Beloved

by Stella Cameron

  Rose rubbed her hands together. “Bigun went back to Lord Avenall’s house. And Mr. Crabley’s—”

  “I did not ask about the staff.” One finger at a time, Ella pulled off her gloves. “I repeat, has Max returned to Oxford?”

  Rose’s face turned a mottled shade of pink. “That’s what everyone’s supposed to think,” she said.

  Ella dropped her gloves on a table. “But he hasn’t gone back to school? Is that what you’re saying, Rose?”

  “Aye.” The girl’s throat clicked as she swallowed. “I ’aven’t known what t’do. I was going to go to the dowager, only you arrived, so I thought I’d …Well, I thought I should talk to you about it—like ’e told me. Only, I was afraid.”

  Ella hadn’t eaten in far too long. Weakness overcame her and she sat down in the nearest chair. “Do you know where my brother is, Rose?”

  The maid wrung her hands. Her young face worked.

  “Rose? Please do not keep this from me.”

  “He was supposed to have gone by coach. I know ’e didn’t. I saw him go to the stables and I followed. I begged ’im to talk to the dowager, but ’e wouldn’t listen to the likes of me.”

  Ella rubbed at her eyes.

  “You don’t feel well, do you, my lady?” Rose said. “Mayhap you’re already increasin’.”

  Ella looked at her askance. She knew what the word meant. “I hope I am,” she said stoutly. “Yes, that would be the finest thing I could imagine. Now, Max left on horseback. Perhaps he decided to ride back to school.”

  “No, my lady. He only went a short while since. Right after you was returned with their lordships and the duke. Oh, I asked him not to do it. And I asked him not to make me a part of it. He said he’d made sure I saw him go to the stables because he knew I’d follow and there was something he wanted me to do for him.”

  Another of Max’s intrigues. Irritation tweaked Ella’s nerves. She waited for Rose to draw the courage to finish her story.

  “Max wanted me to come to you and tell you he’s had to go to the ’ouse you’ll know of. He made me promise not to speak to anyone but you. Could cause his death if I did, so he told me, my lady. I ’aven’t told a soul, and I won’t. Oh, I’m so worried about Master Max.”

  Ella pushed to her feet. “Lushy’s,” she whispered.

  “Beg pardon, my lady?”

  “Nothing. Was there anything more? Did Max tell you anything else?”

  “Just that you was to follow him to the ’ouse you’ll know of. He said you mustn’t let anyone else know where you’re going, but you’d better get there before it’s too late.”

  An alley flanked the tall wall surrounding the gardens at Pall Mall. Dawn’s purple blush was upon the city. The smells were of roses in the gardens, and bread baking in the kitchens of great houses, and, faintly, the downdraft of smoke.

  Saber paced, and chafed the rope burns on his wrists. Bigun followed him, reversing direction each time Saber reversed direction.

  “Where the blazes is Crabley? What’s taking so long?”

  “He’ll come just as quickly as possible, my lord. Crabley is a most reliable fellow.”

  Saber grunted and continued his tramping. If Crabley and Bigun had not arrived at Bretforten—apparently as a result of a message Bigun received from Margot—Saber would still be tied to a chair in a locked room.

  He looked at his watch. “Half an hour! What can be taking half an hour?”

  “I should think there are many possible explanations for the length of time—”

  “Yes, Bigun,” Saber interrupted. “I’m sure there are. But I want my wife and I want her now.”

  “Mr. North will likely be on his way soon, my lord. We hit him hard, but he’s a strong man. Have we considered how to deal with him when he comes?”

  “He will not come,” Saber said, and hoped he was right. “If he does, I shall kill him. I promised him as much before you arrived.”

  Bigun looked away.

  “No,” Saber said, “what you’re thinking is correct. I shall likely not kill him since I have sworn never to…I shall not kill him but he will wish he were dead. But Devlin is no fool. He will take his chance to put as much distance as possible between us.”

  “I think I hear someone coming,” Bigun said. This morning his red silk tunic and white trousers appeared decidedly misused.

  “Good.” Saber faced the gate into the gardens. “Ella is the answer to my—my condition. She can heal me, I know that now.”

  The gate opened and Crabley stepped into the alley. He closed the gate carefully behind him. His round, black eyes popped with anxiety. “The news isn’t good,” he said. “I had to be careful or they might have followed me out here.”

  “Where’s Ella? Why didn’t you bring her with you? Have they confined her somewhere?”

  Crabley held up short-fingered hands. His mouth stretched wide, then formed a little O before he said, “I spoke with Rose. The girl’s beside herself, but I convinced her to reveal what she knows. She hasn’t told another soul. Afraid to.”

  Saber grabbed the butler’s lapel and drew him near. “Tell me—”

  “My lord!” Bigun said, working to pry Saber’s fingers from Crabley’s coat. “Mr. Crabley is most helpful. Do not abuse him, if you please.”

  Saber released Crabley as abruptly as he’d taken hold of him. “Yes, yes. Forgive me.”

  “You’re anxious, my lord,” Crabley said, brushing at his crumpled lapel. “Rose is very afraid. Seems she’s the only one with certain knowledge. We’ll have to go quickly, or we may be too late.”

  “Go where?” Saber and Bigun asked in unison.

  “To a certain house?” Crabley raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Rose said Max told her to get Miss Ella—her ladyship—to follow him to a house they both know of. Whatever that means. Evidently the young man told Rose his life might be forfeit if she revealed his destination to anyone but Lady Avenall. And his life would be forfeit for certain if Lady Avenall didn’t follow him there at once.”

  This time Ella was shown not into the rose sitting room at Lushbottam’s, but into a larger room on the second floor. The motif here was grapes. Plum-colored grapes. Wax bunches cascaded from shell-shaped bowls supported by naked female forms. More bunches blossomed over painted tiles around the fireplace and crept with startling brilliance over the wallpaper.

  The front door had opened before Ella had time to knock, and Milo had drawn her inside. His excitement showed in the unnatural height of his color, and in the clamminess of his fingers on her wrist.

  He’d guided her up to this dreadful room and closed her in. She’d heard a key turn in the lock.

  An hour or more had passed since then, with no sound from the passageway. The room was windowless, but lamps burned on tables beside a four-poster bed draped in almost the same plum color as the wax grapes. Heaps of pillows scattered the floor, and a chaise of pale mauve trimmed with gold-tasseled braid stood before the fireplace.

  Ella tried the doorknob. She’d done so several times and knew it would not turn, but she could not help herself.

  Footsteps sounded.

  She withdrew to the farthest corner of the room and watched the door. Her stomach chased her heart into her throat.

  The key turned in the lock.

  Ella drew her cloak more firmly about her. She would ask to see Max at once, then demand to be allowed to leave.

  Milo came into the room. He smiled, but Ella noted that his hovering hands trembled.

  “As I’ve already said,” she told him. “I’ve come for Max. Bring him to me at once.”

  “Of course,” Milo said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “He’s coming right now. Come on, Max. Your sister wants to see you.”

  Milo stood aside and Max appeared. He came toward Ella with a plea in his eyes that sent her running to take him in her arms. “What is it?” she whispered, hugging him. “What’s happened to you?”

  “Do as he asks,” Max told her. �
��He says that if you will, nothing bad will happen to either of us.”

  Ella held his arms and stood back. She should have used her best judgment and told someone where she was going. “Why are you here, Max?”

  He bowed his head. “I was a fool. The night when I told you I’d been trying to get into White’s”—he glanced at her— “I came here, not to White’s. I came here because I wanted to know. I wanted to know if I could find out anything about…I wanted to know who I am. Who I really am.”

  “Oh, Max.” She should have known he would come to this point. “You are yourself. Just as I am myself. Mother died and—”

  “But I knew Milo hadn’t,” Max said, rushing now. “So I came to see if I could find out where he was. And he was glad to see me. Very glad. He told me… Oh, Ella, I’ve brought you terrible trouble. I’m sorry.”

  She shook him gently and looked at Milo, who remained near the door. “I’m sure Milo encouraged you to come here out of family affection,” she said, sure of no such thing. “But we must return home now, before we are missed.”

  “I played into his hands. I made it easier for him. He wanted to get you here again, and he used me.”

  Goose bumps popped out on Ella’s arms. “Milo won’t do anything to harm us.”

  “Yes, he will!” Max jerked away from her. “He told me he wasn’t my uncle. He said he was mother’s lover, not her brother, and that I was his son. I believed him. I wanted to believe him.”

  Ella shook her head. “No, Max, no. You should have told me. I could have—”

  “I know it isn’t true.” Misery weighted down the boy’s shoulders. “He admits as much now he’s got what he wants. He will use us to control each other.”

  “That’s enough,” Milo snapped. “I didn’t have to let you see him, Ella. Now you have, you know I have not harmed him. Yet. You will do as you’re told, missy, and we’ll get along well enough.”

  “We’re leaving,” Ella said, not feeling as brave as she sounded. “Kindly step aside.”

  “Is that any way to speak to your old uncle?”

  “We never want to see or hear of you again. Make no attempt to contact us further, do you understand?”

  “I’ve heard enough of your lip, miss,” Milo said. “Out with you, boy. And don’t try anything or your sister’ll be the one to suffer.”

  Max stood beside Ella. “I’ll not leave her to you.”

  “If you don’t leave her to me,” Milo said, all silk now. “If you don’t, I’ll have you dragged away and she’ll be whipped by someone who’ll enjoy the job.”

  Ella smothered a cry. “Go, Max. Please. I can take care of myself—and you. Just go for now.”

  He hovered.

  “Go, Max!” Ella said. “Please.”

  With dragging steps, he did as she asked.

  Milo waited until Max disappeared from sight and turned excited eyes on Ella. “Now we can get on with it. You’ll do just as you’re told, missy, unless you want that whipping. And don’t think I wouldn’t take pleasure in it—and in seeing that little nuisance of a brother of yours squirm too. Your mother shouldn’t have spent herself trying to care for the two of you when I needed her. Now it’s time for you to make good on what I lost.”

  Ella held herself rigidly straight. “I am a married woman. My husband will come to my rescue.”

  Milo snickered. “From what I hear, that isn’t very likely. Anyway, I hear your visitors arriving. Do as you’re told. They’ve paid me well for what they want from you and the blunt’s already spent.”

  Precious Able rustled into the room. A malicious smirk held none of the “friendship” she’d begged of Ella.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “I always knew you were a slut.” Pink and white as a party meringue, Precious approached Ella with mincing steps. Her taffeta skirts swayed, and her extravagant evening hat bobbed. She clasped her hands behind her back. Her embarrassingly displayed breasts rose and fell with each rapid breath.

  Confusion overwhelmed Ella. “Did you come to help me?”

  Precious giggled. “Of course I did, Ella-the-whore. I’ve come to help you stop pretending to be something you’re not. The ton knows all about you, but they’re too afraid of the Rossmaras and the Franchots to tell you what they think of you. I’m not. I’ll tell you to your face. Think of it. You being all high and mighty, when all you are is the adopted daughter of a viscount! Did you think no one would find out you used to be a whore?”

  “No.” Ella couldn’t seem to think properly. “No, it’s not true.”

  Precious brought her hands in front of her. “Yes, it is. And you still are. There are some things you can’t stop being.”

  Staring at what Precious held, Ella stepped backward. A gown of flimsy red chiffon trailed from Precious’s fingers.

  Ella looked at Milo. “Why is she here? Why is she trying to frighten me?”

  “Just do as you’re told, missy,” Milo said. “Remember that snot-nosed brother of yours, and do as you’re told.”

  “You’ve got to put this on.” Precious held out the gown and Ella thought the other woman’s face registered something else behind the malice. “Go on. Take off your clothes and put this on.”

  “No.” Ella shook her head and sat on the chaise. “You’re ill, Precious. You must be. How can you be involved in all this?”

  “Take off your clothes!”

  Ella wrapped her cloak firmly about her.

  A stinging slap to her cheek shocked Ella. Shocked and hurt her. She drew away from Precious, who now loomed over her, ugly patches of red staining her face.

  Precious raised her hand again.

  This time Ella was quicker. She ducked aside and grasped Precious’s wrist at the same time.

  Precious struggled furiously. Words Ella had never heard streamed from the girl’s mouth.

  Using both hands, Ella twisted Precious’s substantial wrist. Precious grappled and screeched. “Let me go, whore! Let me go! Ooh, you’re hurting me!” Under the weight of three ostrich plumes, her elaborate beaded evening hat tipped forward. She dropped the red dress.

  “That’ll do, Ella,” Milo said.

  She glanced at him and saw with revulsion that he found the scuffle enjoyable. “I’m a married woman. My husband will punish you for this.”

  Swiping at the ostrich plumes, Precious struggled ineffectually against Ella’s strong hands. “You thought you were going to be a lady.” She spat in Ella’s face. “Well, a lady is as a lady does, and you’re no lady. And your fancy marriage is over anyway.”

  “How …” Ella couldn’t let go to wipe away Precious’s spittle. “That’s not true. Saber and I have been married a week now.”

  “You mean you’ve been rutting for a week,” Precious said. “I know all about it. The marriage is going to be annulled. I don’t know why anyone wants you … Get Pommy!” she shrieked suddenly.

  Ella’s limbs wobbled. “Pommy? Do you mean Pomeroy Wokingham?”

  “Of course I do. Get him, old man! Get him now. Tell him he can put the red dress on his whore himself. I’m tired of helping him with this. He’s got me.” She glowered at Ella through the feathers. “I’m all he needs, but he’s got you in his blood. So we’re just going to get you out and be done with it.”

  She had to be strong. Ella applied another twist to Precious’s arm and produced the expected scream. The girl was physically soft and weak. Ella had spent most of her life fending for herself, and even in the years at Kirkcaldy, she’d roamed the estate, more often on horseback or working beside a tenant wife than sipping tea.

  Pomeroy Wokingham arrived. His thin mouth drooped petulantly. “You can get out now, scab,” he told Milo. “And don’t come back unless I tell you to.”

  “But the money—”

  “I’ve already paid, fool. Get out.”

  “But—”

  A hard kick, with the toe of a boot, connected with Milo’s knee. He crumpled against the wall.

  “Don’t
come back,” Pomeroy yelled. “Go on! Go on!”

  Whimpering, Milo shuffled away.

  “Oh, Pommy,” Precious cried. Ella let her go and she rushed, arms opened wide, toward Pomeroy Wokingham. “Oh, Pommy, she’s vicious. She twisted my wrist and spat at me. Imagine. She spat at me!”

  Ella didn’t bother to argue. There would be no point. Any more than there would be a point in asking what Lord Wokingham’s fiancýs doing here—and in the company of Lord Wokingham’s son.

  “She spat, hey?” Pomeroy said with a smile that resembled a snarl. He shook free of Precious’s embrace. “Good. Glad to hear she’s got plenty of spirit. More fun that way.”

  “But Pommy!”

  Pomeroy spared Precious a look. His eyes passed over her body but returned to her breasts. “They are your best asset,” he said, obviously assuming no more explanation was necessary. He used a foot to shut the door. “Yes, your best asset. Why cover them at all, my dear?”

  Before Precious could respond, and while Ella cringed, Pomeroy Wokingham tore open what there was of Precious’s bodice, revealing her big breasts balanced atop a very uncomfortable-looking corset contraption. Stiffened buckram cups presented their jiggling, brown-tipped offerings rather like milk-jellies decorated with large spoonfuls of damson jam.

  Precious batted coyly at Pomeroy but made no effort to cover herself. Rather, she put her hands on her hips and strutted before Ella. “She’s scrawny, Pommy,” she said. “Not like me. We could do it right here, if you like. In front of her. Come on, Pommy, I’m ready for you. I’m always ready for you.”

  “In time,” Pomeroy said, with eyes only for Ella. “Pick up the gown,” he told her.

  Sickened, she pressed her lips together and didn’t move.

  “Oh, we’re going to be difficult,” Pomeroy remarked. He crossed his arms and checked his fingernails. “I like that. So much more of a challenge. Things that come too easily can become boring.” This time he did give Precious his attention. He tucked two fingers into her corset, between her breasts, and hauled her to him. Very deliberately, he squeezed each of her breasts hard, and laughed when she moaned with pain.