A Woman Made for Pleasure (17 page)

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Authors: Michele Sinclair

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BOOK: A Woman Made for Pleasure
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“Why?”
Jennelle’s question was simple and without malice. It deserved an answer. Unfortunately, Millie had none. The truth was out of the question. But before Millie could come up with a plausible explanation, Aimee did it for her. “I think Millie is right, Jennelle.”
“You do?” Jennelle looked around the room. “Am I still dreaming?”
“No, and it is time you realized the difference between Millie’s search for entertainment and when she is seriously concerned.” The demure side of Aimee’s nature completely disappeared. Being so tall, she constantly worked at being delicate in other ways, such as with her manners and voice inflections. But when she wanted to, she could command someone’s attention.
“I did not want to say something, because I thought, as you, Jennelle, that Lord Marston was most likely a nice, affable man who, for some peculiar reason, made me feel uncomfortable. But after tonight, and listening to Millie now, I realize she may very well be correct—Lord Marston
is
up to something, and unfortunately, he needs at least one of us for his plans.”
Jennelle’s disposition immediately changed from casual to intensely interested. “What? Why? How do you know?”
Aimee bit her bottom lip. “I do not know what or why, but I don’t think Millie was his original target. Millie, do you remember when Lord Marston first tried to engage you?”
“Umm, near the end of Bassel’s ball, if I remember correctly. Right before I saw your brother. I do not think I realized it until just now, but Lord Marston was the real reason I dismissed the crowd around me. I felt . . . hounded.”
Aimee crossed her arms and nodded her head. “Then it fits.”
With eyebrows furrowed, Jennelle raised her hand. “Wait a minute. How did you do that, Millie? Get everyone to leave you alone, I mean, without it turning into a scandal?”
Millie threw her hands up in the air and smiled mischievously. “Simple. I pretended to be a green girl unused to the crush. I told them I was overwhelmed with the excitement and the attention I was receiving. And if I were to entertain calls from anyone the next day, I simply needed some space away from their admiration.”
“And that worked?” Aimee asked incredulously.
“But I thought you refused to receive any callers following Lady Bassel’s.”
Millie smiled. “Indeed, your memory is not faulty—I refused every request, just as did both you and Jennelle. I guess I was still a little overwhelmed. . . .” Millie put her hand against her forehead and pretended to swoon. She only wished she had continued her original philosophy and turned down Lord Marston’s request to call upon her.
Aimee swatted Millie’s knee. “Please keep your mind focused on the main purpose of the conversation, Millie. This is important. Anyway, very early in that same evening, Lord Marston was paying
me
a great deal of attention. Immediately I felt uncomfortable, but no matter what I did, he followed me, trying to engage me in conversation.”
Completely riveted, Jennelle leaned in. “What did you do?”
Aimee looked at Jennelle, then at Millie, and then back again at Jennelle. “The only idea I could muster without your assistance was a . . . a ‘Derrick Burchenal,’” she said, wincing in preparation for their forthcoming reaction.
“You did not!” Millie and Jennelle exclaimed at the same time.
Jennelle was the first to recover. “It is a wonder that anyone has said two words to you since that dreadful night. Just to think of you doing it again makes my ears ache with horrid audible memory.”
Several years ago, after attending their first dance as young ladies, Derrick Burchenal, a short, fairly nice but persistent son of a local gentleman, decided he had fallen in love with Aimee. Nothing any of the Three did could persuade Derrick to leave her alone. Everywhere they went, he would show up. Exasperated, Aimee decided to play along and pretend to be likewise interested. However, she made some quick—and ghastly—adjustments to her personality. They were so awful that one night Jennelle and Millie had almost demanded she end the charade—no friendship could endure the offensive sounds. Fortunately, that same evening, Derrick decided he, too, was no longer smitten with the blond beauty.
“But you see, that just proves my point,” Aimee stated matter-of-factly.
Remembering how awful Aimee could sound when she tried, Millie nodded. “You are right. Word
should
have spread everywhere about your nasally voice and how it could peel the paper off walls. To what degree did you apply your charms?”
Rolling her eyes, Aimee replied, “You would not believe how horrible I was. I was even clingy. But it worked, and Lord Marston has left me alone ever since. But it seems quite coincidental that in the same evening he decided to set his sights on you, Millie, especially knowing you are friends with me.”
Unaffected by the innocuous insult, Millie agreed. “Yes, our friendship alone would have kept any normal, halfway intelligent man away from anything that could put him near a ‘Derrick Burchenal.’ I will say it again. Lord Marston is up to something, and we need to find out what it is.”
Jennelle stood up and began pacing. “Wait a minute, here. Let us all agree that Lord Marston’s admiration and intentions are not sincere. And your efforts at persuasion are slowly convincing me he is most disagreeable, but is it wise to get involved with a man you consider dangerous? Why can we not just avoid him?”
“You answered your question earlier. He attends practically every event my mother accepts,” Aimee answered.
Millie shook her head. “There is an altogether different reason why, Jennelle. Because I am certain we have something he wants. Even if we were to avoid him, he would not avoid us. We are in a disappearing position of power. Lord Marston currently believes he can achieve his mysterious goal by courting me and gaining my trust. Without a doubt, the conceited man is trying very hard to quickly develop a rapport with me, continually asking me to ride, escort me to parties . . .”
Jennelle stopped pacing and interrupted. “He asked you to ride with him?”
Millie hugged her knees to her chest. “Yes. It was a few days ago when you and Aimee went to one of your Society meetings regarding the Orient or something. He came by to visit, and I made the mistake of accepting his call. It was the most uncomfortable discussion I have ever had in my life. He seemed determined to make me feel . . . vulnerable.”
“My God,” Aimee whispered. “Whatever you do, do
not
be alone with him again.”
“What if that is the only way to discover what he is truly after?” Millie countered.
Aimee reached out and squeezed Millie’s hand. “No, that is going too far. I do not know what drives you to take such chances, but not this time. Promise us you will not
ever
meet him alone.”
Aimee’s words rang coldly in Millie’s head. Slipping off the bed, she walked to the door and turned. Seeing the fear in her friends’ faces, Millie reluctantly agreed. “But that does not mean I am going to stop looking for opportunities to discover what he is doing.”
Millie opened the door and quietly returned to her room. Crawling back under the covers, she thought again on Aimee’s comment and its similarity to one Chase had made at the ball. What drove her to take chances? What compelled her to chase the formidable, to seek danger and then to conquer it?
It was a question Chase had often asked when they were young as he was saving her from some new perilous activity she was undertaking. As a child, she had often retorted “Because it was fun” or “I wanted to.” Now, when asked what drove her, she had no answer. She just knew she could not fall into the trap of becoming like everyone else.
Chapter 8
Chase glanced at the time and then released his watch fob to dangle back into place on his waistcoat. He had two more errands to complete before his appointment with Millie. He wondered again at the wisdom of requesting a private meeting and again reminded himself of its importance. His ability to sleep at night had already been compromised, and after the disappointing news he had received yesterday morning, he had no choice. They had to meet.
Chase longed for a life of order and clarity. He preferred living by rules, but at the age of twenty-one, when he had learned of the Rebuilders—and his inherited membership—his life had turned upside down.
Although he had been forced by circumstances into the war, Chase discovered that his natural inclination to remain composed regardless of the situation made him very good at his duties. His success was in large part due to his ability to assert control over both himself and others. As the protégé of the famed Sir Edward, Chase quickly harnessed the skills it took to be a strong soldier, an excellent spy, and a cunning strategist.
Lord Brumby and he had met as planned, but Brumby’s willingness to share information had disappeared. The man had been extremely susceptible to the tactics Chase had employed at Alstar’s ball. Unfortunately, Brumby’s weak spine also made him vulnerable to other forms of persuasion. Forms that had convinced the foolish lord to break his promise to Chase and suddenly “forget” the identity of his second contact of the secretive group that opposed the Expansionist movement. This left the name of the fifth member unknown. Chase received small consolation from knowing who was behind Brumby’s sudden resistance—Lord Neville Marston.
After watching the heated exchange between the two men Saturday night, Chase had no doubt Marston was behind Brumby’s sudden memory loss. And though the nature of Marston’s involvement was unclear, it did give Chase new avenues to pursue. Brumby would be made to see reason as soon as Chase discovered how Marston had pressured him into silence. Marston was clever, but far too pompous and undisciplined to be the traitor. More likely, Lord Marston was just an unsuspecting puppet and following him would be fruitless. While his drive for power made the lord an easy target to manipulate, it also made him far too untrustworthy. The traitor knew of and used Marston, but it was highly unlikely Marston knew of the traitor.
Meanwhile, Chase had an even larger hurdle to overcome: convincing Millie to do the impossible—and on blind trust.
Mildred Aldon had been both the bane of his childhood as well his most secret pleasure. Chasing after her enabled him to climb trees, explore caves, and generally act young under the acceptable guise of “watching out for Millie.” Only one time had his best friend, Reece, been foolish enough to ask him if he actually encouraged Millie to be boisterous so that he, too, could have fun. Reece never teased him again about his odd bond with the little hellion.
Never had Chase dreamed their connection would evolve from youthful diversion to heart-pounding passion. But it had. Saturday night when he saw Millie in Marston’s arms, a cold possessiveness had swept through him. It had been as if he instinctively knew someone was trying to steal something very valuable of his.
After rescuing Millie the day of Marston’s inauspicious visit, Chase had been convinced of her indifference to the man’s charms. But Chase had also been so desperate to leave the drawing room before disgracing himself and giving in to his baser desires, he had not realized her interest in the lord was more than just casual. Even at Alstar’s, after Marston had forced her to dance, Chase had assumed she would disentangle herself quickly and avoid him for the rest of the evening. But not Millie. After extricating herself, she had covertly followed Marston’s every move. She had been cleverly discreet, and her actions had not gained any notice, but her curiosity about the man was undeniable.
“I may not understand the reasons behind your interest in Marston now, Millie, my dear, but I will. And Lord help you when I do,” Chase muttered to himself as he stepped down from the carriage to enter his tailor’s shop.
 
 
Millie was perplexed by Chase’s missive. It was brief, vague, and a bit abrasive.
We must discuss Saturday night. Prepare Hercules for riding. Be ready at five o’clock this afternoon.
 
Chaselton
Saturday night?
Millie wondered as she paced back and forth in the empty library. They had barely spoken to each other at Alstar’s ball, and when they had, it had been more confrontational than pleasant. And now, two days later, Chase wanted—no,
demanded
—to meet with her.
The request to go riding could indicate their conversation needed to be in private, but that could easily be achieved without leaving Hembree Grove. Maybe Chase needed to curry favor. He knew of her love for riding and her lack of willing chaperones. It would be an excellent way to make her more amenable to suggestions. And Chase was forever eager to offer those.
Millie had been relieved when Aimee decided to join Jennelle in her visit to Melinda Brinson’s. Mrs. Brinson was an excellent seamstress, and for the price of one original creation, she had converted four of Jennelle’s older gowns into new fashion statements. Millie had intended to spend the time rethinking every conversation she’d had with Lord Marston. Yet shortly after Jennelle and Aimee departed, Chase’s note had arrived.
Millie tapped the folded paper against her chin. What had happened Saturday night that prompted a private conversation? Miss Selena Hall? No, she had draped herself on him, but that was nothing unusual. Sir Edward? Chase could want to discuss him, but it seemed unlikely.
Pausing to look out the window, Millie considered all the reasons why Chase might want to speak with her. “Only one thing remains. He wants me to stay away from Marston,” she whispered to herself.
Despite his demands to the contrary, Millie fully intended to continue her plan to pursue Lord Marston. Chase had made it clear he disliked the idea of the handsome lord dancing with her, but he had not said a word or made a single move to intervene when Marston had stepped in and deftly swept her into a waltz, and the quadrille after that. Instead, he had chosen to spend time with Selena.
The memories of Saturday evening bubbled in her mind again. The more Millie mulled over Chase’s written commands, the more offended she became.
Come five o’clock, Charlie Wentworth
, Millie thought,
I will be ready to discuss Saturday night, but I doubt you will be
.
 
 
Chase silently led Millie through a remote area of Hyde Park, avoiding Rotten Row, the Grand Strut, and any other populated path or area. She had not spoken a single word since he had arrived exactly at five o’clock, and his words had been limited to “Good, you are ready.”
The ride was a far cry from any romantic afternoon jaunt in the park. Chase had been paying more attention to random passersby than to her. Where the park is usually a place to see and be seen, they were riding in remote areas, avoiding any and all people. Millie wondered if it was as intentional as it appeared. She soon received her answer.
They were entering a deserted section of the park, thick with trees and several unusually high hedges. Chase stopped beside one and dismounted. After helping Millie down from Hercules, he turned and paced to one particularly thick hedge, staring. All of a sudden, he stopped, grabbed his reins, and disappeared with his horse through the eight-foot brush.
Millie’s breath caught in her throat. “Chase?” she called out quietly. Receiving no answer, she moved closer to the thick brush and asked in a somewhat louder and more perturbed voice, “Chase? Where did you go?”
Suddenly he reappeared in front of her again. “Follow me. Bring Hercules,” he ordered in hushed tones.
“Chase, wait. Where are we going?”
Chase’s look was one of barely disguised impatience. “Come and see.”
Millie took a stubborn stance and crossed her arms in front of her. “You demand my attendance on today’s jaunt and then practically ignore me. And now you think to order me into a . . . a
bush
with nary an explanation. I think not, Charlie Wentworth.”
Chase fought the instinct to roll his eyes. She was back to calling him Charlie. And all because he had said very little since they had left Hembree Grove. She was not the first female to admonish him about his aloof nature.
He had been in his midtwenties and was supposedly home for a short respite from the war, when a very intent and aspiring marchioness-to-be had continually tried to engage him in conversation or some type of activity. He had apathetically obliged, not because he wanted to, but to maintain the country party facade that masked the meetings taking place among him, his father, and other key Rebuilder members. The young woman, after a few weekends of fruitless pursuit, decided to seek titled men far more complimentary and engaging than Chase. And though Chase had cared nothing for her, her parting words had remained with him throughout the years. “As a wealthy future marquess, there can be no doubt of your ability to find a wife when you deem yourself to be ready. However, if by that time you still hold no value in charming the fairer sex, prepare yourself. For you
will
have a wife, but you
will not
find the happiness all men seek.”
While her comment was memorable, he had not cared if she spoke true or not. Now, surprisingly, he did.
“Where are you taking me?” Millie demanded again, pointing at the mysterious greenery from which he had reappeared.
He took a step closer. “A place where we can talk privately.”
Millie retreated a step. “Why could we not have met in the study and just closed the doors?”
Chase stopped his advance and frowned. “Elda Mae.”
“Oh . . . Elda Mae,” Millie repeated, her voice dwindling as she realized Chase was correct. The older woman, while devoutly loyal, was also very protective and extremely prone to eavesdropping.
Chase grabbed Hercules’s bridle and then Millie’s gloved hand. Seconds later she found herself in a large enclosed garden about the size of Hembree Grove’s library. Surrounding her were a series of neglected, very tall, dense hedges in the shape of a warped rectangle. No entrances or exits could be seen. While trees were ample outside the strange enclosure, none grew inside. Nor were there any flowers. The natural greenery would require very little maintenance. The only man-made items in the private garden were four very old cement benches set in the shape of a square in the middle of the clearing.
Stunned, Millie haphazardly brushed the stray sprigs that had caught on her dress upon their entrance into the hidden sanctuary. Unpinning her light-blue ruched bonnet, she removed it and took in the setting. “What . . . Where are we?”
“As I said, a place where I know we can meet privately and without interruption,” Chase replied, plucking the remaining loose leaves caught along her shoulders. The action felt natural and gave him a surprising amount of pleasure.
Oblivious of Chase’s ministrations, Millie walked a few steps forward and waved her hand. “Yes, well, um, this is definitely private.”
Chase let go of Hercules and the horse joined his to graze in the far corner of the garden. “Come, relax for a moment.”
Millie turned and sat down on one of the cool benches, still marveling at how they and their horses had got in without leaving any signs of entry.
“Um, Chase, just how did we get in?”
Chase looked bemused. “You were with me.”
Millie shot him a frustrated look. “Yes, but it does not seem possible. With the exception of a few fallen leaves, the hedge looks undisturbed, and with Hercules . . . well . . . how did we get in?”
“Many years ago, when the bushes of this garden were much smaller, there was a clear entry point. Initially, this place was used by gentlemen trying to romance their intendeds, but over the years the hedges grew and it became less and less popular to ride so far from the Strut. The public avoided, and then eventually forgot, its existence.”
“But not everyone,” Millie countered.
Chase smiled. “No, not everyone. My father needed a place to meet with . . . certain nobles outside of Hembree Grove and servants’ ears, and remembered this spot. The dense growth on either side of the entry had grown, masking the opening. One simply has to know where the entrance is and push the branches out of the way. And as long as this garden is not overused, it will remain hidden, providing an ideal meeting place when one needs privacy.”
“Oh,” was all that Millie could think to say. Suddenly she realized they were alone.
Really alone
. The thought made her heart race. Swallowing heavily, she tried to move the conversation to a topic she hoped would ease the pounding in her veins. “You wrote that you wanted to discuss Saturday night. I cannot imagine anything about this past weekend’s activities that would require such lengths for privacy.”
Chase recognized the conversation’s shift and guessed at the reason. Millie was just as aware as he regarding the sparks flying between them and was attempting to divert their attention. He was unsure whether he welcomed her attempted diversion or was annoyed by it. “I wanted to discuss Marston.”

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