Just Another Lady (Xcite Romance) (5 page)

He laughed. ‘If I have to be given a brush off, I prefer your way of effecting it, Mrs Crozier. I too am glad to count you a friend.’

He bowed, and left her. Strangely, Elinor thought, he had made her less distressed. Certainly he had said nothing that gave her any hope that Lucius was not having affairs, but that was not the point. He had reminded her, unintentionally, with his mention of the workhouse Lucius and he took an interest in, that there were indeed people considerably worse off than herself; and his gently offered friendship was something she treasured. Perhaps things were not quite so bad.

Two days later, driving out with Lucius in the park, Elinor had a memorable, unpleasant experience. Drawing up the horses, Lucius turned to her.

‘You see the lady over to your left?’ he said quietly.

Elinor looked. “Lady” was perhaps not the word she would have used for someone who was evidently a member of the oldest profession, albeit undeniably an upmarket version thereof. The woman’s clothes were rich and beautiful and she wore them well, but they were considerably too revealing for modesty. 

She nodded, wondering for one bleak second whether Lucius was about to reveal the identity of his latest mistress. She could not complain if he did so; but oh, she did not wish to know. The woman was pretty – would have been called beautiful if it were not for the fact that her face was marred by a scar which puckered the corner of her left eye on its way down towards her ear. Elinor wondered, for a brief moment, whether Lucius would be attracted to her if she wore such clothes. She was not as well proportioned, certainly – but then she did not have that scar.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Sir Hugo did that.’ Lucius’s voice was dispassionate. ‘The scar. She has others, too, thanks to his treatment of her. She told me he got harder faster if she bled and wept. Sometimes he used her blood to coat his erection before he took her.’

Elinor felt a wave of nausea overtake her, feeling guilty for her earlier comparison of the woman’s looks to her own. ‘That’s the woman ...’ She trailed off, but Lucius understood her question.

‘That is the ‘mistress’ I stole from him, yes. You may think, of course – as Mansfield did – that the fact that she is a courtesan means that she does not deserve anything better.’

‘No,’ Elinor said quietly. ‘No, I do not think that.’

‘I wanted you to understand,’ he said simply, and turned back to the horses, urging them on once more.

Although Elinor had been silenced on the occasion of her seeing the courtesan, there was one way in which her usual relationship with Lucius had changed very little since their childhood. They had always verbally sparred. Elinor had never wished to allow Lucius to best her in a war of words; he, it was evident, felt the same way. There was an element of teasing in their battle: often one would make a comment which the other knew perfectly well was not something they believed, for the purposes of annoying their spouse or winning an argument. Elinor supposed that perhaps they should have grown past the age of bickering like children; but it was one of the ways in which Lucius always had made her feel more alive, more fired up – and that certainly had not altered, though the experience of the feelings themselves had grown and changed.

She remembered a case in their long distant past when, angered by a claim Lucius had made, she had grabbed a fencing foil from its stand and attacked. Elinor had always said afterwards that it was not that he had beaten her quite easily with his own foil – that, of course, was to be expected: he had had considerably more practice with the implement than she. But he had toyed with her for a couple of minutes, allowing her to think that she might have some chance of winning before flicking the foil from her grasp: it was that which had frustrated her about the encounter.

Tonight’s argument was on the subject of literature. As they left dinner, therefore, they were arguing about the quality of John Milton’s Paradise Lost and his Paradise Regained. Elinor was determined that the former was considerably the more interesting of the books.

She swept over to the table where her copy of Paradise Lost lay, and began to read:

‘“Receive thy new possessor: One who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

What matter where, if I be still the same?” 

‘I find the idea that one can create a happy life for oneself no matter what the external circumstances uplifting. I have a great deal of time for Milton’s Satan.’

‘Of course you sympathise with the devil,’ Lucius agreed blandly, leaning casually against the mantelpiece. ‘After all, you are a woman.’

Elinor knew he was only trying to provoke her, but he was nevertheless successful in his aim. The book was still in her hand, and she walked across and without warning slapped it against him. She made contact, then heard a muffled cry, and looked over her shoulder to see Lucius doubled up in pain.

‘There is no need for theatrics,’ she scolded him, presuming him once again to be faking his anguish to catch her off guard, just as he had faked a clumsiness with a foil all those years ago. ‘It was a gentle slap – and well deserved, I must say.’

Lucius, his hands pressed to his groin, glared at her. ‘I assure you that I am not overacting. Do you know what it feels like to …’ He cut off. ‘Of course, you wouldn’t. As we have just been agreeing, you are a lady. However, let me inform you for your future information that there are some parts of a man where the gentlest slap can hurt – even when not assisted by the sharp corner of an unnecessarily heavy book.’

‘Oh.’ Elinor paused, realising where she must have caught him, and utterly mortified. She hesitated, unsure whether to flee for her bedroom or to try and undo the damage caused. But she couldn’t stroke him there. Goodness knew she had trouble enough keeping her thoughts away from his body at the best of time, without touching him in such an intimate position. She could feel her face burning with embarrassment as she said guiltily ‘I am so sorry.’

Her evident discomfiture placated her husband a little, and his frown eased.

‘A lesson well learnt on both sides,’ he said. ‘I shall remember in future not to insult you, or any woman – at least unless I am standing a good distance away and am prepared to make my escape,’ he added, his voice sardonic, but his mouth curling into the beginnings of a smile. ‘And you will remember that despite a man’s fabled strength compared to a lady, there are some areas in which we are weaker than water.’

Chapter Four

FOR ONCE, IT WAS Elinor’s turn to be going out without Lucius. The card party she was attending had said clearly on the invitation that it was “ladies only”. She had suggested to Lucius that she might refuse, but he had encouraged her to accept.

Elinor had, in her secret heart, hoped that Lucius would show some indignation – perhaps make a scene as a jealous husband and tell her that she could not possibly go out without him. Even when she had resigned herself to his disinterest, it felt peculiar to go out as a single lady. Although she had met with people during the day time alone, any evening engagements she had attended had always been with the accompaniment of Lucius. She wondered, for a dismal second, whether they were already growing further apart than they had been when they married. Four months into a marriage, and already the cracks were beginning to show. Lucius, who had told her coolly that he had an early evening meeting with a couple of gentlemen acquaintances at his club, had taken the carriage and the usual driver, but he had organised another one especially for her. Elinor knew she ought to feel grateful for his assiduousness in looking after her – at least one of the ladies of her acquaintance had a husband whose policy was that if he wished to go out alone, she would have to stay at home. Things could be worse, she reminded herself, even if it did feel as if Lucius cared little whether she went or stayed.

The footman escorted her down the steps of the house and helped her into the carriage. Before she could thank him, the driver had clicked his tongue at the horses and they were moving. But not far. Around the next corner, the driver drew up again.

‘Why have you stopped?’ she called. Either the driver was deaf or he was ignoring her, because she got no reply. Instead, the door of the carriage was pulled open by a scruffy looking man with greasy hair. ‘Excuse me. I think you mistake yourself,’ Elinor said haughtily.

‘Nah, I don’t,’ the man replied, looking her up and down. ‘Mrs Crozier, aren’t you?’

‘I do not think my identity is any of your business.’ Elinor realised the carriage had started moving again and rapped on the window. ‘Driver, stop! Please. Oh listen, won’t you?’ she cried crossly.

‘He’s not going to listen,’ said the man beside her. ‘He’s being paid too well.’

‘Mr Crozier arranged – this?’ Elinor demanded in disbelief. When Lucius had arranged for a carriage, he surely hadn’t arranged as well for a – a what? An escort? An escort who looked like a petty thief? This was a joke, and it wasn’t a funny one.

‘Oh yeah, sorry about that an’ all. The carriage “his nibs” arranged had a bit of an accident. Terrible thing,’ said the man conversationally, running a grimy hand down Elinor’s arm in a manner which unnerved her more than she liked to admit. ‘Quite indisposed, or whatever yeh posh word is.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Elinor, having a sudden bad feeling that she did.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said, confirming the unspoken anxiety. ‘Didn’t I tell you? This ain’t a trip to a card party. This is a kidnap.’

Elinor’s first feeling on hearing the words said aloud, despite the fact that it confirmed what she had been beginning to fear, was sheer disbelief. One simply did not get abducted in a smart carriage at seven o’clock in the evening. Surely abductions should be carried out late at night, or with someone important?

‘What is happening?’ she demanded imperiously. ‘Who are you?’

The man smiled, giving Elinor a good look at his yellowing and rotted teeth. ‘Call me Ted,’ he suggested. As to the rest, you’ll find out. Nice girl like you, you’ll find out.’ He ran his hand down her arm again, and Elinor shuddered.

‘Please keep your hands to yourself.’

‘Oh, it’s “please” now. I like a lady with manners,’ Ted replied, moving his hand across her front until it rested across her right breast. Elinor slapped it away, and he caught her arm in his grasp. ‘Now, you shouldn’t ha’ done that, should you? That wasn’t polite, was it?’ He twisted her arm a little bit, and Elinor bit heavily into her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain. ‘Remember them nice manners your mam taught you.’

‘Where are we going?’ Elinor fought to keep her tone even, though it was pitched several tones higher than usual. ‘Please,’ she added again, hoping to appease the man.

He let go of her arm, but did not answer the question. Elinor turned to look out of the window: they were heading into a part of London she did not know – and which, by the look of the run-down buildings and dirty streets, she felt quite lucky not to have known before. Dusk had fallen, but there were few lights visible. At another time, Elinor might have found it spooky; at the moment, she was too bound up in what was happening to her to care much about any ghostly imaginings.

The driver pulled up outside a grubby looking house, and Ted stepped out. Elinor considered, for a moment, trying to run; but she knew that she would not get far before they caught her. It would be a pointless gesture, and she preferred to keep her options open for a more hopeful situation later.

‘Get out,’ ordered Ted gruffly. Elinor obeyed. He grabbed her shoulder and propelled her firmly towards the door of the house, turning to say to the driver ‘Now, be off with you,’ in a voice which brooked no argument.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she asked softly as Ted opened the door with a rusty-looking key.

‘Why …’ replied a new and familiar voice from inside, ‘I invited you here to meet me.’

Sir Hugo Mansfield. Elinor stilled. This was unexpected indeed. She had presumed that Ted had kidnapped her, hoping for Lucius to hand over money for her safe return. But Sir Hugo was as rich as Lucius himself; monetary gain could not be his motive. Which left – what? Elinor remembered Lucius’s story of the beaten mistress; remembered the sight of the woman in question. Suddenly she found it hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. Was she to be beaten in revenge for Lucius’s protection of the other woman? Scarred, even?

‘This is a surprise.’ Despite herself, Elinor could not keep her voice from trembling.

‘Come in,’ Sir Hugo invited coolly. He nodded at Ted. ‘You have performed your part well. I thank you.’

It was as clear a dismissal as Ted’s had been to the coachman. The man vanished through a door on one side of the corridor, and Elinor followed Sir Hugo into a room on the opposite side. The room was surprisingly clean, albeit most of the furniture was old and in need of mending. A chaise longue lay on one side of the room, startling in its difference to the rest of the room. It looked new, and had certainly cost considerably more money than the rest of the pieces put together. Its red cover gleamed in the light of the candles scattered around the room.

‘Please,’ Elinor said, attempting a gentleness she did not feel, ‘tell me what this is about.’

‘But where are my manners?’ Sir Hugo said. ‘Mrs Crozier, do take a seat.’

He gestured towards the chaise longue; Elinor, after a second’s deliberation, sat herself in an old arm chair, which smelt faintly of mould. There was something wrong, something alarming, about the chaise. Like Sir Hugo himself, it did not fit the room, and unaccountably the sight of it made her nervous.

‘Why am I here?’

‘So that I may enjoy the pleasure of your company,’ Sir Hugo drawled. ‘Can you doubt it?’

‘Yes,’ said Elinor. ‘Now, the truth, if you please.’ She kept her tone firm but non-threatening as she continued, ‘You have abducted me, and I would like to know the reason why.’

‘Succinctly put. I have always admired the bluntness of your conversation, Mrs Crozier. Let me be equally explicit.’ Sir Hugo was still standing; he strolled back and forth as he talked, as if giving a public lecture. ‘You will be aware, of course, of the mutual dislike – I think I could go so far as to say “loathing” – between your husband and me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the reason?’

‘You feel that he stole your mistress.’

Sir Hugo raised an eyebrow. ‘My my, he has been frank with you, has he not? Tell me, were you shocked to discover that your husband had a mistress?’

‘Hardly,’ Elinor retorted.

‘No, I suspected as much. After all, I imagine it was a role you filled usefully in your time.’ Sir Hugo paused. ‘The only fascination really is why he took it into his head actually to marry you.’

For the first time since she had been kidnapped, fury trumped fear in Elinor’s heart. ‘How dare you?’ Involuntarily she rose to her feet, her fists clenched at her side. ‘I have never been Lucius’s mistress. How dare you imply it?’

‘I appear to have hit a raw nerve. I apologise, Mrs Crozier. It must only be since your marriage that –’

‘When one is married, Sir Hugo, one does not count as a mistress,’ Elinor shot at him.

‘Or at any rate, not with that particular man,’ Sir Hugo agreed coolly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I imagine he passes you around all his friends, does he not?’ The clear cultured voice of Sir Hugo made the obscenity of his words almost worse, Elinor thought, sickened. ‘Wootten, after all – it is evident to the poorest intelligence that he could not get a woman except by proxy. Does it thrill you, Mrs Crozier, having Wootten’s clammy skin pressed to yours? Are you excited by each new man who touches you, thinking about what they will do to you; what you will do to them?’

‘No.’ Elinor’s voice was a mere whisper.

‘Your husband is a generous man, in his way. How many gentlemen have you had since your marriage?’ he pressed on. ‘Five? Ten? More? How many friends – close friends, you understand – does Crozier have?’

This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening. Sir Hugo was a gentleman, even if an unpleasant one. No gentleman could stand and make such accusations towards a lady. This was a bad dream. Elinor blinked a couple of times in the hope the image would fade. It didn’t.

‘Don’t. Please …’ She hated herself for begging. Hated him for bringing her to this point.

‘Do you go down on your knees to each one in turn while the rest look on?’ Then, as Elinor did not reply, ‘Oh, come now, Mrs Crozier. There are only you and I present. No one will know what you tell me – unless you tell them, of course. But I do not think you will.’

‘What is your intent?’ Elinor’s voice was low.

Sir Hugo smiled. ‘To have a little of what all those other men have had, Mrs Crozier. Nothing more.’

‘But I haven’t ... I never ...’ Elinor broke off, knowing that whatever she said Sir Hugo would not believe her. Knowing that his own life was such that he couldn’t imagine there was such a thing as a virtuous lady – let alone a married one. Let alone one married to Lucius.

‘Mrs Crozier!’ Sir Hugo’s tone of disbelief confirmed all her fears.

‘You will not believe me, will you? Whatever I say.’

Sir Hugo raised an eyebrow. ‘It depends what you say. If you choose to tell me the truth, I might. If you persist in these tedious denials, however ...’

‘I see,’ Elinor said dully.

‘Shall we start again?’ Sir Hugo said kindly. ‘Now, Mrs Crozier, why do we not cut to the chase? You married a libertine, whose ways are well known to the whole ton. Pray do not claim that you know nothing of it.’

His words hit Elinor like a slap. The whole of the polite world had been laughing at her ever since her marriage. Lucius’s affairs were the worst kept secret in London ... the only secret was her role in his life.

‘And then?’

‘Well, I owe your companion on the journey here something for his assistance. I’m sure you understand that. But after that? You are free to go, of course.’

‘Lucius will kill you.’

Sir Hugo’s smile grew broader. ‘Oh, I doubt it. I am reckoned a good shot, you know. And besides, you would have to tell him what has occurred here. If you choose to do so, it will be worth it for that moment alone – I do so wish I could be present at that conversation.’

‘You are evil. A horrible, evil man.’

‘And you, my dear Mrs Crozier, are being commonplace. A disappointment, I confess.’

Elinor’s eyes had been darting round the room as the conversation took place, looking for any means of escape. But Sir Hugo was no fool, and there was no obvious way out, save past the man (no, he was not a gentleman, no matter his rank) himself. He made a move towards her, and she shrank back before she could stop herself.

‘You need not concern yourself. I am a considerate lover,’ Sir Hugo said. Elinor tried not to think of Lucius’s animadversions on the man, wanted to wipe from her mind the image of the woman she had seen, scars still visible from Sir Hugo’s treatment of her. ‘And it is hardly as if the role is new to you, after all.’ He put a hand into an inner pocket of his coat, and drew out a wicked looking blade. It shone silver in the candlelight, small and deadly. ‘We can do this the easy way, or we can choose a more painful route, Mrs Crozier. The choice is yours.’

Elinor sank back down into the lumpy arm chair. For the first time, she realised just how serious Sir Hugo was. Up unto that point, she had thought that if, perhaps, she found the right combination of words, he might let her go. But the sight of the sharp steel glinting in front of her told her that this had been a vain hope. He would not let her go. He would never let her go until he had done what he chose to her. And even then ... she thought of the rotting teeth and dirty nails of the man called Ted, who was “owed” by Sir Hugo for his kidnap of her, and felt sick.

Finding it hard to swallow past a lump in her throat, she did her best to smile. ‘Please, do not think I am challenging you,’ she said, fighting to keep a quavering note from her voice. ‘It is all so – unexpected, you understand.’ She gave a laugh that sounded false even to her own ears. ‘I was anticipating a card party, not a ... a flirtation.’

‘That’s what Crozier calls it these days, is it?’ Sir Hugo said, his loathing for Lucius evident in every syllable. ‘How refined of him. A “flirtation”. Such a nice phrase.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Elinor said instinctively.

‘Yes.’ Sir Hugo’s voice was suddenly low and intense. ‘Yes you do, Mrs Crozier. Why do you persist in these denials? Do you think to protect that man – that so-called-man to whom you are married?’