The Sweetest Revenge Page 5

  Her face came into focus as she stepped behind him and raised her hand to rest on his shoulder. He had thought she might be an illusion, but the gentle pressure on his shoulder was firm. Real.

  They stared at each other in the mirrors.

  “I missed you.” He reached up to touch her fingers. Her flesh felt warm and solid beneath his fingertips.

  Even in his dream, the thought of her name filled him with a profound sadness. He couldn’t say it, even when she stood behind him, multiplied thousands of times.

  Slowly, he turned to face her. She gazed at him with wide, azure eyes, her lips slightly parted.

  If he could only hold on to it, to her, everything would be all right.

  He crushed her to his chest, threading his hands through her silky hair and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Leave this place with me.”

  They’d escape together. He wouldn’t let her go this time.

  The creak of door hinges and a shuffling movement conspired to pull him out of his dream and tug him back into reality. He held on to her desperately, even as she faded away like a ghost. “Noooo,” he moaned softly. Don’t go.

  Someone spoke.

  Leo groaned, shifting his body to ease the ache between his legs, and pushed her out of his mind.

  “Monsieur, would you like me to shave you this morning? Monsieur?”

  Full consciousness settled in, and Leo tensed, remembering last night, remembering his indecent appearance. His trousers had slid halfway down his arse; his cock, now soft but certainly jutting cheerfully forth when Hercules had first entered, fully exposed.

  He could do nothing but attempt to bear the humiliation with dignity.

  Dull pain crept through his head, and his every muscle ached. He needed coffee. Or, even better, a drink.

  “No shave, thank you,” he said stubbornly. “Miss Juliette is the only one of you I trust with a blade.”

  After Hercules removed the bonds at his wrists, Leo pulled up his trousers and fastened them before yanking off his blindfold. He gazed up at Hercules, expecting a sneer, or at least a knowing smile, but the giant had set his face in its usual passive mask. Looking carefully, however, Leo detected a telling set in his shoulders, a tension in the line of his jaw.

  “Had a little visit from one of the ladies,” Leo explained.

  “That is apparent, monsieur.”

  “From the sharp-tongued one. The one who calls herself Mistress Jane,” Leo continued conversationally.

  He found what he searched for—an infinitesimal relaxation in the other man’s face. So there was nothing between Hercules and Mistress Jane. But the giant seemed to possess a tendre for one of the others. It had better not be Miss Juliette.

  Hercules thrust a slice of bread at him. “Your breakfast, monsieur.”

  So they did not intend to starve him after all, only humiliate him to death.

  The bread was just out of the oven, sliced thick and slathered with butter. Leo took a mouthful of it and sank into the sensation of the contrast between hot, moist bread and cool, sweet butter melting on his tongue. He had never known bread could be so heavenly.

  He finished, licked the butter from his fingers, and went to take advantage of the chamber pot. Having one’s hands tied was a bloody inconvenience in more ways than one.

  In the waking hours after Mistress Jane had left him last night, he had sustained himself by planning his vengeance. He would catalogue each bit of information, from the type of brickwork on the ceiling of the cellar, to the flooring, to the room’s dimensions. When they freed him, if he had to search every damned cellar in London, he would find this one. Then he would deal with its mistress and her friends.

  He had begun to think that involving the authorities might not be such a good idea. He would rather manage these three himself. Make them suffer. Give them a taste of their own humiliating tactics. He had his own cellar, after all. And he could easily imagine his three ladies bound in it, naked and cold, tears streaking their faces as they begged to be released.

  Perhaps he would parade in some of the more daring members of his crowd to see his naked captives. Maybe he’d allow some of them to touch Mistress Jane as she had touched him.

  Fastening his trousers for the second time, he leaned against the wall and watched Hercules lean down to take the chamber pot.

  What could he say to the man? Frankly, he was not as good with men as he was with women. Sutherland was his one true male friend, and the two of them always had a group of hangers-on, but otherwise, Leo rarely desired male companionship.

  Hercules walked out with the sloshing chamber pot, and the bolt slid into place with its now-familiar rasping sound.

  Leo rubbed his hands over his face and dragged them through his hair, looking over at the garish chaise.

  Mistress Jane had kept her promise. A neatly folded blue silk blanket lay upon one of the cushions.

  ***

  “…and then I turned on my heel and walked away.” Anna folded her arms over her chest, leaned against Isabelle’s bedroom door, and grinned.

  Isabelle snapped her gaping jaw shut. She slid her hands into the folds of her gown and clenched handfuls of muslin.

  Anna had so much nerve. More nerve than Isabelle would ever have. Never in her life could she imagine doing such things to a man. Never in her life had she imagined that such things were actually done. But by the way Anna spoke, they must be quite common. If Isabelle hadn’t been ruined, if someone had taken her as a wife, she would likely know this by now.

  Anna’s encounter yesterday with Lord Leothaid had sent her reeling. Susan had, for reasons she could not decipher, encouraged her to go down to the cellar to observe him. Filled with blazing curiosity about how the passionate young lover she had known had turned into such a terrible man, she had gone, intending to watch him from the doorway. But the moment she had seen him arguing with Pierre, something had compelled her to intervene.

  Touching him was a mistake. When her fingertips made contact with his skin, a warm flush had spread deep within her, melting the hard lump of anger that had formed during her conversation with Susan. Just as he had in the past, he annihilated all her resistance. How could he still have such power over her after so long? After what had happened between them?

  His firm jaw had pressed against her hand, so close to his full lips. How she had wanted to run her thumb over those lips. Deep trepidation had stopped her. But even now, the memory of touching him sent a tremulous heat skittering up her spine.

  “Are you shocked, Isabelle?”

  “Beyond…beyond words, I think.” She tried to laugh. “You are very brave, Anna.”

  Isabelle remembered how Lord Leothaid had invaded her body so many years ago. She imagined him invading her mouth in the same way. Would he moan her name, beg her to stay with him, beg her to satisfy him? A heaviness gathered between her legs, spooling prickling threads of heat to spread beneath her skin.

  Isabelle forced her fists to open, releasing the now-wrinkled fabric of her gown. She was not this sort of woman—she was shy, introverted, and reserved. Lust and desire were foreign sensations to her.

  Except with Lord Leothaid.

  Nay. She could not allow those memories to creep in. They aroused shameful, improper feelings no decent woman ought to have. She must, she must, govern her passions.

  But how could she when Leo was so near?

  She hadn’t touched a man in seven years. He was the only man she had ever touched.

  “Well, that is excellent!” Susan exclaimed, rising from the chair beside Isabelle’s bed. “Very good, Anna. Now he will know frustration. He will understand what it means to desire something unreachable, something impossible to attain.”

  Isabelle blinked at Susan in sudden comprehension. Susan was right. After he’d left Scotland, she’d dreamed unceasingly of his return. But then his brother had found that letter Leo had written to her, and all had been revealed.

  She’d been sent away in disgrace, bu
t a part of her had still been confident in his love. She’d known he’d come for her. She’d waited. But he never came. Instead, he’d become a rogue and a rake, his conquests the subject of gossip throughout the kingdom.

  He had gone to whores and loose women to slake his lust, had become involved in tryst after tryst, had taken different women to his bed every night, while she had been alone, still dreaming about him. Still wanting him but knowing that he no longer wanted her.

  Anna’s revenge was perfect.

  Isabelle looked into her dressing table mirror and smiled.

  Behind her, Susan turned at the door. “Are you coming, Isabelle?”

  Isabelle’s hand drifted toward her hair. It had half fallen out of its chignon this afternoon and, as usual, was in complete disarray. “I’ve rung for a maid to fix my hair. I’ll be coming down soon.”

  More importantly, she needed to gather her wits about her before she saw Leo again. With a small, knowing smile, Susan followed Anna out the door, closing it softly behind her. The maid knocked moments later.

  As the girl swept her hair up into a tighter twist, a small shagreen case at the edge of the dressing table caught Isabelle’s eye. Reaching for it, she turned it lovingly in her hand, then flicked its lid open with her thumb. A wee unopened bottle of perfume lay nestled in the red velvet lining.

  Her great-aunt Mary, an accomplished perfume maker, had once supplied society with its stylish fragrances. When she was a child, Aunt Mary had created a scent just for Isabelle, with the subtle herbal-and-floral scent of heather and the slightest touch of sandalwood. When Isabelle arrived in London this past spring, Aunt Mary had given her this bottle, filled with the same perfume, as a gift.

  She pulled the stopper and applied a drop to each of her wrists and another at her collarbone.

  The maid’s round face broke into a cheerful smile. “’Tis a lovely scent, miss.”

  Isabelle stared at her reflection, blinking against flooding memories of being young and happy and blindly in love.

  The maid finished with a final tug on a strand of hair. Isabelle watched in the mirror as the girl bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

  Isabelle closed her eyes. The scent wafted around her, pervading her senses, and she remembered. She remembered lying in bed and gazing into his eyes. She remembered the last time they’d slept together, how he’d held her against him and whispered “I love you” into her ear until she came.

  She turned and glanced at the door, making sure the maid had shut it securely.

  Safely alone, she dipped a cloth in her basin and scrubbed away the perfume.

  ***

  Leo had lain awake for hours, contemplating his predicament. Or rather, he was unsure of the length of time he had been awake. It felt like hours, but he lost track of time in this place. It was only his second day here, of that he was still sure. Certain the days would soon start to meld together, he’d scratched at a little place on the back of the chaise until he’d made two tally marks, promising himself to add one for each day he remained.

  The looming question, still, was why had they captured him? And what did they intend to do with him?

  A large hand curled over his shoulder. “The ladies are ready to see you, monsieur.”

  “What time is it?” he asked groggily, sitting up.

  “Near dark.” Hercules rounded the chaise, captured both Leo’s hands in one of his own massive ones, pulled them together behind his back, and looped the rope around his wrists. Then he tied the strip of linen over Leo’s eyes. Leo groaned, but he didn’t have it in him to struggle.

  He stood and blindly faced the door.

  The ladies entered in a flurry of rustling gowns and sweet-smelling perfume, with a hint of something else beneath. Food, Leo realized. Finally. He’d gone hungry since the bit of bread at breakfast.

  “We’ve brought you your dinner,” Mistress Jane said, her voice cheerful, a contrast to the wickedly erotic anger from last night.

  He sketched a bow. “Good evening, ladies. Thank you for dinner. I am afraid, however, it will be difficult for me to eat without use of my hands.”

  Mistress Jane clapped her hands. “I am so happy to see the improvement in your disposition, Leo.”

  “I have had a tranquil day,” he said smoothly. Too tranquil, in truth. This much tranquility would soon drive him mad. “In fact, I wonder if you might be so kind as to provide me with a book to read during the quietest hours. That is, of course,” he added, “unless you intend to release me tonight or in the morning.”

  “Oh, I doubt greatly that you’ll be leaving us so soon,” Mistress Jane said.

  “I will be happy to loan you a book,” Lady M said in her gravelly voice.

  “Thank you.” Leo realized that the shy mouse hadn’t spoken yet. “But where is the lovely Miss Juliette this evening?”

  “I am here, my lord.” Once again, her whisper came from near the foot of the chaise.

  He turned to her and bowed again, presenting her with a roguish smile, but then his gut clenched in warning. What was he doing? He had dreamed of her for the first time in years, awakened stiff with need, and now, hours later, he blatantly flirted with one of the villainous females who had kidnapped him.

  After what had happened last night, he must be losing his mind. His smile faltered, and he turned away.

  It was all Mistress Jane’s fault. She had teased him too much, aroused him, and now all he could think about was sinking his body into soft, welcoming female flesh.

  Mistress Jane took his arm and tugged him down on the chaise beside her, virtually sitting on his lap. Her thigh pressed against his, and his cock stirred, the damned impetuous beast.

  “Since you do not have the use of your hands, poor dear, I shall feed you,” she said.

  “That is deuced charitable of you, Mistress Jane.”

  He felt, rather than saw, her smile. Good. He’d charmed her. It was what he did best, after all. As long as he didn’t allow her to gain the upper hand as he had last night, he would be safe.

  “We cannot offer the variety of dishes you might be accustomed to, Leo, but Lady M’s cook has prepared a wonderful roasted chicken, just for you.”

  Chicken sounded agreeable enough. The way his stomach was collapsing in upon itself, anything would suffice.

  “It sounds charming. I hope it is a very large chicken.”

  “You may have as much as you wish.” Using her fingers, she pressed a bit of meat to his mouth.

  It was the driest, most tasteless morsel he’d ever consumed. He chewed and swallowed, and debated whether he ought to advise Lady M to search for another cook.

  Then he realized they had done this deliberately. They’d probably skinned the damned thing, stuck it on a spit, and kept it there all day until every last bit of juice had dripped out of it. Just for him.

  He wouldn’t complain. He would eat it gallantly. His stomach, after all, wouldn’t care that the wretched bird tasted like tree bark.

  He opened his mouth for another bite. Mistress Jane readily complied.

  He’d eaten worse. Surely he had. He racked his brain, trying to remember when.

  “You are looking awfully disheveled, Leo. Why are you unshaven?” Lady M asked.

  “I had no desire for a gigantic Frenchman to maul me with a deadly weapon, my lady.” He opened his mouth. This time he brushed his lips against Mistress Jane’s fingers as he took the meat. “And”—he turned pointedly to Miss Juliette—“Miss Juliette did not offer to shave me today.”

  “Don’t be daft. The Frenchman would not harm a fly,” Lady M said.

  “Perhaps you have forgotten the damage he did to my face?”

  “Well,” she conceded, “there was that. It was purely defensive, however.”

  One of Mistress Jane’s hands meandered up his thigh.

  “Defensive? I was unaware that turning one’s body to view what is lurking behind oneself is considered an act of aggression.”

  “Your actions could
have been a prelude to an attack.”

  “They were not.”

  Lady M sighed. “Have you thought about what we asked of you, Leo? Have you thought about why you might be here?”

  After the long pause required to chew and swallow another tasteless morsel of leather-chicken, Leo said, “Indeed I have.”

  “And?”

  “I spent some time contemplating the matter and have come to the indisputable conclusion that you cannot have a legitimate reason for this.”

  Lady M, who stood right in front of him, released a breath with a hiss. Mistress Jane patted his thigh. “Then I hope you are comfortable here, Leo, because you will be here for a very, very long time.”

  “Are you saying you will not allow me to leave until I somehow deduce what this is all about?”

  “And deduce accurately,” Mistress Jane said.

  “Not only that,” Lady M rasped, “but you must also understand the evil of your deeds and repent.”

  “Repent what?”

  “Your deeds, of course,” Mistress Jane said.

  “My deeds would be simpler to repent if I knew what they were!” Leo exclaimed in rising frustration.

  “Think of all the women you’ve had, Leo,” Lady M said.

  He tensed. Some part of him had known it would come to this, but still he could not fathom why. “What of them?”

  “Where are they now?”

  He took a gamble. “I have a strong sense that three of them are here in this room.”

  “And the others?” Lady M asked tightly.

  She confirmed he knew all of them, including Miss Juliette. But how could that be true? She was so different from any of the women he knew. Struggling to contain his reaction to this revelation, he shrugged. “How would I know where any of them are now?”

  The atmosphere in the room condensed, thickened. He sensed the women’s anger in the edgy movements of Mistress Jane’s arm, the hostility emanating from Lady M. Even Miss Juliette’s silence seemed somehow altered.