If He's Wild

by Hannah Howell

  She hurried up to the room where the dressmaker was making some final alterations to Germaine’s wardrobe. There was still time to offer her opinions. Alethea took one step into the room, looked at Germaine, who was standing still while the dressmaker adjusted a soft green gown, and nearly gasped. She was definitely needed here, she thought as she marched over and demanded to know what had happened to the bodice of the gown.

  Hartley grimaced as he looked at what was left of Pierre Leon. It took a long, hard look simply to see that he had died from having his throat cut. The mudlarks that roamed the edges of the river for a living had found the body, but not before the fish had.

  “I cannot believe I gave up a night with Alethea for this,” he muttered.

  Argus grunted as he stood up from searching the corpse. “His pockets were cleaned out.” He looked at the burly man who had claimed to have discovered the body. “Were the pockets empty when you found the body?”

  Hartley started to say that such a man would have naturally cleaned out Pierre’s pockets and, as soon as they left, would take all the man’s clothing as well, but then he saw how the man’s eyes had glazed over. Argus would get the truth.

  “Had some coin and a few papers,” the man answered.

  “Where are the papers?”

  “Here.” The man pulled an oilskin packet out of his patched coat and handed it to Argus. “I thought they might be worth something since they were all wrapped up safe like.”

  “Yes, they are worth something, but not to you.”

  The moment Argus released the man’s gaze, he blinked and then stared at what Argus held. “Here now, where’d you get that?”

  “You gave it to me.” Argus handed the man some money. “Do with the body as you want. It is of no interest to us.”

  “Do you think Claudette had him killed?” asked Hartley as they walked back to their carriage.

  “If she did, she may have made a serious error. That fool was right to say that a man does not wrap up papers this carefully unless they are important. We are going to have to study these.”

  Hartley looked at the thick packet and sighed. There would be no spending a long, passionate night with Alethea tonight. He would be lucky to get home before dawn.

  Chapter 15

  “Margarite has similar tastes to her sister,” Gifford said as they entered the woman’s townhouse and looked around.

  Hartley had to agree. They had held back in searching Margarite’s home, for she had still been easy to follow. Alarming her with a search, stirring up her small cadre of powerful lovers, would have gained them nothing. From all they had observed while watching the sisters, Margarite was the follower, the ally. He had no doubt that she was the sister Chloe had referred to when she talked of one of the sisters being weaker. Unfortunately all they had thus far was a dead guard that had been watching the house for them and no Margarite. And one could not even prove that Margarite had anything to do with the dead guard.

  Argus frowned. “They know how to get money but not how to spend it wisely. A few more bedrooms and this could be a proper whorehouse.”

  Hartley had to agree. For two women who had made a place for themselves in the rarified echelons of society, their taste in furnishings was appalling. What he did notice, however, was that the place had not been stripped bare by the servants.

  “Either Margarite paid her servants well,” he said, “or she let them all go before she fled this house.”

  “I would say they were gone before she fled,” said Aldus as he started opening doors. “An owner flees in the night because of debt or legal difficulties, and the servants will always help themselves to things before they also leave. Mostly because they have been badly treated or not paid. Something tells me this woman would not treat her servants kindly.”

  “Then she is thinking she will be able to return.”

  “Possibly.” Argus wiped his finger over a table just inside the door to a parlour done all in various shades of blue and stared at the dust on his fingertip. “She let the servants go before she felt the need to run and hide. Nothing has been done here in days, and I do not see the woman you have all described to me as one to allow her servants to be anything else but extremely diligent.”

  “And I suspect she took the time then to be rid of anything that might incriminate her.” Hartley kicked the garish settee before sitting down. “They have not yet fled the country. At the moment, Margarite does not have to, even though it would be wise if she put as much distance between herself and her sister as possible. Those papers we found may be helpful, but they are in code, and decoding them will take time. Two more of Claudette’s lovers have been attacked. Both will survive, but one may never walk right again. They are cleaning up behind them.”

  “And very well, too. Do we have a list of Margarite’s lovers?” asked Argus as he searched through a little desk set in the corner of the room.

  “Yes, and one of them is Iago.” He nodded when Argus looked at him in shock and a touch of alarm. “He had an extremely brief affair with the woman. As he puts it, once his blind lust eased he could not abide to touch her. Something about sensing that she was cold or dark. Had the soul of a cold-blooded killer. You will have to talk to him. You will probably understand what he means better than I.”

  “That could prove awkward if we ever catch the woman and she is tried and convicted.”

  “No, I do not think so. He was but a small fish in a very big pond. He also has no connection to any branch of government or access to any information. I believe he was just a handsome young man she decided she wanted. Or, she was searching for a new husband.”

  “God help us.”

  “How shall we divide up the search, then?” Hartley asked as he stood up.

  “There is no need for you to stay this time. The three of us can search. I believe we will come up empty-handed again.”

  Hartley opened his mouth to insist on doing his part and then thought of Alethea. He had not gotten home until dawn and been too tired to do more than kiss her and fall asleep at her side. By the time he had woken up, she had been gone, and Argus and the others had been waiting for him. He was a newlywed, and he wanted to act like one if only for one day.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Very sure. Iago will no doubt join us soon.” Argus looked around. “The thought of him and that woman in this house doing…” He gave an exaggerated shudder and then looked back at Hartley. “Why are you still here? Go spend some time with your wife and those children.”

  Hartley did not hesitate any longer. “Do not come after me unless you find one of them,” he said as he grabbed his coat and left.

  Hartley handed his horse’s reins to his stable boy and nearly ran into his house. He knew he ought to feel guilty about leaving the others to do the tedious work of searching Margarite’s house, but he did not. His marriage was nearly three weeks old, and he had spent only three of those nights sleeping with his wife. He did not count last night, as it was a brief one and he had only slept. Tonight he intended to spend a long, luxurious night making love to his wife. He almost considered starting now, but decided the middle of the afternoon was not a good time and he needed to spend some time with Germaine and Bayard.

  His spirits high, he went in search of his wife. He found her in the drawing room, but his first sight of her did not cheer him at all. She was in the arms of another man. Hartley saw red, and, his fists clenched tight, he took a step toward the couple only to be brought up short by a firm grasp on his arm. He looked at the woman stopping him from pounding the interloper into the ground.

  “I would appreciate it if you did not kill the duke,” the woman said.

  “The duke?” Hartley frowned. “Which duke?”

  “The Duke of Elderwood.”

  It took a moment for the rage clouding his mind to clear enough for him to recognize the name. “Modred. Her cousin. And you are?”

  “Olympia Wherlocke—another cousin.”

 
Hartley took a deep breath to restore his calm and bowed to the woman. She was tall, voluptuous, and quite beautiful. Lady Wherlocke was the sort of woman he would have been trying to seduce in the days when he played the rake. With her raven black hair and bright blue eyes, she was a woman any man would lust after. Instead, all his thoughts were on his wife, who had not even noticed he was home yet.

  “Modred,” Olympia called. “Come and meet Alethea’s husband.”

  Alethea looked over Modred’s shoulder, saw Hartley, and smiled. She kissed her cousin on the cheek and then rushed over to greet Hartley. He stood a little stiffly as she slipped her arm around his waist, and she wondered what was troubling him. But then Modred stepped up to introduce himself. She watched closely as Modred and Hartley exchanged names and bows. There was no sign on her cousin’s face that he felt anything at all as he stood but a foot away from her husband, and Alethea breathed a sigh of relief. She had feared that Modred would be able to see into Hartley too easily, and then they would never have been able to be the haven for the duke that she had hoped they could be.

  “Good shields?” she asked her cousin.

  “Excellent ones,” Modred replied and smiled.

  Hartley looked at the young man smiling at him. The young duke was extraordinarily handsome, with thick black hair and sea green eyes. When he had been told about how close this man was to Alethea, he had not considered the possibility that the reclusive duke would be the type of man who could have any women he wanted with just a smile. Hartley looked down at his smiling wife and tried not to be jealous. This man was part of her family.

  “What do you mean by good shields?” he asked.

  “You have some very sturdy walls, m’lord,” Modred replied. “I feel nothing from you except for a hint of irritation. It is so faint, however, that I might well be reading that on your face. Have we come at an inconvenient time? We could go and stay at the Warren if you cannot house us at this time.”

  “No, of course not. You and Lady Wherlocke are welcome to stay here, Your Grace.”

  “Please, call me Modred. We are family, after all.”

  “Of course, and you must call me Hartley.” He glanced at the woman.

  “And you must call me Lady Wherlocke,” she said haughtily and then laughed when both Alethea and Modred scowled at her. “Call me Olympia, please, Hartley.”

  As soon as Hartley had seen the guests shown to their rooms, he dragged his wife into his small office and shut the door. “You did not tell me your cousin the duke was a young, handsome man.”

  “What does that matter?” Alethea asked.

  “It matters when I come home and see you hugging him.”

  She bit back a smile. He was jealous. She wanted to dance around the room at this sign that he might be coming to care for her more deeply than he had spoken of in his proposal.

  “Hartley, Modred can touch very few people. He—well—just imagine if you had to be careful with everyone, always wear gloves, and never get too close. When he is with family, he can feed the need everyone has to touch someone, to hug someone he cares about.”

  He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “Perhaps he can be a little less effusive with my wife until I get used to him.”

  She laughed and kissed him. When he pulled her hard against him and returned the kiss with a hunger that rapidly stirred her own, Alethea moaned softly. He smoothed his hands down her back until he got a firm grip on her backside. She shifted against his hard length, and he pressed it against her, aching to have him inside her.

  “Uncle? Are you in there?” Germaine called, rapping at the door.

  Hartley groaned and pressed his forehead against Alethea’s as he struggled to tamp down the need clawing at his insides. “Yes, I will be with you in a moment.”

  “We will be in the parlor with Modred and Olympia.”

  He looked at Alethea and sighed as the haze of desire faded from her eyes. “When this is all over, we are going away, just the two of us, and have a damned honeymoon.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said and stepped back from him to brush smooth her gown. “But for now, I can see that life intrudes, and we best get back to it.”

  Humming softly to herself, Alethea arranged the flowers she had placed on the table near the fireplace. She had slipped away from the others so that she could prepare the bedchamber. The evening had been wonderful, with so many of her family stopping in to see Modred, but the visits had finally ended, and it would soon be time for her and Hartley to be alone. She wanted the bedchamber to be perfect for a night of love with her husband.

  “Well, it certainly sounds as if you are happy.”

  Alethea glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Olympia, who stood in the doorway. She had sensed Olympia weighing and judging Hartley all evening long, but was not worried. Hartley had all that was needed to win the cynical Olympia’s acceptance, although she knew her cousin would be slow to fully admit that.

  “Yes, I am very happy. Were you concerned?” she asked as she placed a few candles on the little chest next to the bed.

  “Well, your first husband was a disaster.”

  “He was that, but Hartley is nothing like Channing. Hartley has all the emotion Channing lacked—he just does not always realize it.”

  “You love him.”

  “Yes, I do. Very much. Is it not a good thing for a wife to love her husband?”

  “Yes, if he loves her back.”

  Alethea sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “He likes me, wants me, and trusts me. That may not sound like much, but I believe it is a lot. He also accepts who I am, what I can do, and my family.”

  Olympia sat down next to her. “Which are all very good things, no arguing that. He seems to like Modred. That is no small thing, either. Nor is the fact that Modred says Hartley, his niece, and his nephew all have very strong walls. He is down there now thoroughly enjoying himself, and it lightens my heart. Of course, he almost found himself tossed out a window when your husband first came home.”

  “I know. Hartley was jealous.” Alethea smiled. “I see that as progress.”

  “Toward winning his heart?”

  “Yes. That is the prize I seek—a return for the love I have for him. Do you think I ask too much?”

  “Not at all, and I am sure you will soon gain what you want.”

  “Have you seen it?” Alethea could not keep all of her hope out of her voice.

  “A little. I do not fully trust what I see when it concerns family, especially ones I am close to, however.”

  “Because it could be wishful thinking.”

  “Exactly. Yet, I do see no clouds upon your horizon. Not concerning Hartley, anyway.”

  “Good. That well satisfies me for now.”

  Olympia kissed her on the cheek. “I best continue on my way to bed so that you can finish setting the stage for seduction. Tomorrow we can discuss your troubles.”

  Alethea hugged her cousin, and, as soon as the woman left, she hurried off to her bath. She wanted to be clean and sweet-smelling when Hartley finally joined her.

  Hartley collected up the cards and smiled at Modred. They were the only ones still up, and Hartley had every intention of making his way to bed soon. His jealousy had faded with every hour spent in the duke’s company. Modred Wherlocke was a good man, with a heavy burden, and not just that of the gift that was more of a curse. He was head of a large, gifted, and somewhat eccentric family, many of whom had stopped in to welcome him to London.

  “I have enjoyed our game, Modred, but I intend to go to my wife now.” He hid his surprise when the younger man blushed faintly.

  “You will be good to her, will you not?” Modred asked.

  “Always.”

  Modred smiled. “I had hoped to be able to, well, read you a little to reassure myself, but you, Germaine, and Bayard have very strong walls. ’Tis just that Alethea needs someone who cares for her. Her brothers do, but they are rarely home, and Alethea needs a home, a real
home, not just a roof over her head.”

  “She has one. She also has someone who cares for her now. Do not fear for her heart, as I have no intention of breaking it. As soon as these troubles plaguing us are gone, I mean to give my marriage my full attention.”

  “Fair enough. As for these troubles that were spoken of tonight, you must let me help.”

  “These are particularly evil women, Modred. If they do not have strong walls, you could find yourself seeing a lot of ugliness.”

  “It does not matter. I must help. Not only is it my duty as head of the family, but as Alethea’s friend.”

  “As you wish, but do not feel you must continue if it becomes too much. Duty does not require you to torture yourself. Now, good night. You are good company, my friend, but I want my wife.”

  He left, Modred’s soft laughter following him. Hartley could almost pity the young duke were it not for the huge, supportive, and sometimes loving family the man had. And yet, for all he was head of a huge family, a duke, young, rich, and unsettlingly handsome, Hartley did not need any special gift to know that the man was alone and, worse, lonely.

  He was still puzzling over Modred as he entered his dressing room, set between the two bedchambers he and Alethea had been using as she had recovered from her wound, and dismissed his valet, Dennison. They would soon have only one, he decided as he shed his clothes and washed up. Donning his robe, he made his way into the room Alethea was currently using.

  All thought of Modred fled Hartley’s mind as he entered the bedchamber where his wife waited for him. The scent of wildflowers and expensive spices filled the air. He looked around at the flowers and candles crowding the room and then looked at Alethea. She sat cross-legged on their bed, wearing what he supposed was a robe although it certainly provided no warmth or modesty. He could see her nipples through the lacy bodice, and his body immediately hardened in response. The sight of her glorious hair hanging down to her waist, its thick waves struggling to hide all that the robe displayed, only added to his hunger for her.