The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (13 page)

Worthington sent the cab off and walked. Around him, the last vestiges of the night held an opaque milky look, thin blankets of clouds that the moon shone through and reflected off. There was no way in hell he could stand still, even if around him the world moved on obliviously, delivering a silver sky when it should be thunderous.

Thwack… every delicious morsel at their table is tender…I want to know that you are the most tender thing at the table.

A towel. Freddy had beaten her with a wet towel and then made her attend functions. The thought sent blinding fury through him. His hands clenched and heat pushed out of him, making his coat unbearably hot to have on.

If she had told him this, the reality was worse. Far worse. He knew enough about Lily to know she would not say what was really underneath her wariness. This was just the first story, the test to see his reaction, the test to see if she could tell him more.

He would not wait for that though. Tomorrow he would have investigators hired to find out everything, to stop at nothing to find every bit of information. He wanted to know exactly how Lily could have been left so unprotected. It could have been that Freddy was particularly cunning but her sustained mistreatment would have been picked up by someone, someone who then did nothing.

Everything was falling into place now, the moments of shying away. The panic attack when he manhandled her against the tree.

Pain stabbed his chest, he’d drunk himself into senseless stupors over reports on their happiness.

Worthington swore at the top of his voice. It echoed off the houses and fell into nothing.

That was what he’d done to help her.

Nothing. But not anymore. When he was not with her he would be searching for answers.

Surely, someone in her circle would have known? Someone could have seen something, someone she could have reached out to?

Lily had a family. And her brother was head of the family. Her marriage had pulled the family out of potential ruin. Her brother must have been aware of Rothbury’s inclinations. They had all known; those of them in the tight circle that boarding at university brought.

And just on the bloody off chance that her brother, Maurice, hadn’t known, he had done two things. He had gone to Maurice when he heard about the betrothal and told him outright Rothbury’s tendencies. Of course, the stuck-up bastard had not listened. So he had offered for her hand against Rothbury’s suit.

They had laughed at him. He was not a pauper, but a nobody in comparison to Rothbury’s wealth. He had lost on both accounts. He was thrown out on the street and branded an inflammatory liar.

Lily was gone the next day, whisked away from everyone until just before the wedding.

He was due to leave before the wedding, yet a part of him had hoped.

It wasn’t until she exchanged vows in the church, when the bells of the cathedral rang the completion of the wedding that it finally sunk in. Of course, he never heard the ‘I do’ that broke his heart. He’d been held outside by two of Maurice’s footmen in case he had stood up during the ceremony to stop it, and he would have.

At that moment, she was gone from him. Out of reach.

Not to another man and a happy life, but to a monster, a man to whom he would not entrust his horse.

Ironically, he had never formally met her as an adult. He’d seen her when she’d come out and turned up at a ball. He was so besotted that he’d watched her all night. Trailed around the dance floor as she dominated every dance with her radiance.

He knew who she was in an instant. He second-guessed those few days in the years that followed. If he hadn’t stalked her, taken his time to watch her, if he’d stepped forward, maybe she wouldn’t have married Freddy so fast.

A part of him was just so sure she was his. That once he stepped up to claim her, there would be no going back for either of them. She deserved to feel the flush of pleasure at her come-out. The clamor as men tripped to get to her, sidled each other aside to bring her drinks, gain the most advantageous dance.

He’d watched and smiled. Knowing everything would fall away, the moment she saw him and remembered who he was.

Then within in one week, she was betrothed and tucked away.

He’d seen her ushered down the street with a flock of women, shopping no doubt, for her soon to be role as Mrs. Rothbury. All over before it started and she was none the wiser of him, his young man’s hungry heart, and the desolation he faced.

In the years that followed, he had imagined that perhaps Rothbury would be a gentleman and keep his proclivities out of the marriage bed and away from her. Even when she had shied away, he had thought perhaps a cross word, but not a beating.

Worthington didn’t want to think of the breadth of what could have happened; and yet, he would find out every single deed Rothbury had done and exorcise her of its burden.

He’d found a sketchbook on their shared study desk in the room at Oxford. It contained images he wished he’d not seen. Things that never would have entered his mind of their own accord and he was no saint. Freddy was depraved in a horribly cruel way.

In front of him was her house. He had walked blocks and come back again.

The sun hadn’t come up yet, however servants would be stirring.

He didn’t want to leave her alone.

In his mind, he heard the thwack of the towel, saw the way her fingers would have curled, the way her nails would have dug into her palms as she tried not to make a sound.

Now that he finally had her, knew her, his violet-eyed Valkyrie, he wanted to tuck her under his arm and fend off any ripples the outside world sent that might upset her.

And he would. It was just that now he knew the hurdle that sat between them.

“You have no idea. They are supremely arrogant. Lie and mislead for their own ends. They have the supreme arrogance to believe they own you
and
can do as they please with you.”

Those words were true. They were true of him. However, that didn’t make him the monster she was surely guiding herself away from meeting.

At least the venom seemed generally held for men of his station rather than something specific against Worthington.

He was starting to see where her motivation was coming from. Understood the views she held, what drove her and why.

She would be upset with his deceit about his identity and he would have to wear that, but surely, she would understand that he had tried to reveal himself and found that he would have lost her. They both would have suffered more with that outcome.

The question was how to let her know and not lose her.

There was so much to do.

Miriam walked into the front parlor, the notes and ideas from talks Max and she had in her hand. The wind blew the rain under the eaves and it ticked at the windows. A small fire burned in the grate keeping the inevitable damp off the room.

“Morning, Aunt D.” Miriam leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Max was wonderful. Perhaps the most wonderful man she had ever met. He not only wrapped her with pleasure, he had made her think that life could be somewhat normal again. That she could have some of the things other women felt.

A safe house for women of her station tormented by their husbands and ignored by their families. It was perfect.

She had funds, perhaps even property; she would need to speak with her brother, Maurice, and find out exactly.

In the past, she had simply needed to know that there was enough liquidity to cover bills of her rather reclusive life. She needed to know assets. What did she, in fact, own as Mrs. Rothbury, and could any of it be used for her purposes? Or would she need to make some decisions to restructure her portfolios and establish what she needed?

In her hands, she had letters requesting meetings with her lawyer and the family banker. However the first visit would be Maurice. He always cried poor and his current fixation on her marrying Baron Digby was making him meaner around money. She would see him first as was proper, then she would check the facts with their men of business.

“Miriam, dear, where have you been all morning? Oh, my dear girl.” Aunt D clapped her hands together in front of her mouth and her eyes got a fraction glassy. “You are wearing a new dress.”

Miriam smiled at her aunt. “I have plans.” The dress was not really new; they’d bought a few when she returned to London. Some of the dresses were a touch too vital, a touch too vibrant at that time so she’d stuck to the darker, somber colors. Today she had a double-layered skirt, the bottom yellow-and-gray striped, and the top layer, along with the bodice, yellow. She was a daffodil that had forgotten to bloom in the spring.

“Oh, dear, not more of your gallivanting around in the middle of the night. That is most distressing. Surely, you can gallivant around during the day?”

That surprised her. “I thought you were asleep when I left.”

Her aunt’s eyebrows rose. “My dear, I am, but the household is not. It behooves a woman to make friends with the right staff to hear exactly what is happening in the house in which she resides.”

Well, answering that would only lead to trouble.

Miriam flopped in to the old wingback. It gave a wonderful view out the window and it’s sturdy wings were an armor of sorts. She would sit in this chair when Freddy decided he would join her in the parlor. Usually to see if she was keeping the aches and pains out of her daily presentation. And secondly, to play the ideal husband, make her play along knowing that was by far the hardest thing for her to do.

Once, when he felt she wasn’t convincing enough, he’d made her sit in a chair in their bedroom and smile at him all night. He kept her awake with small whacks with his cane across her shins.

Inevitably, her eyes had closed and not lifted of their own accord as she slipped into sleep. He had beaten her with a knotted damp towel and then had started again.

It was beyond her why she stayed in the house. Sitting here in her yellow outfit, the memory of Max, his touch, his kisses over every part of her body, it was like a strange dream slipping away in the light of day when every part of the house reminded her of Freddy. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, perhaps not her bedroom.

“I am considering selling up and moving into something smaller.”

Aunt D drew in a sharp breath. “But, dear, you can’t. That would be unheard of. You should stay here. The status this gives you would go a long way with any steps you may want to take now that you are out of mourning.”

Aunt’s words just rolled over her. The truth was that it didn’t matter what people thought. None of those people were there to help her when she needed it. Not a single one.

Not knowing was one thing. But Maurice knew; she’d told him. Freddy had friends. They would have known about him. No one discreetly checked; no one cared. She had become Freddy’s. Every hair on her body, every muscle on her bones had been his to do with as he pleased. No man would have disputed it or he would have had to dispute his own ownership.

She made a mental note to talk with her lawyer about her options. Although this was not the family house, it was a valuable city residence.

“Now, my dear, invitations are still coming in and it’s well past time for you to attend something.”

“Aunt D, I think—”

Aunt D held up her hand. “Now I will not hear any more of your protestations of mourning. If you can go gallivanting around at all hours you can gallivant at some respectable events as well. It’s time, Miriam, and I insist you make an effort.”

“As I was about to say, Aunt D, I’m ready to start making the rounds. I have a list here of those I’d be interested in seeing.”

“Well.” Aunt D’s smile was instantaneous and infectious. And as the wingback hugged her, the corners of her mouth lifted. The same mouth her secret lover had kissed until her lips tingled and her center throbbed.

“Shall we go through today’s mail together?” Miriam said.

It was as if she had made the grandest of overtures as Aunt D launched into excited chatter of what was happening in the thrust and parry of the social circles of British society. The war of tea and scones, as Aunt D put it.

Aunt D rang the small tea bell that was always within arm’s reach and arranged for a fresh pot.

Going through and discussing the first two invites and catching up on where the relevant people were in their lives was not as bad as Miriam had expected; and if she were honest, there was a part of her that actually enjoyed the prospect of stepping out, especially with this new idea burning to take form.

She would need goodwill, a network of women of standing, women who were brave enough to establish something which could have the police at their doors. Police who could come to a shelter and drag a wife back to her husband. A parish priest may be of help, less likely the family doctor.

Then there were the operational elements. She’d need to set up a board. That was a lot of socializing and persuasion to get underway.

“Oh, here is another invite to a Worthington event. Another dinner.”

Tension settled in her chest.

“No, not that one.” Another migraine would be too farfetched to avoid the invite a second time.

“Oh, but this is just marvelous and exactly what you need. Lady Worthington would be a wonderful way to announce you are back. And you did bail out on the last event; you do owe them the visit, Miriam.”

“I’m really not interested.” She wouldn’t be able to swallow a single thing being in that man’s house, let alone sitting at the same table with him. Just seeing his face, whatever it looked like, would remind her of Freddy.

“Here is another invite from them. Miriam, really, they are making great overtures to have you attend them. They are having a ball.” Aunt D let the invite drop to her lap and clapped her hands in childlike joy. “A ball, Miriam. Can you remember the last time you went to a ball? Heavens, the last time I went to a ball!”

Yes, the last time had been with her husband. She’d wanted to sit on the sidelines due to the bruising on the bottom of her feet, and he’d known that. He’d filled her card with all his friends. Then punished her later that night for the missteps she had made and embarrassed him with her clumsiness.

However, there was a time when she had loved to dance.

“I can’t remember, Aunt, a long time.” There would be many women of influence and if she wanted to win them over she would need to be at the events they attended, and a Worthington ball, after all his years in America, would be the event of the season.

“Since taking the title, he has only been in London eight weeks.”

The door to the parlor opened, tea arrived and was poured, small shortbreads settled on each flowered tea plate as Aunt D continued.

“You know Lord Worthington was a respectable second cousin removed from the line. I’m sure he never expected the title so far away; but they all died of something. Weak breeding, if you ask me. This new one at least has some Scottish blood and is very handsome. He was remarkably affable and charming as was his mother and sister.”

“I’m not sure I really need to know. Shall we look at the next invitation?” The tea scalded her lips as she took a sip. She blew on the surface as Aunt D stubbornly continued; and if she were honest, there was a part of her that was perversely interested in this man she had decided was a monster.

“Well, you need to know. The one thing about society is an innate expectation that everyone knows everything. It’s how it all works. With everyone knowing what needs to be known, then nothing needs to be said. Everything then goes in the direction it should to reflect the actualities without a public word.

And, in this case, we are talking about the most eligible bachelor of the season. A topic many, if not all, of the women will be interested in talking about or referring to.

If you want to re-enter society, you need to have something to offer. You are witty. You are beautiful. You had a legendary romance that every debutante will want for herself. They will seek you out, want to know how to make that their reality. A fact here or there about the man who women are focused on in the season will go a long way.”

Sadist and misogynist came to mind.

Miriam could see the conversations now. ‘Oh, and the man you are swooning over is most likely a twisted prat who will strap you to the bed and use phallic implements on you for his pleasure. Please note, his pleasure, not yours. And how do you feel about internal bruising?’ Some of the things Freddy used on her, subjected her to, must offer pleasure or there surely wouldn’t be so many of them available. No doubt how you used it made the world of difference.

There had been times when Freddy had worked to warm her body, and like a traitor it rippled with sensual longing despite her mind’s resistance; and as soon as he saw those signs, he set about taking the pleasure away.

Aunt D was right. She did need to play the game. She had been consummate when she was in full swing and she would be again, but this time for a cause. Reticules would open and she would have benefactors.

“So he returned eight weeks ago from?” The shortbread fell apart on her tongue, a burst of sweet, buttery pleasure.

“From America; he has trade ventures he developed in Canada and America.”

“He came back for the title?”

“No, he was awarded that a year ago. What brought him back is unclear. Perhaps he is ready to settle down and marry, establish the line of succession. Whoever gets him will be expected to produce a few boys.”

“What was his relationship with Freddy? How close were they, do you know? I know they roomed together. Some say inseparable, but he never visited us while I was married to Freddy that I am aware of.” He’d dropped his card. It would have been about eight weeks ago. He’d visited repeatedly until she left a missive that seeing close friends of her husband was too painful. That in order to recover, she needed to stay removed from her beloved husband’s friends. She met Max, that week at The Velvet Basement.

Her aunt sat up straighter.

“Well, I can’t say I rightly know, Miriam, but it would serve you to say he and Freddy were close. That he seems to have the same qualities to make as exceptionally romantic and attentive a husband as Freddy.”

That was, in fact, exactly what she believed.

In the end, they identified four events to attend in the upcoming days.

“There is one we could still respond to for tonight, dear?”

She still had a box of sheaths to hand out. Perhaps one more outing before she stepped back. Besides, last night could have been an aberration, something that was more reflective of the area than the women’s needs.

“No, not tonight, Auntie D. I will settle down early.”

As per her agreement with Max, she sent a message with the boy.

Miriam sent the note, as was their agreement.

I need to head out tonight.

Must do something.

I’m thinking to try the sheaths again.

Can you come?

Lily

She then set about getting ready and dressing for the night. Well, for Max. A light bath, silk underclothes, a soft pink that brought out the milkiness of her skin. He liked her skin. Max touched and stroked her a lot. Even when he thought she was asleep, he stroked her arm, the curve of her hip, her shoulder. Light soft touches, strokes that relaxed her, that warmed her on the inside.

She would keep him for as long as he stayed interested. Her secret lover.