Heartless (7 page)

Nicolette was a beautiful woman of low birth and lower morals. She made her living in trade to the wealthy gentlemen of the
ton
. Her trade, of course, being that of a courtesan. She was the current mistress of the Duke of Derringer. He was supposed to be her sole protector.

Too greedy to be satisfied with the generosity of the duke, however, she enjoyed the protection of five different men. The danger of discovery was erotic to her and she reveled in the thought that at any moment, one of her lovers might burst through the door and demand satisfaction from the man in her arms. It was her secret desire to have a duel fought over her honor and she hoped the duke would be one of those gentlemen.

Nicolette would have been shocked to know that the duke knew every one of her lovers; who they were, what they were worth, where they lived, and any number of other things that a normal man would not have found the least bit useful to know and not even interesting to learn. The duke, however, owed his life several times over to knowing many little facts that one would have thought completely useless. Derringer rarely missed things.

After dropping the notice at the newspaper office and enduring the stares of shock and amazement, Derringer entered the outskirts of London and headed for the his house in Kensington. It was a charming little domicile of red brick with trellises that were covered with morning glories and roses in the warmer months. He pulled to a stop before the door and handed the reins to a footman who had come running from the house.

Derringer climbed down and stared at the painfully nervous footman. He almost smiled. “How is your mistress, Jem?” he asked casually, removing his black driving gloves one finger at a time.

The footman stuttered and stammered and the duke could tell he wished to be anywhere but where he was. “Never mind,” the duke replied. “Wait here for my return. I won’t be long.” He moved toward the house. “Your position is safe,” he called over his shoulder. He heard the young man sigh in relief and smiled to himself at Jem’s transparency.

Sheffield, the butler, was almost as transparent. He took the duke’s gloves and coat and informed his grace that Miss Nicolette was busy at the moment and would his grace care to wait in the morning room?

“No, Sheffield, his grace would not,” Derringer retorted. The butler bowed and waited for Derringer’s further instructions. He knew they were coming. “Bar all the doors, Sheffield. Lock the windows and set armed footmen outside the balcony of Nicki’s chamber. Tell them to stop anyone attempting to leave in any way necessary. But be sure they know not to kill anyone. I have not the inclination to save anyone from a hanging today.”

“Very good, your grace.” Sheffield deposited the duke’s things on a chair in the hall and departed to do the tall lord’s will.

Derringer glanced toward the stairs. He would give Sheffield a few minutes to get his instructions well underway before he went up to catch her. He was finally going to catch her. The thought gave him a thrill that threatened to have him running up the stairs and in his haste giving his unknown nemesis a chance to escape out her window.

The duke heard the unmistakable murmurings of men surrounding the house. He could hear the little maids running through the rooms, locking the windows and securing the back door. He smiled grimly.

Determining enough time had indeed passed, Derringer mounted the stairs. He moved silently like a wraith and listened for any strange sounds. He heard some as soon as he stood outside his mistress’s bedchamber. A door shut. The armoire, unless he missed his guess.

He turned the handle and walked in. “Good afternoon, Nicki,” he greeted softly, seductively.

He had trouble keeping the smile from his face. The blond-haired, blue-eyed goddess had the look of a woman just tumbled. She held the bedsheets against her chest in a semblance of modesty, false modesty, as he knew all too well.

Derringer approached the bed and stood staring down at the beauty. She smiled up at him and darted one nervous look in the direction of the armoire.

Deciding her lover was safe, Nicolette smiled, revealing startlingly even white teeth, and held out her hand. “Darling, I have been waiting for you,” she said in a husky whisper. She allowed the sheet to slip, revealing the rosy peaks of two very excellent breasts.

Derringer did smile then. Leave it to a whore to try to use her body to cajole her way out of a deserved punishment. “Have you indeed?” he murmured, not completely unaffected by her little ploy. He was only a man, after all. He nodded, reaching up to undo his neckcloth. “I see you are exactly how I like you, love. Naked.”  His reply came out with just the right amount of sensual promise, his actions fanning the flames he hoped to ignite.

“Hart, darling, join me,” she implored with a tiny moan, apparently forgetting her guest in the armoire.

The duke sat down on the bed and reached out to touch her breast. She arched into his hand and he wondered if she realized that despite any sexual attraction he might feel for her, even now, he could wring her neck without the least compunction.

Derringer leaned closer, gliding his fingers up and over her shoulder, pretending a fascination with her silken skin that he did not feel. He leaned in until his lips almost touched hers, murmuring softly, “You have been very, very naughty, my pretty little whore.”

The words did not penetrate the sensual fog in Nicolette’s brain. Taking advantage, as was his wont, he placed one hand behind her head and held her immobile, his fingers gently caressing the nape of her neck.

“Where is he?” he asked just to give her a chance to tell him the truth; never let it be said he wasn’t a fair man.

Derringer’s voice was low, seductive…and very dangerous.

“Who?” Nicolette asked, a tiny thread of confusion coloring her tone. Her eyes flew open as the words and their implication sunk in.

“The man who was in this room, enjoying your favors, just before I entered,” he reminded her in that same low tone. He shook her gently.

She swallowed hard. “There was no man, Hart,” she assured him, the slight quiver in her voice giving the lie to her words. “There has only been you.”

His hand tightened painfully on her neck. “One more chance, Nicki,” he said with deadly quiet. “You know how I feel about lies.”

She gasped at the pain that shot into her head. She had thought it would be titillating to have the duke discover one of her other lovers and challenge the man to meet him at dawn. She realized her mistake now. If he didn’t know that Gerald was still here, she might be able to save both their lives.

“He left, Hart, I swear,” she said desperately.

His grip tightened some more and she grasped his arm in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that was threatening to send her into unconsciousness.

“Wrong answer,” the duke whispered savagely. He threw her from him, sending her reeling into the pillows behind her. She rubbed at the back of her neck to ease the ache and pulled the sheet back over herself.

Derringer sat back and stared at her through half lowered lids. “Who is he, I wonder,” he murmured almost to himself. He watched her. He wanted to know which man he was dealing with before he murdered him.

Derringer did not tolerate unfaithfulness in his mistress. He’d never been married before now but he was sure he wouldn’t tolerate it in his wife either. He saw red at the mere thought of Leandra taking a lover. Rather than wonder at the whys of such a feeling, he ignored it.

“Perhaps it is Lord Sotherby.” Her expression didn’t change. She was controlling her reaction, he thought with some amusement. Very well.

“Maybe Viscount Meiers,” he suggested calmly. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to study her lovely face. “Archie Haverford?” Still no reaction. That was three. The last he knew she had only four other lovers beside himself.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “That only leaves Gerald Greaves, the young Earl of Cheshire.” Ah-ha, he thought in satisfaction. Her hand clutched the sheet tighter and she held her breath. Cheshire it is.

Derringer stood and took a turn about the room. “So, young Cheshire is in this room somewhere. I wonder where. He couldn’t be such a coward as to hide from a thrashing he deserves, would he?” He again faced the woman on the bed, assuming an inquiring expression as if he might actually care about her opinion.

Nicolette remained silent. She knew that if she said anything he might actually kill her along with Gerald. Lord Derringer was a monster. He was... heartless.

Derringer grew tired of the game. He crossed the room in three long strides and threw open the door of the armoire. Huddled inside was the very young Earl of Cheshire. How the lad had managed to catch Nicolette’s eye was a mystery to Derringer. The boy was under twenty with dull sandy hair and a skinny body. He stood taller than Derringer, though, which was unusual.

“Get out,” the duke commanded harshly.

The boy swiftly complied with Derringer’s orders. He stood before him in nothing but his pantaloons and an expression of terror on his long face.

“I must have been misinformed. How much are you worth?” Derringer asked more out of curiosity than any real reason to have that particular piece of information.

Cheshire’s eyes widened at the question. He opened his mouth and stuttered something but Derringer waved him to silence. “Never mind,” he said. “You do realize I have to hit you now? My reputation and all that rot?”

The earl closed his eyes briefly then opened them again and nodded. Nicolette got up from the bed with the sheet wrapped around her naked body. “Hart, he didn’t know I was with you,” she tried to explain.

“I did,” the young man answered. “I knew about the others, too.” He seemed quite calm now, Derringer mused.

“You all knew?” the woman demanded in outrage.

Derringer laughed. “You are a terrible liar, my dear.”

A second later, the earl lay on the floor with blood pouring from his nose and mouth and the duke was on his way out the door. He paused next to Sheffield where he waited like a statue in the foyer and told him to call off the guard.

“Have Nicki’s maid pack all her belongings. I want her out of this house by tomorrow morning.”

The butler bowed. “Very good, your grace.”

5

Golden sunlight poured through the east facing windows, streaming over the thick Aubusson carpet and Leandra’s still fingers. She sat in a little used morning room, situated on the castle’s east side to allow the most from the early morning sun. Staring out into the bare gardens, her eyes focused on nothing, her fingers not nimble enough to embroider without looking.

This room was Leandra’s haven, her sanctuary. She’d instructed the new indoor servants to remove the heavy, dark furnishings and replace them with light and airy Hepplewhite. With Stark’s help, she’d replaced the barbaric hunt scenes with bright tapestries of nymphs and sprites. The room that was once dark with red and brown was now bright with blue and gold, earthy browns and greens, with warm golden threads woven into the tapestries and the carpet.