Simply Voracious (33 page)

Lucky put down her book and stared at the empty chair opposite her. Paul had attempted to keep her company until she’d acted like such a shrew that even his good humor had evaporated and he’d stomped off to his study.

Of course he’d sat down with an ulterior motive. He wanted to know what ailed her, and what she had meant by running away from him and Con in the middle of their night of passion. Lucky got out her handkerchief and loudly blew her nose. She still had no idea how to explain how she’d felt or how she wanted Paul to react. And that was the most frightening thing of all.

Her gaze shifted to the window and the flurries of snow that brushed against the glass. Jeremy still hadn’t replied to her letters. If she did carry his child, should he be told? Or what if he was already dead, and Paul had murdered the father of his wife’s child? She shuddered. Her life was beginning to resemble one of those horrible Greek tragedies her father liked to read.

She assumed that Paul wouldn’t want her to go anywhere near Jeremy. But it was also highly likely Paul had warned Jeremy away from her. Lucky had no doubt that Paul could kill a man if necessary. He’d fought in a long, bloody war, and it had changed and hardened him in ways even Lucky didn’t care to investigate.

If Jeremy was indeed alive, what if he later found out that Lucky had given birth to his child? Knowing his nature, he’d probably try to blackmail her again, and then Paul would call him out, and everything she’d tried to avoid would come to pass anyway. She blew her nose again and fought the urge to cry.

She found herself standing up. She refused to allow her dread of a scandal to rule her. Her father always said that facing one’s fears was far better than trying to outrun them. He’d hate to see her skulking in her bedchamber like a coward.

She rang the bell for Milly and put on her stoutest pair of boots. Her gaze fell on her writing desk, and she crossed the room to sit down and find a clean sheet of paper. She wasn’t quite stupid enough to leave the house without telling her husband where she was going. The trick would be in when he received the information, and how late. If all went according to plan, she would be on her way back to Haymore House before he even realized she was gone.

Milly came in, and Lucky looked up from penning her note. “Milly, I need my warmest coat and hat.”

“Are you going out in this weather? I thought you’d decided to stay put,” Milly asked.

“I just need to set my mind to rest about something,” Lucky said reassuringly, but Milly didn’t look convinced. “I should be back within the hour. You won’t even miss me.”

She finished writing her note to Paul, and Milly helped her into her fur-lined coat and matching hat. When Milly finished fussing over her, and issuing dire warnings as to the likelihood of Lucky catching a chill, Lucky held out the note.

“If the weather worsens, and I do not return within half an hour, will you give this to my husband? It contains the address I am going to, so that he can come and collect me in the carriage.”

“You are walking, my lady?” Milly squawked.

“I’m not going far. It seems pointless to use the carriage unless I have to.” Lucky patted Milly’s shoulder. “Just do as I ask you, and all will be well.”

Milly shrugged and took the note. “I’ll be watching that clock like a hawk, my lady, so you’d better be quick or I’ll send his lordship after you.”

Lucky gave her suspicious maid one more airy smile and headed for the door. “Thank you, Milly.” She escaped through the door and made her way down the back stairs to the kitchens. The front doorbell jangled and made her jump, but at least it drew the butler into the hall and away from her. At this point, she had no desire to bump into either her husband or her parents. Once she’d established whether Jeremy was dead or alive she would at least know how to proceed.

Paul drank another glass of brandy and pushed the accounting books away from him. He’d had no idea that the Duke of Ashmolton owned so many properties or so much land. The thought of being the one in charge of administrating it all one day made him break out in a cold sweat. Despite his expectations, he’d chosen not to interest himself in the running of the Ashmolton estates, and now he was regretting it deeply.

He shoved his hand into his hair and groaned. What if he ruined everything like that idiot Tilney-Long and left his family destitute? Lucky would never forgive him.

And thinking of Lucky, he was still no nearer to understanding why she had run out on him and Con. He’d tried to get to the bottom of it, but she had been remarkably evasive. So evasive, in fact, that they’d ended up snapping at each other like an old married couple and achieved nothing.

In his soul he was certain that she’d enjoyed every minute of their dual sexual attention. But something had upset her, and he didn’t like his Lucky to be upset. He thought of her sitting alone in her bedchamber and immediately felt guilty. He was older and more experienced than she in all ways, and yet he’d been the one to storm off in a huff. He stacked the books neatly on the desk and finished his brandy. She deserved better from him. He’d go back up there and try again.

When he entered Lucky’s room there was no sign of her, and he glanced over at the bed. Had she retired in a sulk? That wouldn’t be like her. When she was worried about something, she was rather like a dog with a meaty bone who wanted to extract every tiny scrap and morsel of flesh before letting it go.

Milly came out of the servants’ door, squeaked, and clutched her hands to her bosom. “My lord, you scared me!”

“Where is Lady Lucinda?”

Milly’s gaze flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’m not sure, sir.”

“Well, she isn’t here. So where is she?” Paul demanded.

Milly cast another agonized glance at the clock. “Can I answer you later? I promised my lady . . .”

Paul walked up to her and glared down into her stricken eyes. “Tell me now, or you will no longer work for this family.”

Milly’s mouth fell open. “How can you say that, sir? You wouldn’t . . .”

“I damn well would, if you don’t tell me where your mistress has gone.”

Milly sighed and held up a folded piece of paper. “She told me to give you this if she hadn’t returned in half an hour, but she’s barely been gone ten minutes.”

Paul opened the note and felt as if his blood had frozen. He took a deep breath and looked at Milly. “She didn’t take the carriage?”

“No, sir, she said it was only a few minutes to walk, and that you would fetch her in the carriage if the weather worsened.”

Paul tucked the letter into his pocket. “If she returns, tell her that I have gone in search of her. Ask her to meet me in the library at her earliest convenience.”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Milly.

Paul turned to the door. “And Milly? Thank you. If Lady Lucinda is angry with you, you may tell her I threatened you with dismissal. She will be so annoyed at me for saying that, she’ll forget your transgression.”

“Thank you, sir.” Milly’s face crumpled with relief. “Thank you.”

Paul almost ran down the stairs, his mind working on several issues at once. He didn’t even want to think about what he was going to say to Lucky when he found her. First, he needed to arm himself, and then decide whether it would be better to take a carriage or call a hackney cab.

“Paul? What’s wrong?”

He’d almost run into the tall frame of Constantine Delinsky, who was just taking off his heavy winter coat and handing it to the butler. Paul spared him a quick glance before hurrying past him to his study.

“Put your coat back on, Con. I need you.”

He opened the door to his study and found his army pistol and sword, which he always kept in excellent condition. Con appeared at the doorway, his expression mystified but alert. Paul unlocked his store box, took out the bag of gold coins, and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Do you have your pistol, Con?”

“No, I don’t, only my sword stick. I was at a dinner party. Paul, what’s going on? You look as if you are about to flee to the continent.”

Paul checked his pistol and buckled on his sword. “Not quite yet. We’ll see how things go. Did you drive yourself here?”

“No, I walked.”

Paul grimaced. “I wish I was involved with less hardy spirits. I can’t decide whether it will be quicker to walk or to drive.”

“It’s cold out there, but not unbearably so,” Con said. “It depends where we are going.”

“Pulsom Street.”

“That’s not far at all.”

Paul nodded and headed back out into the hall where the butler was already awaiting him with his coat and hat.

“Thank you, Parsons.”

He stepped out into the wintry night, Con behind him, and set off at a brisk pace across the square.

“Can you tell me exactly whom we are visiting on Pulsom Street?” Con asked.

“Mr. Jeremy Roland.”

“I’m not sure if I am acquainted with him.”

“He’s the bastard who raped Lucinda.”

“I thought you had already dealt with him.”

Paul actually found himself grinding his teeth. “Apparently not well enough, as my wife left me a note informing me that she’d gone to visit him.”

“I wonder why she did that?”

Paul stopped walking and turned to face Con. “Because she is a fool?”

“She is hardly that. There must be a reason.”

Con’s levelheadedness only served to ignite Paul’s temper. “Maybe after her experience with us, she realized she wants him back, or this is one of her ridiculous schemes to sacrifice herself for my bloody benefit.”

Con put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “I understand that you are upset, my friend, but I’m still convinced Lady Lucinda must have gone there for another reason. Perhaps he is blackmailing her.”

“Stop being so damned
reasonable,
Con. At the moment all I want to do is get my hands on her, put her over my knee, and spank her until she cries and begs me to stop.”

“And I’m sure you will be able to do that very shortly. What number are we looking for?”

“Thirty-two.” Paul scanned the front doors as they walked past. “Here it is.”

Lucky knocked on the plain, brown-painted door and waited anxiously for someone to answer. No one came, and she knocked again, harder. Eventually the door opened a crack to reveal a slovenly woman in a bloodstained apron that smelled of the slaughterhouse.

Lucky tried to smile and not to breathe in at the same time.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is Mr. Roland at home?”

“Not to the likes of you, he ain’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The woman peered closely at Lucky. “He’s got no money to pay for game girls. He’s barely paying my rent since those thugs did him over.”

Despite the biting cold Lucky felt her cheeks heat. “I’m not a game girl. I’m part of his family. His parents asked me to call on him when I visited London.”

“What’s your name, then?”

Lucky desperately reviewed the scant personal details Jeremy had given her about his family. “I’m his cousin, Mrs. Maude Kimble. Ask him if he’ll see me.”

The door was shut in her face. She was left shivering on the doorstep and stamping her cold feet until the woman returned.

“All right, you can go up. Second room on the left is where he’s at. Maybe you could take him back with you to the countryside. He needs something to sweeten his temper. I’m getting back to my meat pies.”

Lucky offered the woman a sixpence, which was accepted without thanks, and made her way across the grimy, dimly lit hall to the uncarpeted staircase beyond. The house smelled of damp, unswept chimneys and overcooked food. Somewhere a baby was crying and a woman was singing a lullaby to it.

Lucky followed the woman’s directions and went up the uneven stairs, doubt clouding her every step. Did she even need to see Jeremy? She’d already established that he was alive; wasn’t that enough? But she had to make sure he never bothered her or Paul again.

She knocked on the door and heard a feeble reply. Easing open the door, she went inside and prepared herself to meet her unpleasant and unwanted suitor.

“I wondered if it might be you, my lady.”

Lucky stared transfixed as Jeremy’s familiar voice came out of an almost unrecognizable face. His features were so swollen and misshapen that she could barely see his eyes. His nose was obviously broken, too, and from the way he reclined with his foot up in front of the fire those weren’t even the most serious of his injuries.

Lucky brought her gloved hand to her mouth, and Jeremy laughed.

“Do you see what your honorable husband did to me? He is a vicious bastard. I can only hope you’ll put him in a rage soon, and he’ll do this to you.”

“Paul didn’t do this.”

“Who else would? You shouldn’t have blabbed to him. Once he found out that you’d lied to him about our relationship, he had to obliterate me to maintain the fiction that you married him for love.”

Lucky leaned back against the wall, needing the support. “That isn’t true.”

Jeremy sat forward and gripped his cane, his eyes full of hate. “You have no idea what a monster you married, have you? He only stopped short of killing me because my uncle is a viscount.”

“He wouldn’t . . .”

“Then why are you here? Have you decided you love me after all? Or has he finally frightened you into running away? I could tell you some tales about his conduct in the war that would make you vomit.”

“I came here because my last letter was returned to me unanswered. I was concerned for your health.”

Jeremy spat toward the fire. “Concerned for your future, you mean. You didn’t care one bit about me. You set that bastard on to me hoping he’d kill me.” He fixed her with a malevolent glare. “When I regain my strength, I’m going to take this whole matter to my uncle and destroy the Ashmolton family reputation once and for all.”

“No!” Lucky whispered. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want. You are no better than any whore who offers herself to the men down by the docks. Why do you deserve any consideration from me?”

Lucky stared at him as he struggled to his feet. Below them, there was a commotion in the hallway and the sound of shouting.