A long table occupied one wall and food and drink was plentiful. Servants moved silently about, their only duty to make sure plates and glasses were replenished. Pillowed cushions and small tables sat on either side of a raised dais that stood before a wall bearing an ornate tapestry depicting a lush oasis. Tiny pots of scented oil, placed on some of the tables, filled the air with a distinctly spicy fragrance. Grilled windows filtered waning sunlight, casting an aura of mystery and passion.
Well done, Mistress Holland.
The salon door swung open and Malcolm strode in. His red hair and beard gave him the look of a pirate, as did the knife scar bisecting his right cheek. Watching the man, Gabriel realized that the Scot was several inches taller and at least two stones heavier than him. Thick corded muscles pressed against the linen shirt and dark trousers Malcolm wore. The knife tucked at his waist was a reminder to all he was there to protect the women.
“Gentlemen, welcome to Holland’s League. As you’ve been told, twelve invitations were issued but there’ll be only six winners. Mistress Holland’s rules are simple. You may place one bid only. Should a lady receive two or more bids, the highest bid wins. If your bid fails, Holland’s League wishes you a good night. The successful bidders will return in two nights for an evening of delight and pleasure.”
As Malcolm settled himself against the door, music wafted into the room. What Gabriel first mistook as a tapestry proved to be painted curtains as a slender hand parted the panels and a veiled woman glided into the room. She glanced at the dais before availing herself of a cushion. A second woman entered, then a third, and, finally two more courtesans, each one taking up a cushion. When all the women were seated, only the middle cushion remained. The music abruptly changed to a faster beat and the sixth woman danced into the room. Her movements were unlike any English dance Gabriel had seen. The woman’s gyrating hips offered a sensual promise of absolute bliss, rendering his cock hard as a stone. Whoever she was, the woman obviously had spent time among Moorish women. What drew him like a moth to flame was her attire. None of her skin was revealed. The crimson linen top and white silk trousers concealed her body as if she wore a thick woolen cloak. Her slipper-encased feet were small and well-shaped. Strands of blond hair escaped the confinement of the thick veil covering her face.
His eyes refuse to accept the last courtesan might be Anne Holland. Yet, as he studied the dancing courtesan, Gabriel found it difficult to ignore the niggling sense of familiarity. It was a peculiar tug, not unlike the one he felt when looking at Anne Holland’s lovely throat. With this woman, however, he wanted to fuck her first and then taste her blood. The impulse to claim the dancer was so strong he had to battle an urge to seize her and vanish even before the bidding started. He reined in his lust before signaling one of the servants to refill his glass.
The music faded and he watched the courtesan lower herself to the remaining cushion. Her head tilted in his direction and he felt the intensity of her gaze. He nodded, raising his glass in salute. The veil fluttered when she looked away. His mouth curved slightly. Tonight would be interesting, he thought. Whatever game Mistress Holland wanted to play, he was determined to win.
A familiar tingle teased the back of his neck. His body became alert and his fangs pushed against the inside of his bottom lip. Demons.
The sensation became annoying pricks that stung his nerve endings. Someone in the room definitely wanted his attention. He inhaled the various scents in the room, sifting human essence from supernatural in search of the demon. During his first encounter with a demon, Gabriel discovered there was a distinction between the way a human smells and the odor of a demon. Humans carried a salty-sweet metallic, almost coppery aroma in their blood while demons and the undead reeked of the staleness of air locked in a room without windows but soured in the way rotten fruit does when left on the ground too long.
Gabriel perused the room, his senses attuned to the subtle use of power, wanting to know its source since he was its target. The prickly sensation struck a second time. His glass raised to his lips, his gaze swept the salon and lighted on the lone female servant in the room. Betsy. The sensation disappeared and Gabriel decided for the moment he’d focus on the auction.
Celeste, Eleanor and Bella were the first to be claimed, which didn’t surprise him. Nor did it surprise him Sir Eldon Betterton had parted with the most money. Rumor had it he’d offered to make Bella his wife only to be gently refused. He hoped Betterton’s night with the black woman was worth the amount he had spent. One by one the courtesans’ favors were purchased until only his dancer remained.
“One hundred pounds,” Gabriel offered before taking a sip of his wine.
He wasn’t surprised when several heads whipped in his direction. The men knew he wasn’t one to pay for a courtesan’s favors. A slurred voice from a shadowed corner countered. “One hundred fifty.”
John Winton, Viscount Lakeland.
A man so indebted Gabriel wondered how he managed to secure an invitation. When Lakeland moved from the shadows he stared at Gabriel and nodded, a smug grin on his pock-marked face. Gabriel held the man’s gaze for several expectant moments before returning his eyes to the woman. He raised the bid, not surprised when Lakeland’s foolishness continued.
“Four hundred pounds for the whore,” Lakeland shouted.
Gabriel noted the slight tightening of the courtesan’s body. He needed to put an end to Lakeland’s idiocy before the man became a late night feed. Gabriel waited until the laughter died. “One thousand pounds.”
The collective gasp in the room brought a smile to Gabriel’s lips. Only a fool would continue to bid on the woman. He leaned forward, attentive to the large Scot who had moved to the center of the salon. Malcolm cleared his throat nervously. “The winning bid is three thousand pounds. The successful bidder was unable to attend and chooses to remain anonymous. Mistress Holland honors the bidder’s request.”
He turned to the women. “Ladies, you are free to leave.” Malcolm’s gaze went the men. “The winners are invited to return in two days. Your evening will begin at sunset. Good night, gentlemen.”
The dancer glanced over her shoulder at Gabriel. Although her face was obscured, he sensed her amusement. Raising his glass, he inclined his head and smiled.
“Tough luck, Elstone.”
Gabriel turned to find Lakeland beside him. “I’m surprised to find you here,” he said, draining his glass. “I understood Holland’s League had very high standards, and rarely accepted a man’s paper promise to pay.”
The man’s grin twisted nastily. “It wasn’t difficult to persuade my cousin to give me his invitation. I wonder who paid an outrageous sum for a whore, even if she’s one of Holland’s?”
“We’ll never know, will we?”
Gabriel rose from his chair and strolled to the door. Malcolm leaned in and whispered in his ear. He acknowledged the message and left the brothel.
Stepping into the fetid air, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his body became alert. He felt the presence of a supernatural and canines brushed the inside of his mouth. “You are taking your life in your hands. I rarely leave an attacker alive.”
“My lord, you need not fear an attack from me,” a feminine voice said as Betsy emerged from the shadows and intercepted his path. “You also need not leave empty handed.”
Gabriel stepped to one side so moonlight fell on her face. He inhaled and awareness struck like lightning. “You’re a hybrid.”
“Blended. I’m not an animal,” she corrected tartly. She closed the distance between them. “I sense you also have demon blood coursing through your veins, my lord. Are you one of us as well?”
“I’m curious,” he said. “Is Holland’s League a demon’s den?”
She laughed softly. “Not yet. It is a sanctuary for witches. Anne Holland’s mother was one. You do know Anne Holland is not her true name. No one knows the truth, except perhaps Bella.”
“A sanctuary for witches?” Gabrie
l’s mouth tightened. The undead can only be conceived through witches. “What is your purpose, Betsy? Why are you here?”
She reached out and stroked his chest. Her strike was subtle and almost imperceptible, a slight rush of heat that quickly faded. Gabriel recognized her attempt to bind him. He grabbed her wrist. “Answer me.”
“Anne Holland will be mated to a demon and I will become mistress of Holland’s League. Witches will continue flock to what they believe is a sanctuary.” Betsy moved closer, her hand on his arm. “I am Isis, daughter of Ishtar, and I choose you as my mate, Demon Gabriel.”
“I think not,” he said, releasing her. “You have no idea who or what I am.”
She squinted and attempted enter his awareness. “Why can’t I touch your mind? What kind of supernatural are you?”
Gabriel’s chuckle wasn’t malicious but when she shivered he enjoyed the sight. “I am undead.”
“What demon sired you?”
“Mephistopheles.”
“The demon king is your sire?” She bowed her head. “I am your servant, my lord.”
“ No need to make a vow you won’t be able to keep.”
Gabriel waited until her gaze met his. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head upward, exposing her neck. He watched the rhythmic fluctuation of her jugular before asking, “Are you truly my servant? If I require sustenance will you give it freely?”
She stared at him, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Will I become like you?”
“Alas, ambitious Isis, no one is like me,” he murmured. “I am the only one of my kind.”
Gabriel stared into her pale gray eyes, seeing her lineage for the first time. A demon may have fathered her but her mother clearly wasn’t human. He and Anne Holland had a great deal to discuss, including the various permutations of supernaturals. A soft sigh brought his attention back to the demon anticipating his next move.
“I cannot allow you to succeed.” His mouth brushed her throat. “Anne Holland belongs to me.”
Isis’ startled protest disappeared into the night as Gabriel’s fangs pierced her skin. Her blood flowed freely down his throat. His grip tightened around her body and he was momentarily stunned by the power he tasted. It was different from the demon blood he’d once consumed and he sensed that difference was why no one had seen through her illusion. Had she not attempted to entrap him, her plan would have succeeded. Lifting his mouth from her throat, he realized if there were more hybrids like Isis Holland’s League was in a great deal of trouble.
Gabriel walked to the steps leading down to the river’s edge, Betsy’s body dangling in his arms. He gazed down on her bloodless face for a brief second. In her natural form, she was a beauty. Her only flaw was the creature she served. Without another thought, he tossed her corpse into the Thames. The tide greedily claimed his offering and swept her out to the middle of the river. For several seconds Betsy’s body bobbed and jerked as the river tugged her toward Greenwich.
“What have you done, my lord? Who did you kill?”
Gabriel glanced down at the fingers clutching his sleeve. “You can release me, Jonas. I’ve done humankind a service. The corpse floating away from us belonged to Betsy and she was most definitely demon-spawned, though her exact nature remains a mystery.”
“What do you mean a mystery? If she wasn’t a witch, then she was a demon.”
“Oh, my friend, you are so wrong. There was more to our little Betsy than we knew,” Gabriel said drily. “Summon a waterman. I’ve grown weary of the games being played tonight.”
5
“Since I’m in control of your breathing, you will soon begin to feel faint,” Gabriel stated perfunctorily. “I prefer that you not die in my coach, explanations and excuses, so I will be forced to play the gentleman and loosen your gown. Of course, seeing your lovely bosom will incite my desires to intimately know your body, which will leave both of us ecstatically happy and you very unconscious.”
He stretched out his feet so they touched his passenger’s booted feet. “Therefore, Mistress Holland, once I release your lungs, you may want to take two or three deep breaths to calm your rapidly beating heart.”
Anne inhaled and exhaled slowly. Relief poured through her. “How?”
“I have my ways.”
“You knew I was here yet didn’t say anything. Why?”
“You have a unique scent,” Gabriel stated. “As to my silence. I assumed you would eventually offer an explanation for your presence since you’ve made it quite clear you no longer needed of my services.”
“I came to apologize, my lord.”
Anne’s nerves were coiled like strands of silver wire as she waited for his reply. She felt the weight of his gaze despite the darkness inside the coach. Silence gathered like storm clouds and her fingers nervously played with the silk skirt she wore. She didn’t understand why he triggered such trepidation. His relationship with Siya and Cadan should be enough to put her at ease. It didn’t and she became more confused and irritated by her inability to control her reaction to the man.
She loosened her grip on her skirt and took a deep breath. When she released the air, Anne leaned forward. “Will you accept my apology, my lord?”
“Of course.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
“I’m still waiting for a reply to my question, why are you here?”
His tone said he clearly was amused by her exasperation. She huffed noisily. “Were you put on this earth to be the flea to my camel, Gabriel Elstone?”
“Perhaps.”
What if he’s your life mate? Bella’s question wormed itself into her thoughts and Anne groaned. Could that be the reason behind her odd behavior? Her overheated skin when she dreamed of him? The fact that he was never far from her thoughts? Was he her life mate? Was it possible she’d end up bonded to the most arrogant, insufferable, albeit handsome, man she’d ever met?
It is possible, and very likely.
She attempted to dismiss the annoying voice that considered itself her reason. Fate would never be so unkind … or would she?
Anne slammed the door on her panic. If Fate had chosen Demon Gabriel to be her life mate, she would accept her destiny. Once the bond was set, she could disappear into the Ahaggar Mountains to live a quiet life. That way, she wouldn’t have to gut the man.
Of course, only after she achieved what had her sitting in his carriage. Deal with the matter at hand, she reminded herself. Lose your virginity and worry about life mates later. She groaned, indifferent to the audible noise she made or that he heard. For all his good looks, Demon Gabriel was going to be a veritable pain in her posterior. Her fingers clenched and she sighed. Might as well get this madness over with.
“I made a mistake.”
“Rubbish,” Gabriel interrupted. “You don’t strike me as one who makes many mistakes. Your actions were based on self-interest. Justified under the circumstances and therefore your desire to pursue forgiveness seems a bit out of place, Mistress Holland.”
“You needn’t be an insulting ass,” she retorted.
“It’s what I do best.”
Anne peered into the dark space between them, wishing there was enough light to see his face and gauge his reaction to what she was about to propose. Oh well, faint heart never won a battle. “My lord, in recompense for your troubles I came to offer you a proposal. If you had agreed to my terms I would have paid you five hundred pounds.”
“Are you offering to purchase my services again, Mistress Holland? If I recall, we had an agreement and it was broken by you.”
“We did and that’s why I’m sitting in this carriage, having a conversation with you I’d rather not continue,” she declared. “However, necessity dictates. If you can cease giving the ass a bad name for a moment, I want to discuss restoring part of our agreement.”
She heard a faint choking sound coming from where Gabriel sat. It sounded like laughter but disappeared so quickly she couldn’t be certain.
&nbs
p; “You are full of surprises, Mistress Holland.”
It was laughter and it irritated her.
The coach halted and the door opened. Anne leaned back against her seat as he exited the vehicle. Light from a lantern flooded the interior and his large hand thrust inside.
“Are you coming? I’m intrigued to discover whether fucking you is worth five hundred pounds.”
She inhaled and pushed the air from her lungs. This was a very bad idea, a very bad idea indeed.
“I’ve come to believe we don’t suit, my lord. With your permission, I would like your driver to return me to Holland’s League, or if that is too much trouble summon a sedan chair.”
Gabriel’s fingers encased her wrists. “Permission refused. I think we suit each other admirably. Come, I’m eager to negotiate the new terms of our agreement.”
He tugged her across the narrow space and through the coach door. Once she was on her feet, he shut the door.
“I suppose you won’t listen to reason,” she protested and tried to dug in her heels.
His fingers were a gentle yet unbreakable vise on her wrists. “No, since it is my other head that’s doing all my thinking at the moment.”
She gasped as Gabriel swept her into his arms and climbed the steps to a large London house. His brusque knock was immediately answered.
“You may lock up for the night, Andrew. The lady and I will be in the library.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Anne stared openmouthed as the man ignored her and walked away. She glared at Gabriel. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Weren’t you listening? The library,” he answered as he strode down a hall and turned left. He set her on her feet and opened the door. “We can discuss your proposal in private.”
“My lord, I said we wouldn’t suit. Send for a chair. I’m leaving.”
“I think not, Mistress Holland,” he said with a shrug. “You initiated this quandary and I don’t particularly care for unresolved problems.”
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