The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(343)

Now he noticed the powder in his hands, which he was rubbing on the girl's mound.



Oliver understood it all now, and felt sick to his stomach, repelled by what he had allowed himself to be enticed into. He had been so immoderate, he had become involved in what amounted to little better than rape, torture and murder.



"What is that rubbish?" he asked. "Is this why they've been acting so oddly?"



"Yes, wonderful, isn't it? Makes them beg for it."



"Isn't it dangerous? I mean, I heard about some girls in London, around Bethnal Green, who had died of some sort of strange poisoning."



"I tried it once myself. It sort of helped give me a bit of a rise, but I still couldn't manage and it was painful. I didn't use it again. But it didn't kill me."



Oliver said, "I think she's had enough, don't you? I mean, if you're not um, feeling well, what are you going to-"



Adam held up his hand, and bunched his fingers together. Then he reached in his bag, and laid a couple of items on the bed.



Wide-eyed, Oliver struggled into his trousers and grabbed the rest of his clothes. "I'll see you later," he gasped, and fled.



He stumbled down the stairs, shaking so badly he could barely control his limbs.



What on earth was he to do? Adam was his brother.



But Blake and Arabella were decent people. Adam had attacked her, and they had done nothing? He scarecely knew what to think.



Adam had harmed Rosalie and Leonore?



That would be easy enough to discover. He would go find out for himself.



Then what? If it were true…



If it were true, then his brother was trying to frame Blake for murder. Kill an innocent man.



Rosalie and Leonore had not been innocent, but they had not deserved to be killed either.



Oliver got down to the bottom of the stairs and sat, donning the rest of his clothing with trembling hands.



When he was certain he looked respectable and could stand up without clutching onto the wall for support, he rose, and headed toward the nearest main thoroughfare where he could find a cab.



Go to Pulteney Bridge, then Cheap Street. I'll see Rosalie and Leonore. All of this was nothing more than Adam's drunken, drug-induced ravings. Whatever that black powder was, it made people do unusual things, but he wasn't a rapist, a fiend…. All would be well.



And if it wasn't?



Then Oliver would have to decide: let Adam or Blake hang.



It wasn't a choice he wanted to make, but he couldn't think about that now.



He hurried on faster, suddenly convinced he was running out of time.





CHAPTER FORTY



Blake was so exhausted after the cataclysmic night he had spent with Arabella, he did not rouse even after she got up, bathed, and dressed in her riding habit. She kissed him, and he opened one sleepy eye.



"Good morning, love."



"Good morning, my guardian angel. Last night was heaven, Blake. Thank you."



"Then what are you doing out of this bed?" He reached for her, and frowned when he saw the way she was dressed. "Darling, you just got thrown yesterday."



"And you know the solution to that. Get back up on the horse."



He shook his head. "That's only if you're afraid. Not injured. Darling, please don't overdo things. You need to rest."



"A quick ride before breakfast, and then we can go over to see Clifford and Vanessa."



"All right. But if you're not back in an hour I'm coming after you."



Arabella gave her husband a warm, loving kiss, and vanished out the door.



He stared at the closed portal before dragging himself out of the bed and performing his morning toilette.



He had just finished shaving when he heard a tap at the door. Timothy entered, looking timid and rather sheepish.



"If you please, sir, Mr. Geoffrey Branson the magistrate and his son are here to speak with you," the valet said.



"Me? Not Mr. Jerome?" Blake asked, his brows raising.



"No, sir. You, sir."



"Well, come help me finish dressing, then," Blake instructed, giving his face a last rinse and swiping it with a towel.



"The good lady wife not here to help, sir?" he asked with a grin.



"Not this morning, no. She's out riding."



"And she's far better at undressing you than dressing," he said with a cheeky grin.



Blake winked at him in the mirror. "You won't hear me complain. But she may put you out of a job if I never trouble to dress at all."



"In which case, I'd say I didn't mind. Glad to see you so happy, sir. You and the young lady, of course."



"Thank you. Yes, we are happy."



Blake's joy vanished like the early morning mist when Geoffrey and Malcolm, waiting for him in the study, informed him as to the reasons for their visit.