by Ruby Moone
“Henderson…I…” Tristan was stunned. “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty and your help.”
Henderson hesitated again. “Might I be so bold as to enquire about your attire and your plans for the evening?”
Tristan glanced down at himself and grimaced. He was still dressed in his clothes from the previous day. “There is someone still in Wallingford’s clutches that I need to find.”
“Is it Mr Holloway?”
Tristan felt the flush hit his entire body and spill onto his face. Just how much of his life did Henderson and the staff actually know about?
“What do you know of Mr Holloway?”
Henderson hesitated. “Not a great deal. Just that you went away with Lord Alfred, and two others, and not all the gentlemen returned. You have also accumulated three children and Wallingford is involved.”
“You are very observant.”
“And very discreet. Of that you have my absolute word,” Henderson said.
Tristan swallowed and nodded. “Thank you.”
Chapter 17
Sam paced the room, heart pounding with a ferocious beat that echoed in his fist. His hand still hurt from punching Dante, but the elation that he had experienced when the man staggered and stared at him with wide eyed shock still coursed through him. In all his exchanges with Dante he had felt completely helpless. Alone. But now, he felt that that at least he had a fighting chance, and tolerating another round of his depravity was not something he was willing to take any more without a fight. He knew in his heart that the likelihood was that he would be forced, that Dante would return and restrain him in some way, but at least he had shown him that he was not the compliant, terrified boy that he had been. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Emotion was bubbling through him like the champagne they had drunk over the weekend. It felt as though everything was clear. He had in the past accepted what Dante and Mosely had imposed on him because it felt like they owned him. Well, no more. He needed to get out and get to Tristan. Get to those boys who needed saving before they too were ruined. He knew he needed to find work and purpose in his life, and he had no idea what that would be, but he was certain that he could not just live off Tristan’s charity. He sat on the bed and pushed his hands into his hair and closed his eyes. He needed to get out and sort things. He stalked over to the window again and rattled it. It was shut tight, and even if he could force it, they were several storeys up so he would most likely kill himself trying to get down. He pulled open the chest that sat underneath the window and found all manner of implements designed to arouse. He found an alarmingly large glass dildo that would serve as a short club. He practiced a little with it, slapping it into the palm of his hand, and then paused. If he actually got out of this ridiculous predicament, he would use it on Tristan in the manner it was meant for. That made him smile for a moment. He grabbed chains and metal bars and put them at strategic points around the bed so that he could use them as weapons if needs be. He brandished the poker and lay it beneath the pillows on the bed. Some pairs of cuffs with mechanical closures were secreted on the off chance that he might be able to restrain Dante in some way. That would be a fine piece of poetic justice. He smiled again. Tristan would like that.
A rattle at the door made him shove the cuffs under a pillow and move to stand by the fireplace where the dildo was hidden behind the clock. He braced himself.
“Sam?” a soft, female voice whispered through the door.
“Iris?” he rattled the door handle. “Iris, is that you?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, can you get the door open?” He pressed an ear to the panel, then moved back as he heard the latch click. The door opened cautiously and there she was.
She pushed him back and came into the room, locking it behind her. “Are you hurt?” she said, touching his face.
“Sore knuckles. I hit him.”
She picked up his hand and inspected the bruising. “He has a huge bruise on his eye. He is furious and I am terrified what he might do to you.”
“I know. I need to get out, but he cannot find you helping me.”
“I want to come with you.” Iris stood rigid, mouth grim. “I want you to take me with you.”
“Um…” Sam hesitated. He was fairly sure she knew were his inclinations lay, but…
She blushed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake I am not interested in you that way,” she said with such scorn that he flushed, too. “I want Clara to come with us. She is the only one for me.”
He tried not to gawp, he really did. But it failed. “You and Clara?”
“Men are not the only ones with perverse desires, you know.” She was snappish now.
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “But you service the gentlemen so I think I can be forgiven for my assumption!”
Iris smiled a little and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Not all the gentlemen are gentlemen, if you get my meaning.”
Sam’s heart warmed and he grinned.
“So, will you take us?”
“Of course I will. Get everything that you need to take and keep it light.”
“Already done. Waiting in the carriage by the door.”
Sam laughed, took her pixie face in his hands, and kissed her. “I adore you.”
She wiped her mouth and laughed. “Come on.”
Sam followed her into the corridor outside the room and they sped along soundlessly. They almost made it. Almost.
“Planning another trip?” His voice stopped Sam dead. Dante stepped out in front of him, blocking their path, and Sam heard Iris swallow.
“I damned well am. I do not intend to spend another moment in this hell hole, so get out of my way.” His bravado was meant mainly for Iris, but it helped to say the words, helped to feel that he was still in control.
“Then go,” he said. “Go and leave Iris with me. She will take your place.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Iris is coming with me.”
Dante shook his head. The lust gathering about him was almost palpable. He enjoyed people’s fear, he enjoyed shaming, humiliating and hurting, and he liked to take the unwilling. Sam made a move forward, but Dante stepped back, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and flashed a long blade, taking up a fighting stance with it.
Sam kept his eye on the blade, but spoke to Iris. “Get down the back stairs and get away.”
“I’m not leaving you…”
“Fucking leave!” he yelled and threw himself at Dante, grabbing the arm with the blade and sending them both crashing to the floor. He heard Iris cry out, but then do as he had bidden. He grappled with Dante, holding the arm with the knife, but Dante was older, more cunning, and in a trice he had a hand on Sam’s balls squeezing enough to incapacitate. As Sam choked and slackened his hold he was flipped over, then Dante was on top. Blade to his throat, hand still on his aching balls.
“I am going to move very slowly, and you will get up. Another move like that and I will take great joy in cutting them off.” He squeezed painfully and Sam was in no doubt that he would do exactly that. He got to his feet. At least Iris and Clara were out of the way. At least he had placed some instruments in the room that he might be able to use as weapons. At least he was still alive. He was mentally planning how to grab the dildo from behind the clock and then cuff Dante all the while keeping an eye on Dante’s movements. He edged away, and was prepared when Dante rushed forward and launched a ferocious punch. He staggered back, holding up both arms and danced towards the fireplace, waiting for the next punch, but it never came. Dante feinted and as Sam moved, the man slammed his foot between his legs. Sam managed to move enough to lessen the blow, but it still felled him. He clutched his groin, and felt bile rise to his throat as nausea took him. He tried to breathe, tried to move, but Dante had him in cuffs so swiftly that by the time he could draw a breath he was manacled. Sam tried not to let the fight go out of him. He had no doubt that Tristan and Alfie would come and try and find him, but judging by the look on Da
nte’s face, he was afraid of what they might find when they arrived.
When Dante looked over one shoulder and yelled, “Mosely, get in here!” Sam knew he was done for.
* * * *
Dante dragged Sam towards the bed. Sam resisted. He lashed out with his feet, but Dante let him struggle for a moment before grabbing him by the throat and pressing hard on his windpipe. Sam’s vision wavered and he tried to claw at his hand, but the cuffs made it impossible. Dante yanked his arms up and hooked the cuffs onto a chain that hung from the ceiling expressly for that purpose. Sam thought of all the times that he had used them for pleasure, but there was no pleasure here now. Nothing. This was not the kind of fear that arouses; it was the kind of fear that deadens.
“You disappoint me,” Dante said as he paced up and down in front of Sam’s strung out body, breathing heavily. “I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” he asked as he twisted to see if he could force the cuffs open by clenching his fists. The cuffs were not meant to really restrain if a person was determined, but they held fast.
“Understood that I do not allow my boys to leave.”
“I am not your boy. I have never been your boy.” Sam dangled from the hook uselessly. His feet touched the floor because he was so tall. His only hope was to get a good kick in.
“You think you belong to Chiltern?” Dante said with a laugh.
“Of course not,” Sam snapped. He didn’t want Tristan implicated in this sorry mess. “I tricked him into getting me out. That’s all. He was an easy target.”
Mosely appeared at the door and sauntered in. “Sam. How nice of you to drop in,” he said, and laughed at his own cleverness. Sam tried to maintain his composure.
“How was Scarborough?” he asked and watched as Mosely flushed.
“Funny. Very funny.”
“Right,” Dante said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “By my reckoning the young earl and his coterie are about hour behind us. I think that gives us a little time to play.” He glanced over at Mosely whose smile chilled Sam to the bone.
“In fact, if we time this well, the young earl should arrive in time to watch.”
Mosely laughed as he walked towards Sam, unwinding his cravat as he did so. Sam waited. Waited, and tensed. He had one shot at this. He waited until Mosely’s attention switched to removing his clothing, and then lashed out with his foot using everything that he had. It was a perfect shot. He slammed it into the side of Mosely’s face sending him lurching. His hands were occupied with his cravat, so he fell heavily into the fireplace with a clatter, sending everything scattering. The fire was unlit, and Mosely lay sprawled on it, unmoving. Sam was breathing heavily as Dante moved. He opened a drawer, and pulled out a spreader with a smile. Sam’s heart was near to exploding. If he got that thing on his legs he was completely immobile.
Dante edged towards him as though he were approaching a skittish horse. Sam watched his every move, waiting for a chance. Just one chance. Sweat trickled down his back as he positioned himself so that he could lash out again. Mosely was still unmoving, so it was just him and Dante.
Dante took a step forward and tensed.
* * * *
Tristan rushed into the unlocked room in Dante’s with Alfie and Gareth at his back. They all skidded to a halt at the sight that greeted them. Mosely was seemingly unconscious in the grate, and Sam was strung from the roof by a chain and cuffs. Wallingford appeared to be attempting to shackle his legs and Sam was fighting him with all he had.
Sam stared, eyes wide, and Dante took one look at them and laughed.
“How incredibly predictable you are, my dears.” He dropped the bar and chains in his hands to the floor and dusted his hands together. “For someone you say you tricked into helping you escape, he seems dreadfully attached to you, my love,” he said to Sam. “I think you need to tell him that it was all just a ruse before he gets hurt, and we can get back to our play.” He looked at Tristan and smiled. “He loves being shackled and taken. Have you had him this way yet? No?” Dante made a sympathetic face and shook his head. “Such a shame you won’t get the chance.”
Tristan watched as the fight seemed to go out of Sam. His eyes closed.
“Of course it was a ruse. However, I paid for him and now he is mine. I keep what is mine,” Tristan said.
Sam opened his eyes and swallowed. A single tear tracked down his cheek almost breaking Tristan, but he needed to get Wallingford, Dante, or whatever the hell his name was out of the way first.
“Well, I might be able to think of a way for you to keep him, but he will come at a cost.”
Tristan shook his head. “A cost?”
Dante’s smile was unpleasant. “It is fortunate that you recently inherited the title. You are going to need the money that it brings with it.”
“I don’t understand.”
Alfie came and stood beside Tristan. “I suspect he is talking about blackmail.”
Tristan sucked in a breath and looked at Dante, who was smiling.
“Your cousin is an intelligent man, and also a wealthy man, so between the two of you, you will make me an even wealthier man.”
Tristan’s heart was pounding.
“We will agree on a sum from each of you that will guarantee my silence about your…nasty proclivities that would ruin you both and all your family were they known.”
“What?”
“Well, not only do you find pleasure in unnatural activities with men, but with children, too.” Dante shook his head in mock censure and sadness.
Alfie bestirred himself with an apparently languid sigh but Tristan could feel the tension rolling from him. “Very well. Once you let us know the sum we will confirm what we require from you to maintain our silence.”
Dante laughed. “Touché. So you see, we are now equal. You can walk away.”
“Let Sam go,” Tristan said.
Dante looked him in the eye. “Not until I have the money.”
Alfie put a warning hand on Tristan’s elbow but he shook it off.
Sam wriggled in his bonds, the chain rattling in the silence. “Tristan, for God’s sake will you get out of here? Don’t you understand? It wasn’t real. I don’t love you. I am back where I belong so just go. Alfie, get him out of here. Neither of you belong here.” Sam’s words dropped chills down Tristan’s spine but he didn’t believe him for a moment.
He looked Dante in the eye. “Let him go.” He pulled the pistol he carried secreted in his coat pocket and pointed it at him.
He heard Sam gasp, and felt Alfie move beside him. Dante’s face was unreadable.
“You think that I would ever let him go to you?” he said, mildly, but then pulled a knife from his pocket and launched himself at Sam, aiming for his chest.
Sam yelled, Alfie leaped, but Tristan pulled the trigger.
Chapter 18
Tristan was still shaking several hours later when he sat with Alfie in the study of his town house. Gareth had taken Sam back to his rooms whilst they sorted out the mess.
“So what will happen now?” he asked.
Alfie passed him a glass of brandy and sat in the chair opposite. He stroked his chin and then tapped his thumb against his mouth before speaking. “I have spoken with the Prince Regent, and, with his permission, Wallingford’s family.”
Tristan started and stared. “The Prince Regent?”
“My dear boy, whatever Wallingford may or may not have been, he was a peer of the realm. A Marquess. Higher ranking than even you.”
Tristan ran his hand down his face. “And I shot him,” he said dully. “Do go on.”
Alfie was quiet for a moment, but then continued. “I explained that there had been a very, very unfortunate incident in a brothel. A particular type of brothel, that Wallingford had been visiting.” Alfie tapped his finger against his lip again before continuing. “I told them that there had been a violent incident and a man named Mosely had shot Wallingford dead in a row over a young ma
n. In turn, someone punched Mosely, who sadly fell and hit his head causing him to also lose his life.”
Tristan was staring at Alfie, dumfounded. He knew that his cousin had connections to the crown, knew that he was as secretive as he was inventive, but to take this story to the king and Wallingford’s family…? Tristan was beyond speech.
Alfie continued. “The family now need a little time to come to terms with their loss, but also to decide how much of this they want made public. Given Wallingford’s status, the king has granted them some influence over what is revealed publicly.”
Tristan’s heart thumped. “I am presuming they will not want any of this getting out?”
“I would concur. From the conversation I had with his grieving relatives there will be an announcement in the Times shortly announcing his sad, untimely demise. Heart failure, I suspect.”
“And…”
“And they will be eternally grateful to our family for giving them the opportunity to hush up what might have been the scandal of the decade, and one that had the potential not only to ruin the family, but to touch the Prince Regent.”
“Good God.” Tristan was silent for a moment. “What about Overdale?”
“Apparently he has discovered he has urgent business in the Indies. Likely to be out of the country for the foreseeable future.”
Tristan rubbed his face. So that was that. The fact that two of the country’s most powerful men preyed on vulnerable children, and young men and women, would disappear along with Wallingford’s funeral and Overdale’s ship.
“This feels wrong,” he said. “Dreadfully wrong. If we fail to expose what was really happening, if Overdale did have a part to play in the children being at the house, then shouldn’t we do something about it?” Tristan’s head was swimming.
“Am I condoning the silence about what really went on to protect myself?”
