Her cheeks stung, and she turned back to the tea. “I’ve brought tea for you.”
“I’m sure it’s been drugged, as was my meal at the brothel. I don’t want it.”
So, that was where Mr. Goody had caught the earl. She wondered if that was the same story for Coalwater.
She picked up a cup and turned back to him. “You must drink it. It’ll help you sleep.”
He frowned. “I have no plans of sleeping here. Unchain me. I will pay you if you let me go.”
“I don’t have the key.”
His brows furrowed. “Then go get it.” He clearly did not enjoy being defied.
She evaluated his chains before moving forward. “You’ll go when the master is ready to let you go.”
He bared his teeth and then shouted, “I’m not drinking that! Do you hear me! I’m not drinking anything you give me.”
∫ ∫ ∫
0 3
* * *
Kent watched as Harlot’s eyes flashed. Her entire body stiffened and drew into herself. He told himself he was glad of it, even though the reaction reminded him far too much of everyone else in his life, his mother included.
But he didn’t allow his thoughts to punish him. He had every right to be angry at the man who’d taken him and at the woman who stood before him.
The maid took another step toward him. “Please, just drink it. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
“No.”
She stared at him and then sighed before lowering her gaze to the liquid in the cup. “I cannot force it into your mouth.”
“At least you know.” he said.
Her eyes came back up. They were gold, like two shiny coins. “What will it take for you to drink this?”
“There is nothing you can do or say that will make me accept that cup.” he told her.
He allowed his eyes to roam her body then and judged what he saw. She was a small woman. Short. Her humble uniform was a dull blue and seemed to fall in a way that suggested she didn’t have much to offer a man underneath it. Small curves. She’d have passed for a child if it weren’t clear from her speech and attitude that she was a woman.
She was very pale, her face pleasant, and her lips naturally curved with innocence. She appeared nearly angelic, a quality that likely got many a man to do as she asked without question.
Kent would not be one of them.
“You’ll only ache all night if you don’t drink it.” she told him. “This will help you relax.”
“You know what will help me relax? Being unchained!” He thrust his body forward and watched her jump back. “Unchain me!” He’d nearly called her Harlot, yet for some reason, he didn’t feel comfortable doing so. He knew that wasn’t her name.
He wondered why she’d call herself such a thing.
Was she a harlot or the angel she appeared to be?
Perhaps, Kent should try another tactic.
“Do you enjoy your position here? I can find you better work in the city. I know that’s where you come from.” He could hear it in her speech. She had the refinement that most servants picked up from working around their betters for some time.
Had she been a lady’s maid?
Those golden eyes—which had rare flickers of green and blue—flashed. “How do you know I’m from the city?” Forget working as a lady’s maid. She nearly sounded like a lady herself. Wherever she’d been before, she’d certainly not been a scullery maid.
She was pretty. Her daintiness could easily make a man feel protective, strong where she was clearly weak. Perhaps, she’d been removed from her house of employment because of her attractiveness. He imagined a mistress tossing her out because she tempted the master of the house far too easily.
He wondered at her hair color. Her brows were dark.
Kent avoided answering her question and instead stayed on the track he was laying out...all the while trying to ignore the pain growing in his shoulders. The awkward position was making them throb. “Perhaps you would rather not ever work again? I can give you my protection and enough money to settle you anywhere of your choosing.” He was being honest. So far, this woman had done nothing to wrong him.
If freed, he would help her. He had enough wealth to see it easily done.
Again, she looked surprised, and he saw contemplation in her gaze…right before it died. “You must be in pain. Let me take it from you.”
He grinded his back teeth. He’d never been a very patient man. “Release me, or you’ll regret it. I swear to you, once I am released, I will hunt you and everyone you love down. I will make you pay for this.”
She stiffened and then looked him over, studying the chains once more, before moving closer.
Suddenly, a new scent presented itself.
He groaned. She smelled so sweet that his mouth began to ache. He was starving. He’d only stopped at the brothel for a meal. It had been the first place he’d come to on the road, and he’d not eaten all day. He’d been riding his horse and traveling without servants.
Kent had only swallowed a portion of the stew before he’d fallen asleep.
And that had been two days ago.
She lowered herself until they were face to face. “Please.” She held out the cup to his lips, and he noticed how her hands trembled. Did she fear him?
He turned his head away. “No. I’ll not drink it.” Why had his masked captor sent this woman to him? Did he think a pretty face would break his resolve? It was an easy thing to assume when one was accosted in a brothel. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “only to remove your pain.”
He turned and saw that tears had made her eyes appear like glass. Did she weep for him?
As soon as the thought entered his mind, he pushed it away. No one wept for him. No one had ever cared.
He could disappear for days and would likely not be missed. He was an earl, but aside from his wealth, he had nothing and never would. But those thoughts didn’t sadden him in the least. His life was good. No one ever broke his trust, because he trusted no one. Not family. Not those who claimed to be his friends.
Not this woman with eyes the color of sun rays.
He jumped on his chains again and was surprised when she held firm.
“I know the limits of your chains now,” she said. “You can’t hurt me even though you want to.”
He didn’t want to hurt her. He’d never hurt a woman in his life.
But the man in the mask...Kent couldn’t wait to get his fingers around the man’s throat. “Tell me why I’m here? Is it money he wants?”
“I don’t know.” she said. “But if you’re good, he won’t hurt you anymore.” She lifted the cup again.
He was getting nowhere with her, and the pain was starting to shoot down his arms and through his back. It hurt to breathe. Sweat dripped down his face.
“If you drink this, the master will move you somewhere more comfortable.” she said.
He was no longer able to hide the full extent of the pain. He’d been beaten before his arrival. His muscles were weak. The rim of the cup touched his mouth, and he jerked his chin up, knocking the cup to the floor.
Its contents splashed before it rolled and settled between them.
She looked down at it and then back up at him.
No anger. Only sadness.
“I’m trying to help you.” she said as she stood.
The moment she moved away, taking her scent with her, the smells of his brick prison engulfed him once more. He almost shouted for her to return.
But then she did, with a wet cloth and a bowl of water this time. She lowered herself again, and he wondered how she could stand the smell of him.
Perhaps she couldn’t.
The cloth touched his skin, and its coolness nearly made him groan, but he held it back. He stood still as she cleaned his face with gentle strokes, then down his throat. When she stopped, he opened his eyes to find her staring at his chest with embarrassment.
She was clearly no harlo
t.
He found something about her hesitation arousing. He cursed and chuckled as he felt himself begin to rise. It was just what he needed at a time like this, another source of pain.
It was a good distraction from his reality, however.
The position he’d been chained it left no room to conceal his growing need.
She gasped softly, likely spotting his erection. Then her gaze flew away, and she placed the cloth in the water bowl. “Would you like me to…?”
Yes! Lust roared through his blood like an inferno. He wanted her hands on him and though he knew the thought to be shameless, given the circumstances, he couldn’t help himself.
“Clean your chest?” she finished without meeting his eyes.
That she’d not offered a different service didn’t calm him in the least.
“Please.”
She fumbled with his buttons before pushing the material—once fine silk and now nothing more than rags—as far down his arms as possible.
“You may as well cut it off,” he said. It hardly did anything to ward against the cool August nights.
She moved to the table in the corner and came back with a knife. The same one his captor had slashed his legs with. The wounds were shallow at best, however. The man in the mask didn’t want him dead. He wanted him humbled.
“Are you sure this is all right?” Harlot asked.
He nodded, then winced. The action had pulled on the muscles in his shoulders. The pain deflated his erection and then he watched as the maid cut away his shirt and went back to the table to refill the water bowl.
She cleaned him, and he groaned when she focused on his shoulders. When she got to his back, she kneaded his knotted flesh to the point that his vision was filled with the celestial heavens.
While the pain didn’t disappear completely, it did make it more bearable.
She took the dirty water away and returned with a cup again.
His anger returned.
“An answer for a sip.” she said as she lowered herself once more. “But no personal questions. Only those that pertain to your situation.”
He thought it over and grunted. “You’re cleverer than you look. Very well.” He was tired and hadn’t drank or eaten in days. “I’m hungry. Could I eat first?”
She moved away and left without a word.
It seemed forever before she came back. His mouth had never watered more than when he saw the meat and bread. She fed him, and he was so famished that he had tell himself to calm down before he bit into her fingers.
When he was done and his belly was satisfied, he asked, “Why am I here?”
She picked up the cup and stared at him. “I honestly don’t know, but I can guess if you like.”
He nodded.
“The master…I believe him to be lonely. I think he wants company.”
“Company?” he managed before he was forced to swallow a portion of the tea.
Once the liquid hit his mouth, he couldn’t stop himself from taking more than a sip. Why bother anyway? He’d be unconscious any minute now. He drank the entire cup, and she went to get another.
As she worked, he thought of what question was best to ask next. “So, are there others?”
“Two others.” she said as she came close again, bringing the tray with her.
“How long will I be here?” How long would he live?
Her eyes found his, and a sensation Kent hadn’t felt in years gripped his body.
Cold fear.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But…the first man he took has been here for over two years.”
Two years?
So, there was a possibility that he’d never get out. That this had become his life.
“He’ll move you to a bed.” she said in a rush. “If you’re really good, he’ll allow you to join him for meals. That is all. You sleep, you eat, and you live to entertain his conversation.” She gave him the tea again.
He finished the second cup as he physically and mentally hit the floor.
Years.
“No.” he said, suddenly full of panic. This would not be how his life ended. His blood pounded in his head. “No!”
“Ganden, you must calm down!”
“No!” He’d not given her his name. He’d not given the other man his name either. How did they know who he was? He’d thought his attack had been random. He’d thought the masked man had seen his clothing and decided to rob him. “How do you know my name?”
Already, the drugs were having their effect.
He was asleep before he could hear her respond.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 4
* * *
Three Months Later
Lucy moved around the table and placed meals before each of the men.
When she’d started her position two years ago, she’d not known how to cook. For nineteen years, she’d been a proper lady. The most work she’d ever done had been with paint and an easel.
Now, thanks to the woman at the brothel that she’d learned Ganden had been taken from, Lucy knew her way around a kitchen, a hearth, a larder, the laundry room, and much, much more.
She’d grown tired easily during those first months, but now she was settled into her life.
Once a month, she was allowed to write George—Mr. Goody always read them first and then made sure to send them off from an unknown location—and once a month, she received a letter from George in return.
Her nephew’s precious missives got her through the long months. Without them, she didn’t know where she’d be.
When she placed the final plate of roast goose and vegetables in front of Ganden, she tried to ignore the fact that he was the only one chained to his seat.
In fact, since Ganden had joined Mr. Goody’s table, the table itself had been changed. Mr. Goody hired a blacksmith to fashion one out of metal and had then had it and Ganden’s chair fastened to the floor.
Yet between the beautiful setting and the elaborate way the dining room had been decorated, no one would spot what was out of place unless they looked hard.
Coalwater ate his meal in silence. The boy had grown in the last year. His shoulders were wider, his face more defined. He was taller, yet she hated to see the listlessness in his blue eyes, which were hidden behind a fall of dark hair that held a heavy curl.
Both his hands were unchained, but his throat remained linked to his own chair.
Astlen also had a cuff around his throat, but he smiled as though the collar were made of jewels as he spoke animatedly with Mr. Goody.
Ganden’s throat, arms, and feet were chained, and he mostly ignored everyone.
Three months had passed, and he’d yet to give up the fight. There had been a moment last month when he’d nearly broken free and hurt Mr. Goody enough to give him a black eye.
He’d paid for that mistake with a lashing that Lucy had wept over as she’d cleaned him. Her feelings about the event had wavered between fear and hope. She wanted to leave just as much as Ganden, but then where would she go? She couldn’t take George from his father.
Could she?
She thought of running away every day.
“Seems a coal mining lamp has been invented.” Mr. Goody said from his position at the head of the table. He put his paper down and grinned at Ganden. His blue eyes shined with amusement. “You’ve investments in coal, don’t you? I would think this story might interest you.”
Ganden said nothing. He didn’t even look at Mr. Goody.
“I’ve investments in coal.” Astlen said with a smirk that seemed so genuine Lucy could almost pretend that he hadn’t plotted escape a year ago. His hair was a rare and pure black, his eyes a warm brown.
Mr. Goody frowned and looked at Lucy. “Take his food away. He doesn’t eat until he speaks.”
Lucy stared at Ganden, urging him with her mind to speak, but she was surprised when he did.
“Who invented the lamp?” Ganden bit out the words.
Mr. Goody smiled and turne
d to Lucy. “Unchain one hand.”
Ganden could do great damage with one hand, they’d learned. It was why he was no longer given silverware at meals.
For the first month, after Mr. Goody had asked her to unchain him, she’d waited for him to attack her, to use her as a means to get out. But he’d yet to do so. He didn’t even touch her, much less look at her in front of Mr. Goody.
It was only when they were alone in his room that his gaze followed her. And sometimes, they even spoke.
The chain gone, Ganden picked up the meat with his hand and forced it into his mouth. He looked wild and savage, nothing like the earl she knew him to be.
His mouth hardened, and Lucy looked away before rushing from the room.
* * *
“Country life bores me,” Mr. Goody—who’d boldly told Kent his name—said over the glass of wine he held poised by his lips.
Just as Harlot had told him, Mr. Goody had eventually allowed Kent at his table. Now he understood why the man had to trap his friends in order to gain company.
He was a horrible person.
“How was last Season?” Mr. Goody asked. “Though I lived in London, I never took part in it.”
Kent thought about last Season and wondered if it had been his last. Had he known he’d become a prisoner, he might have enjoyed more of what the city had to offer. “I don’t partake of the Season. I only go for Parliament.”
“Yes, Ganden was never any fun.” Astlen said. Their paths had crossed on occasion, though Kent would never call the chatty man a friend. Astlen represented everything about Society that he detested.
Mr. Goody’s eyes widened as he swung his head from Astlen to Kent. “No fun and games for you? Why not? You’re a handsome man and an earl. Both your parents were gentlefolk.” He wrinkled his nose at the last words. “You’ve no reason to sit out an entire Season.”
It proved just how little Goody knew of the ton.
Kent was rarely welcomed anywhere and didn’t care to partake in frivolous conversations that led to nowhere. The entire Season was meaningless.
Mr. Goody turned to Coalwater. “Did you have a Season, my lord?”
Coalwater shook his head.
“Pity.”
Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 2
