Sweetest Little Sin (32 page)

He hesitated. Then he shifted a little, making the chains that bound his hands sway and clank. “Smith mentioned a woman he called my mistress—”

The blow came from nowhere, knocking the breath from her lungs. It was a dread she’d barely acknowledged to herself, and now . . .

She threw out her hands to ward off more of these crippling words. “I don’t want to know,” she blurted out. “I don’t want to know who you’ve been with while we were apart.”

“But I—”

“No!”
Stricken with the pain of it, she forced down a sob. In a halting, trembling voice, she continued, “I always knew there’d be other women. Eight years—how could there not be others? But I don’t want to know, Jardine. Let me have that dignity, at least.”

Jardine let out a furious oath. “By God, Louisa, if I weren’t chained to this wall, I’d shake you. How dare you? How
dare
you say that to me?”

Jardine’s voice was fury itself. Louisa gasped, half affronted, half intrigued. “What? What do you mean?”

“I’ve had no other woman since we married. I said you were remarkable, Louisa. Incomparable would be closer to the mark. No one could ever measure up to you. Why would I want them to? I gave my oath to honor and protect you. I gave my word.”

Her entire being was suspended in wonder. She couldn’t speak.

He must have taken her silence for doubt. “Dammit, why do you think I’ve been in a foul mood for eight years?”

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to weep for days. She wanted to leap up and caper about the cramped, cold room. That nagging suspicion, that undercurrent of distrust had been her companion for a long time, she realized. It had eaten away at her, eroding her confidence and her faith in him.

Suddenly, it was as if the gates to her heart had been flung open. She’d tried so hard not to love him. Then she’d finally accepted that her love had no limits or conditions. No matter what he’d done, she was helplessly in love with this man.

Now, it seemed she need not have suffered so greatly. If only her pride had not stopped her ever alluding to this question, she’d have saved herself years of agony.

She blinked hard.
Do not cry.
If she started weeping now, she’d never stop.

She remembered Smith’s mention of Celeste. “But . . . there was a woman, wasn’t there?”

Jardine gave a curt nod. “Before I met you. In fact, when I met you I was still involved with her. Celeste was my mistress, but I never went back to her. One look at you . . .”

He sucked in a harsh, shaken breath. “You were like a blinding light, and everything else fell into shadow. I forgot about her. To my regret. If I’d done the decent thing and broken it off, perhaps they wouldn’t have . . .”

He bowed his head, and Louisa wanted to draw him into her arms. But she let him finish what he had to say.

“She was living in a house I’d bought for her. She was a high-flying courtesan, very beautiful. Everyone knew she was my mistress.”

Louisa put a hand on his arm. “Radleigh.”

“Yes. Apparently. Smith hates me. He thinks I’m responsible for his brother being tried and hanged. Smith had a finger in every rancid pie in the London underworld. His younger brother Elias worked for him, overseeing a particularly nasty ring of brothel owners. Elias peddled children, sold them into a life of prostitution, degradation, and pain. That alone would not have occasioned much remark, but he chose to blackmail a government minister.”

Jardine’s lips curled into a cynical smile. “
That
galvanized the authorities as the rest could not. Max and I put together a very complicated operation. We arrested Elias Smith and closed down the ring. The minister was innocent and Faulkner tried to hush up the investigation, saying we didn’t want to drag the minister’s name through the mud. But Max and I wouldn’t stand for that. We managed to get Smith’s brother convicted on other charges, with no mention of blackmail. Faulkner arranged for the sentence to be commuted and he was transported to one of the colonies. We were told Elias Smith died en route to New South Wales.”

“So he’s dead and Smith wants revenge.”

“I had thought so. Except . . . I’ve had suspicions about Faulkner for some time. After the affair with Kate’s diary last year, it became clear how far he was prepared to go to keep the present government in power. I’ve had him watched. There is a cottage in the next county that is heavily secured and guarded. And its sole prisoner is a man who looks very like Elias Smith. The man we all thought had perished.”

Louisa frowned. “Does Smith know his brother is alive?”

“It seems not. So, the question is, why does Faulkner hold him? Could it be that he is keeping him in reserve as a bargaining chip? Perhaps he means to ransom the fellow to fund his retirement, I don’t know. But he didn’t use him to get that list back, did he?”

Hope glimmered on the horizon. Louisa licked her lips. “It gives us something to bargain with.”

Jardine’s mouth hardened. “It gives us bait.”

He sent up a shout in the direction of the door. “Ho there! Tell your master I want a parley with him. Tell him I’ve a proposition he can’t refuse.”

There was a long wait, and Louisa dug her nails into her palms, tense with apprehension. A door slammed. They heard footsteps approach. The door swung open.

The man who stood on the threshold was not Smith.

RADLEIGH hulked in the doorway, filling the space, a swelling bruise covering his left eye. The part of Radleigh that had connected with Jardine’s boot.

Any flicker of satisfaction Jardine might have felt was swiftly doused by the way Radleigh’s hungry gaze took in every inch of Louisa’s appearance.

If he objected, it would only serve as fuel to Radleigh’s enjoyment. He kept his mouth shut, fighting to contain his rage.

He smelled Louisa’s fear, a tang that tinged the air. Yet, she remained silent and composed in the face of this monster. Jardine marveled at her courage. By God, when he got his hands on Radleigh . . .

It almost killed Jardine to be conciliating, but he’d swallow his pride for Louisa. He gave Radleigh a nod in greeting. “I was rather hoping for a chat with Smith, old man. Any chance that he’s about?”

“He’s not here.” Radleigh stood over them, clearly itching to stamp on Jardine’s face while he was unable to return the favor.

Something held Radleigh back, however. Perhaps Smith had threatened dire retribution if he harmed Jardine. He wanted his old enemy fully in possession of his wits while he tortured Louisa.

Radleigh’s gaze turned again to Louisa. “Smith wants me to wait. Anticipation being torture all in itself. But . . .”

He pulled a knife with a wicked-looking blade from his pocket. “I’m impatient, you see. And I don’t relish taking orders from the likes of Smith.”

He tilted the knife blade this way and that. Light from the lantern slid along the mirrorlike surface.

Louisa was breathing hard.
Courage, sweetheart.

“How does your sister, Radleigh? Fled from the rumors of typhus, did she?” Jardine spoke conversationally, but Radleigh’s head jerked toward him.

The sensual lips curled in a snarl. “You’ll be too dead to go after my sister.”

“Will I?” Jardine smiled. “But I have a proposition for Smith that I believe will set me free as a bird. Lay one finger on Lady Louisa and your sister will suffer the same treatment.”

“Ha! Wouldn’t that be against your
gentlemanly
code?” Radleigh spat out the word
gentlemanly
as if it were an oath.

“Oh, I ceased laying any claim to gentility long ago.”

Radleigh gazed at his knife, then at Louisa, as a starving man would view a feast. “I have to. I simply
must . . .”

He reached down, grabbed Louisa’s arm, and pulled her to her feet. He looked like a man in a daze of anticipated ecstasy.

Louisa struggled like a wild animal but Radleigh easily overpowered her, clamping her against him with her back pressing along his front.

The knife poised a small distance from her face.

The blue eyes pleaded, grew moist. Jardine strained at the manacles but to no avail. Louisa opened her mouth and screamed.

Jardine heard an inarticulate roar and realized that it howled from deep inside him. He strained at the chains that manacled him to the wall, felt such a fury of strength pour into his body that he almost could have ripped the iron links asunder with his bare hands.

The manacles bit savagely into his wrists, but they were bolted securely to the wall. Panting, he gazed at Louisa, agonized, more terrified than he’d ever been.

Footsteps running in the corridor. Thank God, thank God, thank—

Louisa’s scream changed key from terror to agony as the knife point slashed slowly down her cheek.

“LET her go, Radleigh.” Smith’s bored tone sounded from the doorway.

Louisa sagged in Radleigh’s hold, relief threading its way through fear and sickening pain. The warm flow of blood from the wound dripped down her face, onto Radleigh’s sleeve, and she felt a perverse satisfaction in ruining his perfect tailoring.

Crazed laughter bubbled inside her. Lord, she was hysterical. She needed to calm herself. But the harsh sting of that cut made her whimper. Another scream welled in her chest. She forced it down.

Despite his brave words in Smith’s absence, it appeared Radleigh wouldn’t challenge Smith’s authority to his face. She felt him relax, and the next second the constraining support of his arms vanished. She dropped to the ground like a stone.

Jardine swore viciously. “By God you’ll pay for that.”

Radleigh laughed. Even Smith smiled a little. “Radleigh, you exceeded your orders. Later. I promise you, you will have her. All in good time.”

His eyes twinkled as if he was offering a small boy a bonbon if he ate his dinner. Then his voice grew curt. “Leave us.”

The smug look Radleigh threw at Jardine made Louisa’s fingers curl with the longing for her pistol. “Just don’t let him talk his way out of here.”

A twinge of irritation crossed Smith’s features. “Confine yourself to your own peculiar talents, Radleigh. You are decidedly de trop here.”

Radleigh shrugged and sauntered out.

Smith watched him leave and shut the door behind him. Then he turned to Jardine and Louisa. “You must excuse Radleigh, Lady Louisa. He is quite vulgarly eager to amuse himself with you.”

He tilted his head and looked inquiring. “Now, why do you wish to see me, Lord Jardine? To plead for clemency? You, of all people, must know that I haven’t a spark of mercy in my soul.”

Jardine’s face was stark white. “Get her something clean to staunch the wound and some brandy and I’ll tell you.”

Smith paused, considering. “Very well.”

He gave the order to an underling and the supplies were duly brought. The guard smirked at the damage to Louisa’s face, and she recognized the ruffian she’d knifed upon her initial capture.

She took a deep breath and doused her cut with the brandy, her muscles rigid, her breath a sharp hiss as the flare of agony nearly swamped her senses.

For an instant, the world receded almost to black. She gulped in air, willing herself not to faint. Raised the brandy flask to her lips and took a hearty swallow. A ball of fire burned down her throat, warmed her stomach.

The dizziness faded. She pressed the clean gauze cloth to her wound to staunch it. The sting intensified to an agonizing throb.

Through stiff lips, she said, “Pray, continue.” The sooner they made this bargain, the sooner they’d be free.

Jardine spoke. “I’ve a proposition for you, Smith.” Though obliged to tilt his head and look up at their captor, Jardine lost none of his dangerous presence.

Don’t provoke him
. She couldn’t bear it if Jardine brought another beating on himself, or worse. She was coward enough to admit she didn’t wish to be on the receiving end, either.