Chapter 12

12

Ivy crumpled into a wingback chair sitting next to the cheerfully crackling fire in Millie’s bedchamber. She covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, Lord. I’m so sorry, Millie. When I came in and saw him under your skirts… I mean, what on earth was he even…’ Her voice trailed off.

Millie’s face heated. ‘He was, that is, it was quite… I can’t really…’

Ivy waved her hand in front of her face. ‘No. Don’t tell me. I don’t really wish to know.’

Millie knelt on the floor at her friend’s feet, leaning against Ivy’s legs. She grasped Ivy’s hands and pulled them away from her face, holding them in her own. Her dress would be crushed and likely wrinkle, but she didn’t care. ‘Ivy, you were only trying to protect me. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me. And honestly, I think Lord Drake was impressed with your courage and loyalty.’

Ivy’s lip trembled. ‘I think something is wrong with me, Millie. I think I’m broken in some horrible way.’ Tears tracked down her face.

Alarm tightened Millie’s throat. Her stomach clenched. ‘Broken? What do you mean? It’s okay to tell me, Ivy. I won’t say a word. It shall stay just between us, here in this room.’

Millie had long wondered about Ivy and Lord Cavendale. Ivy’s father always seemed kind. But there was something beneath his smile, the way his gaze would sometimes linger, the glint of something hungry setting her on edge.

‘When father died, I was so relieved.’ A sob wrenched free from Ivy. She pressed one hand against her mouth as Millie squeezed the other. For a time, they sat like that. Ivy quaking with emotion, Millie stalwart and steady by her side even as her body still echoed from the mystifying glory Drake had created with his teeth, tongue, and lips. Not to mention his clever fingers.

‘It’s okay, Ivy. You don’t need to say any more. Your father was a bastard. A sick, cruel horror of a man. I’m glad he’s dead as well. I only wish I could have done it myself.’ Rage immolated the lingering pleasure pulsing through Millie’s veins. She wrapped Ivy in her strong arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Ivy. So very sorry.’ For what, she still wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. Not all hurts needed to be shared in order to give and receive comfort.

Ivy shuddered again. ‘I can’t imagine doing what you were just… I don’t want to, Millie. I’d rather die.’

‘Then you’ll never have to. I promise.’ Inspiration struck Millie. ‘I will speak to Lady Philippa. With Hannah gone, I’m sure she’d open her house to you. Her view on marriage is just as dim as yours. She’d never expect you to tie yourself to a man.’

Ivy took another shaky breath. ‘That is far too much to ask of anyone not obligated by bloodlines. No. My aunt has kindly taken me in. I’m quite comfortable there. She is aware of my desire to stay single, and we are looking into positions as a governess.’

Millie pulled back. She had no idea Ivy’s situation was so dire. ‘Ivy, is that what you want?’

Ivy laughed, a dry, coughing sound. ‘Do you want to be marrying the Earl of Tetly?’

Millie’s mouth opened, but she had no answer. Did she want to marry Drake? A week ago, she would have vehemently said no. But now… things were much more complex.

Ivy mistook her silence. ‘Exactly. Sometimes, we do things because we must. But will I hate being a governess? No. I don’t think so. It will grant me independence, and I shall be free of ever having to marry. But there is one thing I wanted to ask.’

Millie blinked. ‘Of course. Anything.’

‘While I don’t expect an offer of lodging, I wanted to know if Lady Philippa would work with me… before I take a position.’

Millie had told Ivy of her time with Philippa. The duchess swore Millie to secrecy, but Ivy was her best friend. Best friends didn’t keep secrets. And Millie didn’t feel like she had betrayed Philippa. Ivy was an extension of herself. Telling Ivy about her training with Philippa was the same as writing in a journal or talking to herself in the privacy of her own room.

‘I’m sure she would… Are you wanting to join the investigation?’

‘Dear Lord, no. I couldn’t possibly be so daring as you or Hannah. No, I just want to know I can protect myself. If I am to live in a stranger’s house with a family I don’t know, I want reassurance I can keep myself safe.’ She tangled her fingers together, focusing on them instead of looking at Millie.

A governess was vulnerable to the whims of her employer’s wishes. While never discussed openly, it was no secret these women were easily taken advantage of, much like female servants. It was a silent plague only afflicting the women in society. Therefore, the atrocities were accepted by men as unfortunate but minor issues best left in the shadows. Accountability for such crimes would put far too many of their brethren at risk. Better to leave things as they were and let the women endure. Boys would be boys, after all, and what were men but grown boys?

Another wave of anger washed through Millie. ‘Of course she will help. I’ll speak to her about it, and she can organise something with you before you leave. But Ivy, you aren’t broken. He didn’t break you.’

Ivy shrugged, wiping her cheek with a shaking hand. ‘Can we speak of other things? Please?’

Millie wanted to say more, but it was clear Ivy had shared as much as she could. Instead, she nodded and stood, shaking out her skirts. ‘Of course. You’ll never guess who Patricia invited to this mess of a wedding.’

They spent the next three-quarters of an hour catching up on all the happenings at Alder House. When Millie and Ivy descended to dinner, Ivy’s eyes were clear, her shoulders back, her face serene. But Millie ached for her friend’s hidden pain and vowed to redouble her efforts in discovering Franklin’s plans. She couldn’t save Ivy from her past, but she could prevent such crimes from happening to other young women just as innocent and just as worthy of protection. Because even if Franklin was only a grown boy, he was committing the crimes of a man, and she would hold him accountable.

Patricia must have arranged the seating for dinner. Millie was placed next to Victoria. On her other side was Lord Bradford, an old family friend with the most extravagant moustache Millie had ever seen. She wondered how the man managed the soup course without dripping like a walrus. Glancing down the table at her betrothed, she narrowed her gaze. Nora was seated to his left and kept leaning over to whisper things to him. Her dress was cut so low, Drake would get quite the view if he chose to look down. Which he did not. Indeed, he spent most of the dinner staring at Millie.

Something vital had shifted in Millie since her moment on the chaise with Drake. She felt awake. Aware of a whole world most women never even glimpsed. She couldn’t forget their heated promise. His body belonged to her alone, as hers belonged to him. But what if she wanted more than just his body?

I’ve always been a greedy thing.

Delicious trails of heat skated along her skin, pooling low in her belly and sparking like stars in a midnight sky. She had never imagined a man could do something so wicked and delicious with his mouth.

‘Miss Millicent, have you had a chance to explore the shops in Bedford?’ Victoria batted her large eyes and lifted her fork to her mouth, only to put it back down again without taking a bite of her turbot.

‘I haven’t, and please, call me Millie. Have you?’

‘Franklin treated me on our way here. He knows my love of Bedfordshire lace. It’s most exquisite but so dear, I never thought he would allow me to purchase any.’ Victoria’s cheeks grew pink with pleasure. ‘He’s usually quite strict with my pin money.’

‘Is he?’ Millie glanced over to Franklin. He was sitting next to her stepmother, but when he caught her gaze, he lowered his hand beneath the table. She didn’t have to guess what he was rubbing. She forced her face to remain impassive and turned quickly back to Victoria as a wave of nausea rolled through her belly.

Disgusting man. He probably spends all of Victoria’s pin money on whores who can’t refuse his hideous advances.

‘Franklin’s concern with frugality is commendable, but he must have wanted to spoil me this week because we came a full three days early just so I could shop. He sent me off with a footman and my maid every day to wander the town. It was glorious.’

‘He didn’t join you? What on earth did Lord St George do for three days in Bedford?’ Millie couldn’t imagine Franklin being so generous with his wife without some ulterior motive.

He probably drank the days away and found a house of ill repute.

‘He had business to attend to with a local merchant.’

Local merchant sounds a lot like local mistress. Didn’t Philippa say he had three?

Victoria continued, blissfully ignorant of Millie’s dark thoughts. ‘That’s the way with husbands, isn’t it? Always disappearing to do important things while we sit around and embroider cushions or paint plates.’ Victoria’s smile dimmed. ‘Still, I shouldn’t complain. I was able to buy a lovely yard of lace. I can’t imagine what I’ll do with it. I’m sure to ruin something so fine.’

Millie frowned. ‘I’m sure you’ll make something absolutely divine. You deserve some finery in your life, Victoria.’

A jelly tart had more backbone than poor Victoria. Millie could only imagine how Franklin would run circles around her. The man was probably shagging his way through town while his wife praised him for allowing her to buy a yard of lace.

Millie sent a silent prayer to the deities for saving her from such a fate. Her gaze slipped back to Drake. He was watching her, his icy eyes hot with intention.

Holy hollyhocks.

Her core tingled. She forced her attention back to Victoria. The woman blinked her wide eyes furiously. ‘I know there are whispers in the beau monde about Franklin. Unsavoury gossip about him straying, but all men do, don’t they? It’s part of married life, letting them sow their wild oats while we keep the home fires burning.’ Maybe Victoria wasn’t as ignorant as Millie thought. ‘I’m sure it will be the same for you.’ Victoria pushed her turbot around, covering the fish with cream sauce but still not eating anything. Perhaps she didn’t enjoy fish, which was a shame. Turbot in dill cream sauce was Millie’s favourite.

She would have savoured another bite, but just the idea of Drake sowing any wild oats had her reaching for the blade strapped to her thigh. A blade Drake now knew about. She was so foolish for letting him see her secret. Philippa would be furious. And what on earth would she say to Drake if he questioned her further? She would need to think of some convincing lie and quick. He was the prime minister’s investigator, after all. He certainly wouldn’t let himself be distracted from discovering her secrets for too long.

Which should terrify me. Not fill me with a sense of relief. I might trust him with my body, but only a fool would trust a man like Drake with her secrets.

But a dangerous question tickled her mind. What if? What if she could trust him? What if their relationship was based on honesty and respect instead of utility and deception?

She looked again at Nora, whose hand was inching closer to Drake’s on the table. A red haze descended as she forgot all about perilous questions with impossible answers.

She’ll touch his hand over my dead body. Or better yet, over hers.

The blade at her wrist pressed into the delicate skin. It would be so easy to release one and let it fly.

Mustn’t fillet Nora during dinner. Perhaps later, during a nice game of whist.

Drake pulled his hand away to reach for his cup as he pivoted to speak with Reynard Renquist, who sat on his right. His broad back created an impenetrable wall, blocking Nora completely.

Millie’s heart beat out of turn as warmth crept from her chest to her cheeks. He was ignoring the beautiful woman who once held his heart in her bony little hands. And taking every opportunity to scorch Millie with incendiary looks so full of lust, she felt like the most desirable woman at the table. Which never happened.

She pulled her attention back to Victoria, wanting to encourage the woman. ‘I think Franklin has no idea what he’s missing if any of the gossip is true. If he isn’t willing to please you, then perhaps you should think on ways to please yourself.’

Victoria’s eyes widened further and her mouth fell open. ‘Miss Millicent, what on earth do you mean?’

Millie knew exactly what she meant but explaining the finer points of self-pleasure to Victoria St George during the fish course seemed unwise. ‘Oh, you know, things like your lace or taking long walks in the park. Needlepoint, if that thrills you.’ She smiled at Victoria and nudged her with her shoulder. ‘You have a household staff to keep the fires burning. Instead, why don’t you explore some of your interests?’

Victoria stared at her fork. ‘I do quite enjoy poetry. Franklin says it’s nothing but a bunch of drivel from’ – she glanced around and lowered her voice – ‘Molly men. But I find it quite invigorating, though I’d never admit as much to him.’

Nodding her head, Millie patted Victoria on her hand. ‘I quite agree. Poetry stirs the heart and feeds the soul. The next time Lord St George is conducting his “business”, I’d take your pin money to Hatchards and buy yourself some Lord Byron or, if you’re feeling daring, Elizabeth Barrett Browning.’

Victoria speared a pea and popped it into her mouth. Her chin lifted as she swallowed. ‘Excellent suggestion, Miss Millicent. I think I just might.’ She covered her mouth and giggled like a mischievous schoolgirl.

Oh dear. Not exactly a femme fatale, but the poor woman deserves some joy and excitement in her life, and poetry is a wonderful place to start.

Millie raised a cup of wine to her lips and sipped. Drake was looking at her again, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her swallow. She darted her tongue out to catch a drop of wine on her bottom lip and marvelled at how tightly Drake gripped his fork. The warmth in her chest migrated lower as delicious tingles erupted along her skin.

Sinfully sensuous man!

She wasn’t sure her nervous system could handle playing cat and mouse with her scarred, grumpy, delightfully skilled fiancé, but she was game to try.

‘I’ve made some enquiries in Bedford. The proprietor of the Ram’s Head informed me a private room was booked earlier this week for domestic interviews.’ Reynard spoke quietly to Drake as the fish course was removed and Cook’s famous roast beef was brought to them. He pulled Drake’s attention away from watching Millie’s delectable lips.

She was killing Drake in small degrees as she darted her pink tongue out to catch a ruby drop of wine. And she knew it, the saucy woman. Drake closed his eyes tight for a moment, willing his cock to behave and his attention to stay focused on Reynard.

‘Did he say who booked the room?’

Reynard laughed, his golden hair catching the flickering candlelight. ‘Yes. Apparently, a John Smith of London was asked to conduct interviews for his employer. And before you ask, the proprietor couldn’t give me a description of any use. “Average-looking bloke”, and that’s a direct quote.’

Drake shook his head. ‘He didn’t happen to mention anything about a weak chin, did he?’

‘No. And I asked. According to the man, “one chin’s the same as any other”.’

‘Wonderful. Shall we inform the prime minister we’ve cracked the case?’

Reynard sipped his wine. ‘Perhaps not.’

Drake shared a look of commiseration with Reynard before his eyes tripped down the table. St George sat next to Patricia. Franklin leaned closer, whispering something to the horrid woman whose canary-yellow evening dress nearly blinded Drake. She had some kind of feathers in her hair fluttering every time she tilted her head back to laugh. The awful tinkling sound made Drake cringe.

‘Well, regardless of the faulty intel, it’s bloody good to have you here. We’ll catch him. St George is sure to trip up. We just need to keep our wits about us.’ Drake cut into his excellently seasoned beef, his knife slicing through the meat like butter.

‘Perhaps I should spend some time with St George. Win his trust. See if he’s stupid enough to reveal anything.’

Drake raised a brow at his old friend. ‘Not a bad plan. You are a far more skilled actor than I. Five minutes alone with St George and I would be forced to kill one of us just to end the conversation.’

Reynard laughed, the strong column of his neck contracting. ‘Leave St George to me. I’m certain your delightful bride-to-be would appreciate more of your time and attention. This is your wedding party, after all.’

Drake shifted in his dinner jacket, his cravat nearly strangling him. ‘You know this is not a marriage of affection but rather one of necessity.’ Though his actions on the couch belied his words. He shut down the traitorous memories. ‘I gave up all hope of romance long ago when a particular woman reminded me that love is nothing more than a dream.’ He refused to look at Nora.

‘Abandoned dreams have the most power to haunt us.’ Reynard’s easy smile hardened a bit. ‘If life gives you a second chance to chase your dream, maybe catch it this time? Only a fool would pass up the opportunity. I’ve never known you to be a fool, Drake.’

Drake stilled. When he stopped believing in love, he also lost his fear. The two were strangely intertwined. The death of one caused the other’s demise. But Reynard’s words rebirthed fear in Drake once more.

He swallowed hard, the beef turning suddenly dry in his mouth. ‘What if the dream becomes a nightmare? And chasing it destroys me?’ His voice was harsh, his heart beating painfully.

Reynard didn’t answer right away. He took a sip of wine and leaned back in his chair, looking at Drake for a long moment. ‘You’ve survived your share of nightmares, Drake. We all have. And in doing so, it’s easy to believe that’s all we have left. The horror, the loss, the ache. But life moves forward, and dreams still visit us in the darkest hours of night. Are you brave enough to try again? Knowing you might fail and fail spectacularly? Is the risk worth the possible reward?’

It was a great question. Drake hated Reynard for asking it. Because he didn’t have a fucking clue.

His gaze flicked to Millie. She was smiling at Victoria, but she glanced over to him as she had been doing all night. They were drawn to each other like iron to a magnet.

She held the answer to Reynard’s question. It was the only thing Drake knew with certainty. And he would find out for himself if she was his dream or one more nightmare. Tonight.

Drake savoured a puff of his cheroot, then sipped from a glass of Scotland’s finest whiskey. The gentlemen were enjoying their time before they re-joined the women in the drawing room for an evening of cards and conversation.

I’d rather pull my teeth out with tweezers.

Drake rarely had guests at his country estate. Alder House was his retreat, and he resented the crowd of people invading his billiard room. He watched Reynard stroll over to Franklin and strike up a conversation. Reynard glanced back at Drake, a quick wink betraying his intent.

A hot poker to my balls. Far more appealing than talking to that snivelling swine.

He wasn’t sure he could control his temper around a man so unworthy of Millie’s time or affections. The very idea of Franklin touching his betrothed filled Drake with a fury that caused him to pause and reflect.

Reflection is for poets and priests. I am neither of those.

And yet, he sat brooding like a love-sick fop. It troubled him. How much he cared . His ridiculous heart, an organ that never bothered him in the past, suddenly couldn’t keep a rhythm. This infernal consideration extended beyond Millie, encompassing matters of importance to her. Like Ivy Cavendale. Since when did he get embarrassed for women he barely knew and had little interest in getting to know?

Since Millie.

Damnation. He was even starting to notice the food Millie favoured so he could speak with the cook about ensuring their placement on the menu. It was ridiculous.

Of all the women to suddenly pique his interest, he chose the one lady impossible to contain or control. Which was highly unfortunate. For Drake, control was paramount. If he couldn’t control her, he couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t ensure she stayed with him. He couldn’t keep her.

Because she isn’t some goddamned pet to be trained or property to own.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to lock her away, safe and secure. The complete opposite of what Millie wanted. Freedom. What human being didn’t yearn for autonomy? But free will meant she had choices. And one of those choices could be to leave. Allowing her freedom would be trusting her to stay, and as Millie said, they didn’t have much trust between them.

But what we do have between us is incendiary.

He took another deep drag of his cheroot and let the fragrant smoke fog his vision. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t see anything clearly now. Not when he closed his eyes and filled his mind with blazing-red hair, warm coffee eyes, and soft curves so abundant, he could drown in her body.

Maybe it was just lust. He hadn’t been with a woman in too long to remember. Perhaps his body had gone into overdrive, and he merely needed to slake his voracious thirst to regain a sense of inner calm. He certainly enjoyed his time between her thighs. In those moments, all the frustration, fear, and fury had disappeared.

Yes, what a brilliant excuse to invade Millie’s room. A bid for spiritual enlightenment. Hardly! I promised I wouldn’t compromise her, but if I visit her tonight, I’ll not be a man of my word. Although it wouldn’t be the first promise I broke. Of all the sins I’ve committed, this is one I’d happily burn for.

What kind of honourable gentleman broke a promise to his intended? Drake, apparently. He was disgusted with himself, Millie, love, and all the fates who brought him to this place. He wished Killian were here. The man would be crowing in victory over Drake’s obsession, but at least he might offer some sage advice. Millie’s heated looks over dinner stirred more than just Drake’s cock. She was like an infection he couldn’t purge.

And she wants me to break my promise as much as I want to break it. It’s hardly dishonourable to rescind a stupid vow neither of us wants to uphold.

His cock twitched hopefully at the thought.

Wonderful. The last thing I need is any input from you.

And now he was talking to his erection.

Fabulous.

So, his brilliant plan of seduction was to knock on Millie’s door and see if she would allow him entrance. And if she did, he’d hope like hell one night with Millie purged this burning need from his blood so he could focus on more important things. Like trapping a killer.

No wonder we’re no closer to finding evidence against Franklin. I can’t even bloody well speak to the man without losing my temper. Because of Millie.

But it wasn’t fair to heap that blame on her. It was because of how Drake felt about Millie.

I don’t have feelings.

The drum of his heartbeat begged to differ.

Lord Bradford ambled over, a fat cigar between his fingers. He stroked his moustache and bumped his shoulder against Drake’s.

‘Finally decided to leap over the sword, eh?’ Bradford’s deep laughter echoed throughout the room.

‘More of a push than a leap,’ Drake mumbled. But that was a lie, and he knew it. He was choosing this marriage. He wanted it. Which was insane.

‘I’ve been with my dear Ethel over five and twenty years.’ Bradford’s eyes grew hazy, though it could have just been the bluish-grey smoke from his cigar. ‘I wouldn’t give her up for all the whiskey in the world, and that’s saying something. You’ve picked a good one there, Drake. She’ll see you right.’

Drake tried to shake his sour mood. ‘Have you any words of wisdom for me, Bradford?’

Bradford smiled, clearly tickled to be asked his opinion. ‘Always fight naked, eh? Even when you lose, you win.’ He broke into another bout of laughter that ended in a coughing fit. Taking a deep puff of his cigar, he tipped his head back, blowing a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. ‘Trust, my boy. That’s the key to a good marriage.’

Great. Drake was doomed. He gulped another sip of whiskey as Bradford carried on, oblivious to Drake’s despondency.

‘Trust, honesty, and never underestimating your wife. Women have a habit of being right more than men would like. Something I learned the hard way, but it’s a lesson that’s saved my bacon more than once. When my Ethel tells me to listen, I do. Never once regretted it.’ He slapped Drake on the arm. ‘You’ll do just fine, my boy. You’ve a good head on your shoulders and a strong heart in that barrel of a chest.’

‘It seems to be off kilter of late.’ Even now, it thumped painfully.

‘That just means you chose the right woman. Or she chose you. I think it’s time we joined the ladies, eh? Stop them from gossiping about all our shortcomings. Course, my Ethel wouldn’t have much to say there. She loves me, though I’ve no idea why.’ Bradford stroked his moustache and waggled his thick eyebrows at Drake.

Drake guessed Ethel’s affection wasn’t based on the man’s eccentric facial hair. He joined Bradford in leading the men to the drawing room, feeling mildly better than he had prior to his discussion with Bradford.

Trust.

Honesty.

Listen to her.

Fight naked.

He could certainly follow one piece of the offered advice.