Chapter 12
Twelve
Astley—
Lady Phoebe Drake has requested our presence at her Comfort Ball and House Party to be held at Drake Manor, on the 7th of February, 1811. She promises pleasure beyond our imagination—apparently, she is unaware of the extent of your creativity. The endeavor does come with a price for Lady Drake. She has information I need.
I look forward to sharing the lady’s company with you and extracting the Blair sisters’ location from her pliant lips.
Ross
—A letter from Nashford Xavier Harding, Duke of Ross, to Simon Benjamin Clark, Earl of Astley, after the Duke accepted Lady Phoebe Drake’s invitation to her Comfort Ball and House Party, January 1810
“I ’m not certain I care for your brand of a good time.” Simon rubbed the back of his head and Nash crossed the study and handed him a brandy.
“You’ve suffered worse.”
“Yes, but I always had a rather interesting story to go with it. A brawl with half the King’s navy, a cargo hold full of hard-won loot, or battle scars from being ravaged by a few feisty wenches.” He raised his brows and then winced.
Perhaps his friend had been hit on the head a bit harder than he thought. Simon never spoke of business, legitimate or otherwise, in the same sentence as pleasure.
“What can I say about tonight’s entertainment?” Simon continued. “I sat on a wall while the Duke of Ross pleasured a woman until she screamed, and then I fell and got hit on the head with a branch?”
Nash grinned. “You could say you learned something from the best.”
Simon scoffed. “The day you teach me a thing or two about pleasuring a woman is the day I set sail and never return.”
“That’s not something a sailor is supposed to joke about.” Nash took a thoughtful breath as he sat across from the only man he trusted. One upon a time, he would have included Nithesdale in that category. He and Simon had met at Eaton, both of questionable birth, one hiding it and the other unable to conceal the obvious. But Simon had adored his mother and fought with his siblings. He’d grown up in the perfect household, at least in Nash’s opinion, albeit not the Ton’s idea of perfection.
Simon shrugged. “What are we doing in Lady Drake’s private study with no women on our laps? I thought this party was meant to show off my prowess.”
“You failed miserably.”
Simon looked affronted. “I have never left a woman wanting.”
Nash tossed back the remainder of his drink. “You just sent one running in the opposite direction.”
“I’m not responsible for Lady Drake’s escape.” Simon grumbled and swung his leg over the edge of the feminine floral settee.
Nash refilled his glass at the sideboard, then raked a hand through his hair.
“Regrets?”
Yes. “No.” He couldn’t explain his feelings to himself, how could he possibly broach the subject with his best friend. “Although I’m not sure my plan will work.”
“Then I suppose I will have to enchant the lady with my charms.” Simon’s smile was self-assured and cocky. His white teeth gleaming against his unfashionably dark skin. His friend may travel the high seas, but the unrelenting sun aboard ship was not the only source of his complexion. After Simon’s birth, his father had born children from England to India to the Caribbean, and his countess had taken in his bastards with the love and warmth most mothers of the Ton didn’t afflict on their own children. Whereas Simon’s father had sewn oats far and wide, Simon’s mother had earned the status of sainthood.
Their less-than-stellar parentage had created the bond between them. It was that bond that had led Nash to enlist Simon’s assistance with this scheme as well. Simon understood his desire to vindicate the Blair sisters’ plight.
“Then at least one of us will obtain the whereabouts of five younger Blair sisters and get them placed in society.”
“That may not work since I’m not certain Isea—the Duchess knows where her younger sisters are.”
The door to the room quickly opened and closed in a flourish of midnight-blue silk skirts. Nash looked at the woman with her forehead resting on the wood panel, her shoulders slumped as if she couldn’t bear to face what was waiting for her on the other side. Simon cocked an eyebrow and lifted his leg off the arm of the settee. The rustle of his clothing caused her back to stiffen and she slowly turned around to gaze at the two of them.
Lady Drake stood before them, her cheeks flushed, hair perfectly coiffed without a tendril out of place, her skirts flowed smoothly to the tips of her heeled slippers, and her bodice appeared neatly pressed.
Simon rose to his feet and her eyes darted in his direction as if trying to place his identity. “Your Grace, sir,” she curtsied, and both gentlemen bowed in return.
“My lady. Please forgive us,” he said.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but her face remained carefully masked. “What should I forgive you for?”
“We didn’t want to join the rest of the party and we sought the privacy of your study.”
A smile spread across her face as she swept into the room with all the refinement of the lady she was. “You are my guests. The entire house is at your disposal.”
“The entire house?” Simon grinned, his voice laced with innuendo.
Lady Drake’s cheek quirked but she did not smile as she looked Nash in the eye. There was no hint of recrimination or embarrassment.
“Are you going to introduce me to this gentleman, Your Grace?”
He stared at the woman in front of them.
“It appears Ross is lost in your beauty. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Astley, at your service.” Simon reached for her gloved hand, and ran his lips across her knuckles, his eyes never leaving Lady Drake’s as he held her hand, and her gaze, longer than acceptable in polite society.
“Ahh, Lord Astley. My lord, you are as naughty as you are rumored to be.”
“Would life be worth living without a bit of sin to make it interesting?”
She smiled and slipped her hand from Simon’s as she turned toward the sideboard and poured herself a glass of brandy. “I hope you are enjoying my brandy, my lord. May I offer you a refill?”
“Are you attempting to get me deep in my cups, my lady?”
“And if I were?”
“Then I would say I perform best when not too inebriated.”
“Am I to surmise you don’t allow yourself to become too deep … in your cups?”
The grin Simon gave her was purely wicked, and Nash had a moment when he thought he should allow Simon to handle this sinking ship. After all, what better man to be at the helm than Simon? But no. He had vowed to find Iseabail’s sisters and make things right.
He stepped forward, putting on a mask of charm he didn’t feel. “I can handle going deep, my lady. Please, allow me to show you.”
The corner of her mouth definitely quirked with the tug of a grin as he held out his glass for more of the brandy he needed to get through this affair.
The tremble in her hands as she poured his drink was real. Once again, he sensed that she was uncomfortable with the coyness she displayed. “Would you like to pick up where we left off in the garden?” he whispered.
Her gaze met his and then strayed to his friend who had returned to his seat, his leg comfortably hooked over the arm once more. Simon grinned, and he saw the flair of panic in her eyes. Her hand rose to her throat, more an attempt to breathe than to accentuate the creaminess of her skin. Only belatedly did she catch her action and run her finger down her décolletage in a practiced manner of a coquette. The pulse point at her throat fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird, a rapid beat he rather thought he should be able to hear.
“Don’t you think it would be best to continue in … in your bed chamber?” Her voice was breathy as if she was finding it hard to breathe, and Nash stepped back, allowing her space. The last thing he wanted was to have the woman crumple at his feet. His priority was to obtain the location of the Blair sisters.
“I will meet you there at half past the hour,” he agreed.
“I take it I’m not invited to watch this time?”
Her eyes widened, darting from his to Simon’s and back.
“You are not invited, Astley,” he clarified, nor did he miss the thankful whoosh of air that expelled from her lungs.
“If you’ll excuse me. I must … I must …” Her hand vibrated with nerves down the length of her body.
“Slip into something more comfortable?” he asked, a seductive smile spreading across his face.
Her cheeks regained their color in spades, but she recovered and gave him a coy smile. “Your Grace.” She curtseyed to him. “My lord.” She nodded in Simon’s direction, who didn’t even bother to stand up as she left the room.
“A fine piece,” Simon said, as he took a drink of his brandy and stared at the fire. “I don’t suppose you could introduce me to a sister or perhaps a cousin?”
“Lady Drake has no sibling that I’m aware of.”
“You won’t hurt her, will you?” Simon was looking at him now, as if he didn’t quite know the man behind the ducal facade.
“I won’t hurt her,” he said matter-of-factly. “While I’m busy, I need you to make some inquiries among the servants.”
“What exactly am I looking for?” Simon finally sat up and straightened his cravat, his dark, unruly hair a lost cause.
“I want to know if there is any information about the other Blair sisters, and find out everything you can about the lady.”
Simon nodded and threw back the rest of his brandy. Returning his glass to the sideboard, he turned and said, “At your service, Your Grace.” He conducted a ridiculous bow with his arms waving in the air like a peacock in heat. “I hope you don’t mind if I find my own diversion while you’re bedding the lady. Wandering the hallowed halls of Drake Manor alone holds little appeal.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “I promised you a tryst, and if it’s a tryst you seek, then by all means, indulge yourself.”
Simon grinned. “I knew you were a reasonable man.”
“I hope you won’t spread such a nasty rumor.”
Simon’s hands went to his chest in mock indignation. “I would never dream of such a thing.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.
Nash looked at the clock on the mantel. Eleven o’clock. He still had time to prepare himself for the deed ahead of him and then at half past the hour he would find out exactly what kind of game Lady Drake was playing.
* * *
“I can’t do it.”
Phoebe sighed. “You’ve said that before.”
“And I’m saying it again. I will find another way.”
“This is the path Nithesdale suggested.”
“And where is he now? He is gone.” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. No doubt the stable cats were yowling in response. She paced back and forth across the carpet in the lavish room where she’d been hiding since the house party began. She couldn’t fault Phoebe for her lodgings … she’d given Iseabail the best room, one that adjoined her own. Decorated in pastel blues, the room held an air of serenity Iseabail didn’t feel.
Phoebe wore a soft expression of understanding, but she couldn’t possibly comprehend what Iseabail had been exposed to in the garden. “Have a drink to soothe your nerves,” Phoebe suggested.
“It will take more than a glass of madeira to calm me.” At this rate she would wear a path in the carpet like the ruts in the road. “I just can’t go to his room.”
“If you don’t, I’m afraid he will show up at my door this evening.”
Iseabail’s fear made her stumble. She caught herself on one of the massive four poster supports. “You don’t understand. The Earl of Astley was there .”
Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “In the garden?”
“Yes, in the garden.”
“Did he say something to upset you?”
“Yes.” Of course that wasn’t exactly right. “Well, no, he did not, but he was there while … while …” She waved her hand in exasperation as her face heated with color. “You know.”
“While the Duke kissed you?”
“Yes.”
“In front of the Astley?” Phoebe whispered.
“Yes.” Where was her fan? She needed something to cool the heat scorching her body.
“Darling, that shouldn’t bother you.”
“It wasn’t that sort of kiss,” Iseabail muttered. If it had only been that sort of kiss.
“Oh.” Phoebe responded automatically, but Iseabail couldn’t look at her face. Couldn’t watch as understanding sank in. “Ohhhhhhh,” Phoebe exhaled, and Iseabail wanted to hide behind the curtains. Her tone said it all.
“Yes, ohhhh.”
“Am I to understand he had his face buried in your décolletage?”
She snorted. Anything else was beyond her capacity to verbalize. She’d found that experience to be pure bliss, but what had followed had been sinfully wicked, and there was absolutely no way she would share that moment with anyone.
Well, apparently that wasn’t completely true—she’d shared the experience with the Earl. She plopped down on the bed and covered her eyes. “I was …” How did she say this? “I was exposed when the Earl entered the garden.”
“Iseabail. The garden is dark. That is why we chose it. The Earl could not possibly see.”
“He was directly above me on the wall, looking down.”
“Oh.”
Only a blind fool would not be able to see every exposed part of her body. The man had seen and heard her reaction to the Duke’s attention. When she thought of the throes of wild abandon she had experienced, she wanted to crawl into the coffin with her husband. Let it be done. Over.
“That isn’t the worst of it,” she confessed.
“It isn’t?” The shock in Phoebe’s voice would have been comical if they were discussing someone else’s experience.
“No. The Duke invited Astley to join us in the garden.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened and her breath hitched, then it was her turn to jump to her feet and pace the floor in the exact pattern Iseabail had taken. The rug would be threadbare by the end of the night.
“I see.”
“Yes, I believe you finally do.”
“That doesn’t change our plans.”
“I beg your pardon?” Surely her ears were playing tricks on her. She wasn’t certain she could handle one commanding man, let alone two like the Duke and the Earl. Bloody hell—what had she gotten herself into?
Phoebe turned to her and squared her shoulders. “We stick to the plan. If ever a man deserved to be tricked into siring another man’s heir, I believe Ross is the one.”
Iseabail shook her head in disbelief. “But I can’t. Not with two young and very virile men.”
Phoebe was at her side in an instant, grabbing her shoulders and forcing Iseabail to look her in the eyes. “Iseabail, darling. I would never subject you to such abuse. I understand now the unique conversation I had with Ross and the Earl in my study. I made it abundantly clear that it would only be myself and the Duke in his room this evening?—”
Iseabail bit her lip. “They are rogues. I’ve read the stories …”
“I am well aware of their reputations. I promise you, Astley will be preoccupied while you are with your Duke.”
“He’s not my Duke.”
“Of course not.” Phoebe smiled. “But tonight, he will be your lover. So, for this night, you must think of him as your own.” When she started to argue, Phoebe held a finger up to her lips and passed Iseabail a glass of brandy, not wine. “It is the only way that you will experience the pleasure you deserve.”
Iseabail doubted she would feel anything but hatred for the man.
“Think of your sisters,” Phoebe added, and Iseabail knew her fate was sealed. Her friend was right. She could not let a new duke take over Caerlaverock. Nithesdale’s cousin would not inherit her new home. This path, no matter how objectionable, was the only way she could secure her future and procure honourable partners for her siblings.
It was their only hope. She downed the brandy, then held the back of her hand to her mouth and allowed the burn to travel through her entire body. In order to succeed, she had to sleep with an ogre—a very dangerous and sexy ogre who had shown her the meaning of true passion … yet he was a monster just the same.