The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  Becky and Liz grew tired of Oxnard’s friend spilling food or wine down their fronts and then trying to persuade him to either let him clean them up, or to take off their gowns and have a quick lie down, since all of this marriage business was such hard work.

  Finally, Becky and Liz had had enough, and after wishing Miranda well, they departed in the carriage. It had been a long Sunday, it was getting late, and they needed to get home and get some sleep.

  They also knew they would have to speak to George, though they guessed he had probably been the first to know he had been supplanted.

  Well, it was none of their business. In fact, Oxnard had been more than a gentleman, and pressed some coins into their palms. They decided to make the most of their trip, and have a fine meal on the road, and even a night at an inn if they shared a room. What a fine little holiday it would be. With a rather fine-looking coach driver....

  Suddenly Miranda found herself completely alone with Oxnard apart from the vicar. Her head swam from the enormity of what she had done in a fit of jealous fury and disappointment. But the earl had said he loved and adored her...

  "Well, my dear, that went off rather swimmingly," Oxnard said with a leer, twirling his ostentatious walking stick, broad and thick with a huge engraved lion at the top, before taking her hand. "Now we come to the next part of the marriage festivities. Always my favourite, I have to admit."

  He half-led, half-dragged the reluctant girl to the bedroom. Once inside, he demanded Miranda take her gown off, and would not listen to any of her protests that it was still light outside, and thus marital relations were unseemly.

  "A woman is supposed to obey her husband in all matters. You’ve just taken your vows. Do you want to be disobedient already?"

  He opened the door and called, "Vicar, come and instruct her in her wifely duties. The conjugal rights which are mine to give, or withhold."

  The vicar entered with his own walking stick, and what looked to be manacles with long, flexible chains.

  Miranda’s eyes widened, and darted around the room looking for any means of escape. The window...

  But Oxnard was already upon her, a knife glinting silver as he pressed it to her throat so hard he scored the tender flesh and drew blood.

  A second knife slicing down her back through her gown and underthings rendered her naked in an instant. Miranda didn’t dare try to cover herself with the sharp blade digging into her neck. She could feel the warm blood trickling down her breasts, and thought with horror that she was about to breathe her last. Be murdered, unless by some miracle she could get away. Or her beloved George could save her.

  But there was nothing. No one. Just the two men’s hot hands as they grabbed, pinched and groped. She fought them off as best she could, but with two against one, there was no contest.

  The Earl dragged her into the bed, snatched her arms and spread them wide, while the vicar fastened the cuffs around her wrists and attached the other ends to the bed posts.

  "Now it’s time for the best entertainment of all," Oxnard laughed mockingly. "It’s called make the whore scream."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Viola put the gorgeous jet necklace back in the box, and congratulated George once again. "Married. I can’t tell you how pleased I am. It will be so wonderful. All of us living here. Now all we need is a good wife for Sebastian and all will be perfect in my little world. And it's all thanks to you, George. You saved us all last year. It’s about time you were happy too."

  He grinned. "I surely am going to try to be."

  She bit her lip and then said quietly, "I’m sorry if I was a bit leery of her. It’s just, well, it was so sudden. But then it was sudden too with my Alistair. So I can understand it, and am really delighted."

  "I’m glad."

  George heard a noise at the door, and looked up, expecting Miranda to have come home from the theatre at last. He looked over the pleasing spread that had been set out on the table according to his detailed instructions.

  But it was only Trent the butler with a message for George. He scowled as he read it. "Damnation," he growled, crumpling the missive in one huge fist. "Castlereagh and his impeccable bloody timing as usual."

  Viola’s brows rose. "Why, what is it?"

  "He’s summoned me. But Miranda is supposed to be home any minute so I can propose to her."

  Viola took the paper from him and tossed it into the fire airily. "Tell him to bugger himself."

  He was sorely tempted, but then shook his head. "I can’t. He says it’s urgent."

  "Oh, drat. Well, I tell you what, I can keep her out of here and make this spread of flowers, food, and presents even better. You didn’t give me much time, after all."

  "That would be most kind of you, Viola. Thank you again." He gave her a brotherly buss on the cheek. "I’ll return as soon as I can. Tell Miranda I’ll be counting the minutes until I get back. And that I'll make it up to her as soon as I do."

  Viola smiled. "Leave everything to me. I’ll help make this a night you’ll never forget."

  George shuddered suddenly. Where had he heard that phrase before?

  It was indeed a night he would never forget, but not for the reason Viola or indeed any sane person would ever have imagined. For that night George went to the brink of madness, and very nearly sailed over the edge.

  Castlereagh was looking especially smug when George arrived in his office a half an hour later.

  "I don’t appreciate being summoned in the middle of the day," George snarled as he faced his supervisor. "And you sent for me at Fulham House in front of the Grants’ servants? Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?"

  "It’s what you’ve been playing at that interests me," the oily politician said with a smug look. "Trying to find your brothers, spending time with a new whore, instead of doing your duty."

  George scowled furiously. "The war is over. I have the right to see my friends and family. That is, if any of my family are still alive after the hell you put them through. And as for a new whore, there is none. If you are referring to my actress—"

  "The one you’ve bought all the presents for?" he said with a sneer.

  "Yes, but how—" His brows knit, and he could feel perspiration gush under his arms, down his back. He could see it all now. He was being watched continually. Had been for some time. And for some reason they had taken against Miranda.

  "It’s none of your business who I spend my money on."

  "It is my business when you’re thinking of leaving the service to try to lead a normal life. You don’t decide for yourself. Only we let you leave. If we ever let you leave."

  Despite himself, George lost his temper then. "The war is over! Don’t you understand? I’ve been loyal for thirteen years. Look how old I am. I’ve given up the prime of my life to the service of my adopted country. So if I have a chance to marry a good sweet girl—"

  Castlereagh shook his head. "There's no such thing. It’s all the illusion of innocence. And so is the illusion of possessing it. As soon as you awaken her to her sexuality, you’ve despoiled her. You want a virgin only so you can despoil her." His voice had taken on a dreamy quality which chilled George to the core.

  "That’s not true," he protested. "I don’t even know if she is one for sure. I don’t care. What she chose to do in the past to seek her own happiness and fulfillment or even earn a living before she met me is none of my business. And still won’t be when I do marry her, except insofar as I will do everything in my power to make her happy so she’ll never want another man."

  Castlereagh gave a little smile of triumph. "But it’s too late. Don’t you see? She’s gone."

  "Gone? What the hell do you mean, gone!" George rasped, his heart dropping into his boots.

  "Of her own free will, I assure you. But she’s gone. You’ll have to find a new heroine in your life now."

  George stepped forward menacingly. "By God, if you’ve harmed her..."

  "Me? I’ve never laid a finger on the g
irl. Nor any other part of my anatomy. But you have to admit she is a comely wench. Most comely indeed from all I’ve heard. Any man would wish to have her warm his bed.

  "So now that you’ve lost her, you can go back to your duty with a new will and degree of concentration, which has been sadly lacking since you helped Alistair Grant and his wife Viola last year."

  George barely suppressed the curses which teemed in his throat. He bunched his fists in impotent fury. So his time to pay for his past defiance had come at last....

  "I let you get away with some fairly disloyal things in order to discomfit the Home Office spies," Castlereagh continued coldly, "but I have no intention of being so lenient ever again. Let this be an object lesson to you about the perils of not doing as you’re told, George. Find a new leading lady and leading actor. Give Maggie and Hugo their old jobs back. I don’t want you up on stage again where all and sundry can see you. And if you want your entire new silk-laden brothel to be left standing, I suggest you clean out that group of Russians in Baker Street planning to assassinate the king next week."

  "It’s all under control," George maintained. "They will be arrested long before they pose a threat. I want to know where Miranda—"

  "You specialise in information, George," Castlereagh said smugly. "You find her."

  George glared at him in murderous fury. "By God, if I find out one of our agents—"

  "Don’t be absurd. We don’t make war on women and children."

  George snorted derisively. "Lying toad! You make war on anyone who disagrees with you. If I find out—"

  "I’m telling you. You weren’t the only man in London paying court to her. If she got a better offer, how can you blame her? Once a whore, always—"

  George’s fist slammed into his chest, pinning him to his high-backed chair. The Minister could hardly draw breath for the pressure crushing his throat.

  "Don’t you dare say it. And be grateful I let you keep your teeth. I’ll sort out Baker Street. After I find Miranda."

  He tipped the chair over, sending the Foreign Secretary to the floor with an almighty crash. Then he was running out the door, down the hall, through the foyer and straight for the carriage.

  Now it was Castlereagh’s turn to shiver uneasily. Had he gone too far with George this time?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  George went back to Fulham House at a breakneck pace, but there was no sign of Miranda anywhere once he arrived, even though he was extremely late. She had not come home at all for her appointment with him.

  He went from The New Rose to The Three Bells to the bathhouse, but not a soul had seen her.

  He returned to Fulham House and paced the carpet, while Alistair and Philip made inquiries themselves, though without telling George the truth about her real identity. No one on the north side of the river had seen her either. Leaving word to send a message to Fulham House if she did turn up, they also sent to Somerset and Dorset, and then simply had to wait.

  Short of combing every single house in London, George knew there was little he could do. Hour after hour passed, with him refusing to eat, sleep, or drink more than tea.

  Sebastian did a sweep every hour of all three locations, but there was still nothing. Castlereagh had got her, he was sure. But where would he have taken her, and how on earth was he to ever find her when he had not even been able to locate his own brothers in all these years?

  One thing of some significance was that Becky and Liz were not at their lodgings. Perhaps the three of them had decided to go out on a spree somewhere? But why would Castlereagh have threatened Miranda?

  More to the point, why would Miranda have gone with the girls when she was supposed to have come home to him within the hour so they could talk? She must have realised what he was going to say. Perhaps she had grown terrified? Or decided that things had gone too far between them, and that she didn’t really care for him in that way?

  Whatever the truth, he wouldn’t care so long as she was safe. Even if she could never love him, so long as she was well, that was what counted. He wanted only her welfare and happiness. If he had that, and her friendship, well, it would be torment, but it would have to do. It would be better than losing her forever.

  He writhed in anguish at the thought, but anything was better than her being harmed. And anything was better than never knowing what had happened to her. He had suffered that torture for far too long with regard to his brothers. He just had to find Miranda. He just had to.

  Morning dawned over the grimy streets of the capital, but there was still no word of or from Miranda. George had pulled in every favour, used all his contacts in an effort to try to find some news. It would undoubtedly only increase Castlereagh’s ire, but he needed to find her no matter what the cost.

  Even the cost of finding his brothers? he wondered in horror. Was that what this was all about? A trade? How could he possibly choose between the people he loved most in the world?

  But as the hours ticked passed, and the vacuum in his soul grew more and more wide, deep and cavernous, he was forced to acknowledge that the answer was yes, he would make a bargain with the Devil. He had loved his brothers, still did, always would.

  But his entire life did not depend upon their presence, though it had been shaped by their absence. He had worked for the Alliance's war effort happily. He had understood the risks and dangers. They all had. Any one of the three of them could have been killed at any time. He wasn’t even so sure that they weren’t dead anyway. That all of Castlereagh's hints that he would see them again had not been an elaborate ruse to keep him in the service. George had kept hoping against hope. But though their loss had been painful, his life had not come to an end.

  With Miranda gone, he was facing a void the likes of which he had never known. He could barely think straight. She and he had shared so much, on every level, not just the physical. He had felt such desire and tenderness and need for her, he wasn’t sure how he was even going to get up off the sofa to try to decide what to do next.

  Worse still, he had no idea how to live now without her by his side. He was as frozen as he had been when his brothers had first vanished. Then too he had searched futilely. He had been searching ever since. And though he had not found them, the fates had gifted him with a most rare and beautiful woman, one worth having. Worthy dying for if need be.

  Now Castlereagh was forcing him to choose. Well, God forgive him, but he had to be selfish for once in his life. If only Miranda would come back, he would worship her like a goddess and never, ever let her go again.

  The sun rose higher in the sky, and Viola tried to persuade George to have breakfast.

  "I couldn’t manage a bite," he refused, cuffing away the tears which ran down his cheeks unnoticed. He couldn’t get them to stop, no matter how he tried.

  "At least come upstairs and get cleaned up?" Alistair offered quietly, shocked at how the dark haired man who had been such a pillar of strength the whole time he had known him, through the worst trials and tribulations, could have been reduced so suddenly to a state of almost complete collapse.

  "No, I’m going out to the theatre. I know we're all looking for Miranda, but we need to face facts about Becky and Liz. They’re missing too, you know. I need to find out what’s happened to all my friends. I’m going back to The New Rose."

  He strode out the door without a backward glance, leaving Viola staring after him.

  "What can we do?" she asked her husband.

  Alistair shook his head. "I wish I knew. I have a really dreadful feeling about all this. Poor George."

  "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

  Alistair shook his head. "If they ever tried to come after you again after everything we went through thanks to Sidmouth and Castlereagh, I would kill them all with my bare hands."

  She rubbed his shoulder tenderly. "I was never the target. It was Thomas and Randall, for being Radicals in the House of Lords."

  "That's the trouble with our politi
cians, however. They wield their power for their own purposes and they could not care less who gets killed in the crossfire."

  Viola shivered then and began to pray for Miranda as she had never prayed before in her life.

  The cast and crew filtered back into The New Rose, but no one had heard from any of the three women. At last, about noon, Becky and Liz came in, giggling over their wonderful adventure.

  George, who had been pacing up and down like a caged panther on the stage, berating everyone for their poor performances and conceding that Maggie and Hugo would have to go on that night, leapt off the stage and ran to them. "At last. Miranda! Where is she?"

  "Where is she? Why, I thought you knew? She’s only gone and got herself married," Liz said with a giggle.