Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3)

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “My God, but how did you slip him inside Cassandra’s townhouse—” Her voice trailed off, more horror washing over her. “My God. My God.”

  He chuckled, softly. “The look on your face, just now. Priceless, my dear.”

  Miranda swallowed, hard, still staring at him in horror. “My shame, he saw my shame and you say Cassandra knew?”

  “She sat beside Winterton and watched. She wanted to make sure that I didn’t… harm you, at least not too much. God, I have seen greed in my women, but never to the extent that her eyes could glitter with it. Quite stimulating. Refreshing in a woman to be so open and unapologetic about her greed.”

  “My shame. He knew. All along, he knew.” Miranda’s insides twisted.

  “Don’t worry, girl, I have never told anyone else but I did write a detailed account of every single moment in my diary. And when my conquests have been poor, I read that to cheer myself.” He twisted his lips, a wry expression. “But it is also bittersweet for I know that I shall likely never, ever achieve such ecstasy with any woman again. Remember when I discovered your little weakness? And how effortlessly I exploited it. Just the threat of making you do that was enough to put into a ball, curled up on the floor like a little street rat come in from the cold. You were panting and sweating, your eyes glazed with fear.”

  Miranda swallowed back a rush of acid in her throat. “And that’s how you took me,” she accused. “I hope that you burn in hell for the pleasure you took that night.”

  He laughed, softly. “Nay, a man shall never be held guilty by his maker for such an act. Women bring it on themselves with their wiles and their ways. Evil as Eve herself is every woman. A virgin is merely a woman who has not yet learned to torment a man properly.” He paused.

  Heathford’s mouth twisted in a small grin. His glowed with delight. “Wouldn’t it be diverting, for all involved if I were the one to tell Danvers?”

  “No, no, please no.”

  “Oh, my dear.” His gaze caressed her. “How prettily you do beg. Even after all these years.”

  The chamber seemed to tilt then spin in her vision. The urge to retch rose strongly in her. Then she took a deep breath and forced herself to remain focused on what mattered most. “You say that our night—”

  “Our night.” He put a hand to his lapel. “How touching to hear those words come from your pretty mouth.”

  She compressed her lips a moment then continued. “If I gave you so much pleasure, won’t you do this favor for me?”

  “You want me to influence the verdict upon Danvers? To have his charge lessened to manslaughter?”

  “Yes.” She forced herself not to plead and beg. Forced herself to keep looking into those cold, dead, evil eyes.

  “I could, very easily.”

  Her knees went weak with her desperate wishing. “Yes, you could.”

  He shook his head. “But I won’t.”

  Her stomach seemed to drop to the ground. “Why not? It is nothing to you.”

  He scowled. “Who are you to say what is nothing to me?”

  Waves of malice poured off him and she stepped back.

  “I was once a young bridegroom of twenty. You know that dukes are expected to marry and reproduce early. And I had done my duty and created a son and, in the doing so, I had fallen rather madly in love with my bride. But she didn’t fancy the more exotic pleasures that I wanted to explore and she ran to her father, telling him all the intimate secrets of our marriage bed. She was the first woman that I ever hated as much as I hated my step-mother. But I was still prepared to make peace with her and sire my second son on her. Whilst we lived apart, she met a handsome and charming earl. A woman’s man, a fool. He impregnated her. My second son was his. And I was forced to accept this to prevent a scandal, my father ordered me to remain silent, he threatened to end my allowance if I called this earl out.”

  Miranda put a hand to her throat.

  “Care to know the name of this blackguard earl?”

  “I think I already do.”

  He chuckled, coldly, icy anger in his eyes. “Do you understand now, why I am not moved to have Danvers’ charge lessened?”

  She nodded, slowly, sadly.

  He studied her. “You’re not going to plead? Not going to attempt to make me an offer?”

  “What would be the point?”

  He scoffed. “You’re not being very entertaining, my dear. I am a bored man, I like to be entertained.”

  “What kind of offer?”

  “Hmm.” He crossed his arms over his chest and put one hand to his chin, an exaggerated expression of consideration on his face. “Why not a performance, like at the theater? These days I don’t enjoy touching a woman so much. I don’t like the way you, women, smell. But I do like shows.”

  Miranda swallowed back another lurch of acid. “A show?”

  He nodded. “You know I am having a party this night, why not make it all the better?”

  “How?” she choked the word out.

  “You could give oral pleasure to my highest ranking guests.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from shaking her head. “No, no, please no. Anything but that.”

  “Why my dear, these are some of the gentlemen who will be passing judgment on your husband. Surely you won’t turn down an opportunity to… sway them.” He put the most indecent, distasteful inflection on the last two words.

  ****

  Miranda kept her eyes fixed to the floor. Each tug of Heathford’s fingers on the fastenings of her gown sent a renewed wave of revulsion through her. He had insisted that she would bare her breasts to the assembled guests and allow them to touch her as they pleased.

  And then she would pleasure them one by one.

  If she did this thing—when she did this thing—then she would for the first time be more a whore than she had ever been before in her life as a courtesan.

  Adrian might never forgive her.

  She might never forgive herself.

  And yet, she must do this.

  With the fastenings now all undone, the gown gaped away from her body. Instinctively, Miranda clutched it to herself as she turned and faced the five noblemen. Three of these men had placed bids on her virginity years before. She could hear Heathford shuffling behind her, pouring a drink, the soft creak of a wood as he sat his powerful frame into a chair.

  “Let us not tarry, Miranda,” Heathford drawled.

  She was doing this for Adrian.

  To save his life.

  Surely the sacrifice of her modesty, her honor was not so great.

  Not in the face of what he had sacrificed for her.

  She couldn’t meet the men’s eyes, though she still remembered how they had glowed with lust when she had come into the chamber.

  “It will be interesting to see how you have grown and… developed,” said Lord Maltby.

  “Yes, indeed,” said the Earl of Bushey

  Her shaking fingers faltered on the laces of her stays.

  “Stop delaying, Miranda,” Heathford said from behind her.

  Her hands shook so hard that she could no longer use them.

  “Here, here, Heathford, I thought that you said she was willing?” Maltby said, peevishly.

  “She is,” Heathford said with steel in his voice.

  “She doesn’t look right.”

  “Aye, she’s gone pale as death.”

  The Duke of Amesbury stood and came to her. His blue eyes were kind. He had not been one of the noblemen who had bid on her virginity. She didn’t know much about his sexual proclivities. Most gossip about him centered on his adult daughter and their somewhat troubled interactions.

  ”My dear, why don’t you come and sit?” Amesbury said.

  “Let her stand,” Heathford said.

  “Come now, Heathford, she’s no common night bird.” Amesbury said. “She’s Winterton’s chit. She must be treated gently.”

  The Earl of Bushey brought her a glass filled with claret. “Have drink, girl.”
/>
  “My name is Lady Danvers.”

  The gentlemen looked at each other, uncomfortably.

  “You’re clearly unwilling.”

  “I thought that I could do this.”

  “I am not game for outright rape,” said Lord Maltby.

  “Neither am I,” said the Duke of Amesbury as he helped her to lift the glass to her lips, for her shaking hands wouldn’t allow it. She took as deep a sip as she could manage but for a moment, she thought her stomach would rebel instead of accepting her swallow.

  “Lady Danvers, why would you ever agree to such a meeting with us when you clearly are not willing?”

  “I must do what I can to save my husband’s life.”

  “He will get a fair trial in the House of Lords,” Heathford said.

  “Will he?” she asked. “Or is there too much prejudice against him because of his father’s sins?”

  Heathford smiled, coldly, evilly.

  She turned back to Amesbury. “Your Grace, you have a natural daughter. Would you like to see her forced to be a widow before her time, all because of the sins of her father in law?”

  The Duke allowed a small grin. It was well-known that his base-born daughter had wed into a family of puritanical Bible-thumping joyless merchants. Her attempts to rein in her father’s debauched ways were known to the amusement of all. Yet, she could see the softening in his gaze.

  Clutching her gown more tightly to herself, she turned to face the Earl of Bushey “And what about your natural daughter?”

  He put his hand to his cravat smoothed it, now refusing to look Miranda in the eye. “She’s still in the nursery.”

  But when he glanced up, his expression had begun to soften too.

  Somehow, she had managed to achieve exactly what she had come to Mayfair to do. To get the attention of these particular, influential men. And to win their sympathy for Adrian.

  “My lords, it is unfair that my husband should have to pay for the sins of his father.”

  She told them the details of how Winterton had his man stalk Adrian and shoot him in the stomach at a time that he least suspected, in the abandoned stairwell. How Adrian, certain that he would not live long with such a wound had forced himself to climb the stairs and to kill Winterton in whatever way he could manage, with whatever time he had left. For Miranda’s sake. For Davey and Brentwood’s sake.

  “It is not simple murder as Winterton’s servant claimed it was,” she said, finishing.

  “You want us to lower his charge to manslaughter,” said the Earl of Bushey, “But to me it sounds more like defense of one’s family.”

  “Aye, defense,” said the Lord Maltby.

  “As far as I am concerned, if the Earl of Danvers would testify to all of this, in the House of Lords, all charges will be dismissed. That’s how I am voting.”

  Sounds ascent echoed from the others who had remained silent during the earlier parts of the conversation.

  But Heathford had come around to face her and he was glaring at her. “There will have to be terms.”

  “I am not opposed to hearing these terms,” said the Duke of Amesbury.

  The others vocalized their agreement.

  “Danvers will leave Britain.”

  Standing there, without a scrap of dignity allowed her as she clutched her gown to herself, she let her mouth drop open.

  “You can’t ask that of him,” she said. “He has sons.”

  “It’s well known that his heir has selected to live with his late mother’s relations rather than live under the same roof as his father’s glorified harlot.”

  “That kind of talk is not necessary, Heathford.” Amesbury said.

  Heathford ignored him. “The younger son can share his exile, at least until he is an adult.”

  “That’s not fair,” Miranda said.

  “Life is often not fair, as you well know, my dear.”

  “I can’t agree with forcing the man to exile,” Amesbury said.

  But the majority did agree and Miranda rode in the carriage all the way back to Sutherland House, with Heathford’s triumphant grin burned into her memory. She’d managed more than she hoped. Adrian would not bear the shame of having been accused of manslaughter and to escape penalty only by virtue of his rank. Instead, there would no charges leveled against him whatsoever. If he agreed to leave his homeland.

  But to go where?

  Chapter Twelve

  With her thoughts seething and needing to hear some answers, Miranda returned to Cassandra’s townhouse.

  The older woman sat huddled in her chair, her face drawn as though with pain, her servant hovering over her, spoon-feeding her as though she were much older then dosing her with opiate. Miranda waited through all of this with mixed emotions tearing her apart inside.

  Finally, the servant left and she was alone with her aunt and Miranda confronted her with all that Heathford had revealed to her.

  “I can’t believe that you turned me over to that animal,” Miranda said and glared at Cassandra.

  Cassandra shrugged. “I saw an opportunity to secure your future.”

  Anger and revulsion seethed through Miranda. How dare Cassandra be so self-congratulatory for what she had done for her when the emotional price had been so dear. The scars on Miranda’s soul were there, even if she did her best to ignore them on a daily basis. Even if she pretended to be made of stone, she was only flesh and blood. Only human. Cassandra had used her like a thing. Like a doll, who did not feel or bleed.

  “But to collude with Winterton! To allow him to witness my shame!” Nausea twisted through her and she put a hand over her belly whilst taking a deep, ragged breath. She was going to go home and drink brandy. She was going to get drunk and numb herself on brandy until she buried the horror of knowing that Winterton had been there.

  Winterton had been there and found pleasure in her fright, her suffering.

  It was almost worse than the original suffering had been, if that were even possible. Or did she only believe that because she had for so long not allowed herself to think on that night?

  She had suppressed those memories so long that they had become dull. She had become numb and cold.

  But now the memories were slicing into her with brutal clarity.

  No, the knowing that Winterton was there was not worse than actually living through that horror. It was just reawakening her feelings about what had happened.

  But to know that Cassandra had known all about Heathford’s sadistic tastes and still led her like a sheep to the slaughter?

  Impossible to accept.

  Impossible to forgive.

  “I wanted you to be able to retire with security. I didn’t want to see you forced to work into your late middle years, trying to fight against time and to stretch your fading looks.”

  Cassandra was, of course, describing herself in the past few years. But Cassandra had expensive tastes and a need for luxury.

  “Perhaps, with wealth on your side, you could have even married if you had wanted to.”

  “I did marry, Cassandra.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “No, not a marriage into a disgraced, bankrupted family. I imagined you gaining much more by marriage.”

  “And taking you with me into that better world?”

  “Perhaps,” Cassandra said, fingering the lace trim on her wrapper. “But that’s all over for me now.” Cassandra’s stare became fierce and she leaned forwards. “But it is not too late for you, Miranda. You must use your wealth properly.”

  “I thought that you said I had ruined myself by marrying Adrian and that there is no longer any hope for me.”

  Cassandra looked aghast then she laughed, softly. “Oh, I was just expressing my frustration with the situation. But it is fixable. My dear, your brave action and ability to sway those gentlemen’s opinions to your side has changed everything.” She gaped at Miranda, admiration in her eyes. “You always did have real fire in you.”

  “They want him to leave England.
”

  Cassandra nodded.

  “I don’t know how he’ll ever accept such a thing.”

  “Then you will have to make him see the sense in it.”

  “What they are asking of him is not fair.”

  “We do not live in the best of all possible words, Miranda. You’ve always had a tendency to be idealistic. You cannot allow your idealism to get the better of you now.”

  “But the shame of it.”

  “There is never any shame or humiliation so great that you ought to allow it to hamper you getting what you need, what will benefit you.”

  “Is that how you really see life?” Miranda said. This was what Adrian saw in Cassandra and despised.

  It was hard for her. Having experienced the powerlessness of being the child of a kept woman. Having witnessed first hand the luxury that a nobleman’s favor brought mama and herself and how easily he had ripped that away…Yes, she could easily understand Cassandra’s side.

  But to reconcile the extremes that Cassandra had gone to in order to raise Miranda up, to build wealth for her future? That she had a harder time understanding. She could easily see Adrian’s side. Cassandra was a mercenary, greed-driven woman who held little compunction.

  Miranda knew that many courtesans held this view.

  Miranda had worked hard to survive, to earn a measure of comfort and security for herself and mama. So maybe she did hold this same view of life.

  But only to a degree.

  Adrian was wrong to fear that she shared the depth of Cassandra’s greed for luxury.

  Was that really what he feared?

  Or did he fear that Miranda would in time be just as unfaithful and jaded to that infidelity as Jane Sutherland?

  “What’s wrong, Miranda?” Cassandra asked with her voice slurring as her medications took effect.

  “I have wronged someone. Deeply. I didn’t intend for it to be a wrong.”

  “This is about Danvers?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “Well, my dear, it really doesn’t matter what you thought or didn’t think.” Cassandra raised her thinning brows. “You’ve entered into a marriage based on love. Something I certainly never had the courage to attempt. And you’ve selected a nobleman. They have been raised differently than the common breed of men and as a result they have odd notions. Best to humble yourself, admit all wrong and beg his forgiveness.”