Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

T he rocking woke her. Odd. But she tried to slip back into sleep, nuzzled into the warmth of her blankets. They smelled nice. Different but… slightly familiar. A lovely, rich scent she could float away on.

But the bright light streaming warmth across her face made it an impossibility. Then the realization that her every muscle, particularly her neck, ached as if she'd slept in the most awkward of positions, sent her brain into a frenzy the very opposite of rest.

Rocking. Aches. Sunlight.

She was in a coach?

And the nice-smelling warmth she snuggled into? Not blankets, not a mattress.

She popped her eyes open.

Oh, God. She was in a coach. She scrambled to sit upright, lurching away from her cozy bed. Not a bed. Or even a coach bench. A man. And not just any man. Her husband.

Eyes closed, he scowled and wiggled, shifting now her weight no longer rested atop him.

What had he done? What had John the coachman done? Out the window, the world was green and rolling. Where had they taken her? She jumped to the other side of the coach.

"You son of a pox-marked demon!" she cried, scrunching into the corner of the coach opposite him. "Wake up!"

Liam startled awake, head snapping back and forth. "What? Wh…" He saw her, and his expression eased into caution as he tugged on his mussed cravat with one hand and smoothed his hair back with the other. "Ah. You're awake."

"Where are we?"

He glanced out the window, and sun spilled in on him, making his hair glow and turning the light stubble scattered across his jaw into diamonds. He'd removed his jacket, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and loosened his cravat. He cracked his neck side to side with a groan. "Quite close to London now, I believe."

What in heaven's unfathomable reaches had happened last night? She'd had too much wine, that she knew, and beneath the fog of her brain, a pounding knocked at her skull. She lifted her hand to her head. "What did you do?"

He glanced at her, apprehension sewed into the tight seam of his lips.

A projectile. She needed something to throw to keep him at bay, but the coach floor remained empty, and she didn't even possess her reticule to fling at his head.

She did, however, possess a man's jacket. It was draped across one shoulder and covered her lap; it was warm and fragrant and smelled of Liam. She ripped it off, balled it up, and pelted her husband with it.

His scowl returned, and he met her gaze with clear defiance.

"You've kidnapped me!" she cried.

"A little bit, yes, but I had to."

"Abduction is never a necessity, Liam!"

"You're wrong about that. You still do not believe me about Madame Juliet, and we cannot move forward until you do."

"I… you… you're taking me to a brothel!"

"It is the only way I know how to find Madame Juliet. If you will not believe me, perhaps you will believe her." His gaze wandered up and down her body from hair that must most closely resemble a bird's nest to her wrinkled skirts. It stopped, snagged on her bosom, the low-cut bodice she'd deemed suitable for dinner last night.

She looked down, yelped. Her breasts were out. Almost entirely. A hint of red nipple peaked up from the bodice as if to give a saucy good morning. She twisted away from him, trying her best to shove everything back into safety without giving up too much of her dignity. That now wrinkled more than her skirts.

Her breasts as put away as they could be, she scowled. Liam's lazy grin had gone wolfish, and it made her body… tingle. Had she fallen into one of her own gothic poems? Would he grow a mustache and begin to twirl it, laughing maniacally? Would her legs fall open tremblingly, giving away her desire despite her warnings for him to keep his distance?

No!

"You cannot take me to see your mistress," she said.

"She is not my mistress. And this little conversation is exactly why I'm taking you to see her." He yawned and rubbed his eye, somehow appearing boyish despite the scruff along his jaw, the width of his shoulders. "Desperate, that's what I am. So"—he shrugged, gave another yawn—"here we are."

"You are entirely ridiculous, Lord Norton."

"You are entirely ridiculous, Liam ."

She growled.

He chuckled.

A villain. That's what he was. She'd never thought they came grinning like that, looking for all the world like harmless viscounts. But they did. And it made them more devious.

"I'm going to leave. The first opportunity I get, I will escape from your clutches and—"

"No clutches." He held his palms out flat for her to see. "Give me a chance, Cora." He reached across the space between them and settled a large hand on her leg. "Let me at least prove my innocence to you. Besides, Madame Juliet has made no secret of her desire to meet you."

His hand on her leg like wax on a fingertip—molded to her body with a bite of warmth almost too much to accept without a tiny inhalation of pain.

"Meet me?" She might have shrieked that. She took a breath and lowered her voice. "Why would she wish to meet me ? And why should I wish to meet her?"

"You can ask her that yourself. Come, Cora, won't you like it? Won't it be good research for your poetry? And I assumed a lady with your particular reading habits would look at this as an opportunity. To see what such places and such women are like."

He had a point. A bit of her—a large bit of her—thrilled at the idea. If they could keep her presence there a secret, it would be an adventure like none other.

She shook her head. "You cannot truly care about my poetry. It's too… nice of you."

The corner of his lips hitched into a half smile. "Me? Nice? I've abducted you."

"Yes, but without seeming evil at all. It's rather frustrating. Kidnappers are devious fellows. It should be dark and stormy outside, the coach wheels careening through ruts and mud, lightning flashing in the sky, a scar slashing across your cheek, a wicked snarl on your lips, and—"

"I see the poet in you now."

"And I see no villain in you. Yet"—she held her arms out wide—"here we are."

They stared at one another, and the coach rocked to a stop. Outside, the buildings crowded closer together than before. Cora recognized the street, having been there once before. She'd been in such a fog of humiliation and rage then. She should not have remembered a single detail of her whereabouts, but instead, every detail had stuck painfully in her mind.

The buildings standing tall and straight, like her husband the day they wed.

The street wide and crowded, like the star-spotted sky the night he'd first kissed her.

The door to the nunnery painted yellow like the sour bite of shame that had twisted raw over every inch of her. She'd thought he'd reacted out of spite and disgust. He said he, too, had been driven by humiliation. A man well past boyhood who'd never found release inside a woman. Yes… she could see how he might feel that way. Every book she read placed the woman as the innocent and the man as the seducer. Every whisper between the older ladies of the ton circling round some rumored aspect of a man's virility. Every warning her mother had ever given her emphasizing the sexual voraciousness of men. Indeed, her own expectations of Liam had been that he would ravish her good and well.

But his expectations of her had quite ruined that.

Innocent and experienced. They'd both expected one thing and got another, and both had reacted out of fear, shame that they were not as every dictate of their society said they should be.

But what if they refused to play society's game? What if they chose a different path? One they forged… together. All misunderstandings, fear, and shame thrown off a cliff and into an ocean of apathy.

His hand… still it rested on her leg, hot and promising.

And then he removed it with a sigh and pressed both palms into the seat on either side of him, pushing more upright but leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees and hang his head. His hair fell before his face, obstructing whatever expression he wore. "I merely wish to be a good husband to you, and I'm trying everything I can think of, no matter how… unconventional or scandalous. No matter how ridiculous. I will try it all to please you."

"Why?"

He looked out the window, his jaw moving back and forth "I like you, and you deserve it. But… I've always liked pleasing people. My earliest memory is wanting to be a good son. That became wanting to be a good vicar. Then needing to be a good viscount. And now… now I must be a good husband."

"So much discussion of good when you drove me off to London without my permission."

He scratched the back of his neck, managing to look a bit sheepish. "I've never been good at being good. Some wicked voice is always whispering in my ear, and no matter how long I defy it, eventually I listen. And give in. And do something disastrous."

"I see that." She swept the coach with her gaze before settling it back on him. "We barely know each other, Liam."

"But I want to know you. Every inch of you. Like I know none other. And I want you to cut me open and peer inside my every corner. I'll hand you the damn scalpel."

"Why?" The word stuck in her throat, the only one she could let loose because it was the only word that made sense in the face of his claims. "Why me?"

"I don't know."

"You don't… love me do you?" She repressed a shiver. Only barely.

"Don't seem so disgusted at the prospect. I… don't think so. Is love required for a viscount to do his duty to his wife?"

"No. But then what is the difference between your idea of a good husband and mine?"

"Respect. Friendship. Comfort. Perhaps something more one day. I would not be opposed to that. But to get there you have to believe me. You didn't want to be at Bluevale and Clearford Castle anyway, Cora."

She reared back against the squabs. "Why do you say that?"

"I watched you trudge from group to group last night. You never stayed long and always seemed hesitant to join. I know you wish to be there for Lady Andromeda, but—"

"They'll be worried sick over me." She had to say it. Or cry. And she would not do that.

"We stopped at Bluevale and left word with the butler. Your maid and trunk will be following along sometime today. You were so sound asleep you didn't even grumble."

No one would care if she left. No one would come careening after her. Why should they? Lady Andromeda, their primary concern and Liam, Cora's husband. Liam had the right of it. She'd wanted to be there, but she'd not felt like she belonged. Because she hadn't. Not truly.

This man wanted her to belong to him.

Could she?

Truthfully, she could not say. But the more they idled on the street, the more her curiosity grew. He'd brought her to meet Madame Juliet, and she rather… wanted to.

She took a deep breath and scooted closer to the door. "Let's go, then."

His eyebrow twitched, but he kept his voice calm. He seemed to be repressing some boundless energy. Or worse, some endless optimism. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I need to know for certain if Madame Juliet is your mistress, and meeting her will certainly tell me the truth of the matter."

"She's not." He threw the door open and swooped her outside onto the street. "You'll see soon enough."

She gasped and clung to him before he set her on the ground and held tight for a moment longer than she would have liked to steady herself with her arms around his neck. He was a solid sort of man. The things we forget…

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the yellow door, toward Madame Juliet. The door swung open before he could knock. No need for knuckles rapping on wood, though, her heart pounded loudly enough for all of London to hear.

She'd almost stepped through that door once before, but Prudence had saved her from the potential ruination of it. Now she would step over the threshold on her husband's arm. She almost laughed. How absurd.

How exciting .

A man exited and strolled past them without giving her a single glance. Did he think her one of the ladies who worked here? She wrapped both arms around Liam's arm, found in its taut, warm muscle enough strength for herself as well as enough courage.

A butler stood at the door and bowed low as Liam dragged her inside.

"We're here to see Madame Juliet," Liam said.

The butler raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid she's busy."

"We'll wait."

The butler glanced at Cora. "You do not belong here."

Liam squeezed Cora's arm. "Tell that to Madame Juliet. I believe she will disagree with you. As I said, we'll wait." Liam pulled Cora toward the back of the house.

"Get back here!" the butler cried.

"Do you know where we're going?" Cora whispered, looking over her shoulder. The butler seemed to have given up his chase and headed in some other direction. To find the lady of the house, perhaps?

"In here." Liam opened a door at the end of the hallway and pulled her inside.

What had Cora expected? A room draped in red silk and gold tassels? Certainly not this. A drawing room like many others Cora's mother had dragged her to on social visits. Comfortable, cozy, normal.

"Don't look too closely at anything," Liam said.

"What? Why?"

"Trust me."

"Not yet." What would she look closely at first? The rug appeared normal. Soft and thick, excellent quality. Ah, there—books. But… what could she find here that she'd not already enjoyed? What about—ooooh. The chandelier sparkled above them. Ornate and gold and… questionably shaped. "Fascinating. Do you know, girth and length are often a topic of discussion during our little"—she glanced at Liam, who was looking at his feet—"book club."

"Girth… and… length? Oh. Oh. Damn, what a way to make a man self-conscious. Do I want to know more?" He shook his head. "No, no. I don't want to know more."

"Yes, but what I am curious about is why we've never discussed… hm. How to put it?" She studied the graceful curves of the golden light fixture above. "Curvature." She poked Liam's shoulder. "Do they curve?"

"Mine doesn't!" The words leapt out of his mouth like hot sparks from a fire, and he tugged at his cravat as if it strangled him. "And I've not had much occasion to observe others."

"But I have," a light and lovely voice said from behind them. Cora and Liam snapped away from one another as they spun around. A woman stood in the doorway with flaming red hair and a pleased grin. "And I can assure you, my dear, some do." Her gaze flicked upward. "But not quite that much."

"Madame Juliet." Liam stepped toward her. "I've brought my wife so you can clear up a misunderstanding for us."

"This is the wife, then?" Madame Juliet circled Cora. "Absolutely lovely. I knew she would be." She dropped a low curtsy when she stood in front of Cora once more. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Norton."

"And a… pleasure… to meet… you." Hopefully that did not sound as much like a question as it had felt on her tongue. The woman's confidence, and the weight of her attention focused entirely on Cora made Cora uneasy. What to say? How to act? Speaking to your husband's possible mistress not something she'd ever imagined.

Liam cleared his throat. "Madame Juliet, the ton is under the impression that you and I are engaged in an affair, and since you know as well as I that we are not, I was hoping you might put my wife's mind at ease."

The madame laughed, a loud, lusty chuckle. "Heaven's no. He won't touch me. Will barely look at me. He just sits there, taking notes, sometimes asking questions. I have proved quite useful for him. Even more useful for you, Lady Norton." She winked. "If he is still a dunce in bed, it is not my fault."

Liam turned red as a winter berry. "I-we-I mean… Hell."

"He curses an awful lot for a man who used to be a vicar," Cora said.

"He used to be a vicar?" Madam Juliet studied Liam as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, well, that does explain so very many things. Now, my dear"—she linked her arm through Cora's and sat them both on a small sofa—"please do say you believe me. From the moment Viscount Norton stepped through these doors, he's thought only of you and what an imbecile he's been."

"And every time you step through his door?" Cora sat tall, shoulders back and hands folded primly in her lap. "I have heard about your trips to Hotel Hestia."

Madame Juliet pulled herself up tall as well, and she seemed to choose her words carefully before speaking. "In those moments, the viscount also thought only of you."

"Seeing you two together finally is perfect. Quite opposite of one another. I'd love to have your likenesses on my wall. The lady of darkness and shadows and her sun knight, brimming with light."

Cora glanced at Liam, hoping he understood her unspoken question. Is she always like this?

Liam shrugged as if to say, you become accustomed to it.

"I do realize," Madame Juliet said, ignoring their exchange if she even saw it, "that my dedication to your husband's lessons have rather put you in a difficult position. I'm sorry for it. Let me make amends?"

"There is no need." Liam came to Cora's side and held out a hand, no doubt meaning to take her away now that Madame Juliet had confirmed the truth.

Cora pushed his hand aside and kept the madame's gaze. "There might be a need for it."

A dimple appeared in Madam Juliet's chin when she smiled. "I knew I would like you." She tapped Cora on the nose as she stood. "When my butler interrupted me, I was with a young fellow who possesses particular… tastes. He is most excited by… attention. More than a little of it. My attention alone will not do. If you help me, you might find, as well, something in it for yourself. As I said, recompense for having ignited rumors all across the city."

A man who liked the attentions of more than one person? Cora had read such scenes, but… oh, heavens. She stood and backed into Liam's side. "I'm not sure. I don't think—"

"We have, erm"—Liam tugged his cravat—"plans."

"Yes!" Cora squeaked. "Plans. With, erm…" She looked to Liam for help.

"Hats."

"Hats?"

Liam shrugged, eyes wide. "Yes, the milliner."

"There is no hat appointment. Do not take me for a fool." Madame Juliet waltzed across the room. "Follow me!"

Liam's hands landed on Cora's shoulders. "Cora if you believe her, if you believe me , we should go now."

Did she believe him? Yes, she rather did. Not just because the woman corroborated his story, but mostly because of how uncomfortable Liam seemed around her. With Cora, he was all predatory confidence and steely determination. In Madam Juliet's presence, he became a fox who knew himself hunted by larger, craftier predators.

What an odd feeling, but… she rather wanted her prowling, confident husband back.

"I believe you." Cora linked her arm through Liam's. "And I agree. It's time to depart. You've barely bedded me. I don't want to complicate things with… with other bodies ."

"God, I'm glad to hear you say that."

"One, erm, member seems difficult enough to manage without adding another."

"What would I do with four breasts? And only two hands!"

"Let's go."

They stepped toward the exit.

"Do stop dawdling, my darlings," Madame Juliet called from across the room. "My young man will not wait forever. And I do not see why you're so fussy about this. It's not as if I've asked you to join me in the bedroom."

They stopped midstride, and Cora looked at Liam. With a brow furrowed into the letter V, Liam looked at Cora. Slowly they faced the madame.

"What, exactly, do you intend for us?" Liam asked.

"You are clearly both in need of instruction, and my fellow enjoys an audience."

" Ooooh ," Cora breathed. "An audience . I see."

The madame's laugh glittered like diamonds. "Silly geese, the both of you. What did you think I meant? An orgy? No, no. Neither of you are advanced enough for something like that. And no one touches my young man but me. What he requires of you is not your hands, but your eyes. You won't even be in the same room. Now, will you follow me?" She nodded toward a full-length portrait of a man and a woman kissing on the wall in the far corner of the room. When she reached it, she felt along its edge and it swished open, revealing a dark entrance to a narrow staircase. "At the top of these stairs, there are two rooms used only by my particular clientele. When the fellow I was interrupted with is in luck, both rooms are in use at the same time. He shall be delighted I have found a few spectators for him when he thought not to be so lucky today."

The woman's magnetism drew Cora across the room and toward the staircase. Liam caught her hand, stayed her.

"We will tell her no now if you so desire, and it will be no hardship to me."

"Will you tell me no? After saying so many times you wish only to please me? If I want to… to watch… will you deny me?"

He bit off another curse, and Madame Juliet chuckled again. "Such a dirty mouth. I adore it. If you didn't belong so fully to your wife, I would take you on as my own. But I see this is better." She winked, then stepped into the shadows, leaving Cora to share a long, lingering look with Liam.

He still held her hand, and his touch buzzed along the edges of her fingers. He'd caged himself again, every muscle of his body ready to do the proper thing and leave. But she could tell he did not want that. His eyes contained green wildfires, their every flash a spark begging to escape, to blaze uncontrolled.

He stroked his thumb over her knuckles. His gloves were wrinkled, stretched out. "Say what you want, and I will do as you command. Every voice in my head but one very loud one is saying to run. But I… rather think the loud one is right."

"Who does the loud one belong to?"

"Me."

"You are a strange man." She flipped their hands, so they were palm to palm, and then she undid his glove, tugged it off. Did the same with the other and slipped the gloves into her pocket. She threaded their hands together. Better. Skin to skin. "Let us go up the stairs, then."

He squeezed her hand, and together they stepped into the doorway.

She hesitated, though. Wanting to do something entirely scandalous was one thing and doing it quite another. Different still, doing it alongside the man she'd married. If she let him guide her up those stairs, and if she did this thing with him, it would change everything. No longer sworn enemies as she had promised from the moment he'd left Norton Hall and fled to London to this very brothel. And no longer the distant acquaintances she had envisioned for their future. Also no longer the scared and embarrassed husband and wife who had begun this journey together.

If she allowed this, they became something else entirely.

Friends? Lovers? Partners of a sort?

Was she ready for that?

He bent over her, and his warm, soft lips brushed against her ear. "If this is what you want, I'm here with you." His thumb brushed the back of her skull, and his fingers flirted with the sensitive stretch of the back of her neck, stroking up and down, oh-so-lightly. "Do not be scared."

And whether it was the challenge of suggesting she could be scared or the delicate pleasure of his touch on her body or the warm reassurance of his words, she took the first step on to the staircase and into the unknown with him by her side.