A Woman Made for Pleasure

by Michele Sinclair

  Not even looking at her, Jennelle whispered, “Then stand on a chair.”

  Millie’s eyes turned into large violet saucers. Jennelle never advocated a deviation from decorum. She might acquiesce and abandon good behavior, but she never suggested it. Millie scrambled onto the chair she had been sitting in. Finally able to see over the heads in the room, she glimpsed the focus of everyone’s interest. It was Lord Brumby, and he was yelling something unintelligible.

  Millie strained to hear and froze when a shot rang out. She watched in horror as Brumby fell. His two earlier companions were nowhere in sight, and whoever the shooter was had vanished into the crowd.

  Standing transfixed on the chair, Millie remembered Chase’s words. The men I am after are cruel and ruthless. They have committed unspeakable crimes and have no morals in their character to prevent them from doing so again. Millie’s stomach turned. Whatever Chase was doing with these men was more dangerous than she had assumed.

  Millie stepped off the chair and sat down, oblivious to the madness going on around her. If she knew about the connection between Chase and Brumby, she was sure that others did. She had made a promise not to observe Brumby, but she had never pledged not to watch the other two. If they came anywhere near Chase, she was going to know.

  “It will not take but a minute,” Jennelle remarked as they approached her modiste’s residence. Despite its being in a side of town not normally frequented by nobility, they had been to Melinda Brinson’s several times. It was warm and inviting, and all three enjoyed playing with her baby son.

  “Stop! Stop now!” Millie cried, getting the coachman’s attention. The closed carriage came to an immediate halt just before they were to turn onto Mrs. Brinson’s street. They were in the Wentworth carriage today because Chase had taken the curricle with him several days ago, along with the post chaise used for distance traveling. And right now, the curricle was parked outside of Mrs. Brinson’s small residence.

  “What in the world?” Aimee asked under her breath, peeking out from behind the carriage curtains.

  Millie was looking out the window also, sitting across from Aimee. Jennelle peeked over Millie’s shoulders just in time to see a crying Melinda Brinson throw her arms around Chase as they were standing outside.

  Jennelle gasped. “Why that’s . . . that’s . . .” she stammered.

  “My brother,” Aimee finished, her voice barely audible.

  “Yes, but he’s with . . . with . . .” The back of Jennelle’s wrist pressed against her mouth, halting her attempt to state the obvious.

  Millie had seen enough. Silently she released the curtains and sat back in the carriage seat, forcing herself to breathe.

  Aimee closed her curtain and she and Jennelle leaned back in unison. “Why would my mother send you to Mrs. Brinson’s? This cannot be a coincidence.”

  “It’s not,” Millie replied, fighting to keep her tone even and unaffected. “Not at all. Remember when we first arrived here, and we mentioned Lady Chaselton? We received blank stares until you mentioned your brother. It is obvious that Mrs. Brinson’s name and your mother’s instructions came from him.”

  Aimee checked the window again. “He’s gone now.”

  Millie was about to rap on the roof to signal the coachman to continue, but Aimee stopped her. “Are we still going to get Jennelle’s dress?”

  “I do not think I want to any longer. At least not today,” Jennelle said in soft, sympathetic tones. She had seen the blood drain out of Millie’s face when she had witnessed the emotional embrace. Jennelle did not know the depth of the feelings Millie had for Charles Wentworth, but she knew they went beyond friendship. And for that to have happened, Charles must have encouraged her, repeatedly. The defensive walls around Millie’s heart were too solid for any other explanation. “Let us go home. I am not in the mood for a new dress. In fact, I am not too sure I ever want to visit that place again.”

  Jennelle saw Millie’s unshed tears as she stared out the window. As the carriage began making its way through the crowded streets, Millie silently thanked her friend for understanding and not inquiring about what was in her heart.

  Chase left Melinda’s and headed straight for White’s. Upon his arrival in Town, Chase had decided to become a member at one of London’s exclusive clubs for gentlemen. He had chosen White’s. Established in the early seventeen hundreds, it was the oldest club in London, and it was one of the few that had set itself up with premises of its own. Those who regularly attended were categorized as simple men whose lives centered on gaming, gossip, and being fashionably dressed. It was perfect for a nobleman who wanted to be close enough to hear the gossip without actually having to participate in it.

  Chase entered and looked around. It was early in the afternoon, but several members were loitering, listening for the latest on-dit. Chase spotted Sir Edward sitting in front of the bay window, leisurely partaking of some port. He took a seat nearby.

  “Nice view.”

  Sir Edward turned around. “Hmm, yes,” he replied, his tone and demeanor edgy. “Now that Brummell is quite financially ruined, this view has become available to all members—not just Brummell and his cronies.”

  Chase eyed his old mentor. “I believe he referred to them as dandies.”

  Edward shrugged. He had little use for Brummell and his short-lived dictates on fashion.

  “The place is fairly active for it being so early,” Chase remarked as he fixed his coattails.

  Edward coughed. “Been a busy afternoon. Something happened and the pointless nobles are here to discover what, and then indulge in their foolish prattle.”

  Chase observed the excited hum in the room and agreed with his former mentor. “Must be fairly high-profile prattle today. Even the Beef Steak Society is present to discover the news,” Chase remarked, indicating the presence of the society’s leader, the Duke of Norfolk.

  “Really? Charles Howard is here, and at this hour? Should he not be off gorging himself on red meat?” Edward asked, craning his head around the approaching servant to verify Norfolk’s presence.

  Chase took the pint of ale being offered and sampled the crisp flavor. He sat back, pretending to be relaxed and bored. “They meet tomorrow, and I doubt whether there is any gossip worthy enough to drag those men from their five o’clock steaks on a Saturday.”

  Edward nodded as he downed the last of his port. “So, if it was not interest in today’s gossip, what brings you by?”

  “Just came from Melinda Brinson’s place,” Chase replied, stretching his feet in front of him, feeling the heat emanate from the nearby hearth.

  Relief flowed through Edward, evident in both his expression and demeanor. “In truth? How is Geoffrey’s widow doing?”

  “Better now. It was rough for a while, especially with the baby.”

  “Hmm, that was unfortunate. She was lucky you were there.”

  Chase’s eyes grew hard with the memory. “I owed it to Geoffrey.”

  “He was a good man.”

  “Yes. Yes, he was,” Chase replied so low he could barely be heard. He swirled the pint for several silent moments and then swallowed a large portion. The memory of his partner’s death was difficult.

  Geoffrey, Reece, and Chase had worked very closely together for several years. When Geoffrey met Melinda and decided to marry, Reece and Chase had surmounted many obstacles to be at the wedding. After inheriting a sizable amount of land, Geoffrey had decided to resign his commission and go home to a blushing bride. Chase remembered how he thought his friend had it all—wife, future, happiness, plans beyond the war. But right before his return, Geoffrey had received a tip on the location of a longtime target of the war department.

  Chase had been with Reece on a separate assignment. Consequently, on his own initiative, Geoffrey undertook the reconnaissance by himself. It was a trap. His body was deposited in plain view with a clear message. We know who you are.

  Afterward, Chase did what he could to help Geoffrey’s wife.
Things went well at first. She had the land, and she had friends. But when her brother-in-law accumulated considerable gambling debts, he demanded and eventually received Geoffrey’s land. Melinda’s friends quickly disappeared along with her assets. With no living relatives, and Chase and Reece away, Melinda found herself in London searching for a way to earn a living.

  Shortly after arriving in Town, she met a kind lord who showered her with flattery and attention. He gave her shelter and, in return, she gave him love. But when Melinda discovered she was with child, she learned the true nature of her lover’s character. Instead of support and an offer of marriage, she found herself abandoned. She and her son were barely living on the money she had left from her pawned jewelry when Chase had found her in one of the worst parts of Town.

  He immediately set out to move her into an older, empty dower house that, while not in the fashionable part of Town, was safe and respectable. It had been difficult, knowing that if they were caught, both their reputations would be affected. When her lover abandoned her and the baby, Melinda allowed everyone to believe the baby was her late husband’s. Chase agreed, knowing what the label of bastard could do to a child.

  His visit this afternoon had been full of shocks. First, he had been surprised to find the young toddler large and mobile. His second shock was the child’s demeanor toward him. The boy, obviously disappointed to see that the visitor was a large man and not the friend he was expecting, began crying very loudly for his “Miwee.” But nothing could have stunned him more than when Melinda told him that “Miwee” was none other than Lady Mildred Aldon, who would entertain her son, oftentimes for several hours, whenever Melinda needed to focus on the needs of Lady Gent.

  Knowing how garrulous the Three can be, Chase had feared what might have been said during their meetings, but Melinda had immediately assured him otherwise. She had avoided any topic of conversation that could have led to questions about her past or hint of her association with Chase. It helped that all three women had acted as if her situation was what most assumed—she was a widow and that the baby was her late husband’s. Sympathetic to her situation, all three had been extraordinarily kind. Especially Millie, for with her quick wit and ways of persuasion, she had secured Melinda several new clients. As a result, she could now fully support herself and her son.

  Oddly, Melinda’s admission had enabled Chase to make one of his own. And there, outside on her doorstep, he had told her that he intended to have Millie for his bride. Never did he dream such news would bring tears of joy nor did he anticipate Melinda would congratulate him with a hug. Even now, he felt an odd sense of betrayal that he had allowed another woman to embrace him in such a manner.

  “Chaselton!” said a familiar voice behind them. “Surprised you are here, my good man.”

  Chase turned and inwardly grimaced. The speaker was Lord Pomfrey, a large, round man who relished learning and spreading gossip.

  Chase nodded and returned to his comfortable sitting position. “Surprised? Why? It is you, Pomfrey, who is the surprise. I thought you preferred Watier’s . . . and their chef.” Chase hoped his ungentlemanly comment would put the man off. He soon realized he was not going to be that fortunate as Pomfrey waddled around, placing himself in front of the hearth.

  “Ah, great place, Watier’s. Not your style, of course. Don’t know if you would be allowed in with your preference for trousers and short neckties. We men who are concerned with our dress and appearance”—the stout man puffed his chest out in pride—“have our standards, you know.”

  Sir Edward coughed. “Ah, well, Watier’s has selected well in letting you in.”

  Chase smiled at the disguised barb. Watier’s might have great food, but its existence was going to be very short-lived if it continued to funnel noblemen’s fortunes into blackguards’ pockets.

  Pomfrey, on the other hand, did not comprehend the gibe. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately for you, White’s allows anyone in. Although today there seems to be a much higher quality of patronage than the norm. But I suppose that is quite understandable in light of what happened. But I must admit to my surprise, you being amongst us, Chaselton.” He paused, as though dangling a juicy morsel no one could resist.

  Chase looked up, creasing his brow. “Again you hint I should not be here. Where else would I be, Pomfrey?”

  “Why, at home comforting your sister, or did you not know she was there?”

  Chase said nothing. He was battling with himself whether to hear the man out or physically throw him from his presence. He looked at Pomfrey’s girth and frowned at the seams struggling not to burst. Any unexpected movement would surely result in a vision that should remain behind tailored clothing. Chase decided to let the man have his say.

  Pomfrey smacked his lips together several times. He loved gossip. “Rather a ghastly sight for a well-bred lady. Too bad about Brumby. I have been going from group to group, but no one has a clue who performed the foul deed. Can you imagine? Snuffing someone in the middle of a Society meeting with people surrounding you—and getting away with it. Absolutely amazing. Someone must have seen something. Well, cheerio. Give my regards to your family for me, Chaselton. I must be off.”

  Chase remained silent as he watched the heavy man recede into the crowd. His knuckles were white with fury. He had warned Brumby about the Expansionists, but his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. After a heated discussion, Brumby vowed no knowledge of the traitor—certainly not a name—and swore that he had never exchanged any letters with Chase’s father. He insisted that he had received only the one brief request to meet, and he had burned that note years ago.

  But when Chase inquired about the identity of the fifth man in their group hunting for the traitor, Brumby’s nervous fidgets multiplied tenfold and he became immediately recalcitrant. He refused to capitulate to Chase’s request, deeming it safer for Chase to forget everyone and everything regarding his father, including the traitor and the ill-fated group.

  Chase had known that with time and appropriate pressure, Brumby would eventually break. The traitor must have known this as well. It left the foolish lord in a precarious position. Chase had encouraged Brumby to leave Town immediately, but he would not listen. Brumby thought if he kept visible, proving his silence, he would be spared. He had been wrong. Now only Chase remained between the Expansionists and their goal.

  Chase forced his jaw to unclench. The killer he was after was not normally a daring man. There was a reason he shot Brumby in public, and a reason he chose the setting of that particular Society meeting. It was a message for him. The killer had just announced that Chase’s family, and maybe even Millie, were potential targets if he did not stop his pursuit.

  In silence, Sir Edward carefully watched his protégé war with his emotions. He nodded when he saw Chase rise.

  “I must take my leave. Good day to you,” Chase said, standing to pick up his gloves and hat.

  Chase was going to have to accelerate his plan. Without the identity of the fifth man or the location of the other two markers, he would have to do the unthinkable. Put Millie in danger. At tomorrow night’s ball, he would let it slip about the existence of the markers and how they were the key to exposing the traitor. In doing so, Millie’s amulet would immediately become of high interest, and only at that point, could he protect her from the danger it put her in.

  It would also give him the leverage needed to join the Expansionist cause. The traitor would force his pawns to agree to the admittance, for he would not chance Chase’s having proof of his treacherous deeds. Chase just hoped it would give him the time needed to learn and expose the traitor’s identity. For it would not be long before his own ignorance of the second and third markers was discovered.

  Chapter 10

  Millie could not understand why Jennelle was being so adamant. Normally, her conservative friend was incredibly casual about her dress, hair, and overall appearance. But tonight, Jennelle was demanding that all three of them look their best—especially Millie.
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  “Millie, I think it is time for the egg-white satin.”

  Aimee’s eyes popped open. “But I thought you said it was indecent.”

  Jennelle waved her hand. “Only for a small gathering. It is perfect for tonight’s ball.”

  Aimee was oblivious to Jennelle’s hint. “But you . . .”

  Jennelle grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her aside. “I said that a woman who wore such a gown was on a mission. And believe me, tonight Millie is on one.”

  Mimicking Jennelle’s hushed tones, Aimee asked, “What mission?”

  But before Jennelle could answer, Millie came over, suspicious that her best friends were about to decide something contrary to her desires. “If this private discourse concerns me, I would like to be included.”

  “Of course it concerns you, and no, you cannot be included,” Jennelle responded.

  Millie crossed her arms and donned a look of inflexibility she had perfected long ago. As a child, it had worked like a charm, but as she grew older, her friends somehow learned how to discern when she was bluffing.

  After a several second stare-down with Jennelle, Millie finally warned, “Tell me now. For I will leave neither of you alone until you do.”

  “Fine. Our discussion is then concluded,” Jennelle retorted, surprising Millie by grabbing her shoulders and whirling her around. And with a gentle shove, Jennelle pushed her stubborn friend back toward the dressing table to finish preparing for the evening.

  Working with their most talented lady’s maid, Jennelle oversaw all aspects of Millie’s hair, ensuring perfect placement of every pearl in the intricate mixture of dark curls and waves.

  “Perfect. Now for the dress,” Jennelle said, smiling at the outcome of her efforts. She rarely liked to apply her talents for styling hair, preferring instead to spend her time reading about far-off countries. Millie might have natural grace and wit, and Aimee the gift of beauty and song, but tonight, it would be Jennelle’s eye for perfection that would end Charles’s roving eye.