by Lauren Smith
James leapt from his chair. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for the drink.”
“Where are you going?” Wainthorpe stood with him, worry knitting his brows.
“To stop Langley. I have a suspicion my mysterious Miss Beaumont might be Lady Society.”
“What?” Wainthorpe gaped. “Do you need me to come with you?”
“No, go home to Bianca. Lord knows what mess tonight will bring. I don’t want to risk your reputation, and I suspect bringing others might put me in more danger, not less.” James smiled at him.
“Send word if you need me,” Wainthorpe called out as James left the club.
James hailed a hackney as he rushed down the steps of the club and into the street, telling the driver to take him to the Strand. He only prayed he wouldn’t be too late.
2
As James reached the Strand, he scanned the darkened streets and buildings. Fear for Gillian built inside him like a storm catching on the winds. She was a gently bred lady who shouldn’t have to face the horrors of a hellfire club, especially if they learned she was Lady Society. While he trusted she was quite capable of taking care of herself, he was afraid that she was walking into a trap and didn’t know it. He had to find her before something happened to her.
With luck, she wouldn’t be here, and he would spend the rest of the night watching some fools pretend to throw a black mass and worship the devil. He prayed fervently it was the latter.
He caught a glimpse of a man in a black cloak and a mask walking down the street. He was undoubtedly a hellfire member. The man paused, glancing about before he headed up the steps to one of the rather unremarkable buildings on the street.
James flung a few coins at his driver and bolted after the figure. He caught up with him just as he was about to lift the knocker. There was only way one inside he could think of, and he had no regrets about his course of action.
“Pardon me,” James said.
The man spun to face him, startled. “What the—”
James’s fist caught him square on the jaw. The man dropped like a stone and went silent. James dragged the man back down the steps and tucked him behind some bushes planted near the entrance. He slipped the domino off the man’s face and pulled it down over his own head and took the cape and fastened it around his shoulders.
He pounded a fist on the door, not even bothering with the knocker. James’s heart thundered as he waited, the silence of the street drowning him with its dull roar. After what felt like an eternity, a man answered, a butler from the looks of him, but he seemed far too arrogant, with a hawkish nose and beetle-black eyes that stared at James.
“Yes?”
“I’m here…for the feast.” James prayed he was close to whatever nonsense these men were involved with. The butler studied him for a long moment. James stood, silently praying that the butler wouldn’t realize he wasn’t a real member of the club.
“Ah, you must be the Lord of the Undead. You are late. The others are sitting down at the feast. The ladies have arrived, and you don’t want to miss the festivities.”
Lord of the Undead? James didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the title.
“Very good,” James muttered and entered the house. The butler was watching him carefully, and he waited for the man to indicate where he should go.
“Well don’t stand there!” he barked. “Show me to the room.”
The harsh words deflated the man’s arrogance. He snapped to attention and gestured for James to follow him down the hall.
“Apologies, my lord. I assumed you knew the way.”
“I was drunk the last time I was here. How can I remember?” Being deep in one’s cups was always a decent excuse for not knowing what had happened at a previous engagement. And unshakable confidence had a way of preventing unwanted questions.
The butler’s face was still ruddy as he opened the door into the appointed room. There was a large table, and a dozen men were sitting down, drinking. At least six or seven empty bottles of wine were toppled over. The candles were burning low, and shadows played on the walls and the faces of the masked men as they drank and talked. The table was set for dinner, but no food as yet had been served.
James’s entrance went unnoticed, and he carefully slid down the side of the room, blending into the group of men. He stole an empty goblet from the table and filled it with wine, feigning a sip as some men laughed in the midst of a bawdy story.
“So I tell the chit she ought to polish my pole, and she says, ‘What pole?’ And so I showed her, and damned if she didn’t faint!” The men burst out laughing. Someone slapped James’s shoulder, so he smiled, baring his teeth in a subtle warning. But no one seemed to notice that he wasn’t one of them. The domino masks the men wore offered a decent amount of concealment, and he was grateful for that. The last thing he needed was to be associated with these bastards. This was all a pathetic excuse for them to explore their darker sides at the risk of destroying innocence.
“Gentlemen!” A man’s booming voice called the stories and laughter to a halt. Everyone, including James, turned to face the man who stood at the head of the long dining table. The fire in the white marble fireplace behind him snapped and cracked, and the light from the flames created an eerie silhouette of the speaker.
“Tonight, we have a feast prepared. As I mentioned at our previous meeting, we have several special guests, some ladies with whom you are well acquainted. They wish once more to participate in the dark arts, and we have two delicious young virgin beauties who graciously volunteered to sate our need for the blood of the innocent.”
There were cruel snickers, laughter, and muttered jokes about taking maidenheads. James clenched his fists. If he lost control, he might very well strangle someone. A woman’s innocence was no laughing matter, and he was quite certain, whoever these beauties were, they didn’t know they were about to be cast into the lions’ den.
“Are you prepared?” the man at the head of the table asked. The lords in the room burst into loud, obnoxious cheering and whistling. The dining room door opened, and six ladies entered the room. They were followed by a man who closed the doors behind them, sealing everyone inside. The ladies were escorted to the remaining empty chairs at the table.
“My friends, as the Lord of Lust, let me present our guests to you.” The so-called Lord of Lust began to name each lady. James studied the buxom and beautiful ladies beneath their half masks, each one smiling coquettishly as her name was called. The Lady of Sin, the Lady of the Night, the Lady of Dark Desire…and so on. But the Lord of Lust paused when he got to the last two.
There was a woman wearing a red gown and another in a purple gown, and despite the masks they wore, neither seemed all that excited to be present at the feast, given their frowns. In fact, both of them looked quite frightened, by the way their hands were white-knuckled into fists and their faces pale below their masks.
James recognized the purple gown with a wave of dread. It was the same gown he’d seen Gillian buying in the shop earlier that day. The image of her in the changing area wearing that dress as he’d caught a glimpse of her still haunted him in a bittersweet way. He couldn’t forget the vulnerable pools of her gray eyes or the way her lips had parted when she’d realized he was staring at her only partially clothed.
His worst fear had come true. Gillian Beaumont—his beautiful, mysterious Gillian—was seated at a table with the worst sort of men all around her, men who wanted a chance to force her to have intercourse.
Over my dead body, he vowed.
“Now, last but not least, we have a most esteemed guest amongst us. You recall the scathing, poisonous pen of that bitch queen who calls herself Lady Society?” the Lord of Lust spat. The men around him harrumphed, and a few pounded their fists on the table. Gillian and the other lady jumped a little in their seats.
“Well, tonight I set the perfect trap and lured Lady Society herself to my door. I let it slip at a ball the other evening that we would be meeting tonig
ht and that she wouldn’t want to miss our entertainment.” The Lord of Lust prowled slowly down the room to the woman in the red dress and the woman in the purple dress. “But which is Lady Society, I wonder?” he mused aloud. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We will have the pleasure of having both of you.” He snapped his fingers, and the men on either side of the ladies suddenly grabbed their arms, jerking them behind the chairs and winding ropes around their wrists.
“How dare you, Mr. Langley!” the woman in the red dress exclaimed with a violent gnash of her white teeth, like a badger bent on attacking. “I’ll do more than write a bloody article destroying you. I’ll have your bollocks on a silver platter!” Where had he heard that voice before?
God’s teeth! The little spitfire was Viscount Sheridan’s younger sister, Audrey Sheridan. What was she doing here? He glanced at Gillian, who was biting her lip and jerking at the bonds, trying to free herself.
“How dare I? My dear lady,” the Lord of Lust growled, “you came here of your own free will. No one forced you here. I daresay there are few who would have any sympathy for a woman who willingly went to a hellfire club. Your reputation will be worthless, and your word unfit for print. And that’s only the beginning of what I have planned for you tonight. You wrecked my family, my name—everything! And I will destroy you for it!”
“You got only what you deserved, you bastard!” Audrey snarled with surprising ferocity for such a tiny, soft-looking little woman.
“And you have the mouth of a whore,” the lord growled. “I plan to treat you like one.”
The two women gaped in horror. James gripped the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled hold. He had to think of a plan, one that wouldn’t risk the two ladies. He was not averse to a good brawl, but he didn’t like the odds against him.
“Gag them. I wish for silence while we enjoy our feast.” The Lord of Lust snapped his fingers, and the men on either side of Audrey and Gillian stuffed handkerchiefs into the girls’ mouths, drowning out the threats Audrey tried to hurl.
James now noted that Audrey had called the Lord of Lust Langley. Wainthorpe had been right—the devilish leader of this band of fools was Gerald Langley. The foul, odious man who’d given Ambrose Worthing and his beloved wife of his so much trouble. It was clear from the crazed look in Langley’s eyes that he was unhinged. Whatever James did tonight to help Audrey, Gillian would be that much more endangered. Langley wouldn’t let them simply stroll out of there unharmed, not when Audrey and Gillian had made tonight’s festivities so personal to the man. He wanted blood, possibly even a life, if she couldn’t keep her temper in check.
“Now,” Langley said with a chuckle. “I’m famished.” He picked up a bell by the end of the table and rang it. A moment later several footmen entered, bringing trays with the first course.
“My lord, what about…?” One of the men pointed to the single empty chair left at the table.
“Oh, right.” Langley sighed with boredom and nodded at one the nearest footmen. “Bring in His Unholiness.”
James tensed, wondering what new horror these men would create, but he almost laughed out loud when the footman returned with a large handsome black cat and placed the creature on the table, offering it a plate of food. The cat hunched down, his yellow eyes taking in every single person in the room before he cautiously bent his head to his plate and began to pick at the offering.
“Pleased to meet our guest, Lady Society? He’s the oldest member, you see,” Langley said solemnly. “Ancient you might say.”
Ancient? James tilted his head, and then it hit him. His Unholiness…ancient… Langley and his pack of crazed followers believed that the cat was the devil himself? Good God. This was worse than he feared. The men weren’t out simply to drink and copulate and feign at devil worship—they believed it. They were truly mad.
James continued to play along, picking at the food that was brought to him, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Gillian. Her face was ashen, and she barely moved, except the tiny tensing of her bared arms. She seemed to be fighting her bonds, quietly, carefully. So far no one else seemed to notice. Smart creature she was, very smart, and for that he was thankful. She would stay calm if things got complicated, which they almost certainly would. James took another drink of wine from his goblet, only half listening to the men around him boasting of how they planned to enjoy the evening.
The women, aside from Audrey and Gillian, were quite willing and familiar with the members of the club, which meant James didn’t need to add them to the list of damsels in need of rescuing. He almost smiled. Earlier that day when he’d been trying to rescue Gillian from a man who’d attacked her to get a letter warning her about tonight, she had told him most emphatically that she was not a damsel in need of rescuing.
One of the men close to Langley drew his attention away from Gillian. He was toying with his fork, scowling, his gaze darting down the length of the table toward where the two ladies were being held. The man’s face was partially hidden behind a domino mask, like his own, yet his sandy blond hair and green eyes were familiar. The man didn’t eat or drink like the rest, and his eyes kept focusing back on the two women. Rather than appearing like a man ready to prey upon the ladies, he looked…
James caught the man’s gaze, and the man’s eyes bored into his. He saw shock and recognition there, which was returned in kind. He knew now how he knew this man.
There was only one person of his acquaintance who fit the man’s profile. Jonathan St. Laurent. The younger half brother of the infamous Duke of Essex, one of James’s friends, was a member of this club? He’d rather liked the man, but if it turned out he was a party to these dark deeds, James would throttle him.
As the feast drew to a close, Langley stood, drew out a pair of dice from a coat pocket, and held them up.
“Each man shall toss the sacred dice to determine who gets the joy of bedding the one in the purple gown. Then we will cast the die for Lady Society. But rest assured we have all night, and every man gets a chance with both ladies.”
Audrey rocked wildly in her chair, her shouts muffled by her gag.
James glanced back at Jonathan and saw a flash of furious fire in the man’s eyes. Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps St. Laurent was here like him, to help?
The dice were passed around, each man rolling them, then cursing or whooping as the numbers fell onto the table. If James could win the highest number for Gillian, he might be able to get her to safety and come back for Audrey. If he had to fight, one lady would be easier to shield than two.
When the dice were handed to him, he held his breath and got to his feet. He met Gillian’s gaze, wishing that she knew he was there, that she wasn’t facing this horror alone. He flung the dice down the length of the table and closed his eyes for a brief instant until the sound of the dice clattering against the wood ceased.
“Twelve!” the man roared. “By God, you’re a lucky bastard!” The man next to him slapped him hard on the arm.
“It seems we have our winner.” Langley smiled at him. “Take your pretty prize to any of the upstairs rooms. I’ll give you half an hour, and then we shall roll to see who is next.”
James drew in his breath slowly, his head spinning a little. He was at least going to be able to get Gillian out of here. He smiled at the men around him, pretending to enjoy the congratulations as he walked to claim Gillian. The man next to her loosened the ropes binding her wrists and jerked her out of the chair. He slapped her bottom and Gillian cried out, her gray eyes flashing with vengeful fire. James barely stopped himself from laying the man flat.
I have to keep playing the game.
If they suspected he was not one of them, he and Gillian wouldn’t stand a chance. He grabbed her by the upper arm, acting forceful, but his grasp was gentle.
“This way, my dear,” he growled, giving her a little time.
There was a loud spitting noise behind him, and he heard Audrey shout. “You touch her and I will kill you.” She had worked t
he gag out of her mouth. He wished he could reassure her that her friend would be safe, but there was no way. St. Laurent stood then and barked at her.
“Hold your tongue, or I will put that mouth of yours to better use.” St. Laurent then gave James the barest hint of a nod, as if to encourage him to go while he had the chance. It seemed he too was upholding the ruse.
Gillian struggled in his hold, but he moved quickly, hauling her into the corridor before he slammed the door shut behind them. He made it only two steps before a delicate booted foot tripped him, and he toppled to the floor. Gillian leapt over his prone body in a wild flutter of purple skirts and white petticoats as she fled down the corridor.
“Gillian, wait!” he hissed as he struggled to his feet. She froze at the end of the corridor and stared at him. With a curse, James jerked off his domino, exposing his face.
“Lord Pembroke?” Gillian whispered. “You—you are with these degenerate—”
“No!” He braced himself with one hand on the wall to stare at her, afraid she’d bolt from him. “I heard Langley was after Lady Society, and I remembered the incident you were involved in this afternoon. I thought I had put the pieces together, but you aren’t Lady Society after all. It’s Miss Sheridan, isn’t it?”
Gillian threw her mask to the floor as she sighed heavily. The sound made his heart ache.
“Yes. But you must tell no one.” She came back to him and stared up at him, her eyes pleading.
“I would never betray you or anything you told me in confidence,” he vowed. “But right now your friend is in grave danger, and there’s a chance those men tonight would recognize her and you. We have to get you outside. Then I can return to Miss Sheridan. St. Laurent is in there with her, but I fear the numbers don’t favor him.”
“St. Laurent? Jonathan is here?”