Sharla woke as the first of the day was filtering through the lace at the window, settling pretty shadow patterns on the rug beside the bed.
There was no disorientation, as she thought there should be. There was no confusion. Ben’s arm was heavy over her waist. His body was hot against her back. His soft breath against her neck was perhaps the sweetest of the caresses she had enjoyed this long, long night.
She was completely a woman now. After many repetitions of the delightful peaks of delight—climaxes, Ben had told her they were called—she could not claim otherwise.
It was the joy and pleasure of the night that made her feel almost nauseous now. The coming daylight meant she must rise and face Dane.
Sharla didn’t know how she was supposed to do that. How did one behave, when one’s husband had directed their downfall?
After a day of helping Ben out of trouble, of dealing with the odious Mr. Wash, Dane had given her and Ben exactly what they wished.
How was she to respond to that?
Ben stirred against her. His lips touched her shoulder. “Your heart is racing. What thoughts circle that fertile mind of yours now?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was half-asleep. I was enjoying having you here, in my arms.” His arm shifted against her and his palm slid beneath her breast. It was a slow movement, not designed to arouse her, but to claim her.
Sharla closed her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about Dane,” she murmured. “It seems indelicate to consider another man when I’m here with you, yet that is where my thoughts turned.”
“He wanted this to happen,” Ben reminded her, although she could feel the tension building in him.
“I can’t help thinking that my mother would be disappointed in me, if she learned of last night. More than that.” Her mother would rail at her, lecturing and grinding Sharla’s will to dust. She would make her feel lower than an earthworm and utterly insignificant.
“Elisa is the one you should care to please,” Ben told her. “She is more your mother than your real mother has ever been. I can tell you now that Elisa would be pleased by this arrangement.”
“Would she?” Sharla asked, her heart working harder. “I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell if I am a good person anymore. Or am I so wicked I can no longer sense goodness and that is why I can’t tell? How many people will we hurt, by what we have done?”
Ben turned her over, so she was looking at him. He was not impatient or exasperated. His gaze was sober as he stroked her face and brushed her hair from it. “We took a single night for ourselves. That is all. No one need learn of it. We will take it to our graves.” He kissed her. “Myself, I will thank God for it. Yesterday and last night, I learned that I had gained a friend. A most unexpected friend, who let us be together. This morning I will rise and be a friend to him in any way I can.”
Sharla held his face, his very dear face. “Yes, that is it exactly. I have suddenly discovered a friend who has been there all along. I’ve only grown wise enough to see him, now. I don’t want to hurt him, Ben. He has been good to both of us.”
“Let us be a friend to him, then,” Ben said. “We support him in any way he needs, just as he has done for us.” He kissed her, deep and hard. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing her cheek.
Sharla sighed. Now she understood exactly what that meant.
* * * * *
Dane was already at breakfast when Sharla arrived. Ben came downstairs a moment after her, so they would not arrive together and Dane looked up at them with an easy smile.
“Sit. Eat. You must be hungry,” he told them.
Sharla blushed. She was hungry, perhaps for the first time in months and it could only be because of the energy she had used during the night.
Ben sat without comment, looking as urbane as Dane.
Sharla forced herself to sit, trying to remember how she normally behaved in the morning. Everything was different, now! Even the purple morning dress she wore, that she had worn a dozen times in the past, felt different against her body.
Yet Mayerick served her bacon just as usual. Tea was poured for her, just as it always was.
Gradually, she relaxed.
“I presumed you would want to return to your family and tell them your news as soon as possible, Ben,” Dane said. “I had the carriage brought around first thing. As soon as you’re ready, we can leave.”
“We?” Ben asked.
Dane buttered toast, concentrating on it. “I thought if I were there to vouch for everything you say, your father might be further reassured.”
“He would, at that,” Ben said. “Very well. First, though, I must eat. If I do not, I will pass out.”
Mayerick slid a full plate in front of him.
“You are a prince among men, Mayerick,” Ben told him.
“Thank you, sir,” Mayerick replied. With a short bow toward Ben, he left the three of them alone in the dining room.
“I think he likes you,” Dane observed.
“I’ve no idea why,” Ben replied. “Unless he likes boxing?”
“Mayerick is a good judge of character,” Dane said blandly. He looked at Sharla. “Will you come with us, this morning?”
“I would like to, yes,” Sharla admitted. She remembered her vow to always ask for, or take, what she wanted. “Would you tell me everything that happened yesterday, on the way? There are still gaps in my understanding and I want to fully comprehend the…threats.”
Dane’s gaze was steady. “I promised you a full explanation. Now, I believe, you understand why I wanted to wait until today.” His gaze shifted to Ben, then back to her.
“I understand a great deal that was completely opaque to me,” Sharla said. “I’ve discovered I like knowing everything.”
“There’s a surprise,” Ben remarked and took a huge mouthful of eggs.
Dane laughed. It was a carefree sound and made Sharla smile, too.
* * * * *
As soon as the meal was complete, all three of them rose to their feet as if they had read each other’s minds. Sharla hurried from the room ahead of the two men. Smithers had already placed her bonnet and things on the table in the front hall, including her parasol. The bright light spilling through the windows said the day would be one of the hottest of the month. It was not yet seven o’clock, yet the warmth was already building.
Ben and Dane did not bother with coats. It was simply too warm. Mayerick handed them their hats and opened the front door.
The carriage was sitting at the curb, the driver standing at the horses’ noses, murmuring to them and patting them. He came around to open the carriage door when he saw the three of them.
From around the back end of the carriage, four burly men in workers’ clothes stepped onto the pavement. They had dirty faces, there were leaves and twigs in their clothes and they smelled damp and disgusting. Had they spent the evening in the park, across the road?
“You’d be the Duke of Wakefield, then,” the shortest of them said, crossing his arms. The other three spread out, in a way that encircled Ben, Dane and her. Sharla inched closer to Ben and Dane, her uneasiness building.
“I am Wakefield,” Dane said. “What business is it of yours?”
“Easton Wash is my business,” Shorty replied. “Or he was. Only he paid his debt in full last night and that makes me very unhappy.”
“Getting your money back makes you unhappy?” Ben asked.
“I liked Wash owing me,” Shorty snapped, dull fury showing in his eyes. “He would do anything for me, while I held his marker. Now, thanks to Wakefield, the blighter is free as air.”
“I still fail to see how that is my business,” Dane replied.
“I think he wants his interest out of you,” Ben said.
“Right in one, gov,” Shorty replied.
Dane didn’t look surprised or enlightened. Sharla suspected he’d known it would come to this the moment the men stepped around the carriage. She drew even closer to Dane and Ben, her heart running unhappily.
Dane didn’t look at her. His hand reached back and pushed her behind him. He kept his gaze on Shorty. “You won’t get a penny out of me.”
“Funny you should say that,” Shorty said. “Wash told me a strange story about you, one I’m sure you wouldn’t want spread about London.”
Ben laughed. “Tell all the stories you want. No one will believe a low-life like you.”
Shorty’s face darkened with anger. “Right…” He nodded at the other three.
Before any of them could move, though, Ben spun on one foot, his fist lifting. Sharla had seen him make a similar move in the ring. She knew how it would end. His fist would smash into the underside of the jaw of the man closest to him and take his feet out from under him.
Anger touched her. Men really were so threatened by Dane they would stoop to extortion and blackmail to belittle him? When did it end? Had he suffered such threats his entire life?
It wasn’t fair.
The injustice of it boiled her blood.
As the third man on Dane’s left reached for her husband, Sharla raise her parasol and beat at his face with it. He reared back, warding her off with his arms. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dane lunge toward the second man, just as Ben’s fist took out the first. Dane landed his own punch, that sounded as solid and decisive as Ben’s.
Hitting a man with a parasol wouldn’t achieve more than irritate him. Sharla wished she had a croquet mallet in her hands, for that would do real harm. All she had was a slender rod with lace on it.
A rod with a pointed end.
She gripped the parasol shaft in her left hand and braced the handle with her right and rammed the point into the man’s stomach. It buried deep and he doubled over with a sick, whistling sound.
Ben stepped past her and swung his left fist, connecting with the man’s chin, which was thrust forward in reaction to her blow.
The tough dropped to the ground.
Dane gripped her arm. “Into the carriage. Quickly,” he told her, guiding her toward the door. “Ben.”
“Coming.” Ben stood over the felled men for a moment, waiting to see if any of them would move once more. Then he looked at Shorty. “Or do I need to deal with you, too?”
Shorty’s eyes were huge. His mouth hung open. His arms were no longer crossed. He looked from still man to sprawled body, astonishment building. It had happened in the blink of an eye. The driver was still climbing up onto his bench.
“Get out of here,” Ben growled. “Don’t ever come back. Hear?”
Shorty didn’t move.
Ben took a step toward him. Shorty turned and ran.
With a shake of his head, Ben stepped over the bodies and climbed up into the carriage.
Dane thumped on the roof and the carriage moved off.
For a moment the three of them sat looking at each other, all breathing hard. Then Ben laughed. It was a quiet snicker.
Suddenly they were all laughing. Sharla wiped her eyes as her relief spilled through her, gay and unfettered.
“I have dealt with many similar moments,” Dane said at last, as their giggles faded. “The most astonishing thing about this one was you two.” He shook his hand.
“You throw a mean punch yourself,” Ben said. “Here, let me look at that.”
Dane held out his hand. The knuckles were bloody. Ben turned the hand, examining them. “You’ve split your soft, entitled skin over them,” he said, sitting back. “The knuckles aren’t broken, though. Pour liquor over the splits when you get the chance and let them heal naturally.”
Sharla held up her parasol. “I bent my parasol. I don’t think it will open again.”
“I will buy you a dozen more,” Dane told her. “A thousand, if you wish.”
“I only need one, thank you,” Sharla replied.
“Two,” Dane said. His gaze met hers. “You need two.”
Her heart leapt.
* * * * *
Once Rhys had been reassured that all was well, Dane insisted that Ben return to the Wakefield house for the morning, to discuss one last piece of business.
Rhys looked puzzled. “What else is there? Another issue?”
“Business,” Dane repeated. “I will be transferring all my legal matters to your firm and I want Ben to represent me in those matters. I trust that this is agreeable to you, Mr. Davies?”
Sharla caught her breath. She had only a vague understanding of the extent of Dane’s affairs. She did know they included three estates, including the big manor at Wakefield and numerous business investments. It was a very large portfolio.
Rhys smiled. “Welcome to the family, your Grace.”
“Dane,” he corrected. “I would be honored if you would use my first name, as your family likes to do.”
* * * * *
As Sharla walked back into the Wakefield townhouse, she finally noticed how light and free she felt. The awareness had been growing all morning. She could float, with very little encouragement.
Dane headed for the library. “There really is a great deal to go over,” he explained, sounding apologetic.
“I’m quite sure there is,” Sharla said. “Go tend to your business. I have a parasol to replace and I am ravenous again.”
“Arrange morning tea,” Dane told her. “We’ll be along shortly.” He took off his jacket. “At the very least, I must pour brandy over my hand as instructed.” He took Ben into the library and shut the door.
Wearing a smile that she could not seem to halt, Sharla went to the morning room, where she hoped to find Mayerick and request an early morning tea.
Melody Wakefield rose to her feet as Sharla entered, throwing aside her embroidery hoop. “You…!” she breathed, her face turning red. “You harlot!”
Sharla drew in a breath, shocked. With slow movements, she turned and shut the heavy door. There was no need for the rest of the household to hear what Melody might say next.
“I saw that…that man, come out of your bedroom this morning!” Melody moved closer to her. “Right here in my son’s house! Right under his nose! You are the most immoral, inadequate excuse for a woman I have ever met!”
Sharla attempted to brace herself against the insults. Of course Dane’s mother would misunderstand. How could she do otherwise? “Keep your voice down,” Sharla told her.
“I will shout it from the rooftops if I must!” Melody cried. She whirled and snatched up the riding crop that had been left on the mantel shelf since the last time she had wielded it. Sharla’s heart sank.
The leather whistled through the air, making her flinch. “You will leave this house at once. I will not tolerate you beneath my roof for a moment longer.”
“It isn’t your roof,” Sharla told her.
Melody ran at her, her hoops swaying and the crop raised, a cry tearing her throat.
Sharla might have cringed, only the last momentous day had cured her of fear over little things such as Melody’s misplaced anger. As the crop snapped down, Sharla reached up and caught Melody’s wrist in her hand.
Melody slammed up against her, surprise making her eyes widen. “You dare…!”
“More than you know,” Sharla assured her and shoved.
Melody stumbled backwards.
“What in the devil is going on here?”
Sharla whirled. Dane stood in the doorway in shirt sleeves, bereft of his waistcoat. The hem of the shirt had come untucked. The sleeve of his right hand had been rolled up out of the way and his hand dripped with golden liquid.
Ben stood behind him, his gaze moving from Sharla to Melody, and the crop in her hand.
“This vile whore and that man cavorted together, right here in your house!” Melody cried, pointing at Ben. “I told you she would prove inadequate! I was right! No child and now, she cuckolds you with brazen contempt!”
Dane let the door go and moved into the room, until he was standing next to Sharla. “You have no right to speak about my wife in those terms. Apologize, Mother.”
Melody made a high-pitched choking sound. “You defend her! You weak, pathetic excuse for a man! If you will not defend your honor, I will!” She leapt again, the crop raised.
Ben stepped in between. He bent and his shoulder rammed into Melody’s torso, halting her more thoroughly than a brick wall. As she struggled, she flailed with the crop.
“His back!” Dane whispered and lunged. He reached for his mother’s hand, attempting to grab the whip and halt her.
She screeched.
The sound made the fine hairs on the back of Sharla’s neck try to stand up. The prickling sensation climbed her spine and she shuddered.
Melody struck at Dane over and over again, the crop whistling and snapping. He grimly tried to catch her wrist and stop her.
Sharla moved closer. Her coordination might be better. She watched Melody’s wrist come down again and snatched at it and squeezed, using all her strength to stop the crop from descending another time.
All three of them had a hold of the woman, who struggled and vented her fury with vile words.
All Sharla could do was to hold on.
Suddenly, Melody stopped struggling. Her body snapped taut. The crop fell from her hand.
Her other hand clutched at her chest. Agony contorted her face.
Breathing in hard little pants, she reached out to Dane. She was trying to speak, yet no words came. Spittle fell from the corner of her mouth as she gripped his shirt, her fingers whitening with desperate strength.
“Mother?” Dane said, alarm in his voice.
His shirt tore with a soft, ripping sound, as Melody fell away from them.
“Ben,” Sharla said urgently.
“I have her.” Ben lowered the woman to the floor.
They bent over her.
Melody Wakefield lay still, her eyes turned upward, unblinking. Her face was gray. She had breathed her last.
Ben put his fingers to her neck, feeling for her heart beat. He looked up at Dane and shook his head.
Dane turned away, his back to both of them.
Sharla gasped and moved to him. She pushed aside the torn edges of the shirt. “Oh my dear God, Dane…”
Beneath the ruined shirt, his back was a mass of crisscrossing scars and still-healing wounds. Some of the scars were so old, they had stretched out in stuttering pale white lines as the boy had grown to man.
Dane spun around, pulling the shirt out of her hands and hiding his back.
Ben put his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “Let us see,” he said gently. “Show us.”
Dane dropped his gaze to the floor. After a moment, he turned.
Sharla held the shirt out of the way, while they studied his back.
“This is what kept you bedridden, a few weeks ago, isn’t it?”
Dane lifted his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “I never dared resist her. She was my mother. She convinced me I was a failure, in all things.”
Ben caught Sharla’s hand in his. “Your bruises. They were from her! You kept telling me it wasn’t Dane. I was blind. Convinced it was he who was beating you.”
Dane whirled to face Sharla. “Not you, too.” His face filled with horror.
“Just the once,” Sharla admitted. She didn’t say why Melody had beaten her. Dane didn’t need that burden on top of everything else he carried. “This time, though, I was too angry to let her do it again.”
“I wish I’d had that courage. Perhaps my life would have gone differently, if I had,” Dane said, glancing at his mother’s body. He stirred and straightened, pulling the ruined shirt around him once more. “The staff would have heard the noise. They must be reassured and a doctor called.”
“You talk to the staff,” Ben said. “I’ll send for the doctor.” He pulled the cloth off the round table in the corner and laid it over Melody Wakefield.
“And I will deal with this.” Sharla bent and picked up the riding crop.
* * * * *
The riding crop was not the only leather implement in the house. Sharla stepped into Melody Wakefield’s room and found a whip and two more crops, which she gathered up, too.
She swept through the public rooms, checking cupboards and crevasses and found another two crops tucked away in corners. It seemed that Melody liked to keep her tools of discipline close to hand.
When Mayerick saw what she was doing, he went away. A few minutes later, he returned with three more crops and another whip, that he added silently to the collection. His gaze met Sharla’s.
“Not you, too?” she whispered, her eyes stinging.
“Anyone who was too slow to respond.” He patted her arm, the one holding the distasteful weapons. “What will you do with them?”
“Burn them,” Sharla said.
“They’re leather. I rather doubt they’ll burn well.”
“Bring the brandy decanter. They’ll burn well enough to be useless to anyone, later.”
He nodded.
Sharla marched through the servants’ hall, which was deserted, although she could hear people whispering behind doors, their tones hushed. Dane had spoken to them, then.
She went through the back door and out into the cobbled yard where the family carriage stood. One of the coke drums stood in the middle of the yard, with holes in its sides for the heat to emerge, and a concave top. The driver and coachmen would keep warm at nights, around it.
She dropped the whips and crops in the bowl.
Mayerick was close behind her. He had a dark bottle in his hands. “Lamp oil,” he told her. “It will burn far more efficiently.”
“Thank you,” she told him as he poured the thick liquid over the leather. “Did you bring matches, too?”
He stepped back and pulled out a big match from his waistcoat pocket. He struck it on the side of the barrel and held the burning match out to her.
Sharla dropped it on to the leather. The oil caught fire immediately and the flames leapt up high.
Mayerick cleared his throat. “I must return to the hall. There are arrangements to be made, and the doctor will be here shortly.”
“Thank you, Mayerick,” Sharla told him. “I want to stay here until the deed is done.”
“Of course, your Grace.”
A few minutes later, Ben and Dane stepped out into the yard. They moved closer to the flames, watching them silently. Dane was properly dressed once more. He stared at the heart of the flames, unblinking.
Then he rested his hand on Sharla’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Sharla caught his hand in hers.
He gripped her fingers and drew her closer. Startled, she let him pull her around the barrel. Then he stepped out of the way and tugged Ben next to her. “You deserve to be happy.”
Sharla cried out her protest. She whirled to face him. “No! I am your wife. You need me. More than ever. What sort of wife would I be, if I left you now?”
“I am no husband,” Dane said. “I never can be.”
“You’re her husband in the eyes of the law and that is all that counts,” Ben said.
“You support her in this, Ben?” Dane said. “You?”
Ben’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I know what society will do to her—to both of you—if you don’t stay married. You would lose everything. Although, that isn’t why I stand here arguing against my self-interest and making a fool of myself.” His knuckles grew whiter as his jaw worked. “After Sharla married you, I was broken. The boxing, drinking and more. I was sinking deep and I knew it. The last few weeks, though, everything has righted itself. Everything has worked out, and…” He drew in a breath and let it out. “This morning I was happy. Do you know how long it has been since I was happy?” His smile was crooked. “It all happened because of you, Dane. You and Sharla.”
Dane didn’t laugh or dismiss Ben. His gaze was steady. “What are you proposing?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Ben confessed. “We’re walking upon territory where no one has ever been. I do know one thing, though. You need me. And not that way. Don’t look so terrified, both of you. You need a friend, Dane, and I think…I suspect, I am your only one.”
Sharla put her hand in Dane’s. “One of two,” she said. “That’s what you were thinking, when you spoke about parasols, isn’t it?”
“It was a foolish moment of wild fantasy,” Dane admitted. He hesitated. “At least, I thought it was.” Hope was building in his face as he looked from her to Ben and back. “In the last few days, I have felt…I’m not sure what I felt. I have been more of a whole man in the last few days than I have in my entire life. It is true, Ben, the two of you make me stronger. I didn’t dare hope…I couldn’t see how it could possibly work. I still don’t, yet I know I want you to stay. Both of you.”
He tugged at Sharla’s hand again. This time, he pulled her in front of him and turned her to face Ben. “There is just one condition,” he said, his hands on her shoulders. “The two of you must love each other wholly and completely, with no reserves. No guilt must touch you. No recriminations and no reservations.”
Ben’s gaze met hers. The heat was there in his eyes, making her shiver. “I have loved Sharla since before you met her,” he said, his voice low. “I knew I could never have her, commoner that I am.”
“While I, the lord, could not keep her if you weren’t here.” Dane squeezed her shoulders. “Sharla, you must have your say in this, too.”
“I think,” Sharla said, her voice shaking, “that I am too overwhelmed to put a coherent thought together. Can I really stay your wife and have Ben, too? Is that even possible?”
“There’s a saying in our family, Dane,” Ben said, pulling her toward him. “Inside the family—”
“We do as we please,” Sharla finished.
“We’re all family now,” Dane pointed out.
Ben kissed her, right there in front of him.