Till Dawn with the Devil

by Alexandra Hawkins

  Vane chuckled. “Drink a pot of ale. It might improve your aim.”

  “You wouldn’t be so cheerful if my aim was better,” Reign threatened, tempted to fire one of those darts into Vane’s backside.

  Hunter handed Reign a pint pot. “Best to watch your arse, my friend,” the duke called out to Vane.

  Vane raised the blowpipe without hesitation and blew. The bastard hit the center circle on his first attempt. “Why should I?” he asked, giving Hunter a cocky grin. “You seem up to the task.”

  Vane shifted his hips in an exaggerated fashion as he turned to accept the small dart Dare was offering.

  Reign watched with amusement as Hunter lunged for Vane and put him in a headlock long enough to slam his fist into the earl’s arm.

  “Christ, Hunter!” Vane snarled. “The point went into my palm, you idiot.”

  The duke gave Vane a loud kiss on the ear and released him. “Serves you right. You’re lucky I don’t feed those darts to you one by one.”

  Sensing trouble, Berus started to make his way through a crowd made up of gamblers, merrymakers, drunken sailors, and a dozen of Madame Venna’s girls. Reign waved the man away. The steward bowed and moved away to handle another pressing task. Despite appearances, the two men were not about to come to blows. Vane had a bad habit of provoking people to violence, but he usually walked away from these encounters unscathed.

  “Good evening, gents!” Frost said, his arms open wide to encompass everyone, including a pretty blonde he had managed to steal from one of the gamblers. “What have I missed?”

  Saint followed sedately behind him. Before he could approach their small group, another gentleman intercepted him and led the marquess away. He raised his hand in greeting, then signaled that he would be joining them later.

  “Where have you been?” Hunter asked. Since he had changed his mind about feeding the two-inch darts to Vane, he had settled back into his chair. “Do not tell me that Sin talked you into attending Mrs. Burton’s ball.”

  “Sin tends to get prickly whenever I am in close proximity to his marchioness.” He paused to whisper something in his companion’s ear. She nodded, and walked away to satisfy Frost’s request. “While poking at Sin does provide me with a certain amount of amusement, Saint and I decided to patronize one of the less discriminating hells in town.”

  Reign sipped the ale one of the barmaids had placed in front of him. “Most of the ton would claim that Nox qualifies.”

  “True,” Frost said, his intent gaze lingering on Reign. “However, I think we all would agree that the patrons at the Golden Stag are not picky on how they collect their winnings.”

  The Golden Stag catered to anyone with a purse, and attracted the enterprising criminal class. It was common for a man to get his purse cut—or his throat—in such an establishment. The danger appealed to brash young noblemen ready to cut their teeth on the forbidden or try to win a fortune in an evening. Years before the Lords of Vice had opened the doors to Nox, they had been faithful patrons of the perilous hell. Reign’s interest in the Golden Stag had gradually waned, but it was apparent that Frost and Saint were still drawn to the darker sections of town.

  The blonde returned with a pint pot for Frost. The earl rewarded her with a slow, thorough kiss on the mouth that promised the pretty wench he had other business with her as well.

  “Now, where was I with my intriguing tale?”

  Vane plucked the sharp darts from the target and tossed them on the table. He handed the blowpipe to Hunter so he could take his turn. “You and Saint were at the Golden Stag.”

  “Right.”

  Frost was staring at him again. Reign felt a tingling sensation go up his spine. Something had happened at the Golden Stag, and his friend seemed to believe that Reign, in particular, would be interested in his little tale.

  “Are we playing a game, Frost?” Reign asked, keeping his voice casual.

  “Not at all.” He kicked an empty bench to alter its angle and sat down. The blonde whore tumbled into his lap. “While I was there, I noticed a certain young gent who was participating in some rather deep play over there.”

  So they were playing a game, after all.

  “Anyone I know?”

  Frost held the pot up to his companion’s lips and allowed her to sip. “Ravenshaw and his cronies.”

  Damn.

  “Why should I care about Ravenshaw?”

  Frost shrugged. “I do not expect you to care about young Ravenshaw’s heavy losses this evening. The Greek goddess Tyche makes fools of us all.”

  Reign’s heart clenched as he thought of Sophia. Ravenshaw seemed determined to spend his way through his fortune. What would happen to Sophia if Ravenshaw could not settle his debts? Her wastrel brothers were worthless protectors for such a delicate beauty.

  “A tragic tale, Frost,” Reign drawled. He paused when he realized that Dare, Hunter, and Vane had abandoned their game of Puff and Dart. “I suppose there is a point?”

  Frost’s piercing turquoise eyes gleamed with unholy delight. “None, really. I am aware that you despise the young puppy, Reign. I thought you would be as amused as I by Ravenshaw’s not-so-original means to spare himself from his embarrassing predicament.”

  Reign tensed. “Exactly how much did Ravenshaw lose at the tables this evening?”

  Frost grinned at Reign like some dark angel of death. “His losses are no longer a concern now that Lord Mackney has offered for the fair Lady Sophia.”

  Frost took a moment to kiss his neglected companion.

  Reign felt as if ice water had replaced the blood in his veins.

  He shot up from his chair. “I will tear Ravenshaw apart if he hands Sophia over to that man.”

  Hunter, Vane, and Dare appeared startled by the vehemence in Reign’s voice. Frost, on the other hand, was not surprised at all. His friend had known all along how Reign would react to the news. Reign could not decide if he should punch Frost for toying with him or thank him for tipping him off to Sophia’s disconcerting predicament.

  Gratitude overrode Reign’s desire for vengeance.

  “Reign, where are you going at this late hour?” Frost asked as he took his watch out of the pocket of his waistcoat and peered at its face. “I highly doubt Ravenshaw will marry Lady Sophia off to Mackney this morning. Such a gentle, wounded dove as his sister will have to be properly prepared. Who knows, Ravenshaw may decide to draw out Mackney’s anticipation by posting the banns. Besides, it is hardly your affair what Ravenshaw does with his sister.”

  Frost was not really expecting an answer from Reign. He had merely sought out his friend to deliver what he considered news that might be amusing.

  Oh, Reign was interested in the news, but unlike Frost he was far from amused.

  Now Reign had to decide if he was going to do something about it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sophia awoke to a soft knock at the door.

  She sat up in the bed, momentarily puzzled why she was still attired in her dress. Then the events of the night before flickered in her brain like a magnificent summer lightning storm.

  Stephan had locked her in her bedchamber.

  “Milady, I have your breakfast,” a soft feminine voice said from the other side of the door.

  Someone fumbled to fit the key into the keyhole, and there was a clank of metal as the mechanism tumbled into place. Sophia did not waste any time, hurrying toward the door that was opening before she reached it.

  Her smile faded as she noticed that the young scullery maid was not alone. Arms crossed, Stephan was standing behind the servant.

  “Planning to escape, dear sister?” He nodded to the maid. “Put the tray on the table and return to your kitchen duties.”

  The maid sent Sophia an apologetic look. “Aye, milord.” With her arms burdened with the tray, she walked into the room and headed for the small table.

  Her brother had chosen wisely. The young girl was terrified and would follow his orders without question
. “Where is Lucy?”

  “Your beloved maid and confidante? Unlike you, dear Sophia, Lucy knows her place in this house.” Stephan did not enter her bedchamber. His body filled the doorway as if he expected her to fight her way past him. “She has been ordered to remain in her quarters. If she defies me, I will sack her without references.”

  “Excuse me, milady,” the young maid said, slipping by her. Stephan stepped aside, and the servant disappeared down the hallway.

  Sophia was disheartened, but she refused to show any weakness in front of her brother. Instead, she said, “You cannot keep me a prisoner forever, brother.”

  Her brother had the audacity to appear amused. “As tempting as that sounds, you shall be free once Mackney secures a special license.” He reached for the latch.

  “Wait!” Sophia said, seizing the edge of the door to prevent him from closing it. “Please, Stephan. There must be some other way.”

  Her brother stared down at her, his face carefully blank. “Forgive me, Sophia. I take no pleasure in this.” He slowly closed the door, giving her a chance to release her hold.

  The key turned, and she was alone again in her prison.

  Sophia pressed her face against the door and cried.

  Reign had only managed to sleep for a few hours when he knocked on Sin’s front door. Hembry, the Sinclair butler, opened the door. His forbidding expression indicated that he had been prepared to lecture the person who dared to call on the household at such an early hour. The lines on his face relaxed with recognition.

  “Lord Rainecourt, it is an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Forgive me for calling at such an ungodly hour, Hembry,” Reign said, stepping into the front hall. “Is Sin awake?”

  “Lord and Lady Sinclair are in the morning room, my lord.”

  The butler started up the stairs, assuming that whatever had brought Reign to the door so early was important enough to disturb his employer’s breakfast. Reign did not stand on ceremony and wait to be announced. He simply followed the butler.

  Sin and his wife were sitting side by side when Hembry opened the door. Reign walked through the door while the butler remained at the threshold. “Milord and lady, Lord Rainecourt is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Hembry. I can see that for myself,” Sin said drily. “Set another plate for our friend.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  “Sin . . . Juliana, my apologies for intruding.”

  “Nonsense, Reign,” Juliana said, looking quite charming in a light blue morning dress and lace cap. “You are always welcome.”

  Sin stood and gestured for Reign to sit. “Good God, man, you look like hell. Has something happened?”

  “Yes, and nothing good.”

  The marquess’s mouth thinned at the enigmatic statement. “When is it ever?”

  Reign wearily collapsed onto the chair next to Sin’s. His appetite had abandoned him, but the enticing fragrance of coffee caused his stomach to growl. He ignored his discomfort.

  Whether she wanted it or not, Sophia needed his help, and Reign was determined not to disappoint her.

  “I have come to ask both of you for your help.”

  There was nothing better than a good cry and some warm food to clear a lady’s head. Sophia knelt down in front of the door and inserted one of her small hat pins into the keyhole.

  Originally, she had contemplated rending the sheet linens and tying the pieces together to form a makeshift rope. She realized almost immediately that her daring plan had several problems. First, she did not possess a knife to cut the strong cloth, and the sewing shears that she used for her needlepoint were too dull for the task.

  Second, even if she had managed to fashion a rope out of the sheets, she was uncertain if it would be long enough for her to safely reach the ground. Her eyesight was too poor for her to judge the distance properly, and what good was escaping if she broke her neck?

  No, a rope was too risky.

  She had also ruled out using the spoon the maid had given her for her breakfast to dig a hole through the thick plastered walls. Such a feat would take days. Besides, if Stephan was about, he would most likely notice the thumps and scratching sounds emanating from the wall. It would be too much to expect that he would believe that rats were suddenly infesting one particular wall in the town house.

  A weak-spirited miss might have given up, but Sophia was determined to best Stephan. Even if she had to prostrate herself at Lord Mackney’s feet and beg for his mercy. Sophia had no intention of marrying the earl. When faced with possible financial ruin, her brothers had decided to sacrifice their little sister rather than place their own necks through a marriage noose. All things considering, their high-handedness seemed quite unfair.

  No, Sophia would save herself from Stephan’s tyranny.

  The hat pin bent as she jabbed at the hidden mechanism inside the keyhole.

  “Blast it all!” Sophia muttered, tugging the pin out of the hole. It slipped from her fingers and vanished, swallowed by the keyhole.

  “Hmph!” she said, disgusted with the useless hat pin and her limited skills. “There has to be another way.”

  She pulled herself to her feet and marched over to the forgotten tray that held the remains of her breakfast. She snatched up the spoon and returned to the door. The handle of the spoon was too wide for the keyhole.

  “No. This is not fair!” she complained aloud. She jammed the handle against the lock in frustration before she discarded it with a flip of her wrist. “What else?”

  The sewing shears.

  Sophia strode over to the chair she had been dozing in when her brothers had returned. Kneeling down, she shifted items in the basket until her fingers closed around the shears. Armed with a new tool, she went back to the door and dropped to her knees.

  “Please work.”

  Biting her lower lip, Sophia slipped one of the short blades into the keyhole. Her eyelids lowered as she concentrated on her task. She had never studied the internal workings of a lock. Nevertheless, how complicated could the shifting bits of metal within be? Something clicked within the keyhole, causing Sophia to smile.

  Perhaps this would not be so difficult, after all?

  The blade snapped off.

  “No!” Sophia squinted at the dark keyhole in disbelief. She began to stab the remaining blade into the hole when the recognizable sounds of a key being inserted on the other side of the door froze her in place.

  Had her brother returned?

  Panic caused her heart to race as she scrambled backward. She quickly got to her feet and realized she still had the broken sewing shears clutched in her hand. Sophia hid them behind her back just as the door cracked open.

  “Milady?”

  Sophia almost fainted as she recognized her maid’s voice. “Lucy!” she whispered, placing her hand over her heart. “Good heavens, I thought you were my brother.”

  The two ladies embraced.

  “Stephan told me that he had ordered you to remain in your quarters.”

  “Now, now . . . ,” Lucy went on. “We have so little time. Most of the staff is terrified of your brothers, and everyone has been warned that they will be sacked without references if any of us interfere with Lord Ravenshaw’s business.”

  “Where is my brother?”

  “He left the house fifteen minutes ago. Mr. Northam has orders to watch over you, but he is currently in the kitchen flirting with one of the maids.”

  Sophia could not quite trust her good fortune.

  “Lucy, I have to get out of this house before Stephan returns,” she said urgently. “I am not sure what you have heard—”

  “Enough.” Lucy pressed a small leather pouch into Sophia’s hand. “It isn’t much, I’m afraid.”

  Sophia walked over to her dressing table and collected her reticule and bonnet covered in straw-colored diaphanous satin. “I gathered what jewelry I have. Stephan has sold most of the larger pieces.”

  “It will have to do.” L
ucy plucked the bonnet from her mistress’s boneless fingers and placed it on her head. With brisk movements, she tied the ribbons under Sophia’s chin. “Use the back stairs. The door to the gardens is unlocked. From there, go to the stables. I have one of the grooms preparing a horse—”

  “I am not properly dressed!” Sophia protested.

  “This is about haste, not propriety, milady.” Lucy strode purposely over to one of the chairs and retrieved Sophia’s walking stick. “If you leave by carriage, Lord Ravenshaw will know that the staff helped you. Here.” She pressed the top of the walking stick into Sophia’s hand. “Toss it away when you get to the horse. It will be a distraction, and might frighten the beast if he catches sight of it.”

  Sophia clutched the other woman’s hands. Her riding skills were adequate, but navigating London with her limited vision would be difficult. The horse’s movements usually unsettled her stomach. “I am terrified, Lucy. I cannot do this. Perhaps I could hail a hackney coach—?”

  “There is no time for this nonsense,” Lucy snapped, pushing Sophia toward the door. “Lord Ravenshaw could return at any moment, and Mr. Northam will only be distracted for so long.”

  With a firm hand on Sophia’s upper arm, Lucy escorted her mistress down the hallway toward the servants’ hidden stairs. “I can go no farther. The rest is up to you.”

  Sophia embraced the maid she also considered her friend. “I thought I would ride to—”

  Lucy covered Sophia’s mouth. “It is best if you do not tell me or anyone else where you will be heading. When Lord Ravenshaw discovers that you have escaped, he will question the servants. Wherever you go, I suggest that you choose a place your brother will not expect. He has a frightful temper when provoked, nor will he be reasonable if he discovers your whereabouts.”

  “I owe you more than I can ever repay. Now go.” Sophia gestured with a nod of her head. “You have risked much for me, and I do not want you to come to regret it.”

  Sophia’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dim staircase as she hurried down as swiftly as she dared. It was strange, but fear seemed to have sharpened her eyesight. Within minutes, she reached the unlocked door to the outer gardens. She opened the door, and fresh air bathed her face.