Games of Pleasure

by Julia Ross

  “Too much so, at least, to justify wallowing about there alone.”

  She bit back laughter, along with a headily painful recognition of his acuteness—that he had accepted her escape into flirtation, that he had not pressed her about her mother, nor her childhood.

  “The maid also told me that you were three sheets to the wind when you collapsed between the sheets, so I doubt you’d have been much use either way.”

  He grinned with real mirth. “Which maid was that? I’ll have her hide.”

  “No, she relayed your instructions very faithfully and is in obvious awe of your prowess.”

  “Then she may stay, of course. Anyway, I suspect the girl in question is the daughter of one of my nursemaids. Thus her position here is secure, even for a lifetime of impertinence.”

  Miracle glanced about. “Was this your nursery?”

  “Yes, for some of the time. I was born in this house. Unfortunately, I lacked the grace to wait until my mother could return to the appropriately grand ducal bed at Wyldshay.”

  “Was she disappointed?”

  He stood up. “To have a son? And give birth for the first time here at Wrendale? No, it was exactly what she planned.”

  “Planned?”

  “The duchess plans everything. No child of hers would dare to be the wrong sex, or arrive at an inconvenient time.”

  “Then why did she want you to be born here, rather than at Wyldshay?”

  He strolled over to another door, opened it, and gazed into the next room. “I believe she thought the clean air of the Peaks would help me to grow into a strapping lad.”

  “Which it did.” Miracle walked up to join him. He was looking into a night nursery with a cradle and three beds.

  “One for the wet nurse,” Ryder said. “The others for her assistants. Three women to wait on one tiny infant.”

  “You slept in that cradle?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know how much I slept. They say that I bawled inconsolably for weeks after I was born. Apparently, the wet nurse’s milk disagreed with me. It turned out that she had a penchant for gin.”

  Miracle walked ahead of him into the small room and gazed down into the cradle. The satin coverlet was embroidered with the arms of St. George.

  “I’ve never understood why a mother would hire another woman to feed her own child,” she said. “Was the duchess that vain?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Not in that way. But it was Her Grace’s duty to produce another baby as quickly as possible, and they say nursing slows a second conception.”

  “Working people feed their own babies all the time and still manage to have plenty of children.”

  “So they do. Did you ever want babies, Miracle?”

  Her heart contracted in pain, almost as if he had struck her. Since her back was turned, he could not see that she had to blink back a hot rush of tears.

  “No, of course not! Anyway, I’m barren.”

  “Barren? Are you sure?”

  She walked away, deliberately filling her voice with scorn. “I miscarried a child when I was fifteen. The doctor said then that I would never conceive again. You don’t think that nine years without the embarrassment of a pregnancy has proved him right?”

  “I’m very sorry, Miracle.”

  “Don’t be! It’s been a very useful attribute in my profession.” Something bumped into her thigh. Miracle looked down. “Good Lord! What’s this?”

  “My baby carriage.”

  She sat down with a thump on one of the beds and stared at it. “Who the devil would put an infant into such a monstrosity?”

  “My family. It’s a priceless heirloom.”

  Miracle ran one hand over the shafts, where a goat or a large dog could be harnessed to pull it. Deeply cushioned red velvet lined the seat, but two gilt-and-green dragons reared menacingly over the hood, fangs bared. Their lashing tails curled around each side. Bizarrely realistic flames ran from the dragons’ mouths to meet them.

  Any infant placed inside would see only green glass eyes, ferocious metal scales, and an illusion of fire.

  “No wonder you cried! Whether your milk contained gin or not, this is enough to destroy any baby’s sleep.”

  “Nonsense! The first son and heir always rides about in the dragon baby carriage. It builds character.”

  Miracle glanced up at him, not sure whether he was teasing or not. “You would use it for your own sons?”

  He glowered down at the dragons. “Probably not.”

  “Though you must have a son to inherit the dukedom one day.”

  “I can’t exactly guarantee it, though Jack would never speak to me again, if I saddled him with the title. He’s having too much fun gallivanting about the world with Anne.”

  He opened another door and beckoned to her to follow him. A wasp buzzed frantically in one of the hallway windows. Miracle took off her shoe and quickly swatted it. Ryder glanced back and lifted a brow.

  She met his bemused gaze and laughed at him. “You’d have opened the sash to let it out, instead?”

  “Not at all! I’d have left its fate to the maids.”

  “Who’d have swatted it, before it could hide in a duster and sting someone. Wasps can sting over and over again. Unlike honey bees—or half-ravished courtesans—they don’t die when they defend themselves.”

  “You won’t die,” he said.

  “Even Lord Ryderbourne is not above the law. Once I’ve recovered my money from Dillard, only a ship can save me from the gallows.”

  “If it comes to that, I’ll take you to the port myself.”

  “Then you agree that I must go straight to my brother as soon as it gets dark?”

  “A curricle will be waiting. In the meantime, may I ask you to honor my cousin and myself with your presence at dinner?”

  “A formal meal in the grand dining room?” She laughed up at him. “Forgive my speaking in a cliché, but I have absolutely nothing to wear.”

  “Then ask that meddlesome maid to help you. I give you both permission to raid the house. I’m sure you’ll find something suitable in one of the dressers.”

  “Your mother and sisters leave some of their clothes here? There’s not a female in your family who’d ever forgive you, if you allowed a woman like me to wear one of their evening gowns.”

  “But I won’t forgive you, if you don’t,” he said. “So which is it to be?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SHE WAS LOVELY. EVEN MORE LOVELY NOW THAN SHE HAD been at sixteen. Guy watched the lift of her lashes as she looked up at his cousin. The alluring turn of her neck. The soft swell of white flesh above her low blue silk neckline. Her lips promised sinful enticements. Poised on the stem of her wineglass, even her fingers were enthralling.

  And Ryder—for all the cool grace of his manner—was obviously enthralled.

  Guy sipped at his wine, only half listening to their conversation. For the first time in years, memories haunted him: those early days in London, when he and Miracle had burned away the last innocence of youth in a conflagration of passion. The occasional encounters after that, before Miracle had announced that she must stay faithful to her protectors, and that she and Guy could only be friends.

  An intense, viscerally exciting flirtation was natural to her, of course. Even now, when she and Ryder were exchanging only dry facts, her sensuality glowed in every gesture, every glance. Ryder burned as if she had lit a fire in the depths of his heart.

  Didn’t they know that they were both tumbling headlong into heartbreak?

  Guy set his glass on the table. He wanted, very badly, not to have to witness this. Yet he would do anything in his power to help or protect her, and something in her eyes also spoke of pain and remorse and longing—something far deeper than the delicate regret she had once shown him.

  “No, Dillard’s been very successful,” Miracle said in answer to a query from Ryder. “He moved the family from the rooms over his shop several years ago. They’re living in a grand new ma
nsion in one of the best streets in Manchester. He’s described every detail in his letters.”

  “Then if we leave as soon as it gets dark, we’ll arrive at your brother’s shortly after dawn.”

  “With Lord Hanley still hot on our heels?”

  “Without doubt,” Ryder said dryly. “But we’ll get there first.”

  It was a simple enough exchange, yet the air almost crackled between them. Why the devil didn’t Ryder just sweep her into his arms and carry her off to bed?

  Miracle stood up. Her smile encompassed both men, but the real passion in it was only for Ryder. “Then I’ll leave you gentlemen to your brandy, while I go and prepare for another journey.”

  In a sweet rustle of silk, she left the room.

  Guy dropped his head into both hands. Ryder pushed away from the table and stalked across to the fireplace.

  “Are you still in love with her?” he asked.

  “God!” Guy’s head jerked up. “Is it that transparent?”

  “No more so than with me, I’m sure. Miracle tends to do that to men.”

  “Then yes and no.” Guy refilled his glass. “I’ve no desire to revisit that much pain. There’s no going back, in spite of those adolescent declarations of undying love. I can offer her nothing now except friendship and she wants nothing else.”

  “Yet no man can ever look at her and not want—what we both want,” Ryder said. “It’s a bloody disaster.”

  “Why?”

  Ryder stared up at a portrait of the third earl in his strict Puritan garb. “Nothing can change the facts: Every possible future for a courtesan and a duke’s eldest son contains the inevitable destruction of love.”

  “You want love?”

  With the fluid power of any natural athlete, Ryder spun about to face him. “I hope I know better than to waste my life wanting something I can’t have, but let’s at least save her from Hanley.”

  “I’ll help in any way that I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For her sake,” Guy said with a wry smile. “At the moment, I feel rather like strangling you, but what do you want me to do?”

  “Wait here for a day to engage Hanley’s spies in useless speculation, then go back to London to resume your normal life—on the surface, at least.”

  “While you recover whatever she sent to her brother?”

  Ryder nodded. “And perhaps while we’re gone, you could find out everything there is to know about this Philip Willcott?”

  Guy stood up and offered Ryder his hand. His cousin shook it.

  “Hanley doesn’t stand a bloody chance,” Guy said. “It does almost make one feel sorry for the man.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Ryder said.

  THEY slipped out of the house into a black world. It wasn’t raining yet, but thick banks of clouds hung over the hills to block out the stars. Ryder led Miracle away from Wrendale in absolute silence. Entering the woods was like plunging into an inkwell. For mile after mile she was suspended in damp darkness, his grip on her hand her only compass. Every once in a while he would tug her to his side, so she could avoid puddles of water or the slap of wet leaves in her face.

  The curricle was waiting in a lane. Miracle barely made out the dark shapes, but a harness jingled and a hoof clopped once as the horses shifted. Ryder handed her up, then exchanged a few whispered words with the groom. The curricle dipped beneath his weight. Ryder swung into the driver’s seat. Hoofs and wheels muffled by the muddy road, they drove off in an eerie quiet, as if a dream carriage carried them straight into the heart of the night.

  Dawn arrived as they dropped down out of the hills and into the tidy valley of the Dean River. Not far now to the cotton mill and the apprentice house, where Miracle had spent half her childhood. Somewhere beyond those trees, machines clanked and hammered as the small children tending them slowly went deaf. Whatever happened now, she would never, never work like that again!

  Manchester was still half asleep under watery blue skies. The scent of baking mingled with the smell of coal smoke and horses. A few tradesmen were already about, carrying goods and opening up businesses.

  “The respectable gentry are still snugly abed,” Ryder said. “Since your brother counts himself as one of them these days, we’ll try his home first.”

  They turned onto a street of fine new houses, and the horses dropped to a walk. Ryder reached over and clasped Miracle’s hand. She had almost stopped breathing.

  “It’s been years,” she said. “I’ve not seen Dillard in years. I’ve never met his wife, nor seen his children.”

  “He’s your brother. He’ll be thrilled to see you.”

  “Yes, of course!” She choked down the growing panic and excitement. “Oh! That’s it!”

  The green-painted railings were as familiar as if she had known them all her life. The symmetrical ranking of tall windows. The fan-light over the door. The brass knocker, shaped like a boot. Her heart pounded, as if she were running. Her only brother! All she had left of her family. The only person in the world who would always love her, no matter what.

  Ryder pulled up the horses and swung down. The street was empty, except for a boy with a broom. His dung barrow stood near the railings. Without asking, the boy ran up to hold the horses’ heads.

  Miracle sat in the curricle and waited in a haze of nervous anticipation as Ryder rapped at the door.

  No one answered.

  “The knocker’s up, so they can’t be away.” He stepped back to stare up at the facade. “You’re sure this is the right house?”

  She nodded, gulping down agitation before she could speak. “Perhaps Dillard’s already gone to the shop?”

  “And taken his staff and family with him?”

  Ryder pounded with more force. A baby started crying.

  “Go away!” a man’s voice shouted from inside. “Go away!”

  “Someone’s home. You said Dillard keeps his own carriage. There’s a mews at the back?”

  Miracle nodded. Fists of indiscriminate fear clenched in her gut. She fought to remain calm, staring at Ryder’s thick hair and long legs, as if just the sight of him could prevent her falling apart.

  The boy scratched at a flea. “Tha’ll ta’e nowt f’r a’ thy axing, f’r a’ tha’s mebbe a lord.”

  Ryder raised a brow.

  Miracle swallowed hard. “He says that we’ll get nothing, however much we ask, even if you are a lord.”

  “Perceptive lad!” Ryder reached into a pocket. “Here’s a penny for you, sir. However, you must swear to tell no one we were here, or I’ll return to take the hide off your backside.”

  A grubby fist snatched the coin from the air. The boy crossed himself in a solemn promise. Then he grabbed up his broom and ran back to his barrow. Lifting the handles with an effort, he trundled it away down the street.

  Ryder swung back into the curricle and whipped up the horses.

  “It’s all right,” he said with quiet determination. “We’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough.”

  He tooled the curricle around the end of the row and into the alley. The stalls behind Dillard’s house stood empty. Ryder tied the horses and swung Miracle down onto the cobbles. He led her up to the back door and hammered at it with the butt of his whip.

  There was no answer. He tried the latch. The door was locked, but a faint scuffling echoed from the other side.

  Ryder knocked again, more softly this time. “Is someone there?”

  “I’m not to open the door,” a child’s voice answered. “Pa says no one’s to come in,’less he says so. Not even the baker, though he hasn’t brought us any bread for days and days.”

  Miracle exchanged one glance with Ryder before she bent close to the keyhole. She kept her voice calm, though stark fear froze her bones.

  “Is that Amanda? We’ve never met, but I’m your aunt Miracle, and you have four little brothers and sisters. I sent you a little muff last Christmas. Do you remember?”

  Silence.


  “The muff was white fur. It had a little border of silver braid and a pocket for a handkerchief. I sent it to you all the way from London. Now I’ve come to see you myself. Won’t you let me come in?”

  “I’m not to,” the child whispered. “Papa said so.”

  Ryder pulled out a coin. Sunlight glanced off the copper.

  “Would you like a penny to put into the pocket, as well?” Miracle asked. “I have one here. A bright new penny.”

  “Can I buy a bun with it?”

  “You can buy as many buns as you like.”

  A chain rattled. Bolts clunked. The door swung open to reveal a little girl. She peered up at the visitors from a tear-streaked face.

  Miracle crouched down to the child’s level and made herself smile as reassuringly as possible. “Thank you, Amanda. You’re my eldest niece and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. Here’s your penny! You’re six years old, aren’t you?”

  The girl grabbed the coin, then thrust a forefinger into her mouth. She stared up at Ryder with eyes like dinner plates.

  “This is my friend,” Miracle said. “Where’s your mother? We thought we heard a baby crying.”

  “Mama’s upstairs,” the child said. “She’s crying, too.”

  “Is there a maid with her?”

  “Just Simon and Freddy and George and the baby. Perky’s left.”

  “Your governess, Miss Perkins? She left? Is your mama sick?”

  Amanda shook her head.

  “Is there a footman, or a scullery maid? Where’s your cook?”

  “Everybody left. And Papa’s locked in his study and he won’t come out.”

  “Your papa is my brother, as Simon and Freddy and George are your brothers. May we come in?”

  The child nodded and ran ahead into a long hallway.

  Ryder closed the back door behind them. “This kitchen’s a shambles,” he whispered in Miracle’s ear. “I think she’s been fending for herself.”

  They reached the foot of the staircase. Amanda started up.

  A door in the hall banged open. “Who the devil are you?” a dark-haired man shouted. “What the hell are you doing sneaking about in my house? And it is my house, I tell you! Still my house!”