Twenty-one

Roger Elston glanced up from his bookkeeping as the bell on the front door heralded the entrance of a customer. His eyes lit up instantly when he saw the lady, for she seemed to have the same bold manner of the actresses he had once been wont to visit in London. In fact, he thought he recalled seeing this one perform while he had still been employed at the orphanage. Once upon a time, he had had to save up enough coin to indulge what had then been his favorite pastime, viewing the performers in their provocative costumes. Now he was able to afford and demand much more from the funds he pilfered from the mill.

Though the overflowing bosom of this one was partially covered by a robe, the pale, luscious mounds seemed to test the restraint of her silk bodice, as if eager to be free. The woman didn't seem to mind that he stared at her overt display. Indeed, she smiled at him rather coyly before bending forward to search the merchandise laid out on the table between them, making it obvious that whatever undergarment she wore beneath, it was meant more for the purpose of enticing rather than concealing. His hand itched to explore the deep valley between those orbs and tweak the nipples that thrust impudently outward through the cloth of her gown.

Pandora smiled at the handsome young man, allowing her eyes to briefly scan his narrow trousers. He didn't seem the least bit abashed by his display, but awaited her reaction as he offered her a half-grin. He wasn't as old or perhaps as experienced as the men she had been enjoying as lovers in recent years, but she could imagine he'd be willing to do anything to please her. After Colton Wyndham's adamant refusal even to consider her as his wife, she needed to reaffirm her appeal for her own peace of mind. At one time, she had been convinced the colonel really cared for her. Now she had to wonder if that had only been part of his persuasive charm, making every woman feel special while she was in his arms. His wife had certainly seemed to idolize him, but then, Pandora mused resentfully, it had appeared her love had been returned tenfold.

Smiling coyly at the young man, she offered an explanation for her presence. "I left my shawl in London and have need of something to keep me warm tonight while I'm here in this quaint little town. I wasn't expecting it to turn cool this evening, but as you've probably discovered for yourself, it has. Would you happen to have a shawl or something that would suffice to keep me warm?"

Hastily Roger stepped to a cabinet in the corner and produced one of the mill's finest woolen wraps. The beauty's eyes widened in delight as he shook it out and displayed its exquisiteness.

"How lovely!" Pandora crooned excitedly, admiring the piece. Just as quickly, her brows gathered. Pursing her lips, she feigned a look of dismay. "But as much as I desire the piece, sir, I fear it's beyond my means."

"For such a rare individual as yourself, madam, the piece would require nothing more than a few moments of your time," Roger breathed, luxuriating in her sweet fragrance as he removed the robe. In its stead, he draped the ornately worked woolen shawl around her shoulders, managing to brush his hand over a ripe breast before tucking the ends of the wrap around her arms. Standing close behind her, he ogled the half-concealed melons with growing eagerness and leaned down to nuzzle her ear. "I can make it worth your while, my beauty."

"Really?" Pandora cut her eyes askance, awaiting his proposition, and didn't mind hugging herself to tempt him beyond his means to resist. In ready compliance her bodice gapped away from the pale orbs, bringing into view their rosy peaks. "The shawl is so wondrously warm. I'd love to have it."

Roger stared at the luscious melons, seriously tempted to slip a hand down inside her bodice, but he couldn't chance an employee finding them, for it would then be all over town that he had been dallying with a customer. "I have a private room near," he murmured, extending a hand to indicate its direction. "It has a comfortable chaise where we can sit … and talk together."

"Do you have some port?" Pandora inhaled deeply until she was nearly out of her bodice and then released her breath, once again leaving her bosom in full view for barely an instant. At an early age, she had learned the art of enticing men and had gained much from their eagerness to savor what she had or could do to pleasure them. "I'm so in the mood for a glass of port."

Roger smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Stepping away, he indicated the dark hallway leading to the private room he had made secure. Never had he imagined he'd be using it so soon after outfitting it with necessities. Much to his delight, such an opportunity was now at hand, and he just couldn't resist. He had even padded the walls to some extent to prevent workers from becoming curious about what he was doing within. Taking a nap was one thing, fulfilling his every fantasy with a wanton was another.

"Come into my private parlor, dear lady, and I shall pour you a libation and we can drink a toast to your new shawl."

Pandora slipped an arm through his and hugged it close against her breast. "I shall never forget how generous you've been, giving me such a costly gift. How can I ever repay you?"

"Your company for a time is payment enough."

Pandora's eyes lit up as he pushed open the door of the innerroom. It was furnished extravagantly with an ornate credenza upon which sat a silver tray with several crystal decanters containing different brews. A half dozen silver candelabrum stood between a like number of standing mirrors and these in turn encircled a wide, luxurious, red velvet chaise, upon which lay a filmy red peignoir. It was fairly simple to surmise that the occupants of the chaise would be able to observe from every angle everything that transpired there.

Strolling across the room, Pandora sank upon the cushioned piece and found herself duplicated many times over in her audience of mirrors. She sighed in pleasure as she stroked a hand over her thigh, managing to hike up the hem of her gown to show a trim calf. Then she cooed in admiration as she lifted the negligee before her face and considered the room through its thin veil. "You must be rich to afford such luxuries."

"I'm rich enough to afford this and a few other things besides," Roger boasted, locking the door behind him.

"Such as?"

He strolled forward, doffing his coat. "A mistress who'd be willing to comply with my every desire and whim, and one with a vivid imagination of her own." His fingers plucked open his shirt. "I'm not an ordinary man and would be very generous with a woman who could overlook a few minor inconveniences in order to please me. Is not variety your pleasure, too?"

"How generous?" Pandora asked, licking her lips in anticipation. She flicked her eyes over his chest and shoulders as he tossed his shirt aside; she had seen more manly brawn in her years as an actress, but the lad had a certain boyish appeal. It had been some time since she had felt inclined to yield her favors to a mere boy, but then, she had a need to feel young again.

Roger reached inside the credenza and produced a pair of gold earrings. Dangling them before her eyes, he murmured warmly, "This is only a small sampling. There is much more to be had should you please me."

"Well, these will do for starters," Pandora assured him,smiling warmly as she plucked them from his grasp. Doffing her own, she attached the heavy rings to her ears and reclined upon the chaise as she drew up her skirts to show a shapely thigh entirely bereft of pantaloons. Taking his hand, she stroked it along the shapely limb. "In return, I'm willing to give you more than a fair sampling of what I can do to pleasure a gent."

"We'll get to that part in good time, my beauty, but first, I have other things in mind."

"What are we going to do?" Adriana asked later that night after Colton had stretched out in bed beside her.

He sighed heavily. "As much as it distresses me to search for Alice, that may be our only option if we intend to prove that we're legally married, my love."

"Do you think we are?" his wife asked worriedly.

"I can almost promise you we are, my sweet," Colton murmured, wrapping an arm about her shoulders and pulling her close against him. "Pandora became very nervous even at the first when I started asking about Reverend Goodfellow, which leads me to think that he was no rector at all. Perhaps he was her brother or some actor she had promised to pay once she received monies from me. I'm not sure exactly what I'm missing here, but from the moment you bared Genie's bottom and found nothing more than a faded blotch, something has been nagging at me, some detail or fact I fear I may be overlooking. Perhaps ‘tis nothing more than a memory or an event from the past, but as much as I try, I can't seem to bring it clearly to mind."

"It seems rather wicked to make love when we're not sure if we're married," Adriana ventured beneath his warming kisses a moment later.

Colton pulled back to view her worried face and gave her a teasing grin as he tugged the sheet down past the lustrous orbs. Gently he plied a forefinger around a soft nipple, evoking a shiver of pleasure from the one who watched him with adoring eyes. "Haven't you ever wanted to feel positively wicked once in your life, my love?"

His tongue replaced his finger and moved with intoxicating slowness over a pliant peak, causing Adriana to catch her breath at the sensations he created within her. At the gentle urging of his hand, she readily opened herself to him, making no pretense as to her own desires and cravings. Threading her slender fingers through his thick crop of hair, she whispered with bated breath near his ear, "If this is wickedness, my love, then surely I am doomed, for I have become your most ardent slave."

Bentley had taken Philana to the Wyndham residence in London two days previous. The following morning a small army of servants accompanied her to the Kingsley residence in Mayfair a short distance away. She wasn't looking forward to sorting through the possessions of her late niece, but she had determined to put the ordeal behind her. Even as loyal as their servants were, she couldn't leave them with such a perplexing task, for they wouldn't have any idea what to do with the furnishings and everything else that had belonged to the young couple other than pack it all up and load it into endless carts. If there was anything that could be donated, sold, or thrown away prior to storing it in the attic or upper rooms of their house on Park Lane, then it would indeed save on the labor of getting it up there and the available space.

What Philana came across as she directed the servants in the careful wrapping of family portraits made her cease her work and return to the Wyndhams' Park Lane mansion posthaste. The next morning, Bentley lent her a helping hand into the landau, and just before dinner that evening, she arrived at Randwulf Manor. After hurrying up the stone steps to the front portal, she swept into the house and then went in search of Colton, having been told by Harrison that her son was working in the library on documents he intended to present before Parliament.

Having missed the earlier sessions because of his most recent wound and his three-month recuperation during his honeymoon, Philana knew that Colton felt pressed to make up forlost time. In that quest, he had also been making preparations to move his family to their London mansion where they would remain, at least for the most part, until August when Parliament would again adjourn well in time for the hunting season.

Adriana had spread a quilt out on the oriental rug in the library and had settled on it to play with Genie. The two of them were well in view of Colton whose laughter was often evoked by the playful antics of the child, who seemed to delight in wrinkling her tiny nose and flirting with either him or the lady.

When Philana entered, Adriana rose immediately to her feet and lifted the happily squealing Genie in her arms. "Mama Philana, we weren't expecting you back for several days."

The baby was especially delighted to see her grandmother whose eyes seemed riveted upon her. Placing a trembling hand beneath her tiny chin, Philana lifted the small face to catch the dwindling light from the glass-paned doors. As she studied the girl's face intently, sudden tears brightened her blue eyes, and then a joyful grin swept over her whole face.

"What is that you're carrying there?" Adriana inquired, inclining her head toward the small, cloth-covered painting her mother-in-law held close to her breast.

"A portrait, my dear, one you and Colton must study very carefully before I ask you whether or not I'm mad."

"You, mad?" Adriana chortled at the woman's humor. "Well, if you are, Mama Philana, then the rest of us must be raving lunatics. Tell us, what madness are you imagining?"

With a graceful sweep of her hand, Philana motioned them toward the settee. "Please, take a seat there together," she urged, and as they complied in some bemusement, she propped the cloth-covered painting up in a wing chair located across from them, and turned up the wick in a lamp residing on a table next to it. When the couple had settled themselves, she presented her request. "I would like both of you to tell me if you recognize the child in this portrait."

Again the two exchanged bemused glances before Colton gathered his brows and acknowledged, "After being gone so many years from home, Mother, I don't have much of a recollection of family members. I seriously doubt that I'll be of much help identifying the person in the portrait."

"Do your best, dear," she urged with a confident smile. " ‘Twill not be as difficult a task as you might imagine."

Slowly Philana lifted the cloth from the portrait and stood back in nervous anticipation to allow her son and daughter-in-law to study the painting as long as necessary. Yet as soon as Adriana and Colton saw it, they frowned in confusion and then peered up at Philana.

"Where did you find that?" Colton asked. "And how can it be? We never had an artist in here to paint Genie's portrait."

Philana lifted her trembling chin as tears began to stream down her cheeks. "It isn't Genie, my son."

"But who …?"

" 'Tis Edythe, when she was just a little older than Genie is now."

The jaws of the couple fairly sagged in astonishment for barely an instant, then Colton leapt from the settee and, in two long strides, reached the chair. His wife wasn't far behind him. Snatching up the portrait, Colton tilted it in order to catch more of the light as Adriana looked over his arm.

"I could almost swear that's Genie," he declared.

" 'Tis quite a shock when you first see it, isn't it? And then you find yourself wondering how anyone could have painted our darling little girl's portrait without our knowledge." Philana was having difficulty controlling what could only have been joyful tears and hurriedly dragged a handkerchief from her purse. "After the servants discovered it, I had to find better light myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

Colton's brows gathered in confusion. "But how do you know for a certainty that it is Edythe's portrait?"

"Her name and the date are on the back, dear. It was painted when she was only one year old."

"What are you thinking, Mother?" Colton queried, not wishing to voice any conjectures that might upset her.

Philana didn't hesitate to express her opinion. "I believewithout a doubt that Edythe gave birth to Genie before she died. God only knows what miracle brought the child into our home, but that is what I believe with all my heart."

"And the child who was found with Edythe?" Adriana probed, and then turned to peer up at her husband. "Do you suppose your conjectures were right after all about Alice Cobble losing her child and then stealing another to give to Pandora? If her babe did indeed die as you suggested, then she might've carried it with her with the intent of stealing another wherever she could and leaving her dead infant in its stead. A live newborn would've been the only sure way she'd have received what Pandora promised her. If she came upon the soldiers while they were chasing the Kingsleys' coach or rummaging through it, she'd have likely hidden herself for fear of being killed and then searched the conveyance after the soldiers took their leave just to see what she could find. The physicians did say there was evidence that someone had helped Edythe deliver her babe after the coach overturned, because the cord had been cut and tied. If Edythe was indeed in the process of giving birth when Alice searched the conveyance, then Alice would've probably been overjoyed at the prospect of getting her hands on a live newborn to take to Pandora."

"That sounds logical to me," Colton acknowledged, "especially since the boy who was found with Edythe bore the Wyndham mark on his rump. That's what I've been trying to remember since Pandora's visit. There was no other way the babe could've had that mark. Father would never have bedded Edythe, and I certainly didn't."

A smile traced across Philana's lips. "Edythe was too much of a lady and too much in love with Courtland for me to consider that she'd have gone behind his back to do such a thing. Sedgwick never gave me any reason to believe he had ever been untrue to me. We were always together, mainly at his insistence. Ofttimes, he avouched that I was as much a part of him as his own heart."

"Of course you were, Mama Philana," Adriana reassuredher gently, slipping an arm around the older woman's waist. "Throughout all the years I can remember, that seemed the way of it. He loved you very, very much."

Philana nodded, growing firm in that belief. "Alice likely put the Wyndham birthmark on her son's backside while he was still alive, but couldn't take it off once he died. If you suffer any doubt, consider how long Genie's mark has lingered just since Alice's departure. All Alice would've cared about anyway were the coins she'd been promised. I just hope she didn't kill my niece in her greed."

" 'Tis unlikely she did, Mother, considering that Courtland and the driver were both dead," Colton replied. "Still, if she did kill Edythe, then she should pay for that crime. I will notify the authorities to be on the watch for the woman."

"Even if Alice did kill Edythe, she'll lie and say she didn't," Philana stated with conviction. "And who of Edythe's family is in a position to say she did? No one."

"Now that we have the portrait, we'll be able to offer some evidence that Genie was Edythe's daughter, and that Alice gave the babe to Pandora." Colton nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, even if we do manage to find Alice, we'll have to wade through her lies to get to the truth, but a threat of a hanging might just shorten her lying tongue."

Philana heaved a lengthy, wavering sigh. "I feel as if a terrible weight has been lifted from my shoulders. All this time, I've been grieving over Edythe and her family when her daughter has been here all along offering me solace. It truly seems a miracle, and tonight I shall begin, and continue henceforth, to express my heartfelt gratitude in my prayers, first because we have Genie with us, and second, because there's reason to believe she truly is Edythe's daughter."

Felicity watched the entrance of the mill as the last of the workers filed out and then, in heightening impatience, perched upon the window seat in her father-in-law's bedchamber as she awaited Roger's departure. He had told her earlier that he would have to take the cart on an errand after the mill closed,and that he wouldn't be home for supper. His absence would give her another chance to look through the ledgers on the remote possibility that she had overlooked some pertinent information that would help identify the people whose initials matched the ones she had found.

As anxious as she had been to return to the mill and peruse Roger's ledgers after her first search, he had seemed reluctant to break away from his office, as if compelled to stay and finish his work, whatever that was. He had ordered her to bring his food to him at noon, more than the usual he had said since he would have someone helping him, but, once again, she had been warned not to go much beyond the front door.

While delivering his food, Felicity had espied quite by accident a small vial of a liquid substance wedged between books in the glass cabinet behind his desk. Roger had been talking to workers down the hall at the time and had had his back to her. Deeming it fairly safe to creep to the bookcase, she had opened the door very quietly and slipped the bottle into her apron pocket before gently closing the cabinet. At his sudden approach, her heart had nearly leapt into her throat, but she had raced out, telling him over her shoulder that she had forgotten his bread and had to run back to the house to fetch it, which had actually been the truth and a fortuitous oversight she had decided after espying the vial. In the house, she had dribbled a tiny portion of the contents into a clean vial and then had slipped the original back into her pocket before racing back to the mill. Roger had been nowhere in sight when she returned the vial to the bookcase in his office. Leaving the basket of bread on his desk, she had scampered out.

Anxious to know exactly what the substance in the vial was, Felicity had immediately taken what she had collected to Mr. Carlisle and asked him to identify it if at all possible. He had first sniffed it and then tasted a tiny bit on his tongue. Then he had smiled with a kindly twinkle in his eye and announced that it was merely laudanum, nothing more. Greatly relieved by his answer, she had dared hope that Roger really hadn't poisoned his father in spite of her recent suspicions.

Felicity straightened on the window seat as she realized that Roger was finally emerging from the mill. He seemed in some haste as he donned his frock coat and began to arrange his cravat. He raised a knee to climb into the cart, but halted abruptly, lowered his foot to the ground, and then, after glancing around, began fastening his breeches.

Felicity raised a brow curiously, wondering what he had been doing this time, if it had merely been an oversight after visiting the privy or if he had been involved in something a bit more sordid; but then, she wasn't really interested in his prurient diversions. In fact, if he found a mistress who'd demand all his attention, she'd be greatly relieved. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about her baby.

Felicity waited a quarter hour after the cart disappeared from sight before she finally deemed it safe to leave the house. Where Roger was concerned, it was wise to be cautious, she had learned. He was not always predictable, especially when it came to remembering things. As much as he thought himself mentally astute, in her opinion he fell far short of that mark. If he had forgotten anything and been forced to turn back for either that or some other reason, she didn't want him to catch her with her nose in his ledgers.

Felicity flitted across the moonlit yard, and then pressed back into the deeper shadows of the overhanging roof for another moment or two to make certain that no one was roaming about. Reassured that she was all alone, she thrust a hand into the pocket of her apron and withdrew the weighty ring of keys she had found in Edmund Elston's tall secretary in his bedchamber. She had absolutely no idea what the individual keys opened, but she was curious to find out. After her last intrusion into the mill, Roger had never left the spare key in the house again, and she had not been able to find another until she had thought of searching through Edmund's room. The Elstons, she had come to believe, were mean and conniving men, and because of that reason, she felt a need to protect herself, or they'd likely dispense with her in one fashion or another.

Finally finding a key that would unlock the front door of theshop, she slipped inside, closed the portal behind her, and then secured her privacy by latching it. To further provide for her safety, she closed the shutters over the windows. She had no wish to be unduly surprised if Roger returned sooner than expected. In providing an alternative way of escape in case she'd have to race out the rear of the building, she searched through the keys again until she found one for the back door. She just hoped she'd have time to lock it behind her before her husband entered the premises.

Keenly aware that she'd have to snuff the flame posthaste if she heard the cart returning, she lit the lantern hanging over the desk. Moments later she became totally immersed in the ledger, noticing that more expenditures had been entered, this time exorbitant amounts. Beside them were the initials E.R. She also saw where a smaller sum had been deducted, in itself quite hefty. M.T. had been marked on the line near the latter. Yet, as many times as she searched through the entries, even going back repeatedly from front to back through the ledger, she just couldn't seem to find names to match.

Restlessly she paced the confines of the office, thoughtfully flicking the end of a pen against her cheek. E.R.! M.T.! Who were these people to whom her husband was giving large sums? If he paid for either the furniture or the new room with any of the mill's funds, surely he'd have been given a receipt with a name on it or some such thing.

Returning to the desk, she braced her hands on its edge and stared at the book upside-down, racking her brain as she ran through a mental list of Roger's acquaintances. Basically, he had no friends to speak of, especially among the male populace. Women, it seemed, were merely a tool he used for his lascivious purposes. Bereft of close companions as he was, he had to be paying business acquaintances for services rendered and undisclosed. But here again, she wasn't cognizant of any who had initials to match those noted in the ledger.

"E.R. and M.T.," she hissed, angry with herself for not being able to find any clue to the identity of the two. "E.R…. E.R…. E.R…. Elston? Elston?" Her eyes brightened as the thought came, "Elston, Roger?"

Though she knew it was only a twinkling of a possibility that the initials were actually his, only reversed, she searched her memory for someone with the remaining initials, T.M., when turned about. The only name she could recall was the one Mr. Carlisle had given her, Thaddeus Manville, the apothecary from London. And it just so happened that Roger was fond of going to London, and Mr. Manville was especially partial to Elston's woolens. Or was he?

A dull thud from somewhere nearby caused Felicity's heart to lurch in sudden trepidation. Hurriedly she turned down the wick in the lamp and crept to the front windows, where she peered out through a niche in the shutters. As frantically as she searched the darkness beyond the mill for Roger's cart, she couldn't see any sign of it. Another thump snatched a gasp from her and made her whirl abruptly about as she realized she had mistaken the direction from whence the first sound had come.

Cautiously she tiptoed into the hall, half afraid that Roger had gone around behind the mill and entered from the back. "Roger? Is that you?"

Once again, her heart nearly jumped from her chest as another bump intruded into the answering silence. It seemed to come from Roger's newly furnished private chamber, a room she had never been permitted to see, much less enter. She crept to the door and jiggled the handle. Promptly, three loud thumps came against the door from the interior of the room.

"Is anyone there?" she called through the portal, but immediately felt like a dunce for asking such a ludicrous question. Of course, someone was there, and whoever it was obviously wanted out!

Not more than two days ago, Felicity had been ordered by Roger to go to the alehouse and fetch him a brimming pitcher of the dark brew. Upon her return, she had found him standing at the door of his new room with an arm raised and his hand on the molding above the portal. At her entrance, he had made ashow of yawning and stretching, which had seemed rather farfetched considering she had seen enough to know he had shoved something onto that narrow strip of wood. In spite of his silly pretense, it had been all-too-apparent what he had been doing … what else but hiding a key? Perhaps it was just as well that she hadn't remembered that incident right off. Otherwise, she'd have already been confronting the person imprisoned in the room.

Curiosity had a way of leading a person into an area that could well prove life-threatening. Felicity was well aware of that fact and yet she considered her choices, whether to ignore the thumps and continue perusing the ledgers or to discover the identity of the person Roger had secluded in his private room. The decision was hardly debatable, at least not for someone who had already discovered the evil lurking behind a handsomely boyish face. She was fearful enough of Roger without allowing his unrelenting intimidations to control every facet of her life. She had to see what he was up to this time.

Dragging a chair near the door, Felicity climbed atop the seat, slid slender fingers along the uppermost part of the door-jamb, and promptly found what she had sought. "Sly you are not, Roger!"

Clasping the key to her breast, she stepped to the floor and, once again, paused to consider the consequences of her actions. Although determined to release Roger's prisoner, she was also more than a little wary, not knowing what would likely happen if she erred in thinking her husband was the only culprit. But he had already proven he was one of the foulest sort! reason argued. Resolved to find out the identity of the one he had locked behind the door, she fetched a lantern and placed it upon the seat of the chair to lend her much needed light as she tried to fit the key into the lock. Shaking fingers definitely hindered her progress. Yet she had to know what and who was in the forbidden room.

Thrusting the key into the tiny niche, Felicity turned it once, heard a "click" as the lock was freed, and was about to reach for the knob when the door was snatched inward. Almost immediately, out stumbled a woman, totally naked except for wildly snarled hair flowing almost to her waist. Her face and body were terribly bruised. On the inside of her thighs, matted blood had dried, sending cold shivers of dread through Felicity. She entertained no smallest doubt that Roger was responsible for the woman's sorry condition.

"Help me," the wild-looking female pleaded in desperation. "Please, oh, please, help me escape that vile madman. He'll likely kill me if I remain."

"Who are you?" Felicity asked, completely stunned by what she was seeing. She had never dreamt that Roger would go so far as to actually hold a woman captive for his prurient purposes. "Why are you here?"

"I'm Pandora Mayes, an actress from London," the woman explained, on the verge of tears. "I came to the mill to buy a shawl yesterday. Or was it a year ago? It certainly seems as if an eternity has passed since then." She shivered in revulsion. "The miller said he'd give me the shawl if I'd be nice to him, but I never imagined what he'd demand of me in return or that he'd keep me a prisoner to serve his demented pleasure night and day. He forced me to drink some laudanum before he left me last night, but I don't think I could've escaped anyway, not after what he did to me. I've never been so violated in so many different ways in all my life. I thought I'd die before he finished with me. I've been so frightened, and I'm too ashamed to say what he did." She shuddered convulsively. "I must leave here before he returns, or he'll kill me. I know he will! He promised he'd come back tonight, to continue with what he had started before he left. He said he had to run an errand, and then he'd be back. Knowing he'd be gone for a while, I took a chance that someone would hear me. Now I'm free, and I must get away. There's no telling what more he'll do if I can't find a way to escape."

The actress's sorely used condition and the terror she conveyed at the idea of falling into Roger's hands again brought Felicity face to face with the realization that her husband hadtreated her fairly well in comparison. Knowing how difficult it had been to tolerate his abuse herself, she was moved by compassion and mentally searched for a way to help the woman escape. Her grandfather came to mind.

Laying a hand upon the woman's arm, she stated what was obvious. "You can't leave here without any clothes. Do you have any?"

"The miller refused to return them. He told me to wash and perfume myself before he returned, but I've done neither."

"I'll run back to the house and fetch some clothes. If you can, you'd better get washed. You … ah … smell … used."

"I have been used, numerous times in fact … by that filthy bastard!"

Although Roger had vented worse language in her presence, Felicity had never heard a woman spew forth the like. "Ready yourself as much as you can while I'm gone," she urged. "I'll return shortly with something for you to wear. My grandfather has friends who'll see you safely to London, but we'll have to walk up the hill from here. Do you have any shoes?"

"That's the only thing that sorry lecher left me," Pandora sneered in venomous hatred of the man.

Briefly considering the voluptuousness of the woman, Felicity decided forthwith that it would be futile to bring back anything more than a nightgown and a cloak. Although they were nearly the same height, the woman was far more buxom and generally fleshier. With her long, frizzy hair, painted nails, smeared rouge, and eyes smudged with black kohl, she definitely looked the sort to be found in houses of ill repute.

Felicity sprinted back to the house, but in her haste to return with the clothing she had collected, she failed to notice the cart parked in the lane on the far side of the mill. Snatching open the door of the office, she rushed in, busily separating the garments until she realized Roger was standing in the middle of the room with arms akimbo and his scar-separated brow arched to a lofty height above a menacing glare. Letting out afrightened screech, she whirled about-face and made a frantic attempt to flee. Immediately he was behind her, catching a hand in her hair.

"So, my little dove, you were curious, eh?" he snarled in her ear. "Well, we all might as well have a glass of port while I figure out what to do with the two of you. Of course, I could take you both to London and sell you to the brothels there…." He snickered snidely as Felicity clutched a trembling hand protectively over her protruding stomach. "As dainty and fetching as you are, my sweet, you'd probably lose our chit ere the first week is out. The men will certainly be delighted to taste such a tempting little morsel, even if you are with child."

He sent her spinning across the room and chortled in amusement as her haphazard dervish ended in a rather ungraceful plop into a chair beside Pandora, who was literally quaking with terror. The tears the woman had wept just since Roger's reappearance had dissolved the rest of the kohl lining her eyelids, leaving black streaks coursing down her cheeks.

Roger sauntered about, taking his own precious time making his den of iniquity secure as he locked his private haven, bolted the front door, and latched the shutters. As he passed through the room, he smiled insipidly at the pair. "We can discuss where I'll be taking you over some port, so please don't stray while I'm fetching it, ladies. Should you dare, I can promise you that I'll make you both extremely sorry you disobeyed me. I have this cruel little device called a barbed rod. The metal spikes on the end will likely take the flesh off your backs in short order."

He disappeared down the hallway and, after a lengthy moment, finally reemerged bearing three goblets. Betwixt the fingers of one hand he clasped the stems of two as he lifted a third to his lips and leisurely sipped from its rim. Holding the portion in his mouth to savor it more fully, he rolled his eyes as if transported to paradise and then smiled as he swallowed the liquid.

"Divine, if I may so myself," he boasted, as if entertaining two ladies from the upper classes.

He extended the hand bearing the two goblets to Pandora. Fearful of refusing, she peered up at him warily and, with badly shaking fingers, plucked one free of his grasp.

"You needn't be so terrified, my pet. Drink the port. ‘Twill give you courage. Who knows? I may even take pity on you and finish what we started earlier. My wife could use a few lessons in the art of making a customer happy before she is forced to yield to their various requests."

A convulsive shudder went through Pandora, evidencing her own growing horror of what he suggested.

Stepping before Felicity, Roger presented the last glass to her and perused her face admiringly as she accepted it with a cautious glance upward. "You are a real beauty, my pet," he mused aloud, caressing her cheek in a display of affection. "I shall be greatly saddened to take you to London. After all, I did love you … in my fashion … but, of course, not as much as I loved Lady Adriana."

A sharp gasp was wrenched from Pandora, who looked up at him in surprise, drawing a curious smile from the miller. Immediately she dropped her gaze to her naked thighs, fearful of claiming any portion of his attention.

"Ah, ‘twould seem you are acquainted with Lady Adriana. How so?" When she failed to answer him, he leaned toward her and railed at the top of his lungs, making both women start and tremble violently in their chairs. "How do you know her, slut? You're not of the peerage!"

"L-Lord Col-Colton," Pandora stuttered fearfully. "I've known him … for some time."

"I shall assume that was before he returned and married the beauteous Adriana…." Although he waited, he had to resort to a vicious backhand blow across the actress's face before he gained an answer.

"Y-yes, I-I only m-met her yesterday or m-maybe it was the other day. I c-can't remember. I've l-lost track of time," Pandora stuttered. Reaching up with the back of her hand, she wiped away the thin trail of blood that trickled from a corner of her mouth. "I n-never saw or even h-heard of h-her until I went to Randwulf Manor the other day."

"A regal beauty, isn't she?" Roger mused, sipping his port with a lofty air. "I almost had my pleasure of her, but his lordship intruded ere I could force myself upon her. Of course, I shall never forget how she thrashed me before he appeared. I owe her for that. Sometime very, very soon, I'm going to have her bleeding and begging me for mercy, and then I'll make her do everything I want. She'll be sorry she didn't let me make love to her then."

Felicity peered askance at Pandora as the trembling woman lifted the wineglass to her lips. Briefly they exchanged glances, and Felicity frowned, shaking her head warningly, but Roger bent toward her with a smile, halting her attempt.

"What's the matter, dear? Are you jealous?" He smirked. "You needn't be. The wench means nothing to me, merely a plaything with whom to wile away my evenings, a knowledgeable diversion, to be sure, but nothing meaningful. I would've returned to you once I became bored with her. That was not far off, believe me. Her continuous sobbing and pleading wore on my temper until I was nigh ready to thrash her."

"Are you really going to take me to a brothel in London, Roger?" Felicity asked, amazed that she had been able to get the words out through her fear-constricted throat. She had never been so frightened in all her life. "It would likely mean the loss of your child."

He waved a hand with a casual air, dismissing that issue as none of his concern. "I care not for children, nor your rounding shape, my dear. However, I will miss you to some extent. I'm immensely fond of beautiful women, and you're among the finest, I must admit."

"But not to be compared to Lady Adriana," she managed in a snide tone, as if she truly resented that fact.

"Oh, I see you are jealous, Mrs. Elston," he crooned and then chortled as if amused by the idea. "You were certainly envious when Lord Colton turned his attention upon her, weren't you? Oh, I know how you adored the man, my dear, but one of these days he's going to be sorry he ever came back from the wars. I intend to have his cods on a roasting stake, and then I'mgoing to mount Adriana as many times as I please while he's forced to watch. I owe him that before I kill him."

Felicity couldn't resist asking, "Do you hate everyone, Roger?"

"Why, no, my dear. I don't hate you. Or Adriana. Haven't I treated you well and loved you in my fashion?"

"In your fashion?" Felicity demanded incredulously. "Hurting me whenever you touched me? Is that what you call love? Or would it be better described as brutality?"

He waved a hand arrogantly to dismiss her argument. "There are definitely those I hate. Some I've shrewdly removed, and no one's been the wiser. Others have yet to feel my revenge. I had Lord Colton in my sights once after rallying men to aid me, but he lived in spite of the hole I put in his back, and he married Adriana that very same night. I hated him for that! I hated his father before him, and I took my revenge upon him, subtle though it was, but that is neither here nor there. What I must decide at this present moment is what to do with you fair damsels."

Roger strode to the far end of the shop, allowing Felicity to dump the contents of her goblet into a tall copper kettle that sat beside her. Pandora craned her neck to see what she had done and then briefly sneered at the waste of good port. Before Felicity had a chance to stop her, the actress raised her own glass and finished the wine off with one flip of her wrist. Felicity stared at her in paralyzed horror, knowing with a certainty that she had just gulped down a lethal dose of arsenic.

The miller turned and, seeing their drained glasses, set aside his own. "Time to be about the business of taking you two to wherever I'm going to take you," he announced and then gestured toward the nightgown and cloak that had fallen from Felicity's arm when she had entered and which now lay in a heap upon the floor. "You might as well let dear Pandora wear those things you brought over, my dear. ‘Twould be difficult to explain to anyone we pass why I have a naked woman riding in the back of my cart."

Beneath Roger's smirking gaze, Pandora dragged on thenightgown and then wrapped the cloak about herself. As he silently gestured for her to move toward the door, she complied, afraid to do otherwise. Bidden in like manner, Felicity followed the woman, and a few short moments later, the two of them were climbing into the back of the cart as Roger freed the reins.

It didn't take Felicity long to realize they were not heading toward London after all, but in more of a westerly direction, toward the rolling countryside interspersed with lofty manors and sizable estates through which the River Avon twined. It was also an area where Roger could dispense with them fairly easily and they wouldn't soon be found, if at all. If she didn't manage to get away from him alive, it would probably take weeks, perhaps even months, before anyone found their bodies.

Beside her, Pandora began to groan and writhe in agony. Fearing to do otherwise, Felicity emulated her as best as she could. When she heard her husband's sadistic laughter, her neck crawled at his callousness. For all his talk of being fond of her, he seemed highly amused by the idea that he had been successful in poisoning her. It was actually what she hoped he'd believe. Indeed, her ploy would likely be the only way she'd be able to escape alive from this ordeal. It all depended on what her husband intended to do with them after he decided they were dead. She was not particularly fond of being buried alive, but then, Roger was not all that ambitious either, especially when it involved hard work, which digging a grave definitely was. Considering his aversion to any laborious task, there was a strong chance that he'd just dump them somewhere alongside the road and be done with it. She prayed desperately that that would be the way of it, and that it wouldn't be long after he had left them that she'd be able to find help.

Pandora finally stopped her anguished moaning, and again Felicity followed her example. Even so, she reached across very carefully and pressed her fingers to the woman's wrist. Alas, she could detect no pulse and could only conclude the actress had indeed died from port that Roger had poisoned.

In an area that was totally unfamiliar to Felicity, Roger finally halted the cart, dragged Pandora to the end of it, and, from there, let her body plummet to the ground. Taking hold of her wrists, he hauled her away from the road and then along a ridge that Felicity suspected ran parallel to a stream or perhaps even the River Avon. In the distance, she thought she could hear the burbling of a swiftly moving stream.

While her husband was engaged in the task of disposing of Pandora, Felicity tore off a tiny portion of her chemise and stuffed the piece into her mouth, hoping fervently it would be sufficient to stifle whatever sound would be evoked from her if Roger let her fall to the ground as he had Pandora. Even with her precautions, she was fearful that some grunt, gasp, or similar sound would issue forth from her mouth, which would indeed prove immensely hazardous for her. If Roger wasn't thoroughly convinced she was dead, she wouldn't live out the hour.

Roger straightened as he reached a place favorable for his purposes. Bracing a booted foot upon the voluptuous actress's hip, he sent Pandora rolling down the slope, and a short space of time later, a distant splash evidenced the fact that her body had rolled into the stream at the bottom of the ravine. Panting from his exertion, he made his way back to the cart.

Felicity's heart lurched in her breast as Roger clasped a hand around her ankle and hauled her toward him. Her skirts were nigh to her waist by the time she reached the end of the bed, but he tugged her around until she was lying parallel with the edge. She held her breath in agonizing fear, dreading her descent, praying she and her baby would somehow survive the fall.

Roger leaned forward over her and, slipping his arms beneath her, lifted her up in his arms, causing Felicity to grow weak with overwhelming relief. She was much smaller and therefore lighter than the actress had been. Perhaps for that reason, Roger had decided she would be more manageable if he just carried her. In view of the rocks that jutted up here and there over the area he was traversing, he'd have certainly exerted himself far more had he dragged her to the same place from whence he had rolled Pandora's body down the hill.

Felicity had to keep reminding herself over and over to stay as limp as a drowned puppy while Roger carried her toward the spot from which he would launch her toward the stream. Although it became more of a mental feat than a physical one, it left her head lulling loosely over his arm. Although it strained her neck muscles, the position allowed her to see the general area toward which he was taking her, albeit from an upside-down angle. They finally halted along a rise bordering a burbling stream, which Felicity could barely see at the bottom of the rock-strewn hill. Although the moon was out, she had no way of knowing actually how steep the incline was or the distance to the water. She could only hope that she'd still be alive when she finally came to rest.

For a long moment, Roger stood laughing to himself, as if he were actually anticipating whatever was coming or perhaps cheering himself for his ability to dispense with two more victims. Silently, fervently, Felicity prayed that whatever he was planning, she wouldn't end up drowning. If she couldn't stop him from killing her, she'd much rather have her head cracked open and lose consciousness than suffer the mind-reeling horror of not being able to breathe.

As much as she tried to prepare herself, Felicity almost panicked when he swung her this way and that in a quest to gain momentum. Then, quite abruptly, he let her go, and she found herself hurtling through space. Seized by fright, she came close to thrashing her limbs wildly about in a frantic attempt to somehow right herself, but she knew any movement would be visible in the moonlight, and it would mean her ultimate doom. If Roger saw anything that seemed even remotely suspicious, he would come after her. Thus, she remained frozen as much as she was able … Mentally, it was much like moving at a snail's pace while everything else around her was speeding past her with lightning quickness. Whether she'd be alive or dead when she came to rest, she had no way of predicting.

She did indeed fall to earth on soft turf, but upon rolling helter-skelter down the hill, she slammed belly-first into a boulder. If not for the rag she had stuffed into her mouth, theimpact would have left her gagging in sudden agony. Pain seared through her, and immediately she felt a wetness gushing forth from her loins, and she knew at that very instant that Roger had finally managed to kill her baby!

It was a very long moment before Felicity could bring herself to move. She feared every bone in her body had been broken, but when she heard the distant rattle of hooves on the road, she realized that Roger was leaving and that it was safe for her to drag the gag from her mouth. She did so, and promptly heaved up her stomach. With each spasm, the gushing fluid flowed more profusely from her loins, but now it was warm and sticky. Although the first had likely been that which surrounded a baby in the womb, she knew this could only be blood, and that if she didn't somehow find help very, very soon, she'd probably bleed to death. Somehow she'd have to crawl, climb, or claw her way back up the hill to the road and trust that some passerby would come along and take pity on her before it was too late.

Riordan Kendrick sat glumly in the corner of his landau as he stared out the window into the night. Since Adriana's marriage to Colton, he had had no heart for the gathering of friends and acquaintances, yet this evening he had finally relented to Percy's plea to join the couple for dinner. Seeing Samantha in the latter stages of her pregnancy only reminded him of what he had missed not being able to claim Adriana as his wife. At times, he found himself inundated with impressions, her silken arms twining about him in the darkness, her soft lips responding to his, her thighs opening to welcome his throbbing maleness into her sweet, womanly softness.

Gnashing his teeth, Riordan rubbed his chest, wishing he could relieve that damnable, nagging emptiness where once a heart had throbbed with life … and hope. He was wise enough to know he would have to get over the pain of losing Adriana and turn his mind toward the task of finding another woman whom he could love, but as yet, he hadn't felt the least bit ambitious about motivating himself in that area. None ofthe available maidens in the area appealed to him. The ones he had once thought might have had a chance of satisfying him if he had been forced to choose another were now married. But even then, he had considered them only briefly, not wanting to face the loss of his ideal. He had loved Adriana deeply, would probably always love her, but as painfully brutal as the truth seemed to be of late, she now belonged to another who had proven his love for her just as strongly. Colton had certainly seemed willing to die to ensure their union, which left him, Riordan, sadly coveting the wife of another man, a man whom he admired and respected … and totally envied.

Riordan frowned in sudden perplexity as he realized his driver was drawing the landau to a halt on the open road. "What is it, Matthew?" he asked when the older man opened the small window above the forward seat. "Why have you stopped the carriage?"

"There's someone lyin' aside the road, milord, an' if'n I can believe me poor eyes, I'd make it out ta be a fair-haired lady, sir. She may be dead … or perhaps bad hurt. Shall I climb down and have a look, milord?"

"No, keep your seat, Matthew. I shall see to the matter myself."

Riordan pushed open the carriage door and stepped lightly to the ground. Making his way forward alongside the landau, he paused beside the dickey seat to receive a coach lamp and directions from the driver, who then pointed toward the inert form. Lifting the lantern high to light his way as he progressed toward the dark shape, Riordan watched for any meager sign of life. The fine leather soles of his boots crunched against the roadbed, but he could detect no smallest evidence of reaction from the woman, who was curled in a small knot on her side near the edge of the road. From what he could determine, she was already dead, or at the very least unconscious.

Squatting down on a well-shod heel beside the woman, he lifted a slender wrist in his hand and searched for a pulse. It was faint but still detectable. He set the lantern on the road near her shoulder and then proceeded to turn her over.

"Mrs. Elston!" he cried, promptly recognizing Samuel Gladstone's granddaughter. He vividly recalled having met the beauty a number of months ago when he had visited the miller. Although at the time he had hardly been cognizant of any woman other than his lovely Adriana, he had been pleasantly taken aback by the girl's exceptional pulchritude in spite of the fact that he had considered her pale blond hair and blue eyes the exact opposite of his ideal, which Adriana had unknowingly done much to solidify in his mind. Later, he had heard some talk about Samuel's granddaughter having married the young miller, the same cad who had been so rude and possessive of Adriana during the Autumn Ball. However briefly he had considered her, Riordan had mentally marked the lady off his list of alternatives.

A trickle of blood had dried after flowing from the corner of the lady's mouth, and there was a dark bruise upon her cheek and brow. Though he gently shook her, he received no response, not even a flicker of an eyelid.

Bending over her, he slipped an arm beneath her back and then slid another under her knees until he realized her skirts were saturated. Withdrawing his hand, he held it near to the lantern. His concern for the lady spiraled to greater heights as he realized it was blood. He folded back her gown and petticoat as he searched for some indication of an oozing wound that perhaps needed to be tightly confined to stem the flow. The inside leggings of her pantaloons were soaked with a thicker, darker hue, and when he spread a hand over the gentle mound that formed her abdomen and applied pressure, the resulting surge of blood made him realize his talent for binding up wounds did not extend to the area of miscarriages.

Bundling her skirts around her lower torso, he lifted her up in his arms and hurried back to the carriage. "Forget the lantern, Matthew. Take us home as quickly as you can. Dr. Carroll must be fetched immediately. Mrs. Elston is in the process of losing her baby, and if she doesn't receive help soon, she will likely bleed to death."

When they arrived at Harcourt Hall, Riordan whisked theyoung woman from the conveyance, bade his driver to make haste collecting the doctor, and then rushed into the Gothic manor. Calling for his housekeeper, Mrs. Rosedale, to come running, he leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time and, with a broad shoulder, pushed open the door of a bedchamber just down the hall from his own suite of rooms. Maidservants came scurrying into the chamber on the heels of the housekeeper who, with her usual pragmatism, promptly sent her master elsewhere as the younger women began undressing the girl.

Soon after bathing Felicity and tending the minor abrasions that still oozed blood, the servants laid out more towels and sheets as they awaited the physician. Other than servants, there were no women residing in the house. Thus, they sought out the master and readily received permission to use one of his nightshirts for the lady. They knew by the lack of times the garments had appeared in the wash that the master normally didn't wear them. The only time anyone had ever noticed he had done so was when guests were in the house and various circumstances necessitated his appearance after he had retired to his chambers. Though the maidservants searched through his armoire, they could find none any smaller than the rest. Firstly, they hoped the lady would survive to wear what they finally selected, and then, secondly, would be able to keep the garment together thereafter, for it had no ties and, even on a man, the opening for the neck would have plunged to at least mid-chest. They didn't dare imagine the depth it would go on a small woman.

Dr. Carroll arrived in the coach and promptly became breathless and flustered by the alacrity with which his lordship escorted him upstairs. The master of the house seemed unaware of his long strides, which forced a shorter man to redouble his efforts just to keep up. Nevertheless, upon entering the chamber wherein the young lady had been ensconced, the physician rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands and, with the aid of the more knowledgeable matrons, set about his labors.

Remorseful tears were still flowing down Felicity's cheeks a pair of hours later when Riordan was finally allowed into thechamber to see his bedridden guest. In some embarrassment, Felicity burrowed deeper under the damask coverlet and hurriedly brushed at the streaming wetness, trying her best to put on a brave front.

"I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude for finding me and saving my life, my lord," she volunteered in a small voice.

Riordan drew up a wing chair close beside the bed and smiled as he took her slender hand within his grasp. Covering it with his free hand, he made a point of correcting her. "I'm afraid I did nothing of which you claim, Mrs. Elston. My driver was the one who first noticed you lying alongside the road, and as for saving your life, well, the good physician did that, I'm sure. I did, however, send a man to Bradford to inform your husband that you're here."

"Oh, no!" Felicity sprang up from the pillows in alarm as her heart leapt into her throat. "Roger will kill me, just like he tried to do earlier."

Riordan sat back in his chair, completely astounded by her claim. He watched the lady in some confusion as she tried in painful embarrassment to pull his nightshirt over a pale shoulder, from which it had fallen after her sudden movement. He'd have more fully appreciated the soft, creamy, pink-nippled breast that had come briefly into view had he not been so astonished by her declaration. "But, Mrs. Elston, why in the world would you think that? What could you possibly have done to enrage a man so much that he'd seek to murder you?"

"Roger didn't seem the least bit enraged when he set about to kill me, my lord," Felicity informed him as she hauled the coverlet up beneath her chin again. "In fact, he did his foul deeds as if he enjoyed the challenge. He was very cold and methodical about everything he did. If not for the fact that I had begun to suspect that he was poisoning his father, I would likely be dead now, too."

"Too? Did someone die?"

"Roger murdered an actress tonight in the same manner in which he tried to dispense with me."

The dark, magnificent brows of the handsome man flickedupward as he debated whether to believe the charges this woman laid upon her spouse. "Would you care to explain more fully, madam?"

Tears blurred Felicity's vision as she related the events of the evening. Solemnly Riordan drew a clean handkerchief from his coat and pressed it into her trembling hands as he listened. Finally, in a voice fraught by sorrow Felicity concluded her tale.

"Near the place where you found me is either a stream or a river. If you return there, you will find the body of the woman Roger poisoned. It's hard to imagine I've been living with a sadistic madman all this time, but that became painfully evident tonight. There's no telling how many others Roger has managed to murder since he came into the area."

Riordan was completely taken aback by the foul acts of the miller. "I must send a servant immediately to inform the authorities of your husband's deeds, Mrs. Elston. Hopefully, they can find the woman's body before Roger receives word of your welfare and returns to the ravine to hide the woman's corpse. If he accomplishes that feat, he could easily swear you lied for your own purposes. We can't let that happen." Leaving his chair, Riordan strode purposefully toward the door as he spoke over his shoulder, "Please be assured of your safety while you're here at Harcourt Hall, Mrs. Elston. No one will be able to harm you while you're under my protection."

It was some moments before his lordship came back to Felicity's bedside. Once again, he settled into the chair beside her. "You said that you had begun to suspect that Roger was poisoning his father. How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"I noticed Mr. Elston's fingernails were oddly streaked and that his skin had an unnatural, scaly look about it. I asked Phineas Carlisle, the apothecary in Bradford, if he had ever seen symptoms like those before, and he informed me that he had once warned a young woman about the dangers of taking small doses of arsenic to lighten her skin. Later, at her funeral, he noticed her nails were streaked and her skin scaly."

"Strange, but when I visited the late Lord Randwulf'ssickbed, I recall wondering what sort of illness would've caused his fingernails to become streaked. He had always been quite a fastidious gentleman and enjoyed having his manservant file and buff his nails until they bore a soft sheen. I had been there previously on some impromptu business while the elder was having that done. At that earlier time, his nails bore no streaks. It was only later, when he lay abed from some strange malady, that I noted the difference. Actually his lordship died mysteriously. Physicians couldn't determine the cause, though he was sick for several months. Do you think Roger could've poisoned him?"

Her mouth and throat were parched, no doubt due to more than her lengthy explanation of the night's events, making it difficult to answer the man. Begging his pardon for her delay, Felicity reached for a glass of water residing on the bedside table and, much to her chagrin, was forced to snatch the silken coverlet as it and the oversized nightshirt slid away again from her bosom. Clasping the comforter beneath her chin, she blushed profusely, hoping he wouldn't think ill of her. "Your pardon, my lord, the nightgown seems so large and unmanageable, I can't seem to keep it in place…."

Riordan chuckled, having thoroughly enjoyed the brief glimpse he had had of the lady's breast. The sight reassured him that he was very much alive and still desirous of having a wife to appease his manly needs. "It should be, Mrs. Elston. It happens to be mine."

"Oh, yes, I see."

"Please, continue with what you were saying," he urged soothingly, noticing how disconcerted she had become. Still, he couldn't help noting how much more enchanting the vivid bloom on her cheeks was than her previous pallor. "I asked you if you thought Roger could've poisoned the elder Lord Randwulf."

Clasping the damask quilt firmly beneath her chin, Felicity tried to put her thoughts into perspective. "Roger said he had taken revenge upon Lord Colton's father. If Roger had actually thought the elder stood in his way of getting Adriana, thenit's my belief that he would've gone to some measure to dispense with the man. He does seem fond of using poison, and I found in his ledgers where he has been paying a London apothecary, Thaddeus Manville, immense sums of money, no doubt guaranteeing the man's silence while ensuring his supply of poison."

"I'll need to tell Lord Colton about this matter," Riordan mused aloud. "Roger definitely wanted Lady Adriana for himself, and if he has been willing to kill others, then I can believe he would have tried to remove his greatest obstacle before Lord Colton actually came home from the war … and that would have been Lord Sedgwick."

" 'Tis amazing to me how many men wanted Lady Adriana," Felicity stated softly. "I'm afraid I was jealous and not very nice when I had the chance to be. Now, it seems as if my life is over."

"Nonsense, my dear," Riordan replied, chuckling softly as he gathered the slender fingers within his grasp. "You have your whole life ahead of you, and if there is one thing upon which I'm willing to wager, that would be the resilience of Samuel Gladstone's descendants. I'm amazed by your mother's tenacity to manage the mill, run Stanover House with easy efficiency, and still have time to nurture that father of hers as if he were one of her own offspring."

"My mother is quite an amazing woman," Felicity admitted, deeply ashamed she had ever been so rude to her parent. "I wish I were more like her."

"No doubt you will be in time, my dear. You just need to get your feet under you. Although I know this is not something a bachelor should be discussing with a young woman, Dr. Carroll assured me there is no reason for you to fear that you'll be unable to have other offspring in the future."

Although relieved to hear that bit of news, Felicity felt a warm surge rushing into her cheeks at the uninhibited frankness he conveyed announcing her childbearing potential. "I think Roger was disappointed when I got with child, but I truly wanted a baby."

Riordan squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "You'll have others in time, by a different husband, of course. Roger must pay for what he has done, and that usually requires a hanging."

"Roger made it clear that he didn't mind killing me. I heard him chortling sadistically after I began to mimic Pandora's death groans, and then later, just before he threw me out over the ravine, I heard him laughing as if in triumph. My life will certainly be over if he catches me alone."

"He wouldn't dare enter these premises, especially while I'm here, and I promise you, Mrs. Elston, I won't leave you until your husband has been caught. You're under my protection here, and I have a full staff of loyal servants who'll keep us alerted. I rather suspect that Roger is a bit of a coward when he has to face another man, and though he seems to enjoy taking his spite out on women, in this case he'll have to face me before he can get to you."

"I have no idea why Roger is so resentful of women, whether it stems from the fact that Lady Adriana rejected him for Lord Colton, or if his malice runs far deeper than that. It wasn't long after I married him that I realized what a horrible mistake I had made. He seems to have a lot of hatred bound up within him. My father told me once there was a witness to his mother's death. The woman swore that she had seen Edmund Elston at the reins of the livery that ran over the first Mrs. Elston. That event occurred shortly after Edmund abandoned Roger and his mother, and although I doubt that Roger actually suspects his father of killing her, the bystander who saw it was later killed in the very same manner. My father warned me to keep quiet about it, or else I'd likely be killed, too. Truly, ‘twould seem Roger and Edmund are far more alike than either of them would ever suspect."

"Lovely people," Riordan jeered disdainfully. "Remind me not to turn my back on either of them."

"Edmund is near death and, because of that reason, has become fairly harmless. I wish that were also true of Roger."

"I think it's expedient that I warn Lord Randwulf to keep a watch out for Roger," Riordan replied. "I shall send a missive over to Randwulf Manor this very hour."

"Roger boasted that he had shot his lordship the very same night Lord Randwulf married Lady Adriana. You could be saving them from certain disaster by sending such a message posthaste."

"So, the little weasel did try to kill Colton, eh?" Riordan muttered half to himself. "I knew he had it in him to kill Adriana's suitors." Rising to his feet, he excused himself forthwith. "I shall return to speak more about this matter, Mrs. Elston, but I must do as you have advised and warn my friends."

"That would be wise, considering Roger's predilection for murdering people," Felicity murmured, winning a smile from the marquess.

Clicking his heels together, Riordan swept her a bow. "Your every command sets wings to my feet, my dear."

Felicity couldn't help but chuckle as she raised a skeptical brow. "I do believe, my lord, that your tongue is gilded with sentiments to win the hearts of many a maid. I think it would behoove me to keep my own heart secure behind lock and key."

"Too bad," he rejoined with a teasing grin, "unless, of course, I barter lessons from a thief and become proficient at picking locks." Striding to the door with a chuckle, he laid a hand upon the knob and, turning briefly to look at her over his shoulder, gave her a flirtatious wink and a wayward grin before making his departure.

The door closed behind him, and Felicity lifted the coverlet to assess to what degree she had revealed herself to the handsome man. She groaned aloud, finding one breast fully exposed, and hurriedly tried to remedy that problem by tucking the huge nightshirt up close beneath her chin. Alas, it wouldn't stay. It fell over her shoulder almost as soon as she let it go.

Riordan was back sooner than expected, catching her just after she had taken a dose of laudanum the doctor had prescribed. Although she had followed it with a copious measure of water, the horrible taste threatened to play havoc with her composure. His alacrity in returning could only have been attributed to his long legs, for her eyes were still a-blur from her efforts to defeat the convulsive heaving.

Riordan seated himself again at her bedside and began expounding on new theories. "This evening, Lady Samantha told me about a servant who had died rather suddenly at Randwulf Manor after quaffing the late master's brandy. My understanding is that when Mrs. Jennings collapsed, the decanter containing the brew was broken to pieces. Had it not, others would've likely partaken of the brew. Lord Colton found her dead in her hut the next morning and thought she had merely imbibed too much. I suspect differently. Perhaps Lord Sedgwick died in much the same manner, and the poison simply didn't react as swiftly in his case because he limited his intake to what he normally had, which wasn't very much at all. If Roger did indeed poison the contents of the decanter before Lord Sedgwick died, then that leaves me wondering if he left the tainted brew in the decanter. Considering no more reports came of people dying in like fashion at the manor, I must assume he got rid of the lethal brandy and just put a new dose into the decanter after Lord Colton's return, but was thwarted in his attempt to poison his rival by the unfortunate Mrs. Jennings. Roger then tried shooting him, in the back no less. I shall have to tell Lord Colton how truly blessed he has thus far been not to have expired from Roger's murderous attempts."

"I noticed you dancing with Lady Adriana at the Autumn Ball," Felicity acknowledged hesitantly. "You, too, might have become a target of Roger's envy yourself had you persisted."

"Oh, I wanted to, believe me," Riordan admitted, rubbing a thumb across the surface of the lady's delicately boned hand. "But Adriana was bound to Lord Colton by a contract their parents had drawn up years ago. As much as I was tempted, I couldn't very well snatch the lady away in the dead of night and carry her off to faraway places."

"I rather gathered that Lady Adriana has had a veritable host of suitors smitten with her over the years. Although I readily acknowledge her beauty is beyond what most women can claim, I'm left wondering if that is the only reason men find her so appealing. Her father was especially generous with the dowries he set aside for his daughters, but I haven't heardnearly as many rumors about her sisters. Would you mind explaining to a woman who was once envious of Lady Adriana why men have been so taken with her?"

"No longer envious?" Riordan questioned, a grin softening his pointed inquiry.

"I'm afraid after what I've been through with Roger, I may never trust another man again." Felicity looked at him curiously. "Do you even know why you were attracted to her ladyship?"

Growing thoughtful, Riordan leaned back in his chair. "Lady Adriana is like a breath of fresh spring air among women who seem to chatter on incessantly, giggle, gossip, snip or snipe as they prissily mince along wherever they walk. She conveys no false pretensions about who she is; she's as honest to herself as she is with those who seek her company. She'll beat a man at a horse race and then tease him unmercifully through his blustering, and yet she can be totally sympathetic to him in other ways or to people in desperate need. Many needy folk have been wont to praise her benevolence to them as well as to orphans who've been left bereft of home and parents. As she once nurtured stray animals when she was young, so she has turned that compassion in her adult years toward people…."

"Say no more, please," Felicity begged with a teasingly dubious smile. "You've hardly begun and already I know I'll never come close to measuring up to your ideal woman."

Riordan chuckled. "I suppose I get a little carried away talking about the lady. No one knows how much I envy Lord Colton, and yet I greatly admire him and believe he's deserving of such a woman. It's obvious he loves her as much as she loves him."

"Thank you, my lord, for sharing your thoughts, but I fear at this moment the laudanum the doctor prescribed is beginning to have some effect on me. I'm feeling very, very tired of a sudden." She blinked eyelids that had suddenly grown heavy. "Perhaps we can continue this discussion tomorrow."

"Of course, Mrs. Elston…."

"Please, don't call me that," she begged drowsily. "Felicity will do. I have no desire to be associated with Roger anymore."

"I understand completely, my dear," Riordan murmured, but had cause to wonder if she actually heard his reply before closing her eyes. Her breathing readily deepened in slumber, and as he watched her sleeping, he was reminded of his earlier admiration of her when he had visited Stanover House some months ago.

Curiously, he thrust a finger through a golden curl and became intrigued by the way it seemed to twine of its own free will about his digit. His eyes passed over her bruised face, and he was rather amazed to find the shape and delicate structure appealed to his senses. Her slender nose had the sassiest tilt, her eyelids the longest, darkest lashes for a woman with such fair hair, her brown brows wide-sweeping above eyes that had seemed the bluest blue he had ever seen. As he had viewed earlier and now mentally envisioned, her round breasts were ivory hued, crowned with delicate pink, definitely exquisite enough to bestir his rutting instincts.

It was much, much later when Riordan Kendrick rose from the chair beside the bed and made his way to the door. He was rather amazed at the lightness of his heart. Where hours ago it had seemed dark and vacant, now it was airy and full of hope. Would wonders never cease?