The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

If she had not, if she’d refused, she wouldn’t be here now. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She could have spent her whole life as half a person, keeping her emotions well hidden.

But she was still in danger of hanging. That, she could manage without.

“You visited the House of Correction?” Juliana asked, recalling what he’d so casually said just now.

“Yes,” he agreed cheerfully. She wanted to move away from him, but her instinctive reaction had so shocked him, she had seen the inner man. Just for a moment. Whatever his proclivities, he would not have treated her so cruelly.

He continued. “I visited it a time or two, when I grew bored, but I discovered the services offered did not suit me. The people there, men and women, are well looked after, and they are used to their work. They provide a service, and they do it willingly. That is an entirely different case to forcing oneself on a woman. That I will not condone.”

“You led me to believe you were a frequent visitor,” Ash said, eyes narrowing.

The duke smiled broadly. “Yes, but you see I have a lamentable habit of lying when I want to see a person’s reaction. Or I just want amusement. Boredom chases me down the long corridors of life. I do all I can to avoid it.”

Ash shook his head. “Lying can get you into trouble.”

“Better than being bored.”

“You say you don’t object when both parties consent to the treatment. But last year, there was a scandal when a girl died at the House of Correction,” Ash pointed out. “They never discovered who did it. I thought the madam was paid off.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me...?” He let his words tail off.

“Yes,” Abercorn said. “The probability is strong that Uppingham was involved. He was a regular customer at the place until the house changed hands.”

Ash leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Go on.”

“The Raven owns the House of Correction now.”

Juliana suppressed her gasp. “Have you ever seen him?”

“Many people have, but nobody has seen him without his mask,” Abercorn told her. “I have, but not close up. He is extremely careful about that. He is expanding his empire, but the death of the whore last year meant he could offer a low price for the establishment. The previous owner knew she could be taken up on charges, so the change of ownership meant she could move on, and the authorities could find nobody to blame.”

“Why do they suspect Uppingham?”

“She was one of his whores, one of the few who would tolerate him. He was cruel, whipping women too hard, marking them for weeks, or even permanently. But he paid well for his pleasures. The new owner has banned him from the premises.” Immediately he saw her response. “I’m sorry, I should not go into details.”

“I know what he is capable of. Was,” she corrected herself.

“I am sorriest of all for that,” he said. “These games are dangerous; everybody knows that. There has to be an element of control.”

He buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this with a respectable member of society.” He looked up, shaking his head as if to clear it from a bad dream, then got to his feet. “At any rate, that is what I came to tell you. You were on my way from Covent Garden to Lady Mercer’s ball, and I thought the information would be useful to you. I can, if you wish, obtain a witness to Uppingham’s behavior at the House of Correction. If you go there, you will discover nothing, but I have the entrée. They will talk to me.”

Ash stood. “Very useful. I thank you.”

“We thank you,” Juliana said.

And she did. They were one step closer to linking her late husband with the notorious Raven. With every step the rope tightened, not around her neck but between the two men.

Chapter Nineteen

Juliana stared in disbelief at her soiled shift. Recognizing the pains, she’d slipped into the powder room and discovered the awful truth. Terror and relief warred within her, and relief won. For now.

She would have no child to worry about. Her courses had arrived. She had none of her usual accoutrements with her, but since the shift was soiled, she used that. Tearing up the linen, she fashioned a makeshift belt from one long strip and a rag from the other, pinning everything into place securely before locating a fresh night rail. What a time to discover that she no longer had the expectation of a child. No expectation at all, in fact.

She’d been in this house for two weeks. While Ash went about his meticulous business, she’d worked her way through the journals and magazines for any hint of Godfrey’s connections with the underworld, any suggestion of his violent proclivities. Although he’d been described as a man who treated his mistresses carelessly, she’d found nothing else, although the Daily Ransom had come close.

Sometimes Ash took her out with him, and she’d enjoyed the freedom of walking about the streets without an entourage, only two footmen and Ash. Nobody recognized her.

Now this. Her heart plummeted to her toes, but she tugged it back up. Nil desperandum, and all that. She stared at the moon, framed by the tiny window. Her last moon, perhaps. But her terror had dulled as the pile of notes and sketches in Ash’s study had grown.

Her stomach was cramping and her head was pounding. She went back to bed. Amelia gazed at her through half-closed eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep.”

At breakfast, she drew Ash aside. “I am not with child,” she told him as she stood before his desk like a recalcitrant child.

He leaned back, twirling the shaven quill between his fingers. Ash never left the feathers on his pens, not even the fronds people sometimes left for decoration. There was precision about