A Dangerous Liaison (The Dangerous Series Book 3) Page 2

  Instead, I lifted the pitcher of water on the stand near the bed and poured the contents over his head. He bolted upright, flailing his arms around like a windmill.

  “Fucking hell! Do you know how cold that is?”

  The women beside him shrieked, finally stirring. Did I recognize them? Shite. They were maids here; I was sure of it.

  “Get washed, dressed, and escort your whores from the house.”

  Christopher rubbed the water from his scruffy face and yawned. “They’re not whores, they’re your maids.”

  Maids who were currently blushing and trying to hide under the sheets. Until Chris had arrived, I’d retained complete control over my household. Not one servant would dare disobey me. They knew the rules. For the last year, he’d been sleeping and drinking his way through France and Spain. I admit, I’d enjoyed the break. One night in London and everything was thrown into disarray.

  Chris raked back his hair, flinging the water from his fingertips, and glared up at me. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think? Not as if you don’t partake.”

  “Yes, I’m the dramatic one,” I drawled out. “I sleep with mistresses. I don’t lower myself to the servants.”

  His lips lifted in disgust. “Of course not. My perfect brother. The gossipmongers are right…you are evil.”

  “Well, with parents such as ours, what do you expect?” I placed the pitcher back on the stand. Outside, the wind howled, battering against the glass. It would most likely snow tonight. “Mother has arrived.”

  My brother fell back on his pillows and groaned. “No.”

  The two maids screeched again, this time in fear rather than surprise, and jumped from the bed, naked as the day they were born. As they scrambled around the room, dressing, I sauntered to the sideboard and poured my brother a glass of gin. “And you know how she feels about dallying with the servants.”

  “How the hell did she know I’d returned already?”

  “Spies,” I said. “Who knows?”

  I set his glass on the side table. He pulled the covers over his head and burrowed into the bed like a child afraid of the dark, instead of the broad-shouldered twenty-three-year-old he was. “Tell her I’m not here.”

  The sound of the front door shutting thundered through the house. An ominous cacophony. Harbinger of evil. Mother had entered, bringing with hellfire and damnation. I’d been preparing to go out for the evening when I’d seen her carriage up the lane.

  Dressed, the maids dashed from the room.

  “Tell her that my ship sank in a storm on the way home,” Chris’ voice came out muffled. “Tell her I drowned.”

  “Too late. She knows you’re here.” I started toward the door. “Get dressed and be downstairs in the library immediately.”

  I left the room and made my way down the wide, sweeping steps to the foyer. Lord, I was tired of being a nanny to my brother. “Alfred?”

  The gray-haired man had been in our family for decades. I couldn’t remember a time when he’d been young. When I was a child, I’d assumed he’d been born old. Now as an adult, I was sure. Unmoving as a statue, shoulders thrown back on his narrow frame, he stared at the wall across the foyer until he was needed. I still wasn’t quite sure if he was completely human.

  “She’s in the library, my lord.”

  I didn’t bother to stop and prepare myself, there was no preparing for the witch. Instead, I swept into the room with a bored insolence that I knew would annoy her. “Mother. What a pleasant surprise.”

  She merely lifted a brow at my droll tone. Seated near the fireplace, her back ramrod straight, she was the epitome of English perfection. Only a splattering of gray marred her fine blonde hair, and her face was barely lined with age.

  I’d heard more than one rumor claim that she’d made a pact with the devil to keep her youth. I settled in the chair across from her. Another claimed she sacrificed a virginal maid once a week to keep that glow. Alas, no, we lost maids so often because Christopher couldn’t keep his cock in his trousers. Part of the reason why he’d been sent abroad.

  “As much as I appreciate your surprise visit, I do wonder if there is a reason?”

  “There’s always a reason.”

  How amusing that I was once afraid of her. How silly that most of the ton still feared this petite she-devil. When Uncle had died, leaving his title to my father, my parents had taken their sudden good fortune quite seriously. While my father had looked for ways to invest his newfound wealth, Mother had clawed her way up into society by ruining more than one debutante with just a flick of her fan. She took delight in finding her next mark. Her vindictive nature gave her life and power.

  “Of course. You wouldn’t want to visit merely to be near your children.”

  She folded her gloved hands primly in her lap. She had not left her fur-lined cloak with the footman. Good sign. It meant she wouldn’t stay long. “Gabriel, darling, do not pretend you wish me here, or I just might call your bluff and stay.”

  I settled back in my chair, all ease. “The horror.”

  A maid carried a tray of tea into the room. One of the maids who had been in Christopher’s chamber only moments ago. No doubt the cook had given her a good tongue lashing. Her pretty face was flushed, her cap askew. I drummed my fingers against the arm of my chair and sighed, waiting for my mother to notice. Hell, the girl looked like she’d just come from a good tumble.

  She poured the tea with hands that trembled and placed the cups upon the small table between us, splashing the liquid on the tabletop. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “Clumsy of me.”

  “You stupid, incompetent girl.” Mother waved her hand through the air. “Leave us.”

  With a curtsey, she turned to flee. The mask I wore was ever controlled. I’d learned early on in life not to show emotion. Emotion equaled weakness, or so my parents had claimed. This maid wasn’t so experienced. Gads, were those tears on her lashes?

  “You there,” my mother called out.

  The maid paused, and glanced back with a gaze full of terror. “Yes, my lady?”

  “You reek of my son Christopher.”

  Her eyes went so wide she looked like a frog about to croak. I had to stifle my laugh. Mother had no such keen sense of smell. What she had was a keen sense of knowledge. She knew her sons well. Like a general studying strategic warfare, she kept her notes. It was either a lucky guess, or my mother had planted spies in my house. The maid had given herself away by her reaction.

  “Collect your things. You’re dismissed.”

  “But, my lady, I’ll freeze on the streets! It’s winter!”

  “You knew the rules when you were hired. Everyone knows the rules.” She sipped her tea. “Alfred!”

  The butler appeared in the doorway. “Yes, my lady?”

  “See this woman escorted from the house immediately.”

  He bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

  My servants might be quick to obey my mother, but I wasn’t so easily led astray. I flicked a dispassionate glance toward the woman who had birthed me. Never once had she hugged, kissed, or soothed. As a child I’d rarely seen her. I felt nothing but occasional annoyance for the woman.

  I picked up my cup. “I would appreciate if you would refrain from punishing my staff.”

  She sniffed and surveyed me with cold, green eyes that no doubt mirrored my own. My coloring I got from her. My height and strength from my father. “Why? Do you also sleep with the staff?”

  “Of course not. Do you honestly believe I would lower myself to the servants when I can have any lady I want?”

  “Any lady as a mistress.” Her lips grew pinched and tight. “Your father would not be pleased.”

  And there it was…the inevitable mention of my sire. Mother, at least, had mostly ignored us. If only Father had been so kind. I stood and moved to the sideboard, needing something stronger than tea. “That we can both agree upon. Nothing pleased father.”

  “Your father did what he had to do in order to ensure the l
ine continued. At times…”

  She paused, her perfectly plucked brows drawing together. Hell, was that an actual sign of emotion? She reached down and brushed a piece of lint from her skirts, then rightened, her brows smoothed back into place. Ah. No. She was merely displeased that a bit of dust had dared touch her royal blue skirts.

  “At times I think he’s holding on merely to see you settled and married.”

  I rolled my eyes as I poured some gin. He was holding on because he was a conniving, controlling monster of a man and even the devil wouldn’t take him. I flicked aside the curtains and gazed out upon the streets. Carriages rumbled by, society out to socialize. Snow was in the air, visible under the glow of the street lamps. A rather nice evening for cards, yet I was stuck here playing mind games with my mother. “Amazing how much you care about Father…now that he is comatose.”

  She sipped her tea. “Your father is precisely why I’m here. You will marry, Gabriel, and the announcement will be made in the papers.”

  Amused, I turned to face her. “Despite what you believe, you can’t force me to marry, Mother. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a reputation.”

  She lifted her spoon and slowly stirred her tea. “Can’t I make you? Besides, status can help people forget even the vilest of reputations.”

  “And do you have someone in mind for marriage?”

  “I’ve left a list with Alfred; however, your father and I greatly favor Miranda Styles.”

  Of course they did. Her father was rich as God. “I’m rather sure she was fucking Christopher before he left for France, Mother.”

  She frowned. “Do not use that vulgar word around me.”

  I studied her with thinly veiled interest as I sipped my drink. She wouldn’t relent. She’d be a thorn in my side from now until eternity. No doubt she’d live a long and healthy life merely to torment me, then chase me into the afterlife.

  “Once you marry, you can control her.”

  “Perhaps, but why would I want to bother?”

  A look of pinched frustration crossed her features. “Money and land, of course. You’ve seen the debt. We cannot hold off the collectors much longer.”

  “Why should I have to bail out my uncle and father’s bad investments?”

  “Because,” she hissed, “you do not want to bring embarrassment to the family title.”

  She had a point. I’d worked too hard to become a mockery. “I have investments I’m hoping will come to fruition.”

  She scoffed. “And what about your duty? Your ancestral line?”

  I smiled. “Do you truly think I care? Let Christopher lead the charge.”

  “Christopher? I’d rather pick a fishmonger from the street.”

  “Now that would be a wonderful thing to behold.”

  Producing a child, continuing the line, increasing the fortune; it was the one power I held over my parents. Like most titled gentry, they were so sure we were special, God’s chosen ones. And it was our duty to see the line continue. Perhaps I didn’t go that far, but I did feel a certain pride when I looked out over our land. Greed, some would say. If I was being honest, I’d admit I didn’t want it to go to Christopher. It was mine, and I’d damned well earned it.

  “No, I don’t suppose you care.” She set her spoon down. “However, I know you care about your brother.”

  She would sacrifice her second son, merely to get what she wanted? Did I care? Barely. The man had been a thorn in my side since we were lads and he’d realized neither of my parents held interest in him. Jealousy had ruined any relationship we might have had. “Try again, Mother.”

  “You don’t care if we cut him off? Your only brother?”

  I shrugged. “About time he learned to get by on his own.”

  She fell silent, studying me. They were vicious, doing everything in their power to get what they wanted, and they wanted to rule.

  “If not your brother…what about Tommy?”

  Fury mixed with surprise. I forced myself to lift my drink with a steady hand, and took a sip. It wasn’t as if I truly cared about the boy, but the fact that she was trying to blackmail me didn’t sit well. Hell, I should have expected it.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea who you’re referring to.”

  “You think I don’t know your secrets?” She shrugged. “There are ways. Always ways to get what you want. Who is the boy? A bastard child?” She clicked her tongue. “Truly, my dear, I expected better of you.”

  I would have to move Tommy to another school. He wouldn’t like it, not when he’d settled in so well. Damnation. I’d been careful. So bloody careful. How had she uncovered the truth?

  “Mother!” Christopher strolled into the room. “How lovely to see you. What have I missed?”

  Showing emotion would get me nowhere. “Mother has come here to force me to marry.”

  He arched a brow. “How Medieval.”

  “Not forcing.” She stood, smoothing down her skirts. “It is your duty. One you were conceived for.”

  “And here I thought you’d had us to appease your maternal love of babies,” Christopher murmured.

  “Enough with games,” she snapped. “You both tire me.”

  Chris glanced my way, amusement in his brown gaze. This was my life. It had been my life since my uncle had died. Trained to carry on the family line. Destined to rule. But it would be worth it in the end.

  She started toward the door, in a rustle of skirts. “Christopher, my dear?”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Make sure whichever maid or maids you’ve slept with are gone before the sun sets.”

  Chris’ lips grew pinched. “Yes, Mother.”

  “And Gabriel, I expect to see you Wednesday for your weekly visit with your father.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss such delightful company.”

  But she didn’t hear, she was already gone. Force me to marry? I stared out the window, watching snowflakes twist and twirl, as her carriage started down the street.

  Chris released a long, drawn out breath and sank onto the settee. “Thank God.”

  I raised a brow.

  He shrugged. “For me anyway. For you…well, sorry.”

  If he wasn’t my brother…

  “You’re twenty-five, Gabe. Surely you realized you would have to marry. And I’m sure at the top of that list will be a woman who will bring you land, power, money, or all three.” He leaned back and stacked his hands behind his head. “Doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun. You, my brother, need a good fuck.”

  I stared hard at him. “Mother wants me to marry Miranda Styles.”

  It was there, a flash of surprise, followed by annoyance. A look that he covered quickly with a smirk. “She’s certainly beautiful and wealthy.” He surged to his feet and sauntered toward the door. “Think I’ll head to the club for dinner.”

  I watched him leave, knowing he was going to gamble away his inheritance, and I’d be receiving a discreet note by the week’s end to pay his bills.

  Marry Miranda? Not bloody likely. Slowly, I sank into the chair my mother had only recently vacated. But if I didn’t, would my mother truly go after Tommy? What a bloody mess.

  I might be evil, but at least I wouldn’t murder a child.

  I couldn’t say the same for my parents if they found out Tommy’s true identity.

  Chapter 2

  Ginny

  “Ye ain’t a gypsy, are ye? Won’t have no gypsies working here.”

  I flushed, resisting the urge to tuck the dark lock that had fallen across my temple into my cap. There was no hiding my black hair and eyebrows. “No, Mrs. Finch.”

  She narrowed her eyes, suspicious, as if she didn’t believe me in the least, and she thought I was going to steal the silver the moment she turned her back. Bloody bastard had probably never met a gypsy in her life. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about the time one had saved me when I’d been young and had fallen through the ice at a skating pond, bu
t I had a feeling she wouldn’t care. People like her never did care.

  Truth was I could have come from any lineage, for all I knew, with my dark hair and olive skin. Violet was sure my parents came from somewhere exotic, like Italy. I’d probably been born in an alley and abandoned on the streets.

  Aunt Helen had always promised to tell me how I came to be with her, but she’d died so suddenly she hadn’t a chance. I supposed I’d never know. Many people in the slums didn’t rightly know where they’d come from, or what their lineage might be, but we were all smart enough to claim we were English through and through.

  “Breakfast is in here at seven. If you’re late, you lose your meal.”

  When I’d first stepped out of the bitter sleet and into the large, lovely kitchen that smelled of baked bread and ginger snaps, I’d thought I could like this position after all. And at first glance, Mrs. Finch had seemed like a grandmotherly type, with her round face, rosy cheeks, and gray hair. She even reminded me a bit of Aunt Helen. But one look into her hard, brown eyes and I knew she was not to be trifled with.

  “We’ll try you for the next two weeks,” she said grudgingly, as if she hoped against all odds we’d fail just so she could have the pleasure of tossing us out. “Up at four in the morning, scrape the fireplaces clean and start the fires. Understand?”

  “Every room, Ma’am?” Violet asked, fidgeting next to me.

  The black gown she’d been given was too short and too loose, while mine was too tight and too long. We’d be spending our first evening sewing. Dear Vi was so bloody nervous that her face was near to being green. I wanted to offer her comfort, but didn’t dare show such weakness in front of the hag.

  Violet didn’t belong in the slums. She was too innocent. Then again, she didn’t belong here either, to be misused by some rutting master of the house. Oh, I’d heard the stories of maids being seduced, or worse, taken without their agreement, only to be fired when the mistress of the house discovered the indiscretion. I didn’t trust these rich nobs in the least.

  “Yes. Every room.” She handed us each a white apron. “And be thorough. Leave behind no ash, no dust, no smudges.”