The Sweetest Revenge

by Dawn Halliday

  Susan grasped her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Isabelle, have faith. My servants are loyal. They will not talk. I arranged for a physician to be readily available in the event Leo needed him. And he has already proven useful, so I am happy I thought of it in advance.”

  “Aye,” Isabelle whispered. Indeed, Susan had planned this down to the slightest detail. She shouldn’t be so nervous.

  “Susie thinks of everything, Isabelle,” Anna said. “She has paced the drawing room for months, boring me to tears over every single bit of minutiae related to this undertaking.”

  Anna took another bite of ham. Though she was the youngest of the three women, at twenty-one, Anna Tomkins was far worldlier than the delicacy of her features suggested. Her hair matched the rich wood of the breakfast table and her sparkling hazel eyes changed color with her mood. She was an undeniable beauty.

  Susan had assigned Anna to do most of the speaking. With a grin and a wink, Anna had informed Isabelle that she and Lord Leothaid had engaged in very little conversation at all during their brief encounter. Since her liaison with the earl had been the shortest, he likely wouldn’t recognize her voice. Isabelle and Susan both had longer associations with Leo, and though she could usually hide it, Isabelle’s Scottish accent would certainly give her away, so they would mask their voices and limit their speaking to ensure he wouldn’t identify them.

  Anna glanced up and reached across the table to clasp Isabelle’s other hand. Isabelle looked down at the two hands holding her own.

  Susan and Anna had sought Isabelle out when she’d come to London with her great-aunt this spring. At first she was surprised by their kindness, but as she grew to know them better, she’d begun to understand.

  Lord Leothaid had wounded them, too. Leo had made them all suffer.

  “I trust you both.” She struggled to speak through a surge of emotion. “You…you are my only true friends.”

  Susan and Anna squeezed her hands, and she simply sat for a moment, smiling. So this was camaraderie. So this was what true friendship was. Isabelle imagined their bond as a silvery cord of strength flowing between them, each contributing to it, helping it grow. The three of them together were powerful. Their combined strength could overcome any obstacle.

  Almost. She couldn’t ignore the sheer audacity of what they had done, or the resident fear coursing through her, reminding her that something could go horribly wrong.

  A dreadful foreboding skittered up her spine.

  Susan continued. “We must be strong. All three of us. It can be difficult to force understanding onto someone, and men are prone to be stubborn when challenged by the weaker sex.” Her lip curled with disdain. “But we will do whatever it takes. This is our goal, and we will not surrender until we have achieved it.”

  “Never surrender!” Anna agreed, her tone vehement.

  Both Anna and Susan turned to Isabelle, whose mouth suddenly felt dry.

  Remember what he did to you.

  He’d ruined her in the eyes of the world. And at her darkest hour, he’d abandoned her. She might have led a happy life with a family of her own one day. But now she was naught but a worthless spinster, a burden to her family and society. She blinked away the stinging moisture in her eyes.

  She would stand beside her friends, whatever their plans.

  “I will never give up,” she whispered.

  A shadow fell over the table. It was the incongruous Frenchman, blocking the light from the window. Isabelle looked up and felt the same little shock she experienced each time she laid eyes upon the man. For when she imagined a Frenchman named Pierre, she thought of a little bespectacled printer from Paris, not this giant.

  His voice, too, was out of place. It seemed when the man opened his mouth, the words should come out as the coarsest street cant, not the cultured, smooth tones of Paris.

  “The monsieur is awake,” Pierre said.

  A cold sweat broke out on Isabelle’s temples. The periphery of her vision blurred. Swaying, she gripped the edge of the table. To see Leo again after all these years…

  How would she survive it?

  Anna clapped gleefully.

  Susan turned to the younger woman. “Are you ready, Mistress Jane?”

  Grinning at Susan’s use of her alias, Anna nodded.

  “And you are certain he won’t know your voice?”

  “Absolutely certain, dear Lady M,” Anna said gravely.

  Lady M. Mistress Jane. And Isabelle was to be Miss Juliette. What if she forgot herself and blurted one of their real names? What if she ruined it for all of them? She gripped the table so hard, her knuckles turned white.

  Oblivious to Isabelle’s distress, Susan rose, a wide smile spreading over her composed features. “Then we shall begin.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Someone touched Leo. A fingernail drifted across his cheekbone, over the gag, down to the edge of his jaw. He sat at the edge of the chaise longue and struggled to remain still, though every fiber of his being commanded him to fight. By now he knew that physical resistance against these villains wouldn’t help. His earlier efforts to escape had only resulted in chafing his skin raw.

  Tight ropes, which only tightened when he struggled against them, bound his wrists behind his back. Metal shackles encircled his ankles and were attached by a heavy chain to a bolt in the wall. He’d struggled fruitlessly for several minutes before he’d admitted the truth: he was irrevocably, absolutely, and thoroughly trussed.

  Though only a dim light edged through the linen of his blindfold, he was certain it must be morning by now. His valet must have already found him missing from his bed. Sutherland and Archer would have noted his absence from last night’s revelries and questioned his staff. Half of London must be searching for him.

  The fingernail trailed the line of his jaw in an erotic touch. “Why, my lord, I do believe you need a shave.”

  The words were flirtatious and teasing, as if the lady who spoke them were a debutante at a society ball and they were dancing a quadrille. Before he could stop it, a low growl erupted from his throat.

  The fingernail left his face, replaced by a soft hand cupping his cheek. “Tsk, Leo. There is no need to become agitated.”

  So it was “Leo” now. Who was this lady?

  She played with him. He imagined her laughing silently, exchanging mocking glances with the other occupants of the room. Rage bloomed in his chest, and he jerked his ankles, making the chain clang against the wall.

  “Let me go, damn you!” But of course his words came out as gibberish through the gag.

  “Shh, Leo. Do be civil. After all, we are not harming you. Yet.”

  A ripple of feminine laughter came from someone standing close by. Leo swung his head toward her. She didn’t speak, but the sound of her laughter made the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Power radiated from this woman. Was she the one who had called to him in the street?

  Fury made every nerve in his body burn, but he clenched his teeth and tamped it down, commanding himself to think logically.

  What had the woman on the street looked like? He remembered shadowy features. She was slender and had dark hair—or was her hair covered by a dark shawl? He couldn’t recall, couldn’t think through the throbbing pain in his skull.

  And why didn’t she speak?

  Another surge of anger flooded him as seemingly random, irrational thoughts tumbled through his mind. Two females. Teasing him. Making light of this…this unspeakable situation.

  The first lady spoke again. “My heavens, Leo. You are as red as a beet. Is it because you are angry, afraid, or embarrassed to have been taken by three weak women?”

  Three women?

  “Ah, I see your color deepens. Yes, there are three of us.”

  “Good morning, my lord,” a third voice whispered from the foot of the chaise, proving her existence. A thrill rippled down Leo’s spine. He sat up straighter, cocking his head toward the sound of her voice.

  This breathless, tim
id woman was different from the other two, yet he couldn’t pinpoint why. It was something more than the trepidation in her tone, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

  Slowly, he turned to face the woman standing directly before him, the one who liked to talk. Three women, then. The frightened mouse, the silent leader, and the trio’s capricious voice. Who were they? Which one of them could he get to first?

  “There now,” the talkative woman said. She patted his shoulder as if he were a lapdog. “You see? Three helpless women. Why ever would you be angry?”

  Her patronizing tone made him clench his fists behind him. Overwhelmed by fury, his body trembled from toes to crown. Whoever these females were, he would kill them when this was over. He would relish watching their limp bodies hang from a rope. He would have his revenge.

  The gentle sloshing noise of water came from the floor, and a damp cloth swiped over his lip. He wrenched his head away.

  The lady spoke yet again. “Now, Leo, do be good for me. Your nose is a touch swollen, but you will be happy to hear that it is not broken. You are a bit untidy, however. There is some dried blood just here.”

  The soft material stroked his lip. Allowing her to touch him felt akin to admitting defeat, but given the ache in his nose and the gush of blood last night, he imagined he looked like hell. Vanity kept him immobile as she gently swiped the cloth over his skin.

  “I am afraid your greatcoat and tailcoat were complete losses. We thought we should replace them, but we know you are as fastidious a dandy as Beau Brummell himself, and I doubt our choice would be acceptable to you.”

  He grunted, thinking her statement likely accurate.

  “Allow us to formally introduce ourselves,” she continued conversationally. “Of course, you shall never know our true names, but you ought to have a way to discern the three of us.”

  He did not give any indication that he could already discern them. The voice, the leader, and the frightened mouse. The mouse still stood at his feet. He felt her eyes on him, boring into him. Unnerving him.

  The lady who served as the voice of the trio continued. “My name is Mistress Jane. Do you understand, Leo?”

  What a ridiculous pretense. Of course that was not her name. He would have laughed under any other circumstance. Mistress Jane, indeed.

  Fingernails dug into his shoulder, biting into his skin, but her voice stayed gentle. “Nod your head if you understand, Leo.”

  He nodded through his contempt. She was lucky he wore a gag; otherwise, he could not have held back the caustic comment on the tip of his tongue.

  “Good. You will address the lady to my left as ‘my lady,’ or, if you prefer, Lady M.”

  He inclined his head toward Lady M. Though he couldn’t see her, he could feel her. He knew exactly where she stood. The title didn’t come as any surprise. She was their leader, so she’d naturally demand a respectful designation.

  Lady M spoke for the first time. “Good morning, Leo.”

  The voice was familiar but low and rough for a woman, somehow masked, changed for his benefit.

  He knew her. He must know her, otherwise why would she disguise her voice? If he could coerce her to speak more, he might identify her, and if that happened, he would most certainly gain the upper hand.

  Triumph surged through him, and he fought the compulsion to laugh. His first small taste of victory since this ordeal began. He would find her out, and she would suffer for it.

  Biting down on his gag, he waited for his introduction to the timid mouse.

  “The third of us, the lady to my right, you shall know as Miss Juliette.”

  He nodded again and turned to face Miss Juliette. She was silent. Why didn’t she speak? He wanted to hear the soft whisper of her voice again. Maybe he could grasp the thrill he’d experienced when she’d spoken earlier. Maybe he could identify her as well.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Leo?” Jane asked. Mistress Jane.

  He shook his head.

  She lowered herself onto the chaise close beside him, far closer than would have been proper.

  “It will all become clear to you in time. For now, rest. I know you must have a terrible headache. We will give you plenty of water to counter it. No rich foods, I’m afraid.”

  Mistress Jane’s fingers drew small circles across his back. The warmth of her touch penetrated his shirt, somehow familiar, as if she’d caressed him like this before. Had he been intimate with this woman? His treacherous body seemed to think so, from the way it reacted to her touch. He gritted his teeth, tautened his muscles, and tried to squash the unwelcome arousal that sifted through him.

  “Now, then. You needn’t be so stiff. We’re not going to torture you.” She paused, laughed, then amended her statement. “Well, not in the way you might expect.”

  He didn’t recognize her voice, but that didn’t mean anything. He had an excellent memory, but he’d also bedded many women. He might have forgotten one or two of them. Or perhaps this one never spoke. Perhaps her body had spoken for her.

  All his senses attuned, he listened closely when she spoke again.

  “Now if you remain very still,” she murmured, “I will remove the cloth from your mouth.”

  He nodded to give the pretense of consent. Ever so slowly, she reached behind his head, sifting her fingers through his hair before flicking the ties to his gag. As it loosened, he spat it out.

  “Release me at once,” he barked, his voice cracking from lack of use.

  “Oh no, my dear lord,” Mistress Jane said, her hand firmly upon his shoulder. He could not rise unless he tossed her off—something he wasn’t certain would be the right thing to do.

  She spoke soothingly. “We will release you when we are ready, not sooner. And we’re not quite ready yet.”

  ***

  Isabelle couldn’t take her eyes off him. She had expected his righteous anger and confusion, but hadn’t anticipated his bare feet, broad shoulders, or the hint of the hard planes of chest exposed by the neckline of his shirt.

  He was larger than she remembered, and far more imposing. His face was rougher than it had been in his youth. His mouth was tight, his lips pressed into a flat line, the morning beard growth a russet scruff over his jaw.

  Bombarded by memories of their summer together, Isabelle could do little more than stand by dumbly as Anna proceeded with her one-sided banter. Both Anna and Susan seemed relaxed, almost as if they were having fun. Rugged, handsome, and powerful—not to mention nearly naked—this man clearly had no effect on either of her friends.

  Irrational jealousy flared somewhere deep within Isabelle as she watched Anna’s fingers trail across Leo’s torso. Then Susan leaned forward and smoothed a lock of reddish-brown hair behind his ear.

  If they could touch him, so could she. Couldn’t she?

  She bent down and reached a tentative hand out to the body part closest to her, his foot, and stroked its bottom. Chains clanked as he jerked away.

  She jumped backward, heat washing through her cheeks. Perhaps she had tickled him.

  “What is your price?” Leo said stiffly. The bare stone walls echoed his deep voice back at them. That voice—she remembered it so well, remembered the harsh whispers in her ear as he pushed himself into her… He’d whispered that he loved her, that he wanted to be with her forever. Empty promises, spoken in the heat of passion. She’d later learned that it wasn’t uncommon for men to make false promises during their seductions. She’d been so naïve.

  “We have no price.” Susan masked her tone as planned. The concealment, a scratchy, low-toned whisper, hid her real voice quite well.

  “What is it, then? Why am I here? What do you want?”

  “Now those are complicated questions.” Anna’s hand stroked gently across Leo’s chest, then she patted his shoulder. “And we think you might be too tired to listen today. But we would like one thing from you. After we leave, we would like you to think on why three representatives of the gentler sex might feel inclined to i
mprison you in a cold cellar.”

  “There is no bloody reason in hell three women should want to imprison me anywhere!”

  Isabelle cringed, wrapping her arms around her body to defend herself against the harshness of his words. Never had he spoken harshly in her presence; never had he shouted or railed at her or anyone else in anger.

  But what had she expected? A simpering apology? Any man would be enraged by what they had done.

  Susan and Anna exchanged an arch look.

  “There is no need to become belligerent. Give it time,” Anna cooed, turning back to him. “Think on it. We will revisit it at a later time.”

  Susan gave a brief nod, and Anna’s hand traveled between Lord Leothaid’s legs.

  Isabelle couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her eyes away. She froze, watching Anna’s fingers touch, stroke, and caress.

  Lord Leothaid’s lips flattened into a grim line. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Are you thinking of last night’s revelries, Leo?” Anna murmured. “Are you sorry you missed them?”

  “Take your bedeviled hands off me,” he growled. His body quivered with contained fury. Isabelle took another step backward, but Anna seemed unaffected. Instead, she pressed herself closer, and her hand tightened over his groin.

  “Why, Leo, have you already forgotten my name?”

  “Get off me, Mistress Jane.” Leo pushed the words from between his teeth.

  “That’s better.” Anna stood abruptly, brushing her hands as if touching him had soiled them, and joined Susan at the door.

  Despite his chains and bound wrists, Leo rose to his feet in one smooth movement and took one menacing step toward Isabelle as if he could see her—or at least sense exactly where she stood. She scuttled backward until she was out of his range.

  “My friends will have missed me. They will be searching. All of London will be searching.”

  Susan made a clucking noise with her tongue, and Anna laughed. “We shall see about that. I would suggest, though, that you consider showing us a bit more respect. We aren’t sweet society misses packed with fluff between the ears. You would be wise to remember it.”