Page 40 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

“She had red hair and green eyes. I will never forget what she looked like. Nor have I ever seen her since then. I was drugged and woke up in a rather seedy establishment that catered to men. Exactly what happened to you.” He brought his fist down on his desk with a resounding thud, and red tinged his face.

“I paid dearly to keep it quiet. But I have always expected them to return and demand more money for their silence. It was the worst night and morning of my life. That is why I rarely socialize.”

“Please forgive me for not saying so right away, but I recently discovered you had been targeted as well, and I’ll explain how I came by that knowledge in a moment.

” Nick drained his glass. “The night I was drugged, the woman who approached me was called Esmeralda, and she had dark hair and blue eyes. I looked for her everywhere since that night. I finally found her. She is the Viscountess Norton.”

Sitting forward, His Grace eyed him with curiosity.

Before he spoke, Nick continued. “Norton was behind it for fifteen years, so I’ve been told. You were one of his first targets.”

“Norton . . . Christ, the blackguard.”

“The viscountess claims he needed money. And there is more. Baron Latham and Norton’s widow each possess a copy of the list of all the targeted gentlemen and the sums they extorted.

I haven’t seen the list myself, but Latham assured me the list is long, and the money Norton collected was exorbitant. ”

“I’m afraid to ask how Latham got his hands on this list.”

“Norton, before he died, approached Latham regarding taking over the day-to-day activities of his so-called business for him. I believe Latham agreed. Thus, he came into possession of this list, and he informed me this morning that your name is on it.”

“Bloody blackguard,” the duke said as he pounded his desk again. “If this list falls into the wrong hands...”

“Being in the possession of the baron and the viscountess, I believe it already has. I threatened both the viscountess and Latham, saying that I would see them ruined if they continued the scheme. I told her I would help her marry well if she let it go. As for Latham, he is easy to ruin. But all this happened before I knew of the list’s existence.

Had I known of it, I would have chosen a different method of shutting them down.

Latham thinks he could be killed if anyone finds out about the list. Can you imagine what would happen if it became public? ”

“You need to get the list and destroy it—both copies. We must hope there are only two copies.”

“Latham’s list won’t be difficult. I can have Caldwell get it. The viscountess...” He shrugged his shoulders. “She is another matter.”

“This is all good knowledge to have, but what does this have to do with Priscilla?”

“The viscountess most likely has her. She is punishing me for refusing her offer of marriage and for threatening to see her ruined.”

The duke huffed, “Has she no shame or conscience?”

“No.” Nick stood and placed his glass on the duke’s desktop.

“When I leave here, I’m going to visit her.

Perhaps I can convince her that I’ve changed my mind or that I want to join her in business.

I need to do whatever it takes to get me close to the list or to finding out where Priscilla is. Wish me well.”

“Good luck. Find my daughter and bring her home safe to us.”

“I will.”

Nick mounted his horse with shoulders weighed down as though with invisible sacks of grain.

He hoped like hell Mr. Whitcomb would have something soon, because he didn’t know if he was capable of the subterfuge needed to convince Emma, the viscountess, that he had changed his mind and now wished to marry her and take over from Norton.

It didn’t take him long to arrive at her townhouse. Leaving his horse in the mews nearby, he walked up to her door and knocked, and the butler let him in. “Please wait here. I will see if the viscountess is receiving visitors.”

With his hat and gloves in his hands, Nick waited in the entry hall. Several minutes later, the butler returned. “She has agreed to see you, my lord. Come with me.” Nick was led up the stairs and into a parlor he’d never been in. The room was empty. “The viscountess will be with you soon.”

Nick didn’t know which would ease his nerves, sitting down or standing up.

He decided to pace as every nerve ending in his body pulsed, making it impossible to be still.

When he’d decided to pay Emma a visit, his plan was to seduce her, without actually going through with the seduction.

With any luck, with a few touches and some kissing, she would reveal her secrets if she had any more to tell.

“Hollingsworth,” said Emma as she swept into the room, her silk dress clinging to her, making him think she’d skipped her undergarments and dampened her legs and breasts, hoping to entice him.

“Viscountess,” he said with a perfectly cut bow. “Thank you for receiving me.”

She curtsied deeply, giving him a view down her low-cut gown. If she were anyone else—if she were Priscilla—perhaps he could have enjoyed the peek, but this woman made his skin crawl. Pretend to be enthralled, Nick, or you will never find Priscilla. He forced his eyes to drink her in and grin.

“Please call me Emma and join me on the settee,” she said with a sly smile.

He would have to observe her closely. She had been deceiving people for years and was an expert. “Thank you.” He sat beside her, close enough that their thighs touched .

“What can I do for you?” she said, her tone seductive.

“I have been thinking about our conversation from the other day.” He paused to get her interest piqued.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps I was hasty in refusing your advances.” He rested his hand on her thigh and gently squeezed, relaxing his hand, and keeping it there.

She brushed his hand off. “What if I’m no longer interested? Perhaps I’ve found someone else.”

He turned toward her, placed a finger beneath her chin, and arched a brow.

“I don’t believe that to be true. Not with that display during your greeting and the fact that you wear nothing beneath that thin, silky gown.

” He leaned close and whispered into her ear.

“Did you put it on just for me? Dampen your skin just for me?”

“Perhaps. You found me enticing once before. The very first night we met.”

He placed his lips close to her ear and whispered, “I still find you enticing.”

She sighed. “Come upstairs with me.”

“Half of the fun and appeal of seduction is taking one’s time.” He kissed her neck. “A little bit here.” More kisses. “And a little bit here.” He kissed the swell of her breasts and moaned. “And here.”

“You are teasing me,” she said with a throaty laugh.

“Is it working?” He hoped so because he didn’t know how long he could continue kissing and flirting with her.

“You know it is,” she purred as her hand went to the front of his buff riding breeches. He grabbed her hand just in time. If she found him soft, his deception would be over.

He chucked loudly. “I’m afraid if you touch me, I’ll embarrass myself. I do not carry extra breeches with me.”

“Perhaps you should the next time you come.”

Of course, she intended the double entendre. “Oh, my dear, next time I come, it will be inside your sweet body.” He hoped he was flirting correctly and that people truly said such things. He had never been one for dirty bedroom talk or flirting.

“Nicholas,” she whined. “Why not now? I’m so wet.” She tugged her skirt over her knees and took his hand, placing it on her bare leg. “Go ahead. Feel for yourself.”

His hand slid up the top of her leg. Emma gasped and held her breath. His fingers carefully crossed her mound over to her other leg. Her thighs parted, and she moaned long and low. She turned to him and purred, “Will you join me in my bed?”

Sitting on the edge of the settee, he took her hand in his and kissed her fingers, trying not to gag.

“After our conversation the other day, I was thinking you should be rid of Latham and I will be your partner in crime.” Bloody hell, he had not planned on saying that.

It could work in his favor, though. If she had anything to do with Priscilla’s disappearance and she believed they were becoming business associates—and more—perhaps she would share all her secrets with him.

And if she didn’t know anything about Priscilla, he would simply back away.

Her lips curved up into a wide smile. “You have no idea how that pleases me. Latham is an idiot. He will never do.” She sighed. “But I must think on it.”

Nick didn’t like her hesitation. Perhaps she was an actress worthy of the stage, and she was using him. It was something to consider. He leaned over and brushed his lips across hers. “I will leave you to ponder.”

“Stop by tomorrow for afternoon tea.”

He rose to his full height, bowed, pivoted around, and forced himself to stroll out of the room at a normal pace, but he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

His stomach churned, and his head hurt from the tension of it all.

Hurrying to the mews, he retrieved Bandit and returned home for the first time since leaving early that morning.

He made haste in ordering a bath hoping to wash the vile scent of Emma off his body.

It didn’t take long for him be sitting in hot water with half a crystal decanter of whisky and glass resting on a stool beside him, since he planned to get good and drunk.

He hoped to fall asleep and make the time go by and numb his mind from all the terrifying visions of what might be happening to Priscilla.

Where was she? Was she hungry? Cold? Frightened?

Of course, she was frightened. How could she not be?

“Damn it all to hell,” he mumbled as he leaned forward in the tub, grasping his head in his hands. It was going to be a long, torturous night. Both for him and, worse, for Priscilla.

“Hughes,” he bellowed, “my robe, please. And have cook send up a tray. Nothing heavy. My stomach won’t handle it.”

When his valet left to request a dinner tray, Nick stepped out of the tub, dried off and threw on his robe, tying the sash around his waist. Grabbing the glass and the whisky he’d yet to touch, he moved to his favorite over-stuffed chair and filled his glass almost to the top.

No sense pretending he wasn’t going to finish every drop of liquid in the decanter.

When his dinner tray arrived, chicken stew and a sweet roll, he forced himself to eat as he didn’t remember the last time he’d had a sustenance.

The stew and roll went down without incident and would help soak up the whisky.

Hughes returned, turned down his bed, and removed the tray without a word.

Hughes knew when not to bother him and Nick was forever grateful for his service.

An hour went by with Nick staring into the unlit fireplace.

The wall clock ticked in perfect rhythm reminding him time was moving, but at a slow pace.

Not a drop of whisky remained in the decanter or his glass which had both been discarded onto the carpet with a soft thud.

He inhaled and exhaled as he readied himself to move from the chair to his bed across the room.

Using the arms of the chair he pushed himself to his feet, swayed, and landed back in the chair.

He tried again and this time he managed to weave his way to his bed, where he plopped face down and welcomed the oblivion that descended down around him, and he knew nothing more until Hughes came back.

“Good morning, my lord. Or should I say good afternoon?” Hughes’s voice, although spoken quietly, made Nick feel as though the man had yelled directly in his ears.

He shuddered at the pounding ache in his head.

His stomach didn’t feel well and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The taste was dreadful.

“There is nothing good about it,” Nick groaned as he struggled to sit up. “What time is it?”

“It is nearly two.”

He blinked several times trying to clear his vision and was thankful the curtains were closed blocking out most of the sunlight. “Any messages for me?”

“Unfortunately, no. I would’ve woken you immediately if there had been any word.

” Hughes placed a tray on the nightstand closest to him and the aroma of coffee had him almost smiling.

“Mrs. Meadows made you her special concoction. You should feel better once you drink it and have something to eat. I will be back to help you wash up and dress shortly, my lord.”

Nick pulled his body closer to the night table and his breakfast tray.

His hand hovered over the black coffee for a moment, but sighing, he picked up the disgusting tasting remedy from Mrs. Meadows instead and guzzled it down at once.

It shocked his insides, and he let it settle for a few minutes, in case it came back up.

When it didn’t, he ate a piece of toast with jam.

And when that didn’t turn his stomach, he picked up his coffee, stood and went to the window, and slowly opened the curtains hoping the light wouldn’t pierce his eyeballs.

A dull gray day lay outside the window. It matched his mood, as concern and fear for Priscilla, always a constant worry, increased immensely.

He tried like hell not to dwell on it. How petrified she must be at the mercy of her kidnappers and wondering what they would do to her.

The drink and toast in his stomach churned around and around but stayed down as he swallowed and breathed repeatedly. He reached out and placed the palm of his hand on the cool glass and whispered, “Please, don’t let them hurt her.”