Marriage of Lies

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “It would be my pleasure to report that,” Wakefield told her. “Goodnight, Sharla. I wish you sweet dreams.”

  She looked at Wakefield with a startled expression. Then she nodded. “Ben is right. This has been a most pleasant evening. Thank you, Dane.”

  Ben stifled his regret that she was leaving. He could not do more than speak to her, yet her presence in the room was better than her absence—even if her presence made his chest ache. His chest, his heart, his whole body.

  He admired her upright carriage as she walked to the door. The set of her small shoulders. The gleam of her hair. The narrow span of her waist.

  Wakefield was watching him.

  Ben looked down at the last inch of brandy in his glass, his heart thudding. Had he given himself away?

  Voices beyond the door announced Wash’s arrival. Mayerick tapped on the door and pushed it open. “Get in there,” he said, his voice harsh.

  Wash entered. His usual jauntiness was subdued. His shoulders slumped.

  Mayerick stepped in and shut the door, then stood in front of it.

  “You took your time,” Wakefield told Wash.

  “The cabby wot took me back this morning wouldn’t give me change. He took the whole coin and fled. I had to walk here.”

  “You’ve been walking this whole time?” Wakefield asked, startled.

  “Since this morning?” Ben said, disbelief. “It’s six miles from the far end of Whitechapel to here. You could have walked that in two hours, even ambling. What have you been doing the rest of the day?”

  Wash rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What mischief have you been brewing?” Wakefield demanded. “Is the warrant cancelled?”

  “It was never submitted in the first place,” Wash said, his tone resentful. “The bastard wanted more money.”

  Wakefield smiled and drank a large mouthful of brandy.

  “Honor among thieves,” Ben said and snorted.

  “That’s good news for you,” Wakefield told Wash. “You may yet get to keep your thousand pounds.”

  “You’ll pay up?”

  “I said I would.”

  Relief wrote itself on Wash’s face. He blew out a gusty breath and bent over, propping himself on his knees as if most of his strength had drained.

  Ben wondered why the man was not crowing with victory. Belligerent disdain was more Wash’s character than this pathetic reaction.

  Wakefield was closer to the answer than Ben. He put his glass aside. “You’re over-extended, aren’t you? Just how many people want a slice of your hide, Wash?”

  Ahh… Ben let out a soft breath as understanding dawned. Wash owed others. Most likely, his attempt to influence the outcome of Ben’s match had been to raise the money needed to buy off his creditors. Ben’s refusal to cooperate had done more than foul his bets. It would have put Wash in real jeopardy, for the criminals who controlled Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, the docks and Limehouse were ruthless.

  “Too many people,” Wash said, his voice hoarse. He straightened up and blew out another breath. “I’ve been dodging them all day. That’s what took me so long.”

  Wakefield moved behind the desk and pulled the pouch out of the drawer. He opened it and laid it on the top of the desk, so the thick wad of notes lay flat and visible. He thumbed through them, making the cursive writing on the notes flicker. “There is one thousand pounds here.” He bent and withdrew another smaller bundle of notes and laid them on top. “One hundred more pounds,” he said.

  Even Ben drew in a startled breath. He earned only a little more than one hundred pounds a year.

  Wash watched Wakefield rifle through the notes, hypnotized.

  “This will pay off your debts, yes?” Wakefield asked.

  “Most of them,” Wash said. His voice was strangled.

  “Liar. It will clear them,” Wakefield said. “I can see it in your face. Your lie tells me you’re not about to change your ways. That makes you a particularly stupid example of a human being. Not learning from experience is a quick way to an early grave, Wash. However, it is your grave and your choice.” He folded the pouch with the notes inside and tied it once more. He hefted the pouch. “Once I give you this money, any debt you consider due from me, or Hedley or any of our family is quit and done. Agreed?”

  Wash nodded.

  “On the other hand, if you take this money, Wash, you will owe a debt to me. Do you understand?”

  Wash swallowed. His gaze didn’t lift from the pouch in Wakefield’s hand. “What do you want?”

  “Right now, nothing. In time, there may be a favor I ask of you. Something that suits your temperament and inclinations. When I call upon you, you will not hesitate to give my request your full and immediate attention and pour every ounce of your energy into fulfilling it.” He held out the pouch. “Do you agree, Wash?”

  Wash licked his lips. “Yes.” He reached for the pouch.

  Wakefield shifted it out of his reach. “Speak loudly, Wash. I want Hedley to witness your agreement. Keep in mind he is a member of the law. He knows more police officers than you do. His reputation is such that a word from him will land you in the deepest of trouble—worse than any of your Cockney friends could possibly arrange.”

  For the first time since the money had appeared, Wash looked directly at Wakefield’s face. His expression was knowing. “You don’t know them like I do. The police uphold the law. They don’t have laws.”

  “Nevertheless, you will agree to this arrangement, or I will have you tossed from the house empty handed,” Wakefield said.

  Wash nodded. “I agree.” He spoke loudly. His gaze shifted to Ben, then back to the money.

  Wakefield gave him the pouch. “Mayerick, show him to the door.”

  “Yes, your Grace,” Mayerick said, opening the library door. “This way,” he told Wash.

  Wash almost ran out.

  Ben heard the front door of the house open and close, as Wakefield filled his glass.

  “One more drink, to celebrate,” Wakefield said. “I insist you stay the night, Ben. You can leave as early as you wish, tomorrow morning, to give your father the good news. It is too late to do more than disturb others’ sleep, now.”

  “I don’t like extending my father’s worry.”

  “You don’t have to. Leave at dawn, if you wish.” Wakefield nodded toward the window. “There’s a possibility that Wash lingers outside the house, and could waylay you if you left now. Daylight, though, will foil any retribution he might wish to visit upon you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Ben said, amused.

  “Not at the moment,” Wakefield said, touching the top of the cane leaning against Ben’s chair. “And not for a while, yet. Give yourself time to heal, Ben. Avoid risks, for now.”

  Ben ruffled his hair. “I suppose, yes.”

  Wakefield put the decanter aside. “This has been a useful day,” he observed. “Wash may yet prove to be a good resource.”

  “This is how you protect yourself, isn’t it?” Ben said. “You turn those who try to assail you into allies, to call upon if you’re attacked in the future.”

  “You are an ally,” Wakefield said. “Men like Wash are merely tools. Yes, I need tools like Wash, because the attacks always come. It is not a matter of if. It is a matter of when.”

  Ben felt pleased to be described as an ally. He realized that he liked Wakefield immensely.

  The guilt in his heart rose higher and burned.

  Wakefield sighed and put his glass aside. “Time for bed,” he declared. “If you insist upon rising with the sun, then to linger here would be unkind. Come along. I’ll see you upstairs. Mayerick will be busy closing up the house.”

  The lights in all the rooms were extinguished, leaving only the lamps along the stairs to illuminate them. The lamps were turned down low. They moved through the silent and still house and trudged up the stairs, for Ben still could not take more than one step at a time.

  Ben couldn’t quite remembe
r which room he had been using while convalescing. He had only seen it from the inside, although he knew it lay on the left side of the corridor. Wakefield, though, moved to a door on the right. “The staff are still cleaning and reassembling the room you used,” he told Ben. “This one will suit you better.” He pushed the door open.

  Ben took a step toward the door and froze.

  Sharla was sitting at a dressing table, brushing her hair, which lay loose against her back. She wore nothing but a nightdress. As the door opened, she turned on the stool, her eyes widening.

  Wakefield’s face was expressionless. “I wish you a good night, Ben,” he murmured.

  Sharla gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth.

  Stunned, his limbs uncooperative, Ben stepped into the room.

  Wakefield shut the door behind him, leaving Ben alone with Sharla.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The quiet sound of the door closing made Sharla’s middle jump. Her heart was trying to climb out of her chest, through her throat.

  Had Dane really just shown Ben into her bedroom and shut the door on them?

  She was quite awake. This wasn’t a dream. Yet it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real.

  Sharla pressed her hand against her chest to help her aching heart. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  Ben shifted the cane under his hand and resettled it. That was real enough. If she had conjured up this moment from her imagination, then surely she would have made Ben whole and unhurt?

  Ben’s gaze was steady. Heated. “I have only now understood a great deal about this day and what he was leading up to.” He hesitated. “Wakefield…Dane…wants us to have this night.”

  His words propelled her to her feet. “How could he want it? It doesn’t make sense!” Her heart was beating even harder now. “He is playing with us. He must be! No man would want his wife to be with another man!”

  “There are things you don’t understand.”

  She laughed. It was a harsh, strained sound. “There is so much I fail to understand, because no one will explain it to me! How did I let him down? I wasn’t enough to stir him. Less than that…far less than that…I drove him to toss me away!”

  Ben came toward her. “It has nothing to do with you, Sharla.” His voice was low. “You are the most seductive woman I’ve ever known. Men made fools of themselves over you, until you were wed, then they hid their despair.” His hand cupped her cheek. His flesh was hot against hers.

  “It wasn’t enough,” she whispered.

  “Hear me, Sharla. If it were possible for your allure to be twice, even ten times, more powerful than it is, it still would not be enough to lure Dane to your bed.”

  Sharla drew in a shuddering breath. “Why not?”

  “You could never have succeeded at seducing your husband, because you are not a man.”

  She drew in a deep, deep, breath of air that seemed cold. For a moment, she held still, forced to it by her shock.

  Ben watched her, measuring her reaction. His hand dropped to her shoulder, as if he would steady her if she rocked.

  She felt as if she should sway.

  “A man can…love men?” she breathed.

  “Yes, Sharla. And women can love women, too.”

  She sucked in another deep breath, as understanding unlocked thoughts, ideas and so many, many questions. “Why does no one speak of such things?”

  “Because they are illegal,” Ben said gently. “Some say immoral, too. Such people hide their natural inclinations because until a few years ago, they feared death. Now, they fear rejection by society and the penalties of law.”

  “They were killed for it?” Sharla breathed.

  “Executed,” Ben amended. “To love the wrong person was to risk the death penalty.”

  Sharla met his gaze. “How does one stop loving the wrong person?” she breathed. “I cannot.”

  Ben kissed her. Sharla sighed into his mouth, trembling with the knowledge that Dane condoned this, that he wanted her to be with Ben because she could not be with him.

  She heard Ben’s cane thud as it landed on the floor, forgotten. He gathered her up against him with a groan. It was a delicious sound. It was the sound of a man who did want her.

  His hands were everywhere, as his kiss deepened. His tongue swept into her mouth, exploring. Stroking in soft touches.

  With a start, she realized that because she wore only a thin cotton nightdress, Ben could hold all of her against him. Her unfettered breasts pushed against his chest, the tips rubbing with delightful friction. It made the flesh between her thighs throb, as if there was a connection.

  It also meant she could feel all of him against her—including the thick, heated mass against the base of her belly. Contrary to the whispers of her friends, Sharla did not find the indication of masculine parts revolting or objectionable. It pleased her in a way that made her body throb.

  When he put his hand on her bottom and pressed her against him, she moaned. It didn’t seem to be enough, although she did not know what would be enough.

  Sharla caught Ben’s face in her hands. His beard tickled her hands. “I don’t know how to be good for you, Ben. I want to be, only…”

  Ben shook his head. “I have thought about such a night as this for so very long. Nothing you do or don’t do could possibly spoil it.”

  “You will have to teach me,” she whispered. “Until now, I had not realized how ignorant I am. I would know it all.”

  Heat burned in Ben’s eyes. “It would be my pleasure.” His lips touched hers. “It will be yours, too,” he added, his warm breath bathing her skin.

  Sharla shivered.

  “First, let us remove the obstacles.” He lifted her nightdress over her head and threw it away.

  Sharla bent her arms, covering as much of herself as she could. Her cheeks burned.

  Ben pulled her arms away. “Modesty in the bedroom is useless, my love. Do you not know how much a man appreciates the sight of a naked woman?”

  “Whores and prostitutes, yes,” she breathed, yet she kept her arms by her sides, her hands curled into fists.

  Ben shook his head. “Any woman, but most especially the one he loves, when she stands before him.” His gaze roamed over her as he spoke. Even though he did not touch her, it felt as if his gaze caressed her.

  Sharla straightened her shoulders. She could tell that Ben was enjoying the sight of her. His chest rose and fell, as his breath increased.

  When he put his hand on her waist, it trembled. His fingers stirred against her, stroking.

  It felt as though the nerves beneath his fingers stirred to life, sending tremors of excitement out from his touch. Sharla gasped.

  He smoothed his hand up her torso and bent his fingers to cup her breast.

  Sharla’s gasp this time was close to a groan. The tip of her breast was tight and hard and tingled. When his fingers closed around it and teased it, her whole body rippled with delight.

  Sharla’s breath came more quickly. “Please don’t stop!” she begged as his hand fell away.

  “I won’t.” He bent his head and shocked her by drawing the tip of her breast into his mouth.

  The ecstasy of the moist, heated touch of him against her was enormous. Sharla’s hands rose to catch his head, to hold it there, clutching at him. She didn’t plan it. Her body was driving her actions, tapping into ancient instincts.

  He moved his hands over her body. With every little stroke and caress, her awkwardness evaporated, as she sampled the delight of his touch.

  He guided her backward, a step at a time, until the backs of her legs brushed the side of the bed.

  Sharla sank down onto the bed without calculation. Her knees were weak. It would be better to experience this without wondering if she could remain standing.

  Ben lifted her onto the bed properly. Then he stripped his jacket and cravat, waistcoat and collar and cuffs. His shoes and stockings and then, even his shirt. He eased onto the bed next to her, wearin
g trousers and undershirt. The undershirt clung to his shoulders and chest. She already knew what lay beneath. She had seen him boxing without a shirt and lying helplessly on a bed, his body scraped and bloody. Yet those memories were remote, as if it had been somebody else.

  She recalled the gleam of flesh and mounds of muscles he had displayed as he fought. Even though she had feared discovery, even though her own daring had terrified her, she had watched Ben fight and admired the vitality of him.

  “Take off everything,” she whispered.

  Ben smiled. “There is more pleasure in having you remove them.”

  Sharla’s lips parted in surprise. She had not considered that the strumming ripple of excitement he was causing in her, with his teasing and stroking and kisses, was something she could create in him, too.

  She recalled the one time she had dared press her hand against the thick mound at the juncture of his thighs, and the groan he had uttered when she did.

  It was the power a woman could have over a man. She had never considered that women might ever lord it over men, especially in bedroom matters. Ben’s simple observation revealed a whole new world of understanding.

  Sharla rested her hand against his chest, feeling the soft wool beneath her fingers. “May I?” she asked.

  “Please do,” he breathed.

  She slid her hand down his chest, as he had done with her. She gripped the bottom of the undershirt where it was tucked into his trousers and pulled on it.

  The hem rose, revealing the tanned, warm flesh beneath. As the display of flesh increased, she drew in a slow breath of delight.

  There was a line of dark hair running from his belly, down into his trousers. It was almost like an arrow, pointing the way.

  Sharla thought of how much the touch of his lips against her breast had delighted her. She bent and pressed her lips against his belly. Heat, masculine scent and softness washed over her.

  She stroked with her tongue. His muscles quivered beneath her and she heard his harsh breath over her.

  Sharla pushed the shirt higher, revealing more and more of his upper body. As it rose, she trailed her fingers over his exposed skin, experimenting with her touch, learning what evoked the strongest reaction from him.