The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel

by Victoria Vale

  Cassandra made herself comfortable and waited for Millicent to pour their spirits. Her friend joined her on the sofa, handing her one of the tumblers.

  “Now, then, tell me how you’ve been getting on. Are you settling into your new home? Doesn’t it feel so delicious to live on what used to be Fairchild property and know it will never house one of them again?”

  Cassandra issued a dry snort. “It’s bloody fantastic, though Mother would call it unladylike to feel such glee over another family’s misfortune.”

  “What nonsense. I would like to be left alone in a room with a locked door with your mother for five minutes. I’ll show her unladylike.”

  That got a laugh out of her. “I should like to see that. Honestly, I do not know why I bothered to visit. It is Ophelia’s birthday, and of the four of them, I do not dislike her quite as much as the others. That is sure to change once she’s had a proper debut. At which point I will write them all off and continue to enjoy my solitary life as a wealthy spinster.”

  “Enough about them,” Millicent declared with a wave of her hand. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since the White Cock. You did not tell me much about your evening with Mr. Stanley other than how enjoyable it was. I take it you’ve not been living as a monk since then?”

  At Cassandra’s hesitation, her friend raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue.

  “Come, Cass … what good was going through with it if you do not intend to do it again?”

  She cleared her throat, clutching her tumbler between both hands. “It isn’t that I haven’t repeated it. I have … very recently, and with Rob —Mr. Stanley—again.”

  Shock appeared on Millicent’s face for a moment, only to be replaced with amusement. “Well … it would seem that our friend Robert was a more than satisfactory lover the first time around.”

  Thinking of the things he’d done to her with his pretty mouth and skilled fingers, Cassandra grew hot.

  “Satisfactory is a mild word,” she hedged. “And, as it happens, his family estate borders Easton Park. He is my neighbor now.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Is it? Or is it a complication I do not need? We were supposed to spend that one night together and part ways without a look back.

  Now …”

  “Now, he’s close enough that you could have him whenever you wish. Providing he’s amenable to such an arrangement.”

  Robert’s glassy blue eyes appeared in Cassandra’s mind, heavy-lidded with desire and wild with desperation. She’d been hard-pressed to forget his fervor, the desire that had grown and swelled between them until it enveloped them in a torrent of primal ecstasy.

  “Yes, but Robert strikes me as a romantic,” she argued. “I chose him for my first time because I knew he would submit to my demands. He did that, quite better than I’d expected.”

  “It sounds as if the two of you are well matched. You have certain needs, and he is capable of fulfilling them. That sort of connection doesn’t come often for women like us. What is the problem, dear?” Cassandra drained what was left of her brandy and sighed. “The romantic part … It will become a problem if I allow this to go on, I know it will. He is … too sweet, and … and he keeps saying these things about my hair and my eyes, and …”

  “Perhaps he simply finds you attractive, Cass,” Millicent said, her voice low and soft as she gave Cassandra a pointed look. “Not all compliments are lies.”

  “I am no beauty, and that is the truth.”

  “You do not find yourself beautiful. Shallow men who do not know how to look beyond the surface may not either. But Robert might be different.”

  “None of them are different!” she snapped, tearing her gaze away from Millicent’s and staring off across the room.

  She was uncertain why she was lashing out at her dearest friend, but something deep within her had rebelled at this notion that Robert might be special somehow. Perhaps his hidden desires spoke to the part of her that enjoyed being in control. That didn’t have to mean anything beyond the meeting of cock and cunt.

  Clearing her throat, Millicent shifted until she sat closer to Cassandra. “I certainly do not mean to pry or push you into something you may not be ready for. But, darling, would it be so horrible to let yourself enjoy it? It can be difficult to find a lover who can give you exactly what you need—especially when those needs are as singular as the ones you and I have. He only has to be the first, he does not have to be the last, or the only. As for that romantic streak you spoke of … you could make it clear that you want none of it. It is possible to engage in such a liaison without involving matters of the heart. I’ve done it many, many times.”

  Cassandra glanced up to meet Millicent’s gaze and sighed. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, I … I don’t know what I was thinking. This is all so new to me, and the last time I let a man ply me with pretty words …”

  She swallowed down the bile rising up in her throat at the thought of Bertram. Her hands clenched around the glass until she feared it might crack, yet she could not seem to ease her grip. The rage and revulsion she felt at the mere thought of the man who had ruined her had never abated, even after all these years.

  Prizing the glass from her grip, Millicent took one of her hands and squeezed it. “You are in control, Cass. If Robert is open to the sort of arrangement you want, then I see no reason why you cannot indulge. Aside from the fact that it could help you to heal, it will also be a smashing good time.”

  She laughed and glanced up to find Millicent grinning at her, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. “You are right, as always. Why shouldn’t I have my fun? The men of our acquaintance certainly do!”

  “That’s the spirit. Now, why don’t you come with me? After our ride in Hyde Park, you simply must accompany me to Bond Street. There is a hat in the milliner’s window I’ve been salivating over for weeks. Oh, and there’s a marvelous little coffee house I want to take you to. They have the best scones I’ve ever tasted. By God, you aren’t wearing a coat! Come, you can borrow one of mine.”

  Letting Millicent take her arm and guide her from the room, she put Robert from her mind for the time being. Upon her return to Suffolk, she would make it clear that she was open to an affair of sorts. If he wanted the same thing, there was no need for any more of this worrying and thinking. For the first time in her life, Cassandra was free to live her life as she pleased. The entire ton despised her anyway … there was no longer any need to have a care for propriety.

  Robert Stanley would be hers for as long as she wanted him.

  A FEW NIGHTS LATER, Cassandra stood in a crowded ballroom drinking watery lemonade and trying to keep her prey for the evening within her gaze. She had wished to return to Suffolk days ago, and wasn’t ashamed to admit to herself that it had a lot to do with her desire to see Robert again. She spent her days thinking up inventive ways to give him more of the pleasure-pain he seemed to enjoy, and her nights stroking herself to climax while imagining every filthy thing she’d do once she got her hands on him again. When her mother and sisters began to vex her, she simply allowed her mind to wander to the carnal imaginings that dominated her thoughts as of late. If they wondered at her secretive smiles, they did not bother to ask. Not that they’d ever ask anything about what interested her, or what she thought. It brought her a great deal of amusement to imagine shocking them with the sorts of things she got up to when no one was looking.

  Her plan to journey home had been waylaid by the arrival of an invitation to a ball at the home of Lord and Lady Gilbanks. The newly wedded couple had opened their new townhome to every member of the ton, it seemed, and the invitation had been for all the Lane daughters as well as the dowager. Lady Gilbanks was the daughter of a wealthy nabob who’d sought to elevate his family’s standing in society by using a substantial dowry to help her nab a titled husband. He’d struck gold, and his daughter was now a countess. Because this would be her first event as Lady Gilbanks, she seemed determined to stuff her ballroo
m with as many bodies as possible. Inviting controversial people such as Cassandra and Millicent ensured the affair would be packed, as no one could resist congregating in order to gossip and stare down their noses at those who’d fallen out of their favor.

  There was only one reason Cassandra had opted to attend, and he was standing near the dance floor amongst another group of gentlemen. They waited for the orchestra to begin playing so they could collect their first partners for the night.

  Sir Wilfred Downing.

  Unlike her past targets, this man was not a rapist. At least, she had no knowledge of any such crimes. However, Cassandra had seen the bruises Lady Downing tried to cover with powder and rouge, the careful mincing steps she’d taken when Cassandra had spotted her walking in Hyde Park. The moment her eyes had connected with the other woman’s, she had seen it. She had known.

  Sir Downing was beating her. It showed in the way she cowered whenever he looked in her direction, the way he grabbed her arm whenever she spoke out of turn—his grip hard enough to leave fingerprints. Cassandra had watched them in Hyde Park, had followed them home from the theater the night before last. Lurking in the shadows, she’d listened to him berate his wife for speaking to another man during the interval for too long.

  As she sipped her lemonade and watched him laugh and smile, surrounded by others of his ilk, her fingers itched for the hilt of her knife. She already knew the word she would carve into his chest, could smell his blood and hear his screams and pleas for mercy. He’d probably piss himself, the coward. Men like him tended to fold like a deck of cards when confronted with someone who did not cower in fear at the sound of their raised voices.

  The affair had only just begun, so she settled in for the long night ahead. Taking up her usual position amongst the other wallflowers, she listened in on the various conversations around her. It never ceased to amaze her the sorts of things people would speak about in public when they thought the din of other conversations were enough to keep them safe. But, as usual, no one noticed her standing amongst them, silently pressed against the wall.

  As she expected, all gossip revolved around the highwayman terrorizing the Great North Road.

  “Have you heard?” a matron in a silk turban whispered to a friend. “There hasn’t been a single robbery for at least a fortnight!”

  The companion wafted a painted fan before her face. “Of course there hasn’t been. I knew the Masked Menace would turn coward once the Runners began investigating. The brute is probably too frightened to show himself for fear he will meet his match in them.”

  Cassandra hid her smirk behind her glass and remained half-hidden by a potted plant while she listened to the two women gossip.

  “I suppose it’s now safe to travel the roads at night,” said the matron. “That Menace fellow will dance the hangman’s jig in a month or less, mark my words.”

  The lady with the fan shuddered. “I hope so. What sort of blackguard terrorizes the innocent that way? He must be a perfect beast!”

  “Hmph! He certainly is, and the sooner he is caught, the better. I’ve heard more than my fair share of debutantes romanticizing him, making him out to be some sort of dashing hero. What utter nonsense!”

  “Ridiculous!”

  Cassandra moved on, ducking her head and pinching her lips to keep from laughing aloud. As she moved through the crowded assembly, handing her empty glass off to a footman, she caught snatches of more gossip about the highwayman.

  “I hear he’s a giant … well over six feet tall!”

  “A man who was robbed by him says the villain disappeared into thin air. He’s a demon, I tell you!”

  “He must be dead if he hasn’t turned up in an entire fortnight. Fell off his horse and broke his neck, I’d wager.”

  Each claim was more outlandish than the last, making Cassandra’s shoulders shake with barely contained mirth. The way the ton could take a bit of gossip and twist it into the most outlandish tales never ceased to amuse her. The truth was never as grand as what they could conjure in their minds, and stories of the highwayman were no different.

  She neared the dance floor now, her gaze falling onto Sir Downing’s back and latching on. The dancing had begun, but he didn’t have a partner for this quadrille. So, he remained within the circle of his acquaintances, oblivious to her nearness or the plans she had in mind for when she finally got her hands on him. Pretending to watch the dancers, Cassandra kept her ear attuned to the conversation happening amongst Downing and his friends.

  “I’d be careful if I were you,” one of the men said while extracting a snuff box from his breast pocket.

  “Just because the roads have been quiet these past weeks does not mean it is safe.”

  “He’s right, you know,” said a portly man with a quizzing glass held in one gloved hand. “Her Ladyship and I are off to Scotland to visit her ailing mother tomorrow—but only once the sun has risen and we shall only travel while there is light. One cannot be too careful in times such as these.”

  Downing waved a dismissive hand. “This Menace fellow does not frighten me. Besides, if the gossips are to be believed, he has either died, hidden away in an act of cowardice, or descended back into Hell.”

  He shared a chuckle with another man, but the fellow with the quizzing glass did not seem amused or convinced.

  “Until I see him swinging from the end of a rope myself, I shan’t believe he is gone.”

  “I say, Hollis, you fret like an old woman.”

  While the others burst out laughing at Downing’s little quip, Hollis stared down his nose at them through his quizzing glass.

  “Hmph. Call me what you will. If I’m an old, fretting woman, then at least I’ll be a living one.”

  “Calm down, old chap,” Downing drawled. “The man’s a common thief, not a murderer.”

  “Not yet, he isn’t,” Hollis retorted. “The moment someone refuses to hand over their valuables, he’s a dead man. And we’ll see who's laughing then.”

  “I say again … I am not afraid of the Menace. I’ve business in Devon and must leave tonight. I refuse to allow that blackguard to have me quivering like some schoolgirl. Let him try me if he will … I keep a blunderbuss under the carriage seat and would wager he’s never been faced with something like that.”

  Cassandra rolled her eyes and shook her head, the man’s bravado setting her teeth on edge. If it was the last thing she did, she’d have him sniveling and begging like the recreant he was. She only wished his friends could be there to witness it.

  Moving away from Downing, she reclaimed her spot along the wall and waited for the ball to end. She followed him with her gaze, never letting him out of her sight. She watched as he drank, danced, and chatted his way through the ballroom, counting the minutes as the hour approached midnight. The affair would go on for a few more hours at least, but Downing seemed ready to depart, bidding his friends a good evening and edging toward the exit.

  Cassandra followed at a sedate pace, weaving through the bodies packing the ballroom in his wake. She took her time, secure in the knowledge that no one would watch her movements. Heads had turned upon her arrival, but the ton seemed to have grown bored once they realized she would do nothing more than linger on the fringes of the crowd. While she had not earned her way back into their favor— and had no intention to—it seemed talk of her scandal was finally beginning to die down as other bits of news had begun making the rounds.

  She waited while her wrap was fetched, keeping an eye on the open front door as Downing passed through it. A carriage pulled to a stop before the front steps, and Downing trotted down with a spring in his step. By the time she’d bundled herself against the cold and followed, he was gone, his vehicle threading through the others clogging the street. She did not rush, nor did she fret over losing sight of him. The crest etched upon the carriage door would be enough. She knew where he was headed, and what route he would take. He would not escape her.

  Randall approached in her own carri
age, so she swept down the front steps and made her way toward it on swift feet. Without bothering to wait, she threw the door open herself and leaped inside before giving the driver his instructions. Once enclosed within the dim interior of the carriage with only the sparse light of gas street lamps shining through the parted curtains, she reached for the parcel she kept hidden beneath the seat.

  The long ride through London gave her plenty of time to shed her ballroom finery and exchange it for her ensemble composed entirely of black pieces. Only a white shirt offered relief from the darkness of her breeches, waistcoat, boots, and coat. It all became engulfed by the domino she clasped over her shoulders, shrouding herself in the color of the night. She spent the ride using a whetstone to sharpen her dagger and ensuring her pistol was properly loaded. When, at last, the carriage rolled to a stop, Cassandra hid the weapons on her person and reached for the black mask she used as a shield against her identity. A wide-brimmed hat completed the ensemble, turning her from Lady Cassandra, known spinster, into someone else entirely.

  Randall hopped down from his perch as she let herself out of the carriage, her domino swirling about her legs. He’d stopped the carriage within the same thick outcropping of trees he always did, the darkness and foliage more than enough to keep them out of sight. Neither spoke as they went about their work, having done this enough times that communication proved unnecessary. Randall knew and approved of her mission, and had never once balked at acting as her accomplice. They could both hang for this, but the driver had never seemed concerned about such things.

  “He cannot be too far ahead of us,” he murmured as he handed her the lamp. “You’ll catch him up in no time. Are you armed?”

  “As always,” she replied, holding up the lamp so that he could unhitch one of the horses.

  Randall made quick work of the harnesses, freeing one of the pair of stomping, snorting beasts before handing her the reigns. “Take care, my lady. I heard drivers about the mews gossiping about how the magistrates have been conspiring with the Bow Street Runners to set up patrols along the road.”