by Sara Bennett
The muscles in her thighs trembled as she held herself up off him while his hands on her hips urged her down. He nudged her again with his sleek strength, and entered her a little bit more. Antoinette felt a moment of resistance, as if he’d come up against a barrier, but whatever it was, was breached quickly and painlessly, and he slid in deeper still.
“Let me make love to you,” he begged hoarsely. “I can give you more pleasure than Appleby’s capable of, I promise you.”
It felt so good, him inside her, his hands on her skin, and she didn’t want to stop. Why should you? The Antoinette inherited from her wicked ancestress was in her head, reckless, eager. You take after me; you know you do. And then he reached up and cupped her breasts, and she was lost.
The stumbling footsteps outside the door were shockingly loud. The pair of them froze, staring toward the sound, as Wonicot went by, breaking into a few lines of song as he passed. He was drunk. “Sally,” he called. “I’m home, Sally…”
Antoinette put her hand over her mouth and held in her laughter, but when her eyes met those of the highwayman, she could see he shared her feelings. He grinned.
And that was when Antoinette came to her senses.
Pushing away from him, she got to her feet. She expected him to protest and struggle, to try and coerce her, but he didn’t. Perhaps he sensed the danger, too, and didn’t want to betray his master by making love with his mistress. A moment later he sat up and pulled his clothes together. Sprawled on the rug, he ran his hands through his hair and briefly dropped his face into them.
“This was a mistake,” she said, to herself as well as him. “I thought I could make you feel what I felt. I didn’t know that I would feel such a strong desire for you. Every time we are together it grows stronger. More difficult to resist.”
He met her eyes as he pushed himself to his feet, but he didn’t come any closer. Obviously he was just as aware as she of the dangers of their getting too near. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he said. “Stopping was the mistake.”
“Lord Appleby—”
“—isn’t here.”
She tried to read his eyes but it was impossible. “I need to return to London. Will you help me?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, little sparrow. You are here and here you will stay. Once I have the letter in my own hands you can go wherever you like and I’ll gladly take you there. I promise.”
“You promise!” she spat. “I don’t believe your promises.”
He laughed, not at all insulted. “Wise sparrow.”
Enough, thought Antoinette. They were going around in circles.
“I’m tired,” she said. “You should go back to…wherever you sleep.” Curiously she added, “Where do you live? It can’t be far.”
“Do you plan to visit me? I warn you, Antoinette, if you do there will be no stopping. Next time I will have you.”
He sounded as if he was making a vow, and she wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. But she set aside thoughts of kissing and touching and his body sliding into hers, and thought instead of driving him away. She didn’t trust him, but she knew he didn’t trust her, and that was what she’d use.
“If you tell me where you live,” she said sweetly, “I might well visit you.”
“Oh?”
“So suspicious? Do tell; I won’t repeat it to anyone else.”
He reacted as she’d expected. “So you can hand me over to the magistrate and see me hanged? No, thank you.”
Instinctively Antoinette shook her head. “I don’t want to see you hanged,” she said earnestly.
He observed her with a faint smile. “Now if I was an easily led fool I’d believe you, but I’m not. Of course you want me hanged. Once I’m out of your way you can return to Appleby and reap the benefits.”
His words were puzzling, but she shook her head, more intent on convincing him she wasn’t the bloodthirsty creature he imagined her. “Well, perhaps I do want you out of the way, but I don’t want you hanged.”
He moved closer, tipping up her chin with a fingertip and searching her face in the moonlight. “I almost believe you. You are a most unusual woman, Antoinette Dupre.”
“These are most unusual circumstances,” she murmured, meeting his pale eyes and refusing to look away from his searching gaze.
He leaned over her, until his mouth was only a breath away from claiming hers. “I want you and you want me,” he said. “You know it’s only a matter of time before we are lovers.”
“But not tonight. Wonicot has seen to that.”
He let her go. “I don’t care about your past,” he said quietly.
Again she tried to understand what he was really saying, but she was tired and fraught, and she just wanted him to leave her alone. She turned to stare out of the window, and a moment later her door closed and she heard his steps retreating.
This time when he appeared outside in the courtyard, he didn’t turn and wave at her. He walked away, into the woods, and Antoinette knew that the light she had seen that first night was his. He was living out there, somewhere.
If she could find his home she might well discover his identity, and then she could force him into forgetting the letter and leaving her alone. He would have to leave if he didn’t want to be arrested, and she would be safe.
Suddenly “safe” didn’t have the same comforting feel. In fact, Antoinette was beginning to wonder if being safe was really something to be desired. And whether she was the sort of person who preferred to be very unsafe indeed.
Chapter 13
“Gabriel.”
Sir James Trevalen’s smile was a shade anxious as he greeted his visitor. Perhaps, thought Gabriel, he was expecting some ravaged, desperate creature, unshaven and shabbily dressed, more used to hiding out in the woods than to polite company. If he was, then he was mistaken. Gabriel was shaven and clean and far from desperate.
“Sir James, I had your note. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Gabriel, I did.” He sat down, gesturing for Gabriel to return to his own seat by the fire. The day had turned chilly, and outside the wind tossed treetops and bowed the taller perennials in the garden border. “I thought I owed it to your father to speak with you and to see how you are managing in the current difficult circumstances.”
“I am managing,” Gabriel replied levelly.
“You know all your friends are doing what they can for you. There has been a gross miscarriage of justice, and we will not rest until it has been righted. Unfortunately, because your father signed over Wexmoor Manor to Appleby, supposedly willingly, there’s not much we can do. By the way, I have tried to discover from your father the truth of the matter, but he will not speak to me.”
Gabriel gave a harsh laugh. “I’m not surprised, Sir James! It is a matter of a lady’s honor, you see.”
“Ah.”
Gabriel preferred not to air the possibility of Appleby being his father, not even to an old family friend, and both men fell silent. After a moment Sir James rallied, changing the subject slightly.
“I had a visit from a Miss Dupre.”
“Miss Dupre, dear me, don’t believe everything that little bird says. She is Appleby’s mistress, sent down here so that his reputation with the royals won’t suffer. As soon as the Great Exhibition is over, you can be sure Miss Dupre will be heading back to London and her cozy life.”
Sir James studied Gabriel’s face. “You sound bitter. Do you dislike her so much? Or is it the man who keeps her you dislike?”
“Both,” he said uncompromisingly.
“I have to say she didn’t seem the type to put herself in Appleby’s power. In fact, if I had met her anywhere else, and known nothing of her life, I would have said she was a well-brought-up young lady. A little intense, perhaps, and too frank to be popular at afternoon tea parties, but a lady nonetheless.”
“Don’t be deceived. Miss Dupre is a clever minx who can make you believe whatever she wants.”
Sir James ti
lted back his head and folded his hands across his lean paunch. “You obviously don’t admire her then?”
“No! Yes…I don’t know.” Gabriel stood up and peered from the window as if the weather might help him make up his mind. “I find her interesting, that’s all. My life at the moment is difficult…uncertain. I find studying Miss Dupre takes my thoughts off my own misery.”
An image of her perched above him, her body clasping his, eyes wide with surprise and wonder, shot into his brain. He pushed it out again before it had the inevitable effect on his physiology.
“Your family has a weakness for fallen women. Or so your grandfather used to say,” he teased.
“You mean the story about the king’s mistress? Yes, my grandfather believed if it wasn’t for our ancestor’s weakness we’d be titled now. Dukes or some such.” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Are you worried I might form an attachment for Miss Dupre? You needn’t be.”
“You haven’t asked me why she came to see me, Gabriel. Perhaps you already know. The lady wished to report an outrage perpetrated on her during her journey to Wexmoor Manor. It seems that she had already told the Wonicots but they weren’t taking her seriously—a prank, they called it. She wanted me to discover the identity of the man who committed the outrage and arrest him. She seemed quite keen that I do so.”
Gabriel continued to stare out over the garden. “And what did you say?”
“I agreed, of course.”
“What do you want from me? A confession?”
Sir James made an impatient sound. “Gabriel, I know the man was you; what I don’t know is why you would do such a thing. Miss Dupre may be Appleby’s mistress but she doesn’t deserve to be molested—”
“She wasn’t molested!” he said, turning back to the room. “She had something hidden upon her person that I wanted. I asked her for it, politely, but she refused to hand it over. I offered her threats, although I had no intention of carrying them out, and she still refused. I was playing a part, remember. I suppose I wanted to frighten her into complying. I touched her and…once I began I…I couldn’t seem to stop.”
“Good God, man!”
Gabriel gave him a sickly smile. “Yes, a worrying development. But don’t fret, I didn’t hurt her, even though a woman who shares a bed with Appleby must be used to far worse than I dealt her. Anyway, we have made up now. I assure you, she is perfectly satisfied with the situation.”
“I did wonder…” Sir James cleared his throat. “I wondered whether she was less keen to have you arrested than she appeared. It was almost as if she saw incarceration as a way of removing a threat to her peace of mind. Are you disturbing the lady’s peace of mind, Gabriel?”
He laughed. “I hope so.”
Sir James shook his head and reached to pour them both a brandy. “I will make inquiries. That should satisfy her. And I’ll pay her a visit and see for myself that she is ‘perfectly satisfied,’ as you so intriguingly put it.”
Gabriel took the glass.
“I don’t suppose you are going to tell me what she was hiding on her person that you wanted so badly?” he went on. “Something to do with Appleby, I presume? And your father…?”
“I was given information that Miss Dupre was keeping something safe for Lord Appleby, and I’ve searched everywhere else. It seemed a reasonable bet that the evidence I was seeking—a letter—was with Appleby’s mistress. It would be just like him to use her like that, no matter what danger he put her in the way of.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a trap to catch you, Gabriel?” Sir James said mildly.
Antoinette as the bait in a trap? An interesting thought, but it didn’t make him want her any less. “If it is a trap, then I will take the risk.”
“I wouldn’t have thought Wexmoor Manor was Appleby’s type of place,” Sir James went on thoughtfully. “Not flash enough.”
“My father also owns a half share in Aphrodite’s Club in London. Appleby has appropriated that, too.”
“Aphrodite’s Club?” Sir James’s puzzlement cleared. “Yes, I see that would appeal to him.”
“As a business investment, do you mean? I don’t think that’s the full reason. From what Aphrodite says he’s a vengeful man. Years ago she slighted him in favor of my father, and he’s remembered it all this time. Now he finally has his chance of revenge.”
“Yes, I see. Take care, Gabriel,” Sir James said, leaning forward intently. “Appleby is not a man to take lightly. He is ambitious and ruthless, and he seems to feel a deep dislike for your family.”
“Could that be because I caressed his nose with my fist?” Gabriel spoke dryly.
“You joke about it,” Sir James warned, “but it is not a game. Appleby doesn’t play games, Gabriel. Be very careful.”
Gabriel smiled. “I intend to be.”
“With Miss Dupre, too. Intriguing as she is, I don’t think I would trust her entirely. There’s a great deal more to her than she’s letting us see.”
“I know. That’s part of her charm.”
Far away in London, Lord Appleby was strolling through Hyde Park and feeling well pleased with himself. He had just come from a meeting with Prince Albert. This time the prince consort made no mention of any scandal, although he must have heard the gossip, but it seemed that Antoinette’s speedy departure for the country had done the trick.
His factories were currently turning out cast-iron tubing as fast as they could, and still could not keep up with the orders. His name coupled with the Crystal Palace had done the trick. He knew he’d taken a terrible risk, borrowing so heavily and going deeply into debt so that he could tender for the contract of supplying the Great Exhibition with the cast iron needed in its construction. If he hadn’t won the contract…He shuddered to think of the consequences. He would have been abandoned like a sinking ship, until eventually his creditors tore him apart in the rush to get what was owed them.
But the gamble had worked. Oh yes, he still owed money, more than he could believe possible, but his creditors were showing signs of being willing to wait a little longer. At least until he married Antoinette Dupre and used the Dupre fortune to pay them off—and he’d certainly been dropping plenty of hints to that effect.
All was well with Appleby’s world. The prince had even complimented him at the opening of the Great Exhibition, in front of all his peers and so-called betters, and Antoinette herself.
“I like this very much,” he’d declared, gazing about him as they strolled through the vast interior of the Crystal Palace. “It is a miracle of glass and cast iron and steel. So beautiful and yet so strong. I am impressed, my lord. You must be very proud of your part in it.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The prince’s gaze sharpened. “You are a self-made man, I hear. Pulled yourself up from nothing. Men like you are the backbone of England. You own and run the factories and the mills, you are never too fine to get your hands dirty. I like that, Appleby, indeed I do. There are far too many gentlemen about with lots to say and little to show for it.”
“I consider myself very lucky to have been given this opportunity to serve my country, and you, sir.”
Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far there, because Prince Albert gave him a long, steady look, as if he was trying to see into Appleby’s mind. There had been that little upset when rumors about Antoinette and him got about, but now she was gone they had settled down nicely. When the wedding was announced, no one would be surprised, and even if she did protest, no one would listen.
A woman who was foolish enough to lose her reputation should know what was required of her. Marriage, and as soon as possible!
The way Appleby saw it, this was his way out of trouble. His continued success and solvency were more important than Antoinette and her sister. Antoinette must be made to see that her only option was obeying him.
And if she didn’t?
Appleby paused to tip his hat to a passing acquaintance.
If she didn’t, then it would be so mu
ch the worse for her. This wasn’t the first time he’d come close to financial ruin and escaped by the skin of his teeth.
And his superior intelligence.
The memory made him uncomfortable, and he pushed it aside. There was no time for sentimentality in business; he’d learned that from a young age. When he was a child he’d gone hungry and suffered the back of his father’s hand whenever he complained. He’d promised himself then that he’d escape from the cruel world he’d been born into, and so he had.
There was no possibility he would ever go back there, to the dirt and the filth and the unbearable misery. The London blue bloods might laugh at him and his pretensions and his love of fine things, but they didn’t understand what it was like to go without. In his heart Appleby knew that he would fight to the death before he went under.
In such circumstances everyone and everything was expendable.
Chapter 14
Someone was following her. The familiar feeling had been building ever since she left the house and entered the woods. She found herself glancing over her shoulder, carefully observing her dark and creepy surroundings, even pausing to listen intently for footsteps. Despite her precautions she’d seen nothing to suggest she was under surveillance, although that didn’t stop her from experiencing an increasing anxiety.
Of course it was possible that the Wonicots were spying on her again. They were Lord Appleby’s creatures, after all, and they’d shown her from the beginning what they thought of her. Coombe might not be quite as bad—she still had hopes of bringing him over to her side—but neither did she trust him. Not yet.
As she wandered deeper into the thick woods, Antoinette came to the conclusion that if the Wonicots were watching her they were cleverer than she’d thought. She had not spotted them once. And she could not really see Mrs. Wonicot darting behind tree trunks, or Wonicot shuffling through the undergrowth with a spyglass.
No, whoever it was, was far cleverer than the Wonicots. For a moment she considered turning back, but she needed to do something.