The Mistress Wager: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  They exchanged pleased glances as Deery entered with a footman bearing a large tray. “Lunch, sir, ladies.”

  “Excellent.” Max moved to the fire, turned around and proceeded to toast his arse. “I’m chilled to the bone.”

  “No luck in town, then?” asked Kitty, allowing Deery to move her chair slightly so that she could reach a plate.

  “None at all,” frowned Max. “It’s not that I have no enemies, or people that wish me ill. It’s that I know who they are and none seem to have sufficient cause to do me harm. Everyone was a dead end.” He shook his head. “I did repay the ten guineas I owed Harry Chalmers, but I swear it was because I’d completely forgotten the matter. So had he, it turns out, so he had a better morning than I did, since he got something out of it.”

  “Come and eat something. We’ve just begun to work on this, Max. Early days…” Grace motioned him to a seat.

  They ate in silence for a while, and Max found himself quite comfortable with it.

  Finally, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea with pleasure. “Well, it occurs to me that I shall have to order a new carriage.”

  “You can certainly use mine, Max,” offered Grace.

  “Thank you, and we will if we have to,” he acknowledged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that mine needs replacing. Pity,” he thought aloud. “I really liked the styling.”

  “Surely the company can provide another?” Kitty glanced at him.

  “I hope so, yes.”

  “Max,” said Grace, putting down her teacup. “I’ve just thought of something.”

  “I’m eager to hear,” encouraged her brother.

  “Well, it may be nothing, but it seems that over the last couple of months, I’ve read of other carriage accidents.”

  Max looked at her. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Yes. As I told Kitty earlier, I read all the papers most every day. Being isolated, one does, you know.”

  About to open his mouth and embark on a lecture about getting out and about more, Max thought better of it. He’d revisit that issue at another time. “And you think there have been other accidents?”

  “I’m sure of it,” she asserted. “In fact, I think there was one less than two weeks ago.”

  “Why haven’t we heard of them?” asked Kitty, a puzzled look on her face.

  “If there were no fatalities, why would we?” Max answered. “Carriages break down routinely. It’s only when someone of import is injured or killed that it becomes news.”

  “Well, front page news, at least,” added Grace. “The reports I read were small mentions quite far back in the papers.” She gave a rueful little grin. “When I say I read the newspapers, I really mean I read the newspapers.”

  “Hmm.” Max’s mind whirled around this information. He jumped up and rang for Deery. “If we have some old papers, it’s worth taking a look, I believe.”

  Deery appeared. “Sir?”

  “Do we keep old newspapers, Deery? If so how far back?”

  “Yes, sir. I do keep old papers. We usually have four weeks’ worth saved; they are very useful for a variety of purposes around the house.”

  Kitty looked at him curiously. “Really?”

  “Yes, miss,” answered Deery. “You can clean windows very effectively with an old sheet of newspaper.”

  Kitty blinked in surprise. “Well, goodness. I never knew that.”

  *~~*~~*

  By late afternoon, a pile of scraps had grown to respectable proportions in the center of the Aubusson carpet.

  All three had discovered small notices, mentions of possible problems and of course the accidents Grace had originally recalled. Those pieces had been cut out of the sheets, and the rest discarded into the central pile.

  As the last paper joined its mates, Kitty leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head. “Well, that’s the last of it.” Her back ached a little and her fingers were quite dirty from the newsprint.

  Grace nodded in agreement, a smudge on her nose. “Thank goodness we only had four weeks to deal with.”

  Max was already assembling the clippings into piles.

  Kitty stood and came over to his side. “Sorting?”

  He nodded, intent upon his task. “This pile mentions the name of the carriage owner. This pile does not.” He gestured to the piles. “I thought it might be useful to see if there is any link between those affected.”

  “Good idea,” concurred Kitty. “Especially if it reveals any link to you, as well. Either directly or indirectly.”

  “Let me take that pile, Max.” She held out her hand. “I don’t know your circle of intimates, but I can give it a preliminary review to see if any of the names jump out at me.”

  Max smiled. “Given your proclivity for the news, Grace, you probably know more about who’s who in London than Kitty and I put together.”

  “While Grace does that, I’ve had another idea I’d like to pursue. May I have that pile?” She indicated the one Grace wasn’t using. “I would like to flip through those notices.”

  “Looking for something in particular?” Max slid her the pile and she moved her chair next to him.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll go and clean up I think. And order tea.”

  Kitty barely heard him. She had found what she sought. Or at least one thing she was looking for. Now to see if others matched.

  It didn’t take long for her to review the entire pile. A third of it was pushed aside, while the rest remained in front of her. Five mentions. Five places where similar information showed up.

  “Grace, may I have your pile when you’re done?”

  “I’m done,” sighed Grace. “I found nothing to connect anyone in these announcements.”

  “Thank you.” Kitty took the clippings as Grace pushed them over the table. “Don’t be too disheartened. I might have come across something useful.”

  Max returned at that moment, a tray in his hands, pushing into the room with his shoulder and kicking the door shut behind him. “Make a space please, ladies. I have tea and scones.”

  “Oh lovely.” Grace eagerly rearranged the table top to make room. “Kitty’s found something, Max. Don’t touch her clippings just yet?”

  Max laid out tea, cups and plates with a dexterity that would make Deery green with envy.

  Kitty glanced up. “Is there possibly a period of servitude in your past, Max? You do that so well.”

  “Be quiet.” He put a scone on a plate for her. “Here. What have you found?”

  “Tea first please.” She noted his clenched teeth, and hid a chuckle. “Thank you.” It was good thing she didn’t take sugar in her tea. He might have choked her before she got her first sip.

  “All right then.” She spread out the clippings around the china. “There is very little that is common to these announcements. But in these five here, and those two over there, there is one item that matches.” She leaned back. “The name of the carriage maker.”

  Grace’s eyes widened and Max frowned in puzzlement.

  He found his voice first. “The carriage-maker? Seven accidents to the same carriage maker?”

  “Possibly eight,” answered Kitty. “Edmund finally ordered a carriage not long ago, so I learned a little bit about the business. Was yours ordered from Barker?”

  “No,” he said.

  “How about Rowley, Marshall and Cook?”

  “My father had his made there, but no, I didn’t,” Max observed.

  “Kanehall?”

  He paused. “They’re new. Radical designs and some of them are outstanding. But there were rumours of pricing problems. So no, not them.”

  Kitty nodded. “Could yours have come from Whetstone and Frank?”

  “Yes.” Max sat down. “Yes. They’re a relatively new company. I liked what they offered and it was easy to turn it into something that was uniquely a Seton-Mowbray vehicle.” He paused, drumming his fingertips softly on the table. “Actually, it was Fredd
ie Whitemarsh who recommended them. Said they were being quite innovative in the design of the body, and the interior was much more comfortable. Something to do with the springs…”

  “Wait,” said Grace. “Isn’t Freddie Whitemarsh the son of Baron Stokingham?”

  “Er, I think so…” Max looked at her. “I wouldn’t want to wager on it, but I’m pretty sure they’re connected.”

  Grace nodded. “I thought so.” She looked at the clippings. “Stokingham’s carriage broke a wheel two weeks ago. The notice is here somewhere. Her ladyship got a few bruises. Showed them off at some ball or other, and accidentally revealed more of her leg than was seemly. Goodness…you can’t imagine the outrage.”

  Max’s eyebrow lifted. “The present Lady Stokingham was once in the theater. So to speak. She is probably quite used to revealing her legs—and more, if memory serves me.”

  Kitty laughed. “Oh dear. All the high and low points of London tend to connect at odd moments, don’t they?”

  “All right then.” Max finished his tea, popped the last of his scone in his mouth, and stood.

  “Here it comes,” whispered Kitty, glancing at Grace. “I think we’re about to hear the Master’s plan of action.”

  Grace giggled, and sat up straight, folding her hands in her lap. Kitty did the same.

  “Not amusing, ladies. This is momentous.” Max began to pace. “Let’s review this situation.” He held up his hand, fingers splayed. “We have a series of carriage accidents, seven to be precise. Possibly eight.” One finger was pressed down. “We’ve established that seven of them involved the same maker.” Another finger was pressed down. “Now mine was the first to involve a death, but it was being driven out of London onto much poorer roads.” Down went the third finger. He looked at both Kitty and Grace, his face betraying his excitement. “I believe we now have a focus for our investigations.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  As she prepared for bed, Kitty’s mind kept turning over the possibilities offered by their discoveries. It was a process begun over dinner, continued afterward and was still ongoing in her brain as she undressed.

  She jumped as the door opened and Max walked in.

  “My room. Now.”

  Making a conscious effort to recall that she was, in fact, Max’s submissive mistress, she nodded her head and followed him silently back into his suite. He was in his robe, but he shrugged it off as she closed the door behind them.

  He was quite naked.

  She took a few moments to admire the view. A gentleman’s backside, especially one as nicely muscled as Max’s, was a delightful thing.

  “Remove your gown, Kitty, then get into bed.”

  He went around the room, snuffing out the candles, leaving only one branch by the bedside.

  She did as he instructed, shivering a little as her warm skin met cool linens. Still not entirely comfortable when nude, she managed to hide most of her breasts in an attempt at modesty.

  She noticed his look of amusement as he slid in beside her. “Don’t you think it’s rather late to be hiding anything from me, Kitty?”

  She bit her lip. “I suppose so. But I’m not used to this, Max. To being naked…with a man.”

  “I’m glad of it.” He turned onto one side and rested on his elbow, observing her. “So what do you think of it?”

  She blinked. “Of what?”

  He tugged down the quilt and ran a fingertip lightly around her nipple. It contracted, and shivers danced along her nerve endings. “Of this. You and I. Sex, Kitty. Fucking.” He paused and lightly pinched the hard nub, making her gasp. “Of being my mistress—in every way.”

  “You mean being submissive to you, don’t you?” She watched his eyes as they roamed over her naked skin.

  “Partly.” He bared her other breast. “But overall. You were a virgin—which I found surprising, given your age. But also it was quite an honor to be your first lover, the first to learn how you feel when you come around my cock. So I ask again. What do you think of it all?”

  She was silent for a few moments, wondering how to answer such a simple but important question. “I think I like it,” she said, after much deliberation. “As for my virginity, well, I didn’t think much of that, although I certainly had no interest in parting with it until…” she gulped. “Until you touched me.”

  Max shot her a quick glance from beneath his long eyelashes, then cupped her breast with one hand. “Go on.”

  “I’m not sure what else to say.” She sucked in a quick breath as he ran his thumb over sensitive flesh. “I found, to my surprise, that I like being spanked. At least I like it when you do it. It’s…” she hated the heat she knew bloomed in her cheeks. “It’s sensual and makes me feel…”

  “Feel what, Kitty?”

  “I don’t know,” she frowned. “How to describe it…it’s hard. It makes me feel alive, Max. In a way I’ve never been before. I’ve always held back, kept my countenance. I’ve worked hard to never betray what I feel within me, since it will either be ridiculed or ignored. But with you…”

  She sighed as he pulled down the quilt further and moved closer, giving himself access to both her breasts.

  “With me?”

  Silent again, Kitty’s mind fought to understand why she was doing this. Ruining herself in many ways, and yet eager to run headlong into whatever disaster that might bring. She didn’t care, she realized. This, being here at this moment, was more of everything than a year in London Society.

  “With you I am not afraid.”

  He leaned even closer, the heat from his chest searing the skin on one side. “Afraid of what?”

  “Being myself. Somehow I have come to trust you enough to be myself. To find myself, really, since this is all new to me. I am learning that I don’t know exactly who I am.”

  “Then let’s find out, shall we?”

  Max quickly flipped all the covers away, exposing her to his gaze. “Beautiful,” he said, running his hand from her knees to her armpit and making her flinch and catch her breath.

  He reversed course, slowing at her thighs, nudging them apart. “Show me, Kitty. Show me all of you. Hold nothing back from me, sweetheart. Promise?”

  She found herself parting her legs on his command, unable to resist the sound of his voice, so low, so affectionate… “I promise, Max. I promise.”

  His fingers slid to the shadows between her legs and he played, teasing the flesh with light strokes, then pressing a little harder, some places making her sigh with pleasure, others making her muscles tighten in response to his touch. She was learning how different it was to have a man caress her like this. Her arousal grew with Max’s continued attentions, and she moaned, unable to keep still as he probed, petted and teased her onward and up…up a steep climb…

  “I want to watch you come, Kitty.”

  She barely caught the words, since he had her trembling now, shuddering with each new sensation. He had discovered a rhythm, a steady stroke against a spot that she knew would eventually force her to the peak of ecstasy. And she could not resist, could not slow down the inevitable ascent.

  “Come, Kitty. Come around my hand.”

  He leaned over and nipped a taut bud, making her cry out—it was an added dart of pleasure she’d not anticipated and her legs writhed, parting wide, inviting him to do as he would. She would welcome it all.

  He urged her to the very edge of the precipice. “God, yes,” he murmured. And then he came over her, rolling between her legs, taking his weight on his hands and thrusting himself into that hot wet darkness.

  It was the final straw for Kitty.

  She exploded around him, her mind blank, her vision filled with shooting stars and rainbows and colors that had no name. There was no Kitty, no Max, just a vortex of erotic desire and delight, and the more Max pumped himself within her, the more she shattered and the higher the peak.

  Eventually she choked out a scream, locked in a spasm of exquisite passion so intense it was almost painful. S
he heard a loud groan from Max and vaguely felt the throbbing of his cock deep inside her as he too fell into the maelstrom.

  At last they separated, Kitty feeling a sudden chill at the loss of Max’s warm weight. He pulled up the covers and tucked her in beside him. “Are you all right?” He pushed a lock of her hair away from her face.

  “Mmm,” she sighed.

  “Good.” He settled them both. “Sometimes I forget how good it can be to just enjoy each other.”

  “No spanking?”

  “Next time,” he yawned.

  She smiled as she turned in his arms and closed her eyes. Oh good.

  *~~*~~*

  Max hadn’t fallen asleep as quickly as Kitty, the night before. He’d tried, snuggled in against her body like spoons on a tray. But his mind had twisted and turned around several different knotty problems and it had been a while until sleep claimed him.

  His mirror showed him that, quite clearly, with darkened shadows beneath his eyes.

  He frowned. He would have to put the worry about Kitty aside for now. They were in a strange and foreign ocean together at the moment, and he had no idea where to steer.

  But of prime importance was finding out who was sabotaging carriages. If anyone else was killed while Max worked on this problem, he’d never forgive himself. He and Kitty had time. Those half-sawn carriage wheels didn’t.

  For once, he was the first to arrive in the parlor.

  “Good morning, sir. Breakfast?” Deery bowed.

  “I should say so.” Max made a beeline for the sideboard and helped himself liberally to bacon, eggs, kidneys and three freshly baked rolls.

  “Will you be requiring the gig this morning then, sir?” He glanced at Max’s loaded plate. “I doubt there’s a plough horse available today.”

  “Good God, let a man have his breakfast, Deery.”

  “I’d be happy to, sir. But it appears you’re having everyone else’s as well.”

  Max sat with a snort, happy to see Kitty had entered the room with a cheerful smile. “Hullo Max.” She nodded her thanks at Deery as he poured her tea. “Just a roll and some of that bacon, if you please.” She turned to Max. “I woke up thinking about our problem, Max.” She sipped, closed her eyes, swallowed and sighed. “Deery, you pour the best tea I have ever tasted.”