She glanced around her. People were wearing all sorts of strange garments, from nuns’ habits and priests’ robes to the simple, enveloping dominos that left one with no idea who they were. Little wonder, if the members of the Heavenly Host were as august as she’d heard.
A short, slightly rotund man approached, and she could only guess he was the host of this particular gathering. He, too, was wearing classical costume, with a laurel wreath on thinning hair styled à Brutus and the mask of a goat on his face.
“We call you all to witness the marriage made in hell of our dear brother Lucien the Scorpion and his chosen lady, and we ask you all to partake of the chalice that will sanctify this unholy union…”
He was carrying some kind of glass vessel, and it took her a moment to identify it. It was a goblet shaped like a phallus, though admittedly more like Lucien’s impressive appendage and less like St. John’s tiny stub. She supposed before the night was over she would have knowledge of any number of penises, and would be able to judge what was normal and what was not. A grim shiver of amusement ran over her.
It was cold in the room, even though she could see the sweat stand out on the foreheads of some of the people who pressed around them. Or perhaps she was simply nervous. Lucien stood beside her, silent. Damnably silent.
She reached up, unfastened the domino and let it fall to the floor. She could feel Lucien’s start, as the assemblage roared in approval.
The man, whom she presumed was Lord Bromley, held the obscene glass up to her. “Take of our communion, my dark lady, and we shall…”
“I think not,” she said in a cool voice. “It looks most unsanitary, and I have grave doubts as to what’s inside.”
The room was struck silent, as if the devil himself had suddenly appeared. The goat lord seemed nonplussed. “Er…all right.” He handed the goblet to a waiting minion, then turned back to her, trying to regain his concentration. “We call upon the powers of darkness, Beelzebub and his angels, to curse this union…”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t seriously expect to conjure up the devil, do you? I doubt you even believe in the devil. This is all extremely tiresome—could we get on with it?” Cheery good humor was beyond her at this point, but she could manage bored annoyance quite well. Even if she thought she heard a muffled snort of laughter from the man who brought her.
The man in front of her looked aggrieved, but he wasn’t to be deterred from his course. “First you must be judged worthy. Take your chosen bride to the marriage bed.”
At least he didn’t call him the Scorpion again. It would have made her giggle. Perhaps she shouldn’t have indulged in the glass of wine, but she could have barely faced all this sober, could she?
For a moment Lucien didn’t move. And then he put his hand beneath her arm and led her toward the altar. She might have thought his hand was like ice beneath her skin, but she was too cold to be certain. She allowed herself one brief glimpse at him. He looked like a wax figure, expressionless, emotionless.
He stopped in front of the bed. The portly goat-man had been following, and as Lucien turned her to face the crowd the man said, “Do you join us of your own free will, my lady? Is it your wish to be one of us?”
The silence in the room was so complete one could have heard a stray mouse. She glanced at Lucien, his cold, pale face. “Not exactly,” she allowed in a carrying voice. “It appears to be my lord’s wish, and my wish is to make my lord happy.” It felt like it was the last smile she would ever have the strength to summon, and she flashed it toward him, hoping he would miss the bleak misery in her eyes.
Another murmur of conversation from the crowd, but apparently it was agreement enough. “My Lord Scorpion, you may retire,” said the man, and took her cold hand away from the man she was fool enough to love.
For a moment she lost sight of him, as the avid crowd pushed closer, and the pudgy man led her toward the bed. Bloody hell, she thought. Clearly she’d played this wrong. At every minute she’d expected Lucien to renege, to pull her back, but he’d done nothing. This was his will.
And she was half tempted to go through with it, just to spite him.
She glanced down at the bed. Did they really expect her to disport in public? Clearly they did. Would Lucien watch, unmoved? Clearly he would.
And what would happen if she suddenly screamed no and smacked the little toad beside her? And what was keeping her from doing so?
Hope? Surely that was long gone. Pride? That couldn’t be worth this kind of shame, to stand here practically naked in front of all these people. Why the hell had she dumped her domino? She was a fool and a half to put up with this nonsense. It was past time to put an end to it.
The toad was intoning something about the bonds of submission but she was paying no attention, and she opened her mouth to tell them all to sod off, when a velvet scarf was yanked around her mouth, effectively silencing her, just as someone else tied her wrists together.
She panicked then. She’d waited too long. They placed a hood over her head, and she felt herself lifted and placed on the bed, and no matter how hard she struggled there seemed to be hands everywhere, holding her down.
“Do not worry about her struggles,” she heard the voice say, as she tried to scream against the gag. “It is simply part of the ceremony. She has given us her word free and clear that she wishes to participate, and we will…”
“Get your hands off her.”
She heard those words, loud and clear, and she fell back against the bed, no longer struggling. The hands were still holding her down, hands on her shoulders, hands on her legs. “You heard me.” Lucien’s voice was cold and clear, murderous. “If anyone touches her I’ll kill them.”
All the hands immediately left her, and she tried to sit up. She felt dizzy, her terror making her light-headed in the muffled darkness, and she felt Lucien approach her, knew him by the feel of him, the warmth of him. He took her bound hands in his and cut the ties, so that they fell apart. He pulled the hood from her head and she blinked in the now bright candlelight as he reached behind her and unfastened the gag, letting it drop to the floor.
“I find I’m more possessive than I realized,” he said, and took her arm and pulled her to her feet. He whipped off his own black domino and covered her with it, shielding her from the avid eyes.
She was trembling, afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand, but she refused to show weakness in front of these pathetic creatures. He put his arm around her waist, ostensibly out of affection, but she could feel his silent support, just as she’d helped him up to the house a few short days ago. And she wanted to weep.
But she kept her face stony cold as he led her down the long walk to the door. He paused, for one brief moment as he glanced into the crowd, and she could feel shock vibrate through his body. And then he moved on, leading her from the hall in grim silence.
There were curious eyes on them as they descended the staircase, but he simply scooped her up in his arms and she instinctively put her head against his shoulder, hiding her face. He didn’t pause, didn’t speak to anyone, and she could feel his body tremble as he carried her. She wasn’t sure if it was from anger or her weight, and she didn’t care. She wished she weighed five stone more. It would serve him right.
To her astonishment he placed her in a waiting carriage, settling her gently on the seat, and for a moment she dazedly wondered whose carriage he was stealing. And then she recognized his own, from the softness of the squabs, the faint scent of sandalwood and Lucien, a dark, spicy scent that had once seemed like everything she had ever wanted.
She knew it, now that it was too late. She’d loved him, and he betrayed her. It made no difference that in the end he’d recanted. He could have a thousand reasons for that.
He’d thrown her away, and he’d lost her.
She would have hoped he had the decency to let her ride alone. He had little decency, if any. He climbed in beside her and tried to pull her into his arms.
She kicked him to get away, ending up on the opposite seat in a far corner. He wouldn’t be able to see her face. He should have known that she wasn’t to be touched.
But he said nothing. The carriage moved forward a moment later in the cool night air, and she felt the rich fur throw tossed over her in the darkness, without a word.
She would have liked to have thrown it on the floor and stomped on it, but she was too cold in the ridiculous clothes he’d made her wear. So she simply wrapped it around her, pulling it up around her ears, and closed her eyes, shutting him out completely.
Still, she thought. The carriage had been ready and waiting this entire time.
But even more interesting was the fact that he’d changed his mind, stopped them, carried her out of there like some noble knight.
He’d gone out of his way to make certain Rochdale would see him, standing at the edge of the crowd, and his reaction was all St. John could have asked for. He would have thought he was still on the continent, where he’d fled after the debacle with Rochdale’s mistress. But he was back, and it was clear from the expression on the earl’s face that the woman had no idea he’d hired him in the first place.
And if it was something he’d kept secret then he’d most likely continue to do so. And be willing to pay a comfortable sum of money to ensure St. John’s discretion.
Life certainly took the damnedest turns.
He would find where Rochdale was staying and pay him a little visit, when his mistress was nowhere around. Blackmail was always better than revenge, but he’d take the latter if Rochdale refused to pay. Rochdale had always had the ability to terrify him, but this time he held all the cards.
In the meantime, he was going to enjoy himself. And he turned back and moved into the crowd.
God, he loved the look of a woman as she was just waking up. There was something so blissfully erotic about it, the softness of her mouth, the vulnerability in her eyes. A vulnerability that suddenly disappeared as her eyelashes swept down.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
He’d been hoping not to have to tell her, but his Jane was just a bit too sharp. “The left leader’s thrown a shoe. We’re almost at the next posting house, but we may be facing a bit of a delay.”
There was no missing the alarm that swept through her. “But what if we’re too late?”
“Hush, lass,” he said in a soothing voice as the carriage started forward, this time at a snail’s pace. “Scorpion’s more than capable of seeing after his woman. He’s more dangerous than you might think, and he’s not about to let anyone touch her. He’ll have changed his mind, you’ll see.”
She didn’t look reassured. He started to cross the carriage, to sit beside her again, when she held up a restraining hand. “You don’t need to comfort me, Mr. Donnelly. I’m not a child. I’m simply worried about my friend.”
“I know you are, lass. And I…”
“You m…may call me Miss Pagett.” Her voice was high and nervous, and she didn’t meet his eyes. “And I don’t care how angry that makes you.”
He cocked his head. “It doesn’t make me angry, Miss Pagett,” he said with faint ironic emphasis. “It just puzzles me. Have I done something to offend you?”
“Of course not,” she said in an aggrieved voice, and it was a good thing she couldn’t see in the dark, because his smile widened.
Women really were the damnedest creatures. He’d been so very careful not to frighten her, simply holding her carefully in the crook of his arm while she slept. He knew the rules of decent behavior, even though he seldom chose to follow them. For all that he wanted nothing more than to push Miss Jane Pagett down on the narrow seat of the carriage and find his way beneath her skirts, he knew that sort of thing wasn’t done. Any more than visiting her room at the inn, or taking her on the floor in her own salon by the side of her unconscious fiancé, even though he’d briefly considered all those things.
He wasn’t quite sure when or how or if he could have her. She was a proper young lady, despite what that bastard had yelled at her, and she deserved a proper husband. If he’d ruined things for her by taking her off like this then maybe he stood a chance.
But if she somehow managed to squeak through with her reputation intact then he’d stand aside. The kind of life he offered was much too rough for the likes of her, though she was more resilient than she seemed. And for her to have a chance at that proper life she needed her virginity intact, as well.
Of course he’d agreed to take her on the hope that Bothwell had talked and she was already ruined. That he would end up being the best of bad choices, and he’d never let her regret it.
But now it didn’t seem to matter, since for some reason she was so angry with him she probably wouldn’t ever want to see him again.
There was a faint sliver of moonlight shining in the carriage as they turned a corner, and he thought he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong, lass?” he said in a gentle voice. “Are you that worried about your friend?”
“Of course I am,” she said, and now he could hear the tears in her voice. “Why else would I be here, with you, in the middle of the night…?”
Enough was enough. He crossed the rocking carriage and took her into his arms, half expecting a struggle. Instead she burst into tears, burying her face against his shoulder, and he held her, whispering soft, meaningless phrases until she slowly calmed.
“You don’t need to do this,” she said in a damp, sulky voice.
“Don’t need to hold a girl in my arms? It’s a sore trial to me, but I’m willing to make the effort.”
He heard a watery giggle and was encouraged. Her hair was starting to come down, and he stroked the back of her neck beneath it, gently massaging the tension away. Her quiet sound of pleasure had the expected effect on his body, and he wished he had a free hand to adjust himself, but with luck she wouldn’t notice. She probably wouldn’t even recognize the problem.
He let his hand slide down her neck, his thumb brushing against the softness of her throat, feeling the hammering of her pulse. It would be so easy to move his head down, put his mouth against hers and kiss her the way he had that night so long ago, kiss her with the full and glorious longing that could lead to so much more.
But if he did he’d have to pull her onto his lap, possibly ruining himself for any future pleasure. And even if he did manage to rearrange himself properly before she landed, what was the likelihood he’d be able to stop if she’d prove to be the slightest bit acquiescent?
And she’d be more than that. He knew women, and he knew his Jane. She was in love with him, dazzled by him, and if there were the slightest chance he could have her then he’d make her a good husband. He’d already given over Beggar’s Ken to Jem and Gracie, and he had more than enough money to keep them in whatever style she wanted.
But she’d be shunned, he thought, absently stroking the side of her neck, his fingers gently touching her collarbone. And he wouldn’t ask it of her.
So no kisses, no matter how badly he wanted them. He’d hold her chastely, like the saint he wasn’t, and—
“Get your hands off me,” snapped his gentle beloved.
He didn’t, of course. He simply shifted her around to face him, thankfully adjusting his own rebellious body at the same time. “Enough is enough, Janey. Tell me what’s gotten you in such a swivet.”
“I’m not…” He put his hand across her mouth silencing her.
“Don’t lie to me, darlin’. You’d fair like to cut my throat, and I’m wanting to know why.”
“I don’t…I don’t like being touched.”
He grinned, and he was close enough for her to see it. “Now that’s not true. You fair purr like a little cat when I touch you.”
“Not true. So there’s no need for you to…to…feel sorry for me. I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need you to hold me like a child till I feel better.”
Realization was beginning to dawn. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said in a practical voice. “And I wasn’t precisely holding you like a child.”
“Please, don’t.” There was real misery in her voice.
It was so patently ridiculous that he wished he didn’t have to spin this particular bit of idiocy along. He was about to reach for her when the carriage pulled to a stop, and he realized they’d come to an inn.
He practically leaped out of the carriage, knowing that in another minute he would have said everything he was determined not to say. Not until he had to.
When he turned to help her down from the carriage he saw that she’d already managed it herself, wincing slightly at her stiff muscles, and he told himself he wasn’t going to think about how he could rub those muscles, loosen them right up and then make them all tense again in the best possible way.
“Does the lass want something to eat?” the innkeeper inquired.
Jane shook her head. “Just a bed, thank you,” she said in her small, polite voice, not looking at him.
“I’ll have Simmons bring your trunk, Miss Pagett,” Jacob said politely.
“Of course you will,” was her odd reply as she disappeared up the winding stairs.
He stood and watched her go. He’d mortally offended her, that much was sure. Or maybe she’d just realized how very foolish she’d been, running off with a thief. One guess was as good as another, and the last thing he was going to do was ask her. That could get them both into too much trouble, and besides, he might not like the answer.
Simmons dropped the small trunk down to him, and Jacob caught it easily. It was about the same size as the one he’d used to clock her fiancé, and he relived that glorious moment for an instant before dropping it at the foot of the stairs for the landlord to deliver.
“I’ll see to the horses, Jacob,” Simmons said. “A poultice and a good night’s rest should help matters, and then we can hire new ones at the next posting house if you’re still in such a bloody hurry.”
Jacob glanced toward the stairs. She’d disappeared behind a closed door now, shutting him out of her life, and he told himself he was glad.
He turned back to Simmons. “Maybe you’d best give the horse another day and night,” he said, wanting to kick himself as he did.
“Yon lass giving you trouble?” Simmons said sympathetically.
“No more than I can handle.”
“The day Jacob Donnelly finds a woman more than he can handle is the day I give up on women altogether myself. We’ll have all lost hope then,” Simmons said with a heartfelt sigh.
Jacob resisted the impulse to tell him to prepare for a life of celibacy. Jane Pagett was a rare handful, and he still wasn’t sure how it was all going to end.
Dutch courage was the order of the day, and mine host had some fine Irish whiskey. Two shots and he was ready for his own bed, which, unfortunately, was up those stairs, too close to Miss Jane Pagett for comfort. He considered a chair by the fire again, but the night was warm and he was restless and told himself he needed a bed
He did. He needed her bed.
He made his way up the stairs, trying to keep quiet. There were three doors on the upper landing, and two of them were open. He chose the smaller one, closing the door quietly behind him before opening the window to the soft night air. He groaned as he sat down on the narrow bed and began to remove his boots. God was out to torment him, sure and proper. Here he was, trying to be a decent human being for a change, and he got to share the floor of a tiny bloody inn with the love of his life. If he were a hard-drinking man and she was a glass of whiskey, just out of reach, he’d feel the same way. Ready to cut his own throat.
He dumped his coat and vest on the floor, then used the cold water to wash up as best he could before putting his loose shirt back on. The bed sagged in the middle, and he lay down in the middle of it. It was lumpy, but he’d slept in worse, and as long as he didn’t think about Miss Jane…
He heard her. She was crying. There were any number of things he could resist, and he’d never been overly fond of weeping women, but Jane was different. He could no more lie there and listen to her cry than he could fly to the moon.
He climbed out of bed, calling himself every kind of name. He opened his door, and there was sudden silence from behind the closed one, as if she’d heard him.
He should go back in his own room and close the door.
And he knew he wasn’t going to.
He didn’t even bother to knock. He simply pushed open her door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.
She was a shadow in the bed in the middle of the room. She’d opened her window as well, and he could feel the soft spring breeze. She froze, looking at him, and he couldn’t see more than the glitter of her tear-filled eyes in the moonlight.
Ah, to hell with noble plans. Even if she’d come through this with her reputation unscathed he wasn’t going to give her up and he knew it. He crossed the room to her, caught her face in his hands and kissed her. She let out a quiet sob.
“Miss Jane Pagett. I’ve been trying my damnedest to be a gentleman, when I’ve been wanting to kiss you so badly my hands shake with it, but I knew if I kissed you I’m going to end up doing far worse to you, and…”
“Far worse?” she echoed.
He couldn’t smother his laughter. “Well, I’d be trying to make it something glorious, but either way, it’s nothing I should be doing to you at all, and you know it. I’m not for the likes of you.” He could at least try to do the right thing. Sitting down on the bed beside her wasn’t a very good start, but he did so anyway.
“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “You don’t want me.”
“Oh, Lord, love,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his erection. “Do you have any idea what this is?” She jumped, and he expected her to pull her hand away as if she’d touched a poisoned snake, so to speak. But she didn’t. Her lovely little fingers danced along the stiffening ridge in his breeches, and he let out a choked gasp.
“Christ, Janey!” he said, removing her hand himself. “Don’t do that! It’s dangerous to a man’s behavior.”
She sat very still in the bed, as if she were considering all this. “I know what that is. So you do want to kiss me. And you want to put that inside me.”
Bloody hell. “Lass, you can’t imagine the things I want to do to you. I want to take you to bed and not let you out for days. I want to take you every way I can, so hard that neither of us can walk. I want you in my bed and in my life, for the rest of my life, and if you don’t want to believe it you can check your hand.”
“My hand?” she echoed, confused. She looked down, and saw the huge, winking diamond on it. “When did you do that?”
“Just now, love. You’re mine, Miss Jane Pagett, and you know it, too. I was just trying to be polite about it.”
She appeared to consider this for a moment. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and he hated to think he’d caused her pain. He held still, but her hand was still on his John Thomas, and she was absently stroking it.
“Prove it.”
“Prove what?” he said, confused, doubtless as much by what her hand was doing as by what she said.
“Prove that you really want me.” She moved her hand then, and he wanted to beg her to put it back. Instead she pushed down the covers, and she was lying there in nothing but her shift. “If you want me, ruin me. And then we won’t have any other choice.”
He hadn’t had a better offer in his entire life, but he still hesitated. “I don’t know as I’d call it ruined, lass….”
She reached up, grabbed his shirt in two fists and pulled him down to her. “Please,” she said.
“Now how can I refuse you when you ask so politely?” he said, covering her body with his, letting her see what she was getting into. She didn’t flinch, and he caught her mouth and kissed her, as slow and as hard and as deep as he had that night so long ago.
He went slowly, giving her time to get used to things. When he put his hands on her breasts she was shy, but he was so lavish in his praise and his touch that she became braver, letting him strip the chemise over her head so that she lay there in her lacy drawers and nothing else.
The drawers were a little harder to talk her out of, but she knew they had to go, and he managed to slip them off while he was kissing her breasts, so that she didn’t even notice until they were gone.
But then she made him take off his clothes, and he was certain he’d frighten the wits out of her, but she’d taken one long, assessing look at him and then held out her arms, and he was helpless to resist.
He made it as easy for her as he could. He kissed her and stroked her and gave her ripples of pleasure with his clever hands, he used his mouth on her to make certain she was slick enough to make it easy, and he went slowly, but he knew that sooner or later he was going to have to hurt her, and when he did, finally thrusting in deep, breaking through her maidenhead and giving her all of him, he held her, waiting for her tears and anger.
“Is that all there is?” she whispered.
“Now, lass, I’m considered fairly well-sized…”
“No, I mean is that all the pain?”
He looked down into her lovely, thoughtful face. The face that foolish girl didn’t think was beautiful. “I expect so.”
“Oh,” she said, and a small smile curved her lips. “That wasn’t bad at all. Go ahead and do your worst.”
“My worst?”
“That’s what you warned me, Jacob,” she said, looking up at him lovingly, using his name for the very first time.
He kissed her, hard. “I’ll give you my very best, lass.”
And he did.
It was just before dawn when they finally arrived back at Pawlfrey House, and the huge old building looked cold and deserted. Lucien stepped down from the carriage, then held up a hand to assist her, a hand she blatantly ignored as she climbed down on her own, doing her best to hide the weakness in her legs. The front door had opened, and one of the new footmen stood there, sleepy-eyed and surprised, ready to assist his lord and lady.
“I’ll leave you here, madam,” Lucien said formally, not making the mistake of trying to touch her again. “I’m going for a ride.”
She didn’t signify that she heard him, or that his words made the slightest bit of difference as she sailed past him, into the house. With luck he’d fall and break his bloody neck, or simply never return. She could be quite happy alone in this house, as long as she could get rid of Mrs. Humber.
There was even a remote chance that she might be carrying his child. Some women conceived the moment a man looked at them, others waited years with nothing but empty wombs. She wasn’t sure which she wanted, and she wasn’t going to waste her time thinking about it. All she wanted was to get this poisonous gown off her and find her own bed.
Bridget must have been warned of their abrupt return, for she was waiting in the room, fully dressed. She took one look at Miranda’s outfit when she stripped off the black domino and then immediately closed her mouth.
“Get this off me,” Miranda said in a tight voice, already yanking at the golden ties that threaded around her waist.
Bridget immediately began to work at it, but her hands weren’t deft enough or swift enough, and Miranda’s unnatural calm finally broke. “Get it off me,” she said again, her voice rising into hysteria as she tore at it, desperate, making the knots even worse. “I can’t stand it. I don’t care what you do, cut it, tear it…”
Bridget did just that, slicing through the gold leather cord that bound it so that it pooled on the floor around her, and Miranda began to cry, deep, ugly sobs that racked her body as Bridget pulled her into her strong arms and comforted her as if she were a young child.
“There, there, my lady. Don’t weep so. He brought you back, didn’t he? I knew he couldn’t go through with it. Mrs. Humber said you wouldn’t even be returning, but I knew different, and I kept up here, waiting for you, and now here you are.” She held Miranda’s shivering, naked form against her comfortable bosom. “The master’s no so bad as he says he is, and if you ask me he cares for you, whether he likes it or not.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Miranda said in a small, miserable voice as Bridget pulled a fresh white chemise over her head. “I don’t care what he likes or doesn’t like, I don’t care about anything.”
“Of course you don’t, mistress,” Bridget said in her soothing voice. “Let me get a nightgown for you and you can get some sleep…”
Miranda shook her head. “This is fine for now,” she said in a watery voice. “I just want to sleep.”
“Yes, mistress.” Bridget helped her between the snowy-white sheets. Everything was clean and white and safe. The hands that had touched her might as well have never existed, and Lucien had run away. She would survive.
The cool linen covered her, and she lay back, closing her eyes. Closing out everything but the sleep that finally, mercifully claimed her.