Keys to Submission

An eRedSage Publishing Publication This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author’s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden. Information: Red Sage Publishing, Inc. P.O. Box 4844 Seminole, FL 33775 727-391-3847 eRedSage.com

Keys to Submission An eRed Sage Publication All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2011 eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc. Visit us on the World Wide Web: http://www.eRedSage.com ISBN: ISBN: ISBN: ISBN:

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Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows: Keys to Submission © 2011 by Jennifer August Cover © 2011 by Taylor Wade Graphics Design Printed in the U.S.A. ebook layout and conversion by jimandzetta.com

Keys to Submission ***

I love Ryder Ashford. He’s such a great guy, so charming and unabashed in his adoration of all things female. In fact, he had it a little too easy, I thought. So when I decided to write his story, I found the absolute perfect heroine for him – a woman so tainted by scandal and sex, he couldn’t help fall in love with her. Sophie and Ryder’s story was a lot of fun to write. Not only did I get to come up with an adventurous sexual scavenger hunt, but I learned a huge secret about one of the recurring characters. In a word, wow. I hope you feel the same!

Sophie Turner is no stranger to scandal but when Lord Ryder Ashford offers her a naughty bargain, she finds herself intrigued and aroused. Soon, he leads her into a world of bondage, submission and delightful spankings.

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Chapter One “She has the face of angel,” Ryder Ashford said softly to his sister Tori. He stared across the long drawing room with rapt fascination at the little dark-haired beauty in his brother-in-law Matthew’s arms. Ryder’s heart clenched, and he felt oddly short of breath. “Incredible,” Tori murmured. “What is?” “You’ve finally lost your heart.” He shrugged. “It would seem so.” Matthew looked up, a wry grin on his face. “Don’t let the cherubic look fool you, Ryder. She’s pure hellion.” He tugged his once-immaculate cravat from her grip and swung her away. “Takes after your sister.” Ryder strode across the room, skirted the pair of leathercovered chairs in front of the fireplace and edged past the walnut sideboard. “That’s no way to hold a baby,” he said in exasperation. “Give her to me.” Matthew frowned and pulled the child close to his chest, half turning his back. Ryder nudged his shoulder. “You’ve had her all to yourselves for the last three months.” “Fie on both of you. It’s time for her feeding.” Tori swooped between them, plucked the pink bundle from her husband’s arms and cuddled her close. Matthew sighed and leaned down to press a soft kiss to their daughter’s scattering of black curls. He slanted a look of adoration at Tori. Ryder almost turned away, feeling as though he intruded on an intimate moment. Except, they were like this all the time. Marriage definitely agreed with both of them. “All right, my love, but hurry back.” Matthew tugged Tori close and gave her a long, deep kiss. 6

Keys to Submission Ryder pretended to scowl. After several seconds, he tried coughing loudly. “Ahem.” “Enough, Victoria.” His mother’s imperial dictate preceded her into the room. “You have more breeding than to carry on like a common strumpet.” Ryder shook his head. Though she’d thawed considerably since Tori’s kidnapping three years earlier, she still held rigid views on propriety. Even in the privacy of his own home, it seemed. “But Mother, sometimes being a strumpet is a good thing,” Tori replied with a straight face as Matthew finally released her. “For Heaven’s sake!” His mother looked more shocked than Ryder had seen her in quite some time. It startled him for a moment. She never let her composure slip. Ryder took that opportunity to reach for Lisbeth again. “I’ll hold her and you two go find some hay or something?” Lydia glowered at him, smoothing a hand down the royal blue of her skirt. “Laugh all you wish, but you know what disaster disgrace can bring.” Tori looked as though she were biting her tongue. Ryder had the feeling she longed to bring up the fact that the kidnapping had been her mother’s doing. Or perhaps his little sister meant to throw the subject of their illegitimate half-brother in her face. Either way, he was in no mood for a dispute. He knew how to smooth the waters in a most effective manner. “Yes, Mother, we all remember what almost happened.” Ryder lifted up the now-sleeping child. “You must admit, however, Lisbeth is more than adequate compensation.” Lydia’s face softened, instantly erasing a decade from her patrician features. A smile touched her mouth and she nodded. “Yes, my granddaughter is wonderful.” The infant in question squirmed, balled up her fists and stretched, mouth opening and closing in an adorable little mewl. Ryder’s smile widened. Damned if she wasn’t perfect. He cradled her against his chest, her downy head nestled close to the long-healed bullet wound in his shoulder. The one he’d 7

taken the night Tori was kidnapped by her mad former fiancé. Lisbeth turned inward, nose brushing the spot almost exactly. Her tiny mouth worked the air. His eyes widened and his head jerked up. Tori, nestled comfortably in Matthew’s arms, watched with great amusement. “Care to feed her, brother?” “Uh, no.” He shifted, suddenly panicked. “You can have her back.” Lydia chuckled, a delicate whisper of sound, and took the baby. “I’ll carry her upstairs. Tori, you will meet me there.” She walked out, footsteps measured, slow and elegant, as always. His mother never forgot people were watching. Even if those people were only her family. Ryder shoved his hands in his pockets, frowning as she left. “Think she’ll ever marry again?” Total silence met his question. He turned to his sister and her husband, laughing outright as their expressions went beyond surprise, straight into shock. “Close your mouths, children, lest you swallow flies,” Ryder said. Matthew stroked Tori’s arm, head shaking. “The flies are from all that bullshit you’re shoveling.” Tori slugged him. “Language, Matthew.” He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Ryder rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pretending he did not notice the sudden blush on her cheeks. He didn’t even want to know what Matthew had said. “Truly,” he said loudly. “Do you think Mother will re-marry?” Tori moved from her husband’s side, slid her arm through his and squeezed. “I doubt it. She always said her marriage to Father was a love match and something she could never recapture.” He lifted a brow in disbelief. “How does our half-brother fit into that love match?” “Aye, ‘tis quite probable that last year’s revelation of Lincoln’s bastardy also soured her on the idea of matrimony. Though Father’s dalliance with that woman was before Mother married 8

Keys to Submission him, I do not believe she will ever try again.” Her fingers clenched on his arm. “What about you? Are you ready to find love and marriage?” Usually, the very mention of love, marriage and matchmaking had him sprinting for the nearest exit. But this time…. He looked down at her, then back to Matthew. The naked emotion shining in his friend’s face was unapologetic, strong and ever-present. Over the last fortnight, he’d watched them. That love never wavered, the bond between them as strong now as it had been the day they wed. If anything, with the addition of little Lisbeth, it seemed stronger. His heart squeezed with just a hint of jealousy. Their happiness was contagious. During the time they’d been in residence, he’d come to realize he wanted happiness, too. “Tori, my sweet,” Matthew said, breaking into his thoughts. “You should go see to Lisbeth, and then we need to retire. We’ve a long journey ahead of us on the morrow.” “All right.” Tori rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Ryder’s cheek. “The happiness is indescribable,” she whispered in his ear. “Once you find her, you’ll know. Nothing and no one else will matter.” He hugged her tight. “Go take care of my niece,” he said, gently pushing her toward the door. Matthew moved next to him and they watched her go together. “You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” “Yes,” Matthew cleared his throat. “Yes, I do.” Three little words expressed his love and again, envy struck at Ryder. Discomfited, he swung away, heading for the sidebar. “Brandy?” “Please.” He felt his friend’s steady gaze on his back as he poured the drinks. Taking longer than was necessary, he tried to rally his emotions. Finally, he turned, handing over the decanter. “So, heading down to Brighton?” 9

“Tori wants Lisbeth to see the ocean.” Ryder paused, drink in mid-air. “She’s three months old.” “Indeed. But it’s what Tori wants. And it will only be for a couple of days.” “Huh.” Matthew chuckled, finished off his drink and clapped him on the shoulder. “Trust me, old man, when you meet the woman you’re destined to marry, you will be just the same.” “Doubtful.” Another wide smile. “Care to make a wager on that?” Ryder shook his head. “I’ll not wager on whether or not I’ll marry, Matthew.” “Fair enough.” Ryder looked at the still empty doorway. “Truth be told, though, I have been thinking.” He said nothing more, unable to give actual voice to his thoughts. “About what?” Damn, he needed another drink. “Marriage,” he blurted out. Matthew only momentarily looked surprised. Then his usual mask fell into place. “Interesting. Anyone in mind?” “No,” Ryder growled, already regretting his words. “And don’t say anything to Tori.” “‘Course not.” “It’s just that, things are different now.” “Different?” Ryder spun his empty glass in his hand. “You’re different. She is. Now, with the baby.” “Ah. I see.” “Care to explain it to me?” Ryder muttered. Matthew laughed. “It’s inexplicable. It just … happens.” “You’re a lot of help.” “Are you serious about this, Ryder?” He took a deep breath and nodded. “When we all return to London next week for the Season, I intend to find a bride.” A gasp sounded behind him. “Truly, Ryder?” 10

Keys to Submission He cursed softly. He had not intended his mother to know. Not yet. “I am considering it,” he said and held up his hand. “Before you get any ideas, Mother, this will be my decision alone. No help from you. No young ladies thrown at my head. I doubt we have the same taste, at any rate.” Matthew choked on stifled laughter and Ryder shot him a censuring glare. Hell, he wasn’t even talking about those kinds of tastes. He frowned. That was another dilemma in his plan. Could he find a woman of suitable rank who would participate in his preferred desires? Extremely doubtful. He looked at his brother-in-law again, and for a hideous, horrible moment wondered about their shared predilection. He immediately shut down that line of thinking. There were some things a man didn’t need to know about his sister. “I would hope so,” Lydia said brusquely. “Attraction is all well and fine, Ryder, but breeding and lineage are the most important criteria. You are an earl and will need an heir. A young lady from a good family, with a proper dowry and manners, is essential.” His fists clenched. “Enough, Mother.” She opened her mouth, closed it abruptly and nodded once. “All I ask is that your bride be someone from our circle, raised as you were, with the same background. Someone with an impeccable reputation who will honor the family name.” Annoyance zipped through him, making his tone harsh. “What about love? You don’t mention that.” A shadow darkened blue eyes that flicked at Matthew. “Love, Ryder, with precious few exceptions, is an illusion.” **** “This is stupid. Ridiculous, even. What in heaven’s name was I thinking?” Sophie Turner spun away from the heavy wooden door upon which she’d just clanged the brass knocker. Intent on making her getaway, she didn’t know the door behind her had opened until a man’s voice sounded. 11

“Deliveries go round back. See Cook for payment.” Sophie turned, coming face-to-face with a tall, pinch-lipped man whose disdainful expression pricked at her pride. He pointed to the left of the house as if she were an imbecile, raising her ire even more. Drawing herself up tall and proud, Sophie strode up the stairs and presented her card. One of her remaining few. Who would need them when banished to the wilds of country living? “Miss Sophie Turner to see Lord Ashford.” The man’s expression immediately hardened into implacable lines, though his eyes remained suspicious. They flicked behind and around her and she resisted the urge to squirm. He was looking for her maid. No reputable woman would call on anyone without a chaperone in tow. But she couldn’t afford one, and Mrs. Higgins, her elderly housekeeper, could hardly make the mileslong trip with her. Besides, Sophie was the furthest thing possible from reputable. Disapproving silence rained down, so she lifted her chin a bit more. Pride goeth before a fall…. But the Devil with it. She’d fallen before and picked herself up again. She wasn’t going to back down from a butler. She raised a brow. “Lord Ashford, if you please,” she said in a sharp if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you tone. He got the message and despite his obvious misgivings, stepped back, allowing her entrance. “Follow me, please.” Sophie walked behind him, taking in the well-appointed decorations of the foyer, more gold and expensive porcelain than she could ever recall seeing. Lord Ashford and his ancestors obviously did not believe in hiding their wealth and importance. She only hoped they were as inept at hiding the key she sought. “Miss Turner.” The butler hovered at an open door. “Please have a seat here. I will inform his lordship of your arrival.” He left the door wide open and departed, disappearing around the central curving staircase. Sophie was tempted to go back into the foyer, poke around, and see if she could figure out any more of the clues that had led her to Ryder Ashford’s country estate. No, 12

Keys to Submission best not to get caught. Waiting was the better part of discretion, or some such rot. Besides, she realized with a wide turn, this room was just as intriguing. Clearly not the normal room guests were usually ushered into, but it was entirely possible it held the key to the secret she’d uncovered. Tall bookshelves took up the greater part of the room, each filled with many volumes. From this distance, she couldn’t read the titles, but she imagined they’d relate to any number of subjects. Rumor had it Lord Ashford was an avid reader with an insatiable curiosity. Another reason she’d gambled quite possibly her entire future—again—and called upon him. She hoped this time went much better than the previous debacle. She inched farther inside, spying a comfortable-looking chair and small table in the corner near a fireplace. Upon the mantel, small, ornate picture frames sat in a neat row. Sentimental, too. Excellent. In the other corner stood an old walnut desk, the chair behind it askew as if someone had just stood from it and walked away. The scarred surface enticed her closer and she looked down, fingers tracing myriad gouges and scratches in the wood. Obviously, this desk was much-used and well-loved. And at least forty or fifty years old. Exactly the time frame in which she was interested. No telling what might be in these drawers. Dare she? Sophie peeked over her shoulder, scanning the doorway for any signs of movement. No one was about. But it couldn’t be long now. Surely his lordship was on his way. For him to catch her riffling his drawers would be disastrous to her mission. “Face it, Sophie, old girl,” she muttered as she retreated back to the door. “Unless he agrees to help, you’re sunk.” Her middle spasmed and a surge of bile rose in her throat. He must help her. She really had no other way to search the property. “Well, short of returning in the black of night with a lantern and a shovel,” she muttered in disgust. “Miss Turner? May I help you?” 13

She closed her eyes, cursing her own mouth, and turned, forcing a smile. It promptly vanished. She blinked up at him. Several times. Gads, she’d forgotten how startlingly handsome Ryder Ashford was. Though they’d danced only once, she remembered his wide, flirtatious smile and mischievous green eyes. His height had always set him apart as well, easily topping six feet. All of it appeared fit and taut, like a pugilist or a man of labor. Lord Whitten had captured her attention away from this? She felt vaguely ill. Hastily, Sophie batted away her imagination’s instant vision of Lord Ashford toiling shirtless and sweating, muscles bunching as he tossed hay or—for the love of St. Peter, girl, pull it together. She cleared her throat, reminded herself his hair most certainly did not gleam with golden highlights and hints of cinnamon, and once more looked up at him That smile was now firmly in place but only polite curiosity glimmered in his gaze. Sophie sucked in what she hoped was not a noticeable breath and ordered herself to calmness. Straight shoulders. Direct gaze. No fear. No shame. Uncle Orrick’s gruff remonstrance saved her. Again. “I certainly hope so, my lord. I am afraid I have a rather odd request.” The curiosity darkened and his shoulders bent closer. “An odd…? Hmm, sounds intriguing.” She relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe there was hope. She edged from the room and back into the entryway. “Is there a place we could talk, my lord?” The very last thing she needed was for some overeager servant to hear their private conversation and dig up her treasure. Soft, determined footsteps sounded in the hall. “Ryder, Dobbs said we had an unusual guest.” Sophie froze. Damn and bloody double damn. Please don’t let that be his mother. Lady Lydia Ashford, known for her rigidity and abhorrence of even the faintest whisper of scandal, would scare the sin out of anyone. Even her. If Lady Ashford recognized her 14

Keys to Submission name, Sophie knew she’d be tossed out on her ear in a trice. “Mother,” Ryder said as he turned. He must remember to speak to Dobbs about who was master in this house. “You have a guest, Ryder?” Tori’s voice echoed down the hall, appearing scant seconds before she did. Matthew trailed behind, a baby in his arms, a smug grin on his face. For God’s sake. “Yes, a guest.” He emphasized the word, hoping he put enough meaning in his tone to deflect any sharpness his mother might inflict on Miss Turner. “May I present Miss Sophie Turner?” The silence in the hall lasted but a few seconds before Tori exclaimed loudly, “Sophie! It has been an age.” Nonetheless, he heard his mother’s sharp intake of air. Bless his sister, she’d been newly married and just emerging from her own brush with notoriety when Sophie’s scandal occurred. To his knowledge, the two met only once before Sophie left the city. “Lady Ashford.” Sophie’s voice did not quiver, nor did she tremble as she dipped a curtsy first to his mother, then his sister. “Lady Corwin.” Ryder admired her gumption. “Ryder, we have no time for visitors,” his mother said. “How have you been?” Tori asked, voice slightly raised. Sophie looked like a startled cat caught in the rain. Ryder stepped forward and held out his arm. When her small hand slid into the crook of his elbow, he started at the sudden awareness which jolted him. He looked down, saw determination war with rising discomfort. Why was she here? Surely it must be something important to risk the wrath of Lydia Ashford. He was intrigued. “Tori, you and Miss Turner may renew your acquaintance later. Right now, she and I have something to discuss.” “No,” his mother said sharply. Ryder turned his gaze slowly to meet hers. “Mother, your carriage is coming up the drive. I will see you in a week’s time at the townhouse for dinner.” He released Sophie’s arm, stepped to 15

his mother, gently engulfed her stiff, rigid body in a hug, and eased her toward the door. “It’s nothing to worry over, I promise.” “She is tainted,” his mother hissed. He looked over his shoulder and exhaled in relief. Sophie had turned away and appeared not to hear the harsh condemnation. Were his mother not in such high dudgeon, she would have remembered her courtesy, that telltale sign of good breeding. He sighed, rubbed at her shoulder and tweaked her ear, earning a wide-eyed exclamation of outrage. “Ryder, think about this.” Lydia placed her hand on his forearm, gaze imploring. “She has no chaperone. If word spread—” She left the implication hanging softly between them. “No one knows she is here, save us, and Tori is perfectly respectable as a chaperone.” He couldn’t believe he was saying that about his baby sister. “Now go. Enjoy your time with Aunt Rachel.” Dobbs skirted them as the carriage rattled up the drive. He opened the door and peered out. “My lady?” Though it was obvious his mother did not wish to leave, she inclined her head to them and glided out the door. Tori followed. He shared a bemused look with Matthew before swinging his gaze back to Sophie, who looked horrified. She cleared her throat. “My apologies, Lord Ashford. I never meant to cause any family discord.” “Do not worry over it, Miss Turner. Mother is a bit….” He hesitated, not wishing to cause his guest further distress. “Uh, oldfashioned.” Her face fell. “Oh. You know.” He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Incredulity seemed rude and out of place. Everyone knew about her affair and subsequent banishment. Surely she was aware of that. But no, her pretty, delicate face appeared crestfallen. He couldn’t see the expression in her dark brown eyes as her lashes swept down, concealing them from him. But for the grace of God and Matthew’s street contacts, Tori could have been in Sophie’s very position. Or worse. The urge to stroke Sophie’s hair and comfort her swelled 16

Keys to Submission like a bird taking flight. He stepped closer, hand rising, sympathy heavy on his heart. Tori returned at that moment, shoved the door closed and smiled at them. “She’s gone.” Her gaze intensified and fastened on Sophie. “So, let us retire to the library where you can tell us all why you are here.” Her smile was friendly, yet laced with steel as she slipped her arm through Sophie’s. Matthew chuckled as he clapped Ryder on the shoulder. “Might as well follow them. You know how your sister can be.” Damn right, he did. A regular harridan, cleverly disguised with honey-sweet smiles and warmth. They followed the women down the hall to the library. Ryder could not help but notice the curve and sway of Sophie’s hips as she moved. Her legs were probably long and lean, too. She topped Tori’s diminutive stature by a good foot. He rubbed at his scar, realizing Sophie’s head would nestle in the same spot. The idea of her nuzzling his nipples had him hardening in his breeches. Sophie Turner had a natural sensuality and innate grace most women aspired to but few achieved. Even after all that had happened, she appeared as elegant and collected as his mother. He frowned at the unsettling thought. “She has a great arse, doesn’t she?” Matthew’s sotto voce comment immediately drew his ire. “Keep your damn eyes on your wife, where they belong.” His brother-in-law snorted. “I’m married, Ryder, not dead.” “It’s disrespectful,” he grumbled, edging forward as they reached the study. Skirting around the pair of women, he reached forward and pushed open the door. “Please, have a seat, Miss Turner. Tori, will you ring for refreshments?” Within moments, they were all settled on the various chaises and chairs encircling a low oval table. Sophie stared back at the trio as they regarded her, Tori with unbridled interest, Matthew with what appeared to be bland curiosity—a façade she wasn’t buying into for one second—and the dark, smoldering stare of the earl. She couldn’t read him, other than he appeared to find her attractive. That had her knees 17

tingling, but did little in the way of advancing her quest. She’d intended nothing more than to knock on his door, wheedle her way into a bit of exploration, snag the key and depart, never to bother him again. Instead, she’d incurred his mother’s wrath, incited a firestorm of curiosity within his sister and roused his interest. Now she sat across from him, waiting on tea and cakes. How had this happened? When had she lost control of the situation? The housekeeper bustled in with a tray of tea and a plate full of pastries. The sweet smell of lemon wafted to her nose and Sophie’s stomach grumbled in response. Loudly. She gasped, flattening her hand on her midsection, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Tori smiled and poured them each a cup of the steaming brew. In a deft motion, she placed two pastries on a plate and handed them to Sophie. “I quite often have the same reaction. No one can resist Cook’s lemon cakes.” The earl agreed and picked up the thread of conversation. Sophie sipped her tea, waiting for the chattering to die down, appreciating the lengths Lady Corwin—she certainly wasn’t going to call the countess by her Christian name—was going through to put her at ease. Not to mention the lemon cakes. They were heavenly. Soft, delicate and bursting with precisely the right balance of sweet and tart. It’d been an age since she’d had something so decadent, finances tight as they were. When Lady Corwin fell silent, Sophie realized her tactics had worked. Her own mind was much calmer now, as was her belly. “Thank you, my lady. I do suppose you are all wondering why I’m here. It must seem very odd, I should think.” “Quite curious, I admit,” Tori said, her smile softening the sting. “You have been absent for three years.” Ouch. Lady Corwin had no compunction about dragging the scandal right into the open. Sophie was used to subterfuge, innuendo and outright disdain, but nothing like this. “Well, yes, I have.” She fell silent. No one spoke, and panic assailed her. What should she do? All she wanted was that bloody damn key! 18

Keys to Submission “Miss Turner.” The earl’s voice was deep and calm Sophie took a breath, latching onto his air of serenity. “Yes, my lord?” He sipped his tea, leaned back against his chair and looked for all the world as if they were chatting about the upcoming races or the unusual lack of rain this time of year. “How can we help you?” Could it truly be that simple? Cautious hope stirred within Sophie. Carefully, she leaned forward, setting her cup on the table. Tori immediately re-filled it, but Sophie let it alone. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the tattered, time-beaten leather journal. She placed it on her knees, covered it with her arms and leaned forward even more. Be discreet, indirect, give no more information than absolutely necessary. “I appreciate that you agreed to see me, my lord.” She cut a quick glance at his sister and brother-in-law. “I do not wish to appear the ingrate, but I had rather hoped this would be a private conversation.” The temperature from Tori’s side of the room dipped a few degrees. Or ten. She held out the tray of pastries, face now set in taut lines. “I am sure you can appreciate the impossibility of that, Miss Turner.” She was beginning to. Waving off the tray, she sighed and uncovered the journal, looking at the earl with a rueful smile. “Of course, I do. I suppose I was a tad too optimistic. Very well.” She took a deep breath and flipped open the journal. “I must ask for your absolute discretion. What I’m about to share with you is vital to my survival.” “She has an air of the dramatic, Ryder,” Matthew said, the first words he’d uttered since they sat down. Sophie faltered. His look was direct and piercing, no longer draped with the blanket of ennui. “Perhaps you would not agree, Lord Corwin, but in this instance, I do not exaggerate.” She clutched the book tight. “The information contained in this volume could very well ensure that I live the rest of my days in comfort, with no financial worries.” There. She’d said it. Baldly stated her lack of wealth, which to her was agonizingly worse than her lack of 19

reputation. Who cared what people thought of her? Their kind regard would not put bread on her table, nor fix the holes in her house, nor pay the meager wages of her servants. Though her explanation was directed at Corwin, Sophie kept her gaze firmly on Lord Ashford. His expression softened, mouth parted and brow furrowed. He sat forward, slid his cup and saucer to the table next to hers, then reached out and clasped one hand in his. Immediate heat spread through her fingers, traveling with amazing speed up her arm, through her shoulders and all the way to her neck and mouth. His bare, bare, hand lightly held hers, and his deep green eyes refused to let her look away. “If you are in need of funds, Miss Turner, I can surely provide you with assistance. After all, charity should begin with our neighbors and those in greatest need.” Her body went as cold as if she’d stepped into the iciest of waterfalls. She jerked her hand away and held up the journal. “I don’t want your blasted charity, my lord. I merely want to search your house.” Tori giggled into the awkward silence. Sophie shot her a glare. “Not for any nefarious purpose, Lady Corwin—” “Please, call me Tori. After that statement, I wouldn’t have it otherwise.” Heart pounding, nerves stretched as taut as a man on the Inquisition rack, Sophie clenched her teeth and breathed heavily through her nose, seeking calm again. “Very well, then. Tori. Lord, I’m making a muddle of this.” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then exhaled in a long, slow measure. When her eyes opened, she met the earl’s still-soft gaze. “My late Uncle Orrick Shaw bequeathed to me Saunter House this past November when I turned 21. Uncle Orrick was quite a character.” “I remember him,” affirmed Lord Ashford, mouth tipped in a smile. “Eccentric and interesting, to say the least.” “Yes, well, he also had a predilection for puzzles and games. One that he shared with me.” The wistful wish he still awaited her 20

Keys to Submission at the house tugged at Sophie. “We would spend hours poring over books and maps while he told me stories of his travels and adventures. It was during one of these travels he met a man from this very area. They were together in Africa and struck up a friendship. His name was Billings Haverstock. Do you know of him?” They all shook their heads and she sighed. “That might make this more difficult.” “Please, continue anyway,” Lord Ashford said. “I, for one, am fascinated.” “Thank you, my lord.” Sophie flipped through the book, wondering what else she could tell them without spilling all her secrets. Didn’t seem to be any eligible candidate. And somehow, she knew this man would see through her subterfuge, somehow know she wasn’t being wholly honest. And then he wouldn’t let her search the blasted house. “Uncle Orrick and his new friend traveled together for a few years, until Haverstock fell ill. On his death bed, he willed Saunter House to my uncle, who returned to it when Haverstock died. The house was a disaster and took quite a lot of time and money to repair.” She bit her lip. “To tell you the truth, it is still rather a mess. Holes on one side of the roof, the ventilation in the kitchen is abominable, I don’t trust the stairs, but it’s habitable. And oddly enough, the stables are impeccable. Uncle Orrick spent most of his time at his other residence with my cousin Hamilton and his wife Theta. I also resided there until receiving my inheritance.” “How did your cousin feel about Orrick deeding you the house?” Lord Corwin asked. Sophie smiled. “He was very happy for me. In fact, it was his suggestion that Uncle Orrick also attach a small stipend for the wages of the cook and an older women to help around the housekeeping.” “And did he?” Ryder questioned. “He did. My uncle was very generous.” Sophie suppressed the tears that threatened. “Even more so than I knew. Upon my inheritance, I also received a small package from him. It contained 21

a letter and this journal.” She took a fortifying breath. “The letter told of a wonderful legend and a great treasure.” Silence. She cleared her throat and flapped the journal at them. “And part of the treasure is hidden in this house.”

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Chapter Two Of all the things his tempting neighbor could have said, a treasure hunt had never entered his mind. Ryder looked at her as if she’d lost her own. Sophie’s enthusiasm had dimmed the merest hint with their silence, but she’d doggedly continued. Ryder admired her perseverance. But a treasure hunt? “You don’t believe me.” He shrugged. “It is not a matter of disbelief or otherwise, Miss Turner. Rather, my sister and I have been through every hall, outof-the-way spot and bit of acreage on this property. Even the maze couldn’t contain us. Were there a hidden treasure, we would long since have found it.” Tori nodded. “It’s true,” she said, tone apologetic. “My brother and I were exceedingly bored each time we stayed out here. Our antics probably drove more than one nurse to Bedlam.” But Sophie was shaking her head, sending waves of imperfectly styled brown curls swaying and bobbing about her face. For a moment her flashing eyes were obscured, but he caught the defiant set of her jaw. She would not easily concede. He shared a glance with Matthew, who shrugged. “All right, Miss Turner, convince us,” Ryder said. She blinked at him, chocolate eyes owlishly wide, probing his for mockery. He tried hard not to convey his skepticism. “Haverstock left my uncle a detailed list of the house’s possessions, along with this journal and a tantalizing final puzzle.” “What puzzle?” Tori asked. “A fascinating one,” Sophie said, scooting to the edge of her seat. Her enthusiasm was adorable, and Ryder found himself smiling for no real reason other than he enjoyed watching her tell the story. “Haverstock told him about a treasure chest, no bigger than a 23

traveling valise and very well made. Exotic wood polished to a gleam and held shut by an ornate golden lock. The lock had no key. His final wish was that Uncle Orrick track down the key. He spent nearly two years searching for it, to no avail.” “Why didn’t he just take a hacksaw to the blasted thing?” Ryder asked. Sophie gasped, outrage coloring her face. “That would have been cheating!” “Cheating, she says.” Ryder said, lifting his hands in the direction of his sister and brother-in-law. “Of course it would have been cheating.” “Hush, Ryder, this is all very mysterious,” Tori admonished. “Dear, I hate to interrupt,” Matthew said. “No, you don’t.” He stood, pulling her upright with him, a no-nonsense look on his face. “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be mired on the clogged roads and end up having to stay at a posting house.” Tori, glancing between him and Sophie, groaned and nodded. “I despise traveling inns. Bugs and dirty linens and the most awful food imaginable. Except, we can’t leave you alone, can we?” “Would you feel better if I solemnly promise to be on my best behavior?” Ryder asked. “No. But I suppose there is no choice in the matter. Dobbs could sit in, but Miss Turner asked for privacy. A pickle. All right, then, don’t tell Mother you were alone.” She looked at Matthew and Ryder. “Miss Turner, could you just give me the quick version? A hint, at the very least?” Sophie laughed. “Well, there really isn’t much more to tell. I am looking for the key that fits that lock, and I believe it resides somewhere here.” “But why would you think that? And what kind of treasure is in the chest?” “Come, Tori.” Matthew nudged and prodded his reluctant wife. Ryder smothered a chuckle. “Another clue to another key, my lady,” Sophie called out as they slipped through the door. Matthew shut it firmly behind him, 24

Keys to Submission drowning out Tori’s protests. And leaving Ryder very much alone with the delectable Miss Sophie Turner. She turned, mouth still widely smiling, though her eyes appeared a bit wild. She licked her lips, stared at him, the now empty chaises, and finally her battered journal. Then she, too, leaped to her feet. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here. Your mother will be furious. ” Ryder rose and dipped his head. “You are correct, of course, Miss Turner. But, I find myself fascinated and would like to hear the whole of your tale. Should you feel comfortable enough to remain and finish, of course.” She regarded him steadily, as if weighing the truth of his answer. He suppressed a grimace, only now realizing how difficult this situation must be for her. His admiration for her courage went up a few notches. “I shall call one of the housemaids to act as chaperone,” he said, heading for the door. He did not wish to have another person intrude on his time with this fascinating creature, but if it put her at ease…. “No,” she said, one hand held out. “I appreciate your concern, but this will not take long.” She sighed and shook her head, which was the ruin of the haphazard knot that had once held her hair. Dark, gleaming chestnut waves cascaded to her shoulders, the ends curling and cupping the thrust of her breasts. He inhaled sharply as his cock rose in response. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stepped back. “As you say, Miss Turner. Please, continue with your story.” She hesitated only a moment before gliding back to her chair, where she carefully arranged her skirts around her luscious legs and opened the journal on her lap. “There is not much more to it, my lord. In truth, if you would simply allow me to search your property for the key, I’ll be on my way and there will be nothing more at issue.” Ryder sensed she was hiding a great deal more. “Tell me anyway.” Her eyes skittered away from his and a light flush rose on her 25

cheeks. He could not help but wonder just how deep that delightful blush went. Biting back an oath, he leaned forward and poured another cup of tea, now gone cold, to tear his mind from her sensuality. After a moment, Sophie met his gaze again as she tapped the open page. “Someone, and neither my Uncle nor I have deciphered who, though we suspect it was Haverstock himself, created a rather elaborate quest. Whoever successfully solves all the clues, finds all the keys and opens all the chests will be rewarded with a grand treasure.” When she wrinkled her nose, he had to shift on his chaise, amazed at how that tiny gesture made him want to pull her into his arms. “Whoever crafted it,” she said, “was a bit compulsive, I think.” “Why?” He was finding it difficult to pay attention to the topic at hand. With her hair in disarray, the blush still pinking her cheeks and the glittering eyes, she looked like a woman who had just risen from her bed, well-loved and well-sated. He groaned, holding the saucer over his crotch and surreptitiously adjusting his erection. Her brow furrowed as she contemplated her answer. “Well, there are five keys and five chests. Each key has five clues attached to its location. Find one key, open one chest, find the next clue. And so on until all have been discovered.” “Hmm. Interesting.” He wondered how many buttons marched up the back of her dress and how long it would take him to undo them. An hour at the least, he suspected. Her pale skin was entirely too delectable not to taste, lick and enjoy as he exposed it inch by inch. “That’s it. The whole story. I told you there was not much more.” He smiled and nodded. Did she wear silk stockings, or the more serviceable cotton? He always loved slowly unrolling stockings from a woman’s legs, and he had a feeling these were perfectly formed. His breath caught. What if she didn’t wear stockings at 26

Keys to Submission all? “My lord?” Her sharp tone cut through his sensual reverie. Ryder met her gaze, tried to recall the last thing she’d said, and smiled. “Which still doesn’t explain how you got here. Precisely.” Seemed safe enough. He didn’t remember hearing her mention Ashford House, but with the blood pounding in his cock and ears, he doubted he’d have registered it anyway. She sighed and flipped through a page in the blasted book. “Your house is specifically mentioned, my lord.” She sounded like it was the last thing she wanted to tell him, and that got his full attention. “Really? Mine, by name?” Sophie squirmed. “Well, not exactly.” He tilted his head. “It’s actually in code. That I translated.” “Do tell.” She held up the book and pointed to some faint scratching. “Here. The first clue says quite plainly, ‘Return to the safety of Timber’s Shelter.’” “Thank you for your faith in my vision, Miss Turner, but I cannot see anything from this distance. I promise not to bite if you move closer. Say, that chaise?” Ryder indicated Tori’s recently vacated seat. He watched her silent debate and moved a little to his left. Perhaps if he gave the illusion of more space, she would feel more comfortable. He wanted her closer to him. To inhale the sweet aroma of her perfume and more closely examine the gentle curve of her neck. The thrust of her breasts against her bodice. None of which he could do if she remained across the room. Sophie chewed her lip, hesitant. Getting that close to him was a bad idea. She could feel it. Being in such proximity to the sensual earl might prod her into doing something she would regret. Probably. She needed to retain her wits and concentrate on the task at hand, not the earl. “No, thank you,” she said. “I am fine here.” He sighed. “You are correct, of course, my apologies. Please, tell 27

me this clue again.” “Return to the safety of Timber’s Shelter,” she read. Lowering book, she looked at him, breath held. Would he know the reference? “What the deuce does that mean?” Apparently not. “How much of your family history do you know, my lord?” He blinked. “Do you never answer a question directly?” Sophie held back an unexpected chuckle. “‘Tis only that your family history figures prominently in the solution, my lord.” Ashford sighed. “Prithee, continue, then. Obviously I won’t get a straight answer out of you otherwise.” “Before your mother married the late earl, she was Miss Lydia Wood.” “Correct.” “Did you know she grew up in this area?” “In this very house, as a matter of fact. It was part of her dowry when she married my father. But what is the point of this ancient history lesson? Grandfather left her no keys or treasure chests.” “Do you recall the name of this property before your father changed it to Ashford House?” He pursed his lips. Those incredible, wonderful lips that she knew would make her feel like a woman. She looked down at the page and tried to push the earl’s features from her mind. She needed one thing from him. His house. Nothing more. Her future depended on it. She could afford no distractions. “Wood Haven,” he said at last. “Yes, exactly.” After studying the journal, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Dash it, there was nothing for it. She’d have to get closer to show him how it all fit. She rose, keeping her gaze on his. She’d thought his eyes were green. But no, they were the darkest shade of emerald, flecked with sparks of gold. Right now, they looked up at her with a hint lying-in-wait anticipation, as if he would pounce on her given the right signal. She really wanted to give him that signal. But she could not. He 28

Keys to Submission was a means to an end, nothing more. Resolutely, she sank onto the cushion beside to him, plopped the book between them and pointed at a dusty, smudged page. “There. Read it, my lord. ‘Return to the safety of Timber’s Shelter.’ See how Timber and Shelter are both capitalized? Like a name?” Ryder leaned down to peer at the pages, and she found herself enveloped by his musky, soap-tinged scent. Her nipples tightened. Her common sense shrieked at her to stand up and move away. And yet, she could imagine him at his bath. How his long, muscular, naked physique would dip into the water. And how other, more interesting parts of his anatomy might rise above the water, given the right incentive. “What are you thinking, Miss Turner?” His voice wrapped around her, low and seductive. She looked up and gasped. His face was even with hers. So close. She dropped her gaze to his lips. “I apologize,” he said. “For wha—” His lips smothered the rest of her question as he kissed her. Panic assailed her. She lifted her hands to his shoulders, intent on pushing him away. But the tender soft touch of his lips on hers forestalled her. His mouth slid warmly on hers, tasting, teasing. Gentle and inquisitive. He did not press or demand. Sophie shuddered. She’d been right. His mouth was capable of wonderful, decadent things. He cupped the back of her head and held her closer. Drawn deeper into his embrace, she flattened her palm to his chest, amazed at the swift pace of his heartbeat. It matched her own. She should stop this. Now. The key, the chest. “Sophie.” Her name was a light command, and an entreaty. Just one kiss. She melted into his embrace, her hand inching daringly up to cup his jaw. He groaned and wrapped his other arm at the small of her back, hauling her tight to his body, his lips never leaving hers. He was soft, nipping and nibbling with tender 29

demand, then harsh and firm, nearly pushing her back. She pursed her lips, seeking more. Something even more wonderful hovered just beyond. Then he slid his tongue along her bottom lip and she froze, eyes flying wide, meeting his searing gaze. He retreated, but kept his mouth on hers. “Open for me, Sophie,” he said, the words tickling. “Let me taste you.” This was wrong. It was dangerous. It was intoxicating. She drew in a shuddering breath, crumpled his jacket lapel and slowly allowed him entrance. He dove inside, tongue sweeping over her lips to find and stroke her tongue. She whimpered at the sensation, hesitant, but as he continued to knead her mouth and deepen the intimate embrace, she opened wider, daring even to flick lightly back at him. He groaned, one hand dropping to her breast, cupping it and hefting the weight of it away from her chest. Sophie broke the intimate bond and leaned back, sucking in air fast and hard. “My lord, that was—I mean, you—and I. That kiss.” There was no frivolity in his expression as he moved forward again. “The cat has your tongue, Sophie, but I would much rather have it for myself.” She bit her lip. She knew what harm one kiss could do, but found herself unable to draw away just yet. Again his mouth covered hers, tongue flicking at the edges, her bottom lip, tickling the curved upper bow. His touch was moist and hot and erotic. He tasted sweet and tart, like the lemon cakes but much more addictive. His tongue withdrew and she whimpered, following him, pressing her mouth hard to his, flicking at his bottom lip as he’d done to hers. But his mouth remained closed, though he kissed her softly. Again and again. The haze of passion threatening her once more, she forced herself to pull back. “My lord, we must stop.” She looked at him and her breath hitched. She’d mussed his golden hair, and his green eyes were sleepy with desire, his mouth wet and his lips full from her kisses. 30

Keys to Submission He tempted her to return, but she knew she could not. The earl, it seemed, came to the same conclusion. He exhaled sharply and cupped her face, stroking her cheek. She flinched from the intimate touch, afraid she would falter once more. “You are correct again.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle and shook his head. “I did not intend that small kiss to lead to so much passion. One kiss leads to many wonderful things, Sophie. And I want to do each of them with you.” She did not move, hardly dared to breathe, her mind a jumble of confusion. “But I won’t. Not right now.” Sophie swallowed hard and pulled away. “Right now? A bit presumptuous, my lord.” Once more, pride rose to her defense. “I seek only the key, not a dalliance.” His features twisted with an emotion she could not define. Regret? Chagrin? He caught her chin, forced her to look at him. “You’re a very desirable woman and I would love to lay you down and ravish you again and again.” Instantly her pussy throbbed and wetted. “You must not say such things.” She mouthed the words as she battled her rising need. He was a temptation she’d not anticipated, a distraction that threatened to derail her plans. The only thing to do was right the ship, find the key and walk away from the charming earl and his incredible kisses. Wasn’t it? “No, I shouldn’t,” he said. But I want to.” Releasing her, he rose, his fingers making deep grooves in his hair. “Though it would not be right.” Do you always do what is right? The shocking question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she quashed it with ruthless intent. The earl had proven to be a mesmerizing, intoxicating man. One who made her imagine hot nights and love-tangled bodies. Of flesh stretching flesh and long, satisfying orgasms. 31

But those thoughts could lead only to disaster once more. Not a road she wished to re-visit. No, she would have to be content with pleasuring herself, as she’d done for three years. “Of course it would not be proper, my lord.” His sigh recaptured her attention and she found him studying her. “Unfortunately, a man in my position must always do what is right.” The unspoken allusion to her tainted-status stung harshly, but she knew he was correct. And she very much wanted to be done with this discussion, find the bloody key and get as far away from Ryder Ashford and his tempting, oh-so-incorrect kisses. “Right, then, my lord. We shall chalk up the kiss to an interesting experiment and move forward.” She stood, knees shaky, and snapped the journal closed. “As I mentioned, Timber and Shelter are capitalized, as if in reference to a name.” He looked like he wanted to protest, thought better of it and nodded. “Yes, I see your connection. Wood Haven. Timber’s Safety. Quite clever.” Brushing aside the hurt that he could so easily dismiss their passionate embrace, Sophie nodded curtly. “Exactly the conclusion I came to.” “Very good. I assume you have another clue? You said five?” “The second clue is smudged, my lord. Seek out the spot where something first grew with amazement, or words to that effect.” “May I see?” She hesitated, unwilling to part with the journal, but equally afraid to get close to him again. He might be strong enough to restrain himself, but she feared she was not. This man stirred her in ways no one, not even her former lover, had been able to. His mere proximity elicited naughty images and deep desires. She found the entry and handed him the book. He squinted at it, turning his head left and right in a most endearing manner. “Humph, indecipherable, I agree. Three?” “The rest, in order, are thus.” She held up a finger. “Delve through soil beneath my roof. Four: Round and squat, my handle quenches thirst. And finally: The chink in my armor holds the 32

Keys to Submission key.” He looked as perplexed as she had when first she read the clues. “Lord Ashford, while the second clue is quite unclear, I believe the third simply must mean a planter. Is there anything like that around here?” He nodded. “The conservatory holds a plethora of them. Would you care to visit?” “Yes,” she said, enthusiasm returning. Ryder felt an absurd sense of relief. He should not have kissed her. Should have reined in the impulse and merely listened to her story. Her taste intoxicated him. He was not ready for her to leave. He motioned to the door. “After you, then. Down the hall, turn right at the hideous golden urn.” She chuckled, the soft sultry sound wrapping around his cock. Bloody hell, he wasn’t going to make it. He knew he would taste her again before she left his house. He watched the sway of her hips as she scurried down the hallway leading to the conservatory. She lifted a finger and waved it like a conductor’s baton, all memory of their kiss obviously tossed away like last week’s rubbish. That annoyed the hell out of him. “Delve through soil beneath my roof,” she said. “Where else would soil lie beneath a roof except in some type of indoor planting?” Sophie had the right attitude about their embrace, he decided, and focused on her words. “A planter? Perhaps.” The planters in this house were fairly new, of that he was certain. His mother had changed nearly every stick of furniture, each decoration and piece of bedding in the place before she agreed to return. He still had no idea why his mother had been so reluctant to come back to her childhood home, but he’d spent a small fortune and the better part of a year seeing to her requests. The last few furnishings had coincided with their arrival the week before. She had been jumpy and irritable, snapping at the staff and him with alarming regularity. It was then he’d suggested she visit her sister. 33

Perhaps when she returned, whatever demons drove her would be diminished. They found the conservatory, the smell of fresh paint lingering wetly in the air. Rows of pots and plants lined the glass-walled interior. “Good heavens, there must be a hundred of them,” Sophie exclaimed, her dismay clear. “I can vouch that there are 76 pots and plants, Miss Turner. They arrived a fortnight ago from a nearby farmer.” He eyed her for a moment. “A Mister Lincoln Wolffe. Are you familiar with him?” Wolffe was the ruggedly handsome type likely to tempt a woman. Heaven knew he’d sampled at least a dozen of the lovelies near his farm. She shook her head, distracted and frowning. “Not to my knowledge.” Fisting the book, she propped her hands on her hips. “So, these are all new? Where are the ones from before?” “The rubbish bin, I’d wager.” “Bloody hell,” she muttered. Ryder nudged her shoulder. “Tsk, tsk, Miss Turner. Such language is unbecoming in a well-bred young lady.” He kept his tone gentle and light, hoping she would recognize the teasing for what it was. Her disappointment bit at him, and he found he disliked it. She scrunched her nose at him, much like his sister Tori used to do. But instead of a retaliatory smack, he found himself wanting to kiss Sophie’s pursed mouth. “All right, let’s think about this for a moment,” he said, stepping back. Creating distance between them seemed paramount. “Read the other two clues again, please.” She flipped open the book and he edged closer, peering over her shoulder. Hell’s teeth, her scent was intoxicating. Jasmine underlaid with fresh air. “Here,” she pointed. “Round and squat, my handle quenches thirst.” “A handle? That makes no sense. What kind of planter has a handle?” “And quenches thirst,” she muttered. Drumming her fingers against the pages, she squinted around the room. “A watering can, 34

Keys to Submission perhaps? But why would it would be a handle and not a spout?” “For that matter, why not a mug or flagon?” Ryder mused. “Those have handles and quench thirst.” “But they do not fit with the rest of the clues.” Sophie sighed. “All right, the next clue says ‘The chink in my armor holds the key.’” Ryder swung his gaze around the room, stumped as well. Put together, the four clues made no sense. He stared out the newly lengthened windows, staring at the north entrance of the garden maze. There were planters out there that had not been disturbed. His mother insisted the garden maze be left alone. “Read them to me again.” Pages rustled and cracked as she turned them. “‘Return to the safety of Timber’s Shelter.’ Then, the second clue is smudged, but I can make out, ‘Seek out the spot where something first grew with amazement.’ Next ‘Delve through the soil beneath my roof….” Ryder listened, his eyes on the garden before him as he tried to figure out the clues. Excitement blasted through him as he stared outside. “A moment. Did you say grew with amazement?” She looked startled. “Yes, that’s what it says. Why?” He laughed and grabbed her hand. “Amazement. The Maze! Come on.” He tugged her behind him. They bolted from the conservatory doors, heading to the garden entrance. Ryder skidded to a stop and grinned. “Of course. Soil, roof, handle. It all makes sense.” Once more he leapt forward, bringing her with him. To his delight, she kept pace with him, energy and excitement humming from her. Carefully he steered her through each bend and turn until they reached the center of the maze. He came to a stop and she crashed into his back. Ryder’s groan echoed her own oomph of discomfort, but he’d wager his best horses weren’t as hard as the stone gazebo in front of them. He stepped aside. “Are you all right?” he asked, sweeping her body with leisurely intent. Her face was rosy from the exertion and a sparkle lit her eyes 35

once more. That sparkle stilled and deepened as he continued his appraisal. Her lips parted as she swiped them with her tongue. “Yes, my lord.” His fingers itched to pull her close and kiss her into another stuttering mess, but he fought against the urge. “Lord Ashford, what did you deduce?” Her voice quivered, but he didn’t think it was from fear or apprehension. He studied her features, noting the continued high color, the rapid lift and fall of her breasts. Lord, her nipples stood tight and budded against the thin gown she wore. She was still as aroused as he was. Wanted him just as he wanted her. Why not? As soon as the question pierced his mind, his feet moved. She stepped backward, eyes suddenly stern. “My lord!” They stood unmoving and waiting for a long moment. Finally Ryder bowed his head, a silent acquiesce to her refusal. “Look there, Miss Turner.” He pointed behind her to the corner of the maze interior. “Soil, roof, round and squat.” She gasped. “Handle for thirst and chinks in the armor. It’s a well!” “And if the clues are correct, somewhere in the mortar of the well will be a key.” Sophie did rush forward then, one hand grasping her skirt, lifting it high enough to afford him a glimpse of shapely calves and trim ankles encased in red satin slippers. She rounded the well, peering at it closely, testing the handle, wincing at its screeching protest. He took the other side, watching her more intently than the stone edifice, enchanted once more by her pure joy. She wore her expressions on her face as easily as most women hid them behind a fan. Did the luscious Miss Turner even know how the game was played? When to be coy and when to be bold? He rather doubted it. Otherwise, she would have married Whitten when given the chance. Instead, she’d willingly walked away from society. “Oh, here, it’s here.” She dropped to her knees in front of the well, fingers scrabbling at the crumbling mortar. He rounded the 36

Keys to Submission well and knelt beside her, lending his strength to the endeavor. Their fingers brushed, and each time he took the opportunity to stroke and touch her. The freedom to do so was intoxicating. And she did not withdraw or scold him. Indeed, it seemed she returned a caress here and there. Finally, the cement nudged and wiggled, a block of it falling to the ground. She bent to peer into the crack and laughed loudly. “I see it.” She reached into the crack, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in an endearing show of concentration. His body reeled with the sensations assaulting him. Her sultry laugh, the sweet scent of her soap and now, the wet, luscious tip of her tongue. She pulled back and crowed as she held up a rusted, cementcoated key. “I found it.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. Ryder reached down, wrapped his hands around the supple flesh of her forearms and lifted her up. Her breath caught as she looked at him, her hands caught against his chest, the key held tightly in one hand. He wanted to kiss her into a stupor, plunder her mouth until they both lost all sense of reason. Instead, he hugged her tight, sucking in a deep breath as her plump breasts flattened against his chest. She remained statue-still in his arms. “My lord?” Her voice was muffled, lips moving dangerously close to the loosened ties of his cravat. Ryder set her away and managed a smile. “Congratulations, Miss Turner, I believe our victory calls for a celebration.” She eyed him warily. “It does? What kind of celebration?” “Please, stay for dinner.” “Out of the question, my lord. Your mother would have a fit of epic proportions.” “Do I look as though I’m a man ruled by my mother?” He injected a hint of lightness in his tone. She shook her head vigorously. “No, of course not. But —” She nibbled at her lip. “Well, she can be somewhat vocal about her opinions. Especially when it comes to scandal.” Sophie shrugged and her cap-sleeve slipped down on her shoulder, exposing her 37

luscious skin. He tugged the scarlet sleeve back where it belonged. “Yes, she can be. But I would like for you to stay and savor your victory.” He gave her his most charming and roguish smile. “Perhaps we could try to figure out where the next key is located.” “Unfortunately, no,” she murmured, her fingers stroking along the edge of her dress where he’d pulled it up. “The journal only says there are five keys. It doesn’t give the hints.” “Where are those?” Her smile was engaging and contagious. “In the chest, of course. We open the first chest with this”—she held it up, waggling the cement-laden key in the air—“and find the next set of clues. In fact, I should like to get home immediately and open the chest so that I might begin deciphering the next set.” Ryder could not explain his desperate urge to keep her with him. Whatever it was had him acting the fool. “That would be a good plan, but your key is rather beyond use, don’t you think? I suggest we give the key to Dobbs to clean. He’ll take very good care of it, I promise. While he’s doing that, you and I will enjoy a small late-afternoon meal, a glass of wine and some conversation. When he’s done, I will escort you home. All completely above board. I promise it will take no more than an hour.” Her face scrunched in concentration. She looked down at the key, back at the house and then to him again. “Well, I would not mind a nice glass of wine, my lord.” He dared not breathe. Was she agreeing? “Very well,” she said. “Dinner and one small drink. Then I must leave.” He relaxed, shoving his hands in his pockets and nodding. “If you insist.” Her expression shifted between regret and desire. “You promise you will behave?” “I’m crushed you would doubt me.” She snorted. “Truly, my lord, you can say that with a straight face?” Ryder held out his arm. “I can. But I can’t make any promises. I 38

Keys to Submission was never good at battling temptation.” Her fingers slid through the crook of his elbow, her breast nestled along his arm. He was instantly hard. “And you, Miss Turner, are nothing but temptation.”

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Chapter Three April 16, 1784 He kissed me today and it was glorious. It felt funny at first, his lips on mine. I didn’t know what to do, but he was gentle and patient and kind. Is it any wonder I adore him so? I shall never look at that spot in the garden again without thinking of him. And yet, if Father discovers my secret, I fear his wrath. Stock’s opinions are not favored and he is outspoken, but he excites me. “Tell me, Miss Turner, what else of note did you discover in Saunter House?” Sophie choked on the delicious after-dinner wine, coughing and covering her mouth. Surely he could not know about the diary. She’d only discovered it the week before. The small, heavily inked leather book had been hidden among the various travel guides and art books lining the shelves of the library. When she discovered it, she’d been on a chair at the tip of her toes and straining to remove dust from the farthest recess of the shelf. The book had fallen to the floor with a thud. Sophie had spent the rest of the afternoon perusing it. It was clear the diary belonged to a young lady of wealth and too much time. Her tendency to petulant whining was teeth-gritting. Sophie had been ready to send the thing into the fire when one entry caught her eye. The unknown girl wrote about a kiss and how it made her feel. Sophie felt a tug of empathy and kept reading. In the following two days, she’d savored the entries, forcing herself to slow down and let the drama unfold. And there was plenty of drama. But it was interesting. Something to do at night when Cook and Mrs. Higgins returned to their own homes. “Not much, I’m afraid,” she said finally. “My uncle was apparently averse to the rubbish bin. I do believe he kept every receipt, newspaper and bill he ever received, and those of the 40

Keys to Submission owner before him. I’ve found hundreds of ledgers that pertain to farming, although the property hasn’t been farmed for years.” She was chattering too much. He’d catch on to her nervousness. Sophie took a slow breath and another sip of wine. Ryder looked puzzled, but didn’t press her. He shrugged and lifted the bottle, one brow raised. “No, thank you,” she said. “It’s almost four o’clock, my lord, and I must return home soon.” She patted her reticule, feeling the reassuring solidity of the newly-cleaned key resting inside. “I confess I am most anxious to open the chest.” He smiled, although clearly disappointed, and her heart sped up. She licked her lips. “Would you care to be there when I open it, my lord?” She held up her hand. “I understand if not. But you were so helpful with the first key’s location, I thought you might wish to see the culmination of your efforts. I truly—” “Hush, Sophie,” he said, voice cutting across her chatter. “It would be my pleasure. I will have horses saddled. You do ride?” “Yes, of course.” “Very well.” He tugged the bell pull and instantly, if not sooner, Dobbs appeared in the doorway. “Yes, my lord?” Sophie’s mouth twisted and embarrassment stung her. Obviously the servant had been hovering outside the room, probably to ensure she did nothing to compromise the earl. She wondered what Dobbs would have done if she did try to take advantage his employer. The thought made her giggle, earning her a censorious look from the butler and an amused, questioning grin from Ryder. She remained silent and smiling. “Have two horses saddled, Dobbs. I will safely return Miss Turner to her home.” The butler’s expression tightened and he stiffened his back so tautly that she heard it crack. “I would be delighted to assign the stable boy the task, my lord.” Dreadful little man. Lord Ashford’s shoulders shifted, suddenly threatening the 41

seams of his jacket. “See to the horses, Dobbs, lest you find yourself permanently assigned there.” She could tell the butler really wished to speak out again, but at last he spun on his heel and glided away with silent, disapproving steps. Gentle fingers cupped her elbow. “Once more I find myself apologizing for my servants, Sophie. I assure you it is not personal.” She lifted a brow. “Of course it is, my lord.” He grimaced. “It is. I’ll speak with him.” “No,” she said. “That would make it worse. And after today, I will not return.” A small ache bloomed in her heart. She’d truly enjoyed the lively dinner conversation. The earl’s wit was refreshing. Not to mention flirtatious, yet courteous. Regret rippled through her once more. Would that she had met him first. Before Whitten. Before she managed to make a muck of her entire life. “I find that notion appalling, Sophie. I enjoy your company.” She looked up. His expression was both sincere and laden with desire. What she wouldn’t give for one more kiss. To feel his hands on her body. But that way lay only more disaster. Especially if Lady Ashford caught wind of it. “Thank you for that compliment, my lord, but we should go.” He, too, looked as though he would argue the point further, but didn’t. “All right. For now.” The horses were waiting for them at the front drive. A darkhaired young man dressed impeccably in the house livery helped her onto the mounting box and the horse. It had been years since she’d ridden side-saddle and it felt awkward. As though she would pitch off with any sudden motion. She’d become too accustomed to riding astride. Wondering what he would say if she dared request such a thing made her grin. She took the reins from the young man. “What’s her name?” “Christmas.” Sophie laughed and glanced at the earl, who watched her from beneath hooded brows. What was he mulling so deeply? 42

Keys to Submission “Tori named her,” he said. “She was a Christmas gift from my mother. Tori was six, I believe.” Sophie stroked the gray mane and quivering neck. “Don’t worry, Christmas old girl, we’ll take it slow and easy. It is but a few miles journey.” Ryder clicked his tongue and moved to her side. “If we take the main road, it will be at least an hour. I know a short cut.” She sighed. “Of course you do.” “I told you, we’ve scoured this land. Know every nook and cranny.” “Ha! Clearly not every nook, my lord, or you would have found that key ages ago.” “Touché,” he said with a laugh. “Short cut?” He looked her lazily up and down. “Or are you not that adventurous?” Sophie had the feeling his question held deeper meaning than it appeared. “I’m willing to follow your lead, my lord.” His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. He edged his horse alongside hers. “Ryder,” he said softly. “Pardon?” “My name is Ryder. I want to hear it on your lips.” Something hot and powerful arced between them. Sophie found herself leaning toward him before jerking back as she realized she might fall. She clutched the pommel of the saddle and gave him a saucy grin. “We don’t always get what we want, my lord.” He winked. “I do.” Then he spun his horse and headed down the road. “Coming?” he called over his shoulder. She laughed at the sheer audacity that was Ryder Ashford. Gently kneeing Christmas to pick up speed, she caught up with him. They cantered side-by-side in silence for a long time. Her mind whirled with so many thoughts she could barely keep up with them. She did not want their journey to end. She wanted to stay with him, but she was also keen on opening that blasted chest and taking the next step in her treasure hunt. And, too, the sensual pull between them made her feel more alive than she had in years. Not something she could easily walk 43

away from, even though she must. “Turn here. Careful of the fence. It needs repair.” She colored. “Is that my fence line?” “No,” he said with a warm smile. “We won’t leave Ashford property for another half-hour at the least. We’ve had trouble with poachers in recent months. They don’t give a damn what they destroy, so long as they snare the game they’re after.” He entered the narrow space first, skirting the jagged portion of broken and jutting wood. Carefully, Sophie urged Christmas through the gap, holding her breath until they were safely through. She patted the old gray horse’s neck and murmured soft words of praise. The horse snuffled and pawed at the grass, head lowered as though she’d like to nibble. “Should we pause, my lord?” The horse was old and probably no longer accustomed to riders or long journeys. “I don’t wish to wear out your sister’s mount.” He shook his head. “Evening will fall soon enough, Sophie. I’d rather not take the chance of either of you riding through the dark.” She frowned as they continued on. “Well, then, how do you plan on returning Christmas to your house?” “I suppose I’ll have to come back tomorrow and fetch Christmas when it’s light.” Oh, he was clever. That he would go to such lengths to see her again both touched and alarmed her. “What if I have no straw or hay or shelter for her?” He shook his head. “You already said you did, Sophie. Remember?” Apparently the horse’s welfare outweighed the allure of seeing her again. She laughed. “I do, my lord, but I was teasing you.” He cut her a mock glare. “You know what happens to women who tease, don’t you?” He edged closer, encompassing her with his maleness. His expression was hooded and taut. Sensual. Her pulse flared in anticipation. “No, I’m afraid I do not.” A heartbeat pause. Then the corner of his mouth kicked up and he gave her a slow wink. “They get spanked.” 44

Keys to Submission She sucked in a shocked breath. Shocked and excited. “My lord,” she finally muttered because the silence had become unnerving. His laugh boomed out, frightening a few birds from the trees. “Yes, Miss Turner?” What did she say to that? What could she say to that? “Nothing.” He laughed again and reached out to stroke her cheek. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Sophie. In fact” —he leaned over his saddle and drew her closer— “It can be very, very pleasurable.” She knew her cheeks were as red as her dress, and if her eyes and mouth widened any more, she was in danger of trapping bugs. “Good heavens, sir.” His gloved thumb caressed her bottom lip. “Trust me.” Withdrawing, he inclined his head. “Only another mile or two to go. Just past this ridge of trees, we’ll merge onto the road leading to your house.” And with that, he took off. Leaving her still stunned. Speechless. Indescribably curious. Pleasurable spanking? She squirmed on the saddle. She didn’t know how she felt about that, but the notion of his palm cupping her buttocks sounded arousing. She clucked to Christmas, urging her to a faster trot, seeking to catch up with Ryder before he got too far ahead. She had a few questions for him about this spanking business. Now that she was over the shock of what he’d said. “My lord, wait,” she cried out. He reined in his horse and twisted to look at her, his blasted devilish smile once more on his face. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what she was thinking. And enjoying the hell out of it. Sophie gave her mount more rein and made the kissing sound for a gallop, laughing as she passed his conceited lordship, leaving him in her dust. A loud bang echoed through the woods, sending flocks of birds fleeing the treetops. Christmas shuddered, sinking back on her haunches. She flung 45

up her head, nostrils flared, and hopped sideways, nearly flinging Sophie from the saddle. Ryder called her name but it sounded distant. Clinging to the leaping head on the side-saddle, she struggled for balance, cursing under her breath that ladies could not sit securely astride as men did. Christmas was running now, but Sophie found her rhythm, balanced herself, and managed to shorten the reins gently but firmly until the horse came to a halt. The mare stood quietly, breathing hard. Another shudder went through her. Catching her breath, Sophie looked back to see Ryder galloping haphazardly toward her, his hand waving angrily. His voice burst through the air. “No shooting, no shooting!” he was shouting to the winds. When he reached her, he slid from his saddle, yanked her down and shoved her between the horses. He scanned the area, jaw working furiously. “Son of a bitch! Damned poachers nearly killed you.” She clutched at his waist, tugging on his jacket. “Are you hurt?” “No,” he spat out, still glaring at the empty trees around them. “There was only one shot, and it was in your direction.” “Christmas!” she gasped, wriggling away from him and to then front of the horse. “Damn it, Sophie, get back here.” “She’s hurt!” Sophie covered her mouth, holding back a rush of nausea. Blood trickled from the horse’s shoulder and snaked a red rivulet down her right forearm. “Oh, Christmas.” “How bad is it?” Ryder nudged her out the way. When he probed the wound with his finger, the gray mare snorted and backed away. “Shh, shh, girl, it’s all right,” he crooned. “Let me take a look at you.” “How can I help?” He looked at Sophie, brows tight. “Keep an eye out, and if you see anyone, yell. Make sure he knows we’re here and not some damn deer.” It was better than nothing. She pivoted on her heel. “Will she be all right?” Her gaze darted over the trees and ground, seeking the 46

Keys to Submission bastard who mistakenly shot the horse. He’d better not show his miserable hide or she’d show him what a gun was really for. “I don’t know yet.” Ryder’s reply was tight, non-committal. Behind her, Christmas snorted loudly and made a sound eerily like a human groan. Sophie risked a backward glance. Ryder bent to the side of the horse’s shoulder, forefinger embedded in the hole, one hand holding the reins. All the while he kept up a slow, incomprehensible spatter of words. Sophie didn’t know if they helped the horse, but they were working on her. Finally, both Ryder and Christmas grunted. “Got it,” he said and rose to his feet. “Got what?” He held out his bloody palm and her dinner threatened to reappear. A small, mangled bullet lay in his hand. “Thankfully it didn’t go too far in. Think it must have grazed the saddle. She’ll be sore, and the wound will need to be cleaned.” Sophie stepped closer, wrapping her arms around the horse’s neck and ruffling behind her ears. “Poor darling, are you all right? I’m so sorry. We’ll take very good care of you.” She looked up at Ryder. “We should return her to your house.” “No,” he said. “Too far. I want to stop the bleeding as soon as I can and see her bedded down comfortably for the evening. Tomorrow I’ll bring Jack back with me. He’s my stable master,” he added, clearly reading her confusion. “If you think that’s best,” Sophie said, still stroking the horse. Christmas nuzzled her in return, breath hot and moist. Didn’t that mean she was ill? Or was that only dogs? “You’ll have to ride with me,” Ryder said. Sophie kissed the grizzled gray fur. “Should we bandage her? I can use my dress.” He chuckled, though he didn’t look relaxed one iota. His gaze roamed constantly over the surrounding trees, his vigilance almost fear-inducing. “No, but let’s get her to Saunter House quickly. Come on.” She had little time to enjoy the strength of his hands when he wrapped them about her waist and hoisted her onto his horse. “I 47

apologize, but you’ll have to ride astride. Scoot as far up as you can.” He took hold of the pommel. His forearm pressed heavily along her thigh and dangerously close to her pussy. She inched up, holding her breath as she moved. With quick, athletic grace, he vaulted behind her, barricading her with his arms. He tied Christmas’s reins to the pommel of his horse’s saddle. “Hold tight.” “I will,” Sophie said, taking a startled breath as the horse’s first strides tilted her back against the full length of his body. “Sophie,” he hissed, voice tight. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. His body enveloped her on all sides. The constant rocking of the strong horse beneath her thrust her bottom up and into the rigid length of Ryder’s cock. His arms tightened around her, pulled her against his hard chest. Her nose tickled with his musky scent and she could not help but recall the touch of his lips on hers. A sudden yearning to beg for another kiss assailed her and she gasped, fighting the urge. “Is Christmas going to be all right?” she asked instead. “She’ll be fine. Just needs a bit of patching and rest. Hush now, Sophie. Are you looking for poachers?” “Yes,” she whispered, his tension feeding her own. She remained silent the rest of the ride, only breathing normally once the crooked gables of Saunter House came into view over the treetops. She looked at the sun, dismayed by how low it dipped on the horizon. Mrs. Higgins and Cook would no doubt be on the front porch waiting for her, ready to pounce and demand explanations for her tardiness. The housekeeper and cook were more like family than servants, normally something Sophie treasured. Today, however, that familiarity could prove challenging. “Good heavens, what will they think about me bringing you home?” she whispered. “Who?” “Blast, please forgive me and ignore that, my lord. I shall take care of everything.” “I do not doubt you, Sophie.” 48

Keys to Submission She heard the amusement in his voice but dared not turn to look up at him. Her body ached from the effort it had taken not to relax into his embrace, to nuzzle along his muscular chest or rub her bottom into his crotch. He was mere inches from her and a temptation she found difficult to resist. Now, however, she had to concentrate on calming her staff and sending them home without answering the questions they’d surely pepper her with. The tree-line broke and the house came fully into view. As she’d predicted, her two servants stood in the doorway in front of the dilapidated porch, their concern visible. Mrs. Higgins’ shoulders sagged and Cook wrapped her arm about the older woman. “Good evening, ladies,” Ryder called over her head. “I apologize for keeping Miss Turner out so late, but we ran into a bit of trouble with her mount.” His elbow arched toward Christmas as they came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. “Heavens, child, is she all right?” Cook called, catching sight of the blood. “Lord Ashford assures me that she is.” Sophie waited until he dismounted and helped her down. “I really must get her to the stable. Cook, you and Mrs. Higgins are dears to have waited for me, but as you can see I am fit and hale. Please, go home before darkness closes in. Your families must be growing concerned.” Mrs. Higgins shook her head fiercely. “No, ma’am, I won’t. I’ll stay right here until that horse is seen to, so that his lordship can go on home.” Sophie clenched her jaw. She understood their concern, but really, it was without merit. Besides, as she was quite accustomed to hearing, she had no reputation to be worried over. “I insist,” she said, voice firm and resolute. “I assure you, Miss Turner is quite safe with me,” Ryder put in. She surreptitiously elbowed him in the belly. “That is not going to help,” she muttered. Cook eyed them both, indecision on her lined face. “All right, Miss, but we’re directly up the road should either of you require our assistance.” 49

Sophie nodded. “Thank you. Good night, ladies. This way, my lord,” she said to Ryder, leading Christmas around the porch and east wing of the house. The property was not large, certainly not by Ashford standards, but it suited her fine. Well, it would when she was able to properly fix it up. “Where are we going, Miss Turner?” Ryder fell into step beside her. “To the stables. They are around here. She can use the empty stall for now. I have no feed, but she can have oatmeal oats. Can’t she?” “Yes. Don’t you have a horse?” She shrugged. One more sacrifice made to maintain her meager budget. “I sold her to my cousin a couple of weeks ago. I rarely leave Saunter House, and the mare was a luxury I could not afford.” She hated having to say such things, but Ryder was no idiot. He could see the paltry state of her finances for himself. “I see,” he said, falling silent. In no time they rounded the back of the house and she made Christmas as comfortable and quiet in the stall as possible. Ryder checked the wound, brow knitted with concern. “Do you have a bit of whisky or brandy?” “Your horse drinks?” she asked, incredulous. He laughed. “No, to rub over the hole. It helps clean it out. Also, some sugar cubes if you have them.” He winked. “Those, she eats.” Sophie quickly fetched what he’d requested, watching and wincing in sympathy as he doctored the horse. Christmas, for her part, barely flinched, munching contentedly on the sugar. “That should do her for tonight. May I?” Ryder motioned toward a dark green blanket. “Of course.” He smoothed the heavy blanket over the horse, patted her nose, and led Sophie from the stall. He latched the door firmly, tested its security, and then sighed, scrubbing a palm over his face. He pulled it back with a grimace. 50

Keys to Submission “Please, come inside and clean up.” Sophie turned and headed for the house. “I daresay you could use a bit of the whisky yourself.” “That’s the blasted truth.” They mounted the back stairs together and she tried not to cringe at the sparseness of the house. Or the fact she was leading an earl in through the back door. She could not take him ‘round front. The porch was a shambles, much of wood in sore need of repair. Sparing a quick glance into the kitchen, she sighed with relief. At least it was clean. A far better sight than when she’d moved in a few months earlier. “The drawing room is at the front of the house,” she said, hurrying forward. He kept pace with her, though she felt his gaze on her bottom. His comment about spanking suddenly re-surfaced and she stumbled. Strong hands steadied her. Once again, awareness blossomed. A heady, potent attraction. “Have a care, Miss Turner. There’s no rush. Whisky is best when aged.” His touch was warm and welcome, especially after the scare of the past hour. She placed her fingers over his and pressed lightly. “I’m afraid this particular whiskey won’t ever be good, no matter how long it ages. I keep it around for medicinal purposes.” She smiled up at him. “Though I never imagined a horse would need it.” She stopped at the front parlor, the room she’d taken as her private space, and twisted the knob to allow him entrance. “There’s a basin and some linens in the far corner, my lord. The drawing room is at the other end of the passageway. I’ll have your drink ready there.” He stepped forward as she moved away and their bodies brushed lightly. She jerked back. A low sound rumbled from Ryder’s throat. She flicked a surprised look up, her gaze snarled in the hooded green depths of 51

his eyes. “Your pardon,” he said, but did not move away. “Think nothing of it,” she said automatically. His brow lifted, followed by the corners of mouth. “Too late, I fear.” Before she could muster a retort, he stepped into the shadowy room. Sophie walked to the far end of the passageway, seeking distance and clarity. She found neither. In the drawing room, she poured two tumblers of whisky, set his on the sideboard and sank onto the sofa, swirling her drink. Why had he brought her home? Shown so much care and concern for her? Kissed her? What did he wish of her? The pungent aroma of the alcohol wafted to her nose. It tickled, and she rubbed at the tip. “What am I going to do with you, my lord?” She’d not intended to become so intrigued by the earl, but the deed appeared well on its way to being complete. She rose, set her drink on the table and paced in front of the sofa as she pondered this latest dilemma. He must go, of course. Leave Saunter House and not return. She would cut all ties with him and move on to the next key. Thank him for his assistance and bid him adieu. Simple as that. Except for the flare of desire between them. She clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, reminding herself that desire caused far more problems than any night of passion could equal. She heard his boots on the wood floor moments before he appeared. He paused a moment to study the room and she sneaked the opportunity to look her fill of him one final time. He was a man of hidden, surprising strength. His wide shoulders nearly spanned the doorway and she knew from riding in front of him that his long legs, encased in perfectly tailored breeches, were muscular and long. The soft flicker of torchlight played shadows over the planes of his face, hid and revealed his expression. She caught determination and desire, both of which made her tremble. 52

Keys to Submission Though it felt an eternity, she knew only a few moments had passed before he stepped into the room and smiled at her, all hint of deeper emotion wiped away. He spied his glass on the sideboard, picked it up and took a seat on the only available spot, close beside her on the sofa. His proximity tipped her senses into pandemonium. Ryder lifted his glass and motioned for her to do the same. “To your success, Miss Turner.” He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “The first of five.” The toast made her smile. “Thank you. But it should be to our success. Truly, I could not have done it without you.” “Our success.” Ryder slugged back the whisky, eyes immediately going wide as he gasped for breath, coughing roughly. “Good lord, that’s not whisky. It’s turpentine.” Sophie sipped and wrinkled her nose. “Excellent assessment. More?” He held out his tumbler. “May as well.” Two, or was it three, drinks later, Sophie was warm and toasty, feeling exceptionally giddy and affectionate. She could not seem to keep her hands by her sides. Each time her eyes wandered to him, her thoughts followed with naughty, erotic whispers. Shortly thereafter, she found herself snatching her fingers from his knee, his arm, and once even the nape of his neck, precisely where his luxuriant hair brushed his collar. When she tried to apologize, he brushed her words aside with a smile, an open invitation in his eyes. Feeling more than a little tipsy, she leaned in to accept that invitation, but a glimpse of dark wood caught her attention and she pulled back. “The chest!” She pushed herself to the edge of the old rose damask sofa. “We should open it now.” “I concur,” Ryder said. “Where is it?” She jumped to her feet, swayed woozily on the threadbare carpet and clutched at a standing lamp for support. Again, Ryder’s strong arms steadied her. She released the lamp and turned, looking up at him. “You have beautiful eyes.” His mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “Thank you. The chest?” 53

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” He released her and she crossed to the dark, ornate box sitting on the floor. Sinking to her knees, she dug the key from her reticule and tried fitting it into the lock. She missed. Several times. “Blasted whisky,” she muttered. Ryder knelt beside her, covered her hand with his and helped guide the key into the lock. Her inebriation drained away, shoved aside by his touch and the elation of actually finding and using the key. Together they turned it, and she gasped at the audible click. The latch sprung open. With shaky fingers, she pried the lid upward. “Good heavens. The legend is true.” “You doubted it?” Ryder asked. She shrugged. “Sometimes I wondered. I’ve learned to become practical. Yet, there’s always that little bit of hope curled up in the corner.” “It’s a good attitude,” he said. “Truth be told, if I had not found the key soon, I likely would have sawed through the blasted hinges.” She returned her attention to the chest. Yes, she held out a measure of hope she’d discover the treasure, but there was no hope for marriage or children in her future. She’d have to make do playing the good aunt to Hamilton and Theta’s soon-to-be child. A not unfortunate future, albeit a lonely one. Lovers aren’t husbands, a sultry, daring voice whispered. She stilled, hoping her thoughts didn’t show on her face. Ryder read her too easily as it was. She would not contemplate another affair. No matter the temptation. She was sure of it. Wasn’t she? Shaking herself loose from her reverie, she returned her attention to the chest. As the legend had promised, another chest nestled inside the one she’d opened. Lying atop its gleaming flat surface was a scrap of old vellum. She carefully lifted it out and set it on the floor. “Aren’t you going to read it?” he said. “Yes, but I want to test this first.” She jiggled the lock of the 54

Keys to Submission next, smaller box, but it remained firmly closed. “Fiddle. This would have been so much easier if it were simply unlocked.” He laughed and helped her to her feet. “All right, Sophie, let’s read the next set of clues. I admit your quest has me most intrigued.” She bent and picked up the paper, holding it gingerly. Ryder cleared a spot on the low sitting table in front of a timeworn couch and sat down. She joined him, carefully unfolding her find. Bold, black strokes covered yellowed, cracked paper, the writing as vibrant as she supposed it would have been when written. She leaned closer and Ryder did likewise. His shoulder rubbed hers and his thigh melded so tightly against her that concentrating became difficult. She melted into him a trifle more, leaning against his body, hoping he thought her merely tired and still a bit totted. His arm slid behind her, palm splaying along the faded couch, fingers near her hip. In fact, she swallowed in realization, his thumb now burrowed between the cushion and her bottom. Not wishing him to move his hand or his leg, she remained still, absorbing him all around her. “There are five clues,” she said, throat tight. “What’s first?” His demeanor was nonchalant, as if he was unaware of intimately touching her. She narrowed her eyes and inched closer to his side, pressing their legs together even more. She was rewarded by his swift indrawn breath. “I can be found where those fleet of foot begin their journey,” she read aloud. “Fleet of foot could be horses, or perhaps carriages.” “Also runners or messenger boys in the city. But an excellent deduction.” “Thank you,” he murmured, then shifted the paper, reading the clue. “The perfect place to escape prying eyes.” “Who would be prying? And into what? Perhaps it refers to a smuggler and his cave.” Ryder’s chuckle vibrated through her thigh muscles, zinging over her hips and settling low in her pussy. She squeezed her 55

buttocks, eliciting a smothered sound from him. “Ah, you’re a romantic, Sophie.” “I was. Once.” Appalled at her slip, she grabbed the paper back. “To the left one are the tools employed here.” She scratched her nose. “Tools? Left what? Why would you need tools in a cave? What kind of tools would smugglers employ?” “I doubt we’re dealing with smugglers, Sophie.” She turned, nearly bumping noses with him. His face was so close she could see the flecks sparkling in his eyes again. It had been hours since he shaved and a darker blond shadow emphasized the curve of his sleek, sharp jaw. Her fingers curled around her urge to smooth them along the prickling skin. “Yes?” he whispered, lips coming dangerously close to hers. “Uh, there’s a treasure at the end.” “Most men who plied that trade smuggled rum and munitions, not gold.” “Hmm.” She looked back at the paper, seeking clarity and distance lest she take his face in her hands and kiss him as she wanted to. With all the pent-up passion and desire whirling in her. Passion caused by Ryder Ashford. He was nothing like the pampered, ennui-filled laze-abouts she’d known before. The ones whose sense of entitlement allowed them to be careless with other people’s emotions and charity. “Four,” she managed, voice husky. “Beneath the leather and iron, in a pouch of black velvet, I reside.” His arm moved, shaping her shoulder and flattening her breast. Sophie’s eyes drifted closed and she licked her bottom lip. He was not making this easy. “That’s a fairly specific location,” he murmured, lips moving lightly on her ear. She shuddered and gasped. “My lord, what are you doing?” “Figuring things out.” He smiled against her ear and she felt gooseflesh rise all along her right side. “Read the last clue, Sophie.” He made the simple request sound like a sensual order, and she could not find the will to resist. “Gold and small, take stock of my 56

Keys to Submission shank and bow.” His right finger reached out to stroke the page. “What’s that?” She followed the slow, enticing movement of his hand on the page. “One of the words has a line beneath it.” She bent forward and he moved with her, pulling her closer into his body. “Stock.” “Curious.” “Yes,” she whispered. His hand came up, cupped her chin and tugged it lightly to face him. “May I kiss you again?” “I thought you weren’t going to.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, but his gaze did not waver from her mouth. He looked as though he would devour her, and it sent a shiver all the way through her. Anticipation. “Yes.” The word tumbled from her without her permission, without any thought at all. There was no sweetness in his kiss this time. He possessed her mouth, claimed it for his own and left her with no doubt he wanted her. She turned and seized his shoulders. Allowed herself to fall backward. They broke apart as she lay back on the couch. He rose above her, one arm braced along the cushion. The other held her hip in a tight, near-bruising grip. The fading effects of the whisky coupled with the desire he stoked within her to create a whirlwind of daring. She did not wish to fight this desire. Not right now. She would remain in control, not let things get out of hand. She reached up for him, spread her hand around his taut neck and tugged. “More, Ryder.” He growled and bent his head, nuzzling beneath her jawbone. She sighed and tipped her neck, offering further access. He pressed light kisses along her throat, making his way down to the open scoop neck of her bodice. Her breath coming in short shallow pulls, she tangled her fingers in his hair. Ryder was far more intoxicating than the liquor. Solid, strong, masculine. His touch seared her, filled her senses. She wanted so much 57

more. More than one night. Sophie shuddered at the dangerous idea whispering through her mind. His hand released her hip and traveled up her ribcage, trailing fire and heat and sending her into more spasms of pleasure. She lifted her left leg and wrapped it around his thighs, tugging him closer. “God, you taste good, Sophie. Your skin is smooth and sweet, like fresh cream.” He licked at the pulse in her neck. The back of his fingers slid under her bodice, nails scratching softly along the upper part of her breast. He looked at her. “I want to see you.” She could only nod. She wanted to be bare for him. Wanted to bask in the admiration and, yes, lust, firing the gold of his eyes into molten need. His pulled at the bodice, trying to slide it down, but the fabric held firm. She lifted her shoulder and he tugged again. Nothing. She giggled. “Good lord. It’s not supposed to be this complicated.” He smiled in return and leaned back, bringing her up with him. She stroked his chest, seizing the opportunity to nibble at his jaw. “You have a fascinating mouth,” she whispered. “So do you.” He fitted his chin on her shoulder and his hands roamed with quick movements along her spine. Then the back of her dress fell open and he eased her onto the couch once more. This time her bodice sagged beneath her breasts, giving him full access to the light, serviceable chemise she wore underneath. “I’ll buy you another,” he muttered just as he ripped the white cotton in two, baring her fully. “Magnificent.” She was exquisite. Round and taut. Ryder could not tear his gaze from her. A soft, delicate pink flush colored her breasts, turning the nipples a deep, dark rose like a raspberry at the peak of sweet freshness. He cupped her breasts in his hands, hefting their weight and silkiness. He leaned down and took her right nipple in his mouth, laving the hard tip with his tongue, flicking it to and fro. She gasped and 58

Keys to Submission bucked, one hand tentatively reaching out to him before dropping to her side. He lifted his head, staring first at the shiny, tight bud, then her desire-infused face. “You can touch me, Sophie.” Her throat worked and she blushed a bit deeper, but she reached up again, sliding her hand along his shoulder. Her back arched as she offered herself to his mouth once more. “I like that,” she whispered. He moved to the other nipple, suckling hard, gauging her reaction, wondering how far he could push her. How far he should. She was wonderfully responsive, and he had a feeling she would be one of the most passionate women he’d ever enjoyed. He scraped her nipple with his teeth, using just enough force to garner her attention. Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a deep breath. Then she stilled, aroused confusion on her face. Ryder sat up, though he kept his hands on her breasts, caressing and stroking her skin. He knew she was no innocent. But she reacted like a virgin. Or a near one. He was beginning to suspect Whitten had been the worst kind of lover—selfish, quick and in it only for his own pleasure. The bastard had obviously taken no time with her at all. He realized he couldn’t do this to her. Indulging his lust would make him no better than Whitten. He tugged her bodice over her breasts and stood. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. Behind him, he heard her gulp. Then the sounds as her feet hit the floor and her faint struggles to right her gown. He dared not assist her. He didn’t quite trust his own control. Ironic, because he excelled at that. His forte was training and controlling women, showing them the pleasures to be had from submitting to a dominant lover. To feel so out of control with her now made him leery. No, walking away was better, he assured himself. She would be grateful. Her hand gripped his shoulder. Hard. “My lord, a word.” He smothered his surprise and turned to look at her, cocking a 59

brow and trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Yes?” “Yes?” she repeated with incredulity. He winced inwardly. “What happened, my lord? I was enjoying myself immensely. And—” Her gaze dropped to his crotch, where he still sported an erection. “I know you were as well. Why did you stop?” “Quite to the point, Sophie.” She shrugged. “Curiosity has ever been my bane.” Deep in her eyes, he glimpsed renewed caution. He’d done that to her. He opened his mouth but found no words to explain his decision. He did not wish to hurt her, either by deed or by word. “I see,” she said. Her expression shifted from wary to enticing so quickly his cock jerked. She moved closer, stroked his arm upward to cup his cheek. Her hand was warm and soft along his skin, eliciting goose bumps down his thigh he was thankful she couldn’t see. But he didn’t move away from her touch. “Why did you stop?” she asked again, voice stronger, more insistent. Ryder felt his sense of right and wrong slipping with great speed. “You’re an innocent,” he said. Her brows shot upward and she laughed. “You know I’m not.” He pulled her hand away. “Sophie, I can’t offer you marriage,” he said softly, leaping to the very crux of the matter. He found himself with breath held and shoulders tense. If she were to simply brush that away, his decision would be much easier. She didn’t cringe or cry or shout. In fact, only exasperation crossed her face. “I know that, my lord. But you can offer me passion.” This time she did hesitate, and a sort of mortification darkened her cheeks. She cleared her throat, fiddled with the ripped bodice and looked him directly in the eyes. “You know about the affair, but what you know—only you—is that it was not an affair of the heart. It was merely carnal pleasure.” He was floored. “But you were a virgin. On the Marriage Mart.” He stumbled over the words as he tried to understand just what 60

Keys to Submission the hell she was implying. “You purposely threw away your chances of marriage?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or did you go into it hoping he would wed you?” She narrowed her eyes, lips pressed into a tight line. He had the notion she wanted to slap him but was restraining herself. “Fair enough, I suppose.” Her voice cracked with shards of ice. Then she sighed. “No, marriage was not my aim. I may have entertained the notion for a brief moment, but never seriously. I turned down his proposal, my lord. I did not try to trap him. I knew, then, what I was about.” Her breath hitched, but she did not break his gaze. “And I know what I am about now.” He cupped her arms, thumbs roaming up and down her sleeves, seeking the supple flesh beneath. “What, exactly, are you proposing?” Her eyelids lowered, black lashes sweeping like fans along her cheeks. Then her gaze snapped back to his. “I suggest an affair of passion, my lord.” Heat suffused his body. A loud roar thundered in his ears. Ryder barely resisted the urge to rip her dress completely away and take her right there, standing and held up only by his body. “You wish to be my mistress?” “No,” she said immediately. “That implies you will take care of me. I don’t need that.” He glanced around the room, silently pointing out the lack of influence and appointments. She shrugged. “I will not sell myself, my lord. If I come to your bed, it will be for the pleasure we’ll both experience and nothing else.” Her tone and her words, if he were honest, irritated the hell out of him. He gripped her arms a bit tighter and pulled her close, crushing her breasts to his chest. “So, nothing but sex? Lust only?” “Yes. After all, what have I to lose? Why should I not, if I wish it?” “Hmm.” He released her, turned his back and strode to the other side of the room where his whisky sat. Bloody hell, another sip of that and he might combust, but he needed something at the 61

moment. He knocked back the final draught. And waited. “Well?” she asked, voice high and tight. “Well, what?” Playing the ass didn’t come naturally to him, but she provoked him on so many levels. And a plan was swirling in his brain, one he didn’t quite believe he was contemplating. He wanted to push her boundaries even more than “sex and pleasure.” Needed to. “Are we agreed?” She faltered, cleared her throat. “Are we agreed upon a sexual liaison, or not?” He swung around and speared her with an intent glare. “Perhaps. With a few conditions.” Her brow wrinkled in a frown. “Like what?” she asked warily. “You will obey my every command.” Her mouth dropped open. “I want a bed partner, not to become your servant.” He chuckled, gliding next to her. He cupped her chin. “Only in bed, Sophie. Obey me in the realm of pleasure, and I will teach you things you never imagined. I will give you more pleasure than you ever dreamed possible.” “Sounds quite egotistical,” she muttered, but he saw the interest flare in her eyes. “What sort of obedience are you talking about?” Some of his tension eased. “Remember when I told you saucy girls get spankings?” She inhaled sharply and her nipples tented the threadbare material of her ripped bodice. She nodded. “Say yes,” he ordered softly. “Yes.” He hid his pleasure at her instant obeisance. “That is what I’m talking about. Along with a few more interesting tidbits.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, slipping inside for a brief moment. “I want to teach you to submit to me, Sophie. To find the pleasure in denial, in discipline, in how pleasing me will please you.” He saw her struggling with it. Knew she didn’t quite comprehend. “I have some books I can lend you that will help you understand more of what I’m talking about. Suffice it now to say there is an entire realm of love-making that goes beyond lying in 62

Keys to Submission the dark and having a man slide his cock in and out of you until he comes.” She started. “My lord!” Ryder shrugged. “You object to my language?” “Well, no. But you surprised me.” Her cheeks were pink, eyes shining and wide. “Would you like to hear more?” “Yes,” she said. He dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “I will show you what it’s like to obey and submit to me, in a small way for now.” Her jaw clenched for a second. “I don’t particularly care for the phrase ‘obey and submit.’” He shook his head. “You’ll learn soon enough that what you care for matters very little.” “Then why would I agree to such a ridiculous bargain? What do I get out of this?” He winked. “I already told you. Pleasure.” She shook her head right back at him. “I can pleasure myself, then, thank you very much.” That caught his attention. Instantly he was captured by the thought of her masturbating. Of her long, elegant fingers sliding in and out of her pussy, finding her clit and rubbing it to an orgasm. She grinned, obviously following his line of thought. With a quick motion he pulled down her bodice, gripped her nipple and held it lightly, increasing pressure until her eyes went wide and she raised on tiptoe. “Can you give yourself this kind of pleasure, Sophie?” He twisted the nipple, taking care not to hurt her, just impart the burn he knew would send her pussy juices running down her long legs. “Ah, ah.” She inhaled and wriggled, but never asked him to let go. “Do you feel the difference between my hands and yours?” He bent and nuzzled behind her ear, nipping at the ultra-sensitive column of her neck. “Imagine me doing that all over. Imagine my hands on your bottom, in your pussy. I can smell your arousal, Sophie. You’re tempted.” 63

She groaned, one hand clutching his shoulder. “Yes, damn you,” she whispered. “I am.” He pulled away, staring at her intently. “You agree to my conditions? You will submit to my training?” Her shoulders went stiff. “I have a condition of my own.” Ryder mulled that for a moment. “Which is?” “I will be your lover, take your training, so long as we search for the keys. You will continue to help me. Once I have all five, our association will end.” He blinked once. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Done.” He held out his hand, she took it, and he hauled her to his chest, kissing her hard and fast. When he released her, she swayed for a moment, looking dazed and hungry for more. “Now that we are in agreement and we have the house to ourselves, shall we begin?”

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Chapter Four “Begin,” she squeaked. “Now?” “Yes.” Ryder kept his voice firm. Best to start off right from the outset. “When I said submit, that’s precisely what I meant. Your body will be mine to do with as I please. You will obey me in everything, immediately. Your pleasure is given by my hand, and mine only.” “And if I don’t obey?” His smile was harsh. “Then you will be disciplined.” Her sharp inhalation made him nod. “Not only that, but I guarantee you will end up over my lap, arse bare and heated from the slaps of my hand. Or whip. Or hairbrush. Whichever implement I deem suitable. Discipline is a necessary component of training, Sophie.” “My lord, I must protest. This short affair does not lend itself to the sort of long-term conditioning to which you refer.” She had an excellent point. Ryder silently cursed because he knew she would be a perfect submissive. She had both sensual curiosity and the termagant temperament that would perpetually land her in trouble. “We’ll start slowly and see how it goes,” he said. “But I do promise I will spank your delightful arse red.” His hand slipped down her back, cupping her bottom. “To be honest, Sophie, I’ve been fantasizing about having you writhing and pink on my lap for quite a few hours now.” Her cheeks reddened and she swallowed hard. “You said I would get pleasure, my lord.” He smiled. “You will. When I allow it. Your pleasure comes from pleasing me. From submitting. I have a feeling about you, Sophie.” “What sort of feeling?” “That you will enjoy a man who will control you, show you what your body is truly made for.” He flattened his palm to the rapid pulse of her heart above her breast. “You will beg, plead, scream 65

and come, Sophie. Hard. Just by giving me control.” He could see his words intrigued her, but she still held tight to her stubbornness. “It’s all very confusing, Ryder. In the last three years I have learned the joy of doing only that which pleases me. This notion of handing control to you feels very foreign. I don’t know if I can.” She lifted a brow in challenge. He smothered a smile. Aye, his instincts were quite correct. “In that case, I propose a small demonstration,” he said. “What kind of demonstration?” Wariness dripped from her words. He kissed her lips softly. “Trust me,” he whispered. Silence arced between them, loud with indecision, need and intent. “I trust no man,” she finally whispered. “But I want you.” The way her soft lips wrapped around the words had him hard and hot instantly. Ryder stepped back and settled himself on the chaise, adjusting his erection. “Come here, Sophie.” She tossed her head, drew a deep breath and walked calmly to him. Her skirts brushed his knees when she stopped. He took her hand, lacing their fingers, and tugged her downward. “Lie face down across my lap.” She shivered but did as he bade, gingerly covering his knees with her chest and keeping most of her weight on her legs. He chuckled. “Like this, little one.” He tugged her off-balance. She squeaked as she fell, grabbing at his calves, her feet waving in the air. Ryder spread his legs so she was more balanced. Her breasts pressed tightly against his right thigh and her pussy lay on his left. He settled his arms against her back and legs. “Relax, Sophie. You will not fall.” Her hair hung over her face and she shook it away, peering up at him. “I feel silly.” He smiled. “You look beautiful. This is not the way usually I go about things, you know.” He smoothed his hand down her back and over the curve of her bottom, pleased when she lifted into his palm. He heard her small intake of breath and began to relax. “How is this different?” she whispered. 66

Keys to Submission He continued petting her, released his hold on her thighs and slowly tugged her skirt up. She tensed, but didn’t protest. “I am skipping all sorts of steps with you, Sophie. Most notably the intense training period where you learn to submit. Normally you would be naked, on your knees in front of me, perhaps your arms bound behind you so you learn proper form.” “Bound?” she sounded breathless. “Indeed.” He folded her skirt onto her back. She wore strong cotton bloomers and stockings. He tunneled his hand under her soft body and gripped the waistband. “Lift your hips.” She did so instantly and he swept the undergarments down until they tangled at her ankles. “Perfect,” he murmured, caressing her now-bare arse. Sophie didn’t know if he was talking to her or about her. Either way, she quivered, imagining his green eyes focused on her bottom. So close to her most private area. Already she could feel herself growing wet. She squinted, hoping she would not disgrace herself on his breeches. What had they been discussing? Ah, yes, being bound. She wondered what it felt like. “You have a nice ass, Sophie. Round and tight.” His words thrilled her and she raised her hips slightly, offering him a better view. It seemed like the natural thing to do. Was this what submitting was all about? He leaned close, his mouth next to her ear, his chest pressing into her back. “But it’s much too pale, little one.” “Pale?” His hand cupped her bottom, squeezing and trailing all over. She’d never had a man’s hand on that part of her so intimately. His hand was strong and big, covering nearly all of one buttock. His fingertips brushed the indentation and she clenched. She alternated between chills and heat, anxious for him to begin, terrified he would. “Yes, but I’m about to take care of the color on your delectable bottom. Another step we’re taking out of order. I want you to know you’ve done nothing wrong. This is not discipline. It’s a demonstration.” 67

It seemed very important to him that she consent, so even though she didn’t really understand, she nodded. “All right.” “Don’t tense up. I’m going to smack your bottom now, Sophie. It will sting. Likely burn. But I have a feeling you will enjoy it.” His hand came down with a loud slap, followed scant seconds later by a hot sting. Her eyes widened and she jerked, trying to twist on his lap, but his arm held her fast. “Ow,” she yelped. He delivered another hard blow. “Ryder,” she gasped, still wriggling. “Yes?” His palm smoothed up and down her bottom, easing away the slight sting he’d inflicted. The heat shot from her arse to her pussy and she forgot what she meant to say. She undulated on his lap, wanting… something. “More?” he asked. Did she? Sophie closed her eyes and took stock of her body. Her pussy throbbed almost painfully. She could tell her lower lips were swollen. Heat emanated from her bottom, but in a near-pleasant manner. “Yes.” The word fell from her mouth. Ryder stilled for a moment. “All right.” He smoothed back her hair, turning her chin up so she met his eyes. “Remember when I said I had a feeling about you?” “Yes.” “I believe you can handle quite a lot and enjoy it. But we’ll try only ten swats this evening.” “Ten?” He winked. “Ten. Would you like to count them out loud?” That caught her imagination. “I will.” “Excellent.” He thumbed her bottom lip. “And Sophie?” “Yes?” “Do not come without my permission.” Her eyes felt as wide as dinner saucers. “I do not see that as a potential, my lord.” He chuckled and released her chin. “Not yet. Start at one. Count.” He swatted her again, higher on her bottom than before. 68

Keys to Submission “One,” she said. Another smack on the other side. “Two.” Two more slaps landed in quick succession. She counted each one, eyes squeezed shut. Her arse was on fire and the burn seeped from her cheeks to between her legs, igniting her pussy with strong need. She pictured him tossing her to the floor and thrusting his cock hard and fast into her slickness. Her clit pulsed again and she suddenly understood his comment about coming. Incredible. She would never have guessed such pleasure could be found from this one act. His palm connected hard and she jumped, belatedly calling out five. He squeezed the mound of flesh. “Don’t lose track or we’ll have to add more.” Her clit jolted. More? The idea was enticing. His laugh rumbled through her side. “You don’t want more than ten, Sophie. Not your first time out.” He spanked her again. “Six,” she said promptly. She would follow his lead on this. “Good girl,” he murmured. The praise went straight to her pussy and Sophie gasped, unable to stop herself from grinding her pelvis along his muscular thigh. He groaned, his leg pushing back at her. “Four more,” he said, voice taut. She let go his calves and flattened her palms on the floor, turning to look up at him. His erection pushed against her tummy, hard and demanding. Would he relieve both their aches? He met her gaze and shook his head. “Eyes down,” he rasped. She didn’t obey right away, but continued to study him, willing him to finish the strokes, rip off his breeches and sink his cock into her. Hard, fast and without mercy. Wanted to feel his taut abdomen pounding along her softer flesh while he rode her to climax. “Oh, my,” she whispered. Something must have shown on her face. His grip tightened to painful and she gasped, bucking at him. He lessened the hold. “Eyes down, Sophie,” he ordered again. 69

This time she did as he commanded, still dazed. “Remember, you do not have permission to come.” With that, his hand came down again and again, delivering the remaining four strokes with quick, efficient movements. She counted as fast and as hard as he spanked her. Her arse bounced and danced as she tried in vain to avoid the final stroke. “Ten,” she yelled. Ryder covered her bottom with both hands, massaging lightly, making soft sounds. Sophie’s fingers contracted and released on the threadbare carpet, body still trying to absorb the punishment. She was right on the verge of coming. She bit her lip and moved her hips in small circles, desperate for any sort of pressure. He clamped down on her. “Don’t move.” She huffed out her disgust and he gave a choked laugh. His hard cock still pushed at her and she wondered if she dared lift a hand, unbutton his breeches and pull out his erection. “Stand up, Sophie.” With his help, she unfolded herself and rose, knees shaky. He continued to hold her skirts above her bottom, the cool air feeling decadent and sinfully wonderful on her heated flesh. She reached behind her to replace his hands. “Not yet,” he said. “Did you enjoy that?” She thought about lying. “Maybe.” A small compromise. His brow lifted and he pulled her closer. “Maybe? Shall I expose your wet pussy and prove otherwise?” Sophie gasped. “You wouldn’t.” “Trust me.” She was beginning to dislike that phrase immensely. “Now then, let’s try again. Did you enjoy that?” “Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, damn you, I did.” “Why damn me?” Sophie looked away, embarrassment trapping her tongue. His fingers dug into her ass. “Why damn me?” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” “Open your eyes, Sophie.” 70

Keys to Submission She did, reluctantly meeting his golden-flecked emerald gaze. It burned with a deep, dark knowledge. “There is no shame in finding your pleasure this way. No shame in enjoying my hands on your body. There will be so many more times when I redden your bottom. Sometimes you’ll enjoy it and sometimes you won’t. But no matter, it’s nothing to feel ashamed over.” He let go her skirt, smoothing it down as the hem fell to the floor. Sophie shifted, legs still wobbly. Her juices covered her inner thighs and she stilled. He was no longer spanking her. Did that mean she was allowed to come? She feared asking in case he said no. Ryder rose, turned his back and dipped his hand in front of him. He grunted before gingerly facing her once more. “I trust this demonstration was successful?” If the burn in her pussy was indication, it was more than successful. Her eyes dropped to his still-evident erection. “I would say so. But,” she hesitated, cleared her throat and continued. “But you have not found your release yet.” “No,” he agreed. “And I won’t. Not tonight.” Bloody hell. He chucked her under the chin. “Don’t look so glum, Sophie. I shall take you, and soon. But not now. You need time to recover.” His tone indicated there was more he wasn’t saying, but he didn’t expound. “All right, if you say so.” He smiled. “I should go,” he finally said. She wanted him to take her upstairs and do all the wicked things her mind imagined during the spanking, but nodded instead. “We’ll go through the kitchen to the stables.” Embarrassment engulfed her. “Uh, my lord, if I might ask a favor before you leave?” “Of course.” She turned her back to him. “With Mrs. Higgins gone for the evening, I’ll have a difficult time getting out of my dress.” The words tumbled from her, one over the other hastily as if spewing them out would make them less embarrassing. “Would you mind 71

undoing my buttons?” “Hmm. Are you certain this is not just a way to get me into your bed?” She gasped and whirled back around, ready to soundly chastise him. Instead, she was charmed by his boyish grin and teasing wink. “I believe I shall dig up one of my uncle’s many dictionaries.” Confusion replaced the smile. “Why is that?” “I’m going to get awfully tired of calling you incorrigible,” she said with a wink of her own. “I need to find more words.” He laughed and motioned her to spin around. His fingers danced along her spine again, making fast work of the buttons. It gaped as he released them and she caught it against her chest. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder. “My pleasure. Now, then, walk me out?” She nodded and stepped forward, maintaining her hold on the dress. They made their way through the house without speaking. Sophie found her concentration split between the way her thighs slicked against each other and wondering at Ryder’s thoughts. Dare she ask? He wasn’t going to make love to her tonight and she desperately wanted to come, even if was by her own hand. It looked like that would be the only way she’d achieve orgasm this evening. She held her tongue. They stepped out into the temperate night air. “I’ll look in on Christmas before I leave,” Ryder said. “Fine.” He tipped his head. “Have you changed your mind, Sophie?” “No,” she said. “But you’ve given me a great deal to think about.” “Good. I’ll be back tomorrow. In the morning. Jack will take care of Christmas and you and I can work on the next set of clues.” She bristled at his autocratic tone. “Perhaps I’ll decipher them myself this evening.” “If that is what you wish.” Suddenly he was in front of her, one 72

Keys to Submission hand gripping her waist, the other the back of her head. Surprised, immobile and heart racing, Sophie stared at him. “Our arrangement is for the bedroom, little one,” he said intently. “I do not wish to control your every waking moment. I have neither the patience nor desire for that.” “Oh.” His mouth brushed over hers, gone so quickly had it not been for the surge of need the kiss imparted, she might have imagined it. “Oh, indeed. Good evening, Miss Turner. It has been a pleasure.” He released her, turned and made his way down the stairs toward the stable. He whistled jauntily, and she watched with disappointment as he disappeared into the long shadows. Entering the house, she shut and locked the door, wedging a chair underneath the handle. Her dress slipped from her shoulders and she gasped, snatching it back up. One of these days she intended to get a dog for safety and companionship, but until her finances improved, a chair would have to do. She extinguished the lanterns and torches as she made her way to her room. Though Ryder was gone, the burn remained. She opened her wardrobe, reached into the back and pulled out the small volume of erotic literature she’d discovered in the attic. Though it was aged, the stories it held were as provocative as anything she’d ever encountered. Having read the book time and time again, it still held the power to excite her. She crossed to her bed, set the book and candle on the table, and quickly shed her clothes. Thanks to Ryder’s expert fingers and strength, her dress slid off easily, followed by her underclothes. Within moments she slid naked between the cool sheets, senses thrumming in anticipation. She pummeled her two pillows, shoving them up against the walnut headboard, spread her legs and opened the book. She could not wait to come. Flipping through the pages quickly, she sought a particular story that featured a strong, virile lord of old, his accommodating wife and their many bedroom adventures. The titillating language, 73

coupled with her newfound experiences with Ryder, soon had her pussy wet and demanding. Though the story always captured her imagination, tonight it couldn’t keep her attention. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the headboard and focused on her body. She trailed her fingers along her collarbone and then to her breasts, flicking at her nipples. They were ultrasensitive tonight, it seemed. The flesh burned where Ryder had touched her. Dropping lower, she caressed the softness of her stomach, circled her navel, smiling at the slight tickle. The grin dropped away as she moved even lower, brushing through her dark pubic hair. It was rough and prickly, as if trying to hide her ultimate pleasure spot. But over the years, Sophie had come to know her body very well. She stiffened her index finger and dipped it low to her pussy lips, soaking up the wetness she found and dragging it up to spreading the juices along her mound. She groaned and shifted on the bed as she reached her clitoris. The slightest pressure elicited pleasure, and she arched her back, gasping when as her buttocks pressed into the bed. A low warmth remained where Ryder had spanked her. She realized it added an extra dimension of lust and found herself wishing her bottom was a trifle more sensitive. Ryder’s face appeared before her, his elegant mouth sensual and demanding against her breasts. She bit her lip and rubbed her clitoris harder, faster. Though she’d wanted to prolong her orgasm, the memory of his hand connecting with her arse, the sound of it, the sting and burn soon had her moaning, legs stiff and hands flying over her pussy. She alternated her touches between sharp circles on her clit and deep stabs into her wetness. “So close, so close.” Words tumbled from her, the rhythm in time with her finger. The tide rose and built, pushing her breath from her. She gritted her teeth, curled her toes and frigged her clit with tight, fast movements. Just as she reached the crest of orgasm, she cried out, her palm falling sharply along her thigh. The small nettle of pain pushed her through the final wall and she convulsed on the bed. She came 74

Keys to Submission hard, shuddering as the pleasure ebbed and flowed in her. She knew from experience she was good for only one. Her body became so incredibly taut and sensitive that even her thighs pressing together were very nearly painful. Most nights after she’d brought herself to completion, she quickly fell asleep, legs splayed and hands cupping her breasts. She scooted down the headboard and grimaced as her tingling bottom skidded along the sheets. The move caused more friction between her legs and she chuckled weakly as she spread her legs. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes, lifted her hands to her breasts and sought sleep, Ryder’s face floating in her mind. ****

Sophie Turner buzzed through Ryder’s thoughts like a bee after nectar. Insistent and not unpleasant. “Hold there, Jack,” he ordered, pulling his horse to a halt as he looked into the stand of trees to his right. This was where she’d nearly been shot. The eggs and toast he had consumed for breakfast turned in his stomach. Damn, it had been a close call. He pointed to the trees. “It came from there. I want to have a look. Perhaps we can find something.” Jack nodded. “Right, my lord. Anything in particular to look for?” “Not really. Whatever might look suspicious or out of place.” His stable master grunted and nudged his horse forward, Ryder following slowly. In the light of day, the spot seemed more open, more friendly. The forest rang out with its usual bird songs, chattering squirrels and the whoosh of swaying trees. Not a bit of the suspense or drama from the prior evening hung in the air. Yet, he couldn’t quite shake his sense of unease. He ducked his head under a low-hanging branch, spying Jack off his horse and kneeling on the ground. “Found something?” he asked as he dismounted. Jack rose, dusting his hands before settling them on his hips. “Don’t rightly know, my lord.” He lifted his chin at a spot behind 75

him. “See that? Seems like someone made camp here.” Ryder looked and immediately spied the disturbance in the grass. He might not have Matthew’s years of War Office service, but he knew a thing or two about these woods. He went to the large tree and hunkered down. Here the grass was bent and mashed, as though something heavy had lain upon it for a long period of time. He ran his hand around the base of the tree and over the bend blades. Jack appeared next to him. “What say you, my lord?” Ryder rose, eyes narrowed, heart pounding. “Aye, you are correct, Jack. Someone most definitely remained here. But for what purpose?” “Damn poachers,” Jack groused and spat on the ground. Possibly. Ryder shrugged. “Alert the constable when you return to Ashford House. He’ll keep an eye out for the thieves. If they return.” He wasn’t convinced they would. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced they were poachers. Something about the whole mad affair bothered him, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Damn, if only Matthew were here, they could hash it out. He’d have to wait until they returned to town. Should he recall her husband so soon after their departure, Tori would have his hide. It was only a few days more. “We’ll continue to Saunter House,” he said and clicked his tongue at the horse. The house was quiet and appeared empty as they approached. “Miss Turner,” Ryder called out. He watched the curtains on the front parlor. The very same parlor where he’d struck his scandalous bargain with his delectable neighbor. He hoped she would not back out, however selfish of him that might be. He wanted her with a fury he’d not experienced in many years. If ever. The curtains flicked and her face appeared. She smiled and waved, then disappeared. Moments later the door opened wide and she stepped gingerly onto the porch, one hand held tight around the door jamb. She wore a green dress and her hair was 76

Keys to Submission swept up into the same messy twist she’d worn the previous day. “Hello, my lord.” She looked to his right. “You must be Jack.” His stable master shifted, face suddenly red as a beet. “Yes, mum.” Ryder snorted and Jack shot him a glare. “Christmas is doing wonderfully this morning, my lord,” Sophie called from the porch. “I gave her an apple and a rubdown, which I must say she seemed to enjoy immensely.” “She didn’t fuss, mum?” “No, she didn’t. Stood docile as a lamb and allowed me to brush her.” Her gaze bounced back to Ryder’s. “Shall I meet you round back, then?” “Yes.” He turned his horse to the left, leading Jack down the side of the house and to the stables. Sophie awaited them, looking fresh and luscious in what he could now clearly see was a dress of apple green muslin decorated with tiny green sprigs here and there. The lovely color deepened the brown of her eyes and hinted at auburn highlights hidden in the depths of her chocolate tresses. “Good morning,” he said. A rosy tint brushed her cheeks. “Good morning, my lord. Good morning, Jack.” His stable master grunted and headed toward the stable. As he approached, Christmas’s head stuck out over the door and she snorted loudly. Ryder dismounted and joined her at the bottom of the steps. “You look lovely, Sophie.” Her hand fluttered at her side. “You mustn’t say things like that,” she reproved. “But I like to. And it’s true, so why not?” He winked down at her. She flushed again and shrugged. “There are other ears around, my lord. It’s unseemly.” “As is our whole affair.” Damn, what prompted him to say that? She surprised him, though. Instead of a glare, she smiled widely. “Excellent point.” 77

“I like logic, Miss Turner. It is one reason your quest attracts me so much.” She slanted him a saucy, knowing look. “As you wish, my lord. Shall we join Jack?” Hell no, he didn’t want to join Jack. He wanted to take her upstairs to her bedroom, remove her pretty little gown and reveal her beautiful body to his eyes. And hands. And mouth. And cock. “Goodness,” she said as she sauntered down the path. “That must have been quite an interesting thought.” Damned riding breeches showed everything, and it was obvious his cock wasn’t going to behave itself around Sophie. He hied after her, catching up just as she stepped into the shadow of the stable door. “Is it serious, Jack?” she asked. “No, mum. Just a scratch. Old girl’s seen more than that with Miss Victoria on her back.” “I can imagine.” Her rich, sultry laugh wrapped around him. Jack appeared enraptured as well. He petted the horse’s nose, but his gaze surreptitiously flicked to Sophie. “Jack,” Ryder interrupted. “See Christmas back to Ashford House. Make up your poultice and apply it. Best not to take any chances.” His stable master straightened, snapping smartly into his usual imperturbable attitude. “Very good, my lord.” He tipped his head to Sophie, popped the latch on the stable door and eased the horse outside. Sophie moved, her back brushing along Ryder’s chest. Did she do it on purpose, knowing what effect she had on him? He wouldn’t put it past the minx. As Jack tethered Christmas’s leads to the pommel of his horse, Sophie approached her with soft murmurs. The mare pricked her ears and rolled her eyes, looking at her. “That’s a good girl,” she said softly. “Jack’ll fix you up, don’t you worry.” She caressed the horse neck-to-flank and Ryder found himself jealous. He snorted at his own preposterous brain. Jealous of a horse. 78

Keys to Submission But her palm and long, elegant fingers stroked the quivering flesh in a way that again had him wishing they were alone and naked. “Hell,” he muttered. Sophie flicked a disapproving glance his way. Jack mounted, picked up the slack from the attached leads and headed home. “Good day, mum. My lord.” “Be careful and don’t ride too fast,” Sophie admonished as the pair ambled down the driveway. Worry shadowed her face. Ryder barely resisted the urge to haul her to his side and hug her close. “He’s the best horseman in five counties, Sophie, and she’s in the best hands possible.” He watched as Jack turned right down the main road instead of returning through the brush. Neither man wanted a repeat of the day before. When the duo cantered past a large stand of trees and disappeared, Sophie’s audible sigh held a wistful note. He must shake her out of the melancholy. “So, what are we about today, Sophie? Another crack at your clues?” Her shoulders lifted as she turned. He was relieved to find her once more cheery. “Actually, my lord, I believe I may have figured those out myself.” “Doing it without me?” A deep pink blush shot up her chest and neck, spreading rapidly to her cheeks. Her gaze fell away and she cleared her throat. Curious, Ryder stepped closer. “Talk about an interesting thought.” He rubbed the fullness of her bottom lip. “Tell me what you were thinking.” “No.” He looked quickly over his shoulder at the house. Though he saw no movement, he was positive Sophie’s servants were watching them. He refrained from touching her. “Do you remember that disobedience incurs punishment?” She gasped. “Ryder,” she protested. He lifted a brow. “Your thoughts, little one?” “Naught. Only the figure of speech, if you must know.” What he knew was that she was lying. “That’s ten more strokes tonight, Sophie.” 79

“Maddening.” “Yes, you are.” He straightened. “Twenty if you don’t tell me what brought on that delightful blush.” “That’s blackmail.” “Is it?” He winked. “So it is. Fortunately, I’m in a position to get away with it.” “Fine,” she hissed. “I was merely thinking about what I’d done after you left, and it didn’t involve the blasted clues.” He had a good idea what she’d done once he left, and it stirred his blood even more. Oh yes, Sophie Turner was a passionate, demanding woman, and he intended to taste that passion until they were both replete and exhausted. He held out his arm, which she took with a wary look, and headed back toward the house. “By the by, little one, didn’t I instruct you not to come without permission?” She swallowed audibly. Nodded. “So you’re telling me that after I departed, you took your pleasure into your own hands and came?” The powerful vision of her playing with her pussy bit at him. Damn, he wanted her. Right now. “And if I did?” she murmured. They were nearly upon the house and the older woman, Mrs. Higgins he believed, stood in the doorway, face expressionless but eyes guarded and intent. “Then you’ll face the punishment,” he said. “Good morning, Mrs. Higgins. How are you this fine day?” “Fine and well, my lord, thank you for asking. Yourself?” “Very well, indeed.” He looked down at Sophie. She’d not mentioned whether her small staff knew of the quest. Surely they must, but he decided not to mention it, just in case. “We’ll be in the drawing room, Mrs. Higgins, if you need us.” “Very good, Miss Turner. Would you care for refreshments?” “Yes, thank you,” he said. “Cook just brought out some wonderful cakes. Will they do? And a pot of tea?” 80

Keys to Submission “She did? Lovely, thank you.” Sophie’s fervent exclamation had him wondering, but she gave him little time to ponder it as she made her way down the hall with purposeful steps, pulling him with her. The woman had hidden strength beneath her gown. The moment they entered the room he spied the items spread on the low table. The clues they’d liberated last night, the journal and another small, metal-rimmed book that he could not recall seeing before. It was obviously old, the cover tattered and dirty, at odds with the bright blue ribbon hanging out of it. He bent to pick it up. “What’s this?” Ryder flicked the small charm attached to the end of the ribbon. “A key?” he said with surprise. “Not the second one?” “I’m afraid it’s not quite that easy, my lord,” she replied in amusement. “No, that is a diary I found last week. I’ve only read bits of it myself, but I believe it might have something to do with our quest, odd as that might sound.” He flipped it open, wincing at the crackle of aged paper. April 16, 1784. ”Seems from the right time period.” He scanned the first entry, barely resisting the urge to gag at the juvenile, blatantly female longing scrawled on the page. “Whose is it?” “I don’t know.” “Hmm. Another mystery to solve?” He flipped to the front cover, frowning at the smudged out “L.” Something about that looping letter niggled at him. Where had he seen it before? “Why do you think it pertains to the keys?” Ryder flipped through a few more pages, eyes catching words here and there. But it was the writing that held his attention. The precisely lettered words. He slowed and read a passage. April 16, 1784 – He kissed me today and it was glorious. It felt funny at first, his lips on mine. I didn’t know what to do, but he was gentle and patient and kind. Is it any wonder I adore him so? I shall never look at that spot in the garden again without thinking of him. That well will always hold a special spot in my heart. And yet, if Father discovers my secret, I fear his wrath. Stock’s opinions are not favored and he is outspoken, but he 81

excites me. His breath caught and he choked on a cough. No, it couldn’t be. Ryder flipped a few more pages forward. April 19, 1784 – I have not seen Stock for two days. Not since he kissed me. I will not stand for this. Doesn’t he know how he is hurting me? Tonight, I will make my move. He stared at the book with dawning horror. The girl in that diary had done things a young debutante would never do without being married. That much came through in the brief passages he’d read. Surely, his suspicions were too ridiculous to be true. “Ryder?” Sophie’s voice held a note of concern, and he schooled his face to impassive with great effort. He met her gaze. “I’m sorry, why do you think this is pertinent?” “Remember where we found the first key?” “Of course.” She took the diary from him, shuffled through it, then handed it back. “I recall the clue that was smudged referred to a first something. This author relates the story of their first kiss— by the wishing well where we found the key.” He’d already read that, but took another look. It made sense. Excitement thrummed through him, though it was tempered by unease. “You are positive you don’t know who the authoress is?” She eyed him with surprise. “No, she doesn’t sign her name. It was her property, after all.” He relaxed. “I suppose her identity is not truly necessary.” He looked at the table. “You said the journal was Haverstock’s?” “Yes, he constructed it. And the quest for the keys.” “So, whoever wrote the diary was his paramour?” He choked out the word. “I believe so.” “Did you find anything else in here to assist us?” She nodded and held her hand out for the diary. He was loathe release the book but knew that refusing would raise questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. Didn’t even know if he had the answers to give. 82

Keys to Submission Surely he was wrong. Sophie scanned the pages again. “Here,” she said excitedly. “The next clues talk about where the journey begins and those fleet of foot, which probably refers to a coach of some sort. And look at this.” She gave the diary back to him, finger pointing at the tightly written script. April 23, 1784 – Father would kill me if he knew what I’d done. What we have done. Last night, in the carriage house cushioned by fresh straw and flickering candlelight, Stock and I made love. He knew I was a virgin and took time to prepare me, to explain all that would happen. I was pleasantly surprised that it did not hurt as I thought it would. It felt glorious, to be honest. I find myself smiling and laughing at odd moments because the memory of his body sliding into mine makes me euphoric. Oh, I cannot wait for Stock to offer for me. I pray Father will look past his political and class views to see how much in love we really are. Ryder shoved aside his suspicions, relieved to catch Sophie’s mounting excitement. She smiled, bouncing on her toes like a little girl with her first Christmas cracker. “You may be correct,” he said slowly. “If the two are connected, it would stand to reason this diary would follow the same sequence, wouldn’t you think? That is, the second set of clues would correspond to the earlier entries here.” “Yes, exactly what I thought.” Sophie bent and picked up the list of clues. “So, instead of smugglers, we’re dealing with lovers. Fleet of foot could still refer to horses. Perhaps the stable?” Ryder nodded. “Perhaps.” “Away from prying eyes at first bedeviled me, so I skipped it. The tools are leather and iron, I should think. Items no selfrespecting stable master would be without. When I read the diary entry about them, um, in the carriage house, I understood the prying eyes clue.” Ryder’s pulse jumped and he snapped the diary shut. “Yes,” he exclaimed loudly. “You are correct. Brilliant, my dear.” Sophie gaped at him and he pulled her into a tight hug, surreptitiously 83

slipping the diary in his pocket. He must study it more closely. And distract her. “Wait a moment.” He set her at arm’s length. “If Haverstock is the lover in question, then the key must be here. In his carriage house!” Sophie’s eyes widened. “Yes,” she said. “It’s a bit run down. Well, more than bit, but it’s still standing. Come on, then.” The door swung open as they reached it and Cook smiled broadly at them, arms full of the tea service. Sophie pulled up short. “Oh, tea.” The older woman smiled. “Aye, piping hot and the biscuits are soft and moist.” Sophie’s face held longing and Ryder chuckled. “We can surely sit for a cup of tea, Sophie, before we continue.” Cook scooted around her and headed for the table. Ryder made it there a scant few seconds ahead of her, scooping up the journal and parchment before she set her burden down. Sophie crossed the room more slowly. “Thank you, Cook.” She smiled warmly at the servant. “It smells heavenly.” Cook beamed and curtsied. “Lovely,” she said, and left the room. He noted she left the door wide open. Prudent, especially considering the effect Sophie’s nearness had on him. He sank onto the chaise and watched Sophie’s elegant hands lift and pour the tea, set a biscuit onto a gleaming, albeit chipped plate and hand it to him. She glanced at his teacup. “Sugar? Milk?” “Sugar, please.” She dropped a cube into the cup, handed it to him, and served herself. He blew on his tea, but kept his eyes on her. If he didn’t know of her circumstances, her past, he would never think her on the verge of poverty. Despite three years of banishment from Society, she maintained her posture and manners. He could find no fault whatsoever with her deportment. A tinge of regret assailed him. If not for her affair, she might have been one of his bridal prospects. He had a feeling he would enjoy waking up to her every morning. 84

Keys to Submission And bedding her every night. “Tell me, Sophie. Do you ever wish you could have that night back?” She stilled, cup pressed to her mouth. Her face shuttered. “What night?” “With Whitten.” He had no idea what prompted the question, but he was bloody curious about the answer. “No.” He waited, but no more was forthcoming. “Just no?” “It’s a topic out of bounds, my lord.” She held the cup in her lap now, knuckles as white as the porcelain. “It has naught to do with the keys or our bargain.” He wanted to argue that. If not for her lack of innocence, he would never have made the deal with her. Propositioned her, if he were being honest. But she so obviously did not wish to talk about it that he merely nodded, sipped the remainder of his tea, and shoved half a sweet vanilla cake into his mouth. Sophie mirrored his actions, though with more delicacy, nibbling at the edges of the rounded cake. A stray crumb clung to the corner of her mouth. All thoughts of her past, the diary and the keys fled his mind as her tongue darted out and scooped it up. The small pink tip flicked at the other side of her mouth, this time lingering a bit longer. His balls tightened in response. He set his cup down hard on the service. Her smile was full of mischief and superiority. The little brat knew exactly what she was doing to him. “I advise caution, Sophie,” he murmured as he stood and approached her. She placed her teacup on the tray and hastily stood. “Caution?” He smiled wolfishly and covered her breast with his palm, squeezing lightly. “Teasing little minxes always pay the price.” He released her, dropped a soft kiss on her mouth and headed for the door. “Coming?” “Pay how? More spankings?” Interest colored her tone, and he smothered a chuckle. It would 85

seem her attention was well and truly caught. He Ryder waited until she joined him at the door. “Oh, no. I have something much better planned for you than a mere spanking.” “What?” she asked breathlessly. He lifted his finger and trailed it along the strong pulse in her neck. “I could tell you, but that would ruin all the fun.”

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Chapter Five Sophie recounted every curse she knew as they made their way to the carriage house. The mere touch of his hand on her breast had sent her thoughts tumbling. She briefly toyed with the idea of abandoning the search to repair to her room and begin their bargain in earnest. He’d knocked that idea down soon enough. “First the key, then the reward.” Oh, and he’d been a smug so-and-so about it, too. Knew he had her right in the palm of his hand. Quite literally. It felt wonderful. She craned her neck as they made their way past the stable, eager to get into the carriage house and find the key. At last the structure came into view. It was more dilapidated than the house, walls leaning slightly left as if battered by a constant wind. The wood squeaked and swayed as they approached. The door half hung from its leather hinges and several panes of glass were broken out, the shards long ago lost. Above the door was a dark, round window. It looked a bit menacing. Sophie slowed, not certain she wished to enter. “Hold a moment,” Ryder said, hand at her arm. “I’ll have a look first, to make certain it is safe inside.” She appreciated his concern and held her breath as he lifted the door up and off the ground, easing it back enough to slip inside. She inched closer. “Is all well, my lord?” His head appeared and he nodded. “Bits of glass, but nothing too dangerous.” He held open the door for her and she had to squeeze along his body to gain entrance. The full contact did little to ease her growing desire. She risked a glance upward, meeting his inflamed gaze. Good. He wanted her as much as she craved him. She continued into the carriage house. A skittering crash sounded and she whirled in that direction. A rat stood frozen in place atop a lopsided wooden crate, its small black eyes flickering wildly. 87

She held her breath and prayed it would go and quickly. “I hate rats,” she whispered. The sound seemed to set the creature in motion. It darted down the back of the crate and disappeared. Ryder’s strong hands cupped her shoulders, and she melted against him. “Would you rather wait outside while I look?” “No. I dislike the vermin, but they won’t scare me away.” His chuckle traveled up her spine, raising goose bumps and tightening her nipples. “Excellent. I’m pleased to find you’re made of sterner stuff.” She tipped her head back and smiled. “My lord, you have no idea.” He cracked a loud laugh and she pushed away, aiming toward the opposite end of the carriage house. “However, I will grant you the honor of searching for the key in the rat’s vicinity.” “As you wish.” The interior swirled with dust and held a rank, musty odor. “I suggest we look as quickly as we can. This air can’t be good for our lungs.” “I concur,” Ryder said. “So, leather, iron, tools and a velvet pouch.” Sophie looked at the door and then across the length of the room. At the far end sat a tall wooden bench, half its top fallen and dangling at the ground. She looked above it, disappointed to find no iron bits or pieces of leather. “I’ll look there,” she said, pointing at the wooden bench. “Couldn’t hurt.” An hour later, Sophie conceded defeat. “It’s not here,” she said. “I was certain we were correct. Maybe it is in a smuggler’s cave.” “Doubtful, Sophie.” Ryder scratched at his head, sending a poof of dust into the air. He coughed and waved at the motes. She giggled. “You are in dire need of a bath, my lord.” He waggled his brows. “As are you. Care to join me?” Sophie paused, eyes going wide. Did he mean it? Was it a jest, and she should treat it as such? He chuckled. “Not now, I can see that. Come on, then, we’ve obviously got the wrong location.” He held out his arm. 88

Keys to Submission She flicked away some dust before taking it. “I fear your attire is hopelessly ruined, Ryder. Your valet is sure to have an apoplectic fit when he sees you.” “I’ll sneak them into town and have them cleaned there. He’ll never know the difference.” Sophie jerked to a stop, one hand flying to her mouth. “Are you all right? Is it another rat?” His hands covered her arms and he looked around the room. “No,” she said, voice choked. “Sophie? Tell me.” She bit her lip, trying to contain her giggles. “Of course, of course! I’ve been an idiot.” He remained silent, one brow rose. “You said it a moment ago—we have the wrong location.” “Yes, we agreed we did.” “No, no. Listen.” She waved her hands toward the house. “Haverstock came to live here after he returned from his trip abroad. After the love affair was over.” Ryder sucked in a breath. “Damn.” “Yes. We’re at the wrong house.” “Where did he live before Saunter House?” Her shoulders fell. “I don’t know. Uncle never mentioned it, or if he did, I paid no attention.” “Blast.” Ryder held open the door and they escaped into the cool afternoon. Sophie sucked in the sweet, moisture-laden air. Clouds hung low and dark over the trees. “It’s going to rain soon. We need to find out where else he lived and get ourselves there before the rain. It can’t have been far if the girl from the diary could slip away without detection.” “Excellent thought.” Ryder looked at the house then back at her. “How long have your servants been at Saunter House?” “Ages,” she said absently, still trying to figure out how in the world they were going to unearth the information they needed. She didn’t wish to go one more day without finding that blasted key. “Mrs. Higgins wasn’t even married yet when Haverstock 89

bought the place.” “Perhaps she will have an idea,” Ryder murmured. “I’m assuming they know about your hunt?” Sophie pondered the house as they walked up the back stairs. “Yes. They both believe I’m going to be disappointed, but haven’t tried to dissuade me. All right, then, let’s ask her. If she doesn’t know, perhaps she can send us in the right direction.” They found the housekeeper in the draftiest room in the house. Also the dirtiest. Sophie cringed, wishing she could push Ryder back into the hallway and shut the door so he wouldn’t see. Her house, though quaint and suitable for her, was nothing compared to the gilded, lavish palace in which he resided. She peeked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to the overflowing baskets and rubbish bins. “My uncle had an abhorrence to throwing anything out,” she offered as explanation. “I have found receipts and ledgers dating back years and years.” His smile was compassionate. “Quite a chore to pare it all down, I’m sure.” She relaxed and offered him a grateful smile in return. “Yes, it is. Mrs. Higgins, may we have a word?” The plump woman set down the bin she’d been holding and clapped her hands together before rubbing them along her apron. Long tan streaks joined the other smudges of dust. “Of course, miss.” “Before my uncle owned Saunter House, Mr. Haverstock was in possession.” “Yes, he was. Fine man, that one. Always so sad though, even after he returned from his adventures.” “I know this will sound rather bizarre, but do you happen to know where he lived before he left?” Mrs. Higgins studied them both for a long, silent moment. Finally, she heaved a sigh and sniffed. “Aye, miss, I do. Don’t think the knowledge will aid you, however.” Sophie tried to tamp her excitement. “Please, tell us.” “Well, Mr. Billings, as he liked us to call him, lived only a few 90

Keys to Submission miles up the road from here. Probably not even two miles.” “I’m not aware of any other houses in this vicinity,” Ryder said. Mrs. Higgins sighed again. “Almost all the building burned to the ground the night he left.” Sophie’s heart caught. “Burned?” “Aye. ‘Twas quite disturbing.” “Why?” “Everyone agreed ‘twas set apurpose. No way to explain it otherwise. The fire spread quickly from the main house to the stables and the servants’ quarters. Only the carriage house was spared.” “Thank God,” Sophie whispered. She found the circumstances more odd than disturbing. Why did only the carriage house survive? Fortuitous for them, but strange. “Was anyone hurt?” “No. Mr. Billings had already dismissed his staff that day. At first we all feared he would be found in the ruins, but he wasn’t.” “Do you know the exact location of this property?” “Aye, my lord. It’s directly over the hill north of here.” The opposite direction from Ashford House, Sophie realized. “In fine weather, it’s possible to walk the distance and make good time, should you use shortcuts. A little more than an hour. Perhaps half that on horseback.” “Perfect,” Sophie exclaimed. “Could you draw us a map?” Mrs. Higgins frowned. “Miss Turner, why do you wish to go there?” She glanced at Ryder. “You’re not still—you know?” “Indeed I am,” Sophie replied. “With great success so far.” All right, “great” was probably stretching the truth. One key did not exactly make the whole bunch, but it was progress. The housekeeper huffed a breath. “Very well, then, if you’re set on it.” “I am.” “And Lord Ashford will accompany you?” “Yes.” The housekeeper turned back to the mess she’d been cleaning earlier. “There is a desk here with some parchment and an old quill. I believe I saw some ink. Ah, here we are.” 91

Ryder squeezed Sophie’s hand and she looked up at him, her gaze tangling with his dark one. “Just enough time to ride there, search and return.” He lowered his voice, dipping his head. “I hope your bottom won’t be too sore to ride, Sophie.” She gasped, eyes snapping to Mrs. Higgins who, thankfully, was still the other side of the room, muttering to herself as she worked on the map. “Hush, my lord. I’ve told you, you mustn’t say such things.” “But I like the way you blush, Sophie. It pleases me.” Ridiculously, that knowledge pleased her. Immensely. She straightened, subtly pushing her breasts out. “Ah,” he whispered, his voice low, husky and tempting. “I see you enjoy pleasing me. It’s a good start.” Before she could find a suitable reply, Mrs. Higgins returned, map in hand. “I’m no artist, but it is passable.” She explained the landmarks she’d drawn, gave them a few more to be on the lookout for, and curtsied. “Good luck to you, then.” After thanking her, Sophie and Ryder headed out for the stable. “I have Goddard,” Ryder said. “He’s certainly strong enough to carry the both of us there and back without any loss of time.” The idea of being pressed and rubbed along Ryder’s body for thirty minutes inflamed her. ‘Twas an opportunity she would be foolish to let pass, however difficult it might prove. She was fairly certain the contact would keep her in a constant state of arousal. He would wrap his arms around her, press his chest to her back, nestle his hardness into the furrow of her bottom Her mouth went dry. “Very good.” “Indeed it will be.” As she predicted, the trip was nearly torturous. She rode in front of him, squeezed between his cock, which pushed at her bottom, and the hard pommel which seemed to bump her clitoris with each cantering stride. Ryder’s arms encircled her, clamped tightly along the sides of her breasts. She’d no idea one small horseback ride could be so nearly painful. She’d nearly spent three times already, and by her reckoning, they weren’t even halfway there. 92

Keys to Submission “Comfortable?” No. “Yes, thank you.” His lips nipped her ear. “Didn’t we discuss the punishment for lying?” Blast it, she did not need that stimulus added to her imagination. Too late, however. Her very fertile mind conjured the memory of last night’s punishment. Being laid out over his lap, the firm slap of his palm to her buttocks, the desire the spanking spawned. She squirmed on the saddle, groaning when the pommel rubbed along her now-wet pussy. Ryder’s chuckle was low and filled with satisfaction. “Not to worry, Sophie. Tonight you will experience much more.” “More what?” she asked softly. “More of everything. Pain, pleasure, need.” “God,” she whispered. “Almost there,” he said, straightening in the saddle. He sounded almost unaffected, and she would have believed it were it not for the hardness of his erection pressing into the furrow of her bottom. It would seem she had also had a degree of control in this… agreement. Definitely something she would keep in mind. She had a suspicion that at the correct time, the knowledge would come in handy. “Is it left or right at the split tree?” Ryder asked. She consulted the map. “Right.” Her spirits zinged. Nearly there. This must be the real hiding place of the second key. They rounded a copse of trees. The road was nearly overgrown with vines and branches, but enough space remained for them to squeeze through. She gasped as the destruction came into view. It was much worse than she’d imagined. Where the house once stood, only the stone chimney remained, a grim and soot-covered sentry. Blackened timbers were strewn along the ground in a jumble like a child’s macabre game of pick-up sticks. Bent and twisted remnants of posts and wood collapsed against each other in grotesque pyres. 93

Ryder pulled Goddard to a stop at the edge of the charred house, slid off and plucked her from the saddle. She clung to his shoulders, seeking his strength as she gained her footing. “Oh, it’s horrible,” she whispered. Tears stung her eyes. Who would do such a thing? “Do you feel the anger that lingers here?” She shivered into his chest. “We don’t have to do this, Sophie.” She thought about it for a short second. An air of rage seemed to permeate the grounds. It repulsed and frightened her. “No,” she said slowly. “You’re here. I feel safe.” “Ah, how you disarm me,” he murmured, hugging her tight. His lips rubbed over her crown and she closed her eyes, leaning closer to him. For this one moment in time, only they two existed. Nothing and no one else. She allowed herself another minute in his embrace before pulling back. “We should begin. The rain has yet to materialize, but I can smell it.” She wrinkled her nose and looked up at the foreboding clouds. “I’d hate to be here when the rain falls, mingling with these burned memories.” If he thought her melodramatic, he didn’t say so, but she caught the tic of his smile. “Very well, then, let us be quick. Watch your step.” He caught her hand and tugged her behind him, his steps slow and cautious. The distance between the ruined manor and the still-standing carriage house was not great and took them only moments to traverse. Another shiver assailed her. In stark, ghostly contrast, the carriage house remained pristine. Its walls, though weathered, still held their white color. The door was firmly shut with no sign of breakage at all. She hoped that meant no rats. When Ryder opened the door, a wave of musty air wafted over her. She coughed a bit before it dissipated. As earlier, her held out his palm to hold her back and stepped inside. “It’s all right,” he said over his shoulder, already moving farther inside. Sophie followed him and looked around, shocked to find it so well kept after all these years. Certainly age and neglect had 94

Keys to Submission visited, but overall, the condition of the building and its contents was wonderful. To the right stood an old, outdated carriage, its wheels missing spokes and the fabric lining the coachman’s box eaten away by vermin or moths, or both. Behind it, a wooden table, sagging and splintered. To the left, another long table, bowed in the center but otherwise intact. Above it, drooping wooden shelves were cluttered with boxes, tins and bits of mangled cloth. On the side of the table hung several long leather aprons riddled with holes. “There,” she said, pointing at the table. She quoted the clues. “Beneath leather and iron, in a pouch of velvet, I reside.” “Miss Turner, you are a genius.” Ryder headed for the workbench. She scrambled after him, grinning widely. “Thank you, my lord.” They poked carefully among the grimy tools and fragile bits and pieces that littered the workbench. A rag disintegrated in her hand when she lifted it. She sighed. Of course, why would he go to such lengths and leave it out for anyone to see? “He’s hidden it beyond the clues,” she said with disappointment. Ryder was silent, but his eyes scrutinized each inch before him. His lips pursed and he leaned forward. “I don’t believe so. That would not follow his pattern. This, however, fits perfectly.” From among the litter on the shelf, he lifted a small, worn box. The shape reminded her a bit of the chest in her parlor. Her breath caught. Could it be? He ran his thumb over the top of the box. “It’s made of leather, except this bit here.” He angled it for her to see the iron decoration in the center. “Beneath leather and iron,” he murmured, and pried open the lid. Sophie bit her lip. Please, please, please, please. She could hardly bear to look. “What’s there?” she asked, voice tight. Ryder held the box lower so she could see. Inside lay the remnants of delicate black cloth. Poking through the threads, a gold-colored rod glinted in the dim light. “Take it out, Sophie. It’s yours.” She scooted closer, pressing herself along his body, taking 95

strength and comfort from his nearness. Fingers trembling, she reached forward, nudged aside the cloth and removed the object. As the black fabric fell away, she gasped. “It’s the second key! We found it.” Clasping it tightly, she threw herself into his arms, heedless of the box tumbling to the floor. She pulled his head down for a long, lingering, celebratory kiss. The heat between them flared immediately. Hot, intense and demanding. Sophie whimpered. She wanted more. So much more. His arms wrapped tight around her, his hands clutching at her buttocks as he drew her flush to his body. He rotated his hips, pressing hard into her pelvis. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” She laughed softly and returned the pressure. “As much as I want you, my lord.” “Sophie,” he muttered, kissing her again. And again. His mouth alternated between hard and soft, demanding and cajoling. He kept her emotions spinning and whirling, her desire ratcheting higher. “Now,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you now.” He pulled back and frowned down at her. “I will not take you for the first time in this mess, Sophie.” She palmed his face, the key dropping to the floor. She didn’t care. “Don’t you see? It has to be here.” She could not leave the ghosts of this place as unsettled as they were. Making love with Ryder might bring them solace. “I don’t want to wait. Please?” She saw another refusal form on his lips and decided to take matters in her own hands. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she cupped his hard cock. It surged into her palm. His hand curved over her head and he stared down at her with hooded, intense eyes. “Are you deliberately trying to incite me?” She rubbed her flattened palms up the sides of his erection. “No, my lord, I’m trying to entice you.” She squeezed the tip. He groaned, reached down and hauled her upright. “Hands behind your back,” he ordered. 96

Keys to Submission She complied, not breaking his stare. “Spread your legs.” She did. “Don’t move until I return.” Panic assailed her and she lurched slightly. “Where are you going?” His thumb caressed her jaw. “To get the blanket off of Goddard. You must trust me, Sophie.” Remorse wracked her. Trust was still difficult. “Apologies.” He pressed a swift kiss to her mouth and whispered, “I’ll take it out on your arse.” She shivered, turning the promise—threat? —over in her brain. The prospect of another spanking excited her greatly. She found herself startled by the admission. When the door opened behind her, she flinched but didn’t turn. “Very good,” he murmured, still out of sight. “Stay there until I tell you otherwise.” Forcing her eyes closed, she tried to curb her impatience. Soft noises came from Ryder’s vicinity, along with one or two muffled curses. Silence. Sophie opened her eyes to find him standing in front of her. She gasped. “You surprised me.” “Good. I trust it will not be the last time.” His face held an almost feral cast. His normally full lips were tight and set, eyes hot. “Turn around, slowly.” She did as instructed and realized all pretense of playful flirtation had flown from him. His darker side was fully in effect. His hands were at her back, unbuttoning her with brutal efficiency. Within seconds her gown drooped, nearly sliding off her shoulders, but he caught it at the last second. “Release your arms and slide your dress off.” Again she complied, and the gown pooled at her feet. He picked it up and moved in front of her, his gaze raking her body. She stood tall and proud, glad for him to see her. This morning she’d chosen to wear her sheerest chemise and last remaining pair of 97

silk stockings. She’d planned her wardrobe in the hopes he would be the one undressing her. Satisfaction flared on his face, echoed in her chest. “Beautiful,” he murmured. One finger stroked the line of her breast, circling her nipple. His thumb and forefinger snagged the bud, pinching with increasing force that soon had her straining upright on her toes. He released her and swept his hand toward the carriage. “After you.” She studied the sight as they approached. He’d created a decadent scene in no time at all. In front of the carriage, he’d spread the blanket. Hanging from the intricate iron scrolls surrounding the coachman’s box were two long strips of leather. She swallowed hard, looked down. At the wheelbase, two more strips appeared securely fashioned. Those bindings, she suspected, would soon be around her ankles and wrists. She stepped onto the blanket and faced him. A flash of green caught her eye and she saw he’d set her gown along one of the hooks impaled into a wooden support. At least she would not have to worry over stray bits of hay or vermin crawling into it. “Thank you,” she said, nodding at the dress. Ryder’s slight smile gave no hint of his intentions. He gripped the edge of her chemise, pulling it away from her belly, inching it upward. Her body tightened with each bit of flesh he exposed. When her breasts were finally freed to his gaze, she groaned. Her nipples hardened into aching nubbins. “Touch me,” she pleaded. Ryder lifted a brow and swept the chemise over her head. He hung it near her gown and returned. “How often must I remind you that I’m in control here, hmm?” He knelt and ran his hand along her left calf. “Lift your leg onto my knee.” When she did, his fingers danced along her calf, edging softly over the silk stocking until he reached the topmost portion at her thigh. His fingers splayed widely, nearly touching her pussy. She arched her hips, hoping for more. He pinched her lightly. 98

Keys to Submission She jumped. “Please, Ryder.” He rolled down her stocking, pushed her foot off and nodded at the other leg. She obediently lifted her toes to his knee and watched in silence as he performed the ritual again. The vision of this sensual man on kneeling in front of her, coupled with the feel of his strong hands, very nearly sent her into a pleasure spasm. She managed to forestall it. But her juices had already gathered and were inching down her thighs. She knew he could tell she was excited. Surely he must smell the sweet musk. He slid her foot from him, placed his hands along the inside of her thighs and pushed outward. “Spread your legs,” he instructed. She scuttled them across the blanket until she reached the very edge. “Hold.” He slid closer to her body, fingers dancing along her hips and pelvis. She shifted, trying to direct him to her cunny. “You are a very sensual woman, Sophie.” “Yes.” “You enjoy your body?” She looked away in embarrassment, then gasped as he tapped her hard just above her clitoris. “Yes,” she replied. “I do.” “Good.” He rose, crowding her backward until she bumped the carriage. “I believe you enjoyed yesterday’s demonstration as you lay across my lap?” She nodded. God, yes. Ryder studied her expression before he smiled. “I can see you did. When we’re not in such an awkward location, I’ll ask you more about it. But for now, you have earned ten more strokes with my hand. I will give you the option of being tied or not.” She wetted her lips, peering at the leather strip he held up to her. “It won’t hold you as well or as tightly as I’d prefer. It’s much too old for that. But it will bind you, render you unable to move or escape the blows.” The ache built even more. “I should like to be tied.” 99

His pleased smile hade her stomach tightening. “Excellent. Turn around.” He made short work of fitting the straps around her, tying them with obvious effort. The rough, time-worn material was harsh against her skin. They held her close, but not so tight she felt panicked. He stepped back and she moved experimentally, surprised to discover she could do little more than shuffle her feet. She twisted to look back at him and gasped. In his hands was a riding crop. “What is that for?” Ryder stroked the sturdy whip along her flank, dipped it between her legs and tapped it at her pussy. Sophie moaned and pulsed her hips, seeking greater contact. “I intend to lash your arse with this crop, Sophie. I want to hear the leather slap against your flesh, hear your pleasure.” Another spasm tore through her and she huffed at her inability to squeeze her thighs together. “Will it hurt?” “Probably. But, I guarantee you’ll come from it.” That enticement was all she needed. “All right.” He chuckled, smacking her lightly with the crop. “I wasn’t asking your permission, Sophie. I’ll have to see you read those books I mentioned and soon. Your education is a bit off in that regard. This is for my pleasure, not yours. I wish to discipline you, to feel the suppleness of your arse beneath my hand. My cock is already hard just thinking about slapping you with my crop and watching you come from the contact.” “Ah,” she exhaled. “Like that thought, do you?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Same rules as yesterday, Sophie. They are inviolate and should always be considered in force—no coming unless I give you permission.” She nodded, thinking how unfair it was. At the same time, though, forcing herself to obey his order excited her. Because of the consequences? Or because it pleased him? She didn’t know. 100

Keys to Submission The old hay scattered on the floor crunched beneath his boots as he approached. He pressed against her, his erection stiff and demanding. She shoved her hips back, but he moved away. Seconds later, his hand came down on her bottom, harder than the previous night and much louder. The slap had barely echoed away when he applied another, followed quickly by two more. She had no time to catch her breath or still the fire swirling on her arse. Four more quick smacks. Her toes curled and she stifled a whimper. It hurt, but in a way that made her ache for more. Her pussy throbbed and clenched, seeking relief though she knew none was forthcoming. “Do not come, Sophie.” She nodded jerkily and he applied the final two spanks harder than any before. She screeched and hunched, shaking from the pleasure-pain. Her orgasm hovered at the edge and she concentrated hard on stopping it, sighing with relief when it ebbed. Ryder stroked her hair. “Good girl. Now for the hard part.” He showed her the crop and then stepped away. “Do not look back, and don’t try to move or I might miss the spot I’m aiming for. I do not wish to cause you unintentional harm.” It was all the warning she received. The crop hit high on her left buttock, just at the fleshiest part. The small leather flap stung mightily, but it was not unbearable. The streak of heat it left behind immediately leapt to her pussy. As did the next blow on the opposite cheek. Four more lightning fast smacks, lighter then harder, spaced over her buttocks so she could not determine his next target. The tight little stings grew into a more substantial pain the more he continued to lash at her. The more it increased, the more she ached to come. Her tension built and roiled, but she held it at bay. Ryder moved closer, then whap whap whap whap. The crop stung the underside of her buttocks in such a rapid tattoo she couldn’t even count the strokes. The searing beats made her dance 101

in her bindings. The need to come grew even stronger and she squeezed her eyes, fingernails digging into her palm. “No, no, no,” she whispered. Ryder chuckled darkly. “Problem, little one?” She shook her head wildly, hair falling into her face and cascading down her back. Sweat dripped along her jaw and she shouldered it away. “Almost done, Sophie. Your arse looks amazing. You have tiny red bits criss-crossing your beautiful pale flesh. I would wager it’s hot as sin, too. My cock has never been this hard.” Each sentence was punctuated by another stroke, another lash, another push at the barrier holding her back. “Don’t,” she moaned. “It’s not fair.” “No, it’s not. Nor is this.” He gave her no warning, she would never have believed it possible, but the crop whistled as it sliced the air and landed with painful, ecstatic accuracy along her dripping pussy, connecting lightly with her clitoris. It sent her over the edge and she came, thrashing in her bonds. “Damn you, damn, damn,” she gasped and moaned as the orgasm swept through her. She was hot then cold, aching and still in need. The pressure of the crop on her clit only whetted her lust. When the final spasm left her, she collapsed against the carriage, panting heavily. Ryder appeared immediately, murmuring soft words and tearing away her bonds. She clung to his shoulders when he turned her into his embrace. He swept his hands along her back, cupping her bottom and soothing the hurt he’d inflicted. The light pressure was comforting and she relaxed into him. She nuzzled his neck, inhaling long and deep. He smelled of horse, leather and sex. It made her shudder. Or perhaps it was the stiffness of his cock pressing into her naked flesh that made her convulse. “You handled that very well, little one.” She flushed at his approval, smiling shyly. Would he make love 102

Keys to Submission to her now? She wanted him desperately, yet couldn’t seem to bring the words to the fore. He stepped away. “Stand there, hands behind your back, tits out.” Tits. The word rippled over her, delicious and enticing in its harshness. With avid regard, she watched as he began to undress, her body tightening as he exposed each bit of his toned, muscular flesh. In quick, efficient motions he stripped off his boots, jacket and cravat. His white lawn shirt was tugged over his head and tossed to the floor without the same care he’d given her clothes. She opened her mouth to question it, but his fingers worked the buttons of his breeches, spreading the fabric to reveal taut skin covered in golden curls. He stopped. She bit her lip, meeting his eyes. He lifted a brow. “What is it you want?” You. She shook her head. He regarded her steadily, hands still holding open his pants. The dark head of his erection surged, but remained hidden just below the fabric. “Tell me.” She moistened her lips and opted for boldness. “I want to see you.” “See what?” Arse, tits, pussy. He’d used the words with stark sensuality and she’d been thrilled with each utterance. Could he, too, become sexually charged by hearing her say them? They weren’t exactly a secret to her. “I want to see your cock.” He jerked visibly, jaw pulsing fiercely. Then he exhaled. “Ask.” “Please, may I see your cock?” The words tumbled out naturally, as if she’d known all along what to say. He gave a tight smile of approval. “Excellent. Yes, but not from there. Come here.” She closed the small distance between them. Her gaze dropped to his crotch. A long vein snaked under the taut skin, jutting from his hipbone and across his tight belly before diving lower. She 103

wanted to trace it and discover the entire trail. “Get my shirt.” She retrieved the garment. “All right. Now what?” “Kneel on it.” Sophie wondered what on earth he meant. The shirt could tear or get terribly dirty. How on earth would he wear it to return home? “Now, Sophie.” She shrugged. It was his chest bared to the night air, his coin to buy another. She wadded the soft material and dropped it on the ground, then settled atop it. Instantly she understood. Her head was exactly level with his cock. His musky arousal surrounded her. It was intoxicating. She leaned forward, inhaling deeply, trying to memorize his smell. Ryder stripped the pants from his body, stepping out of them and returning to the spot in front of her. He held his strong cock at its base with one hand, the other flattened along his sac. She was enamored of his erection, if a bit scared. His shaft jutted from his hips with elegant length. The head, dark as a summer plum and nearly as big, bobbed in front of her eyes. She looked at the base where he held it, then down at her own hand. She didn’t know if her fingers would wrap all the way around. He was too big! He would rip her apart if he took her. “Touch me,” he said gruffly. A thrill shot through her and she scooted even closer. She closed her hand around him just above his own fingers. To her relief she could fit them around, though barely. “It’s soft,” she exclaimed in surprise. “Hardly,” he said drily. She laughed. “The skin, I mean, it’s very soft.” She stroked up to the head and back down, noting his increased tension and sudden quick breathing. “Is that pleasurable?” “Yes,” he hissed. She clenched around him and dragged her palm up to the head, slipping over it. Her skin came away wet and she pulled away to look. A clear bit of fluid clung to her palm. 104

Keys to Submission “See how much you excite me? I want to spend already.” Pride suffused her. Ryder bent his shaft in her direction. “Sophie.” She looked up. “Have you ever had a cock in your mouth?” She gasped, shaking her head wildly. “Good,” he said flatly. “You are virgin in that regard. Come here and I will teach you how to pleasure me with only your tongue and the softness of your lips.” Sophie dropped her eyes back to his still-hard cock. She’d read about this practice in her book, though she’d not quite been able to picture the actual act. It seemed exotic and slightly forbidden, which of course, made her all the more excited. Even now, she could feel the pulse of her lower body stirring. She edged closer until her head was only a breath away from the head of his cock. Ryder’s breathing was as ragged as her own, but he held his control. “The most important thing is to make certain your teeth do not scrape me. In other words, no biting. You are going to open your mouth wide. Keep your lips and tongue soft. I will slide my cock into your mouth, then pull back out until you gain the rhythm. When you are ready, close your lips around me and bob your head. Slowly at first, all right?” She nodded, though more questions plagued her. What would he taste like? How would it feel? Would he be hot? He said he was on the verge of spending. Would he? In her mouth? Her eyes widened, but she had no chance to ask because as soon as she opened her mouth to question him, he set the hot bulbous head to her lips and slowly invaded. Heated steel lined with silk was the only way she could describe the feel of his shaft. He filled her mouth completely, his skin gliding along her tongue and teeth. She widened her jaw. “Ah, good girl, you learn fast,” Ryder said. He placed one hand on her head and exerted pressure. The head popped along the back of her throat and she gagged. As soon as she did, he pulled back but not all the way out. 105

“Relax your throat, Sophie. I don’t expect you to be able to take me down so far this time, but it feels highly erotic when your muscles clamp around my shaft.” He pushed back in and she concentrated on keeping her throat slack. She took more of him this time. Instinctively, she breathed through her nose and sucked more of him down. “Oh, fuck,” he grunted. She heard the surprised pleasure in his voice and narrowed her gaze. Just from holding him in her mouth? Sophie gripped his hips, tugging him just a little closer and tightened her throat at the same time before slowly easing backward. He quivered beneath her hands. Sophie repeated the motion again. And again. Each time his thighs shook more, his breath came harsher and his fingers gripped her curls spasmodically. “Damn and blast, Sophie, you’re a natural born cocksucker.” The dirty word coupled with his groans of appreciation and the feel of him filling her mouth sent her over the edge and she pulled away, nearly bending double with the force of her own, unexpected orgasm. It lasted a long, shuddering minute and when she regained control, she looked up to find Ryder still standing above her, stroking his cock, eyes hooded and deep lines bracketing his mouth. “I had no intention of taking you for the first time in a deserted house with no bed and only hay to soften the experience.” He knelt with her, cock still in hand. “Turn around, on your hands and knees.” “Now what?” she asked in near exasperation. Though she’d come twice, she was still aching and empty. She needed him inside her. “Another spanking?” “You’ll get that and more if you continue to question me. Now turn.” She gave him a look of irritation, but obediently spun and dropped her hands to the ground. His hands came down hard on her arse and she jumped and groaned at the resurgence of prickled 106

Keys to Submission pleasure. “I’d wanted to take my time with you, damn it,” he said with a half-snarl. “But your talented mouth and exquisite body push my limits, Sophie. I must have you.” He spread the globes of her arse and she tensed, tried to pull away from his prying eyes. He held her fast. Ryder dipped his finger along her dripping cleft, swirling the juices she emitted from her clit to her throbbing pussy. Sophie shuddered and arched her hips, silently pleading. His hand moved away, replaced by the super-heated head of his cock. “I’m going to fuck you, Sophie. Hard. Long. Fast. Deep.” “Yes, please,” she gasped, inflamed by his words. He rubbed his cock over and along her pussy, then fitted himself to her hole and slowly sank inside. He echoed her groan. She was so full, stretched to almost painful expansion. Darts of pain and pleasure rippled along her pussy and deep inside. He didn’t stop until his sac lodged against her lips. He stilled, but inside her body he throbbed and swelled, pushing her muscles out even more. She couldn’t hold back a whimper. “Does it hurt? You’re so damn tight.” “A little,” she managed. He eased backward and pushed back in. She clenched him with her inner muscles, trying to hold him still, but he wouldn’t allow it. Back and forth he thrust, in and out of her body. Long, slow motions that hinted at a greater pleasure. His finger sneaked between them and found her clit, lightly rubbing as he continued his motion. She shook at the new bombardment. He groaned in response. “Better?” “Yes,” she murmured. And it was. Her body reacted to his cock and finger by lubricating more heavily, easing his way. “Good,” he said and gripped her hips. “You may come as often as you like.” Her pussy spasmed and he choked out a laugh. “Already? Damn.” She was given no chance to respond. Within seconds Ryder 107

pounded all coherent thought from her mind. He stroked in and out of her pussy with the promised deep and hard thrusts. The friction dragged along her lower lips and shot her desire higher. Each time he sank into her body, she quivered. In and out, deep and hard. He stoked her like she would a fire, sending the flames to their hottest, highest peak. “Ryder, Ryder,” she panted, head dropped and fingers curling into the blanket. “Your pussy is so tight, Sophie. I feel you milking my cock.” She bit her lip, concentrating on her upward slide toward orgasm. Just a few more strokes and she would come hard. She’d never experienced anything so decadent and exquisite. Never been able to spend more than one time. What hold did Ryder have over her? He enveloped her with his nearness. His masculine scent mingled with the sweet musk of her desire, filled her nostrils, titillated her. She tensed and throbbed, hurting in the most delicious way. Suddenly Ryder slammed hard into her, his cock swelling to an impossible girth. Then he jerked out and laid his hand on her bottom. Disappointed because she’d been on the verge of coming, she peered over her shoulder and froze. He knelt behind her, cock in hand, stroking it hard and furiously. Dark lust painted his face, his teeth clenched and sweat dripped from his brow. His other hand sunk into the warmth of her arse, digging and pulling at her ample flesh. “Going to spend,” he panted, hand moving faster. “Going to, ahh!” His neck muscles convulsed and his eyes slammed shut. Thick, white come shot from the head of his cock, landing with hot splashes along her arse and back. The instant it hit her skin, Sophie responded in kind, pussy clenching and coming just as hard as he’d done. Shudder after immense shudder ripped through her and she could barely keep her posture. She slammed her thighs shut, squeezing her muscles as the orgasm rode her. 108

Keys to Submission “That’s it, Sophie, come. Come hard.” His hands traced the contours of her hips and buttocks, dipping between her legs to stroke at her dripping pussy. The added touch proved too much and she was shocked to find herself spending once more. Though it lasted on a fraction of the time, she was unable to remain upright and collapsed nearly all the way to the floor in a quivering mass. Gently his hands roamed over her. “Good girl,” he said. “You did very well, Sophie.” To her utter horror, the words triggered a flood of unexpected, confusing emotion and she burst into tears. Ryder gathered her into his arms, settled against a column and cuddled her close. “Shhh. All is well, little one. I’m right here.” Her mind spun into erratic directions. Her spirit soared high, then crashed low. She wanted him again and she wanted to push him away, afraid of the maelstrom he’d roused in her. But his embrace was a haven and she burrowed into his warmth, her arms snaked around his neck. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said between hiccups. His soft laugh was somehow as reassuring as the arms he wrapped around her. “It happens sometimes. Your release is so strong, the emotions so powerful in your pleasure, that your brain can’t cope any other way.” She sniffled and nodded. It made a strange sort of sense. “Will it happen every time?” “No. Another reason for training. It helps you overcome it.” She’d forgotten they’d been training. Your pleasure comes from pleasing me. She bit her lip, pulled back and searched his face. “What is it, little one?” “Did I please you?” He looked startled. “I spilled my seed all over your back, Sophie.” “That’s not an answer.” He tapped her nose, then kissed her slow and languidly. “Yes, my sweet, you pleased me greatly.” He chuckled suddenly and lifted her off his lap, looking down. “In fact, you please me so 109

much I find myself stirring again.” Her eyes widened and she followed his gaze. His cock was no longer as hard as before, but it did show signs of regaining strength. “Don’t worry,” he said, standing. He reached a hand for her. “I think we’re both in need of sustenance and recuperation. The evening was more”—he paused—“invigorating than I’d anticipated.” She didn’t think invigorating was what he meant to say, but decided not to push the issue. “Gather your things, Sophie. We must dress and return you home before Mrs. Higgins raises the alarm.” She laughed as she recovered her gown and chemise from the hook. “She’s appears rather partial to you, my lord. I believe you are safe from any constabulary inquiry.” He grinned as he shook out his shirt. Hay and dust flew through the air, nearly choking her. Within moments they were both somewhat respectably reclothed. To her relief, she easily found the key where she’d dropped it when he kissed her. She clamped her hand tight about the golden bit and nodded at Ryder. She had much to think about this night. Making love with Ryder had been nothing like her experience with Whitten. Heaven knew, the two men couldn’t be more different. For all his arrogance and control, Ryder made her feel warm and desirable. Realization was beginning to set in, and she wondered if she’d reached a point from which she would be unable to return. She liked being in his arms, liked being taken by him and giving as much as she took. Pleasure. Something more? Impossible, she reminded herself. She clutched the key and nodded at him. “We should return to Saunter House, my lord, and open the chest. Another key awaits us.”

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Chapter Six “Are you well, my lord?” Sophie’s anxious query roused Ryder from his mental castigations. He’d not meant to take her in such surroundings. Wanted, really, to ease her into new experience amid the luxury of soft goosedown and silken restraints. Not hay and hard leather. Still, she had seemed to enjoy herself. Hell, he knew she had. Her copious spending signaled that loud and clear. He allowed a small smile at the remembrance of her on her knees, mouth full of cock and eyes full of lustful wonder. He’d been right about her. Sophie Turner was infinitely trainable. That knowledge was half as intoxicating as the lady herself. “Yes, thank you,” he said belatedly. She sat on the horse in front of him again, body relaxed against his. She covered his hand on the pommel. “You are very quiet. It’s unnerving.” She coughed, and he saw the reddening of her ears and cheeks. “I mean, considering our recent activities.” “No fretting, Sophie.” He sought the words to ease her worry, but none came readily to mind. “I look forward to the next time.” She twisted in the saddle as they approached the house. She didn’t speak, but studied him with the intensity he was coming to realize she poured into all of her projects. Sophie did nothing by half-measures. “All right, I shall take your word for it, my lord, and cease my worries. For now.” He chuckled, dismounted, and helped her down. “I’ll stable Goddard and meet you inside.” She nodded and started to walk away, but he caught her from behind, spun her around and stole a long kiss. Her arms came round his neck with the ease of years rather than days, and she responded to his kiss with wet demands of her own. Finally, he pulled free. What was it about her that caused him to 111

lose his head so easily? She winked and headed toward the house, leaving him to shake his head. Within a few minutes, he’d stabled and rubbed down the horse, offered a fresh bucket of oats and mounted the stairs to the back door. It squeaked open in protest and he grimaced as he checked the hinges. Old and only half-hanging on, they needed to be replaced. He shut the door gently and made his way through the house to the drawing room. So much of this house required attention of some sort. It was a wonder it had fallen down around about her ears. He admired her perseverance, though, and understood why she’d been bold enough to seek him out at Ashford House. One more facet of her bright spirit to admire. At the errant thought, he stumbled and quickly righted himself. Admiration, nothing more than that. He swung open the parlor door and spotted her across the room, near the chest. She was staring at a blank spot on the wall. The faded discoloration around it showed a shadow roughly the size of a portrait. “What hung there?” he asked. She didn’t turn. “A sitting portrait,” she replied. “A lovely couple, very young and obviously in love. In the painting, he stands behind her, his hand on her shoulder, her fingers laced with his.” A throb sounded in her voice. “Where is it?” “I had it sent out for restoration. There were a couple of holes in it, and the color had dulled because of the dust. I have a friend in Suffolk who promised he could restore it for me without costing the earth.” He tensed at the mention of his half-brother’s town. She’d said she didn’t know Wolffe. He would take her for her word. “Who is the couple? Your parents?” “No,” she said on a high laugh. “My parents have no more than a cordial regard for each other. I doubt they ever loved as passionately as the pair in the painting.” With a sigh, she turned to face him. “It should be back in the next few days, for which I’ll be 112

Keys to Submission glad. I find I have greatly missed it.” “I assume Mrs. Higgins and Cook have gone for the day?” “Yes. We are quite alone.” “An invitation?” He grinned and tapped her nose. Her melancholy appeared to lift. “Perhaps. We shall see what happens.” Sophie tilted her head. “Won’t your staff be concerned over your long absence? I should hate for Dobbs to arrive with the cavalry and catch us in flagrante delicto.” Ryder laughed. Her sense of humor was as sly as his own. When had he ever been so relaxed and spontaneous around a woman? Never. All the women he consorted with were after his name and title or widows interested, like he, only in short-term affairs. “Not to chide the skills of your staff, Sophie, but Dobbs would sooner keel over than set foot through your doorway.” She burst into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, holding her sides. “The very idea of him in here, starched and stiff with his pristine little uniform—oh, it’s too much to contemplate.” He liked her laughter. A combination of innocent joy and passionate amusement. The very sound made him smile in return. “All right, minx, what first then? You wore me to absolute hunger in the carriage house.” He rubbed his belly. “I fear if you do not feed me soon, I shall swoon.” She laughed again, casting a wistful glance at the chest. “I had no idea you were such a delicate flower, Ryder. How interesting. Come along. Cook will have left a cold supper for me. And probably you as well.” They raided the kitchen and found the trove of foodstuffs left by Cook. A loaf of crusty bread, two meat pies, and an apple torte. Sophie’s eyes widened when she saw it, and he caught her nearsilent indrawn breath. “Is anything wrong?” “No. I’m a little surprised.” She bit her lip, gaze roving over the supper. Frustrated he could not read her, Ryder settled his arm about her shoulders. “It looks delicious.” “It looks expensive,” she muttered. 113

Ah, of course. Instantly he wanted to reassure her and to replenish whatever food stores her staff had raided to feed him. The next instant, he thought better of it. Sophie’s prickly, independent nature would likely reassert itself, and he didn’t want a row. Instead, he’d see to it that a rather large basket of goodies arrived from Ashford House in the morning. With his thanks to Cook and a request for a special dish. Surely Sophie would not turn that away. He wondered if he could arrange it without alerting her. She sighed and lifted one of the plates. “Well, it’s made. We should not let it go to waste.” “Do you have any wine? Any decent wine?” he amended, remembering with a shudder the hideous whisky she’d given him. “Yes, actually. Uncle had an excellent wine cellar here. He was something of a collector. I’ll fetch us a bottle.” The house creaked and cracked. “No,” Ryder said. “Tell me where it is, and I’ll select the wine.” “But it’s dusty and dirty down there. Not a suitable place for an earl.” He merely lifted his brow. “I am adding stubborn to the list.” “It wasn’t already there, between incorrigible and maddening?” “You’re in a right fine mood.” Sophie’s eyes glinted happily as she teased him. “I am. Incredible love-making, delicious food and excellent company will do that to a man. Where’s the cellar?” “There’s a little door next to the cook stove. Only half as big as a regular door, so you’ll have to bend stoop down. The stairs even out and are in sturdy condition, so you’ll not have to worry about them. Take a lamp, though. There are torches on either side of the wall just as you reach the end of the stairs. You’ll need to light them in order to see the wines.” Ryder found the door and eased it open, wincing as it stuck and screeched. Pitch-black darkness greeted him, and he held the candle into the void. No better. With a sigh, he carefully descended 114

Keys to Submission the stairs, relieved he didn’t bang his head or shin on anything in the virtual absence of light. When at last he stepped on the ground, coldness seeped into his boots and the air hung heavy around him. He located the torches, lit them and turned. Racks and racks of wines lined the walls, reaching deep into the bowels of the house. He was astounded. One would never guess such a treasure trove lay beneath the wreckage of Saunter House. He strode to a rack with a few bottles missing and studied the labels, finally selecting a Bordeaux. Bottle tucked beneath his arm, he lifted the candle, made for the steps and extinguished the torches before returning upstairs to Sophie. She sat on the chaise in front of the low table that had played in so many of their encounters thus far. He was beginning to develop a fondness for the scarred thing. She’d set two places, procured a pair of unmatched wine glasses and even lit a candle. Though somewhat outré, the atmosphere was definitely appealing. Romantic. He shoved the thought away. That road he could not go down, something he knew before he embarked on this arrangement with her. She was an excellent mistress, but a most unsuitable wife. He never thought he’d begrudge any woman, or man, for that matter, who indulging their passions. But he found himself wishing she’d exercised restraint three years ago. Tossed Whitten on his ear before things reached the level they had. Damn. She smiled up at him, and his heart constricted even more. Candlelight played on the soft planes of her face, turning her milky skin the shade of freshly churned butter. “Found something you like?” If she only knew. He hefted the wine bottle. “I did. And I must say, Sophie, I was quite surprised by the array down there. It’s incredible.” He uncorked the bottle and set it aside to breathe. A mischievous look crossed her face. “It gets better the farther back you go. Haverstock must have been quite the adventurer. Uncle said there are many, many bottles of old rum there. I told 115

you there were smugglers.” He chuckled. “I didn’t realize you meant under your house.” “Indeed.” He reached for the bottle them each a large draught. Sophie handed over his filled plate with an apologetic shrug. “The dining room is not quite fit for actual use as yet. Mrs. Higgins and I are concentrating on the study.” “Quite all right,” he murmured as if accustomed to perching on a chaise, eating food precariously balanced on his knees. “It’s delicious.” “Cook is a marvel at making something out of nearly nothing.” When she forked a bite of the meat pie in her mouth, he found himself enraptured by the way her lips closed over the prongs and slowly swiped them clean. He shifted, moving his plate higher on his lap. Good lord. Already he wanted her again. She lifted her chin in the direction of the chest. “What do you think the final treasure will be?” Ryder hesitated, not wishing to douse all her hopes. At the same time, he knew that whatever gold or gems the chest contained would probably not be enough. “Sophie,” he began, only to be interrupted by the airy wave of her fork. “Don’t try to sugarcoat it. You don’t think it will be anything, do you?” “No.” “Too bad,” she said, reaching for the apple tart. “I have great expectations. I shan’t be disappointed.” He wanted to argue the point, but didn’t. Instead he swiped the remaining tart and finished it off in three delicious bites. “Bloody hell, Sophie, is your Cook up for grabs? I could grow fat and arrogant on this kind of fare.” “No, she’s not. Ad you’re already arrogant.” She eyed him as if evaluating a prized stallion. “And I wager you’ll never go to paunch. You’re not the type.” “Thank you. I think.” 116

Keys to Submission “Are you done with your supper?” “Yes.” He didn’t question the abrupt change of subject. He’d already sensed the impatience growing in her for the last ten minutes. “Good.” She stood, snatched up the key, and marched to the chest. He joined her, propped his hand on this hips, and waited. She hesitated. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed in, slow and deep, several times. “What if there is nothing else?” This attitude, the exact opposite of her conviction only moments before, surprised him. “You shan’t be disappointed, remember?” That brought a smile. “Yes.” She sank to her knees, fitted the key to the lock and gently turned it. In the tense silence, a low click was heard, followed by another as the last tumbler fell into place. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a ragged breath. “Success.” She shoved the lid open, revealing the third chest and another well-preserved sheet of vellum, this one rolled into a tight scroll and tied with a tiny blue ribbon. Ryder stared at the bit of finery for a long moment. Something about it stirred his memory, but wouldn’t fully form. Then her fingers closed around the paper. He helped her to her feet and they returned to the chaise. She fairly vibrated with excitement. “Another glass of wine?” he asked. “No. I want to open it now.” He stacked the dishes neatly, put them under the table and wiped away the crumbs. She watched him with amused awe. “How very domesticated you are, my lord. Another intriguing dimension to your personality.” “One can’t always be surrounded by servants.” “Hmm. Never say you can cook or wield a needle?” “On rare occasions, yes.” 117

“How very unusual.” “Don’t let it become common knowledge, then. I’d hate for my reputation to be—” He broke off, aghast at his verbal fumble. But, as had happened so often the last few days, she surprised him by laughing. “The damage has been done to my reputation. No need to walk upon shells about it. Come now, put this out of your mind and let us decipher our next set of clues.” He nodded tightly, irritated at his own stupidity. He might not have hurt her with his words this time, but he could have done. In future, he’d take greater care. She tugged the ribbon and unfurled the paper, spreading it on the table. They leaned down to read the clues together. “Look to the heavens to see my point. The sky perhaps?” “Possible, but how? The stars? A chart of constellations?” Ryder shrugged. “What’s next?” “Hear the melodic tones of my call to the Town.” She sighed, then read the third clue. “In the house we chose, all shall witness two into one.” “That makes even less sense than the planter with the roof,” he grumbled. “Have a little faith, my lord. We deciphered that one, didn’t we?” “Hmm. In panes of brilliant glass, through her glory crowned. Explain that one,” Ryder challenged. “Watch the rays upon my stone, loosened and now my home.” He fell silent, digesting the five odd pieces of information. Sophie tapped her fingernails on the table, reading and rereading the clues. Finally, she leaned back against the chaise and crossed her arms under her breasts. Ryder’s interest was caught, and he straightened up just as she shot forward. “Oh!” They bumped foreheads. He grunted. “Are you all right?” “Stings like the devil, but yes, I’m fine. The diary,” she said, looking around. “We should look through it and try to find matching entries.” 118

Keys to Submission His blood chilled. Blast and damn, he’d hoped to have time to peruse it alone. If he brought it out of his pocket now, she’d realize he’d lifted it like a light-finger. “Surely we don’t need it. We haven’t even tried.” She stood, staring about the room. “Why waste an avenue of possible information? I thought was here, where I had it last. Do you see it?” “No,” he said honestly. The book burned against his hip. “Perhaps in the study?” Her brow wrinkled. “What on earth would it be doing there?” “Mrs. Higgins, no doubt.” He made a silent apology to the absent, innocent housekeeper. “She could have found it and carried it there. Perhaps she placed it on one of the shelves she was cleaning.” Sophie’s face cleared up. “That must be it. I’ll go see. Back in a moment.” She bounced from the room. Ryder craned his head toward the doorway, listening intently. When he was positive she was beyond sight or hearing, he slid the blasted book from his pocket and stuffed it beneath the chaise. “A new low,” he grumbled. He looked down, but didn’t see the book. “Damn it!” He bent over, feeling beneath the chair, but it was gone. “What now? Poltergeists?” “Poltergeists?” Sophie said incredulously as she strode into the room. “What do you mean?” Ryder closed his eyes. “I wondered if a mischievous ghost absconded with it.” “Well, it wasn’t in the study.” She sank onto the chaise, lip firmly trapped between her teeth. “I must find it. I feel it’s of great importance, though I’ve no idea why. I had not read much of it, but if the book and this quest are connected, surely there will be more information there. A great aid to us.” He shifted his foot and exclaimed, making a show of looking down. “What on earth?” Sophie followed his gaze. “Please, tell me it’s not a rodent.” He paused. Chuckled. “No, I think I brushed against something, but it moved backward.” He stood, eased the table out of the way, 119

dropped to his knees, and stuck his arm under the sofa. “Ryder, your clothes,” she protested. He gave her a wry grin. “They were scattered about dirt, hay and who knows what earlier today, my dear. A bit of dust is not about to harm them now.” She colored, and he shoved his arm farther under the couch, anxious to find the damn book. Where had it gone? He’d been jesting about the ghost. “Come on,” he muttered, spreading his fingers and sweeping them back and forth. Finally he brushed against the target. “Aha! Here it is.” Triumphantly, he retrieved the diary, brushed off the cobwebs and handed it to her. She stared at it, then at him, and he held his breath, hoping she would not question this coincidental stroke of luck. “Thank you, my lord. I fear we would have been lost without it.” She opened the diary, moving the thin blue ribbon to the front, and scanned the page. Then the next. Ryder watched her read, fascinated by the play of emotions over her face. Amusement, surprise, and an odd expression he couldn’t place. Almost satisfaction? She stabbed at a page. “Here. Here it is. Oh, oh my.” “What?” He crowded her, peering down at the exacting script. Again his heart stilled before starting to beat a rapid tattoo. Even upside down, the handwriting looked like hers. No. He refused to believe it. Never mind that it made a strange bit of sense. “They intended to be wed.” Not what he’d expected. “When?” Sophie looked over the page, and the next, then shook her head. “Doesn’t say. But I think this is our link to the clues.” “How so?” Ryder rubbed his thumb over her wrist. The book shook in her hand, but when she spoke, her voice was level. “This passage mentions they’d found the perfect church in which to marry.” She looked up. “I suppose the village rector would not have performed the service without her father’s approval.” 120

Keys to Submission “What man of the cloth would, though?” “Excellent point. Unless they procured a special license, the banns would have to have been read. Or they might have scarpered to Gretna Green. But, oh, I don’t see her doing that. Eloping there, I mean.” Ryder mulled over the notion of a church being referred to in the clues. “Well,” he said slowly as he re-examined them, “town is written a bit odd with the T capitalized. Perhaps in this case, Town refers to London.” She stiffened. “It is possible they found a small church in the city that would marry them without all the formalities. Some rector in a small parish could easily be swayed by the promise of a sizeable donation.” Still Sophie said nothing. He paid little heed as he warmed to his theory. “It all makes sense. The heavens would be God, the house where two become one would be a church. Brilliant panes must mean a stained-glass window.” Silence. He looked at her. “Sophie, what’s wrong?” he asked sharply. “You’re pale as snow.” Carefully, she licked her lips, her fingers playing at the edges of the diary pages. “I cannot go to London.” “What? Why not?” Her laugh was cynical and tired. “Take your pick, my lord,” she said acidly. “I have been ostracized, banished, forbidden ever to return to the bosom of London Society. I would sooner walk across hot coals in bare feet than step foot into that miserable existence again.” He conceded she had a point. “Besides, though we suspect it might be a church, we have no idea which one. Every town, village and large hill in England seems to have a steeple.” “Haven’t we already proven we excel at that kind of challenge?” he reminded her. 121

Sophie’s heart pounded, and a sick sort of sloshing ate at her belly. London. Why did it have to be London? She’d spent three years crafting a new life away from those hateful people. She had no desire to return. “Even for your treasure?” His words hit exactly upon her dilemma. If she didn’t go, she couldn’t be sure of retrieving the key and all hope of finding the treasure would be lost. Although, she supposed, she could do what he’d suggested early on and hack her way into the chests. “I’ve got a large hammer, my lord. Enough nonsense with this frivolity. I’ll open the chest that way.” “No,” he said firmly. “Sophie, listen to me. You were right about the diary. It will give us the missing links to the clues and lead us to the correct church. I am sure of it.” “But—” “Once we have that information, it will be as it was in the maze and carriage house. We find the key, we claim it, we leave. No one need realize we are even in London. When it is in our possession, we’ll return to Saunter House.” She stared at him, heart pounding. “My idea makes more sense.” “Is it truly the way you would honor your uncle’s final wishes?” Oh, low blow, that one. The earl was obviously not above a bit of emotional blackmail. Uncle Orrick would have been devastated if she sawed through the locks. She knew that much. In the years he held the house and the quest, he’d never so much as suggested doing that. Dread washed over her as another realization intruded. Opening the chests meant an end to her association with Ryder. She peered at him from beneath her lashes and her body quickened. No. She was not yet ready for their sexual game to be done. But to return to London? Her only memories of it were shrouded in pain and regret. Personal remonstrations of her idiocy. Going back meant facing her sins, and she didn’t know if she 122

Keys to Submission was ready to do that. Another horrific thought struck her. “I can’t. If we are seen together, you will be ruined.” “Hardly,” he said. But she shook her head fiercely. “It’s not a laughing matter, Ryder. If our association is discovered, you will be tainted by it.” “I promise you, we won’t see anyone.” “You can’t guarantee that.” “You must trust me, Sophie. Finding the key, the way Orrick would have wanted you to, is important, is it not?” She nodded slowly. “You must know that I hold a bit of sway among the Ton. My title, if nothing else, would ensure me grace and protection. Which means your worries are groundless.” His argument made a great deal of sense. She sucked in a breath, so very tempted to agree. Hacking through the hinges would mean the hunt for the keys would end. And, in turn, so would their association. Something for which she was not yet prepared. “I don’t know what to do,” she said on a whisper, completely torn by need and common sense. “One night, Sophie. It’s all I’m asking. Please?” She rubbed at the mounting pain in her temple. “Let me think on it. If you will return tomorrow afternoon, I shall give you my answer.” His mouth opened and shut before he nodded tightly, clearly holding back any further objections, for which she was grateful. The prospect of going back to London terrified her. What if she ran into her parents? Or Whitten? The women who’d learned of the affair and publicly shouted the news? And despite his protestations and assurances, she worried for Ryder as well. Not to mention his mother’s high dudgeon, should she hear of it. Sophie was not certain how she would react in any of those situations. What a bumble it all was. Ryder was suddenly in her vision, his face close and dear. “Don’t worry over it tonight, Sophie.” He kissed her lightly, his 123

hand cupping her cheek and stroking it with light, comforting pressure. He rose and held his hand to her. “Why don’t we go upstairs to your room and make love in a proper setting?” Her buttocks clenched, but her pussy eagerly sprang to life. Pushing the unthinkable prospect of London from her mind, she clasped his fingers and stood. “Capital idea, my lord.” She took up the candle and smiled when he gathered the wine and their empty glasses. He caught her gaze and winked. “You make my mouth go dry, Sophie.” He tipped the bottle, sloshing the remaining liquid. “I rather like the sound of that,” she said as they tromped up the stairs. She opened the door to her tidy, expansive bedroom and moved inside, wondering what he would think about it. It had been the first room tackled when she took occupancy and cleaned until her fingers nearly bled. The large featherbed dominated the far side of the room, flanked by two marble-topped nightstands. To the right stood a tall wardrobe and a vanity with her toilette stand. Near the windows in between was a reading divan. She’d passed many a rainy day upon that settee, watching the water sluice off the glass and pondering what she’d accomplished. Or not accomplished. He grinned as he surveyed the room. “Nice bed. It’s big.” “Yes, and comfortable too.” Ryder set the wine on the bedside table and held out his arms to her. “Come here, Sophie, and let me make love to you properly.”

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Chapter Seven “Miss, your cousin and his wife have arrived. Shall I seat them in the drawing room?” Sophie looked up from the journal, her mind still mired in the complex puzzles and cryptic words written by Billings Haverstock. She stared at Mrs. Higgins. “Hamilton is here?” She rose. “And Theta?” Her cousin-in-law was expecting their first child soon, and Sophie was surprised she would break her confinement for a visit. “Indeed. Both of them.” “Yes, please settled them in the drawing room and have Cook provide a tea tray. I don’t suppose we have any more of those delicious tarts from yesterday?” Mrs. Higgins beamed, though tears welled. “No, but his lordship sent over a basket this morning. Brimming it was, with apples and meats and all sorts of wonderful surprises.” Sophie’s jaw dropped. “He included a personal note for Cook. Said her food was beyond delicious and he was hoping she would use the supplies to continue her efforts.” Sophie wanted to cringe. Was her need so blatantly evident? “Cook was thrilled, as you might imagine. You should have seen her all puffed up, and rightly so. Not often an important one like him takes notice of us kind. He’s not your ordinary aristocrat, now is he?” “No,” Sophie agreed slowly. “There is nothing ordinary about Lord Ashford.” A warmth suffused her, edging out the embarrassment. Last night’s second bout of love-making mirrored the first in many ways, and her bottom was definitely sore this morning. But there had been something she hadn’t experienced before. A tenderness he’d expressed with his body and his hands, if not his mouth. She’d felt, she realized, cherished. 125

And now, her staff did as well. His generosity made her heart swell. “See to Hamilton and her ladyship, Mrs. Higgins. I’m a bit dusty and need to freshen up. Will you please let them know I’ll join them as soon as may be?” When the housekeeper bobbed her white-capped head and went off to convey the message, Sophie scampered upstairs to tidy her hair and brush away the dust she’d accumulated while working in the study. In the mirror, her eyes caught sight of the now-empty bottle of wine. She smiled fondly as her body responded with a shiver of memory. Desire pinched at her. Now was not the time to remember his scandalous use of the wine, or how it had tingled and burned when he’d dribbled it on her clitoris. He’d made her wait a full sixty seconds before he suckled the wine away, sending her into a shocking orgasm that ended with her clasping his head to her pussy and coming in his mouth. She blushed and waved her hand like a fan around her face. Hamilton would pick up on her heated emotions if she didn’t find a way to dispel them. She was not up to answering any uncomfortable questions he might pose. After a few moments more of determined breathing, she hurried down the stairs and into the drawing room. “Hamilton, Theta, how delightful to see you,” she exclaimed as she walked in. “Theta, love, don’t get up.” She bent and hugged her cousin-in-law. “Are you well?” “Fine, fine,” Theta murmured, but without her normal cheeriness. Hamilton wrapped Sophie in a deep, prolonged embrace. Her heart lodged in her throat when he released her. His face was drawn and sober. Theta bore a look of worry and trepidation. Was it the babe? Or, heavens, had they learned of her liaison with Ryder? “Sophie, sit down.” Hamilton paced the small confines of the room while she sank next to Theta, who took her hand and clung to it as if she were 126

Keys to Submission drowning. “I had no idea, you must believe me,” she said. Sophie felt ill. “No idea about what? You’re frightening me, Theta.” Hamilton cursed and raked a hand through his hair. “Tell her.” She turned her gaze to her cousin-in-law. “I… I had a visitor yesterday. Stopped in quite unexpectedly. No notion she was coming, you understand. A shock really. Came about tea time. Not too early, but midday I would think.” “Theta, get to the point,” Hamilton barked. Sophie turned to stare at him. She’d never heard her cousin use such a tone with his wife. He adored her beyond the usual niceties of marriage. Theirs was a love-match in the truest sense. Two people more meant for each other likely did not exist in the world. Well, Lady Corwin and her husband seemed a fine pair as well, but she’d not been with them long enough to accurately assess that relationship. “Don’t rush me, darling. This is difficult enough as it is.” Theta continued to squeeze and release her hand. “Oh, Sophie, there isn’t any easy way to broach this.” She broke off, and Sophie wanted to strangle the information out of her. Instead, she patted Theta’s arm. “Perhaps a bit of tea will loosen your tongue?” Theta gave a watery, laughing sob. “Spiked with rum, perhaps.” She drew herself up. “All right, then. Yesterday my visitor, to my great shock, was… Oh heavens. It was Lady Whitten.” The words, spewed out in a rush, struck her like physical blows. Sophie recoiled from Theta, jumped to her feet and darted behind the chaise. She looked from one to the other. Ham, his face closed and still, regarded her steadily. Theta, however, had tears running down her plump cheeks and harsh regret on her face. “I’m so sorry,” Hamilton said. “We shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have dredged this up for you again. But it upset Theta so. She did not sleep the entire night for fretting over it. Finally, out of concern for her health and that of the babe, I agreed to bring her here.” “Why?” Sophie finally choked out. “Why did Lady Whitten pay a 127

call?” She’d known that Lady Judith Whitten had been a friend of Theta’s before she married Hamilton. Knew, in fact, all the women in that tight circle were acquaintances of her now-cousin by marriage. While Sophie continued to live with Hamilton, the women had not made many appearances, and when they did, she was given ample warning. Most often, she would wind up at Saunter House with Uncle Orrick, listening to his tales of youth and adventure. Ironic, because she was running from her own wild impetuosity. “What does she have to do with your visit today?” Sophie prodded, the knot of dread growing larger. Theta shared a glance with her husband, fingers twisted in a tight knot. “Sophie, she wants to see you.” “Impossible.” Sophie recoiled from the notion. “I won’t do it. Nothing good can come of it.” “I know it feels that way,” Theta said soothingly. “But if you would just hear her out.” Her cousin’s eyes dropped, and her hand cupped her rounded stomach. “I can’t speak for all that she wishes to say, but I know she wants to apologize to you.” “For what?” Sophie laughed with near-hysterical incredulity. “I’m the one who made her a female cuckold, however unwittingly. In return, and as was her right, she spared me not a thought or care when she and her friends spilled the secret to Society. Our lives deviated onto separate paths, and here we are.” “Sophie, please.” “No, I’m sorry. I cannot do it.” Theta sighed and wearily sat back against the chaise. Hamilton crossed the room and rubbed her shoulders. “Lady Whitten will be staying with us for a few days more, Sophie. I urge you to reconsider. Should you choose to see her, our door is always open.” “Thank you, cousin.” Ham helped his wife to her feet. “We’ll be going now.” Sophie gave a tight nod, mouth set, unable to look at either of them. 128

Keys to Submission As they left the room, Sophie heard Cook trill a high, girlish laugh. She whirled and dashed from the room, catching up to Hamilton as he jolted to a stop. “Ashford. What the deuce are you doing here?” Theta’s soft gasp reached Sophie and she groaned. Blast all the luck. “Shaw, Lady Theta, a pleasure to see you again.” Ryder’s deep voice held a note of polite reserve. “You have yet to answer my question” Hamilton’s tone grew sharper. Sophie edged around them, stepping into the middle of the trio. “Hamilton, please. It’s quite acceptable. His property marches with this one. A neighborly call, I am certain.” She curtsied in Ryder’s direction. “Lord Ashford.” “Miss Turner.” Despite the situation, his formal, oh-so-correct tone set her lips to twitching. Hamilton muttered from behind her. “I was not aware you were acquainted with my cousin, my lord.” Ashford remained impassive. “But I am.” “Oh, this ridiculous male posturing.” Theta moved next to Sophie. “My lord, please forgive my husband’s bluster. He’s had a bit of a shock, I suppose. For us, ‘tis been quite a stressful day.” Ryder didn’t respond. Thankfully, Hamilton remained silent as well. Sophie rushed to shoo her cousins out before more damage was done. “Thank you for stopping by, Hamilton. I will take your request under consideration.” Theta stared up at her, hope shining in her eyes. “Truly?” Sophie immediately felt like the worst kind of fraud. “Yes.” “Oh, Sophie, that’s wonderful. Thank you.” Theta collected her in a tight hug. “Come along, Hamilton.” “Not until I know why Ashford’s here.” Her cousin sounded resolved. And dangerous. Sophie stared at him in wonder. This cold side was something she’d never witnessed before. Was it concern, or something else? 129

“As it happens, Shaw, Miss Turner was kind enough to let me stable my horse here after an accident a few days ago. I came to repay her generosity.” Theta’s hand flew to her neck. “You weren’t hurt?” Ryder shook his head. The silence grew, and Sophie turned to peer at Hamilton. After a tense moment, he nodded. “Fair enough. Walk out with us then. Now that you’ve said your piece.” Ryder gave a terse smile. “But I haven’t, have I?” “Hamilton, all is in order,” Sophie said firmly. “You must sweep Theta off her feet and home to bed. I don’t know what you were thinking to allow her to come this distance in the first place.” A sheepish, chagrined expression chased the anger from his face. He looked down at his wife with growing concern. “Love, are you well?” Theta played her part perfectly. She wilted a bit and leaned heavily against his side. “I do need rest, Hamilton. Please, can we go?” “Of course.” He steered her down the hall, past an obliging Ryder who stepped out of the way. Sophie followed them to the door, watched them clamber into their carriage and drive off down the road. “I’m sorry,” Ryder said in a low voice behind her. She turned, caught sight of Cook’s vivid interest, and cocked her head toward the drawing room. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned weakly against it, mind reeling with everything that had transpired. What on earth could Lady Whitten wish to speak with her about? “What did I interrupt?” he asked quietly. Sophie shook herself from her stupor. “Nothing of importance.” “I doubt that.” She had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to let it pass without explanation. She pushed away from the door. “I don’t suppose you’d go for another bottle of wine, would you?” “No.” Fair enough. “Please, do take a seat.” 130

Keys to Submission “That bad?” She grimaced. “Afraid so.” When he was settled, she explained Ham and Theta’s unexpected visit and the improbable request from Lady Whitten. He said nothing when her explanation trailed off, and soon his silence rubbed her last nerve. “My lord? Have you nothing to offer?” He sighed. “Sophie, I think you should tell me what happened three years ago.” Her mouth went dry as sand. “What?” “Tell me about your affair with Whitten.” The air whooshed from her lungs as he succinctly stated his request. She took stock of her emotions, relieved to find none of any import. No wistful regret, no pang of unrequited need for her ex-lover. Naught. “It happened unexpectedly, as you might imagine. I met him at a costume ball. We were introduced, he asked me to dance. Afterward, we visited the refreshment table for lemonade. Whitten suggested we take our drinks outside to the veranda where the air would be cooler.” She offered him a rueful smile. “I was quite naïve. I truly thought he wanted only to see to our comfort.” “Of course. Was this your first fête?” “No. The Season was nearly half gone. It was my debut, though, and my parents were becoming agitated. I’d had no offers, you see, and they desperately wanted me wed.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Preferably to a man of wealth and rank, never mind the fact I had little dowry and was hardly a diamond of the first water.” “Bollocks,” Ryder said. “I remember you. I was struck by your beauty and poise.” He teased a curl bobbing at her ear. “You had an air about you, unlike other debutantes that year. I admit to being intrigued.” Sophie, startled, regarded him from wide, bewildered eyes. “When was that?” “Hmm.” He tugged again at the curl. “Must have been shortly before Tori’s wedding. I didn’t approach you, though. To be blunt, I had no interest in marriage.” 131

Sophie flushed. “Apparently that was not a factor, my lord. You see how it turned out.” He laughed and shook his head. “You are a marvel, Sophie. A true original.” “For all the luck that’s brought me.” She once more wished for a glass of wine or tea or anything to ease the constriction in her throat. “He kissed me that night. It was my first kiss, and far less impressive than I expected.” She peeked to see how he took the news. He wore a smug look. Men. “I put him out of my mind, though I was a bit intrigued by the idea of kissing. I felt there should have been more, but I didn’t know what.” He nodded. “You are a naturally sensual woman, Sophie. There’s no way you could hide that from yourself. Once you set on the path, you would not be deterred.” She was amazed how much he knew of her. Not even her own family understood her passions and what unthinkable actions they led her to. “Yes, that’s it exactly. He pursued me, though I have no idea why. And, looking back with perfect clarity, I realize he did so in a clandestine manner because of his betrothal. He did not court me outright. No walks to Hyde Park or strolls along Bond Street. Only the usual everyday run-ins and encounters at the various social functions we both attended.” “When did it change?” “About two weeks after our kiss, we met at a large ball. Outside, as it happened. The crush was too much for me, so I escaped to the gardens, found a bench and gazed at the stars.” She gave a wan smile. “I was bemoaning my lack of romance when suddenly he appeared before me. He is a very handsome man,” she admitted. “And that night, he was exceptionally so. He played the part perfectly, too. He sat next to me, said my name in a low, entreating voice and kissed me. He continued to do so until my head spun. Soon enough his hands wandered, and that was when I realized this was the ‘more’ I’d been seeking.” The smugness had left his face, replaced by a dark scowl. Ryder leaned back, arms crossed and tense. 132

Keys to Submission “I will spare you the intimate details.” “Thank you,” he said drily. “That night was our first together, and it was pleasant. Intriguing. But again, that sense of ‘more’ lying just out of reach. Which, I suppose, is why I continued. I wanted to conquer that blasted, elusive feeling.” “Did you ever achieve it?” “Not with him.” He grinned. “Ah.” “For the next month or so, we continued to find ways to meet secretly. Then Lady Whitten returned from the Continent. Well, she wasn’t Lady Whitten then, but she was his fiancée. Something he’d neglected to mention.” Sophie sighed. This was the worst part of the story. This was when she’d discovered she had no real friends and was apparently dispensable to her family. “One of Lady Whitten’s friends had been suspicious of him for quite some time and followed us one night. She saw us kissing and immediately told Judith, who in turn, confronted me.” “Were you alone?” “Yes. She came to my house and told me who she was and their plans to marry. I was horrified. I apologized and swore to her we were done. She said she would never forgive me for my part in what occurred, but that she would say nothing. I guessed she did not want any part of a scandal, either.” “That did not last long.” “Actually, one of her friends let it out. We were all in attendance at the same party, and Lord Whitten had the absolute gall to ask me to dance. I refused, of course.” “Of course,” Ryder echoed, leaning forward. He gripped her hands with his, stroking the sensitive underside of her wrists. She was immediately comforted. Amazing how much strength she drew from this man. He suffused her with contentment. “It was too much for her friend, however, and she accosted me, making spiteful remarks to which I was idiotic enough to reply. Though she whispered, we were overheard. Within the hour, the news had made its way through the entire reception.” 133

“Devil take them all,” he swore. “I was stunned when my parents confronted me with the news.” “There? They didn’t wait until you returned home?” “No. My father felt he had to make a statement. Said he meant only to force Whitten’s hand then and there.” “Did it work?” She smiled bleakly. “In a manner of speaking. Whitten produced himself the very next morning and asked for my hand in marriage.” That day remained an unreal haze. The high emotions, raised voices and veiled threats still haunted her. “I said no.” Ryder cleared his throat. “Far be it for me to second-guess your father, but why on earth did he allow you to do that?” “Money,” she said shortly. “Whitten didn’t wish to marry me any more than I did him. The pity of this whole blasted mess is that he was truly in love with Judith. I was a momentary distraction, he said that day. Nothing serious, though we’d gone beyond the boundaries.” “He did, you mean. You were a damn innocent, Sophie, and blameless. That bastard is the only one at fault here.” She started at his vehemence. Did he really mean that? No one, not even her parents, defended her in such a manner. Her heart did a crazy little flip and she pressed a hand to her chest, hoping to calm it. “Thank you,” she said softly. “However, I must point out that I did somewhat enjoy the sex, and it is a reason I continued.” Ryder chuckled. “But you didn’t love him?” “No!” “Where does the money come in?” She crinkled her nose, aware of the irony. “When I declined the offer of marriage, my father continued to press the issue. Whitten finally offered him a large sum of money to accept my refusal.” “Are you saying that your father… sold you?” “My reputation, yes. Me, no. It was agreed I would quietly retire to the country and never darken Town doors again. By this time, I’d been made the laughingstock of the Ton. Oh, a few determined matrons invited me to their soirees after the news broke, but it was merely as entertainment.” 134

Keys to Submission “Bitches,” he said viciously. She smiled and patted his knee. “I am quite recovered, my lord.” He returned her smile. “Yes, I can see that you are. Back to your story, then. In the intervening years, you’ve had no contact with them?” “No, none. They got married, I retired to the country. When I turned one-and-twenty, I inherited Uncle Orrick’s house.” She spread her hands to encompass the sitting room. “And here I’ve been ever since.” “Then why now?” he wondered. “What does Lady Whitten want?” Sophie hugged herself. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I won’t see her.” “It sounds as though she won’t give up easily, Sophie. What will you do if she turns up on your doorstep herself?” She cursed. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He remained silent. Finally she sighed. “Well, my lord, as uneasy as it makes me, there seems to be only one avenue available.” “What is that?” “I guess we are going to London.” Ryder gave her an assessing stare. “You’d go to London to avoid meeting with her?” “Yes. You’ve assured me we won’t see anyone. And even if we do, who is going to remember me after three years absence?” He knew how long the Ton’s memory was, but he didn’t want to dissuade her. He found himself waking in the night, searching the bed for her. Wished countless times she’d been coiled next to him. Had to relieve his passions twice because of her. Even now he wanted her. He glanced at the door. Mrs. Higgins and Cook had been noticeably absent since his arrival. He suspected they were well aware of the affair. Furthermore, given their lack of hovering, it seemed they approved. He rose, closed and locked the door, and returned to Sophie. 135

Reaching down, he lifted her to her feet and drew her to the center of the room. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Dance with me, Sophie.” Her entire face suffused with delight. “But we have no music.” “I could hum, but your ears might bleed. We’ll take it one step at a time.” He caught her in the close grip of a waltz. His left arm curved naturally around her small waist, and he took her right hand in his. “Ready?” “Yes, though I feel silly,” she replied with a soft laugh. Ryder stepped forward, pleased when she automatically followed. They skirted the room with slow, methodical movements, but as she relaxed in his arms, he picked up the pace. He whirled and twirled her, watching the smile and delight grow on her face. She leaned back in his arms. “This is quite amusing, my lord.” “Good. That was my intention.” “Oh?” She lifted a delicate brow. “Did I seem in need of fun?” He clenched his hand at her waist. “Only the slightest morsel.” “Charmer,” she murmured. He pulled her into an embrace that, were they at Almack’s, would have had tongues wagging and matrons fainting. “Scandalous,” she breathed, but her hand shifted from his shoulder to curl against his back. Ryder kissed her, not slowing their dance. “I like the way your breasts rub against my chest as we move.” She stumbled, pressing her body tighter to his. He rumbled approval and held her close when she would have moved back. His footsteps slowed as his breath rasped in his throat. He stilled and cupped her face. “I want you.” Her mouth opened in a rush of air. She licked her lips and glanced at the locked door. “Mrs. Higgins.” “Won’t disturb us.” She gave him a crooked half-grin. “Picked up on that, did you?” “I did.” He toyed with the blue ribbon lining her bodice. “I forgot again to bring the books for you. But I don’t think you really 136

Keys to Submission need them. You seem to be picking it all up by yourself.” “I would still like to read them.” “All right. Then you can earn them.” He stepped away, hands clasped behind his back. “How?” she asked warily. Ryder contemplated her for a long moment. Despite the servants’ tacit approval, he doubted they would ignore sounds of a spanking or her cries. He smiled. “Today’s lesson, Sophie, will be about absolute obedience.” She scowled, which he’d expected. Though she held an underlying submissive nature—for the right man—her independent spirit drew him. Challenged him. “Turn and let me undress you.” Her shoulders stiffened and he saw her inner battle. Finally she spun slowly, tipped her head and offered him her back. Ryder slid the buttons free and shoved the dress away. “Pick it up and put it on the back of the chaise.” Tension still emanated from her, but she did as he bade. Ryder glanced around the room. Aside from the chaise, there was a sturdy-looking wooden chair. It had a high, curved back and two sets of rods connecting the legs. Perfect. He hauled it to the center of the room, jostling it to ensure it was stable on the carpet. Sophie, clad only in a short chemisette and cotton stockings, watched him warily. Ryder crooked his finger at her. Again she twitched, but obeyed. He smothered a chuckle. This was going to be the most interesting sub training he’d ever done. In silence, he divested her of her remaining garments. He took in her glorious naked form for a long moment before motioning toward the seat. “Sit on the chair and spread your legs.” She wiped at the seat, grumbled under her breath, and sat. “What was that?” he asked, voice clipped. “Nothing.” “Wrong answer, Sophie. Hook your legs behind the chair’s legs.” She did, spreading her beautiful thighs and offering him a 137

glimpse of her softly curled pubic hair. His cock twitched in his pants. He ignored it. With smooth efficiency born from experience, he bound her legs in place with one stocking. “But why are you binding me?” she sputtered. “Arms behind the chair.” She glared at him, and for a breathless moment, he thought she would refuse. Instead, she continued her muttering and slid her arms around the back of the chair. The position thrust her tits into an even more perfect shape, high in the air and mouth-wateringly tempting. Ryder knew her arms would tire quickly, so he adjusted her, bringing them into a more natural arc. He tied her down with the other stocking and stepped back to survey his work. Sophie was now splayed wide and open to anything he wished to do with her. “Complete obedience, remember? Your job is to remain completely silent. No moans, no gasps, nothing.” Grabbing a small pillow from the chaise, he tossed it to the floor in front of her and knelt between her spread thighs. “Understand?” Her breasts rose and fell quickly. “What if I can’t?” she whispered, horrified gaze flipping back and forth between him and the door. “They’ll hear me.” “Then I suggest you remain silent. Starting now.” Her eyes offered him an easily understood go-to-Hades look. He chuckled. Ryder knew that as the sub, it was her responsibility to comply with every order. But as Dom, it was his to make her fail. Her body vibrated as he placed his palms along her wide-open inner thighs. He pushed a little more. To his pleased surprise, she remained quiet. He gave her an approving look which she returned with more annoyance. He hid another smile. Time to wipe the attitude from his little dove’s face. He looked down at her pussy and moved his hands to stroke through her soft brown curls. She stiffened. He ran his thumbs up and down her lips. She was already wet. 138

Keys to Submission He leaned closer and spread her pussy lips wide open, exposing every inch of her most private parts to his gaze. She smelled sweet and luscious, her soft aroused aroma bringing to mind the most perfect strawberry. He blew softly. Her hips jerked backward, but he held her firm. She was dark red and enflamed, traces of slickness coating her inner lips. Ryder flicked her labia open wider, sliding upward toward her clitoris. It was taut and also a deep scarlet, poking out from the small hood that normally protected it. Ryder looked up at her. Her eyes were wild and her bottom lip firmly caught between her teeth. Her thighs trembled beneath his arms. “Shh,” he reminded her as he bent forward and fastened his mouth to her pussy. She stiffened, toes and fingers curling. When her pelvis pressed upward into his mouth, he gave a low chuckle. A slow breath hissed from between her teeth, but she made no sound. Ryder closed his eyes, opened his senses and enjoyed the flavor and texture of her delectable pussy. He slid his tongue up and down her soft slit, delving at the bottom to rim her sweet hole. Each movement caused her thighs to twitch or hips to roll but elicited no moan or low shriek of pleasure. He smiled against her curls, enjoying the challenge. Slipping his fingers lower on her lips, he dipped his thumbs to the most sensitive portion of her labia. He pulled slowly, watching her closely for signs of pain beyond pleasure. The kind that turned a woman away from this side of desire and not toward it. Not what he had in mind for her at all. She flinched but didn’t protest, even silently. Ryder ran his forefinger up her slit, gathering juices and striking her clitoris. Again that soft breathy hiss and her eyes squeezed shut. He thrust his wet finger deep in her pussy at the same moment he closed his mouth over her clit. She came instantly, flooding his mouth and fingers with her sweet taste. Ryder licked and suckled her clit, drawing her orgasm longer and deeper. At last she slumped backward, her entire body shaking. He leaned back on his heels and smiled up at her. 139

A bead of sweat slid from her temple along her jawline, where it hung for a long, quivering moment before dropping to her breast. He stood and kissed her softly. She gasped, eyes wide and surprised. “I love your pussy, Sophie. And now you know how you taste, too.” Her lips were pursed, nostrils flared. After a moment, her mouth relaxed and, eyes challenging his, she swiped her tongue along her bottom lip corner to corner. His cock nearly burst through his breeches at the cat-and-cream look that crossed her face. “Well now, sweetling, it seems you like it, too.” She nodded once and cocked a brow. Ryder’s lust and admiration grew. Though she obeyed his command and had yet to make any substantial sound, she continued to fight him. He liked it. Her spirit was erotically amazing. Once more he edged between her legs, bending his knees slightly and pushing outward. He cupped her breasts, hefting their weight. He spread his fingers and rolled her flesh, pulling her tits toward him until she was stretched to her limit. He continued to pull. She arched her back, squeezing her shoulder blades together. He merely tugged more. She hung like that, not breathing and defiant for a long moment. Just when he thought she would faint from lack of air, she sucked in a deep lungful, wincing as she did so. He released her, immediately taking hold of her nipples between his fingers and tweaking hard. She shuddered. He increased the pressure, counted to five and let it out before repeating the sequence. Within seconds, she writhed on the chair, mouth opening and closing on silent whimpers. He did not caution her to silence. He wanted to break her. Needed to. Her nipples were hot beneath his fingers. He bent and took one in his mouth, laving the hard tip, scraping along it with his teeth. She jerked backward and he followed and switched to her other nipple. 140

Keys to Submission He gripped the rosy flesh in his teeth and bit down with gentle pressure. Enough to get her attention and create the sweet sting he was beginning to realize she enjoyed. Indeed, her face now reflected a wild longing. Her breath was fast and harsh. Ryder slipped his hand back to her pussy. “Wet as the Thames. I believe you are enjoying this.” He winked. “But not nearly enough. I think we need to change that.” Heavy-lidded eyes stared back at him, a mix of lust and demand. Ryder picked up the lit candle from table and blew it out. Her brown eyes warily watched the beeswax. “Now, this is going to be important, Sophie. Your last chance for silence. One more obstacle. Pass this while remembering your duty and I’ll untie you.” He kissed her hard. “Then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll scream from the pleasure.” Ryder stepped back, picked up her right tit and brought the candle close until it hovered a few inches above her nipple. Then he tipped it, spilling the hot wax over her equally heated flesh. She went rigid, eyes rolling back and fingers cracking with the pressure of her sudden fists. He took hold of her left breast and repeated the procedure. Quickly, he dropped the candle, dug his fingers into her flesh and put his mouth to her ear. “Come for me, Sophie. Come hard. Come loud.” She thrashed in his grip, but he held firm. “In a moment I’m going to untie you.” He squeezed a bit harder. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Hard. I’m going to slam my cock into your dripping pussy and—” “Oh, damn you, Ryder” she wailed softly as she came again. He took her mouth, swallowed the sounds of her pleasure through the entire orgasm. When she dropped back into the chair, he released her. She glared at him. “That was not fair at all.” “I know.” He untied her swiftly and pulled her up. Tangled his fingers with hers and tugged her to the back of the chaise. “Bend over,” he 141

said. “Grip the back if you need to.” He waited until she’d positioned herself over the edge of it, presenting her beautiful ass and pussy to him. Sliding his foot between her legs, he edged her apart even farther until the muscles in her thighs quivered. He divested himself of his breeches, finally freeing his rigid cock. “You have failed once, already, Sophie. Don’t do it again.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “It’s impossible to remain silent while you….” “Yes? While I?” “You know,” she said, eyes turning forward. He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled backward. She grunted as her head lifted. “While I what, Sophie?” “While you fuck me,” she snarled, but her entire body shuddered. He cupped her pussy. “Well, little one, I think you enjoy the rough language. You are incredibly wet.” She waggled her hips, inviting—no, demanding—his cock in her body. He decided to oblige her. Fitting the head to her slick lips, he pulled backward on her hair, bowing her back, then slammed to the hilt inside her. She gasped and groaned. “Quiet,” he hissed in reminder. Ryder wasted no time on gentleness. The wild demand fueling their passion would not allow it. With ruthless speed and force, he plunged in and out of her body. He gasped at each pull of her tightness, battling back his own orgasm. He wasn’t ready to spend, and not in the depths of her heat. No. He had other ideas this night for his seed. Releasing her hair, he gripped her hips and quickened his movements. Eyes half-closed, he swept his gaze over her back and arse. His desire grew and he swelled within her tight confines. She stiffened. He slid his hands up, cupping her sweet buttocks and pulled them apart, eyeing her pink, rosy arsehole. He wetted his thumb 142

Keys to Submission and lightly rubbed the sensitive spot. She froze on a squeal. “Ryder,” she protested. “No.” He slammed hard into her body, but removed his thumb. He would have her there. Eventually. Now, though, he felt his seed boil and he thrust into her welcoming softness a few more times before pulling out and spinning her around. “On your knees,” he ordered harshly. He palmed his cock, languidly rubbing up and down, keeping himself at the edge of orgasm. She settled on the floor, hands gripping her thighs. Ryder cupped the back of her head and pulled backward, increasing the motion of his hand. He looked down at her, seeing only her beautiful face, the utter supplication in her pose. “Ah, Sophie,” he groaned as he sprayed his seed on her face and breasts. She gasped and covered the liquid with her hands. Then her eyes widened and her legs slammed together. She shook and groaned, pulling against his hold on her hair. “Ah, yes, come again, sweetling. Good girl,” he crooned. At last she shuddered, exhaled, and fell limply to the back of the chaise. Ryder, legs quaking, joined her on the floor. He hauled her into his embrace, nestled her head to his shoulder and kissed her crown. Many long moments passed before he thought he could speak. “You did very well,” he said. She moved away slightly. “You, sirrah, cheated.” “No, I did what I was supposed to do.” She looked at him blankly. “This kind of love-play is all about control, remember? You give it up, I take it. I push you to your limits. Then past them.” He slid his hand to her buttocks. “Like here. You nearly came out of your skin when I touched your there.” She blushed furiously and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s unseemly.” “No,” he corrected, squeezing her arse. “It’s a bargaining tool.” He cocked his head. “Have you never played there?” 143

“Of course not.” She sounded scandalized, which made sense. Not many women, whether they were of the Ton or not, were even aware their arse could be an erogenous zone. “I should warn you I intend to change that.” “No. Never, my lord.” She frowned. “You said I could set my own limits, correct?” “Yes.” “Then that is mine. You may consider that region strictly offlimits.” He wanted to shout in triumph. She did not recognize the challenge she’d just set down, but she would. He swept a chocolate curl from her eyes and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She melted into him, one arm snaking around his neck to draw him closer. Ryder broke the kiss and stroked her brow. “Oh, I’ll consider it off-limits,” he assured her. “Until you beg me to take you there.” He kissed her hard and came to his feet, drawing her up with him. “Mark my words, Sophie. You will beg me to fuck your arse.” “It won’t happen, my lord. I guarantee it.” He grinned. “We will see, sweetling. Come on, now. Upstairs with you and pack your valise.” She went rigid and still. “Will you think less of me should I confess my great cowardice, Ryder?” He hugged her tight, determined to protect her from any venom the ladies of London could, and would, expel… given the chance. “I think you’re quite brave,” he assured her. “Only you would dare brave the hens in their own houses again.” She gave a choked laugh but clung to him. Fine tremors spilled through her lithe body. “Except I don’t plan on meeting any of them, remember?” “Yes. I shall work to ensure it doesn’t happen.” “Good.” She drew in a deep, shaky breath and pushed away. “When do we leave, my lord?”

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Chapter Eight “God, I’m the worst kind of fool there is,” Sophie said. She pressed her forehead to the small pane of glass in the carriage door. “What sorcery did you employ to gain my acceptance?” “Sit back and enjoy the ride, Sophie. Fretting will only gain you pains in your belly.” As if to affirm his words, a sharp lance sliced through her innards and she pressed her palm to her stomach, favoring him with a glower. But she sat back and the discomfort eased. He was right, of course. She’d been up half the night worrying and regretting her decision to accompany him. She could have handled Judith Whitten easily. If she’d wanted to. Ryder and the search for the keys seemed the safest, easiest course at that moment. The problem was, Ryder Ashford proved even more of a temptation than she’d thought he would be. Not only did the sensual earl touch her on levels of passion she’d never experienced, but he threatened to breach the defenses she’d erected after her affair. His genuine care and concern was something she was unaccustomed to from men. Even her father had been distant and often cold-shouldered. The earl’s reputation for his adoration of females was apparently well justified. He made her feel cherished and special. As if she were the most important and precious thing in his presence. The danger lay in growing accustomed to it. Their dalliance, and it was only that, she reminded herself harshly, was temporary at best. Due to end when they found the remaining keys. She would be wise to remember that. Sophie gave another melancholy sigh. It seemed whatever sad fate had in store for the mysterious authoress of the diary would be hers as well. She lurched forward. “The diary,” she exclaimed. “I forgot to 145

bring it.” Oh fool, where in the world was her brain? How could she leave such a vital element of the hunt at home? To her amazement, Ryder merely sighed. “We have it, Sophie. Please, put your head back and rest. It’s going to be at least a couple of hours to London.” “Where is it?” she demanded, suddenly in great need to hold it. His interest in the blasted thing disturbed her, but she didn’t know why. “In your valise. I retrieved it from the table and stuck it in there before we left.” The explanation, so simply and calmly offered, seemed plausible. And yet, it somehow felt off. She gave herself a mental shake. She knew him by now. Ryder would not betray her by pilfering the diary. To what purpose, anyway? Without the journal, whatever resided in the diary was useless, and vice versa. She leaned against the soft, cushioned carriage seat and crossed her arms. “Very well, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “At which inn shall I be staying?” His mouth tightened and he looked away. They’d argued the point vociferously, but in the end she’d overcome his objections by declaring she was not his mistress and refusing to allow him to set her up in a house. Even temporarily. She demanded, and received, his assurances he’d find a safe, clean inn for her to take residence while they were in London. “It’s called The Duck and Jug. It’s on a little-traveled back road. Far enough from town you won’t have to worry about meeting someone from your past, but close enough to be effective in our search.” Sophie bit her lip, but knew she had to ask her next question, regardless of how much it hurt. “Is it very expensive?” “Bloody hell, Sophie. I’ll pay for it.” “No,” she said tightly. “We’ve been over this.” Ryder’s fingers drummed along his thigh, scowl growing darker. “Aye, and agreed I would not let a house for you. I never said I would not pay your accommodations at the inn. It is but one 146

Keys to Submission night’s coin.” “It’s the same bloody thing. Don’t you see?” “No, I don’t. Frankly, I have no understanding of you in this matter. Your pride is going to be your downfall.” She shrugged. “It was before, Ryder. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” “And if I’m not?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and she caught a surprising glimpse of real anger behind the flecks of gold in his emerald eyes. Good heavens, the man was furious. “Why does it mean so much to you to pay my way?” Ryder leaned forward and covered her knee with his big palm. “I’m not trying to pay your way, Sophie, I’m trying to ensure your comfort and safety. I would do so for any of my friends.” Friends. The word sounded foreign, yet it spread a warm glow through her. “I don’t suppose we could call it an advance on the money I’ll receive from the treasure?” His laugh was short. “If you’ll agree that I may pay, then yes, it can be an advance.” She smiled and nodded. “See, you can be reasonable. When you want to be.” “Huh.” He quirked his brow. “When have I ever been unreasonable?” When you’ve forbidden me to come. Tied me up. Pleasured me with your mouth and demanded my silence. The thoughts poured through her and Sophie felt her skin flush with both memory and arousal. Blast and double blast, what power did Ryder Ashford hold over her? And just how dangerous was it? The questions threatened her peace of mind, so she resolved to end the speculation. “How is Christmas?” she asked. “Fine, actually. Jack’s poultice is magic. The horse acts as though nothing ever happened.” He pulled a wry grin. “Of course, she’s also been coddled beyond belief. And when Tori hears what happened, it’ll start all over again.” Sophie bit her lip, a pang of guilt hitting her. “I’m very glad to hear she’s well. Please, extend my apologies to your sister.” 147

“You had nothing to do with the injury, Sophie.” “But if I hadn’t been at your house, she would not have been out in the woods and therefore, she would not have been shot.” “Well,” he trailed off, head cocked in her direction. She waited, but he said nothing more. For some reason, it tickled her. “Have I stumped you, then, my lord?” His smile flashed white in the dim coach light. She caught her breath. He appeared young, roguish and downright sexy. Oh, the man was definitely a treat for the senses. And dangerous to the heart. “I concede your point.” He winked and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. The expert cut of his jacket pulled tight over his broad shoulders, which further distracted her. “It’s a pity you’re not in Parliament. We could use a few more sharp-witted debaters.” The flush of pleasure heated her from the core out. Sophie put a hand to her mouth to hide her wide smile and turned to stare out the window. She barely saw the tall trees and houses that dotted the road. “I couldn’t agree more, my lord, but I doubt women will ever gain that privilege.” “I hope that is not the case. The future should be filled with expectation and change. Relying on the same tried and true methods won’t work forever.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to bore you with my views.” “I’m not bored,” she countered. “Though I admit to being surprised. Most men of your station would never voice such radical thoughts. They want only to protect their titles, their stations, their property.” Like her father, though she didn’t say that aloud. He’d been overjoyed at the prospect of her marriage to Whitten, knowing he was wealthy and influential. When Sophie declined the offer, he had exploded. That night was as close to emotion from him as she’d ever witnessed. She could still feel the brunt of his hand on her face. To his dismay, his violence only fueled her determination not to tie herself to Whitten. Only when her mother interceded did her 148

Keys to Submission father calm down. That had been the last time she’d seen any of them, save Uncle Orrick and Hamilton. She’d been brutally cut off, not only from polite society, but her own family as well. Her mother had tried to explain their position, but Sophie turned deaf ears then and now. What sort of parents told their child it was better to pretend she was dead instead of merely scandalized? “Sophie?” Ryder’s deep voice held concern. His hand touched hers, and immediately she suffused with desire. Without thinking, she turned her palm over, capturing his fingers with hers. “Yes?” He squeezed her hand. “Where did you go?” “Nowhere. Miserable thoughts with which I will not burden you.” He shifted backward while he tugged at her hand. She squeaked as she left her comfortable perch and landed on the hardness of his thighs. Ryder’s arms bracketed her safely against him and he looked into her eyes, his gaze blazing with fire. “You are not a burden,” he said. “You could never be.” She bit her lip. How she wanted to believe that. “Ryder….” “No,” he hushed, finger on her lips. “Never.” He replaced his finger with his lips. The kiss was soft and gentle, but soon turned hot and breathless. Sophie clutched at his shoulders and tried to squirm closer. Her buttocks shifted along his arousal, causing both of them to groan. The bump of the carriage over the road added to the rhythm and sway of their bodies. His hands gripped her hips and he held her tight against him. “I want you,” he murmured in her ear. “We can’t,” she gasped, but she wanted to. Ached for another new experience with the sensual earl beneath her. “Oh, but we can.” He reached between them, unbuttoned his breeches and freed his cock. She moaned and reached out for him, gripping his satin-soft 149

shaft in her palm. She rubbed her thumb over the tip, which elicited a new groan from him. “Lift your hips,” he instructed. “And don’t let go of me.” She nodded, found the floor with one foot and levered herself upward, maintaining her soft, sliding hold on his erection. He shoved her skirts up and out of the way. The night air swirled around her exposed bottom and her eyes widened. He drew his finger along her slit, rubbed lightly at her clit and dropped back down to plunge into her now-wet pussy. “Oh, Ryder,” she sighed. He thrust in as far as he could, frigging her fast and hard. Within seconds, she was on the verge of coming. Sophie bit her lip and sped up the motion of her hand on his cock, seeking to give him the same release. But her brain could not quite keep up and she lost her rhythm. He chuckled and pulled his finger free. She felt her own slickness at her thigh when he gripped her and pulled her forward. He fitted the head of his cock to her sweet slit and slowly sank inside. “Ride me, Sophie.” At first she didn’t understand what he meant, but his strong hands tugged her upward and then down, sliding her along his stiffness. Her eyes went wide. She reached for his shoulders and ground her pelvis against his, her body sucking him deep inside. “Oh my,” she whispered. His smile was tight, eyes focused. “Now you see.” “Yes.” With one foot set to the coach floor and the other knee straddling his lean hips, she rotated her hips, testing, experimenting with this new position. She clenched his shoulder and moved faster, harder. “Yes,” he gritted out. His hands tangled in her hair and tugged her head backward. “Fuck me, Sophie.” The words titillated her. But not as much as the look of passion on his face. His golden green eyes blazed with need, his full mouth was twisted in a near-painful grimace. His jaw throbbed and ticked as she rode him. 150

Keys to Submission “Do you like that?” she asked, daringly. She felt powerful in this position. In control. It gave her a heady sense of command. “Yes.” “Like the way my pussy slides along your cock?” He swelled inside of her and they both gasped at the sensation. “God, yes.” Sophie panted, hips working faster as she approached orgasm. “Ryder, you are so deep inside of me.” His hot flesh touched her in places she didn’t know existed but which set off mini-explosions throughout her body. She could barely continue her movements. Then his strong hands cupped her arse, splitting her bottom apart and slamming her down hard. “Yes,” he growled. “I like fucking you deep and hard. Love the way your cunt sucks my cock like it’s your mouth. Love how your muscles clench and try to hold me.” The words set off a round of shudders. She loved the talk, the way his voice wrapped darkly around each word even as his body speared into her. She gasped and sighed, writhing on his cock, realizing she had no control whatsoever. “Please,” she whispered and pressed her lips to his. “Please.” Sweat dripped down his jaw, landing with a splash on her skirts. “Tell me what you want.” “Please, I want to come.” Once more his cock swelled full within her, spreading her lips to their fullest. They froze. “Come,” he said, and bit at the soft flesh of her shoulder. “Come on my cock, Sophie.” As though the words released some barrier in her, she dropped her head back and let the orgasm wash over her. She pitched and shuddered on him, holding tight to his shoulders. Ryder was the only constant, her anchor in the turmoil of her need. Just as she thought to catch her breath, his teeth sank into her again at the same time he slammed his cock deep and hard into her. He groaned his own release against her throat, her name a sweet, demanding litany from his mouth. The heated flood of his seed pouring into her set off another round of climax and Sophie collapsed against him, her body a 151

shuddering, boneless mass. He wrapped his arms around her and held tight. His lips pressed softly to her hair. “Incredible,” he murmured. She nodded tiredly, eyes already drifting shut as satiation claimed her. On the outer edges of her awareness, she felt him slip from her body, then his tender ministrations as he cleaned her with his handkerchief and re-arranged her skirts. She tried to move, tried to help, but he quieted her with another kiss and soft command. Sophie felt safe, comforted and secure for the first time in years. She sighed and allowed sleep to overtake her. “What am I going to do about you, Sophie?” Ryder murmured to his sleeping companion. There was no denying the strong physical pull between them. She fit him with an ease and naturalness he’d not encountered before, and that tempted him. Threatened to steal his reason. Made him want more, even though he knew it was a lost cause. He couldn’t make her his wife, and he didn’t think she’d become his mistress. The carriage rumbled to a swaying halt, raised voices sounded from outside. He lifted the leather curtain and peered at the building, frowning. Paint peeled away from the edges of worn wood. The inn’s sign hung drunkenly from a verdigris chain. Several panes of glass were missing or cracked. What the hell had happened to the Duck and Jug? The driver rapped on the door. “Sir?” Ryder spared a hard look for Sophie. She was a bluestocking, an independent, clearly able to care for herself. But that was in the wilds of the country, not the damp and drunken taproom of a once-respectable inn. He cracked the door just enough to speak with the driver. “Continue to Lord Corwin’s Town residence,” he ordered. The coachman nodded, shut the door and scrambled atop his perch, the coach swaying with the motion. Within seconds they were pulling away from the dilapidated building and speeding toward the heart of London. 152

Keys to Submission Ryder cursed silently. Headed straight for everything he had promised to protect her from. Too damn bad, but it was not to be helped. Already he was formulating plans to ensure her anonymity. No one would question him arriving at his sister’s house, even at this relatively odd evening hour. He could spirit her down and into the townhouse quickly. Tori’s servants knew how to keep their mouths shut and deal with curiosity seekers. Yes, Sophie would be perfectly fine at Tori’s house. Sighing, he dropped his head to the hard back wall of the carriage, weariness dragging over him. Their whirlwind association had been alternately exhilarating and daunting. Sophie’s rebellion taunted his need to dominate her. She was such a natural submissive, it took his breath away. Rationally, her mind protested the demand for utter obedience, but her spirit craved it. The two divergences created a maelstrom of confusion and defiance that created more opportunities for punishment and discipline. Both of which she took to with ease. Ryder wanted more from her, of her. Wanted to push her every boundary and compel her to break her own limits. But he needed more time. They were hot on the heels of the next key, leaving only two for them to find. No predicting how long those discoveries would take, but he selfishly hoped for ages. He would gladly fund anything she needed, though she would rage at the very idea. He wanted her close, needed to feel her, longed to be with her. He did not look too closely at his realizations or what drove them. He simply made plans to make certain he kept her close at hand. Thirty minutes later, after his coachman successfully negotiated the teeming streets of London, the carriage stopped in front of Tori and Matthew’s staid brownstone. Sophie stirred and arched her back. Ryder appreciated the sight of her breasts thrust toward him. He reached out and caressed the soft skin peeking above her neckline. Her eyes flew open and her palm slapped down on the back of 153

his hand. He offered her a grin. “About time you woke. I must have worn you out earlier.” “Shh.” She bounded to a sitting position and smoothed a hand over her hair, which was irrevocably disheveled. It would take a maid an hour and God’s own patience to make it presentable. He thought she looked adorable. Like a feisty kitten just roused from sleep, not knowing whether to purr or growl. “Are we at the Duck and Jug?” she asked. The door opened and Ryder slid toward it. “Not exactly. Stay here for a moment. I’ll be back to get you.” He jumped from the carriage on her outraged hissing whisper. “Do not open the door,” he instructed the driver. “Aye, my lord.” Ryder took the stairs two at a time and rapped sharply. The smooth brass handle twisted and the door eased open. Stires stood in front of him, implacable expression in place. “Good evening, my lord.” “Stires.” Ryder glanced around the hall. “Is my sister in residence yet?” “Yes, sir. Returned home a few hours ago. She is upstairs with his lordship. Shall I ring for her?” Ryder weighed his options and the butler’s intonation. By upstairs, he inferred they were enjoying the marriage bed. Ryder repressed a shudder. His baby sister would forever always be a tyke in his eyes. Her being married was bad enough. Married to Corwin was enough to give him nightmares if he dwelt on the subject long enough. “No,” he finally said. “I’ve a guest, though. She will be staying with Tori for a few days. Is there a room ready for a guest?” “Of course there is, sir. Run a tight ship, here, I do.” Ryder nodded. “Good man.” He was out the door and down the stairs in a trice. Sophie’s expression was one of great displeasure. “This is not the Duck and Jug,” she bit out on a near growl. Ryder reached in and lifted her out, hustling her protesting form up the stairs and inside the house. “No, it’s not.” He slammed 154

Keys to Submission the door behind them. “Where are we, then?” Her irritation was palpable. “Tori’s house.” “Tori?” Her jaw dropped and she paled several shades. “Have you completely lost your wits, my lord? Even from my exile, I know she’s a renowned hostess. Everyone clamors for her invitations.” Sophie jerked away from him and slapped her forehead. “What was wrong with the inn? Of all the boneheaded, idiotic, incredibly stupid male things to do.” Ryder frowned, his own temper rising. “You’ll be safe here.” “Safe?” She whirled and slammed her hands on her hips. The movement jarred whatever remaining pin clung to her hair and chocolate waves cascaded down her shoulders, framing her face. “I would be safer on a street corner hawking newspapers, my lord. Don’t you see? Everyone comes here. I might as well be in a museum for the display I’ll become.” “Sophie,” he said soothingly, approaching warily. “Trust me, it will work out just fine.” She held up her hand. “No, it won’t. I must leave. This was a mistake. Better to face one vile woman and bear the brunt of her scorn than the entire Ton’s.” That gave him pause. Ryder drew up, a sinking feeling crushing him. How had he not thought of that? “Ryder? Why are you here? Is anything wrong?” Tori’s voice echoed down from the landing. He cursed as he looked up. “No, nothing. I was about to leave.” Maybe she had not yet seen Sophie. He could squirrel her out of the house and back into the coach. Surely there was another inn close by. One far more suitable than the Duck and Jug. “Sophie?” Tori’s voice rose sharply. Damn. “Hell,” Sophie muttered, shooting him daggers with her dark eyes. His sister pattered down the stair with alarming speed. “What is going on?” She tightened the sash on her silk wrap, flying to Sophie’s side and curling an arm around her protectively. Then 155

her eyes cut through him. “What have you done?” “Me?” he said incredulously. “I’ve merely rescued her from the unwanted attentions of ruffians and hooligans. I thought she would be safe here.” Tori continued to glare, though he caught worry creeping into her expression. “Did someone attack you?” she asked Sophie. “Heavens no. I was supposed to stay at an inn but instead ended up here.” She blushed. “Not that I don’t think you have a lovely home. It’s just that… it’s here. In London. And—” She waved her hands helplessly. “And, well, you’re you. And popular. And, and, blast, I’m making a muck of this.” She straightened her spine. “I was to be at the Duck and Jug while we sought out the next key.” “Ah.” “But your brother” —she infused so much annoyance in the word that Ryder grimaced— “decided I should be here instead. Without asking either of us, apparently.” She cut him a glare. “Did you even think how my presence would affect your sister?” Fuck. “I thought not.” Sophie sniffed, tipping up her nose. “As fascinating as this little discussion has been, I suggest we remove ourselves to the study for a bit of privacy.” Matthew’s strong command sounded behind him. Relieved, Ryder nodded. “Capital idea.” He marched to Sophie, peeled Tori away from her and tugged his errant lover toward the study. “Shall I send in some tea, madam?” Stires asked, voice full of fascination. Ryder rolled his eyes. “I don’t need anything,” he said to his sister. “I’m thirsty,” Sophie said. He glared down at her. “Not so.” “I want to smack you in the head.” Ryder quirked a grin at her. “Try it and your lily white arse will regret it,” he said sotto voce. She narrowed her eyes at him, casting a halting glance over his shoulder. “One of these days, you’ll be the one with the aching 156

Keys to Submission arse.” A laugh escaped him as Matthew and Tori trickled into the room. His brother-in-law gave him an odd, questioning glance, but Ryder shook it off. No way would he share that bit of fodder. “Tea and biscuits, Stires,” Tori ordered. “Please let nurse know that Lisbeth is asleep.” “Yes, my lady.” No sooner had the door shut than his sister rounded on him, cheeks high with indignant color. “Just what the bloody hell kind of game are you playing at, Ryder?” His amusement dropped immediately. “It’s no game.” He snarled. “The inn was in disrepair. I would not leave her there.” “She has a voice, and you didn’t ask me.” He ignored Sophie’s jab. “I could no more leave her there than I could you, moppet.” Tori’s face screwed up and then relaxed. “Was it really that bad?” “Yes,” he said grimly. “If not worse.” He sat down, pulling Sophie unceremoniously with him. She crashed against his shoulder and pulled away almost immediately, back straight, jaw taut. “Stop treating her like a simpleton, Ryder, and please stop manhandling her,” Tori demanded as she and Matthew settled across from them. “Sophie, I know you didn’t ask to come here, but I would consider it a great favor if you would stay with us while you’re in London. How long will you visit?” Sophie sighed and knotted her hands on her knees. “I couldn’t impose, Tori. You had no warning.” His sister waved away the comment. “I will be frank. Since my friend Laurel married and moved to Scotland, I have been lacking in close female companionship.” She pulled a grimace. “Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of visitors and do my own share of paying calls, but it would be nice to have someone around who doesn’t necessarily want anything from me.” She colored and covered her mouth. “Goodness, that was awfully egotistical, wasn’t it?” Sophie giggled and finally relaxed. “No, it was honest.” She 157

dipped a look at him. “Something I respect.” “You’ve made your displeasure with me clear, Sophie.” “We’ll see. Tori, thank you for your offer, I shall be delighted to stay if it’s no imposition.” “None at all. I’ll have the maids ready a room for you.” The tension rolling from Sophie jabbed at Ryder’s conscience. He’d been thinking only of his needs and wants, not hers. Though she often downplayed her situation, he knew Sophie was truly agonized at the possibility of discovery. The hell of it was, he knew her worry was over his reputation. And now, his sister’s. He would find a way to alleviate her concerns. “Please, do not go to any special trouble,” Sophie said. “It’s no trouble, at all. I’m delighted to have you.” She nodded stiffly. To hell with propriety. He slid his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. “I’ll allow no harm to come to you, Sophie. Please, trust me.” For a long moment, she remained stiff. But finally, she gave a long sigh and relaxed into him. “I suppose I have no other choice.” He caught Tori’s calculating gaze and shook his head to forestall any questions. He knew he’d catch hell from them later. A brisk knock sounded from the door and Sophie pulled away from him, smoothing her skirts and folding her hands in her lap. He immediately missed the warmth of her. The door opened and Stires entered, pushing the tea service laden with a steaming pot, four cups and a plethora of cakes and biscuits. Ryder found his mouth watering. It had been hours since their last meal. “Shall I pour?” Stires asked as his gaze strayed curiously between Tori and Sophie. “I will do it,” Tori said. “Please see that a room is prepared for Miss Turner. She will be spending some time with us this week.” “Very good, ma’am.” As he left, Tori shook her head. “He’s only putting on his good manners because you are here, Sophie. He’s usually far more opinionated. Been with Matthew for years.” 158

Keys to Submission Ryder helped himself to a plate and some biscuits and accepted the warm teacup from his sister. He ate one of the biscuits, all the while trying to figure out how to broach the subject of their mother. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Tori, I know this is rather an obvious suggestion, but I would prefer Mother not hear just yet about Sophie staying with you.” “You have a point.” Tori tapped the rim of her cup and it rang sweetly. “How long will you be in London?” “Only a day,” Sophie put in. “As soon as we find the key, we’ll be off.” She gave him an uncertain look. “Well, I will. Ryder, I mean, Lord Ashford, can stay if he wishes.” “Thank you for your permission,” he said dryly. Matthew choked on his tea and Tori elbowed him in the gut. Ryder crossed one knee over the other and eyed Sophie. “I do have business matters to which I must attend.” Notably, he wanted to discuss Billings Haverstock with Matthew and find out what he knew about the man. But he wasn’t about to tell that to either woman. Blast, in his disgust with the Duck and Jug, he’d forgotten about the diary. How was he going to pilfer it—again—from Sophie without her knowing? He simply had to examine it more closely. He had a bad feeling about the identity of the author, and if he was correct, he would be forced to destroy the diary. “Do you already know the location of the next key?” Matthew asked. “No. The clues grow more cryptic. We’ve decided they refer to a church, though.” Ryder looked at Sophie. “Did you bring the clues?” “They’re in my valise.” She set her cup on the table and rose uncertainly, looking at Tori. “If you could direct me to the room where I’ll be staying, I can fetch them.” “No,” Ryder said, standing as well. He wrapped his hand around Sophie’s waist and lifted a brow at Tori and Matthew. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?” Tori shook her head rapidly. “Absolutely not, Ryder. While Sophie is with us, she will be properly chaperoned.” “Oh, no, truly,” Sophie protested. 159

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ryder snapped at the same time. His sister narrowed her eyes, jaw tight and mutinous. “I will not allow any harm to come to Sophie. None.” “Harm? Have you lost your senses entirely?” He gave Matthew a silent demand for assistance. Matthew only grinned and splayed his hands. “No one even knows she’s here,” Ryder bit out. “What kind of harm do you envision?” Tori looked from one to the other, then craned her head to look at the long, wide chaise. “You know perfectly well what kind I’m talking about.” Sophie trembled and gasped. Ryder hugged her tighter. “Damn it, Tori, knock it off. You’re upsetting Sophie.” “Not at all,” Sophie countered, withdrawing from his arms. “And it’s not for my sake, because we all know there is nothing to protect, but for your sake. While we are here, we should follow the rules.” She made a moue that had his cock twitching. “Distasteful as they may be.” “Thank you for your consideration, Sophie,” Tori said. “But it is for your protection. Ryder can take care of himself.” Sophie’s eyes grew wide and uncertain. She looked at him entreatingly. Annoyed, aroused and unable to refute her words, he finally nodded. “If that is what you wish.” He looked at Tori, caught her amused satisfaction and vowed he’d find some way to even the score with his little sister. “It’s nearly three. We should have time to explore the streets we talked about before we return.” “That sounds splendid,” Sophie murmured. “I’ll come with you,” Tori said. “No,” they said in unison. A silent moment passed before everyone laughed. Ryder was relieved. Much as he loved his nuisance of a sister, he wanted time alone with Sophie. Especially as it appeared he would get none while she stayed with them. “It’s only that we’re trying not to attract attention,” Sophie said to Tori. “You are quite well-known, and anonymity would be 160

Keys to Submission difficult with you in tow.” “And he’s better at it?” She tipped her head at Ryder. “Quite,” he murmured. “Chin up, moppet. I thought the days of you trailing after me and Matthew were over and done with.” His brother-in-law choked on another laugh and bussed Tori on the top of her head. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to entertain ourselves.” Tori blushed lightly but never lost her composure. She toyed with the sash of her robe. Ryder wondered if she realized what she was wearing. That she, a most-sought after hostess, was entertaining visitors clad only in a silk dressing gown. He rather doubted it. He smothered a laugh. “I imagine you will.” “I insist you take Teresa with you, then.” “Who’s Teresa?” Sophie asked. “One of the housemaids. She has a talent for styling hair. She’ll make a fine lady’s maid while you are here.” “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I don’t need an entourage.” “It’s not negotiable.” Tori’s voice went hard and flat. “Either she acts as your maid and chaperone, or I will be forced to rescind my invitation.” Ryder eyed his sister, caught the fleeting look of panic in her eyes and knew she was bluffing. But he also knew it was the right thing to do, even if Sophie didn’t agree. “She’ll take it,” he answered. Once more the sharp point of Sophie’s elbow found his ribs. He was going to enjoy punishing her for all her jibes. And kissing them better. “I can speak for myself, Ryder.” She smiled at Tori. “Thank you. I appreciate your generosity. Would you mind if I went upstairs to freshen up before we leave?” Tori smiled widely, relief evident. “I’ll take you myself,” she said. With a kiss to Matthew’s cheek, she beckoned to Sophie. Ryder wanted to steal his own kiss, but thought neither woman would appreciate it. Instead, he settled for a subtle squeeze to her buttocks as she passed by him. She jumped, but didn’t falter. 161

The women left the room and all the energy seemed to depart as well. Ryder raked his fingers and through his hair and watched the doorway. He was eager for her to return. “What are you going to do about her?” Matthew said. Ryder sighed. “I have no idea. She’s damn independent.” “I gathered as much. Wouldn’t like being offered the role as your mistress, I take it?” Even though he himself had voiced those same words, coming from Matthew they sounded harsh and dirty. Sullied her, in a way. He didn’t answer. “What do you know about Billings Haverstock?” Matthew didn’t blink at the sudden change of subject. “Never heard of him. Why? Is he another illegitimate brother?” That made Ryder laugh. “Definitely not. But, he is the architect of this little jaunt we’re on. I’d like to know more about him. Can you find out anything?” “I’ll ask Wiggs to do some discreet digging.” “Good.” He hesitated, debating the wisdom of telling Matthew what happened in the woods, but the incident bothered him enough he felt the need to bring it up. “I think I was shot at.” Matthew stiffened. “When? By whom?” “Two days ago, and I don’t know. Whoever it was is either blind or a damn poor shot. Sophie’s mount took the bullet.” He flicked a glance at the door. “It was Christmas, but she’s okay. No need to tell Tori right now.” “Certainly,” Matthew mocked. “And when she finds out, she’ll flay you alive for not saying anything.” “I’ll tell her before we leave London.” “If you don’t, I will. I won’t have my wife upset.” The fierce possessiveness in Matthew’s voice tore at Ryder, as it had done each of the last three years. But this time, instead of a crushing blow of envy, he found a deeper understanding. “There’s something else.” “Of course there is,” Matthew said, dryly. “Nothing is ever easy with this family.” “You’re not going to like it, but before I tell you, I must have your word you won’t tell Tori.” 162

Keys to Submission “Out of the question.” Ryder grimaced. “Then I’ll find out on my own.” Matthew looked at him sharply. “That bad?” “It’s possible. In fact, if what I have discovered is truly what I believe, then it holds more danger than the revelation of Lincoln Wolffe.” Matthew whistled. His brow knitted and he bounced on his heels. “Fine,” he finally said. “You have my word I won’t say anything until you give me leave.” The tension seeping from his shoulders, Ryder smiled gratefully. He crossed the room and shut the door. “I, uh, forgot to mention that you’ll also need to go through Sophie’s things.” A narrow-eyed stare from Matthew. “Why?” “She has a diary. A small, tattered volume with a blue ribbon and a small gold charm. Find and read it.” “Good God, man, I don’t want to read a woman’s personal thoughts.” “You’ll have to,” Ryder said grimly. “I’m afraid they are my mother’s.”

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Chapter Nine May 5, 1784 – I hold a dear secret and I will surely die if I do not let it loose. While we kissed and loved beneath the gentle fall of warm rain, standing among the sweet aroma of my roses, Stock proposed. He gifted me the most beautiful ruby brooch as a promise, though I must hide it away until our love is known to the world. Stock has told me he will ask Father for my hand. Tonight! Oh, I am so excited. Our wedding will be lavish and everyone will come. Although I will have to work on that with Stock. He insists on a small wedding, in the church where his parents wed. I have never heard of it. I’ll change his mind. Oh, soon, soon I will bear his name! “Hang it all,” Sophie grumbled as she tossed away the coverlet and clambered out of bed. She’d been trying to go to sleep for the better part of an hour, but her mind would not settle. Time and again it returned to her afternoon jaunt with Ryder, accompanied by Teresa, of course. He’d been attentive, amusing and the perfect gentleman. Their conversations flowed, punctuated by daubs of silence that felt comfortable and solid. He did take any opportunity to whisper naughty promises to her, told her the things he’d like to do to her body and how he intended to make her regret slamming him in the ribs. Those moments thrilled her and continued to tease and taunt her. How she wanted him right now. Yearned to have him in her bed and her body. Wanted to make love with him and fall asleep curled in the strength of his arms. “Fool,” she muttered and shrugged on her dressing gown. “It will never happen.” The truth caused her heart to ache and tears to threaten. She sniffed them back. There was no time for such weakness. You’re falling in love with him. She curled her fingers into her palms. Welcomed the small pain of her fingernails in her flesh, the 164

Keys to Submission distraction it brought. She couldn’t be in love with Ryder. It would guarantee a life of unfulfilled desire and never-ending heartache. Walking away from him would hurt so much more than turning her back on Whitten and Society. It would kill her. She opened the door to her borrowed room and poked her head outside, scanning the passageway for signs of movement. When certain no one was about, she padded down the stairs to. There were a great many books there, surely one of them boring enough to put her to sleep. She ought to study the diary and journal, but she wasn’t in the mood. They reminded her too much of Ryder. They spoke too much of lost love and a lifetime of regret. Of something she feared she was destined to face when this adventure ended. She gripped the doorknob to the study and pushed inward. A sharp gasp and the rustle of fabric reached her even as Matthew’s deep voice commanded her to hold. She stopped immediately and slammed her eyes shut. “I am sorry,” she said and whirled around. “I did not mean to interrupt you. I will go back to my room.” “No,” Tori objected, laughter in her voice. “Are you all right?” “Yes. Just looking for something to read.” More rustling and another subtle giggle from Tori. Then silence, broken by the barely audible wet slide of lips against each other. Sophie ruthlessly quashed the surge of envy she felt. The air around her moved. “You can open your eyes, Miss Turner,” Matthew said. She did and nearly gasped. He stood directly in front of her. She tipped her head back to look up at him and felt the heat of embarrassment color her all over again. He chuckled. “If you will step aside, I will leave you to Tori.” She did as he asked. “Good night, Miss Turner,” Matthew said and shut the door behind him. She leaned against it, gaze sweeping the room for Tori. 165

She was curled up on the chaise, a wicked, sated smile gracing her lips. Her black hair was in a tumble around her beautiful face, obviously mussed in the throes of passion. “Come in, Sophie,” she said, voice husky and low. Sophie crossed the room slowly, sank onto a chair, dropped her face in her hands and shook her head. “I am so, so sorry. I didn’t know.” “It’s quite all right,” Tori assured her. “We should not have been so, um, adventurous, but, well, that is neither here nor there, is it? May I ask you a question?” The request threw her for a moment, but she nodded. “What are your intentions toward my brother?” Sophie very nearly fell from the chair. “I don’t have any.” Tori’s elegant brow rose, and disbelief curled her lip. “But you love him.” “No!” “No?” Sophie jumped to her feet. “No, absolutely not.” She heard the lie in her voice and prayed Tori didn’t. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. That way led only to another disaster. Tori rose and stalked to the sideboard, where she poured two large glasses of brandy. “I don’t believe you,” she said, handing a glass to Sophie. Following suit, Sophie eyed her over the rim of the glass. She coughed on the brandy, but thought it went down much smoother than the liquor she had offered Ryder. “Why not?” “Because he is in love with you.” Sophie froze, inhaled sharply and immediately coughed as her eyes watered from the brandy fumes traveling up her nose. She set the glass down and banished the sharp flare of impossible hope. “I think you are over-tired from your trip, Tori.” “No, I’m sure of it. I have watched him watching you. Seen the way he touches you, how his body sways toward you when you walk into the room.” “Purely physical,” Sophie said in desperation. She was already a fallen woman. Admitting, even partially, to an affair with Ryder 166

Keys to Submission seemed preferable than allowing his sister to continue her line of reasoning. “Bollocks.” Tori would not be swayed. “Oh, yes, I see the desire that arcs between you two, but it’s much more than that.” Sophie could hardly breathe, could not begin to form any coherent thought that would help her out of this situation. Tori swallowed the remainder of her brandy and pointed the empty glass at Sophie. “The giveaway, my dear, is that Ryder looks at you the way Matthew looks at me.” Stunned, Sophie sank onto the couch again. “Impossible,” she muttered. Tori sat beside her, rubbing a hand along her back. “However impossible you believe it may be, it’s the truth. And I want to know what you intend to do about it.” Her mind was spinning with demands and questions of its own. How could she answer Tori when she didn’t know herself? Love. Was it possible? Could he truly feel that way for her? Even as faint hope curled within, hard logic killed it. She stiffened. “His feelings for me matter not,” she said quietly. “Even if it were true, there is no future for us. He has told me this already.” “He did?” Tori sounded both outraged and surprised. “Yes,” Sophie admitted. “He is right, you know. My reputation is beyond repair. Destroyed. I did nothing to help the situation, either.” Tori flopped back against the couch, eyes narrowed. “I like a challenge.” “Please, don’t. All I want is to find the key and return to Saunter House.” She thought the small raven-haired woman would continue to argue the point, but thankfully she appeared to put it aside. A lingering for now sensation bit at Sophie. She had a feeling this was not over. “What do you know of the next key?” Tori asked. Sophie recited the clues. “That’s not helpful. It could be any church anywhere. How are 167

we to discover which one?” “I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. She could bring out the diary, she supposed, and hope to find more information. But she was reluctant to share it with anyone else. Even Tori. “You know,” Tori said slowly. “When you returned, Matthew and Ryder closeted themselves in here for a good bit. They wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but they both looked a bit grim.” She cast a glance upward. “Perhaps I should seduce my husband for the information.” She winked at Sophie, who laughed. “While I don’t doubt you would have fun, Tori, I don’t think Matthew would yield to that sort of manipulation. He doesn’t seem the type.” Her friend sighed. “You’re right, of course. But,” she stood. “It’s worth the gamble. Help yourself to anything in here, Sophie. There are books on nearly every subject under the sun.” She cast a conspiratorial glance. “Behind the desk is a leather box with a latch. The key is in the desk drawer. I think you’ll find the papers in there very… entertaining.” There was no mistaking the innuendo in her voice, but before Sophie could question her further, Tori hugged her tightly, kissed her on the cheek and bid her good night. She pulled the door shut, leaving Sophie alone. And curious. She headed for the shadows behind the desk. The box sat on the lowest part of a bookshelf alongside leatherbound volumes on all sorts of subjects from raising sheep to plays to analytical surveys related to historical political figures. She scooted the box forward and tried the lid, finding it locked. Sophie’s intense curiosity was aroused. Tori had made it clear she wanted her to find whatever was in here. Did it have something to do with Ryder? Turning, she slid open the drawer in the middle of the desk. To the left and beneath a sheaf of papers lay a brass key. She picked it up. “Why can’t I find my keys that easily?” she grumbled as she inserted it and turned the lock. The lid eased open and she found herself staring at a stack of neatly tied papers. The Opal Chronicles. A weekly newspaper, 168

Keys to Submission perhaps? A new gossip rag? She didn’t recall seeing this paper for sale when she lived in London. Sophie selected a bundle and returned to the loveseat where the light was better for reading. Once settled, she untied the ribbon and opened the top paper on the stack, her eyes drawn immediately to the saucy illustration in the center of the page. She smothered a surprised gasp. The picture showed a young woman, bloomers at her ankles and bare arse in the air as she lay draped over the knees of a well-dressed gentleman. She swallowed hard and read the caption beneath. “Master J warms the maid’s bottom.” “What the deuce?” she whispered, flicking the front page over again to scrutinize the masthead. The Opal Chronicles—a magazine of licentious pleasure. The words burned through her and she sat up straighter, pressing her legs together. This sounded naughty and promising. With uncertain hands, she opened the page again, glanced at the illustration, then began reading the story midway through. Master J bent the maid over his legs and held her with a cruel, hard hand at her back. “Be still,” he ordered. “You were warned this would happen.” “Yes, sir,” the maid replied with breathless anticipation. He smiled, already smelling her excitement. This one had been a good find. He’d have to remember to thank his cousin for directing her to him. “How many strokes, do you think?” She shifted on his leg, rubbing her dripping cunny along his thigh. “Ten?” Master J slapped her arse hard. “Another five for such a low estimate. Twenty- five,” he said firmly. Before she could utter more protests, he began his slow, methodical swats to her plush bottom. She squirmed and squealed beneath him, her sighs of appreciation soon turning to moans of need. Master J felt his cock straining at the seams of his breeches. He pushed her from his lap, grabbed her hair and tugged her face between his legs. “Take out my cock and suck me,” he snarled. 169

Her fingers attacked the buttons and she soon had him out and in her warm, wet mouth. “Ah, yes, just like that,” he panted. He pulled up on her hair, showing her the rhythm he wanted. Within moments he was on the verge of spending. Master J shoved her head down and held her still as he sent his seed deep in her throat. She jerked and moaned, her hands clutching at his thighs. Finally he released her and she sat back, a somewhat disappointed look on her face. He grinned, reached down and tweaked a naked, rosy nipple. “What’s the matter?” She didn’t raise her eyes, but shrugged. “I was ‘oping for somethin’ a little, well, a little more.” He squeezed so hard she gasped and arched her back. “Then get up and turn around. I’ve still got a hard cock, and I want to fuck you with it.” Sophie slammed the paper shut. Her breath came in deep gulps and her entire body flushed with need. This was what Ryder had been introducing her to. This sort of desire. She glanced at the ceiling, wondering if Tori or Matthew would notice a few copies missing. She bit her lip and tried to talk herself out of pinching one or two. But, she reasoned, Tori told her to avail herself of them. Mind made up, she scanned a few more copies, found the most promising ones—she noted they all featured similar stories of spanking and submission—and returned everything else to the way it had been. Then she headed for her room, an interesting night of reading ahead of her. **** “Good morning, Sophie.” Ryder studied her as she entered the breakfast room. Her color was a bit wan and dark smudges encircled her eyes. He rose, alarmed. “Are you quite well?” She stared at him, two spots of color suddenly flagging her 170

Keys to Submission cheeks. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, turning to the sideboard. “But I didn’t sleep well.” He looked at Matthew and Tori. His brother-in-law shrugged, but his sister was hiding a small smile. “What?” he mouthed, but annoying chit that she was, Tori merely winked and sipped at her coffee. Finally Sophie joined them, plate filled with toast and egg. “Were you uncomfortable?” he asked. “No, of course not. I think being back in London makes me jumpy.” She gave a wry laugh. “In all the excitement of the key, I quite forgot we could run into my family. That would be interesting.” Her tone clearly said otherwise. He understood her anger and the hurt beneath it. Ryder clasped her hand for a moment. “As I promised, that will not happen.” His sister sighed impatiently and he cut her a warning look just as Matthew touched her arm. Tori subsided. Ryder looked at Sophie. It appeared she had missed the entire exchange. “We are going to be all over London, my lord,” she said. “We’re bound to see people here and there. I appreciate the sentiment, but truly, what you promised is an impossibility.” “Nothing is impossible,” Tori said fervently. Ryder cleared his throat. “I believe I can set your mind at ease. I have discovered the location of the church.” “You have?” Sophie asked, her tension easing. He nodded down the table. “I asked Matthew to make some discreet inquiries about Haverstock. He was able to find out who his parents were and what church they attended when in Town.” She sat back in obvious amazement, though a small smile was on her luscious mouth. Blast, he’d missed that mouth last night. His hand had been a poor substitute. “Well, you are a very industrious man, aren’t you?” He shrugged. “I had assistance.” “Thank you, Lord Corwin.” “My pleasure, no thanks needed. Family always helps family.” 171

Emotion flickered across her face, so quickly he could decipher only hurt. “As soon as you are finished with breakfast, I thought we might take a stroll down to see it. It’s within walking distance. Her eyes regained their light and she nodded. “I would like that, thank you.” She finished her tea and came to her feet. “I’ll fetch my parasol and reticule.” “Excellent,” he said as he rose. She scampered from the room, her steps light and excited. Regaining his seat, he looked at his sister and smiled. “Yes, excellent indeed.” “I’ll accompany you,” Tori said. “No,” Ryder said, biting into butter-smeared toast. “Yes,” she replied tartly. “Or she cannot go. We’ve been through this, Ryder.” “Damn it, Tori, she’s a grown woman, not some child in need of protection.” “Bollocks,” she replied cheerfully. He nearly choked on his toast. Matthew whispered into his wife’s ear and she immediately straightened, gaze dropping to the tablecloth as a blush climbed her cheeks. “I apologize,” she said softly. “But I have plans for Sophie. I had not yet wished to disclose them, but you leave me little choice.” His blood chilled. Tori’s plans rarely turned out the way she envisioned them. “Don’t,” he said. “I must.” She jumped up, rounded the table and placed her arms around him. “Listen to me. I see the way you look at her. Whatever is between you deserves to be revealed, not hidden.” He shrugged her off, heart constricted. He was very much afraid his sister had drawn the same conclusion he was rapidly approaching. The situation was untenable and would lead only to more pain for Sophie. He refused to allow it. “Leave it alone, Tori.” “No,” she said again, voice and posture exuding as much stubbornness as he’d ever witnessed from her. “I have a plan. A good plan.” Matthew moved to join them, sliding his arm around Tori’s waist. “Hear her out, Ryder.” 172

Keys to Submission “You’re in league with her?” he asked incredulously. “I support her. And I think it’s a damn good idea.” Ryder clenched his fists but nodded. “What is it?” Tori drew in a deep breath. “I want to hostess a party for Sophie.” “You can’t be serious, Victoria.” He shot a hard glare at Matthew. Her mouth tightened and she nodded sharply. “I am. It’s perfect, Ryder.” “For what? I will not have her ridiculed. Those vipers had at her once. I will not allow it again.” “You sound protective, brother. That’s very good, and it proves my point.” Tori waved her hand. “It will be a small gathering. One meant to garner and create a groundswell of support for Sophie. I shall invite only those with open minds, elevated status and exceptional influence.” “To what end, Tori?” She sighed and looked up at Matthew, then leaned into him, head nestled against his chest. His brother-in-law wrapped an arm about her midriff and kissed her hair. Once more, as happened so often these days, their effortless affection and bond created a blackness of envy within him. Ryder turned away. Forbidden to touch Sophie as he now was, the pain was multiplied. “We’re here only to find the key,” he said. “It’s all she wants, and I will accede only to that.” “What if she wished it, too?” He turned back, brow lifted. “You’ve spoken to her of this? She is amendable?” She blushed. “Well, no, not exactly.” “But you seem rather uncertain her response was not in the positive,” Matthew noted. Ryder tried to hold back a sudden, unexpected thought. If his sister’s crazy plan worked and she did manage to gain acceptance for Sophie with this gathering, then another and another, an alliance might be possible. 173

Alliance, hell, his brain snorted. Marriage. Nothing less. Damn society and its strictures. “Ryder?” Tori’s soft voice pulled him back from the swirling bitterness. “She must agree,” he said. “And I must approve the guest list.” Tori squealed, ran across the room and hugged him tight. “It will be splendid, Ryder, trust me.” He held her tight, praying she had the right of it and they didn’t subject Sophie to pain. Again. “Ryder? Tori? Is everything all right?” Sophie’s hesitant voice came from the doorway. “Yes, fine,” he assured her. “Are you ready, then?” She cast him a slightly doubting look and nodded. “Tori, are you going to accompany us?” Tori crossed to her, linked arms and spurred her toward the door. “I am, and I can’t wait to find that key.” Matthew caught Ryder as he passed. “Still want me to look at the diary?” “Yes, but damnation, be careful with it.” If his suspicions were correct and his mother was the authoress of the diary, it revealed an entirely new aspect of her character. One he had never known existed. But it sure as hell would explain a great many things. “Sophie will never know. Good luck convincing her to do the party.” Ryder rolled his eyes, slapped Matthew on the shoulder and strode to the foyer where the women awaited him. Sophie looked pert and fresh in her gown of green and white trim. The bodice molded her high breasts and the dark emerald ribbon neckline contrasted beautifully with the paleness of her skin. The dress was obviously well made, and he wondered how old it was. While he enjoyed disrobing women, he paid little attention to the changing whims of their fashion. Perhaps a shopping trip was in order as well. Especially if there was to be a party. 174

Keys to Submission He could hear her objections and fierce refusals now. He would find a way to gain her agreement. He must. They stepped into the wavering sunshine of mid-morning fog and headed up the street, barely making twenty feet before Sophie stopped and turned back. “The diary,” she murmured to him. “I forgot it.” “We don’t need it,” he assured her, drawing her hand through his arm and Tori’s through the other. “Come, ladies, we are looking for St. Albans. Haverstock was quite the interesting gentleman, I’ll have you know.” “How so?” Tori asked curiously. “For one thing, he had more support for the colonists than his own countrymen. It did not garner much favor for him, I assure you. The political climes in his day were rife with tension. Men lost their lives in tavern fights over sympathies for the Americans.” “Do you know why he felt that way?” “He admired their spunk, or so I gathered. Haverstock had a hard-and-fast belief in fighting for change and eliminating unfair conditions. Wasn’t confined to Americans, either. His servants were always the best paid, most loyal and well treated. People clamored to work for him.” Sophie smiled. “Uncle Orrick often spoke of his generosity and kindness.” Ryder looked up the street and figured another quarter mile or so. Best to keep them talking so they did not notice the actual distance. He’d chosen not to take the carriage this morning for no other reason than he wanted Sophie close by, not separated by the width of the coach floor and propriety. “Another aspect of Haverstock’s personality was his love of puzzles, as we all know now. The man was a fiend for them. Constantly devised and perfected them. It makes sense that he would invent one for the woman he loved, as well.” Tori suddenly stiffened. “Damnation,” she said, and froze on the pavement. “We should cross here. Now.” He frowned at the panic in her voice. “Why?” “Lady Corwin,” a sharp voice hailed. “Lord Ashford.” 175

Ryder snapped his head in the direction of the call and added to his sister’s curse. Too late to turn away now. Sophie’s fingers dug into his arm despite the heavy fabric of his coat. “Remain calm,” he murmured. “Do not react.” She nodded once. The trio of smartly-dressed women approached with haste. “Good morning,” the tallest blonde said in a breathless pitch. “A pleasure to see you out and about. Are you shopping?’ Though her question was directed at Tori, her eyes were pinned on Sophie. Ryder tensed even more. He felt Sophie vibrate beside him. “Yes,” Tori said coolly. “Ladies, nice to have seen you.” The blonde, obviously the vocal one of the group, tipped her head, studying Sophie openly. “Have we met? You look familiar, and my dear, please forgive me but I am horrible with names. I am Lady Constance Davenport. These are my friends, Lady Geraldine Pritchard and Miss Honora Fletcher.” “Ladies,” Ryder said, trying to skirt around them, but Lady Davenport blocked the way. The women in her company spread out along the sidewalk as if they, too, would physically prevent them from moving on. “Just a moment,” the blond viper said, eyes narrowing. A flash of venom-filled pleasure crossed her face. “Are you not Sophie Turner?” Honora or Geraldine, he wasn’t sure which, gasped and jumped back as if merely breathing the same air as Sophie would infect her. He started to barrel through them, but to his amazement, Sophie did not budge. “I am,” she said, head high. “You look lovely, Constance. As you always did. Geraldine, felicitations on your marriage.” Her head snapped toward the remaining woman. “Honora, you’ve been well?” That one, a slight brunette with an overly large hat and even larger blue eyes perked up, a smile tipping her mouth. “Yes, thank you,” she murmured. Constance’s face grew dark with disapproval. “I am surprised to 176

Keys to Submission see you in Town.” she said. “I thought you were in the country.” Her tone left no doubt of what she meant. How dare you show yourself. Ryder flushed with anger. Impertinent bitch. “Lady Davenport,” Tori’s icy voice cut in. “Miss Turner is my friend and very special guest.” The blonde’s mouth dropped. “Yours, my lady?” “My husband and I are both fond of Miss Turner.” “But—” Lady Davenport’s gaze whipped between Sophie and Tori. Ryder smothered a grin. His sister was definitely more adept at handling this brand of poison than he. “Indeed, I am pleased to say that we will be hosting a small soiree for Miss Turner in the next few days.” Tori’s face never lost its smile, but her voice had dropped to the deep-freeze level. Beside him, Sophie was so stiff he feared she would snap. He risked a look at her, wincing at the fury raging in her eyes. She lowered her lashes and appeared to calm her rage, but he knew it would return in full force. Hell to pay on that score, he mused, suddenly glad it was his sister and not himself facing her inevitable wrath. Lady Davenport drew herself up, a wide smile now on her face. “I would be honored to attend,” she said. Tori shrugged. “A very small gathering.” “I see,” Lady Davenport said, expression falling into uncertainty. Ryder was positive she did. Saw the cut direct his baby sister so elegantly and publicly administered. “Now then, if you’ll excuse us?” Without waiting for them to move aside, Tori glided forward purposefully. The women parted without speaking, though he caught the slight nod Honora gave to Sophie. The trio was barely out of earshot when Sophie found her voice. It burned in her throat. “What party? What the bloody hell have you done?” “Don’t curse in public, Sophie. It’s unbecoming.” 177

Her heart beat so fast she was sure it would rip through her flesh at any moment. “Victoria,” she drawled. “Explain.” But the petite woman refused to be swayed. “Look, isn’t that St. Albans?” Sophie stumbled, held up only by the strength of Ryder’s arm. “This discussion is not at an end,” she assured Tori. “I didn’t think it was,” Tori said with a smile. “Now go on, find your key.” She wanted to pursue the topic, but a whip of excitement lashed through her. The next key could very well be close at hand. She lifted her skirts and increased her pace, practically dragging Ryder along with her. “Don’t discount my sister’s idea,” he said as they opened the door to the church. Once more her steps faltered, but she refused to acknowledge him. It would not matter anyway. Once she found the key, she would return home. Leave London and never come back. The church was much larger inside than she’d anticipated. The ceiling was high and arching, with interspersed panels of dark and light wood. Within the panels were golden medallions etched with scenes of men and women in subservience to God. The many pews gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the high, round windows lining the walls of the church. Wonderful scent of sweet beeswax permeated the air. The wood was wellworn, but obviously well cared for. Beneath her feet, the flagstone aisle led toward the nave in which an altar stood, draped with a gold-and-white satin coverlet. Behind it was a half rotunda with four statues embedded in notched alcoves. The roof of the rotunda was a tri-panel piece of stained glass depicting a flight of angels, complete with golden trumpets, shimmering halos and gowns of billowing white. Here the sunshine was prismatic, colored rays splintering down and scattering along the walls, the altar and the outside edges of the pews. Sophie shivered. This was a much grander and far more public venue than either of the previous hiding places. Did they have a 178

Keys to Submission hope of finding the key? “May I help you?” a man said, materializing from behind a set of pews. “Reverend Mr. Richards?” Ryder asked. “Yes. Do I know you, sir?” Sophie felt a pang of disappointment. The priest was young. Perhaps a few years older than Ryder, but certainly no more than that. Too young to have ministered to Billings Haverstock. Her heart sank. “I am Lord Ashford. My sister, Lady Corwin and her friend Miss Turner are seeking information and I hope you can assist us.” The priest looked skeptical. “I’m happy to help if I can.” “It’s about Billings Haverstock,” Sophie broke in, unable to remain silent one moment longer. He smiled. “Ah, Mr. Haverstock.” “You knew him?” she asked with surprise. “Alas, no. I know of him, though. Father Montague, rector of this church before me, spoke highly of him. Mr. Haverstock visited often, from what I’m told.” He chuckled. “More often than not, Father Montague spoke of the many puzzles Mr. Haverstock created for him.” Sophie’s pulse skittered. “Sir, that is exactly why we are here. A puzzle.” “Oh?” “Yes,” she said. “I have a missive from Mr. Haverstock that led us here. Would you mind very much if we look around?” “Suit yourself, Miss Turner. What is it you seek?” She squirmed, not entirely willing to confide in him. Then again, he was a cleric. That realization made her feel altogether silly. “A key.” She looked around. “Hidden, obviously, or it would have easily been found and discarded years ago.” The vicar looked interested. “How long ago was this puzzle created?” “Thirty years or so,” she said. “Yes, about the time Mr. Haverstock often here visited here. Father Montague was greatly disappointed when he abruptly left 179

to journey abroad. I remember he often spoke of those last few weeks, and how his friend changed from a jovial man to one of ever-growing sorrow. Well, I should let you continue. Feel free to look anywhere. Oh, but be wary in the nave should you go up there. Though we’ve replaced the altar, the statues are not wellcemented and some of the flagstones are quite old. I keep intending to make repairs, but other expenses have taken precedence.” He gave them a wry smile. “Not to mention that our more generous parishioners expect to enjoy the fruits of their contributions, and I don’t believe cement to be high on their list.” Ryder laughed. “Indeed not.” “We’ll be careful, Reverend,” she assured the priest. “I will be in the back, should you need me. We don’t get many visitors this time of day, so I expect your investigation will be uninterrupted.” He offered them a wide smile. “Good luck. I hope you find what you are seeking.” Then his grin deepened as did his voice. “I also hope I shall be privileged to see this treasure you find.” “Certainly,” Sophie promised. “Very well.” With a final nod, the rector headed back the way he came, disappearing into the multi-colored stream of sunshine. Sophie’s excitement tripled and she fairly bounced with the effort it took to remain still. She peered into the darkness through which he’d vanished, waited another heartbeat or two, then spun to Ryder and Tori. “I believe I know exactly where we should look.” “Where?” Tori demanded, gazing around the length of the church. “You have the clues?” Ryder asked. Sophie pulled them from her reticule. “Obviously we know now that ‘look to the heavens’ refers to the steeple of the church. ‘Melodic tones’ would be the bell as it rings, and ‘witnessing two into one’ must be the marriage.” Her heart ached. Haverstock and his unknown love never received their happy ending, but she vowed his efforts would not be in vain. In his honor, she would find the treasure. “That leaves the last two. Panes of brilliant glass 180

Keys to Submission and rays upon my stone.” “Stained glass,” Ryder said. “Yes, exactly,” Sophie replied. “We should start in the nave.” Tori shook her head, a wide grin on her face. “What amuses you?” Sophie asked as they headed toward the front of the church. “The two of you make quite a pair,” she said, voice low as she glanced back at her brother. “You complement one another nicely.” “Because we can figure out old riddles?” “That, and because you listen to one another. You are connected mentally as well as physically.” Sophie sucked in a harsh breath and quickened her step. Find the key, open the chest, read the next set of clues and pray they don’t require more time in London. Would Ryder follow her back to Saunter House? She hoped so. Despite the trials of this morning, she was not yet ready to break from him. Soon, she knew, but not now. “Tori, why don’t you take a seat and keep an eye on the back of the church while Sophie and I examine the nave?” She studied him for a moment before nodding. “Shall I whistle if someone comes in? Like when we were young and Mother would come hunting us?” He laughed. “Absolutely.” Sophie waited for him to join her in the nave. “Your mother chased you down, not your father?” He shrugged. “Surely you know our family history.” “No, sorry. We didn’t come to London before my Season. We knew very little about anyone, to be honest. Which is also why I did not know about Lady Whitten. That seems ridiculous now, but ignorance and Whitten’s own deception aided my fall from grace.” Ryder’s jaw tightened. “You seem to have gained quite a bit of knowledge in a brief time. You knew my mother’s maiden name, and that Ashford House had once been her childhood home.” The subject was obviously a touchy one. Sophie wrapped her 181

hand around his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was merely curious.” “How did you find out about that, anyway?” His gaze drifted to Tori. “Never mind. We will discuss it later. Now, why don’t we find this blasted key?” He could not have made his withdrawal any more plain. She swallowed around a sudden lump before consulting the paper again. “‘In panes of glass, through her glory crowned. Watch the rays upon stone, loosened and now my home.’” They looked up at the stained glass above the rotunda. From above, the midday sun streamed down, passing through the panels and sending different colors of light all around the nave. “There are so many,” Sophie whispered. “How do we know which to follow? None of the angels are wearing a crown.” Ryder studied the images a bit longer then smiled. “What is a woman’s crowning glory?” Sophie’s eyes widened. “Her hair!” She scrutinized the angels again. All but three had tight curls partially hidden beneath their halos. Each panel held one angel with long, blonde hair. She followed the streams of light from each one to the floor. “Gracious,” she whispered. “Could it be this simple, Ryder?” He chuckled. “I have a feeling this time it is. Let’s start with the one on the left and follow the light.” They suited words to action, carefully scuffling along the edge of the beam of light. When it spread along the floor in front of the pews, Sophie dropped to her knees and ran her fingers along the edge of every stone. “Nothing,” she sighed. Ryder helped her up, his hand comforting and strong. The next beam, the one in the center, ended in the middle of the altar. Though Ryder thoroughly checked each stone beneath the altar, he found nothing. Sophie shivered, fingers curling and unfurling in her excitement. She shared a look with Ryder. “Are you ready?” His enthusiasm was as evident as hers. “You do the honors, Sophie. It is your quest, after all.” 182

Keys to Submission She grinned and dashed down the steps of the nave, followed the bright pulse of light from the right panel, and skidded to a stop at the far edge of the pews. The light disappeared into the wall just a hair above the floor. Cracked stone and crumbled mortar littered the floor. She sank down, fingers scrabbling in the deep crevices, seeking purchase. Once she had it, she tugged, pulled and panted, but the stone would not come free. She frowned and tried the next one. Then the next. None of them would release. Ryder strode up behind her. “Anything?” She dropped her head. “No,” she whispered. “Impossible,” he said, falling to his knees next to her. He followed the same ritual before cursing in disgust. “Bloody hell.” She couldn’t breathe. Given the success of their other two sojourns, she had fully expected to find this key, too. How was it possible she did not? She’d failed. Tori joined them and slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, Sophie.” She nodded, numb and dispirited. “I was so certain.” She cast a look at Ryder. “Perhaps this isn’t the correct church?” “Possible, I suppose.” Sophie sighed and stood. “That’s that, then. I think the best thing is to return to Saunter House and try to figure out where else it could be.” “Nonsense,” Tori said. “You’ll stay with us. We are going to have a party, Sophie, and it will be fine. I promise you.” Her breakfast threatened to reappear on Tori’s delicate slippers. She’d forgotten about that discussion. “A party is not wise, Tori.” She winked. “Wisdom has never been one of my more appreciable traits.” Ryder pushed to her side. “I know I have no right to ask you to stay, Sophie, but I am.” His handsome face was full of entreaty and tenderness. This strong, towering man was practically begging her to remain here. Her heart thudded a resounding, loud yes. Surely he heard it. “Ryder—” “Please, Sophie. Stay for me.” 183

How could she refuse him? “Yes. Yes, I will.” Tori grinned and Ryder clasped Sophie around the waist, pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. Quick footsteps sounded from behind her and the rector appeared, face wreathed in an excited smile. “You found what you sought?” She thought she heard Ryder murmur “indeed,” but he only shook his head. “No, unfortunately we did not. Strange, though. I was positive this was the correct church. Even the clues made sense.” The vicar looked crestfallen and Sophie reached out a hand to him. “It’s quite all right, Father. It only means we must continue our search elsewhere.” Richards’ shoulders sagged. “May I ask the clues?” Sophie carefully recited them, explaining each as she went. “So, you see, we figured the crowns of glory would be the hair and the light passing through them would fall on our target, but we were wrong.” His expression did not lighten and she gave a small laugh. “Goodness, one did not even make it to the ground.” She turned and pointed. “It hit dead center of the altar.” Richards’ head shot up. “Of course! Come, come with me. Quickly.” He lifted his robes and moved speedily toward the nave. “We replaced the altar,” he said over his shoulder. “Last summer, we replaced it.” Sophie’s giddiness returned. Tori and Ryder fell into quickstep with her as she followed the rector. He was on his knees at the edge of the altar. He looked back and up at the glass, then down again, nodding rapidly. “Yes, yes.” He pointed. “There!” Sophie followed his pointing finger. “What, Father?” He scrambled to his feet. “We made the altar taller. The beam used to hit the floor.” He stopped and looked down. “Right there.” The three seekers gathered around him. Sophie’s knees trembled as sank to the floor. Ryder joined her, his hand clasping hers. He squeezed lightly before letting go. “Find it, my sweet.” She tugged at a stone and felt the strong resistance of the 184

Keys to Submission cement. She tried another and met the same. Another, another. Her frustration rose along with tears. “No, it’s here.” She stretched, seeking a far stone, and pulled. It did not budge. She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Suddenly Ryder’s fingers laced with hers. “Try again,” he murmured low to her ear. She lifted her gaze to his. The golden flecks were fierce and determined. His presence gave her strength, his belief buoyed hers. She nodded and together they gripped the stone and pulled. She gasped as it edged forward. Another strong pull and the rock popped free. Sophie leaned down, fingers dipping into the hole left behind. Stirring the dirt and mortar, she combed through the entire area. Her fingers touched something cold. With shaking fingers she closed around it and drew it forward. Glinting in the brilliantly colored light was the third key.

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Chapter Ten May 5, 1784—The house is oddly quiet and it disturbs me. The drafts are stronger, chilling my toes and my nose and my fingers. It is difficult even to write. Father left hours ago. After Stock asked permission to wed me. I was not allowed in to listen to their discussion, nor did I see Stock before he left. I do not know what is going on and it is irritating. This is my future. I should have a say in it. I will not be left out of these important decisions! Why do men always feel they know what is best? “Thank the good Lord you’ve returned, my lady,” Stires said as soon as he opened the door. Ryder frowned, staring at the multitude of flowers and boxes littering every surface of the entryway. He turned his attention to Stires. Highly unusual for the butler to show any sort of emotion, much less outright panic. Even his man’s outer jacket and vest were askew, his hair mussed as if he’d raked a hand through it countless times. ”What’s wrong?” The butler rolled his eyes. “Where shall I start, my lord? All three sitting rooms are full, the bell has not stopped ringing for the last hour, your mother is in a right froth, half the staff has been seized with sneezing fits from all of the flowers, Lord Corwin has yet to return and the baby is setting up a fuss to rival Napoleon’s last stand.” “Mother is here?” Ryder asked, cursing the wagging tongues of gossipmongers. “What’s wrong with Lisbeth?” Tori demanded. “The noise, Madame,” Stires said wearily. “Nurse has her upstairs. Said something about sugar and rum. Hard to hear, though, with all the cackling going on. Additionally, Cook warns me that we are nearly out of cakes. Your company has devoured quite a bit in the hour they’ve been occupying the sitting rooms.” 186

Keys to Submission “Who are they?” Sophie asked, voice low and filled with worry. Ryder slid his arm around her shoulders and met the butler’s eyes. “Sophie, you and Tori go upstairs with Lisbeth. I’ll send for you when this has all been straightened out. Stires, have someone run his lordship to ground and bring him here immediately. Where is my mother?” Relief eased the tension that had marked the butler’s face. “She is in Lord Corwin’s study, my lord.” “Her mood?” The man’s right eyebrow spasmed and twitched and his eyelid drooped before he pulled himself up straight. “If I might be so bold, my lord, I would not wish to meet her either in a tavern brawl nor on the battlefield while she is in this mood.” “Wonderful,” Ryder muttered. “Come on, Sophie,” Tori said, tugging her away from him. “We’ll let Ryder deal with this madness.” She rushed to the staircase, turned as she mounted the first step and frowned at Stires. “Who are all the people in the salons?” “Madame, I have no idea.” He sifted through fallen petals and various fronds on the entry table and withdrew a stack of cards. “These are from those who did not wish to stay.” Stires cast a faintly accusing glance at Sophie. “Most are for you, Miss Turner.” Her fingers shook noticeably when she took the cards. What worried Ryder more was her sudden lack of color. She’d surpassed white and gone straight to gray. Fear dominated her now-huge eyes and he thought she would throw up the lemon ice they’d enjoyed on their sojourn back to Tori’s house. Heedless of their audience, he wrapped his hand around the base of her neck, thumb gliding along her tense jawline. He tried to smooth away some of her anxiety. “It will be all right, Sophie, I promise.” She nodded jerkily, but the doubt remained deeply carved on her face. “Why are they here?” Tori pulled her away. “Go on, Ryder, I’ll take care of her.” She put her arm about Sophie’s waist and guided her up the stairs. Ryder cursed viciously and swung back to Stires. “Napoleon?” 187

“Indeed.” “Fuck.” “My sentiments exactly.” Ryder couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that one. No one who knew Stires would ever suspect he was aware of the seedier side of life, much less deign to use its vulgarity. Surprises, it seemed, were all around. “Get rid of whoever is here,” he ordered, jerking his head in the direction of the front room. “I will take care of my mother.” Stires drew himself up. “My lord, with all due respect, I’ve been trying to do so for the last hour. No one is willing to leave.” “Why?” he asked in frustration. “Miss Turner, I’m afraid.” The butler grimaced. “Her return is causing something of a sensation. I’ve already had notes and messages from half the houses in Mayfair. The other half is represented in the salons.” For the first time, Ryder truly understood Sophie’s depth of fear about returning to London. She wasn’t merely ostracized, now. It appeared the Ton wanted to turn her into a carnival attraction. Raw, feral anger burned through him. He ground his teeth together, tried to suck in a deep breath of calm. He would allow no one to harm her, especially not the vicious vipers populating his sister’s house. “Fine,” he said. “I will deal with them after I speak with my Mother.” “Thank the Lord.” Stires’s fervent murmur reached him as he opened the door to Matthew’s study. He only hoped he was up to the task. He closed the door behind him and scanned the room. His mother, dressed in an ice-blue gown, gloves and hat, stood by the tall glass doors that led out to the courtyard. Her profile appeared pinched, her posture stiff. She fairly vibrated with anger. “Mother.” She waited a long beat, intending, he knew, to intimidate him with her silence. A tactic that had been effective. When he was twelve. 188

Keys to Submission No more. And certainly not when it involved Sophie. “I told you she was trouble, Ryder. I knew she’d bring scandal to our doorstep.” “Technically, this is Tori’s doorstep.” Ryder walked farther into the study. “We both know she’s perfectly capable of handling the attention, especially that kind.” His mother spun around. He was surprised at both the fury and the fear he saw in her features. Her smooth, unlined face held wrinkles of concern on her brow and small, tight lines at the corners of her mouth. A sheen of panic glossed her green eyes. “This is not a jest, Ryder. This is our future. Your future. I will not allow that woman to jeopardize it. She must go.” “No.” Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, no?” The door opened behind him and closed with a firm snap. He didn’t turn, but heard the lock tumble and figured it was his sister. “I convinced Sophie to rock Lisbeth for me,” she said as she joined them. She kissed Lydia on the cheek. “Mother, why are you here?” Her tone was light, airy and only the tiniest bit defensive. “What kind of question is that?” Lydia glared at them both. “I came the moment I heard about Miss Turner.” “Heard what?” Ryder asked. “That she was a guest at Tori’s house. I knew you were behind this, Ryder. Have you no sense at all? If you must take her as a mistress, at least have the decency to keep her in the country and a secret. This is going to ruin any chance you have of making a good match.” Ryder’s temper flared. He opened his mouth to lash back, but Tori’s firm hand and soft voice forestalled him. “She is here as my guest, Mother. Not Ryder’s. She is on a mission to ensure a better future for herself. Would you deny her that simply because of a scandal?” Lydia flushed and her eyes flicked away. “Of course I don’t begrudge her that. What I dislike is the taint she is fostering upon us. Oh, you’re safe enough now that you’re married to Corwin. But your brother is not. Certainly he is given more allowance because 189

he’s a man, but even that is no guarantee of a bright future, a secure match. Society will turn its back on anyone, given the right impetus.” Ryder froze, for the first time hearing a different note beneath his mother’s words. Finding a different meaning. If what he thought was true, her reasons for avoiding scandal at all cost suddenly made much more sense. Not that it mattered a damn in this situation. “But,” Tori said. “Given different reasons, Society can also be benevolent and forgiving. Second chances are not unheard of, Mother. We both know that.” Lydia’s fingers curled into fists. “I have led this family for many years, children, and I have asked very little of you.” Tori snorted. Ryder shook his head. “You have asked nothing but perfection of us, Mother. That argument won’t wash.” “Very well,” she snapped. “Then consider it an order. Send her away.” He wanted to shake her, to demand the full truth from her, to force her to see that she and Sophie shared a common path. While Lydia’s journey didn’t have the happy ending she’d longed for, they were in a position to see to it that Sophie’s did. “We’re going to have a party,” he said. Lydia’s gaze swung up to his. “Why?” “A select few, of course,” Tori chimed in. “Those friends who are influential and not judgmental.” His mother’s mouth drew downward, hurt flashing in her eyes. “We’re going to re-introduce Sophie into society. Between Tori and Matthew’s backing and the support of her friends, people will be more willing to accept Sophie back into the fold.” He hoped she didn’t ask what his own true purpose was. Lydia was stiff, unyielding, and cold. “I cannot, will not, condone this party. I wash my hands entirely of the situation. You will have neither my attendance nor acceptance.” The threat dropped into the silence. “I see,” Lydia said after a long moment. She nodded slowly as 190

Keys to Submission she pulled away. “You would throw your lot behind a woman of low morals and high ambitions. So be it.” She swept between them, body taut with fury. Ryder caught her arm. “We are not asking you to make a choice, Mother.” She did not look at him, but slowly removed her arm from his grasp. “Yes. You are.” Then she stalked from the room, her bearing as regal as ever. “That went well,” Tori murmured. He laughed wryly. “Better than I expected.” Ryder nearly confided in his sister, but hesitated, not yet certain it would be the wise thing to do. He held no worries that Matthew would broach the subject of the diary with her, nor would he spill the secret of the author. But eventually he would tell her. Just not today. “Ryder?” Tori touched his arm, drew his attention back to her. “How is Sophie?” he asked. “Worried, upset, terrified.” “Not good,” he muttered. “No,” his sister agreed. “But she’s strong. I think she will do splendidly. She is going to make a wonderful wife, you know.” He cut her a startled look. “Meaning?” Tori headed for the door. “Whatever you want that to mean, big brother.” She paused, hand on the knob, and looked over her shoulder at him. “I am incredibly happy, Ryder. Beyond even my wildest imaginings.” An odd smile curved her lips and a devilish, impish look crossed her features. He did not want to know what that look was all about. “If you dare to take the chance with Sophie, I know you will be equally happy. Now come along,” she ordered pertly. “We’ve roomfuls of wagging tongues to assuage.” He groaned as he followed her from the room. In the hall, she hesitated, head tipped to the side. “What are you doing?” he muttered. Loud voices and laughter reverberated up and down the hallway. Sounded like a party was already well underway. 191

“Planning,” she murmured, finger tapping against her mouth. “Stires would categorize them, don’t you think? Put like with like?” She looked around the hallway. “Where is that dratted man, anyway?” “Here, madam.” She jumped and Ryder caught the gleeful smile on Stires’s face. Apparently, he wasn’t as uptight as he liked to project. “Must you insist on doing that?” she scolded. “I must.” “Wretch. All right, who did you put where?” Stires adjusted his cravat and tugged at the bottom of his jacket. “Most of the matrons are in the front salon. The more sedate ladies. The tongues I put in the smaller receiving parlor.” His brow twisted along with his lips. “I thought the limited space might encourage them to leave, but no such luck.” Tori smiled. “The third? Who is in there?” His face frosted immediately. “The ne’er-do-wells, my lady, in the sitting room adjacent the study. Believe me, if I could have turned them away without allowing them entrance at all, I would have done. However, I’m merely a servant.” Tori snorted. “You have never been ‘merely’ a servant since you took over this house, Stires, and well you know it. You are miffed because you couldn’t throw your weight around with them like you do the rest of us.” “Possibly,” he conceded. Then his face grew serious. “I’d watch my back with that crowd, my lady. They appear to have malicious intent. His lordship would not appreciate it if you or his guests were put in a negative position by them. I would like to toss the lot of them, my lady, and that’s no lie.” Ryder snapped his head in the direction of the trouble room. She straightened and glanced at him. “We’ll take that one first?” “I’ll handle them,” he said. Damn right, he would. He’d do what Stires could not. Toss each of them out on her sanctimonious ass and bid them all fair riddance. “No,” she countermanded. “We’ll address them together. Blast, we should have Sophie down here.” 192

Keys to Submission “Absolutely not,” he said. “I won’t have her exposed to more scorn and gossip.” “No hope of avoiding it, I’m afraid. Best to beard them in the den, so to speak. But you’re right, we’ll deal with the wretches first. Stires, please ask Miss Turner to come downstairs in a quarter of an hour to join us in the front salon. Ryder, shall we?” He stalked toward the sitting room and opened the door. All talk immediately stopped as the assemblage turned to look. Tori swept past, jostling him with her elbow, a pointed reminder to play nice. Like hell. “Good afternoon,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” A rail-thin woman rose, the folds of her deep blue skirt settling around large feet shod in matching slippers. Her face was as narrow and long as the ribbon round a bonnet, but not quite as pleasant. Features taut and seething with both avid speculation and appalled prejudice. Her nostrils flared widely, giving her the look of a monkey. Ryder disliked her on sight. “Lady Corwin, good afternoon.” The woman paused, openly looked at Ryder and waited. “Mrs. Bessel. My brother, Lord Ashford.” He dipped his head but remained silent. “Is your husband out of town, then?” the woman asked. “No. Why do you ask?” She fluttered her hands toward the now-quiet gathering. “We are concerned for you, my dear. If your husband were out of town, we would be happy to help rid you of your problem.” “I have no problem,” Tori said. Ryder figured she had a smile on her face. The one from their childhood that spoke of sweetness, but really meant retribution brewed. “But I thank you for your concern. So kind of you to come.” “Lady Corwin.” Mrs. Bessel refused to budge. “I know that you are newly wed and perhaps not as aware of certain… unseemly 193

things as you might be. Especially considering your upbringing.” Tori slowly pivoted. “My upbringing?” “Yes. Your mother is a dear friend of mine.” Ryder almost snorted. His mother would not deign to wipe her nose on this busybody’s sleeve. “And it is out of concern for you and her that I feel compelled to warn you about the woman you are harboring. This is very difficult to say, and I regret the need for such vulgarity. I do hope you will forgive me.” Mrs. Bessel leaned forward. Everyone in the room, remarkably silent, followed suit. “She is of loose morals and low character.” Tori’s shoulders twitched and Ryder’s vision blurred for a moment. In all his days, he’d never contemplated hurting a woman outside the sensual arena. But this one he wanted to bodily lift and toss into a pile of fresh horse manure. Face first. “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Bessel,” Tori said smoothly. “But you are quite mistaken.” A ripple wove through the room, murmurs and titters and exclamations of surprise. “Mistaken?” Mrs. Bessel reared back. “Then, your visitor is not Sophie Turner?” “I fail to see how any of my houseguests could be your business, Mrs. Bessel.” The beady eyes narrowed and her nose bulged even more. Ryder was suddenly fascinated by a long, thin purple vein that stretched up from the tip, around her left nostril and back up to disappear between her eyes. “I am only concerned for you,” she said. “Well, as I have said, there is no need. Because you do not wish to be under the same roof with Miss Turner, I shall detain you no longer.” Her sweeping gesture encompassed the room. “Nor any of you who do not welcome her back.” “Well! I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome, Mrs. Bessel.” This from a rotund little man whose buttons threatened to fly from his overstuffed vest. “Lady Corwin, Lord Ashford, good day.” All half-dozen of them filed out the door. Ryder forced himself to smile and nod as Mrs. Bessel passed by, wide nose in the air, its 194

Keys to Submission vein throbbing with wild abandon. The moment they were alone, he shook his head. “All right, Wellington, lead on to the next battle.” “This is sure to be easier. I suspect it will be a few of my friends itching to find out what’s going on. They won’t have as much influence as the matrons, but they’ll be good for stanching the flow of Mrs. Bessel’s venom. Come along. Sophie will be down in only a few more minutes.” They moved to the second room and group. Ryder recognized many more faces in this crowd. A lovely young woman with large doe eyes, a wide mouth and hair as golden as any treasure in the Tower of London rose to her feet. Cecily Farring. She approached Tori, hands outstretched. “Victoria, you sly devil. What are you up to now?” “Cecily, what kind of question is that? I’m always up to something, as well you know. The question is, what are you doing here? All of you? Rankin, Bishop, I’d have thought you’d rather be at your club than piled in my sitting room eating cakes and sipping tepid tea.” The two men had also gained their feet. Ryder shook hands with them, noted their mischievous smiles and ground his back teeth together. Three other young women remained seated. He knew them all, had danced with them and conversed blandly with each one. Fortunately, he did not get the same sense of malicious gossip mongering he’d felt from Mrs. Bessel and company. “Dash it, Tori, we heard some old dame flapping her gums about the scandal brewing over here. A mysterious woman you’ve brought in, or something to that effect.” Rankin, lean, lank and filled with the grace of a man well-versed in the gentlemanly arts, he had a pleasant enough smile and an easy-going manner. Still, Ryder saw his sister tense, watched her carefully measuring her words and finding precisely the right balance of truth and inference. “Listen, my friends, I do have a bit of a prickly situation. I’d like your help with it.” “Anything,” Cecily exclaimed. The others voiced their 195

agreement. “My friend, Sophie, has not been in town for quite some time. Some of you may be familiar with her tale. If not, it is her private story and I’ll not break her trust. Suffice it to say she has done little wrong.” There was a sharp gasp from a short brunette who now stood near Tori. “You don’t mean it is Sophie Turner?” “Yes.” Once more the room filled with excited murmurs. Ryder shifted, folded his arms and prepared a glower should they spew anything vile. “Hush,” Cecily ordered, and they subsided. “Why is she here?” On the surface, the question held no morbid curiosity. Ryder was not sure of her intentions, though. “Again, only Sophie can say, should she wish to. Her presence in town will be brief. However….” Tori looked appealingly at them. “In two days time, I am going to host a party. I would like all of you to attend, should you wish to show her the support she deserves. It is most important to me and Corwin.” She flicked a hand over her shoulder. “And Lord Ashford, as well. We would all be grateful for your help in this matter.” She had gauged her audience well. The small drop of names, the hint that this favor might produce a favor in return, and she had the assemblage nodding in delighted agreement. “It will be a relatively small affair,” Tori said. “I’ll send invitations to you this afternoon with more information.” “Wonderful, Tori. Thank you.” Cecily rose and gathered her gloves and hat. “Might we invite a few other people?” “No,” Ryder said, producing his most charming smile to soften the rebuke. “As you might imagine, this will be an exploratory occasion for Miss Turner. We’d like to ensure her short visit to Town is nothing but pleasant.” Cecily’s eyes narrowed for a moment as brief as the flap of a bird’s wings. Then she smiled broadly. “Understandable, my lord. Very well. I look forward to meeting her again.” The crowd filed noisily from the room and out the front door 196

Keys to Submission held open by Stires. Ryder wondered if his own face showed as much relief as the butler’s. As soon as he closed the door, soft footfalls descended the staircase. Ryder strode forward and held out his hand to Sophie. He brushed a kiss along the back of her cold fingers. Her face was as white as a virgin’s wedding dress. At the base of her neck, her pulse thrummed in a fast, hard beat. Ryder squeezed her hand. “Are you all right?” “Yes. A bit wary, is all. Who were those people?” Tori beckoned her over. “No time to discuss it now. Heavens, Sophie, you’ve got as much color as vanilla custard. Here.” She rubbed Sophie’s cheeks lightly and then clutched her shoulders. “There is no need to be unsettled. This is going to work out beautifully.” “If you say so.” “Are you really such a coward? Funny, that is not at all the impression I had of you at Ashford House, nor when you defied your parents, Whitten and Society itself. Where is the brave woman who threw convention back into the teeth of the very ones who wrote the rules?” Sophie was quiet for a long moment before she offered Tori a rueful smile. “You’re right, of course. As I told Ryder before we set out for London, what’s the worst that could happen that has not happened already?” She sought out his eyes, seeking his strength and support, though she had no right to either. But he gave it. Warmth flooded her. She lifted her chin and smiled at Tori. “What do you need me to do?” “That’s the spirit. Smile, be polite and your usual charming self.” Her brow knitted. “I won’t lie. They’ll likely ask some difficult questions. Answer if you can.” A shiver ran down her spine. “Come along, then.” Tori marched toward the front salon. Sophie fell into step as Ryder caught her up. He slid his hand down her arm and laced their fingers. “I’m right here,” he said. “I won’t let anyone harm you.” She slanted a startled glance at him. “Do you think they carry 197

knives or guns?” He released her hand as they reached the door. “I can’t wait to have you across my knee again, Sophie. Remember that.” Instant need swamped her and she trembled. Blast the man and his ability to control her feelings with but a few words. Tori was already in the room, speaking to the five matrons. She swiftly made introductions and Sophie nodded to each one. She knew from her debut Season and had always found them to be polite, if a bit stiff. Now, she met their piercing regard with what she hoped was a calm, placid demeanor. She curtsied in deference to their age and status. “Miss Turner.” Lady Cushing, countess of Blackford, nodded in return, a smile playing around her mouth. “I must say I am not surprised to be meeting you again.” “You’re not?” She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “No, my dear. Any woman with as much nerve as you have would not be counted down for long.” She shrugged. “Though, I envisioned something a bit more roguish and romantic. Perhaps you’d found a wild Scottish lord to marry, or come back a polished, seductive widow.” Amused laughter scattered through the room. Sophie blushed. “No, ma’am, neither of those. The only adventure I can claim is the inheritance of an ancient, tumbling down house.” “From whom?” “My uncle, Orrick Shaw. He and my cousin Hamilton thought it an excellent idea, though, I’m positive neither of them counted on how much it would take to keep the thing from collapsing.” She smiled to let the woman know the barb held no venom. “Ah, Orrick. A wonderful man.” Sadness washed over her. “Yes, he was.” “An absolutely dear man,” Lady Cushing said. “It baffles the mind to think he was related to your parents.” Sophie snorted. Then clapped her hand over her mouth. Everyone laughed, more amused than scandalized, and the atmosphere relaxed considerably. 198

Keys to Submission For the next hour, Sophie watched and listened in amazement as Tori effectively roused the troop of women to her cause—relaunching Sophie back into Society. Her friend was having great fun, not to mention success. Sophie could not bear to rein her in, though in truth she was terrified. She’d agreed to a single party, not an entirely new Season. And that was after much browbeating from Tori, Matthew and Ryder. Even he influenced the crowd, taking his turn to speak with them individually, all the while making certain to include her in the conversations. Sophie’s heart swelled to watch him supporting her cause. Finally, when everyone departed with promises to attend the party, well-wishes, and even an invitation to an outing that night at the Opera, she was drained, excited and ready to collapse. “You were perfect, Sophie,” Ryder said from behind her. His hands settled warmly on her shoulders. He rubbed at the tension there and she barely held back a moan of appreciation. “I don’t know about perfect, but I admit it was rather fun.” “Good,” said Tori. “Now we have only a few hours to relax before we dress for the Opera.” Sophie blanched. “Damn,” she whispered. Ryder’s fingers stopped moving and he swung down in front of her. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t want to tell him, though she held little doubt he was well aware of her circumstances. Bloody hell, the whole reason they’d made the trip to London was to find a treasure so she could become financially secure. But to come right out and say she had nothing suitable to wear, nor the funds with which to employ a dressmaker, was blasted difficult. She looked into his concerned eyes. “Ah,” he murmured. “Yes, of course. Tori, give us a moment, please.” “Why?” He rolled his eyes and mouthed, brat. Sophie held back a giggle. “Because I said so. I’m older, and if you don’t, I’ll pick you up and remove you bodily.” 199

“You are such a bully,” she muttered. “I think I shall be glad of the respite from you this evening, even if Matthew can’t join us either.” Seconds later the door clicked shut. Ryder lifted Sophie into his arms, settled himself on the chair and covered her mouth in a kiss. Immediately she was surrounded by his strength, drawn in by the heat of his desire. His lips moved over hers with gentle intensity, tasting, nibbling. He pulled back, returned, shared his heated breath with her, took her breath into his mouth. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, eliciting small tingles of need. “More,” she whispered. “I want more.” He plunged his tongue inside, taking her mouth as he would her body. Bold and forceful, his kiss told her how greatly he desired her. Sophie shifted on his lap, rubbing her bottom along his erection. “I want you,” she said. “So much.” He groaned and pulled away, dropping his head to her shoulder and panting in short, moist breaths against her flesh. “I had not intended to do that.” “Why not?” She cupped his head, tunneled her fingers in his luxurious hair. “I enjoyed it.” “As did I. Too much. I won’t take you in my sister’s unlocked study.” She tugged on his hair until he lifted his gaze to hers. “What if we locked the door?” His mouth quirked. “Now who is incorrigible? No,” he said, putting more space between them, although she noted that he kept her firmly on his lap. “You have some shopping to do.” Icy reality washed over her. “I can’t. You know that.” “I do. I also know how blasted stubborn and prideful you are. I propose a replacement bargain.” She eyed him warily. “Replacement of what?” “You are not at the Duck and Jug, obviously, therefore no cost was incurred. Allow me to fund your wardrobe while you’re in Town. Shh.” He laid his fingers over her mouth. “You’ll need something for the party, as well. And I’m positive Tori will drag 200

Keys to Submission you out to be seen tomorrow. Your current wardrobe simply won’t do.” She nodded, knowing he was right but not liking it one damn bit. “If I don’t buy your dresses, then Tori most assuredly will.” “No,” Sophie said. “Our bargain will stand, then. I will repay you. Keep the tariffs.” He smiled. A crooked little smile that made her stomach flipflop and her fingers tingle. She traced his mouth, unable to resist touching him. “You really are a wonderful man, you know.” He growled and nipped her finger. “Ha. If you knew what kind of payment I want for those dresses, you would not be so certain.” She cocked a brow. “Tell me.” His hand slid up her waist to cup her breast. “For every guinea spent, your delicious bottom would take my hand in payment.” Her eyes widened and she clenched her arse. He squeezed her breasts, finding a nipple and tweaking it hard. Sophie moaned and arched deeper into his hand. “If your poor abused bottom could not handle it all, I’d bind your arms and legs and give you a taste of the whip like I did in the carriage house. But more this time. Longer. Until you writhed and moaned in your bonds.” “Ryder,” she breathed as the image played in her mind. Her pussy clenched and dripped. “Here,” he said hoarsely, gripping her nipple tighter. “I would take these tight beauties and press them between my fingers until you cried out for mercy. I want to hear you beg for release, Sophie.” “Yes,” she said. Flashes of the story she’d read in The Opal pierced the sensual haze he was creating. She wanted it, too. Her desire for him grew with each breath. “Come to me tonight, Ryder,” she demanded. “I must have you.” He squeezed her nipple hard before easing her off his lap to stand before him. He gripped her hips and pushed his face between her thighs. Through the mounds of fabric, his teeth nudged at her pussy and she whimpered. 201

“Tonight,” she pleaded. “Leave your window unlocked,” he said when he pulled away and stood. Heart beating fast as a horse’s hooves, she nodded. “Good.” His face was tight, pulled in a near grimace, and she saw the bulge of his erection. She placed her hand over it, squeezing hard. He gasped and bucked into her fingers. “Ryder,” she said softly, pulsing around him. “I want you to beg, too.” He gave a strangled laugh before shoving her hand away. “You’ll get more for that sassiness,” he threatened. She winked and headed for the door. “In that case, I’ll be sure to continue my wicked ways.”

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Chapter Eleven “It’s not too, well… revealing?” Sophie asked for the third time. She tugged at the low-cut bodice of her evening gown and sought Tori’s eyes. “No, and leave it be. You’ll ruin its lines. You look beautiful, Sophie. I promise.” The gown, chosen by Ryder, was a deep emerald color with a low, rounded bodice that showed her round breasts to their fullest potential. The dress nipped tightly below her bosom before dropping to the floor in a soft curtain of elegant silk. Around her neck was a strand of diamonds and emeralds, borrowed under protest from Tori along with matching earrings. Teresa, her talented, chatty on-loan maid had created some sort of dazzling upswept hair style studded here and there with matching twinkles of emerald-tipped pins. Sophie was certain the cost of gems alone would have paid for a new roof at Saunter House. She’d balked at wearing them, but Tori was resolute and it hadn’t taken long to realize when she got something in her brain, very little dissuaded her. Sophie had to admit the entire ensemble made her look and feel sophisticated. Beautiful. Desirable. As though she truly was once more a woman of class and culture. A woman equal to Ryder Ashford. She tingled at the thought. If only. “I wish we knew what the new clues meant,” she murmured. “They are even more clouded than the last ones. Well, except for the promise part.” After the house cleared of visitors, she had been quick to fetch the small chest that held the clues. She was leery of leaving it behind, though she didn’t know why. One or two nights, all she had imagined the London visit would require, would not have 203

made a difference. But something had nudged at her to bring it along. She smiled, remembering Matthew’s quiet enthusiasm for the task of opening the chest. She rather thought he enjoyed the hunt, though it could have been his reaction to Tori’s bouncing glee. His love for his wife, his adoration, was open and strong. It made her happy to be in their company. When she’d pulled out the next set of clues, though, confusion reigned. None of them, not even Matthew with his talent for the written word, could figure out what they referred to. “It’s frustrating,” Tori agreed. “But I have a feeling you’ll decode them eventually. Look at the success you’ve had so far.” That was true. And she had the aid of the diary. Surely the young woman would have penned references to the promise, but what promise and where and when remained a mystery. After much debate, they’d decided to put the puzzle aside until morning and look at it with fresh minds and eyes. The coach, long mired in Opera House traffic, finally glided to a stop in front near the entrance. Sophie clamped a hand over her stomach in an effort to tame the herd of wild butterflies winging against it. Meeting a group of matrons in Tori’s house was one thing. Taking on the entire Ton, quite another. Spine up, gel, show no fear. Once more her uncle’s words bolstered her inner strength. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at Tori as the door opened and the coachman unfolded the steps. “You look beautiful, too, you know. I’m quite dazzled by you.” Tori blushed as they stepped down. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hooked her gloved arm through Sophie’s and urged her toward the white, brilliantly lit theater. People streamed in and out, pushing and jostling as they headed for the doors. Sophie looked at everyone they passed, seeking familiar faces. She wondered, with a hitch in both breath and heart, if she would see any of her family. Her younger sisters would certainly enjoy an evening at the opera. What were the odds they’d be here now? Tonight. 204

Keys to Submission She missed her sisters, but knew that even if she chanced to encounter them, both would turn and walk away as if she’d never existed. Her anxiety at a possible meeting dissolved as her party the tall wooden and glass doors and headed for the luxurious box loaned them for that night by Lady Cushing. Her sisters had made their choice, just as she’d made hers. “Do you want to sit forward or back?” Tori asked. Sophie studied the two rows of seats in the box and then swept her gaze over the theater. All around them, people moved in and out of the private boxes. Down below, in the pit of the house, they jockeyed for position, most looking up at the boxes lining the walls. Already she felt curious eyes and heard muted whispers. “The back, please.” Tori gave her a wink. “Perfect. That way, if the performance is horrendous, we can slip out and none will be the wiser.” They were no more settled in their seats than the opera began. Sophie was immediately enraptured with the music, the costumes, the voices. She found herself mesmerized by the flamboyant performance of the lead soprano, a flame-haired beauty with a voice nearly as big as her breasts. The woman’s curvaceous body and sultry features only added to her allure. Sophie chuckled as she suddenly understood why there were so many men in attendance. When the curtain fell on intermission, she leaned back, wincing at the tightness in her lower back. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Lady Cushing said. She and her husband had quietly slipped in after the first scene. “It’s wonderful. I simply cannot thank you enough.” “My pleasure, my dear.” The lady waved her program in front of her face and grimaced. “I do wish it wasn’t so packed, though. More people always make it so much hotter.” She stared pointedly at the many people surrounding them, some leaning out of their boxes and staring blatantly at them. What had once been small whispers seemed to be growing in tone and volume. Lord Cushing laughed and pointed to the writhing throng of 205

mostly male bodies down in the public area. “They came to see the incomparable Minette. She drives the young dandies quite wild.” “Well, no stage performer is a fit wife for a man of wealth and title.” His wife sniffed in obvious disapproval. Sophie’s pulse shot up, and an uncomfortable ring sounded in her ears. Despite the outward support, was it possible the older couple actually looked down upon her still? “Not like these fine young ladies,” she continued loudly as she motioned toward her and Tori. Then Lady Cushing giggled. “Though, I suppose not you, Lady Corwin. Believe your husband might have a word or two to say about you being wooed by another man.” “It doesn’t bear contemplating,” Tori said ferociously. Sophie relaxed and silently agreed. Matthew was a man who exuded power and danger, however subtly. She would not wish to be in his bad graces for any circumstance. “I think I would like a glass of lemonade,” Tori said. “Sophie, would you care to join me?” “Yes, thank you.” Rising, she glanced down at Lady Cushing. “May we bring you something?” “No, no, dear. We are much too old for either the crowds or the late nights any more. We shan’t stay for very much longer.” Lady Cushing rose and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m so glad you came out, Sophie,” she whispered. “You are going to do so well.” Sophie could only smile and nod as she left the box with Tori. What an odd thing for the woman to say. Do well at what? And what had she done to earn such support? “It’s down this way,” Tori said, wrapping her hand around Sophie’s. “Try to stay with me. It’s a mad crush.” Indeed, the hall was awash with people, most of whom stopped and stared as they passed by. Sophie lifted her head, meeting each eye and smiling sweetly. She would not again bow to their censure. In short order they found two tepid glasses of lemonade and began the long, arduous trek back to their box. As they approached, the crowd parted and the constant murmurs which followed her quelled. 206

Keys to Submission Lydia Ashford strode through the throng. Though her face was calm and a small smile graced her lips, a chill washed over Sophie. This was not promising. “Good evening, Mother,” Tori said. “Good evening, Lady Ashford,” Sophie echoed, dipping a small curtsy. “Ladies. Are you here without escorts?” The censure was light but definitely in attendance. Sophie mentally sighed. “Yes, Mother. We are. Lord and Lady Cushing are in the box with us. I didn’t know you would be here tonight. Would you care to join us?” The silver head inclined. “For a moment. However, I saw the Cushings leave a short time ago.” The porter held open the curtain and ushered the trio inside. When it fell behind her, Sophie thought she heard the distant clang of a cell door slamming shut. She shivered, despite the heat. “You look very beautiful tonight, Miss Turner,” Lady Ashford said. “Thank you, my lady.” “The truth is never difficult to speak. We all know that beauty, however, means little in the eyes of the world.” A sick feeling grabbed at Sophie’s stomach and she clutched the back of a chair, staring at the matron in front of her. “Mother,” Tori said, “do be civil.” Lydia’s gaze remained focused on her. “Be quiet, Victoria. I have something to say, and because neither you nor your brother will listen, I decided to go straight to the source.” Sophie lifted her chin. “Meaning me, Lady Ashford?” “Yes.” Lydia studied her for a long, tense moment. “Despite what my son believes, Miss Turner, I harbor no ill will toward you.” She wanted to laugh at the ridiculous statement. It was as clear as rain in May that Ryder’s mother thought less of her than she would a common strumpet. “I love my children and will do anything to ensure their future,” 207

she continued. “I know what is best for them.” “Mother, stop,” Tori hissed. “I admit to some mistakes, but Victoria made a good match with Corwin. Ryder, though, must do even better. He is the last of our line, Miss Turner, and his heirs will come from a woman of his class, his social level. You must admit you can no longer make such a claim.” Sophie’s temper flared. She took a step toward Lydia. “I think you are under a misapprehension, Lady Ashford. I am not pregnant.” The woman gasped, eyes wide and mask suddenly gone. The already pale skin whitened even further. She dropped her gaze to Sophie’s midsection and back up. Sophie did nothing to suppress the small jolt of pleasure that panicked look induced. “Furthermore, what your son does and with whom he interacts is his business alone. He is a grown man, an adult with both a keen intelligence and a strong will.” Lydia’s face returned to its stony façade. “That is where you are wrong, Miss Turner. It is also his family’s business. I will not allow him to bring shame to this family. Rest assured, I will take every step necessary to ensure it does not happen.” “Are you threatening me, my lady?” Lydia stared blankly, then shook her head. “No. I merely wish that none of us suffer pain.” Sophie shifted uneasily. Around them, she could see people leaning over the rails and staring, taking in the drama that was now in their box and not on the stage. Unexpectedly, Lydia leaned forward and gripped her hands. “Leave, Sophie,” she said, voice cracking on her name. “While you are still unscathed. Don’t fall into the same situation. He won’t marry you. He can’t.” “That is enough, Mother,” Tori said sharply, stepping between them. She took Lydia’s arm and edged her from the box. To Sophie, the action looked normal and mundane, a daughter saying goodbye to her mother. Not like the horrendous ache building inside of her. 208

Keys to Submission She sank onto her chair, staring back at the oglers around her. What did it matter if she returned to Society? Even if she were accepted into the fold, Lydia made it clear she never would endorse her. Not that she expected such a thing. Why should she? And Ryder had not spoken of a future with her, anyway. Their assignation would end when she found the two remaining keys. Her heart pounded. Tears clouded her vision and she squeezed her lids shut, surreptitiously wiping the escaping ones away. “Are you well?” Tori asked. Sophie nodded. She looked across the aisle to gather her composure and gasped. Lady Judith Whitten stared back, a mask of anger on her face. In seconds, it melted into pleading. She lifted her hand as if reaching out to her. Sophie shrank back against the chair. “What is it?” Tori asked, scanning the crowd. But the orchestra struck up the chords of the next act and the curtain opened. “I thought I saw someone I recognized,” replied, hedging. “Oh? Who?” “No one. I was mistaken.” Tori gave her an odd look, but allowed the matter to drop without further prodding. Sophie tried to pay attention to the opera, but her gaze continually darted across the way, each time meeting Lady Whitten’s riveted, aching stare. Sophie noted that her husband was not in attendance, but it did little to ease the roiling of her stomach. Sometime during the final act, she discovered Lady Whitten was gone. But she still didn’t relax. Her nerves were taut as strings on a lute and she craved a healthy dose of Matthew’s excellent, numbing brandy. She was never so glad to see the end of anything as when the opera finally concluded She jumped to her feet. “Let’s go,” she said. “Wait. Sophie. It will be ages before the coach is brought round, 209

and the crush will be worse than it was at intermission. Let’s sit here and wait it out.” “No, I can’t.” The heat, coupled with the stress of the evening, suddenly hit her. The flickering candles lighting the stage danced even more, swimming in her vision like fish in a pond. Endless circles of light and nausea assailed her. “I must go outside where the air is cooler. We can wait there, can’t we?” “Yes, of course.” They merged into the streaming crowd and Sophie felt Tori wrap her arm about her waist. She clutched her hand, grateful for the support, and they finally made their way into slightly cooler air. Sophie sucked in a deep breath, grateful to feel the moist dew of night coating her face. The crowed pushed them toward the pavement and the line of carriages in the street, and she allowed herself to be carried along. “I don’t see my coach,” Tori fretted. She stood on tiptoe and peered at the long backup of vehicles. “Blast, it’s all the way to the next street. We’ll be soaked by the time he makes his way to us.” “It’s all right,” Sophie said. Though many carriages were leaving, the sidewalk teemed with loud, carousing people. The noise level seemed even louder outside. She clutched at her reticule. Elbows and shoulders poked at her as the crowd flowed around them, seeking the street or their coach. “Perhaps we should walk?” Tori said as she remained close to her, arm firmly at her waist. Sophie pondered it, looking down at her gown as the mist turned to sometimes larger drops of rain. She did not wish Tori to take ill because of her idiocy. “Yes, let’s go.” She scanned the area. “There’s a break over there.” They headed for the open space. Sophie reached down and grabbed a handful of her skirt to step off the pavement. The clatter of wheels on the cobblestone made her stop. She waited for the carriage to pass but a sudden rush of air sounded behind her. She heard Tori give a startled scream at her side and then she was falling, directly onto the street. 210

Keys to Submission Sophie hit the ground hard, her head striking the wet, slick road. She groaned and tried to bat away the wooziness. Another yell, a man’s hoarse shout and the terrified scream of a horse brought her eyes up. She focused hazily on the coach bearing down on her. Move! But she couldn’t seem to make her body work. She felt the chill of the bricks pressing into her hips, the seep of the increasing rain soaking into her now-ruined dress. The coach charged forward, the coachman shouting desperately and pulling hard on the reins. Sophie closed her eyes, dropped her hands and shoved at the ground, hurling herself backward. Her shoulder brushed the curb and dirty water sprayed her as the coach careened past. Hands reached down and pulled her upright. “Are you all right, miss?” a man asked. She looked up and blinked away the confusion. She was surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces, all staring at her with concern and curiosity. “Yes, yes, thank you.” The man dusted his hands off with a handkerchief and offered it to her with a rueful smile. “I suspect this will do little to clean you up.” “Sophie,” Tori cried as she pushed through the circle of people. “Good heavens, are you hurt?” “No,” she said slowly, taking stock. Her shoulder burned a little and her headache had increased threefold, but considering the near-miss she’d just had, she was remarkably healthy. “I’m fine, Tori. Truly.” Fury etched Tori’s face and tears glittered in her eyes. “Can you walk to the carriage?” “Of course.” “I’ll escort you,” the man said gallantly. Sophie thought to reject the offer, but Tori nodded firmly. “Thank you, Rankin.” They made it across the street and to the carriage without further incident. The coachman stared in amazement as he jumped from his perch, opened the door and handed her in. 211

Sophie collapsed to the back of the seat, unable to muster a fragment of energy. She didn’t even really care why it took Tori so long to climb in behind her. The door shut and they eased away. “Are you truly without injury?” Tori asked softly. She forced her eyes open. “Yes. I don’t know what happened, though. I’m so sorry. I’m not usually accident-prone.” Tori’s mouth was tight, fury evident in her green eyes. “I know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered visibly. “Because that was no accident.” **** “You’re positive the diary belongs to my mother?” Ryder asked. He gripped the leather book in his hands as if by clamping tight enough, he could contain the shocking secrets it held. Secrets that could ruin his mother, should anyone ever learn of them. Destroy the image she’d carefully constructed over the past forty years. The brandy he’d consumed swirled vilely in his gut. He clenched his teeth and looked at Matthew. “Well?” “There is no doubt, Ryder. I’m sorry.” His brother-in-law remained closed-faced and as inscrutable as ever. No emotion or judgment showed on his face. “What are you going to do about it?” “Do?” Ryder looked down at the diary and wished he could consign it to the fireplace. But that would require even more explanation to Sophie. It would also ruin her chances of unlocking the remaining mysteries of the keys. Once more the idea of hacking through the blasted chests with a saw came to mind. “Ryder,” Matthew said sharply. “Listen to me. I know what’s in the diary, and I know what it is we’re protecting.” He shrugged. “I told you before, everyone has secrets. I just didn’t realize Lydia’s were quite so interesting.” Ryder glared at him. “Fuck off, Matthew.” He laughed. “Only you and I and your mother know whose writings those are. There is no danger of us spreading it around.” “No,” Ryder acknowledged. “But its very existence is 212

Keys to Submission disconcerting. And what if Sophie pieces it together? She has read nearly all the blasted thing herself.” “There is very little chance of that. She never mentions her own name, or anyone of importance other than Haverstock. Their romance was clandestine, as you now know, and no child was born of their affair.” His stomach roiled. That, at least, was a relief. It also made his mother’s dismay over his half-brother, Lincoln Wolffe, more understandable. Hell, the entire thing cast his mother in such a different light he felt he had never truly known her. Had never known her. A part of him was wounded by the depths of her deception. “What are you going to do?” Matthew asked again. “Nothing,” Ryder said. “I can’t do a damn thing right now. If I destroy the book, Sophie will be up in arms and demand to know why. She could make such a scene about it that Tori can’t help but learn the truth. Together, I’m sure they could whittle through the clues and figure it out. But if Sophie continues to read it, she could very well discover its secret anyway. Damn and blast, what in the hell was Mother thinking to write it all down?” Furious, he rose to his feet and strode to the fireplace. He clutched the small diary and stared at the flames, then at the book. One toss and the damning evidence would be gone forever. His mother would be safe. The front door opened and he heard Tori’s near-screeching call for her husband. Matthew shoved away from the desk and was across the study in seconds. He flung open the door, dashed into the hall. Ryder tossed the diary to the desk and ran out behind him. “Tori? Are you all right?” Matthew caught his wife as she threw herself into his arms. “It was awful. I’m fine. Sophie was hurt.” “Sophie?” Ryder roared, pulling Tori away from Matthew. “Where is she?” His gaze bounced around the empty entrance hall. “Stop shaking me,” she cried, batting at his arms. “Let her go.” Matthew’s voice was lethally quiet. “Now.” 213

“Where is Sophie?” Ryder demanded again of his sister. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine,” she said, clearly exasperated. “Sophie is in the carriage. I wouldn’t let her come down until one of you helped her.” Ryder gently passed her back at Matthew and tore outside, down the steps and wrenched open the coach door. Sophie was perched on the seat, foot tapping, an obviously forced smile on her face. “Finally,” she muttered, and held out her hand. With one fast sweep, Ryder took in the splattered, ruined dress, the dark smudge of a bruise on her cheekbone and the paleness of her skin. When he cradled her hand, he caught the fine tremor running through her body. “What the hell?” He reached into the carriage, wrapped his arms around her and gathered her to his chest. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Sophie laid her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Only my pride. My head is pretty hard, you know.” He looked up at the coachman. “Did you see what happened?” The man edged his collar away from his neck with one finger, color high. “Uh, no my lord, I didn’t. One minute there’s all these gents hanging ‘round, then a scream. Next thing Her Ladyship and Miss Turner are yelling and climbing in the carriage. Wanted to be brought home right fast. So, here we are,” he ended on a trailing note. “Take me inside, Ryder, before someone sees.” Sophie said. “Better yet, put me down and let me walk. I’m perfectly fine. I promise.” For all that, she continued to shudder and quake. Terror lingered in her eyes. He tightened his arms around her and mounted the steps two at a time. He met Matthew in the hall, surprised at the angry cast of his face. “Bring her to the study. Tori, pour a glass of brandy. Stires, send a messenger to Wiggs.” 214

Keys to Submission “Very good, sir. What shall I say?” “Tell him I need to see him immediately. If necessary, fetch him here.” The butler’s expression mirrored Ryder’s own shocked surprise. Wiggs rarely left his house, and never to come this far into Town. He stalked into the study and set Sophie gently on a chaise. Kneeling in front of her, her framed her face with his hands and felt the chill in her cheeks. “Stires, bring some hot tea immediately.” She nestled her face in his palms, eyes drifting closed on a tear. Tori and Matthew joined them. “Tell him,” Matthew said tightly. Ryder looked at his sister as he settled on the chaise beside Sophie. He hauled her occasionally shivering body close to him, trying to impart his warmth and strength to her. His heart pounded, echoing the fear that so gripped him. “Tori,” he said gently to his wide-eyed sister. “Tell me what happened.” “We were waiting to cross the street,” she said, clutching her husband’s hand. “I had my arm around Sophie because of the crush. I didn’t want to lose her, you see. Just as we approached the street, a carriage was drawing up and someone pushed me on my back, hard. I couldn’t stop from falling, and I fell against Sophie.” Her face went white. “She toppled into the street, directly in the path of the carriage. He couldn’t stop. The street was too slick, and it happened so fast.” Ryder’s breath whooshed from him, and the brandy once more churned wildly in his stomach. The sweat of fear dampened the skin between his shoulders, and although he was sitting, the backs of his knees trembled as though he would pitch forward at any moment. He stared down at Sophie. “You could have been killed.” “Should have been,” Tori said grimly. “But she had enough wherewithal to dodge the coach.” Tori bit her lip and stared at Sophie. “I don’t know how, either. I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked and tears streamed down her face. Matthew pulled her into his arms, pressed a soft kiss to her hair 215

and whispered soft words. “It’s all right, Tori. Truly. It was an accident,” Sophie said in a consoling voice. His sister sniffed, dashing at the tears. “No,” she said stiffly. “Someone pushed me. Hard. They knew the momentum of my fall would force you down. Someone tried to kill you.” Sophie shuddered. “But why? I haven’t been in Town for years. Who in the world would wish to harm me?” Ryder finally shook away his stunned horror. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I’ll wager that shooting was no accident, either.” “What shooting?” Tori asked. “Someone took a shot at us as we were heading to Saunter House. Didn’t hit us, but the bullet nicked Christmas. She’s fine,” he said quickly, hoping to forestall Tori’s interrogation regarding the horse. “Jack fixed her up with his ointment.” “And you’re just telling me now?” “It didn’t matter before,” he said. “Ryder, she’s my favorite horse!” “Enough, children,” Matthew interjected. “Let’s focus on the problem before us. Sophie, has anything else of this sort occurred?” She bit her lip, fingers drumming along the arm of the chaise. Finally she lifted her head. “Well, since I inherited Saunter House, there have been a few small things that I thought were accidents.” “Tell us, please.” “The front porch is basically unusable due to the rotted wood up there. I stepped through a board and nearly broke my leg one day. And there was the fire in the stables. I happened to be walking that direction and was able to put it out. A smoldering bit of hay, nothing more.” “Why didn’t you tell me this?” Ryder demanded, aware even as he said it how ridiculous the question was. She laughed uncertainly. “They were before I knew you, Ryder. They had nothing to do with the hunt for the keys. Besides, they were accidents. Nothing has happened since.” “Except you’ve been shot at and almost run down by a coach,” 216

Keys to Submission he said dryly. She smiled up at him, tugging at his nearly unwound cravat. “But I’m fine. I’m right here. Not even a bump or bruise to show for it.” He stroked the darkening shadow on her cheek. “You have a bruise right here,” he said. “It’s going to look horrendous in the morning.” Tori gave a choked chuckle. “That’s the way to make a girl feel good, Ryder.” But the gentle look on Sophie’s face conveyed more than any words could express. “I’m perfectly well,” she whispered to him. “Perhaps we should reconsider this party,” Ryder said. “That might be best,” Sophie concurred with great enthusiasm. It made him chuckle and ease the restriction of his arm around her. “You just want out of it.” “Of course I do. Would you want to be under the scrutiny of every person in the room for hours on end?” “No, we can’t call it off,” Tori said firmly. Matthew grimaced. “Unfortunately, I must agree. I need to think this over, and tomorrow I’ll have additional information from Wiggs. Then we can make a more informed plan.” “Who is Wiggs?” Sophie asked. Ryder glanced at Matthew, who nodded. “This information is not for public ears, Sophie, but my dear brother-in-law worked for the War Office during Napoleon’s reign of terror. He was instrumental in discovering key intelligence that helped turn the tide of many a battle. He saved many lives.” Matthew waved his hand. “Bah. I was having fun.” Tori knocked him in the ribs. “Wiggs is one of the men who helped keep me informed on certain matters. He continues to do so. We’ve a very lucrative partnership, as it were.” Matthew winked at her. “Must warn you, he’s a bit on the dodgy side. His associates are not known for their straight and narrow approach to all things legal.” Sophie chuckled. “He sounds fascinating.” “He is,” Matthew assured her. 217

Stires wheeled in the tea cart. “I added some rum to the pot, my lord. I thought it best.” “Good man. Thank you. Have you sent the message to Wiggs?” “Yes, my lord. I expect the runner back within the next quarter hour.” “Thank you, Stires.” He nodded and retreated, closing the door behind him. Tori roused herself from Matthew’s arms and poured for all of them. “Speaking of fascinating,” she murmured, “Perhaps we should have another go at those clues?” Ryder looked at the desk where he’d tossed the diary when Tori banged into the house. He was still uneasy about it being accessible to her, but saw no way around it at the moment. “That’s a splendid idea,” Sophie agreed, extracting herself from Ryder’s arms. She didn’t want to let go his warm strength, but she mustn’t allow herself to rely on him. Soon enough, he would be gone from her life. The chest had been brought down to the study the night before. She crossed to Matthew’s desk and picked it up, surprised to see the diary lying beside it. When had she brought that down? She frowned. Perhaps she’d hit her head harder than she thought. She set the chest on the low table, flipped the lid up and reached for the paper with the now-familiar, elegantly-scripted list of clues. “I’ve been thinking,” she said as she smoothed the paper. “They must refer to a gift of some kind.” “Why is that?” Ryder asked. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked down at the clues. She leaned subtly into his embrace. Whatever small length of time remained, she intended to make the best of it. Not one moment would be squandered. “It says ‘from my heart to wear above yours’ and ‘given in rain and roses.’ Surely that is something physical.” “Hmm,” Matthew grunted, bending his head to read the words. Upside down. Sophie was continually amazed at the depths of this mysterious 218

Keys to Submission man. “What sort of gift, though?” “I suspect it’s jewelry of some kind. A necklace, perhaps?” Ryder’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Or a brooch.” She gasped, fingers running down the written list. “Yes, yes, that would fit perfectly. An eternal shape surrounded by golden lace. Round or oval would fit a brooch. And a button of ruby would fit in the center of one. You are marvelous,” she crowed, squeezing his fingers. “A brooch. Of course.” “But whose brooch is it?” Tori asked. Just like that, her elation dimmed. “I don’t know. I’ve never discovered the identity of the woman who penned the diary.” A sort of rolling tension arced from Ryder. She looked up at him. He was staring hard at Matthew, whose face was also dark and unreadable. “What are you keeping from me?” she demanded. “Nothing,” Ryder assured her. But she wasn’t reassured in the least. The lines around his eyes were tight and his mouth was set in a flat line. Something was not right. They continued debating the meanings of the clues for the next hour, to no avail. Sophie’s head throbbed every now and again, but nothing too horrible. It simply made thinking a bit more challenging. Stires returned and relayed the message that Wiggs would attend them in the morning. Matthew appeared unhappy about the delay, but nodded agreement. He stood and held out his hand to Tori. “It’s been a long, harrowing day. I suggest we all find our beds and get some rest.” He speared Ryder with a slightly mocking frown. “You will retire to your own house, of course.” “To be sure,” Ryder replied lightly. As soon as Matthew and Tori were gone, he turned to her. “It appears I will not need to practice my light-foot skills this evening.” Sophie leaned into his shoulder, palm flat to his chest. His heart pulsed strong and insistent. “Excellent. Shall we give them time to 219

settle?” “You have a suggestion about how to pass the time?” She gave him her most wicked, beckoning smile. “Ravishing sounds nice.” She kissed him with all the passion and tenderness he roused in her. She wanted to meld him into her very being so that one day, when he was only a memory, she would continue to feel him with her. Gently he pulled her arms from around his neck. “You have a vexatious way of undermining my control, sweetling. How about a nice game of chess instead?” She choked on a laugh. “Because I like the idea of making you lose your composure, I shall gladly take this opportunity to beat you at chess. Again.” His deep chuckle slid over her in a delicious imitation of his hands, eliciting all sorts of desires and cravings. “I don’t mind losing to you, Sophie. It’s the gloating that gets you into trouble.” When they were seated across the chessboard, he gave a long, drawling sigh. “Pity about your accident. I did rather look forward to tormenting you tonight.” Her face heated, as did her pussy. “There is not a thing wrong with me, my lord.” She lowered her head instinctively, unsure why she did so. “I am hale and willing.” She peeked at him, took in his contemplative assessment. “For whatever you desire.” His brow shot upward. “Strong promises, Sophie. You’ve yet to touch even the surface of the torment and pleasure I can put you through. A carte blanche invitation is dangerous.” She shivered again, but this time from anticipation. “And yet, it is issued.” He was silent for a long, disturbing moment. “Let us play.”

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Chapter Twelve “I think it’s safe,” Sophie said an hour later. Having trounced Ryder soundly in three consecutive games, she was now eager to adjourn to her bedroom. Where had this urgent desire sprung from? It shredded any common sense she might have had, but it didn’t matter. The need burned her as surely as any flame. He gave her a slight smile. “I wonder if you are truly prepared for what this night might bring you.” The underlying hint of darkness gave her a moment’s pause. Then she lifted her chin. “I am.” “Very well. Proceed. Quietly,” he cautioned. They crept up the stairs like thieves in an alleyway. Sophie found it all rather fun, a lark of the sort she hadn’t enjoyed in too many years to count. Her bedroom was at the far end of the house and one floor down from Tori and Matthew’s. Tonight, she was glad of the distance. Making love with Ryder could get rather loud. Inside the spacious, welcoming room, Ryder trapped her against the door, taking her mouth in a hard, fast kiss. His tongue swept through her lips, found her tongue and slid sinuously along it, raising gooseflesh and her heart rate. He reached down and clicked the lock. When he held out his hand, she took it and let him lead her to the center of the room. He released her and stood by the bed, already tugging at his rumpled cravat. The maids had lit the fire and a lantern blazed from the wall near the bed. The cozy, welcoming atmosphere was in sharp contrast to the sensual awareness crackling the air. “Come here,” he said. She moved closer, eager, ready. “Turn around.” She presented him her back. Her shoulders tensed and prickled, 221

every inch of skin awaiting his touch. Ryder’s fingers glided along the edge of the buttons, rippling like water over rocks in a surging brook. She waited for him to free her from the dress, but instead his hand slid up her neck and into her hair. He crooked his fingers, exerting exquisite pressure and tugged her head back. Sophie leaned into him, breath rasping in rising excitement. “Once more we find ourselves surrounded by people,” he murmured into her ear. She shivered at the rough vibration. “Can you be silent when you come, Sophie? Hmm? Do you have that much control?” She twisted in his grip, ignoring the small dart of pain as her hair tangled between his fingers. Her heart thudded. “And if I don’t?” His smile was slow and devious. “Then I shall take great care in ensuring your silence.” “How?” But she knew before he spoke. “I’ll gag you.” The simple words elicited another round of shivering anticipation. She wanted him to bind her, to gag her. To control her. “Do it,” she said softly. His eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened hard in her hair. He jerked her back even farther. “Are you certain? This is another layer, Sophie, another level of submission.” “I understand.” “Tell me,” he ordered, nostrils flared. “Tell me exactly what you’ll be giving up.” “My voice,” she said without hesitation. “My ability to say no.” A heated flush darkened his face, and his throat worked fiercely. “Yes.” He released her, flicked open the buttons and pulled her dress down. It caught at her hips. She cursed, pushing at it, and then his hands were there, helping. Together they shoved the gown over her hips and down her legs to puddle at her feet. Before she could straighten, he had 222

Keys to Submission her chemise halfway to her breasts, then up and over her head. It too fluttered to the floor. The heated air wrapped around her like a down coverlet. She met his eyes, deliberately pulled her shoulders together and placed her hands behind her, clasped just above her buttocks. She wanted to give him her submission. “Beautiful,” he muttered and caught one nipple in his fingers. He twisted, green eyes afire and steady on her. “Yes,” he said. “You will be fully silenced. The idea very much appeals.” He looked at the locked door. “In normal circumstances, were we alone in my house, that is, I would delight in binding and gagging you. Tormenting you with pleasure and pain and denial. But we have a limited amount of time. Tonight, I will use my cravat to silence you.” His fingers tightened on her nipple. A rush of air escaped her. “Yes.” He latched onto the other nipple, squeezed both hard. Harder. Tears threatened and she bit her lip, rising on tiptoe. He chuckled and released her. “Bring my cravat.” She brushed her palms over her stinging nipples as she bent and picked up the white linen tie. He took it from her, smoothed the hair from her face and smiled. The smile of a predator about to pounce on his prey. He flipped the cravat over several times, keeping it at her eye level. “Open your mouth.” She did. He fitted it against her lips until the corners of her mouth tightened. Then he knotted it behind her head. She sighed in relief that he did not catch any of her hair. With firm fingers, he lifted her chin. “Just as before, Sophie, your job is to remain silent. Your pleasure cries will be audible, even through this gag. But now, you will not be able to deny me.” She swallowed hard, the precarious nature of this position suddenly clear as glass. “However, there are rules for this type of play, as well.” He picked up her hand and curled her fingers into a tight fist. “Lift 223

your thumb. Good. If for any reason you wish me to slow down, hold up your right fist and show me your thumb. Show me your left fist and thumb, and we will stop.” She lifted a brow in question. “I am in control, Sophie, but never to hurt you or force you to do anything you don’t want. You set the limits, remember? I simply intend to break through them.” She wished she’d thought to ask him exactly what he planned for this short night of passion. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped open the case. “I suspect we have less than two hours before someone in the house rouses.” She must have looked confused because he tipped his head toward the door. “Both Matthew and my sister have night-owl tendencies. I do not wish to clamber from your window. I’d prefer to use the stairs like any civilized man.” Her giggle came out smothered. Ryder’s face grooved with authority. “Climb onto the bed. Hands and knees. Arse towards me and thighs spread.” Instantly her body responded to his stern command, becoming wet and alert. The nipples he’d twisted and taunted earlier sprang back into fullness, throbbing with the rush of blood. She clambered onto the bed, blushing at the awkward inelegance she displayed. Her aroma wafted sweetly in the air. “Head down, shoulders on the bed.” His hand curved over her bottom. She twitched, pushing back at him. Sweet heat, anticipation and vicious lust all combined in the palm of his hand. The feeling speared directly to her clit, spread to her pussy and upward along her entire body. She pressed her cheek to the bed, turned so she could still breathe. “Good girl. Do you know what a picture you present, my sweet? No? Your beautiful arse high in the air, as if waiting for my hand.” Ryder suited action to words and palmed her buttocks. He dug his fingertips into her resilient flesh, luxuriating in her softness, 224

Keys to Submission her roundness. She curled her toes. He released her buttocks and slid his hand down her legs, along the pads of her feet. She jerked, spreading herself wider. “Ticklish?” She tried to nod, and from the look of panic on her face, he deduced she was very ticklish. “Excellent. I shall be sure to exploit that fully. But later.” Ryder cupped the insides of her thighs and pressed outward, pushing her to her comfort level and past. He leaned forward and inhaled. “I love your smell, Sophie,” he said hoarsely. “Sweet, like you. Spicy, also like you. A mix of innocent and seductive.” Already a small drop of moisture clung to the soft brown curls surrounding her lower lips. He drew a line from her heated opening to her clit and back down. Then he suckled the juices from his fingertip. “Delicious.” He stepped back and to the side, making certain she could see him. He pulled off his jacket and laid it on a chair, then tugged his shirt from his breeches and over his head. He sat in the chair, heedless of the damage he was doing to his coat, and removed his boots and stockings. Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved closer to her, popping each button of his breeches until his cock sprang free. She jumped, head coming off the bed. She lurched forward. “No,” he said sharply. Immediately she stilled, eyes wide and fully aware of the mistake she’d just made. “Another problem,” he murmured as he shed his breeches and kicked them free. “I cannot discipline you tonight. Therefore, any strokes you incur shall be doubled.” He heard her sharp gasp of protest and lifted a brow. “I think you must enjoy the punishments, Sophie. You’ve already garnered four.” She glared at him the entire way back down to the bed. He chuckled and lifted his cock in his hand, stroking the shaft 225

with languid speed. He was hard and ready to plunge into her, but he also wanted to take his time and torment them both. Her eyes focused on his erection, moving with his pulses. He spread his legs wider and jutted his hips. He squeezed the base of his shaft, stroked upward to cup the head, back down again. Over and over he repeated the action, increasing speed as his arousal threatened to peak. He gritted his teeth against coming and slowed his movements. It was then he noticed her hips undulating. He sped up, so did she. When he slowed, she mirrored him. Interesting. “I like the sight of you like that, my sweet. On your knees, thighs spread, pussy open and available. Your breasts hang down like lush apples, ripe and ready to be picked. I can see you enjoy my cock, too, don’t you?” She half-nodded. “The only thing that could make this vision better is if you were bound to the posts, stripes from my whip criss-crossing your perfect skin. Small, delicious red welts that both sting and delight.” Her hips picked up speed. He gave a sigh of mock regret. “Not tonight, though.” Ryder looked down at his cock, stiff and purple and hot as Hades in his own fingers. Thrusting into her would likely combust them both. He thumbed a clear drop from the slit of his cockhead, reached forward and smeared it along her upper lip. Once more her chocolate eyes reflected her annoyance. “Six it is,” he said. Those eyes widened in silent question. “You obey, Sophie, you do not question. Nor do you glare.” Her eyelids slammed shut. Ryder moved swiftly behind her. He might not be able to crack her arse with a whip or cane, but he could still show her which pain thresholds she could endure. Reaching between her thighs, he gripped her pussy lips in a forefinger and thumb grasp. 226

Keys to Submission She jerked, wiggling on the bed to get a better view. He risked the sound and slapped her bottom. “Eight. Don’t move.” He secured his grip once more. The slippery skin made it a bit difficult, but he tugged downward. “Limits are as important as obedience,” he told her, continuing to pull and stretch her. “You give me your trust and I show you more pleasure than you have ever known, just as I promised. Even if that means breaking down your barriers.” She whimpered softly and writhed beneath his fingers. Ryder gave a hard, sharp pull and released her, then plunged two fingers into her dripping, hot pussy. She bucked and squeezed around him. He drilled into her as deep as he could go, widening his fingers into a vee, pulled in and out and back again. Her muscles worked on his hand, grasping and demanding. “Are you going to come, Sophie?” he asked with silky menace. He shoved hard into her pussy, touching the spot that made her go mad. She froze, but it was too late. Her body betrayed her. Little moans filtered around his cravat. Ryder continued to finger-fuck her slick canal as he leaned to the side and looked at her. “Ten. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. Twenty.” Sophie wrenched forward and flopped onto the bed. She shook her head at him. “I make the rules, remember? I get to count the way I want.” Though he knew he shouldn’t, he slapped her once more. “Get back up on your hands and knees or it’ll be double again.” Sophie waited a breath past his patience. “Forty it is.” She moved so quickly, he chuckled. The bed was tall and large. Too high for him to penetrate her while standing on the floor. He climbed up behind her, easing her forward with firm hands to her arse and a short command. He slid between her legs, rubbing the head of his cock along her sopping slit. Her flesh quivered, buttocks tightening in response, and she surged backward. “Patience, little one.” But the clock in the hall began to strike 227

the hour. Ryder silently cursed. He’d been enjoying their love-play and testing her limits. He’d not had nearly enough time with her. A niggling suspicion reared its head. He was beginning to think forever would be too little. He lodged the head of his erection into her slit, held himself still and let her feel the stretch and pull as her lower body accepted him. A ripple shuddered over her, ending in a tight clench around his cock. Ryder hissed at the unexpected sensation. It was then he felt the satisfaction thrumming through her. Saucy little chit. He sank deeper into her body, moving slow, enjoying every wet, sliding inch until he could breach her no further. Her pussy clamped down on him. Tried to trap him. Ryder cupped her buttocks, thumbs dipping into her sweet cleft. He tugged her open and she froze, spine snapped tight. He ran a finger along the flesh, circling lightly along her puckered rosebud. She thrashed violently and he let go so she didn’t come off his cock. “Be still,” he ordered and resumed his exploration of her small arse. Fine tremors wreaked her body. Another avenue of pleasure she’d yet to explore. “I’m going to take great delight in opening your arse, Sophie.” She shook her head as hard as she could against the bed and he draped himself over her back, pushing her all the way down. He nuzzled her ear and pulled his hips back, then slid into her pussy again. “Yes, I will. I’ll start with my fingers.” Another thrust. “Open you up until you can comfortably take two.” Out, in. Her body continued to grab at his cock. She thrust back now, hips pulsing up and down. “Then, just as I did tonight, I’ll sink the head of my cock into you. Let it sit just at the opening.” She tensed and shook. “It will burn for a moment. An incredible dart of pain that melts into addictive pleasure.” Ryder loosened the cravat and caressed her cheek. “Come for 228

Keys to Submission me Sophie. Come while my cock is embedded deep in your pussy. Filling every inch of you to the fullest. Let me hear you come.” She arched, nearly bucked him from her body. “Ryder,” she gasped. “God, Ryder. It’s, I. No.” He stilled and she whimpered. “Don’t stop, please.” He snaked a hand between them, the way lubricated by the slippery sweat of their love-making. He bent his knees and pulled her lower body up and delved again into the furrow of her buttocks. He found her tiny hole and pressed. “No, please,” she cried out. “Not there.” He didn’t go farther, but neither did he pull back. “Are you sure, Sophie? One taste of it is all that’s required.” “I’m sure. I don’t want to.” No hint of fear coated the words, only clear decision. Ryder smiled ruefully, withdrew and cupped her shoulders. “Very well.” She swayed beneath him. “Thank you.” He kissed her nape, sank his teeth into her flesh and thrust into her still-wet pussy once more. Within moments their harsh breaths panted together and tiny bursts of indecipherable words jetted from her. Ryder heard the pleading tone, but wanted to break her fully. “What do you want?” “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me.” “Oh Ryder, don’t,” “Tell. Me. What do you want?” “I want to come,” she said as her pussy sucked at his cock. “I want to come. Please.” He swelled within her, his balls slapped at her lips. “Come,” he gasped harshly. “Come now.” His permission seemed to break her restraint. She thrashed wildly beneath him. Her fingers dug into the blanket and her legs spread, then closed, hips undulating. Her inner muscles spasmed and pressed him deeper, crushing his cock in a near painful vise. His own orgasm sped through his body and he pulled out of her 229

pussy. Rising to his knees, he grabbed his cock and stroked himself to the final completion. She groaned when his hot seed splattered her back and buttocks. She heaved on the bed in small, erratic spurts. Exhausted, thighs shaking, he sank prone next to her, wrapped his arm around her waist and held her tight. He stretched to kiss her. A soft, delicate exchange full of tenderness. He rubbed her back and she shivered, goose bumps rising along her thighs. “Come along, let’s get you into your nightrail. Then I’ll leave.” “Can’t you stay?” Her words seeped warmly into every crevice of his being. He didn’t know if she was aware of what she’d said, or if she’d already fallen into sleep, but he could not hold back the rush of tenderness. He smoothed his hand along her back. “Believe me, Sophie,” he said softly. “I want to go to sleep with you each night and wake up to you every morning.” Her shoulders tensed and her eyes eased open, staring at him with sleepy incredulity. “Impossible,” she whispered. He kissed her gently. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” “What?” “I like a challenge.” **** “How are you feeling this morning?” Tori asked as they sat down to breakfast. “Like I’ve been run over by a carriage,” Sophie replied, stirring sugar into her coffee. She hid a smile behind the rim. Her physical weariness was from the incredible love-making she’d shared with Ryder and had nothing to do with the near-accident. She reached for the salt dish and winced as her shoulder muscle protested. All right, perhaps she was a wee bit sore. They sat in the family dining room, a smaller, less formal space alight with sunshine and the crisp tang of morning air. As soon as they entered, Tori had thrown open the windows that looked onto 230

Keys to Submission grass and early spring flowers. “I love the smell of morning,” she’d said, a wide smile on her face. “Quite invigorating. Especially after a late night, don’t you agree?” Sophie halted the cup halfway to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at Tori. What did she mean? Had she known Ryder stayed late into the night? Did she know of their love-making? Her face flamed hot and she thunked the cup onto the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. A dark streak appeared on the white tablecloth and she gasped. “Blast it.” She jumped up, spilled more coffee, and cursed again as she reached for the pitcher of water on the sideboard. “I’m so sorry. I ruined your cloth.” Tori chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Your secret is safe with me for now, Sophie. Sit down. Eat. Relax. It’s not the first spill we’ve had and won’t be the last. Look, Teresa is already taking care of it.” Sophie closed her eyes as the heat of embarrassment spread over her body. Then she frowned and cracked one eye open to look at Tori. “For now?” “There is a time limit, of course, but I’m curious to see where it will go.” Sophie knew the it meant Ryder. Should she tell him his sister was aware of their liaison? Probably not. She had no notion how he would react. “Thank you,” she said somewhat cautiously. “Lady Corwin, there is a gentleman at the door. He demands to see Miss Turner.” They stared at each other, then at Stires. “Who is he?” Sophie asked. “Demands?” Tori muttered softly. “When is his lordship expected back?” “Yes, demands. He said he was her cousin and would not leave until he saw her safe and healthy for himself. An hour at the most, my lady.” Sophie wound the confusing reply through her brain, focusing on cousin. “Hamilton is here?” 231

Stires examined the card in his hand and nodded. Tori lifted a questioning brow. “Do you wish to see him?” “Yes, of course,” Sophie replied, though she was uncertain whether or not that was true. What could he possibly want? And how in Hades did he know where she was? “Do you want me with you?” “No, thank you,” Sophie said. “I suspect he will be here only a few moments.” “Very well. Go to the front salon. I will have Stires take him there. Tea?” “I don’t think so.” Sophie met Stires and Hamilton in the passageway. Her cousin’s face was tight, eyes brimming with questions and irritation. She stiffened. As soon as the door shut behind the butler, Hamilton turned on her. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here, Sophie?” She narrowed her eyes. “Do not take that tone of voice with me, Hamilton. I am neither your wife nor your child. I am exactly where I wish to be.” His hands fisted and he took a step forward, the motion filled with slight menace. When she countered with a step backward, he stilled and frowned and raked his hand through his hair. “Damn it, Sophie, I’ve spent the last three years trying to protect you, and now you’re right back where you started.” Her stomach lurched. “I don’t need protecting, cousin. Not then, not now.” He snorted. “Bollocks,” he muttered harshly. “Your damned independent streak is going to be the ruin of you.” “I’m already ruined, remember?” “It’s no joke,” he said sharply. “Why are you in London?” Sighing, she sank onto a chair. “Do sit down, Hamilton. Looking up at you is hurting my neck.” With obvious reluctance, he took a chair. “How did you know I was in Town? More specifically, how did you know I was staying with Lord and Lady Corwin?” 232

Keys to Submission His shoulders lifted. “I have my sources, Sophie. Last I knew, though, you were at Saunter House. Imagine my surprise when I returned to find you flown.” His face softened and he bent closer, hands clasped and dangling between his knees. “I’m sorry we tried to force you to see Lady Whitten. Theta was so insistent, and I did not want her upset. I thought it might hurt the babe.” Sophie’s tension spiked at the mention of Lady Whitten, but she shoved the feeling away. She would not allow that woman to affect her. “I understand. Do not worry over it.” “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “So, will you tell me what brought you back here?” “We…, er, I,” she amended. “I was chasing the third key. I found clues to point me to a small church here.” His eyes widened. “Did you find it?” “I did,” she said gleefully. “I’m impressed, Sophie. I thought Father was sending you on a wild-goose chase, but it appears you have proven me wrong.” Was that a hitch in his voice? A note of envious surprise? Hamilton had said again and again he did not begrudge her either the inheritance of Saunter House, nor the treasure once discovered. But had he really meant it? Her shoulder panged suddenly and she rubbed the tenderness. Was he somehow connected to what occurred as she left the Opera House? And the shooting? Her mouth went dry and her hands shook. A few days earlier, she would not have believed her cousin capable of such things. And yet…. She rose. “Thank you for coming all this way to see me. But as you can tell, I’m perfectly fine.” He stood as well, looking puzzled. “Tossing me out?” “Lady Corwin has many things planned for today, and I do not wish to delay her.” His countenance remained clouded. That she could not read him so easily as she’d formerly sent another skitter of apprehension along her bones. She felt chilled. Uncertain. A gaping chasm opened beneath her heart. Hamilton was the only 233

family she had left. He would not betray her. Would he? “I understand that tomorrow there is to be a party for you.” Her head snapped up. “Yes. How did you hear about that?” “Sources,” he said succinctly. “Am I invited?” Sophie hesitated, torn. “Yes,” she finally said. “I will see that an invitation is sent you.” He inclined his head. “Thank you.” Hamilton took a step toward her, and she forced herself to hold her ground as he caught her in a gentle hug and placed a kiss on her cheek. Just as he’d always done. Gads, she was an idiot. She hugged him back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ham.” “Tomorrow.” He dropped his arms, gave her one more indecipherable and enigmatic perusal, then quit the room. She collapsed onto the chair, dropped her head in her hands and gave a low, short groan. Ryder and Tori’s fertile imaginations were creeping into her own brain. Her cousin did not wish to her hurt her. “Miss Turner, you have another visitor,” Stires said from the doorway. She sighed and didn’t look up as she waved her hand and muttered, “All right.” Who would this be? Her mother? Father? If Hamilton already heard about her connection to the Ashfords and Corwins, both would leap at the opportunity to capitalize on the relationship, however tenuous. They would behave as if nothing ill had ever transpired between them. Oh, her family would have no compunction whatever about that. “Hello, Sophie. It has been a long time.” Her blood seemed to freeze before whipping through her veins with agonizing fury. She lifted her gaze, slowly came to her feet and stared at the well-dressed woman in front of her. “I said I would not see you,” she said coldly. “Leave. Now.” Lady Judith Whitten pushed the door closed, one hand held up, her face a vision of sweet supplication. “Please. I wish only to 234

Keys to Submission speak with you.” The woman was beyond persistent. How did she know where her quarry could be found? “I saw you last night with Lady Corwin.” The delicate blonde shrugged, the movement elegant. “Ten minutes is all I ask, Sophie. I’m begging you.” “Why?” she asked warily. “May we sit? I’ll explain everything. Perhaps a bit of tea?” Sophie stared at her, dumbfounded. Her ex-lover’s wife wanted to sit across from her, drink tea and chat as if they were old friends. Hysteria threatened to burble from her lips. She clamped them firmly together. “I’m not sure tea is a good idea,” she said. Lady Whitten’s face fell. “Oh, well, that is problematic.” She offered a beatific smile. “I’m afraid I already asked the butler to bring a pot.” She looked away. “Was that wrong?” The woman’s overwhelming ingenuity grated on Sophie’s scraped-raw nerves. Tossing Lady Whitten out now would make her seem the worst kind of villain, probably affirming every bad thing her friends had ever told her. “One cup of tea can do no harm,” she answered. “Please, sit down.” Lady Whitten’s relieved smile was another dart to her selfconfidence. When she was settled on the opposite chair, Lady Whitten began to speak. “I want to tell you how sorry I am for all that had happened to you in these last three years. On my honor, I had nothing to do with your downfall.” Sophie snorted. “Your pardon, but I find that difficult to believe. When you confronted me, you were furious.” “Would you have reacted any differently upon discovering your fiancé was having an affair?” “No,” Sophie conceded. In truth, Lady Whitten’s actions then had been the height of polite scorn. She’d very firmly informed Sophie of her love for Whitten and her unchanged plans to marry him. At the time, Lady Whitten also appeared to believe Sophie 235

when she protested that she’d not known Whitten was engaged. Her ignorance had been truth. While his fiancée was touring the Continent, Whitten professed himself to Sophie as a man about town, free and decidedly interested in her. Only after Judith’s return did Sophie discover the truth and immediately break off the relationship. The confrontation with the betrayed fiancée had been unpleasant and embarrassing, but they’d parted amicable enemies, each swearing to keep the affair under wraps. Sophie’s future seemed secure, and Judith’s wedding would go on as planned. “My friends, when they found out, could not hold their tempers,” Judith murmured. “I begged them to keep our secret. I knew Thomas would offer for you if the truth came out. He is a gentleman, after all.” Sophie barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “And if that happened, we would all be destroyed.” Lady Whitten lifted almost-wet eyes to her. “I never imagined you would refuse him, Sophie. Never.” Sophie could swear she caught a slight hint of admiration, perhaps envy, in Judith’s voice. “When you sacrificed your future, I was able to have mine. I know you think I engineered your downfall, but I did not. My friends were furious. Up in arms. Wanted both of you to pay. I wanted none of it. I pleaded with them, begged them to let the matter be. But they refused.” Her words tumbled fast and breathy from her mouth. Sophie frowned. The sounded rehearsed, but threaded within the plea she heard sincerity. A slight knock and the door opened. Stires carried in a tray with a small teapot and service for two. He set his burden on the table and cut her a questioning glance. “Do you require anything else, Miss Turner?” “Thank you, no.” “Very good, Miss.” He nodded before he quit the room. Sophie sucked in a reassuring, calming breath and turned back 236

Keys to Submission to Judith who was sitting on the edge of her seat, two cups of tea already poured and waiting. “Sugar? Milk?” “Both, please.” Sophie murmured as she returned to her seat. The woman stirred a generous amount of milk and two cubes of sugar into a cup and handed it over. “I won’t take much of your time, Sophie. But when I learned you were in Town, I thought fate brought us together. I tried to see you at Saunter House.” “I know.” Sophie blew across the steaming tea, then placed it back on the saucer and leaned forward. “I refused to see you.” A small smile tipped Judith’s mouth. “I know. And yet, here we are.” She took a sip of tea, the action once more so imbued with grace and delicacy that Sophie felt like a giant mass of uncoordinated body parts. Fifteen minutes. “Have your say, Lady Whitten.” “Don’t you want to drink your tea?” Sophie shook her head. “It’s a bit warm. Please, cease your torment and tell me what it is you wish so that we can be done with this.” The woman’s lips tightened and annoyance flashed in her pretty blue eyes. “You are correct, of course. Get the poison out once and for all.” She took another long draught of her drink and closed her eyes. “Delicious.” Sophie’s mouth suddenly watered and she sighed, picked up her cup and took a drink. Her nose wrinkled and a slick bitterness teased her tongue. Perhaps the milk had spoiled. “I love my husband,” Lady Whitten said suddenly, face alight with an inner glow that Sophie found almost eerie. She waited. “He loves me, too.” “I’m sure he does,” Sophie said neutrally. Where was she going with this? “We have a wonderful life together. We are very happy. Oh, he wants an heir, of course. All men do, especially men of rank.” She sighed, sipped, sighed again, face morose. “I have not yet been 237

favored with a child, despite our efforts. That is why I’m here.” Sophie’s eyes widened. Surely the woman was not about to solicit advice from her on becoming pregnant? She grabbed up her teacup and set the rim to her lips. The liquid streamed into her mouth, sloshing with her stiff movements, and she swallowed a little more. Another zing of sourness coated her tongue. Lady Whitten rose and towered over her. She placed her hands on Sophie’s shoulders and squeezed. The strength of her grip was somewhat surprising. A cold, clammy sheen of sweat suddenly coated Sophie’s back. Her chemise plastered itself to her back. She shifted uncomfortably. “I need your forgiveness, Sophie,” Judith said, voice breaking. “I know the reason we’ve not been blessed with a child is because of the wrong we caused you.” Sophie tried to slip from her grasp, but could not break free. “Lady Whitten,” she protested. “No,” Lady Whitten snapped, fingers digging deeper, gouging the tender spot of her sore shoulder. Sophie gasped and jerked back, nearly knocking the other woman from her feet. Her grip broke and she straightened. “I must have your absolution. I must. I will lose him if I don’t give him a son, Sophie.” Ferocity flickered in her eyes. “This is the only way. He will return to my bed. He will love me again, if you do but grant me your exoneration.” Sophie was not in the mood to ask how it would help. She wanted this woman gone and out of her life. She gathered herself, rose and took Lady Whitten’s hands. “You did nothing wrong. You were a pawn, as I was. Though there is nothing to forgive you for, I absolve you of any guilt.” Tears sprang from Lady Whitten’s eyes. “And Thomas? Do you forgive him, too?” “Yes, certainly.” Lady Whitten choked on a sob, wrenched her hands free and looked wildly about the room. “A toast,” she crowed, picking up her cup. “Take up your tea and toast a new beginning with me, 238

Keys to Submission Sophie.” She held no desire to drink more of the spoiled tea, but she lifted her cup and sipped. Anything to get this woman out of the house. Especially before Tori learned she was here. The door opened and Sophie silently groaned. Too late. “Hello, Sophie.” She sighed and nodded. “Lady Corwin. Have you met Lady Whitten?” Just then, Sophie’s stomach roiled mightily. She bit back a gasp of nausea and it receded quickly, gone within seconds. Tori glided across the floor, every inch the regal hostess. She projected both aloofness and polite curiosity. “No, I’ve not had the pleasure.” Lady Whitten set down her tea cup and curtsied. “A pleasure. I have heard many wonderful things about your parties,” she said, her voice once more full of innocence and energy. Sophie narrowed her eyes at the woman’s back and snapped a glance at Tori. “Thank you,” Tori replied. The silence bounced between them until Lady Whitten clapped her hands, whirled to Sophie and hauled her into an awkward embrace. “It was lovely to see you again. Thank you, Sophie. You have saved my marriage, I am certain.” The whispered words staggered clumsily from her mouth. Sophie extracted herself and nodded. “Goodbye, Lady Whitten.” Judith stepped away, dropped her head toward Tori and swept from the room. Sophie exhaled a long, irritated, confused breath. “What in the world was that all about?” Tori demanded. “Forgiveness, apparently. Please, let us simply dismiss her. I hold no desire to dredge any of this up again, despite all appearances to the contrary.” “Did you invite her?” “No!” Sophie laughed a bit wildly. “In fact, I came to London to avoid her.” “Yet she tracked you down anyway. Why?” 239

“She has some odd notion that my forgiveness will enable her to bear a child.” Tori stared. “That sounds beyond odd, Sophie.” In truth, it did, but what did it matter now? Lady Whitten was gone. Firmly in the past, where she belonged. “Ryder and Matthew should arrive soon, don’t you think?” she asked in an attempt to distract her friend. “Yes, and they are bringing Wiggs with them.” This time it was her turn to be startled. “Whatever for?” “I don’t know, but Matthew sent instructions for us to remain here and admit no one.” She raised a censorious brow. “That’s why I barged in as I did.” Her glance touched on the tea service. “I can’t believe you ordered tea and no one informed me,” she muttered. “Lady Whitten did,” Sophie said in weak defense. “But you should thank us for it. Apparently your milk is spoiled.” Another small waft of nausea threatened, then disappeared before it could gain strength. “I should like a glass of water, I think.” Perhaps it would settle her stomach. There was a small ruckus from the entryway. “What do you mean spoiled? It was delivered fresh this morning.” Sophie shrugged. “Tastes off to me and bitter.” Matthew and Ryder appeared in the doorway. She looked at Ryder and a swell of emotion clutched her throat. His tall, handsome form was even more welcoming after Lady Whitten’s visit. She wanted to fly into his arms and have him hold her and she battled unwelcome sense of apathy now closing around her. Tori swung around. “Lady Whitten was here.” Ryder frowned. “We left word to admit no one.” “She arrived before your note, unfortunately,” Tori said. “I found her here with Sophie, drinking tea.” Ryder’s ired glare shifted her way. She lifted her hands, smiling and hoping to stave off a lecture. “As you can see, I am perfectly fine.” But even as she said it, the chilled sheen of perspiration reappeared, this time on her neck 240

Keys to Submission and along her brow. Her stomach burbled and rolled, pitched like a ship on a stormy sea. She feared she would lose her breakfast here in front of them all. “Sophie?” Ryder’s eyes flashed as he reached her. “What’s wrong? Sit down.” “I don’t know,” she confessed, obeying. “I was fine a moment ago, but now I feel ill.” She palmed her stomach. “As though I’m going to expel breakfast.” She blushed at the indelicate words, but nothing else seemed to satisfy. “You said she was having tea with Lady Whitten?” a voice asked. Sophie peered around Ryder, noting for the first time the smallstatured gentleman who must have come in with them. Was this the feared man of many talents and hidden information? Not what she was expecting. Instead of a large, intimidating brute, he appeared as normal as anyone she’d pass on the street. The barest shade over her own height, thin, a tiny shadow of mustache and very large spectacles that made his sharp blue eyes seemed even more piercing. “Mr. Wiggs, I presume?” “I am. You are Miss Turner.” His statement was flat, most definitely not a question. Another chill racked her, though from her sudden ailment or unease at his knowledge of her identity, Sophie was unable to determine. She nodded and the nausea receded. “Good morning, sir.” He strode forward, purpose in every step. Another contradiction to his appearance. Men of his stature did not usually appear so confident. He stopped in front of the tea service. “Which was yours?” Sophie indicated her cup. He picked it up and sniffed. “Laudanum,” he said flatly. He pushed Ryder out of the way, tipped her head up and stared into her eyes. “Pupils are normal. Any trouble breathing? Do you feel nervous? Have the urge to faint? Chilled or clammy?” “A bit cold,” she admitted. “But nothing else.” Her eyes flew to Ryder’s stock-still frame. His face held a greenish cast that 241

matched the tumultuous state of her stomach. “I swear, that’s all.” She attempted to assuage his panic. “She tried to poison me?” The idea was ludicrous. Judith Whitten was a lady, after all. Despite their differences, Sophie refused to believe she would try to do her harm. “It would appear so.” Mr. Wiggs straightened. “Distasteful as it might sound, if you feel the urge to vomit, you must do so.” “How much did you drink?” Ryder asked, face still tight. “Three sips, no more.” “I recommend a few cups of strong coffee. It makes an effective antidote.” “I will see to it myself,” Stires said from the doorway. Sophie nodded her thanks. “Please, everyone, do sit down. I am feeling much better.” Stires hurried back in with a tray, filled this time with a tall coffee urn and only one cup. He set it in front of Sophie, filled her cup and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said and sipped at the dark brew. The slightly sweet bitterness eased down her throat and she held her breath, waiting to see if her stomach would rebel. Thankfully, it did not. In fact, her insides seemed to settle immediately. She sipped again. “Very well, Mr. Wiggs. Please tell us what brought you here.” He cleared his throat and pulled a sheaf of papers from his jacket. “I have some information about what happened three years ago, and what has happened since. It is a trifle murky, though.” “How so?” Ryder asked, his voice a soothing vibration at her back. “Miss Turner, I do not wish to cause you distress, but your parents have shown no interest in your doings since you left London.” The news did not faze her. She’d long ago given up on her family. “Because they have no need of Saunter House, nor of funds, they have no motive to harm you. I took the liberty of investigating the women with whom you associated. Your erstwhile friends are married and content. That left me with Lord and Lady Whitten. 242

Keys to Submission This could become a bit indelicate. If you prefer, I will inform Lord Ashford and spare you the details.” “Do not censor yourself on my behalf, Mr. Wiggs. I’m certain I have lived through worse than you can impart.” “Very well. I suppose the best way to begin is at the end. Lady Whitten is insane.” Sophie bucked under the words. “She is?” “I’m afraid so. The family has tried to keep her condition a secret, but word does leak out.” He slanted her an almost teasing glance. “Nothing in London is a secret, as well you know.” Sophie did manage a chuckle. “Indeed.” “It appears her first symptoms appeared in her youth. Her parents tried all manner of remedies and, from what I’ve learned, they were effective for a time. Then, four years ago, after her engagement to Whitten was announced, she became unstable and even delusional. Her family kept it from Whitten and supposedly sent her off to the Continent for her grand tour. In reality, she was confined under an assumed name at the asylum in York. The doctors apparently worked a miracle. She was declared cured and returned home.” “In London, she was unexceptionable for a while, even after the scandal hit. Only when her marriage broke did her mind seem to follow suit. Whitten was furious and quietly sought an annulment, but it was denied. Her behavior became so erratic she was soon marked off many invitation lists, which meant he was also affected, though for a while things regained an even keel. Apparently they are on the rocks again. He has maintained a separate house for the better part of a year.” Again Mr. Wiggs’ clear, knowing eyes raked over her. Sophie met his gaze. “Because she can’t produce an heir?” “Because Lord Whitten will not have a child with her. He has lamented to close friends that her child could well inherit her madness. He despairs of ever having an heir. His only option is to wait for—” He cleared his throat, a faint prickle of pink creeping up his neck. “Well, he is biding his time.” “How on earth do you uncover such information?” Tori asked 243

incredulously. “I fear for my secrets, I must tell you.” Mr. Wiggs grinned widely, transforming his entire face. He suddenly came alive and looked more like a rascally rake than a man of information. “Don’t worry, my lady, your secrets will never be known.” Tori gasped and poked Matthew when he chuckled. Ryder also snorted, and Sophie pinched him hard. “All funning aside, Miss Turner.” Wiggs turned very serious. “I learned that Lady Whitten blames you for all the ills in her marriage. The loss of her husband’s affections, her inability to have a child, her standing in the community. These disasters she rests solely on your shoulders. I have no doubt she was behind the accidents at your house, as well as the carriage incident last evening. And she was in the area the day you were shot.” “Christmas was shot, not me,” Sophie reminded him. “But you were the target.” She felt sick again, and this time it had nothing to do with the blasted laudanum. Which, it seemed, was yet another attempt on her life. When she’d yielded to her curiosity with Whitten, she’d no idea one bad decision could have such far-reaching consequences. When Ryder’s warm hand covered hers, her heart caught, then painfully squeezed and balked. Being with her put him in danger, not only from Lady Whitten, but from the taint of her scandal. Lydia had been right. She had to cut short their association. Immediately. Mr. Wiggs stood and gathered his papers together. While he folded them into neat, precise squares, Sophie pondered what he’d told her. “Do you think—?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too monstrous. He stilled, his blue eyes dead-set on her, firm and assured. “Yes, Miss Turner, she will try again to kill you.”

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Chapter Thirteen “I don’t like this, Matthew,” Ryder said tightly. He paced the wooden floor in front of Matthew’s desk, trying to contain his anger. “I will not take chances with Sophie’s life.” “I don’t see that we have much choice. If we invite the Whittens to tonight’s soiree, Judith is certain to try another attempt on Sophie. We will be with her at all times, albeit unobtrusively. Nothing will happen to her.” “You can’t guarantee that.” “No.” Ryder slammed a fist on the desk. “Out of the damn question, then.” “Ryder, listen to me.” “Would you take this chance with Tori’s life?” A spasm of regret crossed Matthew’s face, and Ryder cursed his unruly tongue. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for.” “You’re right, it was.” Matthew cocked his head and a slow grin spread across his face. “I’ll be damned.” “Why are you smiling like a fox?” “You’re in love with her.” The room exploded into a prism of sunlight, fear and absolutely no oxygen. Ryder wavered on his feet, grabbing at the desk for support. Love. He’d fallen in love with her. “My God,” he whispered. Matthew chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Congratulations, old man.” “You seem to be taking an inordinate amount of glee in my predicament.” “Fair is fair. As I recall, you laughed like a loon when you told me I was in love with your sister.” Ryder felt behind him for the chair and barely made it onto the 245

soft cushion. “What do I do?” The question came out with more hesitation than he’d ever experienced. But love! For him, this was an entirely new arena. He’d assumed his growing attachment to her was fueled by lust and an enjoyment of her company. He never considered love. Until now. Matthew settled a hip against the desk, crossed his arms and stared. “First thing you have to do is decide if you are truly ready to absorb the shockwaves certain to ricochet through the Ton.” He cracked a tight laugh. “Damnation, I find this ironic.” Some of Ryder’s equilibrium returned. He stood. “Ironic? Why?” “For a family that eschews scandal, you people seem to always be knee-deep in it.” Tori’s warm laugh sounded from the doorway, and both men turned to see her standing with Sophie. Ryder’s breath left him anew at the sight of his short-time lover. She’d always been beautiful to him. Intriguing and enchanting. But now, he viewed her with the knowing eyes of love. He grinned, startled to realize there was little difference, really. How long had he loved her without knowing it? She’d been right. He was a fool. Striding forward, ignoring his sister, her reached out his arms and pulled Sophie to his chest. He kissed her tenderly, infusing all the love he felt into that single embrace. She gasped against his lips, hands scrabbling at his arms. He delighted in the way her fingers clutched him as if he were her only anchor in the world. “Good morning, Sophie,” he said, releasing her. “Hello,” she said, eyes wide, pupils dilated. “All right children, time enough for that later,” Tori said. “We’ve plans to finalize before this evening’s fête.” “It’s a bit crowded in here,” Matthew said. “Why don’t we adjourn to the family dining room?” Ryder poured cups of tea for himself and Sophie, setting them down so he could stroke her hair. “How are you feeling today? No 246

Keys to Submission aftereffects of the laudanum?” She shivered, but shook her head. “I feel perfectly well.” “Good.” Tori, like the seasoned social general she was, took charge and began issuing orders. Ryder leaned back, listening with only half an ear though this party was a crucial turning point for Sophie. The evening must be a success if she was to find her way back into Society’s graces. He refused to think about what few options would be available if she was once again shunned. Stires’s deep voice interrupted his reverie. “Lady Ashford.” Ryder turned and stared at the woman in the doorway. She appeared hesitant and even more fragile than the previous day. Perhaps she’d endured a night of no sleep or more worry over the fate of her son. A sharp of pain lanced his heart. He’d no intention of hurting his mother, but at all costs, he had to protect Sophie. “Mother,” he said, crossing to where she stood. He kissed her on the cheek and led her into the room. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Her blue eyes scanned the still-silent occupants at the table. “Yes, thank you.” Sophie rose and nodded. “May I fill you a plate, Lady Ashford?” His mother’s lips tightened and she slowly removed her gloves. “If you please.” No warmth, no compassion. Voice flat as if she addressed any common servant. Ryder’s regret was replaced with irritation. “Please, do be civil,” he instructed her quietly. “Why are you here, Mother?” Tori asked. “To try one last time to talk you all out of this foolishness.” Sophie stiffened beside him. “That won’t be necessary, my lady.” He covered her hand. “Hush,” he said gently. Lydia turned her cool, assessing gaze toward them, looked down at their joined hands, clenched her fork before setting it precisely on the table. “Apparently it is.” She held up her palm. “You will all do me the courtesy of listening without interruption.” 247

Then she looked squarely at Sophie. “Regardless of what you may think, I hold no ill will toward you. I do believe you’ve made disastrous choices and done things that would appall me, were I your mother.” Sophie tensed and Ryder caught the flush of building emotion, but was it anger or embarrassment? She remained silent, however. “But you’ve lived your life quietly and without complaint since you went away.” ‘Went away’ sounded so pleasant, as if Sophie had taken a long sojourn to the coast instead of being banished by a nest of sanctimonious vipers. “Until this week. For whatever reason, my son has seen fit to throw his lot in with yours, for ill or good. Frankly, I can see no good to come of this association.” She looked at Tori. “I also know your stubbornness, my dear. Therefore I am positive you will not give up your plans for this party.” “No, I will not.” Lydia nodded. “Very well. Then I shall attend. On one condition.” “Which is?” Sophie asked, breaking her silence. “That you leave immediately afterward. Distance yourself from this family and do Ryder the courtesy of allowing him to choose a wife without the stigma of your scandal.” Sophie gasped. “Damn it, Mother, you go too far,” Ryder roared. He shoved back his chair and leaned over, fists planted on the table. “Ryder, stop,” Sophie pleaded, tugging at his sleeve. “She’s right.” “Hell, no, she’s not right.” He fired a glare at his stern-faced parent. “She’s being hypocritical, that’s what she’s being.” “Ryder, enough,” Matthew urged, caution strong in his voice. Ryder knew he should listen to them. Should not expose his mother, but what choice had she left him? “Hypocritical?” Lydia nearly screeched as she rose. “When have I done anything but see to this family’s good name? Despite your father’s and sister’s repeated attempts to blacken it, I have always 248

Keys to Submission ensured you are well respected, well thought-of.” The words, the accusation, the knowledge of her affair quivered on his tongue. “I agree to your condition, my lady,” Sophie said into the pulsing silence. “No,” Ryder bit out. “Yes,” she said, a sad, wistful smile on her face. “We both know I’m not the right countess for you. I will only cast shadows over you. And your family. I’ll not be responsible for such a thing.” “What if I don’t care?” he asked, fear nearly choking him. She cradled his jaw, and the depth of pain in her eyes nearly tore him in half. “Emotions always launch us into trouble, Ryder. Trust me, this will be for the best.” Lydia approached then. “You’ve become a wise woman, Sophie,” she said, voice cracking on a near quaver. Ryder stared at her, stupefied. “If the situation were different, I believe you would have been the perfect bride for Ryder. I commend your decision.” The words, surely meant as a conciliatory compliment, whooshed through him like an arrow through an apple. Did she have any idea how hurtful she was being? “I will take my leave of you. Until this evening, children.” She picked up her gloves and walked away without a backward glance. Sophie clenched his hand again. “She’s right, and we all know it. Please, let’s just make our way through this one evening.” She kissed his cheek, released his hand, and slipped out the door. “I’m not letting you go,” Ryder whispered hoarsely as her footfalls beat a rapid retreat. **** “You look as lovely as ever, Miss Turner,” her partner said. Sophie smiled, astonished to find herself enjoying the evening despite the traumas of the day. “Thank you, Lord Rankin. You are an accomplished dancer.” 249

“I get by.” She chuckled. “More than that, I’m sure.” His smile was mirthful. “Guilty. You know, I owe you a great apology,” he murmured, his expression turning serious. She tried to keep the sudden rise of tension from becoming apparent. “Oh?” “Yes.” Looking a bit shame-faced, he glanced at the couples spinning around them. “One best made in privacy.” “I don’t think that such a good idea,” she murmured, suddenly uneasy. She looked around for Ryder or Matthew, but saw neither man. “Please,” he whispered. “I did you a great disservice, and I fear it might turn all wrong.” That caught her attention. “What do you mean?” “Not here,” he said. “Is there someplace we can meet? Only for a moment. If you would feel more comfortable, please bring Lady Corwin with you. It involves Lady Whitten.” Sophie nibbled her lip. Surely he meant her no harm, especially with a witness like Tori at her side. “Very well. Meet us in Lord Corwin’s study. Five minutes” She gave him directions, finished the dance, and took off in search of Tori. “Are you out of your mind?” Tori hissed. “Ryder would kill you and me both. I’ll not leave my daughter to be raised by a pack of men.” “I want to know what he has to say. Perhaps he can help clear this up.” “Clear what up?” Tori said in exasperation. “We know what’s wrong. She’s a lunatic. End of discussion.” “Exactly. He was friends with Whitten. Perhaps he knows something of Judith’s plots against me.” Tori’s shocked expression gave her pause. “You didn’t know?” “No. Had I that information, I would not have invited him.” She sneaked a glance at the dance floor, peered over her shoulder, then over Sophie’s. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If Ryder finds out, we’re both in trouble.” 250

Keys to Submission Sophie gave a huge sigh of relief. Truth be told, she would not have met Rankin alone. “Come along, then. We’re already late. He’s in the study.” She turned and headed toward the meeting room, fiercely glad to have Tori at her side. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered as she opened the door. “Don’t mention it,” Tori said dryly. “Ever.” Sophie felt a giggle rising, knew it was nerves and tamped it back down. She shut the door and looked toward the empty chairs by the fire. “Lord Rankin?” she called softly. No answer. “That’s odd,” she muttered. “He doesn’t appear to be here.” An arm clamped tight about her waist, a palm slapped over her mouth. She struggled, tried to stomp on the foot of the man holding her, but found only floor. Her eyes flew to where Tori had been standing. Lord Rankin held her friend in much the same way. “I’m sorry, Victoria, truly I am,” he muttered. “But Whitten called in a marker. He forced me to help him. Just be quiet. He’s not here to hurt her. I swear. Ow!” Tori, it seemed, had been able to connect solidly with a portion of her captor’s anatomy. Whitten. Sophie stayed still but craned her neck, trying to see his face. “Let go,” she mumbled into his palm. “Don’t scream, Sophie, all right?” His voice was high-pitched and nasal. Had it always been so? She dipped a short nod. His hand lifted, but hovered in front of her mouth. “I’m not going to scream, Thomas. Let me go. And release Lady Corwin.” “Can I trust you?” Whitten asked, nose nuzzling her hair. Sophie repressed a revolted shiver. His touch crawled over her like rats in a sewer. “You know I am always true to my word. I told you I’d say no if you offered marriage, didn’t I?” His fingers spasmed on her waist, crushing into her skin. She winced, but remained still. “Yes, you did.” He dropped his hands and she turned to face 251

him. “What in the name of sanity do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Sanity,” he snorted. “Something I’ve lacked for the last three years. You know about Judith?” She nodded. “I loved her, at one time,” he said wistfully. “But she has become unreasonable. Intemperate. Untrustworthy. I can’t bear to be in the same room with her, much less bed her. I’d never get a sane heir from her.” Pity welled in Sophie, but she ruthlessly pushed it away. She had to figure a way to shovel them out of here. Funny, she thought on a bubble of hysteria. They’d all been certain Lady Whitten was the danger. Sophie edged toward the door, but Whitten’s hand manacled around her wrist. “I can’t let you leave just yet,” he said. Three small beads of sweat popped up over his thin, flat lips. “Nor can I disclose the details yet, but I have a bargain to put to you.” “No,” she said flatly. His eyes went wild, and his fingers gripped her wrist so hard she feared the bone would snap. “You’re hurting me,” she told him. Another tremor of pressure before it lessened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you don’t know what I’m doing for us.” “Us?” “Yes, Sophie. I know you sacrificed yourself all those years ago. Judith’s pleas can be very convincing. Your tender heart would not allow you to come between what you thought was a great passion, a great love. I’m right, aren’t I? You walked away because she told you something of that nature.” “Yes,” Sophie confirmed. “But that was a long time ago, and you’ve other problems to address. You should not be here.” “This is exactly where I need to be.” He licked his lower lip and edged forward, dousing her with a waft of too much cologne and not enough bathwater. She gagged. “I did not wish to spoil the surprise, but I see you must be 252

Keys to Submission convinced. I have always loved you, Sophie. I chose you over Judith.” “You were forced into that proposal, Thomas. We both know you were relieved when I walked away.” “You’re wrong. Oh, I put a good face on it. A man has his pride.” His voice was rising to an impossibly high squeak. He cleared his throat. “I have made arrangements for us to be wed.” She jerked. Behind her, Tori screeched in outrage. “Hurry the hell up, Whitten,” Rankin demanded. “I can’t hold her much longer. Twice she’s come damned close to my cock with her feet. Blast it, Victoria, stop.” “I don’t have much more time. Corwin will notice his wife missing.” Whitten tried to embrace her, but she pulled back. He followed. “I have begun divorce proceedings against Judith.” “But that requires witnesses that she has committed adultery,” Sophie said. “They can be bought. What do you care? She tried to kill you. Not once, but several times. When the divorce is approved, you and I will be free to marry.” “What?” Surely she’d misheard his ridiculous proclamation. “The proceedings will take years to wind through the courts and Parliament.” “In the meantime,” he continued as if she’d not spoken, “I will set you up in a house here in Town. Don’t think of yourself as a mistress. It’s only a temporary situation.” “You’re as mad as she is,” Sophie breathed. “I’m not,” he retorted. “It is the way of the world. Besides, I don’t love her anymore,” he said with callous disregard. “I want you.” “Too bad we don’t always get what we want,” Sophie growled through gritted teeth. “I’ll not marry you, Whitten. Ever.” The door flew open, casting light on his enraged features. An equally anguish-filled howl emanated from Lady Whitten. “You bitch!” she railed, charging forward. “You can’t have him.” Sophie twisted in Whitten’s tight grip, gasped as she saw Judith raging at her, a sharp knife held high and madness in her eyes. 253

“Judith, stop,” Whitten commanded. The knife cut the air with a lethal whoosh as it angled toward her back. Sophie threw herself forward, struggling to escape. Then she was falling as Whitten shoved her to the floor and lunged for his wife. There was the sick, moist thud of metal rending flesh, a gurgle and gasp, and then the horrible, dull slap of dead weight hitting the floor. Sophie twisted around, hand at her mouth, and stared at Whitten’s body. “No. No. No.” Lady Whitten whimpered, as she too, looked in horror at her dead husband. She held out the hand with the bloody knife, raised its point and whimpered again. “What did you do?” she asked Sophie. “Put down the knife, Judith,” she said gently, rising to her feet. Rankin, who’d released Tori, made for the door, his face a mottled green. “Bring Matthew and Ryder,” Sophie murmured to Tori, never taking her eyes from Judith. “But—” “Go,” she said with more urgency. “Bring your mother as well.” The last command seemed to startle Tori, but she nodded and slipped from the room. Sophie held up her palms. “Take a deep breath, Judith, and give me the knife.” “Knife?” the other woman repeated, staring from the floor to the weapon. “Why do I have a knife? Why are you in my house, Sophie? Whitten will be home soon.” She bit her lip, worry springing into her eyes. “You can’t be here when he comes or he’ll know we talked. He told me to stay away from you. But I knew, didn’t I? Knew we had to speak, clear our consciences? He didn’t believe me, but it’s true. Now we can have a baby.” Sophie finally moved close enough to reach Judith, gently curved her fingers over the handle of the knife and took it away. With a shudder, she tossed the bloody weapon as far across the room as possible. She wrapped her other arm around Lady Whitten. 254

Keys to Submission “Come, sit with me for a moment.” She steered her past Whitten, careful not to look down. Bile ebbed and flowed in her stomach like a wind-whipped tide. Judith accompanied her with docile acquiescence. When they reached Matthew’s desk, Sophie eased her down onto a chair. “It’s cold in here, Sophie. I’m chilled.” She tried to pull a nonexistent wrap around her shoulders. The action seemed to satisfy, and she sighed as she leaned back. “Will they be here soon?” With no idea who the woman meant, Sophie nodded, staring at the door and nowhere else. “Hurry, Ryder,” she pleaded under her breath. Her body trembled as the shock of what had just taken place hit her like a battering ram. She choked back a sob. This was no time for her to fall apart. Then he was there. Standing in front of her, face white and hands tender. Ryder wrapped her against him as sweetly and protectively as he’d held the baby earlier. Sophie sniffed, squeezed her eyes so tight black and red dots wiggled on her lids. “Is she hurt?” Lydia’s voice. Sophie opened her eyes and looked at Ryder’s mother. Her face appeared as ashen as her own must be. “I’m fine,” she said, immediately bursting into tears. Ryder’s arms contracted around her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t stop,” she said between sobs, hiccupping on every other word. “Is Sophie all right?” Matthew asked. “Yes. Have Stires call for a constable, and someone get a sheet to cover Whitten.” “I’ll take care of Judith,” Lydia murmured. Sophie pulled away from Ryder’s comfort, the rush of uncontrolled emotion abating somewhat. She put her hand on Lady Whitten’s shoulder and gave Lydia a pleading look. “She didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident.” “But she did mean to kill you, didn’t she, Sophie?” “Yes.” Lydia patted her arm and moved to face Lady Whitten. “Come along, dear. I’ve ordered a nice pot of tea and some cakes for us. We can sit and talk for a bit.” 255

Lady Whitten’s smile was sweet, innocent and full of delusion. “Yes, that would be lovely, Lady Ashford. It has been quite a time since I’ve had the pleasure of your company.” A shadow pierced the innocence. “But Thomas. Won’t he miss me? I should be home when he arrives.” Lydia guided her from the room, still patting her hand and murmuring soft words of comfort. Tori and Matthew crowded around Sophie. Tori snatched her into a tight, breath-stealing hug. “Are you truly all right?” “Mmph.” “I think that means you are smothering her,” Matthew said dryly. Tori’s arms pulsed again before she let go. Her face was white as the tablecloth. “I’m sorry,” Sophie said, looking at each of them. “Tori tried to talk me out of it, but I was so certain I knew best.” “Sounds like Ryder is rubbing off on you,” Tori said on a watery laugh. His hand remained firm on her back. “Ha. Sounds more like you are. Who else do we know who goes rushing headlong into danger?” The remark helped break the awful tension, but Sophie was acutely aware of Whitten’s body on the floor. She looked and immediately wished she hadn’t. “Tori,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s bleeding into your carpet.” “Damn it, where is the constable?” Matthew said. “I’ll throw the carpet out. Don’t fret. I hate to bring this up, but everyone is going to wonder where we are.” Tori threw Sophie a glance. “You are the toast of the party, my dear. Everyone is raving about you. Calling you a true original.” Sophie scooted closer to Ryder’s side. “Well, that’s a step up from strumpet.” Lydia returned with Stires and another man in tow. The constable, Sophie surmised from his ill-fitting uniform. “Mr. Dixon has a few questions for you, Sophie. Tori, you, Matthew and 256

Keys to Submission Ryder return to the party and circulate. We’ll keep this at bay as long as possible. The body wagon is in the alley, and two men will come shortly to remove Lord Whitten from the house.” “I’ll stay,” Ryder said. Lydia grimaced, but didn’t argue. With a final hug, Tori and Matthew slipped from the room. Mr. Dixon approached, hat in one hand, small notepad in the other. “Sorry for the disturbance, my lady. I’ll keep this short. Already talked to Lady Whitten.” “What will happen to her?” Sophie asked, almost fearful of the answer. He shrugged as he set down the hat and pulled a stubby pencil from his jacket pocket. “I suspect she’ll be sent to Wakefield for the rest of her days. Family’s on their way, and they have plenty of money to see she’s comfortably secluded.” Sophie closed her eyes briefly and gave thanks, immediately feeling guilty for being so relieved. “Now then, Miss, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Twenty minutes later, the constable, Lady Whitten and the body were all gone. Over his objections, Lydia had banished Ryder from the room. When they were alone, she studied Sophie intently. Sophie resisted the urge to squirm or babble or stare defiantly back. She’d had enough of this evening. After the ordeal with Whitten and his wife, she was in no mood for Lydia’s sometimesveiled insults. “You and I will walk out together. There are bound to be rumblings among the guests. Rankin never could keep his lips shut. You will stay by my side and converse pleasantly.” “That’ll be a change,” Sophie couldn’t help muttering. To her surprise, Lydia smiled. “I have no doubt you are up to the challenge. Once more you have proven yourself a strong, resourceful woman.” A compliment? Surely not. Lydia lifted her chin. “You’ve done a fine job this evening. Hold it together a bit longer.” 257

Sophie longed for a hot bath, cold sheets and the oblivion of sleep. None of which she saw as coming to fruition tonight. “Very well.” She moved to the older woman’s side. “Any topics of conversation I should adhere to?” Another surprising smile. “No, the floor is yours.” The atmosphere when they stepped into the room didn’t feel any different, much to her shock. People still appraised and assessed her, but their looks were open and, yes, admiring. A far cry from a few years earlier. Obviously, Rankin had not seen fit to inform the assemblage of the night’s drama. “I suppose I owe that young man an apology, then,” Lydia said when Sophie remarked on it. “I would not go that far, Lady Ashford. He did lead us straight into the trap.” Lydia chuckled and patted her arm. “Excellent point, my dear.” “Lydia, another stunning success by your daughter.” An elderly woman joined the conversation. “And you, Miss Turner, are a delight.” “Thank you, Lady Cushing.” “Ah, a marvel of memory, as well,” the newcomer said in delight. “Some days I envy your young brains for that. Other days I’m pleased to have forgotten certain things.” She winked. “Makes life that much more interesting.” “What’s interesting?” another voice intruded. Sophie stepped back a bit to allow Lady Bellham—wasn’t it? — entry into their circle. “Aside from this young beauty, that is.” Sophie felt herself blush under the compliment. She smiled, but her gaze soared over the crowd, seeking Ryder. If she could not have her bath and bed, she wanted him. She wanted him in her bath and bed. She giggled. The ladies around her smiled in response but never broke their dialogue. The talk flowed around her, included her and made her feel inordinately warm. The change in Lydia was especially nice, albeit astonishing. The next hour was much the same, though the company often 258

Keys to Submission shifted and changed. By the end of the evening, Sophie had acquired more invitations to luncheons, dinners, balls and fêtes than she could accept. Society, it seemed, could forgive a scandal. She found Ryder’s tall form across the room and studied the group of people he was speaking with. They were attentive, engaging, and yet each face held rampant speculation. As if whatever titillating bits of conversation they were having provided fodder to be spread to the rest of the Ton. Her heart pinched. Despite all their efforts, all the subterfuge, he’d still become stained by her presence. No matter what she did, no matter what successes she accumulated now, there would always be that hint of speculation and sly innuendo. She could not allow him to be tainted by her scandal. The only way to save him was to leave him. Society might forgive, but they would never forget. She must try to put him from her heart, and fix her mind on the original problem. The hidden treasure.

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Chapter Fourteen “You are a prodigious success, Sophie,” Tori crowed the next morning as she brought in yet another bouquet of flowers. Ryder looked up from the diary and journal laid out on the table in front of him and scowled at his sister. “Can’t you find someplace else to dump those? Like the rubbish bin?” All morning the routine had remained the same. A ring or knock at the door, a messenger boy with flowers or sweets or an invitation. All for Sophie. Sophie sighed. “I do love roses, but this is becoming ridiculous. What in the world am I supposed to do with them all?” “We’ll send them ‘round to various hospitals,” Tori said, bouquet waving in her hand. Ryder snatched the flowers from her and plucked out the card. Miss Turner—a Goddess returned. Exley. A wastrel and ne’er-dowell if ever one was born. He crushed the card and tossed the roses onto the sideboard behind him, nearly knocking over the chest holding the clues to key five. Damn it, he’d not anticipated this sort of reaction from Society’s gentlemen. Idiot. Of course Sophie would enchant them. Charm exuded from her naturally. Who wouldn’t be drawn to her vivacious laugh, sultry beauty and aura of adventure? “Ryder, be careful,” Tori snapped in exasperation. “They’re delicate.” He glanced at Sophie, who smiled but remained silent. In fact, he mused, she’d been quiet all morning long. Distant, almost. Understandable, he supposed, given the shocking events of the night before. The murder, Lady Whitten’s confinement, the success Sophie had enjoyed. The lovemaking afterward had been incredible, as well. Except… he studied her bent head, unease skittering through his veins. 260

Keys to Submission She’d come alive in his arms, demanded and given passion beyond any they’d experienced. Yet there’d been a sense of desperation in her kisses. She clung to him with a ferocity that both startled and pleased him. Almost as if there would never be another night between them. A knock on the door, and Stires ushered in his mother. She looked fresh and elegant, as if nothing untoward had occurred the previous evening. He marveled at her composure. “Good morning, children,” she said. “Mother.” Tori acknowledge her with a nod. “Here for breakfast again?” “No, thank you. I came to check on Sophie.” “You did?” Ryder said incredulously. Lydia’s arched-brow glare blasted him. “I’m not a complete ogre.” Silence met her declaration, and she sighed. “While I still do not agree with this arrangement, I admit she was warmly received last night.” “But?” “But nothing.” “Bullshit.” “Ryder David Ashford, mind your tongue.” Sophie laughed. “Listen to your mother, Ryder.” He rolled his eyes. “Actually,” Lydia murmured, “the Ton’s reaction is very good news for you, son.” “How so?” “Any association with Sophie will not now be looked upon with such disregard. Should you stay in town a few more days, my dear, I’m certain you would gain an even greater acceptance.” “I cannot,” Sophie said. “I’m leaving as soon as I pack my luggage.” “The hell you are,” Ryder countered. “You are going to stay here and regain the life you should have had.” She glared at him. “With what, Ryder? My status may be changing, but my financial situation has not. I have three keys. I 261

have the clues to number four. Hidden in these books are the answers I need. I will return home, decipher them, find the final key and have my treasure.” She swallowed audibly, looking only at him. “There is nothing here for me.” His heart constricted, squeezing the breath from his lungs in painful spurts. He could not lose her now. “Sophie, you don’t need to leave to find the answers you seek.” “Books and treasures?” Lydia asked into the silence. “What are you all talking about?” He would not lose Sophie, not when he knew how to prevent it. Ryder snatched the diary and held it up. “This, Mother.” Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth, covering a gasp so loud it sounded like the cry of a dove in mourning. “Where did you find that?” Matthew appeared behind Lydia, a steadying hand at her elbow. “Please sit down. And bloody hell, man, you could have used a little more tact.” His mother, resilient as ever, sloughed Matthew’s hand away and walked slowly forward. “Let me see it.” “Ryder, what’s going on?” Sophie whispered, eyes riveted on Lydia. “Is she unwell? Should we call for a physician?” He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb along the softness of her lower lip. “She’s fine. Trust me.” “But why does she have my diary?” Lydia looked up as her fingers caressed the worn outer cover. “Because this is my diary.” “Impossible,” Sophie sputtered. She looked up at Ryder, then back to Lydia. “No, no, that cannot be correct.” Her entire body was stiff as the blade of a sword, anger and disbelief prickling from her. “The woman in that diary, she… um. She….” “Had an affair,” Lydia said softly. “An affair?” Tori echoed incredulously. Sophie sank back into her chair, staring wide-eyed. “Incredible,” she murmured. His mother’s smile was soft, if bittersweet. She still had not opened the book. “Yes, it was. An incredible experience.” She 262

Keys to Submission looked up. “I was very young.” Ryder sat in the chair next to Sophie and waved Matthew and Tori, who frowned in confusion, down as well. “Will someone please tell me what is going on,” Tori finally demanded. “Sit down, dear. It’s a long story.” Ryder slid his arm around Sophie’s shoulder, tugging her gently backward until she rested against him. “When I was six-and-ten,” Lydia began, “I met the most wonderful, charming man. He had eyes that saw into my soul and spoke words that stole my heart. Haverstock Billings.” A wistful expression washed over her face. “He was ten years older than I, ruggedly handsome and had already lived a life of grand adventure. We met and began a secret liaison.” “Why secret?” Tori asked. Her face fell. “In my father’s eyes, Stock’s lack of title made him undesirable, and his choice of politics made him unsuitable. In those days, the war with the Colonies was just ending. Tensions and tempers ran high between people who supported the Americans and those loyal to the Crown. My father was very loyal.” She gave a sad little laugh. “But, like the foolish chit I was, I believed our love could overcome anything. Stock was brilliant, witty, daring. His mind was unlike any other man’s. He crafted puzzles and riddles that few could untangle. Yet, he never made me feel ignorant. We talked about so many different things. He even changed my views on the Americans.” Lydia fingered the diary, lifting and closing the cover. “One night, things between us became very intense and we, well, we made love.” She coughed and her pale face pinkened. “Goodness, not something I ever thought I would talk about to my children. Is it too early for brandy?” Ryder chuckled. That was his spirited mother. “Yes. Please, continue.” “Stock asked me to marry him and I said yes, of course. We planned the whole thing and he told me he was going to make a very special present for me. An adventure to start our new life 263

together. A treasure to last a lifetime.” She lifted her hand and smoothed it over her brooch. “He was forever making things for me. Had quite clever hands.” Tori snorted, then issued an obviously fake sneeze. Matthew grinned. “What happened? Why did you not marry him?” Sophie asked. Lydia stared at the diary. “When Stock asked for my hand, Father said no and forbade me to see him ever again. I was upset, but I knew our love would prevail. Stock would find a way to spirit me from the house and all our plans would carry on. Our lives would be perfect.” Tears spilled from her green eyes, splashing down on the diary. “I was quite the silly, naïve girl, wasn’t I? The next morning, Father bundled me into a carriage and took me away. Within a month, I was married to Ashford.” Ryder winced. He could only imagine how she’d felt, how she’d reacted. “You always said your marriage to Father was a love match,” Tori protested. “I grew to love him. Despite the problems we encountered.” Ryder suspected she was thinking of his half-brother, Lincoln Wolffe. “I never heard from Stock again,” she said. “I was a bit more high-strung back then and decided he’d abandoned me for another. I did everything I could to scrub him from my memory. Some days, I even succeeded.” Sophie pushed away from Ryder and rose to approach his mother. He held his breath, wondering what she would do. She knelt and covered Lydia’s hands. “He didn’t abandon you, Lady Ashford.” “How do you know?” The question held such hope, it hurt him to hear it. “Stock was very good at puzzles. I have been chasing the one he crafted just for you. The one I’m sure he meant for your wedding.” Ryder’s breath stilled, and he half-rose. “Sophie, no.” She ignored him. “Five keys, five locations, five chests,” she said. “In the final chest lies a treasure. Now I know it was meant 264

Keys to Submission for you.” She moved across the room, pushed the flowers aside and lifted the chest. Returning to Lydia’s side, she flipped open the lid. “We don’t have any idea what these clues mean. Do you?” Lydia took the parchment, a sigh issuing from her as she moved her fingers over the bold strokes of ink. “Stock,” she whispered. She squinted at the page, held it away from her, then brought it closer once more. “Oh dash it, I need my spectacles.” She withdrew a set of small round lenses from her reticule, set them to her nose and stared, daring anyone to comment. No one did. She read silently while Sophie remained in front of her, tension in every line of her body. Ryder moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, offering his strength and praying she would accept it. “Oh, oh, my,” Lydia gasped, one hand flying to a spot just above her heart. “I—I think he means the key is this.” She unpinned the golden brooch she wore and lifted it up. “He gave it to me just before he asked Father for my hand. It is exactly as the words here describe. Golden, oval and lace, and a ruby nestled in the center.” Ryder took the piece, surprised by its weight, and studied the lines of the design. “A button of ruby holds the key inside. Is it possible it’s there?” He flipped the brooch over in his hand. Sophie’s head dipped in front, blocking his view, and he moved his hand. “I can’t see through your head, Sophie.” She gave him an excited, if exasperated, look. “Hurry up, then.” Ryder chuckled and ran his nail around the edge of the laceand-gold rim holding the jewel, but nothing happened. He turned it over and whacked it on his palm, but still nothing. “May I see it?” Sophie asked. He passed it over. She mimicked his actions with the same futile results, then stilled. “A button of ruby holds the key inside,” she murmured. Bottom lip firmly between her teeth, she placed the brooch in her palm and pushed on the ruby. A small click sounded, and the ruby lifted. Sophie tugged it farther and suddenly crowed. “It’s here!” She dug a small key from its long-held hiding place and threw her arms around Ryder. Lifting on tiptoe, she kissed him full on the 265

lips. He swept her closer, her nearness a craving he did not wish to deny. Lifting his head, he smoothed a wisp of hair from her eyes and smiled. “Only one key to go, Sophie, and the treasure is yours.” She returned his grin but then, like an extinguished flame, the joy fled from her eyes. “No,” she whispered. A tremulous smile lifted her lips, and an glow of peace transformed her face. She turned and held out the key to Lydia. “Stock meant this quest, this treasure, for you. It’s yours to open.” Lydia took it with trembling fingers. “Oh, my dear. Are you certain?” The look of stunned joy on Lydia’s face was all the affirmation Sophie needed. “Yes,” she said. She looked at Ryder, then Tori and Matthew. All watched the unfolding tableau with guarded faces, guarded hope. Hope, she knew, would lead only to more heartache. While it was true some of society’s denizens apparently had decided to forgive her past transgressions, she knew more would not. Including Lydia. Far from the support Sophie had thought the woman was offering last night, she now realized her attentions had been solely to ensure Ryder’s success. That Lydia Ashford had once committed a similar indiscretion herself did not signify. Protect your child at any cost. As should be the natural instinct for any mother. She gave them a smile, trying desperately to conceal her burgeoning despair. Her love for Ryder enabled her to accept the truth. She must leave. Straightaway. To stay would do him more harm than good. His desire for her might blind him to the realities of Society’s expectations, but that would not last. And when the veil finally lifted, she did not wish him to be in an irrevocable position. “And you should do it with family,” she said to Lydia. “Surrounded by those who know and love you.” She turned and squeezed Ryder’s arm. “I’m going upstairs to rest. I’ve a blinding 266

Keys to Submission headache.” His brow furrowed in concern. “I’ll come with you.” “No.” She laid a hand against his chest. “Truly, I wish to be alone for a little while. The events of last night—” She shivered, the memory of Whitten’s lifeblood pooling on the floor still vivid and unsettling. “I need time.” “Very well.” He lifted her hand and brushed a soft kiss over her knuckles. “Don’t stay away too long.” Sophie managed to maintain her smile, but it was a near-run thing. She pulled free, nodded to the others and left the room. Ryder watched her go and wanted nothing more than to follow. But he would give her this time to sort through her emotions. “I don’t dislike her, you know,” his mother said. He looked down at her. “You give a fair impression of distaste.” Lydia clutched the chest. “Were the circumstances different,” she said softly, “I believe she would be perfect for you.” Ryder’s heart lurched. “But the circumstances are different, are they not? And despite our efforts, they may never be as promising again.” “Open the chest, Mother,” Tori said, and he gave her a grateful smile. Lydia held his gaze for a long moment, then carefully fit the key into the lock. The lid on the chest popped open. Inside, atop the final and smallest chest, lay the now-familiar parchment. He caught the tremor in her fingers as she picked it up and read. Then she laughed. “Of course. That man! Along with his quick mind, he had a twisted sense of humor.” “Does that mean you know where the fifth key is?” Ryder asked. “Yes,” she said simply. She lifted the chest, plucked the diary from underneath and waggled it at him. “Right here. The charm attached to the placeholder ribbon is a key. The key.” He stared at it, dumbfounded. Then he laughed, a long, rolling laugh that he felt all the way to his toes. “She had it the whole time.” Silently, he acknowledged the selfish beat of happiness. Blessed be, she didn’t realize what she’d held. Had she done so, she would never have approached him. 267

Lydia fitted the tiny gold key into the impossibly small lock and twisted. The final chest gave a whisper and released. She reached in and pulled out a small velvet bag and an envelope. Hands trembling, she carefully broke the seal, removed the letter and unfolded it. She began to read, eyes scanning the paper with swift attention. He watched intently, not wishing to intrude on this private moment. But the more she read, the more she paled. At last, she was done. Entire body wracked with shivers, tears streaming freely down her face, Lydia stood and the chest and diary tumbled to the floor. She reached out to him and he swooped forward, catching her before she could fall. “Mother, what’s wrong?” “Me. I’m wrong. I was so wrong.” She fluttered the letter at him. “You must go. Don’t make my mistakes, Ryder.” He took the aged papers from her, and the strong script at the very end immediately drew his eye. No matter what occurs, always remember: Love is the greatest treasure we have. You will forever be in my heart. Forever in my soul. Her hand clamped on his forearm. “I chased her away for other reasons beside the affair Whitten. I was jealous.” She looked ashamed. “We led very similar lives, up to and including our affairs. But she did what I could not.” More tears welled in her eyes. “She stood up to us all and chose her own path, while I crumbled under pressure. I lost the one real love of my life, Ryder, because I was not strong.” She drew in a hiccupping breath. “Don’t make my mistake all over again. Go claim your true love.” Ryder looked her directly in the eyes. “I intend to marry her.” “Damn right you will.” His jaw went slack. Then he laughed. “He would be proud of you, Mother.” Bending down, he kissed his mother on the cheek. “He would be proud of you,” he said again. “Go then,” she said. “Go. Your future awaits you.” Ryder dashed from the room, took the staircase two steps at a 268

Keys to Submission time, gave a perfunctory knock, twisted the knob and threw open the door. She was gone.

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Chapter Fifteen “How could I not have known it was you?” Sophie murmured. She studied the restored and returned portrait that once more adorned her parlor wall. A youthful Lydia beamed from the canvas, Stock behind her, the very image of contented love. “You’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid,” she told them. “Just like me.” “You left something in London.” She screeched and whirled. In the doorway stood Ryder. A clearly unhappy Ryder. He stalked into the room, menace in every step. She scrambled backward as he advanced until she bumped into the bookcase. Ryder reached her, trapped her between his arms, and looked directly into her eyes. “You left me in London.” For all his mastery, his voice held hurt and confusion. “I had to leave,” she said, voice breaking. “No, you wanted to go.” “I didn’t.” “I’m going to ask you one question. Your only answer is yes or no. Truth.” She swallowed hard and nodded agreement. “Do you love me?” His eyes remained hard as he awaited her response. She could not lie to him. Not about this. “Yes.” “Good.” Relief washed over his face. “Because I love you, too.” Her breath whooshed from her body, leaving her weak and shaking. She put a hand on his cheek, unable to resist touching him for even one more second. “You do?” “Yes. And your bottom is going to be extremely sorry for making me hightail it after you.” She gave a watery laugh. “I didn’t want to go, but I had to.” She caressed him, fingertips memorizing his contours and the slight 270

Keys to Submission rasp of his evening beard. “I do love you, Ryder.” She bit her lip, suddenly contemplating the one thing she’d sworn never again to do. She wanted him, wanted to be with him, but could she bring herself to become his mistress? He nuzzled her palm. “That’s going to make marriage good deal sweeter.” Sophie froze. “Marriage?” She pushed at his chest, ducked under his arm and escaped his overwhelming presence. “That’s impossible, Ryder. You know this.” “What I know is this. You are the woman I love. You are my treasure, and I will not lose you. Ever. Society has already reclaimed you as one of their own, Sophie. But were that not the case, it would make no difference. I wouldn’t care. I love you. I will allow nothing to keep us apart.” “Your mother, your peers—” “Don’t matter, damn it.” He stalked her again, stopping in front of her. “I will fight for you with every bit of my soul. Without you, I am nothing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet bag. “Haverstock left this in the chest for Mother. She wanted you to have it… on one condition.” She could hardly take in his words. “What condition?” He slid a delicate gold and emerald ring onto her finger. “That you marry me.” “Marry? Your mother said that?” He laughed. “No, I’m going to marry you. Say yes, Sophie.” Sophie looked from the ring to his dear, handsome face. Love and confidence shone from him in near-palpable waves. She looked at the ring again, smiled, and stepped into his arms. His strength and conviction had burst through her fear. Crumbled her resistance with the ferocity of his love. He was willing to face down Society to be by her side, and she could offer him no less. “Yes, Ryder. I will marry you.” “Well, thank God for that. I don’t know how much longer Lisbeth would have remained quiet.” Sophie laughed, turning her head at Tori and the baby. Her eyes 271

widened as she took in Matthew, Lydia and… Mr. Wiggs? She wanted to crumble with embarrassment at the condition of her house. Granted it looked much better than it did six months earlier, but it was far from up to Lydia Ashford’s lofty standards. “Please, won’t you come in?” Sophie tried to move out of his embrace, but Ryder tightened his grip. He nudged her face upward and kissed her. A touch filled with promise. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. And retribution. “Let the poor girl breathe, son,” Lydia commanded. “You’ll have her for the rest of your life.” His arms tightened a fraction before he lifted his head and grinned down at her. “The rest of our lives,” he said. “I like the sound of that.” Then he released her, and she was immediately enveloped by Lydia. Wide-eyed and uncertain, Sophie gently patted the woman on the back. “Thank you,” Lydia whispered. When she pulled away, her eyes shone with happiness. “You gave me back a part of myself I’d lost very long ago.” Warmth suffused her, and Sophie impulsively hugged the older woman again before laughing and letting go. She could no longer contain her curiosity. “What was in the final chest? What was the treasure?” Ryder’s hand curved around her waist. He looked down and kissed her once again. “Love, Sophie. Love is the greatest treasure.” “Of course it is. Oh, how romantic.” She bit her lip, fearing she had roused painful memories, but Lydia continued to smile. “He loved you very much.” “Yes, he did. I owe you an apology, Sophie, and I will spend the rest of my life making amends.” “Not necessary. Please let go your unwarranted guilt.” Her hand fitted over Ryder’s. “If not for you, we would never have met. And I have everything I need right here. “Actually, Miss Turner,” Mr. Wiggs interjected. “You have quite 272

Keys to Submission a bit more.” She raised her brow. “I beg your pardon?” His mustache twitched and the sparse brown hair on his head wiggled as he pulled a sheaf of papers from his jacket. His smile held admiration and warmth. “When Lords Ashford and Corwin asked me to investigate the shooting and the state of your inheritance, Miss Turner, I confess to growing intrigued.” Her face heated. “Why in the world would you look into my inheritance?” “Various reasons, some to do with Haverstock Billings, some to do with other people, including your cousin. I won’t sugarcoat this for you, Miss Turner. For one, I believe you to be a woman far above verbal shenanigans. For another, you’ve already endured quite enough outrage, and I’ll not add to it. But during my investigation, I had to dig into your past.” “My cousin?” she asked in surprise. “Hamilton? But why?” “Your cousin has done some remarkable things for you, Miss Turner. Things of which I suspect you are still unaware.” “Such as?” “Your inheritance of Saunter House has been augmented by him. The salary for your servants, most notably. In addition, he has deposited a large sum of money, which is gaining interest, in a bank for you. From all indications, he intends to gift it to you upon your 25th birthday.” Shock held her immobile. “Why would he do that?” Mr. Wiggs looked at her oddly. “I suspect because he loves you like the sister you have been to him.” Ryder’s hand slipped into hers. The soft, assured stroke of his thumb along her skin helped to ground her. “Thank you,” she said to Mr. Wiggs. The little man flipped a page. “I would not wish to spoil his surprise, Miss Turner. If you would be so good as to not mention the money, I’m certain he’d appreciate it.” “Of course.” “Another interesting tidbit is the wine in your cellar.” That statement brought her attention fully back to him. How 273

did he know about the cellar? “What of it?” Sophie leaned forward, propelled by an unexpected surge of excitement. “You have quite a few bottles of very expensive, very rare wines and brandies in there, Miss Turner. In fact, if my calculations are correct” —he peered over his glasses at her—“and they are always correct, you could easily sell the entire contents of the cellar for no less than ten thousand pounds.” “Ten? I must have misheard you, sir. Did you just say ten thousand pounds?” Her heart kicked up a beat so fast it would have rivaled the horses at Newmarket. Impossible. It was entirely impossible. “At the very least. Better if you grant me free rein in this matter. Your uncle was a shrewd man.” Mr. Wiggs folded up the papers and stuffed them back into his jacket. “Congratulations, Miss Turner. “You are a very rich young woman.” Her mind reeled with the information, but at his concluding words, her heart swelled and she nodded. “Yes,” she said, looking up at Ryder’s face. “I have found the greatest treasure in the world.”

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About The Author Jennifer August knows a thing or two about fantasy. She once won a fantasy baseball contest and had the opportunity to announce an inning for her favorite team, the Texas Rangers. Beyond that, she enjoys spending time with her teenage son, her crazy dog and her delightful, if kooky family in the wilds of suburban Texas. She loves to hear from readers!

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