Good Earl Gone Bad

by Manda Collins

  She was moving—they both were moving—toward something, though she had no notion of what it could be. Only that she had to keep moving against him or she would die. And then, almost as if some threshold had been crossed, she felt herself jolt out of rhythm and she was flung up into the heavens where her very essence splintered into a shower of small pieces where she could feel only a kind of otherworldly unreality.

  And as if from far away she felt Jasper’s thrusts speed up and then he cried out, holding still within her, gorgeous as his face shone with his own euphoria. Then, as if he no longer had the strength to hold himself up, he collapsed onto her.

  Rather than discomfort at his heavy weight, instead she felt a wave of tenderness wash over her. And closing her eyes with her own overwhelming fatigue, she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  When she awoke for the second time in her new bedchamber it was to find herself stark naked, and tucked firmly against a very large, very warm male body.

  She thought he must have been asleep, but he must only have dozed, for as if sensing her fluttering eyelashes, he kissed the back of her neck.

  “Sleep well?” he asked in a possessive tone. Thinking back to what they’d done to make her so very sleepy, she felt herself blush.

  “Yes,” she said diffidently. “Quite well.”

  She heard rather than saw the grin in his voice. “Then I suppose I did my job well enough.”

  If that had been a job only done well enough, she feared a job done splendidly would have killed her outright, she thought to herself.

  Aloud, however, she said only, “I suppose so.”

  It was then she became aware of a certain hard part of him pressing rather insistently against her backside. “Are you sore?” he asked against her ear, and she felt a shiver run down her spine at the sensation.

  She should be embarrassed at the question, she knew, but after their discussion earlier, followed by that ultimate intimacy, she found herself unruffled by it. “A little,” she confessed, but she added a slight thrust backward of her bottom to the words. “Not too much so.”

  She began to turn, but he held his arm firm against her belly. “Stay facing that way,” he ordered. And she must be under his spell, she thought, because if he’d ordered her to do something any other day she’d have given him a dressing-down he wouldn’t long forget.

  Allowing his warm hand to slide under her top knee and bend it upward, she gasped when she felt him slide into her already desperate body. And unlike before, there was no pain, only delicious sensation as he stroked into her from behind. Again and again filling her, then pulling back out again.

  In this position, she could only thrust back a little when he left her, and though it meant her role was limited, it also left her free to experience every last drop of sensation as he thrust up into her again and again.

  Her climax, when it happened, was not so explosive as earlier, but with his arms wrapped around her, it felt even more intimate in some way. And she was almost too overcome to realize when he stilled within her and exhaled his pleasure.

  * * *

  Jasper was deep in a dream involving unicorns and a curricle procession when a voice penetrated his consciousness.

  “My Lord,” his valet said in a stage whisper. “My lord, you have a visitor.”

  He opened his eyes, and suddenly the events of yesterday and last night flooded his brain. Which would explain why his legs were tangled in Hermione’s while she lay with her back tucked tantalizingly up against his quickly awakening cock.

  “This had better be good, Clarkson,” he said in a low voice, not wanting to wake her.

  “It’s the Duke of Trent, sir,” the manservant said, his tone of voice revealing that he knew just how utterly wrong it was of him to awaken his master in his current state.

  As furious as he was to be pulled from bed on his wedding night, Jasper knew Trent wouldn’t descend upon him unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “I’ll be down in a moment,” he told the other man.

  Carefully, he extricated himself from his delectable wife and climbed from the bed. Wordlessly he gathered up his breeches from the floor and stepped into them. Taking the banyan Clarkson offered, he thrust his arms into it and didn’t bother looking in the glass to see if he was presentable. Guests who arrived in the middle of the night deserved no such niceties.

  When he reached his study, where the underbutler had placed Trent, he looked inside and saw that the matter must indeed be grave.

  Trent was a man who had spent nearly a decade fighting the French in the army, and as such he’d seen his share of death and destruction and any number of generally grim situations. But his expression now was as bleak as he’d ever seen it.

  “What is it?” Jasper asked, shutting the door behind him. “Is it Lisle?”

  They’d lost the fourth member of their little group, Mr. Jonathan Craven, earlier in the year and to lose Lord Frederick Lisle would rock both men to their very cores.

  The duke shook his head. “No, thank God. As far as I know, he and Leonora are fine.”

  “Then what?” Jasper asked, racking his admittedly fatigued brain to guess who else’s loss would give Trent such a bleak expression.

  “I’m afraid Lord Upperton has been attacked with a knife,” Trent said baldly. “It’s clear someone attempted to cut his throat, but was interrupted. I’m having him brought here. I thought you would want that. For Lady Mainwaring. I came ahead to warn you.”

  “Good God.” Jasper shook his head in disbelief. “Where was he?”

  “Wallingford’s,” Trent said grimly. “I followed him from here after the wedding breakfast. I didn’t like his mood. He seemed a little too pleased at the way the marriage settlements had gone.”

  “That’s because I gave the bloody fool ten thousand pounds,” Jasper said, cursing himself. “I should have known better than to give him such a windfall. A man like that has no self-control at the best of times, but with a new fortune in his pocket he’s a damned gun with a sensitive trigger.”

  “Which is why I tagged along,” Trent explained as Jasper moved to the decanter of whisky he kept behind his desk. “I can’t help but admit that he’s good company in small doses.”

  “He isn’t a monster,” Jasper said, handing one of the glasses to Trent. “Just unable to control himself when it comes to games of chance. And I think he cares about Hermione in his way. Just not enough to stop him from hurting her.”

  He rang the bellpull and told Greaves to have one of the footmen fetch the doctor at once.

  “I suppose the old saying about a fool and his money is true,” he said, downing the rest of his drink. “I should have known better.”

  “I don’t think it was for his money, though,” Trent argued.

  “But you said he was found outside the hell. I assumed he’d won and someone followed him out.”

  It was something that all men who engaged in deep play feared. It was one thing to leave with your pockets empty from losing. There was no stealing what didn’t exist, after all. But anyone with a night’s winnings in his pocket was careful to stay with the crowd or to take a hack rather than walking home. And someone who had been as frequent a gambler as Upperton would have known that.

  “He lost,” Trent said flatly. “I tried to convince him to use the money you gave him to pay off the rest of his debts. Or at the very least, to put it away for later. But there was no persuading him. He played until he lost the whole of it. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a man ride such a spectacularly dismal losing streak until the very bottom.”

  “Of course he did,” Jasper said with a curse. “And I made that possible.”

  “You were trying to give the man a second chance,” Trent argued, drinking the rest of his alcohol in one gulp. “It was kindly meant. And if he’d been any other man he would likely have done the right thing with it. Unfortunately, Upperton is nothing if not foolish with his money.”

  L
owering himself heavily into his desk chair, Jasper scrubbed his hands down over his face. “What the devil am I going to tell her?” he asked grimly.

  “She knows what he is,” Trent said firmly. “The man lost her hand at the tables. If anyone knows about his proclivities, she does.”

  “But you said it wasn’t because of his money?” Jasper asked, recalling his friend’s exact words. “If he wasn’t holding any money then why was he attacked?”

  “That’s the question,” the duke said with a sigh. “I don’t know what the motive could have been. He had no money on him, and though he lost, he was in good enough spirits when he left with Fleetwood. They were going to walk home together since their houses adjoin. It’s why I didn’t think to follow him home. I remained behind to finish my own game. I was still there when one of the other men came in to tell us that he’d found Upperton and that he was badly injured.”

  At the name Fleetwood, Jasper’s ears began to ring. “And what of Fleetwood?”

  Trent shrugged. “He was gone. I assumed he’d fled when the attack happened. Or left while Upperton smoked a cigar. There was one burning there when we found him.”

  Jasper swore fluently. “He’s the one who did it. He must have been interrupted before he could finish the job.”

  Quickly he filled Trent in on the investigation into Fleetwood, Saintcrow, and the horses. “And now Hermione’s father was nearly killed because we couldn’t find enough evidence to take Fleetwood into custody.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Trent said. “From what you say, Fleetwood has been wily. And by hiring the runner to investigate Saintcrow’s death himself, he predisposed the magistrate to assume he’s innocent.”

  “Yes, but that’s no excuse for my lack of progress.” Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have been distracted. And that might have cost a man his life tonight.”

  At that moment, the sound of a commotion at the front door alerted them to the fact that the carriage carrying Upperton had arrived.

  “Let me know if there is anything more I can do to help,” Trent said, squeezing Jasper’s shoulder. “I can be here in a moment’s notice if need be.”

  Grateful for his friend’s support, Jasper nodded. Then hurried off to tell Hermione what had happened.

  Eighteen

  “But I don’t understand,” Hermione said, shocked by the news that her father had almost been killed. “Papa spends a great deal of time in gaming hells, but he is hardly violent. I cannot imagine why someone would wish to harm him.”

  She’d awakened alone in her bed, disappointed in spite of her determination not to be the sort of wife who clung to her husband’s every word. She’d tried to go back to sleep, but the unfamiliar room, coupled with anxiety over her new situation, kept her awake.

  When Jasper returned some moments later, she knew at once that he had bad news to share.

  “Hermione,” he said, sitting down on the side of the bed and taking her hands in his. “I’m afraid your father has been attacked.”

  “What?” she gasped. “What do you mean? Is he alive? What’s happened?”

  “He is alive,” he assured her, chafing her hands between his. “The physician is with him now. Trent had him brought here where we could look after him. We agreed that would be best for him instead of sending him to Half-Moon Street where he would have only the servants to look after him.”

  She knew she should get up and go to see him, but she was numb with shock. Hermione had become accustomed to the ups and downs of life with her father and his gambling habits. But it had somehow never occurred to her that his behavior could lead him into danger. He was often desperate for funds, of course. But she’d never connected that desperation with the other people who frequented the same spots as Lord Upperton.

  Of course he’d come into contact with dangerous people, though. What a naïve fool she’d been.

  “Thank you,” she said numbly, grateful that he was alive and not dead in an alley somewhere. “That is best. Greentree would see to him, of course, but it’s best that he’s here. With me. Do you know how badly he’s hurt?”

  “I haven’t been to see him yet,” Jasper told her, his voice gentle. As if he were afraid she’d go into hysterics. Though Hermione knew she was far too shocked for that. “But I believe it was a near thing. His attacker was interrupted, Trent said. So he hadn’t the time to finish his task.”

  The task of killing Lord Upperton, he meant. Unbidden, the memory of Lord Saintcrow’s lifeless body rose in her mind. And she began to tremble.

  “Come here,” he said, gathering her against his body, holding her close. How long had it been since she’d had someone she could go to when she needed comfort? She had Leonora and Ophelia, of course, but she couldn’t tell them about her darkest fears. The ones relating to her father’s worst excesses. “He is alive. That is the important thing. He was attacked but he survived.”

  “I need to see him,” she said against his shoulder. “I need to see for myself that he is still breathing.” And to replace the image of Saintcrow’s body with her father’s face that had set up shop in her mind. “Please.”

  “Of course, my dear,” he said, moving aside and offering her his hand.

  When she was on her feet, she rang for Minnie, and as soon as she was dressed she let Jasper lead her to the guest room where her father had been taken.

  “I am Dr. Braeburn, my lady,” said the russet-haired man who stood at Lord Upperton’s bedside. He stepped back to the foot of the bed so that Hermione could stand near her father’s head. “Your father is a lucky man.”

  How Lord Upperton would regret the missed opportunity to try that luck at the tables, she thought wryly.

  He was quite pale in the lamplight. With a wide white bandage wrapped around his neck.

  “So someone tried to cut his throat?” she asked gravely.

  “Aye,” the physician said matter-of-factly. “The cut was shallow, however. He lost a great deal of blood, but so long as he is kept quiet and receives a daily diet of red meat to enrich the blood, I think he can make a full recovery.”

  When had her father begun to look so old? she wondered, stroking her thumb over the thin skin of his hand. It was as if the attempt on his life had turned him into an invalid over the course of a few hours.

  “He should get as much rest as possible,” Dr. Braeburn said to Jasper, who had come to stand beside her. “And I cannot stress enough how much he should be kept calm. His body needs time to rejuvenate itself. And too much excitement could inhibit that process. I understand he was found outside a gaming hell. It goes without saying that he should refrain from cards or games or any activity that might raise his heart rate.”

  “We will see to it that my father-in-law receives the best care possible,” Jasper assured him, while Hermione continued to observe her father. “And I can assure you there will be no gambling while he is in this house.”

  When the doctor had gone, Hermione sank greatfully into the chair Jasper brought for her at Lord Upperton’s bedside.

  “I’ve never known him to look so frail,” she said softly, tracing the outline of her father’s bushy eyebrows. “For all that I was so frequently frustrated with his behavior, it never occurred to me that he might be harmed in some way. That he was as vulnerable to danger as the next man. He was always my invincible Papa.”

  “It is difficult to see them for the fragile beings they are,” Jasper agreed, placing a strong hand on her shoulder. “Especially when they spend a great deal of their time trying to convince us that they are anything but. A man like your father spends his days bluffing—that is, pretending to be richer, more clever, more prosperous, wiser than the other men at his table. It is part of what makes a successful gamester. You musn’t chide yourself for believing the lie. Men far more attuned to such practices have been fooled.”

  Something occurred to her. Looking up at Jasper, she saw that he was, for the moment, utterly without guile. And the look of naked pain
in his face nearly broke her heart. “You’re speaking of yourself, too,” she said softly. “You believe that you are just as guileful as he is. But you know that’s not true.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” he said sadly. “We spend a comparable amount of our lives at the tables. And there is not all that much difference in the way we play cards.”

  “There is a vast difference,” she said, turning to really look at him. “You once told me that you use mental calculations to choose which card to lay down, which to discard. I don’t think Papa could do that to save his life. He hasn’t got the mathematical skills to do what you do. The only weapon in his quiver is guile. Don’t you see?”

  “That doesn’t mean that I am somehow nobler than he is,” Jasper returned. “I am a cardplayer just as he is. It’s true that it has not become as necessary to me as breathing, certainly not as necessary as it has become to him. But do not make the mistake of judging me less harshly, Hermione. I am culpable for my own behavior. Perhaps more so because I have the ability to leave it without looking back, but I choose not to.”

  He stepped away, far enough out of reach that she could not touch him. “I will leave you to spend some time with him,” he said sadly. “Perhaps I can find out something more about the man who tried to kill him.”

  Before she could object, he was gone. And though she turned her gaze back to her father, her mind was on Jasper.

  * * *

  “I believe there is some merit in what you say, my lord,” said Mr. Rosewood as Jasper stood before him in the tiny office in Bow Street.

  After he left Hermione at her father’s bedside, he’d put on his hat and coat and gone in search of the runner. It was obvious to Jasper that Hermione’s erstwhile neighbor was the likeliest suspect in the murders of both Lord Saintcrow and now the attack on Lord Upperton. And since Rosewood had been hired by Fleetwood, he already had the man’s trust.

  “So, you will agree to work for me instead of Fleetwood?” Jasper asked the investigator. He had come to the conclusion that the only way to lure Rosewood to his own side would be to offer the man twice what Fleetwood was paying him. “Not only is it in your best interest with regard to your pay, but it also will save you from knowing you’ve aided and abetted a murderer.”