A Woman Made for Pleasure

by Michele Sinclair

  When Darlouney and I last met, I witnessed Lord Brumby leaving by way of the back door, believing himself unseen. While not absolute in my belief, I suspect he is Darlouney’s second contact. Find him, for if I am correct, Lord Brumby is the only one who knows the fifth man in the group seeking to find the turncoat who betrayed not only us, but thousands of brave young Englishmen who were intentionally sent to their deaths.

  Avenge them. Avenge us. Avenge your father. I fully expect that as the Marquess of Chaselton and as the son of my late friend, you will ensure that we have not died in vain.

  And whatever you do, tell no one—trust no one.

  Eischel

  So Lord Eischel had feared for his life. A fear not unfounded, as he was now dead. That explained why in the past two weeks Chase could not find him.

  Slowly depositing Eischel’s letter on a nearby desk, Chase assessed Sanders once again. “How did your employer die?”

  “Of consumption, I was told,” Sanders replied without hesitation.

  “How long had Eischel had consumption?” Chase asked, knowing those suffering with the disease experienced a long, painful death.

  “As far as I am aware, less than two months.” Sanders’s voice had little inflection.

  Chase eyed the man. “Two months? That’s all?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Chase sat down behind the desk and propped his index fingers together, forming a steeple. “Odd, for consumption.”

  “If you say so, my lord.”

  Chase eyed the man carefully and estimated that while he was assessing Sanders, Sanders was likewise appraising him. “Your employer wrote that I was to trust you.”

  For the first time, Sanders appeared uncomfortable. “I wish I could have done more.”

  “Did Lord Eischel have something besides this missive for me?”

  “No, my lord. His final request was that I personally deliver his message to you without delay, regardless of the time of day or night. That is all.” For several moments, Sanders stared at the patterned rug on the floor before he looked Chase directly in the eye and replied in a vengeful tone, “There are the letters Lord Eischel received from your father. Some of them quite long.”

  “Letters?” Chase demanded. “There was more than one?”

  “Indeed. Several just before Lord Chaselton—your father—passed away. In his last weeks, Lord Eischel pored over them again and again. He suspected they contained a clue, but he could find nothing of import, just news of government. Maybe you can . . .”

  Chase leaned forward, interrupting. “Did you bring them with you?”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Sanders replied, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat to bring out a stack of missives.

  Taking the outstretched documents, Chase silently wondered why his father had written only to Eischel and not to him as well. He took a deep breath and escorted Sanders to the library door. “Your account was a heavy burden, Mr. Sanders. Consider it lifted. I thank you for your service. Do you have another position?”

  Sanders nodded once. “Before his demise, Lord Eischel was kind enough to ensure I had employment.”

  “If you would wait, I will call for my carriage and have my man take you home.”

  Sanders shook his head decisively. “I would prefer you did not. I took great pains to keep secret my coming here this evening, and though the hour is late, I have no wish to advertise my brief association with your lordship. And, in fact, if it is not too much a burden, I hope to leave by the servants’ entrance.”

  Chase nodded in understanding and led the man to a side door leading outside.

  Sanders descended halfway down the small brick staircase and stopped. He turned and bowed his head for a final time. “Good night, my lord, and may you obtain what you seek.”

  “Rest assured, Mr. Sanders, there shall be meaning in their deaths.”

  Sanders nodded and proceeded to squeeze by a hedge and enter Queen Street. In two blocks, he would be at the Regent Quadrant with ample hired hackneys from which to choose. Chase stood for several moments in the dark, watching the tall, purposeful figure disappear from view. Chase doubted he would ever see or hear from the man again.

  Closing the door, Chase turned and headed toward his study. The fire in the hearth had died a few hours ago and the normally warm and inviting room was cold and dark. It fit his mood.

  He sat down and began to sketch the relationships of the five men, beginning with his father’s name.

  If Eischel was correct, then Brumby would know the identity of his father’s second contact. And if his father had intended on telling Eischel, then surely he would have told his other contact—or at least he had tried. Chase put down the quill and tapped the stack of letters. His father was not adverse to writing, but neither could Chase remember him being so prolific.

  He sat back and opened the first letter, ignoring the twisting of his insides. The handwriting was definitely his father’s, and though the lengthy message had been sent to Eischel, it had been meant for him. Chase immediately recognized the cipher he and his father had developed in his youth.

  Over the next hour, he decoded the letters. The details were scant and they did not mention a name. His father must have feared someone else discovering and deciphering the code. Instead of a name, he wrote about three markers. One marker that would be overlooked by most would lead to others. Only with all three markers could someone find the proof and present it to the House of Lords. Without them, Chase could do nothing. If Chase brought any of what he knew to the House of Lords and they discovered the extent of their being manipulated, blood would be sought immediately. Without a target on which to focus their anger, many of the legislators would not discriminate in favor of caution and justice.

  Chase leaned back behind the distinctive writing table that had been his father’s and lightly stroked the inlay on its surface. The dark patterned wood formed the Chaselton crest. He depressed two inlay pieces simultaneously, and a secret drawer was freed.

  Chase placed the letters and his sketch in the hidden drawer and closed it. He leaned back in the well-worn chair and considered his next move. He had no doubt that the marker “overlooked by most” was the amulet his father had given Millie. The idea of her continuing to wear the item filled him with unease, and he dreaded the barrage of questions that were likely to ensue when he demanded she give him her necklace.

  He was considering just how to deflect her inquiries when an idea struck him. Maybe he could delay that argument for a little while longer. Millie had been wearing the amulet for nearly every event, and anyone who had recognized the crest most likely had already seen it. Like he, they must have thought it nothing more than a trinket given to her by his father. An assumption that might prove to be useful.

  He did not like the idea of using Millie unwittingly, but letting her continue to wear the item might be the most effective way to achieve his goals. And if the amulet ever did pose a danger, just how he decided to make it disappear could be key to protecting her and his family.

  Meanwhile, he needed to learn just how the marker led to the other two. And for that, he had to find Lord Brumby. But before anything, he needed to leave Hembree Grove and his mother’s and the Three’s ever-observant eyes.

  Chapter 6

  Millie froze. Her mind and body went completely numb as she clutched the drapes in her motionless fingers. It had been nearly four days since Chase had moved out of Hembree Grove, and she had no doubt his abrupt decision to relocate was prompted by their kiss. When she had first learned of his absence, a strange feeling of relief flooded through her. Since discovering his impromptu arrival in London, silent fears and uncertainties about her future—ones she held deep within her—had reawakened. Never before had her childhood promise felt so burdensome. Now it nearly choked her with its weight.

  The first day after Chase left, and even during the first event that she had attended with only Mother Wentworth as an escort, Millie had felt free and conf
ident. But she could not escape the disquieting memories of their embrace. One moment she was in anguish wondering how she compared with his undoubtedly numerous other conquests. Then she would remind herself of her desire to be unattached, free, and beholden to no one.

  Millie had been completely truthful when she had told Chase their kiss was inevitable. And now that it had occurred, her curiosity should have been assuaged, and the strange pull between them should have vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared. Yet with each day that passed, it became harder and harder to disillusion herself. She began to wonder just what she wanted of him, of herself, of the future.

  Aimee and Jennelle had not said anything, but they were aware of Millie’s mood swings and had tried to transfer her energies elsewhere. Earlier that morning they had once again pleaded with her to attend one of Jennelle’s many afternoon Society meetings. And once again Millie had declined, choosing to be alone with her thoughts.

  Standing immobile by the front window, Millie suddenly wished she had accepted. The one person she had not expected to see was standing outside Hembree Grove. Chase. He was casually pretending to address a man whom she knew was not his driver.

  Gradually, a sense of unexplainable loss filled Millie. She did not want to know if their single stormy embrace had satisfied his curiosity. She did not want to know he desired her no more.

  Millie let the heavy, tasseled material fall from her fingertips and reminded herself she wanted no man. And even if she did, it certainly would not be Charlie Wentworth. Turning, she headed toward the back entrance, deciding to pass the rest of the afternoon in the stables. Hopefully by then Charlie would have come and gone, never knowing she was there.

  She kicked open the large hinged door and inhaled the smell of fresh hay and horses. Millie missed the country and looked forward to returning home, abandoning Town life and all its restrictions set by the haut ton’s most shallow and vane.

  A shadow moved and skirted out the side door. She rolled her eyes as the stableboy’s comrade quickly followed. Both obviously feared she was there to practice her self-defense moves. Picking up a brush, she ventured toward a huge black horse prancing with excitement in the far stall.

  “Shhh, Hercules,” Millie whispered as she drew him out to the center of the stable. She began stroking the muscled neck of the monstrous animal. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I, boy? Are you going mad here in Town? Was it terribly cruel of me to insist on your coming?” she asked, laughing as the dark head nudged her shoulder.

  The unusually large Friesian had been a gift from her father for her sixteenth birthday—one he had not realized he was purchasing. After weeks of hearing Millie’s incessant pleas, he had acquiesced and allowed her to pick her own horse from a neighbor’s stock. When she had come home with the huge black animal, he had threatened to fire the stable master and then forbade her to ride the thing that threatened his only child. After a tremendous amount of coaxing and sustained confirmation of the horse’s docile nature, Lord Aldon finally consented to her keeping and then riding the beloved horse. Hercules and Millie had been inseparable ever since.

  When her father decided she was to have a Season, Millie again pleaded with him to change his mind. Realizing her entreaties were falling on deaf ears, she agreed to stop fighting the inevitable if she could stay with Aimee in London and if she could bring Hercules. Her father quickly agreed, with the sole purpose of reestablishing peace in his household. While he disapproved of the horse—especially in London—the compromise allowed him to stay in the countryside. He did not relish the idea of dealing with the ton. Ever since his cherished wife had died, Lord Aldon preferred to live a quiet life away from pressuring widows. Millie’s mother had been the love of his life, and he would never want another. Since her death, he ventured into London only to visit Richard Tattersall or for Derby-related activities.

  Millie heard the door open behind her and turned, expecting to see one of the footmen or stable lads ordered back to their chores. She was about to ask if they would take Hercules out for some exercise when she realized who was entering the stables. Chase.

  Sucking in a quivering breath, Millie tried once again to persuade herself that her fascination with Charlie Wentworth was foolish and unwanted. She tried to muster some displeasure at having to face him, despite her intention to do otherwise, but she could find none. The man was undeniably alluring. Seeing him alone, Millie thought her racing heart would never beat normally again. She knew she was staring at him, but could not bring herself to stop.

  Chase’s light camel-colored breeches and beautifully polished black Hessians outlined the strong, muscular lines of his calves and thighs. He wore a striped tan-and-gold waistcoat underneath his dark brown frock coat. The immaculately tailored clothes emphasized the natural elegance of his powerful, large frame. He looked every bit the marquess. A nobleman, born and bred to his title.

  Chase entered the stables and looked around for the groom. He had just received an unexpected visit and decided to go for a ride while he grappled with his warring thoughts. He needed to make a decision—soon. It was difficult not to give in to the old habit and tell his mentor everything and ask for advice. But he decided, at least for now, to heed Eischel’s wisdom and trust no one, tell no one.

  Closing the stable doors, Chase caught Millie studying him, and his mouth curved faintly. He thought everyone had departed Hembree Grove for the day, and was suddenly glad to be wrong. Then Chase saw the black, muscled monster hovering over Millie. Alarm and fear flooded his veins, resulting in an uncharacteristic roar. “What in bloody hell are you doing?” He instantly regretted his reaction as the horse shifted, clearly agitated by the unexpected sound.

  Instantly, Millie felt all her trepidation about encountering Chase dissipate. In its place, her temper flared. “Excuse me?”

  “Millie, carefully walk away and come over here,” Chase replied with quiet, even emphasis.

  Millie’s brows drew together in confusion. Chase was obviously afraid for her. Hercules nudged her hand for a treat. As the prized small sugar cube was nibbled out of her hand, Millie realized the impetus of Chase’s bizarre behavior. Having been away for so many years, he did not know about Hercules.

  In retaliation for Chase’s abrupt and dictatorial behavior, Millie rubbed the large animal’s neck and nuzzled the black nose before turning with an impish smile. “Chase, meet Hercules. He’s my horse.”

  Chase’s eyes narrowed in unmistakable disapproval. “Does your father know you have that beast?”

  Millie nodded, continuing her loving ministrations. “He bought him for me. And he is no beast. Hercules is my friend.”

  Chase watched in astonishment as Millie gave comfort to the large animal. It was enormous and powerful, and its sheer size had to make him difficult to control. Terrifying thoughts of Millie being injured or even killed beneath its hooves flooded his mind. He could not believe Lord Aldon would ever allow his only child near such a potential killer. “I do not believe you.”

  Millie raised her chin defiantly and gave him a pointed and unswerving stare. “I assure you he did.”

  Chase growled through compressed lips. “And I assure you I know your father, and I know you. You tricked him into purchasing that oversized beast, and afterward you consistently plagued the man until he yielded to your whimsical demands.”

  Millie shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps. But if you got to know Hercules, as my father did, you would see he really is quite gentle.”

  “Hmph,” was Chase’s only reply. His initial fear for her safety slowly evaporated as he witnessed the animal’s and Millie’s interaction. Chase looked around to pinpoint who was charged with helping her, when he realized they were alone. “Where is everyone?”

  Millie glanced around, trying to see for whom Chase was searching. It was rare someone remained in the stables when she visited Hercules. “I am here,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders and recommenced her grooming.

  Chase
stared at Millie, not comprehending the sarcastic tone in her voice. He watched her body move provocatively as she brushed the horse’s coat, left to right. His gaze skimmed hungrily down the graceful line of her spine as it swayed side to side. With each stroke, he felt his body respond. He had hoped that by keeping his distance his craving for her would lessen, but as his gaze dropped from the creamy skin of her exposed neck to her shoulders, and lower, his ever-present hunger for her flared to life. He felt himself visibly harden and immediately shifted his stance.

  Vauxhall Gardens had only enhanced his need for her. Since his foolish attempt to satisfy his carnal desires, his dreams had become more disturbing. Every night, a fantasy-Millie would invade his unconscious, and with each visit, her demeanor became more seductive. She would entice him to play with her, chase her; and when he did, she would disappear, leaving him wanting. And the few times he had caught his phantom enchantress, he had immediately awakened, robbed of pleasure and hard with desire.

  He shook his head and once again tried to remind himself she was Mildred Aldon, his little sister’s best friend. She was a child.

  But even as the hollow words flowed through his mind, he knew them to be wrong. The female tending the enormous horse was no child. Millie was small, but she was definitely a mature, well-developed woman. And each time he encountered her, his desire for her grew stronger.

  Chase took a deep breath and remembered what Aimee had said about Millie and the stable hands. She used them as sparring partners. And based on their absence, it appeared, unwilling partners.

  “So Aimee was not exaggerating. The stable grooms are afraid of you.”

  Millie shrugged her shoulders again and rocked gracefully back on her heels as she continued brushing the muscular animal with graceful, fluid strokes.

  Chase knew he should leave. Being with Millie was a self-inflicted torture, but one he was tempted to endure for a few precious moments. And right now, he welcomed any excuse to extend his time alone with her. “Seems you lack willing partners. Would you like one now?”