Jane found her voice; it sounded unnaturally high and thin. “Thank you so much, Miss Smyth. Lord Motton is all that is g—gracious. My brother John should be in London soon, and then we can remove to the Pulteney. I’m rather tired now, so if you’ll excuse me?”
Jane rushed out of the room as if Satan were indeed on her heels.
Lord Wolfson’s soiree was surprisingly crowded. Jane was trapped in the baron’s green parlor between the exceedingly stout Lady Blessdon, Lady Blessdon’s good friend, the emaciated Miss Canton, and a potted palm. Jane had often thought if the ladies’ weight could somehow be averaged, the result would be two normal-sized women. They were gossiping about some on dit she’d missed by avoiding the social scene—the polite social scene—these last few days. She let their words flow over her; her attention was on Edmund on the other side of the room. Lady Lenden and Lady Tarkington were talking to him, while some beautiful young debutante stood far too close to his side.
Jane curled her hands into fists. Fortunately her gloves kept her fingernails from digging deep gouges in her palms.
Edmund was hers. Except…oh, botheration. Her life was such a mess. Should she marry him? If she really was increasing, she’d have no choice; she was not so selfish as to condemn a child to bastardy to suit her whims. But if it turned out she wasn’t—she pushed aside the disappointment that suddenly appeared like a rock in her stomach—should she say no? She loved him, but did he love her? He hadn’t said so. And his father had been trapped into a loveless marriage by similar circumstances…
“Don’t you agree, Miss Parker-Roth?”
“Er…” Lady Blessdon was looking at her expectantly, but she had no idea what the woman had said. “I’m sorry, I was woolgathering.”
Lady Blessdon and Miss Canton exchanged a significant look. “It wasn’t wool you were gathering.” Lady Blessdon lifted a brow and tilted her head toward Edmund. “Will we be hearing an interesting announcement soon?”
Jane felt a hot flush flood her face. Damn. She hadn’t blushed so much in her entire life as she had since encountering Lord Motton in Clarence’s study. “Announcement? I don’t know what you mean.”
Lady Blessdon’s other brow rose to match its mate. “Miss Parker-Roth, surely you realize all of society has watched with interest your sudden, intense…friendship with the viscount. Dashing into the bushes at Lord Palmerson’s, taking in the exhibit at the Royal Academy, disappearing onto Lord Easthaven’s terrace—if there is not an announcement soon, your reputation may suffer.”
Miss Canton nodded vigorously. “Sorry to say it, but you’ll be thought no better than you should be.”
Jane’s stomach twisted. And the truth was, she was no better than she should be. After her performance in that rented carriage, even the most notorious light-skirts might consider her too soiled to associate with.
She forced a smile. “But I’m not some young debutante. I’ve been on the Town for years; surely the gossips will allow me a bit more latitude.”
“A bit, but not that much,” Lady Blessdon said.
“I had it from Mrs. Eddle who had it from Lady Iddleton that you had twigs in your hair when you came in from Lord Palmerson’s garden.” Miss Canton’s eyes were large with horror…and a touch of envy, perhaps.
“And grass on your skirt.” Lady Blessdon gave Jane a knowing look.
Jane glared at her. “The gossips are wrong.” While she might have had a stray twig about her person, she most definitely did not have grass on her skirt—Lady Blessdon’s sly way of intimating she’d been doing…exactly what she had been doing with Lord Motton in his bedroom and that damn hired coach.
“Don’t worry, Miss Parker-Roth.” Miss Canton smiled. “I’m certain you can bring the viscount up to scratch.”
Lady Blessdon nodded. “Indeed. A few of us have placed a friendly wager or two, and the odds are much in your favor.”
Miss Canton giggled. “Truth is, no one will bet against you getting him to pop the question, so we’ve changed the terms. Now we’re guessing which day the announcement will appear in the papers.”
“Ah.” Jane would like to scream or kick someone’s shins. Since neither activity was appropriate for a soiree, she cleared her throat. “Very interesting. I’m quite parched. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go in search of Lord Wolfson’s refreshments.”
“They’re set up in the dining room, but don’t get your hopes up,” Lady Blessdon said. “Wolfson is a shocking nipcheese. The lemonade is worse than what’s served at Almack’s.”
“Oh. Thank you for the warning.” Jane nodded, smiled, and hurried off, trying to close her ears to the whispering that started the moment her back was turned. Would Edmund hear the gossip, too? She snorted. The females monopolizing him at the moment wouldn’t tell him. They—
A large male hand wrapped itself around her arm, jerking her to a stop. “Well, well, well, look who I’ve found.”
Chapter 20
“Lord Wolfson.” Damn, that had come out rather weak. She cleared her throat and tried not to appear as terrified as she felt. The baron looked…different. Oh, his face was the same, of course, but something in his expression had changed. Now she could very easily believe he was Satan.
“Miss Parker-Roth.” He smiled and a chill slithered down her spine. “Just the woman I most wish to have a comfortable coze with.” His smile broadened. “Well, I will be comfortable. You? Perhaps not.”
He pulled her toward the door he’d just come through. She dug in her heels. Where was Edmund? Probably still looking at that blasted debutante. She opened her mouth to scream, but Lord Wolfson clamped his hand over her lips before she could do more than inhale. He was far stronger than she would have guessed.
“Now, now, Miss Parker-Roth,” he murmured by her ear. “You know a proper lady doesn’t scream…in public.”
He still smelled of garlic and dirt and, given her current proximity to him, sweat and other objectionable body odors. The man would benefit greatly from a bath, fresh clothing, and a new diet.
He jerked her over the threshold and slammed the door closed behind them, cutting off the comforting sounds of the crowded party. Then he released her, and she backed away, putting as much space as she could between them as she struggled to get her breathing under control.
She was trapped. On the other side of the heavy door were freedom and the normal, everyday world of the ton; on this side…on this side, she strongly suspected, was hell.
She swallowed. She couldn’t panic. He hadn’t locked the door. Perhaps she could escape or Edmund would rescue her.
“What are you doing?”
She jerked her head around. A tall, thin man stood by a large desk; he was glaring at Lord Wolfson. Would he help her?
Her heart lurched. No. It was unlikely Mr. Helton had forgiven her for stabbing him.
“Have you met my, er, associate?” Wolfson asked, coming to stand too close to her again. He chuckled. “Some wags have dubbed him Beelzebub.”
Mr. Helton’s glare deepened to a scowl. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
The baron shrugged and smiled down at Jane, ignoring his henchman. “They’ve named me Satan. Isn’t that amusing?”
Mr. Helton slammed his hand down on the desk. “Bloody bollocks, that’s torn it. Now you’ve got to kill her.”
Lord Wolfson tried to run his finger down Jane’s cheek, but she flinched away. He laughed. “Of course I’ll have to kill her. I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Oh, damn, this was definitely not good. She glanced around, hoping to find some means of escape or at least a weapon. She was in the baron’s study, a rather gloomy room with blood red curtains…
Blast it, she did not want to think about blood.
Books lined the walls. On her right, Lord Wolfson had hung a skeleton, perhaps belonging to someone who’d displeased him—
No, that thought wasn’t helpful either. As it was, her knees were almost knocking against each other,
she was so frightened.
“Are you mad?” Mr. Helton was saying. “She’s not a whore no one will miss; she’s got a father and brothers—and the second brother is a damn dirty fighter.”
Lord Wolfson shrugged. “Stephen’s off in Iceland or some heathenish place.”
“But Motton’s not—and he’s as dangerous.”
The baron laughed again. “Even better. I don’t like Lord Motton. He’s been a thorn in my side for years, spoiling my fun. I would take great delight in spoiling something of his.” He smiled at Jane. “Are you his, Miss Parker-Roth?”
“No. Of course not.” She backed toward the skeleton. Something about it was familiar. What? She didn’t make a habit of observing skeletons—this might be the first time she’d been in the same room with one.
“You’re not a good liar, you know. Motton guards you like a dog guarding his favorite bone. I was quite surprised—delighted—to find you without him at your side.” He looked her up and down, and she clenched her hands in her skirt. She felt as if he’d stripped her naked with his eyes. “Are you still a virgin, Miss Parker-Roth?”
She flushed. “Ah…” Why couldn’t she lie convincingly?
“What a pity.” He sighed and opened a cabinet by his desk. “I was hoping you were. They say swiving a virgin cures the pox and a multitude of other ailments.” He shrugged and took out a flask. “I suppose I can’t have everything.” He smiled again—an extremely repulsive expression. “There will be plenty of blood anyway. I’m quite rough, you know, and Helton here has an enormous cock.”
“I’m not going to rape the girl.” Mr. Helton actually snarled. Unfortunately, he also seemed unwilling to do anything to stop Lord Wolfson.
She backed closer to the skeleton. There was a staff there, too, attached to the wall. Now she remembered—she would have recognized it sooner if her brain wasn’t frozen with terror. This was the scene Clarence had drawn in the last piece of the sketch. Dear God, what did it mean?
Lord Wolfson walked toward her, unscrewing the flask. “I was exceedingly…displeased that all the drink I’d carefully prepared for the initiation at Lord Griffin’s was spilled, but you’ll be happy to know I have some here, just for you.”
“No.” If she swallowed that vile drink…if she behaved as she had with Edmund in the coach, mindlessly, frantically rutting…
She looked at Mr. Helton. His expression was a mix of disgust and pity, but he made no move to save her.
Lord Wolfson was close now. He grabbed her arm and jerked her up against him. “Are you going to help me dose her, Helton?”
“No, damn it.”
“Suit yourself.” He backed her against the wall, holding her still with the weight of his body. “I can manage perfectly well alone.” He smiled unpleasantly. “The struggle is quite…exciting.”
She felt the hard ridge of his excitement digging into her stomach. She had to do something to save herself—
He pinched her nose closed and held the flask to her lips. “I’m betting you’ll give in to the need to breathe, Miss Parker-Roth, and open your mouth, but if you don’t I’ll just pour the drink down your throat when you pass out. You won’t be out long—you won’t miss any of the fun.” He thrust his hips against her. “And yes, I know this from experience. You are not the first female who’s been less than enthusiastic about the process.” He chuckled. “But they are all very enthusiastic once they get a little of this brew in them.”
She tried to breathe through her nose, but it was hopeless. She didn’t want to faint. Perhaps if she didn’t swallow—
She gasped, and he splashed the liquid into her, holding her mouth open with his thumb. She felt as if she were drowning, but she knew this was her best chance while both his hands were occupied.
She grabbed his cravat pin—the one that echoed the pattern on the robe and the book—yanked it out of his linen, and stabbed it as hard as she could into the bulge digging into her belly.
He screamed, dropping the flask and loosening his hold on her. She spat the drink in his face—she’d swallowed some, so she knew she’d only a little time—and lunged for the staff. Damn. It was attached to the wall. She pulled on it with all her strength and weight…
A section of the bookcase slid away. A very ornate book—the book Clarence had drawn—sat in solitary splendor on a shelf. Its cover mimicked Lord Wolfson’s cravat pin exactly.
“Bloody bollocks.” Mr. Helton gaped—and then flung himself across the room to grab the book off its perch. Lord Wolfson, unfortunately recovered from his piercing, roared and leapt on Helton’s back, causing him to drop his prize.
That damn book must be very important. Jane scooped it up before she rushed toward the door and freedom.
“No!” Lord Wolfson must have vanquished Mr. Helton, because he grabbed Jane from behind, causing her to drop the book as he swung her around. “You bitch.” He lifted his fist.
The door crashed open. Edmund stood there, looking like an avenging angel.
“Damn.” Lord Wolfson jerked Jane around again so her back was pinned to his chest. She heard a snick and felt something prick her neck. Edmund must not be the only one to have had a special folding knife made for him.
“Don’t come a step closer, Motton, unless you want to see the lady’s throat slit,” Wolfson said, backing away with Jane.
Someone in the corridor screamed, and Edmund closed the door behind him, shutting out the crowd. He did take a step closer. “It will only go worse for you if you hurt the girl, Wolfson. You know your carefully guarded secret is out now. You can’t escape.”
Lord Wolfson stiffened, causing the knife to dig deeper into Jane’s skin. The pain was good—it would help keep the aphrodisiac’s madness at bay. She would rather die than behave here as she had in the rented carriage.
She saw Mr. Helton had recovered his senses. He’d inched quietly across the floor and had picked up the book from where she’d dropped it. Had Lord Wolfson or Edmund noticed? Apparently not. They were too focused on each other.
Perhaps if she brought Mr. Helton’s actions to Lord Wolfson’s attention, he would let her go.
“Ah—uk!” The knife stabbed deeper; she felt blood trickle down her neck. So perhaps she wouldn’t mention Mr. Helton’s activities. The man was moving toward the fireplace now. What was he going to do?
She glanced at Edmund. His eyes hadn’t strayed from Lord Wolfson. He looked like murder. She could almost feel sorry for the baron—if he weren’t digging a knife into her throat.
“Let her go, Wolfson,” Edmund said. “Now.”
“I don’t think so. I still have the book.”
“Urk.” Jane tried again, but just got more pain for her troubles. If Lord Wolfson took his eyes off Edmund long enough to look at the floor where she’d dropped the blasted book, he’d see it was gone. And he must know Mr. Helton would take it at his first opportunity; hadn’t he heard the adage about there being no honor among thieves?
“Ah, yes, the book.” Edmund snorted. “It won’t get you out of this mess.”
“But it will. Do you even know what’s in it?”
Edmund shrugged. She knew he hadn’t a clue as to the book’s contents—they hadn’t even known there was a book half an hour ago. But Edmund was brilliant. He came up with an excellent, vague guess.
“Names,” he said. “It’s always names, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Lord Wolfson sounded as if he were gloating. “It’s names, lots and lots of names—the names of half the bloody ton. A list of every lascivious action, every perversion, every salacious sin they’ve committed. A list of all the whores and waifs that have gone missing over the last years and what each of my disciples has done to and with them. As long as I have the book, I am untouchable. No one dare harm me.”
“Urgle.” If she couldn’t get Lord Wolfson’s attention, she’d try for Edmund’s. She opened her eyes very wide and moved them in Mr. Helton’s direction. She couldn’t quite see, but she thought the man had
just held a candle to the pages of Lord Wolfson’s precious book.
Edmund frowned at her and then darted a glance at Mr. Helton. He grinned, though the expression was a bit, well, malicious. “You mean that book Helton is feeding to the flames?”
“What?” Lord Wolfson spun around, digging his knife farther into Jane’s flesh. If she survived this night, she would have to wear high-necked gowns for the next few weeks.
“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Helton dropped the burning book facedown into the flames in the fireplace. “I’ve destroyed it. I’m free. We’re all free—Ardley, Mouse, everyone. And you laughed at Widmore and his odd little sketch, didn’t you, you—”
Lord Wolfson screamed, fortunately drowning out Mr. Helton’s colorful description of the baron’s sexual preferences and the baron’s mother’s peculiar habits that had resulted in Lord Wolfson’s birth. Also fortunately, Wolfson shoved her out of his way so he could leap for Mr. Helton’s throat.
She should bolt from the room—no, if she rushed out into the crowd, she might attack the first male she encountered. The aphrodisiac was definitely beginning to take effect. She wrapped her arms around her waist and hung on tightly as she watched Lord Wolfson and Mr. Helton battle each other.
“Jane.” Edmund’s hands were running up and down her arms. “Your poor neck.” He brushed his lips over one of her cuts.
Damn. It was as if she were the pages of that blasted book and Edmund was the lighted candle—she exploded with a need that was going to consume her if Edmund didn’t put it out immediately. She didn’t care if Lord Wolfson and Mr. Helton killed each other; she half hoped they did. She just wanted Edmund—now. Sooner than now, if possible.
She pressed herself against him, locking her arms around his back. She straddled his leg quite by accident, but the pressure of his thigh against the throbbing spot between her legs was beyond wonderful. And if she rocked against him—
“Jane.” Edmund caught her hips and shoved them back. “I’m happy to see you, too, but—”
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