by Desconocido
“From what I have heard, there are many obviously false explanations for why they happened to be in the area to see what happened. It was a gruesome business with everyone in the place being dragged off and questioned. It is a tale that is too good to be silent on even if one has to lie, badly, about why one was near a brothel. The tale has also spread like fire through the tradesmen, who then tell their customers, who then tell their employers, and so on. There were not a hundred bodies, were there?” she asked softly.
“No. There were thirty-two including the woman Brant had wanted to marry.” He told his mother all about Faith and what they had discovered at the vicar’s. “Is there talk of Penelope?”
“A little,” said Lady Mary as she stood up. “No one recognized her or even got a good look at her. There are a few who say she must have been there because some woman in her family or a friend was taken and killed. Well, enjoy your bath before the water chills.” She paused in the doorway and frowned. “I have always considered women who run brothels naught much more than vermin for making their living over selling other women, but this Mrs. Cratchitt—well, she is a monster, is she not?”
“She is. I but wish there was some way to punish her aside from a hanging, some long, painful punishment.”
“There is hell, m’dear, and that is where that monster is surely going,” she said quietly before shutting the door behind her.
Ashton hoped his mother was right. That woman had taken the lives of two and thirty people and he knew three were utterly innocent. There was no doubt in his mind that others were, too. He wondered how many men were feeling appalled that they had ever gone to that woman’s brothel or were wondering if they had been given some stolen girl who then ended up buried in the cellar. Since the dead cannot speak, except to ones like Penelope, Ashton doubted that many of society’s men would trouble themselves over the matter for very long.
It was nearly time for the evening meal before Ashton was done bathing, resting, and dressing. He had even had a brief talk with Alex, who had been sorely disappointed that he had not been able to join them today. Alex was still too busy trailing after Penelope’s solicitor.
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Clarissa arrived. Ashton scoured his mind for some memory of an event or a meeting they had agreed to but found none. It was obviously time for another lecture on his neglect. He cordially invited her into the small blue parlor, leaving the door wide open. He also whispered to the footmen to go and find his mother immediately. He still suspected that Clarissa would try to be caught in a severely compromising position with him so that he would be honor-bound to join her at the altar. The woman obviously felt she could seduce him if she could just get him alone for a while. Ashton wanted to tell her that she could dance naked through his bedchamber and he still would not touch her, but bit back the insult.
After they were served some wine and a few light cakes, he sat down opposite her. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Ashton, we are betrothed yet rarely see each other,” she said. “I but thought we might take some time to talk.”
“About what?”
“How about we discuss what invitations you would accept?”
“I assume you have something in mind.”
“There is a rout at the Dunweldons’ on Thursday and a lovely supper promised at the Burnages’ on Friday. I am sure that one of those should suit you.”
Since it had been a while since he had checked on his investments, he said, “The supper at the Burnages’.” He could tell by the fleeting look of annoyance that crossed her face that that was not the one she wanted him to choose.
“As you wish. There was one thing, just a bit of gossip, but I thought you might be able to make it clearer to me. Some of the tales I have heard have been quite wild.”
“Tales about me?”
“About you and your friends going into a brothel today with some of those rough men from Bow Street. ’Tis said you went in to find bodies and brought out over a hundred.”
“Two and thirty. They were murdered women, and a boy, and had been buried in the cellar. Mrs. Cratchitt will surely hang as will many of her associates.”
“Why should you do such a thing? What matter if she has killed a few of those women?”
“Not all of them were of that life, Clarissa. The woman kidnapped young women and forced them into it. Do they not deserve justice? Are you attempting to defend a woman who killed so many people?”
Clarissa sipped her wine in an obvious attempt to wash away a sharp remark. “Of course not. It is just a little embarrassing for me to have to hear the talk.”
“Talk of how my son did his best to bring justice to so many people and put a monster on the gallows?” asked Lady Mary as she strode in, helped herself to some wine, and sat down next to Ashton.
“No, not that. I am sure he was very brave,” Clarissa said. “And he is an honorable man. ’Tis just that such a thing is best left to those people who deal with criminals.”
Ashton wondered why Clarissa was so concerned. The tale did not tarnish him. It may make some people wonder why he should even bother, but there was no embarrassment in being talked about because he brought a vicious killer to justice. Then he frowned, wondering if she feared that Mrs. Cratchitt would talk a little too much now that she faced a noose. The men who had kidnapped Penelope had talked about how a pretty lady had wanted her taken out of the way. Since he was certain the man who was supposed to come and enjoy himself with Penelope the next day was Charles, it could be possible that Clarissa had been fully complicit in the plan.
They really had to track down that solicitor, he thought. All they had at the moment were rumors and suspicions. They needed to see the will, a list of the late marquis’s assets, and other information. Ashton actually, briefly, considered slipping into Hutton-Moore House and searching for the will. Charles had to have a copy of it somewhere. He suddenly realized that Clarissa was looking at him as if she expected an answer to a question, one he had not heard.
“I am sure there was no lady there leading the men around by talking to ghosts, dear,” Lady Mary said, and Ashton silently thanked her for her gentle nudge in the right direction.
“Why would you think such a thing?” asked Ashton. “Do not say that is one of the rumors skipping through the ton.” He shook his head. “One has to wonder who makes up such tales and why so many people believe them.”
“Just how big a fool do you think I am?” Clarissa said, her temper finally flaring beyond her control. “I have seen you with Penelope, seen you at her house. I know you are fully aware that she claims she can see and speak to the spirits of the dead. You did not even blink an eye when she told me to be careful because I walked through Mrs. Pettibone. And there was no one there! What I truly want to know is why are you associating with my stepsister?”
“I believe I told you that I was there to discuss my finances with young Septimus. The man is a genius when it comes to finances.”
“You are in debt! What is there to discuss?”
“How to get out of it.”
“By marrying an heiress just as you are doing. It is the traditional way a lord replenishes his fortunes. Yet you talk of investments? That is so common.
“I think there is something going on between you and Penelope. She was there at the brothel. A friend of mine heard it from her aunt, who heard it from her cousin, who heard it from her butcher.”
“Ah, well then, who am I to doubt the truth of what your friend said.”
Clarissa glared at him but doggedly continued. “Penelope was there and I know it. Her name is already stained beyond saving because she insists on caring for all those, those field colts. Now she will sink even lower when the world hears of how she was marching through the cellars of a brothel finding the dead for those Bow Street men, men who are not such a very big step from being criminals themselves. Even being the daughter of a marquis will not save her when it is known that she was there whil
e all you oh-so-noble gents were digging up the bodies of whores.”
When Ashton opened his mouth to say something, his mother silenced him by placing her hand on his arm and squeezing lightly. He was not sure what angered him most, the way Clarissa talked of Penelope’s boys or the way she so obviously intended to spread the word of Penelope’s gift and destroy her in any way she could. What he feared most was that it would have people flocking to Penelope’s door trying to get her to find their loved ones or speak to them. She would have to go into hiding.
“My dear young lady,” said Lady Mary, “may I first say that your language is atrocious. A lady does not say such things as ‘field colts’ or ‘whores.’ It shows a distinct lack of breeding and could even make one doubt your morals. And you should think very carefully about what you say concerning your stepsister. She is part of your family and whatever mud you fling at her can all too easily splash you as well.”
After such a sound scolding spoken in a soft, proper voice, Clarissa was speechless. She stood up, curtseyed to Lady Mary, and turned to Ashton, who had come to his feet when she had. Reluctantly he escorted her to the door to collect her things and see her to her carriage. It was not until he was helping her into her carriage that she finally spoke again. Ashton was sure it was not shame that had held her silent but fury.
“You should not press me too hard, Ashton,” she hissed. “My brother may want this marriage for his own reasons and he may be cheating me out of my dowry, but I promise you, he will never let you have Penelope.”
She slammed the carriage door in his face and Ashton frowned after it as she was driven away. It seemed that Artemis had been right—Charles wanted Penelope. Ashton had to talk himself out of grabbing a mount, riding to Hutton-Moore House, and pounding Charles’s face into the floor. The man had definitely been behind her kidnapping and had meant to take his pleasure of her before ridding himself of her. If, as they suspected, he was behind the shooting, then he may well have decided he could no longer wait to satisfy his lust.
Shaking his head, he walked back into the house. He badly wished to go straight to Penelope but it had been too long since he had shared a dinner with his family. As he rejoined his mother, he did wonder, however, if there was a gift among the Wherlockes and Vaughns that would help him get the truth, maybe even find the will. It was something to think about.
Ashton greeted the footman who opened the door at the Wherlocke Warren. “Everything quiet?” he asked as he handed the man his hat and coat.
“Aye. Ned walks the gardens every now and then. Sees naught.”
Ah, Ashton thought and had to smile. This one was Ted. He had to wonder what had possessed his mother to hire identical twins as footmen. Just a whim, he supposed, or a very strange sense of humor.
“He is careful not to do so with too much regularity, is he not?” he asked Ted.
“Aye, m’lord. I do the same out the front. No one will be setting any clocks by us.”
“Good. Very good.”
“Her ladyship and all them others have already retired, m’lord.”
Ashton almost nodded, expressed his regret, retrieved his things, and left as any gentleman should. Then he thought of all he had been through today and decided he was in no mood to play the gentleman. He needed to be with Penelope. His footmen would never indulge in gossip nor would any of Penelope’s family so it should be safe to break some rules.
“Quite all right, Ted,” he said as he started up the stairs. “Her ladyship is expecting me.”
That was not entirely true. He had said he would return but that had been hours ago. Penelope could easily have decided he was not coming and gone to sleep. She, too, had had a very wearying day. So, when he stepped into her bedchamber to find her curled up beneath the bedcovers, he grinned. Curled up around her was just where he wanted to be, needed to be, and he began to shed his clothes.
It was the tug of her night shift being removed that woke Penelope out of a sound sleep and she feared she had slipped into a nightmare. A strong male body, fully aroused, pressed against her, and her brief moment of panic fled. She recognized the scent and feel of the man now holding her close and nuzzling her neck. Still, it would not hurt to tease him for his presumption.
“Oh, nay, Ted,” she whispered huskily. “You must go. Ashton could be here at any moment.” She choked on her laughter when Ashton started to tickle her unmercifully in retribution.
“Wretch,” he said when he got her pinned beneath him.
“That was for your arrogance in slipping into my bed uninvited.”
“Ah, so I need to be invited, do I?” Ashton leapt nimbly from the bed and stood at attention beside it. “My dear Lady Penelope, would you be so kind, so gracious and generous, as to accept my humble self into your bed?”
Penelope looked at his groin, where his staff stood at attention as well, thick and bold as it stuck out from his lean, strong body. He really was a beautiful man, she thought, and wondered how long she could get him to stand there so that she could savor the sight of him. It was a cold, damp night, however, and they had both suffered through a grueling day.
“Humble is the very last thing you appear to be, but get in the bed.” She lifted the bedcovers. “Best hurry. ’Tis cold in this room and very soon you will not be looking so manly.”
Ashton laughed and got back into the bed. “How do you know what cold can do to a man?”
“Do recall that I spend most of my time with ten boys. Whether I wish to or not, I learn about all manner of bodily quirks and functions.”
“Yes, boys do find such things endlessly fascinating.” He wrapped her in his arms and began to nuzzle her neck again. “I meant to arrive sooner so that I could sup with you and the boys but my family was all at home and wished my company.”
“Much more important. And did you think to sit upon one of our new chairs?”
“Ah, that.”
“Aye, that. More arrogance, but I swallowed my first surge of pride and did not choke on it, so I thank you.”
“You are most welcome.”
“But, well, should you not be trying to sell what you are not using?”
“I doubt the pieces brought here would raise enough coin to make it worth the time and effort.”
She nodded as she ran her hands up and down his strong back. “Those with money want only the new and the fashionable. Those without the money probably do not have the room for it anyway.”
Penelope murmured her pleasure when he began to feast upon her breasts. His touch, his every caress, set a fire burning inside her that only he could quench. She did not think she could ever get enough of his touch and tried very hard not to think of how he might soon be touching someone else this way, a wife he chose for the money to save his family. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she lifted his face to hers and kissed him, using her hunger for him to banish such sad thoughts.
The wild need he stirred within her soon pushed aside all thought of the future. Penelope offered herself up to his every touch freely and wantonly. The way he made her blood run so hot it burned away all good sense was more than welcome after the dark day she had spent.
The strong desire only she had ever made him feel burst to life inside Ashton as she turned to sweet fire beneath his hands. He kissed his way down her soft, taut belly as he slid his hand between her silken thighs. The heat he found there only added to his great need for her. He knelt between her legs, draped them over his shoulders, and kissed her there. Her whole body jerked in shock, and she tried to retreat, but he held her firm as he licked and kissed her, making love to her with his mouth. When her body arched in his hold and she started to cry out, he pressed his mouth closer and savored every tremor of her release.
Setting her trembling legs back down, he kissed and licked his way back up her body. He smiled into her wide, passion-dazed eyes and then kissed her even as he joined their bodies with one fierce thrust. She cried out and he hesitated, thinking he had hurt her, but the way she wrap
ped her body around his eased his fear that he had been too rough. He did not hold back then, letting the ferocity of his need rule him. Astonishment briefly cut through the blinding force of his release when her body clung to his, her wet heat rippling around him as she found her pleasure for a second time.
Penelope did not return to her full senses until Ashton had finished cleaning them both off and pulled her back into his arms. Then the heat of a blush spread from her cheeks all the way down to her toes. He chuckled and kissed her hot cheek, annoying her. He had no respect for her modesty, she thought. What he had done had driven her mad with pleasure, but now that the pleasure had faded, she could hardly look at him. One glance at his smiling mouth had her recalling where that mouth had just been, causing an embarrassing ache there as if her shameless body was crying out do it again.
Turning so that she could press her cheek to his chest and listen to his heartbeat, she idly wondered what he would do if she so boldly ignored any sense of modesty he might have. Then she recalled the sight of him standing naked by the bed and nearly cursed. Men did not have much modesty at all. But he might just go as mad as she had if she kissed him so intimately. It was an intriguing idea that soon had her kissing her way down his chest to his hard stomach. When she kissed the lightly haired spot just below his belly hole, his erection bumped against her chin and he groaned. She smiled against his hot skin. If he groaned at that light inadvertent touch, he just might yell as loud as she had with what she intended to do next.
“Ashton? That, er, kiss you gave me? Is that some strange foreign trick?” she asked.
“Not that I know of,” he replied, not surprised that his voice was so hoarse and unsteady he nearly squeaked, for her mouth was so very close to where he ached for her kisses he thought he might go mad if she did not give him at least one little kiss. Mayhap even a lick or two, he mused, and nearly groaned again.
“Then it would not break any rules or traditions if a woman returned such an intimate kiss?”
“Ah, no.” The way she lightly ran her nails up and down his thighs had him shaking like an untried boy. “In truth, a man would be most heartily grateful, I should think.”
