A Woman Made for Pleasure (21 page)
“Chaselton!” said a familiar voice behind them. “Surprised you are here, my good man.”
Chase turned and inwardly grimaced. The speaker was Lord Pomfrey, a large, round man who relished learning and spreading gossip.
Chase nodded and returned to his comfortable sitting position. “Surprised? Why? It is you, Pomfrey, who is the surprise. I thought you preferred Watier’s . . . and their chef.” Chase hoped his ungentlemanly comment would put the man off. He soon realized he was not going to be that fortunate as Pomfrey waddled around, placing himself in front of the hearth.
“Ah, great place, Watier’s. Not your style, of course. Don’t know if you would be allowed in with your preference for trousers and short neckties. We men who are concerned with our dress and appearance”—the stout man puffed his chest out in pride—“have our standards, you know.”
Sir Edward coughed. “Ah, well, Watier’s has selected well in letting you in.”
Chase smiled at the disguised barb. Watier’s might have great food, but its existence was going to be very short-lived if it continued to funnel noblemen’s fortunes into blackguards’ pockets.
Pomfrey, on the other hand, did not comprehend the gibe. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately for you, White’s allows anyone in. Although today there seems to be a much higher quality of patronage than the norm. But I suppose that is quite understandable in light of what happened. But I must admit to my surprise, you being amongst us, Chaselton.” He paused, as though dangling a juicy morsel no one could resist.
Chase looked up, creasing his brow. “Again you hint I should not be here. Where else would I be, Pomfrey?”
“Why, at home comforting your sister, or did you not know she was there?”
Chase said nothing. He was battling with himself whether to hear the man out or physically throw him from his presence. He looked at Pomfrey’s girth and frowned at the seams struggling not to burst. Any unexpected movement would surely result in a vision that should remain behind tailored clothing. Chase decided to let the man have his say.
Pomfrey smacked his lips together several times. He loved gossip. “Rather a ghastly sight for a well-bred lady. Too bad about Brumby. I have been going from group to group, but no one has a clue who performed the foul deed. Can you imagine? Snuffing someone in the middle of a Society meeting with people surrounding you—and getting away with it. Absolutely amazing. Someone
must
have seen something. Well, cheerio. Give my regards to your family for me, Chaselton. I must be off.”
must
have seen something. Well, cheerio. Give my regards to your family for me, Chaselton. I must be off.”
Chase remained silent as he watched the heavy man recede into the crowd. His knuckles were white with fury. He had warned Brumby about the Expansionists, but his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. After a heated discussion, Brumby vowed no knowledge of the traitor—certainly not a name—and swore that he had never exchanged any letters with Chase’s father. He insisted that he had received only the one brief request to meet, and he had burned that note years ago.
But when Chase inquired about the identity of the fifth man in their group hunting for the traitor, Brumby’s nervous fidgets multiplied tenfold and he became immediately recalcitrant. He refused to capitulate to Chase’s request, deeming it safer for Chase to forget everyone and everything regarding his father, including the traitor and the ill-fated group.
Chase had known that with time and appropriate pressure, Brumby would eventually break. The traitor must have known this as well. It left the foolish lord in a precarious position. Chase had encouraged Brumby to leave Town immediately, but he would not listen. Brumby thought if he kept visible, proving his silence, he would be spared. He had been wrong. Now only Chase remained between the Expansionists and their goal.
Chase forced his jaw to unclench. The killer he was after was not normally a daring man. There was a reason he shot Brumby in public, and a reason he chose the setting of that particular Society meeting. It was a message for him. The killer had just announced that Chase’s family, and maybe even Millie, were potential targets if he did not stop his pursuit.
In silence, Sir Edward carefully watched his protégé war with his emotions. He nodded when he saw Chase rise.
“I must take my leave. Good day to you,” Chase said, standing to pick up his gloves and hat.
Chase was going to have to accelerate his plan. Without the identity of the fifth man or the location of the other two markers, he would have to do the unthinkable. Put Millie in danger. At tomorrow night’s ball, he would let it slip about the existence of the markers and how they were the key to exposing the traitor. In doing so, Millie’s amulet would immediately become of high interest, and only at that point, could he protect her from the danger it put her in.
It would also give him the leverage needed to join the Expansionist cause. The traitor would force his pawns to agree to the admittance, for he would not chance Chase’s having proof of his treacherous deeds. Chase just hoped it would give him the time needed to learn and expose the traitor’s identity. For it would not be long before his own ignorance of the second and third markers was discovered.
Chapter 10
Millie could not understand why Jennelle was being so adamant. Normally, her conservative friend was incredibly casual about her dress, hair, and overall appearance. But tonight, Jennelle was demanding that all three of them look their best—especially Millie.
“Millie, I think it is time for the egg-white satin.”
Aimee’s eyes popped open. “But I thought you said it was indecent.”
Jennelle waved her hand. “Only for a small gathering. It is perfect for tonight’s ball.”
Aimee was oblivious to Jennelle’s hint. “But you . . .”
Jennelle grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her aside. “I
said
that a woman who wore such a gown was on a mission. And believe me, tonight Millie is on one.”
said
that a woman who wore such a gown was on a mission. And believe me, tonight Millie is on one.”
Mimicking Jennelle’s hushed tones, Aimee asked, “What mission?”
But before Jennelle could answer, Millie came over, suspicious that her best friends were about to decide something contrary to her desires. “If this private discourse concerns me, I would like to be included.”
“Of course it concerns you, and no, you cannot be included,” Jennelle responded.
Millie crossed her arms and donned a look of inflexibility she had perfected long ago. As a child, it had worked like a charm, but as she grew older, her friends somehow learned how to discern when she was bluffing.
After a several second stare-down with Jennelle, Millie finally warned, “Tell me now. For I will leave neither of you alone until you do.”
“Fine. Our discussion is then concluded,” Jennelle retorted, surprising Millie by grabbing her shoulders and whirling her around. And with a gentle shove, Jennelle pushed her stubborn friend back toward the dressing table to finish preparing for the evening.
Working with their most talented lady’s maid, Jennelle oversaw all aspects of Millie’s hair, ensuring perfect placement of every pearl in the intricate mixture of dark curls and waves.
“Perfect. Now for the dress,” Jennelle said, smiling at the outcome of her efforts. She rarely liked to apply her talents for styling hair, preferring instead to spend her time reading about far-off countries. Millie might have natural grace and wit, and Aimee the gift of beauty and song, but tonight, it would be Jennelle’s eye for perfection that would end Charles’s roving eye.
Aimee watched as the pale silk material settled around Millie’s curves. The gown certainly did not follow the dictates of fashion. Looking at the creamy vision, Aimee remembered what Madame Sasha had said when they had asked her if it was too risqué. The modiste had been insulted and stated that only a person with dark hair, a little waist, and ample bosom could wear her creation. Worn by anyone else, they would appear like a
blyad
, whatever that meant.
blyad
, whatever that meant.
As Millie turned around, Aimee uttered a low whistle. “Why, Millie, I hope Madame Sasha did not underestimate your bosom.” Realizing she had spoken her thoughts aloud, Aimee looked up and caught the stunned looks of her friends. Seconds later, they were all laughing so hard their sides hurt.
Millie wiped away the tears of laughter, thankful for the unexpected moment of mirth. All afternoon, she had been unusually compliant, allowing Jennelle and Aimee to dictate her hairstyle, her gown, and her jewelry. Yesterday’s vision of Chase embracing Melinda Brinson still haunted her. Chase was no rakehell. Millie was sure of that. If he were involved with the woman, his heart was committed. He would never put his sister or his mother at risk of ridicule. And that realization made her quite depressed.
But when Millie turned to view herself in the looking glass, her spirits lifted. She saw a beautiful, composed lady who could meet anything life threw at her. She was the same girl who had decided long ago to remain unmarried. Chase might not understand that now, but tonight he would see what Melinda Brinson was costing him: Millie.
Jennelle could see the effect the dress and change in appearance had on her friend and was thankful. Most gowns had puffed sleeves that attached to a straight gown with a trimmed neckline. While Millie’s ensemble had no train and no defined neckline per se, it was almost brazen the way it framed Millie’s figure. Madame Sasha was right. Only someone with Millie’s coloring and figure could pull off this look and still look pure.
The gown was an off-the-shoulder, egg-white-colored dream that gave her skin a porcelain effect. The silk was pleated all around, but instead of gathering underneath her bosom or at the back, it loosely hugged her petite figure at her waist before fanning out to the bottom. A small bit of lace trimmed the petite sleeves and the top of the gown. The hemline was straight and unruffled.
Jennelle had declared jewelry unnecessary. The only adornment Millie was to wear was her amethyst pendant, something Chase had hinted that she should wear that evening. Her hair was piled in soft curls with a single thick coil hanging over her shoulder, giving a look of innocence that countered the alluring essence of the gown. The final element was a sheer shawl, adorned with small pearls scattered over its surface, draped softly across her shoulders. Millie was the perfect combination of the forbidden yet tempting maiden.
Upon his mother’s insistence, Chase had agreed to act as the Three’s chaperone to Lady Sefton’s. It allowed him to feign reluctance in attending the event while enabling him to execute his plan. If all went as planned, his sudden, unanticipated revelation would rattle his adversary, making him vulnerable.
At first, Chase thought arranging to meet the Three at the ball was exceptionally clever. He could execute his chaperone duties with just a few nods and hellos while keeping a safe, but observant distance from Millie. But when Chase saw her, he became instantly aware of every man in the room besides himself.
Possessiveness slammed through him as he watched men openly admire the one woman he considered his. He wished he had the power of ordering Millie to return home and dress into something less . . . imaginative. Objectively he realized her garment exposed nothing except her shoulders. But unlike her other gowns, it made the male mind wander with lascivious thoughts. The instant he saw her in it, he envisioned her naked in his arms. He was positive that every man between the ages of seventeen and ninety was envisioning her the same way, which only inflamed his state of anger.
Chase covertly watched as Millie worked the crowd. She was stunning. Mixed emotions stirred within him. Pride that she would soon be his. Satisfaction that he was the only man in the world who knew what passion lurked beneath those soft feminine tresses. A deep sense of possessiveness that grew stronger every time she was near. And an overwhelming sense of fear.
She was wearing the pendant. He was certain she would be after he blatantly mentioned it that morning when he stopped by to verify the timing of their departure. But seeing it on her, realizing what he was about to do, sent a shiver of apprehension through him—something he had never before experienced.
Chase wanted nothing more than to stand by her side the whole evening, not only to ensure himself of her well-being, but to convey to everyone present
she was his
. However, he knew any announcement—verbal or implied—about Lady Mildred Aldon becoming the next Marchioness of Chaselton would only put her in even more danger. If his enemies realized how deep his affection for her ran, Millie would become a target and be used as a means to control him. In order to protect those he loved, he would make the request to join the Expansionists and their cause.
she was his
. However, he knew any announcement—verbal or implied—about Lady Mildred Aldon becoming the next Marchioness of Chaselton would only put her in even more danger. If his enemies realized how deep his affection for her ran, Millie would become a target and be used as a means to control him. In order to protect those he loved, he would make the request to join the Expansionists and their cause.
Immediately following yesterday’s Society meeting, Millie had wanted nothing more than to speak with Chase. She had almost suggested going directly back to Hembree Grove rather than stopping by to see Jennelle’s seamstress. Now, after witnessing Chase embrace Melinda, she could not make up her mind whether or not she was glad to know the truth. Best to be informed, she told herself once more as she mingled with the crowd. But as soon as she saw Chase waiting for them, Millie knew ignorance would be better than the pain of knowing.
Chase would never marry Melinda Brinson. She had a son and was not of Society. But she was undeniably pretty, and tall, and fair: everything Millie was not. But if Chase really loved Melinda, he would need a wife who would care very little if he had a lover on the side. He would need Selena Hall. Suddenly it made sense why Chase had been giving the woman so much attention.
Fighting tears, she silently walked by him and ascended the long staircase leading to the main ballroom. Immediately upon entering, she donned her “social” demeanor and avoided looking at or interacting with Chase in any way.
“Lady Aldon,” a voice whispered into her ear. The accent was typical. Its tone, normal. However, there was something sinister about its inflection. It could only belong to one man.
Millie took a deep breath. She was about to risk all. By watching Lord Marston from afar, Millie had not discerned his motives or plans. Politeness had brought forth even less information. It was time to see what Marston might say when angered.
“Lord Marston,” Millie replied with tediousness, refusing to turn around.
The insult was not lost. “You make it clear that I bore you, madam. And if you would risk looking at me directly, I am sure that I would see antipathy in those rare-colored depths.”
Millie continued to stare straight ahead into the crowd. “Then you and I are both in good fortune. I will not have to endure looking at you to ensure I am understood, and you will be spared seeing the disdain I have for someone who pathetically attempts to manhandle those he believes are weaker.”
Marston saw red. For one blistering instant, he nearly lost his temper and disclosed more than he intended. “I am a dangerous man, madam. One you should not cross.”
Millie turned slowly; cold anger hissed to life. “You do not intimidate me, Lord Marston. You annoy me. It is not surprising that green and unwise girls fall so easily at your feet. No doubt, you cannot understand why I do not. However, I think you are just a little too perfect, a little too polished, and definitely too smooth. In summation, I do not think you to be honorable or trustworthy.”
Marston’s eyes narrowed to thin slits that fully reflected his tightly leashed anger before he carefully responded. “Until we meet again, my lady. I believe our next encounter will go more my way.”
Millie’s heart was racing. The moment of imminent confrontation had passed. Their quarrel had been laced with innuendo and threat. Suddenly she wished she could tell Chase what had just happened. Instead, she rubbed her arms vigorously and went up another set of stairs to find a place where she might regain her composure.
Emerging from the lady’s powder room and feeling much more in control, Millie paused, looking down at the crowd from a small balcony. Instinctively looking for familiar faces, she spied the two men from the Society meeting who had argued with Brumby just before he had been killed. They spoke briefly and then exited to the garden. Without considering the repercussions, Millie dashed down the staircase and followed them.
After a few wrong turns, she spied them walking rapidly toward a part of the garden with multiple hedges and areas nestled away for private conversations. If she did not move quickly, she would lose them.
Millie rounded a series of rose bushes and glanced around. They were gone. Silently cursing her lack of height, she looked for something to stand upon to see over the tall greenery. Nothing but dark pebble paths and dense foliage were in the immediate vicinity. Conceding defeat, Millie began walking toward the noise and light of the party when she heard voices on the other side of a nearby hedge.
She paused to listen for a female voice. There was none. Just two men—arguing. It had to be them. She stood frozen on the other side, straining to overhear their conversation.
“Did you know what he was planning to do yesterday?” a dark, chilling voice demanded.
“I did not,” the second man squeaked, asserting his innocence. “I cannot imagine what he was thinking, taking such an action.”
“I agree, and I do not like it. Killing Brumby in public, that close to the girl, was just too risky.”
“Maybe it worked. Tonight Chaselton let it slip that he does have the proof, or at least the items that will lead us to it. He says he only wants to join our cause.”
“Hmm. An odd request that feels a little too convenient.” Millie bit the inside of her cheek hearing the hardness in the man’s tone.
“What if Brumby’s death convinced him that it would be safer to join us?” the second man asked shakily.
“Possible.”
Suddenly, a third voice entered the conversation. It was very deep, with a heavy accent that sounded foreign as if he were from another country. And yet there was something vaguely familiar about it. Part of her was sure she knew no one with that voice, but another part was just as sure she had heard it before.
“Chaselton is a problem,” said the deep voice.
“I agree,” spoke the deep baritone who doubted the convenient change of heart.
“Now, wait a minute,” inserted the most nervous of the three men. “We could use Chaselton. He is no coward—you saw his war record. If there was ever a man we want on our side, it is him.”
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