The Den of Iniquity

by Anabelle Bryant

  She froze, entirely out of depth and all at once unconvinced by the conclusions formed a breath before.

  ‘You’re so like your mother, Vivienne. I look at you and imagine the woman she was years before I made her acquaintance—spirited and enthralled with the world. You embody the best of all her qualities: intelligence, beauty and generosity. It causes me to believe in fresh beginnings.’

  He’d surprised her again, the stunning compliment not what she’d expected and with a soft exhalation, she relaxed by degree. ‘Thank you. Your words are kind. I suppose in some ways we will both need to begin again.’

  ‘I’m glad you agree. I worried you wouldn’t see the same future.’ He paused with brevity. ‘The last thing I wish is for you to feel fettered. I don’t consider you a child who needs supervision. You’re a woman grown, free to come and go as you please. Able to make decisions of all kinds, bear responsibility and carry through on commitments.’

  Perplexed, she searched her stepfather’s profile for a clue to understanding his incongruous statements. Would their conversations forever be riddled with innuendo and paradox? Between conflicted emotion and genuine effort his company proved exhausting. Still what options did she possess?

  Before her mother remarried they’d lived a content, modest lifestyle. Perhaps her mother sought security but by her passing Vivienne bore the brunt of the union. With a complaisant nod and excuse of fatigue, she hurried the final steps to her bedchamber. Later she would visit Sophie, ask her friend’s opinion of these latest developments, and explore possibilities for the future, because Vivienne could not bear the thought of remaining at Nettlecombe. Something whispered to her better sense that were she to let down her guard and ignore the accumulating indications that fuelled her worriment, she would be left regretful in the end.

  Vauxhall Gardens glittered with silver starlight against a cobalt velvet sky, the twinkling glow of thousands of candlelit lanterns strewn from branches of every height along the tree-lined south shore of the River Thames.

  The enticing ambience of orchestra music coalesced with the near silent docking of the skiff as it drifted to a stop near the dirt path leading up the embankment. Sin leapt out before Cole and Luke, anxious to have his feet on land. Vauxhall was familiar territory, an old acquaintance from before he’d allied with his partners and claimed the Underworld.

  The years between his father’s betrayal and his mother’s death left him displaced. He’d secured his apartments and found work without struggle but inside, he’d remained hollow, void of emotion for longer than he wished to acknowledge. It wasn’t until the discovery of the malicious plotting that revealed the horrible truth and his hunt for revenge began. He welcomed the chance to refill his empty soul with ample vengeance. He savoured the malevolent purpose still.

  Now his eyes glossed across the sparkling horizon and settled on the hulking structure of the vinegar manufactory to the left of the garden stairs. His former employers, Fassett and Burnet, hired him to lug bottle-filled crates, some with vinegar, most with illegal gin, to the smuggling barges sidled near the shoreline. It was grunt work but it exorcised his anger and put money in his pocket, easily multiplied by the ample games within Vauxhall. He’d worked hard, mentally and emotionally, to recover from the disappointments of his past. Finding the men on his list was meant to be the last task. Of late, the anxious thrum of completion beat a ramped pulse in his blood.

  He wiped a hand over his face to banish the long-ago memory and fell in stride with his friends. They’d decided upon the impromptu outing as a much-needed diversion, specifically after Luke announced his plans to leave London temporarily and chase promising information concerning his son’s whereabouts. The hell closed one night a week and this served as their only opportunity for regalement. Cole and Sin would gladly work double duty if it enabled Luke to locate the boy.

  Were he to ever have a family, a wife and child, nothing and no one would take them away. How Luke managed to contain his anger was a skill Sin hadn’t mastered.

  With a flick of his wrist he retrieved the engraved silver medallion from his pocket, ensuring his season’s right to entry. Best guinea he ever spent. His comrades produced the same and through the garden’s elaborate iron gate they went, further into a world unto itself.

  Inside an enormous crowd swelled—people of every rank and condition in search of escape and diversion beyond ballrooms and card parties favoured by prigs and propers.

  ‘Tonight every dandy and dowager is out for a bit of mischief.’ Cole indicated the orchestra arena encircled with dinner boxes, the smell of roast duck and charred bread heavy in the air.

  ‘I’ve more interest in what lies in shadow.’ Luke produced a rogue’s grin complete with a charming dimple, an expression he’d perfected to melt females at will. He nudged Sin’s shoulder in the direction of the close walks where almost anyone could find amorous adventure.

  Sin acknowledged the choice with a curt nod and the three wove their way through the private coteries, past the firework ground and beyond the Moorish tower designed to appear as a gigantic watch case painted in crimson and yellow. As they passed the gated entry made accessible by the London Bridge and otherwise used for those who eschewed a rented skiff, he scanned the line of bodies waiting admittance to the grounds. It wasn’t the small cluster of lanky new-whiskered lads who dug in their pockets for the necessary shilling required, but the trio in line behind the young men that snared his attention. A fair-haired lady with a gentleman of similar colour and build, their resemblance announcing them as siblings, waited with a third who accompanied them.

  Vivienne.

  She appeared anxious in the most pleasing way, as if she couldn’t wait to gain admittance and enter, an ingénue in an exciting wonderland. His heart thudded a heavy beat and he instinctively withdrew, wishing to remain unseen. Her hair caught a blue gloss in the moonlight and he remembered the silky strands as they’d slid through his fingers and caressed the back of his hand. Her eyes twinkled as bright as the stars overhead and no wonder. She looked breathtakingly beautiful. Shadows defined her high cheekbones and heart-shaped face in contrast to her pearl-kissed skin. The lovely crimson gown she wore complemented her natural features the way others sought fashion to hide their flaws.

  His eyes settled on her collarbones, exposed by the scooped neckline of the design. He yearned to taste her there, lick the soft indent of skin and feel her pulse beat against his mouth to affirm life…and hope. She spoke to him on an unidentifiable level. Something about her reduced him to the most primal of cravings: taste, smell, touch. Sight alone wasn’t sufficient.

  While he absorbed the realization, the gentleman in the trio stepped in front of Vivienne and obscured Sin’s view. He muttered a foul oath. Who was this man? A relative? Friend? It was difficult to tell, the bloody Adonis too far away, their conversation undecipherable.

  Caught in a trap of warring desires, he noted Cole and Luke had gone ahead without him and he turned to follow, his steps slowed for one last glance over his shoulder. He stilled, compelled to watch for one minute, no more, and ensure all remained right.

  Adonis still blocked his view, the man dressed in fine attire that bespoke entitlement of the upper orders, though he didn’t flaunt dandified affectation. He said something Vivienne found amusing and she laughed gaily. Sin leaned forward as if to hear the sound, annoyed to discover he still remained too far away.

  Using a food vendor’s booth to conceal his surveillance, he stole a length until he managed a direct line of sight. The three friends chattered, the incessant conversation offering snippets of lively, light-hearted discussion as Vivienne regarded Adonis with sanguine familiarity that provoked in Sin an irrational lick of anger.

  ‘Never mind that, we intend to have fun…’

  ‘Spoken as only a brother would…’

  He muttered a curse. Why did he care? Never had he believed Vivienne existed exclusively for his pleasure, her beauty too effe
rvescent, his life too complicated. With a leaden swallow he turned his back, ready to seek the same pleasures his friends indulged in the dark corners of Vauxhall’s private walks, yet he stalled with indecision, his feet managing less than a stride before he reclaimed his shadowy subterfuge.

  The gentleman paid for the ladies’ entrance fees and escorted both women through the gate though any fool could see he mooned over Vivienne. He leaned too close, a ruse he recognized and had used himself to inhale Vivienne’s exotic floral fragrance. Sin eyed the fellow’s broad smile, jealousy hot in his blood.

  ‘I’d like to see the looking-glass house.’

  They stood close enough for him to hear Vivienne’s delightful suggestion and Adonis’s quick agreement overriding his sister’s bid for the ornamental gardens and folly. How predictable. Sin would gather a bouquet of moonbeams just to see delight sparkle in Vivienne’s brilliant green eyes. The gentleman was no fool.

  ‘Then we are decided.’

  Adonis tapped his fingertip atop Vivienne’s nose in an affectionate gesture that caused Sin to growl. Devil take him, he had no time for contrary emotion. The uninvited observation that the gentleman and Vivienne suited, not just in aristocratic status evidenced in every aspect of the swell’s mannerisms, but in complement, the man’s fair hair and light features a striking contrast to Vivienne’s dark beauty. The gentleman represented everything Sin would never have, most of all prideful legitimacy.

  ‘I hope we can find our way. We’ll stay together, won’t we?’

  ‘Of course, we will.’

  The looking-glass house proved a favourite attraction where every wall and corridor was lined with mirrored glass. Sin knew the route through the house by memorization, drunk and sober, having ventured inside numerous times in both conditions.

  He considered his options. It was too late to locate Cole or Luke, lost in the gratuitous delights of free-spirited females who waited in the pleasure gardens.

  He needed to go home and tend Ransom, the hound’s injured head much improved after a poultice aided in healing the bruised welt. Decision made, he clenched his teeth, unclenched his fists, and withdrew against the booth as Vivienne and her friends moved past. Let them enjoy their revelry. He swallowed another bitter curse. They existed in a world to which he’d never belong.

  Home guaranteed sleep and brandy, an escape from inconvenient feelings and unbidden regret. He headed for the hackney stand with a forced effort to leave temptation behind, the jaunt across the bridge never more conflicted.

  ‘In you go, Vivienne.’

  Crispin reached for her hand and with a reassuring squeeze she entered the looking-glass house behind Sophie. The initial corridor was lit by several single-flame lanterns hooked near the ceiling, the adequate light reflected to guide them forward. Still any wrong turn or misguided judgement could lead someone straight into a mirror. All part of the fun and challenge apparently. They ventured down the first hall, Sophie and Crispin a few steps ahead while she took in the otherworldly quality of shadow and reflection as it danced along the glass.

  She’d become enthralled with the idea of visiting Vauxhall once Crispin made the suggestion. From there the idea for evening entertainment took legs and after an enjoyable dinner at Daventry House, he’d ordered the carriage brought around. She welcomed the distraction, a chance to abandon her concerns over her stepfather’s behaviour and, too, the intrigue of venturing across the bridge to a place that prompted timeless stories she’d heard but never experienced poked at her curiosity in kind to her recent excursion to the Underworld.

  The remembrance of the extraordinary encounter at the gaming hell brought with it a rush of heat and she placed her ungloved hand on her cheek, thankful she remained behind her friends in the murky hall. Max said she held his vowels. Out of depth, she hardly understood the implication, yet the idea thrilled her thoroughly.

  ‘This way.’

  Sophie’s voice nabbed her attention and she followed. Crispin’s shadowy profile turned as he urged her to keep up.

  ‘I’ll take care of you, Vivienne. Together we’ll find our way.’

  A rueful frown formed as she wondered how carefully Crispin had chosen his words, or perhaps it was she who read too much into his encouraging bid. Everyone thought the best of Crispin. He possessed all the admirable qualities of an ideal suitor, yet by keeping his company for so many years he’d become more brother than amorous interest.

  Her steps slowed, lost in the knot of her thoughts. No, that wasn’t accurate. Even upon their first meeting, she’d never developed romantic feelings, nothing beyond friendship actually. As convenient as it might prove to command one’s heart in matters of love, she believed the organ to be wild and impetuous, drawn to one’s soul mate by pure chemistry and not better judgement. It was the only rational explanation for her neutral feelings towards Crispin and her obsessive interest in the disreputable Mr Sinclair.

  As if to intrude on her musings, a ready image of Max materialized in her mind’s eye. Her pulse tripped and she blinked hard. One glance from those mysterious eyes, full of sinful promises and wicked temptation, and she could barely breathe.

  She approached a narrow juncture in the corridor where the mirrored panels stood at perpendicular angles, the lighting dimmed considerably. Squinting, she discerned Crispin’s vague profile, nothing more than a brief reflection, although Sophie’s exuberant chatter continued to float backward.

  And then it was gone.

  She almost walked straight into a mirror that appeared out of nowhere to block her path when she could have sworn she’d noted Crispin’s lead ten steps ahead. Had it been a trick of light? She didn’t think so.

  Confused, she laid her palms flat against the cool glass. Something didn’t make sense. If the hallway indeed proved a dead end, Sophie and Crispin would be as obstructed as she and yet they existed nowhere in the quiet glimmer of the hall. She could only have missed an alternative passage in the vague outline of walls. Perhaps if she retraced her steps? Huffing a sigh of perplexed impatience, she pivoted and gasped, startled to see Max in front of her, his reflection multiplied by myriad angles, his expression darker than the caliginous interior.

  He wore no coat, no cravat, his broad-shouldered stance nearly spanned wall to wall in the narrow passage. She swayed, confused, all at once overcome by the confining corridor, her breath short. She steepled her fingertips against the smooth glass at her right to ensure she remained upright, convinced she’d fallen into a fantasy or, worse, had conjured his muted image to life by black magic.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Vivienne.’

  Her heart leapt. Trailing her fingers across the cool wall, she ventured a step though he closed the remaining distance between them with one stride. The mirrored wall at his back reflected her shocked expression, the claustrophobic notion that they’d become trapped inside a looking-glass box enclosed on all sides by narrow mirrors and flickering candlelight, caused her breathing to stutter, the air thick.

  ‘Max?’ Her voice sounded unlike her own. He didn’t touch her though he stood within reach and she wished he would for no other reason than to confirm she didn’t dream. ‘What happened? Where are my friends?’

  ‘Diverted safely.’ His words were gruff, filled with harsh emotion or something else she failed to identify.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She searched his face, taking in the hard set of his jaw and furrowed brows.

  ‘Remember how I opened the wall at the Underworld? I’m familiar with this maze’s creation and designed the hell with similar features. Panels can be moved, slid into place to alter one’s path.’ He waved over his shoulder as if the simple gesture explained everything his words did not.

  ‘But we have no path.’ She tipped her chin to indicate their limited confines, her nose wrinkled as she tried to understand.

  ‘Things are not always as they seem.’

  His low chuckle rippled through her, swirling aroun
d and around to settle in her stomach.

  ‘Who is he?’

  His question was void of amusement.

  ‘Who?’ She drew a long breath to steady her nerves.

  ‘The man who accompanied you this evening.’ He shifted, leaned inward and shrank the distance between their bodies to imperceptible depth.

  ‘Crispin? And Sophie. My friends, they will be worried about me.’ She stared at his collar, absent of a neckcloth. That forbidden vee of skin. Virility rolled off him in waves. Desire, wild and achingly delicious, ignited deep in her core and spread with rampant freedom, igniting the remembrance of their intimacy at the hell. She pressed her palm to the glass at her left and tested its stability for lack of what to do, but the wall stood strong though she grew weak.

  ‘Your friends will assume you took a wrong turn and became lost.’ He angled his head a fraction closer and the heat of his breath brushed her temple. ‘We’re all a little lost, aren’t we?’

  She had no chance to answer. The force of his kiss demanded her full attention. He covered her mouth with his own, hot, sinful and possessive, and he growled with satisfaction as she gave herself into his embrace, no longer in need of her legs for support, the hard wall of his chest more dependable.

  He pressed his thumb against her chin, bidding she open for him and she obeyed, her mouth accepting each powerful stroke of his tongue, her palms flattened against his shirt. Her fingertips found the smooth hard skin of his chest and her pulse raced with the tight flex of his reaction. Inside, a strange wonderful sensation whipped to life like a fallen leaf riding the wind, reeled and gyred in a dizzying pirouette.

  This was desire. Strong, insistent, wild and free.

  Their shared time at the hell was too unexpected and evanescent for her to identify the impact of his touch, but oh, this was different. Now he claimed her, marked her as his, the affirming kiss echoed in the tight hold of his hands on her hips.

  Time ceased to exist. Breath by breath momentum slowed, the urgency of their first touch now meant to be savoured. He nipped her chin, nuzzled a path of kisses across her jaw, the friction of his whiskers sensual and intriguing until he paused beneath her lobe where the sensitive skin throbbed in tune with her racing pulse. He licked and tasted, his lips pressed tight to the shell of her ear.