What the Groom Wants (19 page)

He hadn’t been slow. He’d caught her arm, but only after the blow. His cheek showed the red imprint of her hand, and his eyes blazed in fury. Around them, she felt the guards step up, ready to retaliate however Damon chose. Once, after closing, Wendy had seen them break a man’s hand for a lesser insult.

Wendy had to act fast, but she wasn’t sure how. So she did the only thing she could think of, the only action that had soothed drunken players and giddy lechers alike. She touched the demon’s face. She couldn’t feel the heat of the mark, not through her gloves, but the red was clear enough. She stroked it as if she could brush it away.

“Come, love,” she cooed, nearly choking on the words. “You’re done with her. Have been for years.”

His gaze slowly slid to hers, and she saw calculation enter his gaze. Then they flicked to his guards. “I think the ladies would like some wine,” he drawled.

The men stepped back, and one gave the order to a waitress. Meanwhile, Caroline tried to wrench her arm free to no avail. Wendy heard the woman’s grunt of frustration before she vented it in the worst possible way.

“I want nothing of yours, Damon. I never have.”

Did she not understand the danger? Damon never allowed anyone to insult him. Not in public. The noises from the floor had resumed, but slower, and there was almost no conversation. Everyone watched to see what would happen next.

With trembling fingers, Wendy slid her hand to Damon’s fingers. “Wine would be lovely,” she said as she stroked the back of his hand.

“Take them off,” he said.

She blinked. He was looking at Caroline, but she knew the words were for her. But she didn’t understand. “Take what—”

“Your gloves.” His gaze finally shifted to hers, and his joy frightened her. He knew something she did not, and it would soon be turned against her. Normally, she would flee. If ever that flash of happiness came into his eyes, she ran as far and as fast as she could. But she would not abandon Caroline. He waited, his gaze turning more confident with every second that passed. “It’s been too long since I felt the stoke of your skin against mine.”

It had been this morning, and it made her shudder, but she nodded. “You will let her go, yes?”

He smiled, and his fingers went slack. Caroline jerked back, but she didn’t go far. Meanwhile, Wendy was busy stripping off the first of her gloves with trembling fingers.

Her skin went cold as the fabric left her forearms, but she forced herself to remain calm, as if she did this every day. And she did, she reminded herself. She showed her bare hands everywhere. And yet, the feel of the fine linen pulling down her hands was as terrifying as if her shift were pulled off her. Not in the way of a woman undressing for a man, but in the way of a small animal slowly enticed into a trap. She knew she was stepping closer and closer to disaster, but she couldn’t stop it.

“Slow down,” he said, his eyes on her. “You know how I like it.”

She winced. He made it sound like she had been stripping for him for months now when nothing could be further from the truth. But he was making her pay for the insult to his face by having her show everyone that she had surrendered. The stripping of her gloves was symbolic, of course, but it would suffice, provided she gave enough of a show.

And, if she doubted the threat, he flicked his gaze to a large brute of a guard who stood a pace behind Caroline. He was the one who enjoyed breaking bones and would often regale the customers with tales of how it feels to snap the small delicate ones in the hand. He was looming behind Caroline, and Wendy doubted the woman even noticed. Her eyes were on Wendy and Damon, while shock grew in her expression. Damn it, the woman had no idea how much danger she was in.

Plastering on a seductive expression, Wendy slowed her movements. “Of course,” she purred, though the words came through thick and low. Not a purr so much as a choke, but it was enough. Damon settled back on his heels as his smile widened.

She stretched up her arm, knowing she had to show it to the gallery below. Then she crinkled the fabric from the elbow to her wrist. A slow, steady push that revealed herself, inch by inch. The cold air made her body tighten, and she became excruciatingly aware that her nipples had pebbled. She was cold, terrified for Caroline, and humiliated to her bones. But, at the same time, she felt an inevitability settle upon her. How many times had Damon said she would gift herself to him? That eventually, she would be his?

She pulled off one glove, the slide of the fabric feeling like the peel of skin from her bones. The thought was so real she half expected to see her blood dripping on the floor. Nothing so dramatic appeared. Simply white flesh with goose bumps.

Damon crossed in front of her, moving to the bend in the railing, where he had kissed her not so long ago. He leaned negligently there, but she knew he was reminding everyone of the kiss they’d shared.

“Give it to me,” he said, holding out his hand and forcing her to step further into view.

She did, extending it to him. His gaze flickered—the only warning she had—before one of his guards pushed her. She hadn’t even known the man had moved behind her until she felt the hard shove right at the base of her spine.

She stumbled forward, and Damon caught her. She stiffened quickly, but his grip tightened painfully across her back.

She struggled, of course, pushing back, but he was too strong, and there was still the threat to Caroline. In the end, she relaxed, though only by a small degree. Clearly, the show wasn’t just for the men below, but for Caroline. He wanted Wendy to act as his tart before her friend.

“Let me pull off the other,” he said against her ear.

She swallowed and looked away. She’d agreed to take off her gloves, but this humiliation wasn’t part of the bargain.

“No,” she said, her voice cold. Then she ripped off the other glove, stripping it with quick, angry movements before she balled it up and threw it at him. He grinned, not even bothering to catch the thing. Instead, he let it sail over the railing to land somewhere below. She heard the roar of men, then laughter as someone caught it.

God, he’d turned her into a harlot for everyone to see.

“Can we leave now?” she bit out.

“Of course,” he said as he let her stomp back. “Though, of course, you’re welcome to stay for the rest of the show.”

He gestured casually over his shoulder. His back was to the stairs, so she had no idea how he knew. But one look had her stomach dropping like a stone.

There were Radley and Lord Hartfell storming the stairs. Lord Hartfell’s gaze was on Caroline, his brows tight with fear. But whereas the Scot rushed to save his love, Radley slowed down. His eyes were trained on her remaining glove as Damon pulled it slowly through his fist.

Why was she here?

That was Radley’s overriding thought as he climbed the stairs. Why was Wendy stripping off her gloves, her face tight with fear, as she undressed for everyone to see?

It made no sense. She was terrified of Damon, and yet…

“Damnation,” Lord Hartfell cursed. “Caroline’s here as well.” Then he sprinted up the stairs. But Radley slowed, his eyes narrowed as Wendy threw her glove at Damon. Something was at work here, and he would do well to understand it before he went crashing up there.

Then it happened. Wendy spotted him, and her eyes widened in shock. He watched her pale, then stiffen in bravado. Then his eyes trained on a flash of white: her glove in that bastard’s hand. The man toyed with it, pulling it slowly through his fist, over and over.

The need to kill Damon burned in his blood, but he was a rational man. Murder—even of a monster—took careful thought, especially when facing the evil in its own territory. So he mounted the last steps slowly, noting the guards, his sister’s position tucked tight to the Scot’s side, and Wendy, as she stood too close to the bastard.

And everyone looked to him as he topped the steps and turned to face his sister’s attacker.

“Ladies,” he said without shifting his gaze from Damon’s. “Are you well?”

“Perfectly,” answered Caroline in a voice that seemed strong enough. “We were just about to leave.”

The Scot rumbled his questions, his burr strong. “Are ye sure? Nothing amiss?”

“Perfectly sure,” she answered. “I’ve seen everything I care to see in this place. Come along, Wendy. It’s time to leave.”

Wendy nodded, but she didn’t move. Her gaze turned anguished. “Lord Hartfell, why don’t you take her home? I think the air is bad here.”

“Can’t,” the Scot answered. “Seems someone’s threatened his grace’s life.”

He watched the news hit Damon, his body tensing in surprise. “What? Who?” Then his face hardened as he glanced to Wendy. “What did you say?”

She frowned as she turned to look at the man. “You said…”

Radley watched as her face closed down with frustration. He saw her hands tighten into fists, but there was no more protest. Was she cowed? Was she afraid? Or was something else going on?

“Please come over here, Wendy,” he said. Whatever was going on, he didn’t want her within the bastard’s reach.

She started to move, but then froze, her gaze slipping back to Damon, as if asking permission. A second later, he realized it wasn’t permission. It was assuming a position of power—one where she kept both men in sight—as she faced the bastard.

“What do you want to end this, Damon? To just… let them all go?”

Damon’s expression shifted into dismay. “Negotiating for your lover’s life? Sacrificing yourself for him?” He shifted his gaze to Radley. “Sadly, none of it’s true. Little Wendy has quite the flair for the dramatic, and I’m afraid we’ve been victims of her fascination with gothic novels.”

She gasped. “That’s not true!”

“But of course, it is. Your grace, I have no intention of harming you.” He made an expansive gesture. “Welcome to my club. Please feel free to play.”

“Stop it!” Wendy cried, and he was sure there were tears shimmering in her eyes. “You told me you’d kill him. You told me! And you hurt Caroline. And you…” Her words choked off.

If anything, Damon looked sad. “I did hurt Caroline, and that is a crime for which I can never atone.” His gaze shifted to Caroline. “I offered you wine, did I not?”

“You were going to break her hand,” Wendy hissed.

Damon reared back. “Break her hand? Damnation, Wendy, do you hear yourself? How can you expect any rational man to believe you?”

“Because it’s true,” Wendy said as she shifted to Caroline. “You slapped him, and he doesn’t allow that. I’ve seen him hurt people,” she cried. “Everyone knows what he can do.”

“Wendy, really,” Damon said with clear irritation.

Then Damon pushed off the railing, setting her glove aside, as if it were of no more importance than yesterday’s cravat. Radley tensed, ready for anything, but not moving until he understood more of what was going on. And right now, he comprehended little.

“And yes, I do hurt people,” Damon admitted. “It’s a necessity in my business. But Wendy,” he said as he gently pulled her to face him. “I love you. You know this.”

“Stop it!” she cried as she wrenched from his arms.

He let her go, his expression infinitely sad. Then he slowly shifted to look at Radley. “I do not know what lies she has told you. I can only say that I would be a fool to threaten a duke.” He gestured about him. “I have created a good life for myself here, but it is subject to the whims of society. Should any member of the
ton
take umbrage with me, they could close my doors. Or they could simply take their coin to a different hell. I would be a fool to risk that.”

Wendy gaped. “You bragged not more than a week ago. You told me how you meant to end the elite. That you did more for London than Prinny!”

“That’s treason, Wendy.” He huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you so afraid of love that you must make me out a monster?” Again, he tried to touch her, and again, she threw him off. It was a pattern he’d seen before, so Radley disregarded it. His concern was more in the words “a week ago.” Just how long had they been having conversations like that? How well did she know this bastard?

He stepped forward and brandished his purse. That was what delayed him from the ball. He’d had to find enough coin to pay off her debt.

“Wendy said she owed you money.”

Damon lifted his hands. “Her brother owes me. She has been helping to pay his debts.” He shot Wendy a tolerant glare. “Which could have happened much earlier, if she would work when she promises.” He grimaced. “She deals vingt-et-un, and I pay her an excellent wage. Far more than what her talents are worth, but…” He shrugged, as if to say,
I
love
her. What else can I do?

Meanwhile, Wendy stiffened. “I have made every shift, save one.”

He didn’t argue. His expression suggested that he would not stoop to bicker over dates and times. Instead, he looked to Radley.

“It is kind of you to pay off her brother’s debt, but I assure you, they both need the lesson. Bernard works for me as well, and he’s learning to control his need to gamble. As for Wendy, she likes it here. Pay it off or not, she will be back.”

“I hate it here!” she hissed.

“And yet, you have favorite customers who dote on your every word. Men who constantly plague me as to when you will next appear.” He looked to Radley. “She loves the attention.” He sighed. “And she loves rubbing it in my face as well.”

Could it be true? Could Wendy be so different from everything he’d thought? He glanced to his sister. “How easily did you come here? Were you stopped by guards? Anyone?”

Caroline shook her head. “We came in a back way, and they all know her here. They call her the Green Lady.”

As if realizing that he wavered, Wendy stepped toward him, her expression desperate. “Everything he says is a lie. You have to believe me. I’ve seen him do terrible things. You know what he has done.”

He did. Every time he looked at his sister’s high-necked gowns, he remembered the scars underneath. But even at seventeen, Radley hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill Damon. He’d beaten the bastard nearly dead, but murder was beyond him then. It was still, apparently, because he felt no desire to gut someone who appeared more rational than the woman begging him to understand.

Meanwhile, Damon was speaking, his tone and appearance that of a man burdened by terrible guilt. “I cannot undo the crime I committed as a boy. I was wild and foolish, and I regretted it then, even as I did that terrible thing.” He turned to Caroline. “Whatever you want of me, just ask. I will give it to you freely. If I could undo that night, I would. You cannot know how sorry I am.”

Radley looked at his sister as she shook her head. “I want nothing from you.” He heard the finality in her words. There was no lingering fear, no hatred, and no terrible emotions whatsoever. Just a simple end to something that happened years ago. He could not say the same, and yet, she was the victim. He certainly couldn’t murder a man who showed every appearance of regretting his crime.

Damon bowed his head with total humility. “I… I thank you. I never dared hope you could forgive me. I don’t ask it. But that I haven’t destroyed your life is… is a great comfort to me.”

The Scot’s answer rumbled through the air. “She does not say it to comfort you.”

“Of course not,” Damon replied. “I didn’t mean to imply such a notion.” Then he turned back to Wendy. “What do you mean to do now, my dear? Will you stay and deal? Already, there are gentlemen lining up at your table.”

Radley looked over the railing to the floor below. There was one table that sat empty, though easily a dozen gentlemen loitered nearby. Was that where Wendy worked? Did she entertain such a group on a regular basis? The very idea made him sick.

His gaze returned to her. She looked like she was collapsing in on herself. He wanted to believe that she was exactly as she appeared: a woman under terrible strain, exploited by a monster. The urge to rush to her side was strong. But he was beginning to doubt her. After all, he’d asked her to come to him, but she’d chosen instead to stand on her own. And there were a dozen men down there waiting for her. Just what had she been doing?

“What do you want of me, Damon? What would it take?” she asked.

The bastard touched her cheek, stroking it slowly as his fingers went from jaw to cheek to her bloodied earbobs. “You know what I want, love. Stay with me.” He touched her chin, lifting it to look at her. “Marry me.”

Radley felt more than saw her breath catch, as if everything had been stilled to a frozen silence. She just… stopped. So did he. So did everyone there as they strained to hear her answer.

And waited. And waited.

She didn’t answer. It was as if she couldn’t.

In the end, Damon sighed and looked at Radley. “You do not believe that I am innocent yet. Of course, whatever she’s said would be convincing.” He tilted his head. “Have you asked about her earbobs? Shall I tell you how she got them?”

Wendy did react to that. She let out a soft moan as she sank to her knees. At first, he thought she had collapsed, but Damon went with her, cradling her as she dropped. Had she fallen into his arms? Did she welcome the man’s touch? He didn’t know, and his doubt kept him immobile while Damon continued to talk—this time to her.

“Shall I tell him, my dear? It really is better if the truth comes out.”

She didn’t answer, and so the demon kept speaking as if he’d never paused.

“She stole them. From a customer at her first place of employment. Then she sold them, so she and Lady Redhill could start their shop.”

Caroline gasped. “Lady Redhill? But she couldn’t…”

“Well, as to that, I believe Lady Redhill’s father—”

“Helaine didn’t know,” Wendy cried. The words were loud, easily drowning out whatever Damon was going to say.

Radley could see that the words were to cover another secret. Something about Lady Redhill—or maybe her father—that Wendy didn’t want to get out. But that confession alone told him two things, both chilling. First, Wendy had stolen the earbobs—or done something illegal with them—and second, she had more secrets, more lies that she was trying to cover up.

Radley took a step forward, needing to come closer so that he could see Wendy’s face and understand what was going on. “If she sold them to start her shop, then how is it that she has them?” he challenged.

Damon smiled, the expression wistful. “Well, I found out, of course. There is plenty of information that flows through these halls. I discovered the truth, found the buyer, repaid him, and then…” He shrugged, as if embarrassed. “I gave them to Wendy as a gift. That’s why she’s wearing them now.” His gaze lifted to Radley, and his eyes slowly went cold. “She wears them now, your grace, because deep down, she prefers me.”

Radley looked to the emeralds, then to Wendy’s face. Her eyes were dull, her expression like stone. Was that true? Did she wear the earrings out of love… for Damon?

“He needs to hear it said out loud, my love,” said Damon. Then, when Wendy didn’t respond, he touched her chin, lifting her face up. “Did I or did I not give you those earrings?”

“Don’t make me do this,” she said, her voice a hoarse rasp. “You cannot make me—”

Damon’s voice hardened. “Tell the truth, or suffer the consequences. You know I cannot abide a liar.”

Radley wasn’t a fool. He knew there was a subtle threat in the man’s tone. Knew as well that they were surrounded by guards. He’d already counted his opponents, but he judged the danger as relatively small. Both he and Lord Hartfell were armed and knew how to defend themselves. Any attack would be a bloodbath, and neither side would benefit. Damon couldn’t take the risk. The death of a duke in this public place? That would draw too much attention.

Unfortunately, any fight would mean danger to the women. Radley hadn’t liked that risk, but then he wasn’t the one who brought them here. Wendy had. Fortunately, he knew the Scot would protect Caroline, just as he would protect Wendy. And again, he returned to the obvious conclusion. Damon was a logical man who ran a lucrative business. He simply would not risk a bloody confrontation now.

So that brought them back to the central question. Was this an elaborate game created in Wendy’s mind?

He grimaced, sinking down so that he faced Wendy. “Just tell me the truth,” he said. “It is safe.”

She winced, and he knew she didn’t believe him. He couldn’t help that. Afraid or not, he needed to know more. But he was able to glare at Damon.

“Step back.”

The man lifted his hand in a surrendering gesture and backed away. Wendy was now on the floor, a woman collapsed into a puddle of shimmering blue.

“Don’t be afraid, just tell me. Is what he said true? Did you steal the emeralds?” She’d already admitted as much. She would answer, and he would see how she looked when she told the truth.