Chapter Eight #2
“I think maybe that’s worth a bit more than I originally thought. Say two hundred? The duke is a powerful man, after all. And how come you want to know?”
“Two hundred is outrageous.” Violet rose and leaned forward to scoop up her coins from the desk. “I’ll just take my questions elsewhere.”
But Mrs. Lowell’s hand snagged her wrist with a painful grip. “Where do you think you’re going with my money?”
“This money was in exchange for information which you did not give over.”
Mrs. Lowell’s hand on her wrist squeezed harder. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t tell ya. Just said it was worth more than fifty.”
“Let go of her, Minerva.” A deep masculine voice came from the doorway. “And tell her what she wants to know.”
The lady let go of her, and Violet swung around. Mr. Seaton’s tall, lean form filled the open doorway. He leaned casually against the doorjamb, his arms crossed at his chest, but his eyes were narrowed and glinted with danger.
“Mr. Seaton, I did not expect to see you here,” Violet said.
“Got your note.” He prowled into the room, stopping at the edge of the desk. “Answer her questions. You know I would not have offered a penny.”
Mrs. Lowell pursed her lips into a thin line, her eyes narrowed.
Violet pushed the fifty pounds toward the woman. “A deal’s a deal.” Then she sat again, Mr. Seaton’s presence large and comforting next to her.
Mrs. Lowell sighed. She scooped up the money and stuffed it into the top drawer. “Only because it’s you, boy.” She turned her shrewd gaze back to Violet. “The duke has certain sexual proclivities. Are you sure you want to hear this, dear?”
Violet gripped her gloved hands together. She nodded.
“He likes to hurt his bed partners. Not just spanking and flogging, though. He has a taste for blood play.”
Violet gasped. She couldn’t help herself.
She had extremely limited knowledge of sexual practices.
Her husband never spent much time on their lovemaking, if one could even call it that.
Stuart would come in, order her to undress, and then push her face down on the bed before rutting into her.
It was generally all over in under ten minutes.
The first few times, on their honeymoon, he had held her afterward, and that had been nice.
But overall, his rough, quick fucking left her sore and underwhelmed.
But blood play? Perhaps she should be grateful for her husband’s disinterest.
“The trouble is that he does not have the self-control necessary for this type of play.” Her brows lowered. “He dumped the last girl back here practically dead. She will bear the scars for the rest of her life. Never again will I deal with that man. And I’m not the only one.”
Violet sucked in a deep breath, feeling nauseous again.
Dear Lord. Surprise was not a strong enough word for what she felt.
But also disappointment. She could never speak with her father-in-law about his sexual proclivities.
Never in a million years. There had to be something else.
A man who would harm women thusly was a bad person.
And bad people did bad things. She just had to find the right bad thing to use against him.
Violet rose. “Thank you, Mrs. Lowell, for sharing. Good day.” Then she turned and walked out to the hallway, where Jim waited stoically. “I am done. Let’s go.”
The smell was just as foul as she walked down the long hallway as it had been coming in.
Thankfully, the couple fucking against the wall was gone, and she was only accosted by the sex sounds through closed doors.
She had to get out of this place. Picking up her pace, she raced down the stairs.
Tripping on the hem of her skirt, she almost tumbled down the last couple of stairs, but a strong hand grasped her arm, steadying her.
“Be careful,” Seaton said.
“I have to get outside. I’m going to be sick.”
*
Rhys opened the door for Lady Sommerset, and she rushed past him out into the cold evening. Not surprised by her shock, he watched her take deep gulps of air. This was no place for a sheltered lady of the ton. What the hell had she been thinking coming down here by herself?
Then Lady Sommerset turned, leaned over the railing to the basement stairs, and vomited. Some of his annoyance dissipated at the loud heaving sounds coming from the lady. He sighed and turned to her footman. “Go find your carriage. I will stay with her.”
The man gave him a wary look of indecision.
“Go. I promise she will be safe with me.” Then Rhys walked over to where she leaned against the wrought iron railing. He handed her a handkerchief. “Poor thing. It always smells like garbage down here by the river.”
“It’s not the smell. Well, it certainly isn’t helping.” She wiped her mouth. “I’m pregnant. And sick all the damned day.”
Pregnant? He stared down at the petite beauty.
Sweat dampened the blonde hair at her temple, and despite the cold, her cheeks were flushed.
The smell of refuse and fish permeated the air.
He clenched his hands into fists. She didn’t belong here.
Rhys’s temper roared to life. “What the hell were you thinking coming down to a brothel by the docks when you should be at home abed?” He gripped her arm so that she had to face him.
“Why would you risk yourself and your babe?”
She flinched. Fear flashed bright in her eyes. He dropped his hand to his side. Composing his tone, he said, “You should have waited for me to respond to your note. I could’ve come by myself. I know Minerva.”
“I am willing to take any risk to protect this babe.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What won’t I understand?”
Violet tugged at the wool scarf around her neck.
“I am so overheated.” She pulled it open, and her cape fell back over her shoulders.
She sighed as cool air hit her neck. That’s when he saw the greenish-yellow bruise.
Alarmed, he closed the small distance between them and brushed at the layer of powder along her collarbone that only partially covered the mark.
She jerked away, but he grasped her chin between his fingers.
Using his thumb, he gently rubbed away more powder, uncovering another large, fading bruise along her jaw. What the bloody hell?
“Who hurt you?” he demanded to know.
Her deep chocolate eyes widened at his tone and then closed on a sigh. “My husband.”
Rhys’s temper went white-hot. He took a large step back so as not to frighten her further. “That bastard.”
Violet’s eyes popped open. Her shoulders straightened.
“Yes. Yes, he is. I will not let him hurt me any longer.” Her hand went to her belly to lay against the rose-colored velvet of her dress.
“I just need something to barter with. If I can find information to blackmail the duke with, I could get him to give me one of his many estates to live on. I could insist that Stuart stay away from me.”
Rhys studied Violet with new respect. It wasn’t a terrible plan. “What about your family? Can’t they take you in?”
She shook her head. “No, they told me to go home and try to be a good girl. To not anger him. As though it is all my fault.” She rubbed her eyes. She looked so very pale.
The clatter of her carriage came down the street. It pulled to a stop in front of them. Rhys held out a hand. “Allow me to escort you home?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Indulge me.”
After a long moment, she slipped her hand into his.
Rhys led her to where the footman had lowered the stair, and he steadied her as she climbed inside.
Turning, he strode down to where his horse was tied.
Taking the lead, he led the horse over and looped the reins securely to the back of the carriage.
Then he climbed into the carriage and settled next to Violet on the bench.
Violet leaned back with a sigh as the carriage began to roll forward.
“Have you eaten today?” Rhys asked.
“A little earlier. I cannot keep much down these days.”
“How far along are you?” He eyed her midsection, but it was impossible to ascertain any sort of bump under the voluminous skirts of her dress.
He was pressed to imagine her swollen with child like her friend, Lucy.
Violet had always reminded him of the pretty china dolls he’d seen as a boy in the window of a fancy shop on Borough High Street, with their features delicately painted and pretty dresses trimmed with lace.
Totally out of reach on the top shelf, and something he would never be allowed to touch.
“Four months, maybe.”
Rhys nodded. Not too far along. As they made their way across town, he seethed silently that Violet would be at the mercy of a bastard like Sommerset. That any man dared mar her skin. “I could kill him for you.”
Violet jerked to face him. “Pardon?”
“I can make him disappear.” It would be easy. A pleasure.
Then Violet shocked the hell out of him. She laughed. Low and cynical, the bark of laughter echoed inside the plush carriage. A bit insulted, he glared at her.
Her lips quirked up at one side. “My own father wouldn’t stand up to the duke when I needed him, but a total stranger”—she waved a hand at him—“would kill to keep me safe. Life is strange.”
The sadness in her eyes pierced his chest, just as it had the night he had seen her through the window. Sommerset would pay. “No woman should be afraid in her own home.”
Violet stared at him. Her searching gaze unnerved him, and he refocused his across the carriage. The benches were richly upholstered in dark blue and trimmed in gold braid. He approved. Blue was his favorite color.
“Please don’t kill him,” she said.
He gave a small nod. It would be the most expeditious way to solve her problem, but the choice was hers. “I can help you find the information you need.”
“Why would you help me?”
“Don’t think it’s chivalry or anything. I am no hero,” he warned. “I also need to find out what the duke is up to.”
“Why?”
“I made a promise to stop him from doing whatever it is he’s doing.”
Her head tilted in question.
“I don’t know what it is I am supposed to stop, but I will find out.”
“All right. Partners, then? I can be…what do they call it? The inside source. And you will be the expert. But don’t kill anyone, for goodness’ sake. Unless you were just jesting?” She looked so hopeful.
Rhys couldn’t keep his dry chuckle inside. “I won’t kill anyone as long as you agree to not do any snooping on your own. Let me do the dirty work. Promise?”
Violet nodded. She held out a slim, gloved hand.
Rhys took it in his and they shook. Everything about her was delicate, even the fingers that wrapped around his.
He rubbed his thumb across the soft skin of her wrist between the glove and her sleeve.
Her pulse jumped at his touch, and he felt the jolt all the way up his arm.
He let go of her hand, but Violet’s gaze did not leave his face.
Sharp and assessing, he was held captive by her gaze.
The carriage came to a stop with a jolt, breaking the spell she had him under. He frowned up at the house. He didn’t want her to go inside.
“He is not home. Stuart is in Essex, shooting with his friends at the Earl’s country house.” She gave his shoulder a small nudge. “Can I go inside now?”
He nodded and climbed out of the carriage. Rhys watched her walk inside before turning his back on the Hanover Square mansion. He untied Matthew’s horse, mounted, and headed east toward the Angel. He had a damn dog to collect.