Sophia nodded. “Explore adult pleasures with the curiosity and excitement of youth.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Where should I begin?”
Sophia shrugged. “Invite him to pleasure you as you would pleasure yourself.”
Thea lifted her chin to hide her ignorance. “And he would do that by…?”
Sophia blinked. “…using his hand, of course.”
“Or his mouth,” Lavinia laughed.
“Or,” Sophia’s dimple appeared, “you could have a go at pleasuring him.”
With her hand? Her mouth? But wait, she had seen a drawing of something of the sort, hadn’t she? She’d been shocked, and—if she were being truthful—excited. But on Wynchester…? Surely he would find such an act lowering.
Sophia leaned forward and spoke softly. “When Wynchester came to your bed, did you get a fluttery feeling in your chest?”
“Yes.” Followed by a clenching heat between her legs.
“And,” Lavinia asked, “after you danced with him last night, was your body readied?”
“Pardon?”
Sophia a-hemmed. “Lavinia is asking if you got wet.”
Thea bit her lip.
“Lavinia,” Sophia kept her perceptive gaze fixed on Thea, “I believe our dear Decadence has never been decadent on her own.”
Lavinia’s lips formed an oh.
“Of course I have been decadent on my—oh!”
“And now you know,” Sophia said. “More than just coupling makes those places feel good.” She wiggled her fingers. “These can be quite effective.”
Thea coughed. “Ladies do such things?”
“Thea,” Sophia leaned forward, “How can you expect Wynchester to guess how to bring you pleasure, when you do not even know?”
Lavinia nodded. “She has a point.”
Thea imagined lying alone on a bed and sliding her hand where she and Wynchester had coupled. Dubious. “It will improve matters?”
Lavinia laughed again. “It cannot hurt.”
Then, the most shocking thought occurred. “Do men touch themselves, too?”
Sophia chuckled. “I’ve no doubt.”
Interesting. The thought of Wynchester stroking himself to release was oh-so-fascinating.
“It occurs to me,” Lavinia said, “to ask Max.”
“And it occurs to me,” Sophia’s eyes twinkled, “to watch Randolph.”
“I’m glad you can make merry, while I puzzle.” Thea folded her arms. “All I really want is to be certain I’ve pleased Wynchester.”
“A noble aspiration,” Sophia said. “As long as you make sure he pleases you, too.”
A knock sounded on the door and all three ladies jumped. Bates opened the door, announcing Mr. Harrison.
Harrison clasped his hands behind his back and approached with a cautious step. “Just what has the three of you as red as roasted beets?”
“Lavinia has a question for you,” Sophia said.
“Sophia!” Lavinia scolded.
“We were discussing matrimony,” Thea cut in quickly.
Harrison frowned. “I would like to be of service, but of those present, I am the only one without experience.”
“Not so,” Sophia said wryly. “Or so we hear.”
Lavinia glared.
Max cleared his throat. “Shall I return at a better time?”
“No,” Thea said quickly. “Please stay, Mr. Harrison. I want to be of assistance to your investigation and we have an hour at most before Wynchester and Eustace return.”
“I came early,” Harrison replied with slightly more comfort, “hoping we could speak.”
Chapter Seven
Harrison sat down beside Lavinia on a double chair. Lavinia busied herself with pouring tea, while her blush gently faded. Sophia moved her chair in order to be closer to Thea.
Harrison cleared his throat. “May I ask a few questions, duchess?”
“Those who my Furies trust, I trust,” Thea replied. “You may ask me anything you wish.”
“I thank you for your confidence.” Harrison took out a small book and held aloft a piece of graphite in a wood casing. “Forgive my indelicacy, but from the night we first met, it has been clear to me you harbor no good will toward your brother-in-law.”
“You are correct.” Thea spoke without shame. “I knew Eustace was a lying thief before he went to India. I’ve shared the tale with Lavinia.”
“And what you have shared,” Lavinia’s gaze slid to Mr. Harrison, “was not mine to divulge.”
Mr. Harrison tapped the graphite to the book. “Would you care to enlighten me, Duchess?”
A waterfall of Eustace and Wynchester went gushing through Thea’s mind, leaving her as cold as Wynchester had sounded the day he’d summoned her to his office to discuss the missing sapphires.
“A few months after my marriage, Eustace accused me of stealing priceless family heirlooms. I protested, of course, but it was Eustace’s word against mine. He threatened scandal, and forced Wynchester to choose between us.”
Who will you believe, your brother and heir, or your reckless young wife who loves nothing but the turn of a card?
“Wynchester,” Thea continued, “sent Eustace to India.”
“So,” Harrison said, “Wynchester chose you.”
“Not me. You know how carefully Wynchester weighs every decision—or you should, from the time you served in Parliament representing the Wynterhill borough. He never truly believed me innocent.” Thea exhaled through an over-tight chest. “However, in me he had the potential of several heirs. In Eustace, only one.”
“All this time,” Sophia said, “I thought you left Wynchester because of the Gordon Riots.”
“I did, but the break between us began with Eustace’s accusation. When word came of the ambush, we did not know if Eustace was alive or dead for a long time. Wynchester sought comfort with me. I got pregnant. But Wynchester became more and more consumed with politics and the Monarch.” A sting in her eyes warned her to stop for a moment and inhale before continuing. “I was alone when the riots broke out. Well, alone but for the servants. Wynchester sent word not to leave. He—he did as he ought. He remained with the royal household. But on the fourth day, the house was attacked and I—I—” This time a pause and an inhale was not enough to stop the tears.
Sophia put her arm around her and pulled her close. “Shh. It’s all right.”
Thea buried her head in Sophia’s neck and they swayed together until she felt she could continue. “When I came to, I was at Wynterhill.” Her eyes fluttered down. “The anticipated event did not end happily.”
Sophia adjusted so she could look Thea in the eye. “What happened then?”
“Emma took me traveling. Wynchester built this fortress. Emma and I returned from the continent in time to help pack the household. Being back in the house that had been attacked—even temporarily—was more difficult than I imagined. Wynchester did not understand. We had a terrible fight.”
She pushed aside the memory of the things she’d overhead him saying to his valet. If she remembered, she would hurt. If she hurt, she could not move forward. Wyn had changed. She knew he’d changed. The Wynchester who’d said those words was not the man who’d knelt on the floor and wept in her arms.
She drew away from Sophia and sat tall. “Eustace gaining power within the government concerns you, Mr. Harrison. And we both worry for Wynchester’s life. But should anything happen to Wynchester, Eustace becomes the Duke. Emma, myself, and hundreds of ducal tenants and dependents will be at his mercy.”
“Wait.” Sophia sat forward. “If the stolen heirlooms were a plot to separate you and Wynchester, why didn’t Eustace “miraculously” recover them? Why would he submit to banishment?”
“I have asked myself the same question. Perhaps he had already sold them. Perhaps he believed Wynchester would relent. Only Wynchester, Eustace, and I could open the safe, and so Eustace remains the most likely thief.” Thea lifted her shoulder
s—a physical manifestation of her befuddlement—and winced. “I cannot speak to Eustace’s time in India or whether or not he acted as the man you call Kasai, but, after what happened last night, I know he means me harm.”
She went on to explain her encounter with Eustace in the hall, including the hold which still sent rivers of pain down her side. When she finished, Harrison’s brow was marked with serious concern.
“This,” he said, “is a very disturbing development.”
“Are you surprised?” Thea asked. “I was not.”
“Do I understand this right?” Sophia’s brow furrowed. Eustace stole heirlooms and blamed the theft on Thea. He was banished to India where he faked his own death in an ambush, imprisoned several men, including Mr. Harrison, and convinced the East India Company he was a bloodthirsty mercenary whose existence had, in fact, been a fabrication of my father. When those ambushes ceased to be profitable, Eustace returned to England, where he now hopes to gain influence and power in the government.”
“Influence and power,” Harrison clarified, “in a Parliament that is only months old.”
Thea frowned. “I am not sure I knew your father had created Kasai.”
“My father, Earl Baneham, worked for the Company and used the specter of a bloodthirsty mercenary in his negotiations with local powers. Everyone feared the idea of Kasai. Then someone made the specter real. Blood—on both sides—began to flow in ambush after ambush.”
Harrison sat back in the chair. “Slaughters would be a more appropriate word.”
“My father believed there was a conspiracy, although Randolph has not been able to fully piece together his discoveries.”
“Lord Baneham,” Lavinia said, “was killed for what he knew?”
Sophia nodded.
Apprehension skid along Thea’s veins. “You said Kasai was known to be a dangerous man.”
“Dangerous,” Sophia said, “is jumping a fence higher than allowed by one’s horsemanship skill.”
“Kasai,” Harrison’s eyes darkened, “is a murderer, an abductor who subjected his prisoners to torture.”
Lavinia grasped Mr. Harrison’s arm. “Thea cannot remain here. Not if Eustace is Kasai.”
“I agree,” Sophia said. “We decided Thea should use her position to protect the duke before Eustace shot my sister.” She turned to Thea. “I wrongly encouraged you, dearest. You are not safe while Eustace is under this roof.”
“Protecting Wynchester was my choice,” Thea said with a confidence she did not feel.
“Max,” Lavinia‘s voice was urgent, “she is not safe.”
“Mr. Harrison,” Thea pointed out, “is the one who first suggested I watch over the duke.”
“I made that suggestion when I believed Eustace an unwilling emissary for Kasai.” Mr. Harrison’s green eyes were heavy with concern. “At that time I had not thought it possible Eustace could be Kasai.”
Sophia turned. “Have you finally come to believe Eustace and Kasai are one?”
Harrison’s cheeks grew taut. “My associate Sullivan and I both ‘saw’ Eustace murdered in a dungeon. I have never been able to piece together how Eustace could be both dead and not dead, unless the guard had been in on the deception.”
“He had to die,” Thea said, “to be fully reborn as Kasai.”
“The pieces fit,” Harrison said. “But I have no proof. My man Sullivan has been working to decipher the coded records Sophia and Randolph found in her father’s study.”
Lavinia frowned. “If I am remembering correctly, Eustace told the Privy Council the Under Secretary was Kasai, and was part of a treasonous plot to give East India Company control of Parliament and use the Company’s armies to strip the Monarchy of power.”
Harrison nodded. “While the Under Secretary is still missing, we can neither confirm nor refute Eustace’s version of events.”
“Has Sullivan made progress?” Thea asked.
“Yes,” Harrison said with a weary sigh. “One record appears to be a timeline—attacks by Kasai measured against what we know of Eustace—before his perceived death. The other is a list of company proprietors somehow connected to the jewels Sophia found.”
Sophia raised her brows. “Randolph shared nothing of this revelation.”
“He does not yet know,” Harrison explained. “Sullivan came to me last night, after I returned. Randolph has been working on his own sources today. He’s trying to find out more about the sapphires.”
“Sapphires?” Thea frowned. “Did I tell you the heirlooms were sapphires?”
Harrison dropped his graphite and Sophia, her jaw.
“Am I missing something?” Thea asked.
“In the box with the coded records, Randolph and I discovered sapphires.” She glanced to Harrison and back. “We assumed they were something Kasai—whomever he may be—had taken from India.”
Thea raised a single brow. “There would be thirteen—all of excellent quality.”
“I do not believe in coincidence,” Lavinia said. “The sapphires you found must be the Worthington sapphires.”
Sophia glanced at Harrison. “Is that proof enough?”
“Not exactly,” Harrison said, recovering his composure. “We do not know when Baneham came into possession of the jewels—or why or how.”
“You said they were found in Baneham’s study?” Thea asked.
Sophia nodded.
“I’ve been living in that house for two years.” Thea grasped her forehead with her hand. “Eustace will say I placed them there. He has a genius for twisting facts to his advantage.”
“We may not know when, why, or how the Earl collected the jewels,” Sophia argued, “but you must admit this strengthens the link between Eustace and Kasai.”
Harrison looked grim. “Yes. Yes it does.”
A true fear entered Thea’s chest. Right now, an unsuspecting Wynchester was sharing pleasantries on Rotten Row and at his side? A brutal killer.
“Mr. Harrison,” Thea leaned forward, her body vital with urgency, “Wynchester trusts you. Would you tell him of your fears?”
“The Council requested I do not involve Wynchester without definitive proof,” Harrison said. “They are as aware as you are that when attending to Eustace, they could be attending the next Duke of Wynchester. Not that they expect Wynchester to perish from foul play, but they are taking into careful consideration the kind of unfortunate natural events that happen every day.”
“Natural events,” Thea said, “that a brutal mercenary could easily stage.”
“Come back with me to the dowager’s,” Lavinia urged Thea.
Thea set back in her chair. “I will not leave Wynchester.” She bounced nervous fingers against her lips, reaching desperately for some compromise.
…When you are ready, the duke had said, we will go to Wynterhill.
Was she ready? Her body was still shaking from the grief that had coursed through her when she spoke of the riot. Could she confront the empty nursery?
She could and she would. Wynterhill could be the duke’s only refuge.
“Mr. Harrison,” she said, “would you—or someone in your service—be able to keep an eye on Eustace, if the Duke and I were to depart for Wynterhill?”
Harrison shook his head no. “Randolph may have unintentionally impeded such an action. He insisted a condition of Eustace’s release was residence in the ducal household.”
“Max,” Lavinia said quietly, “the mansion where you live is part of the ducal household.”
Everyone turned toward Lavinia.
“Emma,” she continued, “is a lifetime tenant of the duke and the terms of Max’s temporary lease retain Wynchester’s servants.”
“You are right, love.” Harrison sat back, again tapping the graphite holder against his notes. “Duchess, could you convince the duke to depart for Wynterhill?”
“I can,” she said, with more confidence than she felt.
The tapping of the graphite became more insistent. Harrison’s
gaze slid to Lavinia.
“I could not,” Harrison said softly, “allow you to use the passage from Emma’s bedchamber to mine while Eustace is in residence.”
“Then,” Lavinia said with a brave smile, “we must make tonight count, mustn’t we?”
Harrison sent her a smoldering look and lifted her fingers to his lips. “There will be a time when artifice will be unnecessary. A time not soon enough for me.”
“I apologize,” Thea said with genuine regret, “lovely Vice.”
“No apology required, dear Decadence,” Lavinia said, “I want peace for you and justice for our Lady Scandal. I cannot truly enjoy my excellent fortune,” she squeezed Mr. Harrison’s hand, “until those things come to pass.”
“Then it is settled,” Mr. Harrison said.
“How will you convince Eustace?” Sophia asked.
“Leave that to me,” Harrison said. “Duchess, are you certain you want to proceed?”
“Haven’t you heard?” she asked with a lightness she did not feel. “The high-stakes gamble is a Duchess Decadence specialty.”
…
Wynchester rode home from the Route du Roi, affectionately referred to as Rotten Row, alone and very deep in thought. His afternoon had begun pleasant enough. His efforts and last night’s soiree had done much to ease Eustace’s way back into society. Most men he and Eustace met in Hyde Park had greeted his brother with the same civility and deference with which they greeted him. But two events from the afternoon weighed on his mind.
The first involved Sir Bronward Layton, nephew to the Under Secretary, and Lord Nutley, a member of the Privy Council. While those men acknowledged Eustace, they had given him a distinctly frosty reception. Understood, perhaps, since the former Under Secretary had been implicated in a treasonous plot by Eustace. Should the charge be issued and progress to trial, Eustace would likely serve as witness. But Wynchester sensed a deeper disturbance between the men—and his sense had come less from Sir Bronward and Nutley and more from Eustace.
Were such a thing not impossible, he might have suspected the men to be under Eustace’s control. But how could such a thing be, when his brother had spent the last few years imprisoned by a madman?
Even if he were to set aside his uneasiness over the strangeness of their exchange, there had been Eustace’s reaction to Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Wynchester.
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