LATE the following morning, Ashe was sitting at his breakfast table reading the Times when Edward wandered in looking like death warmed over in spite of the fact that he was properly dressed. His eyes were sunken, his pallor a bit gray.
“I need some black coffee,” he muttered as he dropped into a chair.
A footman neared with a silver pot in hand and filled the cup at Edward’s place.
“Bring me some toast,” Edward ordered before looking at Ashe. “That’s about all I can handle this morning.”
“Too much drinking last night?” Ashe asked.
Edward brought the cup to his mouth, inhaled the dark aroma, sipped. “Among other things. So who was the white swan?”
Ashe came alert. “Pardon?”
“I arrived at the Nightingale just as you were fairly dragging a lady up the stairs. White silk, white mask. You seemed quite possessive of her. Or were you merely obsessed?”
Damnation. In his haste to be with her, he’d nearly forgotten that other men would be watching, other men might want a chance at her. They wouldn’t force her, but they might attempt to entice her. “Believe it or not, I don’t know who she is.” He suspected, but he couldn’t say with complete certainty. And in either case, she wanted no one to know, and he was going to honor that request.
“That’s not like you. You can usually charm the mask right off them.”
When they were younger, they had often boasted of their conquests, but Ashe had no need of doing that now. He had his own secrets when it came to the Nightingale. “The lady isn’t the first unwilling to share her identity.”
“It’s rather unsporting of them, though, when they take that stand. I like to know whose wife I’m bedding.”
“As you are well aware, and we’ve previously discussed, not all the women there are wives.”
Edward perked up, his interest obvious. “Is your swan not?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Widow or spinster?”
“Again, I wouldn’t know.”
“Wild beneath the covers, or does she just lie there?”
Wild. Unfettered. He’d ached to be inside her when she became lost in the throes of rapture, imagined her muscles undulating around him, sucking him dry. “None of your concern.”
“Aren’t you protective? Seems odd to care if you don’t know who she is.”
“Women go there expecting the gents to hold their tongues. I merely adhere to the unwritten rule.”
“Is she adventuresome?”
“I’m not discussing her or our time together.”
“Maybe you failed at it. Maybe you couldn’t get it up.”
Took him a good half hour after she left to get it down. “Why the interest?”
“I was wondering if maybe I should keep an eye out for her, maybe seek to have a turn with her.”
Ashe was aware of the newspaper crumpling in his hands. “If you so much as get within three feet of her, I shall lay you flat.”
Edward arched a brow. “Sounds as though she’s special indeed. I don’t recall your ever being so possessive.”
He never had been before. He didn’t know why he was now. Perhaps because he had yet to experience her completely, hadn’t yet ridden her, been enveloped by the heat of her womanly warmth. Shaking out his paper, Ashe wanted to get them off the discussion of Lady V. “I’m letting the lease on this residence go.”
“What? Wait. Whatever for?”
“It’s ridiculous to spend money on this place when my parents’ residence sits unused.” It was the last place he’d seen his parents. He’d visited there only once since reaching his majority. The walls still echoed his screams. But he could no longer afford indulging in excess expenditures. “I’ll be moving out within the next few days. If you want to see about taking over the lease, you’re welcome to purchase whatever furniture I have on hand here.” His furnishing a second residence, in hindsight, had not been a wise use of funds, but he’d had such high hopes that his investments would at least triple his initial outlay.
“My brother provides me with a generous allowance but not that generous. And his devil of a wife is advocating that he become stingy. Still, I could probably spring for the lease.” He glanced around. “It is a rather nice place. Could I arrange to buy the furniture over time?”
Ashe turned his attention to the article he was reading. “Why don’t you determine which pieces you’d really like to have, and I’ll sell the rest elsewhere?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Ashe.”
He lowered his paper to see Edward’s earnest gaze focused on him. For all the adventures, good-natured bickering, and jolly times they’d shared, they’d also been family from the moment they’d been deposited at the Marquess of Marsden’s estate. While it was extremely difficult and mortifying to admit, he forced out the words. “I may have mucked up my coffers.”
“Speak to Grey or even Locke. They’re flush. I’m sure they could see their way clear to help you.”
“I’m not going to take money from them.”
“A loan. You can pay them back at your leisure.”
“Nothing damages a friendship more than borrowing from a friend. Besides, I got myself into this without help. I can get myself out.”
“How are you going to manage that?”
“I’m going to marry.”
MINERVA arrived at Grace’s shortly after breakfast. After greeting her half brother, she asked Grace to take a turn about the garden with her. Lovingdon merely smiled at her. “You ladies and your secrets.” Then he returned his attention to whatever business was cluttering his desk.
Waiting until they were near the roses, Minerva confessed in a low voice, “I may have done something very foolish.”
“Oh dear God.” Taking her arm, Grace pulled her behind a trellis and studied her as though her actions were imprinted on her forehead. “Tell me.”
Minerva took a deep breath. “I gave Ashebury leave to photograph my bare ankles.”
“You bared your ankles to him?” Grace asked, doubt in her voice as though she’d misheard.
Minerva nodded. “And maybe my calves.”
Grace’s eyes widened considerably. “You’re not sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. So yes, my calves definitely.” She grimaced. “My thighs. The very edge of my bum.”
“Minerva, are you mad?” Grace whispered harshly. “You allowed him to photograph these things? How did this even come about?”
“I returned to the Nightingale last night.”
Grace gave her a pointed look. “So he was the one, that first night.”
Minerva sighed. “He was. And he likes—” She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about what happens there.”
“You know your secrets are safe with me.”
“Yes, but these are his.”
Grace looked up at the sky, the trees, as though searching for patience. “I’ll hold his as well.”
He might never forgive her if he found out that she had told someone. On the other hand, she wasn’t the first he’d taken to a room, so other ladies knew. She trusted Grace with her life, with all her secrets. “He likes to take photographs of ladies who join him in a bedchamber.”
Grace’s mouth opened. She snapped it shut. Her brows furrowed. “That seems lewd and unseemly.”
“I thought so, too, the first night. I didn’t do it then, but when I saw his photographs from Africa . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about them. They weren’t like the photographs we had taken when we were children and just stood there. Last night . . . Oh, Grace, he took such care, was so respectful. I could see in his eyes, the concentration on his face that it was so important to him. And he assured me I was tastefully displayed.”
“Tastefully displayed? I’m not certain that’s very reassuring as I’m not sure how one who is bared can be displayed tastefully.”
“There were shadows, so many shadows that I felt . . . well, almost covered. If anyone were to see the photograph, they wouldn’t know it was me.”
“Are you certain?”
“I was masked. Although I do have a little birthmark. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now—I don’t think he’ll show anyone.”
“Who all knows about the birthmark?”
“My mother certainly. My father probably. There is a slight chance that my brothers might know, but unlikely. I can remember us bathing together as children, but they wouldn’t have noticed. Surely.”
“But still. Where is he planning to display these things?”
“He’s not. They are only for him. That’s not my concern.”
Grace took her hands, squeezed them in reassurance. “Then what is?”
“I think he suspects I might be Lady V.”
Grace blinked, frowned. “Who is Lady V?”
Minerva’s bark of laughter echoed around them. “Um, that would be me. I had to give him some name that first night so I thought Lady Virgin.”
Grace smiled. “Lady Virgin? Truly? Minerva, you are too bold by half.”
“Not so bold. I’m still a virgin.” She laced her fingers together, squeezed them. “He’s offered to deflower me tonight.”
Grace’s smile withered, and concern was reflected in her eyes. “Are you going to do it?”
“He knows what he’s about. I think he would make a remarkable lover. But I’m not quite comfortable with his knowing it’s me. He’s intrigued by the mystery of me. He’d be disappointed in the reality.”
“But if he suspects . . . Honestly, Minerva, you can’t think to keep something like this a complete secret. You’re wearing a little mask.”
“It’s actually rather large, leaves very little visible.”
“But he’s going to see”—Grace looked down at her toes, carried her gaze back up to her eyes—“everything.”
“Can’t one make love in the dark?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so, but don’t you want to see him?” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “What am I saying? I don’t want to encourage you. I wish I’d never given you the address.”
“Where did you get it anyway?”
“My brother. I’m fairly certain Rexton meets his mistress there. You saw him, didn’t you?”
“I can’t say.”
Grace made a moue of displeasure. “All these secrets. I don’t think any good is going to come of all this.”
“Will you still love me if I go through with it?”
“Of course, but if he suspects, why not confirm the truth of your identity and see how things go?”
“I don’t expect you to understand the beating that one’s esteem takes after six years of watching others fall in love or make good matches that aren’t based solely on their dowry. I want a man who looks at me the way my father looks at my mother, the way Lovingdon looks at you. As though no one else was as important, was as treasured. My brother would die for you.”
“He almost did. But in the end, he lived for me, and that’s so much better, Minerva. Do you like Ashebury?”
“Very much.”
“I’ve never known you to be a shrinking violet. If you want him, go after him.” She smiled brightly. “That’s how I got Lovingdon. I’d wager money on you.”
“I wouldn’t wager much. The odds are against me. He could have anyone. But at least I know he fancies my legs.”
ASHE stood on the top step staring at the dark mahogany door that opened into his parents’ residence. It was silly to refer to it as such. They’d not crossed the threshold in twenty years.
With a sigh, he unlocked the door, released the latch, and gave the wood a hard shove. The hinges creaked and moaned as the widening gap revealed the entryway. Stepping over the threshold, Ashe closed the door behind him, sealing himself in with the memories.
Dust motes danced through the soft light filtering in through the mullioned windows on either side of the door. The air sat heavy, reeking of must and disuse. The silence was thick, a residence abandoned, unloved, unwanted.
It had been his mother’s pride and joy, a symbol of his father’s wealth and station. Even at eight, Ashe had understood the statement made by this exquisite building. Now every piece of furniture was shrouded in white, giving things a ghostly appearance.
His footsteps echoed over the black marble as he approached the stairs. As though he needed the support, when he stopped, he wrapped his hand around the newel post and stared at the sixth step up, the one upon which he’d been standing when he’d seen his parents for the last time, the one from which he’d shouted that he hated them and hoped they never came back.
The pain of remembrance was a sharp jab at the bottom of his breastbone. He imagined he could still hear the hateful words echoing through the entryway, bouncing off the walls and frescoed ceiling. Only they’d followed his parents out, circling about them. Sadness had been in his mother’s blue eyes when she glanced back over her shoulder, before his father ushered her out. What had his mother thought of him at that moment? Probably what he now thought of himself.
Pampered heir, spoiled brat, despicable child.
Those had certainly been his nanny’s words as she’d dragged him back to the day nursery.
He should sell the house, everything in it. Only that course felt like defeat. He was a man now, strong enough to face the past, to deal with it, to move on. This place represented part of his heritage, his history.
He should be grateful that everything he didn’t want to remember had occurred here rather than at the ancestral estate. Although it seemed odd now to think of them as being in London in November. His scoff disturbed the silence. What did it matter after all these years?
It didn’t. With a length to his stride and a quickness to his pace as though he could escape the demons of recollection and regret, he strode into the parlor and was greeted by white sheets covered in a fine layer of dust. It was here in the afternoons that he would be presented to his mother so he could tell her about his day. His time in the park, his riding lessons, his tutoring curriculum. He could still hear the tutor’s proclamation that he was not a bright lad, see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes. But he was bright enough to know that the numbers didn’t behave. When he tried to explain how they played tricks, she would give her attention to the birds fluttering about beyond the window. So he learned to hold his tongue in order not to disillusion her, not to lose her affection.
She would be sorely dissatisfied with him now, in his inability to properly oversee what had been placed in his keeping. So would his father. What he remembered most about the previous duke was his stiffness, the manner in which he could walk while hardly moving any portion of his body, the way he would arch a brow in censure. Ashe had always dreaded when the brow went up. It was usually followed with the words, “Find me a switch.”
He remembered the bite of it against his bare backside and upper legs. Still, for all the coldness and rigidity of his parents, he’d felt unmoored when word came that they were dead. He’d screamed, and wept, and promised to be good if only they’d come back.
But the best behavior in the world couldn’t undo what had been done.
As much as he fought it, his mind traveled to the last time he’d been in this room, standing vigil over his parents’ coffin. So little of them remained that they’d been encased together. Or so he’d been told. He’d sat stoic and silent while mourners paid their last respects. Too young, too numb to truly understand everything that transpired, all the ramifications, he’d been left an orphan, alone in the world, with no close family. Those who had introduced themselves as relatives were unfamiliar. He’d never again seen a single one of them after the burial. No one checked up on him to ensure he was well cared for. No one penned a letter to see how he was getting on. No one inquired as to his health, his safety, his well-being. No one gave a bloody damn.
The morose thoughts threatened to consume him. It was the reason that he’d not taken up residence here. It wasn’t a place of happy memories. Yes, he should sell it.
But he knew he wouldn’t.
IT was a lovely day for a stroll through the park. Minerva was grateful that when Lord John Simpson, brother to the Duke of Kittingham, had called on her, he had suggested they go out. It was a lovelier way to spend the time than sitting in the parlor, where her thoughts bombarded her with doubts. She hadn’t yet decided what to do about meeting Ashebury tonight. If she weren’t drawn to him, she would have no decision to make, but after last night, she found she wanted to experience all that he had to offer. While he might have suspicions regarding her identity, he didn’t know for certain. She rather liked his not knowing for certain.
“—you see.”
She glanced over at her strolling companion, who had seen all of nineteen years. He was fair-haired and tall, his side whiskers little more than peach fuzz. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “My brother and I have never gotten along. He’s mean-spirited, spiteful. Rather nasty, to be honest about it. He’s going to cut off my allowance when I reach my majority, which leaves me in a bit of a bother.”
“I can see where it would. But it’s quite acceptable for second sons to become members of the clergy.”
He grimaced. “The trouble there is that you have to always ask after people’s problems.”
“But I’m certain it must be extremely rewarding to provide comfort.”
He shook his head. “Not really my cup of tea.”
“Perhaps you could join a regiment.”
“Dreadful amount of work, marching about, taking orders.”
“Better than being forced to live on the street.”
His steps came a halt and he faced her. “I was hoping you would do me the honor of marrying me.”
She bit back a bubble of laughter. “I’m considerably older than you.”
“As I’m aware, but it would get you off the shelf.”
“I don’t really have a problem being on the shelf. As a matter of fact, I’m rather liking the independence it affords me.”
His eyes brightened. “I wouldn’t take that away from you. It would be a marriage in name only. As the spare, I don’t require an heir. So you would have no wifely duties.”
“I have none now.”
“But now all of London knows you don’t. When we’re married, it would be our little secret.”
Her offers were getting more ridiculous. She needed to take out an advert in the Times, announcing that she was not in the market for a husband. “You gain my dowry. I’m at a loss as to what I gain.”
“You won’t be a spinster. You’ll be my lady. And you’ll have my protection.”
“I have protection now.”
“Your father isn’t going to live forever.”
“In his absence, I have brothers who will step in, plus I have a strong left hook.”
He blinked. “You would engage in fisticuffs yourself?”
“If need be, yes.”
With a sigh, he slumped his shoulders. “Is there nothing I can offer that would make marriage to me attractive?”
“Love.”
He looked positively defeated. “I love another girl.”
“Marry her.”
“Her dowry is a pittance. I was going to use yours to give her everything I can’t.”
“We should probably stop talking now before I introduce you to my left fist.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I mucked things up.”
He looked so young, and she felt remarkably old. “Consider the army, my lord. It’ll give you backbone.” Turning on her heel, she began the long trek home.
It was several minutes before he loped up to join her. “You won’t tell anyone about my offer will you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Thank you, Miss Dodger.” They walked in silence for a while before he said, “What if I can’t make a go of it on my own?”
“I have faith in you, my lord. It won’t be easy, but if you really love the girl, you’ll find a way. One that doesn’t involve someone else’s dowry.”
As they carried on toward her home, she wondered how her life had come to this. Last night had contained no disappointments. It had been only joy and pleasure.
She wanted another night with Ashebury—on her terms.
“YOU rang for me, Your Grace?”
Standing at the window in his library, sipping his scotch, Ashe watched as twilight crept over the gardens. He was going to miss the quiet, miss not slamming into memories every time he turned a corner. For hours, he’d roamed the familiar hallways of his youth, remembering a few times worth savoring. His mother spritzing him with her perfume, tickling him until he laughed and begged her to stop. His father tying thread around Ashe’s first loose tooth, securing one end of it to a doorknob, then slamming the door closed, jerking out the tooth in the process. Patting Ashe on the shoulder. “Good lad. You’ll do well as a duke.”
And Ashe never again telling his father when he felt a tooth beginning to wobble. Then no longer having the opportunity to tell him.
“We’re taking up residence at Ashebury Place. Have the servants begin preparing it for our arrival. I should like to be moved in within the week.”
“Very good, sir. We’ll have to take on additional staff.”
Because Ashebury Place was twice the size of this house. “We’ll make do with what we have for now.”
“As you wish.”
It wasn’t what he wished. Truth be told, he probably needed to let some of the staff go. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn them out when their only crime was having an employer who had fallen on hard times.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”
“No, that’s all for now, Wilson.”
“Very good, sir.” Wilson left as quietly as he’d entered.
Ashe pressed his fist to the window, leaned his forehead against it. He didn’t want to keep reliving the memories that had visited him today, but it was as though he were trapped in a barrel that was rolling down a hill. For the first time that day, he smiled. At Havisham, they’d once taken turns climbing into a barrel and being rolled about, so he was very familiar with the sensation. He’d taken pride in being the only one not to cast up his breakfast.
The thought about his pride brought him to his photos, which brought him immense satisfaction. Following that thought was an image of Lady V lying across the bed with legs revealed, waiting for him to part them, to bury himself between them.
He needed her tonight. He desperately hoped she’d be there.