A Woman Made for Pleasure (11 page)
A cool breeze floated across her lips as Chase ended the ardent, stirring embrace. Millie’s heart was racing; her senses were muddled. Uncertain how to handle the strange new sensuality Chase had ignited within her, she clung to him for both comfort and support. Burying her head against his chest, she held her breath.
Chase had kissed her. Really kissed her. Until tonight, the small pecks she had been given by young men attempting to attract her interest were all she had ever experienced. The idea that a man could create such powerful feelings seemed ludicrous until now. She had never dreamed of kissing anyone so . . . intimately. She certainly never thought she would like it.
But she did.
Millie was aware that over the past few years she had blossomed into an attractive woman who could interest the opposite sex. However, not once had a man interested her. Until now. Until Chase. Charlie made her feel like a disruptive schoolchild in need of reprimanding, but Chase . . . he made her feel something entirely different. In his arms, she not only looked like a woman, but felt like one.
Entrapped by its implications and the lingering sensation of their kiss, Millie had not heard Chase ask her repeatedly for the location of Jennelle and Aimee. “What?” Millie asked as Chase lightly shook her a second time. He returned her mask. “Oh, thank you,” she replied, absently sliding the white beaded cover back over her face. “Aimee and Jennelle went to see the fireworks. I had heard there were acrobats and left to find them.”
The white of her mask only accentuated the deep violet of her eyes. Chase forced his inflamed desire back under some semblance of control. He needed to get the Daring Three home and avoid being alone with Mildred Aldon.
Before she could argue or respond, he seized her hand in his just as explosions could be heard across the main garden. “Good. The exhibition just started. They should still be there. Let us go,” he muttered, heading toward the crowd of fireworks spectators.
Lying on her bed rethinking the night’s events, Millie heard a light tapping at her door. She sat straight up in her bed and whispered, “Yes?” Jennelle tiptoed in.
Millie tried hard not to show her disappointment. She knew it would not be Chase, but when she heard the knock, her heart had stopped for one moment, hoping to see him step through her door.
Jennelle, misunderstanding the sadness on her face, tried to mollify her friend. “Millie, I just came in to thank you. I do not care a fig if Charles did find us at Vauxhall. I had a marvelous time, and I owe it all to you. So don’t be too offended by his lecture. He was only trying to protect us. You are not terribly upset, are you?”
Millie shook her head. “No. Although it has been awhile, I am still rather impervious to Charlie’s sermons.”
“Well, take care, get some sleep, and know that Aimee and I had a wonderful time—just as you promised.”
Millie watched her friend leave, and lay back down. Not a minute had passed before she heard a second light tap. This time she was not surprised when Aimee entered.
“Millie, are you awake? I just wanted to reassure myself that you were not too distressed regarding your promise to never enter Vauxhall again.”
“No, not too terribly. Especially now that I have been there.”
Aimee smiled and hugged herself. “Oh, it was exciting, though, wasn’t it? I’m so glad we went. What an adventure—just like you said. Although someday I hope to understand exactly what it is about our dresses that agitates every man in my family so. I mean, they cover and display no more or less than our ball gowns. Oh well. Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow, and again, do not fret over Charles. He has always been overprotective. I guess he always will be,” sighed Aimee.
Millie heard a soft click as the door closed moments later. The dim hall light glowed through the crack under the door. She waited for a long time to hear a third knock. A knock she knew in her heart would never come. Should never come.
It never did.
Much later, Chase entered Hembree Grove. After ensuring the Three were safely and discreetly inside the manor, he had decided to take a walk and clear his mind.
Tonight’s embrace had been a mistake. A large one. An inevitable one.
Ever since he had seen her stumbling around in the dark, he knew kissing Millie was predestined. He had not expected, however, for Millie to be just as aware of what had been building between them. Even worse, the kiss had been for her what it had not been for him—a one-time event. A means to end this insane attraction. A reminder that she was little Mildred Aldon, a child more inclined to climb trees than turn a man’s desire.
It was supposed to end her nightly invasions into his dreams
.
It was supposed to end her nightly invasions into his dreams
.
Tonight’s embrace, however, had done nothing of the sort. Millie had been warm and willing, innocent but ever so pleasing. She had responded to his need with similar hunger and passion. Even now, he could taste her on his tongue, hot and intoxicating.
In the carriage ride home, he had forced himself to compartmentalize his feelings, a natural ability he had perfected during the war. His face betrayed no emotion—not anger, nor disappointment, nor displeasure. Chase knew Aimee believed him to be furious with her behavior. Jennelle had probably known him long enough to realize he was not as indifferent to their adventure as he appeared. And based upon Millie’s silent response to his lecture, he assumed she was unaware of the mental battle he was waging. But when she had exited the carriage, he was surprised to learn he had been wrong.
“Chase,” Millie had whispered when Aimee and Jennelle were no longer within hearing, “don’t overanalyze what happened between us. You are angry with yourself when there is no need. I do not know why, but it was destined to happen. You wanted it, and in truth, so did I. Let it end at that. Thank you for seeing us home. Good night.”
He stood transfixed, watching the small version of a French demimonde in maiden white enter his home with the bearing of a duchess. She had not been fooled by his lecture or cold demeanor. He knew of no one, including his mother, who could have known what was truly on his mind. Not even Reece could discern his thoughts when he intentionally hid them. How had Millie?
When the door closed behind her, he had turned and begun walking aimlessly through the side streets of Mayfair. Tonight’s encounter had done nothing to satisfy the aching hunger in his loins. Instead of relief, his desire for the bewitching brunette had only grown. He would not be content until he possessed her. And when it came to Millie, possession meant marriage. A commitment he was unwilling to consider—for now.
Chase headed for his study with no more clarity than when he had left. Turning toward the darkened hallway, he saw a shadowed figure sitting on a velvet bench opposite the main staircase. Upon seeing him, the figure rose and moved to confront him. It was Millie’s maid and self-imposed protector of the Three, Elda Mae.
“Your lordship, I cannot tell you how your arrival eases my heart.”
Chase raised an eyebrow. Elda Mae was always one to speak her mind, but rarely was she complimentary, and for the past few weeks she had been avoiding him. “Thank you for staying up for me, Elda Mae, but I am home now.”
“Like I’d stay up for your lordship. Me girls, I know what they did—no, I didn’t know about it prior to their going out and about—but I knew Mildred brought those dresses. When I checked on the three of them this evening and realized they were gone, along with them gowns, it was clear to me they were up to no good. I was afraid for them. But when I saw them return with sunken faces, I knew you had found them and ensured they got back home no worse for wear. My lord, I doubt you will get any apologies from the Three for ruining their fun, but I thank you.”
“Yes, well, Elda Mae . . .”
“Oh, and I promised Alfred to let you know that you had a visitor this evening. I’m sure the gentleman is no longer here, but he might have left something for you in the library. That was where he was waiting. Well, good night, your lordship. And again, I thank you for rescuing me girls.” Elda Mae turned and disappeared down the narrow unlit hall that joined the servants’ quarters.
Chase sighed and headed toward the library. When he entered, he was startled to see the visitor had not left.
A tall, lanky man dressed in tailored, though not expensive, navy breeches and a matching coat, stood as Chase entered. Chase eyed his impassive, time-etched face, and determined the man to be the unexcitable sort, able to remain calm and composed for hours regardless of the circumstances.
“Lord Chaselton?”
Chase closed the door. “I am. And you are . . . ?”
The man bowed quickly. “Name is Sanders, my lord. My late employer directed me to give this to you and in person.”
Chase raised his eyebrows. Whoever his employer was, this man certainly followed directions. The hour was half past four in the morning.
Chase turned to look at the sealed note. It was addressed to him, and though obviously written with an unsteady hand, the script was familiar. Tension instantly flooded Chase’s veins, and he forced himself to appear relaxed as he opened and read the contents.
The Most Honorable, The Marquess of Chaselton
My Lord Marquess,
As you might have surmised by my mysterious absence, I have retreated into hiding to escape an unavoidable fate. It seems my efforts were for naught and an ungentlemanly death awaits me. I only recently learned of your arrival and your quiet search for my whereabouts. And in my last hours, I hope to right our missed opportunity by relaying confidential information using the only means available to me—this note and my man of affairs. I have trusted Mr. Sanders for nearly two decades. He is a gentleman of impeccable honor.
As stated previously, I am now assured your father had not fallen to his death, but was murdered. I last wrote to you after discovering a letter mistakenly placed in my late wife’s belongings. It was from your father. He had proof identifying the traitor and urgently needed to meet with his two contacts, one of whom was I. Regrettably, the meeting never took place.
Since writing to you, I have also tried to contact Viscount Darlouney, the second of my contacts. He has not responded and since disappeared. I no longer maintain hope he lives. If correct, then when I die, only two of the five of us will remain. You are the only son amongst us, so the duty of seeing the dastardly traitor exposed falls to you if we fail.
When Darlouney and I last met, I witnessed Lord Brumby leaving by way of the back door, believing himself unseen. While not absolute in my belief, I suspect he is Darlouney’s second contact. Find him, for if I am correct, Lord Brumby is the only one who knows the fifth man in the group seeking to find the turncoat who betrayed not only us, but thousands of brave young Englishmen who were intentionally sent to their deaths.
Avenge them. Avenge us. Avenge your father. I fully expect that as the Marquess of Chaselton and as the son of my late friend, you will ensure that we have not died in vain.
And whatever you do, tell no one—trust no one.
Eischel
So Lord Eischel had feared for his life. A fear not unfounded, as he was now dead. That explained why in the past two weeks Chase could not find him.
Slowly depositing Eischel’s letter on a nearby desk, Chase assessed Sanders once again. “How did your employer die?”
“Of consumption, I was told,” Sanders replied without hesitation.
“How long had Eischel had consumption?” Chase asked, knowing those suffering with the disease experienced a long, painful death.
“As far as I am aware, less than two months.” Sanders’s voice had little inflection.
Chase eyed the man. “Two months? That’s all?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Chase sat down behind the desk and propped his index fingers together, forming a steeple. “Odd, for consumption.”
“If you say so, my lord.”
Chase eyed the man carefully and estimated that while he was assessing Sanders, Sanders was likewise appraising him. “Your employer wrote that I was to trust you.”
For the first time, Sanders appeared uncomfortable. “I wish I could have done more.”
“Did Lord Eischel have something besides this missive for me?”
“No, my lord. His final request was that I personally deliver his message to you without delay, regardless of the time of day or night. That is all.” For several moments, Sanders stared at the patterned rug on the floor before he looked Chase directly in the eye and replied in a vengeful tone, “There are the letters Lord Eischel received from your father. Some of them quite long.”
“Letters?” Chase demanded. “There was more than one?”
“Indeed. Several just before Lord Chaselton—your father—passed away. In his last weeks, Lord Eischel pored over them again and again. He suspected they contained a clue, but he could find nothing of import, just news of government. Maybe you can . . .”
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