by Clee, Adele
Vivienne might have slapped the sneer off the lady’s face had Evan not caught her wrist. “Though I feel your frustration,” he said, “don’t lower yourself to her level. Let’s hit her with the truth instead.”
Evan removed a key from his waistcoat pocket and opened the tea chest. He presented it to the countess who peered inside like a child at a confectioner’s window.
“Fur?” She jerked her head back, confused. “Fur?”
Mr Ramsey found his voice. “The gems are in a fur pouch. No wonder we couldn’t hear them rattling in the box.”
Vivienne reached inside and removed the letters wrapped in rabbit skin. “Our legacy amounts to nothing more than proof Livingston Sloane served the Crown.”
When Livingston died, no doubt it suited Cecil Sloane to have everyone believe his brother was a pirate. After all, should the truth about Cecil’s betrayal surface, who would believe the offspring of a criminal?
“Letters!” The countess could not contain her rage. “Letters! Ramsey, you imbecile. You said it was a chest full of precious gems.”
Mr Ramsey looked equally shocked and confused. “That’s what Mr Wicks told Bonnie. She assured me we never need worry about money again.”
D’Angelo laughed. “Money will be the only thing on both your minds for the foreseeable future. Ramsey, should you return to London, I’ll make sure the writ is enforced.”
“And don’t worry about Bonnie,” Mr Ashwood said. “Cole discovered something interesting. Sir Malcolm Langley, Chief Magistrate at Bow Street, now has evidence she runs a brothel from the back rooms of the Old Red Crow.”
Vivienne smiled. Only a fool would cross the gentlemen of the Order.
Evan closed the lid on the tea chest, the sudden snap making the countess jump. “And you seem to have come unstuck, Lady Hollinshead. The earl and his highbrow friends will learn of your treachery. It seems a trip to Boston might be just what’s needed.”
The countess’ arrogant bearing faltered. Her bottom lip quivered as she stared at the tea chest. “But I cannot possibly support myself in Boston, not without the … without the—”
“Treasure,” Vivienne spat. “I’m sure a lady with your cunning will devise a plan.”
Evan clutched the box and captured Vivienne’s hand. “I don’t know about you, but there’s somewhere else I would rather be. Something else I would rather be doing. I feel lucky tonight, and a game of questions is long overdue.”
“In your excitement, you’ve forgotten I have the devil’s luck.”
“I’ve not forgotten. It’s time I answered your questions, banished your fears.” His gaze drifted to her nightgown and the satin slippers covered in mud. “You’ll go with Ashwood in his carriage. It’s too cold to ride with me. And we will continue this conversation at Highwood.”
“D’Angelo can ride that beast of his, and I’ll take your horse,” Mr Ashwood said. “Sloane, you accompany Miss Hart in the carriage.”
Evan offered no challenge. “If you’re sure.”
A knowing look passed between the men.
The countess and Mr Ramsey started whining, lamenting the unfairness of it all, blaming each other, hurling accusations.
It was Mr D’Angelo who gripped Mr Ramsey by the throat and warned him not to try the patience of a man who dined with the devil.
They left the villains to their squabbles and gathered amid the chaos in the taproom. Evan kept a firm grip of her hand as the three gentlemen of the Order arranged to meet at Highwood.
“What about Mrs McCready?”
Evan turned to her. “I suggest we send her back to the Highlands, though I suspect she will want to remain with you.”
Vivienne had every reason to distrust the woman, to despise her for what she had done. “I don’t want to punish her, Evan.”
Judging by his rigid stance, he disagreed. “Buchanan and Mrs McCready have ridden ahead. Let’s see what she has to say when we speak to her tomorrow. You decide her fate.”
Love filled Vivienne’s heart. Evan Sloane did not ride roughshod over a woman’s liberty. He did not use his power and influence to exert control.
When finally alone with him inside Mr Ashwood’s carriage, she could barely contain the emotion. The urge to climb onto his lap and feel full with him, to devour his mouth, to sate the craving, the hunger, proved impossible to ignore. But she didn’t want to be consumed with desire when she confessed her true feelings.
“I don’t suppose you brought your playing cards,” she said, visually feasting on his masculine form.
“No, the fear of losing you was the only thing on my mind.”
Her pulse fluttered to her throat. “Then how will we play?”
“We’ll play a different game. The first to blink makes a confession.”
“Very well.” She sat forward, wide-eyed, determined to concentrate, determined to win, determined to know his secrets.
Evan blinked within seconds.
“Your turn to reveal a secret, Mr Sloane, your turn to confess.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m in love with you, Vivienne. Madly in love. It’s beyond any feeling I’ve ever known.”
Her soul soared. Her heart raced so fast she could hardly breathe.
“I’m in love with you, too. It burns inside me like the brightest flame.”
“Marry me.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s stop en route, find someone willing to perform the ceremony. Ashwood and D’Angelo will bear witness. Or we can marry at Highwood if you’d rather Buchanan were there. Perhaps you want to wear clean shoes when we exchange vows.”
“You have the special licence on your person?”
“Indeed.”
“May I ask where?” Already hot between the thighs, she scanned the breadth of his chest, glanced at the placket of his breeches. “Should we encounter a problem, I may need to retrieve the important document.”
He laughed. “Memory fails me. It pays to forget some things, as now you’ll have to frisk me.”
Love and lust thrummed in her veins. She could no longer keep to her side of the carriage. “You’re rather skilled in the art of flirtation, Mr Sloane.” She slid beside him and trailed her fingers over his muscular thigh. “So skilled I suspect you’ll soon have me on my knees.”
“That’s the plan.”
He kissed her then, like he did that day in Mr Golding’s office. A kiss that stirred every nerve to life. A kiss so profound she felt the tremors deep in her core.
“Your grandfather would be pleased you’ve kept his vow.” She gathered the hem of her nightgown and came to sit astride him. “Proud you solved the clues.”
“You solved the clues, my love.” He slipped his arms around her waist, crushed her to his chest. “But make no mistake. I’m the one about to claim the treasure.”
Chapter 21
Highwood, Bedfordshire
Two weeks later
“I quite liked the idea of us being Sloane and Hart, an intrepid detective duo. It has a certain ring to it that inspires confidence.” Vivienne nestled closer to Evan’s chest as they sat beneath the beech tree, attempting to read Thomas Gray’s poem, but had barely made it past the first stanza.
“We’re Sloane and Sloane, double the trouble, and brimming with heart.”
She laughed. “Oh, I like that, too.”
“Do you miss the thrill of chasing about in the dark, my love?” He was to return to London to take a new case, knew she longed to assist him. “Perhaps we could play a game of hide and seek in the grounds tonight.”
She straightened, excitement evident. “If you find me, will I have to do as you command?”
“Undoubtedly. And when you find me, I shall gladly pay a forfeit.” He’d wanted to tell her his secret after dinner this evening, but he lived to make her happy and could no longer contain the news. “I received word from Daventry this morning.”
“Has Mr Ramsey found the money to pay his creditors?”
With limited options, Ramsey had returned to London and currently had a caged room at the sponging-house. “There’s little hope for him as his debts are extensive.”
“Mr Howarth was right. Greed is a plague that scourges the hearts of men.”
“And the hearts of women. Lady Hollinshead won’t find life easy in Boston.” The countess had returned to London, too. But after learning of her treachery, the earl took his wife to Liverpool and insisted she board the boat. “No, Daventry wrote to tell me he is assisting his friend Damian Wycliff in a venture—a house for destitute ladies, a means of helping those down on their luck.”
“The options are limited for unmarried women without means. So many travel to town seeking a better future. Many fall foul to unscrupulous devils.”
“They’re looking for a certain type of lady.”
Her eyes widened. Clearly, she had misunderstood.
“Intelligent women with an ability to investigate delicate cases,” he said. “Strong women who understand the importance of justice.”
Vivienne jerked in surprise. “Lady enquiry agents?”
“Indeed. Miss Trimble is to oversee the running of the house, but Daventry asked if you might like to play a role, offer advice in a professional capacity.”
Her mouth fell open.
Oh how he longed to draw her close, slip his tongue inside and explore.
“Me? Mr Daventry thinks I have the necessary experience?”
“He’s impressed by your deductive skills. There’s one lady living in the house at present, Miss Sands, but Daventry is keen to employ more.”
Miss Sands had already received her first task, though Evan was sworn to secrecy. D’Angelo’s need to avenge his parents’ murder was taking its toll. So much so, Daventry had decided to assist from the shadows. To make sure D’Angelo didn’t end up a bloated corpse in the Thames.
Vivienne studied him intently. “You would not object to me offering my assistance?”
“No, love. Though I ask you keep me informed, that you consult me, that you do not place yourself at risk.”
He would have to offer assistance, too, for her safety was his priority. And when Buchanan returned from escorting Mrs McCready back to the Highlands, Daventry wished to offer him a role.
Evan barely had time to catch his breath before Vivienne climbed onto his lap and kissed him. He felt the depth of her gratitude with every stroke of her tongue. As always, a passionate kiss quickly progressed to the need for deeper satisfaction.
“Make love to me,” she breathed against his mouth. “There’s no one here but us.”
“And a mermaid clutching a seashell.”
Vivienne glanced back over her shoulder at the statue in the middle of the lake. “You should erect a statue of my grandfather. Perhaps it’s time to stop paying homage to a mermaid and give credit to the man who did save Livingston’s life.”
“Why would I worship a mermaid when I have a nymph of my own?” He clutched her hips, moved her back and forth over the hard length of his arousal. “Besides, the mermaid is as old as the house. Some other fellow had a love for the mythical creatures. Perhaps that’s where my grandfather got the idea for his tale. Can we make love now?”
She claimed his mouth in response—hot, urgent.
He’d be inside her in seconds.
But then she dragged her lips from his and stilled. “Might your grandfather’s last message be a clue to finding a real legacy?”
“Can we not discuss this later?”
Mr Golding had struggled to contain his relief when he flicked to the back of the notebook and read the heartfelt messages. Livingston’s words brimmed with praise for their tenacity and courage in making it this far. Money corrupted the best of men, and the exercise should have revealed the truth about whom they could trust.
Lucian Hart’s parting words were about love and friendship, about investing in relationships rather than the bank. And because Evan had married Vivienne Hart out of love, not duty, they received a final letter containing one simple message.
Look for the truth everywhere.
In the words of a morbid poet.
In the arms of a mythical mermaid.
“We found the treasure, love. We found each other.” And they were too busy expressing the depth of their love to concentrate on cryptic messages. “I believe Livingston spoke metaphorically. Meant one might find love in the last place one expects.”
“Shells are said to be a symbol of good fortune. The mermaid in the lake is holding one in her arms. There is no greater truth than what we find in the natural world. And shells connect us to the sea.”
“I thought we were making love, not delving into symbolism.”
She rolled her hips, rubbed against his erection. “Pander to my whims, and I shall pander to yours.”
Evan sighed. “Very well.” His wife was Peitho, a goddess skilled in the art of seductive persuasion. “What are your thoughts on the morbid poet?”
She reached for the book and flicked to Gray’s poem. “I recall reading about gems. Yes, he says that many gems lie in dark caves under the ocean. Like the exceptional deeds of unsung heroes, beauty is often hidden from sight.”
Evan was so busy gawping in awe at his wife, finding her logical deductions so damnably arousing, he missed her sudden command.
“Well? Will you do it?” She stood and attempted to pull him to his feet. “Will you swim to the mermaid statue and see what lies below?”
“Swim across the lake? Madam, I’m likely to catch my death.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You can swim?”
“My father insisted I learn. When a family is owed a debt from a marauding pirate, it pays to be prepared.” She glanced out at the lake. “It’s not far. The last one there must pay a forfeit.”
Before he could stop her, she was out of her pelisse, tugging off her boots. He’d been in the lake before, knew she could touch the bed in most places.
She hurried to the water’s edge in her shift. He’d known the minx hadn’t bothered with stays, had made it easier for him to fondle her breasts.
She laughed. “Just think, we’ll have to spend the rest of the day lounging before a roaring fire.”
He couldn’t love her any more than he did at that moment.
Like his manhood, his heart was ready to burst.
She excited him on every level.
Giving his weakest performance, he let her win the race. There was nothing he wouldn’t do if she asked, and the forfeit would be to his benefit.
Despite searching the lake’s murky depths, Evan did not find a treasure chest on the bed. But a quick inspection of the mermaid’s shell proved fortuitous.
“Good Lord!” He slipped his hand inside the giant conch shell and removed a leather pouch.
“You see!” Vivienne’s teeth chattered as she gripped the statue. “Did I not say we’d been left a legacy?”
They swam to the bank and headed back to the house. Mrs Elkin fussed about, had hot baths drawn, had the fire stoked in their bedchamber. Once warm and dry, they sat before the fire and Evan emptied the contents of the pouch onto the rug.
The vibrant assortment of gems glittered against the firelight.
Vivienne giggled as she held up a large blood-red ruby and observed the facets. “Imagine if the gardener had gone to clean the fountain and thrust his hand inside the shell.”
“I doubt Livingston cared who found the treasure. Finding each other was the true prize.”
She pushed the gems aside as if they were glass beads of little importance, raised her nightgown to her hips and came to sit astride him. “We should stay in bed for the rest of the day. Lord knows we might catch a fever if we don’t.”
“My skin is already aflame.” He thought of the night she reached into her thigh belt and produced the scroll. What if he’d thrown her out without reading the contract? What if he’d been too blind to see the beauty before him? “And I feel the need to prove I’m
not a bore in bed.”
“You’re never a bore in bed.”
“You’re contractually obliged to love me, regardless.”
She arched a coy brow. “And if I fail to abide by the contract?”
“Then I can make a claim against you.” He slipped his hand into her damp hair, cupped her nape and drew her mouth to his. “I can settle between your sweet thighs and take up permanent residence.”
I hope you enjoyed reading Valiant.
What is troubling D’Angelo?
Is he any closer to finding out who murdered his parents?
More so, will he notice the golden-haired beauty employed to watch his every move?
Find out in …
Dark Angel
Gentlemen of the Order - Book 4
Pre-order now!
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any manner without the author’s permission. Distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement.
Valiant
Copyright © 2020 Adele Clee
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-9162774-7-2
Cover by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs
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