Lady Vice (24 page)

“What do you want, then?” She asked, feeling sick.

“For now,” his gaze became heavy-lidded. “I want you to remove your gloves.”

“Very well.” She knew what he wanted, but she kept her voice light, aloof.

She yanked at her fingers. His cold hands stilled her movements.

“Not. That. Way.” Each
T
was emphasized in a fashion that pricked her skin.

“Do it like we taught you,” he whispered.

Her heart jerked and kicked in protest. She did remember. She remembered the way a player might recall lines spoken decades past. Remembered wisps of controlled movement.

Was she any closer to breaking Monte? Could this be the key?

“Please,” Monte whispered.

Her heart thrilled to the pleading note in his voice
. Monte
had pleaded. If she did this, Montechurch would be squarely in her power.

“Of course I’ll take off my gloves,” she said smoothly. “If it is your wish.”

He leaned back against the doorframe, his breath moving from his belly to his chest.

Swallowing slowly, she drew within. She bowed her head, remembering the feel of being wrapped in Max’s arms. Knowing her soul had been, for a time, fixed in the strength of love, she allowed herself to transform, one last time, into Vaile’s careful creation.

She arched her back and stretched her arms, as if a performer about to take a bow. She glanced over her shoulder, pretending herself seductress, with dark, smoldering eyes.

“Say what you used to say for him.” Monte’s voice had cracked.

“You get the gloves.” Her voice was raw and gravelly. “For now, that is all.”

Monte released a shivering exhale.

“I do love your claws,” he said. “Go on.”

She reached over her head to the tip of her long, black glove. Taking the edge between her thumb and forefinger, she slid it down to her elbow, dropped her head back, and sighed.

Swirling slowly, she bowed her head and pressed her arms together. She bent her elbow, as if to cool her face with fluttering fingers, and bit the tip of her glove above her middle finger. She kept her head bowed, but lifted her eyes to Monte. One by one, she tugged on each of her fingers with her teeth, blotting out the sour taste of leather and disgust.

And all the while she watched his eyes—a David at the feet of Goliath—seeking exactly the right moment to cast her stone…

Chapter Twenty-Seven

You could have trusted me.

Lavinia’s cheeks tinged with pink. Her tight black bodice raised her breasts almost to spilling. Max had never seen this Lavinia. She had made herself into nothing more than an animated doll.

Was she still in control, as Grimley believed, or was she sinking further into Montechurch’s web?
You could have trusted me.

She leaned onto a desk. She covered her face. Her chest heaved—as if she were about to cry. But before the fountain broke, she stiffened her back and settled her shoulders.

She caught the hanging glove in her teeth and pulled it from a steady hand. She let it drop and then licked her upper lip. For one breathless moment she gazed down at her palm.

Then, she snagged Montechurch with her sharpened eyes, her lashes like careful hooks, drawing him near, drawing him in. Eyes, like sensual hands, ran over Monte’s body, though she remained completely still.

Beast and gentleman demanded he pounce. But something stronger bound them both.

She sauntered to Monte, accentuating her hips’ sway. Without touching the man, she stood close enough for him to feel her heat.

“Finish,” Monte spat, as if she held him by his throat.

“Ah, Monte,” she said, “Lust is making you tremble.”

“I have a house full of whores,” he protested, breathy. “And I have been promised a harem.”

Her smile was faint. “But a man of your refined tastes craves a lady’s touch.”

She spoke in the voice she’d used that first night in Sophia’s garden. Low, sensual, and brimming with disdain.

“You, kitten, are no lady.”

“You should know. I am, after all…” she moved her hand through air, hovering just above his arm. “…
your
creation.”

Monte, as did Max, visibly shook.
You could have trusted me.

“You yearn for confession’s purification, don’t you, my lord?” She spoke but a half inch from Monte’s neck. “You tire,” she said softly, “of guilt’s unrelenting weight.”

Lavinia used Montechurch’s exact words. Awareness blossomed beneath Max’s skin. She was in control. She had not fallen for Montechurch’s ploy.

Relief was cool and calming and settled bone-deep with an iron resolve. He would trust her. Both beast and gentleman melded into one—a steady force, awaiting her command.

“Tell your kitten how you made things right again.”

Montechurch seized her upper arms.

“You did it for me, didn’t you, my dear Monte?”

“Foolish girl,” he rasped.

“Foolish and weak and totally at your mercy,” she whispered back.

“What is your game?” Montechurch asked.

“I have none. I came here to beg your protection. I have in my pocket papers to make you my trustee. That’s what you wanted all along, wasn’t it? That, of course…” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “…and me.”

God how he wanted to break through the wall.

Hurry, love.

“Go ahead, Monte, check the papers.”

Instead of releasing her arms, Monte crushed the side of her dress with his leg—papers crinkled.

“You see?”

“What do you want in return?”

“Your protection, of course. Do you think I ever trusted that silly, no-title man?”

Her words hit him like a facer, stinging on his cheeks, but he strengthened his trust. He remained still.

“All this time I have been waiting for a chance to come to you. So clever, you were, ridding us of Vaile. How tiresome he was, what with his railing on and on about how all men were sheep but he.”

The side of Monte’s lips quirked.

“Did he know you were the one to best him?”

“I
always
bested him.”

“Yes, my lord—you did. How brilliant you are. How heroic.” She placed her hand over his heart. “No one else would have freed me of your sniveling little cousin. I am, my lord, forever in your debt.”

“Lavinia,” Montechurch said, as if cursing her for a witch. “My darling little cat.”

“When Vaile died, did he curse you…or did he call for me?”

“Vaile begged for his life as I pulled back the frizzen.” Montechurch shoved his hand into her hair and twisted. “As, I think, will you.”

“Enough?” Max asked Grimley.

Grimley nodded.

Before Max could break down the door, Lavinia screamed.

…

As Montechurch’s hands closed around her throat, Lavinia heard a rushing sound, a fierce roar—like the whoosh of fire up a hot chimney.

As she flailed, her hand hit the candlestick she’d knocked over. She closed her fingers around the stem. She ignored the terrible shards of pain, the dizziness, and the strain. With a strength she did not know she had, she heaved the brass to the side of Monte’s head.

She caught him first on his shoulder, and then, with a second quick blow, she nicked his jaw.

He stumbled back. His mouth opened as if he were howling with rage. But Lavinia heard nothing except the sound of rushing wind. She hit him again.

“Harrison!” She heard Sullivan’s voice from far away. “Where the hell are you?”

Sullivan’s words barely penetrated her consciousness. Montechurch grabbed her arm. She whacked again, feeling nothing. He stumbled to the floor. She wanted to make him stop. Stop talking. Stop breathing. Stop dragging innocents into the gutter filth where he lived.

Her eyes burned, her chest heaved.

She wanted to stop hitting him, too, but his lips still moved.

Then she was on her knees. Sounds were coming from her throat, carrying the terrible weight of the innocence she had lost, the innocence he had stolen.

In that moment she knew one thing.

They both might die, but he was going to go first. She would not burn for a murder she did not commit, but she’d be happy to hang for one she did.

“Lavinia!” Max yelled.

She held back her arm mid-swing and looked up. Max stood in the doorway and behind him, the magistrate.

Montechurch groaned weakly.

“Stop, love,” Max said, approaching slowly. “Your plan worked. Your brave plan worked. You do not need to do this. Justice will prevail.”

Calm fluttered over her body. The Max she knew had returned.

“It is over, Vinia.” Max extended his hand. “Do you understand? Grimley heard everything.”

Peace.

Lavinia released the candlestick. The resounding thud reverberated in her chest.

Love and…

“Come,” Max urged.

She steadied herself on the table and rose.

From the door, Grimley addressed Montechurch. “Lord Montechurch, you are headed to Westminster, for the murder of Lord Vaile.”

“Am I?” Monte asked.

Max swiveled, jerking back.

Montechurch raised his head and pointed a gleaming flintlock directly at Lavinia’s heart.

Time slowed as the sound of the mainspring stretched. A low, monotonous hum like the sound of a thousand honeybees droned in her ear.

“You have one chance to fire, Monte,” she heard herself say.

“No!” Max yelled.

She turned to Max as he cast himself between. Monte fired. Max landed in a pool of spreading blood.

Lavinia screeched. She was on her knees again, rolling Max into her arms. She yanked his jacket aside.

“Not I,” Max gasped. “This is not my blood. It is not my blood.”

“Not you?” she asked, frantic.

“No,” he answered, very much alive.

Max rested his head on her knees and she touched his hair.

“Lord Montechurch fired on himself,” Grimley said.

“I would have killed him,” she said, glancing toward the candlestick.

“He aimed to kill you,” Grimley corrected.

“Monte was going to blame you, Max.” The sting in her nose spread to her eyes. Max became an unfocused, watery blur. “I could not let him destroy you.”

She pressed her forehead into the crook of his arm. And, for an interminable moment, he failed to hold her back. When his arms encircled her, they were tender. He placed his palm on the back of her head.

“Vinia,” he said, his voice cracking. “I am moved. Deeply moved.”

…and, refuge.

Grimley tactfully turned his back.

Max pulled her face down. He brushed a kiss across her mouth. His lips tasted like spring, like freedom, and like hope.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Max, still heady with Lavinia’s scent and humming from her ministrations, greeted Randolph with a slight bow. The voluminous sleeves of his banyan draped all the way to the floor.

“Really, Harrison? Is this how you always dress for visitors?” Randolph didn’t bother to rise from the chair where he was lounging.

“When called from my bed, yes.”

“The morning’s well-nigh gone.”

“Did you wake me to assess my wardrobe, Randolph?” he asked. “Or do you have a reason for insisting I come down?”

“Wake?” Randolph snorted. “You don’t have the look of a man who has been sleeping.”

Fully true, but tactless of him to say so. “Bit of a princox, aren’t you? Very well, then. Geste will see you out.” Max turned and grabbed the door’s handle.

“You may wish me to stay. That is, if you care to learn the foreigner’s fate.”

Randolph’s words rooted him to the carpet. “You found Kasai’s Brute, then?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Max’s fingers tightened around iron. Lavinia was but a flight of stairs away. Randolph meant to draw him in with all the subtle intent of a spider resting in the middle of a web.

“Continue,” Max said.

“Murdered. Knife to the back and neck broken, for good measure. Hard to tell which wound came first.”

“Helle and Eustace?” he asked.

“Still missing.”

Max closed his eyes and forced his hand to open. Randolph picked up a crystal bowl from the table and turned it around in the light.

“How the hell did they get away?” Max asked as he turned back. “How and why?”

“I was hoping you could answer at least one of those questions,” Randolph said with affected laze. “No one but you and Sullivan has verified the identity of the foreigner’s translator.” He looked up, eyeing Max hard. “No one but you can say for certain Helle changed allegiance.”

Damn
. Max rubbed his eyes.

Randolph continued, “She and Eustace have proof of scandal at the highest levels of government. You are going to help me find them.”

A warning pinch slid down between his shoulder blades. “You want
me
to help you find them, when
you
allowed them to get away?”

“I have approval for you and Sullivan to join our fight. You’d have men—whatever you need.”

The glint in Randolph’s eye said he thought he’d nailed his argument. He would have been right…a few days ago.

A few days ago, Max would have agreed without hesitation. A few days ago, he would have burned with the thrill of an impending hunt.

A few days ago, Lavinia hadn’t been waiting in his bed.

“Sullivan,” Max said, “will be happy to assist, I am sure.”

“He has already agreed.”

“Your success is assured, then.”

Randolph set down the bowl, widened his legs and rubbed his thigh. “A man as ambitious as you would never turn down a chance to serve His Majesty.”

Max laughed without mirth. “Just because you want to spend your days attending to your lady does not mean I should neglect mine.”

Randolph rubbed his jaw, and his chest expanded as he inhaled.

“I thought justice mattered to you,” Randolph said.

“Do not push me.” Justice did matter, would
always
matter. But he’d put the beast to bed. “My part in this is finished.”

Randolph looked away. “Forgive me if I cannot understand. You were the one who brought Eustace to my attention.”

“And the inattention of your men is the reason he is lost,” Max replied. “Your failures are hardly my concern.”

Randolph looked off to his side with a bitter half smile. When he glanced back, his smile was gone. “As you pointed out yesterday, the duke’s life may be at risk. Don’t you wish to protect your patron?”

“Randolph, Randolph, Randolph.” How he had to smile. “You must devastate a weak mind.”

“My talents are usually adequate on the strong ones, too.”

“I will not join your search for Eustace and Helle.” Max stared for a long moment and then sat opposite Randolph, mirroring his posture. “I will, however, be available to Sullivan if he has need of me, and I will keep an eye out for Wynchester. I suggest you enlist the help of another as well.”

“You sound as if you have someone in mind,” Randolph said.

“An unwelcome suggestion, I’m sure, but sound nonetheless. Ask the duchess.”

Randolph’s brows shot up. “I am not that desperate.”

“Who better to keep the duke fully occupied? Should he get wind that Eustace is alive, nothing will keep him from believing in his brother’s innocence, nor will he stop until Eustace is installed in his proper place. If that should happen, the duke and duchess had better be reconciled…perhaps even with the promise of an heir.”

Randolph scowled. “Damn you for being right.”

Max chuckled. “A rare occurrence these days.”

“To be rarer still, I am sure, once Lady Vaile finishes her period of mourning.”

Max’s lip twitched. “Because I know Sophia, I will let you slide. I will mind my lady, you mind yours.”

“I plan to,” Randolph said.

…

What could Lord Randolph possibly have to say that would be keeping Max belowstairs? Lavinia stretched her hands over her head, pinpointing the place just below her navel where Max’s trail of kisses had stalled.

She’d heard that leaving off before the prize left men uncomfortable, but her ache came as a surprise. In her frustration, she was imagining making scraps of Max’s banyan as soon as he walked through his door.

The passageway snapped and jiggled. She sat straight.

“Who is there?” she called.

“Only us,” Thea replied. “Is it safe to swivel the door?

Lavinia pulled the bedcovering up to her chin. “Go ahead.”

Thea and Sophia emerged, one by one.

“Look,” Thea said to Sophia, “she’s not even in a night rail.”

“I noticed. And they call me Scandal!”

Sophia picked up Lavinia’s dressing gown from the floor. Lavinia blushed, remembering how Max had yanked the gown from her shoulders.

“Would you like this?” Sophia asked, hanging the dressing gown from her finger.

Lavinia slipped on her gown and tied the sash.

“Bursting in was my idea, I am afraid,” Sophia said. “I could not leave without saying goodbye…and, as Randolph has men watching Emma’s doors, I will need to use Mr. Harrison’s mews.”

“What do you mean?” Lavinia asked.

“In short, I have some traveling to do,” Sophia replied. “Emma has agreed to allow you and Thea to remain as long as you wish.”

“Traveling?” Lavinia frowned. “When will you be back?”

Sophia pursed her lips. “I wish I knew.”

“She wouldn’t tell me, either,” Thea added.

“If this is about Randolph—” Lavinia started.

“Only in part,” Sophia interrupted. “I have other reasons as well.” She cupped Lavinia’s cheek and patted. “Believe me, the less you both know, the better.”

“Randolph is downstairs with Max. You had better wait.”

Sophia exchanged a glance with Thea. “I told you he wouldn’t waste time.”

“Can I get you anything for your journey?” Lavinia asked. “You know I will help in any way I can.”

“You can help by not worrying about me.” She grimaced. “The earl taught me well. I told you, I know what I must do. I’ve been prepared for a long time for the possibility that I might need to run.” She sighed deeply. “I made a blunder and now must pay the price.”

“This is my fault. If you hadn’t asked Randolph to testify, your connection would have remained tenuous.”

“The fault is no one’s but mine. I chose the wrong man to trust,” Sophia replied. “Chins up, ladies. Frankly, I think I will enjoy this little adventure.”

Lavinia shivered, thinking Randolph was a man she would not wish to cross. But Sophia wasn’t just any woman.

Footsteps sounded in the passage beyond.

“Quickly now.” Sophia put out both her arms.

Lavinia stood. She wrapped one arm around Thea and the other around Sophia, wondering how much time would pass before the Furies stood together again.

“Be safe, Sophia,” Lavinia said. “Get word to us, if you can.”

Sophia smiled. “I will.”

“Goodbye, Sophia and Godspeed,” Thea said, ducking into the passage. “You and I will talk later, Lavinia.”

Sophia lingered, watching Max open the door. His smoldering eyes turned from Lavinia to Sophia and cooled.

“Lady Randolph,” he said.

“Sophia!” Lavinia said. “You and Randolph are married?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“That was,” Lavinia said, “the surprise Emma interrupted.”

Sophia nodded. “I do not have time to explain. Mr. Harrison, might I ask for the use of your back stair?”

“You are leaving,” Max observed.

“Are you going to warn him?” Sophia asked.

“No.” Max met Lavinia’s eyes as if she were the only thing that mattered. “I intend to be occupied with more important matters.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harrison,” Sophia inclined her head. “Take care of Lavinia.” She glanced to Lavinia. “I
know
I do not need to remind you to take care of him.”

Lavinia held out her hand to Max. “My life’s work.”

“Be happy.” Sophia sniffed, and a bright sheen covered her eyes. She disappeared through Max’s door and was gone.

Max drew her to the bed, turned, and sat. “You have not seen the last of Sophia.”

“Do you know what is between her and Randolph?” Lavinia asked.

“I knew only that Randolph was recently wed by special license.” He cocked his head. “And that he is not going to take her departure well.”

“I am surprised,” Lavinia said. “But not stunned. I have always known there was more to her association with Randolph than she was leading us to believe. I suppose I must trust her.”

“Are you sad?” he asked, face upturned.

“Of course.” Still standing, Lavinia wedged herself between his knees. “But let us not talk of sadness. We have come through too much already.”

His palm made comforting circles on her back. “She did ask me to care for you, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Lavinia answered.

She loved the way his hair wisped over his chin’s smooth plane. She loved the way his eyes’ mossy depths invited her to sink within. She loved the way his peach-pink lips parted when he angled for a kiss.

She cradled her hands and nestled his cheeks.

“If memory serves,” he said, “I left you in great discomfort.”

She loved the flutter he kindled in her belly.

He gripped her waist with spread fingers and then trailed his hands lower. He pressed his forehead to her heart and inhaled.

“Now, sweet love, the future begins…”

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