Chapter Two
ALEXIUS NODDED TO the two burly guards as they opened the double doors to Nox, one of the more notorious clubs in London. Situated at 44 King Street between Covent Garden and the private clubs of St. James, Nox was an exclusive den of corruption whose members provided titillating gossip for the ton each spring.
As one of the founding members, Alexius was often the focus of innuendo and full-blown scandals; however, such notoriety was common for the men bearing the Sinclair title.
“Good evening, Lord Sinclair.” Berus, the steward of Nox, inclined his head respectfully. He removed the heavy black cloak from Alexius’s shoulders and passed the outer garment to a waiting footman. “We were not expecting you this evening.”
Alexius handed the servant his silk top hat. “My plans for the evening have taken an unexpected turn, Berus.” Energetic music and the shouts from enthusiastic gamblers beckoned behind closed doors. “It sounds like we have a full house.”
The eighty-five-year-old house once belonged to the current Duke of Huntsley’s grandmother. When she had died, she had specified in her will that the house and all its contents would pass to her beloved grandson. Six years earlier, the duke, or Hunter as he was called by his friends, had generously offered to donate the house for their little club. In a joint financial endeavor, Sin and his friends had renovated the old King Street house into an elegant, if not disreputable, meeting place. It had been Frost, the not-always-so-sensible Earl of Chillingsworth, who had suggested that they open the first floor of their club to guests and potential club candidates. All seven founding members had concurred. Over the years, the drinking and gambling had provided substantial revenue for the treasury that covered the servants’ wages and the club’s upkeep.
“Busier than usual for a Saturday evening, but nothing me and the staff can’t handle, my lord,” Berus said, removing a key from his waistcoat. He inserted the shank into the keyhole and gave the ornate bow an efficient twist. “You will find that you are not the only member whose plans took an unexpected turn this evening.”
The steward opened the door. Overhead, painted on a rectangular stained-glass panel was the Latin phrase “Virtus Deseritur,” which translated into “virtue is forsaken.” The panel had been a generous gift from someone’s former mistress, though the astute widow’s name had been long forgotten. Over time, the phrase became an apt motto for their little club.
Upstairs was the private sanctuary of the Lords of Vice. The appellation had been bestowed upon the seven of them years earlier after a prank had gone horribly awry. Afterward, several angry members of the ton had christened them with the nefarious title and Alexius and his friends were perverse enough to embrace it.
Access to the upper floors was restricted. Berus and his men were paid handsomely to ensure the uninvited were kept out. “Do you require anything else before I return to my duties, Lord Sinclair?”
“No, that will be all.”
Alexius heard the heavy oak door close and the metal locking mechanism slide into place as he climbed the stairs. Ahead he could hear the familiar crack as one ivory ball collided with another. Masculine and feminine laughter greeted him when he entered the room.
Only four of the seven founding members of their club were present this evening. Reign, who seemed determined to ignore the stifling duties as Earl of Rainecourt, was stretched out on the sofa with a female companion tucked under each arm. Vane, the Earl of Vanewright, was across the room on another sofa cuddling a very affectionate wench on his lap while Saint, the Marquess of Sainthill, and Frost, the Earl of Chillingsworth, strategically circled the twelve-feet by six-feet billiard table positioned in the middle of the room.
Reign ground his dark head of hair into the back of the sofa as he twisted his face in the general direction of the doorway. His expression flashed from surprise to genuine pleasure. “Sin! Egad, you’ve made a short evening of it. You have my sympathies.”
“Good evening, gents . . . ladies,” Alexius said, settling into the chair to his left. “Berus says we have a full house this evening.”
“Apparently so,” Saint said, his keen gaze focused on the billiard table. His tone implied that the activity below meant little to him.
Reign murmured something in the blonde’s ear, causing her to giggle. Sensing Alexius’s casual regard, the earl’s dark blue gaze shifted to him. “What happened to the Lettlecotts?”
Alexius pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Nothing. They seemed hearty and hale when I took my leave.”
Vane gave the woman sitting on his lap a playful shove. “Mary, my flirtatious minx, be a dear and pour Sin some brandy. It should dull the edge of his sarcastic tongue and spare us a bloodletting.”
The two white ivory balls collided, the hollow sound morbidly reminding him of skulls clacking together. Frost grunted in satisfaction as Saint’s ivory ball disappeared into a corner pocket.
“Do you wish to concede this game, Saint, or shall I humiliate you further?”
The Marquess of Sainthill pointed his cue at his opponent. Contrary to what his nickname implied, Saint could be quite devilish when provoked. Alexius shifted in his chair, his muscles tensing at the subtle threat of violence emanating from the players. This would not be the first time that he and the others had separated Saint and Frost.
Saint sneered. “Just play, you cocky arse. Either way, at the end of the night, my blunt still ends up in your bloody purse.”
“ ’Ere you go, milord,” Vane’s brown-haired minx said, dangling the glass of brandy in front of his face. When Alexius accepted the offered glass, the lady interpreted his actions as an invitation and slid gracefully onto his lap.
“I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my dear,” he said dryly as the generous chit worked her clever little tongue into his ear. “What is your name?”
Everyone laughed, which had been his intention. The enthusiastic flirt on his lap had bathed herself in a heavy floral scent that offended his nose, but she had a sweet face, clean hair, and wore a dress that displayed her enticing wares as effectively as a shop keep er’s front window display.
“I’m Mary, my lord,” she said, glancing back at Vane for his support.
“Or you may pick another name if you fancy something exotic,” Vane added cheerfully, unperturbed that his lady for the night was fondling one of his best friends. “Is that not so, love?”
“Indeed, it is.” She leaned closer and whispered into Alexius’s ear, “I can be anyone you desire.”
Her offer summoned the unbidden visage of the mysterious lady he had encountered in the Lettlecotts’ gardens. Those expressive green eyes, so wary and yet curious, had made an impression on him. He looked forward to the hour when he would encounter the lady again. For now, he banished the intriguing lybbestre from his thoughts and concentrated on the female on his lap.
“You’re one of Madam V’s girls, are you not?” Alexius inquired, lazily wondering if the lady was also a pickpocket. Her hand had delved beneath his coat and he could feel her unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat.
“Aye, that’s right,” Mary said, her brown eyes warming with pride. “The madam sent us to you fine gents with her compliments.”
Madam Venna was the proprietress of the Golden Pearl, a brothel that provided a rather extraordinary creative selection of carnal indulgences for its discerning patrons. Alexius suspected it was Madam V’s royal admirers who allowed her to run her establishment unmolested by the local constables.
“Your mistress is generous,” Reign said, nibbling on the brunette’s lips as he fondled the blonde leaning against his right side. The man was thoroughly enjoying the lion’s share of the madam’s gift, and if Alexius knew his friend, neither lady would be neglected.
The brunette clinging to Reign added, “Madam Venna appreciates the business our visits to Nox bring about.” She gave Saint a sly glance. “Lord Sainthill, the madam wanted me to convey her personal condolences
on the departure of your latest mistress. If you require anything, the madam has offered to see to your, uh, demands personally.”
Saint slammed his cue down on the billiards table with enough force to silence the room. He took a threatening step toward the brunette but seemed to collect himself as she cringed against Reign. “Tell Madam Venna,” he said, snatching up his cue. “Tell her . . . Her pity is unnecessary and her offer bores me.”
That was Saint for you. He could be polite while telling a lady to go to hell. Alexius could only speculate on what had transpired between the lovely Madame V and Saint, but it had ended unpleasantly.
Vane cleared his throat. It was a pathetic attempt to change the subject, but even he seemed willing to ignore Saint’s unexpected outburst. “Sin, did Berus mention that your sister has sent several messengers to the club this afternoon?”
Damn.
Alexius finished his brandy. “No,” he said curtly while Mary, bless her, trotted off without being asked to refill his glass. Why was Belinda searching for him? Already aggravated by whatever crisis his sister was planning to draw him into, Alexius scrubbed his face with his hand. He was tired and hoped within the hour he would be too drunk to tackle Belinda’s little problem.
“I will call on her tomorrow.”
“There, there, Lord Sinclair,” Mary said, placing the glass of brandy into his eager hands. Her tone was soothing and almost motherly, but she ruined the chaste image by plopping down onto his lap. “Family matters. They tend to muddle a man’s plans, don’t ye think?”
“For a pretty girl, you are awfully insightful.” Alexius toasted her clever brain by raising his glass and imbibing. Mary giggled and squirmed closer as if she hoped to share his coat with him.
For a silent invitation, hers was endearingly transparent.
The pretty whore was letting him know in her unsubtle manner that she was his for the evening. All he had to do was accept her generous offer. Alexius measured her narrow waist with his hands. His thoughts once again drifted to the beautiful green-eyed blonde who had not trusted him with her name.
Utterly insulting.
Even though he had spared her from the Countess of Lettlecott’s ire, the ungrateful chit had not thought his good deed worthy of a boon. Sighing, he lifted Mary off his lap and steadied her while she found her feet. He patted her affectionately on the rump.
Mary’s brow lifted in puzzlement.
Alexius was sympathetic. He was equally bewildered by his decision.
“Off you go,” he said, encouraging her toward Vane. “My friend will appreciate you this evening more than I.”
Vane gave Alexius a questioning glance when Mary rejoined him on the sofa. Alexius shrugged and sipped his brandy. This was hardly the moment to announce to his drunken companions that a willing whore would not satisfy the lust simmering in his loins when he craved a more elusive challenge.
Frost howled in triumph as he holed the winning ball. His friends cheered, and in spite of Saint’s flash of temper, he accepted their ribbing with admirable grace.
“Another game, Saint?” Alexius suggested. “I didn’t have the opportunity to wager on Frost this last game.”
Saint muttered an obscenity under his breath. With a pointed look at Reign, Saint rolled the cue between his palms. “Any thought on how I might improve my odds?”
Reign’s slow smile was truly evil.
“I might, indeed.” He spoke quietly to the brunette. She cast several quick glances at Frost and nodded. “Frost, my friend, what say you if we added a slight challenge to this new game?”
The Earl of Chillingsworth snorted. “If you double the wager.”
“Done!” Reign extricated himself from the two beauties and climbed to his feet. “Gentlemen?” he asked, looking at his friends for concurrence.
From Saint’s expression Alexius concluded that he and Reign had concocted a plan long before the first game had been played. It was even possible that Saint had deliberately forfeited the earlier game to lure Frost into a false sense of confidence.
Not that Frost needed any encouragement.
The man possessed the arrogance of five men.
Vane shrugged, so Alexius spoke for both of them. “Agreed.”
Reign offered his hand to the brunette. She appeared a little skittish, but she tucked her hand into his and allowed him to escort her over to Frost.
“Lord Chillingsworth, your challenge.”
The prostitute tolerated Frost’s sullen perusal like a professional. Of the three, she likely would not have been the earl’s first choice. Alexius, like the rest of the occupants in the room, was privately wondering what Reign had ordered the brunette to do.
The earl’s eyes flared with interest when her fingers touched the two vertical buttons near his right hipbone. She unfastened his trousers with a practiced ease, and with her gaze fixed on Frost’s she braced her hands on his hips while she slowly lowered herself until she was on her knees.
“If I may?” The brunette purred in approval as she freed Frost from his trousers.
The prostitute’s head blocked Alexius’s view, but Frost’s face told its own story. He was aroused and willing to play billiards by Reign’s rules.
Without warning, Frost’s blissful expression vanished and his jaw clenched as his competitive spirit resurfaced. Reign had underestimated Frost’s desire to win. Nothing could distract him from claiming his victory, not even the tantalizing wench on her knees.
“Do your worst.”
Even so, there was no doubt in Alexius’s mind that Frost fully intended to bed the brunette who was teasing him to the point of madness with her nimble tongue.
After he trounced Saint in a game of billiards.
With the lip of the glass of brandy touching his lips, Alexius watched both professionals in action. When his eyes were half-closed, it was simple to imagine the blond lybbestre at his feet, her green eyes shimmering with desire.
All he had to do was find her again.
Chapter Three
SOFTLY HUMMING a snippet of a melody from the previous evening, Juliana was making her way downstairs to join her mother and sisters in the breakfast room. She was in high spirits this morning, though she loathed dwelling on the reasons. It certainly had nothing to do with the charming rogue she had encountered by chance in the Lettlecotts’ gardens. Indeed, the very notion was ridiculous. Their brief exchange could barely be described as a conversation.
No, perhaps the true source of her high spirits was that she had finally reconciled herself to her fate. Since her mother had announced that they would be spending the season in London, Juliana had suffered bouts of unease about the entire affair.
And why should she not?
Her family’s position in polite society had plummeted considerably since her father’s demise five years earlier from a sudden weakness in his heart. Sadly, the kind, genial Marquess of Duncombe had died an impoverished man. As he had lacked the business sense of his predecessors, what money the marquess had inherited swiftly evaporated as his family increased. What had spared them the fate of debtor’s prison was his skill at the gaming tables. Up to the day he died, her father had maintained a delicate balance of credit and winnings.
No one, not even her mother, had been aware how precarious their financial circumstances had become, that was, until a distant cousin had arrived at Ivers Hall to claim the Duncombe title.
Oliver Bristow, the new Lord Duncombe, was everything his predecessor had not been when it came to business. Bristow’s investments had paid off handsomely, and for a brief time her mother had believed their cousin would save the Ivers family.
That was not the case.
The then-twenty-five-year-old Lord Duncombe might have been adequate in looks and brought wealth to the title again; however, he did not possess an ounce of compassion for the widowed marchioness and her three daughters.
Instead of paying off Juliana’s father’s creditors, the new Lord Duncombe gave the family
lectures. For hours and hours, the dreadful man pontificated on his predecessor’s weakness, recklessness, and the burden her father had settled on his family. She had watched her mother’s slender shoulders bow with each condemnation, and what hope Juliana might have felt upon meeting the young lord had winked out of existence.
Satisfied that the widow understood her new position in the family, Lord Duncombe offered to increase her annuity on one condition. The widow and her daughters had to vacate Ivers Hall at once. Literally overnight, the servants had packed the family’s personal belongings and they were taken to a small cottage Lord Duncombe had rented on their behalf.
The marquess had thought he had rid himself of his impoverished relatives. Arrogant, rigid, and judgmental, he had assumed the widow would accept his charity for her daughters’ sake and shut herself away from the ton.
The gentleman, however, had sorely misjudged Lady Duncombe’s character.
An unintelligible cry of exasperation resounded from the study of their rented town house, shaking Juliana from her musings. She swiftly altered her course from the breakfast room to the small study. Something had upset her mother. She rarely made use of the study at such an early hour.
As Juliana peered within, she discovered her mother seated at the oversized mahogany desk. There were several sheets of paper scattered on the desk; however, it was the one in her hand that was the source of the lady’s outrage.
Juliana suddenly lost all desire for breakfast.
The scowl on her mother’s face warned that new trials were brewing for their little family. And nothing had been simple for them since Juliana’s father’s death.
“Trouble, Maman?” Juliana politely inquired, trying to keep her growing anxiety hidden.
The Marchioness of Duncombe started at her youngest daughter’s voice. She slapped her hand over her heart. “Juliana, you gave me a tremendous fright! What are you doing here? Have you eaten breakfast, my dear child?” She set aside the paper she had been reading, and with deliberate care she removed her spectacles.
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