by Lauren Smith
“I am grateful,” she said. “Truly. Charles was to provide a distraction to allow us to escape should things get out of hand, and I foolishly believed he wasn’t needed. Gillian and I would’ve been in trouble if you and James hadn’t been there. Do you think they are all right?”
“I am sure they are fine. James is a better man than I am. He’ll see to it Gillian gets home.”
Audrey’s lips trembled. “If anything happens to her…”
“Nothing will.”
“Still, she is my dearest friend.”
Lord, this woman was killing him. She could be so bloody single-minded one minute and utterly torn apart at the thought of a friend in danger the next. If there was one thing he’d learned about Audrey Sheridan since he’d first met her, she did not live by half measures. She loved and hated to the fullest capacity possible. He envied the freedom she felt to speak openly and act boldly. Growing up in the shadows, living in the servants’ quarters for most of his life meant that he had never had that chance. A servant’s life was quiet, scarcely seen or heard, a creature who served at the pleasures and whims of others. A servant was never master of his own destiny.
Just because Godric had recognized him as his half brother hadn’t changed everything. He still doubted himself at the wrong times, still forgot that his station had changed. Even his servants were confused by his tendency to do things on his own, like light a fire.
How can I ever be the man Audrey deserves? The question had plagued him from the moment he had seen her interest in him. Before he had driven that interest away.
“I wish I could heal your wounds,” Audrey murmured, frowning as she glanced down to his bare upper body.
“Only time can do that,” he said, perhaps a little more brusquely than he intended. She stepped back, her retreat adding pain to his already battered body, but it was for the best. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t kiss her. Not yet. Being that close was a temptation.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Enter,” Jonathan called out.
A footman carried in a tray with dishes. “The cook had French roast beef, lamb sweetbread, and currant tarts prepared, just in case you returned for dinner.” He set the tray on the table by the dresser and then disappeared into the hall before returning with two glasses and a bottle of wine.
“Will you be needing anything else, my lord?” the young man asked.
“No, thank you, Davis. And could you tell the maids not to prepare the guest room after all.”
He heard Audrey’s sharp gasp, but he didn’t look away until the footman had left them alone again.
“I’m not staying in bed with you tonight.”
“This is about trust, remember? If not tonight, then when? Now hush and let’s eat. I’m starving. I couldn’t touch what Langley served, and I suspect you didn’t either if you were smart.”
“They offered me tea when I arrived, but I didn’t think it wise to drink it. Gilly did, though. Apparently she was none the worse for it. Seems drugging wasn’t on the menu for those brutes at least.”
Jonathan grunted. He still wasn’t sure he believed that. Those men would have certainly been the type to drug women, but maybe they had wanted Audrey and Gillian fully aware of the horrors they intended to visit upon them. He pushed such dark thoughts away and stood, seeking the food and drink Davis had brought up.
He poured the wine and offered Audrey a glass. She took it, and he nearly laughed as she took a long gulp. Then he prepared the plates from the tray and gave her one. She took in the scent, smiling widely.
“Oh Lord, I’m hungry. This smells divine!”
“I imagine it is. I kept Lord Chessley’s old cook, Mrs. Filbee. She’s a wonder in the kitchens.” He took a bite of his currant tart, the sweet taste exploding on his tongue, and took a seat in a chair by the fire. Audrey took the other empty chair, dragging it a little closer to the flames before she ate. She used her fork and knife to eat quickly, but she still managed it with elegance. It was clear she was starving. She used the last bit of her lamb sweetbread to wipe up the juices from the roast beef. Once finished, she put a hand over her stomach.
“Let me guess, your corset?” he asked.
She arched her brow. “A gentleman isn’t supposed to discuss such things.”
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.” He waited, expecting her to fight him, but only found silence. He smiled and set his plate on the floor out of the way. “Do you want me to help you get more comfortable?”
“You won’t…take advantage?”
“Trust, remember? Besides, if anyone has been taken advantage of, I believe it’s been me.”
“You? I never—”
“Last Christmas, you dragged me to your bed and kissed me. It was not the other way around. Now, let me help you.” That was when he’d first known he was in trouble. She’d tempted him that night like no other, and he’d had to flee her bedchamber before he claimed her—or she claimed him.
He took her plate and set it aside, then clasped her hands, gently lifting her onto her feet.
“Really, Jonathan.” But she didn’t protest when he guided her to turn away from him.
Holding his breath, he began to unbutton her gown. The red silk was lovely. It was such a pity that her gown had been ruined during the fight. The gown loosened, and she caught it around her breasts. He studied the black satin bow above the tempting curve of her bottom. He pulled on the loops, unfastening them. The dress was completely open. She slowly let go of the fabric, and it pooled at her feet.
He untied the laces of her corset and began to thread his fingers through them, taking his time. He allowed his fingers to brush her skin, teasing her with his touch, making her shiver. His blood hummed with hunger, but he clung to his control. Trust, he reminded himself. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, their eyes locked and she batted her lashes, her head slightly tilted. She knew how to appeal to a man, to invite carnal desires with a single look. He cleared his throat and finished loosening the laces until she could shimmy out of the corset.
“Thank you,” she said before retreating to the cover of his changing screen. Her petticoats, stockings, and boots were next to come off, but she removed these out of sight in the corner of his bedroom.
Jonathan sat in his bed, listening to the rustle of cloth against skin, imagining her removing every piece and cursing that it was not him doing the undressing. He had the most wicked thoughts of unrolling her stockings and nibbling and kissing her thighs. His body went taut with renewed arousal. He tried to calm himself, but it was an impossible task.
“Will you douse all but one of the candles, please? I don’t want you to see me before I get into the bed.” Audrey’s voice was a little strained.
“Of course.” There was no need to fight her on that. There was no rush. In this capacity alone, it seemed, she was shy. He would teach her to be less modest as they spent more time together. They would be getting close as soon as he began her training, but not tonight.
He leaned over and blew out the candles on the nightstand. Only the firelight illuminated the room, but the two armchairs blocked most of the light reaching the bed.
“You can come out now.”
Audrey’s face peeked out from behind the changing screen. She glanced around and then tiptoed toward him. He turned his face away, letting her have some semblance of privacy. The bed dipped a little, and he felt the cover shift as she sighed.
“You may look now.”
He turned toward her, taking in the sweet sight of Audrey in his bed, her large brown eyes open and her hair loose in curled waves. She must have removed the pins herself.
“See? This isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “Do you snore?”
“Snore? No,” he promised.
“Good. If you do, I will smother you with a pillow. Consider yourself warned.” She fluffed the pillows behind her in the most adorably menacing fashion.
Jo
nathan tried to hold in a laugh. “Lord, I actually believe you.” He settled down into the bed beside her, grinning. He had finally gotten Audrey into his bed, though not in the way he had hoped. But it was a start. He lay awake for a long while, listening to the symphony of her soft breathing as it deepened into slumber. Then he shifted to lie on his side and gazed upon her face in the dim light from the flames in the fireplace.
“If you will have me,” he whispered, carving the vow upon his heart, “I will prove myself to you. I swear it.”
4
Gerald Langley rose from the floor of the hallway of his club, his head aching. He coughed and brushed plaster dust off his body. The world around him was in a state of destruction. The dining room was littered with spilled trays of food, chairs were overturned, and the acrid smell of gunpowder still lingered in the air. The house was silent; not a single member of his club was still around. The cowards. He rose to his feet, stumbling a little as he called out for his butler. There was no answer. Even the servants had fled? He would fire each and every last one of them for their disloyalty.
“Clayton,” he bellowed. “Where the bloody hell are you?”
He stumbled down the hall into his private study. This house was the headquarters to his club, the Unholy Sinners of Hell, but he often stayed here when he didn’t wish to go to his townhouse in Mayfair. Lately he had spent more and more of his time here thanks to that bitch Lady Society. He’d been so close to ending that problem once and for all. But that damned Lord Pembroke and that other fellow, whoever he was… How had they even gotten in? He’d never had an issue with security before tonight.
He threw himself into the desk chair and reached for the bottle of brandy on his desk.
A voice came from the doorway. “Have a little trouble this evening?” Langley jerked up his head up to stare at the tall man in dark clothes. Gerald knew the man, but he wasn’t a member of his club.
“Trouble? Of course I had trouble. You said if I spoke to certain ladies, ones who frequented the club, that Lady Society would overhear my plans at that ball and try to switch places with one of them.”
“We know how she thinks, where she frequents,” the man said, “and what drives her. It seemed a certainty that she would take the bait.”
“Well she did, and she brought a second girl with her, but it didn’t go right at all. I was supposed to have her right where I wanted her.”
The man stepped forward. “And didn’t you? She was here with your group, yet the house is empty and you’re ready to drink yourself into defeat.”
“Sheffield, you said that it would be easy to deal with her. Yet she brought an army with her to rescue her.”
The man, Daniel Sheffield, glanced back into the hall. “An army? You exaggerate. Your men did more harm to each other in the confusion, I expect.”
“And so what if they did? I was almost killed.”
“How many were there, in truth?” Sheffield asked.
“I counted two, the Earl of Pembroke and some other man, but there could have been more. They ruined everything, shot up the place, shot me up!” He raised a slightly bloody arm. It was a graze in truth, but it stung almost as much as his wounded pride. “And Lady Society got away.”
Sheffield straightened his coat and walked closer to Langley.
“It is a pity the plan did not work out, but you were a fool to assume she would come unaided.”
“Yes, well, now what am I to do? I am not even sure of her identity. She was just a little chit wearing a mask. She looked like half the young debs who came out in London this year. The friend she brought with her was just as forgettable. How can I find her now? She’s like a bloody ghost, and yet everyone in the ton listens to her. She’s ruined me, do you understand? Banks have refused me credit, my sister and her husband aren’t invited anywhere anymore, and I can’t even walk around Mayfair without people avoiding me in the streets.”
Sheffield gave a cold smile, as if he somehow respected what the bitch had done. “Amazing, isn’t it? The power one woman can wield?”
“What must I do to avenge myself upon her?” Langley lifted the brandy bottle to his lips and drank deep.
“Nothing. The game is played out. I did my best to help you, but now we must end this in another manner.”
“I agree, let’s end this. I want her dead.” Langley took another swig from his bottle.
“I’m sure that will come to pass. Unfortunately, you will not be here to see it.”
Langley stared at Sheffield. The man held a pistol, aimed at his chest. Blood began to pound in his ears.
“Sheffield, now hold on a moment…”
“Take out a pen and paper and write exactly what I tell you.”
“I will not!” Langley snapped.
Sheffield took a slow, measured step forward. “Do it now or you won’t have a chance to set your affairs in order.”
Langley swallowed thickly. Sheffield was serious.
“So…this is it?”
“I’m afraid so. Do you need a minute?”
Langley swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat as he opened the drawer and removed a piece of paper and prepared a quill. “No. Let’s get on with it.”
Sheffield nodded. “Write this. ‘To my family, I have disappointed you with my shame and my disgrace. I cannot bear the weight of it anymore.’ After that, you may say what you must to see that your relations are looked after.”
Langley wrote the words, fear and horror almost paralyzing him. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak. When he finished, Sheffield looked over his words carefully.
“Very good.” Sheffield handed the pistol over to Langley. A second one was already in his other hand.
“I will give you two minutes.” Sheffield exited the study but stopped a moment at the door. “Understand, if you try to run, it will be much worse for you. And your sister.”
Langley stared at the pistol in his hand, then the clock in his study. The steady tick counting down each remaining moment he had left.
Two minutes.
It was a fitting end, he acknowledged. He had started a hellfire club, and now, once he took his life, he would be in hell for the sins that he’d committed.
He opened his mouth and put the barrel inside.
Daniel Sheffield waited until the pistol went off, then opened the door to ensure the deed had been done. He put the second pistol back in his coat. He left the wreckage of the ridiculous house of the Unholy Sinners of Hell behind and stepped into a waiting coach outside.
“It’s done,” Daniel said.
“Good.” Hugo Waverly, Daniel’s employer, nodded. His eyes were impossibly dark, the sort of black that always left Daniel a little on edge.
He’d served Waverly for years, the two of them doing what had to be done to preserve and protect England’s interests. In those years, he’d grown as close to the man as anyone could, and he’d gained a measure of his trust. As a result, Waverly had requested his aid in side missions that often weren’t directly tied to king and country.
This was one of those nights where Daniel faced the darkness of Waverly’s heart and the demons that secretly drove him. But Waverly had saved him from a life of squalor as a boy and taught him to be a gentleman. He’d given Daniel an opportunity for adventure and advancement in society. For that, Daniel would brave the deadliest missions if Hugo gave the order.
“Back to our original plan, then?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, I think so. Why don’t we meet with Avery Russell this week and have him make contact with Miss Sheridan?” Daniel knew better than to assume that questions like this weren’t in fact orders.
“I’ll see to it,” Daniel replied.
“Good. I think if you provide Miss Sheridan with an opportunity to serve her country, she’ll be most anxious to join you and Russell in France. The mission has always required a diversion, something to rattle the cages of the English rebels in Calais as well as the feathers of those at the royal court.” S
heffield was well aware of the plan. Fingers from various factions would point at one another, each trying to accuse the other of complicity or conspiracy. It was under this disruptive cloud of suspicion that the reformists were expected to make their move—and their fatal mistake.
“Miss Sheridan’s capture will put the country into an uproar, and it will give you time to see to the mission. I want those names of the reformists at any costs. I’m certain they’re finding support from our shores.”
“You believe that allowing the Sheridan chit to die will work?” Sheffield asked.
“It will. We have our true mission to see to first. But hurting my enemies here at home in the process will be a delightful bonus.”
“And what of Avery Russell? I thought he showed promise?”
“It is a pity,” Hugo admitted. “He is a skilled asset. But he is Lucien’s brother, and it would only be a matter of time before he learned too much. Removing him was always inevitable.”
Daniel, if he’d been younger, would have shuddered at the cold look in Hugo’s eyes. “It’s not that I don’t admire the plan, but why not go at the League directly this time?” Daniel held his breath, afraid Waverly would be furious, but it had to be asked. If the League of Rogues were the threat Waverly believed them to be, he would not have waited as long to strike. He would have done it years ago.
“Their weaknesses grow each day. The more they marry and beget brats, the more they have to lose. It is not enough to simply remove them. I want to hurt them, piece by piece, until they all kneel at my feet, broken and battered. Only then will I take revenge. For Peter, and for myself.” The last had been whispered so quietly that Daniel might have imagined it.
When the carriage stopped outside Daniel’s residence, he nodded at his superior before stepping out into the street. He waited for the coach to turn the corner before he walked up the steps and entered his apartment.
His butler was waiting. “Sir, you have a visitor. She’s in the drawing room.”