My Wicked Marquess

by Gaelen Foley

  They left the bedchamber, squinting a little from the change from pitch-black into daylight, though even this was fading fast. They proceeded to walk down the corridor, and then down the carved staircase of the gaudiest house interior that Daphne had ever seen.

  Dante House seemed deliberately fashioned in bad taste, or perhaps by a drunken architect: florid, feverish, dizzying in its ornate rococo style, as though someone had set out to create a place that was intended to disorient the visitor.

  “What do you think?” Max asked, eyeing her askance.

  “It’s horrid,” she replied.

  “That is the idea. Here. You can wait in the parlor. Oh, hullo,” he said as he looked into the room.

  The parlor was already occupied.

  “Hullo, yourself!” A highly made-up woman jumped up from the chaise longue where she had been reclining and fanning herself in a pose of utter boredom. She was dressed in a gaudy style that perfectly matched the house. “Am I allowed out yet?”

  “Huh?”

  “Can I go?”

  Max snapped his fingers. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

  “It’s Ginger!”

  “Ah, of course. Ginger-cat! What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” he asked in an amiable tone.

  “Your mad Highlander is making me stay here!” she said with a huge roll of her kohl-lined eyes. “He will not let me leave. Says it’s for me own safety. He’s been holdin’ me here against my will for days, ever since I came and told him I’d seen Westie.”

  “Oh, it was you who saw Drake?”

  “Aye! He was in a carriage with two other blokes. He were not himself a’tall. Oh, I tried to get him to come with me, but he didn’t even remember who I was! So, anyway, that’s all I know. I told your Scotsman that, but he still won’t let me out of ’ere. A girl’s got to make a livin’!”

  “Well, my dear, if Virgil says you have to stay, you’d better make yourself comfortable.” He looked at Daphne in amusement. “Why don’t you two girls amuse yourselves with a nice little chat? I won’t be long.”

  “Max!”

  “I’ll be back, Daphne. Cool your heels.”

  “How do you like that?” Ginger declared, putting a sympathetic arm around her shoulders. “Aw, honey, are they keeping you locked up here, too?”

  “Um, no. Well, I hope not. I came in with my husband.”

  “Husband?” Ginger exclaimed. “Oh, very nice! Damn me, you landed Rotherstone? Well done, my girl.”

  At her colorful language, it dawned on Daphne that she was in the presence of a demirep.

  Oh, dear. She instantly thought of the Dowager Dragon. This was not at all approved company for a lady of the ton.

  On the other hand, leave it to Max to deposit her into the company of a brothel woman. Blast the man. He was testing her. Again.

  Ha, she thought. “I say—Ginger, is it?”

  “Yes, love. And you are?”

  “Daphne. You haven’t ever…entertained my old man, have you?” She raised a curious eyebrow at the woman.

  “Oh, no. Not with ’im, regrettably. But that Warrington—” She gave Daphne a broad wink. “I know why they call ’im the Beast. Lud, that lovely brute can leave a girl right sore with the way he goes at it.”

  Daphne’s eyes shot open wide; Ginger let out a peal of hearty laughter, as though she had shocked “the fine lady” on purpose.

  But as the harlot laughed aloud, Daphne slowly joined her, giving vent to her nervous tension after the day’s wild events. Their shared laughter filled the room. For when Daphne thought of how she had behaved last night with Max, it struck her with an oddly liberating glee that, for all her earlier disapproval of the breed, maybe she and this brazen scarlet woman had a thing or two in common, after all.

  Taut with apprehension over what his old mentor was going to say about his bringing Daphne into the Inferno Club, Max walked down the corridor looking for Virgil, but when he found him, he realized at once that the Scot already knew. He must have either seen her or heard them both come in.

  Max spotted the aging Highland warrior in the dining room. He was pouring himself a large draught of whisky. Warily, Max stepped into the dining room with its florid murals.

  Virgil did not look at him. He took another swallow of liquor and then he shook his head. “You’ve done a very foolish thing, Max. How could you bring her here?”

  Max went toward him cautiously. “You can trust her, Virgil. I wouldn’t have risked it if I had any doubts.”

  He snorted. “Trust a woman.”

  “She is my wife. She deserves to know what she’s in for. She can handle it.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a damned fool. You’ve put all our lives in jeopardy, and hers. You shouldn’t have dragged her into this.”

  “I had no choice,” he said wearily. “She found one of my key hiding places at home.”

  Virgil slammed down his cup. “I knew you would grow careless as a result of this—sentimentality!”

  “Sentimentality?” Max stared at him with anger flooding his veins. “I love her, man.”

  “If you really loved her, you would take her home and tell her to forget all that she’s seen!”

  “It is too late for that.”

  “You had no right to do this, Max.”

  “No, Virgil, you have no right to ask me to lie to the woman I love for the rest of my life! What more do you want from me? I gave you twenty years of my life. You can go to hell if you don’t like it. Damn you, and damn all of this. What I wouldn’t give to wash my hands of it!”

  “Oh, the sacrifice is too hard for you?” the old Highlander mocked him. “You boast of twenty years? Well, I’ve given nigh forty, you ungrateful whelp.” Virgil shook his shaggy head, and then paused for a long moment. “Her blood is on your hands now if they ever get to her—and if they break her, so is all of ours.”

  Max closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Ever.”

  “That’s what I said, too, a very long time ago, but somehow my lady is no longer with us.” Virgil fell silent abruptly and turned away.

  Max knew the story. He stared at his old mentor’s back. “Virgil, I know your brother Malcolm took your woman from you, but that—”

  “Silence!” he thundered, whipping around to glare at Max. “Do not speak of her to me!”

  Jordan walked in just as Max lowered his gaze, Virgil’s bellow still echoing on the air.

  Max braced himself before he glanced over to gauge his friend’s reaction to his having brought Daphne into their secret lair. “Good day, Lord Falconridge. The queue for those wanting to run me through starts over there.” He pointed at Virgil.

  Jordan gave him a wry look, but shook his head with a degree of worry in his eyes. “I trust your assessment of the matter, Max. If you say she can be trusted, that’s good enough for me.”

  Max nodded slowly, staring at him. “Thanks, Jord.”

  “How much have you told her?”

  “Nothing yet. There was a spy planted inside Westwood Manor when I got there. Daphne saw me catch the Promethean. She saw the Initiate’s brand when I confirmed his status. Other than that, nothing.”

  “Keep it to a minimum, eh? For all our sakes.”

  Max dropped his gaze. “I only want to tell her who I am.”

  Rohan suddenly appeared in the doorway, bracing his hands on the lintel. “Hate to break up the tea party, boys, but things just got a bit more interesting.”

  “What is it?” Max asked quickly.

  “A firestorm of gossip out there, that’s what. The news just broke all over London that your unassuming neighbor, the Duke of Holyfield, and his pregnant duchess are both dead. They died in France.”

  “What?” Max pressed away from the sideboard where he had been leaning.

  “It happened two days ago, in what they’re calling a boating accident,” Rohan supplied in response to their astonished looks. He pus
hed away from the doorway and walked into the room. “Seems the couple hired a small vessel to take them cruising on the Loire River to view all the chateaux. The boat sank. The couple drowned.”

  “In the Loire?” Max echoed. “That’s in Malcolm’s back garden, isn’t it?”

  Virgil bristled at the mention of his hated brother.

  “How do you drown in the bloody Loire?” Jordan asked. “It’s a gentle river.”

  “Maybe they had help.”

  Max shook his head, saddened and frankly stunned by the news. “Who would want to murder harmless Hayden Carew? Albert’s the one who stands to gain, but even I know he’s not that ambitious. As a younger son, he’s got a fine income, a trust fund, and no responsibilities.”

  “He also has no real power,” Rohan said.

  “Isn’t an accident ever just an accident?” Max asked wearily. “I mean, look at Hayden, a meek little fellow. I could easily believe he could drown in the Loire, especially if he was more concerned about trying to rescue his pregnant wife.”

  “What about the boat’s crew? Did they ‘drown,’ too?” Jordan asked.

  “Haven’t heard yet.” Rohan shook his head. “I just think it sounds incredibly suspicious.”

  “I agree. Maybe it’s got something to do with Dresden Bloodwell’s recent appearance in London.”

  “But why? What would killing the Duke of Holyfield and his wife accomplish, other than elevating Albert Carew to the dukedom?”

  Rohan shrugged impassively. “Maybe they’ve got plans for him. You have to admit, it is kind of funny, Max. Your old boyhood nemesis now outranks you.”

  “That’s just perfect,” he muttered. “Daphne will be sorry she did not marry him. Where was Albert when this boating accident took place across the Channel? Do we know?”

  “He was right here in London. According to the gossips, he wept copiously when he heard the news and had to be helped home.”

  “Oh, very touching,” Max muttered.

  “I say we watch him,” Jordan advised.

  “Definitely.”

  “Jordan, you’ll be in charge of watching Carew,” Virgil said. “I’ll deal with the captive Max brought in. Rohan, you stay on the Dresden Bloodwell matter.”

  “Actually, old boy, that could be a problem,” Warrington said. “Afraid I must take a small reprieve to put down some serious trouble brewing back at home in Cornwall. I am sorry. It cannot be helped.”

  “What’s going on?” Max asked.

  “You know those local smugglers that I allow to operate on my lands? They supply me with useful information from the ports and the criminal underworld. On occasion, they’ve run covert messages for me, in exchange for my turning a blind eye to their activities. Well, they know I have certain rules, limits to what I am willing to ignore. On the whole, they’ve kept things within reason, but now they’ve crossed the line. The Coast Guard office contacted me and said that in my absence, the smugglers have resorted to their old sport of causing shipwrecks and picking up whatever booty floats ashore.”

  “Oh, that is serious,” Jordan murmured. “What do they do, use lights to simulate a lighthouse, yes? And lure the ships onto the rocks?”

  “Exactly. I hear they’ve been having a grand old time while I’ve been gone. If I don’t get down there and restore order, several of my local men are going to be arrested and probably sent to the hangman—which they might bloody well deserve—but would put an end to a very useful source of information that ought not go to waste.”

  Virgil nodded. “Not to mention that any highly public arrests like that could also bring unwanted attention our way. Handle it as quietly as you can before the Coast Guard moves on them.”

  “I will. They’re not bad fellows, really. It’s just that with the war’s end, the black market these seaside bandits have thrived on has dried up. So now it looks like they’ve resorted to considerably more nefarious behavior.”

  “Need any help with it?” Max asked.

  “Hell, no.” Rohan grinned. “They’re more terrified of their local Beast than they are of the Coast Guard, I assure you.”

  “As well they should be, Beast,” Jordan replied with a sardonic look.

  “So, anyway, since I have to go and handle this, can you get someone else to keep hunting Dresden?” the duke asked Virgil.

  “I’ll do it,” Max said grimly.

  “You want to go after Dresden?” Virgil countered skeptically, but Jordan interrupted.

  “Listen, if you think about it, what’s the point of hunting Dresden Bloodwell in his lair? Let’s just wait for him to come out again in Society the way he did once before, and then take it from there.”

  “Wait for him to strike?”

  Jordan shrugged. “Under the circumstances, not knowing Drake’s status, I don’t see how it helps us to risk drawing attention to ourselves right now unnecessarily.”

  “He’s got a point,” Rohan agreed. “Our main advantage is that we know who he is and he does not know who we are.”

  “Very well,” Virgil said, nodding. “We’ll put every pair of eyes we have to watch for Bloodwell, and once he’s seen, we’ll make sure to track the bastard.”

  “Maybe we can work out some kind of a trap,” Max said.

  “Maybe so, but we’re going to need more of our men to work on this with us,” Jordan said.

  Virgil nodded. “Beauchamp’s team should be returning soon.”

  “Were they able to find out anything about this Rupert Tavistock?” Max asked.

  “Yes, in fact, they did. Some of my agents still do as I ask them,” the Highlander said sharply.

  “Virgil.”

  “Tavistock is dead,” the Seeker grumbled.

  “And all the money he transferred into the Promethean accounts?”

  “Gone. Malcolm’s hidden it.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” Max murmured. Then he told his friends what had happened at Westwood Manor, and learned in exchange what the demirep, Ginger, had said about her encounter with Drake.

  Max listened keenly as they told him how Ginger had seen Drake in a carriage with two other men outside the Royal Opera House. The older of the two men had told Ginger that Drake had suffered a head wound and, to her, Drake had seemed out of sorts, not at all himself.

  He had not recognized her, though, for that matter, even Max had forgotten her name a short while ago.

  But the two men she had seen him with fit the description of James Falkirk, an elite member of the Council, and his longtime assistant, the one-eyed operative known as Talon.

  Max took all this in with a frown. “If James Falkirk has Drake, then why are we still alive? If Drake intended to reveal our identities, the Prometheans would’ve attacked us by now, especially with the Council’s favorite assassin Bloodwell in Town to organize the job. Falkirk need only extract our names from Drake and then hand over that information to Dresden.”

  “God, I can’t imagine what he’s been through,” Jordan murmured, staring at the floor.

  “Maybe it’s like the harlot said. Maybe he really can’t remember us. Had Drake’s mother heard from him?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t remember her, either.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t even remember himself,” Virgil said quietly while they were still pondering it.

  “Well, the Prometheans certainly know who Drake is, otherwise, they wouldn’t have known to plant a spy in his family’s home.”

  “We need to send some proper guards to Westwood Manor,” Max added, concerned about the old Lady Westwood’s safety. “One advantage we can claim is that the Prometheans don’t know I got their man. Maybe the so-called footman I dragged in today will be able to confirm if it’s Falkirk who has Drake, and where they’re holding him.”

  Jordan shook his head with an agonized look over their brother’s well-being. “God, we have to help him.”

  “Before they break him,” Rohan murmured.

  “What if the
y already have? If he turns against us, we are in serious trouble.”

  “He won’t,” Max and Virgil declared simultaneously.

  Then they all fell silent.

  “And so it all begins again,” Rohan murmured at length.

  “God, I hope not,” Jordan whispered. “For if they really do have Drake, all of our lives are in his hands. Including Daphne’s,” he added, glancing at Max.

  “I should get back to her.” He paused, warding off an icy chill to know that she now shared the danger. “You know, I just want to say that I did not want to bring her here. I tried to keep her out of it, for all our sakes, and hers, but when you’re married…There were just too many lies.”

  “I think we all understand, Max.” Rohan gave him a subdued nod, which Max returned with a look of gratitude.

  “Very well, then, here’s the plan,” Virgil said gruffly. “Max, you watch Albert Carew. That makes more sense, since you’ve known the family longest. I’ll deal with the spy from Westwood Manor and press on with finding Drake. Jordan, you stay on the watch for Dresden Bloodwell in Society as you suggested, and Warrington, you deal with your smugglers, and get back to Town as soon as you can.”

  “Done,” Max said.

  The others nodded, as well.

  Max let out a low sigh of relief to have it all sorted out, and went to collect Daphne from the parlor where he had left her. With all other business attended to, the hour of his reckoning had come.

  He was going to take her down to the Pit. Into the heart of their darkness.

  Chapter 20

  Daphne was waiting patiently in the parlor when Max returned. He beckoned to her to come with him; she got up and followed, noting that his expression was still grim and a touch apprehensive.

  Without a word, he led her into a torrid red drawing room, and walked over to the harpsichord. He played a few specific notes on the instrument, and to her amazement, a full-length bookcase against the wall rotated open, revealing another dark, secret passageway.

  “Come on.”

  She followed him into the lightless maze once more, and they made their way back to the same ladder by which they had ascended.

  Max went first this time to help her if her footing slipped. After climbing back down the ladder, she found herself once more in the mysterious stone chamber underneath Dante House.