2Rakehell (13 page)

His response was to lift her and cover her mouth with his
own. As he kissed her he gently removed the plug from her bottom. His lips left
hers only long enough for him to reach behind her neck to unfasten her collar.
As the jewels clattered to the coach floor he captured her mouth again.

His hands moved all over her at once, knocking her cloak
away, exposing her in the cool darkness. His hand caught hers and guided it to
his erection. “I want you,” he growled against her mouth.

As she blindly fought with the laces of his breeches he
eased one of her legs over his lap so that she straddled him. He tore her mask
away and flung it across the small space. He raked his own back on his head,
revealing eyes that smoldered even in the dim light of the coach.

“I couldn’t do it, Adam. I couldn’t go through with it,” she
blurted. “I couldn’t imagine anyone’s touch but yours. Are you disappointed in
me?”

“Disappointed?” he asked as if she’d lost her wits. “No,
darling. No.” His fingers plundered through her folds with impatient haste and
finding her wet, he lifted her and impaled her on his cock.

She cried out as he filled her, not caring if the driver or
footmen heard. All that mattered was taking the edge off this desperate,
scorching need. His own lust seemed to match hers as he gripped her hips and
worked her body up and down.

Clinging to his shoulders, she dropped her head back. Her
hair swept across her back. His fingers pressed into her flesh. She’d be
bruised but she didn’t care. Joy and physical bliss swirled, stemming from
where they were connected.

She scrabbled with her knees to grind her clit against his
pubis but the contact never lasted long enough before he propelled her up his
length again. The head of his cock caressed that magical spot just inside her
passage, teasing her toward ecstasy.

“Please, Adam, please…”

His movements slowed. His body tensed and then his head fell
back against the squabs. With his eyes shut tightly and his lips parted in a
silent breath, he looked like a fallen angel but she only had a scant second to
admire him. The slower grinding gave her the friction she needed to find her
own release.

Hauling her against him he stroked her hair, her back and
her thighs even as her body clenched in pleasure around him. He hadn’t said the
words. But even so Primrose felt a change in his touch, in his kiss.

For the first time in her life she felt she’d found the safe
haven she’d sought. Releasing a deep breath she closed her eyes and rested her
head on his shoulder, basking in this moment, in their connection.

She’d waited so long for this and still she couldn’t shake
the feeling that it could all be snatched from her grasp.

* * * * *

Adam was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep. After they’d
arrived back at Scarborough Hall, he’d carried Primrose up the backstairs and
put her in her bed. At once, she snuggled into the covers and before he could
kiss her goodnight she’d drifted off.

He’d started to undress and climb in beside her but though
his eyes felt full of grit sleep was impossible. She’d declared her feelings
for him. And not only that. Her actions had proved her love.

Over the years he’d taken various women to the club. Women
who’d avowed love for him. They had all—without exception—submitted gleefully
to whomever served as the evening’s dungeon Master.

At that point he’d known their frivolous sentiment tended
toward the punishments rather than himself.

Primrose was the first to refuse, to wear a collar only for
him.

Of course he knew her aversion to Benedict. Even given her
distrust of the man, if her love was questionable, she would have submitted
simply because he, Adam, required it.

He inhaled, recalling the talk he’d had with his father.
Primrose was to inherit millions upon the birth of a male heir. An heiress in
her own right. She’d be free to do as she pleased, to return to America and live
apart if she chose.

When he’d first learned of her inheritance he’d wondered if
her actions were a ruse to seduce him into fathering a child. But after tonight
he knew better. And should have realized it earlier. There was nothing
duplicitous about Primrose.

His lips drew into a little smile as he gazed at her
sleeping soundly, the highlights in her hair illuminated like a blazing sunset
in the flickering light of the fire in the grate. God, she was beautiful with
her flawless skin against the pristine white sheets. The sight of her alone
caused a strange unsettled sensation in his belly.

He brushed his fingers over his abdomen.

Was this love?

Was the feeling of not wanting to awaken another morning in
his life without her by his side love? His heart quickened whenever their eyes
met. He couldn’t stand or sit next to her without battling the need to touch
her.

If only he’d known all those years ago…

He’d been such a stubborn ass to walk out on her. He hated
himself for it. For the pain he’d caused her. For the nights, hours, minutes
he’d wasted out of pigheaded pride.

He didn’t deserve her love. He could never be good enough
for her.

He bent to press a soft kiss to the three little moles along
her jawline but stopped himself. At that moment, she seemed too pure a creature
for his kisses. He straightened. She was such a tiny thing curled in the
covers. Now more than ever the need to protect her, to keep her safe, to
provide for her, welled like a rogue wave inside him. It terrified him in its
all-consuming scope.

His rubbed his face with both hands.

Losing her would crush him far worse than any other pain
he’d suffered in his privileged life and the knowledge of it shook him to the
very core. And fear more than anything nagged at him to descend into the black heaven
of opium.

* * * * *

Primrose stretched and smiled as the memory of the previous
evening drifted back over her. It hadn’t started out very well but when Adam
had swept her off that dais and made impassioned love to her in the carriage
she’d known.

He loved her.

No, he hadn’t uttered the words. But somehow she knew
actions were far more important to Adam than silly words.

He loved her.

She’d seen it in his eyes. Those haunting whiskey-colored
eyes that dragged her in and down like a maelstrom on a stormy sea.

Her stomach tightened at the tender but fervent way he’d
touched her. And after they’d arrived at Scarborough Hall he’d carried her
upstairs and kissed her as he put her to bed.

Last night had altered the relationship, had clarified it.
For the first time since she’d dragged him out of that opium den she could
relax in the knowledge he cared for her.

But she couldn’t lie abed all day. She needed to see after
the family of the driver who’d been killed. Best to get her responsibilities
out of the way before she joined Adam.

Midge appeared very shortly after Primrose gave the bellpull
a tug. Consumed with her new relationship with Adam, Primrose was in no mood to
make small talk as Midge helped her coif her hair and then don a sky-blue day
gown.

Something more somber should have been in order but Primrose
couldn’t bring herself to wear a drab color. Not today.

Not after last night.

“Cook has already served luncheon but I could ask if the
kitchen will send up something lighter if you prefer?” Midge inquired once
Primrose was dressed.

“No bother,” Primrose told her. “I’d rather get this
unpleasant errand behind me before I eat.”

“Very well, ma’am,” Midge told her. “I’ll have Cook prepare
you some fruit and cheese to take along. Shall I have his lordship’s man awaken
him so that he might accompany you?”

Primrose lifted an eyebrow. “His lordship is still abed?”
She quelled the little smile that tugged at her lips and yet something seemed
amiss. Why hadn’t he remained in her bed? She had assumed he’d risen hours ago.

“He’s neither called for his valet nor rung for food,
ma’am.”

“That’s not necessary,” Primrose said. “Doubtless he’s
exhausted. We had quite a late evening out. Tell Mathers to send the carriage
round. Thank you, Midge. That’ll be all.”

Midge curtsied and disappeared out the servants’ entrance.

Primrose crossed the room to the connecting door between her
chamber and Adam’s. Her hand hovered over the knob. She debated going in and
waking him with a kiss, but she reconsidered. Best to let him rest.

Besides, she intended to keep him all to herself tonight.

* * * * *

The short trip to visit the family of Scarborough Hall’s
recently deceased driver Edward Billings had proved more exhausting than
Primrose had thought. The sad faces of Billings’ wife and six children had made
Primrose’s heart ache.

The earl’s accounts man had mentioned a small pension for
the family but Primrose intended to see that pittance doubled and employment to
be found for the two teenaged boys who were old enough to work.

She’d sat in the Billings’ small hovel of a house, guilt
gnawing her to the bone that she’d survived the accident with little more than
a bruise or two. She could have been hurt far worse had Adam not shielded her
with his own body.

After passing her hat, gloves and cloak off to a servant at
the door she wearily climbed the stairs, very much looking forward to losing
herself in her husband’s arms. She hoped he was in a mood to have dinner
brought up to their rooms where they could relax alone.

The servants stopped and acknowledged her as she passed and
went to her chamber. The room had been cleaned as usual but something didn’t
feel right about it. It was too quiet. Too somber.

After today she needed Adam’s touch, his reassurance. Her
pulse sped up as she tapped on his door.

No sound came from within.

“Adam,” she called softly and knocked again.

Still she detected no sign of stirring.

Disappointment flooded her that he might already be at
dinner with Hamish and Fidelis. Heaven knew she didn’t want to face Benedict
tonight. She frowned and gave the doorknob a twist.

The room was dark. The fire had burned out.

But as she opened the door wider, light from her room
spilled into his, illuminating his still form on the bed.

She squinted. “Adam?”

No response.

Her body went rigid.

He wasn’t moving.

Gathering her skirts, Primrose forced her feet to move. She
rushed across the room. “Adam?” Her voice rose in pitch.

He lay on his back, one hand splayed across his chest, one
leg dangling from the side of the bed. His mouth gaped open and he didn’t
appear to be breathing. Trembling, she pressed her hand to his forehead.

His skin was clammy and only a soft shudder told her that he
was still alive. “Adam,” she called to him, praying he was only sleeping.

His eyes blinked partially open and his hand lifted heavily
a mere few inches off his chest before falling back down and knocking away a
brown vial. A sour taste filled Primrose’s mouth. She had to focus or else
terror would take over. There had to be an explanation.

She lifted the vial and held it up in the light. Laudanum.
No…

Anger warred with reason. This had to be a mistake. He
wouldn’t have turned back to opium. Everything had been going so well…

Why had she told him how she felt? She’d admitted it too
soon. After everything that had happened to him, he couldn’t have been prepared
for her confession.

There was no other explanation.

Tears welled in her eyes and she fought the rising panic
that she’d lost him to the drug again.

“Adam,” she called to him.

He squinted, his eyes working to focus. “Ben…” His voice was
barely discernible.

“What?” she asked. “What are you trying to say?”

“Bene…dict.”

Cold horror swept through her. Adam’s hand grasped for hers.
“Benedict…” His hand fell away and his eyes closed though he continued to
mumble incoherently.

She looked at the vial again. This was the earl’s medicine.
Adam had stooped so low he’d consumed his dying father’s prescription? Her
shoulders drooped. The tightening in her chest made her wish she could loosen
her stays.

“Oh Adam…”

After everything that had recently happened. The accident
with the coach and now this…

Now this…

Her gaze riveted to her husband who was still dressed in the
same clothing he’d worn the night before, including his boots. Why hadn’t he
undressed?

A chill rattled her from the inside out.

“Adam!” She shook his shoulders. Hard. “Adam!”

His eyes opened, mere slits clouded with a drug-induced
haze.

“Did someone give you this?” Every nerve in her body felt as
if it would snap as she awaited an answer. “Did someone give you this?” she
repeated.

His hand raised and he pointed toward his wardrobe. “Pis…tol.”
He shifted restlessly. “Find…Ben…”

Pistol? Dear Lord. Whatever fo—

Sick knowledge sank straight to her toes. Benedict had
sabotaged the coach. Benedict had poisoned the earl. Benedict was poisoning
Adam!

The vial clattered to the floor as she brought her hand to
her throat. A physician. She needed a physician. Now!

Fear gripped her but she grabbed the bellpull and didn’t
stop yanking it until Adam’s valet appeared.

“Your Grace,” he greeted, eyes quickly widening when
Primrose whirled to face him.

“I need the physician. Is he still here attending the earl?”

The valet stammered.

“Is he here or not?” she demanded, her voice echoing off the
paneled walls.

“I think he has departed, ma’am. But only just.”

“Send someone after him. And hurry!” she called after the
valet’s back. “Please hurry! And send up Mr. Forbes. I need to speak with him.”
Hamish would know what to do.

Primrose hoped they found the physician in time. Her heart
thundered as she dampened a cloth in Adam’s washbasin. She had to keep him
coherent.

Trembling, she slid onto the side of the bed and pressed the
cloth to Adam’s head. “Did Benedict do this to you?” she asked.
But why? It
doesn’t make sense.
“Adam, please stay awake. Darling…”

He fumbled for her hand. She seized it in hers and squeezed.
“Please be all right. Please get through this.” Her gaze drifted again to the
wardrobe where Adam had indicated he kept a pistol. She’d kill Benedict herself
for this the next time she laid eyes on him.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She could barely swallow. Why
had he tried to harm the earl and Adam? Why?

Benedict had never made it a secret that he wanted Primrose
for his own. Was he still holding a five-year-old grudge? Had her refusal
pushed him over the edge? Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

Hamish raced into the room, wearing his dinner attire. “Is
he still alive?”

Relief washed through her. She released the breath she’d
been holding as if Hamish’s presence would make everything all right. “Yes.
Thank heavens.”

Hamish calmly closed the door behind him and then turned the
lock.

Primrose blinked. Her stomach fluttered. “What are you
doing? I’m expecting the physician.”

Clarity seeped through her like rivulets of water coursing
down a rainspout. He knew the earl wasn’t Adam’s father. Hamish sought the
title. The entailment.

Her lips parted. She stood facing him, feeling rooted to the
spot, unable to move. “It was you wasn’t it? All this time you’ve been
poisoning your uncle. You tried to have Adam killed in Whitechapel and then the
both of us in the coach. Now this…”

She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it.

He inhaled. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt, Primrose.”

Terror ratcheted higher. She feared her heart might beat its
way out of her chest. Her eyes widened as he started toward her. “Hamish, be
reasonable.”

“Reasonable? When my own blood kin preferred a bastard to
inherit the title over me? Reasonable?” He laughed. The ugly maniacal sound of
it struck a chord of horror in Primrose that sent chills rippling down her
spine. “It would have been easier if he’d died in Whitechapel. No one would
have asked questions. But you. You, dear cousin, had to go and fetch him back
to Scarborough Hall. You had to complicate things.”

“You’re reprehensible.” She retreated a step, the backs of
her thighs coming in contact with the unyielding frame of Adam’s bed. A
thousand thoughts fired through her brain at once
. Scream. Tug the bellpull.
Skirt him and run for the door.

Her gaze darted around the room for a weapon. Nothing was in
grasp. If only she could get to the wardrobe and retrieve Adam’s pistol.
Realistically she knew there was no time for that.

Hamish was upon her and before she could escape he snatched
her by the throat and squeezed. She gasped for air. She clawed at his tenacious
hands, feeling the sticky ooze of his blood under her nails. He forced her to
bend backward over the bed, taking away her ability to kick at him effectively.

Wake up, Adam!

He intended to kill her and though she struggled, she was no
match for his masculine strength.

Just as blackness obliterated her vision she heard the
sickening sound of fists pummeling flesh, a grunt—and then she was free.

Clutching the bed she sank to her knees, desperately trying
to draw a breath. Her vision cleared and she realized Benedict had come in
through the connecting door to her room. He and Hamish traded blow for
bone-crunching blow.

The pistol. She had to get to it.

Mustering every bit of determination she possessed, Primrose
clambered to her feet and stumbled to the wardrobe. She flung open the doors
and then hastily searched the first drawer. Nothing. The second was filled with
his shirts. She raked them out like a dog digging to bury a prized bone and
then her hand touched metal.

A wild mixture of fear and willpower shot through her like a
lightning bolt. Rapid thoughts raced through her head. She’d never fired a
pistol. It was heavy. So, so heavy. She glanced at Benedict, debating whether
to pass it to him or attempt to fire it herself.

At that moment Benedict stumbled backward over a chair and
sprawled on the floor. Hamish snatched the poker from the hearth and raised it
with menacing intent.

Think!
She’d seen this done. She just had to
remember. Was the infernal thing even loaded?

Everything seemed to happen at once.

Hamish swung the poker. Benedict grunted in pain as he took
the brunt of it with his arm.

Acting on instinct Primrose aimed the pistol, used both
thumbs to cock the hammer and then she pulled back the trigger. The blast was
deafening, followed by Hamish’s instantaneous yelp of pain.

The pistol kicked up and she reeled backward two steps. When
the smoke faded, a bloodstain appeared on Hamish’s thigh, darker than the black
of his trousers. Rabid, he spun and hobbled toward her, poker raised, his face
mottled with angry, red splotches, his graying hair wild.

Primrose fumbled with the pistol but her inexperience made
her too slow. Just as Hamish swung the poker toward her head, Benedict launched
onto him from behind, yanking the iron bar away from Primrose and jerking it
against Hamish’s throat.

A gruesome sound squeaked out of Hamish’s mouth. His eyes
went wide and his tongue bulged from his purplish lips before his body sagged
against Benedict. Hamish stopped clawing at the poker and his hands dropped to
his sides.

Benedict released him and Hamish slumped to his knees. He
heaved for breath.

Frozen, Primrose stood, still aiming the weapon at him.
Benedict stepped around Hamish and eased the pistol out of Primrose’s hands.
“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, taking in the bruises on Benedict’s
face, his cut and bleeding lip and the tear in the sleeve of his frock coat.

He checked to see if the pistol was loaded and then aimed it
at Hamish. “Move and I will shoot you.”

Hamish lurched onto one hip and covered the bleeding wound
on his thigh.

The sudden pounding on the door made Primrose jolt. Stepping
carefully around Hamish, Benedict reached to unlock it. The valet and the
physician rushed in and started toward Hamish.

“Not him,” Benedict said, his voice dry and devoid of
emotion. “He can wait.”

* * * * *

Primrose sat in the parlor, a warm throw around her
shoulders and a comforting mixture of warm milk and brandy in her hands. She
was hardly cold but she couldn’t stop shaking.

She glanced expectantly toward the door, hoping for news
from the physician attending Adam. She hadn’t wanted to leave his side but the
physician had all but forced her out of the room and told her they’d come for
her as soon as he was conscious.

Benedict sat in the chair next to hers.

An investigator sat in the chair opposite. Two constables
stood behind him, guarding Hamish who sat on an ottoman and barked orders at a
shocked and tearful Fidelis.

Dressed in a brown houndstooth suit, the investigator looked
and acted like the sort who could move easily among the working class but
seemed wholly out of place with the aristocracy. He cleared his throat. “Mr.
Forbes,” he directed at Hamish. “If you refuse to cooperate I will have my men
remove you in shackles.”

Hamish sneered.

Two more constables appeared with Irene. “I told you this
was a fool’s errand!” she wailed at Hamish.

“Shut up,” Hamish snapped.

Primrose’s lips parted at the woman’s veiled admission of
guilt. She looked to Benedict.

“It appears your suspicions were correct, my lord,” the
investigator said, his face grim.

“I would have come to you sooner of course,” Benedict said.
“However I had no proof until recently when I learned the spoke on the coach
wheel had been cut.”

It was true. And yet even faced with the evidence, Primrose
could hardly believe Hamish had wanted her and Adam dead.

“I believe you’ll find Mr. Mathers in the carriage house,”
Benedict said.

“Mathers?” Primrose blurted. All these people she’d trusted
had betrayed both her and Adam.

Hamish’s head dropped while Fidelis’ head jerked around like
a bird looking in every direction.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Primrose asked Benedict.

“He did, ma’am,” the investigator offered. “He came to me
about the carriage just yesterday. Forgive me but I asked him not to make his
suspicions known to Lord Black until Mathers could be questioned. We were
coming out to Scarborough Hall to collect him today.”

Benedict looked down into his own brandy. He swirled the
dregs of the liquid around his glass. “I feared for your safety and told Adam
of my suspicions earlier today. If I’d known either of you were in imminent
danger I would have done everything in my power to stop it. I never imagined
Hamish would drug him.”

Hamish snorted. “He drugged himself. He’s addicted to the
stuff, you know.”

Primrose squeezed her glass to keep from slapping him. How
could she have ever doubted Benedict?

She couldn’t sort it all out. Her thoughts were on Adam and
it was all she could do to sit here a moment longer. She eyed the door again.
Her heart sank when no one appeared to take her upstairs to see her husband.

Irene piped up. “Mr. Forbes never told me what was in them
vials! He jus’ told me to be generous in givin’ the tincture to Lord Thorley.”

Hamish’s head snapped up. “Shut your damned mouth, you
stupid chit.”

The investigator inhaled and looked apologetically at
Primrose. “I think this sort of questioning would be better handled in my
office.” He turned to his men. “Take them out.”

“I must excuse myself.” Primrose shot to her feet. Benedict
and the investigator stood as well. She continued. “I’m terribly worried about
my husband.”

“I’ll take you up to see him,” Benedict told her.

She barely acknowledged the slight bows and farewells as she
took Benedict’s arm and left the room.

“I don’t need this blanket,” Primrose said, shrugging the
throw off and passing it to a servant. She turned to Benedict. “I want to see
Adam.”