"How, er, delightful. As it happens, I was hoping we could put your cleverness to another use first. I find myself in a tight spot, and I thought you might help me."
"Feeling a bit tight myself." Though squiffy, he was quick; he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his groin. She forced herself to stay calm, to keep her mask in place even as her stomach lurched. "Hard as a rock, too. Wager I'm the hardest and biggest you've ever had, eh?"
As a matter of fact… no.
"How impressive, my lord. Yet I've heard that your manhood is not the only thing about you that is so generous." She squeezed lightly.
He groaned, his head falling back against the cushions. "What is it that you want, you saucy wench? Money? Jewels? Thought that dead husband of yours left you plenty of both."
"I have no need of either. Only a bit of advice."
Ashcroft's eyes closed as he ground his erection against her palm. Dear God, she would need to scrub her hands with lye after this. "What advice?"
"Rumor has it you were acquainted with a certain Reginald Leach," she said.
His eyes slit open. "Who told you that?"
His sharp tone belied his drunkenness. She'd hit a nerve. Through the uncovered windows, she saw that they had arrived back at her townhouse. The street was shadowed, devoid of activity. She inhaled, bolstering her courage to proceed with her plan. If worse came to worse, she'd make a run for it. Her house was steps away; though she could not see Lugo, she knew he was monitoring the goings-on.
Pasting on a smile, she said, "One hears things. I, too, knew Mr. Leach, you see." The rehearsed lie rolled over her tongue with the smoothness of morning chocolate. "And I am concerned about what will happen to certain information he possessed now that he is gone."
Ashcroft stared at her. She judged his expression as surprised… yet not worried. He betrayed no sign of guilt, no concern that she knew the solicitor he might have used to procure a child. The solicitor he might have murdered.
Instead, he barked out a laugh. "It seems we truly are birds of a feather, dove. Wouldn't worry your pretty head over it, though. Leach was a bastard, but his lips were locked tighter than a virgin's thighs. By the by, what nefarious deed was the old goat helping you keep under wraps?"
If Ashcroft did indeed have Rosie, his behavior concerning the solicitor was incredibly blasé, even for a jaded scoundrel. Doubt about his culpability crept in, yet she had to make certain. In for a penny…
Leaning close to his ear, she murmured in suggestive tones, "I'll show you my secret if you show me yours. I think it would be quite stimulating to whisper our naughty misdeeds to one another, don't you?"
"Subversive little minx, ain't you? Demme, if that doesn't make me want to fuck you more," he panted. "On the count of three, then..."
At the cue, she whispered a fabricated and lurid indiscretion. Simultaneously, Ashcroft deposited his transgression into her ear; though it did not involve her daughter, Marianne's heart nonetheless thudded with disgust.
"I know I haven't shocked you." His hot, moist breath made her shudder. "In fact, I think you'll like my brand of fun. More than that squealing provincial bitch did at any rate..."
Marianne dodged his lips. When she tried to move, he grabbed her arms.
"Let me go," she hissed.
"Not until I get what you've been flaunting at me all night. Go ahead and struggle,"—Ashcroft yanked off her cloak, his expression hard, sneering—"the fight only heats the blood."
Fear gave her sudden strength. She twisted away, reaching for the door. The handle did not budge. In the next instant, Ashcroft was upon her, forcing her to the cushions. She clawed at his face, and his curses filled the carriage the moment before he backhanded her. Her cheek exploded with pain, the metallic taste flooding her mouth as she fought a wave of darkness. The colliding of past and present.
You dirty whore. You deserve this. You like this.
Screaming, she continued to struggle, but he overpowered her. His hand clamped over her mouth, and he pinned her in place. Panic suffocated her as he shoved up her skirts. Her moorings loosening, she felt herself detach from her skin and begin to float up to that place where nothing could hurt her. Where words and violence could not reach.
Where only numbness existed.
She heard a shout. A door slamming. Ashcroft's weight lifted off her.
Reality came roaring back. She bolted upright. Through the open door, she saw Ashcroft's body fly onto the pavement, a dark figure advancing upon him.
* * *
"Get up," Ambrose growled. Bloodlust flowed through his veins as he closed in on the nob sniveling in the street. His hands fisted in readiness to swing again. "Get up and face me like a man."
"You broke my nose, you blackguard! Do you know who I am?" The fop glared up at him, blood trickling from one refined nostril. "I am Viscount Ashcroft, and I'll have you thrown in Newgate for this!"
