She settled in her carriage for the ride home and allowed the possibilities of what would come to play out in her mind. She considered how she might whip him lightly, just shy of the pain he craved, until he begged for it harder. Once she gave him what he needed, she imagined leaving him tied up as she knelt before him and sucked his cock, bringing him to completion. A shiver of pleasure snaked down her spine with her wild imaginings.
Chapter 19
Flint had stewed for two days. He’d simmered and considered, paced and trained, and even had a sparring match with his footman who served in that capacity when needed. It was a miserable span of time, and on the start of day three, he decided the only way to answer his questions was to confront his father.
With that in mind, he dressed and appeared on his father’s doorstep for breakfast. With his mother still abed, it was only the two of them at the table. Once their plates were empty, he decided to begin the discussion. “I had a rather interesting visitor this week.”
“Did you?” His father sounded only mildly aware he had spoken, let alone interested in what he had to say as he picked up his morning paper.
“Indeed. Mr. Frank Lucifer himself paid me a call. He had a distressing tale to share.” Flint watched his father for any flicker of recognition. The man continued to peruse his neatly ironed news while sipping his tea. “In fact, he came by to let me know that we were brothers.”
He let the words fall into the silence of the room and waited. And waited. And waited.
Whether his father was uncaring or simply oblivious, he did not respond. In either case, Flint felt his temper rise at his father’s indifference. “I said, he explained that we were half-brothers,” he bellowed.
“Do stop yelling. I heard you quite clearly.” His father continued reading, then paused and lowered the edge of the paper so he could look over it at Flint. “I thought you knew better than to fall for such an obvious gambit.”
“I would have agreed with you except that he had a series of letters penned to his poor mother from Grandmother and yourself. The handwriting was far too familiar to not be yours, and the content was damning.” He sat there with his hands pressed to the flat of the tabletop.
His father slowly set the paper down and looked up at him. “And who, exactly, was this woman I supposedly got with child?”
Flint struggled with the familiar feeling of being called on the carpet by his father. It had been many years since his father had done such to him, long since giving up on chastising him about his penchant for fighting. “A tavern wench near Eton. You impregnated her and then abandoned her.”
His father snorted. “Doubtful I did any such thing, girls like that lie about these things frequently. If you had been more…” his father trailed off and stared at him coldly.
“More what, Father?” Flint was familiar with this old argument.
“More what a boy should have been. Interested in schooling and tupping and being social, then you would know what those women are like.”
“Bloody hell! Are you actually lamenting that I wasn’t a spoiled, entitled prick who fucked anything I could when I wasn’t too drunk to get a cockstand?” Flint shook with rage.
“It’s a moot point, wouldn’t you say? I am merely saying you wouldn’t be familiar with that type of woman and the lengths they are willing to go to claim a peer, much less a future Duke as the father of their bastard get.”
Flint snapped out of his chair, causing the heavy wood seat to flip backward onto the floor. “You got the girl pregnant, and then when she came to you, you turned her away, treating her as little more than a criminal. At least Grandmother had enough care to send the poor girl funds.”
“Damn it all, she should know better than to send money. It only encourages them to return for more.” His father sighed, sounding like the most put-upon man in all of England.
Flint had known his father was not a warm man, but he’d never imagined him to be so unfeeling. “You are a ruddy bastard, aren’t you?”
“He is not. I had him well after legally marrying his father, and I would appreciate you not saying such ridiculous things.” The Dowager Duchess of Shropshire swept into the room. “I could hear you two arguing in the far corner of the East Wing. What is the meaning of all this?”
“Your grandson is of the mind that we have cast off a half-brother of his.”
“I am not of the mind, I have read the letters penned in your own hands that tells me so.” Flint reiterated, his frustration seeping out.
“It seems, Mother, that you sent a girl some funds, I’m shocked.”
“Oh, dear, I did? How very unlike me.” She sniffed and sat down at the table. A few moments later, a footman appeared bearing her breakfast.
The room remained silent, though tension stretched like a tightrope from one end of the table to the other. With the servant gone, Flint continued. “The man who is my brother is Frank Lucifer, the owner of the infamous gambling hell. Since he wants nothing to do with either of you and nothing but to help me with a situation I find myself in, I can’t imagine he has managed to produce such solid forgeries.” Flint cursed silently. “And did I mention he is the spitting image of Father?”
That got everyone’s attention. His grandmother spoke first. “Is he?”
“Yes. I’m trying to understand why you two might have let him be raised in a brothel in Seven Dials. Could you not have done better by your own flesh and blood?”
His father looked annoyed by the whole conversation. “Even had I believed her story, I couldn’t have recognized him as mine. That would have made him my heir, thereby depriving you of your birthright.”
“I don’t bloody care about being a duke! I’ve lost one brother, and now you are telling me I would have lost another had he not figured out I was worthy of the knowledge. You are a foul piece of work.” And with that, Flint turned on his heel and stormed from the dining room. He’d gotten as far as the foyer when his grandmother caught up with him.
“Flint, my boy, now wait one moment.” She stopped him with a frail hand on his sleeve. “I know the girl you speak of. And yes, I believed her as well. She was different than the others that showed up on our doorstep. She had been an innocent. She fairly reeked of it when I turned her away. And when she later wrote to me, I took pity on her. You may not appreciate your father’s methods, but he was merely trying to protect you and your brother. Had he acknowledged the child, he would have had a claim on the title. The way the hereditary writ is worded, only the eldest has any rights to the title and all that comes with it. The man could lay claim to everything and leave you penniless.”
The fear in her voice broke through his fury. “Had this family taken him in and raised him among us, I seriously doubt that would have been an issue any more than it would have been between Maximus and me. The man may be notorious, but I believe he is a good man at his core.”
She smiled sadly. “It was not a risk we could take, nor should you.”
“I disagree.” Flint stalked out of the house and did not look back. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to return.
~
Ros squinted against the bright morning sun as she briskly moved along Bond Street. Julia appeared further down the street, emerging from a small crowd. Her sister waved as they drew closer, and Ros returned the gesture despite the deep ache of sore muscles in her shoulder that accompanied the greeting. Her next stop was Madame Le Fleur’s shop. She was in need of more breeches since she had begun practicing with her hunting whip nearly every day. But clearly, she would need to say hello to Julia first.
“Ros! What a surprise to see you here.” Julia grinned.
“Why a surprise? I have occasion to shop on Bond Street when I have a need.”
Julia laughed. “Of course, you do. It’s just that I am usually the one who must drag you here.” Julia’s gaze narrowed speculatively. “What are you here fetching?”
“If you must know, I have an appointment with Madame Le Fleur.” Ros kn
ew her sister was correct; she avoided Bond Street with all its hustle and bustle.
“Oh, dress shopping. How exciting! I have nothing pressing. I shall come along and see what wondrous new creation the inestimable Madame Le Fleur is concocting for you.” Julia grinned.
Ros cursed silently. This wouldn’t do, not at all. “Oh, no. you would likely die of boredom. It’s just a quick visit to clarify a few details for some new riding trousers.”
Julia’s nose wrinkled in obvious confusion. “Riding trousers? But you don’t ride frequently enough to need new riding trousers.” She stopped and considered. “Have you taken to riding more often since I married Wolf?”
Ros laughed awkwardly. “Oh, would you look at the time. I must run. We shall have to catch up soon, my dear.” Then with a quick air kiss toward her sister, she dashed down the street, leaving a bewildered Julia behind. That was much too close a call. She simply wasn’t ready to explain her activities to her yet. Soon, perhaps. Maybe. It was hard to say when she might tell her sister that she was learning to wield a whip so she could beat her lover when required. When might there be a good time for that conversation? Over tea? Perhaps a nice dinner? Certainly not breakfast. Ros sighed. Truly, she didn’t think there would ever be a good time. On further consideration, it seemed too intimate a detail to share with anyone but Flint. And she had her doubts about whether she could even tell him.
As she hurried down the walkway, a man stopped in front of her. “A moment, if you please, ma’am.”
Ros sidestepped around him. “I’m terribly sorry, but I am late for an appointment.”
Barreling on along the way, she marched into the dress shop just as the clock struck eleven in the morning. She had just made it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Smith!” Madame Le Fleur’s fake French accent boomed out across the busy dress shop.
Ros refrained from rolling her eyes as she darted toward where the blonde woman stood smiling. “Good morning, Madame. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”
“But, of course! What may I design for you today? A new day dress? Perhaps a new evening gown?” The woman was growing more excited by the moment.
Panic surged through Ros as a few of the women nearby turned to listen in on their conversation. Lowering her voice, she leaned in close to the dressmaker. “Might we speak in private? I require something of a more sensitive nature.”
Madame’s grin grew broad, and a knowing gleam entered her green gaze. “Ooh la la! But, of course.”
A few moments later, in the relative privacy of the fitting room, she sat down and offered a shy smile. “I am in need of a few pairs of riding breeches. Sturdy material, but with a comfortable range of motion. It is essential I be able to bend and move about in them.”
Madame looked at her strangely for a moment. “Do you wish to hide your lovely figure?”
Ros considered the question for a moment. “No, in fact, I’d like to accentuate it. Particularly my derrière, I believe.”
“Oh, so naughty!” Madame smiled wickedly. “What color would you like? Brown or cream? Perhaps a bright red? Some ladies are choosing to wear noticeable colors in case they are accidentally exposed.”
A laugh escaped, Ros. “Oh, these will be noticed since I’ll not be wearing skirts over them.”
Madame’s brows shot up nearly to her hairline. “No skirts! Oh, you are a naughty girl.”
Her face heated as she suffered the older woman’s scrutiny.
“Indeed. I suppose I am becoming a rather naughty girl. Though black will do nicely for color. And perhaps one pair in leather and one in cloth. You have my measurements, do you need anything else?”
Madame waved. “Non. I shall have them ready for a fitting next week.”
“Excellent!” Ros stood. “And, of course, I appreciate your discretion as always.”
Madame heaved a sigh. “Oui, of course.”
With her business concluded, Ros departed the shop. She intended to visit the Burlington Arcade to inquire after a custom hunting whip. She had some design changes in mind to better meet her intended use. With that in mind, she started down Bond Street in search of a cab.
She spotted one a little way down the street and headed in that direction when a man stepped in front of her again. However, this time when she moved to step around him, he grabbed her arm and unceremoniously shoved her into an alley. Alarmed at the rough handling she’d received, she straightened up to her full height only to see that her assailant was both tall and broad. A veritable walking wall. Despite his imposing presence, she was not to be cowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
“My apologies, madam. But I did try speaking to you earlier, and you simply walked around me.” The man frowned at her.
She remembered him now, from before Madame Le Fleur’s. She had stepped around him, and it seemed he was a bit put out by that incident. “Well, my apologies, but I do not know you, and I was in danger of being late for an appointment.” She glanced nervously at the sliver of sunlight that indicated the opening of the shadowed alley. Carefully she edged her body toward escape. “What is it you require?”
The man eyed her warily. “Don’t you move, now. I need only relay a message to you, but if you try to run, I’ll have to stop you.”
That pulled her up short. “Very well, get on with this message.”
“You need to talk to your man and tell him to throw his next fight.” The hulking man was holding a soft cap in his hands and appeared to be twisting it.
“My man?” Ros was confused for a moment. “Do you mean Lord Flintshire?”
“That’s him.” He nodded.
“Well, I’m afraid I have nothing to do with his nocturnal activities by the docks.” Ros wasn’t sure why anyone might think she would have any sway over Flint’s fighting. If she did, she’d have him stop altogether.
The man looked worried. “You need to tell him. Make him understand.”
Still confused, Ros pressed on. “Understand what? I’ll certainly tell him, but as I said, it is doubtful he will listen to a word I say on the matter.”
Then the man grabbed her upper arms and shook her. “You must make him listen. If you don’t, they’ll hurt you!”
Jostled and a bit disoriented, Ros was having more and more trouble following the man’s reasoning. “Stop that at once.” She slapped at his hands. “Now, you must get yourself together and be clear. I must make Lord Flintshire throw—though I am not sure I understand what you mean by that—his next fight. If I don’t, someone will hurt me?”
“Now you’re getting it.” The big man grinned.
As the words sank into Ros’s understanding, her heart skipped a beat. “But he won’t listen to me.”
“He must. They’ll hurt you, badly if he don’t. Maybe kill you.” The man let go of her arms and picked up his hat from where he’d dropped it.
Ros gasped and drew back, away from the vaguely threatening man. Then she spun around and ran toward daylight. With every step, she was sure a meaty hand would reach out and haul her back into the shadows, but suddenly, she burst into the bright, sharply incongruent sunlight. Scared and disoriented, she stumbled into a man who steadied her despite her encroachment of his space. With a few mumbled apologies, she tried to pull away, but the man refused to let her go. Panic welled in her chest as she glanced wildly about in search of a friendly face. Then she looked up and found herself staring into Lord Lincolnshire’s pale blue eyes. Though her heart still raced, she calmed considerably. “Excuse me, my lord. I—”
“Are you well, Mrs. Smith?” Linc appeared almost as upset as she was. His brow was damp with a sheen of sweat and his face pink as though he’d been exerting himself unduly.
“Yes. No. I—my lord, I was just accosted and threatened!” The shock was ebbing as her temper surged to the fore. “I don’t suppose you are aware of—”
“Perhaps we should have this conversation someplace less conspicuous than Bond Street in the middle of the day?” Lin
c glanced around at the flow of people that had shifted to glide around them as if they were a boulder in a river.
“Very well, but do not think I shall be dissuaded from my questions,” she said sharply.
He nodded crisply. “Never that, ma’am.” Then he turned and hailed a cab that had just released its most recent passengers.
Once they were settled in the vehicle, Linc gave the driver directions to her address, which peaked her notice. As the cab clip-clopped down the street, her thoughts reeled, darting from one moment in the alley to another until she’d replayed the incident in her head. When Lord Lincolnshire had still not offered up any explanation, she decided it was time to ask a few questions of the man. “My lord, why is it that you seem so familiar with my address?”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I had developed a small infatuation with you?” Linc grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
Ros snorted. “Not very likely, my lord. Perhaps you could explain how you happened to be on Bond Street at the mouth of that alley when I stumbled free of the villain who waylaid me?”
“Mrs. Smith, I assure you there is a reasonable explanation for both points of interest. However, I am unfortunately not the person who can answer your true questions. What I shall tell you is that for the last few days, either myself, Lord Dunmere, or Flint have been near you at all times of day. I apologize that you were confronted in the way you were today. I am afraid I lost you in the crowd for a moment when you exited Madame Le Fleur’s.” Linc looked at her with regret in his normally dancing gaze.
Ros’s hands had finally stopped shaking as they pulled up to her home, but her thoughts were still whirling with questions. Clearly, she needed to speak to Flint to find the answers she sought. With a murmured thanks for Lord Lincolnshire’s escort, she retreated into her house and watched from the window as he took up a spot near a tree down the lane a bit and across the street.
His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness: A Steamy Victorian Romance Page 15
