CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Velvet awoke to the sound of Jason moving about the room. She cracked open an eye and discovered he was packing. Her small satchel, apparently retrieved from upstairs, sat on the seat of the ladder-backed chair beside the bed.

She levered herself upright, wincing at the pain shooting through her. Her breasts ached, her head pounded, and her lip was puffy and scabbed.

“Jason, what are you doing?”

His head came up. He looked at her over his shoulder. “Taking you home.”

“What of the sergeant?” she asked, ignoring this last. “Is he…?”

“The soldiers have all gone. At least we don’t have them to deal with.” He stuffed a full-sleeved linen shirt into his satchel as she swung her legs stiffly to the side of the slatted wooden bed.

“We don’t have to leave just yet. I’m sure Mrs. McCurdy—that’s the name of the cook—will understand my being late to work, once she learns what happened.”

His eyes widened with incredulity. “Are you mad?” He started toward her. “You look like hell and there is little doubt you feel the same way. You can’t possibly go down there and work. I shouldn’t have let you come in the first place. Now I’m taking you home before something else bad happens.”

He had a point; she couldn’t deny it. Working was the last thing she felt like doing today, but this was the chance they had come for and she wasn’t about to quit until she had the answers they sought.

“Just give me a couple of hours. As battered as I look, the servants are bound to be sympathetic. Maybe they’ll confide in me, tell me what we need to know.”

“No. Absolutely not.” He went back to his packing, tossed in his stockings then the pair of bloodstained breeches he had worn the night before. “We’re leaving and that’s the end of it.”

Velvet slid to her feet, wincing at the jolt of pain that shot through her body. Luckily he was looking the other way. “We have to see this through, Jason. We have to take this final opportunity. The soldiers are gone. Please … let me have one more chance to see if I can find out the truth.”

The leather strap on his satchel whirred through the buckle as Jason tightened it down. His eyes came up to her face. “I’ve already hurt you enough.”

“I told you before, what happened wasn’t your fault. Now I’m asking you … please … for just this one small favor. Give me three more hours. Three hours, Jason, then we can leave.”

He stomped around the room, his expression dark and stormy. Then he gripped the satchel and tossed it onto the bed. “That isn’t fair and you know it.”

“Let me help you, Jason.”

He moved toward her, stopping so close they almost touched. He clamped his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “Three hours, Velvet. Then I’m dragging you out of here. There’ll be no excuses. If you won’t leave, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and cart you off like a sack of potatoes.” He bent down nose to nose with her. “Do I make myself clear?”

Velvet smiled. “Very clear, my lord.” Turning away from him, she dressed quickly, donning her servant’s clothes, ignoring the aches and pains that came with every movement.

“I’ll meet you at the copse of trees just beyond the inn. If you aren’t there in exactly three hours, I’m coming back to get you.”

“I’ll be there,” Velvet called out, making her way down the stairs. As soon as she was out of his sight, she gave in to the groan of pain she had held back until then. Sweet Lord, she hurt all over.

Mrs. McCurdy was busy washing a heavy iron skillet when Velvet walked into the kitchen.

“Good heavens, luv, ye look even worse than I thought.”

“You heard—I-I mean, ye ’eard what ’appened last night?” Velvet asked, sliding into her thick Cockney accent.

Mrs. McCurdy nodded. “We all heard about it. Some of them soldiers was talking about the fella what come to help ye, but nobody seemed to know who he was.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled. “Of course some of us got our notions.”

The heavyset woman made a clucking sound and waddled toward Velvet like a mother hen appraising an injured chick. “They said they had to carry that big beefy sergeant out of here on a stretcher.” She surveyed the dark purple bruises on Velvet’s jaw and frowned. “Too bad the bloody sod was still breathin’.”

Velvet didn’t add that if Jason had had his way, he wouldn’t have been.

“What can I do to ’elp ye?” Velvet asked, and Mrs. McCurdy’s frown deepened.

“Ye don’t plan on workin’?”

“I need the blunt, Mrs. McCurdy.”

The stout woman sighed. “Me Betsy’s just back from the village. She can wash the pots and pans. Ye can sit right here and I’ll bring ye some tea towels to mend.”

It wasn’t much of a task. Velvet was grateful for the older woman’s charity. They talked for a while, until Betsy arrived, a lovely red-haired girl about Velvet’s same age with a bright, winning smile. They got on well and like her mother, Betsy was more than sympathetic, as were the other servants, most of whom eventually wandered in. By the end of the second hour, Velvet had eased the conversation in the direction she wanted.

“The man who helped me…” she casually mentioned, “he said he was here some years back … the night the old duke was murdered. He said he didn’t much approve of the inn’s clientele.”

Mrs. McCurdy crowed. “I knew it were him—that handsome young squire what came in yesterday. He come once before to see me Betsy.”

Velvet frowned. Jason hadn’t mentioned Mrs. McCurdy’s pretty red-haired daughter. “He was very gallant,” she said, though the words came out a bit more grudgingly than they might have. “He risked himself to save me.” The conversation moved forward, inch by inch, Velvet directing them little by little to the night of the old duke’s murder.

“I think someone here saw what happened that night,” she confided in low tones. “I think someone knows the young duke was innocent.”

Betsy glanced both ways as if to be sure no one could hear, then leaned down close to her ear. “I saw it,” she said. “I was only ten years old, but I saw this man climb the back stairs holdin’ a pistol. I saw him point it through the window and fire.” Thinking of it, Betsy shivered. “I was only a little girl but I won’t never forget.”

Velvet stood immobile. Inside her chest, her heart was hammering, pounding nearly through her chest. “Did you see who it was?”

Betsy blinked and glanced around. “It was him, the slimy toad. His grace, the duke of Carlyle. Only then he weren’t no duke.”

Velvet’s knees nearly buckled beneath her. She dragged in a long slow breath of air, her heart thumping madly. She had done it—she had found a witness! She turned at the crack of a deep male voice booming through the open kitchen door.

“You’re late,” Jason thundered, his expression tight and drawn.

Velvet crossed to the place where he stood with his long legs angrily splayed and smiled into his scowling face. “I’m sorry. The hours slipped past more quickly than I imagined, but I think you’ll agree that the time was well spent.” She was smiling so brightly he said nothing more and didn’t resist when she reached for his hand and led him into the kitchen.

“Lord Hawkins … there is someone I would like you to meet.” She frowned, fighting a sudden, unwelcome surge of jealousy. “That is if the two of you haven’t met already.”

*   *   *

They had done it. They had actually succeeded in finding a person who had witnessed the murder. Though the girl had only been a child at the time, it was one more precious card in the deck Jason was stacking against his brother.

As he guided the phaeton along the lane returning them to London, he glanced down at the small figure sleeping against his shoulder. With tender care, he pulled the lap robe up to her chin and carefully tucked it around her to ward off the chill. In the watery gray sun seeping in between the clouds, he could see the dark purple bruises on her face, and anger rose inside him.

He knew only too well how she must be hurting. He blamed himself for it, yet if she hadn’t come with him, Betsy McCurdy would never have been discovered. She would never have agreed to testify against his brother.

As it was, against her mother’s wishes, with Velvet’s gentle persuasion and Lord Hawkins’s guarantee of safety, the girl had finally agreed.

“I have to, Mum,” she’d said to her mother, sniffing to hold back tears. “I wish I had told someone then. For years I’ve felt so guilty. Lord Hawkins wants to clear the young duke’s name and I mean to help him. I’ve a chance to tell the truth and this time I’m going to take it.”

Perhaps she would only have to tell her story to the magistrates. Jason hoped so. But it eased his mind to know he could count on Betsy McCurdy, and he believed he could.

Velvet made a sound in her sleep and snuggled closer. Jason gently lifted a windblown strand of her burnished hair and tucked it behind an ear. She was small, not much bigger than a child, but she was so much woman. Even now, her face battered and bruised, her lip cut and swollen, he wanted her with a desperation close to obsession.

He had tried to stay away from her, to protect her from the lust he always felt when she was near, but so far it had been a losing battle. And she certainly didn’t make things any easier.

Kiss me, Jason. I want you to do those things you said. Inwardly he groaned. God’s breath, the woman set his blood on fire. She was a tempting little baggage with a passion to match his own. True, she was headstrong and a goodly bit of trouble.

But she was also brave and intelligent, as loyal a friend as he had ever known. A friend who had suffered gravely because of him. What was he to do with her now?

Jason admitted he wasn’t really sure. By the time they returned to London, the papers would be ready for the release of Velvet’s dowry. She would have the money she needed, and he had enough evidence to confront Celia Rollins.

He should move out of her town house, get away from her before he gave in to his lust again. But staying with Velvet had proved the perfect cover. A shy, bookish husband from Northumberland, a distant cousin that the ton was curious about but little more. Through Velvet and Lucien, he could follow Avery’s movements. And living in her town house, he could keep an eye on her, as he had intended from the start. He didn’t want to see her hurt again.

He would stay, Jason decided, his body already clenching to think of the nights he would have to spend in the room next to hers. It wouldn’t be for long, he told himself. In a few more weeks, his goal would be attained—or he would be hanging from a tree on Tyburn Hill. Either way, his time with Velvet would soon be at an end.

Jason found himself oddly depressed by the notion.

*   *   *

Candlelight flickered on the lavender watered silk walls of the countess’s bedchamber. The massive white and gilt canopied bed, draped in the same lavender silk, had been turned back in anticipation of his arrival.

Avery almost smiled. The woman was ridiculously transparent. Celia knew he had money again—vast sums at his disposal—and she wanted to win back his favor.

“It’s been far too long … your grace.” The low seductive voice came from the doorway of her luxurious marble dressing room at the opposite end of her bedchamber. “Avery, my darling, I’ve missed you.”

She was wearing a sheer purple nightgown, a shade darker than the lavender silk walls. It set off the whiteness of her skin, the blackness of her hair, her ripe, succulent figure, and Avery began to grow hard.

Though he schooled his lust not to show, inwardly he admired her efforts and how skillfully she used them to gain the desired effect. But two could play games of seduction. He was tired of his insipid, unresponsive little wife. He was glad she had crept back out to her country house—his house now, he corrected. And Celia had always been a marvel in bed.

He arched a pale brow in her direction. “What’s the matter, my dear? Densmore already flagging in his traces? Pity … I imagined the old boy would last a bit longer than he did.” He pulled off his plum velvet tailcoat and tossed it over a nearby chair. “Then again, your voracious appetites have been known to emasculate the hardiest of men.”

Her ruby lips drew together in a soft seductive pout. “You wound me, your grace.” She floated toward him, a vision in her sheer, flowing gown, her bosom nearly spilling from the bodice. The sight of those ripe, creamy breasts made his shaft begin to throb.

“And even were it true,” she continued, “I do not remember it ever being so with you.”

Avery laughed lightly. “Such flattery, my dear. The likes of it should not go unrewarded.” He moved toward her, meeting her at the foot of the bed, drawing her into his arms. He didn’t bother to kiss her, just cupped each of her heavy breasts and began to upbraid the nipples. Celia gasped as he harshly tweaked the ends.

Her breathing quickened. She had always enjoyed rough play. Celia smiled as she helped him remove his silver brocade waistcoat. He tossed it away, then bent and kissed the smooth white skin at the base of her throat. The hands he placed on her shoulders urged her down on her knees and Celia instantly complied. She freed him, then smiled with satisfaction at the stiffness of his arousal.

“How shall I please you, your grace?” Her smile was lurid, full of promise. Her slender hand stroked up and down his sex. “I believe I know just the way.”

Avery groaned as she took him into her mouth, her soft lips closing around him. Pleasure coursed through him at the feel of her tongue skimming over his rigid flesh. She wanted money. She would do whatever it took to ensure she got it. Still, she meant to end their love play in the simplest, most expedient manner.

He didn’t intend to make it so easy.

Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her away from his arousal, then began to remove the balance of his clothes. “We’ve all night, my dear. There is really no hurry—is there?”

A momentary pique flared in those lovely green eyes, then it was gone. He wondered which of her lovers she intended to meet after she had finished with him.

“No hurry at all … your grace.”

A flicker of irritation trickled through him. There was something in the way she said his title, a slightly sarcastic edge. It had always secretly annoyed him. Tonight the bitch would pay.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded and Celia instantly obeyed. Her mood was changing, her eyes beginning to gleam. She had sensed his anger and she knew what it meant. He would take her roughly, perhaps even cruelly. Her reluctance had turned to anticipation.

“Turn over onto your stomach,” he told her, climbing up on the bed beside her. Rolling up a pillow, he stuffed it beneath her hips with a cool, malicious smile. He would take her Greek style. Celia never much favored that.

Satisfaction at the thought made his shaft rise up even more. Celia was conniving to get her hands on more of his money. All she would get was a good hard swiving, some aches and some bruises.

He imagined it would be the last time she welcomed him into her bed.

*   *   *

Silver clanked. A footman busied himself removing the breakfast dishes from the linen draped table in front of them. A teacup rattled noisily in its saucer as it was carted away. Outside the mullioned window a storm had begun to brew, thick clouds settling in, a heavy mist distorting the view of red peonies blooming out in the garden.

“Friday is Sir Wallace’s funeral,” Velvet said to Jason, who sat at the head of the long polished table. Her grandfather had eaten earlier and retired to the study to read, one of his favorite pastimes. “Do you think Mary will go?”

Jason glanced up from the Morning Chronicle he had been reading. “I hope not. Balfour will be hard-pressed to protect her if Avery demands she return with him to the city.”

“Poor Mary.”

“Aye, that she is, married to the likes of my murderous brother. Perhaps she has found a champion in Balfour. For Mary’s sake I hope so.”

“What will they do?”

“’Tis hard to guess. If she is serious about ending her marriage, she can try to obtain some sort of dissolution. Unfortunately if, by some miracle, she should succeed, she would be a ruined woman. It seems unlikely that Balfour would offer marriage. If he did, Society would shun him as well. At any rate, with the power Avery commands as duke, odds are, such an action would never be granted.”

“You are saying there is no hope for them?”

His sensuous mouth curved up. “If I am successful in my endeavors, there is every hope for them. However inadvertently, their destiny is now tied to mine. If Avery is proved guilty of my father’s murder, he’ll lose everything—perhaps even his life. Under those circumstances, if she isn’t left a widow, an annulment would undoubtedly be granted.”

And if you fail? Velvet did not have to ask the question.

“If I fail,” he said as if she had actually spoken, “most likely I’ll be dead. Mary would have to flee the country in order to escape him.”

Velvet said nothing to that. Her chest felt tight to think of Jason dead. It suddenly hurt to breathe. “When will you speak to the countess?”

“I’m not certain. I have to be absolutely sure I can force her to tell the truth. If instead she should go to Avery, tell him I’m still alive, he’ll do everything in his power to see I don’t stay that way long.”

Velvet made no comment, but her stomach felt leaden. Jason couldn’t go to Celia until he was certain how she would respond. But Velvet could. Only that morning, she had sent a note to the countess asking if they might not reschedule their tea. A note had arrived in return, inviting her to come that very afternoon.

The bruises she still carried from her unfortunate encounter at the inn were nearly faded. She could disguise the faint yellow tint that remained with a bit of rice powder, as she had been doing, and be on her way.

At three o’clock, she would join the countess at her Hanover town house. Velvet would use the time to try and decipher the way the wind was blowing between Avery and the countess. With the duke’s recent marriage and the death of his wealthy father-in-law, the subject would be an easy one to broach.

“Perhaps I could speak to her,” Velvet said just to test the waters. “We’ve formed a tentative friendship. Perhaps I could discover—”

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t want you anywhere near that woman. ’Tis certain she feels not the slightest qualm about murder. God only knows what else she might be capable of doing.”

An uneasy shiver ran through her. The woman was dangerous, of that there was no doubt.

“Stay away from her,” Jason repeated. “When the time is right, I’ll take care of Celia myself.”

Velvet toyed with the napkin folded across her lap. Jason and Celia. He had loved her once. “Perhaps you look forward to the meeting. Perhaps you still find her attractive.”

His head whipped in her direction. The newspaper rattled in his hands. “I despise the woman. Beauty means little when it is mired so deeply in evil. When I think of Celia Rollins, I feel an overwhelming urge to wrap my hands around her lovely white neck.”

Jason went back to reading his paper, his eyes mostly hidden beneath the clear glass lenses he wore perched on his fine straight nose. Noticing the brooding scowl that still darkened his features, she shoved back her chair, rounded the table, and walked up behind him. When she slid her arms around his neck, bent and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, his startled blue gaze swung up to her face.

“Do not worry, my lord. One way or another, we will find a way to convince her. Soon, the whole of England will know you are innocent of any wrongdoing.”

He gently unwound himself from her hold, his grip implacable, though he did not hurt her. “Hardly that, Velvet. I am guilty of more misdeeds than I wish to recall. My father’s murder, however, is not among them.”

He picked up the paper and rose to his feet. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am off to see Litchfield. I won’t be home until late. Don’t bother to wait supper. I’ll get something to eat while I’m out.”

Velvet watched his tall retreating figure striding across the room and out the door. He’d been polite but distant ever since their return from the inn. She missed the hours they had spent together, the comfort and warmth of sleeping beside him as she had that night at the inn.

Velvet sighed into the quiet of the empty room, lonely in a way she had never been. Jason was determined to avoid her, but today it was just as well. She had a date with Celia Rollins. Perhaps she could learn something that would be of help.