Page 9 of The Devil in Her Bed
Lord Colfax had nothing to do with the Mont Claire Massacre, but he was guilty of other crimes. And was climbing the council ranks, adding to their influence with his political contacts. Feeding their corruption with his respected name and estates dripping with money.
While he’d been under the influence of her serum, Francesca slid into his library, his study, his escritoire, and anywhere else she could think of.
She found the documents indicting him for fixing the London mayoral elections in his study.
But another envelope burned against her skin, this one so much more valuable, pilfered from a lockbox beneath his bed.
An invitation to an event a few weeks hence. One signed personally by the Lord Chancellor, himself, and stamped with the seal of a three-headed serpent. This seal, she’d gleaned, was only used by the Triad. The three men at the lead of the Crimson Council.
She now had proof of this three-headed serpent. And Lord Cassius Gerard Ramsay—the man her best friend, Cecelia, was about to marry—had unwittingly taken one of the serpent’s heads when he’d arrested the Lord Chancellor.
Which left two. Unless she didn’t work quickly enough, and a third head grew to replace the one they’d lost.
Next to her, Lord Colfax stirred.
Francesca turned toward him, draping herself on her side in a pose she’d dubbedthe relaxed temptress. One knee bent, showing her slim, creamy thigh. Her left leg, the one with the bullet scar, remained tucked under her skirts. Her head rested on her hand as she twinkled sleepy eyes at him.
Another loud snort choked Lord Colfax awake, and he lifted a squat hand to wipe at a dribble of drool from his greying beard at the same moment he looked over and noticed her.
“By Jove, Lady Francesca,” he rasped before clearing the sleep out of his throat with a disgusting wet sound. “You’re still here.”
His breath was rank and dry, even though he’d only been sleeping for a handful of hours.
“Where would I go, darling?” she flirted, flashing him a lazy smile. “You’ve quite worn me out. I doubt I should be able to walk.”
Befuddlement dragged his chops down as he ran a hand across his forehead, unable to clear away what she knew was a monster of a headache.
Senna dehydrated men worse than red wine. And she made sure they drank plenty with their alcohol, so they’d be too weak to want more of her once they woke.
“Usually, they leave,” he muttered as though to himself. “They run crying and carrying on so. Are you certain we…?” He lifted his sheet and looked down at his body. A body she’d undressed. A body that was now more lumpy than molded, with drapes of skin that sagged in unflattering ways.
She suppressed a shudder.
“Who is usually crying, my lord?” she cooed with enough syrup to give herself a toothache. “The women who are not lucky enough to share your bed?”
“No.” He drew out the word, regarding her strangely from eyes clouded with misery and confusion. “No, the women unlucky enough to catch my particular attentions.” He took in the state of her gown, her hair, and the marks he supposedly made on her neck.
“I’m not so easily frightened,” she said boldly. “I can take what most women cannot.”
It was the truth, after a fashion. She took so much.
“I—didn’t frighten you?” he asked. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” She drew a finger down his chest.
“What a shame.” Disappointment flared behind the dull pain in his murky blue eyes. “I’m surprised I was able to perform for you.”
His cock had been stiff with excitement at the thought of hurting her. He’d grabbed her arms and dragged her upstairs, and had barely made it to the bed before her tincture had taken hold.
Francesca’s cold heart froze another degree.Hard.Harder than stone. Than steel. Perhaps diamonds. A bit more innocence and goodness slipped away, but her mask never did.
“Well, my lord. You didn’t get what you wanted from me,” she said icily, “but I got what I came for.” She rolled away as he made a halfhearted swipe at her.
“What nonsense are you speaking?” he demanded.
Wordlessly, Francesca swept out of his bedroom.
Colfax’s bellows followed her down the grand stairs and out into the night as she navigated his gardens and used the wan moonlight to open the back gate where Serana’s man, Ivan, waited with the carriage.
