Carnal Knowledge Ch. 09-10

"Oliver, George, I need you both to come with me outside. The rest of you lot stay in here."

The two footmen stood, casting questioning glances at each other.

The butler sighed when Mrs. Biddleton followed them out the door, wishing he could command the housekeeper to stay in the house. She wouldn't like what was to come, that's for certain.

Minutes later, Ned and Robbie appeared from the direction of the stables. Robbie was unmistakable, even from a distance; the head groom was easily the largest, most muscular man on the entire estate.

Simpson met them a short distance away from the others. Quietly and succinctly, the butler explained the letter, and the earl's instructions to Robbie. The other man looked puzzled for a moment, then broke out in a large grin and nodded.

Sighing again, Simpson gestured back at the others. "George, please step forward, if you will."

George complied, scowling darkly as he did so. "What the bleeding hell is going on, Simpson?"

Robbie stepped up to meet George, smiling broadly. With no hint of warning, the large groom reared his arm back and punched George in the face.

The other man reeled backward, stumbling. "What the devil!" George yelled.

Robbie shrugged and followed, grabbing George by the coat and jerking him upright. George gaped at him a moment as the groom continued to smile before slamming another fist into the footman's stomach.

"Christ," George groaned, slumping to the ground.

"Stop! Stop!" Mrs. Biddleton cried. "What's the meaning of this, Simpson? Why are you allowing this to happen?"

"Stand back, madam," Simpson ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

To Ned and Robbie, Simpson said, "Lock him in the stable's storeroom when you're finished."

The butler steeled himself to remain stoic as the groom kicked George viciously in the abdomen.

"Sorry, mate," Robbie said cheerfully. "It's compliments of his lordship."

***

Rockdale directed his carriage to take him to the larger townhouse in Mayfair that served as his primary residence in London.

After a quick cleanup and change of clothing, he set out for St. James Street where he had a feeling he might find the gentleman he sought.

Lord Pelham frequented Rockdale's own gentlemen's club; both men were long time members. Though Pelham was his uncle by marriage, Rockdale wouldn't have said they were particularly close, but their relationship was cordial. If luck was on his side, Rockdale would find Pelham happily imbibing brandy in their mutual club and then successfully convince the fellow that Miles Barlow—Lord Atherton, now—could never make a suitable husband for his daughter, Caroline.

Rockdale entered the club, glancing about through the men gathered inside drinking, smoking, and chatting. He nodded to acquaintances, not taking time to stop and speak to anyone.

At last he spied Pelham through a cloud of smoky haze and made his way over to a table in the back of the social room. Rockdale realized with a jolt of surprise the man sharing a table with him was none other than Atherton himself.

The two men looked up, startled, when Rockdale halted before their table.

Pelham beetled his wiry brows and pulled his cheroot from his mouth. "Evening, Rockdale."

Out of the corner of his eye Rockdale saw Atherton sit up straight and still.

"Rockdale," Atherton said coolly.

Rockdale refused to even acknowledge the younger man's presence. "Evening, Pelham. I need to speak to you privately."

Rockdale felt a comforting degree of petty satisfaction when Atherton's face reddened at the deliberate snub.

"Damnation, Rockdale." Pelham gestured around the table. "Why don't you just sit down here and have a drink with me and Atherton? I know full well you two are acquainted."

"Sorry, Uncle, this is a family matter."

Pelham lifted his brows upon being addressed as "Uncle," and Rockdale shrugged.

"Oh, very well," Pelham agreed at last with a grudging sigh and moved to heft himself to standing.

"No need," Atherton said stiffly and rose. "I'll leave."

"Well, sit down and quit looming over me, Rockdale," Pelham said irritably. "What the hell is it you need to speak to me so urgently about?"

Rockdale waited until Atherton had walked out of earshot. "Your wife and daughter recently dropped in for a visit at Verity Hall."

"Don't blame me," Pelham interjected. "You know that woman does as she pleases."

Rockdale waved a hand in dismissal. "Lady Pelham informed me that Atherton has asked for your daughter's hand in marriage."

Pelham took a drink of his brandy. "What of it? His pockets are rather slim, it's true, but you know how women go into a blather over a title. Caro seems in favor of the match and her mother as well."

"He's a blackguard who bedded my late wife while we were married." Rockdale spat the distasteful words in a low voice. "I also found letters from him after her death where he proposed they run away together."

His uncle shifted uncomfortably. "If you couldn't satisfy your wife in bed..."

"He was supposed to be my friend!" Rockdale growled.

Pelham sighed and avoided meeting Rockdale's eye.

"I called the bastard out and would have killed him with bloody pleasure the following morning if Isabelle's carriage hadn't overturned—" Rockdale cut himself off, cursing himself for allowing his emotions to show.

"Rockdale..." Pelham began.

"He was nobody," Rockdale said icily. "He has inherited this title by some twist of fate, and I find it unacceptable."

"You're being ridiculous, man!"

"Listen to me, Pelham." Rockdale leaned closer, turning a flinty stare upon his uncle. "I fully intend to ruin Miles Barlow."

Pelham started to bluster, and Rockdale held up a quelling hand. "I would dislike hurting Caroline by association, but if I must—I will."

The older man stared back at him with narrowed eyes. "You're a right bastard, you know that, Rockdale?"

Rockdale stood and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from his evening coat. "So I've been told."

***

Eliza dreamt of the earl's laughing face and his warm naked skin sliding over hers as their limbs intertwined. His hand teased at the juncture of her thighs, and she moaned in encouragement, aching for him to touch her intimately.

"Please," she whispered.

"Miss?" a voice intruded. "Miss, it's time to get ready."

Eliza opened her eyes and groaned as the tapping at the door got louder.

"Come on now, miss. We have to get you ready and dressed, don't we?"

Eliza pushed unbound and unruly hair out of her face and tried to shake off the explicit dream. Her skin felt hot and sensitive against the blankets that had twisted around her body.

She extracted herself from the stubbornly clinging bedcovers and found herself gazing up at an unfamiliar young woman.

The girl looked down at her expectantly. "I'm Jane," she said, grinning. "You'll have met my mum and dad earlier, the Crawleys, right?"

Eliza nodded and scrubbed at her face with both hands. This girl was far too cheery for her current state of mind.

"Um, yes," Eliza answered, feeling dull-witted. "I'm Eliza."

"Well, get up, sleepyhead!"

Under Jane's bullying, Eliza went to wash then settled down at the dressing table as the other woman instructed.

Jane's skills as a lady's maid were not to be disparaged, she soon discovered, as Eliza's hair was brushed, painstakingly curled, and woven into an intricate upswept arrangement with a center part. Golden ringlets framed Eliza's face, and one long curl was left to drape against her shoulder.

Jane frowned as she brushed a light hand over Eliza's throat. "Someone has hurt you," she said.

"Yes," Eliza answered with a lift of her chin. "But I gave him a hard knee in his bollocks."

Jane nodded. "Not his lordship," she said firmly. "Does the earl know?"

Eliza met the girls' eyes in the mirror. "Yes."

"I wouldn't want to be in that man's shoes," she said, opening a wooden box painted with flowers.

Eliza had never worn cosmetics before and watched with some wariness when Jane produced an assortment of small bottles and boxes. She first applied a light dusting of pearl powder to Eliza's face and throat. The powder enhanced the gleam of Eliza's skin and helped to disguise the ugly bruises on her neck.

Jane's deft hand applied a bit of carmine to Eliza's cheeks, a rosy dye on her lips, and subtle eye paint. She finished with a sweep of a burnt hairpin across Eliza's lashes, darkening them.

When Jane finally stepped back, Eliza felt almost as though a stranger was peering back at her in the mirror.

"You look lovely," Jane said with satisfaction.

"How did you learn all this working here with your parents?" Eliza marveled, still staring at her reflection.

Jane laughed. "Oh, I don't live here with Mum and Dad. I'm a real lady's maid, you see. I worked for Lady Augusta Ashefield for several years, but now she has left to marry some American upstart," she said with distaste. "So, I'm only here visiting until I find another position."

"Oh," Eliza murmured.

"Come now, let's get you dressed."

Eliza rose reluctantly. "But I'm sure I have nothing anything to wear," she protested.

"While you washed I laid the clothing his lordship brought you on the bed," Jane said, bustling over and sweeping a swath of material off the bed.

His lordship brought? Eliza's brow wrinkled as she approached the maid curiously.

In a smooth movement, Jane divested Eliza of her shift and settled what felt like a filmy cloud over her head.

It was both the strangest and most beautiful garment Eliza had ever seen.

The material was a pearlescent, alabaster silk, so finely woven it was nearly transparent. The gossamer fabric skimmed and flowed over her body like a living, undulating thing.

It fastened with a filigree golden clasp over one shoulder like some sort of Roman toga, leaving her other shoulder and both arms bare. The neckline crossed daringly low in a diagonal over her bosom revealing an alarming amount of the side of her left breast.

As she turned in front of the mirror Eliza realized that there were clever seams sewn into the gown to mold the bodice closely over her breasts, and the gown was tailored in such a way to allow the material to fall in artless drapes to the floor. To her astonishment, she saw the sides of the dress from her waist to the floor were completely open.

Jane slipped a snug gold belt around Eliza's middle that matched the filigree clasp.

"Where is the rest of my clothing for this evening?" Eliza asked, looking about the room.

Jane appeared a touch abashed. "There isn't any, miss."

"No drawers?" Eliza stared at the other girl in disbelief. "No actual dress to go over this?"

Jane patted her shoulder. "You look very beautiful," she assured her. "Let's get your slippers on."

At Jane's urging, Eliza donned delicate white slippers with long ribbons that laced up her calf and tied.

Eliza stepped back in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection in dismay.

The whole ridiculous garment could probably be dislodged by a strong wind, she vowed. It both covered and revealed every detail of her body with the rosy color of her nipples and dark gold of her nether curls clearly visible through the thin silk. For heaven's sake, there weren't even any stockings!

"Jane," Eliza said, trying to stay calm. "There must be more to the ensemble, surely. When I walk the sides flutter about, and you can see...that is...I don't think this was sewn at all correctly!"

Jane shrugged as the door to the chamber opened, and Rockdale sauntered in.

He stood and looked at her for several long moments.

"Damn it all to hell," he said finally, gritting his teeth.

Momentarily thrown off balance, Eliza forgot for a moment she was practically nude. "What?" she asked.

"I want to forget the damn ball and take you straight to bed."

"Rockdale!" Eliza hissed.

Jane giggled and winked at Eliza before she slipped quietly out the door.

"Christ almighty, woman. You look tasty enough to eat."

He circled her like a stalking cat, and Eliza fought the urge to try to cover herself with her hands. As much as this excuse for a dress exposed she'd likely need ten sets of hands anyway.

He toyed with the clasp at her shoulder, and she smacked his hand.

"Where did you get this...this thing I'm wearing," she demanded.

"Madame Bissette, of course," he said, grinning. "It's amazing how much work can be done with the correct incentive."

"Of course," Eliza said and sighed. "My lord, this is too scandalous, even for you. I cannot go out in attire like this. I simply can't."

"Darling," Rockdale said. "You will be fine. You must trust me."

Eliza was not at all reassured. "But..."

"Tell me, what do you think of this?" The earl asked, bringing forth a velvet bag.

Distracted, Eliza sucked in a breath as he pulled out a glittering necklace. It was a wide band of light blue stones and pearls woven into a setting of gold. She stood motionless, hardly breathing, as he moved behind her to fasten it around her neck.

They stood in front of the mirror; he behind her, tall and elegantly dressed in black and snowy white evening attire.

The choker fit closely, its unaccustomed weight cold and heavy around her throat. She raised a hand to touch it with an unsteady finger.

"It's stunning," she murmured.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "It will serve the purpose of covering up those bruises on your neck."

Rockdale nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear, and she shivered, feeling both skittish and vulnerable in her revealing outfit. His hands slid over her shoulders to cup her breasts, barely contained in the pearly sheen of fabric.

She felt him shudder as he caressed her, his thumbs finding her peaked nipples. Eliza stared at their reflection, helplessly aroused by the sight of his hands on her body, his darker skin and coloring a startling contrast to her own fair skin so thinly concealed that even the small mole on her hip was visible.

She angled her head to look back at him. "William, please," she entreated. "How can you expect me to go out dressed like this?"

"There's a cloak," he said soothingly. "Does that help?"

**********

Chapter 10

Nerves jittering, Eliza tugged the black velvet of her new sable-trimmed cloak closer around her while huddled once more in the earl's plush carriage.

Though the vehicle's interior was dim as they rattled down the road in the dark night to their unknown, at least to Eliza, destination, Rockdale's eyes seemed to glitter at her from the opposite seat.

Damn the man, she thought unsteadily, not for the first time since he had towed her out of the warm, relative sanctuary of the small townhouse and into his carriage.

"Stop worrying," Rockdale commanded. "Trust me to take care of everything."

She glared at him. Easy for him to say, wasn't it? He wasn't the one practically naked under a cloak. He wasn't the one everyone was going to see unclothed.

Oh, God... She blanched in terror and squeezed her eyes shut. How could this be happening?

Her head whipped around as the carriage began to slow and turn.

"Ah," Rockdale said in satisfaction. "I think we've arrived. You'll be perfectly safe tonight, but stay close to me, just in case."

"I can't do this!" Eliza wailed.

"You're a brave and beautiful woman. Of course, you can."

Short of clinging to the carriage handle and screaming for help—and wouldn't that make a grand spectacle—she had no option but to follow Rockdale as he firmly took her hand and exited the vehicle.

They alighted the carriage in front of a sedate manor house, its aged-stone façade and brightly lit windows a contrast to the wild, sordid expectations of Eliza's imagination.

"I almost forgot something," Rockdale said, reaching inside his evening coat.

He held up a white silk mask, studded with gleaming pearls. "Let's get this on you, shall we?"

Wordlessly, she let him tie the mask on, convinced the woman she knew had now been completely overtaken by an impostor.

The front door swept open grandly to admit them, and Eliza swallowed hard; her mouth suddenly felt dry as though it had been coated with ashes.

They were greeted by two extraordinarily tall footmen in gleaming livery. Eliza could hear the distant sound of voices, laughter, and music, and she glanced around nervously, relieved to see no shocking behavior in sight as of yet.

She clutched her cloak tightly, desperate to hang on to it as long as possible.

Her hopes were immediately dashed as Rockdale himself reached over to unfasten the cloak and drew it off, handing it away to one of the footmen.

Eliza gritted her teeth against the almost overwhelming urge to snatch her cloak back.

Practically nude in front of these strange men, she could plainly see and almost physically feel their eyes traveling her form. Were they not supposed to act more chivalrous than this? She longed to shout at Rockdale to make the footmen stop their slow perusal.

He didn't, however. Eliza raised her chin and pointedly stared at her devilish escort.

The footmen bowed. "My lord, my lady, please enjoy your evening," one of them intoned.

The earl smiled slightly and offered Eliza his arm.

"They're still watching you," Rockdale murmured as he escorted her to ascend the curving staircase.

"Undoubtedly getting a good show," Eliza said with resignation. "Shall I waggle my backside as well?"

"Darling, I've watched your arse enough to know it waggles quite enticingly all on its own. But please, feel free to waggle more if you desire. Just keep in mind, they have to stay on duty the rest of the evening and not rush away to some darkened corner to relieve what must be a painful stiffness in their breeches."

Eliza stifled the strange urge to giggle and looked back despite herself.

One footman stood at the bottom of the stairs avidly watching their climb, his eyes locked on her retreating bottom. Her own eyes dropped to the unmistakable bulge at his groin, the man's tightly fitted breeches and waist-length coat doing nothing to disguise the shape of his burgeoning cock.

Eliza sucked in a breath when the footman caught her watching him. He slid his hand down to stroke himself, and he winked cheekily at her.

Rockdale tugged at her arm to get her moving upward again. "Told you," he said smugly.

The doors to the ballroom were opened by yet another smartly dressed footman. Rockdale held her arm in an unbreakable grip as he ushered her inside the room. When they entered, immediately the din of voices audibly lessened, and heads began to turn.

Good heavens. There were people everywhere. Breathless, Eliza's head swiveled to and fro as she tried to absorb her surroundings.

Eliza realized with a frisson of shock that the servers mingling through the crowd with refreshments were almost completely nude. Both male and female, they balanced large trays, clad only in loin cloths with gold bands encircling their ankles, wrists, and necks.

"Dear lord," Eliza murmured. "They're dressed like slaves!"

The guests were attired in scandalous states of dress and undress. There were outlandish costumes mixed with clothing that ranged the full gamut of lavish ball gowns and evening finery to scraps of lace and silk and exposed corsets. Most of the attendants were masked, some with simple dominos and some wearing elaborate masks with beads and feathers.

"Ho, Rockdale! I hadn't thought to see you tonight."

Eliza turned as an elegant older man with graying dark hair approached to clap Rockdale on the shoulder.

"Haven't seen you here in some time," the man said, glancing down at Eliza. "Perhaps this lovely flower is the reason." He winked suggestively, his eyes glinting over her with appreciation.

"Evening, Sinclair," Rockdale said. "Hope you don't mind us attending your fête unannounced."