by Cheryl Holt
It was a fair question. He was a renowned liar who’d grown up on London’s mean streets. A boy in that seedy environment quickly learned how to survive, and lying was the least of his transgressions.
“It’s a little late for you to complain or worry,” he said.
“Better late than never.”
“If I’m not wealthy I guess you’re screwed, but aren’t you screwed anyway? If you don’t hitch yourself to my wagon, what will you do?”
“I have no idea.”
“It’s not as if you have any options left after me. I could take you to Michael’s club and convince him to hire you as a whore. I could vouch for your abilities.”
“Michael Scott employs whores?”
She was so shocked that he laughed. “It’s a squalid, disreputable gambling club, Rebecca, where men wager and pretend they’re not married to their nagging, frumpy wives. Of course he employs whores.”
“Have you met some of them?”
“Met them? Honey, I’m the one who gives them a ride to see if they’re worth hiring.”
She stopped pacing and glared at him. “I can’t ever decide if you’re telling the truth.”
“Then you’ll never be bored with me, will you?”
He studied her, thinking her body was so fine, like a sculpture that might be displayed in a museum. She was slender, but rounded in all the right spots, her breasts pert and full, her ass the perfect size to fill a man’s questing hands. And she was so beautiful.
He’d never planned to wed, but once he’d settled on the prospect, he’d swiftly gotten used to it, and he couldn’t fathom not having her as his bride.
If he couldn’t persuade her he was beginning to suspect he’d regret it forever, but he couldn’t figure out why he would. She was flighty as a mockingbird, fussy and spoiled and hard to please, but damn, didn’t he yearn to try!
“Come over here, Rebecca.” He patted the mattress.
“I don’t like that gleam in your eye. When you look at me that way, you always coerce me into doing things I shouldn’t.”
“Good, now come here.”
“Why?”
He put his fingers on his cock, stroked it a few times, and it grew to an impressive length. She was loose and immoral, possessed of every doxy’s best traits, and her interest was immediately piqued.
“I want to show you an interesting trick,” he said.
“What is it?”
“You can do it with that mouth of yours instead of talking.”
“What do you mean?”
He gestured for her to approach, and slut that she was, she obeyed. With her having such rampant sexual curiosity, he couldn’t believe she hadn’t already birthed a dozen babes.
“Climb up on the bed.”
“I might—if you tell me what’s in it for me.”
“Lick me with your tongue.”
“With my tongue!”
“From the root to the tip. When you get to the top, you suck the whole darn rod into your mouth.”
She stared him down with a sort of horrid, fascinated excitement. Eventually she mused, “I’ve heard about this.”
He snorted. “For a girl who’s never been wed, you’ve been privy to an awful lot of gossip that you shouldn’t have.”
“If I hadn’t eavesdropped, how else could I find out? It’s not as if I could ask my sisters.”
“Too true.”
She slid onto the mattress, perched over him, and finally she leaned down and flicked her tongue as he’d instructed. He clasped her neck and held her in place until she did it several times. Then she sucked him between those ruby lips of hers, and he took a few slow, deep thrusts. She drew away, and he let her sit up.
“That was very…wicked,” she murmured.
“It’s a whore’s tactic, so I thought it would tickle your fancy.”
His lazy gaze wandered down her torso, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. It dawned on him that—besotted fool he apparently was—he’d do anything to stay by her side.
“We don’t have to marry,” he told her. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“We’d keep on as we are?”
He shrugged. “Why not? It’s not as if there’s anyone to complain. And if we ever raise suspicions, we can lie and claim we’ve been wed for years.”
“I’d feel more comfortable that way—for now.”
He realized she was anxious over what she’d set in motion. Often he noted her pondering whether she should flee when he wasn’t watching. On the one hand, she grasped the safety of a connection with him, but on the other, if he turned out to be dangerous or untrustworthy, she was plotting her escape.
But there was no going back. He’d warned her, but it was difficult to explain facts to a female who wouldn’t listen.
He pictured her staggering to Cliffside, ruined, with child. Gaylord Farrow would understand instantly what had happened to her, and he’d likely toss her out on the road and lock the door behind her.
The only path Ramsey could devise was to fornicate with her as frequently as he could. Sooner or later a babe would catch, and she’d be caught too.
“Put your mouth on me again,” he said.
“You like it?”
“Of course I like it. It’s a man’s favorite treat in the world.”
“Then I’d best practice until I can do it correctly.”
She bent down and applied herself to the task. He grinned up at the ceiling, thinking his life could never get any better than it was at that very moment.
* * * *
“Mr. Farrow!”
At hearing his name, Gaylord nearly didn’t glance around. He was stomping down the busy city street, in a temper and in no mood to chat. As usual, Maggie’s stubbornness was wrecking his plans. Still though, his manners won out, and he spun to see who had summoned him.
It was a lady’s maid, dawdling next to an ornate coach. To his surprise, the maid’s employer—Lady Felicia Gilroy, Lord Stone’s daughter and Michael Scott’s fiancée—was waving at him out the window.
They hadn’t previously been introduced, so he wasn’t sure how she knew who he was, but his pride was stroked by her recognition, and his mind was already calculating furiously, trying to ascertain how he could use it to his advantage.
“Lady Felicia.” He smiled his most charming smile and went over to her. “I haven’t had the pleasure, and I am extremely flattered by your regard.”
“I hope you don’t find me too forward,” she said.
“Not at all. What can I do for you?”
“Could you spare a minute of your time?”
“Certainly.”
A footman jumped to assist, and Gaylord climbed in the carriage and seated himself across from her. The maid huddled outside, giving them some privacy, which piqued Gaylord’s curiosity.
What on Earth could Lady Felicia want?
“I made some inquiries,” she told him, “and I’ve been informed that you are the current tenant at Cliffside.”
“Well…yes, I am.”
“I visited the other day. I believe I met your wife, Mrs. Farrow?”
“Yes, she mentioned it. We were honored to have you call on us.”
“My betrothed is Michael Scott.”
Gaylord beamed with false delight. “He’s an old and very close friend.”
A frown creased her brow, and he could see that—whatever she’d sought—she was having second thoughts. After all, a woman of her status never lowered herself to accosting a stranger.
He flashed a kind, commiserating look. “I was shocked by your hailing me. What is it you need? I beg you to confide what it might be. I’m at your service, milady.”
“I must ask you a question,” she tentatively ventured.
“Anything.” His tone was obsequious, cajoling.
“Can I rely on your discretion, Mr. Farrow? I’d like to discuss a rather delicate situation, and I can’t have anyone learn that I had. For example, I couldn’t have it g
etting back to…ah…”
“I’m the very soul of discretion, milady, and I would never reveal your query.” He took a gamble, rolled the dice. “Is it about Mr. Scott? He and I are so intimately acquainted. How may I allay your concerns?”
“It’s not about him. It’s about…well…an odd encounter we had at Cliffside.”
If Pamela said something stupid, I’ll kill her!
“What sort of encounter?”
“When we arrived, there was a woman in the drive. Her name was Magdalena Wells.”
Maggie! Dammit! What had she done now?
“Maggie is my sister-in-law. Has she upset you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She introduced herself to me as Mr. Scott’s fiancée.”
“His fiancée?” Gaylord scoffed. “Everyone knows Mr. Scott is engaged to you. Maggie is mad as a hatter. She always has been.”
“I must admit that—when it happened—I couldn’t decide what to think. And I was too embarrassed to ask Mr. Scott about her.”
“I completely understand.”
She gnawed on her bottom lip. “So…she has no hold on him?”
Gaylord reflected on Maggie, on her ceaseless condescension and disdain. She blamed him for every little misstep, and he was so sick of dealing with her. Her refusal to follow through with Michael Scott was galling, and Gaylord had warned her he’d get even, but he hadn’t expected the opportunity to arise so soon.
“May I be frank, Lady Felicia?” he softly inquired.
“Yes, please.”
“Maggie moved to the city some years ago.”
“Moved…on her own?”
“She was evicted, actually, by her father.” He leaned nearer and whispered. “She has very loose morals.”
“My goodness.”
“She runs a charity mission.”
“She helps the…less fortunate?”
“Yes—along with a few other, more dubious enterprises.”
“How absurd.”
“I’ve always thought so. She’s brought great shame to our family.” His expression grew sympathetic. “You asked if she has a hold on Mr. Scott.”
“If she’s not engaged to him as she claimed, what is their connection?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s too disreputable to describe for your maidenly ears.”
She pondered for an eternity, struggling to discern what type of disreputable relationship a woman would have with a man. Finally she gasped with affront.
“She’s his mistress?”
“Yes.” As if in pain, he blurted out, “Oh, it’s all so shocking. She had such a decent, honorable upbringing. Her transformation is inexplicable, but then Mr. Scott is quite dashing. It’s easy to see why she’d be bowled over.”
“What about Mr. Scott? Does he…love her?”
“Madly, my dear. Passionately.” Gaylord pursed his lips. “I shouldn’t have told you, but isn’t it better to know? Wouldn’t you rather hear that you have significant competition? It would eat away at you to harbor suspicions.”
“He loves her!” she repeated, sounding stunned and very angry.
“And you about to be his bride. You poor thing! You’ll have to battle so valiantly for his attention.” He sighed. “I’ve wanted to tell you. Many people have wanted to tell you, but none of us could figure out how.”
“How long have they pursued their affair?”
“For ages. Her establishment is down the street from his gambling club. She stays in the neighborhood so they can be together all the time.”
“Together? They live openly in sin?”
He shrugged. “As I mentioned, we’ve all been anxious to tell you. What new bride should have to begin her wedded life in such a muddle?”
“What bride indeed?” She stared at her lap.
He sighed again. “I wish there was some way to shut her down and move her out of the area. She won’t take herself out of Mr. Scott’s clutches, but if her establishment was shuttered, she’d have to go away. Our family’s disgrace would end, but I simply don’t have the authority to close the place.”
“If only there was something I could do…” she murmured.
“Yes, or maybe someone powerful like your father who has a bone to pick with Mr. Scott.” Slyly, as if an afterthought, he added, “It’s appalling how she procures girls for him. She must be stopped.”
Lady Felicia’s gaze whipped to his. “She what?”
“I’d hate to have you swept up in it. If you’re his wife, won’t it make you complicit?”
“In some sort of…pandering?”
“Yes, that’s certainly how I view it.”
“That’s…that’s…despicable.”
“Her charity mission is merely a pretense for aiding the downtrodden. Whenever a pretty girl comes in, she informs Mr. Scott, and the girl winds up employed at his club.”
“Employed…how?”
“Again, milady, I oughtn’t to discuss such dissolute business with an unmarried maiden such as yourself.”
“I suppose not.”
She appeared sufficiently wretched, and he could barely keep from smirking.
My work here is done!
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have shared such horrid tidings,” he said.
“No, no, I’m glad we talked. I’m glad to know.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it will be for you to wed a man of Mr. Scott’s…low reputation.”
“It will be very difficult,” she baldly confessed, and tears had flooded her eyes.
“Magdalena could ruin things for you before you have a chance to be happy with Mr. Scott. But then Maggie is vain and spoiled. She takes what she wants without regard to the damage she inflicts on others. She’ll show you no mercy. That I can guarantee.”
“Unless she was forced from his life,” she mused. “If she was eliminated as a temptation for Mr. Scott, she couldn’t harm me.”
“Too right, milady.”
He reached for the door, and an alert footman noticed and opened it.
“If I can be of further assistance,” Gaylord gushed, “don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
With a flourish, Gaylord offered her his calling card, then he stepped to the street and sauntered off, whistling as he went.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sensation—when it occurred—was always very strange.
Michael would be in the middle of a perfectly ordinary conversation, then he’d lapse into a dreamlike state, very much as if he’d been rendered unconscious. Except he didn’t enter a black void.
The place where he went was filled with color, light, and sound. He’d view everything as if he was looking through another man’s eyes. And it was always the same man. It had happened all of Michael’s life, and in fact when he’d been a small boy, they had communicated in an odd, made-up language that only the two of them could understand.
Was the other person an angel? A ghost? Why was Michael connected to him—or it—in such a strange way? When the visions faded, he was confused and bereft and wondered if he wasn’t insane. If he wasn’t suffering from a touch of lunacy, how could he explain it?
This time was no different.
He was inside the other man—a soldier, apparently—and studying his surroundings. Riding a fine horse, he could see the red of a uniform coat sleeve where a hand gripped the reins. The man had been in the army for years and was comfortable on the animal’s back. It was a summer day, the sky blue, the temperature warm and balmy, the trees a green canopy that shadowed a pretty lane.
There were orchards on either side, and in front of them, a grand house was perched on a hill.
There it is, a second soldier said from off on his left. What do you think?
Michael felt his shoulders shrug. It’ll do, I suppose.
Bloody right, you lucky bastard.
Michael was aware of numerous emotions. Vanity. Amazement. Worry. Exhaustion.
&nbs
p; They’d been traveling for weeks, the journey almost over, but there was no peace awaiting them. There would be fighting and quarrels, and the man loathed bickering and wouldn’t allow it. A ripple of temper brushed by, but he tamped it down.
Sweet Jesu…
How could you have ever thought to refuse all of this, Matthew? Are you sure we’re in the right place?
Matthew…
The name rang in Michael’s mind like a loud bell, and he tried to squirm out of his chair, but he was paralyzed and unable to breathe.
Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…
“Mr. Scott? Mr. Scott!”
Michael shook his head, reality returning with a vengeance.
He was at his club, seated at a card table, a very fetching and mostly naked trollop on his lap. Three other men were seated around the table with him and they were staring, assessing him nervously—as if they’d just realized he was mad.
Ramsey was the only one who knew about the peculiar apparitions, and that was because Michael had experienced so many of them when they were growing up. Ramsey believed Michael was some sort of phantom who could inhabit other bodies, but if he was a phantom, he wasn’t very effective. He had no ability to talk or influence the other man’s actions.
“What?” he snapped, hating to have them watching him in his moment of befuddlement.
Had he spoken aloud during the episode? Ramsey claimed he did sometimes. If Michael had cried out in his catatonic state, what might he have said?
“Are you all right, sir?” the doxy cautiously asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Were you planning to bet?” She gestured to the pile of coins. “It’s your turn.”
He didn’t even peek at his cards, but tossed them away. “I’m out.”
The other men anxiously peeked at each other, not certain if they should continue or stop too. There was so much money at stake. Michael had wagered upwards of five hundred pounds, which was a shocking development.
He rarely gambled, and when he did, it was for small amounts. If he risked more, it was because his partner was an asshole, and Michael intended to cheat the prick out of all he owned.
But Michael was in a foul mood, drinking and wagering and generally making a fool of himself. Ramsey was gone to Dover and wasn’t present to rein in Michael’s worst tendencies.
