by Lenora Bell
He chuckled. “An astute supposition. That’s a spanking stool.”
“Why would anyone want to be spanked?”
“There are some that say that chastisement causes blood to rush to the region which creates lascivious sensations. There are pleasure houses catering to such tastes.”
Her education continued. “Oh, of course. I’ve heard of such places,” she said breezily, though she hadn’t, and never could have imagined them. “I might like to be spanked,” she said boldly. “But only very softly.”
An audible hiss of breath sounded above her head.
He shifted beneath her, bringing her into a sudden awareness of the effects of her teasing.
“I might like to spank you,” he said. His hand moved lower, to the small of her back, and lower still. He cupped her bum with his palm.
She squirmed on his lap, moving forward to give his hands better access. Excitement pulsed through her body, gathering in the tips of her breasts, the pit of her belly, the juncture between her thighs.
She remembered how he’d held her by the wrists in the shed and how the feeling of being under his control had been both dangerous and arousing.
“To willingly lose control when you know that it’s safe to do is exciting for some,” he said. “Not for me.”
“You never lose control, do you?” She played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Traced the outer edge of his ears. She wanted him to kiss her so badly.
She wanted to make him lose control.
“I’ve worked hard to cultivate utter control over my emotions and my life,” he said.
“I know something about you.” She tilted her lips to his ear. “A secret.”
His face turned until their lips were nearly touching. “What’s my secret?”
“You were afraid to go behind the bookshelf.”
His body became even more rigid beneath her. “No, I wasn’t.”
“I could see that you were scared.” She placed her hand over his heart, as she had earlier. “Does it have something to do with your kidnapping?” Her uncle had warned her never to speak of it, but she wanted to know more.
“Has anyone ever told you that curiosity killed the cat?” he asked, attempting a lighthearted tone.
“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Don’t shut me out, as you tend to do. Don’t remain cold.”
He remained silent for a few heartbeats and she thought he wasn’t going to answer the question, but then he drew in a breath. “I was kidnapped when I was fifteen, taken from Eton, and held for ransom in a small ship anchored near London.” His voice emotionless and flat, as though he were reciting someone else’s history. Someone long dead and buried. “So the threat to Beatrice is personal. I’ll never let the same thing happen to her. Never.”
She shuddered. “It must have been so frightening,” she said.
Fear squatted in the center of your chest and choked the breath out of your body. Fear had the taste of watery oats and sour milk.
The thing about fear was that it never really left you. It was your companion for life, always there, waiting to take control when you weren’t vigilant enough.
The other thing about fear was that you never admitted it to anyone. Not if you were a man.
Not if you were a duke.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said.
“I never talk about it.”
“I understand.”
She did understand and she wouldn’t push him to admit his weakness. She’d just been through the experience of being trapped, her limbs splayed out, and her skirts falling over her eyes.
She’d been vulnerable, and she’d been scared. He’d heard it in her voice, though she’d also been brave. Making a joke of it, trusting him to help free her.
“Miss Penny, the sight of you in those manacles.” He swallowed. It had brought everything back. He’d been desperate to free her, clawing at the irons like an animal. “It reminded me of the kidnapping. I’m so sorry that you had to endure being trapped for even a few minutes.”
“You were trapped for days,” she said.
“Ten days. One of my wrists was chained to a ring in the wall. The other left free. I scratched marks on the rough wooden walls of the ship for every day of my captivity.”
“Who kidnapped you, and why?” she asked. Her eyes held only curiosity, not pity.
He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. But she’d been so brave and she listened so intently. The desire to unburden himself was overpowering.
Not everything. He couldn’t tell her everything, but he could admit one small slice of his fear, just a swallow, and then he’d restore order to this room, this conversation, and to his life.
“My captor was a tenant farmer seeking revenge on my father after he lost his leasehold. He was desperate. He kidnapped me to put food on the table for his six children.”
“How did they capture you?”
“I was at Eton attending the celebration for King William’s birthday. There were speeches, cricket, and a procession of boats. Large crowds on the banks of the river. A messenger approached me and said that my mother had been taken poorly and I was to come with him immediately. I didn’t think too hard about it. If Mother was sick, I must go to her. I climbed into the carriage willingly. He stuffed a gag in my mouth and placed a blindfold over my eyes so that I didn’t know where he was taking me.”
He stopped talking. One small admission—not a damned book.
He glanced down at her and their gazes met. The connection and the release of it crashed through his mind like a chunk of granite cliff breaking off and falling into the sea.
It felt good to talk to Wilhelmina Penny. More than good . . . it felt necessary.
And that scared him more than entering the shadowy chasm behind the bookshelf. She wanted to know more about him. She might even learn to care for him.
And he knew what happened to people who cared for him. He disappointed them. Left without a word of good-bye and stayed away for five years.
He withdrew, retreated, abandoned them because everything in London, even his family, reminded him of the dark memories.
Walls the color of a bleeding, beating heart.
Memories of his weakness, his vulnerability. He’d needed help and no one had come.
He could feel one of his attacks coming on, the drumbeat of dread advancing from the past.
This is why he couldn’t talk about it—couldn’t show his vulnerability.
He might lose control. He had to warn her.
“Ever since I escaped I’ve been damaged, Mina.” Call her Mina now. Not Miss Penny. They were here together in this giant bleeding heart. They had to get out. “I don’t feel things in the same way other people do. I felt nothing when my father died. I don’t know how to grieve.”
He’d had to find ways of shielding himself, of managing the irrational fears that gripped his mind.
He’d given his warning and now this connection had to be severed.
“If you ever want to talk more about it, one of my talents is listening,” she said earnestly. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about grief and the absence of grief. When my parents died, the chief emotion I felt was anger. They were always traveling—and I was hurt and angry that they’d died before I had a chance to really know them.”
“But you’re not damaged, Miss Penny. You’re all shining eyes and open heart. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”
That was why he had to end this. She hadn’t built defensive walls around her heart and he hoped she would never need to.
And she was uniquely adept at threatening his defenses.
He set her off his lap and rose to his feet. He extended his hand. “It’s time to go and find my sister and forget you ever saw this room.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee it,” she said with a bright smile. “And you know I’m not going to leave until I look inside the lacquered cabinet.”
&nb
sp; “Please don’t.” They had to leave now.
“Just a little peek.” She tossed a cheeky grin back at him as she walked to the cabinet and opened Pandora’s box.
She stared at the contents. Then she turned toward him, jaw slack. “Why? Why would Lord Rafe use one of those?” She pointed at the row of ivory and polished wood phalluses of assorted sizes and shapes. “Doesn’t he have one of his own?”
“I assume so. At least he did when we were boys and went swimming together in lakes.”
“Then why?”
“My guess would be that he entertains multiple visitors at once and requires reinforcements.” Or they could be for Rafe’s use—but he wasn’t going to mention such unmentionable subjects.
The sight of her staring at a row of hard, shiny phalluses was something he would never be able to unsee.
This was so far beyond inappropriate. The erotic accoutrements, the press of her palm against his heart, the desire to confess his buried secrets, share his pain . . . he had to lock it all tightly away.
She threw him off-balance and then, conversely, she seemed to be the only thing that could save him.
“Pardon me, Your Grace.” Crankshaw hovered outside the door.
Mina slammed the cabinet shut.
“Yes, what is it, Crankshaw?” Drew asked.
“I apprehended a raggedy urchin preparing to throw this through your window.” He held up a paper-wrapped brick. “Afraid the little rapscallion slipped through my fingers and made his escape before I had a chance to question him.”
“How old was he? What clothing was he wearing?” Mina asked.
“About ten, I’d wager. Proper little guttersnipe. All wrapped in tattered, greasy rags with his face covered in soot.”
“Well, give it here,” said Drew, holding out his hand.
“I caught only a glimpse of the words. I saw nothing. No details.” Crankshaw handed him the brick. “It’s an attempt at blackmail. Not that I would presume to give you any advice, but don’t hand over any cash, Your Grace. No good can come of it.”
Crankshaw left. Drew set the brick on a table, unwrapped the paper, and spread it out beside a lamp. Mina moved to stand beside him.
Your brother is engaged to marry a HARLOT. The price of her name is two hundred in silver. Meet me behind the orchestra when they light the lamps at VAUXHALL GARDENS tomorrow evening. Come ALONE.
“Lord Rafe is engaged.” Mina sat down in an armchair after checking to make certain that there were no visible gears.
“Troublesome, to be sure,” said Drew, “but I was expecting something worse. I don’t know, my mind ran away with me. Criminal activity, murder, I imagined it all.”
Mina had imagined many things, but marriage hadn’t been one of them. Lord Rafe had been her escape route. Her future. Her claim to a life of adventure.
“This is extortion,” Drew said, pacing in front of the fireplace. “Plain and simple. Now I know what Rafe’s about to do—make an injudicious match. Someone, the woman’s servant, or possibly a relative, found out about their plans and thought they’d extract some money from me. Once I have the name of the woman, I can stop the marriage. It’s worth the price.”
“Extortionists are never satisfied with only one payment when they think they can force another. And something else is troubling me. Why did Lord Rafe leave London?”
“Maybe he left to escape his fiancée,” said Drew.
“Then why did he say he’s going after the real threat? I think we’ll find answers when we crack the code in his journal.” She still believed that Lord Rafe was pursuing Le Triton. Capturing Sir Malcolm’s mortal enemy would be the perfect way for Lord Rafe to restore himself to the inner ranks of her uncle’s elite spy force.
It was likely that Lord Rafe’s betrothal was only one piece of the puzzle. He’d become engaged to someone useful to his spy work in order to wheedle information from her.
“The author of this note is the one threatening to kidnap my sister,” said Drew, his voice hard and merciless. “I need answers about Rafe but I also need to know that Beatrice will be safe.”
Mina nodded. “I don’t think the author intends any actual harm. The venue was chosen carefully. Vauxhall Gardens. It’s a public gathering place where the high and low classes mingle without raising any eyebrows. I would be surprised if the extortionist revealed himself—he will probably send a trusted messenger. And so should you.”
“Send someone else to make the exchange? I don’t think so. I want to contain the knowledge of this affair.”
“Send me,” she said, the idea striking her as the perfect way for her to gather more information about Lord Rafe’s motivations for leaving.
The shock on Drew’s face was almost comical. “You must be joking.”
“If I give them the money and accept the information, you can be watching from the shadows. You’ll trail the person as they leave—find out where they go, whom they speak with.”
“I can have my manservant do that.”
“Your manservant will be watching over Beatrice. You said we were in this together now. We’re linked like a chain of daisies, one stem split and the next threaded inside until there’s a chain.”
“A daisy chain. Interesting choice. Are you sure you’re not a country lass?”
“Absolutely not.” She had to make him understand that this was the life she had chosen and she wasn’t afraid of danger. “Since I arrived at Sir Malcolm’s home he’s wanted me to lead a quiet, secluded life and to be happy and content with being his secretary. I thought you’d be just like him, but you’re not. You listen to me. You asked my opinion about the author of the first letter. I think you value my assistance.”
“Well you did find a secret chamber behind my bookshelf and a mysterious coded diary. You’re obviously far cleverer at that sort of thing than I am.”
“It’s distressingly charming and refreshing to meet a man who doesn’t think that I should be sitting in the parlor with an embroidery hoop. Why are you so liberal-minded about such things?”
His lip quirked. “It could have something to do with the fact that you pressed a pistol to my chest the first night I met you. You’re a lady not only equipped to defend herself, but ready to lead the charge.”
“Why thank you.”
“Also, I sensed from the moment I met you that nothing I said would hold any sway over you and that I may as well go with the current instead of fighting it.”
“Very astute of you,” she said.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had enough secrets for the moment, Mina. Let’s go and find my mother, my sister, and your great-aunt and tell them we’re all visiting Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening.”
“Do you think we should bring everyone with us?” she asked. She’d imagined a more intimate evening. Maybe she would even sneak out to meet him there wearing a costume and a mask.
“I do,” he said firmly. “I need to keep Beatrice with me at all times. And obviously you and I require more than one chaperone.”
Chapter 17
It’s an enchanted fairyland.
Mina tried not to gawk at the glittering sights of Vauxhall Gardens like a country maiden at her first fair. Tried, and failed. She hadn’t quite shed her country skin yet—she was awed by everything she saw: the performers reenacting famous battle scenes, the orchestra playing from the second tier of the round building decorated like a jeweled crown and topped by the royal arms and crest.
Red, violet, and blue lamps hung in the trees, clustered together to form bouquets of flowers with leaves of luminous green.
Patterned metal lanterns sent golden stars and moons dancing across the archways and the faces of the revelers.
She sat on a bench next to Beatrice and the duchess in a private supper box, open at the front and hung with paintings of rural scenes and men playing cricket. Drew had seen an acquaintance and left for a chat before supper was served, leaving his manservant, Corbyn, to stand sentry outside of their box
.
Grizzy had stayed home, complaining of a sick headache, but she’d made sure that Mina was prepared for her first public outing with the duke and his family.
“It’s an honor to be invited by the duke and his mother,” Grizzy had told Mina as she supervised her toilette. “You’ll be the envy of every marriageable lady at Vauxhall. The queen of the evening.”
Grizzy had chosen a gown with a silver-threaded overlay meant to sparkle in the lamplight.
Mina had her mother’s oil-of-roses perfume behind her ears and in the valley between her breasts. Not that anyone would come close enough to her bosom to smell the candy-sweet scent with a lemony finish.
Especially not Thorndon. There could be none of that.
He was still the man her uncle wanted to force her to marry.
Yet he was so much more than that.
He knew what it meant to feel helpless, to feel trapped and alone. He was far more fascinating and complex than your average arrogant duke.
Which changed nothing.
Douse the desire. Squelch the sympathy. They were on a serious mission tonight.
Drew had the silver in a leather pouch. Mina had her pocket pistol. During the lighting of the lamps, they’d hand over the money in exchange for the information.
The danger of what she and Drew must do tonight, the exciting prospect of answers and subsequent action—she’d been dreaming and scheming about intrigues such as this her whole life.
Moving with freedom among the unfamiliar and intoxicating sights of London.
Ladies in vivid silk gowns with wavering ostrich plumes in their hair promenaded on the arms of gentlemen in cutaway tailcoats and white trousers.
In the distance the famed gardens extended, filled with exhibitions and novelties, tightrope walkers and pantomimes. Lovers sought shadowy walkways and secluded groves.
“The problem with Vauxhall is that these oil lamps strung in the trees aren’t bright enough for me to read by,” said Beatrice.
“You bring a book with you everywhere you go,” complained the duchess. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to forego your precious reading for one evening. Who knows, if you removed those spectacles and lifted your nose out of your novels every now and then, you might even find a husband. Oh, is that Viscount Fitzbart? Perhaps he knows where my second son has disappeared to—I haven’t seen Rafe in days. Excuse me for a moment.” She rose and hastened after the viscount.