Three Times the Scandal (26 page)

Lucy had been the bane of his life since their wedding night. Time and again he’d wished he could relive that day and muster the strength to make the fateful proclamation of
no
at the appropriate point. He’d certainly thought it the first time around, but like a fool, he’d hoped, prayed that something good would come of it.

Six—or was it seven—years of purgatory later, they had no issue. He forced himself into her bed once a month and he detested the sight of her. Actually, once a month was a lie. It may have begun that way, but once she’d taken up with Neddy, he hadn’t really seen the point. He could live with his brother’s child taking the title, and who would ever know save the three of them.

Lucy and Morton were in the bedroom. Not in the bed, but standing at the foot of it. Morton had stripped off his coat and his dun-collared breeches were undone revealing a sliver of white shirt and the hard column of his cock. If that wasn’t proof enough of her current adultery, then her nakedness surely was.

Clad only in stockings and shoes, Lucy was bent over the footboard, her wrists bound to the bedposts with silken cords. Interestingly, it was a similar pose to that which Fortuna had recently tormented him with, and one he favoured. Rear entry allowed for deeper penetration and there were always the delights of that other winking hole to indulge too.

Fortuna’s expression loomed large in his mind. The image of her small breasts bouncing before him as Giles thrust into her from behind and Neddy tongued her clit gave him a raging stiff, forcing him to uncomfortably adjust himself. What a difference her short stay with Giles had made. She’d been a simpering hotpot that first night; now she was a raging inferno.

The sharp slap of Morton’s hand against Lucy’s plump behind pulled him back to the present. His wife gave a squeak of alarm and softly whimpered, but he noticed that she lifted her reddened arse higher, offering herself up for further punishment. Dark pink imprints marred her flesh, and her cunny lay slack and fragrant, moist with arousal that Morton wetted his fingers in, before poking his thumb up her arse and then delivering another smack in response to her grunt of protest.

Morton’s own breaths were sharp between his whispered eulogies of praise. He wiggled the fleshy cheeks of her bottom, clasped handfuls of her reddened flesh in his palms and squashed them together. He landed another smack, and this time rubbed his erect cock over the undoubtedly stinging flesh, leaving behind a silvery trail.

Darleston slid into the room, his presence unnoticed until his hand locked around Morton’s wrist. The man had been poised ready to enter her. He gasped, and his free hand pumped uneasily, before settling protectively over his cock. Meanwhile, Lucy jerked to attention to the extent that her bindings allowed. She turned pleading eyes upon her lover. “Release me, Andrew.”

Darleston gave her a cold glare, but received nothing but defiance in return. He still hadn’t said a word, which he realized was making Morton at least, uncomfortable.

“
You don’t satisfy me,” Lucy barked, still jerking against the restraining curtain cords. “Why shouldn’t I look elsewhere? You haven’t even been home for days. You’ve been out fucking that trollop, Fortuna Allenthorpe instead.”

Morton spluttered an oath at her language, which saved him the bother of it. For a lady, she was damned uncivilized. He wished he’d known that before he married her too. It probably would have swung his father’s mind on her suitability.

“
Stop it,” he hissed, tempted to slap her across the face. “Stop it because you’re not just going to ruin her with your slander, but the whole family. As if I’d be so indiscreet as to entertain myself with an unwed girl.”

Perhaps because his focus had been on the preservation of the Allenthorpe’s good name and not on her indiscretion, Lucy seemed momentarily surprised, but then her face lit with a purely evil smile. “Why should I care a whit about the reputation of that family of simpering golden-haired prudes? And don’t deny your involvement with the elder. I’m sure she’s well broken in by now. I doubt Sir Hector will find her quite so worthy of his affections once he learns she’s already had three cocks stuffed up her puss.”

“
Curb your tongue.”

Morton looked between them in alarm, but to his credit he didn’t struggle or make a sound. Darleston released the man’s wrist. He didn’t think he was going to cause any trouble.

“
You’ll understand that I’m offended by your presence, sir,” he said making a point of formality. “I thought I made clear my thoughts on Lady Darleston’s punishment when I removed her from your home.”

“
But you sent her to me,” Morton blurted. He hastily did up his breeches, his recently rampant cock now shrivelled and flaccid.

“
I what?”

Lucy began to cackle. “You went off to your indulge your vices, husband dear, and I saw no reason to continue home to an empty bed. Andrew was very thorough in his punishment; you’d have no cause for complaint. I feel I can honestly admit to having been ravished by the end of it. In fact, I was so thoroughly fucked I was obliged to spend the night there. Of course, you didn’t actually notice, because you haven’t been home for more than a few minutes these last few days.”

“
You went back,” he growled. His switched his attention to Morton. “You believed I’d sent her!”

“
Tis almost common knowledge that you’re... shall we put it, free with her favours. Of course I’ll see that you are adequately recompensed,” said Morton

“
I’m not bloody free with her.” Darleston stopped himself as the implication of Morton’s words sank in. “I do not pimp out my wife,” he added more firmly.

“
No, no, of course not.” Morton edged backwards towards the door, looking as if at any moment he’d bolt.

“
Don’t you dare leave me here with him.” Lucy yanked hard at the cords binding her to the bedposts and managed to slip one wrist from the loops. She immediately started working on the knot holding the other.

“
I rather think that I probably ought to go,” said Morton.

“
No,” Lucy screamed at him.

It occurred to Darleston, on seeing the fear in Morton’s eyes, that owing to the rather bad company he sometimes kept, that he’d actually acquired a reputation for similarly hot-headed recklessness. Dear God, the man was genuinely afraid for his life, which was ridiculous. He had no intention of calling him out. Lucy simply wasn’t worth it.

“
There is one matter before you go,” he said, and enjoyed watching Morton squirm. Hell, he deserved that much. The damn fool had still cuckolded him.

“
Of course.” Morton ruddy cheeks whitened. He gulped, then gave a grim nod.

“
In the sitting room.” He ushered Morton into the outer room and closed the door on Lucy. She howled in frustration, but frankly, he didn’t care. Having lit several candles he settled himself before the fire and waved Morton into a chair. The man looked terrified. Beads of sweat bathed his brow, and he just couldn’t seem to keep his fingers still.

“
I wanted to talk to you about Giles Dovecote,” Darleston announced.

“
Giles!” Morton sallow face crumpled into wizened confusion.

“
Yes. This obsession of your sister’s has to stop. It’s upsetting him, and by virtue of that fact upsetting me. I won’t tolerate being used as a go-between anymore. It’s tiresome and has to end.”

Morton’s upper lip quivered, but his expression spoke of agreement. “I’ve tried, really I have, but she won’t see reason. If Giles would simply break things off properly with her. I know that nothing was ever actually agreed upon between them, but Clemencè seems to see things differently. She was quite besotted with him a year gone, and won’t see that Emily’s death has changed things, that Giles is no longer the same man.”

“
Frankly I doubt he’d have married her even back then, but you are right, Emily’s death has changed things. He needs time to move on without your family bustling about as a constant reminder.” Darleston drummed his fingers against his leg. “I’m going to advise him to remove to the country. I’ll leave the handling of your sister to you. I’m sure you are capable of it.” He flicked his gaze towards the boudoir door.

Morton caught the glance and nodded. “It won’t be easy, but perhaps we’ll retreat awhile too.” He stood, and bowed stiffly. “I’m deeply sorry about our misunderstanding, milord.”

Darleston scowled, and showed him the door. He felt badly about what pain he might be inflicting on Clemencè, but he was past doing things the hard way. He wanted the Mortons dealt with, before the backlash of Giles’s involvement with Fortuna started.

Emily Dovecote had been demure, and saintly, not the sort to refuse her husband his conjugal rights or complain of mistreatment. He didn’t doubt that Morton had played rough with her, and he had a horrid gut-deep suspicion that her death in premature childbirth had entirely been that, but he wasn’t about to press Giles for those details. His friend would tell him in his own time.

Once he’d seen Morton away down the corridor, Darleston put his back to the door ready to face the next dilemma: Lucy. He helped himself to a swift swig of brandy before crossing to the door, which he opened cautiously, expecting to be hit by a barrage of shrieks and or blows.

All remained quiet.

“
Lucy?”

There were clothes tossed across the floor and the bed, but no sign of his wife. Pulse thrumming in his temples, Darleston hurried to the window and flung the shutters back. The sash window was fully raised and the night wind howled through the opening. For a moment the knowledge that she’d fled numbed him. Below the window, trellising and years of ivy growth hugged the stonework leading down onto the balcony from which Giles and Fortuna had escaped on the night of the ball. “Shit!” he swore. He’d lay money on the fact that the blasted woman would go straight to Macleane.

Darleston charged back through the house, stopping only long enough to grab his coat while they readied his carriage. He had to warn Giles. They had to remove Fortuna from the house right now.

* * * * *

Giles left his carriage on the far side of Red Lion Square in the hands of John, his coachman whilst he and Neddy walked the short distance to the offices of Knapsley & Cox in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. During daylight with the winter sun upon the old building and the white covering over the cobblestones, the small courtyard on which the solicitors’ firm was located had seemed respectable, desirable even. By night under a barely existent moon, it was a place of long shadows and dirty slush.

Careful to stick to the shadows, Giles and Neddy made their way to the office door. “You keep watch,” Giles said, his voice muffled by the scarf that also concealed his features. He had his hat pulled down low over his eyes and had thrown one of Leach’s cast-off gardening coats over the top of his all black attire. Neddy was similarly swaddled, his auburn hair tucked away under his hat.

His friend melted into the shadows by the corner as Giles applied himself to the lock using a hairpin, one of Fortuna’s, and a slender file. There were definitely things to be said for his lifestyle. No lock had ever thwarted any of his nocturnal assignations, and this particular excursion had involved a deal less diplomacy than the path to most of the boudoirs he’d frequented.

The lock sprang with relative ease.

“
We’re in, Ned.”

Within, the overpowering smell of beeswax made him sneeze. The beech wood surfaces were all sticky with it and dulled to a dreary mid-brown. Giles lit the lantern he’d brought with him from the carriage and shone a faint glimmering light over the office floor. The foyer had a high counter, beyond which lay three clerks desks and numerous rows of filing cabinets and shelves stocked with red and black bound ledgers. Beyond those, a half-glass door led into an inner office.

“
In there I’ll bet,” Neddy said, pointing towards the inner sanctum.

Knapsley and Cox’s office was even more fiercely polished. It reminded Giles of his grandfather’s study, the furnishings respectably aged and luxuriously practical, if a little worn.

Neddy took the right hand desk, Giles the left.

Giles started at the top and began working his way down. It was a tedious task, sifting through the detritus of legal files, entailments and business accounts. He found one last will and testament belonging to a Mr. Archibald Clewes, apparently in the process of being drawn up, and still awaiting signatures. There was no sign of anything pertaining to Pimcock or Allenthorpe.

He reached the final desk drawer with a sigh. They didn’t have time to rake through every document in the building. He scanned the shelves of ledgers, but there was nothing to distinguish them, not even an alphabetical index.
Think, Giles
, he urged himself. Where would they store a will? He had to see it, had to know if their assumptions were correct, and more importantly if there were any way to pacify Macleane without giving him Fortuna.

“
I have it.” Neddy’s loud whisper batted him back to reality. “I’ve found it.”

“
The will, where?”

“
Not exactly.” Neddy’s narrow face appeared over the edge of the desktop. His grey eyes were shining. He placed a soft navy-blue pouch on the surface and slowly drew the contents from the sack. Giles gasped. The Star of Fortune shimmered dark purple in the dim light, then with a blood red lustre as the lamplight hit it’s multifaceted surfaces. At least a hundred stones dangled from the golden setting, and the cabochon at the centre. Dear God! Gibbons hadn’t exaggerated.