“You’re forgiven. Did Joan Newdowns recognize anyone else’s voice?”
“No. Then again, Esterbridge is one of the few young bloods hereabouts who spends a bit of time in St. Austell. Joan’s mother does sewing for Mrs. Lemarth on Front Street, and Joan visits her quite a bit. It’s natural that she would see and hear David Esterbridge.” He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, it’s possible that David is the one who spotted Joan Newdowns as their next rape victim.”
“So this is why you wanted a ball.”
“I doubt your mind spends much time in the shade, sweetheart. Let’s say that it will give me the opportunity to see all these wild gentlemen and plant, shall we say, a few seeds of my own hellfire.”
“You wanted the ball before this occurred to Joan Newdowns.”
He cursed softly, then tried for an indifferent grin. He failed, of course. Victoria watched him shrug himself into an exquisite coat of black satin.
“And since you wanted the ball before this occurred, it’s obvious to me that someone in London asked you to involve yourself in this Hellfire Club business. Am I right?”
Rafael negligently straightened his cravat, his example of the Oriental, and not excessively successful. He didn’t say a word; in fact, he started humming.
“You were asked to involve yourself because of the peer’s daughter. I assume that simple peasant girls wouldn’t receive such attention, but a peer’s daughter? Yes, indeed, so you agreed to look into the matter.”
He turned then and she found herself momentarily forgetting everything except him. His linen and cravat were snowy white. He looked delicious to Victoria. She imagined herself undressing him very slowly, her fingers finally on the buttons of his breeches, and she shivered with her fantasy.
“What is that all about?” Rafael asked, smiling at the dreamy expression on her face. To his surprise, she flushed deeply. “Oh ho. I must know now, Victoria. Could it be that you are thinking about what I’m going to do to you at dawn tomorrow?”
“If you would know,” she said finally, giving him a look of great dislike, “I was thinking about what I would do to you.” There, she thought, seeing that he was clearly taken aback, she’d finally gotten the last word.
“Tell me,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth, his gray eyes intent on her face. “Tell me what you were thinking.”
She lowered her eyes a moment, shaken by his intensity. “It wasn’t all that complete. Truly.”
“What had you completed?”
“Very well, I was picturing myself taking off your clothes very slowly and looking at you very thoroughly.”
His eyes silvered and darkened.
“And unbuttoning your breeches.”
It was some moments before he managed to say, “I did ask you, didn’t I? Let’s go down to dinner before I let you and before I ravish you with but half a day to go.” He offered her his arm.
She said as she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, “I want you to promise me that you will be careful. I would appreciate your telling me all about your, er, assignment, but I’m patient. Will you be careful?”
“I’m always careful,” he said. And that, Victoria thought, was that.
Before joining Elaine and Damien in the drawing room, Victoria and Rafael visited Damaris.
“Torie.”
“Yes, love, oh how very sweet you smell. Did Nanny Black give you your bath?”
“Yes, and it’s you again, Uncle Rafill.”
“Perhaps you’d best just call me Uncle, Damaris.”
“Uncle,” the child dutifully repeated. She threw her arms round Victoria’s legs, then allowed Rafael to lift her high in his arms and toss her into the air. The squealing brought Nanny Black quickly into the nursery.
“Oh, it’s you, Master Rafael, Miss Victoria. The child was a grubby mess, but she could speak of nothing but all her fun. Time for your bed, little miss. Come along now.”
Damaris didn’t have any intention of docilely following Nanny Black to bed. She set up a tantrum that would have shortly brought every servant to the nursery, believing murder was being committed.
“Enough, young lady.”
Damaris stopped mid-yell. She stared at Rafael. She tried one final cry, only to be cut off. “I said, Damaris Carstairs, that your performance is ended. You will kiss me and Victoria good night. Then you will obey Nanny Black. And that is the end of it, my child.”
To Victoria’s absolute astonishment, Damaris gave Rafael a very brief pouting frown, then grinned at him. She followed his orders to the letter.
“Goodness, that was impressive,” said Victoria as Rafael led her out of the nursery.
“Like sailors, children need to know their limits,” said Captain Carstairs. “What is appropriate on board ship—or in the nursery—and what is not.”
“As reigning adult in the nursery just now, you decided she’d gone beyond the limits.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t quibble about that,” Victoria said, and sighed.
“That also applies to women.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Limits, Victoria, limits. On board ship, in the nursery, in the bedroom, limits are the essence of control.”
“I’m going to hit you with that naked marble statue of Diana.”
Rafael merely smiled, then said abruptly, “I don’t care for ‘Torie.’ I don’t like it. I shall have to come up with something else, something quite original, of course.”
“Oh, dear,” Victoria said, “I dread to hear it. Have you any ideas as yet?”
“Nary a one, but I will contrive.”
Dinner at Drago Hall that evening was enlivened by Rafael’s telling of young Joan Newdowns’ rape by men in a new, revived Hellfire Club. He was doing it on purpose, of course, Victoria thought.
“Unfortunately, the child didn’t recognize any of the bastards, er, excuse me, Elaine—”
“That’s all right. I fully agree with you. They are animals, crude, malicious, sadistic beasts.”
“All that, my dear? Admittedly, it was not at all well done of them, but surely it was some sort of lark.”
So, Rafael thought, Damien also believed it the work of moneyed young gentlemen.
Victoria stared at Damien. Even though she’d experienced attempted rape at his hands, she was still shocked that any man wouldn’t condemn such an act, at least overtly, in civilized company.
“Age really doesn’t matter,” Rafael said easily, “but the child was, after all, only fourteen years old. I wonder what kind of man would find it a lark to ravish a child?”
“A very twisted, sick man,” said Elaine. “Would you care for some salmi of grouse, Rafael?”
“I wonder if there have been other incidents?” Victoria said, waiting to hear what Damien would say. Two could play this game, she wanted to say to her husband.
Rafael found himself looking from beneath his lashes at his brother. He too had been appalled to hear Damien speak so cavalierly about the girl’s rape.
Damien said nothing until he took a long drink of his wine. “Actually,” he said easily, “I barely remember the incident. It was quite a few months ago, wasn’t it, my dear?”
“Yes, but one doesn’t tend to forget something like that so easily. Do you think it’s related to this incident? Do you think it’s a bizarre revival of the infamous Hellfire Club?”
Damien looked bored, an unusual reaction, his brother thought, given the subject matter. “I neither know nor particularly care, Elaine. It has nothing to do with me. Rafael, may I have a bit more of the stewed partridge?’
Victoria couldn’t keep her tongue still. She said, “But it has to do with all of us. No one could possibly condone what was done to that child. My god, Damien, Dr. Ludcott said that she had been drugged and that many men raped her.”
Damien gave her a twisted smile. “I shouldn’t have wanted to be the last.” He quickly held up his hand. “Acquit me, broth
er, ladies. I was only jesting—”
“—a very poor jest.”
“Yes, well, I meant nothing by it. But really, all of you, the girl is of little importance, after all. Just a village girl, just—”
“I believe that’s quite enough,” Rafael said quietly, in the same tone he’d used with Damaris. “You’re upsetting both Victoria and Elaine.”
“I certainly wouldn’t wish to do that,” said Damien, giving his pregnant wife a fond smile. “My heir must be kept safe and healthy at any cost. Elaine knows that, as do I.”
“Tomorrow,” Rafael said abruptly, “Victoria and I will travel to St. Agnes. There is a property there I wish to inspect. Oddly enough, there are the remains of a medieval castle still there, and the name still visible—Wolfeton. Of course, a manor house is on another section of the property, built in the early seventeenth century, I believe, by offshoot scions of the De Moreton family.”
“They were Norman,” said Victoria.
“Yes. A very old name. The family must have been marvelously healthy to enjoy such longevity. I understand the direct line didn’t die out until the mid-fifteen-hundreds. Their name now is Demoreton, still close to the original, just a bit more English-sounding.”
“Why is the property for sale?” Damien asked idly.
“The usual reason. Money. Rather, the lack of it. The family was cursed with a series of wastrels. The last Demoreton, Albert by name, managed to gamble away his entire patrimony by the age of twenty-five, then killed himself, leaving his family to suffer the consequences. If Victoria and I are pleased with it, I think we’ll make an excellent bargain. Do you care to be the mistress of the manor at Wolfeton, Victoria?”
“Wolfeton. It’s a very romantic name,” Victoria said. She found herself staring at Rafael as he calmly finished off his hazelnut pudding. He’d said nothing to her about a specific property. And he appeared to know everything about it.
“St. Agnes,” she said aloud. “Don’t you remember, Elaine? Damien had business in St. Agnes and you and I went with him. It was four years ago. It’s on the northern coast of Cornwall. The country is so beautifully savage and untamed. And remember how very fierce the sea winds could be? And the trees—so bowed and bent and twisted all along the coastline.”
Rafael was smiling at her enthusiasm. “I believe,” he said, once she had run down, “that I have come across an area that appeals to you.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I remember St. Agnes and St. Agnes Head,” Elaine said, her voice tart. “You were only fifteen years old, Victoria, and you seem to have forgotten that awful storm. I thought we should be swept over that cliff.”
“Victoria was more a mountain goat in those years than a young girl,” Damien said.
“How long will you be gone?”
Rafael answered Elaine easily, “I believe we’ll travel there in slow stages. After all, I haven’t seen Cornwall in quite a while. We’ll spend tomorrow night in Truro, spend the following night in St. Agnes, then return the next evening. That should be a sufficient amount of time.”
Victoria looked at him, wondering why he didn’t wish to spend more time there. It certainly didn’t seem all that sufficient to her. After all, his entire purpose for bringing her back here to Drago Hall was ostensibly to use it as a base. Now it seemed that he couldn’t bear to be gone for any length of time from Drago Hall. But then, it really didn’t seem all that odd to her. He was here to ferret out this Hellfire Club business, she was certain of it. She felt a frisson of alarm, and clamped her mouth tightly closed.
“I’m glad you’re returning in good time,” said Elaine, looking at Victoria. “Your ball will require a great deal of work.”
“We’ll be your slaves.” Rafael turned to his brother. “Is Gwithian Inn still doing business in Truro?”
“Indeed it is. Old man Fooge still serves the finest smuggled French brandy and his wife still makes the most delicious stargazy pie.” Damien grinned maliciously. “Ah, I forget, you detest stargazy pie.”
“So do I,” said Victoria with great conviction. “All those poor pilchards with their heads sticking up.”
Rafael said to his wife, “Actually, my dislike comes from a specific incident in my misspent youth. When I was ten or so, my dear twin offered to share some of his pie with me. Unfortunately, just as I speared a bite, the pilchard wiggled off my fork. I tried to murder Damien, was foiled by our tutor, Mr. MacPherson, and never looked another stargazy pie in the pilchard’s eye again.”
There was general laughter, then Damien asked, “This property you speak of—are there tin mines?”
“Yes, all could be in excellent working order. Money will have to be spent to bring the equipment back up to par. The water pumps for the most part need to be replaced, and as for the engine houses, many of them are falling apart. I understand the miners are in a bad way. They don’t wish to continue mining when the shafts could flood at any time.”
It would cost quite a bit of money, Victoria thought, if the situation were as grim as Rafael had painted it. A lot of her money. But he sounded genuinely interested in the tin mines. Perhaps he would be content on land and not want to return to his ship and the sea.
Later that evening, in the Pewter Room, Victoria asked Rafael once again to tell her the truth, but he merely smiled at her and shook his head. “I’ve said too much already.” Then he began undressing, remaining infuriatingly obtuse, and silent as a clam. “You know,” he said thoughtfully as she was frowning at him in impotent silence, “if you weren’t being so damned womanly at the moment, I could have stopped this argument before it progressed to the first raised-voice octave.”
“I simply want to know the extent of your involvement,” she repeated.
“No danger. Come and let me unfasten that gown.” She turned her back to him, and in a moment felt his lips lightly caress the nape of her neck. She bowed her head, wanting him to continue.
She felt his hands come around her waist and pull her back against him. “Much too long a time for us,” he said, his breath warm on her neck. “Of course, the truth be told, a day is too long. Don’t you agree?”
She would have agreed with just about anything at that moment. His hands had roved upward and were cupping her breasts. He was filling his open palms with her, squeezing, caressing. She arched her back, leaning her head against his shoulder. She made a small mewling sound and Rafael closed his eyes with the pleasure of it.
“Would you like me to give you release, Victoria?” Even as he spoke those beguiling words, she felt his hand glide down her belly, lower, until he was gently pressing and probing against her. He could feel the heat of her through her layers of underthings and her gown. And, unbeknownst to her, she was pressing her hips forward, against his fingers. He was delighted.
She felt immense desire mixed with embarrassment. To stand here against him while his fingers . . . She simply couldn’t allow that.
It hurt, truly, but she slowly pulled away from him. “No,” she said, her voice just above a croak.
“Why not? You want me to.”
“No. I can’t.”
She didn’t see his grin, merely felt his arms come around her very gently. “Give me but another month as your husband, and you will forget all your foolish precepts of what a lady should or shouldn’t want or like or allow. And then, Victoria, I’ll give you pleasure whenever and wherever the spirit moves either of us. All right?”
“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s the truth, that’s all. Now, sweetheart, let’s climb into our nest, ring down the curtains, and enjoy our frustrated dreams.”
Amid the cluster of grapes exquisitely carved in the upper-right-hand corner of the fireplace frieze, a very small wooden panel slipped back into place noiselessly and smoothly. To see her naked and writhing in Rafael’s arms, that was what he wanted to see, but this brief prologue had been exciting, immensely exciting. He could still picture her arched back against Rafael, while h
is hand was stroking her. He sucked in his breath, feeling the swelled flesh between his thighs. He was painfully aroused. He eased back along the narrow, cobwebbed passage, finally pressed a button, and slipped into the small estate room at the back of Drago Hall. He stood silently for a moment, shivering just a bit, for the passage was damp and clammy. Soon, he thought.
“Oh. The Almighty save me. My lord. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
Damien looked up at Ligger, seeing that his butler’s face was utterly without color, one hand over his chest. He could well imagine the old man’s shock.
“I am ready to seek out my bed now, Ligger. Go to bed yourself. I will ensure that all the lights are doused downstairs and the doors bolted.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” said Ligger, who tottered out of the room he would have sworn was empty but five minutes before.
Damien smiled without much humor, unconsciously eased his clothes around his still-swelled sex, and made his way upstairs to his wife’s bedchamber.
Victoria felt as if a weight had been suddenly lifted from her shoulders the moment their carriage bowled out of the Drago Hall drive. She patted Rafael’s arm when he slammed his cane head on the roof of the carriage not five minutes later to have Flash pull over.
“Sorry, but you know this weakness of mine.”
“It’s not one of my favorite pastimes to ride with a green-faced man,” she said.
And he was gone, to mount his stallion, Gadfly.
She shook her head and settled back against the soft leather squabs. Damien’s carriage was very comfortable and luxurious; she would give him that.
They arrived in the bustling market town of Truro late in the afternoon, Rafael having made innumerable stops along the way. He’d spoken to a tin-mine owner in Trevelland and visited a mine just two miles east of Truro itself. The Gwithian Inn was doing a fine business and Rafael was greeted warmly by Mr. Fooge, who believed him at first to be the Baron Drago.
“Ah, Master Rafael,” he said, rubbing his fat hands together upon correction, “so alike you and your brother are. And this is your lovely wife? A pleasure, ma’am, such a pleasure. Do come along, Master Rafael.”