Velvet Night (Author's Cut Edition)

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Velvet Night (Author's Cut Edition) Page 16

by Jo Goodman


  “I’m not proud of it, Kenna. I was young and foolish, though one does not justify the other. I let him do it because he convinced me I would only get myself killed in a duel. Rhys was always a better shot than me. He took to the field and I acted as his second. Lara’s brother was wounded and Rhys fled the country. He did not return until hours before the masque.”

  “I can hardly believe this.”

  “Believe it, Kenna. Rhys most probably saved my life, and if I do not marry it has less to do with you and much more to do with the fact that I don’t trust my judgment of women. There have been other mistakes with women of good birth and breeding I thought I could love. I find the occasional actress or opera singer much more to my tastes.”

  “Did Papa know what happened?”

  “Yes. He bitterly disapproved of the way Rhys and I handled the situation, but he loved us both, and I like to think he forgave us.”

  “I’m certain he did.” She hugged her brother. “I’m glad you told me, Nick, not for Rhys’s sake, for I find that I cannot change my opinion of him because of one gallant moment, but because it explains so much about you. I do love you, Nicholas.”

  He returned her hug. “I wish you would reconsider about Rhys. I had hoped…Never mind, let’s have another look at your pitiful wardrobe,” he said, giving her shoulder a playful squeeze and putting the past behind them.

  Even though Nick suggested discarding a full one third of her clothes, Kenna’s coach was still loaded with two trunks, three leather cases, and a portmanteau which she carried inside. The arrival of Janet’s bags meant the entire load had to be readjusted and the two grooms accompanying them on the journey grumbled under their breath as they moved everything around and roped it all in again.

  After a rather lengthy farewell to Victorine and Nick, during which Kenna was given instructions on how to deal with everything from Yvonne’s children to the innkeeper who ran the hostelry where they planned to spend the night, Kenna’s driver snapped his whip sharply and headed the coach down Dunnelly’s wide entrance and out the main gate.

  Kenna thoroughly enjoyed the ride though Janet complained mightily of the poor road conditions which gave them a painful jolt upon occasion. A spring-like thaw had settled in during the past week and while the warm weather was a pleasant change, according to Janet it had created conditions on the road only a pig could appreciate. In order to escape her maid’s less than enthusiastic companionship Kenna asked the groom who was riding alongside on Pyramid to change places with her. He looked miserable at the prospect but Kenna remained adamant.

  They stopped only long enough to change her mount’s saddle. Kenna sometimes rode ahead of the coach, sometimes behind it, but she never let it get out of her sight. She had been warned it wasn’t safe to be on these roads without an escort and Kenna knew Nick insisted her grooms and driver carry pistols.

  It was approaching dusk when they reached Robinson’s Ale House. Janet made it clear at the outset that she disapproved of their surroundings. Her dark eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline as she looked around the common room and passed judgment on the guests.

  “Disreputable lot,” Janet announced, pulling the hood of her cape more closely about her face.

  “Calm yourself,” Kenna told her. “Nick would not have arranged for us to stay here if he thought it was anything less than respectable.” Kenna found the accommodations quite acceptable. The dining room was clean, the innkeeper and his wife were solicitous without groveling, and the aroma of stew from the kitchen was mouth-watering. If she and Janet were the only women present and if several of the patrons smelled strongly of spirits, well, it could not be helped. Kenna saw that most of the clientele appeared to be quality. How like Janet to dwell on the cloud and ignore the silver lining.

  “Look at those two over there,” Janet whispered when she and Kenna were seated in a private corner of the room. “No, not now! They’re looking this way!”

  Kenna smiled tolerantly. “Well, where should they be looking? No doubt they’re struck by your great beauty.”

  Janet straightened her shoulders and sniffed disdainfully. “Mind your tongue,” she said, slipping into the tone she had adopted when Kenna was a child in need of a scold. “I’ll have you know in my youth my looks were often remarked upon. And kindly!”

  Kenna lifted her hands in mock surrender. “It does not surprise me in the least, dear Janet. Now, won’t you try some of this delicious stew and concern yourself less with the other patrons?” As Janet applied herself to her meal, Kenna glanced at the guests in question. When she caught them staring at her they turned away guiltily and Kenna was forced to agree with her maid. The two men swilling ale a few tables away were easily the most disreputable pair she had seen in ages. Their swarthy faces were shadowed by muddied hats and their clothes were rough farmer’s garb, though Kenna doubted very much that they were from that sturdy stock. Their thick fingers circled their mugs as if they were intent upon choking the drink from them.

  “Now who’s staring?” Janet observed as she buttered a slice of warm bread.

  “Sorry,” Kenna said.

  “If your attention should wander again, mayhap you could notice that nice-looking gentleman sitting near the door. He’s been trying to catch your eye since we came in here.”

  “Janet!” she laughed. “You shouldn’t be encouraging me. What would my brother think?”

  “Can’t say as to that. Here, have some bread.”

  Kenna took the offered slice and broke off a piece, dipping it into the stew’s thick gravy. Under cover of her thick lashes she stole a glance at the table by the door. The lone gentleman seated there was indeed handsome. His hair was fair, his features clearly defined like those of an Adonis, and his slender hands were both elegant and strong. He was wearing fashionable traveling clothes and a crystal knobbed walking stick rested at the side of his chair.

  Kenna’s interest turned to the other patrons in turn. There was a father and his two young sons, a group of men who could only be locals given the familiarity with which they greeted the innkeeper, and a half dozen or so travelers from the public coach which had pulled up just before Kenna’s arrival. The atmosphere of the ale house was lively, what with so many conversations taking place at once, and Kenna took more time with her meal than usual to prolong the illusion of being part of the activity.

  When Kenna had had enough of Janet’s reproachful look she motioned to Mrs. Robinson and the kindly woman showed them to the room they would share for the night. As they were standing in the hallway while Mrs. Robinson searched her oversized apron pocket for the key to the room, the handsome young lord from the common room passed them, tipping his hat politely as he went to his own chamber. Kenna’s cheeks warmed at the polite gesture but she was careful not to give him any encouragement.

  The room Mrs. Robinson had prepared for them was eminently satisfactory. Crisp, well-laundered sheets were turned down on the double bed and a heavy colorful quilt was folded at the foot. Kenna’s portmanteau and Janet’s bags rested beside a glowing fire and fresh water had been added to the basin on the nightstand and a pitcher filled with more of the same stood beside it.

  Janet helped Kenna out of her drab but practical traveling clothes and hung everything up on hooks on the wall while Kenna washed at the basin. Afterwards she gave Kenna’s hair a sturdy brushing and plaited it.

  “Which side of the bed do you want?” Kenna asked as Janet changed into her voluminous nightdress.

  “I prefer to be closer to the wall. I should warn you, my late husband said I snore a mite.”

  Kenna yawned sleepily, unperturbed. “’S quite all right,” she said, slurring her words. “I sometimes scream.”

  “Don’t I know it. We’ll have none of that tonight, m’lady,” she said stoutly as she climbed over Kenna to get to her side of the bed. “Try thinking of something pleasant, like that young man you pretended not to notice in the common room.”

  Kenna wrinkled her nose at her m
aid. “I can’t conjure my dreams to order.” But as she fell asleep, she found herself thinking of a fair, handsome face and the rest came surprisingly easy.

  Kenna did not know how many hours had passed when some strange noise woke her, but when she opened her eyes sleepily the face that was staring down at her was so familiar, so gentle that she thought she must be still dreaming. Her eyes drifted closed and she started to turn on her side. It was only when her movement was prevented by an insistent hand on her shoulder that she realized she was awake.

  She opened her mouth to scream and immediately a gloved hand was clamped over it. Kenna kicked wildly, hoping to rouse Janet but the calm, handsome countenance above her warned her it was useless. He allowed Kenna to move her head slightly to one side, never releasing his hand. She paled as she saw the blood on Janet’s temple mingle with a shock of silver hair.

  “Jeb hit her a little too hard for my tastes.”

  The soft, faintly accented voice of the gentleman who was not at all what he seemed washed over Kenna and she ceased to struggle. She stared up at him, trying to still her panic. Upon closer examination the face above her was not as young as it first appeared. There were faint lines about his eyes and mouth, and at the temples his fair hair was actually a very light gray.

  Another voice, this one rougher and uncultured came from across the room. “Now don’t be usin’ any names. We don’t want her singin’ any tunes to the authorities, mate. Anyway, it was you wot walloped the old one with yer cane.”

  “So I did, but this young lady won’t be going within miles of anyone who will listen to her,” the man replied easily and to show his unconcern with the matter he introduced himself. “My name is Mason, lovely Kenna, and the two miscreants accompanying me are Jeb and Sweet.”

  Was she supposed to care? she wondered. She wanted to help Janet whose breathing was shockingly light and shallow. The pressure on her mouth was unrelenting and she pleaded for release with her eyes.

  Mason ignored her and spoke to the others. “Sweet, get the bottle. Jeb, tie her wrists and ankles, then hold her down. I suspect she’s not going to accept this easily.”

  Kenna began to struggle immediately and though it proved useless she did not quiet until the last of her energy was drained and her hands and legs were tightly bound.

  “Now listen to me carefully, Kenna,” Mason said, his eyes on her heaving breasts as she fought for air in the aftermath of her struggle. “We are not going to harm you. Do you believe me?”

  Was he serious? Kenna shook her head.

  “Good girl,” he said. “In the same circumstances I wouldn’t believe me either. No matter, it happens to be the truth. I was hired to do otherwise which explains the presence of Sweet and his friend.” His voice was soft, hypnotic. “I’ve no real taste for murder, not when I can turn a profit.”

  Kenna frowned. Murder? Profit? What was he talking about?

  “When I saw you in the common room an alternate plan formed in my mind, one of a decidedly less final nature. Rather fortunate for you, don’t you think? Now, don’t worry about answering,” he grinned, showing a mouth full of white even teeth. “I don’t really expect one. What I want you to do now is drink something I’ve specially prepared for you. It won’t kill you,” he added when he saw her look of pure terror. “Though at less skilled hands than mine it could. It will make you drowsy and distort your perception a bit, but it will not harm you permanently. Sweet is going to hold your nose and I am going to pour a measure of it down your throat. I would suggest you not try screaming for the alternative to this is very painful. Look to your maid again if you doubt me.”

  Kenna didn’t doubt him at all. Sweet’s thick fingers pinched her nose and Mason lifted his hand just enough to pour a dram of liquid in her mouth as she opened it for air. She sputtered and coughed and tried to spit it out but another measure of the foul tasting stuff was poured in again. She saw Mason hold up the bottle to the firelight, roughly measuring how much he had given her. He did not slip the bottle into his inside vest pocket until it was a quarter empty. His hand remained on Kenna’s mouth and he glanced at his companions with something akin to satisfaction on his beautiful face.

  “Now we wait.”

  It was not long before Kenna’s eyes closed, and much against her will she dropped into a state of semi-consciousness. When Mason felt the tension vanish from her body, he slowly removed his hand and motioned to Sweet. “Gag her, mon ami, then we go.”

  Rhys lay back on the bed, fluffing a pillow under his head. The pale pink silk canopy billowed at his smallest movement. He imagined it must resemble the roll of an incoming tide when Polly Dawn was entertaining her clients. The fat little cherubs carved into the bed’s headboard smiled serenely over Rhys’s head and the gold threads running through the pink wallpaper glittered at him from across the room. The bedchamber was hardly to his liking but it suited Miss Rose.

  Rhys watched her comb her hair and arrange it artfully about her head. Her tiny plump fingers flicked the platinum curls this way and that until she was satisfied with her reflection. She caught Rhys’s eye in the mirror and silently asked the age-old question.

  “Beautiful,” Rhys responded dutifully, though he realized it was also true. A few years younger than he, P.D. Rose displayed an excess of sensuality in every one of her petite curves. Her features were softly rounded and though she bemoaned her figure as plump, her weakness for chocolates meant nothing would change. She wrinkled her upturned nose at Rhys as she reached for a chocolate now and plopped it into her tiny bow-shaped mouth.

  “I have to return to Dunnelly soon,” Rhys remarked, shaking his head as Polly got up from the vanity and offered him the box.

  She put the box aside and sashayed over to the bed. Polly never walked when she could sashay. Her training had come very early and she was doing the only sort of work she had ever known. “How soon is soon?”

  “A few days. Perhaps tomorrow. I’m not certain.”

  “You’re awfully tense,” she noted. “Are you sure you won’t let me ease some of that for you?”

  “That’s not why I come here, P.D.”

  She laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. “Don’t Oi know it, guv!” she said, slipping into the speech of her past. “One can’t give up ’ope!”

  He gave her arm a light squeeze as she sat beside him. “You’re incorrigible.” Rhys sighed. “I won’t be back for a while. My name has been linked to yours.”

  “I should hope so. You’re one of my regulars. Though hardly my usual sort. Most men want a tad more than conversation.”

  He smiled. “Nick thinks I’ve set you up.”

  “Lord Dunne?” She was thoughtful. “Now there’s a man I wouldn’t turn away from my establishment. He’s a looker. I’ve seen him once or twice. What does it matter if he thinks you’ve set me up? It’s the truth.”

  “He thinks you’re my mistress.”

  Polly clapped her hands together, her mouth opening in a delightful O of pleasure. “How lovely!”

  “Polly,” Rhys said warningly. “I don’t know how the stories get turned by the time Nick hears them, but I doubt he’d be pleased if he knew I helped you open this house. He could accept you as my mistress long before he could accept that you are a…professional businesswoman. He would certainly think twice about the wisdom of having me for a brother-in-law.”

  “Brother-in-law!” she exclaimed. “Then you asked for Kenna’s hand! How wonderful! When is the wedding?”

  “I have no idea. Nick was not a great deal more receptive to the idea than his sister.”

  “She turned you down?” It was difficult to believe.

  “Emphatically.”

  “Then she doesn’t deserve you!”

  “I think you mean that,” said Rhys.

  “I do! You’re noble and kind and generous and…and I would have been dead years ago if you hadn’t come to my aid. You’re rather like my personal guardian angel.”

  Rhys glanced at the cherubs
overhead. “God forbid,” he said feelingly.

  “Be serious. It was as if heaven sent you the night you came to Mrs. Miller’s place.”

  Rhys remembered the meeting well enough. It had been two years ago, shortly after his return from the Peninsula and his visit to Dunnelly. He was depressed and lonely and feeling rather sorry for himself. The Foreign Office was after him to spy for them in America, a request he found repugnant, and his father and brother wanted him to come to Boston and fight the English. While Victorine and Nick welcomed him to Dunnelly, Kenna wanted nothing from him, and that knowledge cut more deeply than anything.

  It was that realization that triggered his bout with several bottles of whisky and a wild gambling spree that cost him thousands of pounds. He had not understood how much Kenna’s approval meant to him until he saw her again. Though he had thought of her often during the years he was away, and knew a little about her from his correspondence with Nick, he was unprepared to face the fact that he had truly come to love her with more than platonic affection. The promise of her fiery beauty had come true and though her spirit had dimmed and her playfulness had disappeared, she managed to hold his heart. The time he spent in her company during that visit was pure torture and if it had not been necessary to explore the caves of Dunnelly he would have left after only a few days.

  When he did depart the world seemed to fold around him and, as quickly as some of his friends good-naturedly suggested a sporting visit to Mrs. Miller’s he took them up on it. Had he been sober at the time he doubted he would have done it, but upon reflection it had turned out to be a good thing because he met Miss Polly Dawn Rose.

  He did not remember choosing Miss Rose as his partner that evening, but he found himself in her room nonetheless, and though she seemed to be enthusiastic about the encounter, Rhys found he was not. Instead of making love to the wriggling bundle of femininity in his arms he poured out his troubles in a somewhat drunken though perfectly coherent manner. He had no idea if Miss Rose was a good lover, but she was an excellent listener. He went back to visit her several times, just to talk, and though he knew she thought him peculiar, she seemed to enjoy his company.

 

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