by Jade Lee
“I don’t know how to talk to you, Wendy. What has happened?”
She swallowed, and he felt her tense. But he would not allow her to stop her words. He needed her answers, and so he spun her quickly to disorient her, using the motion to pull her tighter into his arms.
“You can trust me,” he whispered. “Tell me what happened?”
“The… The man who… The one I owe money to…” She blinked, and he saw the shimmer of tears.
“Has he hurt you?”
“I… That’s not…” She shuddered. “He means to kill you. He told me this morning. He said he would kill you.”
Her note had said as much, but it made no sense. “Why? What have I done?”
She shrugged. “I spent the night with you and not him.”
He tripped. It was a small misstep, but significant enough that he might have fallen. In this, she was the one who steadied him, and soon he was whirling them around again. “You had planned to…” Sleep with him?
“I was supposed to work in the gambling hell.” She looked away.
“You swore that you would not work there anymore!” he all but snarled.
She flashed him a frustrated look. “And I didn’t! I was supposed to, but I was with you instead.”
He felt his blood heat at the memory of what they’d done last night. “But Wendy—”
“I deal vingt-et-un. I wear clothing that… that distracts. I ply the gentlemen with wine and let them ogle my breasts. The money I should have made last night would have gone to the debt. But…”
He released a breath, the tightness in his chest easing. “So you were supposed to pay him last night?”
“Yes.”
“And when you didn’t show…?”
“He waited at my home. Mama let him in, and he…”
His eyes narrowed. He saw again the blood beneath her earbobs. “How did he hurt you?”
“It was nothing,” she said, her grip tightening on his arms. “Listen to me. He means to kill you!”
“So you have said, but I need to know more. How will he do it? What resources does he have?” Simple questions, but he could tell she didn’t have the answers. Whoever this bastard was, he had her thoroughly cowed. She was terrified and half convinced that Radley was already dead. “People have tried to kill me before. Not just on the boat, but in marketplaces and on the docks. Footpads, religious zealots, pirates—all are simply violent men who wish to hurt someone for some reason. Understanding them is the key to ending the threat.”
She swallowed and nodded, but still she had no answers beyond the obvious. “He has men who will do his bidding. A knife in the dark. A gunshot when you go riding.” She shuddered, her eyes going to his as she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I thought…”
He squeezed her tighter. “Don’t worry. Just tell me his name.” The music was ending, the dance slowing. In a moment, they were standing, but he did not release her. “His name, Wendy.”
He could tell she didn’t want to speak, but there was no choice. The words came out in a whisper, and he read the name off her lips. And in that moment, he knew it had been inevitable. She spoke the one name that still haunted his nightmares, the one man who had ripped away the mirage of his perfect childhood.
“Demon Damon.”
***
Wendy felt the name hit him. She’d worried that he would explode or rage or do any of the things she’d seen him do over ten years ago when his sister had suffered at Damon’s hands. She felt his body go rigid, then she tensed to keep him from doing anything rash.
But in that moment, she saw how much he had matured from the boy he’d been. The words hit him, his body stilled, and then she saw a kind of joy hit his face. It wasn’t happiness. Far from it. But it was purpose and direction. As if she had given him the direction, and now, he did what he’d always been born to do. He sailed. But to what, if not certain death?
“Radley—”
“Don’t worry, my Wind,” he said with a fond smile. “The dance is done. Come, let us step to the side.”
He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He simply took her arm and guided her to the edge of the floor. People tried to stop him, many attempted to gain his attention, but he moved around and between them as if by magic. And when he stopped, they stood before his sister and her fiancé.
“Caroline, would you mind staying with Miss Drew for a while? You may have to escort her home.”
His sister frowned, clearly sensing something was happening. “Of course—”
“Hartfell,” he said to his sister’s fiancé, “if you have a moment, I’d like a word.”
He made to leave, but Wendy gripped his arm. “You cannot go. You cannot…” Her voice trailed away because she could see he wasn’t even listening. He gently disengaged her fingers and then touched her chin.
“I am not insane, nor am I frightened. Remember who I am now—”
“But—”
“I know how to settle disputes between men.”
“He will—” Her voice choked off. She could not be the cause of his death. She could not.
“No, love, he will not.” Then he pushed her gently toward his sister before turning to Hartfell. “We have something in common tonight. Would you join me?”
The Scot gave him a hearty grin. “I love a little high jinks.”
Radley didn’t answer, except to move steadily toward the door. Caroline came to stand beside Wendy, watching them leave with a worried frown.
“Where are they going?” she asked.
To their deaths. She almost said the words, but then she knew she would endanger Caroline as well. What woman would stand still while her fiancé faced a demon?
“It’s nothing,” she lied. “But I’m afraid I don’t feel well. I believe I shall—”
“Run after them to keep them from being stupid?”
Wendy turned to the woman she’d known since girlhood. There was steel there that hadn’t existed when she was young. Life had taught her a great deal.
“Yes,” said Wendy.
“Then come along. I’ll make our excuses to mother, and we’ll be off. You know where they are going?”
“I know where they will end up.” Then she gripped Caroline’s hand, knowing the woman’s history. “They are going to confront Damon Porter.”
Caroline paled, but there was no backing down in her stance. If anything, she became more determined.
“You call for the carriage. I shall make sure mother and Eleanor stay far away.”
And so it was done. Before long they were in the carriage, sitting in silence as they headed for the gaming hell. Wendy worried how her friend would react to confronting the villain from her childhood. But her one attempt to ask had been met with a heavy silence. Perhaps Caroline didn’t know what to say. Her expression was flat, her body completely still. When they arrived, Wendy led them inside. She’d worked here for months, so she was able to slip in. She regretted the distinctive dresses they wore and that she lacked the mask she sometimes wore.
“I am called the Green Lady here,” she said to Caroline. “Pick whatever name you want, but do not acknowledge your true self.”
Caroline nodded, and once inside, they saw Damon immediately. He was in his place on the upper deck, though he did not survey the floor. Instead, he sat lounging in his chair like a tired king reading his accounts. She even saw him yawn, and that was a shock. She had never seen him tired, much less bored, but for the first time in her life, Damon appeared exhausted.
She slowed, her eyes narrowing. What was wrong? What had changed?
She was busy looking around, gauging the mood of the room, but there was no time. Caroline had seen him and was climbing the stairs.
“What are you doing? Stay down here!” Wendy gasped, trying to grab hold of her friend. She was too late. And even worse, her hiss was loud enough for Damon to hear.
The man’s head snapped up, and he turned to her. His gaze met hers, eyes narrowed, and then he saw Carolin
e. She saw his jaw drop in shock, and his entire body stilled. Then he sat there, eyes riveted to Caroline, while his guards stepped to block her ascent.
Wendy stifled a curse, then rushed up behind her friend. She heard Damon growl a single word, and the guards stepped away. Then the two old enemies faced each other. Caroline squared off a few feet across from Damon. She stood with her eyes narrowed, and her teal gown seemed to shiver as she trembled. Meanwhile, the demon slowly pushed up from his seat until he faced her, his eyes still narrowed, but his body calm.
“Perhaps we should go downstairs,” Wendy suggested as she touched the woman’s arm.
Caroline didn’t respond. Her eyes were completely trained on Damon. “Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“I do.” His voice was a coarse rasp, but it carried easily enough. “Would you like to sit down? I can have food brought up. Or wine.”
She shook her head, finally breaking his gaze long enough to look about her. “This place. It is yours?”
His lips curved in a smile, pride evident in every word. “This, two more, and numerous other businesses. Elite and impoverished alike come through my doors and fight to spend time with me.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze steady as she looked across the floor. The evening was established, and every table was full. But in the end, she returned to look at Damon.
“I made the right choice.” Her words were dismissive as she turned her back on him. “Come along, Wendy. They are not here.”
“Caroline, wait!” he said as he caught her elbow.
The woman’s reaction was immediate. Faster than anyone could have expected, she spun back and slapped Damon hard across the face. The sound carried through the hell, like the crack of an axle breaking, and abruptly, the murmurs around them paused. People looked up, card play ceased, and all were poised for Damon’s reaction.
He hadn’t been slow. He’d caught her arm, but only after the blow. His cheek showed the red imprint of her hand, and his eyes blazed in fury. Around them, she felt the guards step up, ready to retaliate however Damon chose. Once, after closing, Wendy had seen them break a man’s hand for a lesser insult.
Wendy had to act fast, but she wasn’t sure how. So she did the only thing she could think of, the only action that had soothed drunken players and giddy lechers alike. She touched the demon’s face. She couldn’t feel the heat of the mark, not through her gloves, but the red was clear enough. She stroked it as if she could brush it away.
“Come, love,” she cooed, nearly choking on the words. “You’re done with her. Have been for years.”
His gaze slowly slid to hers, and she saw calculation enter his gaze. Then they flicked to his guards. “I think the ladies would like some wine,” he drawled.
The men stepped back, and one gave the order to a waitress. Meanwhile, Caroline tried to wrench her arm free to no avail. Wendy heard the woman’s grunt of frustration before she vented it in the worst possible way.
“I want nothing of yours, Damon. I never have.”
Did she not understand the danger? Damon never allowed anyone to insult him. Not in public. The noises from the floor had resumed, but slower, and there was almost no conversation. Everyone watched to see what would happen next.
With trembling fingers, Wendy slid her hand to Damon’s fingers. “Wine would be lovely,” she said as she stroked the back of his hand.
“Take them off,” he said.
She blinked. He was looking at Caroline, but she knew the words were for her. But she didn’t understand. “Take what—”
“Your gloves.” His gaze finally shifted to hers, and his joy frightened her. He knew something she did not, and it would soon be turned against her. Normally, she would flee. If ever that flash of happiness came into his eyes, she ran as far and as fast as she could. But she would not abandon Caroline. He waited, his gaze turning more confident with every second that passed. “It’s been too long since I felt the stoke of your skin against mine.”
It had been this morning, and it made her shudder, but she nodded. “You will let her go, yes?”
He smiled, and his fingers went slack. Caroline jerked back, but she didn’t go far. Meanwhile, Wendy was busy stripping off the first of her gloves with trembling fingers.
Her skin went cold as the fabric left her forearms, but she forced herself to remain calm, as if she did this every day. And she did, she reminded herself. She showed her bare hands everywhere. And yet, the feel of the fine linen pulling down her hands was as terrifying as if her shift were pulled off her. Not in the way of a woman undressing for a man, but in the way of a small animal slowly enticed into a trap. She knew she was stepping closer and closer to disaster, but she couldn’t stop it.
“Slow down,” he said, his eyes on her. “You know how I like it.”
She winced. He made it sound like she had been stripping for him for months now when nothing could be further from the truth. But he was making her pay for the insult to his face by having her show everyone that she had surrendered. The stripping of her gloves was symbolic, of course, but it would suffice, provided she gave enough of a show.
And, if she doubted the threat, he flicked his gaze to a large brute of a guard who stood a pace behind Caroline. He was the one who enjoyed breaking bones and would often regale the customers with tales of how it feels to snap the small delicate ones in the hand. He was looming behind Caroline, and Wendy doubted the woman even noticed. Her eyes were on Wendy and Damon, while shock grew in her expression. Damn it, the woman had no idea how much danger she was in.
Plastering on a seductive expression, Wendy slowed her movements. “Of course,” she purred, though the words came through thick and low. Not a purr so much as a choke, but it was enough. Damon settled back on his heels as his smile widened.
She stretched up her arm, knowing she had to show it to the gallery below. Then she crinkled the fabric from the elbow to her wrist. A slow, steady push that revealed herself, inch by inch. The cold air made her body tighten, and she became excruciatingly aware that her nipples had pebbled. She was cold, terrified for Caroline, and humiliated to her bones. But, at the same time, she felt an inevitability settle upon her. How many times had Damon said she would gift herself to him? That eventually, she would be his?
She pulled off one glove, the slide of the fabric feeling like the peel of skin from her bones. The thought was so real she half expected to see her blood dripping on the floor. Nothing so dramatic appeared. Simply white flesh with goose bumps.
Damon crossed in front of her, moving to the bend in the railing, where he had kissed her not so long ago. He leaned negligently there, but she knew he was reminding everyone of the kiss they’d shared.
“Give it to me,” he said, holding out his hand and forcing her to step further into view.
She did, extending it to him. His gaze flickered—the only warning she had—before one of his guards pushed her. She hadn’t even known the man had moved behind her until she felt the hard shove right at the base of her spine.
She stumbled forward, and Damon caught her. She stiffened quickly, but his grip tightened painfully across her back.
She struggled, of course, pushing back, but he was too strong, and there was still the threat to Caroline. In the end, she relaxed, though only by a small degree. Clearly, the show wasn’t just for the men below, but for Caroline. He wanted Wendy to act as his tart before her friend.
“Let me pull off the other,” he said against her ear.
She swallowed and looked away. She’d agreed to take off her gloves, but this humiliation wasn’t part of the bargain.
“No,” she said, her voice cold. Then she ripped off the other glove, stripping it with quick, angry movements before she balled it up and threw it at him. He grinned, not even bothering to catch the thing. Instead, he let it sail over the railing to land somewhere below. She heard the roar of men, then laughter as someone caught it.
God, he’d turned her into a harlot for everyone to see.
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“Can we leave now?” she bit out.
“Of course,” he said as he let her stomp back. “Though, of course, you’re welcome to stay for the rest of the show.”
He gestured casually over his shoulder. His back was to the stairs, so she had no idea how he knew. But one look had her stomach dropping like a stone.
There were Radley and Lord Hartfell storming the stairs. Lord Hartfell’s gaze was on Caroline, his brows tight with fear. But whereas the Scot rushed to save his love, Radley slowed down. His eyes were trained on her remaining glove as Damon pulled it slowly through his fist.
Eighteen
Why was she here?
That was Radley’s overriding thought as he climbed the stairs. Why was Wendy stripping off her gloves, her face tight with fear, as she undressed for everyone to see?
It made no sense. She was terrified of Damon, and yet…
“Damnation,” Lord Hartfell cursed. “Caroline’s here as well.” Then he sprinted up the stairs. But Radley slowed, his eyes narrowed as Wendy threw her glove at Damon. Something was at work here, and he would do well to understand it before he went crashing up there.
Then it happened. Wendy spotted him, and her eyes widened in shock. He watched her pale, then stiffen in bravado. Then his eyes trained on a flash of white: her glove in that bastard’s hand. The man toyed with it, pulling it slowly through his fist, over and over.
The need to kill Damon burned in his blood, but he was a rational man. Murder—even of a monster—took careful thought, especially when facing the evil in its own territory. So he mounted the last steps slowly, noting the guards, his sister’s position tucked tight to the Scot’s side, and Wendy, as she stood too close to the bastard.
And everyone looked to him as he topped the steps and turned to face his sister’s attacker.
“Ladies,” he said without shifting his gaze from Damon’s. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly,” answered Caroline in a voice that seemed strong enough. “We were just about to leave.”
The Scot rumbled his questions, his burr strong. “Are ye sure? Nothing amiss?”