Whatever I had expected to see it had not been a pair of naked male buttocks. Rather nice firm buttocks, but even so, the stem under my feet sagged as I recoiled and I scrabbled for balance until the rubber soles of my trainers gripped the ro
ugh bark again.
There was a sharp, sinister crack from the room and I peered in again to see a woman clad head to foot in plain black, a riding crop in her hand, advancing on the naked man who, I could see now from the glossy head of brown hair, was Wraxall.
‘You know what you have to do.’
Silent, head bowed, Wraxall went and stood in front of a St Andrew’s cross of wooden beams and fitted his arms and legs against it. Thankfully, he was still facing away from the window.
I felt my grip on the ivy loosening as I realised what I was about to witness.
Chapter Twenty Four
Before things got any more intense I scrambled down from the window with more speed than grace and landed in a heap on the grass, not too certain how I felt, other than ashamed to have been spying on a very private moment. How anyone could enjoy being whipped was beyond me – but then sexual desire was a many-faceted thing and who was I to judge? And if a man spent his life totally invested in being superior to everyone else, then perhaps being dominated like that was a positive relief.
Lucian landed beside me, red in the face, and not from the exertion of climbing, either. He looked hideously embarrassed. I held out my hand and he hauled me to my feet. We retrieved our hats and he led the way round the side of the house back to the carriage without speaking.
I climbed in and left Lucian to tell Garrick what we’d seen.
‘Bloody hell!’
Lucian’s reply was inaudible. He got in, slammed the door and threw himself back on the seat opposite me.
‘It was too much to hope we would find Arabella so easily,’ I offered.
‘You… You could have broken your neck.’
Ah. Easier to tell me off for unladylike behaviour and pretend neither of us saw anything embarrassing through that window.
‘Nonsense. My shoes have non-slip soles and I am lighter than you are so those branches were less likely to break.’
‘Does nothing shock you?’ Lucian snapped as the coach lurched into motion again.
‘Yes. Women being used and murdered and tossed into the Thames, James risking his life for loving as he does, the poverty all around us – do you want me to go on? All far more shocking than the way one man’s desires express themselves.’
‘Do you mean to say that in your time people openly express a desire to be flogged?’
‘No. Because it is considered a bit kinky and it certainly isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But it is a private preference and nobody’s business but his, in my opinion.’
I saw him mentally file away kinky and cup of tea. I only hoped he did not keep a diary. ‘Everything we think of is a dead end.’ A sudden wave of depression had me sinking back into the corner of the carriage. ‘This will be too.’
‘We cannot give up,’ Lucian said.
‘No,’ I agreed, and found the will to smile at him. Lucian smiled back and I realised that this was what made this adventure so compelling – not shopping in Bond Street or seeing Almack’s, or even being fondled by Prince George. They were all interesting – even batting off the future Regent’s fat little fingers had a certain fascination – but what stopped me going wild with the fear of being stranded was this man and the way I was beginning to feel about him.
‘We will find her,’ Lucian said firmly. ‘And then we will find a way back for you.’
I was struck with an idea. What if I had come back in time in order to find Arabella and I was trapped here until that task, mission or whatever, was completed? And if so, why? Were Arabella and Sir Clement ancestors of mine and that was the pull that had brought me back?
I kept the thought to myself, but it was tantalising enough to make the rest of the journey to Brentford pass quickly. In all, even with the distraction of Wraxall’s private affairs, it had only taken an hour from James’s lodgings to the small town. We halted at what looked to me to be almost a village green for Garrick to ask the way of a man in a smock who was herding, or rather, attempting to herd, a flock of geese. While the yokel gave him elaborate directions with much arm-waving I tried to work out where we were in relation to my rather vague memories of Brentford and entirely failed. This was a small, rather scruffy town, nothing more.
The carriage moved off, took several turns and then stopped. Already we were out in the countryside again. Lucian opened the door and Garrick called down, ‘The gates are just ahead.’
‘Walk on slowly past them and we will see if the lodge is inhabited.’ Lucian closed the door and leant out as we passed the gates, massive and chained. Through them we could see a small lodge cottage with broken glass in the windows and weeds growing across the doorway.
‘No smoke from the chimney,’ I said. ‘It looks deserted.’
We got down and looked through the gate. ‘There are wheel marks.’ Lucian pointed to the muddy, rutted, driveway. ‘They seem fresh. And this chain and lock are new. See how shiny they are, although the gate itself is rusty.’