by Connie Mason
“You two know each other?” Dashwood asked, suddenly wary.
Moira opened her mouth to spit out a reply but Jack’s warning glance rendered her mute. “We met briefly at Vauxhall,” Jack said smoothly. “She’s quite a tease. Had all the young bucks fawning over her.”
Jack nearly gagged on the words. Moira’s eyes were desperate and wounded, so full of despair that he would rather cut out his tongue than hurt her like this.
Dashwood allowed himself to relax. “Ah, yes. Mayhew mentioned some such nonsense.”
A startled catch of breath froze in Moira’s throat as she stared at Jack. What was he trying to do? Why was he pretending he didn’t know her? He was watching her so intently she knew he was trying to convey some message, but she had no idea what. Finding him here with Sir Dashwood confirmed her belief that he was a member of the Hellfire Club. He had misled and seduced her, lied and used her. And she had fallen in love with the worst womanizer of all time. Lord help her.
“Take her upstairs, Plunket,” Dashwood ordered. “And see what the wench has done to Matilda. I want her well guarded until tomorrow night. After the ceremony, Lord Mayhew can do with her as he pleases.”
Moira shot Jack a pleading glance but couldn’t interpret his answering look. It seemed as if he was trying to reassure her, but that seemed unlikely. He had almost convinced her that he cared for her, that he wanted to help her with her problems. Lies, all lies. How she wished she could hate him as he deserved. Then all thought came to a halt as Plunket grasped her wrist and dragged her away.
Jack watched in helpless frustration as Moira fought the burly servant. He wanted to do murder, and would have if he thought it would help Moira. But in order to save her, he had to keep a cool head. He couldn’t help her if he gave his hand away or attempted a rescue without proper preparation. Pretending indifference seemed the best course, though it nearly killed him to do so.
“Don’t forget, Dashwood,” Jack reminded him, “you promised no harm would come to the woman. That is, assuming she is the one to be used in the initiation rites.”
“You’re perceptive, Lord Graystoke. The woman is indeed intended for tomorrow’s sacrifice. She’ll be more than cooperative by the time she’s brought to the altar, so you needn’t worry about experiencing the kind of resistance you’ve just seen. We have ways of dealing with recalcitrant women that produce no ill effects.”
Jack’s blood froze. Rendering a woman into a cooperative state meant only one thing. Drugs. “I don’t mind a little resistance, Dashwood. It increases the pleasure. Pleasure is what the brotherhood is all about, isn’t it?”
Dashwood smiled. “Indeed. We’ll make sure there is some fight left in her for your pleasure. My housekeeper will take care of everything. Go with Wilkes—he’ll find you a robe and give you directions to the caves.”
It was nearly midnight when Jack returned from the Dashwood estate and located Spence in the card room at a ball. Spence spied Jack the moment he strode into the crowded room. He immediately threw in his hand, excused himself and intercepted his friend.
“I’ve been worried sick about you, Jack. Did everything turn out all right? What did you learn?”
“Not here,” Jack said, glancing at the mob of people milling about the room. “Come to Graystoke Manor. I’ll tell you everything.”
Jack whirled on his heel to retrace his steps to the door and found himself face-to-face with Lady Victoria. “Let me congratulate you on your rise in rank and fortune,” Victoria said uncharitably. “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of. Why didn’t you tell me your ward was really a maidservant? What did you hope to gain by passing Moira off as a lady when in truth she was your mistress? Did you think to marry her off, then dally with her after you and I were married and my fortune safely in your pocket?”
Jack flushed angrily. “First let me say that I never aspired to my cousin’s title. True, I needed to marry money, but passing Moira off as a lady started out as a prank. Something Spence and I dreamed up for amusement. I won’t go into details, but I owed Moira my protection.”
“Your little tart had better not show her face around here, not after the way she hoodwinked Renfrew, Peabody and Merriweather. Don’t be surprised if you are treated coolly by your peers, at least until society is distracted by a new scandal.”
“I don’t give a fig about society,” Jack said truthfully. Throughout the years, he had strived hard to conceal his few good qualities beneath the weight of his reputation as a rake, gambler and womanizer. “I am a man of few morals. An unfortunate flaw in my character.”
“I know. That’s what makes you so devilishly exciting. Your name evokes all kinds of deliciously lewd thoughts.” She shivered delicately. “Black Jack is a name few can live up to. If you still want me, Jack, I’m agreeable. I can think of worse things than being a duchess.”
“I’m sure you can,” Jack said, searching for a way of escaping without offending Victoria. “As things stand now, I’m no longer looking for a rich wife. Thanks to poor Will, I now have more funds than I’ll need in this lifetime. If you’ll excuse me, milady, I must leave. Spence and I have urgent business.”
“I’ll bet your business involves that little whore who pretended to be a lady. You’ve made her your mistress, haven’t you?”
“You’re wrong, Victoria, Moira will never be my mistress.” If he had his way, Moira would be his wife.
“It’s time we left,” Spence said, anxious to be off before they created a scene. The ton had enough to talk about without feeding them more gossip.
Victoria fumed in impotent rage as Jack took his leave with as much grace as he could muster. Thirty minutes later, the two men were ensconced in Jack’s study. Spence was all agog as Jack related details of his meeting with Sir Dashwood.
“You actually saw Moira?” Spence asked in a hushed voice. “How did she look? Is she well? Lud, she must have been shocked to see you there.”
“Shock is too mild a word. Moira was horrified. And angry. She thinks I’m a member of the Hellfire Club.”
“What! She should know better than that. What will you do?” Spence asked when he heard about Jack’s forthcoming initiation into the club. “You’re not going to…Surely you’re not going to go through with the initiation. Just thinking about Moira, or any other hapless woman, stretched out on that stone altar makes me physically ill. I take my pleasure as seriously as the next person, but I’ll never resort to the methods used by the disciples of Satan.”
“Nor I,” Jack said quietly. “I was able to purloin an extra robe and hood for you when Wilkes had his head turned. Garbed in robes and hoods, we’ll be able to enter the caves tomorrow night without fear of recognition. We’ll be fully armed, of course. When Moira is led into the room, we’ll make our move. Be prepared to follow my lead.”
“Perhaps we should inform the authorities,” Spence suggested. “I don’t like the odds.”
“I’ve thought about that and decided against it. I’m sure Dashwood pays the law to protect their secrecy. If word leaks out Dashwood might cancel the meeting and give Moira to Mayhew. I can’t take the chance that Mayhew won’t harm her.”
Spence searched Jack’s face. “I never thought I’d see the day Black Jack Graystoke would put his life on the line for a woman. You’ve got it bad. Damned shame you can’t have her, except as a mistress. Wouldn’t do for the Duke of Ailesbury to marry a woman from the serving class.”
“Bloody hell, Spence, do you think I care about class distinction? I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. First things first. It’s imperative we get Moira out of the clutches of the Hellfire Club.” He closed his eyes, recalling the bright clarity of her spirit, the beauty of her soul.
“You can count on me, Jack. You say they’re meeting tomorrow night?”
“Aye. Pettibone will drive the coach. He’s the only one besides you I can trust.”
“Don’t worry, old boy. We’ll succeed,” Spence said with more conviction than
he felt. It sounded as if they were biting off more than they could chew, but he was game if Jack was. For Moira’s sake, they couldn’t fail. “Just tell me the time and I’ll be ready.”
Jack climbed the stairs to his room, reviewing in his mind the plans he and Spence had made for Moira’s rescue. If everything went as planned, she’d be safely returned to him and he’d never let her out of his sight again. Love was a debilitating emotion, he decided. It struck powerfully. And once it penetrated the heart, it made one weak and helpless to resist its allure. It had taken him a long time to realize he loved Moira, but once he acknowledged the emotion, he knew he’d been waiting all his life for a woman to love. Moira fed his soul and nourished his body. He had difficulty accepting it, but he knew now that Lady Amelia had placed Moira into his care for a reason. Lord only knows what would have happened to him if Moira hadn’t burst into his life. She made him see how utterly worthless his life had been. Moira had turned him away from the path to perdition and his date with the Devil.
Jack stopped at the top of the stairs, suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. Glancing down the hallway, he saw Lady Amelia standing outside Moira’s empty room. Jack approached cautiously, until he stood close enough to feel the heat radiating from her shimmering center. What he saw startled him. Lady Amelia’s hands were crossed over her breasts, and she was looking at him sadly. Jack’s heart sank.
“What is it?” he asked fearfully. “Is Moira in danger?” Lady Amelia merely stared at him. “Will I fail?”
Beware.
The word pounded mutely against his skull.
“Can’t you tell me more?” The ghost shook her head. “Bloody hell, milady,” Jack exploded, “if you can’t tell me anything good, why pester me at all?”
Though her features were hazy and indistinct, Jack could tell he had offended Lady Amelia. Her image dimmed and she faded into the shadows.
“Wait, damn it, don’t go! You can communicate with me, so why can’t you tell me what I’m to beware of?”
“To whom are you speaking, milord?”
Jack whirled, surprised to see Pettibone standing at his elbow. “Did you see anything, Pettibone?”
Pettibone peered down the dimly lit hallway. “I saw no one, milord. Are you all right?”
Jack dragged his fingers through his hair. “ ’Tis nothing, Pettibone. Go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long one for both of us.”
“All will go well, milord,” Pettibone assured him.
“Of course,” Jack said with more conviction than he felt. Lady Amelia’s warning bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Moira stared out the window into the black night. Never had she felt so sick at heart or disillusioned. Imprisoned with her thoughts and her privacy, no amount of logic seemed to provide a reason for Jack’s betrayal. The closeness of the walls and staleness of the closed room seemed to hamper her ability to think…to breathe. The knowledge that Jack knew she was a virtual prisoner and had done nothing to help her had nearly destroyed her. How could she have been so wrong about him?
What small hope Moira harbored had died the moment she encountered Jack in Sir Dashwood’s home. She took no solace in prayer; obviously God had abandoned her for sinning with Black Jack Graystoke.
Moira turned listlessly from the window as the door opened, admitting Matilda, balancing a tray in her hands. “I’m not hungry,” Moira announced.
Matilda sent Moira a look that defied interpretation. At times Moira felt that the woman was sympathetic to her plight, but she realized it was wishful thinking. Matilda had given no indication she was anything but Sir Dashwood’s loyal servant.
“Eat, milady. Sir Dashwood will be angry if you are too weak to attend the ceremony tonight.”
“The hell with Sir Dashwood!” Moira spit out. From the corner of her eye, she saw Matilda stifle a smile and wondered what was so amusing.
“Do you need help?” Plunket asked as he filled the doorway with his considerable bulk. He looked more than eager to get his hands on Moira, and she shrank away from him.
“I can handle this one,” Matilda assured him. “Your services are not needed.”
“I’m only following the master’s orders. After the wench attacked you, Dashwood asked me to stand guard.”
“It won’t happen again,” Matilda said curtly. “She learned her lesson.”
Plunket grunted out a reply and ducked out of the room. Matilda waited until he closed the door. “The man’s a pig, just like his master.”
Moira’s head shot up, certain she was hallucinating. “What? What did you say?”
Realizing she’d said too much, Matilda bit her lip and placed the tray on the table. “Nothing.” Still she did not leave, giving Moira the impression that she wanted to say more.
“What is it, Matilda?”
Matilda glanced furtively toward the door, then shook her head. “’Tis nothing.” Yet Moira knew it was something. “I had the cook prepare something special for you. ’Tis beneath the covered dish. Try it, I think you’ll find it to your liking.”
Suddenly the door was flung open and Plunket stuck his head inside. “What’s keeping you, woman?”
Turning abruptly, Matilda hurried from the room.
Lightning slashed the black horizon, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. His senses sharpened by the approaching storm and scent of rain, Jack glanced at Spence and wondered if his friend was as nervous as he was. The coach was nearing the Dashwood estate, and Jack rapped on the roof with the butt of his dueling pistol to warn Pettibone.
“Are we there?” Spence asked, peering out the window. Trees lined the road, obscuring the house from view, but Jack knew it lay just around the next bend.
“It won’t be long. You’ll be able to see the house as soon as we round the curve. There’s a road around to the left of the house, leading to the caves. I’ve instructed Pettibone to veer to the left. We’ll leave the coach hidden among the trees until we’re ready to enter.”
“Aren’t we early?” Spence asked.
“I planned it that way. I want to make sure everyone is inside before we enter. This is one time I want to be fashionably late.”
“There’s the house,” Spence said, his voice high with excitement. “Lud, it looks haunted.”
“You don’t have to do this, Spence.”
“Of course I do,” Spence said, offended. “What are friends for if not to help one another?”
The coach slowed, then veered to the left, following a rutted road around to the rear of the estate. A flash of lightning revealed a formation of hills directly ahead. Following directions given earlier by Jack, Pettibone swerved off the road into a stand of trees. They were near enough to the caves to watch the entrance while still remaining hidden from view. The coach rolled to a stop.
“What do we do now?” Spence asked.
“We wait.” Jack pulled out his pocket watch, waited until another flash of lightning lit the face and said, “’Tis ten o’clock. Men will start arriving soon. Wilkes told me he expected a dozen or more men to attend tonight’s ceremony. We’ll wait until everyone has arrived. Are you armed?”
Spence grinned and opened his coat, revealing a pair of loaded dueling pistols stuck into his waistband. “I also have my short sword.”
“Good man. I hope force won’t be necessary, but at least we’ll be prepared for any situation that arises. Most of the disciples are of noble birth and don’t want their identities revealed to the public. They want to continue their orgies unhampered and pay the local magistrate to turn a blind eye to the goings-on out here. I’m of the opinion that most disciples have been duped by Dashwood and Wilkes into believing all the women brought in for their rituals are whores who are paid to pretend resistance so as to enhance the disciples’ pleasure. Something Dashwood said leads me to believe unwilling women are usually drugged.”
Spence wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting.”
“Exactly. Ah, look—an early arrival.”
A man on horseback approached the caves. After tethering his horse, he donned a black robe, pulled the hood over his head and entered the gaping hole that served as an entrance. Soon after, men arrived by ones and twos, some on horseback, some by conveyance and others on foot, having come by way of the house.
“ ’Tis time,” Jack said after he had counted more than a dozen men passing into the caves.
He handed Spence a robe and hood and tapped on the roof. Pettibone guided the horses from the woods toward the caves. When the coach halted at the entrance, Jack and Spence had already shrugged into the kimonolike robes and belted them loosely around their waists in such a way as to disguise the bulge of pistols beneath.
“Be ready for anything, Pettibone,” Jack called up to the man sitting in the driver’s box.
“Be careful, milord.”
Jack nodded. “Let’s go.” Taking a deep breath, he strode purposefully through the entrance into a long passageway lit at intervals by torches. Spence followed close on his heels. Eerie shadows danced upon the walls in a surrealistic dance of demons. Though he tried not to dwell on Lady Amelia’s warning, it was all Jack could think about. For Moira’s sake, he could not afford to fail. He would not fail.
Jack’s heart was beating like a trip-hammer when at length they came to a cavernous chamber ablaze with torchlight. The breath froze in his throat when he saw the stone altar described by Dashwood at one end of the chamber. The disciples appeared preoccupied as Jack and Spence blended unobtrusively into their midst while remaining as close as possible to the exit. The disciples were staring at the altar with an air of expectancy. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of male lust, and Jack braced himself for the confrontation he expected momentarily.