It all happened so quickly, she hadn’t time to even consider resisting. She kissed him back with every ounce of her soul.
After a bit, he pulled away. “Do not toy with me, madam. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you.” He nuzzled her neck. “You smell delicious. Like hot house roses.”
Her arms wrapped his neck and she touched her lips back to his. Just a light brush. “Oh, Brandon. Can’t you see I’m terrified for her? For these charges I’m taking on? Did you know that it was Rowena who took in Mary and Stephen? How am I to turn them away? I could never.”
“I know, love. I know.” He tugged her arms from him, leaving her curiously empty. “We need to talk.”
“The Althenaeum Order.”
“And the paintings. I think Jervis is a pirate of sorts. Of… of children.” He stood and paced the carpet, running a hand through his hair. “He snatches them off the streets and takes them to Addle Hill. I’m almost certain that is the case.”
Maeve bent down and picked up her fallen glass with shaking fingers, forcing herself to concentrate on keeping her voice steady. She didn’t want to ask but if she was to take up this fight, it was imperative to know what she was up against. “What happens to them?”
With his eyes closed, he let his head fall back. “Different children for different things. Prostitution, soldiers, illegal labors—fencing, enslavement—sexual and otherwise.”
“Soldiers,” she whispered. “Only the fastest pinchers escape.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Yes.”
She cleared her throat. “How does this pertain to you, to the paintings you saw tonight?”
“I’m involved somehow. I fear I was involved in something horribly gruesome.” He lowered in a chair across from her, but his gaze lit on the window. “I can’t help thinking I was part of—belonged to—the Order. I think—” His face was chalky, almost gray. “The debauchery, the perversion.”
It took a moment for his words to penetrate, and when they did, she was outraged. “You cannot possibly mean what I hear you saying? That you prefer…” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud. Most especially after that incident the day he took her on a tour of the house. The urge to feel him between her legs still struck her at odd intervals, catching her unaware. “Absurd. Absolutely absurd.”
“What other explanation could there possibly be?” His frustration and despondency ripped her apart. “I knowJervis.That building in the painting. That’s where they are stashing the stolen children. I painted it! I’ve been in that dilapidated structure. The odor of the nearby Thames is bad enough, but inside… needless to say, it’s uninhabitable.”
Maeve moved quickly, dropped on her knees at his feet, and grabbed his hand within hers. “You mustn’t think such a thing.” She squeezed his hand as tight as she could. “Think about it, Brandon. Think of all those other pictures.Youcreated them. Almost every single one depicted a traitor.”
He ran his palm over his face. “God, what I would give for a heavy dose of opium right now.”
Maeve’s stomach recoiled with fury and nausea. “Stop that talk right this minute. I won’t have it. You are stronger than the pull of poison that renders one senseless.”
Her words stilled him. “And you know this… how?”
She dropped her gaze. “After Alymer. I was forced to return under my mother’s care. Parson…” She hauled in a deep breath. “It was so easy to just sleep all the time.”
“Your maid drugged you.”
“Yes. But as it turned out, I was also stronger.” She stood and smacked his hands. “You listen to me, Brandon Radcliff. Whatever you had to do with that awful group, it was not because you desired children for nefarious purposes.”
She turned to stalk away, but he snagged her by the wrist and jerked. She stumbled, landing on his lap.
“Marry me, you impossible, bossy woman. I miss you. I wish to talk to you. Day and night. You can fix me.”
She cupped his chin. “Oh, darling, only you are able to fix you. You would be disappointed in me. I’m stubborn. Hard-headed. I have a temper. One has only to look at the color of my hair to see that.”
A small smile touched him, but clearly he was still unconcerned. “Perhaps.”
Quiet filled the room and eventually settled.
Maeve laid her head against his shoulder and wondered if the young Viscount Harlowe had truly been in love with Rowena Hollerfield. And if he had been in love with the notorious harlot, how had he ended up married to Corinne?
Harlowe rested his arm around Maeve, listening as her breathing grew rhythmic and deep, until she slept. He went over the events of the evening. From the salon where Dorset had shown up, to his paintings in the miniature museum, to storming Maeve’s bedchamber, to the little girl screaming about that rapscallion Jervis.
Hearing the man’s name sent glacial shards of terror straight through him. Maeve was right. He had no perverted desires for children. The dark and dankness of that painting spoke of another plot altogether. He’d been hell-bent in stopping the madness. Until Parliament did something to change laws in protecting children, it was up to people like him to affect the transformation. And he didn’t foresee much happening in that regard in the near future. The divide between the upper echelon and the lower classes was too divided.
He was most disturbed by Maeve’s promise in finding the girl’s sister. How was he supposed to keep the woman safe when he had no idea who the true enemy was? Because he had no doubt of Maeve ploughing headlong into danger with no thought to her own wellbeing.
