Читать книгу The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 20

THE DOWAGER COUNTESS turned another page in Turner Collier’s journal and looked at Gideon over the top of a pair of simple half-spectacles. Collier’s name and the year 1809, and beneath that, The Society, were all embossed on the leather cover in gold script. She handled each page with only the tips of her slightly trembling fingers, as if the contact could prove poisonous. “Does the fool even know what this is?” she asked at last.

Jessica also looked to Gideon, who had been standing at the fireplace, his face an expressionless mask. It was two o’clock, Adam was safely in Portman Square with Seth, his new keeper, and Lady Katherine was already on her way to Redgrave Manor, a young woman on a mission. Jessica could only wish her new sister-in-law hadn’t seemed so eager to begin the hunt.

“He tells me he never paid all that much attention to it, as he couldn’t understand most of what’s there. He’s only interested in his own conquests, of which I believe half exist purely in his imagination. He only handed over his father’s journal as some sort of afterthought. He’d had it in his room at school, with orders to study it, when word came about his parents’ fatal accident. When he was packed up to come to me in London, it came along with him. Otherwise, we’d never have known it existed.”

“All these years gone by since I’ve seen one of these, and yet still not enough time to lessen the pain. I believe I’ve succeeded in banishing the memory of those days, gotten past the shame, the horror of it, and then…this. But I suppose it has to be said.” Trixie turned another page and sighed.

“What is it?” Jessica asked nervously, wondering if she really wanted an answer. The dowager countess’s cheeks were so pale, she feared for her. “Did you recognize a name?”

“I’ve recognized several. Have you shown this to your wife, Gideon?”

“No,” he answered and took another sip from his wineglass. “I thought we’d let you tell us what you see.”

Trixie slipped off the half-spectacles and laid them in her lap. “I see history repeating itself,” she said sadly. “The codes remain the same. For instance, V, of course, stands for virgin, although they saw damn few of them. Playacting, most of it, with willing, highly paid prostitutes. Naughty little boys, drinking, whoring, one trying to outdo the next in manufactured, carefully orchestrated depravities. That’s all most of the hellfire clubs were, back then, Dashwood’s included, from all I’ve heard of the thing. There was a surfeit of deviltry, but little actual devil worship.”

“Yes, I’d assumed that,” Gideon said tightly, joining Jessica on the couch facing Trixie’s one-armed reclining couch. “And the double V?”

“You do need to know, unfortunately. This is where your grandfather’s Society differed, pet, and first grew ugly. The letters refer to vestal virgins, the true virgin sacrifices. Jessica, dear, I would rather you left the room until we call you back.”

“No. If Gideon needs to know, then so do I.”

Trixie’s mouth worked for a moment, as if she was searching for the least offensive words concerning a subject that had few to offer. “Very well. Vestal virgins. They’re reserved for the highest rite, when a new member is welcomed into the thirteen which, thankfully, isn’t often. The Society takes everything and stands it on its head. Evil for good, wanton for chaste. In ancient Rome, vestal virgins were kept safe from the priests. In the Society, they are for the empowerment of the priests, and become the living altar for the induction rite. The more elevated the vestal virgin, by way of birth and social status, the more power flows to her initiator, who is first, but definitely not last, to approach the altar. I won’t say more than that.”

Jessica laced her fingers together in her lap, her knuckles white with strain. Gideon covered her hands with his own and murmured something he must have supposed to be comforting. She couldn’t make out the words for the buzzing in her ears. Her father had turned her over for such a rite?

“Jessica, I’m sorry, but we need to know all of this,” Gideon apologized. “What you’re saying, Trixie, is that five years ago, a new member was to be installed?”

“And Jessica was chosen for the honor of gifting him with her virginal power. One thing has bothered me since first you told me about what nearly happened to you, Jessica. Turner Collier was an ass, but I find it difficult to believe he volunteered his own daughter.”

“I find everything in that journal difficult to believe,” Gideon said, his tone bitter. “Explain the other code letters, if you please. There’s nearly an entire alphabet of them listed inside the rear cover.”

Trixie slipped her spectacles on again and reopened the book to the page she’d marked with her finger. “Must we? R stands for restrained. F-W for free will. The rest denote the acts themselves. I believe you can figure out those without my help. Find a coded name and then read the strings of letters that follow, one set per line for each encounter, all neatly dated as to time, place and other participants. Monsters all, but quite orderly, and with steadfast attention to detail. Your grandfather was always quite particular about detail.”

“And these names denote guests?”

“Yes. And wives, of course, to be schooled in the arts of submission and arousal. That also was your grandfather’s idea, as it neatly circumvented the tiresome necessity of constantly hunting up enough prostitutes and training them as to their roles, you understand. No damp caves or sneaking about, not for the Society. Simply gather the members and their wives together at one of their estates, slip into their masks and hooded cloaks, feast, drink, partake of their indulgences and then go out shooting or fishing the next day as the wives went back to their embroidery and water colors. Very neat, very orderly, remarkably civilized. We are speaking of men who enjoyed their comforts. Some of the women took to it quite well, even enthusiastically.” Her voice went very faint. “Most didn’t. But there was no choice. What else could we do…?”

“All right, Trixie,” Gideon said gently, forced to think about his grandmother and mother living with such monsters, which he did not wish to do. “I think we’ve had enough of that, and I can only apologize for the necessity of any of this.”

“Apologize? Why?” Trixie lifted her chin in a way Jessica had begun to admire very much. “I haven’t been a faint-at-heart miss for a half-century and certainly lay no claims to innocence. Or did you think this journal would be as innocuous as a book of fairy tales? Ah, and now you’re frowning. Don’t ever worry about me, pet, I’m a practical woman, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I’m still sorry, Grandmother,” Gideon said. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“Actually, pet, it does. I’m sorry, as well, for so many things. But what’s done is done, and sad to say, I would do it again. Now, back to business. The journals are divided into parts. The first is the diary, kept in as much detail as the member chooses. Turner was crude, but blessedly brief. His wife, you’ll note if you care to check, is notated as F-W. As I said, some took to it with remarkable enthusiasm. The second section is the real meat of the volume, denoting what I’ve already told you. I can see by the dates listed that, blessedly, they don’t meet for ceremonies nearly as often as in your grandfather’s or father’s time—only four meetings in the entire year—although there could be other gatherings, for other purposes.”

“Such as planning sedition,” Gideon grumbled. “For my father the Society, the rites, were the means to an end. Isn’t that what you said?”

“One problem at a time, pet. But, yes, these rutting fools are also powerful fools. Remember, my late houseguest occupied quite a high office in the Royal War Office until only a few months ago when his health began to fail, and if that doesn’t give you pause, also bear in mind Jessica’s father had the Prince of Wales’s ear concerning more than fashion. What confuses me is I see no high rites at all last year, even though several members died. It hardly seems possible, but they may have made some alteration into the usual way of inducting members?”

“No more vestal virgins?” Jessica asked, praying it was true.

“Even sex can become tiresome, difficult as that may be to believe. Then there’s the problem of abducting suitably high-born virgins. Six in the space of a year? That would have to raise an alarm,” Trixie said, her forehead wrinkling as she considered her own words. “There could be a wholesale shifting of purpose we’re seeing here, Gideon.”

“Again, sedition.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that. With Bonaparte still running amok through the world, the thought is unnerving. He has too many admirers, even here in England. Worse, your search for members now borders on the impossible. Remember, pet, that body you carried out of here last night belonged to the last of the members from your father’s time, the last name I know for certain. Who knows, he may have been the next one to suffer a fatal accident. He should be grateful to me, if I saved him from that.”

“Yes,” Gideon said flatly, “a lucky man.”

Trixie laughed softly. “I know you’re being facetious, but he did seem happy…at least up until the end. Now, stop scowling at me and listen carefully. This last section is the most valuable, the list of member names. Once a code name is assigned, it becomes permanent, whether it be the original member, or handed down to the next generation, which is why family names are used, as titles can change. The bible would have all the details, everything spelled out. Find the bible, Gideon, and you’ve solved it all, as that’s the single volume that traces the history all the way to your grandfather’s time. Names, events, purposes, triumphs. All of it dutifully recorded every year. It’s quite the magnificently fashioned tome, huge, ridiculously ornate, wrapped all about with gold chains, the lock in the shape of a devil’s head. Highly melodramatic.”

“That…” Jessica had to clear her throat, finding it difficult to speak. “That journal is for last year. Wouldn’t my…Shouldn’t it have been turned over to somebody, to have the information recorded in the bible?”

“Yes, that is puzzling,” Trixie said, turning the journal over to look at its cover. “Gideon? Do you suppose the Keeper of the bible has died, or was one of the accidents? Could the society be in the midst of choosing a new leader, so that all the members still hold their journals from last year? Could this be what all the deaths are about—a weeding out of competition, bringing in a whole new order?”

“Or Cotsworth didn’t much care for the new leader, and had decided to leave the Society,” Gideon suggested.

“Pet, no member ever leaves the Society. Not alive. The accidents you’ve uncovered fairly well prove that point. But what an interesting theory, killing off the competition within the Society. Death certainly has made quite a run at the devil’s thirteen.” The dowager duchess opened the journal once again and adjusted her spectacles, that had slipped down her nose. “Let’s have a good look at the list as it was last year, shall we? All right, here’s the first. Either. That’s Ranald Orford.”

“The first death I know of,” Gideon said. “Hunting accident.”

“Yes, I remember. And then this one. Less. That could only be George Dunmore, eldest son of Walter, who was one of your grandfather’s original devil’s thirteen. He’s the one who drowned? And, if you’re beginning to understand this silliness, Gideon, Soft would be…?”

“Baron Harden, who died in that fall down the stairs. My God, it’s that simple?”

“The journals were only for the members. They aren’t all so simple as mere opposites, but they’re not all that difficult. Either, less, soft. If you didn’t already know the names, you would have no idea what this list of words refers to, now would you?”

“And my father?” Jessica asked, leaning forward on the couch.

Trixie ran a fingertip down the list of names. “Ah, here we are. Miner. Because colliers are miners, correct? Now let me see…” She squinted at the page. “Yes, here are the two I can add to our list of deceased members. The Right Honorable Noddy Selkirk, another second generation member, has to be Church. He fell afoul of a rock slide while hiking in the Lake District this past autumn, and Cecil Appleby would have to be Pear. Lord knows he was shaped like one. He supposedly succumbed to some sudden stomach ailment a few months past, although I now have it on the highest authority his tongue had turned black.”

“Who is this highest authority?” Gideon asked.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “You’re questioning me? Cecil’s valet is brother to my glover’s assistant, if you must know. It can take positively hours to fit a new glove properly, and there’s plenty of time for gossip. It took an entire afternoon last Thursday, and an order for six new pairs of gloves, but I’m assured my information is correct. I had the bill sent to you.”

“I suppose I can’t quibble with that,” he said, smiling.

“As well you shouldn’t. And now poor Guy has cocked up his toes. Here he is. Cot, which of course stands for Bedworth.” She ran her finger down the list of names. “Strange. I don’t recognize any of these. If they were still passing father to eldest son, I should know these names. Perhaps one of you should be writing them down?”

Jessica got to her feet and walked over to the writing desk, where paper and pen were already assembled for just such a purpose. She only hoped her hands wouldn’t shake so much her words wouldn’t be legible. She felt as if she was trapped in some sort of nightmare. How else could they be speaking so calmly about murder and other atrocities?

She had soon assembled a list, as dictated by Trixie. Hammer. Weaver. City. Bird. Post. Burn.

By now, Gideon was standing behind her, leaning over her shoulder to look at the list of words. “You’re right, Trixie. Simple words, but if you don’t already know the answers, all I see here are questions.”

Jessica looked at Trixie, who was still paging through the journal. “But you said you had more information for us. Did Cot give you any other names?”

“A question you should have asked, Gideon. I may have had them all, if Guy hadn’t gotten so belatedly suspicious and then so inconveniently dead. Why women don’t rule the world has always been a conundrum to me. Greater physical strength has led you all to believe your minds are stronger, as well, which is poppycock. At any rate, we women couldn’t do worse—you men just keep bollixing it all up. But yes, two others, although I can’t say I know them personally, although I know their families. Lord Charles Mailer, and Archie Urban.”

“Post and City,” Gideon said quickly, almost triumphantly, as if they were solving puzzles in some game. Perhaps that was the only way to deal with any of it without going mad?

“Leaving us with Hammer, Weaver, Bird and Burn. Four more members.”

It was wrong. So wrong. Jessica felt so ashamed of herself, even as she opened her mouth and heard the words come tumbling out: “Three French hens, two turtledoves and a partridge in a…”

And then Gideon was catching at her as she felt herself slipping sideways on the chair, darkness closing all around her… .

THE KING IS DEAD, long live the king.

Those words kept repeating themselves inside Gideon’s head as he sat in his study, trying to make sense of all they’d learned.

With the Marquis of Mellis sticking his spoon in the wall at the same time he was sticking his—no, he wouldn’t go there—the last of the members active during Barry Redgrave’s time had died.

Gideon realized he might now never know what had happened to his father’s body, why it had been taken.

But there was still the matter of the tunnels at Redgrave Manor, the lights seen moving through the trees, both easily explained when set apart from everything else, but damned unnerving when put together with everything else. He’d already discarded the idea of some sort of treasure; whatever was going on was much more malignant than a mere treasure hunt.

After returning Jessica to Portman Square with orders she lie down for a nap, he’d gone back to his grandmother with more questions. Trixie had completed his education in the ways of the Society as it had been in his father’s time. But she wouldn’t speak about his mother or what had happened that last morning, only to say her son’s death had been for the best, for the sake of the country he would betray, for the sake of the family his growing madness could destroy.

Gideon hadn’t pushed her for more. He could readily see the toll these past days had taken on her. He left her with her damn pug dogs, a glass of wine and Soames, who had actually sat down on the one-armed lounge just as if this familiarity was nothing out of the ordinary. He’d drawn Trixie’s legs up onto his lap and had begun massaging her lady’s bare feet and slim calves with fragrant oil. This didn’t shock Gideon. He’d passed beyond being shocked, he’d supposed, and his grandmother was entitled to anything that pleased her, damn it!

But now he had to concentrate, using the information Trixie had given him. In the past year, six men had been murdered. The Marquis of Mellis probably would have been the seventh, just as Trixie had supposed. The Society had killed off its remaining original members or their descendants from Barry Redgrave’s time, but the Society itself was not dead. No, what his grandfather had begun, what his father had resurrected and enlarged, had fallen victim to some sort of coup. That was the only sensible answer.

But for what reason, to what purpose? To be rid of old, dead wood more interested in brandy, a comfortable chair by the fire, a dog napping nearby, than they were in the debauchery the Society had been formed for in the first place? To remove those who disagreed, silence dissent? To make room for members who could be of more use?

There was one thing about the deaths of those members to cheer Gideon: they were the last to know of Trixie’s intimate knowledge of the Society. Otherwise, he couldn’t feel certain of her safety, her immunity to becoming another “sad accident.”

His grandfather had been a strong leader. With his death, the Society had fragmented. His father had been a strong leader. With his death the Society had lost its purpose over and above its base obsessions. The rites had continued, however, including the induction of a new member five years ago, when Jessica was nearly made a part of the ceremony.

But Trixie had seemed certain Turner Collier would not have voluntarily offered his daughter. Had he been intimidated in some way, threatened?

James Linden had seen or heard something on the day of the proposed ceremony that had frightened him enough to take Jessica and run.

The king is dead, long live the king.

That was the answer, the only logical answer.

There was a new leader of the Society. Perhaps it was that leader who had demanded a well-born vestal virgin be brought to him five years ago, just to demonstrate his power. A strong leader, someone like Barry Redgrave, someone who looked at the Society and saw an opportunity for personal greatness, just as Barry had done.

Gideon was back to the same question: opportunity for what? What in bloody hell had he stumbled onto?

At least he had two names.

Lord Charles Mailer, second son of the Earl of Vyrnwy.

Archie Urban, no title, but a family name that stretched back to William the Conqueror.

Both men were in their primes, although Urban at least had to be nearly fifty. Neither was a society fribble; both were considered to be smart, patriotic servants of the Crown during this time of war. Lord Charles volunteered his services to the Admiralty. Urban was one of the many undersecretaries to the Prime Minister. Both were members of the Society, two of the devil’s thirteen.

Trixie had explained how it all worked during his father’s time, this matter of guests: members of the Society would invite carefully selected persons to join them in their fun; to prance about in robes and masks, chanting satanic nonsense as they indulged their most base desires and depravities with willing or even notso-willing women…or whatever pleasure they craved. All quite sophisticated and civilized.

Oh, there’ll be a foxhunt in the morning, with a lovely dinner to follow. Do bring your lady wife if you wish, I’m sure we’d all enjoy having her.

And then would come the day when the demands for favors in exchange for not telling the world of those depravities would be issued, blackmailing them to gain their cooperation. Over and over and over again.

Both the other members and any guests controlled by a strong leader, one who knew everything and could exploit their weaknesses. In time of war.

“My God,” Gideon moaned, slicing his fingers through his hair. “Madness. Just…madness.”

It was imperative he learn the other names.

Hammer. What could that mean? Would it be something that rhymed with hammer? Was it the opposite of hammer? In the same general family as a hammer? Sharp, compared to the dull, blunt face of a hammer?

Weaver. Could that be literal? No, too easy.

Bird. Too many species to narrow that down.

Burn. Fire? Its opposite—what was the opposite of fire?

No, it was impossible to guess.

There was no choice but to go after the known, Lord Charles and Archie Urban. But first he would check on Jessica and tell her what he and Trixie had decided.

It was time for some sort of good news. He pushed himself away from the desk, not bothering to don the jacket he’d hung on the back of his chair earlier, along with the neck cloth he’d stripped off at the same time, and headed upstairs in his shirtsleeves.

He passed Mildred in the upstairs hallway. “Is she still asleep?” he asked the maid.

“No, my lord,” Mildred answered, attempting to curtsy while holding a silver tray cluttered with crockery. “Her ladyship’s up and fed and telling us she’s fine to go downstairs if she wants to. Doreen and me, we told her she didn’t want to. Never saw anyone quite so pale and wobbly on her pins as her ladyship was when you brought her home, sir.”

“Yes, thank you, Mildred. See to it we’re not disturbed.”

The maid rolled her eyes. “Well, if you think it might put some color back in her cheeks, I suppose it’s—”

“I’m not asking your permission, Mildred,” Gideon said, trying to look imperious, which was more difficult than he would have imagined only a few short weeks ago.

“No, your lordship,” Mildred agreed, a hint of color entering her own cheeks. “I suppose you think you know best. Well, then, sir, I’ll just leave you to it. Doreen’s downstairs, so you’re safe enough there.”

“And ain’t I just the fortunate one,” Gideon mumbled under his breath as he watched the maid as she scurried off toward the back of the house and the servant staircase. The entire household would know within moments that his lordship had taken his ladyship to bed, and in the middle of the afternoon, no less, but then, that was the quality for you. He wondered if there’d be cheering. He supposed this was what happened when a doxy turned lady’s maid, but it would take some getting used to, even if he’d been grateful for the candles and the rose petals.

He knocked lightly at the door and then depressed the latch, not waiting to be invited to enter his bride’s bedchamber. It didn’t occur to him that she might not wish his company, but if it had, her smile of greeting would have calmed those fears.

“Have you come to free me?” she asked him from her seated position on the high tester bed, her ivory lace dressing gown barely covering her most delectable bits, her legs crisscrossed in front of her, a plate of iced cakes balanced on one knee. She looked wonderfully recovered; in fact, she looked radiant. “I’m being held prisoner by my maids, you know. Doreen put forth the possibility I’m carrying your heir, but Mildred assured her, even if that’s the case, it’s much too early for me to be swooning. Or casting up my accounts every morning, which doesn’t sound all that lovely a prospect to be looking forward to, does it? Thank you again for catching me.”

Gideon sat down on the edge of the bed, one leg on the floor, for balance. “You’re welcome. I’ve always harbored a secret desire to be of assistance to a damsel in distress.” The possibility of a pregnancy he would allow to pass without comment. But it certainly was something to be considered. He believed he’d enjoy considering it, perhaps as much as he’d enjoy being a necessary part of the process. “Those look delicious,” he said, eying the cakes, not to mention her barely covered breasts.

“Oh, they are. Almost as good as sugared figs, I’m sure. Here, take a bite.” Jessica held out one of the cakes, a two-inch square iced in pink on all sides and with a small sugar flower decorating the top of the thing.

Gideon dutifully leaned forward and opened his mouth, allowing himself to be fed—and to get a better look at her breasts, because he was, at heart, an evil man. He bit off half of the small square and watched as Jessica popped the remainder into her own mouth, then licked at her fingers. “Another?” she asked, sucking lightly on her middle finger.

Her innocent action raised a whole new hunger inside him.

“I think I have a different delicacy in mind.”

She looked at him, her mouth open slightly, her tongue still lightly touching the pad of her finger. And then she smiled. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.” He took the plate and placed it on the bedside table, unbuttoned and tossed aside his waistcoat and shirt, slipped off his shoes and then joined her on the bed. “Not only that, I have permission.”

Jessica cocked her head to one side, to look at him quizzically. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mildred believes I might be able to put some color in your cheeks.” His fingers went to the sash holding her dressing gown closed. He found one end of the sash and gave it a slight tug. And then another.

“Oh, she does, does she?”

Gideon was concentrating on other things. “Umhmm,” he said, and then added, “You don’t care for the matching gown? Not that I’m lodging any sort of complaint,” he added as the bow came free and the dressing gown fell completely open.

“I, um, I just slipped this on after my bath, and then Doreen brought up these cakes, so I…I decided to eat them now. I’ll soon be getting dressed.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, easing back the concealing lace, slipping his hand between her crossed legs, unerringly finding her center. He spread her slightly, eased a finger inside her, applying pressure forward, against the wall of her tight sheath, then insinuated the pad of his thumb between her soft folds to stroke the small, exquisitely sensitive bud exposed now to his touch.

“Gideon!”

“I know. I’m depraved,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her. “Should I go away?”

She looked down at her body, closed her eyes for a moment as he slid a second finger inside her. “I…I’ll reserve judgment on that. You…ah…you’re very adept at this, aren’t you?”

“Modesty precludes me from answering that, but I do harbor hopes. Do you have any idea how good you feel?”

“I’m…I’m beginning to,” Jessica said, leaning back slightly, bracing her hands against the mattress. “Oh…that feels wonderful.”

“Yes. The purpose of the exercise. You don’t mind?”

She made a small noise, rather close to a purr. He took it for a no.

He moved his fingers again, slippery now with the liquid silk of her quick arousal. Her breathing had gone swift and shallow, and he increased the rhythm of his movements even as he moved his mouth along her body, licking at her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth.

She was all response, all heat and glory and freedom, at ease with her body and how he made her feel. But she was far from passive.

Just when he thought he was about to take her over the edge, she pulled away from him, only to push him down on his back and begin unbuttoning his pantaloons. Her glorious hair fell loose around her face as she looked at him. “I already know how I like it best, and that’s with you inside me. Do you mind?”

Did he mind? Such an intelligent woman, such a silly question.

The speed with which he divested himself of his pantaloons, then lifted her up and over him, lowering her until their bodies meshed, became one, was probably as good an answer as any.

“AND YOU’RE CERTAIN you locked the door?” Jessica asked him as they lay there, bodies still delightfully entangled, attempting to recover their breaths. Really, she was turning into quite the wanton after only a single day of marriage. She rather liked it.

“I did. And warned Mildred we weren’t to be disturbed.”

“Good. Because I really don’t want to move. Not for days.”

“That’s convenient, because I don’t think I can move, perhaps not for entire days, but at least not in the near future. You didn’t tell me you ride,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “You’re quite…accomplished.”

She didn’t pretend not to understand what he meant. What would be the sense in that? “Thank you, naughty as that statement was. It’s been years, but I’ve always loved to ride. Is that how you see the thing? As riding?”

“How do you see it?”

She snuggled closer. “As much more satisfying than the sidesaddle, that’s for certain. Is that why men ride astride and condemn women to the sidesaddle?”

“Fearful you might gain pleasure from it, you mean? I hadn’t considered it, but you may be right. Shame on us.”

She slid off him, her expression once again pinched, her cheeks pale. “Yes, shame on men. Not all of you, but certainly enough of you. Where did men first get the idea women are here for their pleasure but are to be denied any of their own? Really, denied much in the way of any sort of freedom. As if our minds are feeble, and we’re not to be trusted with our own bodies. I’m sure Trixie has opinions on that.”

“Yes, and she’s been taking her own peculiar brand of revenge for most of her life.”

Jessica laid her head on Gideon’s shoulder and absently stroked her hand over his bare chest. “I hadn’t thought of that. But she is, isn’t she? I remember teasing Richard about women always being the downfall of men, in one way or another. Is that it, Gideon? Are you men afraid of us?”

He kissed her hair. “Terrified.”

“Well, you probably should be. We seem to know your weaknesses.”

“You’ve certainly found mine,” he agreed, lifting her hand to his lips. “As for the rest of it, on behalf of all mankind, I most abjectly and humbly apologize.”

“Thank you. But it’s not enough.” She gathered the sheet about her and sat up, looking down at him. “I don’t mean you, not precisely you. I mean men. In general. Apologies are not enough. Especially since most of them wouldn’t mean a word they said in any event.”

“Probably not.”

Jessica ignored him, for she’d gotten the bit between her teeth now, her mind whirling with various bits of information that seemed to be parts of a puzzle she’d carried with her for a long time, its pieces suddenly falling into place.

“Men are stronger, physically. You can’t be afraid of a woman’s inferior strength. So it has to be our minds you fear. After all, you can take our bodies—because we’re not as physically strong—but that doesn’t mean you can control our minds.” She looked at him again as he pushed himself up against the pillows. “You think we’re smarter than you, don’t you?”

“It’s not that simple, Jessica.”

“Oh? Then you admit we’re smarter?”

“And there’s your answer, just in the way you so neatly turned my words to your advantage,” he said, pulling her against his shoulder.

She laughed. “I rather did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. And we men have yet to learn how to defend ourselves from that particular little trick. You’re smarter, softer, definitely prettier, with the ability to think with your hearts as well as your minds—while we men have just to look at you to lose our control over both. You possess the ability to have us make total fools of ourselves, madam, and we resent the hell out of that. We’d much rather think of you as weaker, in body and mind and morals, devious and manipulative by turn, needing our guidance and protection—and we reserve the right to blame you for anything stupid we do, as well as any evil anywhere in the world.”

Jessica considered all of this for a minute. “Oh,” she said at last. “That actually makes sense. You’re afraid of us, but since you’re physically larger and stronger than we are, you’ve been able to create laws and all sorts of rules meant to keep us firmly under your thumbs, and make false declarations of how better fashioned you are to take care of us, not in order to protect us, but in order to protect yourselves from us.”

“And since you’re smaller and softer and so much smarter than we are, you continually find ways around the barriers we’ve so carefully built around our supposed superiority.”

“And then you condemn us as devious, when it’s you who force us to employ those superior weapons, because otherwise we’d be nothing. Chattel.”

“Sex is a woman’s game, Jessica, even if men believe they invented it. It’s the lever, when placed in the right spot, which has always been able to move the world. We men can’t give you any more weapons than you already hold—a place in government, or commerce, or even on the battlefield. We know you’d be too good at all of it. Why else do we insist on calling the great Elizabeth Tudor our virgin queen, made her, in our minds, not really a woman at all, but more of an aberration. We can’t risk seeing you as equal to men, treating you as our equals, not when we know you’re vastly superior.”

She looked at him assessingly. “And you really believe that? I mean, that women pose so much danger, and have to be kept under the thumbs of men?”

“Me? Absolutely not.”

“Yes, but if you did subscribe to this supposed theory, would you admit it?”

His grin was wicked. “Absolutely not.”

“Why, you—” She launched herself at him halfplayfully, and he snagged her wrists, all but flipping her onto her back, his body lying across hers. “Oh, so now you’re out to prove your superior strength?”

“On the contrary. I’m about to prove yours. Do you remember the first day you came to Portman Square?”

She wriggled her body beneath his, rather enjoying the feelings he was arousing in her. “I do. But what does that have to do with—”

Her wrists still trapped, he brought his head down to within inches of hers, his eyes clearly contemplating the sight of her slightly parted lips. “Do you remember our wager that day?”

“The dogs,” she said. And then, beginning to understand, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

“You’re not playing fair, Jessica. Some would say just like a woman. But yes, the dogs. You wagered me Brutus wouldn’t be able to withstand temptation for ten seconds, but that Cleo could and would.”

Sex is a woman’s game. He’d said it, and she was beginning to believe him.

“I believe he didn’t make it past four.” She moved again, lifting her leg and curling it around his. “Cleo could have managed twice that and possibly more. Just as I could outlast you with ease.”

Gideon raised one expressive eyebrow. “Really? Would you care to wager the five pounds I lost on that assumption?”

She noticed his breathing had become rather shallow. “Oh, yes, I’d wager twice that. Who is really the stronger, that’s the wager, who can better resist temptation. I’ll put my blunt on myself, naturally.”

“Naturally. With one caveat, if you don’t mind.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you stop moving your hips against me.”

She looked at him in feigned surprise. “Was I doing that? And that…upsets you? I’m so sorry. We’ll neither of us move, all right? I’ll call the count, shall I? One…”

She lowered her eyelids so that she could watch him through her lashes.

“Two…”

She drew in a breath that raised her breasts slightly, released her breath on a sigh.

“Three…Is it warm in here, Gideon? Your skin feels slightly slick against my breasts. But it’s nice.”

She watched his throat move as he swallowed.

“Four…I could do this all afternoon, you know, as I’m quite comfortable. Are you comfortable, Gideon? Five…And it was your idea. It’s difficult to believe you could possibly lose, being so much larger and stronger than—”

Thank goodness, Jessica thought as Gideon ground his mouth against hers. I never would have made it past six… .