She followed his instructions, though he had some pleasure in seeing her slight hesitation. He strode behind her, urging her forward, her arms bracing herself on the bed. He tossed the back of her gown up, over her shoulders. Her pale, creamy ass beckoned, her glistening opening begging for him.
“Oh, God,” she said in a strangled whisper.
“Shall I spank you, Lizzy? Would you like that?” He brushed the leathery tendrils of his flogger over her bare flesh, between her thighs.
“My job,” she said hesitatingly, “is to please you.”
Her conviction about his nobility sounded far less certain. Too late, his raw need seeped through. He bit back a moan and lowered his face, taking in her scent, sinking his teeth into her soft skin. Her body jerked and a gasp fled her lips. He held her in place with one hand, filling his mind with her scent, delving his fingers once more between her thighs. The bite would leave its mark, a lover’s bruise that would remind her of him each time she sat down. He grabbed the whip and hit the mattress. “Stand up.” Her grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet, searching her face for any sort of malice, expecting she would slap him.
Instead, she brushed her skirts down, but he could see the tears glistening on her face. Bloody hell, hadn’t he warned her not to go sniffing around on her own? Unable to deal with her tears, he turned away, escaping to the dark alcove. His lungs were tight. He wanted to flee from the room, breathe in the night air. If nothing else, perhaps she’d had enough that she’d think twice before returning to the manor.
“Am I dismissed, or would you like me to stay?” She waited by the bed.
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, stopping short of telling her never to return. “No,” he stated simply.
“Do you wish to return to the party downstairs?” she asked.
He placed his hand on the mantel, watching her in the reflection of the mirror hung above it. “I’m in no mood for a crowd.” Were it up to him, he’d have kept her until dawn, pleasuring her, teaching her the splendors of his dark love. He waved the thought away. “Your payment is on the table. Take it—take it all.” The swish of her skirt on the hardwood floor brought his head around. “I suspect, however, that you’ll be leaving the manor soon?”
She paused at the table and picked up the silk purse he’d left. His jaw ticked as he waited intently to see how she would respond. Absurdly, he wanted her to tell him that she didn’t want his money. Instead, she opened the purse, took out a coin and tucked it down the front of her dress. “For the hansom.”
A moment later, the door closed softly. His frustration, which he’d held back in her presence, roiled freely inside of him. He picked up the brandy decanter and hurled it across the room, smashing it against the wall. Need, pain, and anger welled inside him until he wanted desperately to destroy everything that reminded him of this night…of her. He was a prisoner to this secret life. No woman would ever be able to tolerate a man so unstable in his emotions.
He dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands, fighting the darkness prowling inside him. He tore the mask off and threw it across the room. Dammit. He’d climbed his way to the top of Scotland Yard investigating, deciphering clues, getting inside the criminal mind. Yet, beyond his position at the CID, he was a man alone, with no clue of the intricacies of the human heart. He chuckled as he realized that in a sad, twisted way, he had his father to thank for setting him on this path. His determination to find whomever his father hired to butcher his sister was part of him—in his blood. He’d never rest until he knew.
A tap issued on the door and a moment later, in waltzed Madam McFarland. He stood, pretending to be tying his cravat.
“Lizzy indicated that you were upset. I want no trouble, Master Mansfield. This is a quality establishment. I have only the best escorts, and if this one was trouble then I will see to it personally that she is soundly reprimanded.”
“Do not misunderstand, Madam, Your ladies are impeccable—in particular the one I just became acquainted with tonight. You indicated she was new?”
Her frustration melted, a smile replacing her stern look. She fluttered her fan demurely. “You were indeed her first and I didn’t charge you extra.” She eyed him. “I hope she was satisfactory, and if not”—she stepped up to him and trailed her fan down his chest—“I happen to have some time.”
“She was fine.” He busied himself with the tie, thinking of how to protect Jane should she dare try to return.
Madam eyed him shrewdly, apparently dismissing the fact that he’d ignored her offer. “I thought I heard a loud crash as I was coming up the stairs.” She glanced around the room, her mouth dropping as she spotted the dark streams of liquid running down the flocked wallpaper. Her gaze dropped to the shattered glass. Her anger was palpable.
“Was this her doing? I will garnish her wages. That is our best brandy.” Her hand fan snapped closed and she turned toward the door, preparing to send down holy hell, he expected, upon Jane.
“It was my doing.” He walked to her side. “Send me the bill…for everything.”
“Inspector?” Madam McFarland prodded his shoulder with the tip of her fan.
“Yes, what is it, Madam McFarland?” He blinked, clearing his head of the thoughts tangled in his brain.
“Why don’t you come downstairs? Let me get you a drink. You look like you could use one.”
He shook his head. “No, thank you. However, I do have a request. One for which I’m prepared to compensate quite generously.” He paused, knowing madam’s weakness was money.
“But of course, master. For you, anything.” She smiled, her gaze narrowing.
“I want Lizzy to be exclusive to me. I don’t wish her to see other clients.”
Madam McFarland regarded him carefully. “Was she that exceptional?”
One thing was certain, if he hadn’t succeeded in running her off for good, he had to make damn sure she was safe. And if that meant keeping her in his bed, then so be it.
“You’re certain? You are, of course, one of our club’s legends. If this woman pleases you so exceptionally after just one liaison then I am more than happy to accommodate your wishes.” She leveled him a look. “For the fee of keeping her all to yourself, you understand.” She shrugged. “However, there are a bevy of wonderful ladies waiting downstairs, all more than willing to please. Why not come down and pick out another? The night is still young.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m quite tired.” It was a boldface lie. Had he the opportunity, if things were different, he’d only be getting started with Miss Goodwin. “The back stairs are clear, then?”
“As always,” she replied, tipping her head with a tight smile.
He disregarded her look of curiosity “We have an understanding, then, regarding Lizzy?”
“Of course, master.”
“Good.” He fetched his coat and, moving down the back stairs, left by way of the now-deserted kitchen. Once outside, he stepped into the fog-laden garden hidden from view by an ivy-covered brick wall. Randolph breathed in deeply the misty night air. Somewhere he heard the slow clop of hooves on the cobblestone, punctuated by the mournful sound of a ship’s foghorn in the distance. He paused to button his coat before he stepped from the back gate. The irony of the evening was quite simply that she had spoiled him from wanting anyone else. He raked his hand through his hair and plopped his hat on his head. The walk home would do him good. He knew already that he wasn’t going to sleep well tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
Jane sat staring at the mirror, scissors in hand. She’d been contemplating her decision for the better part of the last twenty minutes. Last night had changed her—changed everything. In her quest to succeed in a man’s world, she realized she’d been clinging to the pain of her past, holding a deeply rooted bitterness inside her for all men.
But she was a woman—flesh and bone. Randolph reminded her of that. With each caress, he summoned a passion within her, exceeding her minimalistic v
iew of what it was to give and receive pleasure. He exuded control over her body, made it come alive at his bidding. Yet in surrendering, she’d never felt so empowered. He spoiled her radically, irreversibly, injecting her soul with a dark fascination.
She wanted more.
Jane held up a lock of her long, burnished locks, symbolic of her past, a reminder of the girl she once was. She glanced down, seeing the folded note lying on the edge of the vanity. She’d found it this morning before Martha had, slid beneath the front door. She gently laid the scissors down and picked up the paper. This time there was no question. It was addressed directly to her. Twin emotions—determination to unravel this mystery and desire to be again with Randolph, this time with no secrets between them—warred inside her as she read.
Dear Jane,
There have been others, you know. But you are quite different. You stir up the sweet darkness in me, Jane. I look forward to seeing you soon.
“Are you any further along with your investigation?”
Startled, Jane bumped the scissors and they clattered to the floor, pulling her from her thoughts. She folded the note and discreetly tucked it in her pocket as she glanced toward the door. “Hello, Wesley. It’s good to see you.” Though unexpected, his visit was welcome. She’d missed their friendship.
He smiled, moving toward the empty chair behind her. “May I? I’d like to speak to you.”
“Of course." She turned in her seat to face him. He leaned forward, clasping his hands over his knees. An awkward silence followed.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, just as Jane said the same.
Wesley chuckled softly. “I thought it time that we set aside what happened between us so that I might help you with this investigation of yours.”
She regarded him for a moment and then retrieved the scissors, glancing at him in the mirror as she did so. “You’re sweet to offer, Wesley, but I can’t in good conscience involve you.” She picked up a strand of her hair and studied it. “Inspector Mansfield has already given me several warnings.” She sighed, understanding how his reasons might have been more than for her safety. “And your aunt constantly insists that it isn’t safe for me here anymore. She wants me to come live at her house.”
He cocked a brow and gave her a wicked smile. “An idea that, I confess, I would not object to.” He stood, walking up behind her, his pale gray-green eyes glittering. “Well, you can hardly blame me for not reminding you of what you’re passing up.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and leaned down to meet her gaze in the mirror. “You know, you aren’t the only woman vying for my attention.” He held her eyes with a humorous gaze. “What in heaven’s name are you contemplating?” He nodded toward the scissors.
“I’ve decided to cut my hair.” She couldn’t tell him the real reasons prompting this change. It would devastate Wesley to know of her feelings for the inspector.
“Bloody hell, you say.” He plucked the scissors from her hand. “I see I’ve arrived just in time to prevent you from making a colossal mistake. No, I won’t have it. I forbid you to do this, Jane.”
“It is my hair.” She held her hand out for the scissors. “If you won’t help me, I will just do it myself.”
His expression turned sour. “I believe you would.”
She shrugged.
“Give me one good reason why you’d even consider doing such a thing.”
“Why you’re about to help me, you mean,” she reminded him.
He gave her a wary look.
She grabbed his wrist. “I’m doing this for me. It’s something I need to do. I don’t expect you to understand—“
“You are correct about that,” he muttered.
“But I do ask that you respect my choice.”
“Ah, so it’s in the name of women’s suffrage, is it? Did that Clarice put you up to this?”
“Clarice had nothing to do with it,” Jane sniffed. “It’s personal. It’s my coming-of-age decision.”
“More like a rush of insanity—”
She stopped him with an upturned hand.
He blew out a sigh. “Fine. Where in blazes do I begin?” He picked up a hunk of her hair in the center back.
Jane drew in a gasp as she realized she’d not given him clear instructions. She took Wesley’s hand and eased the scissors level with the top of her shoulders. “Here, start on this side and follow it around to the other.”
“You’re sure about this?” he asked once more, smoothing her hair with his palm. “I don’t suppose my telling you it was a secret fantasy to run my fingers through this hair would make any difference?”
This was a symbolic moment—it was time to toss out the old Jane, with the painful baggage of her past, and move on to the new Jane and her glorious independence. “Cut,” she ordered, staring at him in the mirror.
It was over in a few short moments. Scattered at her feet lay clumps of her dark hair. Wesley’s complexion was pale as he stared at the results of his labor.
“There, now. It isn’t as though you murdered me, Wesley,” she said in an attempt to console him.
He flopped down in a chair and stared at the floor. The scissors dangled from his fingers.
“Scissors, please?” Jane took them from Wesley’s limp hand and proceeded to trim her hair until she felt marginally certain it was even. The sad truth was she looked like a scrawny street urchin. “It will grow back,” she muttered to herself. Meantime, she would make do with curling her hair like her aunt—in cloth rags.
“Have any more notes arrived for you?” Wesley asked suddenly.
Not wishing to alarm him, Jane shook her head. “Um, not for over a week.”
There was an uneasy quiet.
“And your interview? How did that go?”
Startled, she turned to him, meeting his inquisitive look.
“Clarice.” He gave her a pointed look. “And before you lie to me again, I’d like to read that note I saw you put in your pocket.”
She sighed. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“She mentioned that was the probable reason.” He offered his hand, waiting until she relented and gave him the note. He read it, his expression grim. “This is where I speak to you as a friend and remind you how utterly dangerous this is. You have no idea where these notes are coming from. Maybe it’s not just a harmless prank anymore, Jane.”
She stood and brushed past him to look out the window. An unexpected chill swirled around her newly shorn head. She rubbed the back of her neck, debating whether to ask if he knew of Randolph’s involvement at the Manor, but decided against muddying the waters. Her thoughts drifted to last night, how she’d explained to madam she wasn’t feeling well and needed to leave. Sleep had eluded her for hours after she’d returned home, remembering the sweet rush of ecstasy, and wondering how she would face the inspector again.
“What is it, Jane?” Wesley asked.
She drew in a deep breath, blinking away her thoughts. She turned to find Wesley studying her.
“Whatever happened must have been quite captivating. You should have seen the look on your face just now.” He leaned back in the chair. “Were you successful, then, in finding Vladimir?”
Jane pressed forward, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions. “Yes and no. I did find him, and was engaged in a conversation with him. Because we both wore masks, I don’t believe he recognized me.”
Wesley waited with a non-descript look on his face.
“As I was speaking with him, another man requested my company. It is the rules, apparently, and madam insisted that I comply.”
“Comply? And so you went with this…other man?” Wesley leaned forward, his eyes steady on her.
Jane looked away, focusing on the street outside. “The point is that I have to go back. It’s the only place I can think of to catch him off guard. These notes, while they may be harmless, do not negate what he did to me at the theater.” She glanced over her shoulder, lowering her eyes. “And what happened betw
een us. Which shouldn’t have happened.”
“Look at me, Jane,” he said. “It is done. My pride has suffered worse bruising.”
She nodded, averting her eyes from him. “I am still convinced he is the only one who could possibly be leaving me these notes.”
Wesley pushed from the chair and walked up behind her. He handed her the folded note as he searched her face. “Are you sure it is worth it, Jane? Even for the sake of journalistic pride, I can’t see that placing yourself in a position of compromise is a wise choice.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you don’t give me enough credit. This man, while his actions may lean toward harmless infatuation, could be far more dangerous. We know very little about him,” Wesley said.
“If it were you receiving such notes, would you be so willing just to toss them aside, pretend as though they didn’t exist?” She watched him, waiting for his answer.
“I completely understand your concerns, Jane,” Wesley said with a sigh. He looked straight ahead, appearing deep in thought, then glanced at her. “This time, however, I am going to side with the inspector. I think we should let the Yard handle this matter.”
Jane considered that Inspector Mansfield no doubt, wouldn’t be happy to know she was still nosing around the manor, as well. “Surely they have enough to deal with. At this time, there is no reason to involve the authorities.” She sighed. “Besides, as you are not a woman, I can’t expect you to understand how I feel.”
He bowed. “Thank you for noticing, but again, I don’t see how this plays into the circumstances.”
She raised her brow. “Simply that I cannot just sit here and be a victim…to feel powerless, not knowing what may transpire.”
“Just to be clear then, by cutting off your locks, you’ve now achieved a greater sense of power?” Wesley cast an inquisitive look at her. “I was afraid that you might not yet have given up. Strange, that.” He chuckled. “Hence, one of the reasons I stopped by.”
The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 17
