Lord Libertine

by Gail Ranstrom

  One day too late to be a gentleman now, damn him.

  “And do not think to tell her my scheme. She would still honor her promise to her sister, but the knowledge that we have people watching her could make her more reckless. And, for that same reason, I do not want her to know that you are involved.”

  “Then why have you sent for me? It seems to me that you have set the scene and there is nothing for me to do.”

  “Do not impede her. Assist her or let her be.”

  Assist her and subject himself to the sweet torture of her nearness and subject her to the danger of his ungovernable lust? Or shun her and leave her to the monsters of the world? Wycliffe included? Damned to hell either way.

  Something was wrong. Andrew knew it the moment he entered the gin house on Petticoat Lane. The conversation was not as boisterous, half the occupants looked over their shoulders to see who had entered, and the crowd parted to let him through to the bar.

  The barkeeper ignored him until he knocked on the bar to draw his attention. He came with a sullen expression, as if he’d rather not have Andrew’s patronage. Whatever was going on, it had something to do with him. He’d stake his fortune on it.

  “What d’ye want?”

  Andrew dropped a shilling on the bar. “Whiskey.”

  A moment later, a glass in front of him, he caught the barkeeper by the arm as he turned away. “What’s going on here?”

  The barkeeper curled his upper lip. “As if ye don’t know.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Hank ain’t comin’.”

  “And why is that?”

  He wiped a cloth across the filthy counter. “Dead.”

  Andrew hid his shock. Whoever had got the better of a man like Hank must be skilled and extremely dangerous. “How did that happen?”

  “Murder. Knife in the gut.”

  “Why would you think I would know about that?”

  “He was askin’ yer questions.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows. Ain’t no secrets in the rookeries.”

  “But how do you know he was killed because of my questions? He could have been about his own business. Someone might have had it in for him.”

  The barkeeper gave a humorless laugh. “Aye, more ‘n a few. But ‘twere the way he was found.”

  “How was he found?”

  “Carved up, like I said, and had the beast on ’im.”

  Andrew frowned. “Beast? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The blood dragon. That’s a warning. It means don’t go askin’ no questions.”

  Dragon? What had a dragon to do with…blast! A wyvern! According to Wycliffe, Bella’s sister was found with a wyvern etched in blood on her abdomen. Yes, that would connect Hank with Andrew’s questions. He shook his head in disbelief. There was a degree of sophistication in such a warning that would be lacking in the rookeries. Wycliffe had been right to suspect someone in the ton.

  He slipped another shilling across the bar. “You’ve heard of this before? Using a blood wyvern as a warning?”

  “Aye. ’Tis the mark of the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood.”

  This time Andrew could not hide his surprise. “What in blazes is the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood?”

  The barkeeper glanced over his shoulder. “No one knows, gov’nor. The mark just appears, and everyone keeps clear.”

  Andrew thought quickly. After what had happened to Hank, he would be hard pressed to find another snitch. Whatever questions he had, he’d better ask now. “Hank was going to bring me a time and place. Do you know anything about that?”

  The barkeeper gave him a look of utter disbelief and turned away. Andrew caught his arm and held him back. “A name, then. Hank told me some of the local girls had disappeared.”

  “Talk to a man by the name o’ Wilson. They was his girls. An’ that’s all I’m sayin’.”

  And the barkeeper went back to the other end of the counter. Andrew gulped his whiskey and turned to find Jamie standing behind him. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been looking for you. What have you got into, Drew?”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough to be concerned. What questions are getting people killed?”

  He shook his head. “Best keep out of it, Jamie. The less you know, the safer you are.”

  Jamie gave him a doubtful look. “From the sound of things, you could get killed. Seems to me like you need a friend. Someone you can trust.”

  Andrew remembered another name. Devlin Farrell, the unofficial king of the Whitechapel rookery. He’d helped Farrell out of a scrape years ago. It might be time to collect on that favor. But not until everything else had failed. It was not a good thing to be in Farrell’s debt.

  He clapped Jamie on the back. “I think we should go see Lockwood. He has rather extensive experience in these matters. Perhaps he will have some ideas on gathering information.”

  “He’s hosting a dinner party tonight.”

  “And we were not invited? There must be some mistake.” He grinned and Jamie laughed. “I am certain he would not want us to miss meeting his guests. Shall we drop in?”

  “To what do I owe this sudden visit?” Lockwood asked as he closed his library door behind him.

  Andrew assumed a wounded look. “Just came to see how the landed gentry lives. Now that we’ve been excluded—”

  Lockwood rolled his eyes. “Damn. You’ve caught me. The truth is that we are hosting and introducing Lady Vandecamp’s recent charges, new to London. She specifically asked me to exclude my brothers unless I could vouch that they’d given up their wicked ways.”

  Andrew propped his elbow on the fireplace mantel while Jamie finished pouring them brandies. “Ah, we are too evil to meet these fresh flowers from the country? Well, I own it. And I confess there is little I would find appealing in a country girl, so Lady V. and I are in complete accord.”

  “And I am in accord with Drew,” Jamie said, handing Andrew a glass.

  “Then why have you come?”

  “Your previous contacts and experience. Do you recall that problem I told you about? Well, I’ve run into some difficulties. I am not getting the answers I need, and I wanted to know if you have any advice for me. Any contacts I might use.”

  “My, this is all so mysterious,” Jamie said. “What are you up to, Drew? Gads! Is this about Lady Lace?”

  He shook his head. “Just satisfying my curiosity. I’ve heard some rumors I’d like to put to rest.”

  Lockwood sighed. “If it were as simple as asking a question, Drew, there’d be no mystery, and no problem. You have an advantage, as you are known and trusted by the right people—or the wrong people, as it were—but you are not one of them. They never forget that. Still, this is something different. Something more.”

  “Aye. Then tell me what you know about a Whitechapel procurer by the name of Wilson.”

  “Ah, Wilson. Nasty piece of work, that one. He’d sell his own mother for a farthing. Rumor has it that he thinks nothing of inflicting a beating if one of his girls comes up short for the night.”

  Andrew tried to think what life must be like for such unfortunates—living hand to mouth, giving over their earnings to a man who abused them, nothing to look forward to but their next flagon of gin. He tapped his finger against the side of his glass. “And if some of his girls went missing?”

  “I’d wager he had something to do with it. Once he has them under his thumb, they do not get away.”

  “He’s capable of killing them?”

  “Easily.”

  “Would he sell them for…”

  “More vile use? Aye, for enough money.”

  Andrew’s mind worked feverishly. Had Wilson sold some of his girls for use in ritual sacrifice? And would anyone go looking for them? Or, in a world where life was cheap and everything was for sale, would anyone even notice? But how could he find out for certain? “What would he do with them afterward?
”

  “Dust heaps? The river? Carts to the countryside? There are any number of ways for a determined man to shed himself of useless baggage.”

  “Have I had too much to drink, or are you talking about disposing of bodies?” Jamie asked.

  “You are best out of this, Jamie. I’ll explain later if you insist.”

  “Have you talked to Devlin Farrell?” Lockwood asked.

  “I’ll talk to Wilson first. Failing satisfaction, I shall search out Farrell.”

  “Excellent plan.” Lockwood rubbed his hands together. “Then, if that’s all?”

  “Anxious to get back to your guests?”

  “That would be the polite thing to do.”

  “My, how marriage has changed you, brother.” Andrew put his glass down and crossed to the library door. “Jamie and I know the way out.”

  Lockwood laughed and followed them anyway. Just as Lockwood’s butler was handing them their coats and hats, a spate of conversation carried from the corridor. The dinner guests, evidently sated, were crossing the entry hall on their way to the parlor. A group of women with their heads together in conversation nearly ran directly into them. The look of consternation on his brother’s face was almost laughable. These would have to be the fresh ingénues to whom Lady Vandecamp did not want Andrew, Jamie and Charlie introduced.

  The scent, the slope of her neck, the rich depth of color in her hair—Lady Lace! Half a second later, she looked up—to beg pardon for not watching where they were going, no doubt—and met his gaze. Her color drained and then bright spots of pink appeared on her cheeks.

  “Oh! Sorry,” one of the sisters said.

  “Not at all,” Lockwood said. “I was just showing my brothers out.”

  “Brothers?” Lady Lace looked from Lockwood to him, then to Jamie. She seemed at a loss for words.

  When her gaze came back to him, her color heightened even more. He’d have given a year’s income to know what she was thinking at that moment. About last night? Or afraid he’d betray her in front of Lockwood and her sisters? Yesterday he might have, but after his conversation with Wycliffe, she was safe enough. From him, at least.

  For his part, he noted a slight warming in his own body. Would she betray him? What he’d done to her last night was little better than rape. Whatever she did, he would deserve it.

  But she did nothing. She just stood there, looking lost and nearly terrified. He shot a warning glance in Jamie’s direction, and Jamie gave him a barely perceptible nod of understanding.

  The youngest of the three girls giggled and beamed a sunny smile. “Goodness, Lord Lockwood, why have we not been introduced?”

  “They were…otherwise engaged this evening, Miss Lillian,” he said.

  “But they are here now.”

  “On business, and just leaving.”

  “What a shame. But surely we shall not be deprived of making their acquaintance.”

  Lady Vandecamp debouched from the dining room and headed their way with grim purpose. “Ah, here you are, girls. You leave my sight for scant seconds and you are already in trouble.”

  “Trouble?” the youngest asked, her blue eyes wide as she looked from Lady Vandecamp to Lockwood and back again. “But what have we done?”

  “Did you arrange this ‘spontaneous’ visit, Lockwood?” Lady Vandecamp asked with a skeptical lift of an eyebrow.

  Lockwood shook his head in denial. “Quite unexpected. You have my word upon it.”

  “Ah, Lady Vandecamp, how nice it is to see you once again,” Andrew said, trying to keep his amusement from showing as he took her hand and bowed over it.

  Lady Vandecamp sighed with resignation. Given the circumstances, she could not very well forbid an introduction without offending Lockwood. There were so many ironies in the situation that Andrew could not begin to count them.

  Lockwood bowed to the inevitable. “It is my pleasure to present the O’Rourke sisters. Miss Isabella,” and Bella bobbed a barely discernable curtsy, “Miss Eugenia, and Miss Lillian.” The other two followed Bella’s example. “They are visiting London from Belfast.

  “Ladies, please meet my brothers, Andrew and James Hunter. Were my brother Charles here, you’d have met the entire lot.”

  Isabella O’Rourke. He liked the sound of that. He bowed and smiled. “Ladies, you are truly an improvement on the season.”

  Jamie, too, offered a bow and murmured some polite compliment.

  “And now that you’ve met them, get on with you,” Lady Vandecamp made a sweeping motion with both hands and the girls resumed their progress toward the parlor.

  Only Bella looked over her shoulder, a fact that Lady Vandecamp did not miss, although she did miss the fact that he mouthed the word, later.

  “Do not be forming any designs on my charges, Mr. Hunter. I intend to keep them far away from the likes of you and your brothers. These girls are too innocent to deal with such rascals.”

  Jamie snorted and then covered it with a cough.

  Andrew gave her a somber nod. “I warrant they will learn well from you, Lady Vandecamp. They will, no doubt, snub us at every opportunity. But, be warned. I intend to win your approval.”

  The social lioness preened with self-satisfaction. “You have a far way to go, Andrew Hunter. And you, as well, James. Meantime, leave the O’Rourke girls alone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Later? What could Andrew Hunter have meant by that single veiled word? Bella pushed her curtain aside and looked down into the darkened street. The clock on the landing struck the midnight hour and she shivered. Was he out there, waiting?

  She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn’t exposed her during the awkward introductions. On the coach ride home, Lady V. had instructed the sisters to be polite to the Hunter brothers, should they encounter them again, but to give them no openings for familiarity. Familiarity? Heavens! She and Andrew had been much more than merely “familiar.” If only she could depend upon him not to interfere with her plan.

  A shadow moved in the park across the street, then came into view beneath the streetlamp. Andrew. He looked up at her window and tipped his hat.

  She dropped the curtain, turned her lamp down and swept her waiting cloak from the bed. A cautious glance into the passageway told her that the house was abed for the night. A faint light shone beneath Gina’s door and she almost knocked to tell her where she was going, but she could ill afford an argument at the moment.

  By the time she came down the front steps, Andrew Hunter had come across the street to meet her. “Thank you for not disappointing me, Miss O’Rourke.”

  She blinked at his odd formality and tried to assume his degree of sophistication. “I could hardly refuse, sir. With your constant threat to expose me, I believe you have assured yourself that I will come whenever you call.”

  “Blast!” he muttered. “I am sorry for that. I am sorry for almost everything. All that has changed now.”

  “What has changed?”

  “Shall we walk, Miss O’Rourke, or shall we hire a coach and have a drive through Hyde Park?”

  The night air was chill and damp for summer, but she did not want to be trapped inside a coach and at the mercy of a man who could steal her wits without so much as a kiss. “Walk,” she said.

  He offered her his arm and she ignored it. Best not to touch him. Even that much could make her lose her resolve. He shrugged and began walking, leading her toward Stafford Row, and then toward the river.

  “Miss O’Rourke, why did you not tell me you were…maiden?”

  “I did not think…I was not prepared…that is, I had no reason to think you would believe me. It would have been the first time you did.”

  He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You are right. I wouldn’t have believed you. Your behavior was not the sort that would lend itself to that conclusion.”

  “I know. My fault, I fear. You must have been dreadfully disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” His voice was raw. “Oh,
Bella, I can think of other words to describe what I was. Shocked comes immediately to mind. Horrified at my behavior. And sorry that it was too late to take everything back.”

  She cringed. She had been so awful that he wished he could take it back? “I…I know you expected more skill. I tried to warn you—”

  “A fact of which I am painfully aware and that I will carry with me to the grave, Miss O’Rourke. I do not expect you to forgive me, and I will understand if you choose to bring charges against me, but I wished to talk to you first about your options.”

  She looked down at the toes of her slippers, alternately appearing and disappearing beneath her hem as they walked. “Options?”

  “There is no way I can compensate you for the loss of your…that is, there are no provisions for replacement of such an item, but my fortune is at your disposal. Name what you will, whatever you need to assure your future, and I will pay it without quibbling. In addition, I swear my eternal discretion. No one will hear about the events of last night from me. If you prefer to bring charges and expose me for the villain I am, I shall confess it without hesitation. If, for the sake of yourself or your family, you prefer to ignore it and that I never trouble you again, I stand ready to leave any event at which we may both find ourselves. Additionally—”

  “Stop!” she finally managed to interject. There were so many layers to his discourse that she hardly knew where to begin. If she could have her way, they would not be discussing this at all. How humiliating to have him scrambling to dust his hands of her and to learn what lengths he would go to just to be quit of her! She tried to organize her thoughts and gather whatever shreds of pride he had left her.

  Best to start at the beginning of his charges, she supposed. “I did not tell you of my condition, Mr. Hunter, because I did not think it was relevant or of any particular interest to you. And when I realized that you were not bluffing and intended to go through with your seduction…well, by that time I had some complicity and, to be frank, I…” She kept her gaze down as scorching heat filled her cheeks. “I ceased to care.”