Henry's Bride (London Libertines Book 1) Page 9

  “I had nothing left to lose,” she whispered. “They say a fallen woman suffers a lifetime of regret in exchange for a moment’s pleasure. I have endured all the pain and censure associated with the act of—of love. Why should I deny myself the pleasure?” Her eyes misted at the memory of him inside her, which still burned between her thighs. “But there was little pleasure. Why would a woman risk her reputation for an act which hurts so much?”

  “It doesn’t always hurt,” he sighed, “except perhaps the first time.”

  “Don’t you know for certain?”

  “No, Miss Claybone. I’ve never—enjoyed—the body of a maiden. I’m not in the habit of taking women who don’t understand the rules.”

  He moved to the door and called for Sanderson, who arrived suspiciously fast, his face reddening as he met Jeanette’s gaze, the first sign of discomfort in the stoic servant who’d not turned a hair at the sight of her scantily-clad form only that morning.

  “Sanderson, return Miss Claybone to her chamber. Make sure she stays there.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Jeanette straightened. “You intend to incarcerate me?”

  “No,” Lord Ravenwell sighed. “I intend to marry you.”

  She scrambled to her feet. “No, you can’t! I want my freedom!”

  He took her shoulders, his grip sending a pulse of pain through her wounded arm.

  “You fool! You think a woman can be free? You have two choices. Find a husband to restore what little respectability you still possess, or sell yourself on the streets where goodness knows what dangers may befall you. With the first choice, you’d be ruled by the man who owns you. But it’s a better prospect than the alternative where you’d be subjected to the laws of the beast. You wouldn’t survive.”

  She struggled to step back, but he was too strong.

  “You can’t force me to marry you,” she said. “You can drag me to the altar, but you cannot speak the vows for me.”

  His lip curled into a grim smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

  “You’re despicable!” she cried, “worse than your friend. You masterminded my ruination, placing a wager on it as if I were a horse. You should have left me to die in that field! I hate the ton and everything it stands for, but I hate you most of all!”

  “I see no point in continuing this conversation until you’re disposed to listen to reason. Until then, you’re not to leave this house.”

  “You can’t make me stay.”

  “Madam, with your behavior, you’ve relinquished all rights to be treated like a rational adult,” he said. “Sanderson, take her to her chamber.” His eyes darkened with menace. “Use force if necessary. My pistol is at your disposal.”

  Defeated, Jeanette let the servant usher her upstairs and into the chamber with its decadent furnishings and odor of debauchery. She sank onto the bed as a key turned in the lock. The statue stared at her, the smile lending an air of malevolence to the room. Shadows fell across the statue’s face, giving the eyes a dark gray hue.

  Eyes as soulless as the man who held her prisoner.

  Chapter Ten

  Henry climbed into the carriage and slammed the door.

  What had he done? He’d lost control of his body, and his senses had promptly followed. What on earth had possessed him to offer for her? Imagine the ridicule he’d earn from his friends, Oakville for a start, not to mention the censure from Grandmamma. Her strict morals and codes of decency and proprietary would be offended.

  To say nothing of the danger he might subject Miss Claybone to if he continued to investigate the abductions and murders. True, Sanderson was the one who prowled the streets at night, but Sanderson was his servant. Those involved in the ruthless and lucrative business of slavery wouldn’t hesitate to stop anyone in their path be it Sanderson, Henry himself, or anyone associated with him. Such as a wife.

  He could always renege on his offer. Who would believe her if she claimed foul play, pleading abandonment with those soulful, passionate eyes?

  His manhood surged in his breeches, either from the aftershocks of his explosive climax or in its eagerness to be buried once more inside her heat.

  He took a deep breath as the carriage drew to a halt outside White’s. A few hours in male company plus a stiff brandy would ease the stiffness elsewhere.

  He wouldn’t be in this predicament if it hadn’t been for Oakville.

  Neither would he have experienced such pleasure.

  Was it because she’d been a virgin? No, it had been something else, her artless, natural invitation, her body’s awakening to pleasure under his hands.

  Her angry little face overtook him, their duel of words almost as exciting as the duel of their bodies. She could master him with words, but with his superior experience, he’d always emerge victorious. He would win his campaign by weakening her defenses. Starting with her godfather.

  “Are you getting out, sir?”

  “No.” Henry gestured to the driver. “Take me to the offices of Allardice, Allardice, and Stockton.”

  *

  “Ah, Dray, how pleasant! Do join me.”

  Entering the drawing room at White’s later that afternoon, Henry gritted his teeth to stem the tide of anger. The prodigal had returned at last.

  Oakville stubbed his cigar out on the tray and deposited his empty glass next to it.

  “Fetch me another.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Ravenwell asked.

  “I’ve only had two.”

  Two brandies and already inebriated. Had Oakville’s weapon of choice been liquor rather than pistols, Miss Claybone would have won hands down. She’d drink him under the table.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Oakville.”

  “Now you’ve found me.”

  “Too bloody late.”

  The footman reappeared with two glasses. Rupert reached for his. “Don’t tell me, she’s disappeared, married, or fallen into the Serpentine to join the other prostitutes.”

  Drink never improved a man, but with Rupert, the effect was more savage.

  “It’s no laughing matter.”

  A spark of fear ignited in Rupert’s eyes, albeit dulled by the brandy.

  “Is she hurt?”

  “You shot her, Oakville. But she’s recovering. She’s with me.”

  “With you?”

  “I’ve offered her marriage.”

  Rupert gave an explosive snort. “Don’t tell me you shagged her.”

  “You never did.”

  “She told you that?”

  Henry sighed, swirling the brandy round his glass. In this very same spot he’d done the same, perhaps with this very same glass, just before he’d signed that ridiculous bet.

  “I discovered it myself this afternoon.”

  Oakville looked up, eyes sharpening with understanding. He threw his head back and laughed. The other gentlemen in the room rustled their newspapers in annoyance, tutting amongst themselves.

  “You fool; you poor, bloody ass!”

  “Drink your brandy, Oakville.”

  “What, toast the fact that the cleverest one of us has been snared by a farmer’s daughter? Conniving little thing. Don’t you see she must’ve planned it, along with that mother of hers?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rupert choked down the rest of his brandy. “She made a great show of denouncing me publicly, then threw herself at your mercy, seeking the greater prize.”

  “Nonsense! To risk her reputation on the chance I’d be tempted? No woman of her intelligence would play such a game.”

  “She’s cleverer than you think, Dray. You know how desperate single ladies and their mamas are when they catch a whiff of you.” He spluttered a laugh. “Then again, she’s no lady. After all, it was straightforward whoring that hooked the fish in the end. I congratulate myself on a lucky escape.”

  Rupert didn’t even bother to rise when Henry took his leave.

  He must confront her. She o
nly need refuse him one more time and he could withdraw his offer with his integrity intact and accept Oakville’s congratulations on his own lucky escape.

  Time to go home and solve the problem.

  *

  Jeanette woke to a knock on the door. She sat up, wincing as pain scraped across her forearm. Red patches had begun to peek through the bandages.

  The key rattled in the lock, and Sanderson appeared in the doorway.

  “You have a visitor.”

  Who was it now? More ladies come to vent their spite at her expense? Perhaps she could test the strength of their stomachs by describing the act of losing her innocence in detail…

  “Miss Claybone?”

  Sanderson’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “He’s in the drawing room.”

  Jeanette’s insides fluttered with a wave of nausea. Had Oakville come to taunt her, or worse, ask for her hand?

  Very well. She’d give him her hand. In the shape of a fist.

  Her mind rehearsed the action; a swing of her arm, the pleasant crack of bone as her fist met Oakville’s nose, a like-for-like payment for the injury he’d inflicted on her. Perhaps Sanderson might lend her his pistol.

  She strode into the room and addressed the shadow standing beside the window.

  “Do you continue to offer money for my services, or are you anxious to know whether your friend elicited greater moans of pleasure from my lips?”

  “Lord Ravenwell was right. You are staying here.”

  As he stepped into the candlelight, Jeanette realized her mistake. Shame slithered over her skin; her only friend in the world, witness to how far she had fallen.

  “Uncle George!”

  He narrowed his eyes and nodded to Sanderson. “Unhand the lady.”

  “My orders are to ensure she remains in the house.”

  “I know what your orders are. Now leave us.”

  “The master told me not to let her out of my sight.”

  “I’ve no intention of helping her escape out of the window.” Uncle George moved closer, his soft voice holding an undercurrent of iron. “You have my word as a man of honor, assuming your master understands the concept.”

  Sanderson loosened his grip.

  “Very well, Mister Stockton, but I’ll be right outside this door.”

  Uncle George waited until the door clicked shut, then held his arms out.

  She moved into his embrace. “Why are you here?”

  “To tell you to accept Ravenwell’s hand.” Uncle George had never believed in prevaricating. “It’s the best offer you’re likely to get, my dear.”

  “But he hates me! Or at best, sees me as something to be pitied and ridiculed. He must only wish to marry me to avoid being tainted by scandal.”

  “A marquis who stands to inherit a dukedom? He can do what he pleases and society will let him. He’s not offered his hand because he has to, but because he wants to.”

  “Uncle George, I can’t…”

  “He’ll give you a home, Jeanette! Respectability, safety, comfort.”

  “What about love?”

  He sighed as if placating a petulant child. “Wait for love and you’ll be disappointed. Women of your class marry for more rational reasons. Call it convenience if you will.”

  “Women of my class? I don’t belong here!”

  “You cannot return to what you were before your papa was elevated to the baronetcy, no matter how much you wish it. We move forward, not back. It’s time you lost the sensibilities of the schoolroom and saw the world through the eyes of a grown woman.”

  Tears stung her eyes. He sighed and spoke more kindly.

  “Forgive me, my dear. The world is harsh, and that little corner occupied by the aristocracy is harsher still. But despite appearances, I believe Lord Ravenwell is a good man. I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending he lives a virtuous life, but your body, at least, will be safe.”

  His soft hands engulfed her own, the skin of a scholar, so smooth compared to Papa’s palms which would always carry the callouses from farm life.

  “Guard your heart, my child, and seek solace in your occupation. You’ll be too busy for melancholy when you’re a marchioness.”

  “I have no wish to be a marchioness. I want to be happy.”

  “And you will. Utilize your talents. You’ll have a household to manage, staff and tenants to care for.”

  He kissed her hand. “I’m sorry your papa isn’t here to counsel you, but let me give you a father’s advice. Marry him. You’ll find happiness if you look for it, in your home and your children.”

  “Children…”

  “Of course. He’ll be anxious for an heir.”

  The memory of her body’s unfathomable need which went unsatisfied, the pain and embarrassment and the anger in Ravenwell’s eyes when he couldn’t withdraw quickly enough once he’d finished inside her. The bull had serviced the cow before leaving to conduct more pleasurable business elsewhere.

  But how many other bulls would take what they wanted from her if she refused his offer? What had Theodore O’Reilly spoken of that day in the park? Women, stolen and sold, spirited across the ocean, never to be seen again.

  “You really think I should accept him?”

  “Yes.” Uncle George kissed her hand. “I must leave, my family is expecting me. But think on what I’ve said.”

  The door opened and Sanderson appeared, discomfort lingering in his expression. At least he took no pleasure from eavesdropping.

  “Wait here, madam, while I show Mister Stockton out.”

  She sank into a chair, succumbing to her body’s weakness, and closed her eyes as the murmur of their voices receded into the distance.

  Dear Uncle George, the only soul she could trust when all others had abandoned her. Perhaps he was right. A woman’s choices were limited. If she couldn’t choose the best path, she must follow the least abhorrent.

  Her body gave an involuntary shiver; fear of placing herself in his hands coupled with a forbidden thrill which nestled in a dark corner of her mind, whispering of unnamed pleasures, accentuated by the faint masculine aroma, the heady potion compelling her mind and body to submit.

  The door flew open to reveal the subject of her thoughts. His hair hung on either side of his face, framing it with a thick, dark pelt. Mouth set in a hard line, his eyes glittered with frost. Broad-shouldered and masculine, he dominated the room. A man who had never been denied anything in his life.

  “Your time has run out, madam.”

  *

  Henry almost collided with Stockton in the entrance hall. The lawyer looked a pale shadow of the steadfast man he’d spoken to not two hours ago, the man who’d vigorously defended his goddaughter’s honor. Now he seemed to have shrunk into himself, a resigned look of despair etched into his features. Henry had placed his age at around forty, but the gray pallor was that of a man in his sixties.

  “Mister Stockton. Let me show you out if you’ve finished your visit.”

  He held out his hand, but Stockton merely stared at it before lifting his eyes to meet Henry’s gaze. They were the eyes of a seasoned lawyer, a man capable of penetrating the innermost thoughts of others.

  “Won’t you shake my hand like a gentleman?”

  “Gentleman!” Stockton scoffed. “I warn you, break that child’s heart and you’ll regret it.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Bully me all you like, Ravenwell, but I’ve known Jeanette since she was a child. She’s worth more than all the ladies of your acquaintance put together. She’s bright, intelligent, and caring and utterly wasted on someone like you. I’ve just lied to her saying I believe you to be a good man who won’t harm her. I pray my words to her will not be disproved.”

  Stockton gave a mock bow. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Heavens above! It was not worth the trouble. Henry sighed. He should withdraw his offer. Let Stockton take her in if he cared so much about her.

  He leapt up the stairs, ta
king them two at a time and flung open the drawing room door.

  Miss Claybone sat demurely on an armchair as if she were an innocent who’d planned nothing.

  “Your time has run out, madam.”

  She looked up, her expression resigned.

  “Miss Claybone,” he said. “I’ve come to a decision…”

  “So have I,” she interrupted, stumbling over the words as if eager to release them as quickly as possible. “I’ve decided to accept your offer.”

  “You’ve what?”

  “I will marry you, and I’d ask that we become man and wife as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

  A sharp intake of breath hissed behind Henry. Sanderson had followed him into the room. There was no reneging. He had a witness.

  The skin on his neck grew cold as if the chains of matrimony secured themselves around him. She may have won the battle, but in a marriage, the man had the upper hand. Victory in the war would be his.

  Chapter Eleven

  “There’s a lady to see you, miss.”

  Sanderson led Jeanette to the morning room. Her betrothal to Lord Ravenwell made no difference to her captivity. The servant insisted on accompanying her everywhere as if he expected her to run at any time.

  The familiar figure of Elizabeth De Witt rose to acknowledge her, this time accompanied by her friend, Caroline Sandton. Two against one.

  Jeanette gestured to the door. “I suggest you leave, for I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  The ladies shifted positions, chests heaving audibly at her lack of civility. But what did she care?

  “I wonder why you’re still here,” Caroline said, her thin nose wrinkling at her words. “Wouldn’t you feel more at home in a bawdy house?”

  “Caroline, my dear, you’re being unfair to poor Miss Claybone,” Lady Elizabeth said, her voice reeking of false compassion. “We should be more charitable toward a former member of our social circle. I’m sure she has no wish to visit a brothel, not even the one Henry visits. Though we could always give you the address, Miss Smith, sorry, Claybone.”

  “For shame, Lizzie!” Caroline said, getting into her stride like a horse several furlongs into a race. “I couldn’t possibly imagine what Miss Claybone could find to occupy herself with in such an establishment, unless she wishes to compare notes.”