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Authors: Kate Pearce

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BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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She smoothed her hands over the planes of his chest, making his nipples harden under her palms and his cock jerk against her belly. She leaned over him, allowing her breasts to drift over his mouth, and let him suckle her hard as she rocked against him.
“Ah, God,” he murmured. “I needed you. I couldn't stay away any longer.”
She knelt up and grasped his shaft at the base, drawing it away from his flat stomach, and brushed the wet crown against her clit until they were both groaning. Shifting her stance, she started to lower herself down over him, taking him in inch by inch, watching him watch himself being engulfed.
When he was fully inside her, she rose and fell over him again and again until she was gasping his name. His hand slid from her hip to her sex and he played with her clit, bringing her to a peak of pleasure that tightened her internal muscles until she could feel every thick inch of his throbbing cock.
“I love you, Violet.
Je t'aime
.”
She closed her eyes against the pleasure and felt him groan and start to come, the heat of his seed pulsing deep inside her. With a soft sound, she collapsed over him and he held her steady, his arms wrapped around her.
“Violet, please listen to me. I know you don't want Mr. Brown to kill me, but you must let me help you destroy him. If he kills you, what point is there to my existence?” He kissed the top of her head. “I need you. I've been unhappy without you—unhappy for years. Once this is over, we can get married.”
She opened her eyes. “You want to marry me?”
“I've had enough of this aimless existence. I want to settle down and be very boring for the rest of my life. Could you stand that?”
She buried her face in his chest to hide both her smile and the sudden onset of tears. “Yes, I believe I could.”
“Then it is quite simple. We'll defeat Mr. Brown and live happily ever after.”
Violet realized she had nothing to add to that but a fervent prayer that her lover would be proved right.
 
Ambrose waited for Lord Knowles's nod before he used his old skills to unlock the door to Mr. Smith's rooms. They'd used a series of bribes to placate the landlord of the small tavern and his staff to encourage them to turn a blind eye to any goings-on. A loud snoring sound came from within the bedroom, indicating that their prey was not only present, but sleeping without a thought of being interrupted.
While Lord Knowles and Seamus went into the bedroom, Ambrose paused to light a candle from the embers of the fire in the grate. The sound of cursing quickly muffled brought a savage smile to Ambrose's face as he took the sparse light through to Mr. Smith's bedroom.
Seamus had already gotten the older man in a headlock and was busy tying him to his bed while Philip held a dagger to Smith's throat. Ambrose put the candle down on the bedside table and helped Seamus move Smith into an upright position and bind him tightly.
Philip waited until Smith stopped trying to fight his bonds, and then stepped back into the light.
“Do you remember me, Mr. Smith?”
“I always remember men I've buggered, especially the ones I left bloodied and beaten.” Smith spat in Lord Knowles's direction. “How are you, Mr. Ross, your lordship, as you are now?”
“I'd be better if you hadn't tried to extort money from my children.”
“I promised your wife I'd get you back for all those years of misery you put her through.”
“She chose to marry me, Smith.”
“You know she had no bloody choice!”
“I offered her one. It's hardly my fault that she didn't take me up on it.”
“She was a child!”
“We were both children.” Lord Knowles leaned forward. “And now you seek to make another generation pay for our sins.”
“And why not? You and your children have everything and I have nothing.”
Lord Knowles nodded to Ambrose. “Search the place for that journal and anything else you can find.”
Still keeping an eye on the enraged figure on the bed, Ambrose started to search for the journal.
“You seem to forget that I've already paid you off once before, Mr. Smith.”
“Oh, that.” Smith scoffed. “That wasn't enough.”
“Obviously. And therein lies my problem. What
will
be enough? How do I know that you won't be back in another few years to blackmail my family again?”
“You can afford it.”
Lord Knowles sat down at the end of the bed and studied his captive. “I can certainly afford to pay you off once more, but it would be far cheaper to simply dispose of you once and for all.” He glanced up at Seamus. “I'm sure you could arrange that for me, Mr. Kelly, couldn't you?”
“Aye, my lord. All we'd have to do would be to knock him out and leave him down by the docks. The whores and thieves would soon pick him clean and dump his body in the drink.”
“Sounds like justice to me, Mr. Kelly. What do you think, Smith?”
“You'd never know if I had died, though, would you?”
“True, but there is another way.” Lord Knowles drew a folded document out from inside his coat. “If you agree to my terms, you could find yourself leaving for Australia tomorrow morning at high tide with a goodly sum of money.”
Smith's eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“Five thousand guineas if you return the journal and anything else my wife gave you to use against me.” Lord Knowles unfolded the papers. “When you reach Australia, the captain of your ship will give you a letter to my man of business there to acquire your money.”
“But what if I miss England and want to return?”
“That, Smith, is not my concern. If you come back here, I
will
kill you, as will my heir and my daughter's husband. There will be no more chances for you.”
Ambrose had no luck finding the journal and turned to tell Lord Knowles so. Smith was still staring at them as if he couldn't decide what to do. Ambrose found himself hoping the man would refuse the deal. He would gain a certain satisfaction at seeing the man who had made Emily cry die a painful death.
“What guarantee do I have that you will give me the money?” Smith asked.
“When you go onboard the ship, the captain will show you the chest full of coins he carries in my name. You can personally escort the chest to my overseer and make sure the money is paid directly to you.” Lord Knowles held out the sheaf of documents. “All the arrangements are written down here. Perhaps you would care to look them over.”
Smith nodded, and Lord Knowles brought the documents closer to him and angled the candle so that he could see them more clearly. Seamus returned from his search equally empty-handed, and Ambrose stood back and considered where else they might search the cramped rooms.
“All right, I'll do it.” Smith's voice sounded loud in the silence.
“Then hand over the journal and anything else my wife gave you.”
Smith jerked his head toward the fireplace. “There's a box up the chimney, about an arm's length at the back on a ledge.”
Seamus wrapped his arm in a blanket, knelt in front of the still-warm fire, and carefully felt around. “It's here, my lord.”
He brought the box over to the bed and Philip opened it. There were two journals, not one, and a piece of jewelry. Lord Knowles took the books and picked up the gold locket. When he snapped open the catch, Ambrose saw a portrait of a dark-haired woman who reminded him of Emily. Lord Knowles shut the locket and tossed it toward Smith.
“You may keep this if you wish.”
Smith stared at Lord Knowles and Ambrose held his breath. “You want to kill me, so why not just do it? No one would know or care what happened to a nonentity like me.”
Lord Knowles gestured at the locket. “Because of her. Because you truly loved Anne, and it's the last thing I can ever do for her.” He abruptly stood up. “Seamus will stay with you until the rest of my men arrive and escort you to the ship. It leaves at high tide on the morrow.”
He nodded at Ambrose, who picked up the journals.
“Good bye, Mr. Smith. I hope I never have to clap eyes on you again in this life.”
Ambrose followed Lord Knowles out to the carriage and waited until Lord Knowles gave the coachmen his orders.
“Do you want to take the journals, my lord?”
“I suppose I should read them to make sure that if Smith does come back, I am prepared.” He sighed. “The thought doesn't appeal to me.”
“But better to know than not, sir, surely.”
“That's true.” There was a long pause while Lord Knowles looked out of the window. “Do you think I did the right thing?”
“By letting him go?”
“Yes.”
Ambrose reflected on that last conversation and all that had gone before it, decades of unhappiness, of thwarted love, and sexual indiscretion. It reminded him of his own recent conversation with Lady Kendrick and his decision to let the past go.
“I think you did the best thing for your conscience, my lord, and that is what is important.”
“Thank you.” Lord Knowles sat back with a sigh. “Now all we have to do is survive Jack Lennox's funeral tomorrow, capture this spymaster, and all will be well in our world—or, at least, I hope it will.”
Ambrose could only silently agree.
25
R
ichard wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad sign that the church service for Jack Lennox was so well attended. They hadn't advertised it, but the small chapel was quite full. Mrs. Lennox looked suitably pale and had to be supported up the aisle to her seat by Philip. Richard performed a similar service for Emily, who had draped herself in long, flowing veils and sobbed constantly into her handkerchief.
As he tenderly assisted her into the front pew, he bent to whisper in her ear. “You missed your true calling, Em. You should have gone on the stage.”
Her muffled chuckle was for his ears only. “I must admit I am quite enjoying myself. I almost wish I could fling myself into the grave, but ladies aren't supposed to attend the actual burial service, are they?”
Richard wished he could enjoy the occasion more, but he was too busy scanning the congregation for signs of either Violet or the ubiquitous Mr. Brown. In truth, if Mr. Brown were here, it would be easier to spot him once the mainly female attendees went back to Knowles House for the funeral breakfast. He sat through the service, allowing Emily to clutch at his sleeve and shudder with sobs.
When it drew to a close, he tenderly handed Emily into a waiting carriage and went to find Philip. The chapel graveyard was almost full, but his father had used his influence to obtain a secluded spot for Jack up against the far wall under a row of weeping willows. Richard shivered as he picked his way through the uneven lines of gravestones, some of them already blackened with decay, the engraved names barely visible.
Standing by an open grave did make a man reflect on his own mortality. What if Jack had really died? He was younger than Richard. What if it had been Violet? Richard found himself crossing himself like a papist at that horrific thought. In truth, it could still be Violet if they didn't manage to apprehend Mr. Brown as quickly as possible. And he wanted her to be his wife, desired that more than anything he had ever wanted in his life before.
A slight movement in the frigid air to his right drew his attention to a slender, black-coated figure. He half-turned to see Violet approaching the funeral party, her face pale, her eyes downcast beneath the brim of her hat. She remained at the back of the crowd. He wasn't even sure if anyone else had seen her. He also noticed Patrick Kelly a discreet step behind her. He prayed it would be enough to keep her safe as Jack's coffin was lowered into the ground and the vicar spoke his final words over the grave.
As the last shovel of earth covered the new mound, Richard let out his breath, which immediately condensed in the coldness of the air. Most of the mourners began to move toward the assembled carriages, their pace quickening, anxious to get out of the cold and away from such morbid surroundings.
Philip went, too, glancing back at Richard with a slight nod as he shepherded the vicar along with him. The wind blew through the dark-set trees as a lone figure finally approached the grave. Richard withdrew back into the shelter of a large mausoleum and watched Violet fall to her knees in front of the mound and bow her head as if in prayer.
He located his pistol and drew it out of his pocket, checked that it was loaded and that the powder wasn't damp. How much time would Mr. Brown give Violet? During their planning, that had been the question that had troubled them most. Mr. Brown had acted so swiftly to capture Violet last time that the consensus was that he would do the same again. Richard forced himself to lean back against the cold stone and wait.
 
While she knelt on the unforgiving ground, Violet mourned all of those who had died because of Mr. Brown's greed. She had no idea how long she grieved, all she knew was that her body was shaking from the cold and that her knees ached. Mr. Brown had decimated her family, her mother, her father. . . . She tensed as the scent of bergamot and lemon curled around her, but she didn't move. She had yet to pray for God's forgiveness when she deliberately took a man's life.
“Miss Lennox.”
She slowly made the sign of the cross and then stood up, turning slowly to face the man behind her. To her surprise, his face was quite unremarkable, almost nondescript, but then that was probably an advantage in his chosen profession. He would blend in anywhere. She judged him to be about twenty years her senior, his hair graying at the temples, and traced faint lines around his eyes and mouth.
Who was it that said the eyes were a window to a person's soul? She couldn't remember, but looking into his pale, dead gaze was like staring into an abyss. She suddenly shivered and he smiled.
“I knew you'd come.”
She could only nod her head.
He held out his hand. “It's time for you to complete your part of the bargain and come away with me.”
She placed her hand in his and gasped as the barrel of a pistol prodded her ribs. Although she knew that Patrick Kelly and Richard were watching her, she also knew they would be unable to reach her before her captor pulled the trigger. Her brain seemed to come out of its trance, but her feet kept walking.
“Don't think about fighting me, Miss Lennox. I have men stationed all around the perimeter of the graveyard. We'll find a quiet spot by the chapel wall where you will be quite overcome with guilt for murdering your brother and blow your own brains out. I've even written you a suicide note.”
“How kind of you. I thought we were going to be together for the rest of our lives.”
“I did consider it, my dear, but it seems that in the end you are just too sentimental for your own good. You fell in love, and that is the ultimate weakness.”
They were close to the high exterior wall that bordered the rear of the chapel and the shadows were lengthening. A flicker of motion warned Violet that Richard and Patrick were attempting to reach her, but there wasn't enough time. Well, if Mr. Brown insisted she was going to die, the least she could do was make it look like a suicide pact.
She pretended to stumble, and as he recoiled, she was able to release her primed pistol from her pocket and shove it under his chin.
“I hope you wrote a note to cover your own death, Mr. Brown.”
He went still and brought his pistol up to her head. Behind him, Richard shouted her name. Mr. Brown turned them both slowly toward him.
The grim determination on Richard's face turned to shock and he lowered his pistol.
“Lord
Denley?
”
“I'm sorry it has to be like this, Richard. After I told you that Violet was a traitor, I was hoping you'd kill her for me. Unfortunately, you decided to forgive her.”
“But you're a
cripple!
”
“Obviously not.” Lord Denley tightened his grip on Violet's arm. “Now, do put away your gun, dear boy, and accept that Violet wants to come away with me.”
Violet stared straight at Richard. “Don't believe him. He intends to kill me.”
Richard held her gaze and raised his pistol again, the agony of betrayal ripe on his face. “I trusted you, Denley. I thought of you as a
father
.”
“Which is why I am offering you the chance to walk away.”
Richard shook his head. “I can't do that.”
Lord Denley laughed. “I'll kill her before you can kill me.”
The barrel of Richard's pistol wavered. Behind him, a dark shape materialized on top of the high cemetery wall, making Violet blink.
“Leave me, Richard,” she whispered. “Save yourself.” She pushed her own pistol against Lord Denley's throat.
“No, I can't let you do that!” Richard protested.
“Are you absolutely sure that you have the right Lennox twin, Mr. Brown?”
Lord Denley's head jerked upward toward the wall. “
What
?”
The instant she heard Jack's voice, Violet relaxed her knees and rolled as far away from Lord Denley as she could. The deafening roar of two pistols firing at close range made her ears ring. The smell of gunpowder mingled with something more visceral made her feel sick. With a shaking hand, she disarmed her own pistol and crawled over to the wall, putting her back to it. Richard was running toward her, followed by Patrick Kelly, and both of them were shouting. She wrapped her arms around her raised knees and stared at Lord Denley's beautifully polished boots. His arms were flung out, his pistol still smoking, and his face . . . She swallowed hard. She couldn't look at the bloodied remains of his head. Jack had always been a damned fine shot.
“Violet, Violet!” Richard was holding her by the shoulders and shaking her now. “Are you injured? Did he hurt you?”
She could only stare at him and shiver like a newborn foal. Jack crouched down next to her and briefly touched her face. She could only thank God that neither of them had been wounded.
“You didn't have to do that for me,” she whispered. “I was quite willing to kill him myself.”
“And be killed?” Jack glanced at Richard, who stood up and began shouting for someone to help remove Lord Denley's body. “I didn't want you to have that stain on your soul.”
“I've killed before.”
“I know, but that is all finished with now.” He took her hand, his gaze intense. “You wanted a new beginning, and now you have the chance to have it with Richard at your side.”
She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Thank you, my twin. I only wish you didn't have this on your conscience either.”
He shrugged. “I'm a dead man. I have no conscience.” He looked up as Richard came back toward them and rose to his feet. “Take care of her, Mr. Ross. I'll go and tell Lord Knowles the good news.”
She nodded and managed a shaky smile for Richard, who took up Jack's vacated position at her side.
“Do you think you can walk, or shall I carry you?”
Before she could reply, he scooped her up in his arms and was striding toward the nearest carriage. He dumped her on the seat and climbed in after her. The carriage moved off, and he came down on his knees and buried his face in her lap. She stroked his hair and realized he was shaking as much as she was.
“I can't believe Lord Denley was Mr. Brown all along. I'm such a bloody fool. By going to him, I almost sealed your death warrant.”
“No, you didn't. You forced him to have to plan to kill all of us and do it quickly. You made him reveal himself to us.” She patted his shoulder. “It is all over now.”
“When Jack appeared on that wall, I thought . . .”
“I know.”
He raised his head to look at her. “Let's get married and live a very safe and unexceptional life in the countryside with our many well-behaved children.”
She smiled tremulously at him. “You'll get bored.”
“I won't, I swear it.” He hoisted himself up to sit beside her. “As long as you are there to keep me happy.”
“And we can escape to the pleasure house every once in a while.”
He kissed her very gently on the mouth. “Whatever it takes to keep you from losing interest in me, my love.”
She cupped his chin. “I'll never do that.” She shivered. “I can't believe ‘Mr. Brown' is really dead.”
“You'll believe it when Jack is raised from the dead and takes control of his inheritance, making all charges against you meaningless.” He put his arm around her. “It will probably take some time. I'll suggest to Philip that I take you away to the Continent for a prolonged wedding trip. By the time we return, everyone will have forgotten about poor Vincent Lennox and see only the Honorable Mrs. Richard Ross, my new wife and the love of my life.”
“Oh, Richard, you make it sound so easy.”
“It is.” He smiled at her. “Christian told me that when it came down to it, nothing should be allowed to get in the way of my love for you. And when I thought I had lost you—” He swallowed hard. “I promised myself that if you survived, I would never make that mistake again. That I would take you, and love you, and never ever let you go.”
She simply stared at him until he drew her back into his arms and kissed her. “Perhaps you should listen to Christian more often.”
He drew back with a mock frown. “One piece of good advice does not make up for everything else he has subjected me to over the years.” His smile grew tender. “But I might even thank him for this.”
She kissed him again and finally managed to stop shaking.
BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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