Page 16

Chapter Sixteen

“Lord Rothley seemed eager to ride to Kingston with Mr Daventry,” Elsa said, pulling the blanket across her lap and pushing her fingers firmly into her gloves. “Did you tell him we wished to travel alone?”

“Not in so many words.”

Rothley wanted to hire Daventry to investigate the death of their friend Justin: a crime that had occurred a decade ago. It was a last-ditch effort to uncover the truth because Rothley could no longer live with the constant suspicion.

“Don’t you want to be alone with me, Elsa?” Daniel said in a teasing voice that failed to reveal how badly he needed her.

Although she was wrapped for an arctic expedition, the chill in the air hadn’t dampened his ardour. Still, any attempt to remove her clothing would be a selfish act on his part.

“Do you need to ask?” Her words were a sultry murmur, yet her gaze seemed distant, unreadable, bringing her earlier comment to the forefront of his mind.

Rejection is closer to hell than anything I’ve known .

“It’s hard to know how you feel unless we’re kissing.” There! He’d addressed the problem neither was keen to mention. “When you’re not swept away on a tide of passion, there’s a sadness in your eyes … like you’re grieving a loss you know you’ll never reclaim.”

She glanced at her lap, hiding her silent struggle. “It is that obvious?”

“It is to me.”

“I’m not sure you want to hear my emotional ramblings.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

She met his gaze with some hesitance before confessing, “I hate that the villain robbed us of our wedding night. I’m afraid he’ll succeed in separating us for good. I’m hurt you didn’t trust me … so grateful you fought to protect me. I’m a maelstrom of emotions, Daniel. But they all disappear when we kiss.”

Something magical happened when they indulged their desires, but lust alone could not forge a bond that could last a lifetime.

“I feel those emotions, too.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I can’t change the fact I left you at The Grange. I can’t take away the pain of rejection, but I can ask for your forgiveness.”

“You don’t need my forgiveness. Your reason for leaving makes perfect sense now.”

He reached for her hand and held it tightly. “I’m asking you to forgive me. I want to hear you say the words. I need to know you mean them. Whatever hell you visited in my absence, you’ll never grace its halls again.”

Her gaze wavered as if caught between the weight of her emotions and the need for a resolution. She exhaled slowly, her lips trembling slightly. “I forgive you. I forgive you for leaving me at The Grange and for anything else you felt compelled to do to save me.”

The tension he’d been holding left his body.

“Elsa, if you must revisit the past, let me remind you of a feeling you failed to mention, one we both felt on our wedding day.”

He envisioned himself standing proudly at the altar until he saw her. Then his confidence faltered, replaced by a deep, humbling love. The moment they were pronounced man and wife, a rush of elation had surged through him, so fierce it almost knocked him off his feet.

The irony was he owed Carver’s murderer a debt he couldn’t repay. Something beautiful had been born out of a tragedy.

“What do you think we both felt that day?” she asked.

“Joy.”

“Joy?”

“A joy unlike anything we’d ever known.” A joy short-lived because he’d been forced to leave in the hope the killer wouldn’t find her at The Grange.

She hesitated, then said softly, “I was truly happy then.”

“And you’ll be happy again.”

Doubt flickered in her eyes.

He should say no more, not when their lives hung in the balance. But if anything should happen to him, he wanted her to remember this moment. To know their sacrifices had meant something.

“Elsa, I didn’t marry you to honour a debt to your brother.”

“Y-you didn’t?”

“No. In truth, I don’t care about the two shillings.”

A fragile smile touched her lips. “You don’t? ”

“No. I didn’t marry you to save you from ruin, although that weighed heavily in my decision.” He paused. “I married you for the same reason I lured you out of bed in the middle of the night. For the same reason I lay beside you on a blanket gazing at the stars.”

“Because lust is hard to temper?” she said, sounding desperate to know the answer.

“Because I love you. I’m in love with you.” Now more than ever. “Whatever the future holds, know that everything I have done and sacrificed has been because of my unwavering love for you.”

She drew in a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. He watched her body soften, as if a weight had been gently lifted. She tried to speak, but her trembling smile said everything.

“I love you, Elsa.” He brought her palm to his lips, kissing her through her kid glove. “I shouldn’t have waited this long to tell you. It should have been the first?—”

“Hush.” She flung herself into his lap, the blanket a tangle around her legs, and pressed a finger to his lips. “This is the perfect time to tell me … when you have no reason to make a declaration.”

He brushed her hair off her cheek. “Never doubt the reason I’m in this predicament. It’s for you. It’s always been for you.”

She held his face between her delicate hands and kissed him, the salty taste of her tears coating his lips. “I have my own confessions to make.”

“I look forward to hearing them.”

“I hated riding Zephyr and only came to Thorncroft to see you.”

“Yet you owned that beast like you do me.” Keen to move past the subject of his horse so as not to ruin the moment, he said, “What other secrets have you been keeping?”

“When I asked you to point to the stars, it was because I loved feeling your hot breath against my cheek.”

He pushed the blanket aside and set his hand on her thigh. “I’m confident you’ll feel something hotter than my breath on this journey.” He was so hard in his trousers, he was surprised she hadn’t noticed.

“I was never asleep when you threw pebbles at my window. I was always waiting, hoping you would come.”

He brushed his mouth across hers and untied the ribbons on her cloak. “And those nights when I didn’t come? What did you do then?”

She blushed. “I touched myself and imagined it was you.”

“Were you aching to have me, love?”

“I was in love with you.”

His heart slammed against his chest. “Was?”

“I am in love with you. You’re the only man I’ll ever love.”

A smile tugged at his lips, one of triumph and abiding gratitude. “I’ll spend my life making sure you have no reason to doubt me. I’ll fight to the death to bring you peace.”

“Not to the death.” Her hands settled on his chest. “We’ll run away if we have to. There’s no shame in putting our happiness first.”

“Let’s put our happiness first now. Tell me you love me, Elsa. Show me how you touched yourself while imagining it was me.” His cock was already weeping at the thought. “Tell me how it begins, this wicked fantasy of yours.”

His minx grinned. “Which fantasy would you prefer? The scene in the stables when I return on Zephyr and find you there, wearing nothing but a pair of tight breeches? Or where you climb into my chamber through the open window and sneak into my bed?”

He chuckled to himself.

While he’d been at home, worried about waking her, not wanting to risk her getting caught, she was hot under the bedsheets, his name a breathless pant on her lips.

“I like the idea of a romp outdoors,” he said, though he would probably spill over his imagined breeches before she’d set the scene. “It’s too cold to remove our clothes, and we want it to feel authentic.”

His warrior wife did not shy from a challenge.

She kept her gaze fixed on his, her sultry smile like a stroke on his hard cock. “I rode Zephyr hard that day. Despite the chilly weather, I was hot and couldn’t wait to return him to the stall and slip off my riding habit.” She began unbuttoning her pelisse. “Just for a few minutes.”

“The cool air must have brought relief,” he said, hearing the huskiness in his voice and longing for his own release.

“Oh, you have no idea. I took the ladle from the bucket, filled my hands and splashed my face, but the water trickled down my throat”—her fingers retraced the path—“and between my breasts.”

“Did you know I was watching you?” he said, desperate to move this along so he could bury himself inside her.

“Not at first, but then I saw you in the stall, shirtless, all golden skin and muscle.” She ran her hand over his chest, her touch light but so damned arousing. “And those tight breeches did nothing to protect a woman’s heart or her imagination.”

He captured her hand, locking his fingers with hers. “My mouth was so dry as I stared at you I couldn’t form a word.”

“We didn’t need to speak. The connection between us has always been there. It was as if our hearts already knew what would follow”—she kissed him, soft and deep—“and our minds had simply stopped trying to interfere.”

“What did follow?”

“I entered the stall and pushed you onto a bed of clean straw. While you unbuttoned your breeches, I gathered up my undergarments and sat astride you.”

She slipped off his lap and, despite the unsteady rocking of the carriage, shrugged out of her pelisse. He followed her lead, freeing himself from his trousers with the reckless hunger of a randy youth.

His wife was wet and willing.

She didn’t wait for him to touch her intimately, but straddled his lap as he held his cock and sheathed him with excruciating slowness.

“God, Elsa,” he rasped, the feel of her stealing the breath from his lungs. “You’ll be the death of me.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. “Then die happy, my love.”

With a low, shuddering growl, he thrust up to meet her, matching her slow, torturous rhythm. The carriage swayed and jolted around them, but Elsa rode him with a boldness that left him blind with need. Every roll of her hips, every gasp that escaped her lips, drove him closer to the brink, until the rest of the world—the lies, the secrets, the scandals—ceased to exist.

There was only her.

Only this.

The searing clasp of her body around him, the pleasure that tore through his control. He gripped her hips, anchoring himself as she rose and fell with untamed grace.

Elsa bent to him, her breath a broken gasp against his mouth, her hands framing his face as if she needed to hold on to something before the storm of release shattered them both.

He slid a hand between them, finding her with a desperate touch. She tightened around him, whispering his name, and the memory of the first time he had made her climax—pressed against the old oak—seared through him.

Nothing else in life compared to this: her body quaking against his, her soft, broken cries spilling into the air as she shattered for him once more.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

He surged up, crushing her to him as he spilled into her, the woman who had ruined him for all others.

He had dreamed of her a thousand times.

But she was no longer an impossible fantasy.

She was his.

Shadowmere

Kingston upon Thames

If the devil had a palace on earth, it would be Shadowmere.

Castle-like in stature and spirit, it rose from the boggy earth like a curse laid in stone. Its walls were a weathered grey—its windows narrow slits to keep the daylight out. Its ugly spires stretched to the heavens, tall enough to taunt the angels.

Gargoyles kept guard above the vast oak entrance, their stone eyes fixed on every newcomer, their leering grins a silent warning to any fool bold enough to cross the threshold.

“Good heavens!” Elsa peered at the looming facade and pictured the castle in The Mysteries of Udolpho . Perhaps the stories of Mr Hawke’s depravity amounted to more than idle gossip. “No wonder Mr Daventry insisted on accompanying us.”

Daniel flashed a smug grin. “I’m glad he did, or we’d have had the pleasure of Rothley’s company—and I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of you.”

“Or told me you love me.”

Nothing had prepared her for the moment those words left his lips. She had convinced herself he might feel duty-bound to make this marriage work, though the first time they’d made love hadn’t felt like a chore.

“Or lived an arousing fantasy of having you in the stables.” He adjusted himself in his trousers. “One we shall repeat when we return to Thorncroft.”

“Will we live at Thorncroft when this is all over?” she said with a sense of optimism she rarely felt these days.

“We’ll divide our time between Chippenham and London. With the shipping fleet expanding, I’ll need to focus my attention there.”

It was hard to imagine a life without problems and wicked secrets. “You won’t expect me to remain in Chippenham while you’re in town on business?”

His gaze roamed over her body. “I can’t make love to my wife when she’s a hundred miles away.”

“What about Clara? Where will she live?” The thought of Clara staying alone at The Grange made Elsa uneasy.

“I don’t want her to return to The Grange, but I agreed not to force her hand. She must decide for herself.”

Elsa prayed Clara would feel differently after completing her list of daring pursuits, and agree to remain in town.

But any discussion on the matter would have to wait. As per Mr Daventry’s instructions, their carriage drew alongside Shadowmere’s iron-studded front door, where stone gargoyles glared from great heights and a chill wind whispered through the spires.

“No matter what Hawke says, you will remain by my side throughout our visit,” Daniel said for the third time in as many minutes. “I dread to think what we’ll find beyond these doors. Only the most depraved men attend functions here.”

“Only men? Would that not make for a rather dull party?”

“You’ll find Cyprians, scandalous widows, and spinsters desperate to escape the workhouse—but be assured, you can trust no one here.”

Trust no one!

Had that not become the mantra she lived by?

Mr Daventry appeared outside the carriage door. He checked the blade in his boot, then beckoned them to alight.

Lord Rothley stood surveying the haunting grandeur that was Shadowmere. “And people say my house is a haven for ghosts.” The marquess gave a derisive curl of the lip. “This place truly is the netherworld.”

“Allow me to address Hawke.” Mr Daventry checked the time on his gold pocket watch and told his coachman—a dangerous-looking fellow named Gibbs—to storm the house if they didn’t return within the hour. “I’ll explain I’m conducting an investigation on behalf of the Home Secretary.”

A jolt of fear set her heart racing. “I thought you said Mr Hawke is a sybarite. Surely his world revolves around pleasure, not provocation.”

“Hawke has a reputation to uphold. Men pay handsomely to indulge their ... private vices,” Mr Daventry said in subtle warning. “And as you know, Mrs Dalton, some would kill to hide the truth. ”

Indeed. It’s how they’d found themselves in this predicament.

They followed Mr Daventry to the imposing door, though she expected a flurry of bats to burst from the eaves when he rang the iron bell. The deep toll echoed in the brisk night air—a warning for the damned to be on their guard.

Footsteps echoed beyond the door before a narrow panel creaked open, revealing a sliver of a man, his large beady eyes dark with suspicion. “State your business,” he said so coldly it proved unsettling.

Mr Daventry passed his calling card through the hatch before introducing them. “We seek an audience with Mr Hawke.” He stepped closer. “Forgive me. That sounded like a request, not a demand. Kindly tell Mr Hawke we will return with the King’s men if he turns us away. I’m here at the Home Secretary’s behest.”

The man studied the card. “Kindly wait here,” he said, his tone equally sardonic before he slammed the hatch shut.

As if aware of her thoughts, Mr Daventry addressed the blatant lie. “Murder and fraud fall under the banner of law and order. The Home Secretary will be more than keen for us to solve this case.”

“You’ll find more than one member of the House of Lords frolicking in Hawke’s bedchambers,” the marquess warned. “Don’t underestimate the power of the aristocracy when it comes to silencing the masses.”

“Make no mistake. Hawke is in charge here. He despises the lords who pay to attend his parties. Hawke feasts on scandal and takes his pleasure from ruining men.”

Mr Daventry was right again.

The servant returned. “Mr Hawke will see you,” he said, sliding the heavy bolts and welcoming them in. “Leave your weapons in the box, gentlemen.”

The entrance hall could have been the antechamber to hell. Flames roared in the huge stone hearth, bathing the crimson walls in firelight. Shadows danced over gilt-framed paintings of naked nymphs and marble statues in shameless repose.

The servant—an athletic man dressed in black—frisked the men but didn’t take their outdoor apparel. He led them to the dining room, where a man with midnight hair lounged in a throne chair at the head of a long, lavish table laden with food and wine. He wore black trousers and a loose white shirt, the fabric flowing carelessly over his rugged form, as though he had no care for propriety.

Mr Hawke rested one elbow on the arm of the chair, fingers idly trailing along his jaw as he studied them through sharp green eyes. “Three men, one woman. Quite the arrangement. I see the lady has a taste for dark-haired men. What a pity I won’t be part of your illicit revelry.”

Before Elsa could stop him, Daniel stepped forward. “Insult my wife again, and I’ll put a rapier through your black heart.”

Mr Hawke’s devilish grin was devoid of warmth. “Surely you know what night it is, Dalton? It’s The Gilded Bacchanal. A celebration of indulgence.” He gestured to the table, where golden goblets of burgundy wine shimmered beside platters piled high with glistening fruit, honey-glazed meats, and confections dusted in gold. “Be aware, the women here cost more than two shillings.”

Daniel flew at the hedonist, but Lord Rothley and Mr Daventry caught an elbow each and held him back. “When they release me, you’re mine. ”

Mr Hawke shrugged. “I hate to disappoint, but I prefer fuller hips and large breasts.”

That’s when Elsa decided to end this nonsense. It was clear Mr Hawke enjoyed toying with them. “We’re not here for The Bacchanal,” she said, hurling her blade at the devil’s chair.

The small knife sliced the air, embedding itself in the wood, inches from Mr Hawke’s head. Close enough to warn. Sharp enough to wound.

Mr Hawke didn’t flinch. “Few ladies surprise me, Mrs Dalton. Perhaps I will join you upstairs after all. I do enjoy a woman with spirit.”

“Stop behaving like a child and converse like a grown man,” she said without thinking. “Sir, I was shot in the arm almost a week ago. The man who defrauded my father has already murdered one witness and is currently living life to excess upstairs.”

“How is that my concern?”

“Summon Mr Charmers,” she said, her voice cold, “or I’ll see this house torn apart until we find him.”

“This will be a lot easier if you hand Charmers over,” Mr Daventry added. “I’ve never been one to ruin a party, but Mrs Dalton is correct. We’re not leaving here without him.”

Mr Hawke sat back and pondered his position before suggesting terms. “Do you have a warrant from the magistrate? No? Then I will allow Mrs Dalton to accompany me upstairs. Catching Charmers mid-coitus may be to your advantage.”

“Over my dead body,” Daniel growled. “I’d rot in hell before I allowed her to leave here with you.”

Elsa raised a calming hand. “I will go with Mr Hawke. I’m confident he’s too proud to take a woman against her will.”

“This is a game of trust, Dalton.” Mr Hawke stood. He tugged the knife out of the wood. “I give you my word no harm will come to your wife. I’m a man of business, not a libidinous fool.”

“I’d rather trust the devil,” Daniel exclaimed.

“I’m asking you to trust your wife. Trust she won’t be tempted by my charm and handsome good looks. Trust she will tell you what occurs outside this room.”

“Or I could just shoot you,” Lord Rothley said.

“Be my guest,” Mr Hawke replied coolly. “There’s more than one judge upstairs enjoying the Bacchanal—men willing to overlook a little vice, but not murder, even from a marquess.” He handed Elsa her knife. “Mrs Dalton is welcome to slice my throat if I renege on our agreement.”

Elsa looked at Daniel and gave a reassuring nod before addressing Mr Hawke. “If I accompany you upstairs, do I have your word you will escort Mr Charmers back to the dining room?”

Lucifer’s lackey smiled. “I’ll drag Charmers here myself. By the ballocks if necessary.”

While Daventry convinced Daniel all would be well, Elsa left with Mr Hawke and climbed the dark oak staircase. Unlike the crumbling mansions her mother read about, there wasn’t a cobweb in sight; the banister was polished to perfection, the red runner like new.

“Courage is an attractive quality in a woman of noble birth,” Mr Hawke said when they reached the landing. “Hold on to that steely resolve as we navigate the corridors. This is Sodom and Gomorrah before judgement fell—a gilded abyss where indulgence reigns and restraint is a foreign language. ”

She was curious to know what prompted a man to hold wicked parties, but the noises inside the rooms would leave a bawd blushing.

The walls pulsed with moans and the rhythmic creak of beds. The crack of a whip and a dog-like howl accompanied a chorus of groans, screams, and high-pitched wails.

“Are you not the least bit ashamed of what happens here?”

Mr Hawke’s mocking chuckle was answer enough. “It’s not my shame to bear. But I have my reasons for indulging the aristocracy. Revenge is sweeter when it’s patiently earned.”

Elsa was desperate to know what that meant, but Mr Hawke brought her to a halt outside a door bearing a plaque that read, A Shrine to Caligula .

“This is where I caution you to remain in the shadows. Observe if it feeds a curiosity, but not for too long. You may turn into a pillar of salt.”

He cast her a sly wink, fingers curling around the doorknob. With deliberate ease, he pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter.

It wasn’t the writhing bodies on the bed that had her clasping her hand to her mouth. It wasn’t the flickering firelight casting monstrous shadows on the ceiling or the vile smell of … things no lady should mention. It was the sight of the affable Mr Charmers tied to the bedposts with gold twine, red welts across his torso and an odd metal contraption strapped to his genitals.

“If this were a play, it might be called Rome Reborn Without the Togas ,” Mr Hawke whispered. “Most of them have smoked opium. Lucky for you, Charmers will struggle to hold his tongue.” He extended his hand. “The blade, madam, unless you would rather cut the twine yourself.”

She handed Mr Hawke the blade and watched as he freed Mr Charmers, who thought it was part of the game until he locked eyes with Mr Hawke and turned as white as his own buttocks.

“What? What’s happening? I—I’ve not broken any rules.”

“You brought trouble to my door, Charmers,” Mr Hawke said darkly. He turned to Elsa and snapped his fingers towards the velvet robe draped over the chair. “There is always a penalty for treachery.”

The tangle of people on the bed ignored the interruption and swelled and dipped like a ship on a wild, undulating sea.

Mr Hawke cut the buckle on the unmentionable object covering Mr Charmers’ modesty, wrapped him in the robe and gripped him by the nape as they returned to the dining room.

“I’d like to say these men are taking you to gaol,” Mr Hawke said, shoving the less than angelic Mr Charmers forward. “But I’m not sure you’ll still be breathing once you leave this estate.”

Mr Charmers’ lips curled into a strange wavering smile, his eyes sparkling like polished glass. “Is this my cue to wail?” he slurred. “Is this where Angelica appears with a birch and makes me beg for salvation?”

“This is where you tell me who paid you to steal my cargo and injure my men,” Daniel cried, grabbing the man by the plush robe. “Where you confess to defrauding Jacob Tyler and shooting my wife.”

Mr Charmers laughed as Mr Daventry placed him under arrest. “We have the documents you had Tyler sign, inflating profits and contracts. Witnesses saw you at The Salty Gull the night Lord Grafton was murdered, and dock workers say you run a band of river pirates. Your scarred lackey damaged the hoist?—”

“Wait! Wait!” Mr Charmers shook his head and scrunched his eyes shut as he swayed, attempting to absorb the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t kill Grafton.”

“We have statements to say you did.”

“No!” The fop yanked at his hair, pulling at the roots in desperate confusion. “It wasn’t me. None of it was me. Well—it was, but it wasn’t!”

“Sir, I saw you in my father’s study,” Elsa said, cutting through his babbling. “I’ve seen your seal on the document. Mr Carver told me about the plan before you killed him.” That was a slight lie.

“My, my, Charmers. You have been a busy fellow,” Mr Hawke drawled. “If you manage to dodge these charges, don’t come back, or I’ll kill you myself.”

“Wait! Allow me to think.” Mr Charmers pressed his hand to his forehead. “It’s all a blur … a nasty nightmare.”

The man had some cheek. “A nightmare is being shot in the dark and living with the constant threat of death.” However, she would suffer it again if it was the only way to marry Daniel.

“Death! Yes, that’s it!” Mr Charmers hopped like a mad hare. “I had no choice, or I would have been killed by that beady-eyed fellow with the scar. Though he didn’t have a scar the night he dragged me into an alley and beat me senseless.”

“We need his name,” Mr Daventry demanded.

“You should know his name. He works for Magnus Tyler.”