Chapter 8
Jocey was barely aware of her surroundings, or of her shaking fingers tying up the fastening of her chemise, the tears cascading unchecked down her cheeks as she desperately tried to make sense of what Jericho had just told her.
Priscilla, only twenty years old and so beautiful and full of fun and the joy of life, was now gone?
Worthington, that handsome and flirtatious gentleman with the twinkling blue eyes, also now gone?
Both of them dead.
No matter how many times Jocey said that word inside her head, it did not seem possible it could apply to Priscilla and Worthington. They were both too young. Too vibrant. Too beautiful in their own way to be dead.
“How?” She finally managed to choke out that single word.
The marquis’s lips flattened into an uncompromising line. “Were you not informed of what the method of their demise would be? Or did you just not care as long as they died?”
She gave a shake of her head, causing hot tears to cascade down her cheeks. “I do not even know what you mean by those questions.”
“There were five of them traveling together by carriage to attend a weekend house party. Worthington. Romney. The Germaine sisters and their maid,” Jericho informed her abruptly. “The carriage lost a wheel and turned over, and as it was evening, there was a lamp alight inside. The lamp broke, spilling the oil, which then caught fire and set alight the furnishings inside the carriage. The carriage door had been damaged in the crash and refused to open from the inside. It had to be forced to do so by one of the grooms outside. They managed to pull Romney, Lady Prudence, and her maid from the flames, but Worthington and Lady Priscilla were consumed by the flames.”
Jocey rose to her feet, distressed at the cold manner in which Jericho had related the horrific details of those deaths.
She was also too consumed with grief for her dead friend, of knowing how devastated Prudence must be at this horrible death of her twin, to suffer Jericho’s intolerable behavior a moment longer.
Her hands were clenched at her sides for fear she might actually strike him if she completely lost control of her emotions. “News of Priscilla’s d-death is as much of a shock to me as Worthington’s must be to you. It is—is a truly horrible way to die.” She bit painfully into her bottom lip to stop it from trembling and more tears from falling; there would be plenty of time for tears after she had settled this situation with Jericho once and for all.
“It is,” he acknowledged grimly.
“Whatever delusion you are under that causes you to believe I was somehow complicit in those deaths is not only hurtful in the extreme, but also unforgiveable. You are unforgiveable,” Jocey added so there should be no mistake as to how she now felt toward him. “You may keep me here for as long as you wish, torture me in whatever manner you choose, but I will never admit to being involved in something I was not nor ever could be a part of. Priscilla and Prudence are my friends.”
Wessex remained completely unmoved by her impassioned outburst as he looked coldly down the length of his nose at her. “We will not be leaving here until you have told me the truth.”
She gave a disgusted shake of her head. “I have already done so.”
He nodded abruptly. “And I choose not to believe you. You have French relatives, were in France visiting them only weeks ago. You returned to spend a week in London, during which time you admit to having visited the Germaine sisters and to also having seen Worthington and Romney there.” He listed her recent movements in a flat and unemotional voice.
Jocey wondered if Jericho’s suspicion toward her was also the explanation as to why he had been so cold and stern with her from the beginning of this visit. Why he was being so cruel and unemotional now. It certainly made sense if that were the case.
Except… “I did not conspire to have any of them killed!” she protested. “Why would you even think I could do such a thing?” She was truly bewildered by such a conclusion.
His mouth tightened. “Because we know there is a French spy amongst the ton. A female spy. A woman known to be responsible for helping Bonaparte escape Elba earlier this year, and as a consequence, all the death and destruction which followed.”
Her eyes widened. “And you believe me to be that spy?”
“That is what I intend to find out before you are allowed to leave here,” he stated grimly.
Jocey thought long and hard. “You are an agent for the Crown,” she finally said with a frown. “Are the rest of The Sinners also?”
He eyed her scathingly. “You sound convincingly surprised.”
“That is because I am,” she stated in the face of his obvious mockery. “Am I the only lady under suspicion of this crime?”
“No,” he drawled. “But four of my friends have already proven their ladies’ innocence. In fact, they have married them,” he added disgustedly.
Jocey knew four of Jericho’s close friends, the Duke of Wolferton, the Duke of Huntley, the Earl of Carlton, and the Marquis of Deveril, had all married in recent months.
To the ladies they had investigated under suspicion of treason?
Jocey could only imagine that must be the case.
A similar outcome would not be forthcoming between herself and Wessex.
She frowned as another thought occurred to her. “The Germaine sisters…?”
“Also under investigation by Worthington and Romney. Although the demise of one of them means there is only Prudence Germaine left to investigate,” Jericho added with a frown.
Jocey breathed noisily. “I hardly think Prudence would have conspired to cause an accident which killed her own twin. She might even have been killed herself.”
He shrugged. “I am sure Romney will take that into consideration when he is well enough to resume proving her innocence or guilt.”
She eyed him incredulously. “He will actually continue investigating Prudence, even after all that has happened?”
He nodded. “We must find the traitor before more damage is done.”
“But—” Jocey gave a shake of her head. “What purpose does it serve for anyone to attempt to kill Worthington, Romney, and the Germaine sisters?”
A nerve pulsed in his jaw. “We believe the intention is to deflect the blame. To muddy the waters enough to cause confusion while more treasonous acts are carried out.”
“And yet you choose to remain here,” she scoffed.
“I am not so easily distracted from my purpose,” he assured her grimly. “Admittedly, I was consumed with grief for three days, but that does not, and will not, change my determination to find the person—the woman—responsible for treason, and latterly the deaths of two innocent people.”
The woman Jericho believed was her. “And how am I to prove my own innocence when you are obviously already so convinced I am guilty?”
It was a question Jericho had no answer to as yet. He only knew he must somehow have unshakeable proof of Jocelyn’s guilt or innocence before they left Pomeroy Cottage. It was the least he owed Worthington and Priscilla Germaine.
Jericho had not even been able to pay his last respects to his friend.
It had taken several days for Stonewell’s letter to reach him, by which time Worthington’s funeral had already taken place at the church in Cheshire where the family were now in residence for the winter months. Jericho very much doubted Worthington’s parents had envisaged burying their only son as being a part of that visit.
Jericho still found it too shocking, too unbelievable, to accept that his friend was truly gone.
As well as being childhood friends, the eight Sinners had worked together as agents for the Crown for ten years or more now. The chance of one of them being killed, as they often worked behind enemy lines, had always been a possibility.
But this, Worthington being killed in London and when they were no longer even at war with France, was beyond comprehension. As was the method of his death.
Jericho had no doubt the other six Sinners were as devastated by the loss of one of their closest friends as he was.
Romney had been seriously injured in the accident, but was expected to survive. Prudence Germaine had been thrown from the carriage when it turned over and received only cuts and bruises. The maid had suffered burns and a broken leg, but was also expected to recover fully.
None of which altered the fact Jocelyn could be the woman responsible for having arranged for the accident to happen. Until Jericho knew for certain or was convinced otherwise, he now had no choice but to continue to treat her as if she was guilty.
He turned his back on her to stare sightlessly out the kitchen window. “I am telling you this for the last time—remove yourself from my sight before I forget I am a gentleman.”
Jocey spoke through the tears now clogging her throat as she stared at the uncompromising stiffness of Jericho’s back. “I believe you to already be guilty of that in regard to me.” The stinging heat of her bottom cheeks was testament to that.
“You do not know the half of what I am capable of,” the marquis assured her harshly.
But Jocey could imagine.
Jericho had been aroused earlier, not only from touching her intimately but also from spanking her. She would be lying if she claimed it had not had the same effect upon her, or that the sting of that spanking still caused a warmth and dampness between her thighs and caused her nipples to ache. She wondered what other unorthodox physical pleasures Jericho was capable of. Whether, in fact, he knew exactly what use to put those metal rings to, placed at the four corners of the beds upstairs.
Which was shameful of her, given the circumstances of having just learned of the death of one of her closest friends and Lord Worthington.
“Nor do I wish to know,” she answered him frostily—and untruthfully. To her further shame, she knew that Jericho’s suspicion toward her and the coldness of his demeanor had not lessened her feelings of attraction toward him. She did not like him very much right now, but that did not seem to prevent her from still being aroused by him. “I am going upstairs to rest.” Despite being exhausted, she doubted she would be able to sleep when her emotions were in such turmoil.
Jericho made no attempt to stop her from leaving. He wanted Jocelyn to go. He knew he was very much in danger of losing control and ripping the rest of Jocelyn’s clothes from her body before satisfying his lust between the heat of her thighs.
His painfully throbbing cock did not care if Jocelyn was innocent or guilty. It merely wanted…
To take her.
To thrust inside her heat.
Time and time again, until nothing and no one else existed but the two of them lost in that world of sensual pleasure.
He had brought Jocelyn here to force the truth out of her, whether by torture or torment, it did not matter. Instead, it was his emotions that were now in torment and his body tortured by the force of his need to make love to Jocelyn.
The image of Jocelyn spread-eagle naked upon one of the beds upstairs, ankles and wrists secured with several of his silk ties, allowing him to pleasure her body in whatever manner he chose, refused to quit his mind now that he had seen and touched her breasts and the plumpness of her pussy.
He had to stop thinking of her in this way if he was to retain his sanity!
What little of it he had left after learning of Worthington’s death.
Jocey had believed herself incapable of sleeping after Jericho had spanked and touched her so intimately, and learning of Priscilla’s and Worthington’s deaths. But as she came groggily back to her senses and saw through the window that it was already dark outside, she knew that was exactly what she had done. Not only had she fallen asleep, but it seemed she had slept the whole day away.
Not that the day held any joy for her anyway when she knew nothing would have changed while she slept.
Her dear friend Priscilla was still dead.
As was Worthington.
And Jericho believed her to be complicit in the accident that had caused those deaths as a diversion to her own guilt of having committed treason.
A treason Jocey did not believe Priscilla and Prudence to be capable of either.
The Germaine twins were two of the first friends Jocey had made when she’d entered Society three years ago. They were openly frivolous and fun, when Jocey’s life in Scotland with the Duke of Pomeroy had been one of drudgery and dourness. The twins had a serious side, of course, but it was not one they revealed in Society, only when the three of them were alone together.
The three of them would never be alone to talk and share secrets ever again.
And Prudence must now be forever changed after the death of her beloved sister.
Jocey wished she could go to her friend, to comfort Prudence, to hold her while she grieved. But Jericho’s implacable attitude toward her told Jocey he would never allow it. He had even made her remove her gown as an added incentive for her not to be able to leave this place until he had finished torturing information from her in any way he saw fit.
The fact she had enjoyed the form of torture he had chosen earlier was still shameful to her.
She moved restlessly to the side of the bed before standing and walking over to the window, having no wish to think of Jericho or her response to him. Nor did she care how much he was grieving for his friend when his behavior toward her today had been so cruel, so unforgiveable—
She turned sharply toward the door as a knock sounded on the other side of it.
“Jocelyn?” the marquis called imperiously. “I know you are awake because I heard you moving about just now. You have not eaten all day, and there is hot stew downstairs.”
Several angry replies sprang readily to mind, and Jocey clamped her lips together to stop herself from making any of them. She would not even give him the satisfaction of speaking to him.
Besides, the thought of food made her stomach churn and heave. How could she possibly eat, let alone face Jericho again, when she knew he believed her to be involved in the deaths of two innocent people they had both cared about?
“Jocelyn!” He turned the door handle but found the door locked. “Open this door immediately,” he ordered in that same implacable voice. A voice that commanded and brooked no argument to his instruction.
Jocey felt a shiver of…something down the length of her spine. Anticipation? Pleasure? Whatever that emotion was, she did not wish to feel it for this man.
She had felt nothing but relief earlier when she closed the door of the bedchamber behind her and saw there was a key in the lock. Nor had she felt any hesitation about turning that key to ensure Jericho could not enter the room without her say so.
Although, the aggressive manner in which he was now rattling the door told her he would not remain outside in the hallway for much longer. Even if he had to break the lock and splinter the door frame to achieve that aim.
She tensed as the door ceased its rattling and there was only silence outside the room. A silence that continued until Jocey could stand it no longer. She moved softly across the room on bare feet to press her ear against the varnished wood.
Quite what she had expected to hear, she had no idea. Jericho breathing, perhaps? Or some other sign that would tell her he was still out there? Like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey—
“I will allow you five minutes to join me downstairs.”
It seemed as if he spoke directly to where her ear was pressed on this side of the door, causing her to rear back in alarm.
“After which I will return and break down the door,” he continued in that same soft voice. “If I am forced to do that, then the bare-assed spanking you will receive will not involve any pleasure whatsoever,” he added in warning.
“Except for you.” She could not remain silent any longer, once again feeling on the edge of tears. “You enjoyed spanking me earlier.”
“I did.” He did not even attempt to deny it.
“Bare-assed?” Jocey gasped, having realized what he had just said to her.
“For every time you disobey or defy me, I am going to instruct you to remove an item of clothing. As you are already wearing very little, I have no doubt that you will very shortly be completely naked.”
And she had thought his father was cruel for having more or less ignored her existence during the years she lived with him.
What she would give to have Jericho ignore her now.
Truly?
Jocey no longer knew what she wanted. This Jericho was insufferable. Arrogant. Dictatorial. And yet…
And yet her heart still pounded loudly merely knowing he was near. Nor was there any doubting her arousal earlier.
“I will need to freshen up before coming downstairs,” she informed him haughtily.
She also needed to find some other form of clothing. She had not found the apron until after she had swept the downstairs of the house, and her chemise was smeared with dirt and dust. Her drawers… Her drawers were decidedly uncomfortable, especially between her thighs. Her cheeks flushed as she realized it was from where her juices had gushed earlier, and the material had now dried and was chafing against her flesh.
“Will you return my gown to me so that I might dress appropriately?” she pressed.
“No.” Jericho’s single-word reply was uncompromising.
Then Jocey could only hope Caroline Black had left some clothing in one of the wardrobes from her visits here. Even a robe that was twenty years old would be better than nothing. Being naked beneath that robe was far from ideal, but it would give Jocey opportunity to rinse out her undergarments ready to wear again tomorrow.
“I will join you momentarily,” she snapped.
“The clock is now ticking,” he warned before there came the sound of his footsteps moving down the hallway toward the stairs.
Jocey had absolutely no doubt that this Jericho would be merciless in his retribution if she went beyond the allotted five minutes by so much as a second.