Max shuddered at Carina’s passion-hazed command to make love to her, self-doubts rose like a thunder cloud. “Love making between us is impossible.” As soon as he’d spat out the harsh words, he regretted them. She pulled back. “Forgive me, but we cannot forget who we are and where we are. Let’s not delude ourselves, or lie to each other.”
She stared with unblinking, moisture-filled eyes, and that blasted pain shot straight through to his gut and caused a raw burn. She stopped his absent-minded rubs at his midriff. “Are you suffering some sort of aliment in your abdomen?”
He bristled. “Of course not. I enjoy perfect health.”
She lifted a brow. “Your veins may run with the bluest blood, but your human form suffers from the same frailties as the rest of us lower mortals. I’ve noticed that you rub your stomach quite often. Perhaps you should consult a physician.”
“Ridiculous charlatans. I’ll not listen to another swindler promising to cure a simple digestive disorder by bleeding me dry with leeches.”
She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Max. You’ve already visited physicians.”
“It’s nothing.”
Tortured duke reunites with a mysterious lady to search for answers from their intertwined pasts and expose those who orchestrated the evil that scarred them both. She’ll do anything to protect her younger sisters and he’s desperate to make amends.
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Captain Belling cleared his throat and turned to face Lady Melton. “I owe you an apology for not personally seeing to your comfort. I’ve not been at my most amicable recently. Our evacuation plans have changed five times in the past three days, because each messenger has brought worse news about conditions of the roads. Wellesley probably pictured us rounding up a fleet of comfortable carriages to transport the wounded to the coast, after which boats would magically whisk us across the Channel until, within a few days, the wounded would be under the care of a staff of competent physicians. Apparently, the first and largest batches of wounded soldiers managed that scenario and are, I hope, being loaded into the boats as we speak. Word is that the second group ran afoul of deserters on three separate occasions.”
“British or French?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Men probably went rogue from many forces as soon as the battle turned and we became the winners. Napoleon was so confident of victory that he didn’t plan for retreat. So, retreating regiments were bottlenecked at the bridge at Sambre and soldiers ran away, rather than die during the chaos. Disenchanted soldiers from every country meet, form alliances, and will then kill without compunction, to stay free, or to appease their hunger for food and women. And every day, more will be on the roads.”
When she stiffened, he said, “Don’t worry. Our messengers reported where they’d seen large groups, and we’ll avoid those roads.” She sat still as a statue and listened. “I’d like to get to London without killing anyone else, because I’m tired of the fighting, tired of wars.”
She shuffled a few inches back towards him and laid her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry that I’ve added to your problems.” She looked down at her sleeping son. “Sorry you have two more passengers to worry about.”
“Our main problem is transport. The first groups needed the biggest wagons, so we must make do with inferior vehicles.”
“Daniel and I are used to cramped quarters. We’re grateful for whatever you arrange.”
“Humph. I’m glad to hear that.” When she gave him a puzzled look, he pointed to a mattress set at a right angle to her cot but with their ends almost touching. “I shall now be sleeping there.”
The small noise she made pleased him. She didn’t scream like a virginal girl would if told that a man would be sleeping in such close proximity, but sounded surprised to find that she’d pressed herself up against him.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear. I’ve taken your bed. I’ve forced you to use a mattress on the floor.”
He laughed softly. “Believe me, that’s far better than propping against a tree and trying to snatch an hour’s sleep before battle. Or squeezing between a sea of horses and men so you stay warm and don’t expire from frostbite.”
“How long have you been with Wellesley?”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “Too damn long.”
“So you’re pleased to be going home?”
“Pleased? No. Resigned, yes. My friends, my fellow officers, were ordered back to Brussels. I feel guilty that I’m not with them.”
“But surely they will return home soon, now that we’ve defeated Napoleon?”
“We’ve thought the war finished several times before, and I fear this time may prove the same. Nobody can predict what the Corsican will do next.”
She squeezed his thigh. “You’re worn out, Gabe. Things will be better when you’re in London once again.”
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1821, April 1st; Duke of Stirkton’s residence, Mayfair, London. Being the object of someone’s ridicule might be a novel experience for Maximus Meacham, Duke of Stirkton, but it wasn’t one he cared to repeat, even if the woman laughing at his proposal spoke like a queen and looked like a goddess.
As the Duke of Stirkton, he was well accustomed to being watched. Young pups copied his dress style. Toad-eaters mimicked his behavior in futile attempts to ingratiate themselves into his life. Conservative groups applauded his somber public behavior, while cartoonists ridiculed his straight-laced demeanor and suggested he take a mistress. Or two.
Whichever way people viewed him, no one had dared ridicule him to his face. Until this evening. The Countess had side-stepped his butler and marched into his drawing room as if an unannounced call upon an unmarried duke was something she did regularly. Max had informed her, in great detail, of the extensive search he and his cousin had undertaken to locate her and the other women. She’d huffed and rolled her eyes. Normally, his month-about- mistresses gleefully accepted his proposal because sharing a duke’s bed for a month would set them up for the rest of their lives. Apart from the financial benefits, he was a generous lover. One benefit of his abnormal upbringing had been an early and full education into what women wanted in a bed partner. Until the Countess had laughed at him, he’d never had reason to doubt his sexual prowess. In the brief time she’d been in his house, she’d challenged several of his beliefs.
“It’s the ideal solution.” And something he needed. “I will help you search my grandfather’s boxes by day and, in exchange, you’ll make yourself available to me in the evenings.” Max waited, unsure what to expect. An odd situation for a man who prided himself on reading adversaries as easily as he tallied the accounts.
Leaning in, Lord Mallory whispered in Lady Lillian’s ear. “Well, well. I certainly didn’t expect to find you in attendance at a scandalous ball.”
1820 Blackstone House, Twenty miles south of London. Brenton, Earl Mallory, secreted himself behind a life-sized statue of a naked man. Hiding from the two hundred guests spilling through the rooms Lord Browning had opened for the Pleasure House Ball. Clearly he’d suffered a moment of insanity when he’d yielded to his friend’s pleas to accompany him to this ball. ‘For God’s sake, Michael, why are we wasting our time here? I’ve no intention of engaging a mistress and….’
Brent shook his head. ‘Must be imagining things. I know only one person who wears that perfume and she mixes it herself. That woman is a lady and a duke’s daughter and certainly wouldn’t be attending a courtesan’s ball.’
‘Good God! You don’t mean−’
Pleasure House ball Book 3 Irresistible Aristocrats books2read.com/suzilovePHB. Lord Mallory, attends his first courtesan’s ball in ten years to appease his concerned friends, though he’d rather stay home and read to his motherless daughters.
“Two nights ago,” Lady Rebecca Jamison said, “the woman we engaged at the Women’s Betterment Society to tally the Stock Exchange ledgers — our friend — was murdered. The killer was still inside Peggy’s house when I arrived. Her slayer stopped at the back door and stared directly at me, memorizing my features.”
Her pronouncement was flat-voiced, deadly calm.
“Thankfully, his immediate concern was escaping with our two accounting books. But when the cache identifies me as the woman who saw their lackey’s face, I am certain they will send him to dispose of me as well. They are peers, titled and wealthy, and cannot risk being exposed as members of an illegal group. If we cannot stop these men, brutes who employ cold-blooded assassins to do their dirty work, I will certainly be the next to die.”
The Duke of Sherwyn’s chilled blood turned to ice.
Embracing Scandal (Scandalous Siblings) by Suzi Love. Lady Rebecca Jamison saves her family from financial ruin by investing in railways, but when a greedy syndicate murders her friend, Becca is forced to beg assistance from Cayle St. Martin, the new Duke of Sherwyn. https://books2read.com/suziloveES
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Tired past the point of arguing, Gabe undid the buttons on his trousers and awkwardly sank to the floor. Thin though the mattress was, he groaned with relief to be seated and able to stretch out his aching leg. He bent and tugged at his boots, but Lady Melton swatted his hands away. “Lean back and let me take care of you.”
He blinked at her in surprise. His uncle’s housekeeper had filled the role of mother for him often enough, but other than Mrs. Green, no one had ever fussed over his physical well-being. The women he’d been intimate with had fretted over pleasing him sexually, but his role as the male and provider had been to ensure they were well-housed, fed, and clothed. Role reversal made him uncomfortable, and yet Anne’s caring was oddly reassuring.
His upcoming task wasn’t going to be easy. Eleven men, a lady, and a small boy had to be transported to England. Plus, Wellesley’s dispatches were sewn into the lining of his uniform, which not even the Lieutenant knew. Gabe carried the official summation of the battle, papers that he’d been ordered to personally deliver to the War Office in London. Messengers were adequate for shorter notes, but the War Office needed a full report from Wellington, plus observations from his trusted officers, which amounted to a hefty and valuable package for him to conceal.
If Anne could lessen his pain, even a little, his thinking would be clearer during their journey, and only an ungrateful idiot would refuse her offer.
Leaning in, Lord Mallory whispered in Lady Lillian’s ear. “Well, well. I certainly didn’t expect to find you in attendance at a scandalous ball.”
1820 Blackstone House, Twenty miles south of London. Brenton, Earl Mallory, secreted himself behind a life-sized statue of a naked man. Hiding from the two hundred guests spilling through the rooms Lord Browning had opened for the Pleasure House Ball. Clearly he’d suffered a moment of insanity when he’d yielded to his friend’s pleas to accompany him to this ball. ‘For God’s sake, Michael, why are we wasting our time here? I’ve no intention of engaging a mistress and….’
Brent shook his head. ‘Must be imagining things. I know only one person who wears that perfume and she mixes it herself. That woman is a lady and a duke’s daughter and certainly wouldn’t be attending a courtesan’s ball.’
‘Good God! You don’t mean−’
Pleasure House ball Book 3 Irresistible Aristocrats books2read.com/suzilovePHB. Lord Mallory, attends his first courtesan’s ball in ten years to appease his concerned friends, though he’d rather stay home and read to his motherless daughters.
ance”As the Duke of Sherwyn, you’ve entree into the best houses and social events.”
After a scowl towards the ceiling, he muttered, “Thanks to my stepmother, I’m forced into it. But what does my recent social popularity have to do with your current predicament?”
“In daylight, with other ladies, I can stroll about the streets. Visit shops, sometimes slip unnoticed into the twice-weekly stock auctions at the Hall of Commerce in Threadneedle Street. And I’ve already searched the desks of many of the mere misters and lesser peers of the lower orders of the consortium, as their houses aren’t guarded like fortresses.”
“Do you mean to say you entered these men’s homes and rifled their papers?”
“Well yes, but–”
“Are you mad?”
“I risked little, because those sort of houses cannot afford a footman guarding every passageway. Especially not on occasions such as those I attended, where every footman is needed to fetch drinks for belligerent guests. Slipping into those libraries was child’s play.” She sighed. “What I cannot do is visit the homes of the highest ranking peers to scour their correspondence for any that bears the special seal of the consortium. Nor secure enough privacy to copy any incriminating letters I may find. Someone always hovers, and watches, at those type of houses.”
He paced before her like a restless panther, an angry scowl pulling his face taut. His fine looks had always turned heads, but this brooding beast carried a lethal combination of strength and menacing masculinity. She shivered. His newly acquired arrogance of bearing enhanced, rather than detracted from, his magnetism, although this time, she knew to avoid his magnetic pull.
“You intend searching the houses of every peer in the city who is making money from stock shares?”
“No, no, not all of them. We’ve done a lot of research–”
“We?”
“My family have become quite adept at research. We’ve narrowed our search to gentlemen known to invest in railway expansions in a large way. Our final list is of those we consider to be involved in the inner, and most secret, tier of the syndicate. It contains eighteen names, the majority of whom are high-ranking peers.
“Bloody hell, Becca.” He ground the expletive out through clenched teeth. “You’re out of your depth. I’ve been involved in similar commercial groups. They’ll stop at nothing for the sake of money.”
“Nevertheless, we need certain details you may overhear at clubs about certain gentlemen having sudden windfalls. Or things gleaned at certain balls and soirees.
“Unbelievable.” Both hands went up in the air. “That’s certainly as clear as muddy water.”
“Clear or not, I’m asking you to trust me. To help me.”
She held out both hands, palms up, and hoped he wouldn’t notice their tremors. “With your assistance, I can verify more names. Collect proof of each one’s involvement and hand it over to Scotland Yard. Time is of the essence, as we’ve now less than two weeks.”
She watched him absorb, assess, decide. In under a minute, he guided her to his desk and seated her before it.
“Make a start. List the names of every man you suspect to be a member.” He placed writing materials before her. “Then list those you consider inner tier, and include their ranking.”
