s daughter learned such skills of disguise. First a maid, now a mistress. What was next?
Oh yes, his lover too. There was no artifice in tha
t, though. He’d been too intimate with the falsities of human nature to know the difference between a fake and real reaction. In his arms, everything was genuine. He could not help but take some pride in that. Especially as it seemed her married life offered a grim experience—no unusual thing within the ton but he could not fathom any man being unsatisfied with Chastity. She had wit, intelligence, and a body that cried out for the touch of a man.
He did pity her late husband. The fool couldn’t see what was in front of him. He also loathed him, but he did not want to think too deeply about why. Hating a dead man was folly and he had the whole of Society to loathe. That was quite enough people for one man to despise.
“I was thinking we start at The Eight Bells,” Chastity suggested.
He glanced down the darkened alley. Lamps lit the sides of the buildings at the other end, offering a warm refuge from the late evening. Music and laughter could be heard even from their position on the more respectable Brook Street.
If he’d ever needed to slake his lust, he knew of some courtesans or the odd actress he could pay a visit to. He’d ventured into this part of London on one or two occasions in his youth before the death of his father and sister, but he could not claim to know it well.
Which begged the question, how did Chastity know which inns the whores of this area frequented? He pressed his teeth together. Something to do with the husband perhaps? Maybe the man boasted of his evenings here to her. Whatever the reason, it could not be good.
“If this Daisy Miller was by my father’s house at that time of night, she must have come from one of the inns here.”
He nodded. It made sense and when she’d related the suggestion she track down the woman to speak with her personally, it seemed a fine idea. With one exception...he should never have agreed for her to come. She might have the uncanny ability of blending in no matter what the situation—a trait learned from being so high-ranking, he imagined—but the thought of exposing her to any potential painful memories made him clench his teeth so hard, his jaw hurt.
“This was a mistake.”
Chastity looped her arm through his, ignoring his statement. “Come on, we do not have all evening.”
Right. This was getting ridiculous. Was he not the man in the situation? And he was still a bloody earl, after all. He had full command of his senses and he was not going to let himself be ordered around. “Chastity—”
She unhooked her arm from his and stepped in front of him, hands to her hips. It might have been some time since he’d been in the company of women, but he knew that look well enough—he was in trouble.
“We need to find this woman and goodness knows, even the most desperate of women would be reluctant to speak with you.” She gestured to his beard.
He touched the hair on his face before catching himself and dropping his hand. “I did not realize I was so hideous.”
“Not hideous. Just—” she gestured vaguely around his face “—intimidating.”
“And yet you are never intimidated by me enough to do as I tell you.”
Her lips pursed and he caught the flicker of annoyance in her gaze, even in the dim light of a streetlamp. “I will never again do what anyone tells me to do.”
“Never again?” he repeated.
There it was, another hint of her past. He found himself eating up these breadcrumbs, trying to create a meal out of them that might indicate exactly what this woman had experienced when he really should not care. Once they had found out what happened to Julian, their acquaintance would be over.
If one could call them acquaintances. He smirked. He’d certainly never wanted to bury himself between the thighs of an acquaintances before.
“Valentine.” She clicked her fingers in front of his face, forcing his attention back to her and away from picturing an evening of utter debauchery in her arms.
“Yes?”
“I was reminding you that you need me.”
Oh yes. He did.
Her eyes flared. “Not like that.”
He shrugged. “It’s no lie, though.”
“My point is, no one will tell you anything when you look like that.”
“I cannot help what I was born with,” he muttered. “I cannot help being so unappealing.”
“That is not what I am saying.” She rolled her eyes. “And we both know I am much better at talking with people—as proven by my ability to get your servants to talk to me.”
He studied her stance, the point of her chin, the fists upon her hips. Lane would have a better chance of persuading him to shave than he had of getting her to return home.
“Very well. Let us get this thing done.” He reached for her and settled her fingers over his forearm. “But any sign of trouble, and we are gone, do you understand? No matter how much you think you can manage any situation, there are some that even a beautiful woman cannot find her way out of.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have handled you thus far, have I not? I think you are a far bigger challenge than a few drunkards.”
Oh yes. She had handled him very well. Far too well really. He didn’t respond and strode past her. Much longer alone with her and he’d be hauling her over his shoulder, carrying her back to the carriage, and showing her how well he could handle her too.
Chapter Seventeen
Helping many women with their varying problems meant Chastity could not help but be aware of this area of London. That, and the fact her husband frequented it meant she had almost intimate knowledge of the taverns here.
However, she had never actually set foot in any of them.
A fact she would not admit to Valentine. The tension oozed from him. She felt it in his taut arm and saw it in the set of his jaw. When they walked down the quiet alley, she heard his teeth grinding.
Now she heard nothing but laughter and a poorly played ribald tune of a browbeaten husband. She forced herself to keep her expression worldly. She would not have Valentine think her some lady of delicate sensibilities after arguing so fiercely to be here.
The interior of the building proved no more inviting than the exterior—the building appeared functional rather than attractive; slightly crooked walls and an angled doorframe, the black paint peeling from it to reveal flecks of rotting wood beneath.
Beams hung low above them, forcing Valentine to duck the occasional crooked one. How the upper floor remained supported on the wonky and uneven wood, she did not know, but the appearance did not appear to concern the many, many patrons here. Most were of the working class, their clothes filthy and their faces tired from a day’s work. Unlike her, they likely did not get days off.
The handful of women were as tired and dirty as the men, even those who were here to pedal their wares. She eyed the woman straddling a scrawny man while he chugged an ale, letting it spill down the front of his shirt before burying his face into her cleavage.
Chastity glanced away. Perhaps this had been a mistake.
“This was a mistake.” Valentine pulled her closer to him.
“No,” she murmured.
She would not let him think of her as some fragile female. Once upon a time, he might have been correct but not anymore. She had come a long way since her marriage—mostly thanks to the investigative society.
“We need to find this woman.” She pulled on his arm. “Come, we are drawing attention. Let us at least look as though we wish to be here.”
She led him through the crowds of unwashed bodies and forced herself to breathe through her mouth rather than her nose.
When they reached the bar, they waited to grab the attention of the overworked man behind it, and she peered around. Candles lit in sconces upon the walls shimmered, offering splashes of flickering light alternating with darkened corners. She was fairly certain one couple was using the shadows to indulge their desires and the faintest of moans cut their way through the off-key singing of the gentleman nearby. Her stomach churned. Had John really preferred such places to spending time with her? Was she really such an awfu
l wife?
“Chastity.”
Blinking, she met Valentine’s gaze. His stern gaze flickered with concern and for once, she was grateful for his glowering manner. It offered something of an anchor. When all was unsettled within her, he could be counted on to be glowering. She eased out a breath.
“Do you think any of these could be the woman?”
“Our only way to find out is ask I suppose.”
His mouth pulled into a thin line. At least Valentine did not seem any more at ease here than she did. They were both out of their element. And that meant Valentine did not frequent places like this. She should not care what he did, but she could not help herself.
The fellow behind the bar made his way over to them, glancing them over but revealing nothing but disinterest. If either of their expensive clothing caught his attention, he did not show it. His upper lip and forehead shone with sweat and meaty hands grasped a tankard before Valentine could say anything. He poured an ale from the earthenware jug and wordlessly shoved it toward Valentine.
Valentine looked to Chastity and she swore she heard him sigh. “And one for the lady,” he demanded.
Chastity managed to keep herself from grinning. It seemed he knew her better than she realized.
The barely perceptible twitch of an eyebrow was the man’s only reaction when he poured another ale. The only true interest he revealed was when Valentine pressed a crown across the scarred wooden surface of the bar. “Do you know of a Daisy Miller?”
The barman swung the briefest of glances between them, his steel-gray gaze remaining neutral. “I do.”
“And?”
The man folded his arms. “Not got much to say about her.”
Valentine met his gaze and shrugged. “Very well.” He went to slide the coin back into his pocket and the man set a hand upon his.
“Wait!”
Removing his hand from the coin, Valentine rocked back on his heels. “Yes?”
Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2) Page 13