Beyond A Wicked Kiss Read online

  West returned to the ballroom and discovered the gathering around the colonel had thinned but not moved on entirely. Two directors from the East India Company were present in the group, along with their wives and several of the Prince Regent's representatives. Prinny himself had come and gone, but had permitted many in his entourage to remain behind to continue expressing the Crown's admiration for the colonel's success. Had Prinny been standing at the colonel's side, West would have had to make a more circumspect approach. Since the regent was absent, West forged ahead with all the subtlety of a fishmonger plying his wares.

  "The colonel has been expressly forbidden to exhaust himself," West said. "And I am the unfortunate fellow who must enforce his physician's edict. You will excuse us, won't you?" Without giving Blackwood opportunity to mount an argument or permitting his well-wishers to have another word, West grasped the back of the wheeled chair and pushed it resolutely into the hall.

  "You have some destination in mind, I collect," the colonel said dryly. "If not, there is a library one can find by this route. The third door, I believe, then through the gallery."

  The library was not deserted, as West had hoped. Several guests were idly chatting near the fireplace, another had climbed on a footstool and was examining titles from the room's uppermost shelves. A young man and his pretty companion shared the settee, their fingertips touching. They broke this light contact a shade guiltily when West wheeled the colonel into the room.

  West expected that he would be the one to order them out, but it was Blackwood who explained that he required a few moments of privacy. They were immediately amenable to vacating the library.

  "I had no idea what you would tell them," the colonel said when he was alone with West. "But I suspect you would have them believe I am hammering on death's door." He paused, waiting for West to come around to the other side of his chair. The tumbler of whiskey in his hand prevented him from smooth navigation. "You have seen the others have all gone, then. That accounts for your precipitous actions. It is not well done of you, West. I depend upon your caution and good sense not to call attention to yourself in the manner you just did."

  In other circumstances, West would have acknowledged the colonel's dressing-down with a respectful nod, whether or not he thought the rebuke was deserved. It was a sign of the considerable agitation he was still suppressing that he did not do so now. "None of them was supposed to leave until I returned. That was the plan we agreed upon."

  "And like a decent frock coat, it required some alteration," Blackwood said calmly. "East was unable to delay the departure of either of the gentlemen. Lest you think he made a poor attempt, I will tell you that Lady Sophia also tried to occupy their interest. It was clear to us that they were most determined to leave. Since you had not yet arrived, precautions had to be taken. Eastlyn and Lady Sophia left at the same time to divert suspicion. North took up Sir Alex's trail, and South followed Herndon."

  West felt the pressure in his chest ease slightly. It was a small enough change in their plans. "What do you make of Herndon and Cotton leaving before the guest of honor? They spoke to you this evening, didn't they?"

  "Paid their respects. Thanked me." He shrugged. "The Singapore settlement will add substantially to their coffers. They were, naturally, grateful."

  "No mention of the bishops?"

  "None."

  West knew it was unlikely that they would do so. It presented Herndon and Cotton with a conundrum. The settlement was achieved because five of their fellow bishops were bested, yet they were made even more wealthy by that defeat. "They do not suspect you know they are members of the Society?"

  The colonel shook his head. "There is no reason that they should." He sipped his drink and enjoyed the liquid heat rolling down his throat. "I think it's probable they noted your absence from the reception."

  West nodded. His thinking had been turning in that same direction. "It would explain their desire to leave." He permitted himself a slight, mocking grin. "I don't think they trust me."

  "I imagine you're right. Tell me, what did your foray yield? You learned something that will be useful, I hope."

  "Only proof that they share Beckwith's interest in the erotic arts. Nothing that hints at Miss Petty's whereabouts. Herndon's collection is more varied than the others, but he has been assembling his works over a long period of time. If there is a theme, it is not sexual, or rather it is not only sexual. These men desire to subjugate women. They have made it a ritual, I think, a sadistic rite of passage that they play out again and again as the whim strikes them."

  "With Miss Weaver's Academy as their secret garden," the colonel said. He did indeed feel far older than his years. "Forgive me. I should not admit it, perhaps, but I would rather you and I were plotting Napoleon's demise again. There was honor there, at least. These bishops have none. Taking little girls from the workhouses, seeing that they're nurtured, educated, and then removing them for their own pleasures..." Blackwood knocked back what remained of his drink. "I take it you will not want to settle this in a public manner."

  "No. Too many innocents would be hurt. Any public accounting will have grave consequences for the young women."

  "You cannot call all the governors out."

  "No, although it is tempting." West raked his hair with his fingertips. "I must find Jane Petty first," he reminded Blackwood. "Then I can demand their resignations. It is an imperfect solution, I know, and not nearly as satisfying as relieving them of their ballocks, but it is what is left to me if Ria and the school are not to be touched by scandal."

  "You will wait to hear from Northam and South?" the colonel asked.

  West nodded faintly. "I am not as hopeful that either Herndon or Cotton will lead them to Jane. If they left because they were aware I was gone, then it is likely they merely returned to their homes."

  "You left everything in order?"

  "I did." They would never know with certainty that he was there—until he told them.

  "The meeting in two days' time..." The colonel paused, adjusting his spectacles. "They mean to spring a trap, you know."

  "I know."

  "I don't like it."

  West grinned. "I am gratified to hear it."

  "Daniel into the lion's den," the colonel muttered. He regarded West with a keen eye. "And do not flatter yourself that the lion will not make a meal of you. God is not necessarily on your side."

  "Then it is a good thing that you are."

  Blackwood grunted softly. "Push me back to the ballroom. I can assure you that my absence has been duly noted, and there are upwards of half a dozen men planning what they will say over my grave."

  West chuckled. "Perhaps I did exaggerate the state of your health."

  Setting his empty tumbler between his knees, the colonel began to turn his chair for West to take it up. "You will have to collect Miss Ashby before you leave," he said, "unless you want me to deliver her to Oxford Street."

  "Pardon?" West grasped the colonel's chair and pulled it sharply around. "What do you mean, that I should collect Miss Ashby? Isn't she with North and Elizabeth?"

  "Steady, West. She is all of a piece, or at least she is making herself so." Blackwood saw he was making things worse with his explanation, not improving them. West's jaw was rigid with the control he was exerting; a muscle ticked in his cheek. "She went for refreshment." He held up his tumbler. "You know yourself that it was a squeeze to get there. She bumped into Lady Powell in the hall and spilled my whiskey on her dress. Lady Powell says it was a generous pour and that Miss Ashby retired to the salon to repair the damage as best she could. She is waiting for you there. Under the circumstances, I did not think she would want to accompany North and Elizabeth, but would rather return directly to your residence."

  "You have this from Lady Powell?"

  "Yes. When she delivered my drink."

  "Where is the salon?"

  "I couldn't say."

  West kept his frustration in check, but only just. He pushed t
he colonel back to the ballroom, made certain he was comfortable, and found a footman to show him the salon. Not wanting to create a stir, West knocked softly, and then called Ria's name. When there was no response, he tried the door. He stepped aside to allow the footman to try.

  "It appears to be locked, Your Grace. I will find the first butler. He will have the key."

  West hunkered down and peered at the lock. "Do not trouble yourself. Stand here so I am not disturbed. Something has been jammed inside."

  Contrary to what the rest of the Compass Club thought, West did not always carry a knife in his boot. On occasion, he carried it in the sleeve of his frock coat. To the footman who was watching over his shoulder, the blade appeared as if snatched from the air. West ignored the man's startled murmur and applied himself to picking the lock. Only a few seconds passed before he had the offending piece dangling from the tip of his knife.

  "Why, it's an earbob," the footman said. "What do you make of that?"

  West knew precisely what to make of it. He'd glimpsed one just like it earlier—and only one. He glanced down the hallway to the cupboard under the stairs. Pocketing the gold-and-ivory earring, but not his blade, West dismissed the footman. As soon as the servant had turned his back, he slipped inside the salon.

  His heart slammed hard against his chest. Preparing himself to discover that it was empty was not the same as finding it so. He looked around quickly and saw there was no exit from the room except the door he had come through and those leading to the outside. If Ria had truly been here—and the glass of sherry that he found made him suspect she had been—then she could have only left by the French doors.

  He tried to imagine what cause she would have to do that. Nothing occurred to him except that he was perhaps squandering valuable time. There was little to be gained by puzzling it out when he possessed such scant information.

  West fingered the earring in his pocket as he went in search of the owner. Lady Powell had a great deal to answer for.

  * * *

  Ria awoke in bed. Her first thought was that it was not her own. She wondered if it was everyone's natural inclination to orient themselves to their surroundings first, and then wonder how they had come to be there second. It was far easier for her to answer the latter question. She had a clear memory of being sick all over Mr. Jonathan Beckwith, as well as being thrown to the floor of the carriage afterward. The governor had made certain she knew he was fastidious about his person. There was nowhere for her to go that she could avoid the sharp jabs of his satin pumps. The defense of a hedgehog was all that was left to her.

  She stretched gingerly, feeling the ache in her shoulder, hip, and back, and knowing it could be much worse. The taste in her mouth made her want to wretch again. Drawing her legs up to her chest and rolling onto her side, Ria fought the urge.

  The first she knew she was not alone in the room was when a cool glass of water was pressed at a somewhat awkward angle to her lips.

  "Drink this, Miss Ashby."

  Ria did not grasp the glass; rather, she reached for the hands that held it. The tears that blurred her vision were of no importance because the voice was precisely as she remembered it. "Jane," she whispered. "Dear, sweet Jane."

  Chapter 15

  At Jane's insistence, Ria drank. When the glass was removed, she pushed herself upright and caught Jane's arm as the girl started to rise. "No, don't go. I've been so worried. I need to—"

  Jane gently pulled away from Ria's light grasp and stood. "It's all right, Miss Ashby. I'm only going to light a candle so you can see for yourself that I'm all of a piece." She set the glass on the washstand, picked up a candlestick, and used the embers in the fireplace to light the wick. When she returned to the bed, she carried the candle so its light bathed her face, but once she was at Ria's side, she held it out to make her own inspection.

  "Did he hit you, miss?" she asked. "Your lip's swollen."

  Ria touched her fingers to her mouth. Her lower lip was indeed tender. "I don't remember being hit." She used the tip of her tongue to trace the line and tasted a hint of blood. The memory of Beckwith's mouth on hers was suddenly clear enough to make her blanch. "He kissed me."

  Jane merely nodded then pointed to Ria's shoulder. "He didn't put his mouth on you there."

  Glancing down, Ria examined the curve of her bare shoulder. The skin was already faintly discolored in preparation of what would be a livid bruise. What bothered her more than this evidence of injury was the realization that she was no longer wearing her gown, or even her own chemise. The shift she had on was of so fine a batiste as to be virtually transparent.

  "Where are my clothes?" Ria asked.

  "Gone."

  "Gone? I don't understand. Did you take them?"

  Jane shook her head. She placed the candlestick on the edge of the washstand and then soaked a flannel in the porcelain basin. Droplets of water splashed the front of her own batiste shift, making it cling to her skin until she plucked it away. "You won't need your clothes. We all wear shifts here."

  Ria let her head drop back as Jane pressed the cool, damp cloth to her brow. The girl's self-possession was disconcerting. There were no tears. No hysterics. No sense of relief of any kind. Indeed, Jane showed little in the way of emotion. Ria took up holding the cloth in place as Jane's fingers slipped away. "Are you well, Jane?" she asked softly.

  "Yes."

  It did not escape Ria that Jane did not meet her eyes. "Who is we? " she asked. "You said that we all wear these here. Who is we? "

  Jane shrugged.

  "Are you not permitted to say? Is that it, Jane? Mr. Beckwith has perhaps instructed you not to talk to me." When no reply was forthcoming, Ria tried another tack. "Is this Sir Alex's house?"

  "No, miss. Or rather it is not just his house."

  Ria had to strain to hear Jane's answer. "Will you not speak up?" When Jane said nothing, Ria understood it was all the response she would receive. Her own voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Are we in London?"

  "Yes."

  Ria removed the flannel from her forehead and pressed it briefly to her bottom lip. Her eyes darted about the sparsely furnished room. There was nothing that was not serviceable present in the chamber. No figurines rested on the mantelpiece. There was no gilt-edged clock. No paintings adorned the darkly paneled walls. A cheval glass stood in the corner near the door, and a washstand was situated close to the bed. There were no dressers or trunks. No cupboard for linens. The floor was also bare. On the same wall as the fireplace was a panel door. Ria lifted her chin in the direction of it and asked the question with only her eyes.

  "For taking visitors," Jane said.

  This answer initially surprised Ria and then frightened her as she considered the fuller meaning Jane meant to convey. "I do not know this place," she whispered. "Mr. Beckwith said it would be familiar to me."

  Jane took the flannel from Ria's hands. "I don't know about that. Shall I dampen this again for you?"

  "No." She watched Jane carefully fold the flannel in quarters and place it on the edge of the basin. The girl's fingers trembled slightly, the only outward sign that her composure was on a very tight leash. The movement riveted Ria's attention to the slender, golden bracelets that circled each of Jane's wrists. Her eyes immediately went to her own wrists to see if the same bands had been placed around her. When she saw they remained unadorned, she also knew it would not always be so. "Can you remove them?"

  Jane retracted her outstretched hands quickly. She brought them to her lap and tried to cover her wrists. Her fingers were inadequate to the task and when Ria laid a hand over hers, she stopped fidgeting and let them lie still. She bent her head, eyes downcast, unable to look anywhere but at her lap. "They were made for me, Miss Ashby."

  Ria leaned away from the bedhead and raised one of Jane's hands to examine the bracelet. The girl's wrists were small and delicate and the gold circlet was a close fit. Ria tentatively tried to move it up to the fleshy ball of Jane's hand. It would go t
hat far and no farther. Looking for a clasp, Ria turned the bracelet and found only a small, raised nub on the surface to show where it had been forged closed. The bracelets had been indeed made for Jane.

  "Has there been occasion to use them?" she asked carefully. The small shiver that went through Jane's hunched figure was answer enough. Ria let the blankets fall away and scrambled to her knees. She put her arms around Jane's narrow shoulders and hugged the girl to her breast. There were still no tears; Ria expected none now. Jane seemed too wounded to cry, or perhaps too afraid. She shuddered in the embrace but made no sound, and Ria noticed she never allowed herself the luxury of collapse. She remained stiff and unyielding in the arms that were meant to comfort her.

  Ria eased her arms away and permitted Jane to straighten. She touched the girl's cap of silky blond hair with her fingertips, separating some tangled strands at her nape. "Can you say nothing at all to me, Jane?" She felt the small, negative shake of Jane's head and did not press.

  Ignoring the ache in her shoulders and back, Ria left the bed. She bathed her face at the basin, then rinsed her mouth a second time. The floor was wretchedly cold beneath her feet, but she took it as a good sign that she was not numb to it and resolutely finished her ablutions. Aware that Jane was watching her, Ria began to explore the small room. Save for a skylight, there were no windows. The skylight did not lend itself to escape, but seemed to be put there of a purpose to tease one with the possibility. Ria saw immediately that it could not be reached. Standing on the bed would not raise her sufficiently to grasp its latch, and there were no chairs she might stack. There were no tools on the fireplace apron to extend her reach, and nothing to be gained by breaking the glass.

  Walking the perimeter of the room did not prove particularly useful. She found the panel door was tightly closed, and her attempts to open it failed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Jane did not stir from the bed. It was a certainty that she knew the door could not be opened, Ria thought.