Hyacinth, page 9
He was simply plotting aloud, Hyacinth realized. He didn’t want or need his mother’s input. And Mrs. Lee would go along with whatever he asked of her, she thought. Love and fear were so tangled up in that woman, along with a kind of moral bankruptcy she’d never imagined, that there was no chance of her having a change or heart or conscience. She had to get out of there and warn everyone. She had to get out of there and save herself.
A pair of boots passed the bed. William had crossed to the window. “Well isn’t that interesting,” he said.
“What?” Mrs. Lee asked.
“Lord Dumbarton has returned. Alone. Which means that he and the lovely Hyacinth did not run off together. Where is she, Mother, and what sort of nosy trouble is she going to make for us?”
Her whole body had turned to stone. Fear rendered her completely paralyzed. She dared not even breathe. From the corner of her eye, she watched his boots. Watched as they uncrossed and he rose from his indolent lean against the window. He moved slowly, walking toward the bed with measured, purposeful strides. He paused at the side of it and then, before Hyacinth could even spur her fear-addled brain to action, he reached down and grasped her by her hair.
William pulled her from beneath the bed, pins scattering everywhere and her scalp burning from the abuse. He hauled her up, shaking her violently. “I’ve caught a mouse, Mother,” he said.
Nausea swept through her. That wasn’t the voice of a man doing what he thought he had to do. That was the voice of a man who enjoyed inflicting pain, she thought. He would kill her and he would savor the moment.
*
Ian dismounted and was heading into the house as the carriage rumbled up the drive. Lady Phyllida and Lady Arabella disembarked with the help of footmen and they were bickering back and forth between themselves.
“There were supposed to be right behind us in the other carriage,” his mother snapped.
“Why did you agree to let them go in a different carriage, Phyllida? If we’d made them travel with us in ours, we might have been able to glean something useful,” Lady Arabella said. “Dear heavens, what a mess all this is!”
“What is going on?” Ian demanded. “Tell me and tell me now.”
His mother clamped her lips together, looking for all the world like a child trying to avoid a scolding. Lady Arabella, thankfully, had more of her wits about her. Or perhaps her fear for Hyacinth overrode her sense of self-preservation. “Hyacinth asked to get the Lees away from the house so she could search their rooms. We made up a bit of story that the two of you were running for Gretna Green and asked Mrs. Lee and William to assist us in finding you before it was too late. There were following in the other carriage and then when we looked back, they were gone. I can only assume they aborted the task or realized that it was only meant as a distraction.”
Rather than racing, his heart seemed to slow its beat to a snail’s pace. It was like everything about him simply froze. Time itself seemed to stand still. Even then, he was taking action.
To the butler he called out to get at least four footmen to guard his mother and Lady Arabella, to put them in a chamber with two footmen inside and two at the door. He was running toward the library as he gave the instructions. From his desk drawer, he retrieved a brace of pistols in a rosewood box. He loaded them with practiced ease. Powder, shot, prime… ready.
With one pistol in hand and the other tucked into his pocket, he climbed the stairs. The butler was following behind him, a hunting rifle in hand.
“I’m better with a long gun, my lord,” the faithful retainer offered by way of explanation.
“That’s good to know, Brixton,” Ian said and spared just a second to wonder what else he didn’t know about his servants.
As they reached the second floor, he made for the suite of rooms that the Lees had insisted upon. Connecting rooms with a sitting room, where William would be able to attend his mother if she had one of her spells. Considering what Hyacinth had discovered, it was more likely so he could browbeat her and be certain she didn’t deviate from whatever diabolical scheme they’d cooked up.
He hadn’t even reached the chamber when the door crashed open and William stepped into the hallway. Cold fury washed through Ian as he took in the scene. The younger man held Hyacinth before him, one arm about her throat and a lady’s pistol held to her temple. At such close range, a shot would be deadly and impossible to miss. A bruise was already forming on her cheek and her dress was torn, likely from struggling with him, which she still did in spite of the gun.
“I’ll kill her,” William said. “My mother and I will walk out of here, climb into a carriage and leave. You will order a servant right now to disable every other carriage and free all of your horses except those we are taking.”
“You’ll never get away with it.”
“Oh, I will, my lord… because she’s coming with us. And if you can refrain from unnecessary heroics, I’ll drop her on the side of the road and you can collect her yourself later. It’ll be rather like your first meeting, won’t it?” William crowed.
“I know what you did to Annabel,” Ian said, just as Mrs. Lee emerged from the chamber carrying a bag.
“Annabel died at your hands!” the woman snapped.
“No, she didn’t,” Ian said. “She died at his. He was furious with her because she refused to intercede on his behalf with the Hound. He didn’t want to be part of your schemes anymore… marrying your daughter off to man after man and bleeding them dry financially. He wanted to move on to something bigger and better. Didn’t you, William?”
“It’s a lie,” Mrs. Lee said, but her voice cracked with uncertainty.
“He was gone that day wasn’t he, and a few days after?” Ian continued. “And when he came home, he was different wasn’t he, Mrs. Lee? Or should I call you Mrs. Ogden?”
The woman gasped and dropped the valise she’d been carrying, her hand covering her mouth. “Don’t speak that name to me! And I’ll not listen to your lies about my William!”
Ian never allowed his gaze to stray from William. “You were afraid… afraid your sister would abandon you and leave you alone with your horrid mother and her schemes. You resented Annabel because she’d found a way out, because she’d found a man so powerful not even you or your grasping mother could go up against him.”
“Shut up!” William shouted. “Cease your prattling or I will end her right here!” As if to prove his point, he raised the gun higher, jabbing the barrel of it so hard against Hyacinth’s temple that there was no question it would mark her.
Down the hall, behind William and Mrs. Lee, a panel opened in the wall and Mr. Ettinger stepped out. He and the solicitor had arrived amidst all the commotion. The man, big as he was, moved silently. A footman emerged from behind him and Ettinger jerked his head in the direction of Mrs. Lee and the servant followed his direction, moving into position behind the woman. It was all done so silently, and so perfectly, that Ian had to wonder if the other man was a footman at all.
“How did you do it, William? Did you shoot her? Did you strangle her? Did you drown her?” Ian demanded, trying to keep the man’s focus on him until Ettinger could get close enough to disarm him. “What did you do to Annabel?”
“She wouldn’t shut her mouth,” William shouted. “Just like you. She kept saying she was done with it all, done with us! She was going to leave you and go to him, to live in the very lap of luxury in his damned gaming hell!”
Mrs. Lee gasped. “William! No. You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t!” The woman sobbed piteously, but there was little doubt it was mostly an affectation, a calculated move to garner sympathy for herself.
“I did! I grabbed her by her hair, I drug her into the water and I pressed her face into it until she stopped fighting, until she stopped struggling and until she shut her bloody mouth!”
Those were the last words he spoke. Ettinger had moved behind him while the footman placed a cloth over Mrs. Lee’s face and the woman simply fell backwards. Before she even struck the ground, William’s eyes went wide, his arms went limp, and when Hyacinth moved away from him, blood was pouring from a gruesome wound at the man’s neck. Ettinger had slit his throat.
“My God,” Hyacinth murmured and then staggered back until she could lean against the wall. Her once-lavender gown was now coated with the dark and sticky substance.
Ettinger looked dispassionately at the dead man. “You’ll need to send for the magistrates. I’ll be taking the mother back to London and putting her in the gaol there. But there’ll have to be an inquiry about him.”
“And what about his confession?” Ian asked. It was a cold, calculating thing to ask, but he wanted it all done and sorted. He wanted to never have to think of Annabel, William or Vera Lee/Ogden ever again.
“I heard it all. It’ll go in my report when I’m back to London… and then you’ll be able to bring it before the House with your petition and be free of it all. I’ll be waiting below stairs, my lord. You’ll want to see to your lady.” With that, Ettinger walked away, pausing only long enough to clap the young footman on the shoulder. “Good lad,” he muttered.
“Ian,” Hyacinth said, her voice shaking with unshed tears as he knelt before her. “Oh, I was so frightened.”
“If you hadn’t just had the scare of your life, I would literally turn you over my knee for this.”
“You said I should stay away from them… not their chambers.”
“My mother and Arabella make poor conspirators,” he said, lifting her into his arms.
“I’m covered in blood,” she protested.
“But it isn’t yours and that’s all that matters… I won’t be keeping my promise to you, Hyacinth. Not tonight. And tomorrow morning, as soon as all this is settled, you and Arabella are going back to Avondale.”
She glanced up at him. “Are you so angry you would send me away?”
“No. But I’m so close to freedom that I don’t have to settle for stolen moments with you,” Ian replied. “I’ll have you in my bed, Hyacinth Collier, but only as my wife. Do you understand?”
She looked up at him, violet eyes wide. “I love you.”
“Of course you do. You don’t think Arabella could ever be wrong about such a thing, do you?”
She laughed then, a watery and mildly hysterical sound as he carried her down the hall. “If she was, no one could ever tell her.”
“Because they couldn’t get a blasted word in,” he summed up. “But for the record, Hyacinth, I love you, too. So much. And if you ever willfully put yourself in danger again—”
“I won’t have to,” she interrupted. “Because now that all this is done, our lives together will be blissful and perfect.”
“Blissful, yes. Perfect… likely not. But I don’t need perfection. I only need you.”
Epilogue
Four Months Later
The wedding had been a private one. But given the level of notoriety that Ian had attained after the circumstances of his almost-marriage to Annabel Lee Ogden and then the even more gruesome story of her untimely death, it had made him the talk of the ton. That he was marrying a woman who was the illegitimate daughter of a common prostitute and sister-in-law to another scandalous lord had certainly not helped matters. But as they climbed the steps to their chamber in Ian’s London townhouse, Hyacinth didn’t care if all of England was gossiping about them. All she cared about was that her husband would finally, after months of seemingly interminable waiting, make love to her.
Try as she might to tempt him, he had held firm to his vow. It had taken months to get everything sorted out. There had been the inquest related to William Ogden’s death, then petitioning the House of Lords to annul his marriage, which had never been legal and binding anyway, getting them to officially declare Annabel dead, and seeing that Mrs. Ogden had been charged with fraud. Finally, they’d reached the point where they could be legally wed. And in that time, Hyacinth had all but danced naked in front of him to tempt him and, still, he’d denied her.
“I do not understand how you have such willpower,” she said. “I don’t even know what it is I’m missing and I didn’t want to wait.”
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he carted her up the last of the stairs. “You’ll find out soon enough. I don’t intend to let you out of our bed for a week. You, my temptress, will finally have to pay the piper.”
“That sounds marvelous. Can we walk faster? I’m feeling rather impatient.”
He glanced at her then. “You may be as impatient as you like, Wife, but I will not be hurried. I mean to take my time with you.”
“Four months is quite enough time, thank you.”
They’d reached their chamber. All the servants were conspicuously absent, no doubt to provide privacy for them as a newly-married couple. Ian opened the door and stepped into their chamber; he’d been very specific about the fact that they would share one, to the point that her poor lady’s maid had blushed so hotly it was a wonder the girl hadn’t caught fire. As they stepped inside, Hyacinth’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t just a bedchamber. It was a space designed for romance and seduction. Candles and flowers were everywhere. A tray of fruits and exquisite pastries had been placed on the table before the fire.
“You definitely put a lot of thought into this,” she said.
“Oh, no. This was Arabella. All of this was Arabella,” he said. “She insisted.”
Hyacinth blinked at that. The woman apparently had quite the hedonistic streak in her. But she didn’t want to talk about Arabella. In fact, she didn’t want to talk at all. “You know, if you set me down, I can begin the very arduous process of removing my gown.”
“And deny me the privilege of unwrapping my gift?” he asked, as he set her on her feet.
Before Hyacinth could respond to that, he spun her around and began artfully working the small pearl buttons at the back of her gown. Very artfully. “You’re very good at that. Have you been practicing?”
He laughed. “Only in my mind… and only ever to visions of you.”
Within seconds, the bodice of her gown gaped wide and slipped to her waist. He gave it a slight push and it slid lower until it formed a puddle of ivory silk at her feet. When she stepped free of it, he draped it over a chair. “Perhaps one day, our daughter may choose to wear that gown for her own wedding,” he said.
Their daughter. She wanted to bear him children. To give him sons to teach and bring up to be the same kind of honorable, beautiful man that he was, and little girls to spoil and dote on as she knew he would. But even those thoughts were fleeting, forced from her mind by anticipation of what was to come as his nimble fingers tackled the laces of her stays. Petticoats, chemise, and then she was standing before him in silk stockings, with embroidered blue velvet garters and a pair of heeled slippers.
“This is what you wore that night in the library,” he said, his breath hot as it fanned over her neck. “You stood there before me wearing nothing but your stockings and I thought you the most beautiful, tempting creature I had ever encountered in my life. And tonight has only reaffirmed that opinion.”
“You have me at a distinct disadvantage, Husband. You know precisely what is hiding beneath my garments… and other than your rather remarkable chest, I’ve not seen the rest of you. Will you deny me yet again?”
He didn’t reply, but Hyacinth could hear the rustling of his clothing as he removed it. Her eyes closed and a breathless sigh escaped her. Finally. Finally.
He moved behind her, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his skin, the slight prickling where his chest hair rubbed against her skin, and lower, his hardness, thick and heavy, pressed against her. Then she was once more being lifted into his arms, carried to the bed and laid out before him. But she didn’t mind. It gave her an opportunity to look at him, to drink in the perfect masculine form that inspired her to such wicked and carnal thoughts.
Ian climbed onto the bed, his hands coasting over her legs, and then her hips. Then he was trailing his fingers along her inner thighs to the golden curls that shielded her sex. Hyacinth parted for him eagerly. She’d been starved for his touch.
“So perfect,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”
Then his mouth was upon her, driving her to familiar heights and Hyacinth could do nothing but cry out her pleasure as she clung to him. Her hands fisted in his dark hair, holding him to her as she strained ever closer to his wicked, skilled mouth and the satisfaction he could give her.
When she crested, he eased back from her and then, in a rather unexpected move, he gripped her ankles and pulled her down the bed to him until he was nestled between her parted thighs. She could feel him against her. There was no fear and no hesitation. She wanted him to be part of her, to feel him inside her. Boldly, Hyacinth lifted her legs, locking them around him.
“Make me your wife in every way,” she urged him. “I can’t wait any longer.”
“I thought I could,” he said. “But I was wrong.”
Hyacinth watched, enrapt, as he closed his hand over the rigid length of his shaft and guided himself into her. There was no pain. It was strange at first, and an odd but not unwelcome sensation. Then he pressed deeper. There was a slight sting, and then it was gone, too. All that was left was a deep connection to him, the feelings of their bodies joined together as if they had been made for one another. They had, she thought. Together, they were whole.
Thought faded as pleasure began to take over. Hyacinth could feel the tension in him, his muscles taut and firm against her. And then he began to move, stroking into her again and again. Slow, fast, then slow again. And with every thrust, he marked her response. If she cried out, he repeated it, if she arched against him, he’d do it again. He mapped her pleasure and then built a rhythm around it until all she could do was cling to him and sob brokenly as her entire body wound tight on that glorious precipice.
And when he kissed her, his lips pressing to hers and his tongue sliding against her own in a rhythm that matched that of their bodies, she tumbled over the edge. For the first time, he was with her. She felt him stiffen, felt his muscles draw taut as a bow string, and then he shuddered against her and she could feel the warmth of him spilling inside her.
