Daughter of Darkness (30 page)

‘If you claim the purse, you will not have to.’

Her queen found an unassailable opening and he capitulated. The notion she’d put forward was so startling it had robbed him of breath, as well as his wits. A grin flirted at the corner of his mouth as the idea took root. ‘You have a devious mind, My Lady.’

‘Not as devious as yours, I hope.’ Her smile was seductive as her eyes drifted up to meet his, her voice breathless with anticipation.

‘Oh?’ He met her mischievous gaze with feigned puzzlement.

‘A pedlar came to the door when you were out. I… I bought you a gift.’ Her composure cracked and she blushed. ‘It’s behind your cushion.’

Two seconds later he gazed at the silk cords in his hands, grinning as he remembered the episode in the pavilion and the promise he’d made that day. Never dreaming she’d be so compliant to his wishes, he gazed at her in delighted surprise, made a couple of loops, then leaned forward and placed them around her wrists.

‘I’m quite agreeable to playing games,’ he whispered, tightening them, as with a show of delightful reluctance she rose to her feet. ‘Come, Willow. I’ll teach you what desire is all about. I think you’ll enjoy this lesson.’

‘You will not hurt me,’ she whispered, laying her head against his shoulder in sudden supplication.

It was all part of the game. ‘Not if you submit to my wishes,’ he assured her.

She would submit, and enjoy her submission. He had no intention of allowing her to do otherwise, and she didn’t expect it.

The marquis had not heard that his daughter and her husband were in London, nor had he issued an invitation for them to attend his assembly. When they advanced into the salon his eyes narrowed speculatively and the momentary lull in the conversation was followed by an excited buzz of talk.

Pocketing his winnings, Charles Addison detached himself from the gaming tables and hurried forward to greet his friend. ‘Had I known you were in London I would have called upon you.’ His glance swept admiringly over Willow. ‘Your bride is exquisite. Her bone structure’s superb.’

‘Ever the doctor, Charles.’ Though he laughed, Gerard’s eyes were watchful. ‘Can you never look at a woman without commenting on some part of her anatomical makeup?’

‘You know I can, but with this one, I have the feeling you’d call me out.’

‘You could be right.’ His glance lazily roved around the salon to search for people he was acquainted with. There were several who could be counted on as friends. His glance sharpened on Simon Carswell, who was staring openly at Willow. His exploits included the drunken rape of a young seamstress in France, and the murder of the father who’d tried to defend her. His companion was a cur of a man who feasted on his leftovers. Both were in debt to the marquis, and hung about him like fawning dogs.

‘I’ve heard rumors, Charles. Are they true?’

Charles knew exactly to what he referred. He gazed warningly at him.

Gerard’s mouth creased in a suggestion of a smile. ‘Lady Sommersley is aware that her father makes sport of her.’

‘You do not intend to call him out, do you? He’s shot to death three men in the last six months.’

Gerard smiled reassuringly at Willow when she anxiously entwined her fingers through his and whispered. ‘You’ll remember your oath to your father?’

‘I promise you’ll not become a widow just yet, my love.’ His eyes filled with contempt when they met those of the marquis, and the room held a collective breath when he spoke loudly enough for the man to hear. ‘I believe there’s a wager concerning my wife. Would anyone care to tell me about it?’

Simon Carswell swaggered forward. ‘My pleasure, dear viscount. The marquis has set a purse of three hundred guineas upon her virtue.’ He leered at Willow. ‘I’d gladly pay five hundred for the privilege.’

Shocked whispers followed the insult. Contempt flamed in Willow’s eyes and Carswell took a hasty step backward when she hissed. ‘I’ll cut your eyes from your poxy head and grind them under my heel if you come one step closer.’

Gerard’ s fingers locked round hers as she made an involuntary movement towards her pocket for her dagger, though he was tempted to allow her to carry out her threat. ‘You may save your money, Carswell. We’re not here to sell, we’re here to collect.’

Someone laughed, a derisive guffaw that was picked up by the crowd. Charles grinned at the easing of tension in the room. It was inconceivable his friend would have left such a prize intact.

Dislike glittered in the eyes of the marquis. ‘You were not invited here. Take the she-devil’s spawn, Lytton. Get out before I have you both thrown into the gutter.’

There were a couple of hisses and the room erupted into a cacophony of stamping feet. When the noise died down somebody shouted. ‘Shame on you, Lynchcross. Pay the viscount.’

‘I’ll see the son of a whore in hell first.’

Charles sucked in his breath. The bounds of acceptable behavior had been well breached, and his friend was not noted for his restraint.

But Gerard merely said to the room at large. ‘I’m here to collect a debt. We all suspect of course, that the marquis is the lowest of creatures. I hadn’t realized he was also a cheat, and totally without honor.’

The marquis flushed. ‘Take care, sir. I’ll not be insulted in my own home.’

‘Your home?’ Though he smiled, the tone of Gerard’ s voice echoed the contempt he felt. ‘I understand it was paid for dearly.’ He gazed round at the mesmerized crowd. ‘The marquis earns his funds, and takes his pleasures from the children he kidnaps to amuse his depraved companions abroad.’ He picked up a glass and sniffed its contents as a shocked murmur came from the company. ‘The wine you enjoy is stolen from the inheritance of a four-year-old boy whose mother is dying. He is the son of Daphne de Vere.’

‘Shame!’ someone cried out. One or two people drifted towards the door to avoid the coming trouble. Scenting a juicy scandal, most stayed to see what the outcome would be. Without exception, every one of them hoped to see the marquis bested.

‘Take back what you said, or I’ll call you out.’

Willow made a tiny, anguished sound in her throat when she realized what he was about.

A dangerous grin slid across Gerard’s face. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

The marquis looked bored. ‘Have it your own way, Lytton. Pistols at dawn.’

‘The choice of weapons is mine, I believe.’ He smiled as the marquis’s head jerked up. ‘My preference is swords.’

Behind him, Charles cursed. ‘I’ll act as your second. Mayhap my stitching skills will come in handy.’

Wariness came into the marquis’s eyes. Raising his cuff, he made an aside to Simon Carswell, who nodded.

‘Please, Gerard,’ Willow whispered, trembling against him with fear. ‘Retract your words. None can beat my father in a duel.’

‘Hush, angel,’ he said tenderly. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘Swords it is. We’ll meet in my stable yard on the morrow. Now that’s settled, you may leave.’

‘You owe me three hundred guineas, I believe.’ Gerard’s expression was lethal now. ‘I hope you’ve no intention of refusing to honor the debt.’

‘Taking a purse from his belt the marquis threw it at Gerard’s feet and sneered. ‘I hope the slut was worth it.’

‘That’s not a topic for discussion.’ Taking her hand, he pressed the purse into her palm and closed her fingers round it. His eyes smiled into hers, but the icy fury in their depths made her shiver when he said. ‘This should support your orphans for some time to come.’

The assembly applauded when they made a dignified exit from the room. Behind them, the crowd began to lambaste the marquis. Gerard grinned. Lynchcross would not be welcomed in society drawing rooms after tonight.

Rising slowly to his feet, the marquis pushed through the crowd of jeering people, looking neither to left or right. Rage fermented in his heart as one of two of his guests cuffed him from the safety of the crowd. Apart from Simon Carswell, who followed him like the mongrel dog he was, he hadn’t a friend left in London. Gerard Lytton would pay dearly for what he’d done this night.

Charles followed his friend out, and was just in time to see Willow buckle at the knees.

‘Hell!’ Such alarm colored Gerard’ s voice that Charles stepped forward and opened the carriage door before the driver could descend from his seat.

‘It’s just a faint,’ he reassured him after checking Willow’s pulse and propping her neatly turned ankles on Gerard’s lap so the blood would reach her head. ‘What do you expect after what you put her through? Are you mad, Gerard? If you intend to commit suicide, a ball through the heart is the easier way to go.’

‘Quite possibly. I cannot hope to out-shoot him, but word has it the marquis has lost his edge when it comes to swordplay. Did you see his eyes. He was plotting something. I’ve a feeling he’ll send his dogs to murder me in my bed tonight.’

‘Then your lady must be protected.’ Charles grinned. ‘I know someone who would give her sanctuary, but I must warn you. She and her sister entertain… in a discreet sort of way?’

Gazing down at Willow, who seemed to be regaining her wits, Gerard gave a wry smile. ‘Placing her in a house of ill-repute is better than jeopardizing her life, but I’ll never hear the last of it.’

‘She need never find out if you’re quick.’ Charles took a bottle from his pocket. ‘A harmless, but strong sleeping draught. Your good lady will be back in her own bed before she wakes?’

Simon Carswell was thinking of the woman with the violet eyes as he and his companion gained entrance to the Lytton residence.

His tongue slid over his lips. After they’d slit the throat of her husband he’d have free rein with her. Her debauchery would be sweeter had Lytton been allowed to live long enough to witness it, but he dare not risk it.

‘Fool,’ he hissed, when his companion stumbled against some furniture. But all remained quiet, except for the sound of snoring coming from the upper regions.

‘Lytton is an uncommonly loud sleeper,’ the other man said with a quiet laugh. ‘It’s civil of him to guide us to his chamber.’

Not only was it civil, they discovered that the door was invitingly ajar and a candle left burning to light their way. There was an outline of two figures under the sheets. One turned over on its back when a floorboard creaked. Momentarily, the snoring stopped, then it started again, louder than ever.

‘The viscount is yours,’ Carswell whispered to his companion, removing the stock from about his neck to use as a gag. ‘If you make it quick I’ll let you take a turn with the woman.’

Cold steel pressed against Carswell’s neck. He froze as a laconic voice drawled, ‘I’d drop your weapon if I were you, friend.’

As the other man spun towards the door someone stepped from behind it and pressed a pistol against his temple. He swore, and opening his hand allowed his dagger to thud to the floor.

Two figures rose from the bed. One was General Robert Marriot, cousin to Lady Edwina, the other a young subaltern. The subaltern was wearing one of Lady Edwina’s voluminous night robes and a lacy cap.

‘I’ll mention your brave deed at the regimental dinner, Oswald.’ The general said with a perfectly straight face.

‘I’d rather it didn’t get out, General.’ The subaltern almost panicked in his haste to divest himself of the garments. ‘I’ll never live it down.’

‘Personally, I thought you looked quite fetching.’ The general’s voice was dry as he gazed at Gerard and Charles. ‘What say you, gentlemen?’

‘I prefer my women with fewer whiskers,’ Charles drawled, the point of his knife etching a thin red line into Carswell’s neck when he dared to move.

‘Go and tell the escort we’re bringing the prisoners down, Oswald. Tell them to shoot to kill if either of them try to escape.’ Robert Marriot gazed with scorn at the two men. ‘I’m taking you cowards back to the barracks for questioning. The answers you give will determine whether your punishment be imprisonment or hanging. Is that understood?’

The general was pleased with the outcome of a affair. He’d been embarrassed by the Hugh MacBride episode. Although he’d transferred the young man to a posting abroad, he needed to redeem himself in Earl Lytton’s eyes.

Willow showed no sign of restlessness when Gerard went to fetch her from her place of safety. Later, when he’d clumsily acted as maid to his lady, and successfully removed every item of clothing from her body except her chemise, he flopped her on to the bed and stared down at her. She was invitingly relaxed, her breasts jutting firmly against the material of the chemise. His arousal came, hot and strong.

Charles had promised that Willow would sleep until dawn, and he was glad she’d not be awake to worry about the duel until it was over. But if he’d misjudged the marquis he’d not live to enjoy her charms again. It didn’t seem fair to leave her unloved. Perhaps he could give her an infant to remember him by this night—an heir for Lytton.

The hastily contrived excuse banished any twinge of conscience he may have entertained. Shrugging out of his clothes, he pulled the chemise up over her head and bent his lips to her breasts. Her reaction was drowsily sensual, and he smiled.

‘Sweet dreams, angel,’ he whispered.

The sun was high when Willow woke. Her limbs felt strangely lethargic as she stretched her naked body against the sheets. Where was her chemise? A memory of delicious lovemaking flitted into her mind, then elusively slipped away.

Aware of a tender sensation between her thighs, she guessed Gerard had taken his enjoyment of her. Strange that she could not clearly remember it. She must have fallen soundly asleep after the ride to London, because all she could remember was coming out of her father’s house and… ?

‘Gerard!’
Screaming his name as her memory returned she scrambled from the bed, pulled her robe around her body and rushed to the partially open window. The scene below was so normal she couldn’t believe it. A cart trundled by, piled high with household goods of every type for sale. A woman hurried past, a basket of silver fish balanced on her head. Several honking geese were being driven along by a grubby looking lad with a stick. Glancing up at the window, he gave her a cheeky smile.