Rhys had no answer. He walked to the window and stared out, straight into the late afternoon sun.
“You may as well return to London, Rhys,” said Nick heavily. “There is nothing more to be done here.”
In the end Rhys stayed on another ten days, grieving in the solitude of his room, offering what little comfort he could to Victorine and Nicholas. The news of Kenna’s death reached London and was discussed in every conceivable social circle until it was replaced by news of a more threatening nature.
On the first of March, Napoleon escaped Elba.
Chapter 5
“Please,” Kenna begged, holding out her hand to take the bottle from Mrs. Miller. “A little more.”
Elizabeth Miller appeared to consider the request then shook her head, dropping the bottle into her apron pocket. “You’ve had enough for one morning, deary.” A sly smile touched her thin mouth as she turned to go.
Kenna’s pleading expression changed to one of stark hunger and fear. Her craving was so great she was able to shrug off the languor that had kept her pliant and biddable during the last several weeks. She scrambled off the bed before Mrs. Miller had left the room and lunged at the woman, knocking her against the door and slamming it shut.
Kenna clawed at the madam’s apron, tearing the pocket while Mrs. Miller shouted for help. Kenna lost interest in Mrs. Miller as soon as the bottle fell out of her pocket and dropped to the floor. Both women lunged at the same time, but Kenna came up with it and held it triumphantly over her head out of the madam’s reach. Laughing somewhat hysterically as Mrs. Miller tried to drag her arms down, she uncorked the vial and tipped some of the liquid into her mouth. Most of it fell on her lips and chin but Kenna licked it eagerly with the tip of her tongue, the bitter taste of it bothering her not at all.
“Little bitch,” Mrs. Miller swore as she managed to pry open Kenna’s fingers and take the bottle from her hand. “We’ll see who’s laughing tomorrow when there’s none at all for you.”
But Kenna didn’t care anymore, smiling dreamily as she waited a few minutes for the potion to complete its work. Tomorrow would take care of itself. This moment, this feeling, was the only thing that mattered.
There was a rush of noise on the stairs and in the hallway and the door to Kenna’s chamber was flung open.
“You took your own sweet time getting here,” Mrs. Miller said, observing the brawny footman’s disheveled state with distaste. “It’s over now, as you can see for yourself.” Kenna had dropped back on the bed, knees folded into her chest. She was smiling serenely. “Give her a few more minutes and then tie her to the bed. I won’t have her scratching and clawing at my girls when they come to prepare her. I have a young lord who has expressed an interest in seeing our Diana this evening.” Mrs. Miller swept out of the room, straightening her disarrayed coiffure. “In a few days I think she’ll be most anxious to please him.”
Kenna made not the slightest protest when the footman bound her wrists to the brass headboard with silk scarves, nor was there a murmur later when Linda and Katie came to style her hair, apply creams and rouge to her face and the tips of her breasts, and dress her in a whisper of silk that passed for a nightgown. She never noticed their pitying looks as they washed her or understood their comments that her fair skin might never recover after the visit from young Lord Tremont. Kenna merely accepted their attention quietly, content to stay in her world of drifting color and light.
“If you’ll come this way, m’lord,” Mrs. Miller said, ushering Tremont up the narrow staircase to the top story of her establishment. “I’m confident our Diana is everything you could want.”
He smiled faintly but none of it reached his eyes as they narrowed on the madam’s back. “I’ve been disappointed before. Even you have shown me girls who could not address my needs,” His quirt bumped gently against his thigh. “Tell me about Diana.”
“She’s been named after the goddess of the hunt, m’lord. A young woman of rare beauty and spirit.”
“It is the latter in which I am most interested.”
Mrs. Miller cleared her throat uneasily as she opened the door to Kenna’s chamber. “You will find her a trifle lacking in it this evening. It is only a preview after all. If you should choose her, I can assure you, you will not be disappointed.”
Tremont’s thin lower lip quivered slightly as he looked past the madam’s shoulder to the young woman bound to the bed. Her pale, shapely arms had been extended over her head and she lay in an attitude of supplication and submission. Short mahogany curls framed her face but her finely arched brows were of a lighter hue. Her dark eyes, fringed with ebony lashes, were open but unfocused. Her cheeks were flushed with color and her mouth was slightly parted, damp, as if she had just swept her tongue across it. Her breasts were plainly visible through the silk of her gown and it had been arranged to tie over one shoulder, baring the other, in the fashion Diana herself might have worn. A belt of beaten gold outlined her narrow waist and the gentle swell of her hips.
Tremont brushed past Mrs. Miller and walked slowly to the bed. Using the tip of his quirt he caught the hem of her gown and edged it over her ankles and calves. The silk became trapped at her knees but he had seen enough. He lifted the quirt and stroked Kenna’s neck, her bare shoulder, and passed it lightly over the tip of her breast.
She made a little moue and tried to shift away from the feather-light touch. “Tickles,” she murmured, her lips barely moving.
“Does it, m’dear?” Tremont’s thin wrist gave an expert flick and the quirt’s braided leather lash struck Kenna’s hip sharply.
Kenna moaned and turned to the other side, biting her lip. The quirt descended again, this time on her thigh. Her protest was a soft mewling sound as tears sprang to her eyes.
Satisfied, Tremont backed away from the bed and addressed the madam. “She is no good to me so heavily drugged,” he said, tapping his quirt against a small dressing table.
“I said this was but a preview. If she is as you desire, I will not administer too much of the drug.”
“I want to hear her scream,” he went on impatiently, whining much like a child. A lock of his fair hair fell on his forehead and he brushed it aside with a jerky motion.
Mrs. Miller strove to placate him, wearing her most ingratiating smile. “It will be as you wish, m’lord. I can have a private room prepared so the other gentlemen will not be disturbed and you may use Diana at your leisure.”
“Very well,” he said sulkily, glancing at Kenna again. “She’s very tall, isn’t she?”
The madam knew that young Tremont was sensitive about his height, or rather the lack of it. She trod very carefully. “I thought it would please you to master one such as she. Your skill is well known.”
