Games of Pleasure (38 page)

“With money you'll give him?” She laughed. “God, Ryder! Allow me the dignity of embracing my own ruin for at least a few moments, before charging to my rescue with showers of gold.”

“You make me sound like Zeus visiting Danaë.”

“Except that Danaë could be impregnated and I cannot.”

Even in the darkness she saw him flinch. “You cannot stop my lending funds to your brother.”

“But I won't take your money, even if it is channeled through Dillard.”

“For God's sake!” Dark color burned over his high cheekbones. “Then how the devil will you survive? You're penniless, Miracle.”

“Let's find George Melman first,” she said. “If we don't recover my bag before Hanley does, talk of my survival may be moot.”

Ryder leaned forward to clasp her fingers. “We'll find it.”

His palm felt warm, his pulse vivid with the masculine force that seared into her bones. Lovely! Lovely! Desire pooled, hot and urgent, though her heart faltered.
Coward!

With her free hand she unsnapped the clasp at her throat and dropped her cloak from her shoulders. He inhaled, one quick snatched breath, as if he were suddenly robbed of air.

“Whether we find him or not, I defy the cold night and the threat of immortal notoriety. I defy death on the gallows, as I defied life in the cotton mill. Make love to me, Ryder?”

“Don't tempt me. I burn for you.”

“Then let me quench that fire. It may be the last time.”

“I cannot—” He choked and tipped back his head. “You know that I cannot deny you.”

“Then let's make love!”

“In the carriage?”

She laughed, giddy with fear and desire. “Yes, of course! You defied dragons in your cradle. Have you never made love in a carriage?”

Ryder spun her between his spread thighs. He flung one foot up onto the seat, so she was cradled against his bent knee. He was already aroused. She rubbed her palm over that magnificent promise, then unbuttoned his waistband to caress naked flesh.

She knew what she risked. She was a courtesan. Each time they made love, she only proved it again. Each time was just one step closer to the day when he would give her a necklace or a bracelet, and say good-bye. However much Lord Ryderbourne declared his love— and however real her love was for him—that would, in the end, be her fate.

But now he was on fire for her.

He moaned as if wounded, but his mouth closed over hers, hot and searching. His hands sought the curve of her flank, his strong fingers kneading her buttocks. Flame scorched over her skin, delivering desperation and anguish and a searing, deep elation. She twisted in his arms to tug her skirts out of the way. His palm rubbed her breast through the fabric of her dress, then he teased her nipple into aching hardness.

The carriage rocked over a bump. Before she could take charge once again, he set her back onto the opposite seat. For a moment, she was bereft.

“You'd still be Sir Galahad, even now?” she whispered.

“No! God! I lost all claim to that title long ago.”

“I want to pleasure you,” she said, sliding one hand over his thigh. “Let me!”

“What if it's my turn now?” He pinned her with both hands as he slid down to kneel on the carriage floor. Moonlight gleamed on his disordered hair; his mouth, already swollen with kisses; the quizzical, teasing glint in his eyes. “The question is: Will you let me pleasure you?”

“I can't deny you,” she said. “How the devil did you think I ever could?”

He pushed up her skirts and stroked her thighs. She lay back on the seat, whimpering with pleasure. With delicate grace, his lips followed his fingertips.

“You'll have to teach me to do it right,” he said, between tantalizing little kisses.

“Your own nature will teach you.”

“Good,” he said. “I've been wanting to do this for a very long time.”

She groaned as his tongue followed his lips. Licking and kissing, sweetly fleeting little caresses. Feeling terrifyingly vulnerable, she braced her feet on the opposite seat and gave herself up to his subtle exploration. His tongue flicked. Untutored, but with exquisite sensitivity. Her entire being dissolved into a rush of moisture.

The carriage rocked. The horses clopped on. Ryder slipped both hands beneath her bottom and began to devour her.

When he opened the flap of his trousers, she was already lost.

 

 

DAYLIGHT began to filter through the carriage windows. A dull, drizzly daylight, as they skirted the edge of the Yorkshire Dales. Ryder gazed down at Miracle's face. Her lips were slightly ajar, as if she would whisper mysteries, or offer a kiss to a ghost.

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, and she smiled up at him. His heart, lost long ago, ached for a safe berth in that smile.

“Are you hungry? John Coachman says there's an inn just ahead, and we're already very close to Mr. Melman.”

Miracle combed her fingers through her hair. “I believe I'm in a very sorry shape to appear in public.”

“You've never looked lovelier. You remind me of springtime maidens and innocence.”

She glanced up at him and laughed. “How can you say that? After last night!”

“Even last night.”

“Don't, Ryder! Don't forget what I am! A paramour and a gentleman are supposed to enjoy a light friendship dominated only by pleasure, where hearts are not involved.”

“It's usually the man who says that, so he can discard his mistress as the fancy takes him.”

“Women can also pretend to love, while they're really only mercenary.”

“But that's not the only reality, is it? The carefree ladybird who goes merrily on her way when her protector abandons her?”

Her skirts rustled as she moved to sit on the opposite seat. She felt so vulnerable to him, stripped to her soul, as if she could never again tell him anything but the truth.

“I don't know. I've never known any harlot, even the most jaded, who doesn't carry the scars of some man's cruelty buried deep in her heart. She may cover it up with brassy bravado, or take to drink, or opium, or weep in silence when she thinks she's alone. And yes, some become vindictive or try to defend themselves through greed. But most courtesans once, long ago, dreamed of true love, even if they know now through bitter experience that their fate is going to be quite different.”

“You dreamed of true love with Guy?”

“Yes, of course. I was young. He seemed to be everything a girl could—” She broke off and twisted her hair into a knot. “Your cousin's been a good friend to me, Ryder. Though there were a few more times after we first parted ways, it's been many years now since we were lovers. I've carved my own path through life. I wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would Guy.”

Hens squawked as the coach turned into the inn yard, scattering the birds into raucous complaint.

Ryder wrenched his mind back to the problem at hand. Did he really need to know how she and Guy had loved each other? A new solution was forming in his mind—one so outrageous that he must question his sanity even to entertain it.

“You look as if a ghost had just walked over your grave,” Miracle said.

The carriage stopped. The groom from Wrendale opened the door.

Ryder smiled at her as if nothing were wrong. “I was just making up my mind to something. Meanwhile, perhaps we'll find Mr. Melman here, eating his bacon and perusing his Bible. Shall we go in and see?”

 

 

AN hour later they sat with the preacher in a private parlor. Miracle's bag lay on the table. His face shining with honest good fellowship, George Melman stood up and bowed.

“Glad to be of service, ma'am. Though I apologize that I couldn't prevent the Irish gentleman from taking some of your valuables.”

“Can you describe exactly what was taken?” Ryder asked.

The preacher shrugged. “I didn't pay it that much attention, sir. Necklaces? Earrings, perhaps? The lady's brother would remember better, no doubt. Now I must return to my work.”

The men shook hands. As soon as Mr. Melman left the room, Miracle seized the bag and tipped the contents onto the table. She sorted through them, then glanced up at Ryder.

“You're going to think I'm insane,” she said. “Apart from this bracelet, it's just a lot of rubbish: fans, combs, hairpins, a sewing kit, three nondescript novels. I must have been mad when I packed it.”

“No. You were afraid.” He picked up a book and turned it over in his hands. “May I destroy this?”

“Why?”

“Whatever Hanley's searching for, it's something he believes could ruin him. Perhaps papers are hidden in the binding. I need to break page from page to make sure.”

“Yes! Yes, of course!”

He took a knife and slit the cover, then broke the back and cut stitches. Pages drifted into heaps of disconnected scenes. Words tumbled haphazardly into incoherence. The other two volumes received the same treatment.

“Nothing but dry paste and broken words.” He tossed down the last cover. “If the authors could see this, they'd never forgive me.”

They searched through everything again. Eventually Ryder sliced into the bag, separating the cover from the lining.

“Nothing!” Miracle bit back despair as she sorted through the items once more. “It's just meaningless detritus. This bracelet should have some value—I'm lucky that the Irishman missed it—but nothing else here could possibly be of importance to Lord Hanley.”

Ryder leaned back, his eyes thoughtful, as he nodded his assent.

“So this has been a wild-goose chase, after all. When the earl finds out that I don't have his treasure—whatever it is—he'll bring murder charges.”

“No, he won't.”

“Yes, he will. Your mad quest has come to an end, Ryder. I should have gone straight to Liverpool.”

“Hanley's men will be watching for you at the ports.”

“That's just a chance I'll have to take.” She tossed the bracelet. Light sparked in the little diamonds. “This is worth enough to pay my passage into a new life, I should think. Unless I was rewarded for my labors with paste?”

“How dare you!” Ryder seized her wrist, cold and determined, though he did not raise his voice. “How dare you throw your past into my face!”

“Because that's exactly who I am, my lord. All the fairy tales in the world won't bring about a happy ending now.”

Knuckles rapped at the door. Ryder opened his fingers and released her, brows contracted as he faced the interruption. “Come!”

The groom from Wrendale stepped inside and touched his forelock.

“Yes?” Ryder said. “Out with it, York!”

“Mr. George Melman has left safely, my lord, but another gentleman is asking for Your Lordship in the taproom. Lord Braughton is with him.”

Miracle glanced at Ryder's face. “Braughton?”

“The local magistrate. Pray, continue, York.”

“The first gentleman described Your Lordship and the lady very minutely to the innkeeper. A burly fellow that I'd guess is from Bow Street is waiting in the yard. Other men are watching the rear exits. The innkeeper said nothing, but plenty of other travelers saw us arrive.”

Miracle pressed one hand to her mouth. Icy fingers trailed dread down her spine. “It's Lord Hanley! I must escape, while I still can—”

Ryder smiled, though his smile spoke of headaches and thunder. “You can't escape.”

“He'll denounce me, and he's brought the law with him this time.”

“Remain here,” Ryder said. “York will stay with you. I'll take care of Hanley.”

She dropped her head into both hands, fighting the shakes that had seized her limbs. “You mustn't kill for me, Ryder.”

“That's my choice, not yours.” His fingers briefly touched her shoulder. “But for all his crimes, I don't know yet that the earl deserves to die without trial.”

“You still have faith in the courts? Of course, duke's families make the laws, while common folk get hanged. It was easier to be brave when the threat seemed more remote, but I'm genuinely terrified now.”

“You don't need to be afraid,” he said. “No one's going to die over this. Not even Hanley. And certainly not you.”

Miracle stared at the miscellany still scattered on the table: the broken books, the pretty combs, a silk fan with a painted scene of Venus and Adonis. She had struggled so hard for security, sacrificed so much, and she had nothing left to show for it but frippery.

“I saw some thieves face the scaffold once,” she said. “Two men had been condemned together, and my carriage was swept along in the crowd. I don't remember any gallantry or fine speeches, but I do remember how one man shouted and struggled—and then the terrible gurgling silence—before the mob began to roar.”

“I'll be back for you.” He looked back from the door with a bittersweet smile. “You don't need to be brave. It's all going to be fine. Just wait here with York, then be ready for another long, hard journey.”

With the thunderclouds still massed in his eyes, Lord Ryderbourne swept from the room.

 

 

IT had happened sooner than he had hoped, but it was inevitable that Hanley would catch up with them. Ryder strode out into the taproom with his heart on fire. The earl and Lord Braughton were talking intently to some other travelers. No doubt, as York had reported, the inn was surrounded by Hanley's men. There was no escape for Miracle, but one.