His expression went from shock to resignation very quickly. “No, Miss Mason, it would appear you are not naïve. How is it that your brother has allowed you to gain such knowledge while retaining your innocence? Who is this man you are so devoted to?”
“Benedict Mason… he owns a gaming hell in London. That is where I have lived with him for the past five years, since I completed school. I wanted to work as a governess. It’s what I trained to do, after all. But, he would not have it. He insisted that I simply remain with him and run his house, as it is.”
“He permitted you to live in a gaming hell?”
There was censure in his voice then, she heard it clear as a bell. But it was not for her so much as it was for Benedict. She would tolerate many things, but never someone to demean her brother in such a manner. “He’s a very good brother, Lord Wolverton,” she insisted, firmly and with great conviction. “I cannot tell you how much he has sacrificed and how very hard he has worked that we would be able to escape the poverty and the abuse we suffered from our adoptive parents. You’ve no notion of the cruelty we suffered at their hands and how, all too often, Benedict would spark their ire and take a beating from them just so that I might avoid one. He has always taken care of me. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I thought that if I could find his true family for him, I might be able to repay him for all that he has given me!” She paused, took a deep breath, and then continued much more calmly, but with just as much certainty, “Yes, I live in an apartment above a gaming hell, and during the hours of operation there are numerous guards posted there so that no one should ever breach the sanctity of our home. It may be unorthodox, but we’ve only ever had one another. And I’d rather flaunt tradition and convention than to abandon someone who has only ever cared for me. Can you not understand that?”
“I cannot,” he admitted, his voice rather strained and his expression was impossible for her to decipher. “For I’ve never had anyone so devoted to me. Not since my mother died, at any rate, Miss Mason. I find on that score, I am rather envious of what you and your brother have.”
Mary frowned. Had he been so deprived then? Had even his wife not shown him that sort of devotion? “How old were you when you lost your mother?”
“A boy, eight years old. She had been sick for most of my childhood. I think she had always been of frail health and, though it was cautioned against, she was determined to give my father more children. Alas, she did not succeed and her efforts cost her life.”
“I am very sorry for your loss, Lord Wolverton. It is hard to imagine, having only my brother, what I would do if he were gone. No person should be fully devoid of loved ones in their life.”
“It appears we have both had our share of misfortune, Miss Mason, but we have both been blessed to know people in our lives who have loved us unconditionally.” He fell silent, staring at her intently.
Mary felt the weight of his gaze. It was almost a tangible thing, as if he had touched her, though he had not but to carry her to the settee. She fervently wished that he would, that he might wrap his arms around her and hold her. Why she longed for such a thing from someone she barely knew she could not fathom. But it seemed from the instant of her waking, there had been a connection between them, an attraction that she could not deny, even when she knew that she should.
Finally, he looked away, his gaze drifting to the fire that burned low in the hearth. “I must ask you very difficult questions now, and I pray you will answer them to the best of your ability without being too overset by them. It pertains to your time in captivity.”
Mary drew a shuddering breath. She hated to think of it, but it was very important to him or he would not have asked. That, she was certain of. “I will answer any question that I can as honestly I can, Lord Wolverton. For much of the earlier days of it, I was heavily-drugged, I believe. I remember, at various times, they would hold a foul smelling cloth over my mouth… usually before moving me from one location to the next. My memory of the entire ordeal is somewhat indistinct at best, or utterly absent at its worst.”
“Were there other women, children, anyone else where you were held?”
Mary frowned. “Not that I’m aware. If there were others, I certainly never saw them. How I hate to think I might have run off and left them behind! But I was so terribly frightened then that I never even thought to look.” She paused, shaking her head to clear it of the troubling thought that she might have abandoned others to the same fate that had awaited her. Scrambling for any inkling of memory that might offer ease, the one thing that offered her some small amount of peace had been the tomb-like quiet of the place she had been held. Surely, she would have heard something if there had been others!
“It is possible you were alone there,” he said, as if sensing her distress.
“I heard nothing while I was held in that cave that would have led me to believe I was not alone in there… no voices or comings and goings of the single guard except for when he approached my cell, for lack of a better word. I would have heard something, don’t you think? Heaven knows, it was certainly a circumstance to inspire weeping and there is no other sound that carries so keenly.”
His eyes narrowed at her description. One of his hands moved, hovering over hers for a moment as if he meant to offer comfort. At the last moment, he withdrew it out of an abundance of caution and, perhaps, in concession to the fact that they had already crossed enough of the boundaries of propriety without sliding further down that very slippery slope. “It was a cave? You’re certain of that?”
“The walls were very rough stone and quite damp, the floor dirt and rock. There were tunnels surrounding it, so I would imagine it is a series of caves,” Mary replied, recalling the small, dungeon-like space.
“Or perhaps a mine?” The question was posed thoughtfully, as if he had already discovered the answer and was simply awaiting confirmation.
Mary’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t considered it, but that seems a more likely description. There was a heavy, wooden door over the small chamber where I was held. It was kept locked at all times… I managed, through some degree of trickery, to lure the guard inside. There had been a loose stone on the floor and I used that to bash him about the head and flee. I feel terrible if I’ve left anyone behind there.”
“I think I know the place where you were kept, Miss Mason… and if you would accompany me on the morrow, we will investigate it further and determine whether or not I am correct. We will also be certain that no one has been left behind in your courageous escape.”
It filled her with dread but, under the circumstances, she could not refuse. “Why do you think there were others, Lord Wolverton?”
“I have reason to believe that a gentleman by the name Lord Wendell Harrelson was behind your abduction. The mine I spoke of is on his property.”
“Surely, you have greater reason than the location of the mine itself to think he is involved!”
“He was an unscrupulous man, Miss Mason, and has lived the entirety of his life taking advantage of others. I fear he is guilty of a great number of crimes—blackmail, I know for certain. Abduction and the selling of poor, unfortunate women and children into slavery now very much appears to be another of his heinous actions. He was the uncle of my late wife, and may have supported her in certain ill-advised affairs that surely led to her death. In effect, he was a murderer, even if the killing blows were never struck by his hand.”
“Was?” she asked. “Am I to assume that this man is no longer of this world?”
Lord Wolverton rose then and moved away from her, crossing to the fireplace. “Lord Harrelson has died, whether by his own hand or Madame Zula’s, or if, perhaps, they were both murdered by another unknown person, remains to be seen. He was found in her home and the both of them had succumbed to poison.”
Mary gasped at that, a little stunned and terribly frightened. “I must warn the lady I think is Benedict’s mother. If Lord Harrelson and Madame Zula were murdered by some unknown person instead
of it being a case of murder and suicide, she could be in danger.”
“About your brother, Miss Mason… I cannot say for certain if he is still in Bath, but he was some days ago. I had hired a man to watch Lord Harrelson and, in so doing, he found himself near Madame Zula’s home. Your brother was canvasing the area with a miniature of you, looking for anyone who might know where you were. At the time, my employee did not know you had been rescued and brought here. We have no direction for your brother in Bath, but I wonder if, perhaps, he has not already gone back to London hoping you would turn up there.”
Mary shook her head. “No, I don’t think he would have. I think Benedict is likely still turning the city of Bath upside down in his attempts to find me. How far into the distant past do Lord Harrelson’s crimes extend, my lord?”
“I’m not yet sure, Miss Mason,” he admitted. “I have not had an opportunity to examine all of the evidence yet.”
Mary frowned. “You have proof, then? It isn’t simply conjecture that he’s committed these acts?”
Lord Wolverton nodded. “I found notations and records in a ledger I retrieved from his home tonight that indicated to me that he may have made it his business to procure individuals for others.”
“He sold them to houses of ill repute, didn’t he?” Part of her wanted to think that was the only source of profit for the vile man. But Mary was a realist and she knew that the likelihood of encountering not one but two kidnappers in her short life was limited, indeed. It was far more likely, especially if Lord Harrelson had been engaging in those activities for some time, that he was responsible for placing her and Benedict with the Masons at the outset of their respective stories.
“Amongst other things,” he said sadly. “Miss Mason, it is my belief that he also made a habit of procuring children for those individuals who were incapable of having their own, or for those who had an unnatural affection for children. You stated that you weren’t entirely certain that your adoptive parents had been entrusted with your care willingly. You came to Bath to investigate what you thought might be your brother’s true identity because you believed he had been taken from his true family. Is it possible that Lord Harrelson’s activities extend back so far that he might have been involved not in just your current situation, but also that which brought you and your brother together to start?”
Mary’s heart began to pound. She’d researched and read every account of the abduction of Lord Vale, even including the descriptions of his abductors. The man she’d encountered outside of Madame Zula’s house could very well have been one of them, but she had not made the connection at that time. How could she, after all? Now, however, all of the pieces were falling into place and painting a picture that was rife with scandal and wickedness on a scale she could not begin to fathom. “It is possible, Lord Wolverton, though I confess that it never occurred to me to consider the possibility until now. I need to see that book… I must.”
“I will share it with you. But not tonight, I think. We are both exhausted and you are overwrought. It is clear to me that you are not yet well enough to have heard what I imparted to you tonight, nor were you well enough to discuss the details of your captivity. Your voice is hoarse and your breathing has become much more labored. You will need more of those herbs before sleeping. It was unforgivable of me to make you revisit such painful and traumatic events so soon.”
“I am not fragile, my lord. Despite my recent illness and in spite of my rather small stature which often makes people, specifically men, underestimate me, I am not weak, fragile, broken, or in need of being coddled!”
He looked at her oddly for a moment, the silence drawing taut between them. “I know that you are not weak or fragile. But I also know that you did very nearly die, and that alone bears consideration, Miss Mason. I will not have a relapse of your illness on my conscience. Indeed, I lack the room to bear the weight of responsibility for yet another woman’s death.”
Mary had nothing to say to that. He’d denied killing his wife, and she believed with all her heart that he was innocent of the crime. Yet it was clear from his words that he still blamed himself for her death.
“I am very tired, Lord Wolverton,” she said finally. It was as close to a concession as she was willing to make.
“Let me return you to your room,” he said, his voice gruff with concern. “I daresay your wounded feet are still far too painful to attempt the stairs alone.”
Mary had no warning. He simply swept her once more into his arms and left the library. His long strides carried them up the staircase and toward the bedchamber with ease. Indeed, the exertion of it seemed not to have even winded him. Once more inside the bedchamber, he set her on her feet near the fireplace.
“I trust you will be able to navigate this smaller space without doing injury to yourself.” His tone wasn’t amused or teasing. It was tight, gruff, and there was something in it that made her want him to hold her just a bit longer.
“I will be fine, Lord Wolverton,” Mary insisted. “But it isn’t right that I’ve denied you your own room. I’m sure there is a more suitable space in the house that I could occupy so that you would not be put out—”
“I won’t hear of it,” he insisted. “You will remain here.”
“And you will remain in your dressing room?” Mary asked. “It isn’t right, my lord.”
His eyes narrowed and the expression that etched his face could only be described as feral. “I will not remain in my dressing room. I may be a gentleman, Miss Mason, but I am still only a man… I am as prone to temptation as any. Would you truly have me just on the other side of that door while you are asleep and at your most vulnerable? Do you trust so easily, even after your ordeal?”
“I trust you,” she stated firmly. And she did, so long as he was near her and her own overactive imagination was not given leave to run amok.
He stepped closer to her, so close that she could feel his breath stirring her hair and that the heat of his body seeped through the borrowed gown she wore to warm her skin beneath. “You should not, Miss Mason.”
Mary didn’t step back or squeak in fear. She knew that he expected her to do both. But curiosity was a dangerous and heady thing. The need to know what his kiss would feel like had plagued her from that tense moment in his dressing room earlier. With the answer nigh, she would not have faltered for her life. Instead, she leaned in, allowed her eyes to flutter closed while lifting her lips to him. When his breath fanned over her lips, she sighed in anticipation.
It was not at all what she’d expected. There was no crushing of his mouth upon hers, no fierce and passionate embrace. It was the gentlest of touches, feather light but no less potent. Only his lips touched hers, nothing more. She was giddy with it regardless. The way his lips moved upon hers, gentle and insistent like the slow and languorous savoring of a sweet, thrilled her.
In all, it lasted only seconds. There was no abrupt departure. After a brief moment, the pressure lessened and then was gone. When her eyes opened again, he had stepped back, putting enough distance between them that she had to wonder if it had happened at all. Had it not been for the thrumming of her pulse and the very faint taste of brandy, she might have thought it had been the product of her own wild imaginings.
“Have you ever been kissed, Miss Mason?”
The question had been voiced gently, his tone soft and yet there was tension in his voice, an ache that she could not identify. “Not until now,” she admitted.
He said nothing for the longest time, simply regarded her in that familiar intense and quiet way that she was becoming accustomed to from him. Finally, he said, “I bid you good night, Miss Mason—Mary.”
The desire to call him back, to ask him to kiss her once more, was insistent, but somehow she quelled it. She would not press her luck any further than she already had. Instead, she would go to bed and allow the memory of it to cloud her dreams with visions of passion and romance. Her foolishness did not go so far that she imagined any sort of futur
e for them. He was a peer, after all, and she’d grown up on an impoverished farm. Even with the fortune her brother had amassed, she would never be of such an elevated station that he might see her as anything more than a flirtation, and an unwise one, at that.
Retreating to the bed, Mary slid between the cool sheets and wondered if his dreams would feature her as singularly as hers were sure to feature him. Unwise as it was, she hoped so. The idea that she would be so affected by him while he was immune was too mortifying to bear.
Tucking her hand beneath the pillow, she encountered the journals she’d hidden there earlier. As sleep would likely be a long time in coming, Mary retrieved one of them and lit the candle on the bedside table. It would be difficult reading with such poor lighting, but if it offered her even a hint of insight into the strange and compelling man who had just kissed her, it would be well worth it.
*
Heading down the stairs with the echoing slam of his chamber door behind him, Alex bit back a curse. It didn’t take the promise of a sleepless night ahead to make him regret kissing her. He’d regretted it the moment his lips touched hers. There was nothing so bitter as being granted a small taste of what you desired most only to know the whole of it would ever be denied you. From the sweetly expectant visage of her upturned face as she waited for his kiss, to the pliant and silken texture of her full lips, he’d known the truth of her innocence. Any doubts he’d had about whether or not her knowledge of the world was such that he could indulge his desire for her without risking what was left of his soul had been summarily shattered. To take more than that sweet and hopelessly chaste kiss would be to rob her of any chance for a respectable future. He would not be that sort of blackguard regardless of what the world thought him.
Rather than tempt fate and his own restraint, Alex returned to the library. The settee there was too short for him but, as the sweet taste of Miss Mason’s lips would deny him any rest regardless, it hardly mattered.
The Mystery of Miss Mason (The Lost Lords Book 5) Page 9
