A Woman Made for Pleasure

by Michele Sinclair

  “We must get you home.”

  Feeling better, Millie nodded. “Is Marston . . . dead?”

  Chase inhaled deeply, recalling how she had saved his life and how he had had to leave Marston dying in order to protect her. “I believe so.”

  “Who was that man, the man I shot? Why does he want you and my brooch?”

  Chase took several deep breaths. It was time, he acknowledged to himself. He had brought no one—not even Reece—totally into his confidence. But for some reason he wanted no secrets between Millie and himself—ever.

  “There is a secret group of nobles who call themselves the Rebuilders. Within this group, there is a cluster of corrupt and power-hungry individuals—the man you shot is their leader.”

  Millie scrunched her nose, trying to recall a group with that name. “The Rebuilders? Rebuilders of what?”

  “The British Empire.” Chase’s voice was without inflection. It precisely conveyed the seriousness of his statement.

  “Oh.”

  Feeling her breath lightly caress his skin, Chase needed to occupy his hands and slowly began to stroke her hair as he continued. “Over a hundred years ago, several noblemen began to meet secretly. They were like-minded individuals who talked politics and government and eventually began calling themselves the Rebuilders. When the American colonies started to thrive, several nobles saw them as a chance to restore England’s position of power and wealth in the world.”

  Millie sighed, loving the feeling of being in Chase’s arms and his fingers caressing her hair. “Seems quite improbable, but innocent.”

  Chase kissed her temple. “For the last two decades, there has been a growing group within the Rebuilders. They were incensed at England’s loss of power in the colonial war. Roughly eight years ago, a shift in leadership occurred and key members of the group died and were replaced with power-hungry, self-serving men. During this time of chaos, an anonymous, unscrupulous man became their leader. He and his followers split from the Rebuilders and began calling themselves the Expansionists. They wanted to retake the colonies and continue expanding the British Empire, and their leader was willing to use any means—including the senseless deaths of English soldiers—to attain his goal.”

  Millie moved so that she could look at him directly. “How are you aware of all this, Chase?”

  “I believe an Expansionist leader killed my father.”

  “But why? Why your father?”

  “When I turned two and twenty, the Expansionist faction had grown considerably and several members held positions of power. England began experiencing military losses that perpetuated our country in a state of war when a treaty might have been made—something the Expansionists were unconditionally against. My father believed a traitor was feeding the enemy information and was behind many of the defeats that created the political pressure to put aside thoughts of a truce and continue fighting.”

  “But how?”

  “My father reasoned the traitor was working with someone inside the war department.”

  “That is why you left for the war.”

  “Yes, but only after my father’s death did I find proof that he was right; England did have a traitor. The evidence, however, did not include a name.”

  “Good Lord, Chase. What is your proof?”

  “Correspondence, most of which indirectly shows the traitor’s handiwork, but I have one piece that undeniably proves his existence. Angered by the impending peace treaty to be signed between America and England, the traitor stripped General Sir Pakenham of his more talented advisors and sent him to war—not telling him of the impending treaty. I have a letter from the traitor to an initial G outlining the plans that Pakenham unwittingly followed, resulting in the deaths of thousands of English soldiers. His goal was to keep the noblemen’s thirst for revenge alive to stop the treaty.”

  “But that means . . . all those men . . .”

  “Yes. We lost over seventy-five hundred men—many experienced veterans—to an unnecessary battle that we were intended to lose.”

  “But what are you going to do without a name? You cannot go forward with the evidence you have—why, every noble associated with the Rebuilders would be ruined.”

  “That is why after I drop you off tonight I am going to retrieve the name and the proof. Then I can find justice for my father.”

  “But how?”

  Chase reached into his pocket and retrieved the amethyst brooch.

  “My pendant,” Millie whispered.

  “You mentioned a key and a chest. Where exactly are they?”

  Millie looked up, her eyes glowing. “I can take you right to them.”

  “No, Millie,” Chase said forcefully. “You are going to Hembree Grove, and you are going to remain safe. Tell me where the items are.”

  Tears filled Millie’s eyes as she realized there was no other way. Without the identity of the killer, Chase would never be safe. “They are in the loft, next to all the clothes we used as costumes.”

  Chase hugged her to him again. “Like the one you were wearing at Vauxhall?” He felt her nod of confirmation and gave himself a mental kick for not thinking to look in the attic. He prayed the others who had searched his home had also made the same mistake.

  Millie felt the carriage roll to a stop. She knew in just a few minutes’ time, they would be parting, maybe forever. “Promise me you will be careful, Chase. Promise me.”

  Chase pulled her into his arms, and before he captured her lips in a last, searing kiss, he whispered, “I promise, my love.”

  Millie slowly entered the salon, staring at the back of the gentleman peeking out the window. He was a nondescript type of man. Neither overly tall nor short. No identifiable characteristics made him stand out. Nonetheless, Millie knew who he was.

  This man could easily be a friend and confidant of Chase’s, but the stakes were too high to risk discovering she was wrong. For once in your life, Millie vowed to herself, remain composed and say nothing.

  “Sir Edward! How kind of you to visit!”

  Edward gradually turned around, slightly stunned at the friendly greeting. “My lady, how gratified I am that you remember me. I must confess I wondered if you would.”

  Millie donned her most charming smile and reached out her hands in welcome. “Why, of course I remember you. We met earlier this Season at Lady Bassel’s ball. You were a most affable gentleman.”

  Edward feigned embarrassment. “Ah, my lady, you do know how to flatter a man.”

  Millie indicated a deep cranberry and gold chair nearby. “Please, do take a seat and have some refreshment.”

  “Thank you, my lady, but I have no need for any beverage. Please, let me apologize for my abrupt appearance. I know I was unexpected.”

  Millie spooned some sugar in a cup and replied, “No need for apologies, Sir Edward. You are most welcome.”

  Wincing, he sat in the chair and coughed. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  This time it was Millie who feigned embarrassment and elegantly cringed. “The news has spread fast, I see.”

  Edward chuckled. “Indeed, but that is to be expected. How often does an eligible marquess carry the daughter of an earl out of Lady Castlereagh’s ballroom and announce to all that she is to be his wife?”

  “Yes, Lord Chaselton and I had quite a lively discussion on the way home regarding that particular method of announcing one’s betrothal.”

  “But I see you have it resolved.”

  “Yes, and, I confess, I have loved him my whole life. Although not until last night did I discover his feelings for me were remotely similar.”

  Edward eyed the young, poised woman across from him. “I have a second confession, my lady.”

  Millie lifted her lashes and widened her eyes. “Oh?”

  “While I extend my heartiest best wishes in regard to your upcoming nuptials, I asked to see you today to inquire about Lord Chaselton. Have you seen him, by chance?”

  Stay calm and compos
ed, Millie repeated to herself. “Not since last night. However, I do expect him later today. Should I tell him you called?”

  “No, it is of no true import. It can wait until I see him later at White’s.” He paused, staring at her without emotion for several seconds before continuing. “You normally wear an unusual brooch, if I recall?”

  Millie sipped some tea, hoping the action would soothe her nerves. Watching him wince with every movement and use his left hand for everything, when he was clearly right-handed, were both signs. The traitor had a foreign accent, but a spy would be adept at imitating another voice to conceal his identity. Knowing that and hearing that simple inquiry, she was certain who sat but a mere three feet from her. Sir Edward was the traitor. Chase’s mentor and friend.

  She forced herself to smile warmly, as if recalling a fond memory. “Indeed. I feel somewhat odd without it. I do hope Charles returns it soon. He asked for it last night in hopes to have a jeweler create a matching bracelet as a wedding gift.”

  Edward raised his eyebrows. “I must say, I am surprised by his offer.”

  Millie put her hand up, pretending she understood his remark. “No, no, it is a most appropriate gift, I assure you. While I know it has a unique and peculiar design, the brooch means a lot to me, and Charles knows how much I treasure it.”

  “I am surprised, not by your fondness of the item, but of Chaselton’s willingness to have his wife openly wear his crest of the Rebuilders.”

  This time Millie did not have to act as if she were surprised. “Did you say his crest of the Rebuilders?”

  Edward crinkled his face into an oily smile. “Didn’t he tell you, my dear? That he is the leader of a group of nobles intending to rebuild England as a major power in the world.”

  Millie stared at the man and then laughed aloud. “Sir Edward, you make no sense. My future husband is no leader of a . . . a group of nobles. Up until a few months ago, he was fighting against France. You must be mistaken.”

  “He did not tell you, then? He did not discuss your amulet? Explain its origins?”

  Millie furrowed her brow. “He would not know of its origins for it was his father who gave it to me as a gift. He gave all of us presents and I promise you, they were only trinkets offered to cheer us up.”

  Millie watched as Edward heaved himself out of the deep chair. She rose as well, mentally rallying herself. If there ever was a time she needed nerves of steel, it was during these next few moments.

  “Sir Edward, I feel as if I have been no help to you at all today. Can I deliver a message for you when Charles comes to call? Would you like to wait? I am sure he will be arriving soon. You can discuss my brooch and the other items. . . .”

  His reaction was the final proof. “Other items?”

  Millie tilted her head and generated what she hoped was a perplexed look. “Yes, the ones I just mentioned. The gifts his father gave Aimee, Jennelle, and me. I gave them to Charles last night along with my brooch. With your knowledge of the crest inscribed on them, I am sure he would like to speak to you after he has finished his errands.”

  Edward bowed and moved to leave. “Thank you, my lady, for your kind offer, but I must depart.” He paused and turned back. “Mayhap I can redirect my route and encounter him on my way through Town. Would he happen to have mentioned what errands he had to accomplish before meeting with you today?”

  “Not exactly, no, I am afraid,” Millie said, escorting him to the door. “He made some off-handed comment in regard to Hyde Park before meeting my father this morning. Beyond that, I am afraid I cannot be of help.”

  Edward bowed again. Millie fought to remain composed as she watched him grin with malice. Take the bait, you cutthroat. Waste your time searching Hyde Park. I know who you are and soon Chase will know as well, Millie swore to herself as she walked him outside.

  “Good day, Sir Edward. Hope to be seeing you again soon.” Millie waved and smiled.

  Tipping his hat, he said, “Good day, Lady Aldon.”

  As soon as he disappeared from sight, Millie whirled around and rushed inside. She ran back to the room where she had had her hour-long inquisition. Aimee, Jennelle, and Mother Wentworth had grilled her incessantly about last night’s announcement and her future. Seeing them still in the room talking, she sighed in relief. “Thank God you all are still here,” she panted. “We have not a moment to lose. Charles is in danger.”

  Chapter 16

  “Run. Run like the wind for me,” Millie whispered into Hercules’s ear as she urged the stallion into another full gallop. She thanked God for the moonlight and hoped the horse’s footing remained sound, as they both were tiring rapidly. She would soon have to stop and rest him again. Just a little farther, she thought, praying she would reach Chase in time.

  An hour later, they stopped near a river bed. Millie slid off the big animal and led him to the river to drink. “That’s it. Good boy. We’ll rest here for a bit. We are almost there. One, maybe two more runs.”

  Millie plopped down on the hard ground and leaned against an old oak. The sun was beginning to rise over a distant grassy knoll. She had been riding hard since the previous morning. In a few hours, she would be at the Wentworth country estate right off the coast between Wareham and Swanage.

  She rubbed her eyes and retrieved some dry bread from her pockets to munch on. She would let Hercules rest for about another half hour. Today he was proving the rightness of his name. She was sure Chase had ridden straight to his country estate after dropping her off in yesterday’s dawning hours.

  With the benefit of being able to switch horses, he could have made the trip in eight hours, placing her almost twenty-four hours behind him. Millie hadn’t had that option. Showing up at an inn to get a fresh horse and to let Hercules rest was out of the question. She was already taking a huge risk riding alone. She got up, stretched, and reached for the canteen swinging from her saddle.

  Millie grimaced as she swallowed the bitter mixture of water and whatever contents were previously housed in the flagon. Tapping her finger on the container, she calculated how much farther she had to ride.

  It had been dark, but Millie was sure she had passed Shaftesbury. The town was the only hilltop settlement in Dorset. Built several hundred feet above the sea, it was hard to miss, even in the dark. That placed her a little more than twenty miles from her true destination—the Wentworth cliffs.

  An hour later she could delay no longer. She attempted to swallow another gulp of the disagreeable contents of her flagon and replaced the container on the saddle. She moved Hercules near an exposed root and mounted. She fingered his mane affectionately. “Depending upon the terrain, we have maybe two more hours, boy. Stay with me. I need you, Hercules. Chase needs you.”

  And with a quick tap of her heels, they were off again.

  “I must admit that I am disappointed you are not dead,” Chase said in a deadpan tone, seeing the glint of silver from the revolver pointed straight at him. He eyed the rider swinging down from his mount, which was an older mare obviously obtained along the way from London. The man’s face was covered, but it mattered little. Chase knew who he was.

  Glittering blue eyes full of hatred glared out from underneath the mask. “I could say the same for you, Chaselton. However, tonight’s encounter shall go somewhat differently than the last time we met. It will be you who is fatally injured. But, unfortunately, your miraculous recovery will not be as likely as my own.”

  “And how did you inexplicably heal from a death wound?” Chase asked as he casually leaned against a large cedar. He watched Marston unintentionally wave his pistol as he spoke.

  “A superb acting job,” Marston replied as he advanced toward Chase, stopping just a few feet away. “I grabbed my stomach so you would believe I was gut shot, when all I received was a mere shoulder wound. And not even my shooting arm.”

  “I admit you had me fooled,” sighed Chase. His demeanor conveyed annoyance at being inconvenienced. “But I wonder if your acting was to
fool me or your leader? Your fight with me was clearly one you would lose, but running away was not an option. Your leader would have shot you for being a coward. So you took the only way out; you pretended to be dying. It is not a strategy I would have employed, but then again, I am not you.”

  Marston knew Chase was taunting him, trying to excite his rage. It was the same tactic he had used to gain an advantage last night. Not this time, Marston swore to himself. This time, it will be your wrath that stirs uncontrollably. “I pity you, Chaselton. You are so determined to follow in the footsteps of your father. The Rebuilders were once great in their goals and actions. Now they are a dormant group of weak men unable to see the power available to them if they would just—”

  Chase yawned before interrupting. “The Rebuilders are interested only in protecting what they have, not empire building. England is still powerful and always will be. It does not need its nobles to employ traitorous ways and send thousands of good young men to their deaths.”

  Marston’s eyes narrowed and he leveled his gun. “It is clear we will never agree. Now, tell me where the items are.”

  Chase slowly straightened. “At some point in our encounters, I must have misled you, Marston. You mistake me for a fool, and I assure you that I am not. What possible benefit would I receive by telling you their location?”

  A sick sneer invaded Marston’s face as he removed his mask with his free hand. “Because I am under the impression that Lady Mildred Aldon means something to you. I assure you she means nothing to me, but I will enjoy taking her nonetheless.”

  Raw fury shot through Chase. He clenched his fingers once and released the pressure. Smiling, Chase replied, “I give you warning, Marston. Lady Aldon is not easily deceived. She will most likely kill you; that is, if you leave here alive.”

  Marston’s hand shook with rage. “Tell me, damn you. Tell me where those items . . .”

  Suddenly Marston’s vision was blocked as Chase threw his cloak over Marston’s head. Instinctively Marston pulled the trigger as he was wrenched around. Receiving a blow to his stomach, Marston shot again through the cloak before he was struck on the head and rendered unconscious.