Rules for Being a Mistress (44 page)

She withdrew a large black key from between her generous breasts, showed it to him, and then put it back. “I am so relieved,” he said.

“Not that it’s at all necessary,” said Lady Wayborn. “The doctor gave us something to help her sleep.”

“Laudanum, of course,” said Benedict.

Lady Wayborn selected a tall bottle from several on the small table next to her.

“We can’t give her laudanum—she won’t drink it. Fights like a tiger. We use ether. My maid holds her down, and I put it over her nose and mouth with my handkerchief. So easy! Of course, she
is
just a slip of a girl. It doesn’t take much.”

Benedict took the bottle from her ladyship and went over to the window to read the label. “Is that safe, do you think?”

“Dr. Grantham assures us it is very safe and confidential,” said Lady Wayborn.

She squawked in surprise as a sodden handkerchief suddenly covered her nose and mouth. Lady Wayborn was a large woman. She did not slump over immediately, but kicked her legs and struggled. For one awful moment, Benedict feared he had murdered the woman.

Then she began to snore.

Gingerly, he reached between the woman’s breasts and pulled out the key. It was greasy from her ladyship’s body oil.

Benedict couldn’t think of anything more shockingly indecent than that.

He rang the bell. When Willoughby appeared, he said calmly, “Her ladyship has had too much to drink. You had better put her to bed. I can show myself out.”

“Not again,” Willoughby muttered. He went out to fetch the footmen and Lady Wayborn’s maid. Benedict went downstairs and opened the door. Then he closed it again and ran back up the stairs. He made his way to Cosima’s room and unlocked the door.

The room was black as pitch. Benedict dug out his cheroot case and struck a match. Cosima was tied hand and foot to the iron bed. She was unconscious. They had not bothered to undress her completely, but her feet were bare. Her wig was gone.

“Cosima! Cosy! Wake up!”

Her eyes popped open. “Ben,” she croaked.

The match burnt his fingers and he dropped it.

He lit another match and ran to her.

“Never mind about me,” she hissed. “Ben, you must find Allie! Mother is in the hospital, but they won’t tell me where they’re keeping Allie! You—”

He found a candle and lit it. “I have Allie,” he said shortly.

“
You
have Allie?” she repeated. “You have Allie, and I’m not dreaming?”

He kissed her. “You are not dreaming. Now let’s get you out of here.”

He took out his pocket knife and cut her bonds.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so,” she said, but in this she was quite mistaken. Because of the ether, her legs were too weak to hold her. She fell back on the bed like a rag doll.

“Bastards,” he snarled. “I will have to carry you.”

She looked at him sadly. “You can’t do it, Ben. I’ll walk. I’ll manage.”

“Is that so?” he said coldly. He caught her behind the knees as she pulled herself to the edge of the bed, and, in the next minute, she was upside down. Her bottom was on his shoulder and his left arm was like a band of iron around the back of her thighs.

She felt dizzy. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.

“Then be sick,” he snapped, straightening up. With her body bent in half, she was light as a feather. He heard her retch.

“You will never manage all these stairs,” she said presently. “Really, I believe I can walk. Ben, you will fall and hurt yourself. Put me down!”

“It’s so nice,” he said tightly, “to be with a woman who has such confidence in me! I am carrying you down these stairs, madam, and that is my final word.”

He carried her down to the landing. Willoughby looked at them in surprise. Two footmen were carrying Lady Wayborn’s bulk from the drawing-room. They stopped and looked at Lord Oranmore in surprise, too.

Benedict thought quickly.

“The house is on fire,” he said. “Everyone should get out as quickly as possible. Don’t—”

Willoughby shrieked in terror. The footmen dropped Lady Wayborn and ran off in all directions. Lady Wayborn’s maid flew out of her ladyship’s bedroom, screaming.

“—panic.”

Benedict calmly stepped over Lady Wayborn’s inert body.

“What did you do to her, Ben?” Cosima asked curiously.

“Ether,” he answered briefly.

“We can’t leave her, Ben. We can’t let her burn up in a fire.”

“Don’t be silly,” he snapped. “The house isn’t on fire.”

“It isn’t? But you said—”

“I lied, my love. I lied!”

Huffing and puffing, he carried her the rest of the way down. The servants very kindly had left the door open for him. He carried her out to the waiting carriage and put her inside next to her sister. Allegra had never seen her sister without her blonde wig.

“Holy fly! What did they do to you?”

Benedict climbed up into the carriage. Cosima was white-faced, leaning against the side of the vehicle, holding herself very still, struggling not to be sick. She opened her eyes and asked quietly, “Mother?”

He smiled at her. “I’m afraid I have no authority to countermand your uncle’s orders,” he said apologetically, “unless, of course, you marry me.”

A glint appeared in her eyes. “That’s blackmail,” she said weakly.

He smiled at her. “Black is my favorite color,” he reminded her. “Do you think Father Mallone will marry us now, even though you are so drugged you cannot even stand?”

“He will,” she assured him, “when he hears my confession.”

Two months later, Lord Oranmore addressed the House of Lords for the first time. His beautiful young wife was seated in the gallery. “Don’t you see, my lords, if this can happen to Lord Wayborn and Lord Redfylde, it can happen to any of us! Look at them: so bruised and battered, I almost didn’t recognize them!”

Lord Redfylde glared around him. His face had healed, but his ears had been sliced off and were gone forever. Lord Wayborn had a look of shock permanently etched on his face.

“Looking at them, one might almost believe they had been tortured!” Benedict went on. “But, of course, Lord Liverpool assures us that the British government doesn’t torture people, and, naturally, I take the word of a gentleman!”

Lord Liverpool looked decidedly liverish.

“My lords, I
did
warn you that suspending habeas corpus in the British Isles would lead to just such terrifying abuses of power, did I not? I strongly urge you, my lords, to correct Lord Liverpool’s tragic lapse in judgement before some innocent person suffers as Lord Wayborn and Lord Redfylde have been made to suffer.”

As he resumed his seat, Lord Oranmore looked up at his beautiful young wife in the gallery and smiled. Her ladyship was smartly dressed in a costume of ultramarine blue. On her head was a tiny blue hat with an eye veil.

“I am going to destroy that Irish bastard if it’s the last thing I do,” Lord Redfylde snarled.

The Prince Regent beckoned to the Prime Minister. His quizzing glass was glued to his eye as he stared at a vision in bright blue. “Who is that beautiful young woman in the gallery?”

“That is Lady Oranmore, your Highness,” Lord Liverpool replied.

“Yes, but who
is
she?” His Highness said impatiently. “Where did he get her?”

“She is niece to Lord Wayborn,” the Prime Minister replied. “She was going to marry the Marquess of Redfylde, but Lord Oranmore stole her.”

The Prince Regent looked at Lord Oranmore through his quizzing glass.

“Interesting,” he said.

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