Lorraine Heath - Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

August 5, 1851

I have no will to eat.

August 8, 1851

I have no will to breathe.

August 20, 1851

I walked to the edge of the cliffs today. How easy it would be to simply step into nothingness. But it would break their hearts and so I must continue on.

September 1, 1851

The cliffs are calling to me again. I do not know how much longer I can resist the peace they offer. But I know I cannot depart this earth without writing of the “adventure,” as Lord Rockberry so blithely referred to it. Perhaps in so doing, I will find the peace I seek.

At midnight I slipped out of the residence with Cousin none the wiser. In the alleyway Lord Rockberry kissed me quickly and handed me up into his carriage. Excitement thrummed through me. He whispered words to make me feel beautiful, desired. He explained that he was a disciple of Eros, the god of sexual desire. He was a member of a secret society which initiates women into the art of love. He told me it involved a beautiful ritual during which he would claim me as his. He seduced me with his words, his kisses. In the carriage he plied me with wine. I suspect now that it was laced with something that served to disorient me. I did not feel myself. And I certainly did not act myself.

We arrived at a residence. Inside, two ladies took me away and began to prepare me. They removed their clothes and mine. Beautiful silver filigree circled their necks. They draped the softest silk over me and explained what was required of me. I wanted to protest but my mouth seemed unable to form coherent words. My will was no longer my own.

They led me into a dark room where the only light came from flickering candles. Pillows were piled everywhere. There were other naked ladies wearing the same silver at their throats. Men in red cloaks wavered in and out of my vision as the two ladies escorted me to Lord Rockberry. I heard humming, a chant.

The ladies removed my silk. I stood before him exposed. I knew I should have covered myself in shame, but I was beyond caring. The world faded in and out. He bade me to kneel before him. When I did, he placed the silver around my neck and told me I was now a sister of carnality. He lay me upon a mound of pillows and took me.

There were cheers and laughter echoing around me even as I tried to push him away. The pain was indescribable, the intimacy barbaric. The room exploded into madness, chaos, as others-men and women-had their way with me. I remember so little except the agony and humiliation. I thought I’d awaken to discover it had all been a dream. But the nightmare was real. And even though I’ve returned home, I seem unable to escape it.

September 7, 1851

Forgive me.

When Swindler awoke, sun was spilling in through the window and he was alone. After he’d made love to her a third time, Emma slipped out of the room as he drifted off to sleep. She wanted to be sure she returned to Eleanor’s bed before her sister awoke.

He rolled over onto his back, shoved his hands behind his head, grimacing when he bumped his healing wound, and stared at the ceiling. He’d finished reading the journal in the early hours. He’d heard rumors of the secret societies that engaged in depravity but had always heard that the members were willing participants in the orgies, so they’d been of no concern to him. It seemed Rockberry sought to bring a new, supposedly exciting element to the festivities. An innocent. A virgin to be sacrificed.

Swindler’s blood boiled when he thought about what Rockberry had done, the people he’d harmed, the pain he’d wrought. Damned, arrogant bastard. If he wasn’t already dead, he would have strangled Rockberry with his own hands.

Claybourne had killed a man for raping Frannie when she was twelve. Swindler had thought nothing as vile would ever touch him again. He’d been wrong.

He’d not known Elisabeth before he read her journal, but he mourned her passing now.

The storm outside had ceased, but within him a storm for further retribution was brewing. He got out of bed and walked to the window. His heart very nearly stilled at the sight of Emma standing at the edge of the cliff. He didn’t know how he knew it was her. All he could see was her back and the cloak billowing out behind her. What little wind remained from the storm toyed with her hair.

Christ! Surely she wasn’t contemplating joining Elisabeth at the bottom of the sea.

Snatching up his trousers and pulling them on, he selfishly thought she couldn’t possibly be considering leaving him-not after what they’d shared last night, after he made her smile and laugh, after he brought her pleasure, after she brought him pleasure more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. Yes, she’d left him before, back in London, but now things were different. She’d left him because of her shame and secrets. She’d left him because she thought she had no choice if she wanted to escape the gallows. Now she knew differently.

He grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head as he rushed out the door and down the stairs, nearly losing his balance and tumbling in the process. Taking a quick second to get his shirt situated, he carried on and burst through the door to the outside as though her life-and his-depended on it. He ignored the pain as his bare feet encountered tiny rocks and thorns. Afraid of startling her, of causing her to tumble over the edge, he didn’t call out to her. When he was near enough to see that she wasn’t teetering at the edge as he’d first feared, he slowed his gait and fought to regain his dignity. A bit difficult to do when his feet were bare and his shirt unbuttoned.

He was surprised that his feet pounding the earth in order that he could reach her quickly hadn’t caused it to tremble and alert her to his presence. Or perhaps she simply wasn’t yet ready to face him. Whatever the reason, as he came to stand beside her, she continued to stare out at the whitecapped sea as though it contained answers.

“Emma,” he said quietly, wanting desperately to reach for her, to draw her farther back from the edge.

“Sometimes when I stand here I can hear her laughter.”

“Elisabeth’s?”

She nodded. “I yelled at her, you know.”

“It’s not a crime to yell.”

She rolled her eyes toward the sky as though she sought salvation. “She wouldn’t tell us what happened in London. We only knew she returned home with no marriage prospects. Father had no money with which to send Eleanor and I. Selfishly, selfishly, I wanted to go so desperately, to find a husband and have children, to be a wife and a mother. I screamed at Elisabeth, told her she’d been a disappointment to us all. I had the audacity to tell her that if Father had sent me, I would have snagged a husband who could ensure that my sisters had a Season and were well looked after. I wanted a Season so frightfully badly, so stupidly. I think my words may have caused her to kill herself.”

“No, Emma.” His arms were around her before he’d given it any thought. Turning her, he drew her into his body, pressed her face to his chest. “I read her journal. Nothing you said caused her death. Nothing you could have said would have stopped it. Rockberry is the sole blame here.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, her delicate brow furrowed. “Had I been a better sist-”

He touched his finger to her lips before she could finish. “You mustn’t think that way. Had I been a better son…you see? Nothing is to be gained.” Although he had spent a good many years wondering how differently things might have been if he’d not taken the watch, if he had been a better son. Only now, while holding this woman close, trying to ease her pain, did a bit of his ease as well. Guilt and regret had taken the joy from his life. This woman returned it all to him. It broke his heart that she suffered, that she felt guilt and remorse.

“When I read Elisabeth’s words, read what happened to her, at first I couldn’t believe them,” Emma said. “I thought surely they were a story she’d created or a rumor she’d heard about something happening in London. I wept when I finally faced the reality of them. How could someone in Lord Rockberry’s position be as vile as all that? He trifled with her. Broke her heart, broke her spirit, and in the end broke her body.”

“I’ve known people from all walks of life-from the beggar on the street corner to those who have dined in the presence of the queen. At all levels, I’ve seen people behave in ways that have turned my stomach. But at all levels, I’ve also seen people to be admired. Feagan was a thief, took me in, taught me to be a thief. I would have died for him. Claybourne, a lord with blood on his hands. I admire no man more than I admire him. Even Jack Dodger, scoundrel that he is, takes boys in off the street and gives them a job, keeps them out of trouble. Society is made up of good and bad, Emma. You cannot judge any portion of it based on a few.”

She gave him a soft smile. “I think you would have liked Elisabeth.”

“I know I would have.” Grateful for her smile and the easing of sorrow in her eyes, he tweaked her nose. “But not more than I like you.”

She released a bubble of laughter, and everything within him finally relaxed. “May we move away from the edge now?”

Her smile grew. “Do you not like the cliffs?”

“I don’t like being so close to them, no.”

“They’re perfectly safe.” Sadness suddenly contorted her features. “Unless you don’t want them to be.”

He couldn’t ask her not to think about her sister, especially as there was unfinished business, but he suspected he could distract Emma for a time, especially as he’d already gone far too long without kissing her. Even as he took her mouth, even as she offered it, he was grateful that she wasn’t the one who’d been charged with going to London last Season to secure a husband and a future for her sisters. The thought of Rockberry touching so much as a hair on her head caused Swindler’s blood to scald. It seemed Emma wasn’t the only one unable to stop thinking about her sister.

It was only when she eased her feet over his in order to achieve a little more height that he realized she, too, was barefoot. How was it that something as simple and tiny as her bare soles could shoot sparks of desire through him? How was it that he could easily imagine laying her down on the cool grass, wrapping his fingers around her bare ankle and sliding his hand up her calf, over her knee, and along her thigh?

Only a few hours had passed since he’d taken her in his bed, yet at that moment he was as randy as a callow youth who had yet to experience his first woman. Pulling back from the kiss, he saw the yearning in her deep blue eyes and he realized, somewhat startled, that they matched the sea in the distance. She belonged here with her bare feet, her sea blue eyes, her gentleness. Even as his thoughts traveled that path, he remembered that she could be as fierce and as deadly as the storm. He’d underestimated her determination where justice was concerned once-he wouldn’t do it again.

He slid his hand down her arm and laced his fingers through hers until their palms touched. He’d never considered how sensual it could be to hold a lady’s hand intimately. If not for the weight of what remained before them, he might have felt carefree and lighthearted. Instead he wished they might have today forever and that tomorrow might never arrive.

She was the one who tugged on his hand and prompted them to begin walking back toward the house. He thought he could grow accustomed to this place, to having her near. Even with so innocent a musing, guilt and regret battled within him. London was where he belonged, fighting for the rights of the innocent.

“The roads will be muddy,” she said quietly, as though she knew in which direction his mind wandered. “It would be best to delay our journey until they’ve dried.”

“How long?”

She peered up at him, her lips forming a mischievous grin that made him want to lean down and kiss her again. “Twenty, thirty years.”

The wind carried his laughter toward the road that would lead them to the village, and from there back to London. He sobered. “I wish it could be so, Emma.”

“But you’re a man of honor, a man of the law. It’s one of the things I admire about you, that you believe in justice. But I don’t see why Eleanor and I must both pay for one act. Spare her. Take me and leave her here. She already suffers greatly for what she did.”

He stopped walking and touched her cheek. Was there anyone as courageous, as unselfish, as these two sisters, each willing to take the complete responsibility for Rockberry’s death and to pay the ultimate price? He knew they weren’t a threat to anyone else. Their actions had been motivated by grief and horror over what the marquess had done to their sister. Swindler had often released boys from gaol or failed to arrest them when their crimes were petty. But murder?