Authors: Kate Pearce

Simply Carnal (14 page)

BOOK: Simply Carnal

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“Because it isn’t true!”

He kissed her hard, his teeth grating against hers as she fought him. “You like this, then, being fucked, being used, being treated like nothing?”

She shoved at his chest and broke away from him. “I do not wish to have this conversation with you.”

He came after her and grabbed her hand. “But I do. I want to hear you admit that you hate this.”

“I don’t!” She pulled out of his grasp, her eyes narrowed and her chest heaving. “You just enjoy confusing me. I am used to this!” She flung her arms wide to encompass the room. “It is the only thing that marriage prepared me for!”

He smiled at her. “And you’re not even very good at it, are you?” He paused deliberately until he was sure he had her complete attention. “Who wants a woman who can’t come?”

She came at him then, her arm raised to slap his face, and he caught her wrist as excitement roared through his veins. But her resistance crumbled and she didn’t even try to fight against his grip.

“I don’t want this, Christian,” she whispered. “Not today, not now.”

“What don’t you want? A fight? A fuck?”

She shook her head, her hair covering her face. “I’m tired. May I be excused, please?”

He released her wrists, aware that she was hiding from him again. Frustration rose in his throat. Why wouldn’t she fight him? He was giving her every opportunity to share her problems, and yet she resisted him at every turn. Every other woman of his acquaintance would be crying and sharing her woes with him by now. But damnation, he liked the fight in her as well, gloried in it and wanted that fury directed at him.

He watched as she gathered up her clothes again and put on her shift.

“Do you think yourself too good for us?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Do you think we are your social inferiors?”

“Of course not! I’m the one who is inferior. You took me in off the streets.”

“And yet you feel no loyalty to me or my family because of that?”

She sighed. “What exactly do you want, Mr. Delornay?”

He shrugged. “Your trust?”

She simply turned her back on him and walked to the door that led out to the servants’ stairwell. He followed her out and up the stairs.

“Don’t walk away from me.” His voice echoed in the bleak stairwell.

She turned to look down at him. “I’m too tired for this. It has been a very difficult day.”

“Because you’ve had to lie so much?”

“Because”—she swallowed hard—“because I’ve realized just how alone I am and how much I am to blame for this mess.”

“Then confide in me!”

“I cannot!”

He came up the stairs after her. “Why not?”

She suddenly turned and met his gaze, her gray eyes flashing fire. “Because trust has to be earned, Mr. Delornay, and you trust no one. How could I ever expect you to understand
anything ?
”

He took a step backward, and she ran away from him, her bare feet soundless on the stairs, her hair flowing out behind her like a banner.

Christian stayed where he was, her final words ringing in his head. He glared after her retreating form. How dare she criticize
him
when she was the one deceiving everyone? He was perfectly justified in his decision not to trust every single person who crossed his path. What fool would do that? And he of all people had no reason to believe in anyone. He sank down onto the nearest step and rested his head in his hands.

Lisette trusted him and so did Ambrose. The staff of the pleasure house trusted him to keep them in employment and to keep the business solvent. Dammit, even Philip and his mother knew he’d do that! He raised his head and stared out into the dimly lit stairwell. Then why did Elizabeth’s words still hurt?

E
lizabeth didn’t see Christian at all the next morning, and she was profoundly grateful. She spent the time working on the second floor with Marie-Claude and consulting Ambrose about the schedule for the room of desires, which, as word spread, had started to fill up. But even all that activity didn’t stop her from thinking. What exactly did Christian want from her? Her total submission, or was it something more complex?

She wasn’t sure if he knew himself. She sensed at some level that he simply disliked meeting someone who was as good at hiding emotions as he was. She represented a challenge. But what did she really know about him? He was at odds with his parents but was obviously much beloved by the staff of the pleasure house. He seemed to be loyal to those he loved and would never understand why she had decided to risk everything she loved and leave France.

In truth, she no longer understood her reasons for leaving anymore either. It was humiliating to discover that blind panic had reduced her to acting like an imbecile. She should have stayed and fought for what she wanted.

“Elizabeth?”

She looked up and found Paul in front of her and held out her hand. “Oh, good, I was wondering where you were.”

He kissed her fingers with easy familiarity. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available last night. I had to make a call on my cousin. It was her birthday and I was shamed into staying for dinner and then accompanying her to a ball.”

“Shamed?”

“That’s hardly fair of me, is it?” He winced. “Lucky does not deserve that. She is a good friend of mine. The shame was all mine for having neglected her.”

Elizabeth patted his arm. “I’m sure she had a delightful evening with you by her side.”

He still looked glum. “I believe she did. She was certainly in fine form.” He stuck a finger down the inside of his collar. “But I feel the weight of familial expectation tightening every time I see her.”

Elizabeth linked her arm through his and drew him down the main staircase toward the private part of the house. “Your family wishes you to marry her?”

“I believe they do. Through some bizarre and remote family connections, I’m the closest male heir to her father’s title. My own parents died when I was a child, and Lucky’s family brought me up. I’ve always called her parents
uncle
and
aunt
.”

“And now they wish to make the connection more permanent.” Elizabeth glanced up at Paul’s unsmiling face. “Do they know that you ... ?”

“I’m fairly sure they’ve heard the rumors. I presume they are choosing to ignore them and are hoping for the best.”

He held the door open for Elizabeth and she thanked him. “And what about Lucky? Does she know?”

“I doubt it. She’s only one and twenty and very sheltered.” He sighed. “It’s so damn difficult. She truly is a very sweet girl and she deserves better.”

“Better than you?” Elizabeth picked up her black bonnet and pelisse and turned back to Paul, who had remained by the door. “I hardly think that.”

Paul bowed. “Kind words, but in this case I have to disagree with you. I’d make her a terrible husband and you know it.” He gestured at her coat. “May I help you put that on? I believe it is quite windy.”

She allowed him to assist her and to change the subject to something more practical. Unlike Christian, she knew when to stop probing and prying.

Twenty minutes later, they were back on Fleet Street and she was ascending the steps of the newspaper offices once again. It took another ten minutes for her to be attended to, by which time she had already taken notice of the man sitting in the waiting area. He looked rather pleasant and also slightly familiar. When the clerk went to consult with his superior, she studied the young man surreptitiously through her veil. He looked like a gentleman, but appearances could be deceptive.

The clerk reappeared and led her toward the man who immediately got to his feet.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m RR.”

Elizabeth curtsied. “Sir?”

He looked at the door. “Would you care to walk down to the river with me? We might be more private.”

“No, sir. I’d prefer to stay here where everyone can see us.”

He frowned. “I mean you no harm.” He switched into perfect French. “I’m merely acting as a go-between for your family in France.”

“I have no family in France.”

“That is not what I’ve been told.” He hesitated. “I can understand your reluctance to trust me, ma’am, but how are we to proceed if we cannot even converse?”

Elizabeth stared at him. “I am conversing with you. Tell me what you have to say and then you can leave.”

He studied her for a long moment, and she sought desperately to think of where she had seen him before. Could he be one of the men she’d bedded in France? She didn’t think so and yet there was something so familiar about his face....

“The message is quite simple, ma’am. Your cousin Armand wishes you to return home and take your rightful place at his side.”

Elizabeth shuddered. “Rightful place?”

“That is the message, ma’am. He also says to tell you that no one will mention your precipitous and impetuous flight or condemn you at all.”

“That is very generous of him.”

“He also asked me to give you these as a token of his sincerity.”

The man handed her a heavy leather pouch, and Elizabeth quickly stowed the purse inside the pocket of her pelisse.

“I believe that is the jewelry you own outright from your marriage and inherited from your family.”

“I know what it is. The question is, why is Armand returning the jewelry to me now?” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Have you met my cousin?”

“Indeed I have. His concern for you seems quite genuine.”

“His concern is all for himself and his financial status. You can tell him I do not wish to return.”

The man nodded. “He said you might react with anger. He also said to remind you that he holds the power of life and death over every inhabitant of the château until you return.”

“And you did not think that remark at all threatening?”

“I assumed he meant that he must make decisions if you are not there and that he would prefer you to return and make them with him.”

“And that just confirms my suspicions that you know
nothing
about this situation at all.”

“So your answer is still no?”

Elizabeth drew herself up. “You may tell him I will return on
my
terms, not his, and that he had better be very careful in exercising his
powers
because I will be watching him very carefully indeed.”

“And what exactly are your terms, ma’am?”

“He knows what they are. He knew them before I left. Nothing has changed. He is just being greedy.”

“Surely you would fare better if you went back to France and took him to court there?”

“The court system has not recovered from the war and is in disarray. Do you really think that a man like Armand wouldn’t be able to bribe his way to victory?”

For the first time the man looked thoughtful. “I must agree you have a point. But surely you cannot achieve anything by running away?”

“A strategic retreat is not the same as a rout, sir. Ask the Duke of Wellington.”

He smiled and Elizabeth almost smiled back.

“Point taken, ma’am. I’ll take your message to your cousin.” He hesitated. “Do you have an address where I may contact you more directly if there is a reply?”

“You may contact me through the newspaper office. That seemed to work perfectly well.”

“If that is what you prefer.” He bowed. “I’ll wish you a good day, ma’am.”

Elizabeth inclined her head and waited until he walked out of the office. She found it necessary to sit down and stare aimlessly at the paneled walls for a minute to gather her wits. Familiar and yet not familiar ... The turn of his head, his smile, and his eyes all reminded her of someone. But she also knew she’d never met RR before in person, and she had no idea how connected he was to Armand. He’d seemed far too amiable and amenable to be working for her husband’s dastardly relative.

With a sigh, Elizabeth got to her feet, thanked the clerk, and headed out into the street. Paul had told her to meet him in the courtyard of Somerset House, so she turned the other way and hesitated before she crossed the road. Several large wagons filled with beer barrels were making their way along the street, raising a cloud of dust and dried mud in their wake. For once, Elizabeth was glad of the veil that partially obscured her vision because it kept out the worst of the filth.

She made her way across the street and was just stepping up onto the pavement when someone trod on the back of her boot, making her stumble. As she went down, she fought for balance and found herself pulled into someone’s arms and held tightly.

“Thank you, sir,” she gasped, and then looked up into an all-too-familiar face. “Gaston!” she whispered.

He ripped off her veil and smiled down at her.
“Oui, Madame la Comtesse.”

Elizabeth kicked her husband’s valet hard in the shin, but his grip on her upper arm tightened and he started to drag her in the opposite direction of Somerset House. She continued to resist him, hoping desperately that someone would help her. No one seemed to notice or care that she was being abducted in broad daylight. Gaston drew her into the shadows and slammed her face-first against a brick wall. She cried out as he tried to manhandle her hands behind her back.

“Let her go.”

Even though she couldn’t see him, Elizabeth almost wept as she heard Paul’s calm voice. Gaston cursed and his grip began to loosen. She took full advantage of it, wrenching away from him and digging into her reticule for the knife she had secreted there.

Paul already had a pistol to Gaston’s head. His expression was so lethal that even Elizabeth quailed.

“Do you want me to kill him?” Paul asked, and Gaston began pleading in French.

“No. Send him back to his new master where he belongs,” Elizabeth replied. “He isn’t worth a bullet or the stain on your conscience.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t feel guilty about killing scum like this,” Paul said. “I’ve killed far more honorable men without a thought.”

Gaston started to pray loudly, and Paul gave him a contemptuous push until he fell to his knees and stayed there babbling.

“Shall we go, ma’am? I have a hackney waiting.”

Elizabeth took his remarkably steady hand and walked back with him to Somerset House, where their transportation awaited them. Her face hurt and she had an absurd desire to laugh that she attributed to the shock of her near abduction. Paul continued to hold her hand throughout the journey home, his keen gaze never leaving her face.

He helped her down from the hackney, and they entered the pleasure house through the kitchen door in the basement. Unfortunately, the kitchen was full of people who immediately stopped what they were doing and stared at Elizabeth.

Paul led her to a seat beside the fire and turned to say something to Madame Durand. Elizabeth concentrated on untying the ribbons of her bonnet, unbuttoning her pelisse, and avoiding all the questions raining down on her.

“Here.” She jumped as Paul crouched on the floor in front of her and handed her a large glass of what she took to be brandy. “Drink this.”

She heard Ambrose’s concerned voice, and then Marie-Claude was patting at her face with a wet cloth and murmuring under her breath.

“Everyone get out,” Christian said.

There at last—the voice Elizabeth had been hoping for and dreading at the same time. The chattering stopped and Christian’s familiar face replaced Marie-Claude’s. He gently touched her cheekbone and then swore softly and eloquently in French.

Elizabeth gasped as he leaned forward, swept her into his arms, and headed for the door.

“Paul, come with us, please.”

Paul hastened to pick up her brandy glass and ran ahead of them, opening the doors until they reached her chamber and Christian was able to deposit her on the bed. He gently removed her reticule from her grasp. His hazel eyes were narrowed and full of rage.

“Where are you hurt?”

She tried to sound calm. “My arm is aching where he grabbed me, as is my ankle from when I stumbled. My face you can already see.”

He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms and legs. She winced at least twice when he encountered some newly developing bruise. She would be sore in the morning, and heavens knew what her face would look like. Eventually Christian stepped back and swung around to glare at Paul.

“Why the hell didn’t you take better care of her?”

Elizabeth tried to sit up. “He saved my life. Don’t shout at him!”

The glance Christian threw her was chilling. “Please lie down and don’t interfere, Mrs. Smith.”

BOOK: Simply Carnal

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