No Marriage of Convenience (25 page)

It must have been the right thing to do, for he sucked in his breath and stilled. When she stopped, he told her in a ragged voice, “No, please keep doing that.”

Grinning, she willingly complied.

Not to be left behind, Mason’s lips had found one of the rigid peaks of her breasts again and was even then suckling it, teasing it to life. The sensations left her writhing, her legs pressing together at the odd tightness and longing starting to build at the apex.

His fingers began stroking her there, kindling a new need. Her hips rocked back and forth under his touch, answering with a natural response.

Slowly his finger dipped further between her thighs, sliding over a spot so sensitive she gasped in surprise.

He pulled his hand away and gently brushed her tangled hair out of her face, soothing her.

“When you told me you’d never had a lover,” Mason said softly, “you meant you’d never done this, didn’t you?”

“That is usually what it means when a woman has never had a lover,” she snapped back.

“There’s that artistic temperament again.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I don’t care if you have or haven’t, but since you haven’t, I want you to know this may hurt.”

“I fully expect it will.”

He glanced down at her in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve lived in close quarters all my life, I’ve heard people making love before. From all the moaning and screaming, I just assumed it wasn’t the most pleasant experience—but you are starting to convince me I might
have been wrong on that count.” She smiled shyly. “Convince me some more.”

He did, most eagerly, kissing her and touching her again until she was reduced to a panting frenzy.

“Oh, Mason,” she gasped, her body afire, her fears far flung. “It is so wonderful.”

“It gets even better.”

Riley didn’t know how that could be possible as he covered her body with his, and gently entered her.

At first it was uncomfortable, but Mason took his time, slowly working himself in with gentle strokes, until he came to the barrier that proclaimed her innocence.

Gently, he pressed forward.

She took in a deep breath as the pain subsided and was replaced by his kisses, murmurs of gentle words in her ear.

He continued to move within her and, unbidden, her hips started to match his movements.

Riley knew she was building to something, but what she didn’t know until her world grew so fervent, so needy, so intense, it suddenly burst open into an explosion of passion.

She would have let out a triumphant cry if Mason hadn’t been kissing her. His own release came fast on the heels of hers, spilling forth and leaving him spent and lost in her arms.

For a time they lay together, quiet in the wonder of what had just happened.

Finally, Riley, his goddess of love, leaned up on one elbow and said to him, “Now I know what all the screaming is about.”

R
iley awoke disoriented. The sun streamed in through a crack in the curtains, throwing a telltale shaft of light across the room. She didn’t remember when Mason had left, only the delicious memories of the night before.

That is, until she saw the note on the pillow beside her face.

Welcome to your last morning.

The rough letters were only too familiar.

Riley opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped down over her lips, preventing her from calling out.

“That wouldn’t be very smart,” a voice said. “Then your lover would come in here and I’d have to kill him. And I haven’t been paid that much. Not yet, that is.”

Riley knew that voice—had heard it too many times to count. She twisted around and found Daniel, one of the actors from the company, grinning at her.

Riley watched in horror as Daniel’s once friendly expression faded away—his eyes narrowing to a feral gleam,
his lips curling back into a mocking sneer—and he began to laugh.

In a flash, he stuffed a rag in her mouth and tied another cloth over it so she couldn’t cry out. Then he caught her arms and bound them behind her back. His fingers bit into her skin, until the pain burned across her flesh like white-hot irons.

The man’s grip tightened, and then he yarded her into his arms.

She struggled and fought, but the man suddenly seemed as wiry as a terrier and twice as fast. His hand caught her throat and began to cut off her air.

“Who are you?” she struggled to sputter from beneath her gag, staring into the deadliest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

“Not the poor country actor you so stupidly hired,” he mocked. “From here on out, I am Mr. Nutley to you.”

A solid pounding on his door woke Mason from a restless sleep.

“What?” he called out, reaching for his dressing gown and glancing at the clock.

Quarter past noon.

Eh, gads, he’d slept away the morning.

That’s what happens when you choose not to sleep at night
, he could well imagine Freddie saying.

“Uncle,” came Bea’s anxious plea. “Uncle, I think something is wrong.”

He yanked open his door. “I’ve already spoken to Riley about last night, Beatrice. We will discuss it later.” He started to close the door, but Bea shoved her foot into the jamb.

“Uncle, it’s Riley I want to talk to you about. Her door
is locked, and when I put my ear to it and listened, I heard—”

Mason shook his head. “Bea, don’t you think you are a little bit old to be eavesdropping?”

“Not when it has a purpose,” she told him, taking advantage of the slight opening and catching him by the arm. She tugged him into the hallway. “Uncle, Riley’s in trouble. I heard a man in her room.”

Hot anger and fear tore at his gut, numbing any bit of reason. It didn’t take but a second for the shock to register that Riley’s stalker had finally gotten to her side.

Mason yanked himself free from Bea’s grip and tore down the hallway and to the stairs.

Damnation! Why had he left her? He’d only done it out of some foolish, leftover sense of propriety.

Well, never again.

He tried her door once, but as Bea had said, it was locked. He took a large step back and kicked it open, shattering the frame and sending it flying open to reveal the horrific scene within.

To his amazement, Daniel, an actor from the Queen’s Gate, stood next to the bed, his thick hands twisted around Riley’s neck, her face bluish, and her mouth covered with a gag.

“Take one step, Ashlin,” Daniel warned him, “and I’ll snap her neck. Finish her off before your eyes.” He twisted his hands tighter, as if to show his deadly intent.

“And then I’ll kill you,” Mason told him.

Daniel laughed, easing his way toward the open window, dragging Riley along with him. “I don’t think so,” he said, turning his body to reveal the pistol tucked in his waistband. “I hadn’t thought I’d get you both, but this looks to be my lucky day. I’ll kill you and your bitch.
Quite a scandal. You murdered your little whore and then took your own life.”

“Why?” Mason asked.

“I’ve got my reasons,” he bragged.

Riley’s breath rattled, her desperation evident as she clawed at the fingers wound around her throat.

Mason took another step forward, trying to gauge how best to distract the villain.

His help came from an unlikely source. Bea caught up with him just then, and before Mason could stop her, hurled his dagger into the fray, the blade burying itself into the fiend’s thigh.

Daniel yelped in pain, releasing Riley as he clutched at the hilt buried in his leg.

Mason could only wonder what his niece was doing with his dagger and where she’d learned to throw it, but her quick thinking gave him the chance he needed.

He plunged forward, pushing Riley away and crashing into Daniel.

The force and power of Mason’s attack sent the two men flying into the window. Glass and wood shattered around them, leaving a gaping hole. They continued to struggle, pummeling at each other. Daniel was a dirty fighter, but Mason had left his honor and rules of conduct at the door. He fought like the devil himself, landing one crushing blow into the man’s jaw after another, sending him reeling. For a horrible second, Daniel teetered at the edge of the window, his arms flailing about, his eyes wild with fear until he toppled backwards through the opening, crashing to his death on the cobbles two stories below.

Mason slumped to the floor, battered and bleeding.

Bea had managed to free Riley, who now flew to his side. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said. His hands smoothed her hair and her tear-soaked cheeks. “Are you?”

She nodded.

He pulled her into his arms and held her, the two of them rocking in shocked silence.

Just then Hashim came rushing in, a guttural warrior’s cry coming out of his mouth, his sword drawn. When he looked about, obviously confused, Mason said to him, “It is over,” and nodded toward the window where Bea now stood gazing down at the grisly scene.

Bea turned to him. “Uncle?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a crowd gathering,” she said.

He rose to his feet, pulling Riley along with him, holding her close. They went to the window and stared down at the sight below. “We’d better move the body inside before half of Fleet Street is up here casting about their lurid speculations on the matter.” He turned to Hashim. “Can you see to it?”

The Saracen nodded.

After he had left, Riley buried herself in Mason’s arms again. “I didn’t know. I thought Daniel was just an actor who needed a job. Who would have thought he was capable of such hatred?”

Mason was equally stunned. He’d been unable to find out anything about the man in his investigations, and had finally given up on him as a suspect since he seemed a rather regular sort. “Did he say anything to you? Anything at all that would give you an idea why he would have done this?”

“No, nothing that would explain it,” she said. “He changed before my very eyes—as if he were another person and had been playing Daniel all along.”

Mason paused. “And he didn’t say anything that might give us a clue?”

Riley closed her eyes. “Nutley,” she whispered. She looked up. “He wanted me to call him Mr. Nutley.”

Mason nodded and filed the name away. For now he needed to find a plausible explanation as to why an actor from the Queen’s Gate Theatre had fallen out his window. And then he’d have to see about having the body taken away and buried. “I’ll be needed down there,” he told her. “Will you be all right?”

She nodded.

Bea moved forward. “I’ll stay with her, Uncle.”

“Good girl, Bea,” he said, ruffling her hair. “By the way, who taught you how to throw a knife?”

Bea blushed. “Viscount Delander. The summer you two came to Sanborn Abbey from school.”

Mason shook his head. “Del! Ever the corrupting influence. Remind me to thank him one day.”

“Mason,” Riley called out. “It is over, isn’t it? I mean, with Daniel…” She glanced again at the broken window and shuddered. “Now that he’s gone, I’m safe—aren’t I?”

He smiled at her. “It would seem so. He can’t threaten you ever again.”

A tear fell down her cheek, and then another.

Mason went to her side, and pulled her close to him again. “There, there. You’re safe. You’ll not be bothered by any of this again.”

“You saved my life. Twice. I’ll never forget you.” While her appreciation was heartfelt, her gaze spoke even more volumes.

It said the words of love that he dared not say out loud. Not yet. Not until he had the means to make an offer for her.

So when he didn’t reply, she turned out of his arms. “You’d best go see to Daniel.”

Mason heard the catch in her voice.

The catch in his own heart. But his pride got the better of him. He’d failed her again—as he would if he offered her marriage and condemned her to a life of poverty. Riley deserved so much more.

“Thank you, Mason,” he heard her say as he left the room. “Thank you for everything.”

He just wished it were true. That he could give her everything.

“Riley, Riley,” Cousin Felicity called out. “Come quickly. Oh, dear girl, where are you? Where are you?”

Riley poked her head out the door of her room, where she and Nanette had been packing her belongings. Now that the threat to her life was gone, Riley saw no reason to remain at Ashlin House. Mrs. Pindar’s solicitor had arrived not long after Daniel’s body had been taken away and made the lady’s intentions clear—Mason was to offer for Dahlia immediately, or she would see him in debtor’s prison. It seemed Mrs. Pindar did indeed hold the upper hand.

Or at least, that was what Maggie had reported overhearing, and though Riley had made a good show of scolding the girl for eavesdropping, she did so with a heavy heart.

Without the gold to redeem his debts, Riley knew Mason had little choice to save his family. By nightfall, he’d be betrothed to Miss Pindar.

“Oh, Riley, where are you?” Cousin Felicity repeated.

“I am here. Whatever is wrong?”

“Wrong? Why nothing,” the lady told her, the lace in her cap awhirl with motion. “You’ll never believe who has sent a carriage over!”

Riley sighed. She could see Aggie’s wretched influence in the dear lady—she was growing more dramatic with each passing day. “Do tell,” she prompted, knowing full well Cousin Felicity wouldn’t rest until she had the entire tale out.

Cousin Felicity leaned forward and whispered, “The Countess of Marlowe.” She said the name as if it were an event too unbelievable to fathom.

“Lady Marlowe?” Riley recalled the name. “Oh, yes. I met her last night at the ball.” She turned around and went back to her packing.

Trailing after Riley, Cousin Felicity followed all in a flutter. “You met
Lady Marlowe
?”

“Why, yes. Is that so odd?” Riley folded a chemise and added it to the trunk.

Cousin Felicity shook her head. “My dear girl, Lady Marlowe does not go out. You couldn’t have met her last night.”

“I suppose she made an exception for His Grace. We talked for nearly an hour.”

“Well, I suppose that explains everything,” Cousin Felicity announced.

Riley was almost afraid to ask. “Explains what?”

“Why Lady Marlowe has sent her carriage for you. You are to attend her immediately.”

Riley shook her head. “I can’t possibly go now. I have to finish packing and then we have rehearsals all afternoon down at the theatre.” She picked up another chemise and began folding. “Be a dear, and send the lady my regrets.”

Cousin Felicity stared at Riley as if she had just asked her to shop somewhere other than on Oxford Street.

“Is there something else?” Riley asked.

“You can’t refuse the Countess. It isn’t done.”

“I know it was nice of Lady Marlowe to send over her carriage, but I can’t just drop everything to go visit some lonely old lady because she wills it.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” Cousin Felicity said, taking the folded chemise out of Riley’s hand and setting it aside. “You will change your gown and march right downstairs and get into that carriage. If not for yourself, then for the girls.”

Riley had never heard such a tone in Cousin Felicity’s voice. “You make this sound like a royal edict. I hardly think turning down one—”

Cousin Felicity’s hands went to her hips. “Lady Marlowe may not go out, but her word is law.”

“You said the same thing about Lady Delander, and look at her now.”

The lady was not to be persuaded. She lowered her voice and whispered, “Even Lady Delander fears her wrath. ’Tis rumored she had her own daughter committed because the girl was on the verge of ruining the family. You can’t refuse.”

Riley sighed. Since Lady Marlowe knew she wasn’t a St. Clair, she could possibly start rumors to that effect. How the
ton
would view her questionable situation at the Ashlin residence, Riley could well imagine. And guessed it would place enough taint on the girls to ruin their chances of an advantageous match, as well as Mason’s with Miss Pindar.

“Perhaps I should go,” she acquiesced.

Cousin Felicity brightened immediately. “Of course you should.” As Cousin Felicity continued nattering on about how one should dress for a summons from the Countess, Riley reasoned that she could do this one last thing for the girls and Mason before she returned to her old life and spent the rest of her days trying to forget them.

The Marlowe residence surprised Riley with its splendor. She had thought the Ashlin house quite grand, but obviously there was a vast difference in stations even amongst the
ton
. It was a thought that had never occurred to her—she had always thought the high society of London all existed in the same sphere, but obviously this was not so.

Everywhere she looked there was gilt. Gilt frames, gilt curlicues and plasters on the walls, gilt sconces. All of this was set off by brocade wall hangings and rich velvet curtains. The house was, it seemed, as ostentatious as its occupant.

Riley was led up the stairs, down a long gallery of grim paintings and large Chinese vases, and finally into a bright room which overlooked a small garden. The Countess, regal in her black gown, sat at a round table, a chessboard before her.