Simply Scandalous (16 page)

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Authors: Kate Pearce

BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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Richard struggled to keep his voice neutral. “Why would she do that? Blood is generally considered to be thicker than water.”
He realized that Denley was watching him very carefully, a wealth of sympathy in his gaze.
“If I remember correctly, you were deceived by a Violet once—Violet LeNy.”
“That is correct.”
“And is this the same woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is possible that you have been doubly betrayed. Did she seek you out?”
“Lord Keyes introduced the Lennox twins to me and asked for my help.”
“Did he? How interesting.” Lord Denley paused. “You should proceed very carefully, Richard. If she thinks she has regained her place in your affections, she might ask you to help her murder her brother.”
“I still don't understand why she would do that.”
Denley sighed. “Because she and Mr. Brown are lovers and intend to split the proceeds of their misbegotten gains once they have eliminated all suspicion.”
Richard stared at Denley and couldn't speak. Eventually he shook his head. “I can't believe that. Someone has already tried to kill her.”
“I suspect that was staged to deliberately draw attention away from her. If she is the one who is being threatened, who would believe she is the assassin?”
“She isn't that devious.”
“How do you know? She pretended to die right in front of you once before. Why wouldn't she try and deceive you again?”
Richard got to his feet. “I need to think about this.” “Indeed, and I shall try and find out exactly where Keyes is, and anything else that might help you.” Denley held out his hand. “Please be careful. I would hate for harm to befall you.”
Richard made his way down the stairs and back out into the quiet street. There was a hollow feeling in his gut as Lord Denley's damning words continued to reverberate in his head. Was Violet simply using him again? Could she truly kill her own brother?
Richard stopped walking, his breathing labored, and realized he had reached the corner of his own street. Could he go back to his lodgings and not wake Violet up and demand answers? He had a terrible suspicion that if he went to her full of anger and mistrust, she would refuse to tell him anything and run off.
He turned on his heel and started back toward the pleasure house. He'd bed down there for the night, wait until his emotions settled, and for once in his dealings with Violet, use his head rather than his heart to decide what he truly believed her capable of.
 
Emily put the last of the letters down and stared blindly at the wall, her mother's words echoing in her head.
“I have to let him back into my bed, you know why. I cannot avoid him. I cannot abide the thought of letting him win.”
A vague memory surfaced of going into her mother's bedchamber seeking comfort from a nightmare and finding someone who was not her father rising up from the bed. She remembered screaming and her mother hushing her, pressing her face into her breasts, and telling her she had seen nothing, that she was having another nightmare, that she was to forget everything. . . .
Emily brought her hand to her mouth and fought the urge to retch. Was that why seeing Mr. Smith in the present had revolted her so much? Had she instinctively feared him? She contemplated the letters again. If what she suspected was true, it wasn't surprising that Philip was so desperate to retrieve the journal and keep its contents a secret.
And if she was right, there was no reason why she shouldn't behave exactly as she wanted. Perhaps she had more of her mother's blood in her than she realized. Maybe this explained why Philip had always refused her requests to visit the pleasure house. He probably feared she would turn out like her mother. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. She'd always felt as if she didn't quite belong in the colorful Delornay-Ross family and had tried to pretend that she didn't care.
Tonight, she cared. Tomorrow, she would ask Jack Lennox to accompany her to the pleasure house, and this time she would behave exactly as she wished. She was almost certain that her father would approve.
14
“M
r. Lennox, you're . . .”
“Dressed as a woman, yes.” Violet smiled at Ambrose and pirouetted in front of him, making her simple muslin gown cling to her uncorseted figure. “I understand that on Tuesday nights the second floor is dedicated to those who enjoy dressing up as the opposite sex.”
“That is correct, Mr. Lennox, although I'm not quite sure if you qualify.”
Violet winked at him. “As far as London society knows, I am a man, and tonight I wish to dress as a woman. You may call me Miss Violet.” She glanced down at her skirt. “And I intend to enjoy myself. Will you tell Mr. Ross that I am in the smaller of the two salons?”
“If that is what you wish, Miss Violet.”
“Don't tell him I'm dressed as a woman. I want it to be a surprise.”
Privately, Ambrose wondered if Violet would really want to see Richard, who appeared to be in a foul temper since he'd unexpectedly arrived to sleep at the pleasure house the night before. However, it was not Ambrose's business to pry into the lives of the guests, only to ascertain their needs and act on them.
“I'll tell Mr. Ross when I next see him.”
“Thank you, Ambrose.” Violet hesitated. “Have you seen my brother this evening?”
“Not yet, miss. Do you wish me to give him a message as well?”
“I wish him to stay as far away from me as possible. In fact, I'd rather he didn't know I was here.”
“I understand.” Ambrose bowed. “I'll certainly not mention that I've seen you.”
“Thank you, Ambrose.” Violet blew him a kiss and headed for the second floor.
Ambrose watched her climb the stairs and appreciated her newly revealed womanly form. She certainly wasn't a voluptuous woman, a fact that had enabled her to play the man quite well, but she was tall, slender, and deliciously feminine. Ambrose could understand why Richard found her fascinating, although he guessed that her ability to shift character so well would not sit easily with him.
Ambrose turned toward the kitchen, only to find Lady Mary smiling rather anxiously at him. She wore a blue satin dress with lace flounces that exposed rather a lot of her magnificent bosom.
“Ambrose, good evening.”
“Good evening, my lady.”
“Have you forgiven me?”
“For what, my lady?”
She moved closer and lowered her voice. “For telling my mother about you. You might not believe it, but she is very anxious to meet you.”
“I'm not sure if that is a good idea.”
Lady Mary gripped his sleeve. “Will you at least think about it? She can no longer harm you. You can walk out if she says anything offensive.”
He remembered Jethro and Cissy's advice, and bit off his instinctive denial. “I'll think about it.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, thank you, Ambrose.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him right on the mouth. “Thank you.”
Even though she leaned invitingly close, he resisted the urge to draw her into his arms and she stepped back.
“You don't want me, do you? Are you still in love with my mother?”
“Not your mother, no.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You will always feel more like a sister to me than a potential lover. I am sorry if that causes you pain.”
It was ironic that he'd always claimed that Emily felt like part of his family, but it wasn't true at all. He felt completely differently about her and Lady Mary.
“It's all right, Ambrose. You can't pretend to feel something that isn't there.” Lady Mary managed a brave smile. “You will still consider coming and visiting my mother, though, won't you?”
“You were always a persistent child, and I see nothing has changed.” He squeezed her fingers. “I swear to you that I will think about it very carefully and let you know my decision as soon as possible.”
“Then I must be content with that.” She took a deep breath. “And I must go and find my carriage and be off to the ball I'm supposed to be attending.”
“I'll take care of that for you, my lady.” Ambrose bowed, glad to be on familiar ground again. “If you wait in one of the receiving rooms off the entrance hall, I'll send one of the footmen to tell you when your carriage is at the door.”
He left her then to speak to one of the footmen and then descended to the kitchen, deep in thought. To his surprise, Richard was sitting at the table with a bottle of wine in front of him that was almost empty.
“Mr. Ross.”
Richard looked up and nodded. “Ambrose, do you want a glass of this excellent red wine?”
“That would be most welcome, Mr. Ross.” He took the proffered glass and downed the contents in one gulp.
“Do you want more?” Richard inquired. “I can fetch another bottle.”
“I'd better not, or I won't be able to carry out my duties on the second floor.” Ambrose sighed. “It has already been a difficult evening, and I suspect it could get worse.”
Richard clinked his glass against Ambrose's. “I'm teetering on the brink of despair myself. I'm in two minds as to whether I should simply take myself back to bed and drink until I'm oblivious.”
“Before you do that, you might want to hear the message I've been given for you.”
“What message is that?”
“Mr. Vincent Lennox wants you to meet him in the small salon on the second floor.”
“Vincent Lennox?” Richard's scowl was ferocious. “What in the devil is he doing here when he's supposed to be in hiding?”
“I have no idea, Mr. Ross. I just agreed to pass on his message.”
Richard slammed his glass down on the table and shot to his feet. “The little baggage. Excuse me, Ambrose, while I go and find Mr. Lennox and tan his damned backside.”
Ambrose said nothing as Richard stormed out of the kitchen. He could only hope that Violet Lennox was capable of dealing with the storm she had quite deliberately aroused. Reaching across, he drew the wine bottle closer and tipped the remaining wine into his glass.
Richard halted at the entrance to the smaller of the two salons and had time to really observe what was going on around him for the first time. The usual guests appeared to be absent, and in their place were a variety of people in costume. Several of the women possessed rather hairy chins and chests, and some of the men were shorter and definitely more curved.
He'd forgotten that on Tuesday nights, the pleasure house dedicated its second floor to those who liked to dress up and those who liked to fornicate with their own sex.
“Evening, Ross.”
He started as a deep voice reverberated beside him, and turned to find a short man complete with a curled wig, a plumped-up bosom, and a pink silk ball gown observing him.
“Carlisle?” he ventured. “Is that you?”
The man swept him a curtsy. “It is.” Carlisle's blue gaze swept over him. “I haven't seen you here before. I didn't know that you enjoyed these ‘occasions,' but I have heard rumors you have a man sequestered in your lodgings.” He winked. “So perhaps you are finally facing the truth about yourself.”
“I haven't attended one of these evenings before, no,” Richard agreed, his gaze scanning the crowd.
Carlisle leaned closer and Richard inhaled his rather sickly perfume. “Well, if you don't find what you are looking for, I'm available. I'll fuck anything.”
Richard spared Carlisle a grateful smile. “That's very generous of you, but I've already arranged to meet someone here.”
“Oh, well.” Carlisle pursed his lips and snapped open his fan. “Off to pastures new, then. Good evening, Ross.”
Richard bowed in return and stepped into the swirling melee. On the loveseat to his left sat two men, their arms locked around each other, their mouths fused in an endless kiss. Where the devil was Violet? He glanced around once more and then turned slowly back to the fire and to the occupant of the other couch.
A woman with short dark hair and very blue eyes sat there watching him. Her thin muslin gown did nothing to conceal the long length of her legs or the swell of her breasts. Richard stared at Violet as myriad conflicting emotions shuddered through him. Friend or foe? Lover or destroyer? What exactly was she to him, and how could he find out?
He took the seat next to her on the couch and turned to face her.
“You shouldn't be here.”
She shrugged and the sleeve of her dress slid off her bare shoulder and down her arm. “I was bored. No one here knows Violet. I'm quite safe.”
“That's not quite true, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Brown knows who you are, as do his minions.”
She held his gaze. “And you expect that to make me cower inside? I have no idea who Mr. Brown is. I refuse to spend my whole life avoiding what I cannot control.”
“So why did you come here tonight?”
Her cheeks flushed and she bit down on her lip. “Don't you know?”
“I'm not a mind reader. Tell me.” His gaze drifted down to her breasts and her already hard nipples. Despite his suspicions, his cock twitched and began to swell.
“I wanted to seduce you, to make you fuck me as a woman.”
He ran his fingers along the edge of her bodice until he reached her taut nipple and pinched it hard. Her breathing hitched and she briefly closed her eyes. At least he knew her desire for him was true. Despite everything, at least he knew that. Doubt stirred like a serpent in the Garden of Eden.
“Why do you want me?”
“I wish I knew.” Her smile was unsteady. “In truth, it would be a lot easier if I didn't.”
“In truth,” he echoed her words. “And what if I asked for proof of this devotion? If I asked you to give yourself to me in every way I demanded?”
She met his gaze, her blue eyes serious. “Then I would offer myself completely.”
With his other hand, he unbuttoned his trousers and released his aching shaft from the confines of his underclothes.
“Sit on my cock, then.”
“Here?”
“Why not? It is as good a place as any to fuck.”
He waited until she straddled his lap, holding his cock away from his stomach to aid her descent.
“You're wet for me, aren't you?” he murmured. “You always are.”
He groaned as the crown of his cock brushed her sex and instinctively pushed upward. She gasped his name as he thrust inside her. Ah, God, yes, tight and wet and . . .
Her hand settled on his shoulder and he looked down as the head of his cock slowly disappeared inside her.
“Richard,” she whispered, “you're so big. I'm not used to—”
He held still, all too aware of the scant inch of his flesh throbbing inside her. “What are you used to, Vincent? Does your other lover have a smaller cock than mine?”
Her fingernails dug into his shoulder and she glared at him. “That's not what I meant. I'm just not used to having you like this.”
“But this is how I want it, hard and fast, me inside you before you're quite ready, me stretching your cunt and making you work for your pleasure.” He caught her around the hips. “Take it all. Take me hard and deep.”
As she rocked over him, he thrust upward, felt her resistance give way to the tight welcome of her sheath, and kept fucking her hard. She grew wet around him, making him able to go even deeper. He forgot everything as he fucked her, forgot his doubts, his fears, and just concentrated on pleasing himself and her.
He also forgot about the people around them who were watching, and kissed her mouth, bit her lip, her throat, leaving his mark on her as surely as she had left her invisible mark on him. He grabbed her hand and placed it over her clit.

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