A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) (15 page)

“Well, that sounds absolutely mad! Absurd.”

“Hmm,” he mused dragging his cravat
completely untied. “Yes, it does. But it would answer many unsolved questions,
would it not?”

“Who do you believe this mad woman is?”

“I don’t know. The boy will not say.”

“Do you know what I think, Adrian?” She
moved closer and placed her hand on his chest, reminding him of their previous
intimacy. “I think Miss Jones made this whole matter up.”

“Why should she do that?”

“To confuse you. To confuse Davey.”

“Why would Miranda want to cause me such
pain?”

Dorothy shrugged. “Perhaps she believes
you’re showing me far too much attention lately.”

“I haven’t shown you any special attention.”

“Well, you know how young women are, with
their imaginations. Just look at Jane.”

“What does Jane have to do with this?”

“Jane was flighty, unbalanced. I find Miss
Jones the same.”

“How strange, I was just thinking, on my way
here, how different Miss Jones is from Jane.”

“Ah, you see, you compare her to Jane and
find her lacking. She is bound to sense the conflict within you.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“What other woman cares enough about you to
want to hurt you through your son? I think she wants to disrupt your life, to
break your son and then, grief-stricken, you will be but putty in her hands.”

“It must be one of the servants.”

“You think a mere servant could enact a
scheme this clever? This well carried out?”

Adrian’s head began to pound, fiercely. A
side-effect of putting off his first brandy of the day. He put his hand to his
head. “Leave.”

“What?”

“Please, just leave me. I need to be alone.”

Dorothy chuckled, continuing on as though
she had not heard him. “Believe me, no servant girl could ever, in a thousand
life times, come up with a scheme that well thought out, that well carried
out.”

“Be that as it may, I will be coming to your
home to question your servants. By God, I shall find this culprit or die
trying.”

“Look no further than your caged night bird.
I think she’s ready to fly away on you.”

He scowled, whilst massaging his forehead.
“You just said she’s the one who manipulated Davey out of frustrated love for
me.”

“No, she will break your heart, Adrian.
She’s a cold-hearted harlot. She’ll break you just like she did Papa.”
Dorothy’s voice broke a bit. “I knew, from the first time I observed you
watching her. I saw how lustfully your eyes followed her. I knew that we would
have to go through all of this. I knew that you would have to lose your heart
to her and have broken by her. You would have to get that all worked out before
you could appreciate me and what we had.” She rushed at him, placing her hands
on his chest and staring up at him, avidly. “What we can have again! Only
better, deeper, stronger this time!”

He took her hands and pulled them from
himself. “Dorothy, I don’t love you. I never did and I never will.”

“No, no, you just don’t think that you do.
But you do love me!”

He shook his head, released her wrists and
walked away from her, moving toward the stairs. “I love her, only her. If it is
to break my heart, as you say, I love her so much that it should be my pleasure
to have my heart broken by her.” He let his lip quirk upwards. “I’ll become one
of those sad, yet romantic men, those broken figures that linger around the
park and the alehouses.” He laughed then, hearing the cynical echo in the
sound.

“No, no it wasn’t supposed to turn out this
way. He promised.”

Adrian frowned. “Who promised?”

“I turned your protective instincts to
Froster. I thought then that you would see what a little heartless tramp she
was. But then those boys did what they did. They interfered with what should
have been a natural, effortless thing. And you didn’t see her as she is. Sympathy
clouded your mind. What evil demon of fate, what diabolical angel of discord
could have recreated Jane’s death scene to engage your sympathies so deeply for
that-that harlot! That I never saw coming. I didn’t plan for such an
occurrence!”

He whirled on her. “Shut your filthy mouth!”

“I had to do it! Don’t you see? I had to do
it all for you. For us.”

He took her by the shoulder, roughly and he
glared down at her. “Dorothy, I’d best not discover any ugly truths about you
and what happened with Davey.”

“Anything I did, I did for you! To save
you!”

He took her by the shoulder and shoved her
towards the front door. “Leave, get out of here before I forget that you’re a
woman.”

“You don’t understand…all that I have done for
you.” She placed a hand to his chest, again.

Cold, clammy nausea overtook him. “What the
devil, Dorothy?”

“Ha! You don’t believe me. It was Winterton
who told me the truth about Miss Jones and how evil she was. How she had been
extorting money from Papa with her lover and how she had slowly poisoned him
with Foxglove. You understand now why we had to fight the will so hard. She
couldn’t be allowed to live in luxury on Papa’s money.”

He saw the glow of hysteria in Dorothy’s
eyes.

She had been driven insane by Winterton.

And Winterton had someone else, perhaps a
servant in his employ to slowly poison Carrville. He gained two things in this
way. One, he took Miranda’s protector from her.

Two, he set up this current situation where
Dorothy was supposed to, presumably with more finesse and without revealing
Winterton’s name, accuse Miranda of being a murderess.

Only Winterton could have the ultimate
arrogance to believe he could carry such dramatic, grand schemes out
successfully.

Why would Winterton go to such extremes?

Because he was a devil and he didn’t want to
kill Miranda. That much Adrian understood in a flash. He wanted Miranda to live
and to suffer, greater and greater indignities and losses.

Winterton had created that scene with the
boys and the poisoned wine, not to kill her, as Miranda had thought. No, her
father had done it to recreate Jane’s death scene to bring Adrian closer to
Miranda.

To bring two people who were undeniably
attracted together.

Bring them together so that Winterton could
scheme to tear them apart once Miranda fell in love?

No, no it couldn’t be like that. It would
have required extensive spies in Carrville’s house, in Miranda’s house, in
Dorothy’s house and Adrian’s too. Winterton would have to have been consumed
with nothing else but daily reports on every little glance and word exchanged
by the main people involved, surely.

It was much too complicated for Adrian to
comprehend.

But such was the scheme of a man, driven mad
by hatred for his own flesh and blood?

Or was it hatred for himself, projected onto
Miranda?

A little of both?

Perhaps.

Yet, maybe Adrian’s imagination was running
riot.

No one, not even Winterton, could possibly
be so arrogant, so insane to believe such a scheme could be carried out to
successful completion.

However, one thing was for certain.

He looked down at the woman he held onto so
fiercely. “Dorothy, you’re quite mad. I am going to find you some help.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Adrian found himself placed in the most
uncomfortable position of pulling his former lover into the withdrawing chamber
by force. Walters had held Dorothy still whilst Adrian tied her hands behind
her back. At first, she fought. Then her eyes became glazed, and she was
babbling about their future as man and wife and how they should have been together
all along.

Adrian sent Walters out for the doctor. He
didn’t know what else to do. He might have sent for the watch but what good
would it do to instigate a scandal?

The whole matter made him nauseated.

He rubbed his stomach and poured himself a brandy.
But when he lifted it to his lips, he found himself unable to drink it,

He called for tea to be brought to him. He
stared at the closed withdrawing chamber door.

Should he mix some tea with laudanum and
dose Dorothy with it?

Should he wait for the doctor?

Was she suffering in some manner? The
reality of all that she had done kept crashing in on him, in wave after wave of
greater acceptance of an unacceptable truth. In the wake of that horror, he
found himself caring less and less about what she felt.

A knock sounded at the door, pulling him
from his troubled thoughts. A vague feeling of increased dread centered around
his navel.

What now?

The thought came unbidden, and he frowned.

Why should he expect any greater trouble? He
didn’t know, but he did.

He put his drink down on a side table and
walked to answer the door. As the housekeeper came running, her face flushed,
he held up a hand. “I’ll see to it.”

He opened the door.

Clad in a suit that was so dark blue it was
almost black, Stephen Drake stood on his doorstep. “Good evening, Lord
Danvers,” he said in his characteristically hoarse voice.

An urge to close the door threatened to
overcome Adrian’s good manners. Jon was exactly right; the man exuded darkness.

Death.

And there had been enough darkness and death
to last Adrian the remainder of his whole life.

But he pushed his instincts down. “Baron
Drake, what a pleasant surprise. Won’t you come in for a drink?”

“With pleasure, Lord Danvers.” The
raven-haired baron walked in. “But I would prefer tea, with much cream and
honey, if you have it.”

And Adrian took his hat then handed them to
the housekeeper who had caught her breath somewhat. “Tell Walters when he
returns that we’ll be up in my study,” Adrian informed her.

But Baron Drake was looking intently at the
closed withdrawing chamber door. He offered a smile full of friendly charm.

Completely disarming.

“We could use your withdrawing chamber.”

Baron Drake had never been a guest in
Adrian’s house. But Adrian supposed he might have simply guessed which door was
the one to the withdrawing chamber. Yet, it gave Adrian a sense of unease all
the same.

“I’ll be blunt, my lord” Drake said. “You
have something of great interest to me waiting in your withdrawing chamber.”

Something almost sinister flashed in Drake’s
eyes.

Adrian scowled. “Have you been spying on my
household?”

Drake came closer and spoke in a low voice.
“Having made it my business to learn more about this Winterton fellow, I have
developed a greater interest in his dealings.”

Now the baron had Adrian’s attention. He
nodded towards the withdrawing chamber. “You have an interest in—”

Drake glanced at the housekeeper who stood
waiting with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

All Adrian’s servants had received an eye and
earful tonight. Too much, in fact, for his comfort. He pulled his keys from his
pocket and made a beckoning gesture to Drake as he walked to the withdrawing
chamber.

When they entered, the footman and maid,
brother and sister, who had been placed there to guard Dorothy, stared at him
with wide eyes. Tersely, he ordered them to leave.

Dorothy’s eyes lit with recognition as Drake
sat on the settee.

Another pang of dread and foreboding struck
through Adrian’s gut.

“We’re going to get you help now,” Drake said.

“I have called for the doctor.”

“I know,” Drake said, mildly. “I have had to
detain your servant in my carriage—”

“What?!” Adrian exclaimed as he stormed
towards Drake. “You will release him immediately!”

Drake held up a hand and shook his head. “My
lord, hear me out. This lady,” he gestured to Dorothy. “Was driven quite mad by
Winterton, who apparently is good at exploiting people’s weaknesses,
discovering their deepest fears and vanities and manipulating them. For his
pleasure.” A grim expression hardened Drake’s elegant features. “Or in this
case vengeance against his daughter. The man is a true sadist in the evilest
sense of the word. However, he seems to prefer inflicting emotional and mental
pain the most.”

“You know her. You’ve added to this somehow,”
Adrian said, giving full vent to his instinctive distrust of Drake.

“I did do a little inquiry and persuasion
with the lady.” Drake was studying Dorothy with the same interest a schoolboy
gives to a butterfly pinned to a board. “She is very experienced with poisons
and their administration.”

Dorothy had almost seemed in a trance the
last few moments. Now her eyes came alive, and she whimpered. “No, don’t…”

“Quiet now, Dorothy,” Drake said in an
authoritative voice.

Dorothy visibly quelled.

“In addition to her emotional manipulation
of your youngest son, she also recently purchased a bottle of arsenic.”

“Arsenic!”

“I gather that she believed once your son
and been broken and gone mad, and your favorite mistress died so suddenly and
unexpectedly that you would have been shattered and forced to turn to her, for
comfort. With a deeper appreciation for Lady Chadwick, you likely would have
offered marriage. These are the kinds of scenarios that Winterton enjoys
creating the most. The drama and the heady power of using others like pawns.
But he used her, simply to be the one to purchase the poison and to in time
hand it to his spy in Miranda’s house, Sally. And that she would have given the
poison to you in your brandy, and you would have died and left Miranda alone
and heartbroken.”

Adrian was frozen, not only with horror but
with the compelling note to Drake’s voice. Winterton was not the only one who
enjoyed a good, dark drama; that much was clear from the rapt expression on the
baron’s face.

“How can you know this about Sally?”

Drake shrugged. “That young miss is on her
way to Wapping and from there she will sail for Australia where one hopes she
will find a new start and redemption for her sins here in England.”

Sally had seemed like such a quiet,
unassuming girl. It was difficult to imagine her being part of Winterton
scheme. Adrian could only gape at Drake. “Shouldn’t she have to stand trial?”

Drake just stared back with those enigmatic
dark blue eyes. “Winterton is in Ireland at present. But he will soon embark
for America. Ironically enough, he is bound for New York.”

“Why is that ironic?” Adrian asked in a
clipped tone.

“Because, knowing what you know now, I would
wager all that I own that you’ll accept that job your rather assertive, if not
obnoxious, cousin is pressing on you.” Drake paused, to finally take a drink of
his tea.

Adrian stared at Drake, transfixed with a
sort of horrific fascination, not knowing if this man was a savior or a demon.

“You have not wanted to become involved with
Ruel and his nefarious political. And you’re also leery of what his business
world might be like and what he might expect of you and what you might find
yourself pushed into doing.” Drake’s brown crinkled with a thoughtful
expression. “You’re afraid of temptation. The worldly temptations of wealth and
power and lust. However, you’re on the verge of discovering how to turn such
drives into motivation for your own personal power. You have yet to find your
true calling and place in this world. It will be interesting, my lord, to see
where the next year or two takes you.”

Now Adrian glowered at him. “I will see to
my sister-in-law’s well-being. I demand that you release my servant and cease
your spying and interference in my life. I demand that you leave, now, or else
I shall call for the watch.”

“Call the watch, if you feel you must.”
Amusement warmed the depths of those dark, sinister eyes. “But the watch will
not come.” Drake raised his brows. “Have you been paying attention to me? I have
told you that your late wife’s sister was planning to kill your mistress, but
she was involved with a more demonic and determined murder who wanted to kill
you instead as a means of tormenting and breaking your mistress, and leaving
her all alone in this world.”

“And you—”

“I did some mild manipulation of my own. I
applied pressure to an already cracked vessel, and it worked. Lady Chadwick
broke, did she not? She confessed to you?” Drake asked with a curious tone in
his voice.

“She did,” Adrian admitted.

“Then you owe me—and my operatives, some
thanks.”

“Thank you,” Adrian said, coldly.

“We can take Lady Chadwick to a place where
she’ll be safe, and no one will be able to trace where she has gone. The Duke
of Hartley has an institution in the north. A quiet place where patients are
treated kindly and with minimal drugging or all the other various tortures.”
Drake put a hand to his cravat. “I and my closest operatives would be the only
person besides yourself to know who the lady really is and for that matter,
what she has done. Let her go to her place of confinement with a clean slate
and give her caretakers no reason to be prejudiced against her. And this might
be the best idea, given her previous association with Winterton. Miss Miranda
Jones is still in danger.”

All the anger left Adrian. And with it, the
blood seemed to drain from his head. He sat and ran a hand through his hair.

God, Miranda…

The danger that she had narrowly escaped.

The unknown dangers she might yet face.

All because she had been born to that insane
man, Winterton.

“I have thoroughly investigated all who are
involved because I am retired and rather bored in the hours when I would
normally be working. It gives me sense of purpose.”

Adrian was barely listening to Drake, for
all the various ways this situation could have turned out were playing over and
over in his mind like a cavalcade of nightmares with no end.

“Miss Jones is in grave danger. I am certain
of it. Winterton will not give up so easily.”

Adrian nodded. “Yes, I know this.”

“And there’s another deadly strike against
her.
Adrian looked up.

“She has no one in this world, except her
mother, who is a but child in a woman’s body.” Drake’s dark eyes bore into him
without mercy. “No one but you cares about Miss Jones. No one else cares in the
least.”