by Sue London
“If only that were true,” the duchess said. “A true hellfire club purports to have a pact with the devil. Although we've found no evidence of devil worship as such, The Four might as well have such a pact. Rape, murder, treason. They seem capable of anything, and all in the name of their own pleasure.”
Imogen covered her mouth with her hand. Somehow these girls were aware of something even worse than what she had already seen. “Four?” she asked faintly.
“Originally there were four of them and I'm sure the number was symbolic to them in some way. The eldest, Quince's father, died some years ago. We think that Granby bled the old duke's coffers dry before the end. It seems they'll prey on each other if the opportunity is there. They exploit weakness wherever they can find it.”
“And your father is one of them?”
Sabre's chin rose a notch. “Yes.” Imogen didn't sense anything overtly evil about the girls. Determined, yes, and clearly capable of killing with enough provocation. What sort of a household did the Bittlesworth children grow up in?
“Who is the fourth?”
“We don't know yet.”
“And you're saying we should anticipate that this Granby is capable of anything?”
Sabre studied her. “Couldn't you tell?”
“I was... stunned and didn't really see him.”
“I see.” The duchess was suspicious again. “Hopefully you'll have the chance soon, so that we will have more information for planning our escape.”
Imogen had a hard time hoping that it would be soon. What she really hoped was to wake up and have all of this be a horrible nightmare. She didn't want to live in a world where any of it was possible. She had seen hints of the cruelty in the world before, but now realized how separate she had been from it. How protected by her privilege. Even when she had met people of profoundly unsavory character, it had never before meant a threat to her safety.
* * *
George slid down the wall to sit next to Sabre. The duchess had been quiet and contemplative for some time. “Well, do you have a plan yet?” George asked.
Sabre smiled. “Not as yet, although I have ideas. More, I'm considering Miss Grant's revelation about my brother.””
“That he's not so bad as you think?”
“I've never thought Robert was bad, precisely,” Sabre worried her bottom lip. “More that he was, when pushed, temperamental and unpredictable. More so with me than most.”
“And how has your perspective changed?”
“Perhaps I only saw him as unpredictable because I didn't understand his logic. His motivations. I would chastise myself for not seeing him more clearly, but sometimes it is the things we are closest to that we have the hardest time seeing. If he didn't regard me as a troublesome sibling, as one to be alternately entertained and disciplined, but rather as someone he sought to protect as best he knew how... it changes things.”
“Robert did always say that the world was a harsh, vicious place and we'd best be prepared to deal with it.”
“Precisely. And he taught us the best way he knew how.”
George smirked. “You can dance out of the way of a blade faster than anyone I know.”
“And you can duck a punch even faster.”
The two girls chuckled. “If I'd known he wouldn't truly hurt me when pushed too far, that would have changed everything,” Sabre said with a small sigh.
George laughed. “Lord help Robert when you get out of here. If we get out of here.”
Sabre looked at her and smiled. “If what Imogen says is true, then we have nothing to worry about. Robert can do anything he puts his mind to. He will come for us. For our part we need to not look like we need saving too much.”
George chuckled. “That's our Sabre.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The village where they docked was tiny, merely a few small buildings. It would be a miracle if they could find transportation to the chateau or anything to eat.
Robert turned to Bernard. “Is that other information salient now?”
Bernard sidled a few steps away. “Perhaps yes? But perhaps I should bargain for some distance, oui, before telling you?”
Robert was losing patience. “There is no distance you can go that I can't touch you, so you might as well tell me.”
Casimir paused in helping the sailors tie off the boat. “He's not even bragging. It's disturbing, really.” Gideon chuckled, but nodded in agreement.
In the way of such men, Bernard took their measure again. His conclusion seemed to be that staying in their good graces was a better choice than escape. “Tomorrow is Thursday,” he said.
“And?” Robert prompted.
“On Thursdays the grocer takes a cart of supplies to the chateau.”
Casimir slapped Bernard on the back, making the man jump. “Bernard, you are simply a font of good information. I think you've earned a bonus. I'll chip in twenty pounds myself. You don't know of a place we can stay nearby without note, do you?”
Having recovered, Bernard grinned. “What would it be worth to you?”
Robert left the two rogues to negotiate amongst themselves, turning instead to speak to the duke and earl. “This gives us time to prepare.”
“But will we be entering a house,” Gideon asked, “or a den full of cutthroats?”
“Based on that one,” the duke said, tipping his head toward Bernard, “if we throw money in our path, we can walk anywhere we like.”
“Men of that ilk are motivated by many things, I assure you,” Robert said.
“Well,” the duke paused for a moment, “you would know.”
The duke's capacity to convey self-righteous censure with a minimum of effort was part of why Robert had nicknamed him Gideon's Angel. The larger part was, of course, the fact that the man seemed to have a sixth sense of when his friend was in trouble, arriving just in time to extricate the earl. That had been when they were younger, of course. When Robert had used Gideon's love of carousing to develop contacts in the seedier parts of England's cities. It had been easier than perhaps it should have been, to cast the earl in the role of indulgent and worldly older friend in order to gain access to gaming hells and brothels. Gideon had delighted in the nickname Robert bestowed on him, Lord Lucifer, and had been quite creative in discovering ever more wicked entertainments. Gideon would be no doubt shocked to know that Robert had no particular affection for either drinking or gambling, only for the easy access they gave him to the sort of men who served his purposes. Desperate men, willing to surrender information. Brothels were also a good source of information, but Robert had affection for them separate from that. He had often thought that when the war was over, he would reward himself with a week at Madame Blythe's. Somehow that had not yet come to pass.
Robert brought his mind back to their present issues. “Indeed, I do know. It would be best to find out as much as we can from Bernard so that we can plan effectively.”
“How much is that going to cost me?” Gideon asked sourly.
“Still a good bit less than you make in a day,” the duke countered. “Don't let your obsession with accounting derail saving our wives.”
Gideon looked properly chastised, and Robert was happy that the duke had assured that the earl wouldn't balk at further use of his funds. Fortunately, the captain had accepted some cash up front along with a note to be collected at Gideon's bank back in London. It was possibly the most expensive trip that they would ever take, but well worth it if they were able to secure the Haberdashers before something dire occurred.
“Good news,” Casimir said, joining their group. He rested his hand on Robert's shoulder, as the Pole had a tendency to touch that Robert didn't particularly appreciate. “Bernard here says that he knows a family that will host us for the evening. We can have a whole loft in a barn to ourselves!” Casimir looked far too entertained with the opportunity to watch his noble London friends roughing it in rural Normandy.
“I've had worse,” Robert said.
&nb
sp; “I doubt I have,” the duke mused.
“Horses, cows, or sheep?” the earl asked. “There's a significant difference in the stench.”
Casimir laughed. “It will be an adventure to find out. I didn't know you were such a connoisseur of animal smells!”
“If you drink enough, you'll eventually wake up everywhere.”
* * *
“What would be ideal,” Sabre said, “would be if we could get at least one of us out of here to investigate the house. Find out what we'll be facing, so that I can plan better. Perhaps the Dragon will want to question me.”
“I think he's content to wait and see what Robert will do next,” Jack said from her spot on the floor. The countess was looking quite peaked.
“Obviously,” George said with a cocky grin, “we need to use our wiles.”
Imogen was surprised to hear the young woman make the suggestion, especially with such confidence. Beneath the bravado, she sensed some trepidation, however.
“What are you suggesting?” Sabre asked, apparently drawn by this line of thinking.
“Oh, you know, I say that I have information about Robert that may be of use to the Dragon, then I show a little décolletage as a distraction and see what information I can gather.”
“A little is the operative term,” Sabre said drily. George scowled.
“I should do it,” Imogen said. That moment, again, where three pairs of eyes turned to her as though she had suddenly appeared in the room.
“I'm the trained spy,” George challenged. “And trained in seduction.”
“You were what?” Jack exclaimed.
Imogen looked at the younger woman steadily. “And have you lain with a man other than your husband?”
“Well, not with a man, no,” George said testily.
“I... what are you saying?” Now it was the duchess's turn to sound shocked. Apparently their blonde friend kept a good number of secrets from them.
“I have lain with a good many men,” Imogen said, keeping her eyes steadily on George, “and I have no husband to betray.”
“I'm trained to find secrets.”
“I find them whether I want to or not,” Imogen said with a small smile. She surprised herself, volunteering, but she didn't want one of these young women to do it. To betray a holy vow, worse yet to make themselves vulnerable to the sort of man they claimed this Baron Granby to be. At least Imogen would be able to read him, to anticipate his moods and actions. Not that she wanted to open herself to such a monster, but she had a streak of protectiveness when it came to young women.
“What makes us think we can trust you?” George asked brazenly.
Imogen shrugged. “I don't know, what does?”
“And he's a horrid person,” Jack said from the floor. “If you've any sensitivity at all, you wouldn't want to be near him.”
“I'm not saying I want to,” Imogen said. “I'm saying I will.”
Sabre walked over to stand in front of her, taking her measure. “Why does Robert trust you?” she asked.
“He doesn't. He half-suspects I'm an American spy.”
“Are you?”
“No. I'm merely a woman intent on her own pleasure.”
Sabre raised a brow. “And this will give you pleasure?”
“No, but once we are gone from here I can focus on my own pleasure again.”
Sabre looked back and forth between her two volunteers. Finally she announced, “Imogen will go.”
George threw up her hands in a frustrated gesture and stomped off to the corner, but made no other complaint.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The men had been discussing their plans for better than half the night and Robert was fed up with their bickering. “For the love of God, I wish you were all in the chateau and the Haberdashers were out here! At least I can trust them to execute a plan.”
Bernard, aware the comment referred to the men's wives, snickered in the corner. The earl cut him a dangerous look that shut him up.
“Gentlemen,” Casimir said. “Perhaps it would be best if we followed the advice of the man who ran the back alleys of the war?”
'I would still be happier if we hired more men,” Gideon groused.
Casimir shrugged. “I would be happier if my wife appeared here now, voila, but that is unlikely to happen.”
“She might yet, as Sabre is with her,” the duke mused, finishing off the apple he had chosen from their meager supper options.
“I agree that Sabre is capable,” Robert said, “but we cannot assume she is able to set them free. She would never do anything to risk the countess in her current condition.”
“More than she already has,” the earl said, for perhaps the tenth time on this trip.
Robert was more than ready to bite back at Gideon, but Casimir interrupted. “If I could talk to you outside for a moment?” He cut his eyes toward Bernard and then walked toward the ladder that led down from the loft.
“Gideon, watch the brigand,” Robert said. The earl smiled wolfishly at their unwilling guest. Once outside, Robert found Casimir standing in the stable yard. “What didn't you want to say in front of our informant?”
Casimir smiled. “Nothing. But if I had to listen to those two argue about their wives anymore, I was going to stab one of them. I assume that after my fine example you would have done for the other one.”
Robert crossed his arms and looked out over the field in the same direction as Casimir. “I wouldn't want to kill the earl; we have too much history together.”
“Fair enough, I'll leave the little one to you.”
Robert chuckled, not least of which because the duke easily had half a head on the young Polishman and the earl nearly towered over him. “You're like George. It's hard to tell when you're joking.”
“Who says we're ever joking?”
“The absence of bodies strewn about the continent speaks to your lack of sincerity.”
Casimir clucked his tongue and shook his head sadly. “We are just better at hiding them than you suppose.”
That served to make Robert truly laugh. Few people were able to do that, fewer still when Robert was focused on a task. “You would be a good man to have on the front lines.”
“Of course I would! Better yet, I would want to be behind the front lines. The enemy's front lines, that is.”
“It's where I do my best work,” Robert agreed.
“Do you think they're done arguing like old fishwives in there?”
Robert sighed and rubbed the spot between his brows. “I've known them for years and can assure you that they will only get worse until the matter is resolved.”
“How do they stand each other?”
Robert looked up at the stars overhead. “Just one of the mysteries of the universe, I suppose.”
“I would never want a friend like that.”
“A friend who puts up with you no matter how arrogant and annoying you can be? One who not only helps you, but also saves you on occasion? I think you could do worse.”
“Well, once you put it like that.”
“They are essentially brothers.” Robert smiled. “I should know, as I have one of my own.”
“I suddenly find myself saddened that I do not have a brother.”
“Well, just know that half the time most of us would be happy to give you ours.”
“Hm. So brothers are much like wives. My happy self excluded from such an opinion of my wife, of course.”
“Of course.”
* * *
Imogen was keenly aware of her own failings, but one thing at which she was exceptional was playing on another's emotions, especially a man's. She was pleading through the door. “You must let me see the baron! These women know what I've done. I'm not safe here!”
With her ear pressed to the door, she regretted that her French was not very robust. The guards were talking amongst themselves and it sounded like they were weighing the possible rewards and punishments of taking her to see the man.
George gave her a crooked grin. “I'm impressed.”
“You could help,” Imogen said under her breath, and took to pounding on the door again. “You must let me out! They will kill me!”
The girls took to her tactic in earnest then, shouting epithets at her and periodically thumping against the door as though she were being pushed and beaten. If the guards only had a window to see the women, they would be far more wary. Sabre and George were nearly doubling over holding in their laughter, while Jack smiled at them indulgently from her spot on the floor. At last they heard a key in the lock. As the guard entered, George dragged the smaller Sabre back a few steps and called out melodramatically, “Don't, your grace, it isn't worth it!”
Imogen was afraid George might repeat it in French just to make sure the guard understood her. Meanwhile, the duchess flailed and slapped at George ineffectively. Anyone encountering them now would be hard pressed to believe that these women were capable of doing much other than wearing out dance floors at ton balls.
Eyes brimming with unshed tears, bosom heaving, Imogen beseeched the guard. “Please? Merci? You can see I'm not safe here.”
“I'll kill her for what she's done to my brother,” the duchess trilled.
The guard waved Imogen out. When George and Sabre made to rush for the door, the guard threatened them and they behaved effectively cowed. Imogen thanked the guard effusively, but was really thinking about what terrors the Haberdashers were. The guards inside the keep would be hard-pressed to believe the stories of the men who had delivered them, the ones who had seen Jean dead with his own knife and no one but these women to blame.
Now Imogen just had to prove that she was capable of what she had promised. It was so much better to seduce for sport, for pleasure. But if a seduction what it took to get out of this hellish place, then so be it.
* * *
