Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

by Lorraine Heath

  She smiled warmly. “I would so enjoy talking about Eleanor.”

  “Would you excuse us, Duchess?” Rockberry asked.

  “Certainly. Here, Emma, you may borrow my wrap.”

  Emma was grateful for the shawl as she drew it over her shoulders once she and Rockberry stepped outside.

  “It’s almost midnight,” she said quietly as they reached the hyacinths. “I would think the plan would be well under way by now.”

  “Yes, I quite agree. Midnight seems to be the magical hour. I’m anticipating hearing the outcome of tonight’s adventure.”

  Adventure. A tingle of unease skittered up Emma’s spine. She thought about turning back, then silently chastised herself for being silly, so she continued on. “You said you wished to talk about Eleanor.”

  “No.”

  She peered over at him. His gaze was locked on her. If Eleanor had not sung his praises, told her how he’d wept knowing what his brother had done, Emma might have been frightened. Instead, she was certain it was worry over Eleanor that had her seeing danger in the shadows of his face. “But in the parlor, you said you wished to talk to me about my sister.”

  “Yes. But not Eleanor. Elisabeth. I was quite taken with her, and I’m wondering if you’ll be as satisfying.”

  Before she could react, he had his hand covering her mouth, while his arm held her against him. She could sense his determination. Then suddenly two more men were grabbing her, lifting her, carting her toward the alleyway. In spite of her valiant struggles, she couldn’t break free of their hold and her muffled screams mocked her.

  No one would hear her. No one would save her. She had little doubt she was about to suffer the same fate as Elisabeth.

  Growing weary, Eleanor headed toward the entrance to the pleasure gardens. It was long past midnight. No one had approached her. No one had called her Elisabeth. No one had commented on the silver filigree. She felt as though she’d failed a good many people, but she wasn’t certain what more she could do.

  The gentleman to whom she’d been introduced on the way to Cremorne, the one who followed her as she took her leisurely strolls along one path and then the other, came to stand beside her. He smelled of rich pipe tobacco.

  “Do you think Mr. Swindler had the right of it?” Eleanor asked.

  “I’m afraid so, yes,” Sir David said.

  “It seems I’m as poor a judge of a man’s character as my older sister was.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Men like Rockberry-both the previous marquess and the present one-learn to hide what they are.”

  It didn’t make her feel any better knowing that Emma could be in danger.

  “Perhaps we had the wrong night,” she said.

  “Perhaps. But I doubt it.”

  “I wouldn’t be opposed to your providing a bit of hope.”

  “I’m sorry. I fear I’ve always been more a realist than a dreamer.” He made a signal, and a half dozen men stepped out of the shadows. They, too, had been following her as discreetly as Sir David. They reported to him, were part of a special unit of detectives that he oversaw. “You men are free to leave. I’m going to see Miss Watkins home.”

  As the men silently left the gardens, Sir David placed his hand on her elbow and began guiding her toward a waiting hansom.

  “May I ask you a question, Miss Watkins?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “The night you confronted Rockberry, do you know for certain that he was dead when you left?”

  She staggered to a stop and looked up at him. He wasn’t nearly as tall or broad as Mr. Swindler, but he had a commanding presence. She couldn’t even begin to guess his age. At certain angles he appeared to be quite up in years, and at other angles he gave the impression of being a much younger man. “I…well, yes, I…I thought so. I jabbed him, and he fell to the carpet. He writhed for a bit, then stilled. Didn’t move. Made no sound. There was so much blood that I felt certain he was dead.”

  “You only stabbed him once, then.”

  “Yes. Straight in the heart.”

  “Mmm. Interesting, that.”

  “Why? What makes it so?”

  “Straight’ into the heart.” He made a jabbing motion. “Like that? No twisting of the dagger, no turning it, no moving it out a little and pushing it back in at a different angle, a better angle?”

  “No. Why ever would I do all that?”

  “To kill him, Miss Watkins.”

  “I don’t understand, Sir David. I stabbed him.”

  “Indeed you did, but I’m beginning to suspect that someone else came in and finished him off.”

  Eleanor stared at him. “I’m not a murderess?”

  “I don’t believe so, Miss Watkins.”

  “Oh.”

  He handed her up into the hansom and settled in beside her. “You sound disappointed.”

  “I wished to avenge my sister. And afterward, oh God, it was not as easy to live with as I thought it would be.” A sob of unmitigated relief broke free, and tears burned her eyes. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”

  Sir David put his arms around her and drew her into the comfort of his chest. “It’s quite all right, Miss Watkins. No harm done here.”

  For the second night in a row she found herself in a man’s embrace, but this one was very different from the one last night. It was exceedingly comforting. Sir David was a man of outer as well as inner strength. She could tell it in the way he held her, as though he would protect her at all costs. Or was she simply being fanciful again? Wanting so desperately to discover what Emma had with James Swindler?

  “Do you think it’s honestly possible that I didn’t kill him?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Would you like it to be possible?”

  Not daring to look at him, squeezing her eyes shut tightly against the truth, she nodded.

  “Then I suspect we shall discover, Miss Watkins, that it was not you who delivered the killing blow.”

  “It’s a great relief. Thank you, Sir David.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Watkins.”

  Swindler was damned tempted to leap from the carriage in which he was traveling and run to the carriage they were following. He’d hoped he was wrong about Rockberry. But something about the man had bothered him, put his senses on heightened alert. That he had properly judged the man should have brought him some satisfaction. Instead all he wanted was to make the man rue the day he was born.

  When he’d seen Rockberry and his blackguard associates taking Emma, only Claybourne and Dodger holding on to him and reminding him that something larger was at stake had kept him from revealing his presence. At the last moment he’d almost switched the sisters’ roles, but he’d known Rockberry was expecting Emma to be in residence.

  After leaving Emma last night, Swindler had met with Sir David and explained his plans and his suspicions. Sir David had volunteered to keep watch over Eleanor at the gardens while Swindler, Claybourne, Dodger, and Greystone were watching over Emma.

  Or that was the plan. At that precise moment all they were doing was following discreetly behind Rockberry’s carriage.

  “Relax, man, my driver has him in sight,” Greystone assured him. “Ever since the night I almost lost Frannie, I’ve hired men who have the skills to protect her. He knows what he’s about. He’ll see that tonight ends with no harm coming to Miss Watkins.”

  “I can’t believe the man is fool enough to do this,” Dodger said.

  “Arrogant bastard,” Claybourne said. “He’s just inherited the title. He considers himself untouchable. His brother was.”

  Swindler wrapped his hand around the gun in his jacket pocket. “If I don’t kill him tonight I shall see him hanged. And if he’s hurt Emma…”

  He could hardly stand the thought without feeling a bit of madness consuming him.

  “They won’t harm her until they’ve performed the ritual,” Dodger said.

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Swindler asked.

>   “No, that’s to emphasize that you don’t need to kill him as soon as you see him. We don’t need to be brash and careless.”

  “You’re one to talk. If it was your wife-”

  “He’d already be dead. But unlike you, I don’t give a bloody damn about any justice except my own. You’ve always wanted to save the world.”

  Not any longer. All he wanted was to save Emma.

  Emma’s head lolled back against the carriage seat. She thought she was still in the carriage. It was so hard to be certain. Everything was blurred. She was aware of a rocking motion. She supposed she could be on a train by now.

  She remembered them forcing her into the carriage and climbing in after her. She remembered them holding her down, pinching her nose until she had to open her mouth to breathe, and when she did, they’d poured some sweet wine down her throat. At least she thought it was wine. But it made her grow dizzy so quickly, made her lethargic, made it so difficult to concentrate.

  “I don’t understand.” Her words were slurred and came from a far distance. “You can’t think you’ll get away with this.”

  “It’s all about the thrill, my dear,” Rockberry said. “The excitement that we might get caught. And if we do”-he shrugged-“we have power and influence. Someone might slap our hand, but no one cares about the daughter of a viscount whose title died with him.”

  “James cares.”

  He snorted. “The son of a thief? Do you really think his word will carry any weight? Especially after I explain that during our stroll through Greystone’s garden, you suggested we slip away for something a little more intimate. That you wanted to experience a night with the society. That you begged me…”

  She tried to shake her head but it sat so heavy on her shoulders. “James will know you’re lying.”

  “But what of my peers? I’m a lord now. I’ll be tried by my peers. And that, too, my dear, is part of the fun, the pleasure, the excitement. Fooling people into believing me.” He released a harsh laugh. “Like your sister, Eleanor. I do believe she expected me to drop down on bended knee last night. And Elisabeth. When my brother brought her to us, it added a new element to our fun. She tried to fight, as I’m sure you will as well. But in the end…” He drew in a deep breath that sounded like satisfaction.

  She wanted to claw out his eyes, tear away his mouth so he couldn’t continue saying these ugly things. “James will kill you.”

  “Mmm. Yes. He might try, but right now he’s still following Eleanor through Cremorne Gardens. Did he really think we’d rendezvous there and go elsewhere? No. We always meet at the same place on the outskirts of London, where no one will bother us. And your Inspector Swindler will never find us.”

  “You misjudge how good he is.”

  Sitting beside her, he removed the pins from her hair. She wanted to move away from him, but her body wouldn’t listen to her commands.

  “No, my dear, you misjudge how skilled he is.”

  He buried his face in her hair and sniffed, while the other two gents sitting across from them chuckled. She could see their smiles like some sort of obscene painting. She hated it, despised them.

  “I don’t know why my brother went to Scotland Yard when he discovered you following him. Or was it Eleanor? Doesn’t matter. I think his conscience was beginning to eat at him. Stupid clod.”

  It occurred to Emma, in the back of her mind where she was struggling to stay clear-headed, that he was telling her too much. As though it didn’t matter what she knew. Did he think she’d forget?

  Then she remembered that his brother had killed a woman. Or so he’d claimed. Perhaps it was the man holding her who’d done the deed. Perhaps he meant to see her dead as well.

  Somehow, she found the strength to break away and reach for the door, but they grabbed her, wrestled her to the floor, pinched her nose-

  As she choked on the too sweet liquid they were pouring into her again, she snatched at her memories of James. If she was going to die, she wanted her last thought to be of him.

  As they traveled into a less populated area, Swindler was aware of the carriage slowing, the driver increasing the distance between the two vehicles. Where the bloody hell were they going?

  The carriage suddenly came to a stop. Swindler didn’t wait for the footman to open the door. He did it himself, leaped to the ground and glanced around at a good deal of nothingness. The others joined him.

  “They passed through a gate a short distance back, Your Grace,” the driver said as he climbed down and joined the footman who’d already disembarked and was relighting the lantern they’d extinguished in hopes of not being noticed as they followed Rockberry.

  “Let’s go, then,” Swindler said.

  Claybourne grabbed his arm, stopping his forward movement. “Do we have a plan?”

  “Get Emma out alive and I don’t care who the hell dies in the bloody process.” Breaking free of the hold, Swindler began running toward the gate.

  “I do hope he’s not including us in the ‘who the hell dies’ arena,” he heard Greystone mutter.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” Dodger responded. “I do believe the man’s in love.”

  Love didn’t seem a strong enough word for what Swindler felt for Emma. He only knew that if she was harmed, he’d never forgive himself, and if she died, his entire life would be meaningless.

  It was a lovely residence. Too lovely for what Emma knew occurred here.

  One of the swells had carried her from the carriage, because her legs had been as substantial as jam. Rockberry had yelled that they’d given her too much. Whatever it was, she feared he was correct. As she sat on a chair in the entrance hallway, her stomach was roiling and she thought at any moment she might be ill.

  “Come along, dear,” she heard a soft feminine voice say.

  Where had the lady standing before her come from? Another was with her, helping her to her feet and assisting her up the stairs. The blond introduced herself as Helena. The dark-haired woman was Aphrodite.

  In a bedchamber upstairs, they began removing her clothes. She tried to resist, to shove them away, but her limbs had no sturdiness to them. Someone was brushing her hair. Why were they doing this?

  She tried not to imagine how Elisabeth had felt, how frightened she’d been. Or had she thought she was being prepared to become Rockberry’s bride? Oh, she despised these people. No matter how much wine they gave her, they could not drown out that single bit of knowledge, that hammering conviction. These people had hurt Elisabeth. Now they meant to harm her. She would fight them.

  If only she could think clearly. If only she could regain control of her limbs. She wanted only to curl up and go to sleep, but the ladies wouldn’t let her be.

  Emma thought of James. Would he ever look at her the same if Rockberry touched her? Would he be consumed with guilt because he’d left her unguarded? He suffered enough because of his father. She didn’t want to add to his burdens.

  When the ladies-what were their names again?-had her prepared to their satisfaction, they draped the softest of silk around her. It felt so wonderful, wrapped her in a cloud. She almost forgot what it heralded. Then they began to escort her somewhere. She was vaguely aware of hallways and passages, candle flames flickering. She wanted to remember what everything looked like so she could describe it to James later. Maybe he could find it. But nothing seemed to stick in her mind. Whenever she saw something new, whatever she’d seen before disappeared from memory.

  They were no longer walking, simply swaying. She realized she was in a large, cavernous room. Pillows were everywhere. Here more candles provided a soft light. Some might have even considered it romantic. She could hear chanting. Men in red robes, Satan’s followers, stood in a circle around her. Hoods kept their faces in shadows. She had little doubt they were the wicked, the beasts who had taken advantage of Elisabeth-and now had plans to harm her.

  She was vaguely aware of the silk slithering down her body. She wanted to pull it back up f
rom its place on the floor but it was so far away. And her limbs seemed incapable of following commands, as though they were somehow detached from her thoughts.

  “Kneel,” Rockberry ordered.

  She focused on his voice, focused on his face. He was one of the men who’d hurt Elisabeth, had destroyed her. She fought back the lethargy. “No.”

  “Kneel. Down.”

  “No.”

  He laughed harshly. “Your unwillingness will not prevent what is to come. Kneel.”

  “Rot in hell.”

  She could see the anger contorting his features, knew things would probably go much worse for her, but she was beyond caring. She’d not willingly follow him into hell. She’d not even follow him into heaven. She refused to become his slave, his concubine. Whatever he offered, she wanted nothing to do with it.

  He snapped his fingers and she felt strong hands pushing her down until her knees thudded painfully against the floor.

  “Daughter of Eros-”

  She saw him holding up the silver filigree collar.

  “Bride of Eros-”

  The silver touched her neck, just as it had touched Elisabeth’s. Cold against her flesh, causing chills to race through her. It was so pretty but so heavy, a symbol of subservience, an indication of ownership. She didn’t know where she found the strength, but she gathered whatever remnants remained and slammed her balled fist up between his spread legs-

  With an agonizing shriek, Rockberry buckled and dropped to his knees before her. She was vaguely aware of her fingernails clawing rivulets in his face, his screams, hands grabbing her-

  And then the chaos that Elisabeth had written about truly erupted.

  Chapter 24

  Swindler burst into the room as though he were leading the horsemen of the apocalypse. He’d had a time of it picking the lock at the gate. Their efforts to find Emma had been delayed as they dealt with the drivers and groomsmen of Rockberry’s carriage as well as two others. The front door had not been locked, the people inside obviously feeling safe and secure in their little world. Swindler and his group had dealt with one butler. No other servants were about. These disciples of whatever the bloody hell they were had no doubt determined that the fewer witnesses to their depravity, the better. But finding the correct room in this monstrosity of a residence had taken more time than Swindler would have liked. It had been the echoing chant that finally led them in the right direction, and then the high-pitched shrieks that confirmed they’d found where they needed to be.