Au-delà du Temps: Beyond Time (LeatrixSage x SacrlettRose)

[ScarlettRose]

There was nothing quite like the view of the white cliffs of Dover to any native man who had long been away from her shores. England. Home. Safety from the chaos of Europe. Nonetheless, there was no time to while away here on the Kenttish coast. Everything, the people and their cargo rapidly moved to and fro once the ship had docked. The port was a busy one anyway and today more so because of the anarchy they had bought with them.

Dynevor had an eye on Adelaide at all times. His or someone else's and he had no intention of holding up on his assault of security. Yet, there was plenty of things to be done and midday was close to passing already. Still, he made sure she was fed at the local pub while he arranged for Wessex's luggage and the like to be taken to his London home. While the more important paperwork and the likes Draker kept in his own safe keeping. The crew and most of their smuggled goods would sail back towards Wales.

It was almost past two in the afternoon when he had settled Adelaide into a carriage with a footman acting like a sentinel and Roarke stretched out across the opposite side. The mystery woman had left him with a lot to think about and the Duke limited the amount of conversation with her. Not that he was one to talk anyway but even the little he may have was halted by his suspicions. The Marquess however was resting. Far from recovered but alive and well. The deadly nightshade had done it's work. The wound however would have to be checked by a Physician as soon as they reached Town.

Slamming the carriage door shut, he signalled the driver to begin the journey to London. Forgoing the small enclosure of the carriage and sparing his knees, William climbed onto one of the horses from France. Being almost as tall as the four legged beast it was an easy feat before pressing onward following close behind the carriage much as Roarke had done in France before the attack.

As far as Draker was concerned, Roarke had much explaining to do. But that did not mean he doubted his friend of seventeen years. He was certain Wessex would have a perfectly good reason why he was bringing a French murderer along to England. The sooner the man regained his senses the better. There was much to be done. The continent was on the cusp of war once more and for all that was good and right, Britain needed to be in a position of power to overthrow the tyranny of Bonaparte and his overreaching minions.

Early evening was upon the party as they entered the centre of the world. Today happened to be the first day of the Season and in no more than two hours, lady's and gent's would be out in their droves in their finery and finest to open the doors to summer and the adjourning of Parliament. The legendary Hade's Gentleman's Club stood at the very end of St. James's Street close to White's Gentleman's club. Unlike White's however, it had a certain reputation as being the club of the most licentious member's of the British nobility and what happened behind the doors of the Gothic and out of place building was what delicious and surreptitious rumours were made out of.

That was their destination. The noise of the cities hustle and bustle quickly took over the quiet of the country they had been riding through. The smell was an altogether other affair. Draker grimaced. He was a man much more suited to the wilds and the country. London held little interest for him although he was in and out of the city far more often than would please him. The looming facade of the Hade's Club could be seen in the distance as they traversed the dirty streets of the city that slowly but surely cleared up the closer they moved towards the area where the high and might resided.

The Duke followed as the carriage took a sharp turn to round the side of the Gothic building. The Gentleman's Club itself was a veneer for the elite order by the same name. The floors above were no different than the decadent and manly furnishings of any such club but if one were ever to explore the depths of the structure they were sure to be surprised by the large haunting building. Neither had a women ever been admitted into it's ranks. That did not mean that women had not passed through it's door, well, back doors rather. The very same back doors that Draker was leading Addie through this very moment.

The Marquess of Wessex was being seen to by other member's of the club. Gently being handled into the building to the care of the finest Physician in all of England. Taking the torch lit stairs down, William manouvered the maze that was the real Hade's Club masterfully. Clearly the man knew it's walls and tunnels well. Leading the mystery woman into it's depth, allowing for little room to do anything else but what he expected. The Duke ignored the questions and complaints of Adelaide and when they were deep enough into the ancient building, the woman was man handled into a rather nice room with velvet wallpaper, an old fashioned chaise and a small table. The room was entirely lit by candles for there were no windows.

The door slammed shut before Draker had to listen to anymore protests from the murderess. An intimidating man stood just beyond the closed portal as guard while Draker slipped, rather gracefully than one would think his ginormous frame would allow, into the room next door.

--

Weakness gripped every inch of his being. He could feel it in the very marrow of his bones. The jostling of the carriage had done little to awake him from his fitful sleep. The journey to London had been nonexistent for the Marquess of Wessex. He was beyond such things as the physical world and time until he was being lifted out of the vehicle. His head lolled as he was shifted but his eyes slowly fluttered open. The pain at his side was coming back with a vengeance when his body began to wake up.

"Son of a bitch!" Roarke hissed, soon finding himself laid on a bed in a familiar room as the doctor went straight to work on bandaging his dressing and cleaning up the damage.

"Well, well, well." A cheerful voice which could only be heard at first until a pale, bright blonde head hovered above him. The man wore a stupidly big grin. "Look who made it back, in almost one piece."

Roarke groaned. The pain was getting so bad again that his body was starting to get numb, making it easier for the doctor to begin stitching his torn skin back together. Everything was fuzzy. Trying to recall what the hell had happened. It was clear even to his befuddled mind that he had been in some sort of altercation but the details escaped him. The pieces Wessex was trying to put together in his mind were thrown into shambles when the door could be heard opening and closing quickly.

"You owe me that fine gelding of yours Will." Viscount Morreland who happened to be the owner of that blonde head could be heard saying glee fully.

Roarke shuffled a few goose feathered pillows under his head so he could put visuals to the noises. The doctor berated him for moving when the man was trying to put him back together. Roarke ignored the doctor, his hazy gaze clearing with each second that passed. When the pain spiked he reached out to the half empty bottle of whiskey at the bedside table causing the doctor to seethe. "Would someone pour the man a damned drink! And you my Lord! If you are to move one more time! I will sew you to this very bed to keep you still!" The old bearded man blathered.

Morreland did not hesitate in doing the doctors bidding. Moving to the bedside he poured Roarke a drink that the man downed instantly and the velvety liquor quickly took the edge of the pain of a needle being pushed and pulled in and out of his tender skin.

"I don't think it count's if I saved him." Draker grumbled to his friend.

"That wasn't part of the bet. I said he'd make it back alive. You bet that fine gelding of your that Roarke would not. I plan on collecting my winning very shortly." Richard Salisbury, the Viscount Morreland grinned. "You chose to aid him of your own volition."

One might think the Marquess would be offended by such blatant conversation and betting on whether or not he'd make it back alive. However, this was rather a norm for the member's of the Hade's club. As if their lives weren't interesting enough that they needed to put odds on such things.

Draker grumbled something that had to be something very unchristian causing his friend's grin to only widen some more. It even pulled a smirk from Roarke. Sure he felt like hell itself had consumed him and spat him right back out but there was something about being in familiar company and the feeling of being home at last.

"What's my cut in this?" Wessex questioned; his voice raspy and harsh due to un-use. "I did all the hard work."

"Well I can't say I'd give you the first 'fruit' from the poor chap since his balls have been cut off." Richard laughed. "How are you feeling? How's our dear boy Bonny? Will he survive?" Richard shot fast paced questions at Roarke and the doctor. The doctor grumbling something along the lines that the Marquess may survive if he'd damn well stop moving.

"Good to know-" Richard began once again before Draker cut in, pushing off from his place by the door.

"I'm going to assume." Draker continued boorishly. "You know that woman with you is a murderer and a spy. French I presume, but what exactly are you thinking bringing her back here? Does she hold some information, some key to bringing down that tyrant?"

Addie's lovely face flickered to the forefront of Roarke's mind and every moment they'd shared in the few days they had spent together. His features quickly construed into a deep frown, matching the one on the Duke's face. The only thing Wessex wanted to know was, where was Adelaide Aedler. However, he could not demand such a thing from his colleagues especially when they suspected as much about her as he. Except . . . "I have no doubt she is a French spy and deeply embedded with Murat. I had two choices," He spoke slowly deciding each word. "Kill her or bring her alive with me where she may be of some use when she discovered me. The details of which I'm far too weak to discuss right now. I feel like a carriage has trampled all over by corpse. But . . . Why do you assume she is a murderess Will?"

"Because of that damned tattoo." Draker barked. "I'm guessing you haven't bedded the wench otherwise you'd see it clear as day. The fleur-de-lis. I'm surprised it escaped your view. It's hardly inconspicuous."

Roarke's features darkened . . . It couldn't be . . . Could it? Indeed, how could he have missed such an important detail. All this time he had given her the benefit of the doubt and she had coiled him around her little finger with her wiles and he'd been the damned fool who'd let her.

"I'm going to move her to the dungeons and the inquisitors can question her tomorrow." Draker added moving towards the door.

"No!" Roarke cut sharply through the air. The doctor had barely tied the clean bandage he'd wrapped after completing his work on the stitching when Roarke was pushing off the bed. He wobbled on his feet some, gesturing to Richard that he was fine when the man came towards him to steady him before tapping the Viscount silently on the back as thanks, moving towards the door and Draker. "It did escape my view." Wessex admitted, clasping Will by the shoulder. His voice low but steady so no one beyond them three could hear. "However, she believes she has me around her finger. I believe, that given the chance she will lead us exactly where we need to be."

The Duke looked unconvinced but it was the only thing Roarke could think of to keep Adelaide out of the clutches of the inquisitors. They were ruthless and would lower themselves to any depths to achieve the information they needed. Though, the news about Addie was shocking to him. It was one thing to be a spy but a . . . murderer . . . And yet, there was something in Roarke that found him still wanting to protect the damned female. More fool him but . . . he just had to. Nor did he enjoy playing his friends but this way, if either of them were right, he hoped something could come of it. Though what it meant for his heart . . . That was not something he would even regard after last time . . .

"I don't know . . . " Will replied after a long moment. "The commander will have to be informed about this."

"I intend to tell the commander everything tomorrow when I come for my debriefing." Roarke assured the Duke.

"I think it's an acceptable course of action." Richard added, tipping the scales. "I'm sure my father will approve."

That was exactly the type of endorsement Roarke needed. He owed Richard without the man knowing. The good humoured twenty nine year old Viscount was a life saver. Will still looked unsure. It was clear the Duke did not agree at all. Letting a murderer free to roam around the public was completely against his moral compass. And the Duke let his compatriots know exactly that. The doctor had slipped out of the room with the roll of his eyes and his bag in toe as a heated discussion filled the room.

"That's fine Will." Roarke replied in a very final manner, pulling on a fresh shirt. "The fact is, I don't need your permission. She is my prisoner, I will do with her as I please."

"You're a damned fool!" The Devil Duke roared so loud that the heavens might actually have heard him.

"Come on chaps-" Richard tried to calm the already tense atmosphere. The argument that had raged between the Duke and the Marquess for a good part of half an hour had the promise of reigniting. However, the man was cut short by Dynevor.

"And you must think I am one too if I believe a fucking word you say!" Will snarled. "I saw the way she was looking at you and this little 'plan' of yours has nothing more than the promise those eyes offer you of laying between her legs."

It was like an instinct. Something innate, built into the fibre of his very being. Roarke drew back and soon his fist came into contact with The Duke of Dynevor's face. It did little to the move the Duke except stun the man that his friend had laid a hand on him. Roarke bitterly regretted it but solely for the matter that his fist was aching instantly. Damned inhuman beast!

"Fine. So be it." The Duke accepted on a growl opening the door. "Make your bed and lay in it!" The door frame shook and rubble from the old bricks skittered down at how hard the door had slammed.

"Where is she?" Roarke asked plainly of the Viscount. He had no thoughts at this moment but finding Adelaide and taking her home.

"Next door." Richard replied sombrely, being in the next instant left alone in the room. The Viscount signed and plopped down onto the bed as if he'd just been in three rounds of fisty cuffs.

Buttoning up his shirt Roarke wasn't exactly quick on his feet and pain imprisoned every muscle in his body. However, the man had been trained to withstand so much more than that. His determined mind pushed the agony aside and with confidence steps he made his way next door, not bothering to knock he entered the room. His eyes searching for one thing and one thing only . . . "Adelaide."

The Marquess swept her up in his arms. He knew he looked like hell. Like death itself but still he held her with strength. One hand coming to her face, brushing the dark hair out of her eyes. She looked tired and frail. "Are you alright?" He questioned, looking down upon her with concern in his eyes. Pulling her closer into a hug, resting her weary head on his shoulder where his eyes met the ink on her shoulder . . . The fleur-de-lis.

 

[LeatrixSage]

She had seen the cliffs of Dover before, the brilliant white stone capped with a sea of green and surrounded by waters of the deepest blue, but she had never seen them in person. Even through the limited view of a porthole, they were so much more massive than she had ever realized. They marked a change that was bigger than simply the end of their voyage. For Roarke, it was safety and home. For Addie…

Don’t think about it.

She was sitting with Roarke’s head in her lap, one of his hands clutched in hers, and swaying with the listless movement of the ship. She was too tired to do much more than that. Above them and below them there was furious activity. Men were shouting words she didn’t understand, sea birds were screaming along with them, and there was always at least one pair of eyes keeping watch over Adelaide and Roarke. She had long come to the conclusion that it was less about keeping an eye on her, and more about protecting Roarke from her, but she couldn’t fathom the reasoning.

The morning passed quickly for her as she slid in and out of sleep every time she blinked. She vaguely remembered someone offering her water at some point, but she couldn’t remember if she had accepted it or not. The shadows outside had changed direction by the time the friend came with a few men to collect Roarke. She made room for them to lift them, but she made life difficult on all of them when she refused to relinquish her death grip on his hand. It wasn’t until it proved impossible for them to move him while she was clinging to him that she finally gave in to reason and let go. She had to settle for following them, keeping Roarke ever in her sight, just like the stupid little fool she was.

In the future, if someone asks you where I am, you tell them you stupid woman.

The fear that had been behind those words was still echoing around her mind to stand in stark contrast against the image she had painted of the man in her head. Was it real, or had she imagined it? She was too tired to think, and while her mind tried to tell her that she was marching toward death like a lamb to the slaughter, her heart was screaming that she stay with Roarke, and her will was too weak to block it all out.

While the beast of a man that was running things was getting Roarke tucked carefully into a coach, he sent one of his men to press her into an Inn for Food and Drink. It didn’t do her any good. She held down some water, but food made her stomach roll. Her guard gave up on her when she was finally taken by nausea and retched on his shoes, at which point she was finally allowed to return to Roarke’s side. All of their luggage had been loaded up onto of the carriage to make it look just like the one they had taken on their journey to Calais, just absent Roarke’s family crest in favor of what must have been the crest of his friend.

The explained the big bastard’s ego.

As he helped her into the coach, Addie found that the big man trusted her so little that a footman was sitting within the carriage across from Roarke. While it raked her nerves, she didn’t have the will to complain. She only asked where they were going for her piece of mind, but no one answered her. Not that she really expected them to. Roarke’s friend slammed the door shut as soon as she was seated, and Addie’s head throbbed at the sound. She hadn’t even realized she’d had a headache until that moment, and she pressed her fingers into her temples to try and ease the ache before it built any higher. Just as in the ship, Addie took one of Roarke’s hands to hold onto while she swayed and bounced along with the movement of the carriage. He muttered every now and then, but his eyes never opened. He looked so much better than he had before, and yet he was still far from well. He’d be healing for weeks from that wound, but that worst had come and gone with a blessed quickness that shouldn’t have been possible.

At some point she must have dozed, because when next she opened her eyes, it was because of the reeking stench on the air. Looking up, she saw old buildings, people, and other carriages through a break in curtains. The scent of horse dung and human excrement blended with what she thought were rot and mold, and she choked on the air. London stank so much worse than she could have imagined, but the smells faded as they made their way to where the powerful and mighty reigned over all the little people. The streets slowly became quiet, almost empty in place, until they pulled up before a big, brown, gothic building that seemed out of place amongst the gentry and gardening that populated everything else around them.

When they rocked to a stop, Addie made herself let go of Roarke’s by placing it at his side. She sat up straight and took a long, deep breath that she let out slowly while she waited. When the door to coach opened and the big brute’s hand reached inside, she lifted her chin a notch higher. She ignored his help and the way he loomed over her like a mountain as she stepped down. Terror clamped down on her heart and made it hard to breath and her hands were shaking as she clasped them before herself and waited. She was tired and dirty, weak and afraid, and she refused to let them see any of it. Roarke was unloaded from the carriage and carried away from her before the big bear of a man turned motioned for her to follow him. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t touch her, he simply walked inside the small back door and expected her to follow.

Run!

Addie swallowed her fears and followed the big man inside. No matter how much self-preservation shrieked at her, trying to run would only make her look all the guiltier of whatever it was they believed she had done. Once the door, darkness closed in around her. The torch lit staircase that lead down into the damp earth beneath the massive building glowed with a menacing light, but the friend of Roarke was marching down them, and that meant she had to as well. He held her through a maze of halls with so many twists and turns that she last track of how many turns they had taken and whether it had been a right or left, and then she realized that was the very point of the maze. He knew where they were, she hadn’t the slightest clue, and she wasn’t meant to.

“Monsieur?” she spoke up when she realized they were no longer following in the wake of the men that had been carrying Roarke, “Mon Seigneur, s’il vous plait! Where it Roarke?” her voice broke when she said his name, and Adelaide cleared her throat, determined to remain calm. She didn’t have to be strong, she just had to look and sound strong. “I want to see him,” she went on, still carefully speaking only in French. As usual, he wasn’t much for conversation, but hope sprang up anew when he stopped by a door and opened it. A hope that he mercilessly shattered by snatching her up to force her inside. His big hands bruised her arms when she tried to pull away, and then the door was slamming shut behind her and a lock slid into place with a heavy thunk of thick steal.

“No,” the word was small and fragile, even to her own ears. Addie’s hands were trembling so badly she could barely grasp the handle of the door but tugging at it did absolutely nothing. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped, but there was no air in her lungs. Her heart ached so badly she thought it might burst, the pain lancing through her chest like a hot knife. Panic came in waves that distorted her sense of time while she desperately tried to rationalize, to breathe, to think. He’d locked her in a room. It wasn’t a cell. It wasn’t a prison. It was a room, a richly appointed velvet room lit with candles. It could have easily been a seating room in any house among the gentry. They wouldn’t keep her here if they meant for her to be a prisoner, would they? Prisoners were put in shackles and kept in filthy rooms with rats and rotten hey. This wasn’t a room a prisoner was kept it.

Somewhere in the distance she heard that big beast of a man roar something. She couldn’t make out the words, but he was furious, and the confidence she had been trying to build nearly fell out from under her. There was arguing, shouting… and then it went quiet. A door slammed so hard that Addie squeaked as she leaped back from the door to her little room. Someone stormed down the hall outside, and she could breathe again when the sound passed her by and faded off. Her arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed. She was shaking so badly, she felt as if she would fall apart if she did not hold herself together.

The lock to the door clicked.

“Please, no,” she whispered, closing her eyes tightly shut as the door swung open.

"Adelaide."

Her eyes came open with a snap, and then tears she couldn’t hold back immediately filled them. Elation and horror spilled through her in equal parts as she came to him and he gathered her up into his arms. He looked like death warmed over, but his arms were strong and sure as they held her. He asked if she was alright, and all Addie could do was shake with silent sobs as she clung onto his shirt. He was okay, he was there, she was safe. When she couldn’t answer him, he drew her in closer, letting her rest her head against his shoulder while she cried out all the tension, fear, and confusion the last few days had been for her. Gradually, she calmed, the tears slowed and eventually stopped, and when it didn’t hurt to breathe anymore, she tilted her head back to look up at him.

She could see the pain in him still, the way it dogged him and the way he boxed it up and set it aside as a thing to be ignored. He was trying to hide it and the worry he felt, but she had learned what they looked like. There was something else in him that gave her pause, but she didn’t know what it was.

“You shouldn’t be standing,” she murmured at last, whispering to him for the fear of anyone else over hearing her speaking English. “You can’t be standing, you only just go over the fever. What if it comes back?” her voices was cracking again, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Here she was worrying about him, when what she should be asking about was herself. Addie cleared her throat as her back stiffened. Her eyes darted around the room. She had to ask the obvious questions, that was all there was to it.

“I’m sorry I,” she shook her head as she clumsily tried to rebuild herself. “Fuck me sideways,” she muttered, laughing a little hysterically before her breath caught and her shaking returned… or she noticed it again, she wasn’t sure which. “What happens now? Is this,” her throat closed, and she had to look away, anywhere but into the dark blue eyes that she could drown in as easily as angry sea. “Will I be staying here, then?” She was crying again as she asked the question, but to her credit, her voice was sure and strong, and once it was said, she was able to square her shoulders and lift her head high. “What, ah… what is going to happen to me?”

 

[ScarlettRose]

Bittersweet was this moment. For some reason he always got it wrong. This time round however, he was not some stupid blind boy that did not see reality. He was a man of the world and knew how to guard his feelings. From others and even better from himself. Reflexively Roarke held Adelaide tighter. He could feel her trembles like it was his own skin that was clattered and her concern for him again put him into a quandary as his gaze never left that damned tattoo on her shoulder. How he wished he could cut it off or better yet, it not being there in the first place.

It was far too much to process now. He was feeling weak and the little strength the Marquess had gained, he knew would not last long at all. Even if he did suspect her and how bitterly he regretted that Dynevor was right, there had to be a certain composure maintained. Luckily, it came easy to Wessex for one it was apart of his natural charm and two it was just somehow . . . natural with Adelaide Aedler. There was simply something about this woman that provoked his soul in every way and Wessex wasn't quite sure if he liked it. For the last time this happened . . . Well, he didn't think about that time in his life anymore.

A warm smile lit his lips when Addie looked up at him with a face that was red and raining with tears. Holding her in his arms still, Roarke wiped them away and comforted her. He was in no doubt about his fever returning, he could feel it on the cusp within his body. Nonetheless, he pushed her concerns away. "It won't come back." The Marquess assured her, lifting her chin with a finger. "Look at me, I'm fit as a fiddle." Gently stroking the side of her face. His stormy gaze not leaving her lovely face, wondering how in the world this creature could be a ruthless killer . . . But she was.

A laugh bubbled out of him and the man held back a groan instantly as pain seared his side and abdomen. "You'll have to learn to control that mouth now." A grin skirted up one side of his pallid features. "I can't have you shocking society. Though," His thumb brushed her lower lip abstractly, his gaze far away for a moment before it shot back to hers. "I'm sure we could find other places to unleash your wicked tongue." The Marquess lips captured the rosy fullness of his captives, for one blistering kiss that was far too short to satisfy anyone.

Maybe it was Draker's final words in Roarke's head with the imagine of that very real emblem painted permanently on her fair skin but something inside him stopped him from pursuing even this small intimacy no matter how much his body and soul craved it. Breathlessly almost, he managed to answer her last questions. "No, you're not staying here." Wessex snorted. Dynevor be damned! It did not escape the Marquess either that he was risking an almost two decade of friendship for . . . His long sinewy fingers slipped through Adelaide's soft one. "What happens now is that we're going home."

--

There had been no hindrance to their departure from Hades House. No one had stopped them or questioned them. Really, Roarke saw no reason as to why anybody would. He had made his position very clear on the matter and he'd explain the same to the Commander whom he had no doubts would solidly agree with his course of action. After all, he was a seasoned agent. He knew exactly what he was doing. What Wessex couldn't understand was why Will couldn't see that. Fool. Roarke thought and gave it no more time helping Addie up into the cab.

The journey to Belqualis House was a silent affair. The two passenger's having had quite the campaign back to merry old England. It was clear the precarious travels had taken a toll on both of them. Still, Roarke had one strong arm wrapped around Adelaide's narrow waist and held her close to him as the carriage jostled through the dark street's of London onward to Piccadilly where the Marquess resided when in town. The Season had began in full swing. Passing houses that shone in the dimly lit streets as parties and soiree's ragged and the revelry could be heard beyond the racket of the carriage wheels.

Roarke enjoyed the simple pleasure of holding her close and though the journey was silent there was a sense of contentment. It struck him as odd how he could bicker with this woman and be happy and be completely solemn and yet still finding that in a very basic, elemental sense they understood one another without any words having to be spoken. Still, Wessex had had quite enough travelling and looked forward to the comforts of home once more. The irregular glass dome roof of Belqualis House could be seen getting closer and closer and soon the carriage was rolling through the stone walls and iron gates, down a long path before stopping before the well lit home.

The property was set in the Palladian style and rather baroque. It wasn't very much to English taste however it was a popular style in continental Europe. In short, it was extravagant much like it's current owner. Yet, the structure was a thing of beauty and had been in the Rochester family since fifteenth century and one of the most elegant homes in all of London. It was often raved by many lady in society - most commonly Wessex's mistresses - that it was an utter shame that the Marquess had never held a ball there. The grounds boasted almost twenty acres of architectured gardens, with mazes and ponds and all sorts of delights to be enjoyed in the summer months and yet the proprietor had hardly ever taken pleasure in them. In fact, Belqualis House had been shut up for many months if not years.

Roarke had in fact chose to rent a smaller house when in town usually. However, these were strange circumstances even before Mademoiselle Aedler had fallen into his lap. Much as Draker had gambled his finest gelding on Roarke's demise, Roarke himself had expected much the same so had arranged for Pippa and her governess to be moved to the London property in the very unlikely fact that he did make it back alive. For one, he knew he would not have the time to traipse to Hereford and two he longed to see the child that held his entire heart. Thus, most of the major staff had been uprooted to town too while other menial members had stayed behind at the country estate and others were hired hands taken on in London.

Of course, this did not mean the household were prepared for the arrival of their master. Far from it in fact. For Roarke's schedule was so erratic and often times he'd reach home before any notice he might send of his arrival. And though the staff just like those in France were used to their whimsical Lord the chaos could be heard and the rushed shadows could be seen from outside the building. The masters luggage and the like arriving a few hours earlier alerting the servants to the Marquess' immanent homecoming.

"Home sweet home." Roarke smiled after hoping out the vehicle that belonged to the Hades Gentleman's Club. Taking Addie's hand and helping her out into the muggy summer's night. "It's a little on the small side." He commented as he helped her up the stone steps, though with every stride pain shot through him but Wessex gritted back the pain. It wouldn't be long he assured himself before he could crawl into his own bed and die happily. "Not too disappointing I hope."

They had barely reached the top when the front door swung open and a cleanly attired butler with salt and pepper hair greeted them. "My Lord wel-" Bronson, who had been with the family since the time when Roarke's own father had been a young man, did a double take at the lady at his Lordship's side. The sight of his bedraggled master was something the man was used to, however, the sight of the woman with her arm twined with the Marquess' was utterly bewildering to the loyal servant. "Wel-welcome home." The man bowed, admitting them entrance, quickly taking their coats.

The warmth of the well lit home as well as the bright light hit Wessex hard and he had to adjust his tired gaze to all the shimmering splendour of his home. The place hardly looked like it had been shut up for so long. It was alive and welcoming and the Marquess could instantly feel himself relaxing. "I'm so sorry my Lord, we weren't expecting you but-" Bronson began, however Roarke cut the man off quickly with a flippant gesture of his wrist.

"It's quite fine Bronson. If I expected a warm welcome than I should have done a better job of notifying you." He jested putting the frazzled servant at easy. Roarke wondered why the servant's frayed their nerves so much, although they knew their master was far from demanding in certain senses, at least.

"Yes my Lord." Bronson bowed his head conceding to his master. "Umm . . . My Lord you should know-"

"Devil take you!" A sharp, precises and shrill female voice cut through the air, echoing in the colourful antechamber. "Roarke!" The woman with hair as dark as Roarke's own and a stiff spine that was clear was permanently rigid came barrelling to a stop right before them. "Devil take you!" She cried out again, her white gloved hands which were in contrast to her deep lavender gown of the most fine material, called out to the heavens for patience. "Eighteen months! You come home after gallivanting across the continent like some idiotic fool after eighteen months! And you don't even have the courtesy of letting me know?!" She gestured to herself. "I have to hear it from that prig Lady Barclay that saw you in that stupid club of yours! And then that's the first thing you do when you come back to England?! You go to that vile club as if you haven't had enough of licentious living in Europe! I mean just look at you! Look at the state of you! Well?! What do you have to say for yourself?!" The barrage was far from over as the fuming woman glowered at the Marquess of Wessex; hands on hips before one hand gestured to Adelaide who had all but been ignored up until now. "And who the devil is this?! Have you lowered yourself so much that you bring your fancy women home?! For the love of merciful heaven Roarke!"

All the while the woman was berating him in front of the head butler and Adelaide, Roarke had simply listened. Trying his hardest not to roll his eyes and failing. Running a hand down his long face, the Marquess let out a deep breath trying to calm and push aside his growing irritation. Which was rather more difficult than usual when he was injured. He was rather hoping to avoid this unavoidable confrontation for a few days at the very least but there was no hope for that now. And although on some level he could understand where she was coming from, the Marquess could not help but snap back, "For Christ's sake Clarissa! Can you not even wait until I take at least two steps into my own home before you jump down my throat like some banshee!"

The well maintained middle aged woman was evidently undeterred by the Marquess' sharp retort. She simply raised a thin brow, her hands still resting on her shapely hips. Roarke sighed once again. His eyes skimming around the foyer looking from any escape from this scene. He was tired and hurting and in need of much sleep. All Wessex wanted to do was collapse onto the nearest soft piece of furniture. Clearly, that was an impossibility and up until now he had not the slightest idea of how to explain Adelaide's presence. If it wasn't for this cruel harpy before him he did not owe anyone else an explanation. But then he knew the next point of contention she would have with him and again he knew for a fact she would not wait and so his brittle mind decided to hit two birds with one stone, placing a firm hand on the small of Adelaide's back, with a show of solidarity the Marquess proclaimed for all before him, "Clarissa, meet my wife, Adelaide Rochester, the Marchioness of Wessex. Addie, say hello to my dear older, overbearing sister Clarissa Montgomery, the Countess of Kelton."

Roarke smiled down at his fictitious bride. The smile was a loving one, one that a newly wed husband might bestow upon his brand new bride, his eyes on the other hand were an altogether other matter that spoke clearly: don't blow it.

"Wife?!" Both Broson, who had been witnessing the scene like a dramatic opera and Lady Kelton gasp. Bronson however had the smarts to quickly excuse himself and there was no doubt the whole of the household staff would soon know the hot gossip and not long after that would be the rest of the ton. Tongues would wag and titter at the infamous matrimony of the philandering rake-hell Marquess of Wessex who had at long last wed and his mysterious bride.

"Is there something wrong with your hearing sister?" Roarke mused, clearly still annoyed but equally vindicated feeling like he had one finally over his sister. There was no hesitation that his marriage or rather lack of would have been the next issue his lady sister would bring up. It was rather pleasing to see her unsettled so.

"No- I just-" The lady stammered before narrowing her gaze on Adelaide, making no secret about sizing the woman who had married her baby brother up. "Adelaide-"

Lady Kelton began to address Addie when an excited squeal could be heard from above and all pairs of eyes shifted to the colourful banister above that was gripped tightly by an ecstatic little figure jumping up and down. "Papa! Papa!" The golden haired little fairy like creature called out before flying down the stairs. The smile that lit Roarke's sickly features could have brightened the room at the tiny cherub that ran into his arms and was hoisted up onto his good hip. It was like he couldn't even feel the pain although he still groaned.

"Papa! You're back! You're back!" The little girl exclaimed hugging and holding onto Wessex.

"Of course I'm back." Roarke replied playfully. "Who else would have me?" The weight of the child in his arm was something he had become unused to. She had clearly grown in the year and half he was gone but was still rather small for her age. It was strange that this little girl had been the only light in his life and yet he had neglected her. That ate at his heart but it was in her best interest that he did so. The Marquess cherished the little amount of time he did get in her company. He kissed the child emphatically as she clung to him. "My Pippa." He held her tight. She was in contrast to everything he was. Physically, for the child resembled him in no manner and mentally and yet, in away they needed each other.

Lady Kelton could be seen rolling her cat like eyes. Clearly unimpressed by the display. Letting her displeasure be known when the governess with light but hastening steps glided down the staircase to the right. "Really Miss Spencer! Does my brother pay you to raise an unruly child like this?! No manners?! No decorum?! Hmph!"

The tight lipped Miss Spencer frowned from under her spectacles. She could not be more than twenty and five years of age and yet her grey drab gown (for grey was the only colour of dress she owed) and the way she styled her hair tight and pinned back painfully and plain made her pale features seem even more gaunt and drawn, making her look much old than her years. Roarke would have intervened on his Governess's behalf but did not for two reasons; one, he knew for a fact she disliked him greatly and should he have made and comment on her behest she would have bitten his head off in addition to the two, that she was quite capable of standing up for herself. Of course, any employer in their right mind would have long thrown out such an outspoken female. After all who wanted a female who spoken out where she should learn to keep her mouth shut? Except, for the fact, that was exactly the kind of role model he wanted for Pippa for he knew that when he was long gone she would have no one to look out for her or her good interest and therefore would need a good head on her shoulders and a strong will and character. All of which he was certain the young straight laced Miss Spencer could teach her young charge. Of course, he shared this morsel of information with nobody, not even Miss Spencer herself. She was left to her devises with her charge and he was hardly around, exactly, how he suspected, she liked it.

"For you kind information my Lady." Miss Spencer shot back, her hands clasped before her tightly. "Miss Rochester is well versed in all the etiquette a young lady needs I assure you. It would do her more harm to not show some emotional outburst upon seeing her father after so long. For I have witnessed many a lady with social issues when their emotions have not been nurtured in the right manner. They are I find prone to emotional and dramatic outburst." Miss Spencer added pointedly and the comment did not miss it's mark as Lady Kelton let out a sound of shock.

"Why I never?!" Clarissa roared.

"Well, I'm sure this is a first then my Lady." Miss Spenser replied calmly.

"Enough!" Roarke barked, feeling a headache coming on.

"Indeed!" His sister cut in before he could say anymore. "We shall all adjourn to the conservatory. It's far too hot to be coped up in the house in this heat. Miss Spenser you can put the child to bed-"

"Miss Spenser will do no such thing." Roarke cut his sister off, gritting his teeth, his irritation no longer masked. "Miss Spenser can join us as this is my house and you do not decide what to do with my staff sister."

Clarissa humphed once more but was hardly offended my her brother's brusque manner. Instead, she smiled brightly ignoring both the governess, her brother and the child she clearly held little affection for and instead came to link her arm around Adelaide's and directed her in the direction of the conservatory. "Come, we are sister's now." She said to Adelaide, leading the way before whispering for Adelaide's ears only. "He really is a brute sometimes but I shall give you some tips to best him." She winked. Clearly elated her brother had finally married, meaning that money hungry cousin of theirs would not be getting a penny for no doubt if her brother was finally married there were without a doubt issues to soon follow, with such a pretty little bride too, Clarissa mused happily to herself.

Wessex, for probably the first time ever since Miss Spenser had been in his employee which had been almost four years shared a pained glance with the governess as both followed the ladies into the cool conservatory which admitted the cool air from the night and a pleasant fragrance from the potted fruit trees and exotic planets housed in the large glass structure. Roarke stretched out on a long chair, his long legs out in front of him as he conversed happily with the little girl laying on his chest. Miss Spenser sat close by, stiff as ever, commenting here and there when Pippa referred to her. Cool drinks and a light supper was brought down for the party to enjoy while Clarissa shared a chaise with Adelaide, taking Addie's hand in both of hers and exclaiming happily, "Adelaide! My dear! You must tell all! I want to hear the whole story about you and my brother and the wedding! For I am sure he will not tell me anything!" Lady Kelton shot a pointed glance at her brother who shrugged simply, glad to be off his feet finally, though not at all glad that his sister had shown up and decided to stay and knew full well she would not leave until she had all her damn questions answered. "So tell me!" She sat at attention ready to hear the tail.

 

[LeatrixSage]

The relief that she felt in hearing him tell her that he was not leaving her there, that she would not be abandoned, ran so deep that Addie’s knees buckled beneath her. It was selfish to let Roarke hold her weight when she knew he was still hurting, and as soon as she was able, Addie got her feet under herself again. They were going home. No, he was going home. It was a distinction she had to make clear for herself while she sat close against his side in the carriage. She sat on his good side, but she still worried about leaning her weight against him, even with his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her in place. As with the last ride she had taken, she drowsed as they bounced along. Wrapped up against the warmth of his body and held tight against him, she felt more safe and secure than she could ever remember feeling, and her head rested against Roarke’s chest when her exhausted mind forced her to sleep. It was the first decent sleep she had managed since falling through that damnedable mirror while wearing that twice damned dress.

It was unfortunate that her rest was short lived. She could have slept away the entire day, but when the carriage slid to a stop, her eyes fluttered open against her will. Roarke disentangled himself ever so gently before alighting from the coach and reaching back in for her hand. She raised her eyebrows at him when he apologized for his home being a little on the small side, and then as she let him pull her down from the carriage she burst with laughter that was deep and heartfelt.

“You call this small?” she asked as she marveled at the magnificent structure. It looked for all the world like something straight out of a fairy tale. The building was imposing, as if it were constructed explicitly to make a guest feel trivial and inconsequential beneath it, and yet warm in a way that beckoned her to come inside and see what treasure it held within its walls. “Your home is beautiful.”

Addie was positively sedate at Roarke’s side as he led her up with winding stairs and into the grand entrance of his family home. The summer heat didn’t bother her quiet so much as it did Roarke. After all, summers in South Carolina could top a hundred degrees in the blink of an eye, and an English summer would be lucky to press into the eighties. Still, the sun light that streamed through the glass ceiling three, maybe four stories above them, seemed somehow brighter when they passed beneath it. That light bounced everywhere, brought the entire home to life with a soft glow that seemed to settle on every surface. The dark wood railings shone brightly, the gold trims and picture frames glistened, and the stone glistened with tiny flecks of what she guessed to be mica or quartz.

A new voice brought her obvious gaping to an end as Addie turned to face whomever had spoken. The arm that was linked within Roarke’s stiffened as she clung tighter to him, but he greeted the new comer warmly, and she relaxed again. She shouldn’t be so skittish, it was silly, but she felt so frayed that she wasn’t sure she could even stand with Roarke there beside her.

"Devil take you!"

A screeching woman’s voice bounced around the hall to chase away the radiant beauty of the wide-open space. A woman that was a touch taller than Addie and sported the same sharp nose and dark hair that Roarke possessed nearly ran then both over in her efforts to get toe-toe with Wessex. While she was certain they were related, the woman did seem to have an ounce of the jovial, devil-may-care spirit that made Roarke so wonderfully charming and yet painfully irritating. As she listened to the woman rail, Addie felt her ire spark. It cleared her head, in a way, and brought some of her strength and focus back. She didn’t care who the bitch was, Roarke had been shot and nearly killed, how dare she stand there and rage at him for getting stitched back together before he came home? That gave Addie pause her eyes bounced between the two. She didn’t know, for all her finery and fire, the stupid woman had no idea who or what Roarke really was.

“Fancy women?” Addie snarled under her breath, her eyes sharpening on the woman. She damn well knew what she meant. She assumed Adelaide was a whore, a mistress, and she was about to call her out for the slander when Roarke snapped back at the woman for her. And then the bastard had to go and flip her world upside down again by introducing her as his wife!

And, just like that, she was a Rochester, Marchioness of Wessex, and looking up at Roarke with raised eyebrows. The look he gave her clearly told her to play along, and she smiled brightly up at him as the butler and the man’s sister both burst with surprise. The butler was gone in the blink of an eye, fast to fix whatever fixing needed to be done before his new Lady of the Household saw anything he didn’t want her to see. Clarissa, however, seemed rooted to the place where she stood.

“After that remark earlier,” Addie teased mercilessly as the woman tried to recover, “I’m not certain I’m comfortable with you using my given-“

There was another shriek that cut off Addie’s words, this one filled with warmth, and so much excitement that it made her grin as they all looked up to find the striking little thing that was the source. The little blonde looked nothing like Roarke, not even her eyes, which were strikingly grey and wide in her little, round face. Some part of her wanted to tell Roarke to be careful when he lifted the tiny creature onto his hip, but the look on his face as he held the girl made Addie bite her tongue. If there was anything worth risking further injury for, it was the opportunity to hold onto the one thing he loved most in the world, and she was not about to disturb that.

Clarissa, however, couldn’t see passed her own nose enough to see that. She wasn’t woman enough to yell at the child, or Roarke, so she turned her attention to pretty, and yet severe-looking woman that was following in the little girl’s wake.

You absolute bitch.

Clarissa was again saved from Adelaide by someone else speaking up. This time, it was Miss Spencer, who seemed to be Pipa’s Nanny and tutor, and she so firmly and roundly put Clarissa in her place that Addie had to turn away to keep from laughing. Roarke barked at them to end what could have become a larger argument, and then Addie was raising her eyebrows at his sister as she declared to the world what they would be doing. The woman acted as if she ruled the world, even with Roarke firmly directing her otherwise, and Addie realized that she was going to have to step-up and stomp that out fast if she meant to ever be able to survive the woman.

Clarissa linked her arm with Addie’s, who very nearly jerked away, and only fell in line because Roarke began to head in the same direction that Clarissa meant to lead her. The bright smile the woman gave her made Adelaide think of a Parana, and she wondered if there was a second row of sharp fangs hidden behind that toothy grin of hers.

The conservatory was cooled by the afternoon air and would surely become chilly as the sun passed behind the house to set over the expansive lawns and gardens beyond. Addie hadn’t even realized how quickly the day had passed them by until she noticed the sky darkening beyond the windows. The room was appointed with a delicateness that was utilitarian in nature. The fine furniture was bunched in the center of the room, allowing for the occupants to stroll around the outside edge. There was a piano in the corner, and she wondered who in the house played it while her own fingers twitched with the urge to touch the cool, ivory keys.

When drink and food arrived, Addie was overjoyed. The last time she had seen food had been at that inn, and she hadn’t been able to keep it down. She was ravenous, but the fair was light, and she made herself eat slowly to be sure none of it came back up. She stopped as soon as she didn’t feel hungry anymore, afraid of putting too much on her stomach, and then Clarissa took one of Addie’s hands to clasp in both of her own to draw her attention to her.

"Adelaide! My dear!” Addie almost sneered as the woman spoke, “you must tell all! I want to hear the whole story about you and my brother and the wedding! For I am sure he will not tell me anything!" The older woman shot a keen look at her brother who shrugged at his sister, his attention far more invested on the cherub that was chatting about all her adventures while he had been away.

"So tell me!" Clarissa insisted, and Addie coolly slipped her hand away from the woman’s grasp as her eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I will,” Adelaide measured her words carefully, not for the sake of the genteel minded woman, but because of the little blonde girl that was the absolute center of Roarke’s world. “For two simple reasons. Firstly, Madam, you are an absolute harpy. Your behavior is disgraceful, entirely detestable, and despite being Roarke’s sister, I will not stand to see it in my household ever again. Secondly, as the Matron of this household, I find your obvious disgust for Roarke’s daughter, my daughter, to be the most condemning proof that you are a loathsome woman.”

Addie gave the woman a winning smile as she stood from the chaise they shared. Her confidence was bravado only and standing over the woman made her feel a little stronger. The room was painfully silent for a few seconds, and nervousness threatened to undo her as she motioned to indicate the door to the finely appointed room, which a servant she hadn’t even known was there snatched open at the barest fluttering of her fingers.

“S’il vous plait, Madam,” her tone became more gentle, “Our journey has been long and hard, we are both filthy and exhausted, and any decent, respectable person would have provided us with the opportunity to freshen ourselves before making demands of us. Particularly in our own home. I am certain that first impressions can be utterly wrong, and in your case, I dearly hope that is true, parce que tu es la chienne la plus insupportable que je connaisse.”

Addie sighed as she unloaded all the pent-up stress and tension that had been gnawing at her. It felt wonderful to finally get it all out, even if her target wasn’t the cause of it all. Smiling charmingly, she began to make her way to the door. “Come, Madam, I will walk you out. When we are ready for company, we will send for you.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

If there was something beyond his understanding in this world, Roarke mused to himself without much humour, it was women and how the bloody hell their minds worked. He was tired and haggard and it was quite obvious by simply looking at the state of him. However, it appeared every damn woman in his life was hellbent on sending him to an early grave. Having finally taken a load off his weary feet, though still forced to be conscious, the Marquess was quite happy to be home and free. His arrival back home had not been exactly what he'd deem as perfect but it was a manageable situation that was quickly becoming unmanageable.

Yet Wessex found himself torn between emotions. The gasps and the looks of shock across all the female company present at Adelaide's words was palpable. Everyone except Roarke, who sat back and looked upon the folding scene much like a spectator rather than someone involved in. Even the child in his arms silenced her chattering and gazed upon the two lionesses fighting for domination over their claim for the savanna that was his town house.

It was almost mesmerising watching Addie in her element. She had taken rather quickly to the role of playing his Marchioness. Hell! She was so convincing he was starting to believe her performance! However, Adelaide was out of line. Not that Clarissa did not deserve it. She deserved every ounce of Adelaide's ire and his own but she was still his sister and now Adelaide was his wife . . . It was troubling to the Marquess that he found Addie utterly attractive at this very moment. All the nobleman could think about at this very moment was taking his fiery new bride against one of the glass panes of the conservatory. Wessex's frown deepened. He truly was a degenerate he thought to himself shaking the thought.

It was not his forte playing peacemaker. But this pair of harpies were forcing his hand. He could feel Miss Spencer's unease at the confrontation before them. She was clearly not like any woman of the ton. Drama or gossip was not her bread and butter and as Roarke peered at the young governess from the corner of his eye, it was clear the woman wanted nothing more than to leave.

"How dare you?!" Clarissa roared upon being called a loathsome woman. The Countess was brimming with unspent fury. Adelaide may have made it adequately clear what her issue with Lady Kelton was, however, the woman could not process said issues. The dark haired lady was clearly affronted by the seething dismissal of the new Marchioness who was her sister by law. "Who do you think-"

The Countess was cut off as Adelaide continued in her cold, sharp demeanour. The last of her words extracting another shocked gasp from all those present. "She said a bad word." Pippa gasped, the child being fluent in French. Her young mind not quite grasping the severity of the situation. However, Roarke had had quite enough. In fact he was utterly pissed off at both of the women at this point. Shooting up to a sitting position that only caused pain to jostle up his side, setting his teeth on edge; handing the child to Miss Spencer who was already ready, standing at his side taking her charge from her master. His wince of pain not being lost on her but she said nought on the matter.

"Time for you to go." Wessex said curtly to the child, rising to his feet.

"But papa!" Phillipa pleaded. "I want to talk to you. I still need to tell you-"

"Tomorrow." The Marquess cut her off. "Papa is tired but we shall talk on the morrow."

Kissing the child's cheek, no more debate on the matter would be tolerated. The girl knew better than to argue with her father. Miss Spencer curtsied slightly as was possible with Pippa in her arms. "My Lord. Lady Kelton." She hesitated slightly when her gaze met Adelaide's, finding it strange to now have a mistress to answer to. "My Lady."

With that the governess and the young girl had quit the room. Roarke grumbled as Adelaide made to follow to show his sister out. He rubbed his face which was sharp with half a weeks worth of stubble. The hell had he done to himself?! This situation, the Marquess was quick to realise, was of his own damn making. He had tried to make life easier for himself. Only, he had made it quite the opposite of easy, finding himself between a rock and a hard place.

Clarissa had at this point jumped to her feet and had followed Adelaide to the doorway but not with the intention of following as she soon made it clear. "There is no need! I know my own way out." She huffed stopping before Adelaide, nose pointed up in the air as she continued. "You are clearly the detestable one here madam! I don't know what foreign brothel he picked you up from but your manners and your vile tongue speaks for itself! Enjoy playing the chatelaine because when my brother is bored of you, that is all you'll have! Your precious home as you dare declare so boldly!"

"Clarissa!" Roarked bellowed, his eyes like blue fire at his sister's words. "That is enough!"

"No! I dare say it is not enough!" Clarissa decreed in return before her gaze returned to Adelaide. "Not nearly enough I assure you. Clearly this witch has you under some sort of spell." The Countess laughed coldly, throwing her head back without any humour. "However, my dear you are clueless. His daughter?" Clarissa laughed again. "You poor stupid fool. The child you defend, that you declare is yours . . ." An evil smile worked it's way up the older woman's lips. "You-"

Roarke had stormed the long distance between them to grab his sister's upper arm. Dragging her out the door, Wessex's turned to face Addie, pointing a finger in her face as he commanded, "Stay. Here. Do not move." Before turning and continuing to drag Clarissa who continued to yell back at Addie, "Why don't you ask him for the truth!" Until they reached the front door and the footman worked quickly to wrap the Countess in her coat.

"Enough!" Roarke swore at his sister, opening the door himself. Pushing Clarissa through, stepping outside himself as the sky darkened around them. London burned brightly around them as he said nothing for a long while, cooling down. Any lethargy he felt earlier replaced by adrenaline. He'd fought hundreds of villains with weapons and all sorts. But they were nothing compared to bloody women!

Fortunately for both the ladies, the Marquess was a man with a rather rare temperament and the remarkable ability to see both sides of any situation, even one close to his own heart. He breathed out loud and long. The lady Kelton said nothing. Standing tall and haughty, she was well aware of her baby brother's mentality. Which was much unlike her own.

"Clarrisa." Roarke finally spoke, leaning over the stone baluster. The front door was partially open though no servants were near the doorway, they were lingering around nearby enjoying the dramatic's in their usually abysmal lives.

"Roarke." Replied his lady sister pointedly.

"Sister, I would not be a good brother if I did not tell you your faults." Roarke began, turning to face Clarissa. They shared so many of the same features, it was almost like looking into a mirror and yet their temperaments put them apart. Both taking after either parents. "Or where you step wrong."

"And what of your new bride's faults?" Clarissa spat the words like an insult.

"And I would not be a good husband, if I did not bring light to my wife her faults which I am going to do in kind." Roarke continued. He was calm now. He had to be to think with a straight and clear head. Life had led him such a merry dance to a situation he could never have imagined for himself in his wildest dreams and yet here he was trying to navigate the treacherous paths of family. "Let me tell you this, you know, the doors of my home are always open to you should the occasion ever arise that you should find yourself in need of them. You are my sister, I love you dearly. However, you can no longer impose your will upon my household, the way you have, straddling two households as you have for all these years. For now, there is a new mistress to my household and you will respect my wife and show her all due respect due to her station."

Clarissa opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by the Marquess who was not done. "You were sister, wrong to impose yourself upon us, furthermore so when I introduced you to my wife. I do not need to tell you as you my dear know better than anyone else the rules of society. Now." Roarke led his Lady Kelton down the stone steps when the carriage with the Kelton arms pulled around, opening the door for her. "You are going to apologies to my wife."

"No I certainly will not!" Clarissa declared, still bitter though she was processing her brother's words, knowing full well he was right.

"Yes you will." Roarke continued collectedly. "And she will be offering you the same and you will both make amends the next time you are in each others company. And I," He said helping her up into her carriage. "Will he a happier man for it." Kissing his sister's cheek, Roarke closed the door, watching the vehicle roll on and out the gate. Hoping his 'wife' would be as easily convinced.

It was not long before Wessex found himself stepping back into the conservatory. Bronson was there before he could close the door. "My Lord, I'm sorry to interrupt." The butler began sheepishly. "But I see your valet has not come with you and I was wondering if you'd be happy for me to step in his place tonight?"

"There's no need. I can dress and undress myself just fine for a few days." Roarke assured the servant. He had not time for trivial matters like this at the moment wanting to finish with Addie what he started with Clarissa. Plus, he did not want to shock poor old Bronson with the state of his battered and bruised form. That was not another worry he needed atop of all this mess.

"Very well my Lord." Bronson bowed before. "My Lord there is also the matter of my Lady's sleeping arrangements. As you see my Lord, the house is not fully up to standards quiet yet because the staff concentrated on readying the immediate areas of use and the bedrooms only for yourself, Miss Spencer and Miss Rochester. My Lady's room is far from habitable and the guest-"

"My wife will be sleeping with me." Roarke cut in sharply, having wasted enough time on such inconsequential matters. His temper flaring. "There! Problem solved." Slamming the door to the conservatory shut. The glass panes slightly fluttered with the force. Wessex's gaze landed on Adelaide for a moment before he walked to a hidden cabinet on the side and poured himself a good strong whiskey.

Slowly walking back through the exotic surroundings, the Marquess nursed the spirit in his hands. Finishing the slight liquor before replacing the glass and approaching the only woman left in the room. "Before you begin Adelaide, listen to me carefully." He warned her. "I know this is far from the ideal situation but before you jump down my throat, consider, the fact that as my supposed wife you can move freely in society and you don't have be cooped up in this house all day. And I don't have to explain to society why some random woman is living in my home and your reputation stays intact. Now, onto the more pressing matter . . . What the hell do you think you were doing?!"

So much for remaining calm. Strange how he could do it with his sister but when it came to Mademoiselle Aedler . . . His passions were rife. "Clearly you can see, she is a lunatic and you thought you'd simply add to the insanity?! You couldn't find it within you to remain composed my lady Wessex?!" He raved stopping before her, looking down darkly into her clear eyes. Something burned deep within his soul that emanated in the pools of his eyes. The Marquess' arms came around his lady pulling her flush against him. "You cannot speak to my sister that way." He told her in a low voice. "One, she is my sister. Two, you were out of line. You won't be speaking to anyone in that manner again. Three, you need her on side if you want society on yours. You will apologies to her as she has agreed to do the same with you, acknowledging her mistakes and you shall yours and we shall move forward from this little indiscretion."

The heat from her slight figure permeated his entire being. Holding her so close . . . It did not seem like enough. But then again with this creature nothing ever felt like enough. He craved everything about her. Her presence. Her company. Her mind . . . Her body. The Marquess' lips moved to press against her ear as he was known to do so. "Is that understood wife?"

 

[LeatrixSage]

"She said a bad word,” the little blonde angle gasped, and Addie’s cheeks flamed a vibrant red as her attention swiveled to the little girl and Roarke. Fuck, she should have known better. Of course, the girl spoke French! Roarke sat up and she saw the way he favored his side as he set the girl away from him. Guilt swallowed her whole in an instant as Roarke sent the girl away, and Addie stepped aside to make room for Miss Spender as she carried the little blonde out of the room. Almost as soon as the pair had left the room, Clarissa was upon her, eyes so like Roarke’s and flashing with anger as she laid into Addie with a vengeance.

Adelaide stiffened her spine and stared at the taller woman with a cold confidence that she didn’t really feel. She could take whatever Clarissa wanted to throw at her, but Roarke was another story, and she was certain he was going to take his sister’s side. Even as he took his sister by the arm and forced her out of the room, he turned back just long enough to order his prisoner not to move, and then he was gone.

Well done, Addie.

All of her anger bled away as an uncomfortable silence filled the conservatory. The Adelaide that had found herself at his feet three days past would have ignored his obvious command and done whatever the hell she wanted to. She also wouldn’t have let Clarissa screech at her like that without blackening the other woman’s eye. Come to think of it, she had wanted to hit the woman very badly. Particularly when she had said ‘daughter’ as if the word made her sick and then laughed as if Adelaide were a complete fool. It was obvious that the child wasn’t his by blood, but that didn’t matter to Addie any more than it mattered to Pipa and Roarke. Adelaide tried to convince herself that it was just the trauma that made her restrain her temper, but that didn’t explain why she was still standing exactly where Roarke had left her.

She frowned at the open doorway, but even as she thought about how stupid it was to still be standing thete, she couldn’t bring herself to step through the threshold. Was his disapproval so important, then, that she couldn’t cross that line? She’d already made an ass of herself, what did it really matter? Addie had very nearly convinced herself to ignore him when she realized the importance wasn’t in her somehow letting him control her, but in that - if she waited right where he had commanded - she was gaining his trust. As the thought occurred to her, what was left of her will to fight bled away. By the time she heard him coming back to the conservatory, she was calmer than she could remember being since this whole nightmare had begun.

Roarke, however, was decidedly not.

"My wife will be sleeping with me." The blush that was staining Addie’s cheeks only depend, but she kept her mouth shut. His short tether was made more than clear as he yelled at Bronson for doing his job and then slammed the conservatory door closed. Addie jumped at the sound but didn’t move from where she stood as she watched the man seek out the comfort of liquor. She hadn’t intended to anger anyone other than Clarissa, but she had gone too far and upset everything. He had a right to be infuriated with her, and what was so much more uncomfortable than his temper was the fact that she didn’t feel the need to defend herself.

He finished his drink before his attention came back to her, and Addie clasped her hands at her waist as she waited for him to say his piece. By the time he stood toe-to-toe with her, he was shouting, his eyes flashing in much the same way his Sister’s had. But, when he stopped before her, he seemed to collect himself, and then his arms went around her to draw her against him. Her first instinct was that he was trying to use his larger frame to intimidate her, but when he spoke again his tone was low and controlled. All the anger in his outburst had been contained somewhere else as he tried to reason with her. He seemed to hold the idea that she was inches from railing at him, and for her own amusement, she didn’t see the need to ruin that impression for him.

His warmth ingulfed her as he leaned down to murmur into her ear. The feeling had become so familiar that she tilted her head slightly to side for him as he asked if she understood him. He called her wife, again, and her heart did a little flip in her chest. She couldn’t admit to herself that she wished it was true, not when her mind was so dead-set against the idea that it was anything beyond a way for him to explain her existence. He hid his other life from his family and society at large, and that meant he had to hide her as well. What better way was there than to call her wife?

Even so, as she breathed him in, she could almost convince herself it was real. He held her as if it was real, he spoke to her as if it was real, so why couldn’t she just let it be real for whatever abbreviated time they had together before it had to come to an end?

“First of all,” she began slowly while she tried to ignore the way the heat of him seeped through her clothes and invaded her skin, “I’m sorry I said that in front of your girl. I should have known she’d speak at least a little French.” Addie pulled back just enough to look up at him. She couldn’t think with his breath fanning against her neck and making her blood boil. “Secondly, I am not mad. It makes perfect sense to introduce me as your wife, and I thank you for the position that allows me until… well, until this is all over.” Addie smiled and pressed her fingers against his lips to quiet him as he began to say something. “Third, I will happily apologies to your sister, under one condition. I am no fool, Roarke. I already know you are not the girl’s biological father, you can spot it a mile away, and I don’t give a damn. She loves you, and I have only ever once seen you legitimately happy, and that was when that little girl called you Papa and jumped into your arms.”

Gently, so as not to hurt his side or offend him, Addie extracted herself from his arms. She had to, because if she didn’t, she was going to burst into tears again, and her pride simply wouldn’t allow that to happen twice in the same day. “My condition is that she agree to treat… Pipa, was it?... with respect and curtesy, if she is not capable of showing her niece love. If she agrees to it, and keeps to it, I will let the woman walk all over me if that is what it take to keep the peace.”

"Finally," She continued with a little grin, "I don't need society, so I don't give a good God damn what the cattle think is good or acceptable."

Finally finished, Addie wrapped her arms around her waist, subconsciously protecting herself from the man even as she smiled sheepishly up at him. “Is that reasonable, Husband?”

 

[ScarlettRose]

A low growl rumbled deep in the Marquess' chest when Adelaide pressed a finger to his lips. It took all his might not to bite the small digit. He was only a mere man after all and with her it seemed, his restraint was very thin indeed. With the quirk of a brow he listened to the lady silently. Her entreaty was rather surprising. Since Roarke had met her she had not shown this type of maturity before. It was both endearing to know the woman had enough sense and would not make excruciatingly difficult for him and yet utterly provocative to watch her try to back him into a corner to negotiate with him.

When she extricated herself from his hold, Wessex frowned. The warm comfort of her nearness having been taken away from him was displeasing when he so enjoyed holding her but this was another game. They played many of those. Trying to best each other in many ways. Like it France, it was a game of wits and now . . . the game was far more to his liking. He was certain, she wasn't entirely aware of the danger she put herself in with this undertaking.

The thought did occur to the Marquess of his dilapidated state, however, her teasing gave him enough vigour to pursue the hunt. After all, it was his favourite sport and the fever that would plague his sleep tonight would fall upon him either way. So while the fizzling end of adrenaline swarmed his blood why not enjoy it? All these were just excuses and reasonings to avert from his true feelings that when it came to the perplexing Adelaide Aedler, the Marquess was rather taken and smitten. Though too proud to admit it even to himself.

"Indeed." He finally spoke when she allowed. And there was that something in his chest when she acknowledged him as husband . . . It was how her words and inflections stoked his desire further. A need growing by every passing minute in her presence. "How can it be anything but reasonable when you're first sorry and then thankful?" Roarke teased, slowly circling the raven haired beauty, stalking her like prey. His keen gaze never moving past her alluring shape.

"However, allow me to be the barer of bad news and burst your bubble slightly." He continued rather reasonably himself when he was feeling anything but, fuelled with the fire of need at the blush that still blemished Adelaide's fair features and the memory of her pressed excruciatingly close against him at the forefront of his mind. "Where to begin . . ." Wessex mused, toying with his prey. "Firstly and foremost, it pleases me that you are so diligent in your care for my child. However, be not perturbed madam, Phillipa has rather a strong constitution that she no doubt has picked up for Miss Spencer. Just . . . try and keep that foul mouth for my ears only." He grinned at her roguishly.

As much as he loved the urchin she was not exactly what he wished to discuss at this very moment in time. Nor did the Marquess intend on gratifying the lady's assumption in regards to Phillipa's parentage. It was cause for concern for him however, that even a stranger could make it out as true, Roarke wasn't exactly sure why it disturb him when it mattered very little. No one would dare say otherwise to him and society would not care when he championed the child. She would be excepted into the fold simply based upon who her father was and it happened in this case to be a extremely wealthy and power Marquess. All else would be over looked.

"Now! In regards to you position as my wife, I've no doubt you are very thankful." That devilish smile did not leave his lips as he continued. "And as my Marchioness, I expect you to behave as such and carry yourself with the dignity and grace expected of your position. After all, only one of us in this relationship can behave dishonourably and unfortunately for you mon cher that position has already been occupied by me. Thus, you must make up for my short comings. Ergo, you do need society's good graces. If not for moi then think of the child. She will be out in society in seven years or so and the ton are not quick to forget. My behaviour is excusable for I am a man and privileged so by my sex and my family name. Pippa and you madam, have nothing to recommend you besides your behaviour. Which leads me onto the subject of where my sister is concerned."

Wessex came to a stop behind her. The view from behind rivalled the view from the front. Not that the man was one to discriminate. He had no preferences when it came to the female form. He liked all parts he could indulge in equally. Within a few silent catlike strides, Roarke had Adelaide's back pressed against his firm, solid chest. Her plump bottom pressing pleasingly against him through all the thick layers of her skirt stirred the Marquess' desires more so. His hot breath fanned the already flushed skin of her cheek as she tilted her head slightly to the side automatically to accommodate him. "How my sister conducts herself towards my daughter is irrelevant to the subject of you two finding away to be agreeable towards each other. I have made this clear to her as I cam making it clear to you. You madam," Wessex's tone was controlled but at the very base of it, it was lined with something far more darker. Far more demanding and urgent. "Do NOT put conditions on me. My word is finally." Taking her left hand in front of her, Roarke pulled a gold circlet ring off his smallest finger and slowly slipped it on the Adelaide's ring finger.

It was a perfect fit.

The Marquess' dark gaze locked onto his Marchioness'. Fire burned in the depths of those cool pools. Need fought against reasoning and logic and overpowered such trivial consequences beyond the basic human desires. "I am your Lord and master." The man declared, pressing his lips to the sensitive hollow behind her ear before skimming the trembling petals down the long, fine column of Adelaide's neck. The heat of his desire pressing into her, enjoying the view of her ample bosom from his position behind her. Never before had he craved someone so. Every part of his being screamed to claim her. To make her his. No matter what she was. Who she was. Wessex could not deny the feelings she evoked in him. Fingers slipping through her's, his clasp tightened. "You will do as I say."

 

[LeatrixSage]

He watched her with a quiet intensity that made his playfully sarcastic question seem much darker and more menacing than it should have. She had hoped that putting a little space between them would allow them both the opportunity to step away from the emotionally charged situation gracefully, but Roarke refused to let it go. Instead, he began to leisurely circle her in a way that made the baby hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His obvious appraisal made her straighten her spine and set her shoulders back, her chin tilting up a notch defensively while she fought the need to track the man with her eyes. Her arms uncurled from around her waist so that she could rest her palms flat against her skirts in an effort to appear as unaffected as she could as the man disappeared behind her.

That was worse than the circling, and Adelaide found herself holding her breath as he spoke from behind her. The man had a damned bullet wound in his side, and yet there was a determined concentration about him that was unmistakable.

“All the more reason for the adults in her life to respect her,” Addie murmured as he set aside her concerns about the girl, brushing them away as he reappeared at her side with a playful grin turning up his lips. It stood in direct contrast to the fire in his eyes and made her shiver as she looked away, focusing on the wall ahead of her rather on him. She was trying to be rational about this, and he was making it difficult for her to ignore how badly she wanted him to touch her again. He had promised her just a couple days previous, that when she found herself in his bed, she would be begging for him, and his prediction was proving to be too true for Addie’s comfort.

“A reasonable argument,” Adelaide conceded the point about her behavior without really agreeing. Giving ground to the man was needling her pride, but unless she was mistaken, she was going to be swallowing her pride quiet often as she learned how to navigate his world. Not that she didn’t understand basic etiquette, just that they meant so much more to his world than they did to hers.

He made his way behind her again, and her awareness of him tripled in the same moment. He was quiet as he stood behind her, disturbingly so, and then his lean hands wrapped around her upper arms with the sureness of shackles as he pulled her back against him. In the same smooth motion, he bent his head down to brush his lips against the side of her neck just behind her ear. That small touch made her skin tingle and streaked fire down her spine to pool warm and welcoming between her thighs. Something that worsened to the point that she had to press her legs together in a misguided effort to hide her arousal when she realized Roarke was in the same state she was. His erection was pressed, hard and insistent, against the soft swell of her ass cheeks. There was absolutely no denying that he wanted her, or that she wanted him just as much.

It’s just lust, Addie, get your head in the game!

His breath fanned across her skin as he spoke, and Adelaide found herself accommodating him, letting him dictate her world in a way no person, man or woman, had ever dared to before. She was pliant for him, moldable, and so nearly his that her heart rent itself in two when he his voice turned dark and he commanded her to never put conditions on him. His word was law. The very notion went against her grain, but she hadn’t the time to tell him so before he lifted her left hand and slipped a ring from his pinky over her ring finger. It slipped into place so easily, but despite the delicateness of the ring, it felt something more like a leash being tethered to her neck. There was a certain safety in wearing the title of wife, and yet, Adelaide felt more surely trapped than when his friend had locked her in that velvet room. Her eyes began to sting, and then she found herself staring at Roarke. There was something unknowable behind his eyes, beneath the lust that was pouring off the man, and she wanted to know what it was… until he spoke again.

"I am your Lord and master. You will do as I say.”

“No,” she murmured, caught somewhere between fury and a sadness so deep that she didn’t have the ability to truly feel it just then. “You are neither of those things, because I am not your wife. I am your prisoner, and you are my jailor.” Addie pulled herself away from the man with what little resolve she had left to her. “It’s a convenient lie, Roarke, and only that. I’ll play my part while you figure out what you mean to do with me. It’s not in me to put that little girl’s future at risk, and there is no need to seduce me to get your answers, just ask your questions. Anything I may know that can help you, I will gladly tell you. I am sure that, by the end of this, you won’t want me to stick around anyway.”

She offered him a smile that was meant to fool them both into thinking she was calm and happy, when all she wanted to do was scream. She touched the ring he had placed on her finger and her soul cried out to her to just let him in, to give him a chance to prove this wasn’t all just some twisted game meant to catch her in a lie or use her as some kind of bait. She knew her heart couldn’t take it if it was true, and sex with the man would only make things so much more difficult.

“Please,” she couldn’t look at him, but she had to deny him. “I think it would be best if we didn’t share a bed tonight. You’re wounded, and I’m in no fit state myself. I am certain there is an adjoining Lady’s room to your own Lord’s chambers. You can keep an eye on me all you like and sleeping in a dusty room won’t kill me. I am no Noble woman, as I am sure you’ve guessed by now, and I am made of sterner stuff.”

Addie kept her head carefully down to hide her tears from view as she darted around Roarke to snatch the conservatory door open. If she didn’t make a run for it now, she was afraid she’d never be able to tell him no and mean it. God help her, if he touched her, she would be his no matter how much she wanted to deny it. She hesitated long enough to tell him good night, and then Adelaide Aedler, with no earthly idea where she was going, was on the run as if the devil himself were snipping at her heels.

 

[ScarlettRose]

No. The Marquess of Wessex was not used to hearing that small and damning word. No was not a possibility but here this woman stood, defiant of him in his own home. He was a man of his time and could not tolerate such a rejection. It was an utter assailment against his manhood and his authority as the head of this household. His soul burnt with something close to fury and unspent wanting. He was for a lack of a better word disappointed and yet his injures only added to his ire.

His sharp gaze narrowed on Addie as she pulled away from the warmth of his grasp and yet it was he who found himself bereft of the heat of her enclosure. She was a cruel wench to leave him so desperately in need for her. However, if his wife was proud he was no less. His lax stance did not change one bit, but the lines around his lips and eyes tightened while he stared at her entreaty and the lies she told herself and him. Her body had answered the questions his had asked her. Roarke had felt her response, every small reaction to his closeness and now she was giving him this rubbish expecting him to swallow it and believe her fictitious words.

The little fool couldn't even look him in the eyes! He sneered coldly but it was without humour or any good cheer. Wessex swirled on the balls of his feet as she swerved around him. The dark blue of his iris' never leaving her. "As you wish Madam." The Marquess conceded coldly to the lady; standing in silence as the door slowly closed behind her disappearing figure. The man was brimming with unspent fury. The silly woman had barely given him a chance to speak, not that he could have managed much with the bile spewing inside of him in that very moment. The Marquess was livid at her accusations. The woman knew nothing! She had absolutely no idea what she was talking about! . . . Maybe that was for the best.

And just like that, on a deep, dilapidating sigh all his anger washed away. Heading to the glass doors that opened out onto the magnificent gardens, Roarke peered out across the shadows in the dark. Maybe it had been for the best. Rubbing his brow, he considered what might have occurred and how Will might have been right. He was a fool. He was about to compromise his position for . . . for what exactly? Some thrills between the bed sheets? Wessex, knew it was more than that but just like Adelaide he was good at lying to himself and convincing himself that something did not exist when it actually did. Like his budding emotions for murderess. Because that's what she was wasn't she? A murderess. And he had been fool enough to bring her into his home. From here on out . . . He would no longer play the halfwit to Mademoiselle Aedler's whims. And with that, the Marquess turned on his heels and strode out of the room, with every step echoing meaning and intention.

--

Eleanora Spencer sat in a cosy cove on the landing of the second floor with her knees pulled tight against her chest, looking out across the bright lights of London just a short distance away. She and Phillipa had been uprooted from the Wessex country estate in Hampshire almost four weeks ago now on the whim of her unpredictable master. Miss Spencer had enjoyed the quiet of the country and was not particularly pleased at returning to London, her home town. Of course, she could not complain about her surroundings, especially when looked at in comparison to her humble beginnings.

The position within the Wessex household also suited her just fine. More so when Lord Wessex was not around but the man was tolerable in the sense that she disliked men of his ilk but he had shown little to no interest in her besides where Phillipa Rochester's education was concerned which was odd but not that odd at all. Compared to his usual women, Eleanora was no doubt far from desirable to a man like that. It was exactly the security this position afforded her that made it perfect for Miss Spencer. After all, it was easier to hide one's dark past when the master's movements were darker than hers.

She had just put the child to bed and come to her secret location by the small window seat to review the havoc that was today. To be honest, the day had started off rather normally. Nothing out of the ordinary. That was until Lord Wessex's carriage arrived with all his luggage and the like and from that very moment onward, the household had been in utter chaos! The servants ran around like headless chickens preparing for the arrival of his Lordship. It was fair to say, Eleanora thought, that she was as equally surprised as anyone at the new Marchioness that Lord Wessex bought home with him.

Everyone had believed the Marquee would remain an eternal bachelor. It was clear to all of society, he enjoyed life as a singleton far too much to ever give up his liberty. Yet, the philanderer had surprised them all. Though, she could not fathom why they were so surprised. Men of his class all eventually succumbed to the parson's noose. They had a duty to their family and title after all to consider. Besides surprise, the only thing Eleanora felt was pity for the new Marchioness. Oh, it was clear the woman had a spine of steel - though odd, she thought the Marquess if ever he took a bride might pick a more . . . snivelling sort of woman - however, it was rather clear to the studious Miss Spencer that the new Lady Wessex was clearly not versed in ordinance of good society. She was going to struggle, the governess mused with a small frown. Maybe . . . Eleanora could offer her services; help the Lady if she was not too prideful to accept the offer, for Eleanora found she quite liked the Marchioness.

"Ah! My Lady, there you are."

Miss Spencer's pale blonde head turned from the nook of the window to the dimly lit second floor landing where she spotted a flustered and upset looking Lady Wessex and Mrs Mills who for intents and purposes ran the household and governed the servants along side Mr Bronson the head butler. Mrs Mills was a woman of incredibly short stature, for she could not be more than four feet tall and pressing close to her early seventies. Disregarding this, there was an assurance in the old woman's manner that made it clear she had been running this household for many a year.

Eleanora watched silently from her secret position. She was not a woman given to idle gossip, for one she had not a friend in the world and two it was simply not in her nature, especially when one considered she had once been on the end of such self indulgent behaviour. Mrs Mills was a pure English lass with a stiff upper lip in all her undertakings. She may appear rigid but there was a certain affection under that hard exterior.

"Come now. There'll be none of that." Mrs Mills said, wrapping an arm around the clearly overwrought Lady Wessex. "Not out here my dear."

Eleanora craned her neck when the women began to disappear down the long hallway. She could make out their figures and hear their voices thanks to the slight echo as sound bounced off the stone walls covered in painting after painting of generation of Rochesters. Mrs Mills clearly had the right idea. Not out here indeed! The servants had been titillated by the arrival of the new mistress and had tittered about it all evening long. Nothing in this household remained a secret for too long and they were already speculating on how pleasing the lady was to their master.

"Come this way." Mrs Mills guided Lady Wessex round the square liked landing around the banister towards Eleanora, though from her corner window seat she still remained concealed. "You must be ever so tired my Lady, you've not even had the chance to freshen up. Lady Kelton knows better than how she behaved today." Mrs Mills assured a frazzled looking Lady Wessex, who appeared like she might crumble to pieces at any moment and so was she treated as such by the genteel Mrs Mills whom guided her like a young charge. "Though I confess, she has always been a demanding little Lady even as a child but she does love his Lordship so and is known to be overprotective of him as older sisters tend to be. I'm seventy one and I'm much the same of my younger siblings." Mrs Mills chuckled rather uncharacteristically pondered Eleanora, watching the exchange still.

"Here we are." Mrs Mills stopped parallel in front of Miss Spencer before a finely embossed door, opening it to reveal a sweeping luxurious suite before them, that Eleanora could just about make out, the two women blocking her view. She pressed her spectacles back on the bridge of her nose, trying to be as silent as possible not wanting to disturb the pair. "Your room is not prepared my Lady. This is the my Lord's room." Mrs Mills held onto Lady Wessex as she began to pull away at the revelation. "Ah! Ah! His Lordship has insisted that you sleep here tonight. He shan't be disturbing you my Lady-" The old maid was clarify when as if on cue, a ruckus could be heard outside the window. Mrs Mills and Lady Wessex turned to the window on their left while Miss Spencer turned to face the window at her own side.

"Hurry up boy!" Lord Wessex's voice bellowed out in the night below as stable hands scuttled around to do their vex master's bidding. It was clear his Lordship was not in the best of moods as he continued to bark at his servants. "How long does it take to prepare a damned mount?!" The man declared.

The side of the manner was as well lit as the front and from their position on the second floor the ladies could see the scene below them unfold clearly. The young lads, pulled a large sleepy horse from it's stables and had barely strapped on saddle when Lord Wessex snatched the reigns. "Out of the way boy!" He roared, swinging, less gracefully than usual up onto the steads back; in fact, Eleanora was certain she heard the man groan even from all the way up here before the man and his stallion thundered out of the gates that had opened just enough to allow them to leave. Leaving a trail of dusty in their wake as the ride and the rider quickly disappeared into the distance like ghosts.

"There you see my Lady." Miss Spencer turned back to see Mrs Mill assure Lady Wessex. "His Lordship declared he would not be returning until the morning."

--

With that Mrs Mills managed to persuade Lady Wessex into the bedroom and quickly went to work disrobing her new mistress and attiring the fine figured lady into a nightgown. There upon combing out all the knots in her Ladyships hair and putting her to bed with as little conversation as possible, telling Lady Wessex how utterly tired the poor thing must be after her long journey and with no proper reprise or fare to will her stomach.

Tucking in her mistress, Mrs Mills left for the night, only to return later the next morning. The clock struck eleven when the old woman knocked on the bedroom suite door and admitted herself entrance.

"Good morning my Lady." Mrs Mills smiled, pulling back the curtains of the four poster bed first and then the curtains of the windows that lined the fine room. The apartment itself was a thing of luxury. Before Belqualis House had found itself in the clutches of the Rochester family it had been built by one of the most enigmatic King's of England for one of his favourite mistresses and it clearly showed even today. Especially in the master suite.

"I hope you slept well." The maid continued as she cleaned up around the bed, picking up clothing and opening wardrobes to offer selections to Lady Wessex for the attire of her choosing for the morning. Mrs Mills was nothing if not practical and efficient and had quickly took to catering to a Lady of the House. Of course, she had the practice, doing the same for the last two Lady Wessex. "I'm aware it is proper for a lady such as yourself to have breakfast in bed. However, his Lordship is downstairs in the breakfast room with Miss Rochester and Miss Spencer and requests that if your Ladyship is feeling up to it, then please join them for breakfast. I have drawn a bath for you my Lady in the room right through that door." She nodded to the door on the left. "I find it an odd modern invention my lady but Lord Wessex is rather fond of industry and all these contraptions. The bath should be cooled enough for you to enjoy and there is a pitcher full of fresh lavender to wash your hair. I can help if you like your Ladyship?"

--

Roarke's night couldn't possibly have turned worse after his tête-à-tête with Addie if he had tried. The house held no pleasure for him after she had stormed out and he was far too heated to spew his bad temper on the servants anymore than he had done already. Even Hades Club wasn't an option with the possibility of running into Draker after their confrontation regarding Adelaide. Wessex would not have been able to tolerate the smug righteousness plastered all over the Duke's face should he have caught Roarke miserable as he looked.

There were many options open to a man like him about town. Yet, he was pained and the company of a horde of the ton was not appealing in his current state, especially when he had clambered onto his mount and that had jolted and tore some of his stitches open. And yet, his own company was enticing either. In the end the Marquess found himself haunting a gaming hell, getting stupidly drunk while surrounded by women of easy virtue, that too which he could not enjoy because of that harpy that frequented his thoughts constantly and being fleeced out of a small fortune that barely put a dent in his finances.

Roarke awoke in the early hours of the morning, after burning a high fever the night through in an alleyway. Of course he had been robbed blind and the pounding at the back of his skull was entirely the fault of the cheap alcohol and not the fever that had ravaged him. He was weak and there was a large blood stain on the side of his white shirt where his stitches had torn open. Wessex had groaned and stumbled until he found a sleeping hackney driver who was willing to take him to Hades club and accept payment on arrival.

As Roarke entered a spoke to the doorman, the servant came out to pay the driver above and beyond what the drowsy driver had asked for his trouble. Entering through the front of the club was entirely different than entering through the back. The smell of cigar smoke and a male fragrance hit one instantly as one entered. The interior was no different than that of any gentleman's club on this row. Manly plushness and decadence screamed out. At this time in the morning, the place was practically dead. However, Roarke did not linger as he made his way to the back and down stairs and through the maze until he was back upon the same bed as earlier the day before. The man was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It was just past half past eight when a groggy Wessex was awoken by voices. "The idiots gone got his stitches open." A voice said looming over him.

"Rich?" Roarke groaned, confused. His head wasn't banging anymore but his vision hadn't quite cleared up yet.

"Actually that was the doctor." Richard replied with a grin in his voice. "But I'm here too. Do I want to know how you managed that? Also, you smell like you've lain in shit all night."

"I have." Wessex groaned as he felt the doctor open his bandage and mercilessly go about stitching him back up. All the while berating him about how it's a miracle his injury isn't infected again and how if he wants to kill himself why not just go and put his head on Napoleon's chopping block.

It was ten am by the time a washed and clean Lord Wessex rode in through the gates of Belqualis House. It was hardly possible to tell the man that sat at the head of the breakfast table this morning had drank himself into a stupor the night before. He didn't exactly want to see Adelaide this morning except . . . Some part deep, deep inside of him yearned to just see a glimmer of her. And yet, the man was set about keeping her at a distance as he should have done in the first place. However, he had put her in a position to play a roll and he would have to maintain the facade with her.

Thus, the Marquess requested her presence at the breakfast table where he sat animatedly talking to Phillipa on his left and Miss Spencer on his right who wasn't much for conversation but spoke when spoken to as they indulged in the mornings cuisine. "Ah but Miss Spencer can't teach you everything." Roarke grinned at the little fae at his side, toying with her.

"Yes she can." The child argued. "Miss Spencer is perfect and she knows everything." Pippa declared. "She has the answers to all of my questions."

"Indeed?" Wessex parried, glancing at the staunch, regimental looking Miss Spencer and imagined she'd do well in the army with a spine like that. Miss Spencer offered no reply in return. "But can Miss Spencer teach you how to shoot an arrow to slice an apple in half that's placed a top a man's head or in his mouth?"

Roarke questioned, making the young girl gasp and look to her governess for an answer. "It appears I'm not perfect after all." Miss Spencer declared cutting an apple in her hand, the slightest of smiles curving the side of her lips. All the while, Roarke anticipated internally the arrival of Adelaide while fighting with the notion what would be better that she decide to not join them or that she do.

"Papa!" Phillipa's whine for his attention pulled him out of the mire of his thought. Feeling utterly foolish! For Godsake's! This was his damned house! He couldn't give a rat's arse if she joined them or not! Or so the Marquess told himself.

"What is it sweetheart?" He questioned down to the child, affording her his entire attention to stop thoughts of a certain captive. What had she said? He was her jailer?! She had no bloody idea!

"Will you teach me?" Big grey wondrous eyes gazed up at him.

"Teach you what?" Roarke asked, having completely failed at diverting his attention away from the troublesome Adelaide Aedler.

"To shoot an arrow Papa!"

"Of course I'll teach." Roarke's voice boomed as he slammed a hand on the table, before he pulled the giggling child onto his lap, taking her small hands, he arranged them as if she were holding a small set of bow and arrow in her little digits; pulling the imaginary arrow back. "Pull!" He declared and then released the fictional weapon in the direction of the door. Wessex grinned happily down at the giggling excitable bundle in his lap. "Strike straight into the heart of your enemies!"

 

[LeatrixSage]

She wasn’t lost, not exactly, because she knew how to get back to the conservatory. But, she was lost, because she had no idea where the hallway led or where her room might be. Adelaide was just… walking. One foot in front of the other, until she reached as far as she could go one way and then changed direction. The house was even bigger on the inside than it seemed to be from without, and she was certain that if she walked long enough, she really would be lost. Then, she could curl up into some dark corner and cry until she didn’t have any tears left. She already felt like a ghost, haunting the halls of His home, why not wail a bit while she was at it?

Her chest hurt so badly she thought she might just die anyway. It ached, and burned, and stung as if someone was stabbing her over and over again with a hot blade. She’d never known a pain so deep and lasting, not when she could obviously tell she was fine. She rubbed her heal into her chest to try to push it out, but it only seemed to make things worse. It was just then, right when she thought for sure she was going to scream her throat raw in frustration, a voice that was almost familiar caught her attention, and then there was a small, elderly woman wrapping an arm around her to guide her in a different direction.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as the older woman fussed over her, quickly wiping away the tracks tears had left on her cheeks. “I had hoped not to run into anyone. Please, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

Nothing she said deterred the older woman, and Addie allowed herself to be steered wherever the woman wanted her to go. She was quiet and polite while the woman spoke about things that Adelaide wasn’t really listening to. That was, until that stopped before the Lord’s room and the tried to usher her in. Addie balked, thinking the woman was little more than a trap made of honey to make her come to Roarke docile and quiet, but the old bat wouldn’t let her go as she tried to back away… and then they were both drawn toward the window behind them.

Roarke stood under the early moonlight, dusk having barely drawn to close, shouting at some stable hand. Adelaide frowned at the sight of him, taking out his anger on the people that depended on him for their livelihoods. It really was a foul aspect to his personality, but she had no way of knowing if it had always been that way, or if it was that way because of her.

“Idiot,” she mumbled as Roarke thundered out of the main gate, “he’s wounded. He shouldn’t be riding in his condition.” The elder woman clicked her tongue, and Addie reddened as she allowed her to press her into the bedroom. It was still an alien thing to let someone help her out of her clothes, but sadly, it was a necessity that she couldn’t escape. If she wanted out of the dress and the corset, someone had to untie all of those stays, and she was never going to get them all undone on her own. The woman prattled one about whatever came to mind while she brushed Addie’s hair and found the pins that had still been lodged in a few curls. The headache that had been developing behind her eyes started to ease, and by the time the older woman had tucked her into bed, Addie had faded blissfully to sleep.

She slept long and deep. There were no dreams to disturb her as three days of sleep deprivation gave way to the rest she so desperately needed. When she woke, it seemed still early with how dark the room seemed to be. The lovely, little old lady from the day before had just wished her good morning, but when she pulled back the curtains of the windows she was certain that was bright, afternoon sunlight streaming into the room Addie sat up with a start, feeling like an absolute bum. She never slept passed seven, she felt it made her seem lazy and self-indulgent, and she was blushing as she got to her feet.

“Good morning, Madam,” she answered sheepishly, realizing that she still had no idea what the woman’s name was. She hadn’t realized just how opulently appointed the room was the night before, but with the sunlight streaming in warm and bright, she felt like was she sitting in a palace rather than in a bedroom. The old woman distracted her, kept her from gaping at the beauty she was surrounded with, by telling her there was a bath waiting.

“Oh, thank God,” Adelaide moaned as she went straight for the door that the woman had indicated. One the other side was a tub filled with steaming water, and Addie immediately pulled off her night dress and tossed it aside before she stepped into the warm water, and then sank down with a happy sigh. Every ache, pain, or tension was leached out of her as the warm water soothed it all away. She even slid beneath the water’s surface for a long moment and ended up smiling up at the old woman when she worriedly looked in on her.

Sitting up to behave herself, Addie relaxed back to allow the woman to wash her hair for her. Her Bath was something she didn’t need any help with, but the woman was instant, and the little bit of pampering made her feel better. The lavender scent that filled the room was just as soothing as the hot water, and by the time she was finished, she almost felt like herself again. The sweet woman tried to dry her off as well, but Addie gently asked her not to, and distracted her by asking her to pick out a nice dress for her day. Blessedly, it worked, and after she was toweled dry and her hair brushed, the woman helped her into all the trappings she was beginning to make sense out of, and a mint-green dress with buttons that traveled down her back from the base of her neck to the curve of her backside. It seemed chaste next to the red dress that she had begun her adventure in, but Addie supposed that had to be a good thing.

By the time she was wrapped in her finery, her hair was dry, and the older woman pulled it half up for her to pull her hair back from her face without piling it all on top of her head. She must have said ‘thank you’ half a dozen times before she finally clasped the old woman’s answer and bent down to kiss them. She reminder Addie so much of her old friend, that the action felt natural and familiar, even as the older woman flushed despite herself.

“Really, thank you so much for your care,” Addie told her after the woman had brought her down to where the others were having their breakfast. She didn’t enter right away but lingered just beyond the door as she listened to the others. The little conversation she had caught them in was endearing to hear, and she listened to the easy chatter despite how out-of-place it made her feel. She didn’t belong in his home or at his table, she didn’t even belong in his time. She’d doubted herself and her choices throughout the night, but as she listened to them, it hammered home the point that this was not her home and could never be.

"Strike straight into the heart of your enemies!" Addie had heard Roarke slam the table as she had come through the door, but she hadn’t expected to find him and his little girl playing with an imaginary bow that just happened to be aimed in her direction as she walked into the room. The timing was absolutely priceless, and strangely fitting. She considered pretending to be shot, but she’d look an absolute fool if Philippa didn’t play along. The girl didn’t know her, and had no reason to acknowledge her, and so Addie decided against it. Instead, she kept to herself as she walked over to the little spread of food set up to the left side the small, comfortable eating space. It was clearly an area meant for family alone, and that since of not belonging deepened while Addie spoon a bit of food onto her plate. She was starving, but she didn’t want to look like a pig, and her corset was so tight that she doubted she’d be able to eat much anyway.

Turning around with her plate, Addie blanched. All eyes were on her, and she had no idea what to say to any of them. And Roarke… she could barely look at him at all. She struggled to keep her shoulders back and her chin carefully parallel to the floor as she walked over and took a seat toward the opposite end of the table.

“Good morning, everyone,” she murmured as yet another person she didn’t know poured her some tea. The awkward silence was painful, and she was beginning to think it was a mistake to answer his summons. She had told him she would play her part, but she had no earthly idea of what to do with herself, what to say. She wasn’t even certain she held her fork correctly as she tried to eat. God help her, but Adelaide Aedler had never been so unsure of herself in her entire fucking life, and that lack of confidence was eating at her more deeply than anything else could have.

Despite all of that going on in her head, outwardly she appeared cool, calm, and collected as she poured a little milk into her tea with a dash of sugar before she sipped it. She was going to have to find someone to teach her how to be one of them. Wessex was certainly not going to, after the previous night, she doubted there was any fondness left in him for her. Not that she blamed him, he was just doing his job, and getting answers out of his little French spy was part of that job.

Looking up, Addie felt her cheeks warm. Damn them, they were all still watching her. Taking a deep breath, she smiled as she mentally regrouped. “Archery is a wonderful sport, I used to participate in tournaments when I was a girl,” she had to word things carefully, women didn’t go to college or university yet, and her kind of knowledge and learning was not the kind any other woman alive would receive for decades to come. Realizing that, Addie’s smile began relaxed and comfortable. “I was a champion once, but it has been many years since I held a bow, long or otherwise.”

“What would you say,” she went on, her attention narrowing on Roarke. It was difficult to look the man in the eye, but she made herself hold is gaze, “to a friendly competition?”

 

[ScarlettRose]

The irony of fate could not be more precise as Adeliade Aedler entered the breakfast room the very moment Roarke released his imaginary bow into the imaginary enemy. Except . . . She wasn't imaginary . . . Was she? No, as she stood there in sickly green he could not imagine a more beautiful creature and the sight of her only left him feeling colder than he already was. However, difficult it may have been to be indifferent to her, he knew, for his own sanity, he must.

Phillipa's giggling had slowed and Miss Spencer's attention was on the newcomer with interest also. The scene unfolded around him as Wessex slowly reclined in his chair at the head of the table. Fingers pressed to his lips in contemplation. The Marquess studied Adelaide from beneath a disinterested gaze. He took her reticence for indifference and found himself as puzzled as the night before in regards to her behaviour. No woman before her had pushed him away so . . . Well, except one.

"Good morning." Miss Spencer replied with a small smile in Addie's direction with Phillipa chirping in happily. "Morning my Lady!" The bright eyes cherub beamed from her papa's lap. It was obvious the child was interested in this new addition to the household. Roarke, however said nought. He had no greeting for his wife. No smile. No pleasantries. He could not muster one word for the wench. The Marquess was still struck my her cruelness the night before and he was in no state of mind to offer an olive branch. Especially when he serveiled her and found nothing in her manner to show that she was effected by their confrontation unlike he, who still licked his wounds at her hand.

The man had longed for a glimpse of her this morning like a man dying for a drop of water in the middle of a desert. But now that she was before him with that look about her of inertia and pride, he could not bare to be in her presence. Adelaide Aedler was heartless and he . . . he was an utter fool. What else kind of man yearned for a woman who did not have the time of day for him?! And Roarke was done playing the fool.

Pippa listened bright eyed when Addie claimed her seat and joined the conversation. Even Miss Spencer paid attention; very unlike the creature. Women! The morning feast before him had been long devoured. He could not fathom why he had stayed so long, for every word that came out from between Adelaide's sweet full lips caused his hackles to rise. And when she dared to look him in the eye . . . Suffice to say, the Marquess had had enough!

Rising to his feet, the chair squealed against the floorboards with the force it was pushed back with. "Some other time perhaps." Roarke answered dispassionately with an edge of ice that could freeze the soul of Hades himself. "I'm already late." He mumbled replacing Phillipa in his seat before leaving the ladies with a bow. No more than five seconds later, the breakfast room door closed behind the Marquess with a sound of finality.

--

Eleanora wondered to herself how any woman in her right mind could marry a man like that. From beneath thick spectacles, Eleanora's watchful brown gaze evaluated the Marchioness' pretty features as Lord Wessex left their presence. To her intelligent mind, Lady Wessex was not the vision of a happy new bride. But then again, who knew how long they had been married. After all, the Marquess had been gone well over a year. The only reason Eleanora could fathom a woman like Lady Wessex would marry some like Lord Wessex, well, it was obvious wasn't it? It had to be for the title or the money. It was clear to Eleanora that Lady Wessex was no dunce. The woman was obviously comprehending. However, it was also glaringly noticeable that the woman did not come from a family of rank. The title or amount of money would have Eleanora except such a proposal, the governess thought to herself haughtily.

Phillipa hopped from her papa's seat back to her own which happened to be at Lady Wessex's side. The seven year old looked up to the Marchioness and ventured buoyantly, "I think it's a wonderful idea my Lady." Pippa beamed bringing a smile to her governess's ruddy face. She had come to the family on a recommendation by one of her own tutors. Miss Rochester had in fact been her first proper charge and it had been a pleasure teaching the sweet child. The length of the position was unknown but after a year Eleanora had found herself for the very first time in her life with a sense of home and stability. It was about a year and a half into her position that Lord Wessex had demanded her presence in his study back in Hampshire, of course it had been just like any other time he decided to show up unannounced setting the household into chaos and had declared to her that he liked Phillipa's progress in her studies and although he found her wanting and desiring in certain attributes, Phillipa liked her and she was to stay until Phillipa was fifteen and ready to come out into society or until Eleanora's circumstances may change. Of course, Eleanora assure the Marquess that her circumstance would not be changing in the near or distant future.

They all had their demons. Eleanora was fortunate to escape hers and hide away with the Wessex's, where she was free from judgement and society. As she peered across at Lady Wessex, it was sad she could not say the same for everybody else. "My papa said he'd teach me but . . ." Eleanora's gaze flickered over to Pippa as she paused. "I don't know when that will be, so maybe you could teach me? Oh! And I could surprise him?" The excitement was palpable on Phillipa's feature as the idea formed in her mind.

The protective, maternal instinct for the girl came to the forefront as Eleanora stepped in. "I'm sure Lady Wessex would be more than happy to teach you but I am also certain Lady Wessex will be very busy today and you my dear have lessons. Now that you're done with breakfast up you go to the school room and prepare your art supplies for this afternoon."

"But-"

"No buts. Off you go." Eleanora said in her school mistresses demeanour, both her voice and features switching to the strict governess. It was not that she was against the idea, it was just . . . Although Lady Wessex appeared rather kind and gentle from the outside, the truth was she was a stranger and she could very easily be another Lady Kelton in the making and she did not her charge treated so.

Phillipa huffed, clearly unhappy. "Very well." She huffed again before lamely curtsying and exiting the room. An awkward hush fell upon the large room for a short time before Eleanora cleared her throat and poured both Lady Wessex's and herself a cup of tea.

"I do think it's a wonderful idea." The governess ventured. "Girl's get very little physical activity besides walks and riding. It's nice when they can indulge in something that's a bit more . . . fun." The governess smiled, causing her plump cheeks to appear even more round. Still, thanks to her tightly pinned back hair in a matronly fashion and her drab grey gown that did little to accentuate her fine figure and rather hid it instead made the woman appear far older in years than the twenty and five she was. "My Lady . . ." Eleanora paused and wondered if she should or shouldn't mention this - the Marchioness could very well put her in her place and maybe even have her removed from her position - but . . . Eleanora could not help but try and be helpful. "I don't mean to be rude however . . . The general rule I teach Phillipa because it is rather a tricky and if you ask me an over the top ritual," The Governess rolled her eyes, her fingers coming to the knives and forks on either side of her, brushing over each like she was playing the pianoforte. "is, working from the outside in. And if you still can't remember . . ." Eleanora's grin turned mischievous slightly. "Just do what everyone else goes."

--

The thought of being in close proximity with Adelaide, in the same area, under the same roof . . . It was more than Roarke could take. He was furious with her, with the whole situation. And it was all his own doing! Turns out the Commander, the Earl of St Merryn, Richard's father, didn't quite see it his way. In fact, he was opposed and very much viewed the circumstances and the Marquess' decisions much in the way Draker had. In fact, Wessex had received a nice rollicking from his Commanding Officer in the final debrief.

"However, you're fortunate, there is one saving grace in this whole great mess of yours." The Earl claimed after the debriefing was finally over and Alpha team was gathered for a meeting in the underbelly of the Hades Gentleman Club. Roarke sat in a corner in a old red velvet draped arm chair, his fingers steepled before him, his features growing darker as he saw Will gaze in his direction gloating silently. They were like school boys who'd fallen out. "The parchment's you managed to remove from Murat's complex, after being deciphered - and we are only a quarter of a way through this process mind you - have been extremely revealing. What you've found my dear boy," The Earl said proudly, moving behind Roarke's chair, clasping the Marquess' shoulder. "Is a gold mine! One of those peaces of paper contains the name of what appears to be all of the foreign eyes and ears in the pocket of Bonaparte. Including some of our own."

"Traitors!" Draker spat in disgust.

"Indeed." Richard added despondently, lounging near by.

"That is the sad truth." The Earl sighed, moving back around to face his men and lean against the large unlit fireplace. The older gentleman was dressed rather drably, the dress code having no need to be followed so rigidly down here in the depths of the old city. "And they must be detained. But for that we need proof. And their are far too many than I care to admit. Fortunately for us, our Lord Wessex here is a newly married man!" The Earl declared at Roarke's expense. While, Richard laughed and the Duke grinned darkly, Roarke simply grumbled in the corner feeling more like a fool. "And the Season is upon us. The timing could not be more perfect men. All of our suspects are known to be in town. We need away to keep them under surveillance and away we can get access to hard proof or their treachery and treason. That is where you my Lord come in." The Earl said pointedly in Wessex's direction. "You are to throw a ball in no less than ten days. The Marchioness must have a proper out into English society; where we shall invite all our suspects."

"Perfect." The Duke of Dynevor grinned darkly. The man was enjoying this far too much. Wessex wanted to punch the man again, the only thing stopping him was the fact that he may very well break his wrist. "I'm sure Wessex's wife knows all of them on a very close personal level. Seeing as they're all fucking criminals. Maybe she can do the spying for us seeing as you have such faith in her Roarke huh?"

The Duke laughed coolly. Roarke had had just about enough and was about to stand up to confront the Duke when the Earl cut in, standing between the pair. "Actually, that William, is going to be your assignment. You see, as I mentioned earlier, there are unfortunately too many names on that list. This operation is being branched out across other teams because there is no way we can cover them all in the time span we're working with. Your target is a Lady Shelton. Baroness Shelton is very recently widowed, about a year and a half ago. Her husband's name was at the very top of the list. There is no doubt Baroness would miss a ball thrown by the Marquess of Wessex. She has three granddaughters coming out this year and the woman is partial to a younger man herself."

Will made a disgusted face at the news of his new mission. While Roarke was beginning to enjoy himself at last. It was about time some else did the hard work, the Marquess thought to himself, the smugness having shifted from the Duke's face to his.

"The Baroness," The Earl continued. "herself is throwing a house party in the coming weeks when there is a break in the Season. Your mission is to garner and invitation at this ball to Baroness Shelton's house party. Once you've admittance you are to pack and join the party at the Baroness' hunting lodge, where the party is being held and are to stay there. This will give you access to the household where you are to finding something solid to convict the deceased, although it is very unlikely Lady Shelton has any knowledge of her departed husband's affairs. And if possible, any evidence that links the Baron to others under surveillance. Any questions? No? Good."

And with those commands, the Earl exited the room. The Duke was clearly not at all happy with his role but said nought. "Unlucky Will." Richard clasped Dynevor on the shoulder that the Duke quickly shrugged off before storming off like an angry ogre. Richard shared a look with Roarke before the men burst out into manly chortling laughter. "He's supposed to seduce an old bat?!" Richard laughed so hard it was starting to hurt.

"He couldn't seduce a goat if he tried." Roarke keeled over in his seat, his shoulders shaking with mirth as his stitches burned.

For the next three nights, fever ravaged through Roarke's body. He had not returned to Belqualis House, only sent orders that they should start preparing for a ball on the Friday after next which gave the household only nine days to get everything ready to host hundreds of societies elite. The Household was once again in utter chaos and yet that Master had still not return even when the big night was only two days away. Mrs Mills and Mr Bronson led the charge however, they constantly pestered their new mistress for decisions. Of course it was not their fault. This is all they knew. It was the Lady of the house's duty to arrange everything from daily dinner menus to everything involved in such a grand affair as a great ball. However, the question on everybody's lips was: when would the master return home and when he did, would preparations be to his liking?

 

[LeatrixSage]

Roarke’s chair screeched as he pushed it back and Addie’s eyes dropped to her plate in the same moment. The fact that she had been right didn’t make her feel any better. If anything, she only felt worse hearing his detached and cold response. It had all just been an act then. The warm façade, all the charm he had worn, it was all gone. There was no pretense left between them, and her heartache faded beneath the sheer weight of her own stupidity for being taken in. The door to the little breakfast room snapped closed in a way that put an end to everything that had come before that moment, and Adelaide felt like she was finally able to breathe.

Before she knew it, Phillipa hopped into the seat next to her, startling her. She wasn’t certain how to approach the little snippet, but the girl seemed curious and open, and when she told Addie that she thought a friendly competition seemed like a wonderful idea, a rueful smile broke her melancholy.

“Thank, little Lady. I’m glad someone did,” she teased between bites. Ever so skillfully, the small girl maneuvered around asking the strange woman that had joined her small world to teach her, and it made Addie raise her brows at her. She wanted to say yes, but she wasn’t certain how Roarke would react if she did, and then Miss Spencer saved her.

The woman went from quiet observer to stern tutor in the blink of an eye, and Adelaide had to clear her throat to keep from laughing. There was something comforting about the little scene. “Bye, Phillipa,” Addie called after the girl as she left, unable to let the little minx leave looking so unhappy. “We’ll take about it more over dinner, okay?”

Miss Spencer cleared her throat, and Addie thought at first that she had spoken out of turn. As it turned out, however, they were on the same page. They both thought it would be fun for Phillipa to learn something other than sewing, sitting, and singing; it immediately endeared her to the other woman. The governess smiled, and Addie realized that she was quite pretty despite the facade she put on. Or, the woman didn’t even realize it herself. And, when she took the time to give Addie some advice about the silverware, she decided right then and there that they were going to be friends.

“Good, God, am I using the wrong fork?” Adelaide laughed as she looked down at the setting. Honestly, she hadn’t even noticed. She knew the old adage of starting on the outside and working in, but she had never bothered to pay attention to these things. It just didn’t matter in the 21st century. The 19th century, however, would judge her for every mistake as if they were mortal sins. Sitting back in her chair, Addie appraised the other woman closely for a moment. She had a shrewd look about her, beneath the plain and simple front that kept her beneath the radar. Maybe, then, the ally she needed was sitting across the table from her.

“Miss Spencer,” she began, and then shook her head. “No, that won’t do. From now on, if you can tolerate the impropriety, when it is just you and me, my name is Addie. You can call me Marchioness and Lady Wessex when the world demands it, but the rest of the time, I am Addie. And, if you are comfortable with it, I don’t want to be calling you ‘Miss Spencer’ all the time.”

She wasn’t going to press; the woman had enough spine to stand up against Clarissa, and she’d decide for herself if she was comfortable with the Lady of Wessex using her given name or not. “I would like us to be friends, and,” she felt her cheeks warming with a blush as she motioned to the table, “I need help with all of this. I am afraid I am out of my depth when it comes to London society,” understatement of the century, “and you might very well be my only hope of surviving them.”

--

It was just another day beneath the roof of The Baroness Shelton – despite the invitation to an unheard-of event taking place at Belqualis House to introduce the mysterious, new Marchioness Wessex - and Colleen O’Donovan was sitting amidst the chaos and watching the destruction unfold. The freedom of being without a husband had gone to the Dowager Baroness’ head years ago and had only gotten worse as the years had passed.

Colleen envied her deeply.

Katherine Wesley - The Baroness - was far above the reach of society, her age and prestige a well-deserved place after a lifetime of kowtowing to the ton. She was the very woman Colleen wanted to be, which was what had attracted her to becoming the woman’s companion in the first place. Her connections and advantages touched every house in London, and there was never an event that didn’t Include an invitation to the Baroness Shelton. That put the entirety of the ton at Colleen’s fingertips, which was exactly where the fiery redhead needed them to be. While she still held the title of Baroness Dungraven, Colleen had lost every red scent and every scrap of land, right along with her father’s title as the Viscount of Dunsany. The scandal had chased her right out of Ireland and into a hornet’s nest of politics and propriety that had been far removed from her the peerage of Ireland.

That was then, she told herself sternly. Over the last few years, she’d become a different woman. The sixteen-year-old that had clawed her way into London proper had given way to the twenty-seven-year-old-spinster that had built her fragile little empire on the backs of the very men that had stolen everything from her. Well, men like the one that had stolen everything. Merchants needed ships, and between Katherine’s generous allowances and the woman’s contacts, Colleen had acquired a small fleet of trading vessels. It gave her a leg to stand on, and something to support the weight of her title while she fought for the right to have her freedom without suffering a husband’s weight. Her general lack of interest in the gentlemen on the ton had earner her several vile nicknames, and to bring an end to them, Colleen had dubbed herself the Daerbhail, the daughter of the green isles. It was Gealige, old Irish, but to the English it sounded like “Devil,” and that suited her just fine.

“Colleen, dear,” the Lady Shelton called from hall to draw the younger woman out of the sitting room. The woman’s granddaughters were triplets, and truly unfortunate fact that had seen all three enter society at the same time. They were all seventeen now and beginning to hunt their husbands. The whole ritual made Colleen feel ill, but her opinion on the matter was an unwelcome one. “It is time for us to be off! Elizabeth, Margaret, Clara,” the woman ushered the girls ahead of her. Blessedly, they were easy to tell one from the other, but you could see their mother in every one of them; each was just a blonde, blue eyed, and lovely as she was. Minnie Daughtry and her husband, Frank – the Lord and Lady Howard – were two steps behind the rest.

“Oh, Colleen,” Minnie fussed as she pulled the younger, taller woman in close to kiss her cheeks, “I am so glad you decided to come with us.”

“You know she would never miss a night like this,” her husband teased her with a familiarity that they politely ignored. He and Colleen had gotten on very well since she had made him a considerable sum off a few risky investments that had paid off well beyond what they had expected. He respected her mind, and the fact that she could outshoot half his friends, and that she wasn’t afraid of being exactly who she was and nothing else. That, and the time or two that she had shared his bed, had been quite enjoyable for the both of them. “Everyone will be there tonight, the entire peerage, and she has a new venture to fund.”

“You’re both always work,” Minnie laughed as they all made their way out of the Dowager Baroness’s town house and into the small fleet of carriages that awaited them. They were both right, Colleen was always business, and everyone would be there to see the woman that had gotten the Marquess Wessex into a ball and chain.

--

Roarke never came back that day, or the next, or the one after that. He sent missives with instructions each day, and notes for his little Pipa, but they saw not hair or hide of the man beyond his messages. The bastard had thrown Adelaide to the wolves. Lucky for her, she thrived under pressure and behind tight deadlines. Mrs. Mills, Eleanor, and Bronson became her most trusted advisors over the nine days it had taken to air out the dozens of dusty rooms, clean all the windows, and freshen all the furniture while tending to the normal, daily needs of the household. It had taken her a week to learn every name and face under her employ and working alongside them every step of the way had created a small army of allies that worked to support their hapless Lady learn to walk and talk like the woman they had all expected her to be. It hadn’t taken them long to learn that she wasn’t afraid of work after getting down on her hands and knees and scrubbing the worn wooden floors of the ballroom until they shown brilliantly. She’d scrubbed every nook and cranny of that great room alone when the household had balked against her efforts to help them. After that single day of working her fingers to the bone, they had given way to not just following the orders of their Lady, but to allowing her to be one of them.

It was a victory that had been no small thing for Addie, and had made the mayhem of cleaning, planning, and preparing something that became an enjoyable challenge for them all. By the end of it all, Adelaide Aedler was in her element. Running a household was really no different than running a business, and event planning was a major part of networking in the south. Eleanor was her reference for names and invites, Mrs. Mills had been her front runner with the staff, Bronson had fielded the kitchen, the food that had to be purchased, and every vender she had to contact, and all three – along with Philippa – had worked together to teach Addie as much as they could before she had to great her guests.

Everything was in place as dusk fell over Belqualis House. The table was set with so much food she was certain it half of it would go to waste, the ballroom was alive with music and chatter, and every room on every floor was so richly and elegantly appointed that she dared someone to breath a negative word about any of it. Even so, everyone was wondering the same thing she was: where was their missing Lord of the House, and would had they lived up to his expectations?

The entirety of the ton was present, including the elusive Lady Laurel Bailey and her brother Gabriel, the Earl of Bailey, whom had sent their cards to RSVP at the last second. While she understood is was unusual for her to introduce herself to her guests, Roarke simply wasn’t there, and Addie was old hat at having to stand and speak for herself. She had even had the unusual pleasure of welcoming Roarke’s friend, the bear of a man that turned out to be a Welshman and the Duke of Dynevor. It was funny to think that she had been cursing at a Duke only a few weeks past, but he had been pleasant enough when she had welcomed him, and even managed to not seem entirely annoyed when she spoke something other than French.

All in all, there were frills, fans, and formal wear to spear, white gloves on every hand, and room enough in the sprawling house and expansive gardens beyond to accommodate. She was blessed in that she had about thirty years before the Victorian era peeked and balls became the heart of everything English. The rules were a little fluid, still forming, and it had allowed Addie some freedom to be avant-garde in everything from the red dress that had started it all, to her hair, to the hanging lights strung up between trees out the back garden, and floating candles in the pond and fountains. For once, living in the wrong time felt like an advantage, because she knew all the things that would be the height of fashion in just a few short years.

But, without Roarke by her side, all of it would do little to stem the tide of rumor about an unhappy marriage within the walls of Belqualis House. The staff were already reporting whispers, but thankfully they had naught to do with a wife that wasn’t fulfilling her duties, and everything to do with a perpetual Bachler that wasn’t made to be a married man. As yet, no one knew about the tiny party being held for Phillipa’s enjoyment upstairs. She’d had her dinner, but the excitement of the ball was too much for the girl to overlook, so Addie had arranged the girl have a private little party with some of the household staff upstairs. Clarissa might have a heart attack, but it was better than looking the girl in her room and ignoring her. After all the time they had spent together - Pipa teaching Addie to be a Lady, and Addie teaching Pippa to shoot a bow with her instinct and not her eye - she would be damned if anyone dared to threaten that little girl’s happiness.

As a highlight to her evening, Addie was waiting to see if she had successfully talked Miss Spencer into the lovely dress she’d given the woman to wear. Eleanor had taken much convincing simply to attend, but she very much hoped the sedate style had appeased her enough to wear the brilliant blue satin. The woman was beautiful, and she bound and determined to prove it. If she let her hair down a little, smiled, and dressed like a woman instead of nun, Addie was certain Eleanor would have plenty gentleman seeking her company on the dance floor. But, of course, if her new found friend refused, Addie would not press her. It would be enough to have an ally at her side.

 

[ScarlettRose]

Eleanora had pleaded no, she could not possibly attend the ball. Ball's were not places for ladies like her and she had no interest in them whatsoever. However, Adelaide - she still found that odd too, calling the lady of the house by her Christian name - had insisted and Eleanora was quickly finding it extremely difficult to say no to the persistent Marchioness. Addie was like no noble Eleanora had met before. That maybe of course, because from the little she knew of the Marchioness, it was clear she was not born noble. Which only endeared her more to Lady Wessex.

Miss Spencer, dared to glance up at her reflection in the looking glass on her dressing table in her humble quarters. The gown was marvellous. Simple yet speaking. However, just like the ball itself. The dress was not made for a woman like her. Of that Eleanora was certain. Nerves bubbled in the pit of her stomach. There was nothing more bulking than mingling with those hundreds of people downstairs. The merriment could be heard all the way up here, even past the closed door. Well! Eleanora decided, coming to stand on her two feet. It was now or never. After all the effort Addie had gone to, it would be utterly rude and uncaring to not go.

When she was stood at the top of the stairs looking down at the sad crush that was the ballroom, she had second thoughts. The house for heaving! Everybody that was anybody was in attendance tonight and that did not bode well for the governess. Her pale knuckles turned whiter on the railing as she took the first and baulked. She couldn't do this. Eleanora considered for a second in her panic to ran back to her room and lock the door behind her. Fortunately, her stubborn nature took a hold and the young woman straightened her spin and scanned the enormous ballroom for a place to hide. She would show Addie her face as soon as she could find the Marchioness and then make her escape back to her room. That way, it could not be said that she hadn't attended but could also be gone quickly and not have to endure the festivities.

Of course, it was hardly the festivities or the ball that was the problem. It was altogether something different. It was the people and the shadow that always seem to loom over her. No matter how she tried to out run her past, it was always there ready to jump out of the darkness. For now howbeit, she did not need to run, she simply needed to manoeuvre the attendees on the east side of the room to that little nook right at the back where she could sit and watch the ball like the wallflower she was.

--

His life was so much easier with the troublesome fairer sex not in it. To say the past week and a half was bliss would have been an exaggeration. Not withstanding this, the time away from Belqualis House and it's new mistress had been stress relieving and had allowed the Marquess' anger to cool quite a bit. Yet, he had thought it best to distance himself from Adelaide. She clearly did not want to be near him and no one needed at home. Thus, Wessex had spent a few days resting, gambling, drinking and working of course. The details of the mission parameters had been set and targets. All the work behind the scenes for the men to act upon. It was sometimes hard to forget where Wessex started and the spy ended. Maybe they were one and the same. Either way, this lifestyle at a certain point got to you. Yet, he had a duty to King and country and the man would never renegade what was in his blood.

Roarke had considered going back to Belqualis House a day before the ball was due to be held, however the thought had not materialised into action. Especially when he recalled his confrontation with Adelaide. The memory of her, cold and unyielding. She had never wanted him and what he recalled as a return to his affection must have been his imagination. The imagination of an injured, sick man in need of some comfort. There was little time to dwell on such things nonetheless this week past, spending almost every waking second on the upcoming assignment.

And now here the Marquess of Wessex stood in all his finery looking rather dapper as always, at the very top of the stairwell that led down into the ballroom. He had to admit they'd done a damn well astonishing job getting this place up to scratch for such an invent. He was in fact slightly impressed, though his features hard gave that away as he gaze down with his usual apathetic construct to his noble features. Wessex was already late for his own ball but that hardly occurred to him to be an impropriety, seeing as impropriety was expected from him by the ton anyway. There were two loud knocks from behind Roarke and the room was stirred into a frezzy of conversation as all eyes swept up to him.

"The Most Honorable, The Marquess of Wessex!"

And so the Marquess was announced in attendance as per his rank. Roarke very casually made his way down onto the floor. Sharing nods and handshakes with acquaintances and friends whilst thanking them for attending and all the other duties of a host. Though his azure gaze swept the crowds, there were far too many people to find anyone in particular. And stupidly, the only face he wanted to pick out of the crowd was the one he should not. For his own sanity.

The ball was clearly a smashing success. So much so there was barely room to breath around the edges let alone move and the dance floor was no better. Every man wanted to shake his hand and every woman wanted to speak to him and Wessex remembered perfectly well why he preferred attending these sorts of affairs rather than host them. He had only been here five minutes and he felt like he'd spoken to a thousand people! The Marquess stopped for a passing footman with a tray of drinks and grabbed a flute of champagne as the servant passed. The opulence of his house was completely lost of the Marquess. The golden guild walls and ceilings that sparkled in the glow of hundreds if not thousands of candles. The lavishness of the cuisine and drinks. There was want of nothing and yet the Marquess was left wanting.

Roarke grinned sipping his champagne as his gaze locked with Drakers across the way. The Marquess nodded in the direction in which he had saw the dowager Baroness Shelton and her little party. A gesture that told Will that he better get going to his duty. Wessex was certain he could almost hear the fierce growl Dynevor was bestowing upon him, even at this great distance between them before he stalked off in exactly the direction Roarke had pointed to. The friends had not spoken a word between each other, except for where the mission was concerned. The contention between the two was thick like smog. Eventually something would have to give but then again, enemies had become so for much less in the past.

The Marquess' gloating was disturbed when a blue blur was pushed into him as someone turned at the wrong moment. "Ever so sorry-" He began clasping the woman by the upper arm to stop her going down. "Miss Spencer?! . . ." He stopped and gawked, making certain his eyes weren't fooling him. "Good God! Is that you?" To say he was shocked, now that was an understatement. "My word!" Roarke grinned. "I'm surprised you know what colour is."

"I'm perfectly aware of the existence of colour my Lord." Miss Spencer gritted through tightly pressed lips, pulling her arm out of Roarke's clasp, righting herself. Roarke laughed, taking a step back, he examined the governess and not mincing his words. "Well, you're bloody attractive under those drab gowns you wear. Who the devil would have thought." He chortled to himself.

"My Lord!" Miss Spencer exclaimed.

"Oh please. Don't get yourself in a tizzy Miss Spencer. I assure you I have no designs upon your attractiveness. Aren't you aware? I'm a happily married man." He scoffed, before offering the governess his hand. "Come now Miss Spencer, I shall claim my first dance with you." Bowing, his devilish lips pulled further into one side knowing she could not refuse any man who asked for a dance.

As soon as her gloved hand had slipped into his, Roarke had pulled her out onto the dance floor. The strings for a polonaise dance were just began when Wessex smoothly and quickly disrobed Miss Spencer of her spectacles, slipping them into the inner pocket of his fine blue silk coat. "Ah, there! Much better." The Marquess declared.

"My Lord, what are you doing?!" Miss Spencer exclaimed. "I cannot see without my glasses." Seething quietly but more flustered than anything for it was clear from her wide blinking eyes that she could not make anything out clearly.

"You don't need spectacles to dance Miss Spencer. Especially someone on your calibre. I know for a fact you're far more capable than you let on." Pulling her into the steps as the dance began, Roarke continued. "Follow my lead if needs be but I doubt you'll need to."

"Are you a mad man?!" Miss Spencer questioned as she flawlessly executed the steps with the rhythm. "I need my spectacles! Give them back at once!"

The dance was splendid and Miss Spencer was indeed a very capable dancer, even without the aid of her spectacles much as Roarke had expected. Of course, that had hardly stopped her complaining throughout the routine and demand to have them back. Yet, Wessex was neither one to give in easily. As the dance came to an end and he bowed and she curtsied, with a finality he told her. "Miss Spencer, trust me, one day you will thank me for this. You may have your spectacles returned tomorrow." Roarke declared leading her off the dance floor and with one last bow he departed her company. The poor governess spectacles in tow.

--

It was the crimson that first caught his eye. The deep red almost sanguine in colour. He'd know that dress if it were half a world away. His hearts desire to lay eyes upon her was quickly replaced by the need to hold her close as soon as the first was satisfied. There was no word to describe how incredible his Lady looked tonight. And all vows to himself of how he would not fall to her lure were long forgotten when Wessex found himself walk straight in her direction. His gaze locked on it's target.

His body burned with need to simply touch her. It was not humanely possible to need as he needed at this very moment. She had bewitched him and he wanted nothing more than to become further entwined in her trap. The Marquess of Wessex bowed deeply to his Marchioness. All eyes were on them and this time he did not invite. He took. Sweeping Adelaide onto the ballroom floor.

"Play a Waltz!"

The Marquess demanded of the orchestra above. Undoubtedly the Marquess' demands were met and a Waltz was struck up and Adelaide Aedler would soon find herself pressed scandalously close to her husband being glided across the dance floor with other couples. The only thing more scandalous than their shamefully close proximity was the fact that husband and wife were dancing together which was a big no no. But this was the Marquess of Wessex and everybody knew that the man flouted any rules he chose, left, right and centre.

Though, they were surrounded by good society, society was the furthest thing from Wessex's mind as he sailed with his pretty and new bride in his arms. He had nothing to say to her, yet his gaze which was fixed on hers said more than any spoken words could. It was in those moments with her in his arms that he realised exactly how much he hungered for her and how he'd missed those plump lips and that sharp tongue beyond it.

There was no way Wessex could wait for tonight. Wait for a moment of her time. As the strands of music slowed, bringing the dance to a close, Roarke artfully swept Adelaide out through a pair of French doors that were left open to admit the much needed night air from the gardens beyond. The Marquess wasted no time pressing Adelaide into a dark corner. Her back pressed against the cool bricks as his lips came down upon her and all the passion, fury and need of ten days and more was finally released.

Roarke blistered with wanting. His kisses scorching as they delved deeper, taking more from her. His groans of pleasure making no secret of his passion for her. His hands grabbed at the bodice of her gown, thirsting to touch her bare skin. Wessex growled against her lips when the material would not give, being bound up so tight. Drunk with desire, his need only grew with her so close. Smouldering lips claimed her swollen lips once more. Not a man to give up, his hands now skimming down her sides began to grab folds of the yards of fabric that made up the skirts of her dress, pulling up at the side as his feet manoeuvred between Adelaide's to widen her stance enough allowing him to press the solid erection under his breeches against her womanhood. The feel of skin as smooth as silk as he caressed her thigh and face elicited another groan of desire from between his lips.

Tonight, he would have her. "Where's . . . that . . . sharp tongue." The Marquess teased his Marchioness between fervent kisses. "I have missed . . . it so . . . and it's . . . wielder."

The discord and the according hurt all long forgotten in this moment of affection. Roarke wanted to tell her exactly how much he'd missed her. Her much he needed her. How utterly idiotic he had been that night and how, if she'd let him, he'd make it up to her entirely. Be that as it may, the opportunity was gone before he could even get the chance as shuffling of skirts against the gravel could be heard and the tittering of feminine voices growing louder as they approached closer.

Roarke did not pull away from Adelaide, she was still pressed deliciously between him and the bricks of the house. Silently he pressed a finger to his lips in a gesture to tell Addie to remain quiet. The way society worked it would be even more scandalous for Wessex to be found compromising and accosting his own wife. Marriage's weren't based on love or affection and it was frowned upon to see a husband and wife too ardourus towards each other.

"So! What do you think of the new Lady Wessex?" A snotty voice belonging to a busybody could be heard tittering excitedly. "She's uncommonly pretty I must say. Don't you think?"

"She's French." Another female voice scoffed, seemingly unimpressed, spitting the word like an insult. "Her beauty can hardly match English radiance. It's all the powders and rouge they paint themselves in. Hardly natural beauty is it?"

"Pish!" The first woman blustered as Roarke listened silently. A small smirk upon his lips as his eyes switched back to Addie's. He did not recognise the first voice but the second he new rather well. "You're just jealous Louisa! Admit it!"

"Jealous??! Me?!" The second woman - Louisa - replied affronted. "As if I'd ever be!"

"Oh please! I know you are my dear. It's quiet alright. I'm sure I would be too if my beau had lost interest in me when his new pretty little wife came along." The first woman returned at her friends expense.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Louisa roared.

"Oh come Louisa, I know you sent Wessex an invite to your bed last week and I also know how he did not acknowledge it and how he gave your invitation to him to one of his friends." The first woman replied with a sense of smugness.

"How-how the devil did you know that?"

"I have my ways and means." The smugness continued as the first woman replied again proudly.

"You're nothing more than a misinformed gossip!" Louisa declared. Her quick footsteps could be heard stalking off and her friend quickly trailing behind her exclaimed how dare Louisa accuse her of being a gossip. The Marquess could be heard heartily laughing once the intruders were out of earshot. Louisa had indeed been a paramour of his before his escapades in France. His laughter slowed as his deep blue eyes once more dove into the woman pressed so excruciatingly sweetly against him. Lowering, stealing a slow, soft kiss from the lips of the only woman he desired now.

"Adelaide . . ." He Marquess confessed on a whisper a breath away from her distent petals. "You're driving me to madness woman."

 

[LeatrixSage]

"The Most Honorable, The Marquess of Wessex!"

Addie looked up at the same time that most of the faces in the ballroom turned to watch Roarke casually stole into the ballroom has if he had been home the entire time. Her heart turned over the moment she saw his face, but she resisted the urge to go to him. His eyes swept passed where she stood, but they missed her, tucked as she was behind the Earl of Bailey’s impossible wide shoulders while he and his sister shared some private joke. They were a pleasant enough pair, each so impossibly perfect she was surprised they had spent so much time chatting with her. She lost sight of Roarke in the ever-shifting mass of bodies that filled the expansive room as they all crowded around to get a look. She had learned quickly that he was something of an enigma to the ton. He was one of them, but at the same time, he was not. He belonged with them, but he moved somewhere outside of their collective control, and that made him an annoyance and a fascination. It turn, it had made her much the curiosity. So much so that she had spent the entire evening moving from one conversation to the next. There were so many names and faces that even she had lost track of half of them. Networking was easily her greatest skill, but the evening really was madness.

“Who is that he is dancing with, I wonder?” Lady Bailey asked at her elbow. “Do you know? Gabriel, get out of the way,” the woman tapped her brother on the shoulder with her fan to scoot him over as he and Adelaide both turned to see what was happening. Roarke was indeed dancing with someone, and at first, she wasn’t certain who it was until she caught a glimpse of the woman’s dress.

“She’s lovely,” the Earl of Bailey mused, his smooth voice rumbling in a way that made Addie smile proudly at her new friend while she took a turn around the ballroom with Roarke.

“She is, isn’t she,” Addie agreed passively as they watched the pair. Eleanor really was a wonderful dancer, her poise and precision far outpacing Addie’s own. The Earl watched her with a meticulous eye, and Addie wondered how much the man would worry himself over the fact that Miss Spencer was a Governess and not a Lady in title. “I’d be happy to make an introduction, if you like?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have time for that,” Laurel chirped from her side, her fan fluttering with new vigor as she tucked her free hand onto the crook of her brother’s arm to pull him aside. “Here he comes.”

Addie glanced back at the ballroom floor to find Eleanor alone amid the sea of people, who were parting to admit Roarke through. He was upon her so quickly that she didn’t have time to prepare herself for all the simmering intensity that he was wearing like a second skin. She curtsied as he came to a stop, a new skill she had picked up while he’d been away, and then he bowed deeply before her. He didn’t speak, not to her. He simply took her hand and lead her back the way he had come. The man called out for a waltz and Addie gave her hand a small tug to try and free it, but he was having none of it.

“Roarke, we can’t,” she whispered as the small orchestra began to play as directed. Again, he said nothing, but pressed her so tightly to his chest that she could hear the buzzing of whispers and fluttering fans as if they danced at the center of a hive. Whatever the rumors had been up until this point, they had surely just taken a new turn. “Please, Roarke,” she tired, but as her gaze lifted to meet his, she was silenced. They had made it very clear she was not to dance with him, and not dancing at all would be even better because she was barely passable at it. Her cheeks darkened as she settled her hand on his shoulder and he led them into the spinning couples around them. Her instinct to watch her feet came and went almost unnoticed. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away from him. He never said a word and yet a thousand things rang frighteningly clear. Her resolve to meet whatever terror he brought with him head on was falling to tatters around her while her heart beat frantically against her ribs. The layers of clothing between them did nothing at all to stop the warmth of him from seeping straight to her bones. Being wrapped in his arms again was threatening to tear down every wall she had built against him.

He doesn’t love you, her mind screeched, desperate to hold up what little resolve she had left to resist him. It’s all a lie, you know it’s a lie!

As the dance came to a close, Roarke’s arm about her waist tightened to hug her close against his side as he maneuvered her. The few that attempted to catch their attention did nothing to slow his pace, and soon no others would dare, and then he was taking her out into the cool night air. She thought to ask where they were going but decided against it. Whatever he was about, she was certain it wasn’t good. She had made a misstep somewhere, some mistake she hadn’t seen, and she was preparing herself for whatever it was… and then he was pulling her into the shadows and tucking her into a corner as his mouth crushed against her own.

Adelaide gasped beneath the assault and his tongue dove passed her lips to slide across her own. He used his larger frame to keep her pinned against the cool brick wall, the sharp edges biting into her skin, but she barely noticed them over the trails of fire that his hands created as they traveled over her bodice and then down her sides. She tried to slow him down when he began to drag her skirts up, the evening air cold on her heated skin, but somehow her hands ended up clinging to his jacket rather than his arms. He nudged her feet apart as he bunched her skirts between them, and whatever had remained of her will to tell him ‘no,’ to push him away… it was gone the moment the prove of his arousal nudged between her thighs and pressed against the dampness that had pooled there.

Whatever moans or sounds had made it past her lips, Addie was unaware of them until he asked where her sharp tongue was hiding. She had no answer for him. She wasn’t even sure she remembered why she had ever pushed him away when she wanted him so badly that she could barely breath. Her entire world had narrowed down to him and the damned layers of clothing between them, when he pressed a finger to her lips and she froze.

Distant voices drew steadily nearer, and Addie pressed her face into Roarke’s chest to hide. Not that it would do any good, she hadn’t seen a single other woman in red, let alone one quite so vibrant, they’d know her for sure. She listened as the pair of women fussed with each other, raising her eyebrows at Roarke in curiosity as it turned out that not only was one of them potentially an old lover, but that he had shot her down while he had been away. It struck Addie as profoundly odd. She wasn’t his wife, she wasn’t even his lover, Roarke owed her nothing. If he’d slept with one or a hundred women while he had been gone, he would have been well within his rights. It was on her lips to ask why he had turned the other woman away, but he answered the question before she could ask it.

“You’re not alone in that,” she whispered back. He was the very heart of madness, everything about him drove her to extremes that she never would have imagined of herself. “The way I see it, there are only two choices to be had for us now,” she murmured against his lips. “We can go back inside, wait out the evening, and take our time with this later,” she reasoned, watching the man’s eyes with curious interest as one of her arms looped around his shoulders as the other moved down tug at the stays of his breeches. “Or, we can start here,” she murmured on a dark whisper that was all promise, her hips rolling to rub her damp pussy against the hard length of him through his breeches, “and finish in your rooms later.”

She was grinning like the mad woman she was as she finished, already certain she knew exactly what his answer would be as she reached passed the loosened stays to work his breeches open and wrap her fingers around his cock. His growl was answered with her own moan as she hooked one of her bare legs over his hip to pull him close, guiding his length into place. One quick thrust is all it would take, and Addie was praying he’d accept the offer.

--

“That was an interesting display,” Minnie was fanning herself feverishly as Frank and Colleen shared a little smirk behind her. “Where do you think they are off to? They have guests!”

I could hazard a guess, Colleen thought, but she didn’t voice her opinion. Her attention was on the girls, Elizabeth, Margaret, and Clara all dancing merrily. They kept dutifully close to the grandmother, and Baroness Shelton was never far behind them. She pitied the men that crossed her path as much as she did the women that were competition for her granddaughters. The woman was shrewd and ruthless, and despite the freedom she enjoyed, she knew the best home for her girls was in finding prosperous husbands. She had even been plying her had at trying to find someone to take up the landless Irish woman that had become something of a project. Colleen would rather be a mistress than a wife, society and marriage be damned.

“Is that Dynevor?” Frank asked from her shoulder, drawing Colleen’s attention away from the dancefloor.

“Where, dear?” Minnie asked, her fan fluttering a little faster, to Colleen’s endless amusement.

“By Katherine,” Frank directed them all with a nod in the older woman’s direction.

“He’s a little old for the girls, don’t you think?” Minnie asked as she glanced side-long at Colleen. Oh, the woman knew very well that the Irish lass had bedded her husband, but this was something a wife put up with. That did not mean, however, that she didn’t want to Colleen to be moved firmly out of his reach as soon as possible.

“Perhaps,” Colleen agreed, her tone neutral and relaxed. “But, wouldn’t it be nice to have a duchess as a daughter? Think of the advantages it would give her sisters and all of their children.”

“Indeed,” Frank agreed a little too firmly, and Minnie flushed as she looked up at him.

“Besides,” Colleen went one, watching the Duke and Lady Shelton chat, “he’s a very well-established man, even if his sense of fashion is a little lax.”

“Since when did you care about fashion?” Frank asked with a smirk.

“Women’s fashion? Never,” Colleen rejoined with a laugh. “Men’s fashion, however, is telling.”

“Don’t look now, dear,” Minnie was smirking as Colleen looked down at her, “but he’s headed this way.”

Sure enough, as Colleen turned to look, the subject of their conversation was indeed headed their way, and he was staring her down like a hound with its sight on a fox. “Gach go ifreann, you’re right,” she murmured behind her glass before downing its contents. “Your daughters must be safe, Minnie, excuse me.” She’d be damned if the old bat was going to send another man to nip at her heels. What did a Duke want with her anyway? The whole point was that she was supposed to be damaged goods that no man could marry. Colleen slipped her way through the crowd as easily as her relaxed, deep green gown would allow her to. Unlike most there, she was wear something that seemed scandalous in London, but was right at home in Ireland. Over her corset and chemise was a simple gown that clung to her bust, waist, and hips before falling straight to floor in loose waves of light fabric. It was massively out of date for the exclusive fashion of the ton, but she liked it that way. Eventually, she had made it through the press of bodies and into the great hall where only a few strays mingled. Looking back over her shoulder, she was the big Welshman was not only watching her but was determinedly headed in her direction.

“Damnit, you big brute, go away,” she fussed under her breath as she looked for somewhere to run. There had to be some place she could slip away to in order to disappear until he gave up on her, and as she strolled along at a fast pace, she found a door to what appeared to be a library standing slightly ajar. Slipping inside, she pressed the door closed, and then leaned against it to listen for footsteps.

--

The blonde woman in the brilliant blue dress had tried to vanish after Wessex had set her loose in favor of his wife. After dancing with the host, she was an object of curiosity, and Gabriel had watched her progress be slowed time and again by gentlemen asking her to dance. It was amusing. After each dance she struggled to slip through the crowds of people only to be stopped for conversation and then swept up for a dance. The woman could have snubbed anyone along her way and it likely wouldn’t have made a single soul lift an eyebrow, and yet she never faltered, never showed a moment of rudeness, even when one could plainly see she wanted to fly as far from this place as fast as she could.

It was during one of those flights that he managed to finally intercept her by cutting into her path. It was rude of him, but he bowed deeply to make up for it. “My Lady,” he offered his arm as he straightened, his dark grey eyes the color of angry storm clouds and focused on the adorably pert and upturned nose on the lady’s face. “You seem to be having trouble making your way. Please, allow me to escort you.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

Eleanora was reaching the end of her tether. This was getting absolutely ridiculous now. She could not understand, what could have possibly possessed these gentleman tonight to want to dance with her of all people. Tremendous amounts of alcohol the governess assumed. It was a damned good thing she had been a dab step at all the dances otherwise she would have looked like a complete fool! Thanks to that damnable Wessex! Who had stolen her life line. The poor woman was as blind as bat! And could barely see two yards in front of her.

During her last dance, while making pleasant conversation with whoever her partner had been; for the life of her she could not remember, being as it were contriving a plan in her head to escape this accursed ball! Eleanora felt completely vulnerable being out in the open in society like this. These were the people she made it her life's goal to avoid and here she was thrust in the mist of them without her sight. It was like throwing a baby deer to the wolves. Plus there were her secrets and her shadows and they were out here in the light. She needed to return to her hiding place. The governess felt it like a state of urgency. Every moment here was a moment that threatened the perfect life she had created for herself here with her charge and even the Marquess of Wessex and now his lovely bride.

It was while Miss Spencer was pondering all these things that she very almost barged straight into a tall, dark figure that struck her path. Her small, dainty hands came out in front of her to stop the collision. Luckily, there was not enough forward momentum for the actual impact. Before, she could say anything, the dark blur had began to speak. At first she thought her interloper might ask for a dance and she held back the sigh that was bubbling to get out. However, the gentleman surprised her. But hardly in a good way.

"I'm no lady Sir, I assure you." Eleanora scoffed.

It was not her intention to be so harsh but she was quite reaching the end of her patience for this whole affair. There was also the fact of his offer of aid that had her squinting her light grey gaze up at him to try and see his features a bit more clearly to see if she recognised him but failed miserably. Her eye sight had always been terrible ever since she had been a young child. But that was neither here or there now when there was the possibility of immediate danger. From her experience in the past, gentlemen did not simply make such offers to an unaccompanied female unless they had less than honourable intentions . . .

"Thank you but I'm quite alright." Eleanora said respectfully, wanting only to get away. Unfortunately, the poor governess did not realise the first step to the stairs was upon her and with a start of shock she went down onto the hard staircase rather ungracefully.

The people surrounding her had a good laugh at her expense and as well as pushing away the smarting physical hurt, Eleanora also pushed away the bruise to her dignity as she felt his hands help her up. ". . . Maybe I spoke to soon . . ." She ventured after a moment as her fair skin burn't a bright pink on her plump cheeks. Her forearms and hands aching where the right angle of the stairs had dug into her tender skin sharply as she had fallen. "If you'd be so kind to help me up the stairs, I'm sure I'll be quite fine after that . . . I . . . Somebody thought it'd be a good idea for me to go without my spectacles tonight. They no doubt were thinking it may make me more attractive so that they could get rid of me." Eleanora jested nervously before clearing her throat. "Shall we?"

--

The man could scarcely breath with her lips murmuring against his own. Her ardour and response to his need for her had only increased the fire in his blood. Wessex had never needed, never wanted any woman as badly as he wanted Adelaide Aedler. And there was no way he could explain this attraction to her. She was a hotheaded mad woman that drove him insane in every way possible and yet that only increased his desire for wench.

Such hunger and yearning that needed to be released immediately now that he beheld her in his own arms. The Marquess growled at her first suggestion. In the state she had rendered him that simply wasn't an option. Pressing Addie harder between the wall and his solid form, the man nuzzled, nipping and kissing the fine column of her neck. One hand squeezing her tightly packed breasts through her bodice while his other arm held onto her tight. He was painfully hard for her and cruel woman was toying with him. He could feel the heat from her pussy against him and wanted nothing more than to breech her barriers. The man could only take so much, his gaze shooting back to hers feeling her beginning to undo his breeches.

Roarke gasped and then groaned at the sensation of her soft hand wrapping around his hard aching cock. "Jesus!" The woman literally had him by the dick. And how he wanted her. His hands coming to rest on either side of her head against the cold bricks to steady himself as the pleasure wracking his body mad him waver on his feet. Sucking in the air sharply between his teeth wanting more of her touch to his bare skin. Wessex nipped at her lower lip before moaning against them as he pressed his forehead against hers, manoeuvring his hips to work his thickness in her hand.

He was only a man and there was only so much he could endure. So when she wrapped one fine long leg around his waist, pulling him close and positioning him in the most exquisitely painful way between her sweet hot pussy lips, it very almost broke his already waning will. Roarke roared, his hands coming down to grasp her plump plentiful arse, lifting her off the ground and wrapping both her legs around her. "You've teased me enough wench!" Roarke growled. His pupils dilated and dark with desire. His mushrooming cock head still stationed at her entrance. And any attempts on her part to pull him into her were halted by his brute strength.

Yes he needed her. Wanted her. God! He there weren't words enough to describe HOW he wanted her! But she couldn't tease him so mercilessly like this after days upon days of being kept at a distance. One long fingered hand tightened in her coiffure yanking her head back, holding her like that while the other hand continued to caress her perfect arse. Roarke grinned devilishly against the blushing skin of her neck. "Your turn to be teased." He licked all the way up to her ear, biting the soft lobe between his teeth before breathing against her ear. "Let see how you like it." Working the tip of his cock at her entrance, never allowing himself to delve in deeper to her. No matter how much it was killing it. How much he was torturing himself as well as her.

All the man truly wanted to do was plunge into Adelaide's depths and release himself at the very centre of her being and mark her as his. And only his. The thought struck the perennial bachelor so strikingly causing him to pull the grasp on her hair tighter. "Mine." It was not a request. It was a statement. A fact. "Now . . ." Roarke ventured with the little control he had left, pushing his throbbing hardness in her just an inch more to make her quiver with need for him. "If you want me to fuck you." He bedevilled her with his playful taunting. "Beg. Me." The Marquess of Wessex demanded, reminding her of his promise to her when they first met.

--

Society was insufferable to the Duke of Dynevor. Although, it held the most merit for a man of his status. He was one of the most powerful men in the entire Kingdom. And should a certain seven people die the man would be King! However, to the reclusive Duke, that all meant very little. He had his Dukedom, which he ruled over and that was enough for him. Though to most he may appear to be a brusque and unyielding man, his tents and the people dwelling in his dominion would grant that he was a fair Lord and master.

Then there was also the fact to consider that Will was not simply any nobles. His duties went far above and beyond many nobles. For he was apart of a very select group of elite. Though, that hardly explained his bearlike behaviour or appearance. So may argue he had always been this way, even as a child. And they may very well be right. However, a story was never quite as black and white as it may first appear.

None of this of course mattered tonight. It was but one facet to the complexity that was the Duke of Dynevor. The man had worked up quite a reputation for himself. Not one like his current friend on bad terms - The Marquess of Wessex - but one of being a surly, fearsome noble. Of course, his shabby appearance and his long, dark unkempt beard as well as the massive slash from the top of his forehead all the way down through his eye and cheek didn't help the legend that was the Devil Duke.

He wasn't exactly on his best behaviour tonight, after all when one was raised to be a man of his position, there were very few one bowed down to. Still, he had greeted the Marchioness of Wessex with all due respect to her station. Though, his respect was little more than a facade. There was no doubt if this had actually be a real introduction of the lady into society, he would not have given her the time of day, Wessex and his needy prick be damned! However, he was here under certain pretences and with a certain goal. The Duke was fortunate one boorish look from him and people often kept their distance which was perfect because he did not want to be forced into awkward conversations.

Of course, there were many of his acquaintances there and fellow noblemen ergo he shook hands, conversed and did the social thing as it were. There were a few desperate or stupid - Dynevor wasn't quite sure - That chanced upon engaging him in talks and trying to introduce him to their young daughters that looked upon him in utter terror. The young ladies were fortunate for he had no desire to marry. At least not yet. A thirty and six he was content to carry on as a bachelor. Eventually of course, he'd need to marry and produce an heir but being male afforded him the luxury of time.

On the other hand, time was something he was currently short on in his current predicament. Will had wasted no time in tracking down and absorbing the exacting Lady Shelton into conversation. Dear God! This is going to kill me! Will regarded privately to himself. The things he had to do for King and country. Lady Shelton was as stringent in her manoeuvring as garrulous as she was. First, she tried to set him up with any three of her granddaughters. The first as pretty as the last but all of which were no more than young girls of a sheltered disposition. Once he'd convinced her out of that idea and managed to move her onto the subject of her little house party to take place when society took a break from the season the dowager, like pieces on a chessboard manoeuvred him into position.

It was very slightly impressive, leaving Will frowning and peering across the ballroom to a stout, redhead in a green gown that was as out of mode as his own attire, while Lady Shelton continued something along the line that she'd grant him an invitation to her house party upon the fact that he should have a turn about the dance floor with her dear companion. Will's grisly frown only deepened as his gaze connected with the woman in question and she seemed to get up immediately and make a bee line to the doors. No you're not. Will thought, somehow knowing that the woman was escaping from commitment.

There was no doubt in Will's mind as he accepted the dowager Lady Shelton's challenge, that the Baroness had put Miss O'Donovan in that same position before at the hands of others. He knew little of the Irish woman, except of the superlatives about her good character laid out by the dowager Baroness just a moment before. She was damned quick! Was something he learn't as he made to catch up with her.

Chasing women wasn't exactly William Draker's style. He had a handful of mistresses that he indulged in when notion took him and only two of them were noble ladies. Of course, all he wanted from the persistent Miss O'Donovan was just one dance. That was hardly too much to ask for was it now? Stopping before the library doors he'd seen her slip through. He stroked his beard in thought. There was every possibility Miss O'Donovan was just as afraid of him as those silly little girls fresh from the school room. But then, the Irishwoman appeared to be a woman of a robust and strong constitution. Though, he'd barely had a glance of her before she was dashing away.

Regrettably for Miss O'Donovan, Draker knew his friend's house far better than she did. Thus when he stopped right in front of her from out between two large and looming bookcase's, her start was completely understandable. "You are a hard woman to get a hold of." Will grumbled, taking in every detail from her bright red hair to the freckles on her neck and arms in one sweeping glance. Wondering how far exactly those freckles travelled down her body. "Don't tell me you're frightened of me, a strong Irish lass like you." Slowly moving around her, Will headed too a bookcase in the wall behind her. Pulling out three thick dusty tomes, letting them drop to the floor, the sound echoing through the expansive room; revealing a secret nook that held a two hundred year old bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. "You know, the Irish and the Welsh have a lot in common. Like our Celtic blood." Offering her a chalice.

 

[LeatrixSage]

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Colleen snapped as she hopped away from the library door and away from the big bear of a man as he immerged from the wall like a demon slithering out of the shadows. She could only assume he was familiar with Wessex’s home as stopped before her and pushed the hidden door back into place behind him. Colleen stood nearly eye to eye with most men, and head and shoulders over most women, so it was an unusual experience to tip her head back in order to look up at the man. His voice was as dark and rough as his bearded complexion, but it didn’t distract her from the way his gaze ran down the length of her body and back up again. She glowered at him as her left hand settled on the door knob, considering snatching it open and leaving, until he asked if she was scared.

“No,” she answered smoothly, her temper simmering. She wasn’t angry at the man, but he was going to be the one catching it if he wasn’t careful. “I’m just not interested. Whatever the Baroness told you, whatever she promised you, just put it out of your mind. I am not for sale.”

He walked around her to the bookcase behind her to pick up three large tombs, and then drop them to the floor. Colleen began to ask what he was doing, and then cocked an eyebrow at him as he drew out a dusty bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

“That’s about all we share,” she snipped caustically as she reluctantly accepted the glass he offered. The dry, nutty aroma of the wine was pungent, and it seemed a shame to deny the opportunity to sample the vintage. She sniffed it delicately before she sipped, letting the wine set on her tongue a moment before she swallowed, and then sighed. It was much drier than she expected, and heady – a much more powerful brew than what was being served for the guests.

“Now that’s fine,” she murmured as she turned the glass in her hand, admiring the color. One would need to careful with such a vintage. It didn’t burn like whiskey, and you’d never know you were drunk until it was too late. Colleen did have an appreciation for the finer things, and while she appreciated the drink, she hated the fact that the man made her feel small and vulnerable just by standing near to her. It was no wonder the little girls that mother’s paraded before him were so skittish. He was as impossibly wide as he was tall, but judging by the way his waist tapered, she doubted the man was fat. He seemed, perhaps, too well muscled for conventional fashion to tolerate.

Her dark green eyes came back up to meet his glowering gaze, and she smiled knowingly at the man. Whatever this was about, she had a good bet that it had nothing to do with her. There was simply no reason for the Devil Duke to want anything from her – aside from the potential tryst – but he had been set on her heels by Katherine.

Why?

“All right, you have until I finish my drink then,” she declared as she crossed the room to sit on what could only be Wessex’s desk and cross her legs at the knees. “Whatever did our dear, sweet Baroness Shelton promise you for accosting me? Whatever it was, I promise you, it won’t be worth it.” Colleen paused to sip her wine again, and then her eyes narrowed as another thought accorded to her. “And, what do you get out of the deal? We both know the prize is not me. What are you after, Your Grace?”

--

His reaction to her forward behavior made Addie grin. Of course, no proper lady would have ever done such a thing, but she’d already made it clear that she was no lady. His shock was almost as sweet to her as it seemed to be an aphrodisiac to him. His kisses rained down anywhere he could find bare flesh, and his hands slide over her dress, and even through the layers of fabric, the heat of his touch made her nipples tighten with a painful ache when his hands passed over her breasts. Addie’s eyes dilated and she grinned up at Roarke, her grip on his erection tightening reflexively, as his hands slid under her dress to grasp her by each ass cheek and lift her up. He growled at her for teasing him, and Adelaide reacted instinctively as he lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around him and her hips rolled to take him in… but he held her firmly in place, kept her from seating him deep within her, and she ached with a hollowness so deep that it stole her breath. Her lips parted as she began to ask him why, and then lean, powerful fingers sank into hair to tighten into a fist against her scalp and yank her head back.

Addie gasped, but she didn’t struggle. One of her hands went to the hand he had buried in her hair, but she didn’t try to pull it away, she just held onto him while her other hand settled shakily against his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart was hammering away just as fast as her own. They were both mad, and so lost in their madness that they had forgotten the rest of the world even existed. She felt him grin against her the side of her neck, something that made her writhe in his arms.

She let her eyes slip closed while Roarke told her it was her turn to be teased, and then she sucked in a slow breath as his tongue traced a line from her collarbone, all the way up behind her ear. His teeth found the delicate flesh of her ear and nibbled. She tried to turn her head away, but his grip in her hair held her fast, and all she could do was endure his touch. She sucked in a sharp breath as his hips moved, teasing her with what she so badly needed, but not moving beyond pressing deliciously against her entrance. Her hips bucked, desperate for him, but he held her back. It was so mind numbing that she couldn’t make sense out of why he would hesitate. He had been all fury and determination, unleashing unbridled passion against her, and now he was holding everything back from her.

He pulled harder on her hair, and Addie yelped, the small sound seeming painfully, dangerously loud. “Mine,” he hissed in her ear, making her eyes open again to seek out his gaze. There was something different, a sudden shift in his intensity, and whatever it was made her tremble. He pressed barely an inch into her, and Addie nearly cried out, forced to press her lips tightly shut against the sound while her body writhed with mindless need in his arms.

When you share my bed, it will be because you, my sweet Addie, want to be there. In fact, you'll be begging me for it.

His prediction came back to haunt her as Roarke ordered Addie to beg him for what she wanted, and so desperately needed. Her already flushed cheeks darkened, but she couldn’t look away from him. A moment before, she had been willing and eager. Now she was breathlessly horrified that this may have all been some game after all. Had he done all this to humiliate her, make her admit that she wanted him, and then turn and leave her there?

I am your Lord and Master.

His words echoed around her head, and part of her soul cried out against it. It was a pointless denial, but one made in desperation to try to protect her heart from the pain that would follow. If that was what he needed from her, her submission to him, could she give it to him? The question was pointless, Addie had already made her choice, and her tongue darted out over her lips in nervousness.

“Roarke,” his name came off her lips in a small plea, begging him not to make her say it, but there was no room for it. He had no room for anything less than what he demanded from her, and it should have been such a small thing. “Please,” her eyes closed, trying to hide from him, but it didn’t stop the way her pussy spasmed and clenched for the wanting of him. She couldn’t hide how her body responded to him, he knew it she wanted him, why was saying it so difficult?

“I want you,” she whispered, the smallest of sounds almost lost behind an eager moan. “Please, Roarke, I need you,” the more she spoke, the easier the words began to be. “Roarke, please,” she gasped as her eyes opened again, her need naked and honest, “Fuck me!”

--

She scoffed at him, and the Earl of Bailey chuckled in surprised as he lowered his arm to his side. Maybe he had been wrong. She had seemed so pliant and polite to all that had crossed her path that he hadn’t imagined she would deny him flat out.

“As you say, Madam,” Gabriel had stepped aside to allow the mystery woman by. He wasn’t one to impose himself upon others, and despite his curiosity, was willing to allow the woman to be on her way. At least, he had been until the unfortunate thing kicked the lower stair and tumbled into a heap of brilliant blue satin. There was a small eruption of laughter that was distasteful to the man, and those small sounds died away as he bent down to take the small woman by the arms and pull her to her feet. She was so slight his fingers wrapped all the way around her slender forearms. Her cheeks turned the loveliest shade of pink as she explained her situation, and the woman’s odd behavior started to make a little more sense. No wonder she had been trying to escape the ball room with such determination.

“I would be happy to,” he rejoined as he tucked one of her tiny hands onto his forearm and drew her close to his side under the excuse of guiding her along carefully. The delicate creature was positively stunning, and Gabriel was amused to feel a familiar stirring in his loins. Her legs were as delicate and dainty as her arms, or so he had judged from her little tumble, with ankles that he was imagining wrapping soft ropes around. Or, better yet, that long, slender neck of hers was so bare that his lips twitched as he imagined how lovely it would be with a collar and leash.

“If you dance that well without your spectacles, I can’t imagine the grace you must possess when you can see.” He remarked with casual interest. He had only a short window to learn the woman’s name. If he failed to do so before she abandoned him at the top of the stairs, not only would Laurel win the wager, but he would have to seek out Lady Wessex for the information. “You were flawless, Miss, and I commend your skill.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

Richard Salisbury, Viscount Morreland was not as salacious a man as his friends and team members. He may have been the youngest member of Alpha squad, however, the young Lordling was a man who selected his pleasures rather prudently. The Viscount played no hand at any game that he knew he couldn't win. No wonder he'd garnered the reputation as the golden boy or rather golden balls amongst his friend. Of course, it helped that he was the pride and joy of his Commander father, the Earl of St. Merryn's eyes. Dolefully, despite this both men knew that Rich would probably not live long enough to inherit his father's Earldom with the current climate of the world as they knew it. War was awaiting on the horizon and the Viscount had been trained from adolescence to give his life for his country.

Fortunately, the Earl had two spares to take up his mantel when he and Richard had kicked the bucket; a Lord Robert Salisbury and Lord Reginald Salisbury. Each boy, blonder and more blue eyed than the last. Robert and Reginald were much younger however, only twelve and thirteen and resided on the Isles of St. Merryn just off the south eastern English coast. Though from next year both boys would be taking up to life in the capital, going to boarding school at Eton like their father, brother and ancestors before them.

It was natural to hope that one day he'd take up his father's mantel. Hope was a natural human commodity even when one knew the odds were far than favourable. In spite of this, Richard, Lord Morreland did not gamble with his wealth in the way that he did with his life. No, he was far more astute when it came to his, especially when gaming with lucky fools. Like David Wick sat before him in the card room set up in Belqualis House for those who were done with or did not wish to tire their feet on the dance floor. The golden glow of the rich card room was overcast by all the cigar smoke that filled it. Seeing as it was filled to the brim with older gentlemen and a few ladies here and there who lounged around with fine beverages, smokes gambling their money and property just for that small adrenaline rush.

Rich was one of those gentleman. He was of an age and of pristine reputation now that in the eyes of the matrons of society, he was ripe for picking to make a young lady or miss a husband. Not that he didn't enjoy a good dance or two but tonight, he was not of the mood to tire himself with dull conversations. That was not to say he did not enjoy a good party being a young man of good cheer, it was impossible not to have a good time in Richard's company. However, the Viscount preferred affairs that were far more . . . relaxed than tonight was.

"Clearly Morreland, this game of whist is getting rather tiresome and dreary for both of us." Wick ventured after the two men were the only two left at their table. "Why don't we gamble at a different game with more . . . interesting odds?"

"Oh?" Richard ventured, throwing his cards to the centre of the table haphazardly. He was indeed getting bored of this game and was considering leaving for another soiree across town. It was already past two in the morning and the Wessex ball showed no sign of slowing down. Yet the Viscount had had about as much fun as he could here. He'd lost sight of both of his friends, and he had no interest in playing piggy in the middle between the two bickering men should they happen to cross each other's paths. "What are you suggesting?"

"It's a rather simple bet really." David continued lounging back in his seat with a sly grin. "A thousand pounds says you can't seduce the incomparable Lady Laurel Bailey."

Morreland's gaze shot to Wick's smirking features. It was like an arrow had struck right in the very centre of his heart. And it was clear Wick knew it being the Lady in questions very own cousin. Or did he? Nobody had been the wiser about what had occurred between him and Laurel Bailey almost eight years ago. There was no way Wick could know anything. Richard knew for a fact that Laurel wouldn't have confided in him . . . So what was Wick's angle?

"And why exactly would you want me to debauch your dear cousin?" Richard questioned with a false air of disinterest.

David Wick, however, did not miss a beat. "Would you believe Lady Laurel and my sister have this crude bet going. The odds are that Lady Laurel wins if she can remain unmarried until the age of twenty and three, which she is only a few weeks shy of now. Now, I would not interfere in a wager between two ladies however, I feel as a brother I must protect my sister. Especially when I have certain facts that pertain Lady Laurel is a cheat."

Wick leaned forward in his seat like a gossiping old matron while Richard's gaze narrowed on the cad. With every passing word his discomfort grew more. It was true things had ended rather badly between him and Laurel. She had only been fifteen at the time, coming out into society and he twenty and one with barely any sense. To say it had been love at first sight was hardly an understatement. It had never been his intention to lead the young lady on or fallen madly in love with her but it had happened. All those dances and any moment they had in each other's company and the endless flirting had changed his heart forever. By the time the Season was over, there was no hope for the young Lord Morreland for no woman would ever be able to replace the position of high esteem he held for her in his heart but . . . there was no future for Lady Laurel with a man that was joining the ranks of secret services and thus he had rather callously broken her heart; telling the poor girl how it had all been nothing more than a time pass and that he was far too young to be shackled down by a wife. Richard was pulled out of the reverie of the past as Wick continued.

"You see, my Lady cousin is planning on winning the bet by remaining unattached until the day of her twenty third birthday but then she and Sir Benjamin Hawthorne are to announce their secret engagement! No doubt paying for the affair from the money they plan of cheating my poor sister out of!" David Wick continued affronted, rather convincing in his lies. "I mean you could ask Laurel yourself. You used to be good friends didn't you?" David prodded with a big smile. "So Morreland . . . What do you say? Are you up for the challenge?"

Richard had been processing the information up until the point where Wick announced Laurel's engagement. To none other than that idiotic Baronet Hawthorne. She'd never be happy with him. Was all that Richard could think as his frown deepened. It may have been rather selfish but over the years he had watched Laurel from a distance, always glad of the fact that she was unattached and growing into a spinster because when it all came down to it, the Viscount could not bare for her to belong to anybody else.

"Well? What do you say?"

"No." Richard said simply rising from his seat, heading towards the doors.

"Why don't you think about it!" David called from behind him but the Viscount ignored cur.

As if by serendipity, who should the Viscount spot stood all by herself? None other than Lady Laurel Bailey. The man stopped and stared. He could easily walk away. Leave the premises and move onto another haunt. Exactly how he had been planning and had every intention of doing but then the words of David Wick echoed through the recesses of his mind: '. . . Sir Benjamin Hawthorne are to announce their secret engagement! . . .' The thought was so repulsive to the Viscount and unbearable that without realising, his feet were leading him right to the lady.

Morreland barely had time to register her shock and surprise, bowing over silk gloved hand he'd taken in his own. "My lady." His voice rumbled. "If you'd be so kind to honour me with this dance?"

--

A man who was more so notorious for his ill temper with women as well as men was the Duke of Dynevor. And he was quickly beginning to draw up resentment for Wessex who's entire fault it was that he was drawn up with the short straw in this situation. Surely Morreland or Wessex himself was far better suited to be seducing women. Seduction and romance were clearly not the Duke's forte. His regular bed partners understood this and expected nothing more from him than mutual satisfaction between the sheets.

Fortunately though, Miss O'Donovan did not appear to be a woman who was taken in by stupid rituals like inducement into coitus. Her thick Irish accent was hard to understand but her facial features and gestures aided his deciphering. Neither did he appreciate the tone with which she spoke to him. He was not a man used to a woman talking down to him. Or the fact that she was trying to corner him into some sort of confession.

Will snorted when she finished, leaning one arm against the black ironed railings of a stairwell leading up to somewhere above. His glass almost half finished and not effecting his senses in anyway. It took a large amount of liquor to get the giant drunk. "Trust me Miss O'Donovan I would not by any means consider you a prize." The Duke told the redhead incontestably, being a man who never had need to mince his words for anybody. "And I assure you I would not pay for you even if you were on sale."

It was not Will's intention to come off so haughtily. The man was simply stating fact, as far as he was concerned; he had no designs set on her. He had no need for some impoverished Irish woman with little to no connections of any import. He had a feeling she would approve of his candour. Of course, very few people truly did and he could be very wrong indeed.

"Miss O'Donovan," Draker continued in his usual grisly manner, improvising. "All I want is an invitation to the Dowager's house party. She clearly has three exceptional granddaughters." Will lied, he was utterly unimpressed by the three girls upon their first acquaintance and very much doubted the impressions would improve on another meeting. "I'm a man of means and of an age where I would like to settle down. I owe it to my title and position. I'd very much like to pursue a more . . . in depth acquaintance with one of the young ladies if you will. Unfortunately the Baroness has put restrictions on my invite. I am, as she has ordered to attain at the very least one dance with yourself to receive my invitation. Surely you of all people would want one of the young ladies to make such an advantageous marriage? And all you have to do is to tolerate one dance with me. Of course," Will continued. "I am a man of industry and I hear that you are quite industrious yourself. An odd employment of time for a woman, however I commend your . . . zeal and I do not expect a woman like yourself to simply give away a dance for free as it were. In return, I should grant you a favour Miss O'Donovan. Any favour at a time of your choosing. I am a man of considerable reach and I have never renegaded of a promise before and don't intend to start."

His caliginous gaze settled upon her. She was a rather remarkable creature. From the little he had learnt about her she was tough as nails and it was clear to see he'd be stuck in a battle of wits and wills with her if he did not offer her something of some value. Thus the Duke did, not having the patience to reason with her. It was easier to give something for something in return. "What do you say Miss O'Donovan? Do you accept the offer?"

--

The play of pride and defiance burned in her eyes and on her lovely features as they flushed pink with desire for him. Roarke could see the struggle, the war that waged inside her at his demand. But he would have it. It was his words against her needs and desires and no matter how his cock ached to be buried within her sweet love canal, he would not enter her until she granted him entrance with her words. He would no longer tolerate her hiding from her own feelings for him and continue in this cycle of pent up desire and longing.

The moans Adelaide tried to hold back only drove him to further madness. If she did not answer his demand soon, the Marquess was no sure he could contain himself. In the nick of time however Addie broke her silence. Her plea was small and so unlike the woman that it only endeared her further to him. His hand still clasped tightly in her hair and her hand over his that small contact through gloved hands scorched the skin beneath.

The wetness that engulfed the tip of his cock that was held in her made his balls tighten and every time she spoke in that imploring voice, in that beseeching manner only helped in making him harder if that was even possible at this point. "That's all you had to say sweetheart." He whispered against the simmering skin of her cheek before plunging the length of him deep into her core in one swift motion. "Oh dear God!" The man cried out at the incredible pleasure of being buried balls deep inside his Lady, feeling her tight pussy greedily clamping around his meat. Nothing he had experience before this could ever compare to Adelaide's cloying cunt. And she was all his.

Her weeping in undulating delight was silenced as he pressed his mouth against her, swallowing her screams as he began to pump his hips, moving in and out of her tight snatch. His groans becoming louder, the heady pleasure quickly filling him. Roarke nipped and kissed at her swollen lips, his hand leaving the tight grip on her hair to wrap around her holding her steady in his embrace sliding deeper and deeper inside her fucking her like a madman starved and locked away for too long that was finally free. "Adelaide!" Wessex moaned, the need for her in his voice clear as the night was dark, forcing her to look into his eyes as he made savage love to her.

All pretences between them dropped as the world centred on their joining together in the most primal way. His hand slid down her back to grab handfuls of her buxom arse cheeks, loving the feel of her coiled around him. And every time her pussy spasmed and clamped around his hardness every time he thrust, Roarke grunted and cried out, his eyes squeezing shut at the sheer pleasure that sparked every nerve ending in his cock. "God I've wanted you like this since the moment I set eyes on you!" He confessed, stealing another deep kiss, plunging his tongue into the warm confines of her mouth, plundering her sweet nectar just as his cock was doing to that perfect pussy.

She fit like a glove around him. Like she was made just for him. Roarke grunted shoving her hard back against the cold wall of Belqualis House, driving his hips forward ramming her with his full length. His need was unbridled. The man was quickly losing control. Something that had never happened to him before. It was Adelaide. It was all Adelaide. Only she could drive him to such throws of desire. The Marquess complied with all her demands, giving her everything she wanted and asked for. Pounding into her at an angle to make her squeal with delight as his cock constantly tantalised her clit. Her cries and screams only pushing Roarke closer to the edge and he knew he would not be able to hold out much longer.

Fucking her with such reckless abandonment, the sound of Adelaide whimpering filled his ears from being impaled on her lovers thick, hard throbbing cock. The Marquess' heart filled with the need to fuck her harder and harder until the man could take no more. "Addie! Mon amour! I'm- . . . Ahhhhhhhhhh! " It was too late, before he could finish the sentence, Roarke bellowed out the indescribable bliss as his orgasm crashed through him; burying himself deep inside, filling his Marchioness with his seed and marking her as his forever.

Their lips meeting for one last fiery taste. Breathing hard, Roarke's heart pounding against Adelaide's as he collapsed against her. His hands sliding to the backside of her thighs caressing the delicate skin, allowing the wall behind her to support them both, nuzzling his face into her neck with closed eyes. Riding out the final waves of his orgasm as both of them convulsed slightly from the after shock. He was spent. Giving her everything he had to give.

The need to confess his hearts desire in this very moment quashed by a slight fear of rejection and overall for self preservation. "Mine." Sighing contentedly, pressing his lips in the hallow between her neck and shoulder, opening his sparkling eyes, he glanced up at her face. ". . . I won't share you with anyone my sweet Addie."

 

[LeatrixSage]

"That's all you had to say sweetheart."

Adelaide was trembling and holding her breath in anticipation even while he told her, in so few words, that he would give her anything she wanted if she just asked him for it. A moment later and he was driving himself into her as if to prove it. In one swift motion he had seated himself deep inside her, and then he held her there as her back arched and she cried out in relief and pleasure to finally feel him hard and urgent within her. The sharp sound was muffled beneath his lips as he dragged her into a series of passionate kisses that were as mind numbing as the heat of him moving within her. She couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond giving herself over to his passion. He was a man mad with desire, and all Addie could do was cling to him while he satiated himself.

She found herself murmuring his name like a prayer while her hips worked to meet his in his ardor and keep pace with the wild, wanton tempo he set. God, but the man knew what he was doing, something he made perfectly clear as the angle of his assault changed. Adelaide began to whimper in desperation as his heady tempo drove her to new heights so quickly that she barely had time to enjoy the rush. Before she even knew it was happening, Addie’s body tensed into a tight coil that snapped so fast, all she could do was cling to Roarke’s arms while her legs quivered, and the inner walls of her slit clamped down around his cock as if to keep him in place while she came for him.

Roarke wasn’t far behind her, muttering her name, calling her his love, and then bellowing in ecstasy. He held her tight as he buried himself inside her, grunting with each warm rush. Her legs tightened around him to keep him there, afraid that once he had finished he would simply set her down and leave. As the moment passed and they both began to come back down to earth, his weight pressed into her and he nuzzled against the side of her neck. He was as spent as she felt, and while they caught their breath, she was surprised to realize her Marquess was still hard and heavy within her.

He whispered again that he was hers, which made her smile, and then she tilted her head back to look at him curiously when he said that he would not share her. It seemed like such a strange thing to say, and her pleasure addled mind was making it difficult to think straight. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a virgin, or that she was so forward, more likely both. Addie worked to release the death grip she had on his arms in order to wrap her arms around his shoulders to hold him close, needing to keep him where he was while her emotions tried to catch up with what had just happened.

“Why would you need to share me?” she asked carefully. Part of her mind was afraid of his answer, but her need to understand outweighed that fear. Adelaide wasn’t a stranger to casual sex, but this was different. He was different. Even now, his ring was a delicate weight that reminded her he had marked her as his wife, not his mistress, but she was afraid that the later, instead of the former, was far more the truth of the situation.

Is it really just lust, she wondered, worrying that when he grew bored, this safe little pocket of the world would vanish forever. What happened to her if Roarke decided to turn her out? All the joy she had felt moments before began to fade under the weight of doubt, and Addie smiled to hide it. “No one else has any claims on me, Roarke. There is no one to share me with. I don’t even have a family for you to meet. I am absolutely no one, with no name, or attachments, or wealth, or title. Before you, I might as well never have existed at all.”

--

Richard Salisbury. His name sounded like curse as she thought it. She had seen him coming, but too late. Before she could flee from him, his hand had snatched hers from her side. Had there not been prying eyes she would have snatched away from him, but instead she was forced to endure his touch as he bent over her hand. Her spine stiffened as he spoke, and the fan she held in her free hand snapped closed as the bastard asked her to dance. Laurels eyes darted around the room, and behind him she caught no small few eyes watching above fans that were being used to hide their whispers.

They didn’t know what he was, or what he had done, and they wouldn’t care even if they did. She would be expected to accept with grace and humility, no matter who begged for her hand in a dance. It was a sickening ritual pushed onto the unmarried for the soul fact that they were the unmarried. If she should disinterest, it would be suspected that there was something wrong with her, some flaw that made her abstain from the marriage game. She couldn’t afford it, not when she was so close to winning.

“Of course,” she answered smoothly and dipped into a low curtsey before allowing him to draw her out onto the dance floor just as one set was ending, and another was beginning. His hand settled against her lower back and her skin crawled at his touch. Worse than that was that she had no choice but to settle her hand on his shoulder and allow him to lead her. Allowing him anything made her stomach churn, and she regretted the wine she had drank and the food she had eaten.

Over the years she had learned to hate him in order to replace the heartache with something more tolerable. When hate had faded, she had found disgust, and then disinterest, and then when she believe she had finally forgotten him, here he was. He walked back into her life like a cockroach that just wouldn’t die, as if just to make sure she never truly healed.

“Who or what do I owe for the displeasure of your company?” she asked quietly, her gaze turned away from him, watching behind him without really seeing his face while he maneuvered her around the dance floor. She watched for the dancers behind him as was her responsibility, but she refused to look at him. “I’m sure you are not here for my affection or my charming wit, so what possessed you to put us both through the sham of pretending either one of us has a shred of respect for the other?”

--

Colleen smirked at the man and raised her glass in response to his declaration that he didn’t consider her a catch and wouldn’t pay for her if she were on sale. She supposed she ought to be offended, but his honesty was so refreshing that she couldn’t be bothered to work up any false outrage against his claims.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” she laughed as she tossed back a little more of the wine, aware that it’s warmth was settling her nerves. It would take quite a few more glasses before it dulled her wits, and she was pleasantly comfortable with her level of intoxication while she listened to the Duke explain his situation. She knew the Devil Duke by his reputation only, but she felt certain his story wasn’t the truth. And, if she was offended by anything, it was his lame attempt at duping her. However, his offer was tantalizing, to say the least.

“My Zeal,” she crooned, chuckling when he asked her if he would accept her offer. An indeterminate favor from the Devil Duke was priceless. Whatever she wanted, whenever she decided to call him on it, and he had a reputation for being a man that was bound by his word, which stood at odds with his current fairytale of reasoning. The girls were lovely, but they were girls, and she didn’t believe for a second that he had an interest in them. They had dowries he didn’t need, and land he purportedly didn’t want, there had to be something else.

“I say you are a liar, Your Grace,” she answered him directly as she set her glass on the desk and stood. “If you wanted anything to do with any of those girls, the Baroness Shelton would be beside herself. You’d have every invite you could dream of asking for if you even mentioned the possibility. I certainly cannot imagine you to be a shy man, so it is not that you are unable to declare your intentions. The only other option left me, then, is that you are lying to me. And, very poorly, I might add.”

Colleen crossed her arms over her chest as she studied the man closely, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. Did it matter if he chose not to disclose what he was after when he was offering her the world on a platter? His influence alone would be enough to insure her little empire went unchallenged, and the few hold out against her being a woman would be silenced. It was simply too good to pass up.

“However,” she rejoined after a moment, “your offer is very generous. I don’t know what it is you are after, but it must be worth a great deal to you. I see no other reason for you to have been so amenable about making such an offer, without haggling, and without restrictions.”

Colleen picked up her drink before she walked up to the man, lifting her glass to clink it against his own. “I accept your offer, but don’t mistake me, your Grace. I intend to learn of your intentions one way or another, and I will be very interested to see what results from your invitation into Baroness Shelton’s home.” With that, Colleen tossed down the last of the wine, and then dropped the glass on a table as she crossed to the door.

“I will be waiting your company in the ballroom with breathless anticipation,” the doxy tossed over her shoulder as she pulled the door open and strolled out of the library. “Until then, Your Grace.”

 

[ScarlettRose]

The masculine hand to her lower back manoeuvred Laurel closer as the dance began. Though the Lady refused to look him in the eye, Richard only had eyes for her and his steady gaze was fixed to her formidable features that looked like thunder having been forced to endure a dance with him. The Viscount's own features were lightly amused although there was only one question he was dying to know the answer to. But that could wait, especially now that he finally had the only woman he would ever love in his arms. She was furious with him and she had ever right. The last time they had interacted he had been a complete cad and had had no choice but to break her heart.

As soon as he had laid eyes on her, Morreland realised not an ounce of his love had diminished although much time had past. However, Laurel had been far from his thoughts throughout that time. There was no way a man could do what he did if he thought about the loss of a gem like Laurel Bailey. But all men made sacrifices. And she had been his and a high price too that had been but he could not say he would not do it again.

She was warm in his arms and light as he remembered. There wasn't that usually laughter or mischief in her eyes that he held safe in his memories. In fact, her beautiful eyes avoid his entirely and though that sexy raspy, sultry voice of her's was reprimanding him, Rich was finding himself quickly becoming wrapped up in her very presence. "Your charming wit is what I life for Laurel." Her name was purr on his lips. His hand on her back ventured dangerously close to the rise of her rear wanting to force her gaze upon him.

"And the pleasure to be had is all mine, I assure you my Lady." Richard grinned. "As for your affections . . . There was a time when I was held in the deepest regards of your affections. Or have you forgotten? I suppose your affections are now for your fiance?" Richard fixed his scrutinising gaze upon her features once more wanting to see her reaction to the fact he knew her secret. "Sir Benjamin Hawthorne?"

The lively room swirled around them as they glided around the dance floor. For a moment there was no one but he and Laurel. The Viscount possessed no right to be asking anything of Lady Laurel Bailey, however, there was something deeply ingrained in Richard that felt a certain ownership over the Lady in his arms. And although he had sworn off marrying her, in this very moment, Richard Salisbury decided he'd be damned if anyone else would claim her either. Over his dead body. David Wick had a wager on his hands and Viscount Morreland played only to win.

When the dance came to an end, the enormous room was filled with applause and good cheer for the orchestra and the dancer. While hands clapped up towards the musician's, Richard turned slightly to gaze at Laurel at his side. She was stunning. Easily the most beautiful woman in a room full of gems. He could not fathom how all those years ago he had found the courage of heart to push her away. Just as the accolades were coming to an end, Richard swooped down and stole a searing kiss from Laurel. His memory had did him a disservice for she tasted sweeter than he recalled and her mouth moulded perfectly to his, bringing the memories of stolen embraces to the forefront of his mind. This embrace was as short as it was searing and was over far too quickly. It was also stupid and dangerous and out in the open. The only safety was that they were stood near a corner with everyone else in front of them. But this by no means guaranteed concealment. Yet, as far as Richard was concerned, a taste from Laurel's sweet lips was worth any amount of danger.

"My Lady." He bowed over her hand, his smouldering gaze flicking up to her's.

--

The heart in his chest still hammered a happy and content rhythm. He pondered if he had ever known happiness before this very moment or complete acceptance. Or maybe he was jumping the gun. The cool air of the dark hours of the early morning met his heated skin. Roarke yawned, he was ready for this ball to be over though he knew very well it would still be going on for a couple of hours much to his current dismay. His skin was stuck to hers and Adelaide surrounded him in every way possible. The Marquess was not ready to let go of her yet. Not willing to extricate himself from her arms or her inner walls that were both holding him snugly close.

Though the love making may have taken the edge off of his desire for Addie, he was far from sated. Nothing seemed to be enough when it came to Adelaide. He wanted more. More of all of her. And it was maddening because she had kept him at a distance for so long and there was a fear for Wessex that she might lock him out once more. Which, he could not allow. Tonight, he would make her fully his. In every way.

His lips brushed her neck as she spoke and he listened calmly. His mind was blank after the petite mort at her hands. She was so lovely and the bleakness of her words, of her situation stung his heart and yet he knew it was only a half truth Adelaide Aedler was telling him. But he'd have all her secrets soon just as he was going to have all of her. Pulling his face away from the crook of her neck, Roarke gazed up at her in the darkness. His hand coming up to smooth the hair out of her face before his hand came to cup her bewitching features. His heart filled with an emotion he could not describe, that he did not want to recognise.

"You are the Marchioness of Wessex." He told with a voice as steady as his gaze locked on hers. "Your name is Adelaide Rochester. Your attachment is to me, your Lord and Master." A crooked grin snaked up his lips, teasing her knowing how much she liked that one before he was serious once more. "My wealth is yours. All that is mine is yours. My title is yours. You are one the most highest ranking members of not only the nobility of this land but also in the monarchy. As for before me," Wessex wrapped her tighter around him. "You need not concern yourself about that. All you need to focus on is after and I assure you my Lady Wessex," Roarke murmured against her lips. "There is no after me. There is only me."

The Marquess captured his Marchioness' lips between his. There was that more again. Needing more of the taste of her. The incandescent passion was like a bonfire. There was no doubt it could be seen from miles away. As Roarke drank from her lips he felt himself stirring inside her once more. Growling he tore his mouth away from hers. "You make me insatiable woman!" Wessex growled again and as painful and torturing as it was he pulled himself out of her with a groan. Righting her skirts before buttoning up his breeches.

Roarke pulled Adelaide close once more, holding her tight in his arms. His forehead pressed to hers as he breathed hard, trying his damned to keep in control when that was the last think he wanted. All he wanted in fact was to drag her upstairs to his bed and strip her of her layer and layers of attire and bury himself with the warmth of her once more and have her withering beneath him. Begging him for more.

"You had better take that servant's entrance in and go fix your hair before I change my mind and tear off your gown right here and take you again mon amour."

--

Hard sinewy muscle under luxurious material met Eleanora's small hand when the man took her hand and placed it upon his forearm that she could make out very blurry. There was something very commanding about his presences Eleanora noticed though his manner of speech was very polite and agreeable but something put her on edge as he drew her closer and led her up the stairs. Something told the governess that this was a man very few people said no to or rather if they did, there was something about him that could make people comply to his will. She had always been a very cautious woman and never liked to find herself in a position where she was at somebody's mercy. In fact, Miss Spencer was a woman who had a need to orchestrate her life so that nothing was a miss. So there was nothing that could jump out of the shadows and unsettle the small, pleasant world she had created for herself.

"That's very kind of you to say Sir." She managed to put together a reply to her rescuer. Though she was hurried about escaping to her room, she could not deny the man polite conversation after his helping hand. Plus, he had not said anything grossly inappropriate. In fact, he had been the perfect gentleman. Maybe she had become too cynical, Eleanora thought to herself passingly. But then it was better to cynical than to be naive and prey. "But I don't usually dance. And not nearly as much as I've had to tonight." Miss Spencer managed a small smile that suddenly faltered as she realised the man must have been watching her . . . For how long?!

Her spine stiffened and the hairs of the back of her neck stood on ends. There she felt a unforeseen sense of danger. Her greatest sense was currently lost to her. The pulse at her wrist beat an unsteady rhythm. There was only one thing she could do. And that was to play it cool. Eleanora pushed the panic down. She had to be paranoid. This house was full of people. She'd be perfectly fine. Or so she told herself.

They were but a few steps from the top and all Eleanora wanted was to extricate herself from the situation and this damned ball! She'd never wanted to go to it and she wasn't even sure if Lady Wessex would believe that she had attended as she had not seen Addie all night. Of course, that was mostly due no doubt to the fact that she was blind! Thanks to the Lady in questions wretched husband! But that was neither here nor there when she was so close to finally getting away. "Emm well, from what I can tell we've reached the top. Thank you Sir for your assistance." Eleanora said to the tall blurred stranger, unwinding her arm from his. "It was much appreciated . . ." She took a step back and bumped into a table with a ancient looking vase upon it not realising how far along the landing they had reached. Managing blindly to steady herself and the vase from falling down and shattering into a million pieces.

"Oops." She laughed nervously hoping he would just take his leave but he seemed to have not moved. "You had better be on your way and enjoy your night Sir before I end up bumping into you causing you to tumble down these stairs."

Why wouldn't the damned Oaf just leave! So she could ungracefully find her way to her room! For there was no doubt there'd be another bump or five along the way. Thankfully, by the good grace of God she was saved as a voice drifted towards the pair. "Eleanora my dear there you are!-" Mrs Mills strode up to her in her quick footed way which was much opposed to her age but the old housekeeper was rather an active woman. Just as quickly however, she came to a stop with a slight fright. "Oh! . . . Oh Lord Bailey." Mrs Mills curtsied.

Lord Bailey? Eleanora thought squinting her eyes more trying to get a clearer view of the man and utterly failing still. "I'm ever so sorry my Lord but I will have to steal Miss Spencer away . . . We have an emergency," Mrs Mills looked at Eleanora in an expressive manner which was lost on the destitute of vision governess before smiling back up at the Earl. "And I am in much need of her." Mrs Mills curtsied again before steering Eleanora away.

Eleanora peered over on delicate shoulder as Mrs Mills guided her down the long landing. The blur of the figure only seemed to get blurrier. "I feel like a complete idiot." Eleanora whispered to Mrs Mills.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much my dear. I doubt you'll ever see him again." Mrs Mills clucked. "I need your help with Lady Wessex's coiffure. It is completely undone."

"How?" Eleanora questioned puzzled while her mind went over the odd encounter she had just had with a Lord Bailey. Mrs Mills was no doubt right. It was pointless feeling foolish, she wouldn't even be a footnote in his life so why worry about the embarrassment she had made out of herself.

"I'm sure one day you'll learn for yourself my dear." Mrs Mills replied with what Eleanora sensed was amusement in her voice though she could not understand what was so amusing and whatever the maid meant by that comment but Eleanora did not pursue it. She simply had to bide her time before she could crawl into her own bed and comb over every detail of her meeting with Lord Bailey. What troubled the governess the most was the fact that should she encounter Lord Bailey ever again . . . She would not have the foggiest. For she had no idea what the man looked like. Then again it was very unlikely the man would recognise her with or without her drab grey governess' gowns that she seemed to love.

--

Colleen O'Donovan was the most peculiar woman William Draker had met. And the Duke had thought exactly that as she had toasted his honesty and agreed to it wholeheartedly. He assumed it had something to do with the fact that she was foreign and Irish. However, he wasn't here to fraternize with the damned woman. She clearly seemed to think otherwise however as she blathered on. All the Duke was concerned about was whether his terms were accepted. Not any other opinion she seemed to work up. His frown only grew more fearsome as she continued her tirade.

His astute gaze narrowed on her as she dared face up to him and then had the nerve to clink her glass against his. To say he was left speechless was inaccurate. If anything Dynevor was methodical. He finished his wine in silence after Mistress O'Donovan left. Leaving awake of contemplation in her wake. The Duke was a man who usually drove a hard bargain - another reason he was known as the Devil - however, striking deals with women wasn't his usual business. Thus, it had seemed much more effortless to offer Miss O'Donovan a favour. Howbeit William had the strong feeling he would come to regret this deal.

It had been quite sometime before Will reentered the ballroom which was even more of a crush if that was even possible. The nobility were enjoying themselves at the Wessex's expense, no doubt because it was such a rarity. Who knew, it could be a decade before such an event was back on the cards. Music, laughter and chatter continued to float through the air and showed no sign of slowing down. Jewels on every part of body that could be adorned sparkled here there and everywhere. The splendour and decadence in this room tonight could not have been even matched by a Royal balls. Dynevor stared at the Marquess as he reemerged into the ballroom looking dishevelled and unrepentant. Will's frown deepened as Wessex's caught Will's stare and returned it with a wink before he went about flirting with some dowager that looked like she might crumble if you happened to slightly nudge her. The Marquess was still in the Duke's bad books but now he had his own problems.

Will wasted no time locating Colleen with her party. He shook hands with Lord Howard, a man Will found to be calculating and conniving and then bowed to the man's wife who he judged quickly to be snivelling and overreaching. Fortunately, the Duke only had to share a few pleasantries with Lord and Lady Howard before he begged off Colleen's hand for a hand. As te set began the couple were in the middle of the dance floor.

The no doubt tallest two people in the room. It was a rare pleasure for Will to not have sprain his neck leaning over a partner that was half his size. Colleen was tall and slender and yet she was sturdy. In this way she was the perfect partner for him. However, as far as Will was concerned this was nought but a transaction. He was certain she'd have plenty to say but thought it best to keep conversation to a minimum.

The Duke looked openly across at the Irish woman's freckled features. Her skin was littered with the things and they were the same bright orange as her hair which only made her stand out more so in society where he dark, marred complexion was no doubt compared to the English milk and honey beauties that surrounded her. However, Will found that there was something so much speaking about Colleen O'Donovan's allure. It was certainly not physical. She was far to shapely and certainly not pretty by any normal standards. But . . . There was something in that curious emerald gaze of hers that called one out . . .

"I suppose I should thank you for the dance Miss O'Donovan." Draker grumbled after sometime when the set was coming close to a close. Very suddenly as they swept into a turn, Will yanked Colleen closer, his hand tightening in hers and at her waist, permitting no escape so she could hear his gruff voice clearly. "But now you should listen to me closely." The agent warned the Miss. "You should make no mistake Miss O'Donovan," The Duke echoed her own words back to her from earlier tonight in a voice that was as cold as it was deadly. "I am as dangerous a man as I am a generous one. You, Miss O'Donovan have been fortunate to find yourself on only my generous side. You would not want to find yourself in the unfortunate position of provoking my bad side. Ergo, curb your curiosity and DO NOT meddle in my affairs that are of no concern or consequence to you. If you possess any bone of self preservation - and I am certain Miss O'Donovan you are a woman of sense, in fact I am certain you are the only woman of any sound judgement I have met - then you will heed my caution Miss O'Donovan or else, suffer the consequences." And with that, the Duke of Dynevor's gaze bore into the Irish vixen's until the spell was broken and he bowed over her hand when every other male on the dance floor was rising from their bows and dragged Colleen O'Donovan to the dowager Baroness.

"I look forward to receiving my invitation." He said brusquely bowing once more to the Baroness before his rigid form could be seen disappearing through the crowds, up the stairs and then out the doors.

 

[LeatrixSage]

“Did you give him the slip, then?” Lord Howard asked the Irish Baroness as she returned to them and settled in by his elbow. Lady Howard turned from watching the dancers to appraise the younger woman over her glass of wine. If she was looking for some sign of weakness, she found none as Colleen smiled indulgently at the woman. Frank, however, was looking beyond the woman to see if she was being followed or not.

“Not so, much, no,” she admitted, enjoying the curiosity that was eating away at Minnie as she spoke. Choosing not to elaborate, Colleen left the matter at that. The lass was far more interested in just what she would be asking the Duke for. She had an extensive list of desires, and only one favor. So much of her schemes required funding, but a one-time draw on his funds would be such a waste. Colleen needed to find a way to bend gaining his influence into a favor, and she was beginning to wonder if his presence would be a stronger tool than anything she could take from the man. A fundraiser, perhaps, with Dynevor as her benefactor, might carry more lasting weight with both the ton and common investors. Trade between the Americas and China were still potent, and her fleet of ships were in decent demand, but she needed to expand her empire past the fear of storms and pirates ruining or stealing her livelihood.

While she was musing over her options, the Duke had spent less time than she had expected he might in tracking her down for that dance. Frank was trite in comparison, the Devil Duke looking as if he should have been born four centuries ago to smash men beneath an axe on the battlefield. He made Lord Howard look like a small, dandy of a man instead of the influential Lord and military man that he was. Minnie was beside herself, and nearly choked on her tongue more than once before the man asked for Colleen’s hand in a dance and drew the lass away.

If the rare event as Belqualis House had not already been a stirring success at churning the ton into a lather with the unexpected marriage of Wessex - and his scandalous dance with the mysterious woman everyone wanted to know – then watching the Daerbhail O’Donovan and the Devil Duke take to the dance floor together had absolutely captured the collective imagination. Tongues were wagging fast and hard, and rather than chat with the Duke as they danced, Colleen found her attention captured by trying to listen to those whispers while the bear of a man turned her about the dance floor with a grace that surprised her. He looked so far out of culture, she had suspected the man would barely know the steps. Instead, he proved to be a competent partner with a refined precision that was hidden by his gruff exterior. It made the experience of being the center of the world’s attention much more enjoyable.

As the set came to a close and the music slowed to its end, the Duke’s dark voice brought her attention back to the fact that she was in his arms just before the hand at her back slid around her waist to draw her sharply closer. That arm felt like a thick snake coiling around her while his other hand tightened to keep the hand that it held trapped. While he caused her no discomfort, he held her with an unyielding surety that refused to allow her to resist. He did not bend his head down to whisper to her as some men might but spoke to her with a quiet firmness without looking at her. At least, that was until he looked down at her with the intent of driving home the point behind his warnings and threats. There was a merry amusement in the Irish lass, something that deepened each time the man called her Miss instead of Baroness or Lady. Unbeknownst to the man, he had just told her she had the upper hand. Granted, it was a small thing, but if he didn’t know enough about her to know anything beyond her reputation as the Daerbhail, then they weren’t so mis-matched after all. She said naught about it, or anything else the man had said. He delivered her back to Kathrine before he left her, and it was not time at all before Lord and Lady Howard, and their three daughters, appeared to plie Colleen with an exhaustive list of questions. A list that the Lass was less than inclined to respond to, until the dowager asked her about whether or not she should grant the Duke his invitation.

“I’ll send it,” Colleen answered the woman, graining a smile from the aging Baroness that was full of an unfounded hope, and a glare from Lady Howard that was equally as unfounded. “I’ll be sure to add his name to my personal list.”

“Really?” Frank asked, his obvious irritation making Colleen raise her eyebrows at him. They may all know that she had fucked the man more than once, but there was an agreement that he had no claims on her person or property, and he was flirting with her tolerance.

“Yes, Frank,” she used his first name to make his cheeks turn red at her familiarity, reminding the man in one word that she could ruin all three of his daughters with little more than a whispered word. “I believe he will be a fine addition to me business associates.” Colleen excused herself from them, decided her association with Lord Howard would have to end. It was a shame, the man had a talented tongue that she had enjoyed, but he was beginning to see her as something that was his, and that was unacceptable.


--



There was a resounding smack that echoed around the ballroom. While dancers and others paused to find out what new juicy thing had just taken place – all eyes turning to where Laurel and Richard stood – the orchestra played on as if nothing had happened. It put an uncomfortable counterpoint to the world that made her stomach churn as if she might be sick even while her legs wobbled beneath her as if she were about to faint. His questions about Sir Hawthorne had raised the color in her cheeks long before the assault of his kiss. Combined with the reminder that he had once been so callous as to seduce his way into claiming her womanhood, only to cast her aside that same week, made her wonder why she thought for a second that he hadn’t drawn her into a dance just to be cruel.

Of course, he had heard about the less than desirable marriage proposal, something that had been given a large life in rumor since Benjamin had been particularly ardent in seeking her attention and clamoring at her brother to move her into accepting his request. Richard had obviously heard the rumors, and as he was the only person alive that knew the Lady Bailey no longer had her maidenhead, of course he would understand why no better marriage offer had been expected. A lesser lord wouldn’t care much about her impurity if they discovered it, not when it was balance against her wealth and prestige. Worse, however, was the threat he posed to the nearly five-year bet that was nearly finished. No one knew about Laurel’s little indiscretion with Richard, including her ruthless cousin, David Wick. In just a few short weeks, she’d win the bet as a spinster that hadn’t become one due to scandal and ruin, and his family’s entire horse breeding and racing empire would become part of her dowry in the event of her marriage. Everything was in order, and then Richard had appeared.

Laurel’s hand stung from slapping against his cheek as he had bowed over the hand he had captured, which she now jerked away from his grasp. The weight of the eyes of the ton burrowed into her back as she stepped away from him. She had to be careful, with so many ears listening, and she picked her words carefully.

“You mistake me, my Lord,” she kept her voice calm and light, restraining her anger at him for opening old wounds under tight control. “It was my mistake, not curtailing your forwardness from the beginning for the sake of being mannerly. However, I could not simply allow your mishandling of my person to go unanswered. Please, forgive me,” she curtsied quickly, and then used the crush of bodies to flee him.

She met her brother as he was coming down the stairs in the hall and came to a stop at the perplexed look on his fine features. He looked as if he were trying to solve a difficult puzzle, and in a way, that was exactly what Lord Bailey was doing. His interest had been tweaked when the Eleanor had stiffened, particularly as she had restrained whatever emotional reaction she’d had to a purely physical reaction that hadn’t touched her voice or her demeanor. When they had reached the top of the stairs, she had extracted herself from him and thanked him for his help while simultaneously crying off from further aid. He could understand, as she was at a unique disadvantage without her sight, and surely convinced he had lewd intentions fueling his insistence in offering his aid to begin with.

Certainty he did, but they were not a thing he would pursue in Belqualis House. Gabriel would much rather welcome the woman as she willingly walked into his room with the full knowledge of his intentions for her than to try to sneak into her room and abuse her trust or person. He had meant to tell her something to that affect, but it much more charming terms, when the housekeeper had disturbed them and drew his new infatuation away from him. His Eleanor was part of the house faculty, it seemed. That gave him some leeway in pursuing the woman, but that meant that Wessex might be a complication as he pursued her.

“Gabriel?” Laurel’s voice brought him back the world, and he smiled until he noticed the distress on her face. “Can we go home, now, please?”



--



No marriage had taken place, no documents had been signed, there was no truth to her being his wife, accept that her heart sang in a way that terrified Adelaide as Roarke insisted unwaveringly that she was his, and he was hers. Despite the conflicting emotions, he made her smile as he insisted that he was her Lord and Master, something that was somehow as comforting as it was annoying. There was something heartbreakingly sweet about the way he over looked anything that had happened in her life before she had appeared in his, and then flatly refused the option that she would ever leave his life now that she was in it. Combined with the way he pulled her legs more tightly around him to bury himself deeper within her, and then drew her into a kiss that twisted her heart painfully, and Addie was little more than putty in his hands. She gasped against his lips when she felt him hardening within her, and while she would have been more than happy jump right into round two, he tore his mouth away from hers to growl at her, making her laugh at him as he insisted that she made him insatiable.

“Knowing you,” she teased as he slowly slipped away from her, leaving her feeling empty and wanting as he set her down and righted her skirts for her before seeing to himself, “you have always been insatiable, and are just blaming me now because it is convenient.” It was like nothing bad had ever happened between them, and as if she had known him for years, even while Addie understood she knew nothing about the man, something evident in the tiniest things he did that were much more deeply thoughtful and compassionate that they immediately seemed.

Roarke held her close for a fleeting time before he set her away from himself. He told her to take the servant’s entrance and Addie didn’t question it. With the way he had been pulling at her hair, she doubted anyone would miss what had happened. Sure enough, the entire kitchen knew the instant she appeared. Mrs. Mills was kind enough to rescue her from the grins and looks that spread like wildfire, whisking her off to the Lord’s Chambers in a back way to avoid any guest seeing her. She left Adelaide there for a time before she came back with Eleanor, whom Addie greeted with a blush while the pair of women fussed over her hair. When they had her all put back together, Addie returned to her guests. She spent much of the rest of her evening chatting with a flood of faces she would never remember, but most of her attention was captured with where Roarke was, who he spoke to, who he danced with – and more often than not, when she looked up to seek him out, she found him watching her as well.

 

[ScarlettRose]

The ball had been a smash. There was no doubt about it. For Roarke the ball at his town house had been memorable for an entirely different reason however. He should not have made his wife open to prey of idle gossip that she would be thanks to their tryst in the gardens. It was utterly unfashionable to be besotted with one's own wife in such a manner. Of course, he himself was quite used to the scandal that surrounded him, however, he very much doubted Adelaide was. Well, whatever the case, what they had done could not be undone and his Lady could handle herself. She had proven as much. Addie had been a spectacular hostess. The Marquess had not been able to keep his eyes of his Marchioness for more than a moment or two all night.

The promise of rekindling what they started outside that night on the other hand had not been kept. The ball had run on until stupid o'clock in the morning and before Roarke could slip into his bed with his lovely Lady, a missive had found it's self being slipped into his hand. Like the fading stars of the night the Marquess of Wessex had disappeared from his own ball before it was over. Shortly after the man found himself detained with this dreadful business with the Inquisitors. In his opinion, they were monstrous men entitled rather suitably as the Dread Lords. Their business was rather medieval Roarke thought but who was he to question their methods. Nor did he envy them their work. It took real sick individuals to do what they did. To say Wessex was displeased to have to high tail it back to his home county on that very night was an understatement and although he did not have to watch the Dread Lord's at their business, it still unsettled him that the proceedings would be conducted on his estate.

However, traitors had to be treated accordingly. The world was a drastically changing place. Executions and torture were no longer acceptable but even Roarke had to admit, sometimes they were still very much a necessity, especially towards such duplicitous foes. Of course, torture took it's damn time and that was why ten days later Roarke was still holed up at his family seat while the Inquisitors did their bidding below in the dungeons. He was bereft of company and the pleasures he was used to. Even the servants were scarce but the few that had stayed behind while most of his household was in London with Pippa and Addie . . .

Wessex's mind drifted to raven haired beauty he had bought home with him to England as he loaded a rifle skilfully and aimed it up towards the cloudless skies of Hampshire. The acres that encompassed his ancestral home boasted pasture upon pastures of wild bracken forests and fields laden with sea crest and for a man like Roarke prime game to hunt. However, today, the Marquess simply needed to get out of the manor house and away from the three Inquisitors that were about their business. In fact, Roarke hardly saw them. They weren't exactly a social bunch but just knowing they were there was enough. Of course, it was not necessary for him to stay there but it was good practice. Sure there were three of them but every eventuality had to be accounted for and he was of course who would have to report the finds. While the Dread Lords would move onto to their next assignment or rather should he say, victim.

Roarke shivered visibly before concentrating his aim. Coming outdoors was with the purpose of chasing away such thoughts. Quite right, he'd rather think about much more pleasant things like Adelaide. His wife . . . His captive. He had not even the chance to tell her that night he was leaving and he was not a man prone to such felicitations of passion through pen and paper. In fact he'd been rather an arse about the whole thing, sending but a short note back to London that he would be away until he should return (whenever that was) and that his Lady be informed as such. That was nine days ago now. Roarke very much doubted Addie would be pleased with his disappearing especially after their scandalous liaison and there would be hell waiting for him upon his return. He must be as twisted as those interrogators in his home, the Marquess thought for a moment, his lips raising at the corners, because he looked forward to his Lady's wrath. But she had better get used to it he added as an afterthought as he decidedly pulled the trigger.

Lowering the weapon he looked to the young footman who chased to where the bird would have fallen in the distance. "Good shot M'Lord!" The man called out running towards Roarke with the prize Partridge. That made a total of three and Wessex was done for the day. There was only so long he could stay out here shooting pheasants and the like and if this interrogation took many more days then he might just have to interject and play Inquisitor. Anything to get this God forsaken business done with.

"Looks like we'll be feasting tonight!" Roarke smiled and the servant who held three fat birds in his hands. They looked heavy but the man had a bright smile upon his face, clearly enjoying this outing from his usual no doubt mundane duties. "Tell the cook to prepare one for tonight and send the other two to Belqualis House."

"Indeed M'Lord." The young man jostled along happily with his master as they headed back towards the estate. "I must say M'Lord things are rather dull when you're away."

--

Had he returned her spectacles? No! Oh! That man! She could throttle him! It was bad enough that he had divulged them off her for the night but then he had begged off completely and vanished! It was now over a week since her employer The Marquess of Wessex had dispatched himself of his town house and taken Eleanora's spectacles with him! Damn him! Eleanora thought every single day. At first it was a mild nuisance. She wasn't stupid, of course she kept a spare pair except . . . She couldn't find the damn things! All this only added to her chagrin about all of last night. Being forced to attend that stupid ball and then being made to dance and the whole situation with her spectacles and then above all else making a complete ninny of herself in front of Lord Bailey.

Ugh! Eleanora's groaned again internally as she sat in the parlour with Lady Wessex, Addie, she must remember, she chided herself and her charge. To whom she was of little use without her spectacles. Surprisingly, Lady Wessex had offered her aid to Phillipa's education. Although it turned out the Lady was not at all accomplished in the arts a Lady should so the lessons recently had been rather . . . unconventional however, Pippa was thrilled and there was little Eleanora could do in the matter for she could not see a damned thing. Though she had managed to adjust as much as was possible but still she was at a large disadvantage. Thus, Lady Wessex's help was most appreciated.

Granting all of this and the fact that Eleanora could not see, the young governess was certain that Lady Wessex very much needed to keep herself occupied also. No doubt from thought's of her errant husband. Eleanora thought it was utterly villainous to leave a brand new bride alone like this. Of course Lady Wessex had her but she was still only a servant, not a Lady of rank or means and the poor Marchioness new nobody, in a strange new land with new people, it must be so dreadful for the poor woman. This only endeared Eleanora to Addie. However, Lord Wessex, could go to the devil as far as she was concerned. But then there was the fact he paid her wage so she hoped he would return soon from whatever hell he threw himself in and bring her spectacles with him.

That was a couple of days ago now and Eleanora was becoming desperate now. With no word from the Marquess besides that first letter all those days ago no one had heard a single word from the cad. She couldn't see but she felt the despondency from time to time that Addie was keeping at bay with her cheerful demeanour. She liked to think that she and Lady Wessex had become close friends in the short time they had been together but she would never presume such an acquaintance.

"My Lady?" Eleanora ventured one dull morning when Pippa had left the breakfast room together her supplies for their painting expedition to the gardens. "Although I'm so very grateful you have been my eyes these past few days, I wonder . . . if you would do me one last favour and come with me to get fitted for some new spectacles?"

--

It was around the same time that the hooves of a pair of geldings were slowing down from eating up the ground. Dynevor and Morreland sat atop their steads upon a hill looking down at the once Royal Hunting Lodge that now belonged to Baroness Shelton. Above streaked heavenly pinks and angelic oranges across the canvas that was the Sky. God! Will sympathised with himself. He'd have to be stuck here for days on end with the less than lacking company of the ton's elite. Anyone else in his position would be positively glowing with such an opportunity, anyone, except Dynevor. The Duke did not want, or need to be around such company. He was alone wolf and preferred it that way. Having to spend time socialising with people he did not like was his own personal hell. He was very selective when it came to his friends and acquaintances. Howbeit, this was his job and he had to complete his mission, for better or worse.

The only thing that made this whole situation mildly tolerable was the fact that Morreland had deigned to join him. Which Will was both suspicious and grateful about. He either came with his own motives or to report back the awkwardness that was soon to be constantly imposed upon the Duke much to his friends hilarity.

"If you brood any harder." Richard's voice interrupted Will's musings. "You'll be mistake for a brigand and we'll be shot."

Will only grumbled in response and started his horse forward. Sometime he wondered why he bothered with enemies when he had friends like these.

"Cheer up old dog." Richard added, matching paces as they crested the hill and headed down. "You never know," He said with that positive attitude that the young man had in abundance. "You never know, you might have a good time." Richard winked before spurring his stead forward.

"I doubt it." Dynevor grumbled to himself before following suit.

It was less than twenty minute later that the men were stripped of their coats and were ushered into a roomful of finely dressed ladies and gents. There was quite a titillated commotion when they entered. It was truly Dynevor's nightmare. Being gawked at like some invalid bull at Tattersall's. He didn't like it. Not one bit. He knew what people thought of him and it hardly mattered to him. In fact, it only made him live up more to his fierce legend.

"Ah! Your Grace. Lord Morreland. We thought you might have renegaded." The Baroness proclaimed as the men bowed over her outstretched hand.

"The thought had crossed my mind." Will replied in his frank, coarse manner to which Rich laughed saving the day in a matter of way.

"Your Grace, your sense of humour, I forgot how witty you can be." Richard beamed at the room until his eyes settled on his prize. His hand reached up to rub his cheek, the same cheek Laurel Bailey had given a good righteous smack. His lips tugged slightly at the corners. One of many secrets they shared. And there was that prat Baronet she was engaged to . . . not for long. "Naturally we're fashionably late." Richard continued, easily putting the room to ease. "How else would we get all you lovely ladies talking about us?"

Laughter floated on the air. Dynevor could understand how Richard did it as he watch the man sidle up next to the old Lady Shelton and working his charm on her. "Oh my Lord! Behave yourself young man!" She chided him in a playful manner. "Your just in time. Dinner will be served shortly." Will's gaze wondered to rest on Lady Laurel Bailey and her features mirrored the nausea he felt at the sight he'd just bore witness too. Will knew of the Bailey's, especially Lady Laurel, she had been a close friend of Richard's some years ago but the friendship had soured. The Duke was not one to pry into other people's business and gave it little more thought when he caught the sight of his co-conspirator.

Colleen O'Donovan. His memory did her little justice, though there was nothing spectacular about her. In fact, she looked out of place her in this fine room with these finely dressed people as he did. Her hair was still the same blaze of red but much more vivid in real life and she wore a similar serviceable gown as she had the night he had first met her. He bowed his head to her in greeting from across the room. He had no quarrel with the Irish woman so long as she kept out of his business. And he supposed he liked her better than any other woman of his acquaintance. She did not seem prone to flights of fantasy or silly romantic notions like English women of her rank.

"William?" A voice halted the Duke just when he was about to approach Colleen O'Donovan. "Is that you darling?" Will stiffened, before slowly turning around. The room had fallen deadly quiet. All eyes on the Devil Duke and slim, elegantly dressed well aged woman with the silver coiffure who'd just entered.

"Your Grace." Will bowed stiffly to the woman that was his mother. His strained features showing clearly his displeasure at the association as he arose from the formality.

It was no secret in society of the scandalous Dynevor family. Fortunately their masses of wealth made all overlook their deficiencies. However, the Dynevor's had more than most. And the most scandalised was the current Duke. Every tongue from London to Aberdeen had been waging when the Duke had tossed his own mother out of the family estate when his father had died. No wonder he was seen as such a fiend. Of course it never helped that the dowager Duchess had cried to every ear that would listen of the evils her son had put upon her. How could a man throw out so callously his own widowed mother?! How shocking! Nor did it help that Dyneovr did nothing to deny the talk or put up a defence. He saw no reason to have to explain his actions to any man.

And here she stood, so boldly as if she hadn't been bad mouthing him to anyone who had half a mind to listen. "It is you! My dear child. It is so very good to see you." The Dowager Duchess of Dynevor doted openly on her only son. Wrapping, the huge man in her small arms. Will shirked and set her aside after a short moment causing the tongues around them to wage once more.

"You look well mother." He commented forcefully before adding spitefully for her ears only. "I see it does well to whore oneself out."

Thunder sparked in his mother's eyes as if she'd been slapped. How dare she stand before him so wantonly?! Will roared internally. He could not begin to describe the hate he felt towards the woman who had given birth to him. She was an embarrassment. Before the Dowager had a chance to rebuttal dinner was announced and Will wasted not another second on the woman striding past her to take Lady Shelton's arm as the highest ranking male present to lead the hostess into dinner.

 

[LeatrixSage]

It was a sordid affair the Baroness had brewing under her roof at the Hunting Lodge. The gossips were running full tilt, some even wiggled their tongues without shame and within ear shot of their subject, the Daerbhail. The Devil O’Donovan and the Devil Duke, it was all anyone could talk about, it seemed. Colleen expected it was very likely why so many men had chosen to join the flock of women that were the usual crowd in the Hunting Lodge’s drawing room. The Baroness Shelton hosted the Ton every year, just as her husband had before his death. Minnie, Lady Howard, was much expected to take up her mother’s title and mantle after the Baroness’s Death, the future hostess of all the Ton on the fashionable, week long retreat at the Royal Hunting Lodge. Colleen grinned as she admired the sparkling, pink drink in her glass. If only the lovely Lord and Lady Howard knew just who the Lodge was actually being left to.

“Baroness, you’ve left us again,” a warm, feminine voice gently admonished. Colleen lifted her eyes to Lady Bailey. The woman was positively beautiful, the picture of societal beauty, poise, and fashion. Laurel Bailey was everything Colleen was not, and there was no woman alive Colleen loved better.

“Your mind keeps skipping away,” Laurel teased with merriment showing in her deep brown eyes as she smiled at her friend. “Are you thinking about your Duke?”

“Not exactly,” the Daerbhail chuckled. Lady Bailey was the only woman alive that had the nerve to tease Colleen, or to use what remained of her titles to address her. Of course, Laurel was the only human being alive that didn’t use that title to rub salt into the wounds of the Irish upstart that dared to brush elbows with the English elite. She wondered, not for the first time, if it was her resentment for them that had encouraged her to partake in a little side-dealing with a few French merchants that had been old friends of the late Baron Bailey. Lucien Renard, the Fox of Aedler, had been chief among those fancy friends. Word was that he was a Bonaparte sympathizer these days, along with all the Aedlers. But, those where just whispers, and as substantial as the claims that the Devil Duke had designs on Colleen’s future. “I was amused by the whispers.”

“Aren’t we all,” Lord Howard muttered. He had been despondent ever since Rochester’s little ball. That didn’t surprise her, particularly seeing as her rooms had been resolutely closed to the man. What did surprise her was that Minnie looked about as happy as Frank did. The Lord and Lady Howard both seemed miserable, where Colleen had expected Minnie to revel in her discomfort. Frank must have been as belligerent and moody with his wife as he had been with his horse that morning.

“Yes, Indeed,” Laurel agreed as if the entire world was as perfectly flawless as she was. It made Colleen smile down at her friend. Lady Bailey smiled back and clinked her wine glass against the Irish woman’s Champaign flute as Lady Howard resolutely dragged her glowering husband away. The Baroness Shelton had made it very clear that he was to be on his best behavior, and that Minnie was responsible to seeing that he remained so, otherwise they, and their girls, would be tossed out in fine fashion. Lord Howard was a second son, and Minnie had only a modest income afforded her from the Baroness. If they lost Katherine’s good graces, their girls wouldn’t stand a chance this season, or any other.

Of course, Colleen knew better. Those girls where the light of Katherine’s world, and her most important duty. While she would allow Minnie and Frank to fall from grace, she would never abandon those girls.

“Oh no,” Laurel groused at Colleen’s side. The tone of the other woman’s voice made Colleen frown as she looked up to see what had drawn her attention. It was unlike the Lady Bailey to respond to anything so strongly.

"Ah! Your Grace. Lord Morreland. We thought you might have renegaded,” Katherine’s voice broke over the crowd as the shifting bodies seemed to close in around them and part to make way for them at the same time. The towering giant that was the Devil Duke looked quite amusing bowing over the frail hand of the painfully short Baroness Shelton. The Duke admitted that the thought of running off and not appearing, and his words sent a shockwave through the room. Colleen sniggered into her glass, but her friend stood unusually tense at her side. Something that seemed to worsen as Lord Morreland smoothed over the tittering questions.

Lady Bailey’s spine grew extra straight as the man’s eyes landed on her. The Daerbhail did not miss that something passed between the two, even if the entire rest of the room saw only the Irish upstart and the Welsh Duke. As the rest of the room softened into laughter in response to Morreland’s charm, Laurel excused herself from Colleen’s side to melt into the shifting mass of bodies. There was something her friend wasn’t telling her, and she meant to find out what it was.

However, when she made to follow her friend, she found herself brought up short by the weight of the Devil’s stare. She’d forgotten those eyes and how they seem to demand she bare her soul to his perusal. He tipped his head toward her, and she raised her glass in answer to him. Another ripple traveled through the gathered audience, and Colleen smiled as she took a drink. If the man was nothing else, he was good for her reputation.

“Isn’t he her guest?” someone whispered.

“I think so,” someone else answered.

“Then why isn’t she greeting him?”

“She’s Irish.”

Colleen nearly laughed out loud, and then all eyes shifted again. Ah, yes, she had very nearly forgotten that Katherine had invited the good Duke’s mother. O’Donovan knew the story as much as everyone else did, but she still watched with curiosity as the dowager Duchess approached her son. There was milk and honey in the woman’s voice, but it was as much a lie as the words themselves. The Scene was stale and barely lasted more than a moment, and yet so much passed between the two that it left Colleen wondering what the details of their relationship really where. For a son to toss his mother from his home, particularly when he was unmarried and had no children, it was unusual at best. Worse still, he had denied the woman the Dowager’s properties that where rightfully hers.

Why?

Before anyone could decide what to think, Dynevor had skillfully plucked Lady Shelton from her place at the center of the little gathering and began to escort her to dinner. In a way, that amused Colleen more than all the rest. Dynevor had never once stepped foot in the Hunting Lodge before, but damn anyone that tried to prove that point, because he would simply materialize wherever he wanted to be next. And still, the greater question, why did the Devil Duke want so badly to be here? The wagging tongues were all misled. They all believe she was the reason he courted for Katherine’s favor. If anyone could ply the Daerbhail O’Donovan into marriage, it would be whomever Lady Shelton loved the most, or so they all believed. She knew better. The Duke wanted not a thing to do with her. He wasn’t even interested in the way Frank believed of him.

“Why are you hear, William?” the Irish lass tested his name on her lips as the last of the room trickled into the hall. Some Lord she didn’t know looked back at her, but she waved him on. Before joining them all in the dining room, Colleen took her chance to open the ornate globe set off to one side of the room. Within was a brandy snifter and several glasses, one of which she filled with the brandy, and then carried into the dining room to set by her plate. Her seat was to the left of Lady Shelton, directly across from the guest of honor at Katherine’s right, the glowering devil whose mood seemed to be darker than usual.

“Your Grace,” Colleen took a quick sip of the brandy to settle her own nerves, and then slid the glass across the table to him. “I’m almost certain you would rather have this than the sparkling wine they are going to try to give you.”

--

He had left sometime that night.

Nine days had come and gone, and she still wasn’t sure just when he had slipped away. Nor did they know why he had left. He had sent word enough for them to know that he was alive, but beyond that there was nothing. Addie had processed it all in stages. First, she had been confused, and then hurt. He had appeared long enough to fuck her and then vanished. She felt like an utter fool as she’d cried through the night. It had been a couple of days before she slept. At least when she wasn’t alone in her room she was absorbed with the needs of the household. So far, no one had seemed to notice her discomfort. Or, none had chosen to comment. It was a blessing that no one raised any eyebrow.

Some stupid part of her mind wanted to believe it wasn’t what it looked like. And, what it looked like, was a game. A horrible, cruel game to use her, his little French spy, for… what? What was the point? What did he think she knew? She had told Roarke she would tell him anything he wanted to know. His seduction was unnecessary. He had pursued her anyway. Her heart insisted she was all wrong, but her mind couldn’t let go of what she knew about the Marquess’ second life.

Beyond that, no matter if he meant to use her or not, she was still a fool.

The quiet hours of the night had given her time to think, and she had remembered that all of the wonderful people she had met, even young Pipa, was already dead and buried. Addie needed to get back home but wrapping her mind around being in the wrong time was still a bit more than she could handle. Sometimes she thought she was insane. She’d had some kind of mental break down, and now she was in an asylum somewhere living in a fantasy world. But, then, the insane didn’t know they were insane… right?... so, she was okay, and this was real?

Addie sighed as she moved her eggs around her plate. Thus far, she’d managed to avoid melancholy, but it was becoming difficult to focus on anything for more than a few moments before her mind would stray. She already felt guilty that she’d barely spoken a word to Pipa. The sweet girl had tried to draw her into conversation several times, but Addie’s mind was somewhere else.

“My Lady?” Addie glanced up at Eleanora’s voice after Pipa had left the room. She feared what the woman might ask, or what she might say. Miss Spencer was shrewd and attentive, but the loss of her spectacles had given Adelaide some wiggle room. The woman couldn’t know what she was thinking if she couldn’t see her face. Funnily enough, that was the very thing that was on the woman’s mind.

“I’d be happy to go with you,” Addie reached across the table to gently squeeze one of Eleanora’s hands. “If for no other reason than to get out of this house for a little while. I’m sure Pipa would enjoy the trip as well.”

Like it or not, Addie surely had taken on the role of being the Lady of the House, and it had become easy to tell people what she wanted and when she wanted it. This meant that breakfast was cleared away and a carriage was waiting in front of Belqualis House almost as soon as she spoken her desires out loud. Sitting around and suffering while trying to divine whether or not Roarke was playing some kind of sick game with her was the essence of madness. She needed to get out of the Belqualis, and she needed to spend time thinking about something other than Roarke.

--

So, it was that Gabriel Bailey saw the black carriage baring the Wessex crest emblazoned on the doors bounce down the Merry Lane as he stepped out of his favorite hat shop. He was surprised to see it there, more so when it bounced past the fashionable dress shops and onward to the Ophthalmologist. The Marquess was known to be at his country home, far from his lovely young wife. The Marchioness was suspected to make an appearance at Baroness Shelton’s annual festivities, where Laurel was likely hanging on the arm of that Devil woman, O’Donovan. Gabriel smiled as he thought of the pair, so unalike and yet so well suited to be friends. He’d plied his hand in the Irish woman’s direction more than once but had found himself wanting. Despite her reputation, she had always resolutely turned down his advances.

His interest was fading when a brilliantly blonde head popped out of the carriage to draw his focus back to his wonderings. The Marchioness followed, but it was Eleanora Spencer that Lord Bailey was drawn to. What had she told him on the stairs at the ball, she had lost her spectacles? It appeared she must not have found them, or she found them in bad repair. How dutiful was the Marchioness to accompany a member of her staff on such an errand? What manner of woman was Eleanora Spencer that she could so thoroughly befriend the Marchioness to have such loyalty in her Mistress?

Grinning, Gabriel decided he was going to find out what the inside of the Ophthalmologist’s shop looked like.

 

[ScarlettRose]

Baroness Shelton had taken leave of Will on their way to the dinning hall, thanks to some small misgiving with the food. An oddity in itself. The Duke glanced at the Viscount, who had an astounding ability to record and replace details to exact correctness. Richard in turn spared a glance in Will's direction to assent that he had made note of the point of fact and continued on merrily with his flock of admirers towards the hall. Dynevor on the other hand slowed down, allowing the crowd to pass to take the opportunity to get bearings of the Lodge. The Lodge in fact was a sizeable manor, covered on the outside with ivy that wrapped around the property like a snug waistcoat. On the inside was a mixture of rustic medieval architecture mixed with a renaissance interior that gave the place a feel of overt decadence and suited the old Baroness Shelton's personality entirely.

Game was meant to be ripe in these parts and it was one of the few things Will was actually looking forward to be indulging in this miserable week, besides his duties of course. This whole business in fact left the Duke feeling off kilter slightly. The man had faced far greater dangers and challenges in his time but something about this place left him with one of his feelings that something just wasn't right. It crept up his spine and the feeling couldn't be shaken. The French were hardly worthy enemies. History was littered with how the French had constantly fallen to the English. This time would be no different. They were simply maniacal and sneaky foes and would have to be rooted out like Foxes in chicken coups.

Dynevor was pulled from his musings by an Irish lilt. His frown deepened as he turned slightly to see Colleen O'Donovan pouring herself a brandy from an impressive globe. She really was the Devil, he brooded to himself . . . Just like him . . . Except their imposed pet name from society was where their likeness ended as far as Will was concerned. And, she had the audacity to refer to him by his first name. There was a lot to be said right there. However, with the arch of a thick brow, Will silently followed Colleen the short distance into the dinning hall. The Duke watched the impoverished Irish Baroness as the room watched the pair.

There was something almost savage about the way Will observed her take her seat across from him and settle the glass in front of her. Her personality may have been a slight improvement to any other female of his acquaintance, however, that did not mean she was any less of a nuisance than other women. In fact, as Will mulled it over, he was sure she would be more so. He also decided indisputably that she was not at all beautiful, especially in the contemporary sense of the word. Her skin was far too pale, freckles marred every inch of her skin, her eyes were an unnatural emerald and her wild blaze of locks were clearly untamable as they threatened to mutiny the confines of their pins any moment now and spill free. And yet . . . There was something singularly alluring about Miss Colleen O'Donovan all the same . . .

Until she opened her mouth of course. And proceeded to annoy him. The Duke was a man of his time. And not any man. He was a man that possessed and held one of the highest ranks in country. He was wealthier than the King himself and birth of a purer linage than Royalty. There were rules and customs that had been ingrained in him since before he could even speak and Colleen O'Donovan seemed to flout as many as them as she saw fit. One could easily blame it on the fact that she was Irish, yet, she was not just some Irish lass. Before her foolhardy family had lost it all, by blood at the very least she was of noble rank and should adhere to her breeding. It was bad enough she liked to address herself with a title she had no right to. Her father had had no son and naturally, the title passed onto the next male heir and yet she insisted on claiming the title of Baroness. It was utterly preposterous to his sensibilities.

"Almost certain?" Will repeated, watching Colleen slide the tumbler of brandy across the table to him. His expression was as dark as his appearance; from his outdated caliginous apparel to his unfashionably agrarian and long beard to that deep seated, livid scar that ran from the top of one dark brow all the way down his cheek and disappeared into his beard. All this only added to his hellish disposition. "One can not be almost certain one is married or almost certain that one is dead." The Duke proceed with a sinister edge to his bored, neutral tone. "The concept of certainty is an absolute Baroness. You are either certain or you are not." He stopped a moment, to command a footman with a flick of his fingers to fill his glass with the wine, while the snifter of brandy was ignored to prove appoint. However right Colleen O'Donovan might have been, and however much she may choose to do whatever she like thanks to the loose reigns of Lady Shelton, she would not presume to dictate to him like she may do to that whelp Frank Howard, or anyone else for that matter. "You, however, are assuming and, as always, you assume too much."

Taking a long gulp of the sparkling wine, Dynevor's pale blue gaze bore into Colleen. She had been most definitely right, brandy would have been much preferable but he had to put her in her place. She had been testing his boundaries ever since their first interaction and now that he had gotten what he wanted, he saw no need to indulge her and he meant to make it very clear how far she could push them. There was the possibility that he may have reacted less brutishly to her consider offer had he not been riled up by the unsuspected presence of his mother. The woman had always had away to blacken his mood and now he's have to suffer her and her antics for an extended period of time with an audience of course. Poor Colleen had unfortunately, ended up being mauled by the big brute like a bear caught with his foot in a trap. No doubt her intentions had been a small act of kindness and Will was already internally kicking himself for being a complete arse to the woman, however this did little to lighten his mood.

"As for why I'm here." He finally spoke up again, acutely aware of the others listening in inconspicuously. Especially, he noted, without giving them a single glance - deeming them unworthy of even that from him - his mother and Frank Howard. "You know exactly why I'm here Colleen." He drawled, daring to address her so very familiarly in front of all the other guests. After all, he was certain that was exactly what she wanted. Being an astute man, it wasn't a stretch for Will to make the correlation. Any connection she had with him would only be beneficial to her small business. People would approach her as a means to - or so they'd hope - to claim an acquaintance to him. He saw no issue why she should not benefit as such, so long as she kept her nose out of his business. And his eyes said exactly that to her. "I'm in need of a wife."

It was that very moment Baroness Shelton decided to return and took her seat between the pair. The Duke glanced at their hostess and wondered how the crease faced old bat hadn't crumbled into ash by now. It was miraculous that such an aged individual was still able to function as the Baroness did. No matter her appearance, the Baroness was as sharp as they came. She had certainly made life hard for Will up until now and he would not be sad to see her go. It was clear the old harpy was living vicariously through her paid companion, doing the Irish spinster a disservice in the long run as far as the Duke was concerned.

--

Richard, meanwhile, wanted so very badly to run his hands over his face as he witnessed his friends curtness with Miss O'Donovan. The man was like a bull in a china shop. Worst of all, Will knew exactly what he was doing. However, there was only so much he could and from half way down the room, he was not willing to do much as he pulled out the seat next to Laurel and sat down. "Ladies." He greeted the women that surrounded to be greeted in turn by giggles. Except from Laurel of course, who looked less than pleased.

Before he could continue to harass her to his hearts content, a slender whip of gangly limbs stopped behind him. "L-Lord M-Morreland." The nervous, young Baronet Barclay Hawthorne dared stuttering every single word he spoke. "I-I b-b-believe th-th-that's m-my s-seat." Richard peered up at the awkward young man. He had to give the kid points for balls. Smirking, Richard glanced at Laurel with a look that said, 'Really? This child?'

The notion was utterly laughable that a woman as sophisticated as Laurel Bailey would tie herself to a whelp like Hawthorne right here for life. Richard stood up, clapping Barclay Hawthorne on the back. The gesture only had mild force behind it but it caused the thin Baronet to barrel forward, only Morreland's clasp stopped him from tumbling to the floor. "Come on old chap, I'm already sat down now. There," Richard gestured to his own seat. "Why don't you go sit there next to your mama hm?" With a gentle push, Richard sent the man on his way as he sat back down in the Baronet's seat.

The golden haired rogue proceeded to turn and face Laurel as everyone was settling down and waiting for Baroness Shelton to return. The Viscount openly perused Laurel's lovely countenance. She really was beautiful, with those lovely pink cheeks and lips and those aristocratic fine boned features that boasted excellent breeding. Of course, Richard was in love with more than her mere beauty, Laurel was beautiful in every way, her mind, her soul. She was perfection on earth and ever as he could see her belligerence towards him right now, she was even more attractive to him. But he was no fool. He knew it would take more than a few compliments and sweet words to win her back. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful.

"Laurel," Richard sighed sounding for all intentions apologetic. "I, just wanted to say . . ." Would this be the moment the Viscount would finally apologies to her for his deplorable treatment of her in the past? . . . Not quite. "I forgive you." He said almost sweetly, his gaze fixed downwards, not daring to look up at her face because he knew once he had even a glimmer of her expression he would not be able to contain his mirth. "You know me better than anyone and you know how Godly and pious of a man I am and so after consulting the Holy book." He continued utterly remorselessly, his fingers flicking up to rub that cheek once more. "I've decided to turn the other cheek."

Choking on his laughter, the Viscount turned decidedly in his seat in the other direction and greeted the Howard girls once more. "Good evening ladies." He began with that charm he was known for. "My, my, aren't I the luckiest man here tonight. Getting to sit next to the prettiest girls here. Miss Howard," He addressed the older Howard girl and then the second one. "Miss Margaret. My mother's name was Margaret. How I miss her." He sighed dramatically, naturally affecting the young women the way his words intended, eliciting a choir of "Awwww how sweet!" As they began to fawn over the eligible, titled bachelor.

His work was not far from his thoughts but that did not mean that he couldn't hit two birds with one stone. And all work and no play made one decidedly miserable like Dynevor and Morreland was anything but miserable. Plus the thought of Laurel and the red faced youngling Hawthorne was unbearable and thus the Viscount continued his brand of torture by completely ignoring the lovely Laurel Bailey and bestowing all his attention of the fresh Howard girls as the dinner drew on.

--

The Marquess of Wessex had had just about enough of his semi-enforced isolation in the country when the Inquisitors were finally done with their dreary business. He did not even need to ask if they had cleaned up after themselves as when he dared to venture down to the now empty and seemingly disused dungeons they appeared untouched for all intents and purposes. He didn't even know why he bothered going down there. Roarke was like a caged Lion. He longed to break out of his confinement but that only meant he was in a bigger cage but not free.

"How'd it go?" Roarke ventured to Lord Drammas, one of the Inquisitors whilst the other two packed to leave. "Get what you need."

"To a certain extent." The shady Viscount replied diplomatically.

"So?!" The Marquess ventured running short on patience these days.

"So what?" Drammas replied unconcernedly, almost unfeeling in manner.

It was exactly this lack of emotion that the Inquisitors were so famously known for. After all, one had to be completely unfeeling and detached and inhumane to do what these men did. The Marquess examined the Dread Lord with slitted eyes for a moment. Deciding how to approach the stoic individual before him but before he could Drammas ventured.

"As far as you are concerned Wessex, your adversary circulates in your inner sanctum. Of your own doing. Whatever you're doing, make sure you're on the right side."

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?" Roarke barked. He would not have his loyalty questioned. He knew how it looked. Claiming a French spy as his wife, with no real explanation or how and why. "IF you have something to say, say it plainly Drammas!"

"Fine." Lord Drammas continued unmoved. "Let me tell you this Roarke. The enemy moves in our ranks and when you introduce risk without explaining your motives . . . The Earl of St. Merryn may allow such dissidence in his ranks but remember there are others higher up the rank."

"What else did you learn." Wessex practically ground through clenched teeth. He understood clearly what was being stated between the lines. His allegiance was being questioned. His competence. There was nothing worse for a man like Roarke Rochester than his peers questioning his fealty. Such unbecoming things being spoken about him was a fate worse than death to a man like the Marquess who enjoyed such popular esteem for being a hero who stalked his life for his country.

. . . All for a woman who was continuously lying to him . . .

"That is on a need to know basis." Drammas replied. It was nothing more than the final punch to Roarke. He would not be privy to anymore information until it became clear to his organisation where his support lay. They were considering him to be a traitor. This could not go on second longer. "And you no longer need to know Lord Wessex." Roarke stood, glued to the spot, deep in thought. Ever since Adelaide had landed in his life . . . Everything had changed . . . He just needed to know if it was for better or for worse before he made his next move. A voice called forth to the Inquisitor as they were all saddled up and ready to go. "We'll be watching." Was Drammas' salutary advise to the Marquess of Wessex. It was only a short time after that that the resolute Marquess had saddled his own steed and thundered back towards London.

--

"Thank you again." Eleanora took the Marchioness' hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze gratefully. "I really don't know what I would have done without your help." She ventured as she went onto inspect the new spectacles resting on her nose in the looking glass provided. At last! The governess could see at last! The thin, plain, silver wire framed pair would cost a pretty penny but Eleanora had managed to save a decent amount while in the employee of the Wessex's and was saving her small funds for rainy days just like this. She would even stretch to a spare pair to save her the hassle of having to come back if something should happen to this pair.

She could clearly see now that through that smile Adelaide kept in place something was clearly troubling the Marchioness. Of course, she had no business prying and wouldn't dare but later when they were alone, Eleanora decided she'd let Addie know that if she wanted to talk about anything at all, that Eleanora was there. Meanwhile, it was simply amazing, almost miraculous to have her sight back! People did not know how lucky they were to just be able to see without aid. If she ever, somehow, managed to get twenty twenty vision ever she would never take it for granted. In fact, she would never take these spectacles for granted again and take good care of them. Not allowing rakish Lord's like Marquess pluck them from her face.

Eleanora sighed happily. It was the little things in life at this point. The little things that made her happy. Like being able to see Pippa try on glasses. While on any other occasion she would have chided the child to behave, today at least she would let the girl have her fun, though she made it clear to her charge to be careful and not break anything or her father would not be happy to pay for such foolery.

"These Miss Spencer?" The shop keep asked for her final decision. "Your sure?"

"Yes thank you." Eleanora replied, once more examining them in the looking glass in her hand as the portly man when to ring them up.

The governess was far from the picture of beauty from the night of the dreadful ball. She was back in her grab grey gowns, that were laced absurdly tight on her already slender frame and made her spine appear unnaturally ridged. Her long blonde locked were tied equally tightly back in a matron like manner, giving her the appearance of being far older than she was. Just how she liked it. Pushing the spectacles higher up the ridge of her nose, Eleanora caught the reflection of a man entering the small shop. A gentleman, with dark hair, dressed finely. Something about the way he moved seemed familiar to Eleanora. That in it's self planted a seed of unease in the woman. Most gentlemen had that effect on her.

"Lord Bailey! What are you doing here? In need of aid seeing?" Someone shook the mans hand and at the sound of that address, Eleanora gasped, pulling the looking glass down to her lap before she quickly hopped off her seat and rapidly sidled to the Marchioness' side. "I-I think I'm done here. Shall we go now?" She said hastily, while telling the shop keep to send her bill to Belqualis House. "I've already wasted so much of your time." She managed to smile nervously, hoping she could extra the Marchioness and her charge from the premises before Lord Bailey could spot and stop them. "Phillipa, come along."

Eleanora cursed under her breath, her palms beginning to sweat as the young girl did exactly the opposite, skipping up to the Earl. "How do these look on me?" The young girl asked the stranger tapping the golden, ornately designed spectacles that were clearly to big for her small delicate face.

 

[LeatrixSage]

“Utterly delightful, my small Lady,” Gabriel rumbled in amusement at the little blonde child. The creature was fearless, a trait that was uncommon in her sex, and less common of her station. It made her quite a charming creature.

Gabriel had watched the set from outside the shop for some time before he had decided to step inside. Eleanora was not quite the same woman he remembered. Something about her was changed, but he had seen so little of her that he was uncertain of what it was. The lively Marchioness seemed to have suffered as well in the absence of her Marquee. She looked absolutely melancholy despite her warm smile. He had wanted to greet the ladies directly, but he earned in assuming the shop keep would not assault him unless he summed the man.

“None what so ever,” he answered as she addressed the man. He pulled his hand resolutely from his grasp as he turned toward the pair of women. “Marchioness,” he bowed slightly in formality, but he had little time for the woman. It was Eleanora he sought, and it was her lovely, gloved had that he captured and bent low over. “Miss Spencer.”

Straightening, Gabriel tucked his hands behind his back. “I saw you in the street and decided that, I was utterly denied your company when last we met, so I simply must impose upon you, if you will allow me the honor.”

Not that he was planning on giving her an option.

“Pippa,” the Marchioness spoke up as she collected the little blonde creature against her skirts, “come with me, dear. Eleanora,” she shared a caring glance with the woman, one that was somehow as pleading as it was bolstering. “We’ll wait in the carriage, but we shall be right at hand if you need us.”

Gabriel smiled at the woman and offered her a thankful nod. All at once, she had told her friend to take a chance, offered her safety of a friend nearby, and allowed the woman space to say no on her own if that was what she wanted.

“Splendid,” Gabriel cheered the Marchioness for her maneuvering, “a short public walk, then, if it please you. Just long enough to allow us to become acquainted.”

--

Baroness

Oh, that phrase rolled of that welsh tongue in a way that made her want to dig that elegant muscle out of his mouth with her spoon. Not that Colleen was going to provide him the satisfaction of her ire. No, instead, the Irish lash merely smiled indulgently at the big brute before resting her elbows on the table and settling her chin over the backs of her hands as she measured him.

“I wouldn’t have suspected a man of your caliber to waste his time or his breathe on arguing semantics,” O’Donovan spoke airily, her tone light and congenial. She was measured, a damn good head at carrying on conversation that sounded utterly innocent and faultless, and she was far from above using that talent against the great Devil Duke and all his power. “Or that you would bend so resoundingly to the tenants of English propriety. I misjudged you. Perhaps the Welsh have too long been under the yoke to express their own culture and tastes.”

She smiled charmingly as she set one hand over her wine flute to keep it empty, allowing the footman to pass her by, and retrieved the fine brandy with the other. “All the more for me, then. Thank you. I despise that grape juice and water that they have the nerve to call wine. What I wouldn’t give for a single drop of mead on my tongue.”

Oh, she was digging, eagerly, for the nerve that would make those glowering eyes turn dark and stormy. His pride was intolerable, his power encompassing everything he set his damnable blue gaze upon, and she so wanted to watch him fall. Needling him slowly, she was stoking the fire, eager to watch all his power and control vanish under the weight of his own ire. Did he understand, she wondered, that in igniting his wrath, she had control over the man? They were such emotional beasts, and so easily disturbed.

“A wife, you say?” she continued on with a little smirk playing about her lips. Now he was using her given name. It didn’t have the same effect of his butchering of her title. Instead, it ignited a curious and unexpected tingling betwixt her thighs. The welsh drawl that curled around the values of her name was alluring, and she began to wonder what else that tongue might curl around.

The Baroness had taken her seat, dinner was just about to begin, and Colleen could think of no more perfect a moment to ruin everything. Before Baroness Shelton could call dinner to start, Colleen reached across the table to rest her hand delicately over the Duke’s. “Sir, you must know, I simply can’t marry a man that prefers wine to brandy. We’d be such a terrible match, our share lack of fashion notwithstanding. While your offer is… exceedingly generous, I simply can’t accept you.”

In one fell swoop, Colleen O’Donovan made herself the most desirable woman of the Ton. No matter her looks or oddities, the most powerful man on their little Island had appeared to ask for her hand, and she was the woman that turned down the Devil Duke. Oh, but she could sing his praises for the rest of her life for the power and prestige he had just unwittingly dropped at her feet.

“However,” Colleen went on as she sat back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, “if you would like to seek some other business venture, I would be happy to discuss that favor you owe me.”

--

God bless you, Colleen.

Laurel Bailey breathed a sigh of relief as all eyes turned to the head of the table. Richard, the foul bastard, seemed determined to utterly ruin her reputation and her good name. Certainty, most men didn’t sit next to their wives at an event such as this, but to be displaced of his seat by another man that addressed her by her given name in public… it was shameful for Hawthorne, and potentially scandalous for Laurel. Her name whispered in rumor, even once, would be enough to lose the bet. Even if nothing substantial had happened, her cousin would use it against her. The terms of the bet where clear, but he was getting more and more desperate as her birthday neared. Of course, he’d never have imagined she would remain both out of scandal and unmarried for so long.

To top it all off... He forgave Her?

Fury the likes of which she had never know left her speechless, along with eyes that had watched so closely she could barely breath… and then Colleen duped them all by flatly turning down the Duke where half the Ton could claim to have seen it with their own eyes. God, but the woman was magnificent, and Laurel was allowed to breathe again.

The lout turned his back to her then, resolutely shutting her out, and Laurel let go a sigh of relief. His attention turned to the Howard girls. At first, this was a blessing, as it allowed Laurel to entertain other members of the ton that sat nearby them. As dinner wore on and courses traded hands, however, she began to recognize a phrase here, or a comment there, falling from Moreland’s lips. They tugged at her memory a time or two until she began to see them for what they were. Those beautiful words and devilish charm, they were his tools to her ruin. Thus far the man had kept his mouth shut about her little dalliance. Something she attributed to her brother’s political position and the weight her carried with the peerage. However, he still knew that she was damaged goods, and Laurel was beginning to wonder how many other young women he had fluffed and foiled. This was the Howard girl’s first season, how like the beast of a man to seek out the naïve and delicate for his conquest.

The very idea of it all made her sick to her stomach, and Laurel lost her appetite. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. Colleen had given them all a much greater scandal to wag their tongues about. Not eating, and barely talking, it gave Laurel plenty of time to listen. As he plied the girls with his attentions, she decided with resounding certainty that she would not allow him to do to any of them what he had done to her. This set her into a unique place of suspicion and outrage, one the likes of which Laurel had never known before. Nor had she ever watched Richard so closely as she did over the next hour.

So close was her scrutiny that losing sight of the man was utterly panic inducing. Of course, it was at the same time that she realized Colleen and the Duke were missing as well. Laurel knew the woman could handle herself, but she felt lost without her friend. Confronting Morreland on her own was… daunting at best, and yet she snuck off into the bowls of the hunting lodge anyway. The sounds of laughter and haughty chatter died off as she delved deeper into the halls and rooms that had gone unused.

--

Minnie was an insufferable woman in her old age, and Lord Howard could barely be rid of her long enough. It wasn’t until he retired to smoke that he finally won his freedom of the woman. Even in his own home, it was when he took out his pipe that she scampered away out of distaste for the smoke. She was fine, as wives went, dutiful in the bedroom, even if she had never managed to provide him the son that was promised. Strange, as he’d fathered more than one son off of London whores. What a blow it would be to be forced into legitimizing a bastard in order to keep his line alive. More was the petti, Minnie was a dead fish in the marriage bed, and he believed it was that very trait that made her incapable of fulfilling her duty to provide him a proper heir.

The only commendable trait of her youth had been her ability to keep a household in order. That had vanished with her youth, as her habit for gambling had nearly bankrupted him on more than one occasion. Colleen, the Irish Devil that was a siren in his dream, she had been is solace for a time. Her body had been a safe harbor, and he had worshiped every inch of her, and yet she was obviously missing, and therefore most likely mounted on top of that Welsh monster, as was her want, and riding him with all the vigor of a woman that knew what she wanted from a man.

Frank ground his teeth so hard he chipped the stim of his pipe. Cursing, he spit out the small splinter of wood, gaining a few looks from other men sitting about the smoking room before he retired from their company. Despite how loathsome he found the thought of Colleen with another man, remembering how wantonly she took her own pleasure from his body had stoked his need. Somewhere among all the skirts of the Ton, there had to be one he could lift for the night. One willing body. No. More than that. Frank wanted a woman to unleash all his pint up rage upon, and the first little fool to cross his path was going to be the one he set himself upon. He turned toward the young and fresh to the scene, girls of a young but marriageable age. They would be the naive fodder he needed to slake his lust upon. What better way to take his vengeance on the fairer sex than to ruin one of those beautiful virgins they held so dear.

 

[ScarlettRose]

What the devil was she about?! Will gazed across the table with an queer gaze as Colleen O'Donovan began her masked tirade. Every word she spoke was pinned pointed to antagonise him in just the right way and the woman was doing a damn fine job of it. Will felt the muscles in his jaw tighten under his beard. Why was every woman hellbent on harassing him needlessly?! If it had been any other woman for that matter, his bark would have sent them running a mile. Oh but not Colleen O'Donovan. The Irish witch had the gall to bait him further! Fortunately, it was that passing thought that saved the Duke from tearing her to pieces right there on the spot in front of everyone.

Indeed. That would have been bad form. And although, she was certainly the antagonist, he would have no doubt come off as the villain . . . Or rather more villainous than they all perceived him to be. Somehow, Dynevor managed to bite his tongue. It was by far no easy task and when she dared, impropriety after impropriety to place her bare hand over his; a jolt travelled up Will's arm and the Duke found himself in equal measures annoyed and aroused. Those pale orbs of his flashed from the contact to her face. She was a shameless harpy and he knew exactly how to deal with her sort. Except . . . It would have to wait he decided as she pulled her hand away.

Taking up that flute of wine she was referring to, the Duke was silent a moment. Looking down, he nodded to himself slowly as if he was having some sort of internal conversation with himself or an invisible person. Taking a swig of his wine, his neutral countenance once more settled on her lively features. Those eyes . . . "It appears to me, Miss O'Donovan." He began in that gruff, steady voice. "You have but proven my point. Here you find yourself once more, making assumptions and dismissing the import of semantics. Details." It was his turn to lean forward now, but only slightly and not so much without manners as she had done. "If I recall correctly, I said I was looking for a wife. Not, that I was seeking you to be my wife . . ." Was he enjoying her discomfort? Not nearly as much as he should have been. This was all beneath him but something about Colleen O'Donovan made his blood boil and it was still boiling. He could have been more gracious. Good have let her have that small victory. In fact he would have let her. If, she hadn't acted as if it was hers to take.

"Details." He repeated once more resolutely after a moments silence and in a much more conversational tone. "Very important in my line of business. It's something you'll have to improve on if I'm even to consider any association with you. Strictly, business only of course. Just to make it clear. Wouldn't want you to make anymore troubling assumptions again . . . Hmm yes. As for your favour, if you know what you want, we can discuss it at a more appropriate time. After dinner." And then the man turned his head and began a conversation with the Baroness as dinner was served.

Dinner was a tedious affair. That stretched out far longer than was necessary as far as the Duke was concerned. He was known for upping and leaving from dinner tables when he was done and bored. Without a word. Tonight however, after the scene Colleen had created, Will was on his best behaviour. There were some points of interest however. After he'd done his bit of conversing with the Baroness Shelton, he had joined in various discussions at the table ranging from Napoleon and the continent to new industries all the way to spices from the East. All of which he had his large hands in of course, even if much of it was unknown to general populations. Of course, the Duke spared not a glance for Colleen. Oh he had much to say to her . . . Soon.

--

Regina and Prudence Williams occupied a corner close to a pair of french doors that stood open to admit the cool night air into the overly hot room that the party had retired to after dinner. Conversation was rife in the air, as was alcohol and games. It was indeed a lively gathering, especially after all the goings on at dinner! Why! How anyone was able to talk about anything besides the dramatics in the dinning hall was beyond Regina.

"I know the Duke is not much to look at." Regina Williams said haughtily to her twin as she fanned herself rapidly. "And his temper may leave much to be desired but to think that the Duke of Dynevor would ask a nobody like her to be his duchess. Humph!"

"Well . . ." A slow, small smile tugged up Prudence Williams lips watching her sister very literally turn up her nose at the Irish Baroness who had just slipped her arm through that of the very Duke in question. "Stranger pairings have been made in the past." Prudence pointed out.

"Maybe so." Regina conceded. "But how can one be that desperate?"

"Are you saying nothing would induce to such a match?" Her twin parried back.

"Well . . . not nothing. No doubt the Duke if wealthy and I hear he holds the finest stables in all of England." The blonde continued in that flirtatious tone she could not seem to stop and had every man she met on his knees for her. "And his breeding of course."

"Unlike us." The dark haired twin pointed out helpfully, knowing disdain awaited on Regina's face at the mention of their lack own lack of breeding.

Though, that wasn't quite correct. The girl's father was a Viscount. A title the man inherited after his older brother met his demise at a young age. Not of course, before gambling away every penny in the family's coffers. It was that very reason that the blood of the Williams sister was tainted as Regina liked to refer to it when she did, which was in fact not very often as she did not like to refer to it all. To replenish the family's funds, their father, Viscount Ramsey had been pressured by his family to marry the daughter of a wealthy merchant. And of course, that was why these days the family lived a very easy life as far away as possible from genteel poverty that had almost bought the family to financial ruin. The Viscount was also a far more sensible man than his brother before him and it was this trait that Prudence had in spades and her ten year old brother Charles.

Regina, however, took after her mother in almost all things. From those golden locks to that coquettish nature. It was clear that the Williams twins were different as night and day. Oddly enough the girls were rather close like most sisters were.

"Ugh! Must you really mention that now Prue!?" Regina rolled her eyes before snapping the fan in her hands closed decidedly.

"I must." Prudence teased her sister causing Regina to roll her eyes once more.

"You're quite impossible when you get in these funny moods." The beautiful blonde declared walking away from her sister.

Prudence observed her sister walk away. It was as if the nineteen year old had been designed in every way to have the maximum effect of the male sex. The brunette took note of how almost all of the young gentleman took notice as Regina swayed passed; trying to pull her into conversation for but a moment in her company. It was easy to see why. Regina had this cruel ability to make any person she talked to feel as if they were the only person in the world. Prue, however, knew that while that may have been a case for the men, her sister on the other hand paid little attention to what was actually being said. Regina was like a spider, slowly wrapping whatever fool tumbled into her net in a tight cocoon.

One might be fooled into thinking that Prue was envious of her sister. The opposite was the case however. The brunette smiled to herself as she took a seat away from the crowd pulling out a small lead pencil and note pad that her mother had told her profusely not to bring.

"Wow. That's impressive." A voice expressed from behind her some time later. Prudence looked over her shoulder to see the subject of her doodle. She should have been mortified and shoved the notepad back into the pocket of her dress. Instead, she found herself asking, "Do you really think so?"

"I would say so." Richard, Viscount Morreland laughed, leaning over the settee to get a closer look. "It's as clear as day, even though it's small. The detail . . . it's very good." He smiled that charming smile that was so natural to him. "Do you think you should have drawn me a more nefarious light though?" He suggested as his gaze flickered to the far end of the room where Laurel stood. It must have been the first time in the night that her attention was occupied by someone not him.

Prudence, followed his gaze and then looked back over her shoulder where the Viscount leaned his forearms on the back of the push settee, resting his chin on those muscles; bestowing upon him a conspiratorial smile before they both looked down at the sketch again. It was really just an idle piece but the subject was . . . controversial for a lack of a better word. The small scene was of that of the dinning hall, except there were only two people present. The Viscount. And Lady Laurel Bailey with her hands around the Viscounts neck.

"Maybe." Prue ventured. "But it would quite impossible to believe."

Richard laughed heartily. "You're saying Miss Williams that it would be harder to believe that I was far from an angel than to believe that Lady Laurel would like to strangle me."

"That, my Lord, is exactly what I'm saying."

"Indeed?" Richard grinned. Clearly Prudence Williams was an observant girl. "Well, can I get the artist signature on it before I take it away to be framed or what?"

It had been a private doodle that was not meant for the eyes of nobody but seeing as the Viscount had asked so nicely she saw no reason to deny him and so signing it she gifted it him. He was the subject of the piece after all. How could she say no? Folding it, she watched the Viscount wink at her as he slipped it into his jacket pocket. No sooner had he done that that the giggling Howard girls appeared and dragged the Viscount away. "Come along my Lord." The pair giggled. "Let us show you the gallery."

Meanwhile Regina Williams was heartily enjoying being the certain of the young crowd by the piano. Things were a little more relaxed in the country and the girl had just plucked the music sheet from the pianoforte. "No, no, no!" She decreed to her pouting friends. "I'll choose this time."

"Marvellous idea!" One of her young admirers clapped his hands.

"Indeed! Miss Regina's choice is always splendid!" Another added.

"Hmm . . . This one!" She beamed as a figure bumped into her back and she turned. "Oh! Lord Frank! Perfect timing! I insist you must waltz with me!"

"What about me?!" The her first gentlemen admirer asked affronted.

"You never asked." Regina smiled unashamedly, placing a delicate hand on Frank Howard's shoulder. It was just a move on the chess board for her. Denying the young buck a dance and giving it to another. It only aided in her being more desirable.

--

With his lean arms around the waists of two beautiful young women, Richard Salisbury found himself walking into a large empty hall. The walls of which were as ornately decorated as the paintings that hung upon them. The Howard girls were vapid flirts. Exactly the sort of company Richard liked to keep. Mindless chatter and gossip may have been mind numbing for the likes of the Duke but for the young Viscount it was a connection to some normality. For, his life was far from normal beneath the guise of day to day running. It was everything he missed, being free and without obligations. Everything in his life now held this crushing weight of a responsibility far greater than one pair of shoulders could bare.

The trio flitted from painting to painting, laughing, making jest of the portraits and their subjects accompanied with an indecent amount of flirting. Of course, the Viscount was far from interested in the Howard girls. They served a purpose and it helped of course that he enjoyed their company, though that had not been a requirement. It was just an added bonus. It was obvious the pair had imbibed far too much. They didn't realise how fortunate they were that they were in his hands and not some other lech's.

He had forced himself to not look or interact with Laurel all night. No matter how much he had wanted to. And Lord only knew how he managed it. Maybe it was her bubbling rage that he felt like the rays of the sun over his back that kept him from acknowledging her. Whatever, the case, Richard was certain it had worked. Still, the wait was killing him. When would she approach him? How would he cajole her into his arms? What part of her skin would he taste first?

The Viscounts barely contained desire stoked to life just as Elizabeth Howard proclaimed she wasn't feeling too good. Somehow Richard managed to convince Margaret to get her sister to bed. Although neither of them were having none of it to begin with. But with the promise of another nine days he managed to send them on their way with a sigh of relief whilst he considered when he had become that man that sent women to bed without him joining? On the other hand, debauching the innocent wasn't an activity the Viscount partook in, except . . . That one time. But Laurel was different. She hadn't been just some chaste girl he's sullied. No, she was the woman he would be in love with forever, and if he could go back, he could not promise he would do any different.

Pushing thoughts of the lovely Laurel Bailey out of his mind, the Viscount decided he had better make good use of this solitary opportunity. All the guests were busy in their revelries tonight. Far too occupied with good company and even better drinks. There was no better time than to get bearings of the Hunting Lodge and there was no better place to start than Baron Shelton's study. With the grace of a cat with a single candle, Richard shortly found himself closing the heavy door to that very room. It was large compared to a standard study and odd in the way that at the end of the rectangular room were a pair of glass doors leading out to a small balcony. The Viscount easily missed in the dim light that the glass doors were slightly parted as he came around the large oak table and with nimble fingers began to inspect the documents upon it.

--

"Shall we talk business now?" The Duke of Dynevor suggested rhetorically as he came to stand by Colleen O'Donovan sometime after dinner. He gave the Irish spitfire no time to reply as he - rather smoothly for a giant like him - tucked her arm into the crook of his and led her out through the open french doors into the garden. They walked silently for a long time. There were plenty of eyes on them. There was no escaping that room without drawing notice. And yet, they ricked scandal walking out alone like this. But after everything they'd been through tonight, Will capitulated that Colleen's reputation could handle a little more. Though he made sure to stay insight of the people hovering on the small veranda by stairs near the doors that led down to the garden.

Until of course, the last nosy busy body retired inside gaining no satisfaction from the rather normal walk of the Duke and the Irish woman. As soon as said busy body was out of sight, with an unpleasant jerk of her hand, the Duke took a sharp left and soon they disappeared behind a tall hedgerow of ferns. Even taller than them. Shortly after, grabbing Colleen's wrist, the giant Devil was pushing the woman non too gently through the doors of an large glass encased orangery. The smell of sweet fruit hit the senses as soon as one crossed the threshold. Candles burned sparely through out the construction, bathing the glass house in a ghostly glow which only added to the shadows of the dark face glowering down at Colleen where she had been shoved onto a padded bench.

"What." The Duke finally spoke in a low, slow, menacing tone. "Did I. Tell you. About staying. Out. Of. My. Business?"

Just as slowly and dangerously as his words did the large, overpowering man stalk towards his prey. It was impossible to tell what the man was thinking. The pale orbs were hard and bereft emotions. Equally, his features were hard and unforgiving. Every move he made only made it apparent that a dangerous beast was being kept at bay . . . barely.

"What. Colleen. Did I say about NOT getting on my bad side?"

Those lanky legs stopped just an inch away from the edge of the bench as his menacing form loomed over her. It was a truly terrifying sight. He was dangerous man. More dangerous than she would ever know. What fire she played with Colleen O'Donovan had no clue. She had made a fool out of him. She had baited him continually. Such behaviour could not go unpunished and yet she would answer for herself first. Swooping down in one fluid motion, the Devil Duke loomed over the Irish upstart. His hands bracing the top of the back of the bench and the arm rest just above her head, whilst one knee snugly rested between her shapely thighs over her skirts.

"Did you think you could just embarrass me like that?" With another swift movement, the hand on the arm rest was securely around her throat. Not tight. Not by any means as tight as he'd want it as her warm breath fanned his face and her pulse raced at the base of her throat under his fingers. For a long moment, Will gazed down at the Irish harpy beneath him. He was wrong, he decided in that very moment as the candle light bought her freckles to life like stars in the night sky. Colleen O'Donovan was beautiful . . . And that splendorous mass of red curls ignited wherever the light touched.

The Devil Duke found himself decidedly hard as without realising it his thumb stroked and soothed that throbbing vein at the base of her elegant neck. The fact that she caused such a startling reaction from his body only annoyed him more and yet her parted lips and the rise and fall of her tightly secured breasted aroused him maddeningly. What the devil was he supposed to do with a woman like this?! His sane mind told him: Nothing. Have nothing to do with her. But his sane self was taking a back seat as he pulled her up easily like a doll by her neck so her full rosy lips were but an inch from his. "Did you think you could just get away with it?" He demanded but the menace had all but disappeared from his voice as his eyes fixedly gazed into hers in the dim light of that secluded orangery.

--

Eleanora Spencer's pleading looks towards the Marchioness and even in her desperation towards her young charge had fallen on blind eyes. The irony was far from lost on her as she silently found herself strolling arm in arm with the Earl Bailey in a public park. The young governess looked singularly ahead as they walked at a leisurely pace. To her it made no sense. If anything a man like Lord Bailey should have been acquainting himself with the new Marchioness of Wessex. Instead, here he had begged off with the governess.

Even with her spectacles on she dared not look up to him. She had little time to take in the details of his features in her panic and their first meeting she could see nothing but a big blur. And yet, the same glimpse she had got of the Earl today spoke of a dark masculine beauty that made her nervous and at the same time called for her to study it closer. Survival and fear won out over curiosity. She gave the shortest of answers to his congenial questions. Yes and no, until he seemed to give up or rather what she decided was more likely was study her and pick another more effective angle to pry her open of answers.

Eleanora however was figuring out her own angle to extract herself from his very uncomfortable situation. She couldn't understand what Earl Bailey would want from her? It made no sense at all that a man of his station would seek out an impoverished governess that was a nobody. As they ventured further into the beautiful park that boasted stone seating and fountains, ponds and mazes the wind seemed to pick up and Eleanora found herself holding onto her bonnet to stop it being picked up by the wind and pulled back. She looked over her shoulder and the sight of the Wessex carriage disappeared as the path descended down a small hill. The less than pleasant weather had people picking up and leaving from their picnics or walks and soon as they came through a clearing at the edge of a pond, a slow drizzle that turned heavier cascaded as the sky turned positively grey and opened. Forcing the pair to take cover by a nearby Grecian styled awning.

Undoing her bonnet and removing it, Eleanora plucked up the courage to speak when she thought she had figured out what the Earl wanted from her. Dangling the bonnet y her dainty wrist by it's grey ribbon fastening, the governess proceeded to remove her new spectacles clearing the lenses of the specks of rain before replacing them back on her face she turned to Earl. "I must make it clear Lord Bailey, that I'm very attached to Miss Rochester. I have been with her a very long time and it would take quite a significant raise in my salary to leave her side."

When the Earl did not reply instantly, she became nervous wondering if she had angered him. It wasn't like she said no. She was too practical for something like attachment to halt progression. "H-how many children do you? I mean to say," She swallowed. "How many would be under my charge? . . ." Shifting on her feet. " . . . My Lord?"