A Season for Treason

by Golden Angel

  To the left, on the far wall, Mrs. Thorpe was standing behind the Duke of Kent, a large paddle in her hand. The dark pink hue of his buttocks suggested they were just getting started.

  There was nothing for Rex in the parlor, but he did appreciate seeing his guests enjoying themselves. As he and Lucas paused to take in the scenes, Carlisle looked up, his gaze skipping over Rex and landing on Lucas. The side of his mouth lifted in an inviting smile, and he beckoned with one hand, the other still resting on Collins’ blond head. Not needing to be asked twice, Lucas loped forward, already tugging his shirt over his head.

  Chuckling, Rex left them to it and continued his way down the hall.

  He passed a woman crawling, naked, on the end of a leash held by her husband, who was watching her rounded bottom, the base of a plug snugly wedged between her firm cheeks. The Sinclairs were not ton, but their great wealth allowed them to move in many of the same circles, and knowledge of their proclivities would ruin them as surely as if they were part of the aristocracy. Monogamous and devoted to each other, they still enjoyed watching and being watched as they indulged in their fetishes.

  Walking down the hallway, Rex heard someone pounding on the front door. Frowning, he quickly turned on his heel and headed to the foyer of the house. He’d just reached the top of the stairwell when his butler opened the door. A quick interchange of words, then whoever was outside began to shout, the voice somewhat familiar.

  Rex took the stairs two at a time, coming up to loom behind Cormack. The grizzled former soldier could surely handle any trouble, but Rex did not take kindly to anyone interrupting the Society’s proceedings. He narrowed his eyes as the man outside shut up, realizing Cormack was not alone at the door.

  Mitchell. Of course. Rex suppressed a sneer.

  Julian Mitchell was an anomaly for the Society, holding the dubious honor of being the only person Rex had ever forcibly ejected from the group, which also made him a liability. So far, the man had held his tongue, which was the only reason he was still alive. Rex knew several of the other members had discussed making a further example of him, including the man who had initially sponsored his membership, Lord Gabriel Warwick.

  Heir to an Earldom, selfish and cruel, Warwick was one of Rex’s least favorite acquaintances, but he would not deny any man or woman membership because of personal dislike. There were several women who loved what Warwick did to and with them, and far be it from Rex to deny them. Unfortunately, Warwick had miscalculated when he sponsored Mitchell to join them.

  The most imperative rule of the Society of Sin was every participant must be willing. Rex considered every woman in his house under his protection during the festivities, and until Mitchell, there had never been any cause for concern. Last year, Mitchell decided he wanted to have his sadistic way with one of Rex’s maids, despite her protests.

  The other men had converged on him, and Rex had thrown him out the door with his own two hands.

  Warwick, infuriated and clearly worried he would be next, had stepped outside to threaten Mitchell with everything from financial ruin to death. The other man had sworn there would be no such need and had scurried off into the night. After reassuring everyone Mitchell would cause them no further trouble, they had left the matter alone, wary but willing to give Warwick the benefit of the doubt.

  He had spoken truly. Mitchell had disappeared into the ether—until now.

  “What do you want?” Rex asked, fixing Mitchell with an imperious gaze. His muscles coiled, ready for action. Mitchell was shorter, lighter, and less experienced. He shrank back.

  “I need to speak with Warwick.” The man had paled considerably, but he still managed a glare for Cormack. “Your… butler… would not even deign to send a message.”

  Looking over his shoulder, Cormack shrugged, not very apologetically. “The rest of the household is occupied, so there would be no one to watch the bounder.”

  Mitchell bristled at the description but was wise enough not to protest the insult.

  Inwardly sighing, Rex cocked his head. He had not been aware Mitchell and Warwick were still in contact. Thinking about it further, it did make sense. Otherwise, how could Warwick be assured Mitchell kept his lips sealed? He did not like having Mitchell at his door, though, especially during his house party.

  Leaning against the jam, Rex nodded to Cormack. “Go find Warrick. I will wait here.”

  Paling further, Mitchell took another step back. He was likely remembering Rex’s vivid description of how he could detach Mitchell’s balls from his body if the man ever darkened his doorstep again. Rex grinned at him wolfishly as Cormack disappeared into the house, and Mitchell took another step back.

  They stared at each other, Rex impassive and Mitchell avoiding his gaze while shifting his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

  Good.

  It took only a few minutes before Warwick appeared, and by that time, Mitchell had shifted himself down to the edge of the lawn. Without the hedge blocking his way, he might have gone even further.

  “What are you doing here?” Warwick asked, clearly aggrieved, raking a hand through his dark hair. He looked at Rex. “I did not know he would be coming. He was told not to come.” Clearly, Warwick did not want to risk his own position with the Society.

  “I did not have a choice. I needed to see you.” Mitchell’s voice was whining, and his eyes shifted between Rex and Warwick nervously. “Privately.”

  “Very well.” Warwick stepped out, glancing over his shoulder. “I will only be a few minutes, I assure you.”

  Rex stepped back as Warwick closed the door behind him. It could be he was honoring the Society’s privacy by not even requesting Mitchell be allowed back in the house, but being shut out still left a bad taste in Rex’s mouth.

  He moved over to the window to watch Warwick and Mitchell move several meters away to just outside the carriage Mitchell must have traveled in, ensuring they would not be overheard. Whatever they were discussing, they were doing so intensely. Mitchell was clearly anxious and Warwick either frustrated or angry—perhaps both.

  Cormack sidled up beside him, scowling out the window at the pair.

  “I don’ like it.”

  “Me, neither,” Rex admitted. He frowned as the two men outside bent their heads closer together. Like it or not, there was not much he could do about it. Warwick was not breaking any rules by continuing to associate with Mitchell—in fact, such an association likely helped ensure Mitchell was watched over—but it made his skin itch.

  “Lady Hester has been entertaining Warwick this week, yes?” Rex murmured. The lady’s inclinations were as extreme as Warwick’s, and they often paired off at events. Strangely, outside of the bedroom, the two did not get along and were often at loggerheads.

  “Aye.” Cormack nodded. “I’ll ask Lily to have a word with her.”

  Mistress Lily Maple, Rex’s housekeeper, formerly a lightskirt from one of the exclusive palaces in London, had a deft hand with a crop and often paired off with Cormack during the evening when she was finished running the household. She ran both the staff and Cormack with an iron fist.

  “Probably should not tell her until Mitchell is off the premises.” She was likely to go after the man with a whip. Very protective of her maids was Mistress Maple, and she had been unhappy to have missed out on Mitchell’s punishment when he’d been banished. It would not be unlike her to decide to get a few licks in now.

  “Rex?” A feminine voice floated down through the foyer, and both Cormack and Rex jerked around, looking up to the top of the staircase. Lady Abernathy stood there, now wearing a loose gown, with Viscountess Weymouth beside her, similarly clothed. “Lucas and Roger are quarreling over Walter in the parlor, and it is becoming rather heated.”

  Suppressing a groan, Rex shook his head before looking at Cormack.

  “Keep an eye on Warwick and Mitchell. Make sure Mitchell leaves, then talk to the Mistress.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Cormack didn’t salute, but he did clic
k his heels together, as he often did when issued an order.

  Reluctantly, Rex took to the stairs, where Ladies Abernathy and Weymouth had already vanished, sure he would take care of the matter. It wasn’t as if he could do anything more about Warwick and Mitchell right now, anyway, and he was the only one who could handle Lucas when he became belligerent.

  Last year, Lucas had fancied himself in love, sponsoring Walter Hood’s membership to the Society and taking the young man under his wing. Unfortunately, Lucas’ love did not guarantee faithfulness, and the two had broken apart during the summer.

  Respecting the Society’s unspoken rules, they had stayed well apart since then, but Walter Hood and the Earl of Perth had been circling around each other for weeks, and Lucas had been growing increasingly jealous every time the group gathered. Too bad Carlisle and Collins had not been able to keep Lucas suitably entertained, but Collins and Lucas did not get on well either.

  If it was not one thing, it was another. At least Cormack could keep an eye on Warwick and Mitchell, even though it irked Rex not to be able to watch them himself.

  The raised voices reached his ears before he reached the parlor. He cursed under his breath as he heard the slight slur in Lucas’ voice, indicating he was deep in his cups. Alcohol made his friend’s temper much worse.

  “Do you want me jealous, Walter? Well done, you did it. Now what?”

  “Contrary to your belief, Lucas, my actions do not revolve around you.” Hood’s tone was calm, aloof, which would normally have been a good thing, but his very indifference was likely to be a larger prod to Lucas’ pride than anger would have been. Rex strode through the door, taking in the scene with a glance. Thankfully, most of the room had emptied, most of them likely retreating as the potential for drama soared. Unlike most of the ton, members of the Society were far more interested in their pleasures than the drama of jealous ex-lovers. The only ones left were Carlisle and Collins, still watching the confrontation between Hood, Perth, and Lucas.

  “How does Perth feel about being used by you?” Lucas taunted. He was half-dressed, his breeches still undone, face flushed with temper, and fists clenched by his side.

  In contrast, Hood looked almost bored, and Rex had to wonder if it was an affectation designed to get under Lucas’ skin. Perhaps, although Rex thought it far more likely, Hood truly did not care anymore—not for Lucas nor his feelings—and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. Perth, in contrast, had his arm around Hood’s waist, and his jaw was clenched, as if he wanted to say something but was letting Hood fight his own battle. Rex had to respect that.

  The two of them were much more suited to each other than Lucas had been to Hood. Anyone with eyes could see Hood had been looking for a monogamous relationship, which Lucas was incapable of.

  Still on the couch, Carlisle was watching the argument with narrowed eyes, stroking Collins’ hair as the other man leaned his head against Carlisle’s knee. Upon Rex’s arrival, he nodded his head and got to his feet, holding out his hand for Collins to take.

  “Lucas.” Rex’s voice was repressive. Carlisle and Collins skirted around the standoff, exiting the room. “May I have a word?”

  Instead of answering, Lucas kept glaring at the other two men. Hood and Perth both turned toward him, however.

  “Rex,” Perth said respectfully. The only audible sign of his anger was his Scottish brogue was thicker than usual.

  “Our apologies for interrupting your evening.” Hood nodded his head in a manner that was almost a bow, his black hair sliding forward over dark eyes before he lifted his head. Lucas watched the movement longingly. He clearly still desired Hood, but he would have to gain better control of his emotions. Hood clearly wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

  “No apology necessary,” Rex said. “I need to speak with Lucas, if you would not mind?”

  “No need,” Lucas said abruptly. “I am retiring to my room for the evening. My apologies to everyone for having emotions.” Head held high, he stalked from the room.

  Now Rex did sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache starting.

  “We will do our best to avoid him for the rest of the week,” Hood said, sounding even more apologetic.

  “No need,” Rex said, shaking his head. “I will have a word with him tomorrow morning, once he sleeps it off. He will not bother you again.”

  “You do nae always have to take responsibility for him, you know,” Perth said, one blond eyebrow rising in question. “At some point, he is going to have to be accountable for himself.”

  “I know.” He said the words, but even he could hear the hollow quality. At some point during their lives, he had assumed the burden of pulling Lucas out of scrapes, both large and small. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  He made his way back to the front door, but Cormack had disappeared, meaning Warrick had already made his way back inside.

  Heaving a deep sigh, Rex stared out the front windows into the night. Behind him, in his house, all sorts of revelry and debauchery continued, but his heart was not in it. Not for tonight, at least. Perhaps tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  Mary

  With Mary’s uncle two stones lighter and healthier than ever and his heir happily wed to Lady Arabella, her aunt’s eye was now firmly fixed on Mary’s future. Mary would never wish another scare like her uncle’s heart had given them in the middle of her Season last year, but it certainly had been much easier to sneak around when Aunt Elizabeth was fluttering over Uncle Henry instead.

  “Do not worry, Mary, we will find you a husband this year,” Aunt Elizabeth said from her place at the breakfast table, with all the assurance of a matchmaking matron on a mission. The glint of determination in her dark eyes was a tad unnerving. Fashionably attired in a dark grey-and-silver day dress that set off the white strands winding about the coils of her dark hair to perfection, she looked every inch the proper English lady. While she might be ‘only’ a viscountess, she was well respected and influential in Society, and her consequence had been increased after Thomas married Lady Arabella last year.

  The only sister of the Duke of Manchester, Arabella was vivacious, charming, and a touch wild. Truth be told, she reminded Mary quite a bit of Josie. It was likely why Mary had felt more comfortable around Arabella than the other young ladies she had met the year prior—Arabella was a very friendly person and did not stand on ceremony, which helped a great deal as well.

  “What kind do you want?” Arabella asked, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. Thomas’ head lifted from his newspaper, a frown already beginning to form on his face. Marriage to Arabella had loosened his stuffy personality somewhat, but not entirely, and he clearly suspected his wife’s question was going to lead somewhere inappropriate.

  “What do you mean?” Not above a little mischief herself, Mary was truly curious.

  “Do you want a husband with a title? Should he be a Corinthian or a scholar? A businessman or a gentleman? A rogue or—”

  “That is quite enough,” Thomas interrupted, putting down his toast. “Mary is certainly not going to marry a rogue.”

  At the end of the table, the pages of Uncle Henry’s newspaper shook, and she thought she heard a soft chuckle behind the paper barrier.

  Unbidden, the broad shoulders and tawny hair of one particular rogue rose in her mind. Mary ruthlessly pushed the handsome face back into the recesses of her brain. The man might be involved in treason, for goodness sake. He would not make a comfortable husband, either. The one thing she knew for sure was she wanted a husband who would be faithful to her. Hartford hardly seemed like a good bet for constancy.

  “Arabella has a point,” Aunt Elizabeth said, turning to look thoughtfully at Mary. “You had the opportunity to look about the ton last year and form an opinion on the offerings available. It is also important to know what kind of life you want, whether you wish to live in the country, the city, or travel between the two.”

  “I…” Mary’s voice trailed
off, and her cheeks flushed. She was embarrassed to realize she had not given it much thought. Last year, she had been overwhelmed by Society, then the guilt of Aunt Elizabeth refusing to cut her Season short even after Uncle Henry’s small heart scare, as well as watching Hartford, Arabella, and Thomas dance around each other, and missing her friends. This year, she had been so focused on Evie’s assignment and thinking of everything she could show her friends now that they were all in London, she had barely given a thought to her personal reasons for attending the Season. Which would not do at all.

  She was already twenty and on her second season. While she might conceivably eke out a third without too much censure, ideally—from all perspectives—she would make a match of it this year. She could not expect her aunt and uncle to continue returning to London just for her. They usually only attended the Season every other year.

  “Do think on it, dear,” Aunt Elizabeth said, reaching over to pat Mary’s hand sympathetically. Then her eyes brightened. “Perhaps we can make a list of suitors to discuss, and once we have crossed off some of their names, we can go from there. I am sure Thomas could suggest some worthy gentlemen.”

  Mary did her best to keep her expression blank, but she burst into giggles when she saw the face Arabella made. Arabella grinned at her while Thomas’ frown deepened.

  “I will help, too,” Arabella said, winking at Mary. “We can write to Gabrielle and see if she has any ideas, so she will feel included.” Currently, Thomas’ brother Felix and his wife, Gabrielle, who was Arabella’s best friend, were at their home, taking care of their infant daughter. They had not wanted to come to town this year, with Beatrice being only a few months old.

  “There will be nothing wrong with my suggestions,” Thomas said, affronted.