by Cheryl Holt
She was aghast. “Could the situation get worse?”
“It’s all poppycock, so why would it?”
A frisson of fear wiggled down her spine.
“I do not believe in potions,” she declared.
“You don’t have to believe for the magic to work.”
“I do not believe in potions!” she repeated more vehemently, the phrase running through her head like an incantation.
She stomped away, and he called, “Miss Lambert?”
She whipped around. “Yes?”
“After you swallow the second dose, inform me at once. We’ll talk.”
“Why?”
“Your problems will be exacerbated, so we’ll have to decide on your next course of action.”
“You are mad, and I am done with listening to you.”
She spun and fled.
Chapter 9
“HE’S quite a manly fellow.”
“I’ve noticed that about him.”
“Probably much more masculine than you realized.”
Edward and Violet stood on the terrace, arm in arm. He smiled wanly as he pointed at John, whose horse had just jumped a fence, then thundered away over a distant hill.
The smile Violet flashed in return was troubled, which certainly boosted Edward’s mood. It was humorous, making her question her choice of John as fiancé.
John was in his element, riding about the estate. His color was high, his hair tousled by the wind, and—clinging to the back of a magnificent stallion—he cut a dashing figure. Any woman worth her salt would have been riveted, but Violet was easily swayed, and it was a simple matter encouraging her to see what wasn’t there.
“He’s rigorous in his habits,” Edward said.
“Yes, he is.”
“It’s indiscreet of me to mention this, but you have such a delicate constitution. Have you thought of what it will mean for you?”
“In what way?”
Edward managed a competent blush. “In your . . . ah . . . wifely duties.” He patted her hand. “You’ll be fine. You’ll weather it well.”
“If only . . .”
He seized on her hesitation. “If only what, darling?”
“If only Father had selected someone who was a tad less . . . robust.”
“Someone who appreciated what a slight and feminine creature you are?”
“Yes.”
“Someone more like me, perhaps?”
“Yes.”
Edward pulled her around to face him, so they were very close.
“My dearest, Violet!” he gushed.
“Yes, Edward?”
“I’m sickened that John will be your . . . your . . .” He bit off an oath. “Oh, it’s hopeless.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing. John is my brother, and the two of you are due all the happiness in the world. Despite my feelings, I can’t wish for more.”
“What feelings?”
“Don’t you know, Violet?”
“No.”
“It’s always been you—the girl of my dreams—but with John in the picture, I never had a chance.”
“I had no idea.”
Neither did I! Edward crudely reflected.
He was in love with her, all right. With her dowry and her status as a duke’s daughter. It was the story of his life that it would all fall to John, who’d already received so many boons that he failed to appreciate any of them.
“I wonder if I should speak to Father,” she tentatively broached, but Edward was quick to quash any rash conduct.
If he perpetrated a betrayal with Violet, it would be reckless and fast, such as absconding with her on her wedding day. He would glean enormous satisfaction from leaving John standing at the altar.
“No, my sweet,” he cooed. “You can’t speak to the duke; he’s made his decision. You shall be John’s bride, and I am doomed to admire you from afar. We can’t yearn for more. It would be wrong.”
“I suppose it would be.” She sighed.
Over her shoulder, he glanced up and saw Miranda beckoning to him. From the sultry gleam in her eye, it was clear the twins were planning decadency again, and he was eager to participate. Scotland was proving to be as boring as he’d anticipated, his only amusement being his flirtation with Violet.
He’d invited her to go riding in the gig, and she was like a clinging vine. How was he to be shed of her?
“Did you hear that?” He peered toward the front entrance of the castle.
“No.”
“I think my mother is calling you. She told me she wanted you to accompany her on her afternoon visiting.”
“How considerate.”
“She must be searching for you. Perhaps we should check.” He pretended to ponder. “Never mind. We can catch up with her when we return.”
“We’re in no hurry,” Violet insisted, her perfect manners surging to the fore. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Last I knew, she was in the drawing room.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“While I’m waiting, I’ll dash up to my bedchamber and fetch my coat. I’ll meet you out in the barn.”
She hastened away, and he dawdled till she’d rounded the corner. The instant she was out of sight, he strolled over to Miranda.
“You’re getting awfully friendly with Violet,” she noted.
“Violet is of no consequence, and she’s engaged to John. What do you want?”
“Are you busy?”
“No.”
“Melanie has finished her bath. She needs you.”
“Then I am hers to command.”
They climbed the stairs to the twins’ bedchamber, and by the time they entered, his anticipation was so great that he could hardly walk. His erection was that pronounced.
As occurred at their previous dalliance, they marched straight to the dressing room, where Melanie was immersed in the tub. She came up out of the water and stepped to the floor.
“Will you dry me?” she inquired. She whirled around, showing him her back. Her hair was piled high on her head, a few wet tendrils curling down.
Miranda handed him a towel, and he started at Melanie’s neck, wiping with slow motions so he could prolong the moment.
He arrived at her waist and dropped to his knees, running the towel over and over the globes of her ass, daring once to swipe it in her crack.
Unsure as to what would happen next, he was delighted when she spun and ordered, “Do my front.”
He fumbled up her calves, being particularly clumsy, but he couldn’t help himself. With him still kneeling, he was staring directly at her pussy, and he was able to definitively determine that she had no hair covering the indecent mound. Her privates were bare as a baby’s bottom.
How had she removed it? Did she shave herself? Did a maid? Did her sister shave her?
Gad, he could vividly picture it! The two of them nude, Melanie on her back, her thighs spread so that Miranda could work unimpeded.
If he was lucky, he might be asked to watch someday, maybe even assist. At the prospect, blood rushed down to his penis so quickly that he nearly fainted.
“Open your legs,” he advised her.
“No talking!” Miranda barked, sounding like a captain of a military regiment. “Melanie, give me the whip.”
Edward was agog with speculation as Melanie reached into a dresser and pulled out a riding crop. She offered the whip to Miranda, and Miranda tapped him on the shoulder. Not too hard, but with sufficient force that he knew it would hurt if she chose to play it rough.
“You missed several spots,” Miranda sternly chastised.
He hesitated, not certain to which spots she referred, and she slapped his other shoulder, harder than before. He applied himself to Melanie’s breasts, rubbing the towel in circles, arousing her nipples till they were taut little buds.
“That’s enough for now.”
Melanie shoved him away as Miranda took the towel.
“Stan
d up,” Miranda snarled.
He obeyed as she shifted behind Melanie. Her clothed torso was snuggled to Melanie’s naked one. She wrapped an arm over Melanie’s waist and held her close.
“We want to look at your phallus,” Miranda said. “Unbutton your trousers.”
He swiftly complied.
“Let us see how big you are. Let us see if your cock is worth having.”
He wasn’t worried about exposing himself. His rod was impressive. He yanked it out, and it dangled toward them, a rigid, angry appendage, begging to be stroked.
“Would you like Melanie to touch it?” Miranda asked.
“Yes ... yes . . .”
Melanie knelt down, while Miranda observed. She was in charge of events, but curiously unaffected.
Edward braced, hissing out his breath as Melanie put her tongue to the root, then traced a leisurely trail to the tip. He assumed heaven was approaching, that she would suck him between those ruby lips and take him to paradise, but as his balls clenched, she drew away and stood.
He lunged for her, and Miranda cracked the crop across his wrist, leaving a red welt.
“You may only proceed if you have my permission,” Miranda explained.
“But I want to—”
“I said no!”
She smacked his cheek. At any other time in his life, with any other woman, he’d have wrenched the whip away and given her a taste of her own medicine, but for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he didn’t move.
It was thrilling, having her in control. She’d dominated him in a fashion he’d never encountered prior, and he was incredibly excited by it. Her behavior called to a deviant part of him, one that enjoyed how he’d been subjugated.
“We’re finished for today,” Miranda stated. “You may button up.”
Without speaking, he did as she’d bid him.
“On your next visit,” Miranda said, “you will fuck my sister. I will tell you how.” She tapped the crop on his thigh. “You will do it exactly as I say, or you will be punished. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“You may go.”
She ushered him out and pushed him into the hall. She started to shut the door, and he frantically asked, “When will you send for me again?”
“We’ll let you know.”
He staggered to his bedchamber, trying to figure out how he could accelerate their summons and needing—once again—to rapidly ease the pressure in his loins.
“ARE you still with us, Miss Lambert?”
“Yes.”
Lily carefully maneuvered the last few steps down an ancient staircase that wound into the bowels of the earth to a hot springs below the castle. She was following the twins, who were up ahead.
As they’d descended, the air had grown warm and humid, so the stones were very slippery, and it had slowed her pace. Yet she couldn’t dawdle. The twins had both brought lanterns, but they hadn’t instructed her to bring one. If she lagged, she would be left in the dark.
The twins had insisted she accompany them to help them bathe. She’d considered refusing, but curiosity had prodded her to tag along.
What could go wrong? she’d asked herself. She’d told a maid where she’d be, so it wasn’t as if she could vanish.
She’d never been to a hot springs spa, had never tasted the medicinal waters or swum in the bubbling currents, so she’d been eager for the adventure. But when she’d agreed to attend them, she hadn’t known that the walk would be so treacherous, or that she would end up such a distance from the occupied sections of the castle.
She let go of the slimy, moss-covered wall and entered a huge underground cave. Lantern light flickered off the ceiling, making it glow a silvery white. Water gurgled at the rear, trickling down in a waterfall to form a large pool. It was very clean, very clear, and she could see the bottom. It looked just the right depth for wading and floating.
The place was decadent and hedonistic, and she hoped she’d be able to come back sometime. She’d like to strip to her chemise and jump in, but with the twins present, she never would.
“How do you like it?” Melanie inquired of her.
“It’s spectacular,” Lily had to admit. She pointed into the pool. “Are those benches in the rocks?”
“Yes.”
“Who carved them?”
“John believes it was the Romans.”
“So it’s very old,” Lily mused.
“And very magical,” Miranda added.
Lily concurred. There was an eerie, almost reverential stillness to the grotto, as if primeval spirits were observing them.
Miranda began fussing with the buttons on her gown, but she couldn’t reach them.
“Miss Lambert,” she said, “I need your assistance.”
“Certainly.”
Lily approached, prepared for any mischief, but she didn’t see what trick they could play. They might shove her into the pool, but it wouldn’t kill her to get wet. She’d survive a dunking.
“Do you swim?” Miranda probed.
“Yes.”
“Will you swim today?”
“No.”
“Shy, are you?”
“I’m not shy. I’m just not about to remove my clothes, for I’m sure that—the moment I did—you would grab them and run, leaving me to traipse upstairs in my drawers.”
“My, my!” Melanie batted her lashes. “I wonder what John would say?”
“Precisely. You’d have me convicted before I could defend myself.”
“You’d be fired, as our prior companions were all fired.”
“Yes, I would be, so I’m not taking any chances.”
“How is it that you know us so well, Miss Lambert?” Miranda queried. “The other ladies never figured out that we were trying to get rid of them. They were never suspicious—as you always are.”
“You aren’t my first tough assignment, and you won’t be my last.”
“We won’t stop our attempts to be shed of you. You must realize that.”
“Yes, I realize it, so I won’t let down my guard.”
“It seems we’re at an impasse.”
“It seems we are,” Lily concurred.
She should have seen it coming, but she didn’t.
They’d lured her into complacency with their civil conversation, and she’d turned slightly to peer out over the water.
Her initial indication of calamity was activity at the periphery of her vision. Her adrenaline surged, and she meant to spin toward them, but before she could, Miranda pushed her very hard. Lily stumbled to her knees, then was pushed a second time, her head hitting the stone floor with a muted thud.
Dazed and disoriented, she struggled to rise, but she was pushed, once more, her head smacking rock again, so she was barely conscious.
She felt herself being rolled into the pool, but she couldn’t forestall them. It was a drop of several feet, and it transpired slowly, as if she was watching it happen to someone else.
For a brief instant, she was positive their blows had blinded her. She couldn’t see anything, but then, it dawned on her that they had taken their lanterns and fled. They hustled up the staircase, their giggles echoing in the vaulted chamber.
She ordered her limbs to respond, but they didn’t, and it occurred to her that she might be drowning. If she perished, would anyone care? Would anyone search?
In complete darkness, in a total vacuum devoid of light or sound, she sank down, her heavy, soaked garments dragging her to the bottom.
“ANY news?” John asked.
“We’ve looked everywhere, Lord Penworth,” the butler, Angus, said. “Miss Lambert seems to have disappeared.”
“How could that be?” John mused. “She’s an adult woman who weighs at least ten stone. Such a person doesn’t just vanish.”
John was secluded in his library, away from his supper guests and their merriment in the other wing of the castle. He was trying to maintain his composure but finding it impossible.
> It was after eleven. Where could she be? Had she left him?
Though he was panicked, he couldn’t show any overt alarm. As far as the world was concerned, she was merely an employee, and thus not entitled to any excessive worry.
She’d been out all afternoon, but no one could say where she’d gone. She’d missed tea, then supper, and when the dancing had commenced, he’d finally sent a maid to her bedchamber on the pretext of asking if she was ill.
The maid reported that her clothes and portmanteau were still in her room. Her reticule was there, too, her small amount of money tucked inside. He couldn’t picture her leaving without her purse and the coins it contained.
So . . . where was she?
Suddenly, someone banged on the door, and it was flung open. A man stormed in.
“Mr. Dudley, isn’t it?” John curtly inquired.
“Bloody right,” Dudley barked in reply as he strode over to the desk.
They’d been introduced, but were scarcely acquainted, yet the fellow was mad as a hornet. Why would he presume he could accost John? The knave had gall sufficient for a dozen!
“What can I do for you?” John queried.
“I have a few questions.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of a . . . situation. Would you mind if we talk later?”
“Yes, I would bloody well mind.”
John’s temper sparked. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the furious oaf, but he didn’t relish a tussle, either.
“Fine,” John fumed. “Speak your piece, then go. I’m busy.”
“I was hoping to see a member of your household this evening—your twins’ companion, Miss Lambert.”
John was instantly on alert. “Really? What is your connection to her?”
“She’s a friend of mine.”
Dudley’s explanation was casually supplied, giving no hint as to the true state of his relationship with Lily. But he was tall and handsome, the sort John imagined the ladies would deem mysterious and dashing, and John suffered an odd wave of jealousy.
“A friend?” John scoffed. “You bumped into her here in Scotland?”
“Yes. Where is she?”
“Why would you assume I know?”
“Don’t annoy me, Penworth. I heard a footman whispering. Apparently, she’s disappeared. What have you done with her?”
