Honor’s Revenge: Masters’ Admiralty, book 4

by Mari Carr

  Hugo cleared his throat. “You understand what we’re about to tell you is a secret. One that you can’t share with anyone. Not your brother or your parents. No one. If the fleet admiral finds out…”

  “I understand.” That wasn’t a promise to keep it a secret, it was an acknowledgment of his request. They’d lied to her, so she would wait to hear what they had to say before agreeing to keep any secrets.

  Hugo glanced at Lancelot as if seeking validation that what he was doing was okay. Lancelot gave one short nod.

  “The fleet admiral?” she asked. Despite her determination to force them to tell her what was going on, the phrase had struck her as odd. “Is it military?”

  “No,” Hugo said. “Perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning, to give you some background knowledge first. The Masters’ Admiralty was founded in 1347 in Venice, during the height of the Black Plague.”

  For the next half hour or so, Hugo, ever the lecturer, told her the history of the secret society, explaining the hierarchy and the territories. His voice was calm and gentle as he drew a picture for her of a world she’d never known existed. Unlike Alicia, who’d painted the organization in black, condemning the members as greedy elitists, Hugo’s descriptions revealed a better society, one that existed for the sole purpose of improving the world. Alicia spoke of the Galactic Empire, while Hugo saw Jedi Knights.

  She grinned as she considered her comparison, the look causing Hugo to stop talking.

  “Is something funny?”

  She shook her head, not wanting to confess to her nerd girl love of all things Star Wars. Sylvia figured she was entitled to keep that secret considering they’d hidden the fact they were members of a super-elite, centuries’ old society.

  Hugo looked like he might press her, but then he picked up his explanations and she felt as if he was telling her a fantastical bedtime story. One that included knights and admirals and even an Italian princess.

  “Part of the cost of membership is that we agree to arranged marriages.”

  Sylvia had been waiting to see if that part of Alicia’s story had been true. “She said women were forced into marriage.”

  Hugo frowned. “No one—male or female—has the right to choose their partners.”

  “Partners?”

  “She didn’t…tell you…” Hugo blew out a long breath. “The arranged marriages are not between two people. The marriages of the Masters’ Admiralty are trinity marriages.”

  Sylvia blinked. “You mean…”

  “Arranged ménage marriages,” Hugo confirmed.

  “Oh,” Sylvia said, suddenly seeing their sexual interludes through a different lens. For her, the ménage sex had been life-changing, amazing, exciting, a fantasy come true.

  Obviously, the same didn’t hold true for them.

  She looked away, suddenly feeling small, insignificant. “I didn’t realize…what we’d done…”

  Hugo cupped her cheek in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “What we shared together—you, me, and Lancelot—was more special than I can say. I don’t ever want you to doubt that.”

  Their eyes remained connected for several moments, Hugo refusing to continue his story until he was convinced that she believed him.

  “I’d never had a threesome until us,” Lancelot confessed. It was the first time he’d spoken since Hugo started telling her about the secret society.

  She looked at him, surprised.

  “Truly?” Hugo asked, also sounding surprised.

  “I’m not a legacy. I didn’t grow up in the same world as you. I was recruited at twenty. Right after I was badged and joined an SAS sabre squadron. And since then—”

  Lancelot’s sentence ended abruptly. So abruptly that Sylvia could tell he’d been about to say something he didn’t mean to. Which meant what came next would be another lie.

  “Don’t,” Hugo said, before Lancelot could finish. “As you said to me, if you can’t tell us the truth, say so. No more lies.”

  The night was still, and Sylvia wondered if all of them were holding their breath.

  “I’m not going to lie. Since being recruited, I’ve been working in service to my territory, to my admiral. I haven’t pursued any romantic entanglements because it didn’t seem fair to date, to allow a woman into my life, knowing I couldn’t offer her my heart.”

  As he spoke of his heart, he looked at Sylvia, and for a split second, she thought she saw love. He shuttered the emotion quickly. He had to. She wasn’t a member of this society of theirs. Instead, she fell into the category he’d just mentioned. She was a woman neither of them could love.

  “Tell me the rest,” she urged Hugo. He’d told her the history, but hadn’t yet explained what any of it had to do with Alicia, or her.

  His voice grew quieter as the tale turned darker, and he told her about the evil mastermind within the society, and the dangerous minions—bombers and serial killers—he’d gathered to bring the Masters’ Admiralty down. This mastermind wanted to destroy them all.

  “People are dying,” Lancelot said. “He’s killing countless people in brutal ways, but we can’t catch him because we don’t know who he is.”

  Sylvia sat up, careful to only use her left hand. She wanted to be upright for the next part of this conversation.

  “Alicia wasn’t wrong,” she said quietly. “About your secret society making the world an un-level playing field. What you’re describing is an organization that trades on social and economic disparity.”

  Lancelot’s face went stony and blank, but Hugo smiled. He put one knee up on the bed so he was facing her. “What do you see as the alternative?”

  “Success by merit,” Sylvia said instantly.

  Hugo tsked. “Merit? What merit?”

  “Intelligence, skill, determination,” Sylvia replied.

  “That’s how I got in,” Lancelot murmured. Before Sylvia could respond to that, Hugo continued his argument.

  “Intelligence, like skin color and class, has a biological component. Some are born with less, or atypical intelligence.”

  Good point. Sylvia shifted, making herself more comfortable. “True, but not a justification for the existence of an organization that, by its very nature, perpetuates inequities.”

  “But that is where you are wrong. We do not perpetuate inequities. We correct them.”

  “How?”

  “By granting access to wealth and power to those who would not ever reach that level on their own.” Hugo gestured to Lancelot.

  “Thanks, fooker.”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. “And how do you decide who gets in? How is that not playing God?”

  “Not God, but perhaps we are acting as one of the fates. This is hardly a new idea. In the past, artists who were chosen by patrons flourished, while those without either followed their passion and starved or gave up on their art. The Masters’ Admiralty is the ultimate patron.”

  “But it’s not just art, is it? You probably have people in politics. You’re trying to control governments.”

  “Lobbyists,” Hugo countered.

  “Wait, are you two arguing or having a bloody academic debate?” Lancelot asked indignantly.

  They ignored him.

  “The activities of lobbyist are regulated and controlled.”

  Hugo scoffed. “You surely do not believe that?”

  “I think that democracy is a work in progress and—”

  “England has been in upheaval,” Hugo cut in. “They have suffered greatly from the attacks by Alicia and the mastermind. Because of that, the English territory has not been able to do what it has always done, which is to stabilize the governments of the countries in the territory. You see the result of that. Great Britain is, how do you say, a dumpster fire.”

  Sylvia couldn’t help it. She laughed.

  Lancelot narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

  “I am wrong?” Hugo asked.

  “Well, no. But watch it.”

  Sylvia cleared her throat
, then asked softly, “If what you do is so noble, why remain a secret?”

  “The trinity marriages,” Hugo replied. “Even today, we would be judged, shunned.”

  “And why do you have those?”

  “Stability. Protection. A stool will stand with three legs, but will fall with two.”

  “Or, it’s so men could arrange to get themselves two wives,” she shot back.

  “The person who will arrange my marriage, the admiral of France, is a woman. And for the record, I was raised by my mother…and two fathers.”

  Sylvia took a breath. She might be a romantic, but she wasn’t naive. Alicia was the one who’d taught her how to see the world for what it really was. How strange that Alicia had been the one who couldn’t see that her objection to such an organization was naive. The world would never be an even playing field.

  “I understand,” she said softly. “And it makes sense that you were both recruited. You’re brilliant and wonderful.”

  Hugo leaned forward, taking her left hand. His gaze—so blue and intense she wanted to both turn away and to sink into the intimacy of the moment—never left her face. “If you were born in Europe, you would be a member.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lancelot’s face twist in an expression she couldn’t read.

  Knowing that she would have been one of them both satisfied her ego and made her heart ache at the loss of something she hadn’t known she wanted until moments ago.

  If the world were black and white, there would be only two sides to this issue—for or against the Masters’ Admiralty. But the world was shades of gray, like her beloved charcoals, and though some part of her railed against the idea of a powerful organization that could make decisions without oversight, she was enough of a realist to know that was how the world worked. The Masters’ Admiralty was no different than a dozen other institutions that acted as barriers and gatekeepers in society.

  “That’s why you’re in Charleston. You were looking for Alicia. And that’s why you came to me. Because you thought I could lead you to her,” she summarized.

  Hugo’s smile faded as he sat back. Lancelot crossed his arms.

  “Yes,” Hugo said softly. “As a result, you were kidnapped and hurt, and there are not words to express how much I regret our actions.”

  “Except the sex. We don’t regret the sex,” Lancelot said.

  “And the sex was not part of our plan,” Hugo hurried to add. “We were not planning to seduce you for information.”

  “I realize that. After all, I seduced you.”

  Sylvia had never been the type of person to hold on to anger, to hold a grudge. Those emotions took too much energy and were counterproductive to her work. When she looked at these men, all she could feel was…love.

  She was a fool, always leading with her heart rather than her head. It was probably time to accept and embrace she would never change.

  Lancelot nodded. “You have to understand, Sylvie—Sylvia,” he corrected.

  She reached out with her good hand and touched his knee. “Sylvie.”

  For the first time since she’d woken up, Lancelot smiled. “Sylvie,” he whispered before continuing. “She killed a man, a member of our society. Her husband was the one who killed my former admiral. We think both of them are—well, were for the husband—working with the mastermind.”

  “She is working with him. With the mastermind. She talked about it, about him.”

  Hugo and Lancelot both reared back.

  “Name,” Lancelot said. “Did she give you a name?”

  Sylvia tried to think back to all that Alicia had said about him, the man who’d claimed her mentor’s undying, mentally unstable devotion. “She said…” Sylvia rubbed her head with her good hand. “He’s one of you. A member.”

  Lancelot nodded. “We knew that…well, I mean we suspected it. This guy had to be a member. He knew too much about us. What else?”

  Whatever medication Alicia—or perhaps the doctor who’d wrapped her hand—had given her was starting to wear off. Her hand throbbed painfully, as did her head. Her words when they came out sounded slurred even to her own ears.

  “She talked about him like he was a…prophet, or a cult leader. Fanatical devotion. He is Leon and Francisco and Bhagat.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to ward off the coming migraine. Lights flashed behind her eyelids and a wave of nausea gripped her. She shivered.

  “Enough. She has a fever. She’s starting to hallucinate,” Hugo said, his hand on her forehead. “She needs to rest, Lancelot.” Hugo helped her scoot down until she was lying once more.

  Sylvia didn’t bother to open her eyes to see Lancelot’s reaction. Given the urgency of his tone as he asked about Alicia, she could imagine the grimace, the desire to push for more.

  A wave of cold swept over her and a soft moan escaped her lips before she could swallow it down. It felt like she was coming down with the flu, but ten times worse.

  “Sylvia, ma cherie,” Hugo said, leaning closer, his lips pressing on her forehead. “What is it?”

  “Head. Hand. Hurts.”

  She heard the rattle of a bottle of pills, then felt Hugo’s hand slip around her shoulders. “Take these. It’ll ease the pain. Help you sleep some more.”

  She swallowed the pills and the water, trying hard to keep both down.

  She was vaguely aware of the men talking in hushed voices—were they arguing?—before she let the darkness take her again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lancelot and Hugo remained by Sylvia’s bed, neither of them speaking as she slept. They’d been there well over an hour, both of them lost in their thoughts.

  They’d told her about the Masters’ Admiralty, told her the truth about why they were there. He knew Sylvia and Hugo thought that was it…all the secrets were out in the open.

  Only he knew there was another—bigger—lie lingering between them. What would they say when he told them he’d lied about his identity, about who he was?

  How would they feel about Charlie Allerton, the security officer, the man who did whatever it took to get the job done? Hugo had claimed his actions were “knightly” when he’d dived overboard to save Sylvia. That proclamation kept coming back to him, bothering him intensely.

  As a security officer, there was such a thing as collateral damage. In that instant, it would have been Sylvia. If he were committed to the mission, if he’d kept his distance and not allowed himself to climb into her bed, not allowed himself to start feeling something for her, would he have allowed her to drown in order to successfully reach his mission objective?

  Lancelot knew many security officers would have, would have allowed her to die, so that Alicia could be caught and questioned. Not because they were evil or unfeeling. Because they had to be mission-focused. It was their job. Focus on the objective, the greater good. The mastermind had killed too many members of their society, and unless he was stopped, it was only a matter of time before he struck again.

  How did the life of one American woman stack up against all of that?

  He had a feeling he knew what the fleet admiral would say.

  Which meant…he’d failed his commander.

  Yet, even now, he couldn’t summon up an ounce of regret.

  He looked toward the bed, surprised to find Sylvia’s eyes open, her gaze on his face.

  He stood so that he could bend closer, his face next to hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Are you?”

  God only knew what unguarded emotions she’d seen before he realized she was awake. “We almost lost you.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “You saved my life.”

  “I was the reason you almost lost it.”

  Hugo shifted closer as well. “Sylvia. I know this doesn’t make up for all the pain you’ve suffered, but I’m sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry for putting you in harm’s way. For not warning you that Alicia was dangerous.”

  “No more secrets?”
<
br />   Hugo kissed her softly. “No more secrets.”

  Lancelot looked away from them, silently praying she didn’t ask him for the same confirmation.

  “What will you do now?” she asked instead.

  Before they could answer, there was a knock at the front door.

  Lancelot looked at Hugo, who immediately moved closer to Sylvia, putting an arm around her waist and helping her to rise, placing a finger over her lips as he did. She was still pale and in pain—though the more intense pain was muted by whatever drugs the doctor at the small clinic in Florida had prescribed her. She went with Hugo, smartly not objecting as he pulled her toward the back corner of the room. There was a floor-to-ceiling armoire—real, solid wood, sturdily built. Lancelot shot a glance back when he reached the doorway to the hallway that led to the foyer.

  Another knock.

  Hugo pulled out the decorative chair tucked into the small alcove created by the corner and the edge of the armoire, urging Sylvia into the space, then standing squarely before her, hiding her from view and protecting her with his body.

  Lancelot pulled the knife from the sheath on his ankle and stepped into the hall. He hadn’t had a chance to clean it yet. Using it to slice someone open would be one way to get saltwater off the blade. He mourned the loss of one gun to the ocean. Luckily he had the backup. The bad news was that it was in his knapsack in the front parlor.

  There was a beep—the digital keypad lock—and then the door opened.

  Oscar stepped in, stopped short when he saw the naked knife in Lancelot’s hand, and froze. Shock morphed quickly to a hard mask. “Where’s my sister?”

  Lancelot lowered the knife and tilted his head toward the bedroom. “She’s fine. Get in and close the door.”