Twice Fallen (34 page)

“The blackmail was to get them to cooperate.”

“And service her?” Damien provided ironically. “Correct. If one thinks about it, there is a certain beautiful logic to the plan. Since her husband was less than enthusiastic in the first place, she looked for gentlemen who resembled him as a substitute. Many of us have some small vices; who knows how many Kinkannon approached unsuccessfully before he found the few who were willing to trade paying the blackmail fee for a few nights in bed with a woman who only wanted from them their virility. Naturally, she didn’t want the secret to ever get out, so she killed the ones who agreed afterward.”

“That’s… fantastical.”

“It happens in nature all the time, actually. Females often devour their mates once their usefulness is done.”

“I suppose that’s true, but I hadn’t ever imagined the application to human beings.”

Damien hadn’t either, but the evidence was irrefutable. “The truth often is. I imagine only part of it was a desire for their silence. Maybe more of it was that as she didn’t conceive time after time, she sought revenge for her disappointment.”

“What an odd resolution to our sticky problem.” Charles clamped his pipe in his teeth, the breeze off the river cool. “I admit I expected some sort of plot to destroy the sons of prominent British families, not a murderous viscountess who was so desperate to get with child she coerced them into her bed.”

“I overcomplicated it myself,” Damien admitted, thinking with a shudder of how close Lily had come to death. It wasn’t dramatic to think so, as the demented Lady Sebring had killed before.

“Indeed.” Charles seemed to remember his pipe wasn’t lit and groped in his pocket. “And our missing young man, the prime minister’s valet?”

“She knew him through her father in that they were often guests at Lord Liverpool’s home. I don’t suppose we will ever know what the young man did to allow her to gain enough leverage to begin this deadly game, but I think it is safe to say he was the first victim. His physical description matches Arthur Kerr’s very closely.”

“Not much was safe about this case.”

“No.”

There were gulls, white specks in the distance, bobbing
in the current. Charles regarded them with his usual heavy-lidded stare. “So?”

“So?” Damien didn’t dissemble. He even smiled. “
So,
it is over, Charles. I solved your infernal little mystery, your nephew is still abysmally poor but alive, and I am a married man. Lily and I had a private ceremony last week at the Bourne estate in Essex and—”

“And I’m sure you will soon be raising a throng of small Northfield progeny.” Charles rubbed his chin, having still not lit his pipe. “Congratulations.”

A flock of swallows wheeled overhead, vibrant and alive against the deep hue of the fall sky. “I don’t trust that tone,” Damien pointed out caustically. “Forgive my cynicism.”

“Actually,” Charles said with an enigmatic smile, “I applaud your wary outlook on life. To give you fair warning, I might put it to good use in the future.”

“And there is every chance I’ll say no.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

Two hours later, he quietly let himself into the town house that was now not just an escape from the busy, overwhelming Northfield mansion in Mayfair, but a bit more like a home.

Perhaps it was that subtle hint of violet perfume in the air. This was no longer sterile bachelor quarters. He’d understood that two mornings ago when he walked down the hallway and found that someone had placed a vase of fall flowers on one of the tables.

It did not take any special insight or skills to deduct where his wife might be. Damien quietly walked the length of the hallway and turned, going to the second door on the left. Situated at the back of the house, the
library opened to the small back garden, but the day was cool and he doubted the windows would be open.

Tricky things, library windows. They could appear to be stuck when actually they might open quite easily. Eventually, he would tell her the truth. That the secret passage wasn’t actually their only option that particular evening, but for now…

Even at the time he hadn’t been sure why he had deceived her. Maybe to gain more time with the most intriguing woman he had ever met? Whatever his motivation, in his opinion, considering how it had all turned out, it had been a stroke of brilliance.

But no more deceptions.

Lily
was
there, reclined against the arm of the settee, her slippered feet propped up, her rich hair caught up carelessly in a loose chignon he longed to take down at once. Absorbed in her book, she didn’t notice him at first.

That was fine. It would give him exactly what he wanted.

Then it came. The lift of her lush lashes, the recognition of his presence, and then, best of all, the welcoming warmth of her beautiful smile…

“You’re back,” she said breathlessly.

“I must be, or else I am having a very satisfying dream.” Damien sat down next to her, running his fingers lightly along the modest neckline of her gown.

“How was Sir Charles?”

“Cryptic.” He bent to kiss her, their lips clinging, her muffled laugh turning into a sigh.

And the sigh to a moan.

“It’s still light out,” she offered as a halfhearted protest
when he deftly lifted her skirts and unfastened a garter to peel off a stocking.

“Uhm.” He licked her bared inner thigh. It was satin smooth and tasted like heaven.

“Damien, we are in the
library
.”

“It is your favorite place in the house, if I recall.”

“It is, but…”

He plucked the book from her hands, arrested even as he went to set it aside. “What the devil is this?”

“Just a book.” She tried to take it back, but he held it up out of her reach and read the gilded lettering on the front in the reflected glow of the lamp.

Lady Rothburg’s Advice
.

He couldn’t help the laugh that rang out. “I don’t even have to guess where you got this. It is somewhat of a Northfield family heirloom. Tell me, my love, have you found it enlightening?”

“I’m not quite done with it,” Lily shot back, beautiful with a vivid blush on her cheeks. “Someone in your family sent it to me?”

“I’ll tell you the story someday.” He carefully deposited the book on a low table. “But for now… I love you, you are delectably close, and I couldn’t possibly wait long enough for us to go upstairs. Was I really gone most of the afternoon? Remind me to never leave you for so long again.”

“I love you too.” Lily’s eyes were luminous.

“I think it happened when I saw you the first time, just in this exact position. Who knew a library could be such a catalyst for romantic encounters?” His hand moved suggestively upward, gratified to find that despite her protest about the time and location, her body was receptive to the suggestion of immediacy.

Lily caught his wrist just as his fingers found paradise. “As much as I enjoy the library, really, Damien…”

“I will make you like it twice as much,” he said in a wicked promise he had every intention of keeping as he eased the sleeve of her gown off one pale, perfect shoulder.

And he was true to his word.

T

Lady Elena Morrow’s eyes fluttered open and she suppressed a small moan. Her head ached, her mouth was dry, and she came to the startling conclusion that she had absolutely no idea where she was.

Stone walls rose all around her and the faint colored illumination came from several stained-glass windows set in arched niches high above where she lay on what appeared to be a bed, though she was on top of the coverlet not under it, and she shivered slightly because she was clad only in her lacy chemise.

In a surge of panic, she sat up, which proved to be a mistake, because the room spun and nausea caused her eyes to close again as she struggled to remember just how she might have gotten in this strange room. Bracing herself on the softness of the mattress with one hand, she pushed the fall of loose hair away from her face and took a deep breath.

Think. . . .

Her last memory was of the theater. The performance,
the music, the glittering crowd . . . She’d worn a new gown of rose silk. . . . Slowly she opened her eyes to survey her unfamiliar surroundings.

It was at that moment that she realized she wasn’t alone.

How she hadn’t noticed before was bewildering, but she was hardly clearheaded, and as she glanced over, she wondered for a moment if she were hallucinating.

The man sprawled carelessly on the bed next to her was half-nude, clad only in a pair of doeskin breeches, and it was so shocking, she blinked, her gaze traveling over the muscled contours of his bare shoulders and the flat plane of his stomach, finally shifting back up to his face. He had glossy dark hair, disheveled against the white linen of the pillow, and in profile, his features were clean and masculine: straight nose, high cheekbones, downy ebony brows, a mouth that was parted just slightly in sleep, his tall body relaxed and taking up a good deal of the bed.

The one they shared.

The situation registered and she scrambled to her knees in scandalized horror, more confused than ever.

A strange place and, worse, an unfamiliar man, and what in the name of heaven was going on?

Or
was
he unfamiliar?

Doing her best to stay calm, Elena tried to think, incredulously recognizing the infamously handsome features of Randolph Raine, Lord Andrews. It wasn’t as if they actually knew each other—he hadn’t even asked to be introduced to her this season, and if he had done so, her mother would have probably fainted dead away—but it was impossible to be part of the beau monde and not have seen him now and then at different events.

At this time, he was the reigning rake of the
ton
, his reputation more wicked than sin itself, his name a byword for seduction and forbidden pleasure.

What is he doing half-naked in the same bed with me
?

The infamous viscount stirred then, as if her horrified gaze had touched his psyche in some way even through his sleep, and he took in a long, sighing breath before moving one arm above his head in a careless arch. Even in repose he looked dangerous, with an almost beautiful cast to his features and all that tousled raven hair. . . .

Yes, that was his nickname, wasn’t it? Not that her mother or aunts would even mention him in front of her, but tidbits had still sifted through to her awareness.
The Raven
. She’d seen it in the society papers. A titillating and amusing nickname, but at the moment, all she could think about was his notoriety.

There was no doubt in her mind that he was about to open his eyes. She hadn’t the slightest notion of what might have prompted her current fantastical circumstances, but Elena was suddenly cognizant that she wore only a thin semitransparent shift, and upon her first swift perusal of the room, there was nothing to use to cover herself. The bed linens might have been an option, had he not been on top of them, but given his height and solidly muscled body, she doubted she could shift him even one inch to utilize them.

What is this place?
she had to wonder with frantic assessment, without even a stray blanket and no other furniture besides the ornate bed, a screen in the corner that she hoped concealed the necessary, and a small table that held a carafe, two glasses, and a lamp.

With a true sense of urgency, she wondered what had
happened to her clothes because the viscount was waking up and . . .

Sure enough his eyes opened, the thick fringe of his lashes lifting. He stared at the stained-glass window for a moment and then with a sweeping glance surveyed the entire room, stopping when he saw her kneeling there next to him. He muttered, “What the devil?”