Читать книгу Within A Captain's Hold - Lisa A. Olech - Страница 11

A hired coach rattled down the cobblestone streets of London. The Duke of Wentworth sat within its shabby interior. Grimacing at the peeling panels and cracked leather seats, Wolfsan held a perfumed handkerchief beneath his nose to stifle the smells of sweat and filth that assaulted him.

The coach was getting close to his evening’s objective. He pulled the window curtain closed. A tear in the fabric let in the only light as they passed the occasional merchant’s lantern. He spoke to his darkened reflection within an ancient mirror, its gilding long worn away.

“We’re brilliant. The drunken sot, Lord Gatherone, never stood a chance. Now, his luscious niece shall be ours. Ah, Annalise, fresh and unspoiled. We will have you.”

The mirror captured the way his black eyes glittered in the dark. “Yes, yes, yes, I know, she is a spirited one, but we have stripped such spirit before and we shall do so again. We’ll clothe her in white and claim her, rip the innocence from her and…and…”

As he spoke to himself in the darkened coach, his mind pictured the fiery-haired Annalise broken and ravished beneath him. Pleading. Screaming. His hand moved to the bulge in his pants as he spun twisted, violent images within his mind’s eye. Her virgin’s blood against pale white thighs, purple bruises blooming upon alabaster flesh, the marks made by his teeth on her throat and teat. He fumbled to release his swollen flesh and moaned as his hand moved quicker. In his mind, one face replaced another. Faces of his past blended into that of his latest obsession.

His body found its release as he remembered the fair Duchess Lucinda, his unfortunate wife. The blood upon the bed linens, the odd angle of her neck, and the shake of his hands when his black rage subsided. Only then did he realize what his hands had done. He was a powerful man, and he would not allow the killing of a whore to change that. Especially the disgusting, lying slut he had the misfortune to wed. Wolfsan laughed. “More of a misfortune for her.”

Had it not been for the faithfulness and loyalty of his servant, Sheffield, he might have hung, or worse, been sentenced to rot in a stinking hole in the bowels of Newgate Prison. Of course, that level of loyalty came at an expensive price, but he was happy to pay.

“High time for a new duchess, and we’ve found her. The Duchess Annalise. Rolls off the tongue, does it not? She’ll soon see refusing us is futile.”

As the coach rolled up to his destination, light from a dozen lanterns flooded through the torn curtain. Wolfsan dropped the soiled handkerchief to the floor and adjusted his pants. He checked his image in the mirror once more and frowned. How odd he looked without his usual frippery. Gone was his wig and face powder.

Wolfsan ran a hand over his cropped scalp and dabbed at the corners of his unrouged mouth. Black was the color of this evening’s attire. “Unpleasant business this, but we must tidy up our messes with or without Sheffield.” He slipped the mirror into a pocket of his cloak and checked the position of the dagger.

Wolfsan exited the hired coach, walked up the wide stone steps, and easily passed the doorman. A rowdy group of young men tumbled out, laughing and making crude jibes at their disheveled companion. The house was loud and busy tonight. Perfect.

The ornate red door swung wide. Sights and sounds of the brothel engulfed him. Decorated whores of every description filled each corner of the room with their customers vying like slobbering dogs at a bowl of slop.

A heavyset, jeweled prostitute tugged at his arm. “And what can I do for you?” A yellowed fingernail traced the dark ruffle of his shirt.

Wolfsan eyed a set of fleshy breasts spilling over the top of her stained satin costume. He pulled out a leather sack, stuffed full of coins. The whore licked her thick lips.

“Tonight, I wish to enjoy the pleasures of your madam, Giselle.”

* * * *

Days later, Wolfsan paced his richly appointed study like a caged beast. Thick carpeting silenced the clipped steps of his high heels. “Well? Where is she?”

“We don’t know, Your Grace.” Two men stood with their backs to a set of tall gilded doors, twisting their hats in their hands. “No one’s seen Lady Gatherone or her maid.”

“They couldn’t have disappeared. You won’t see a fleck of my gold until they’re found. Is that clear?” He tugged on the ruffled lace at his throat.

One of the men elbowed the other. “Did spot a woman meeting the description of her maid staying at the tavern we visited last eve.”

The other shook his head. “She weren’t no servant. A lady she was. Dressed in finery. She wore that fancy locket.”

Wolfsan spun around. “A locket? Describe it to me.”

“’Bout the size of a hen’s egg. Had some pearls, I think.” He lifted one shoulder and looked to his companion who nodded in agreement.

“Did it have an ‘A’ engraved upon its face?”

“It could ’ave,” said one.

“I think it did,” said the other.

“Fools. That was the maid.” Wolfsan pursed his lips. “So, she’s trying to pass for society.” He turned to the men. “No doubt she stole the locket from her mistress and brought Lady Annalise to some harm. Track her down and bring her to me at once.”

“Your Grace, if she be a thief and a murderer, shouldn’t we take her to the authorities?”

“I am the authorities, you imbeciles.” Wolfsan pounded upon his desk. “Why are you wasting time? Go find that woman.”

The two men scrambled over one another to leave.

As soon as they were gone, Wolfsan began to pace again. The maid would be the one with the answers. He did not believe she’d done any harm to Annalise, but she knew where her mistress was; he was sure of it. Fortunately, he knew of the most delightful ways of getting information.

Wolfsan stopped before a tall mirror to admire himself. “This could be quite entertaining. Either way, the wench will be most useful. She’ll pay for making us look the fool.”

Annalise would be his if he had to wring the neck of her servant to find her. He envisioned his hands upon the maid’s neck, the thin chain of the locket beneath his fingers. An evil smile curved his lips. A delicious thrill surged through him. He laughed with his reflection.

Each killing came easier than the last. Wolfsan found a perverse amount of pride in that fact. A lesser man might find that disturbing, but not him. There was power in ending a life. Watching the struggle of his victims. Hearing their screams. Seeing their meager existence drain from them. Heady business.

He ran a fingertip over his kohl-darkened eyebrows. “We’ll see to it our lovely Annalise gets her locket back. She has an unnatural affection for her servant. The two behave more like close companions. Unacceptable, but we can use it to our advantage. Annalise will assume the chit is in trouble and come running to her rescue. We’ll be waiting for her with open arms.”

Wolfsan smoothed an errant hair on his tall wig and ran a hand down the embroidered peach silk of his coat. “Of course, we must punish her for running away from us. She needs to learn the proper respect. But nothing too severe. Mustn’t mar her beautiful face.

“We’ll train her to pleasure us. Reward her when she does well and discipline her should she displease us. What do we care if she never comes to love us? Mother never did. Love is for fools. The last Duke of Wentworth provided sure proof of that.

“But we shall create both the epitome of a highbred woman and learned whore who’ll do whatever we ask. Whenever we ask. We shall satisfy our appetites and still have a proper wife.”

Wolfsan reached out to the rouged lips of his reflection. “Yes, we’ll have Annalise Gatherone soon, and she will never slip from our grasp again.”