Jane wrinkled her nose. “Poor man.” She frowned and glanced at Edmund. “I wonder what we weren’t supposed to forget to do?”
“I have no idea.” He turned to survey the ceremonial chamber. “Ah!” He blinked. “I have some good news and some bad news.” His voice sounded slightly strangled.
“What?” Jane finally turned as well. “Oh!”
The room was designed like an amphitheater, seats rising to their right and descending to their left. At the bottom was a small stage, and on the stage sat the casket from Clarence’s drawing.
But that was not the only notable thing about the chamber—not at all. There were at least a hundred, probably more, randy Pans on display. They were everywhere—marching along the walls on both sides of the room, standing guard at the doors, crowding around the stage. “No wonder Cleopatra thought Clarence had become obsessed,” Jane said. “How will we ever find the right one?”
Edmund was fishing in his pocket. “We can just smash them all. We’ve got twenty minutes.” He pulled out the key to the handcuffs, and then checked his watch. “Fifteen to be safe. I want to be out of here before anyone else arrives.” He freed Jane’s wrist. “You take that side of the room, and I’ll take this.”
“No, wait.” She put a hand on his arm as he unlocked the cuffs from his wrist. “If we do that, they’ll know we were here.”
“They’ll know we were here anyway. Our digestively challenged guide will tell them.”
“Not if he’s still in the”—Jane blushed and waved her hand vaguely—“you know, when the ceremony begins.”
“Perhaps, but we still need the sketch and we don’t have time to carefully unscrew and rescrew all these damn penises.”
“We don’t have time to search through the debris breaking them will produce, either.”
Edmund blew out a short, annoyed-sounding breath. “So what do you suggest?”
“I’m thinking.”
Edmund rolled his eyes, and then consulted his watch again. “Think fast. You’ve got about three minutes while I check to see if there’s another exit to this room.” He hefted the handcuffs. “Then I’m going to start an extreme form of castration.” He strode across the room to a smaller, single door half hidden by a phalanx of Pans.
Jane rubbed her forehead. She had to ignore the mental ticking of Edmund’s watch, marking off the seconds until he started separating the gods from their jolly genitals.
Clarence had been so careful in his other clues to provide a clear way to find the next Pan—he’d drawn the Magnolia grandiflora so they could locate the statue in Lord Palmerson’s garden, and then he’d included Cleopatra’s painting to point them toward the Harley Street gallery. He must have given them a way to find the right Pan in this instance as well. He knew the room was full of the gods—he’d sketched a crowd of them.
He’d also included that casket on the stage. He must have had a reason to do so. She would begin there. She started down the incline.
Edmund stepped back into the room. “One minute before I start swinging this chain.”
“Then spend that minute helping me.” She walked around the casket, running her hand along its sides. There were no griffins or Saturns—Clarence must have added those for the sketch.
Edmund grumbled, but joined her on the stage. “Half a minute now.”
“Oh, do be quiet.” Clarence had fabricated the markings on the side of the casket, but he wouldn’t have invented everything, would he? What would have been the point of that? He wanted them to find the rest of the sketch.
Mama often droned on about seeing like an artist—choosing a subject, studying it, noticing all its details, how the light played over its surface…
She paused and looked out over the rows of seats. Clarence had painted the view from one side of the casket, but this wasn’t it. This was the view of the participants. The audience would see something else.
There was only one other choice.
She turned around. A group of Pans stared at her. One of them was smiling.
“Time’s up,” Edmund said. “Let’s go.” He swung the chain as if to get a feel for it. “We’ll start with these—”
Jane grabbed his arm. “Wait. I know where the sketch is.”
“You do?”
“I think I do.” She grabbed the smiling Pan’s penis and unscrewed it. Dear God, please let the sketch be here. If it wasn’t, she’d have to give up and help Edmund break open as many gods as they could. She lifted the massive member free.
“That’s it!” Edmund plucked a scrap of paper out of the penis and put it in his pocket. “Well done. Now let’s put this organ back and get out of here before—damn.”
Jane had heard the door open, too. Edmund’s hands immediately joined hers on Pan’s penis, helping her finish screwing it in place, but making it look as if he were showing her how to stroke a man’s member—his member.
“Like this, mon amour.” He was using his high, thin, faintly French voice again. “From the base to the tip, firmly—ah!” He turned, making a show of being surprised. She looked as well—it was their earlier guide, back from the convenience. “Yes? What is it, monsieur?”
“Getting the lady ready, are you? Good, good. I’ll be sure to be first in line—after you, of course.” He covered his mouth and belched. “Ahem. Assuming I don’t have to run off.”
First in line? Did he mean…? Jane’s stomach lurched. She would have to run off to the convenience in just a moment.
“Of course.” Edmund consulted his watch. “But it’s not yet time, is it?”
“Oh, no. You’ve got five minutes at least. I just wanted to remind you, because, what with all my, er, issues, I think I forgot to tell you that you can put your clothes in the bin behind the stage.”
“Ah. The bin.” Edmund nodded calmly as if he knew exactly what the man was talking about and wasn’t disturbed about it in the slightest. Jane clenched her fists and breathed through her nose. She was not going to swoon. At least, she hoped she wasn’t, but the thought of shedding her clothes and doing something that might involve this unpleasant, ill gentleman and penises…She bit her lip to keep her moan from escaping.
“Yes. You’ll see it if you just look behind that statue there.” The man grinned. “Unless you’ve already come naked under those robes? Some do, but it’s a bit cold out, especially for the ladies.” He nodded at Jane. “Don’t worry—if you’ve brought any finery, you’ll get it back later.”
Jane looked up at Edmund. Could he tell how desperate she felt?
“Bon. The lady, she must get ready.” Edmund gestured toward the door. “If you would be so kind?”
The man laughed. “Of course. They’re all shy at first, but once they get a swallow or two of the devil’s brew, there’s no stopping them, eh?” The man headed for the door. “Don’t dally, though.” He looked at his watch again. “The servants will be bringing in the brew any moment now.”
“Ah. We will hurry, then. Thank you.”
The man closed the door behind him, and Edmund grabbed Jane’s hand. There was no way in hell he was going to let her get caught in this obscene situation. “Come on. That door leads to some servants’ stairs and from there to an alley. We should be able to find Jem and the coach quickly and be free of this place.”
Jane picked up her hem in her other hand and hurried to keep pace with him. “Do you think we’ll run into the men bringing up the drink?” He could hear the tension in her voice.
“I hope not, but if we do, they’ll probably be burdened with jugs or casks. We should be able to slip by them easily.” He paused before opening the door. “If there is any need to fight, stay out of the way. If you must, use the knife I gave you.”
Jane nodded. Good. He hoped she would be sensible. He opened the door and ushered her through it.
It was two flights down to the outside door. They made it safely down the first flight, but as they reached the small landing before the second, they encountered two of Griff
in’s burly servants hauling a big, open vat of some liquid. It looked and smelled like ale but with something pungent added. A third servant, who seemed to be supervising the first two, carried a large, ornate chalice. He rested the chalice on his hip and glared at them. “The initiation’s upstairs.”
Bloody hell, this wasn’t just a servant, it was Helton—Beelzebub himself. “Initiation?” He’d try his Scots accent instead of the French—perhaps that would confuse them if the man upstairs and Helton compared notes. “We’re nae here for any initiation.” He pulled Jane forward, pushing her ahead of him so she could make a dash for freedom. The odds weren’t horrible. Three to one, yes, but two were burdened by the vat.
He wrapped the chain around his hand, hidden in his robe. Flight would be preferable to confrontation, but if flight wasn’t possible, he’d best be prepared.
Helton looked him over. “You’re dressed for the initiation.”
“That’s a mistake.” He shrugged, smiling in a conciliatory fashion, he hoped. He wished Jane would keep going. He gave her a nudge, but she didn’t move. “These are the only costumes I could get—I just found out about the party today.”
Helton grinned in a most unpleasant fashion. “Oh, well, a mistake. My master won’t mind as long as he has someone. Come on.”
“Nay. I”—Motton gestured toward Jane—“we have another appointment.” He waggled his eyebrows. “If ye know what I mean.”
Helton narrowed his eyes. “I don’t give rat shit about your appointment. More to the point, my master will make me eat rat shit if I don’t give him someone to initiate. You’re coming with me now.”
Everything happened in a blur then. Helton grabbed Jane’s arm and jerked her across his body, but she stumbled and fell heavily against him. He screamed and let her go. She caught the side of the vat as she tumbled toward the floor, tipping it and splashing the brew all over.
Motton didn’t need an engraved invitation to take advantage of this situation. He swung his chain, hitting Helton square in the head. The man went down like an oak—and Motton saw the knife he’d given Jane protruding from his side.
“Good girl.” He yanked it out and turned to the servants, but they’d already decided the situation was far beyond their duties. They’d dropped the vat, squeezed past the bodies on the floor, and bolted down the stairs as if all the hordes of hell were after them—which they probably would be once Satan got wind of what had just happened.
He folded the knife up, stuck it in his pocket, and stooped down next to Jane. She was a bedraggled mess, reeking of Satan’s brew. “Are you all right?”
She pushed her hair out of her face. Her hood had fallen back, but surprisingly her mask had stayed on. “Yes, I think so. My elbow and ars—er, seat—are sore, and I hope there was nothing poisonous in this liquid because I swallowed a mouthful, but other than that, I think I’m fine.” She frowned and peered over at Helton. “How is he? I didn’t k—kill him, did I?”
“No, more’s the pity. He—” Motton heard the door at the top of the stairs open and someone—several someones—come into the stairwell.
“Bloody hell!” some man shouted—probably the man plagued with intestinal problems. “Satan will string me up by my bollocks if I’ve lost those two. Do you suppose they went this way?”
“You’d think Helton would have run into them if they had,” someone else said. “But I guess we’d better look.”
Motton grabbed Jane’s hand and breathed by her ear, “Come on, and be as quiet as you can.”
She nodded. He dropped her hood back over her head and started swiftly and silently down the stairs. It didn’t hurt that the fellows looking for them were making so much noise he could have set off a rocket and not been heard.
They reached the door—and heard shouts up above. The men had found Helton, and even these idiots would be able to deduce where his attackers had fled. There weren’t that many options. They had only seconds left.
They slipped outside. “Ooo.” Jane put her hand to her head. “I feel so odd.”
“It’s probably the cooler air. Just hold on a little longer. We’re almost out of danger.” At least, he hoped they were. Perhaps they could hide in the foliage, get rid of the robes, and try to leave undetected after the first wave of searchers went by, but it looked as if there wasn’t much greenery and Jane was beginning to look rather green herself.
“Ohh.” She moaned again and started rubbing her chest. Hmm. Not rubbing so much as…fondling. What was the matter with her?
They had best leave immediately. He looked around. Ah, thank God. Luck had smiled on them. They were right by the gate to the alley where Jem waited with the coach.
He grasped her hand again and ran. They crossed a small gravel yard and darted out the gate. Jem was ready; the carriage rolled slowly toward them. Motton jerked open the door, grabbed Jane around the waist, threw her inside, and vaulted in after her, slamming the door shut the moment his feet cleared the opening. Jem picked up the horses’ pace so by the time the servants’ door opened again, the carriage was already turning out of the alley.
“Damn, that was close, but I think we’re safe now.” He pushed himself off the floor onto one of the seats, and then took Jane’s hand to help her up. He tugged—and she flew into his lap.
He hadn’t thought he’d pulled that hard. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Her mouth came down on his, and her hands tore at his robe. She shifted on his lap as though she wanted to climb into his skin. What was this all about? Not that he didn’t appreciate her enthusiasm; it just felt too much like desperation.
He flinched. If she wasn’t a bit more careful, he wouldn’t be able to help her at all. Her knee had been much too close to a very sensitive part of his anatomy.
He took firm hold of her shoulders and pushed her back far enough that he could speak. “What’s wrong, Jane?”
She was panting; she struggled against his hold, trying to plaster herself against him again. “I need you. Now. Inside me. Can’t wait.”
His cock, already quite interested in the proceedings, snapped to full attention. “Er, yes, well, I’m delighted you are so, ah, enthusiastic, and I would be even more delighted to assist you, but wouldn’t it be better to wait until we are home? We should be at Motton House in just a few minutes.”
She tried to lurch toward him again. “No. I can’t wait another moment.”
Good God, she was almost wailing. Something was definitely amiss. What? She’d been fine until…oh, God. “How much of Satan’s drink did you swallow?”
“I don’t know. Why are you talking about that? Why are you talking at all? Get your clothes off.”
His cock was pleading with him to follow Jane’s orders. He couldn’t very well decline, could he? She was obviously in a very bad way.
He wasn’t normally one for copulating in exotic locations, and while a carriage might not be that unusual, he’d never tried it. He’d never seen the point. A bed was so much more comfortable. But Jane couldn’t wait for a bed.
“Ohh, I’m so hot.” She was actually moaning. “My skin is burning. The place you were last night is hot and swollen and so wet.” She fidgeted on his lap, bouncing a little. “I need you now. Please?”
Well, there was a first time for everything. “All right, but I have to tell Jem not to go to Motton House.” That would be awkward, having Jem open the door as they were in the midst of a passionate encounter. “Can you keep quiet while I speak to him?” He would rather not give Jem a crystal clear idea of what activity they were engaged in.
“Yes, but make it quick.”
“It will only take a moment.” He knocked on the roof, and Jem slowed the carriage. Motton detached himself from Jane long enough to lean out the door.
“Miss Parker-Roth and I need to discuss a few matters, Jem. Drive around Town until I give you the signal to proceed to Motton House, will you?”
“We’re almost there, my lord.”
“Yes, I know,
but it can’t be helped.” Did he hear another moan coming from the interior of the carriage? Surely there was too much noise outside for Jem to hear it.
“Very well, my lord. As ye wish.”
“Splendid.” He’d swear he heard the sound of fabric tearing behind him. “Carry on, then.” He closed the door and turned around.
Good God. Jane was sprawled on the squabs, completely naked, legs spread wide, hands rubbing her breasts. He had never seen a more beautiful, more wanton sight. “How did you get your clothes off?”
“Quickly.” She moistened her lips and ran one hand down her body. She wasn’t going to touch herself, was she?
She was. She ran her fingers over herself and then held her hand out to him. “My skin is so hot, and I’m so wet.”
“Er.” He struggled out of his robe as quickly as he could.
“Get your pants off.” She drew her damp fingers slowly over her belly and then played with the curly patch of hair between her legs. “If I do it, you’ll lose all your buttons.”
“Uh, huh.” He was having trouble with his buttons as well. He fumbled with them, opened his fall and jerked his breeches down.
“Yes!” Jane launched herself at him, knocking him back to sit down abruptly on the other seat. Then she straddled him, grasped his cock, and lowered herself onto him. “Yess.”
She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. He stroked the sides of her breasts. Her skin was hot; she was like a little furnace.
He waited; he would let her take the lead. The aphrodisiac in Satan’s brew was driving her, not her own desires, and he didn’t want to make her do anything she might regret—or blame him for.
Thank God they’d gotten away safely. To think of sweet Jane forced to be like this with all those other men—
“Oh.” She rocked back and forth. “Oh.”
“What is it?” He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, and she sucked in her breath, arching her back. Then she dropped her head back to his shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do.” He heard the frustration in her voice. “I don’t know how to make the ache stop.” She rocked her hips again. “Help me.”
Sally MacKenzie Bundle Page 173
