Another group of visitors had arrived before them and stood in a far corner, their laughter overriding the sound of shouts and curses. Andrew turned in the direction of their pointing fingers to find a group of men scrambling over what looked to be a hunk of nearly raw meat. The scene reminded him of a pack of dogs behind a butcher shop. This, he assumed, was what the keeper had meant by “a bit o’ fun.”
Dash, who had gone ahead with Henley, Jamie and Throckmorton, glanced over his shoulder to look at Andrew. Waiting for a reaction, no doubt. But Andrew had none to give him. Whatever response Dash had been looking for, he could muster neither outrage nor amusement. He’d seen enough in the war to make him numb to human suffering and to realize that there was no limit to man’s inhumanity. He turned back to the activities in the common room, trying to keep track of the shifting tableaus as they were incited by the “visitors.”
Money changed hands, and then one of the inmates approached a woman dressed in a mobcap and a low-cut dress. He whispered in her ear and she glanced at the group that had sent him. A manic smile exposed gaps where teeth should have been, and she began to hitch her skirts up around her hips. Lord! Were the visitors such immature idiots themselves that they derived pleasure from seeing an unfortunate expose herself?
But it did not stop at that. The payment had been for something else entirely. There, for all to see, the male inmate dropped his trousers and the pair of them began to copulate to the enthusiastic encouragement of the onlookers. On some base level, Andrew realized that watching such activities was arousing for a good many people—that it awakened a hunger, at the very least. He’d known courtesans and the owners of private clubs to arrange such performances. But here and now, at the expense of those who either did not comprehend their actions or appreciate that they were being made sport of, it seemed intrinsically wrong.
“Amazing, is it not, what one will do for money?” Dash asked. “I daresay we could make this lot do damn near anything we chose.”
Andrew blinked and turned to his friend. “For a crust of bread or a cut of meat?”
“Aye. Does it remind you of the war, Drew?”
This echo of his own thoughts caused the hair on the back of Andrew’s neck to prickle. Was this why Dash had brought him here? “The madness? Or the depravity?”
“Both. And the power. Bedlam is as close to Valle del Fuego as I’ve found since our return.”
That godforsaken village! “Why would you want to be reminded, Dash? God knows I’ve spent years trying to forget.”
“Aye, but there was something there—something lacking in London. Some tiny primal spark. You must feel it. Something so…so fundamental that it has no name.”
There was more Dash was trying to tell him, something he would not put into words and was pleading with Andrew to understand. “Uncivilized,” he admitted. “Not altogether comfortable.”
“Precisely!” Dash’s expression was somber. “It pulls at one, does it not?”
Andrew glanced again at the copulating couple. Yes, it pulled at him, that urge to shed everything civilized. This was the part of Bedlam that appealed to Dash—primeval man, stripped of morality, propriety and law.
A chill crept down his spine, and his throat clogged with the heavy atmosphere. He wanted to feel again. Anything. To have some part of him awakened to ordinary senses. What would that take? The pull grew stronger, almost impossible to resist. He wanted it, craved it, and yet the last shred of decency he possessed resisted. He spun back down the passageway. “I need a drink.”
Belmonde’s! Ah, thank God for ordinary debauchery. Andrew’s tension eased as he downed his second brandy. Tonight he’d come dangerously close to the abyss. He’d flirted with it for so long that he was mildly surprised he’d even recognized the line. And some fatalistic part of him knew it was coming—the day he could no longer resist the pull. The day he would cross that line.
He was on his way back to the salon from changing coins for counters when he passed the foyer. Ah, the night was full of surprises. There stood Bella, even lovelier than usual, in earnest conversation with the doorman. And he knew why. The little chit did not have entrée.
He went forward. “Ah, here you are, my dear. Don’t dawdle.” He removed her cloak and handed it to a waiting footman, then turned to the doorman. “Biddle, see to it that she is admitted without delay in the future, would you?”
“Why, yes, sir. I’d have done so ere now, but she did not mention your name.”
He grinned down at the speechless woman as he took her arm. “Ah, she is shy, Biddle. Very shy. But you will use my name in the future, will you not, my dear?”
Her eyes widened and she nodded.
He slipped Biddle a few counters and winked as he led her away. “How nice to see you again, Bella. Dare I hope you were looking for me?”
“You…you may hope anything you wish, sir. But I had no idea you’d be here. I thought you and your ilk would be at some aristocratic soiree.”
His ilk? He laughed. If she only knew what “his ilk” had been up to tonight! “You’re more likely to see me here or at some other tasteless entertainment than at a soiree. But tell me, what is your business here?”
“I was looking for…for…”
“Yes. The right man, I believe you said the other night.” He shook his head and gave her a rakish grin. “I believe you’ve gone astray, Bella. The only men here are the wrong men.”
“Yourself included?”
“Myself at the top of the list.”
“I see.” She looked down pensively and a stray curl tumbled over her shoulder. “Well, I suppose I should at least thank you for not exposing me this afternoon.”
His conscience tweaked him when he recalled how very close he’d come to doing just that. He still wasn’t certain why he hadn’t. “My companions were much amused by your snub. I think you owe me something for that. I can tell you that I was made to bear some rather cutting rebukes, which I’d have cheerfully done had I but known the reason.”
She made no reply as he captured a glass of wine from a passing footman’s tray. He presented it to her with a slight bow. “I believe you are still pressing forward with your ambition to become a lush?”
She looked confused for a moment and then laughed. “Not quite so diligently as last night, but yes. I have become a great believer in bottled courage.”
What an odd phrase. Did she actually need to fortify herself to come out, or to kiss men? A sudden suspicion tweaked his pride. “Are you meeting someone here, Bella? Or are you on your own?”
“A-alone.”
Just the word he had been hoping to hear. “Not any longer, my dear.”
“A-about my name, sir.”
“If you would like proper address, madam, you will have to give me your entire name.”
“I haven’t had to give it until now, sir.”
“Then how would you like me to address you? And should the occasion for an introduction arise? Then what, madam?”
She heaved a deep sigh and glanced around. “Could we not just ignore it? Or ‘madam’ will do. In any event, it will not matter much longer.”
Disappointment sharpened his response. “Oh? Then shall I assume you are near to making your choice?”
“There is not much choice about it, Mr. Hunter. I have yet to find…”
“Yes, the right man. So I gathered. And I also gather that I fall short of your requirements?”
“I…suppose that would be for the best,” she said, though her tone was uncertain.
He found encouragement in her hesitation. “Then what is your purpose here tonight? You’ve said you are not meeting someone, so…?”
“I thought I might see a familiar face.”
“You have, madam. Mine.”
“Oh, dear.”
Her chagrin was almost comical and he grinned at her confusion. “Not quite the response I was hoping for, but at least you are honest.”
“Actually, I thought this would be
an establishment frequented by, well, by men who did not often attend ton events.”
“Looking for fresh hunting grounds, my dear Bella?”
“No. Yes.” She shook her head and glanced up at him. The look in those captivating hazel eyes warned him that she was about to lie. He waited, quite breathlessly, for what she was about to say. “I wanted to learn how to gamble.”
Ah, diversion. Excellent ploy. So much more inventive than a bald lie. Too bad she didn’t know who she was playing with. “Allow me. I would recommend beginning with rouge et noir or vingte et un. The rules are simpler than the other popular games, and the play is easier to follow.”
He led her toward a rouge et noir table and explained the rudiments of the game. When she nodded, he handed her a counter. “Try it, madam. There’s nothing like risk to make one feel the excitement, is there?”
She held his counter up and smiled. “I have nothing at risk. Does that make it more exciting for you?”
He laughed. Lord, but she was breathtaking when she smiled. He wished she would do more of that. “I am feeling the excitement even now, Bella.” And he was.
She turned back to the table and gave him her glass, but not before he noted the flush that swept up her cheeks. He watched her as she studied the play. After three rounds she placed the counter on red and stood back.
Red won the count, and she grabbed his sleeve in her delight. “Now what do I do?”
“Wager again or collect your winnings and leave the table.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Bella.” He wondered if caution or risk would win her imagination.
She left the counters on the spot. And again, red won. She clapped her hands and turned to him. “Again?”
“And again, and again, if you wish.”
The tip of her tongue made a brief appearance to moisten her lips as she thought this over. Finally she nodded to the croupier to let her wager stand. Andrew leaned close to her ear and asked, “How does it feel, Bella, to have your fortune riding on the turn of a card?”
“Your fortune,” she reminded him in a whisper. “And it makes me tingle all over.”
He groaned at the mere thought. God, what he’d like to do to her to make her tingle! She turned to him at the sound and her eyes widened. “Oh! I should have paid you back, shouldn’t I?”
“Noir!” the croupier called.
He shrugged. “Too late. All gone. And now how do you feel?”
She watched the croupier scoop her pile of counters away. “Determined to win it back.”
“I fear I’ve done you no favor, Bella. You have all the makings of an incorrigible gambler. Soon you will be impoverished, and ’twill be all my fault.”
“Truly?”
“Aye, but I could show you other ways to take a risk. Ways to find that same thrill and more.”
“You could?”
Ah! How telling. If she were truly a courtesan, she would not have missed that innuendo. Perhaps she was an adventuress, or an ingenue seeking a protector. And again his curiosity was piqued. Who was she, really? And what was her game? She intrigued him more than any woman he’d ever known. He took her hand and led her toward the dim end of the huge salon and one of the many curtained alcoves reserved for private play.
Whirling her into one of the empty niches, he snapped the draperies closed. Darkness surrounded them, intimate and dangerous. He found her narrow waist and pulled her against his chest. Instinct led him to her mouth, and the merest brush of his lips stifled her little gasp of surprise. Oh, but he would not claim his kiss so soon. He paused to nibble at her full lower lip and slide his hand down the length of her spine, pressing her closer. Her lips parted in anticipation, and he answered with a soft tantalizing touch, still not a proper kiss. Her arms circled his neck and she tried to deepen the contact. Yes, just a few more moments and she would be his for the taking.
He kissed the line of her jaw up to her earlobe and paused there, running his tongue along the curve of her ear until she shivered.
“What price, sweet Bella?” he whispered in that delicate opening, not wanting to cheat her of her due, nor willing to wait much longer. “Name your terms.”
She moaned and he was lost. Whatever she wanted, she’d have it. He was no schoolboy, but she made him feel like one, caught up in the wonder of a first kiss. All he could think of was the way she felt against him, the way she tasted, the sweetness of her response and the heart-wrenching sound of her yearning whimper.
He returned to her mouth and hovered there. She would have to come up on her toes to make the final contact. The choice would be hers. Ah, but he knew his women, and Bella lifted toward him. The last rational fragment of his brain worked feverishly. Could he take her here, on the banquette behind this velvet curtain? Should he whisk her home to his bed? Or was there somewhere she’d rather go? To her rooms, perhaps?
The curtain snapped back and the spell was broken.
Chapter Six
“Damn!” Bella heard someone say.
She blinked and came back to herself with a start. Andrew Hunter steadied her with an arm around her waist as she found his brothers, Lord Humphries, Mr. McPherson and a blondish man she did not know staring at them with rapt interest.
Mr. McPherson, who had uttered the curse, frowned, looking for all the world like a scorned lover. “I say! What the deuce do you think you’re doing, Hunter?”
Mr. Hunter sighed and released his hold on her. “I would think that is obvious, McPherson. A better question might be what the deuce you are doing here,” he challenged.
“Come now, good fellows. Shall we all be friends again?” Lord Humphries—Dash, she thought they called him—made a conciliatory gesture. “’Tisn’t as if she is anyone’s wife.”
Mr. Hunter glanced at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “Nor anyone’s mistress,” he allowed. “And therefore, open to…proposals of any sort.”
“Whatever he proposed, I will double it,” Mr. McPherson said. He fastened her with a look so possessive that she wondered if he was in his right mind.
And then she realized they were bidding on her like some sort of horse at auction. They thought she was for sale. Well, why not? Her behavior had favored such speculation. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Mr. McPherson, you do not have enough to buy me, nor do you, Mr. Hunter. I’d have told you so if any of you had asked. Kindly refrain from addressing me in the future.”
And with that, she lifted her chin and swept past the men with what she prayed was an air of aristocratic self-possession.
And found herself confronted with the stark reality of her position. Alone. In a gambling hall. With two men determined to have her. Mr. McPherson was brutish in pursuing his goal, but Mr. Hunter was even more dangerous in his own way. He had nearly seduced her with something less than a kiss.
But, worst of all, she still didn’t know the truth. Mr. Hunter’s near kiss had been utterly confusing. He had played with her, brushing his lips across hers, nibbling, kissing a path to her ear, where his breath had been hot and moist, then returned to her mouth, this time hovering, waiting, savoring his victory over her senses. At some point he had moistened his lips, but when? And then they’d been interrupted, and they hadn’t had time to deepen the kiss.
If Andrew Hunter had been Cora’s beau, wouldn’t she have mentioned more than that particular trait? His seduction was transcending enough to have enthralled Cora, but of all the things she might have been able to say about him, would she have thought about him moistening his lips or tasting bitter? What of his bottomless, enigmatic eyes? What of his self-mocking smile or his wit?
She shuddered and came back to herself. Such silly musing! The moment had meant nothing to Andrew Hunter and even less to her, and she had more important things to worry about. She would simply get a straightforward kiss from him next time they were together. She scanned the people in the crowd, standing at tables, sitting
in front of croupiers, talking in groups, and realized she could not bear the thought of kissing any of them tonight. Or ever. Her stomach twisted and she stumbled, nearly doubling over with the pain. Avenge me, Bella.
Mr. Hunter was at her elbow, steadying her and turning her toward the foyer. “Do you need assistance, madam?”
“No!” She jerked her elbow away from him. “I believe you’ve done enough, sir. Go back to your friends.”
He gave her that infuriating grin when he should have been mumbling an apology. “If I cannot escort you, allow me to have Biddle hail you a coach.”
With a snap of his fingers, her cloak appeared and he draped it around her shoulders. At his nod, Biddle hurried ahead of them and stepped into the street with a raised hand to summon a coach. And before she could protest, he was handing her up and asking her address. She opened her mouth to reply when she realized what he’d done.
“Tell the driver to turn right on Whitehall and I shall call to him where to stop.”
Again came that infuriating grin. “’Twas worth a try, Bella.”
She was saved the trouble of a reply when the coach lurched into motion.
Edwards cleared his throat for the third time, and Andrew realized the valet was not going away. He sat up and pushed his fingers through his snarled hair—testament to a restless night. “What is it, Edwards?”
“A note, sir. ’Tis urgent.”
He pushed the bed curtains back and winced at the midmorning sunlight, then swung his legs over the side of his bed and took the letter from Edwards. He recognized the handwriting and the seal. Bryon Daschel, Lord Humphries. What could have gotten him up so damn early? He broke the seal and read the short letter.
Whatever cobwebs remained from his sleep were wiped clean. He stood and went to the basin to splash water on his face. “Tell His Lordship I will be down when I’ve dressed, Edwards. Have Cook make coffee.”
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