His Wicked Secret

by Lauren Smith

  He held up the dice as though displaying a prized jewel, chuckling darkly as he looked over every face in the room. He waved the dice in the air, acting like a street performer, grinning at a few men closest to him.

  Audrey shouted a stream of curses at Langley despite the gag. If any of the men could have heard her words, they would’ve been blushing to the roots of their hair. Her muffled expletives only heightened their laughter, and the dice were passed around until they reached the last gentleman next to Langley. She continued to glare as he accepted the dice and stared at them, his hesitance drawing Audrey’s sharp focus. Why was the man hesitating?

  Then he cast the dice. They rattled down the length of the dining room table and came to a stop.

  “Twelve!” the man beside him shouted. “By God, you’re lucky bastard!” He slapped the victor on the arm. Audrey stared hard the man, trying to assess him. He didn’t seem as sinister or dreadful as the rest, but given the circumstances, there was no reason to feel any comfort in that at all.

  Gillian glanced her way, terror sparking like lightning in her eyes.

  I’m so sorry, Gilly. I’ll find a way to save you. I swear it.

  “It seems we have our winner,” Langley announced and turned to the man beside 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.”

  The winner came forward, and the man next to Gillian loosened her wrists from the rope and jerked her to her feet. He slapped her bottom hard, and Gillian let out a cry of pain. Audrey saw red, but there was no way she could break free to help her friend. The victor gripped Gillian’s arm and pulled her out of reach of the man who had slapped her backside.

  “This way, my dear,” the victor said.

  Audrey worked frantically at the handkerchief wedged in her mouth. She finally spat it out it as Gillian and the man walked past her.

  “You touch her and I will kill you!” she vowed. The man’s lips opened as though to speak, but another man beat him to it.

  “Hold your tongue, or I will put that mouth of yours to better use,” another man fired back at her.

  Audrey stilled. She knew that voice, knew it intimately. She knew what it sounded like as it curled her toes and murmured in her ear and knew it as it was now, threatening and cold. She even knew that voice when it turned strained and paternal, as it reminded her how young, naïve, and careless she was. That voice could raise her hackles like no other, yet she trusted the keeper of that voice with her life.

  She turned her head and met Jonathan St. Laurent’s gaze.

  The man she adored, the man she despised, the man who had broken her heart. She could see his lovely green eyes watching her. He gave her the barest shake of his head before she could speak. All thoughts of Gillian shifted to the background. If Jonathan was here, he wouldn’t allow Gillian to walk off into danger, which must mean the other man could be trusted. She hoped.

  I will put my faith in you, just this once.

  She only hoped Jonathan could read that in her expression.

  “Well, one lovely dove dealt with. Now to the next!” Langley retrieved the dice and stood, tossing them into the air.

  Jonathan rose and reached out over the table close to Langley and caught the dice a second before they would have landed and closed his fingers around them.

  “Actually, that won’t be necessary. The lady is coming with me.”

  Langley sputtered. “What the devil do you mean?”

  Jonathan pulled a pistol out of his coat and aimed it at Langley.

  Audrey sucked in a breath. Blood began to roar in her ears so loud she could barely hear the men who started shouting around her in panic. A pistol? What the devil was he thinking?

  “I mean your fun is over and we are done with this. This woman is going to be released at once, and she will leave with me.” Jonathan’s voice was full of command. The hand gripping the pistol was steady. Audrey stared at him in awe.

  No one dared to speak or even breathe, except for one man who hiccupped and spilled his drink before muttering a curse. Only the black cat on the table moved, its tail twitching back and forth as it watched events unfold.

  “Release her. Now.” Jonathan raised the pistol a little higher, aiming for Langley’s heart.

  Langley gave a jerk of his head, and the man beside Audrey released her from her bindings. She heard him mutter, “Little bitch,” before she shoved her chair back right into the man’s foot, winning a curse from him. She rubbed her freed wrists.

  “Lady Society, if you would come this way.”

  Relief flooded her as she moved around the table toward Jonathan. They were going to escape. Even though she was still furious and hurt at the man, she could have kissed him, though that would only lead to more trouble.

  As she brushed past Langley, he grabbed her wrist, trying to jerk her in front of him. Jonathan fired the pistol. She and Langley both jerked to a stop. Langley cursed. The bullet had grazed his shoulder. If he hadn’t moved, it would have struck him in the chest. It might have hit her! What was Jonathan thinking?

  Langley shoved her into the table in front of her, and she grunted in pain.

  “He’s unarmed now! Get him!”

  The mob around them had not been prepared for this, however, and most wanted no part of it. Everyone began to move all at once, screaming, shouting, feet and hands fighting as the guests rushed from the room or tried to push forward toward Jonathan. Someone ran into her from behind, knocking the breath from her. She saw Jonathan throw his pistol to the floor and lunge for her, but there were too many drunken men stumbling around, the ones trying to stop him colliding with the ones trying to get away. Langley was almost to the door now. He was getting away.

  “Oh no you don’t!” She lunged for him but tripped on her gown, ripping it. Langley vanished through the entryway.

  Coward. She was tempted to go after him, but a number of the men in the room were far too drunk to be smart cowards like Langley. One of them reached for her, but she ducked. Her gown tore at the hem as her boots caught on it, and she fell. The man attempting to grab her collided with her, tripped over her, and smacked into the rug beneath them with a pained grunt.

  “Stay under the table!” Jonathan hissed. “Otherwise you’ll keep tripping on that dress and fall right out of it!”

  She was tempted to ignore him, but he was right. The last thing she wanted to do was run about naked during a brawl in a hellfire club. She moved deeper under the table, watching the men fight. She recognized Jonathan’s lean legs as he danced on his feet, using the general confusion of the room to his advantage. He moved with a grace that she had seen her brother use often enough sparring in his leisure room in Brighton, yet somehow Jonathan made it even more beautiful.

  “Come on, you bloody bastards!” Jonathan roared.

  Audrey gasped as a man grappled with him and shoved him hard against the table. Several dishes and a candelabra dropped to the floor. Audrey gripped the base of the heavy item and crawled forward, watching the battle of the booted feet in front of her, holding her breath. She smacked the shin of the nearest leg that didn’t belong to Jonathan, and she crowed in triumph as her victim hopped in agony.

  “Take that!” She struck again. “And that!” She felt a flood of wicked glee at striking these awful men. They had ruined so many lives to satisfy their depraved lusts and vices.

  “Mreow.” An angry sound drew her focus away from the fight. She saw the black cat a few feet away, also hiding under the table, its ears flat against its head. Yet it did not flee as she approached.

  Crack! Another pistol fired, and Audrey screamed for Jonathan, afraid he’d been shot. Terror seized her. She grabbed the cat as it tried to bolt away and tucked it under one arm. She crawled out from under the table, hoping to find Jonathan had cleared a path to escape.

  The tide had turned against her rescuer, however. He was being held down by two men who now took turns punching his stoma
ch. She ran to the fire, grabbed a poker, and rushed at the nearest man, smacking him in the back. The man let go of Jonathan and howled like a wild animal as he turned on her. Audrey scrambled back, clutching both the cat and the poker, waving it like a fencing foil.

  But her attack had allowed Jonathan to gain the upper hand once again, throwing punches like a professional pugilist, and before the man approaching her got a step farther, Jonathan had grabbed him and tossed him into one of his companions. For a brief second, her heart soared before the odds turned against Jonathan once again. There were simply too many of them.

  Her mouth dropped open as the last person in the world she expected to see burst in through the doorway—James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke, flushed and covered with dust.

  “What—?” she began, then cheered as James grabbed a man and tossed him over the table while fighting to reach Jonathan. Audrey maneuvered deeper into the dining room, toward Jonathan and James.

  “Lord Pembroke! Heavens!” Audrey cried out. “I’m so glad to see you! Where’s Gillian?”

  “She’s there.” He waved behind him. “I’ll take her to safety. St. Laurent, we can rendezvous tomorrow, once it’s safe.”

  “Right.” Jonathan swung a hard punch at the man he’d been sparring with, who promptly fell flat on his backside. Audrey whacked a drunken man with a well-aimed blow to the nether regions as she hurried to Jonathan. The man fell to his knees, issuing a high-pitched squeal. No one immediately around them seemed willing to continue the fight, but there was always the chance that those who’d run off were finding their nerve and planning to come back. Jonathan moved to the window facing the street and shoved the sill up, clearing a path for them to escape.

  “Out you go,” he barked.

  She hastened to obey and slipped over the edge, dropping to the ground. The cat escaped her fumbling, shaking hands and landed beside her, his back arched with black fur standing on end.

  “Careful!” Audrey grabbed him just in time to avoid being crushed when Jonathan landed beside her.

  “Are you all right?” Jonathan asked as he leaned over her in the dim moonlight.

  “I think so.” But she wasn’t. A storm of fear and panic was growing inside her, and she knew if she didn’t get somewhere quiet and safe, she would soon break down.

  Her anxieties seemed to show clearly enough for him to read. “Oh dear,” Jonathan whispered, and then he curled an arm around her waist before whisking her down the street. “Come on, we must keep moving. I promise to take you somewhere safe.”

  Her booted feet ached as they seemed to run forever. The cat felt remarkably heavy in her arms, but she couldn’t seem to let go of him. Perhaps more remarkably, the cat didn’t fight her.

  They turned the nearest corner, exiting the Temple Bar district, and a hackney stood waiting for them. Jonathan paid the driver and helped her inside. She set the cat down on the seat beside her. It flattened its ears again but made no move to strike, nor did it hiss.

  Jonathan’s breath escaped in loud pants as he leaned back in the seat across from her. His lip was split, and several red welts shadowed his jaw and cheeks. Sweat gleamed upon his skin, and he looked utterly masculine and wonderful. She wanted to crawl onto his lap to kiss him and burrow into him. Her heart was still pounding, and she wanted to be nowhere else but in his arms. But that couldn’t happen.

  He gingerly touched his ribs, moaning before he finally looked at her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was going to lecture her, and heaven knew she deserved it for once. But his gaze changed, deepened, and her breaths came faster and hope fluttered in her chest.

  “Did you hit a man with the candelabra?”

  Audrey blinked. “Yes, yes I did. And then I got the poker. I felt it had a better striking range and balance for a weapon.”

  He grinned. “Lord, I think I adore you.” Even with a bleeding and bruised face, he looked absolutely wonderful. She almost replied that she adored him as well, but she stopped short. She couldn’t tell him how she felt; he would only find a way to deny her again, and she was done with such heartbreak.

  “What were you doing at the club?” she asked. “You certainly aren’t a member.”

  His low chuckle surprised her. “Are you so sure?”

  Damnation, he had the most wicked smile. It made her forget she was a gentle-born lady and ought to behave as such. Of course, earlier that day, they’d been tangled up in bed in a brothel, and he had shown her the startling and frightening power of her own body’s pleasurable reactions with nothing but his hands. He’d wanted to punish her with pleasure, and as a result she’d experienced the most exquisite ecstasy. He was no better than his older brother.

  “You are a rogue, and certainly wicked, but you are not cruel. At least not like those other men.” Her gaze dropped, and she played with the ripped black sash that wound around the waist of her gown.

  She had designed the satin gown with care. It had black tulle with Belgian lace on the sleeves. The satin sash had been tied into a bow in the back, which accented her curves far better than the way most dresses were designed. Far too many such dresses hung below one’s breasts like an ill-fitting bag. She’d never approved of that silly fashion trend.

  “Are you saying that I’m cruel in some part, then?” he asked quietly. The amusement in his eyes was gone, and his gaze was as cutting as the emerald stones they resembled.

  “I…” There was a cruelty in him, it was true. The way he avoided her at every social gathering, the way he ignored every overture she made. She’d wanted to marry him, desperately. But the man had responded with such coldness that it made her question her own worth. She cringed when she remembered all those times she’d thrown herself at him. Even their first kiss last Christmas had sent him running. If a man didn’t want her, all he had to do was inform her politely that her affections were not returned. That was how things were done. But that wasn’t what he’d done. No, he stayed as cold as ice on the Thames during the winter.

  “I didn’t ever mean to be cruel,” he whispered, touching his lip again.

  Did he mean that? She was so afraid to trust what he said. She wasn’t the girl he’d met last fall. She had changed.

  I won’t let him hurt me again by shutting me out.

  The silence between them filled the hackney, thick and smothering. Even the black cat seemed to sense the tension between them and curled himself into a ball, eyes wide and ears still flattened. Audrey longed to reach out and pet the cat. He would distract her from her tumbling thoughts about Jonathan. She had recently lost one of the two cats that she’d had since she was a child. Poor Muff. This new cat did not look or act like Muff, but she loved all animals. If this cat would let her, she would care for it.

  “Audrey, please say something.” Jonathan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

  “Where are we going?” She hadn’t been listening when he’d spoken to the driver earlier.

  “My residence. You need to be seen by a doctor—”

  “Doctor? Heavens, I’m fine. I’m not bleeding, nor have I suffered any injuries. If anyone needs tending to it’s you.” She touched the frayed sash at her waist. “My only injury tonight is my lovely gown.” That was certainly something that was most upsetting.

  “You and your bloody dresses,” Jonathan snapped irritably.

  Audrey’s anger rose up in an instant. A lady’s wardrobe was one of the few ways she could establish herself in the world. “My bloody dresses are wonderful. You have no right to—”

  Jonathan lunged across the coach to clasp a hand over her mouth. Their faces were now close together, their mouths inches apart. “If I have to hear any more about dresses I’ll…” He didn’t finish the thought. If he had, she would have shoved her booted foot between his thighs. She narrowed her eyes, tempted to bite his hand.

  “You’ll what?” she shot back through his fingers.

  His eyes focused on hers, and he scowled as he removed his hand. “
What am I going to do with you?” He leaned in that last inch between them, kissing her before she could say anything else. The bruising force of his lips caught her by surprise, and her lips parted. His tongue slipped between them, and she jolted. It was as though lightning had shot from her mouth down to her core, making it pulse to life. She gripped the fabric of his waistcoat, intending to shove him away.

  It doesn’t matter how well he kisses, only that he’s a terrible rogue. He doesn’t care about me, and I will not be his plaything.

  But would it be so bad to enjoy the moment? She liked that hint of anger she tasted in his kiss because she felt it too, that rage inside her because he didn’t belong to her. There was nothing so cruel in the world as being deprived of something a person longed for. For her that one thing had been him. It still was…him.

  He shifted on the seat, and the cat hissed and moved away from them, giving Jonathan room to lift her onto his lap. He wound an arm around her waist, holding her closer, and his hand tangled in her hair, tugging on the strands. She felt like she was owned by him, but not just owned—the one thing he couldn’t breathe without. Yet whenever he let her go, as she knew he soon would, that icy barrier would return. She couldn’t bear it. A lingering taste of blood on his lips broke through her pleasure and reminded her that this wasn’t a fantasy.

  “Stop!” She pushed him away and slid off his lap. Almost instantly, she missed the heat of his body and the tender ravishing of her lips. They felt swollen and wonderfully soft. She hadn’t even noticed his split lip. Jonathan watched her through sphinxlike eyes.

  “Take me home,” she said.

  He crossed his arms. “No.”

  She stared at him, stunned. “What?”

  “No. You are coming home with me.”

  “Are you ready to face the wrath of my brother in the morning when he sees you return me like this?” She waved at her ripped gown and mussed appearance.