Corseting The Earl

by Killarney Sheffield

  Her papa sighed. “No, your mama and I should have sent you back to your aunt’s to keep you safe when you told us what happened with poor Mary.”

  Heath looked up. “Mary Baglo is not dead.”

  “She is alive?” Mrs. Nickle swung her gaze to Pippa. “Where is she?”

  “Heath and I found her in Bracenville. It seems Mitchel has set her up as his mistress of sorts.”

  Mrs. Nickle blanched. “Of sorts?”

  Pippa hung her head. “It seems he promised he would make his father consent to their marriage and in a fit of temper when his father refused, he beat Mary and she lost the babe.”

  “Why did she not come home?”

  “She was afraid of what the town and her mother would say. Mary is living on Mitchel’s charity.” Heath’s jaw tightened. “I offered her a position as a maid in my Derkshire country house, but she refused.

  Pippa glanced at him in surprise. “You did?”

  He nodded. “Yes, after we left the inn, I had her followed and spoke with her afterward. She is too afraid of the squire and his son to flee. I did get her to agree to pass on any information she can to help us nab Mitchel, the squire, and Lord Rylee.”

  “Well, I am glad Mary is alive. Her mother will be shocked but happy.” Mrs. Nickle’s lips formed a small, sad smile. “I just do not know what we are going to do. We have no shop, no home, and your Papa cannot work elsewhere until that splint comes off his leg.”

  “You will stay with me, of course, at my London house,” Heath replied. “I would also like to pay Pippa for being my lady’s maid all this time and until my investigation is complete.”

  “That is not necessary, my lord,” Pippa protested.

  “It is the least I can do.” Heath took a visiting card from a trunk and wrote a hasty note. “Find me a reliable lad to have this delivered to my place in London so my house will know of your arrival. I will book you passage on the morning mail coach. Pippa and I will return home in Lord Rylee’s conveyance as I planned, to avoid any suspicion or connection.”

  Her father pursed his lips and then shot Heath a stiff look. “I will not have my daughter put in any more danger at your hands, Lord Sedgewick.”

  Heath nodded. “I will protect Pippa with my life, sir, on my honor as a Lord of the House.”

  “You may protect her, but can we trust you? What you are proposing is highly indecent.” Her mother crossed her arms.

  “Mama, his lordship has never been anything but a gentleman since we met.” Pippa smothered the urge to giggle at the irony of her claim.

  “It seems to me I have been anything but a gentleman, if you count prancing around in petticoats and dress.” He chuckled and then sobered when no one else appeared amused. “But I swear I will protect her integrity.”

  Pippa touched her lips in remembrance of his kiss. Would he? Truth be told, she did not want him to protect her integrity; she wanted him to kiss her again, and again…. Heat touched her cheeks and she dropped her hand. “I will be fine, Papa, I am no longer a naive girl.”

  Her mother pierced her with a thoughtful look and then glanced at Heath. “I believe our daughter must learn to take charge of her own life, dear. And I suspect his lordship is a very honorable man. After all he is, I hear, to marry Lady Spencer.”

  Heath cleared his throat. “Then it is settled. I will have this note dispatched right away. Until then I will let the inn keeper know you will be staying here and to bill me.” He strolled from the room.

  “You do not have to do this, Pippa. We will fare all right with the neighbors,” her papa offered.

  “I want to, Papa. It is the least I can do to try and right the wrong I did that caused all this in the first place.”

  Mrs. Nickle titled her head. “We raised a headstrong daughter. She must follow her own path, dear, wherever that may lead.”

  Pippa frowned at her mother’s knowing look. Did her mother suspect her feelings for Heath?

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “I would rather stay at the inn,” Pippa protested. The second horse hair wig she had made in as many days was now perched on Heath’s head. With great care, she wound a strand around a tissue covered set of hot tongs to keep it from scorching as she curled it.

  “I dare not leave you alone. If it was someone paid by the squire, or his son, who burned down your parent’s shop, you could be in danger.” Heath met her gaze in the mirror.

  “Well I cannot very well go to the party at the squire’s, it would be like the lamb walking into the lion’s den, would it not? Besides, I have not a suitable dress and Mitchel hates me now.”

  “You will attend as my maid. You should be safe enough in the kitchen with the other servants.”

  Pippa snorted. “So, I am to sit there all night waiting for you?”

  “Yes.” He cracked a smile. “You will do whatever is required, of course.”

  She scowled at him. “Me thinks you are getting a little tall in your slippers, my lord.”

  “And me thinks, thou does protest too much.” He grinned. “William Shakespeare.”

  “Ah, so you do read something beyond the financial pages.”

  “On occasion.”

  “Perhaps there is more to you than stiff corsets and manners, my lord,” she teased letting a perfect curl slide from the tongs.

  He raised a brow in the mirror. “Did I just detect a compliment, Miss Nickle?”

  With a shrug she wound the last lock of hair around the tongs. “Speaking of detect, how is your case coming along?”

  “Well, there is no doubt the squire, his son, and Rylee are involved in this conspiracy to see Charlotte on the throne. However, I am sure none of them is the actual ring leader, so to speak.” With an impatient twitch of a hand he brushed an errant curl from his face and scowled. “Damned if I can figure out just who the head of the group is. It is like some phantom from beyond the grave is running it.”

  Pippa cast him a skeptical look in the mirror and wrapped another strand of hair around the tongs. “Do you really believe in specters, my lord?”

  “No, no.” He waved the idea aside and sat drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “It has to be someone with old connections, solid ones, someone no one else would suspect. Yet I cannot come up with any member of Almack’s who would fit the bill.”

  “Perhaps it is not a member of Almack’s, but a member of Whites?”

  Heath stared at her a moment. “Preposterous. We are all loyal to the Whigs at the club. Besides, why would one of our own turn traitorous?”

  She shrugged and let the last curl fall from the tongs. “It was simply a thought.” She placed the tongs on the hearth to cool. “We had best hurry if you are to be at the squire’s on the appointed eight o’clock.”

  * * *

  After Pippa was safely settled in the kitchen with a couple of maids left by their employers, Heath headed for the large entertaining parlor. Upon entering he found the mood of the other guests sober and quiet. He glanced around the room and then took an empty seat by the window.

  “Mrs. Doyle, so glad you could join us, albeit late I see,” the elder squire groused.

  Heath forced a simpering smile to his lips. “I beg your pardon, sir, on the excuse of wanting to look my most charming.”

  The squire grunted. “Now that we are all here, it is time to begin. Tonight our esteemed leader shall attend and initiate those who have chosen to become part of the new liberalist party.”

  The smattering of clapping faded into the background and Heath sat up straighter to scan the occupants of the room. There did not appear anyone new in their midst; so just who was this leader?”

  The squire held up a hand and then continued as the room became silent again. “You shall all be given the same initiation. Once you have been initiated, you will then be a full member.”

  Heath cleared his throat. “And just what is to be our rite of passage, sir?”

  With a grunt the squire waved away the question. “You will
be called two by two. First up are Lady Rowena and then Mrs. Bunyan. Ladies, please follow Mitchel to the study to await your summons.”

  Darting nervous looks around the room the two women in question rose from their seats and followed Mitchel out of the room.

  The squire smiled. “There is no turning back now, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Heath swallowed. Just what did the squire have in store for them? Whatever it was, he hoped it would not expose his disguise. His mind wandered to his schoolboy days when initiations were cruel and humiliating. He had been lucky, as the son of a member in great standing both at the school and in White’s, he had escaped with a mere ten smacks of the paddle and a week of shining the older boys’ boots. Somehow he didn’t think the initiations this night would be as childish.

  The clock on the mantle ticked in the silence like a metronome in a muted concert. The hour hand crept along the clock face, past the two, three, four, and five, until finally as it settled on the six, the parlor door opened. Both ladies slunk into the room and, without meeting anyone’s eye, perched with great care and grimaces on the edge of their vacated seats.

  Heath noted the flush to their faces and the fingers twisting in the folds of their skirts. Whatever initiation was, it wasn’t pleasant by the looks of it.

  “Next up is Lord Arnold and Mr. Fleck,” the squire announced.

  The pair left with jaunty steps. It would appear they were being selected and paired in like genders. Heath puzzled that for a moment. Most likely this meant they were to take part in a spanking ritual, since it would be uncouth for a woman to spank a man and vice versa. His buttocks involuntarily clenched at the thought. He brushed his reservations aside. He could certainly take a little pain, and besides, how hard would they hit a woman anyway?

  A mere ten minutes later the pair were back looking every bit as stiff, embarrassed and awkward as the two women.

  “Next I call Mrs. Doyle and Lady Helen.”

  Heath stood and then followed Lady Helen and Mitchel from the room. They made their way down the hall to the study. Once inside, Mitchel shut the door and handed them both a blindfold. “Put these on.”

  It seemed odd to blindfold someone to be spanked, but he complied. Perhaps this was to prevent them from seeing who was to do the spanking. Was it to conceal the identity of the leader? He adjusted the blindfold so it looked secure but if he tipped his head back far enough, he would be able to see a tiny bit. Once he knew who the leader was, his mission would be complete.

  A door opened and a soft, cool breeze drifted over him. He was nudged in the direction of crickets chirping. He stumbled over a threshold and then made his way across a stone surface; the terrace, he gathered. Once prodded down two steps they made their way along a gravel path, the only sound beyond the insects the crunching of the stones beneath their feet.

  “Where are we going?” Lady Helen asked, the tremble of her voice betraying her fear.

  “Be quiet,” Mitchel snapped.

  After a few minutes Heath was yanked to a halt. A door creaked open and a hand drew him inside. Their footsteps echoed on a smooth stone surface and the breeze quit. Heath surmised they were in some sort of building. As if to confirm his thoughts, he caught the flicker and heat of a candle as they passed. A grating sound, like stone on stone, caught his attention. Before he could wonder what it was, he was propelled forward. Instead of coming up against a solid object his reaching hand met only cool, damp air.

  “Steps,” Mitchel said.

  A hand at his elbow guided him through an opening. He stiffened for a moment when his right foot reached forward and met nothing solid beneath. “Step down,” Mitchel commanded. One by one Heath made his way down a curving flight of steps. He counted twenty-one beneath his breath before his feet came together on what he took to be a stone floor. “Forward,” Michel barked. They walked straight until Mitchel commanded them to stop.

  Heath cocked his head. The whisper of robes and breathing by more than one reached his ears. It was cold enough for goosebumps to form on his skin. A faint but steady drip, drip, drip was enough to tell him they were in some kind of cellar.

  “You have been brought here to be initiated into the liberalist’s group. Do you, Mrs. Doyle agree to your initiation?”

  Heath puzzled the vaguely familiar voice. “What is to be my initiation, my lord?”

  “If you consent, place your mark on the scroll, if not, speak now and you will be removed from the premises.”

  Left with little choice, since Heath had not yet determined who the leader was, he curled his fingers around the quill pressed into his hand and formed his mark when his hand was guided to a parchment on a flat surface before him. After he was finished, the quill was removed and the same question asked of Lady Helen. He took the scratch of the tip against the paper as evidence of her consent.

  “Turn to face each other. Lady Helen, you will go first, please get down on all fours.”

  Heath did as asked, despite the uneasy feeling welling up in his chest.

  The blind folds were removed. Heath blinked to focus his eyes in the weak candle light. Lady Helen blinked and then looked up at Heath, her eyes wide and her lips quivering. Heath glanced to his right. Lord Atworthy smiled. Behind his lordship stood half a dozen men in black robes and matching masks.

  “Is that it?” Lady Helen whispered. “Are we initiated now?”

  Lord Atworthy chuckled. “Oh, no. We have devised a brilliant way to welcome you into the group. A way that will ensure what happens in this group and its members will remain anonymous.” He nodded to one of the men who came forward with a red scarf. “Hands behind your back, Mrs. Doyle, please.”

  Every fiber of his body screamed no, but Heath stifled it and complied.

  Once his hands were secured, Lord Atworthy nodded again. “Lift Mrs. Doyle’s skirts and lower her unmentionables.”

  “What?” Heath yelped. He spun around to face the advancing men. “Surely there is no need to remove my clothing for a spanking, ’tis not decent!”

  Lord Atworthy chuckled. “You will be less inclined to leak our secrets if you spank each other while naked in front of us.”

  Heath’s jaw dropped. He glanced over his shoulder at Lady Helen who gasped. “You cannot be serious? I demand to speak to the head of the group.”

  “What better way to ensure complete secrecy, Mrs. Doyle? After all, I am sure unbecoming sexual exploits with the same gender will be something no man or woman would willingly admit too, especially when there were witnesses present?”

  Heart hammering in his chest, Heath darted a glance around the room for a possible exit. The shadow of the stairs beckoned him. The moment the advancing masked men behind Lord Atworthy pulled down his pantaloons he would be exposed as a fraud. As the first man reached for him, Heath sprang into action. Leaping forward he bent at the waist and drove his shoulder into the man’s midsection. With a howl the man came to an abrupt halt and then tumbled backward. Heath spun around to confront the next subduer and caught sight of Lord Atworthy’s face. If he were not in such peril, he would have laughed at the older lord’s slack-jawed, eye-bulging look of pure disbelief. His attention shifted a moment too late, as three masked men tackled him at once. He fought with everything he had, dodging punches, hampered by his lace sleeves, velvet skirts and petticoats, but before long he found himself bested, pinned to the floor. Panting he glared up at those who held them, as his wig rolled from his head.

  “Bloody hell! She’s a he!” the one holding his left arm yelped.

  “What?” Lord Atworthy held up a candle holder for a better look. His grey brows drooped from astonishment to a glower. “Men, I believe we have found our spy.”

  Heath let himself go slack and closed his eyes. It was all over.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Pippa yawned and then took another sip from the tankard of lukewarm tea the cook had given her. The kitchen was quiet, the lower servants long abed. She tried to fathom the time, but could only
guess it was well after midnight. The maids serving the ladies in residence for the gathering had retired to help their mistresses prepare for bed. Where is Heath? She set down the cup and rubbed her tired eyes.

  A sleepy-eyed maid entered the kitchen. “The master says you may return to the inn now.”

  “There must be some mistake.” Pippa got up from the stool. “Hea— Um, Mrs. Doyle would not send me home. I mean, I must see to her corset and lacings.”

  The maid shrugged with a cross look. “The master says to dismiss Mrs. Doyle’s maid before I am to retire for the night.”

  “Take me to Mrs. Doyle then, so I may hear it from her lips.” Pippa crossed her arms. Though she felt sorry for the tired woman, she knew Heath would not dismiss her.

  “Wait here.” With a sniff and a foul look the girl left the kitchen.

  A few moments later, Pippa paused her pacing before the cooking fire as the low rumble of voices approached. The door to the servant’s hall opened.

  “If the blasted maid refuses to leave, then I shall have to dismiss…” Mitchel froze on the threshold in the wake of the returning maid when he spied Pippa. “…her myself.” His eyes narrowed. “Philippa, what are you doing here?”

  A chill slithered along Pippa’s spine despite the crackling fire at her back. “Mrs. Doyle hired me as her maid and I will not leave until I have been told to do so by her, herself.”

  Mitchel glanced at the maid. “You are dismissed, Rachel.” After the woman left he leaned back against the door. “I am surprised you agreed to accompany, Mrs. Doyle here. You are not exactly welcome under my roof. Have you come to blackmail me, Pippa?”

  Pippa drew herself up tall. “First of all, ’tis not your house but your father’s, and second of all, I want nothing from you, nor anything to do with you, Mitchel.”

  He lifted a brow in mocking salute. “What bold words from such a little mouse, Pippa.” He pushed away from the door and strolled toward her. “I heard you had become unusually attached to Mrs. Doyle. Why, I even hear tell the lady saved your father from dying in a fire last eve. Lucky for you she was about, I’d say, eh?”