“That would explain why we have been unable to locate it. Just when we think we have a lead, it disappears into thin air. Tell me more.”
“There was a ritual last night, but I cannot be certain who is behind it.”
“Did you talk to Wilson?”
“He was less than cooperative. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has put a price on me. He did not like me asking questions, nor did he believe that I was merely curious. Nevertheless, I would lay odds that he sold those girls for use in the rituals. There are more than you know about. Farrell’s people found them and buried them quietly. He did not want attention from the authorities.”
“There were more bodies than those we found?”
“According to Farrell, eleven, including Miss O’Rourke. And he recognized the markings.”
“Make that twelve. The night watch in St. Giles parish found a body near dawn. Same markings, same mutilation.”
Andrew felt the bile rise in his stomach. His blood-splattered shoes! God, no. This was his worst fear. He took a deep breath. “Do you have her description?”
“Yes, but no clues there. They’ve been all sorts. Short, tall, blonde, brunette, common prostitutes mostly, until Miss O’Rourke and a few governesses.”
“But the one last night. What did she look like?”
“Dark brown hair, smallish, slightly built, fair complexion.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t think about it now. Whatever he’d done, his head was clear now and he had to find a way to end this butchery, even if he was a part of it. He looked up at Wycliffe. “There’s to be another Sabbath—ritual, actually. Friday the thirteenth.”
“And I’ve come into news of something being referred to as the thirteenth rite.”
Friday the thirteenth. The thirteenth rite. The thirteenth sacrifice? “Tomorrow, then. I believe we have very little time if we are to prevent another murder.”
Wycliffe’s eyes widened and he glanced at the door as if to make certain they couldn’t be overheard. “You believe?”
“That would explain the escalation, would it not? The previous murders…could have been mere rehearsals, especially if this has all been leading to this ‘thirteenth rite.’”
“How can we find out?”
“Farrell. If anyone has heard rumors, he has. I asked him to discover where it will be held. He made no promises, and now we know why—they move the damn thing to keep the location secret.”
“Sooner or later someone will talk. I cannot believe it has been kept secret so long.”
Andrew shrugged. “Perhaps that is not so odd. I was drugged last night. There was laudanum in the wine, and the taste was disguised with sulfur. Jamie and Charlie were there last night, too, and they have no more memory than I. But I recall a woman. Some nonsense about her being our vessel. Then I am blank until I awoke at home this morning.”
“Who else was there?”
“We wore robes with deep cowls. I did not recognize anyone beyond our own party. Me, Jamie, Charlie, Henley, Dash, Lord Elwood and Throckmorton.”
“How many were there?”
Andrew rubbed his temples. Every time he tried to recall specifics, his head began to throb. “At least a dozen, maybe more. And the woman.”
“You have no recollection of how you got home?”
“None,” he confirmed.
“Where was Miss O’Rourke?”
He went blank for a moment, remembering that terrifying dream of Bella on the altar, then collected his thoughts with a deep breath. “I took her home before I met the others. Wycliffe, you have to stop her. You cannot continue to use her when her very life is in danger. Blast it all, you’ve put her in danger! And do not give me that twaddle about your covert agent. I’ve seen no trace of him. And certainly of no one protecting Miss O’Rourke.”
“You are protecting her,” he said. “And my other man is in place, ready to step in if needed.”
“You will understand if I doubt you, Wycliffe. Miss O’Rourke has come to harm already.”
“What sort of harm?”
Andrew shook his head. For his part, he’d admit his error and atone for it in any way required of him, but he would not compromise Bella’s reputation without her permission. He used a diversion instead of an answer. “Have you ever heard of the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood?”
Wycliffe frowned and stirred his coffee. “That would fit the markings, would it not—the wyvern drawn in blood? I must say, I do not care for the name. Are these the men you think are behind the murders?”
“Aye. And it fits what I’ve learned from Farrell. All the others have been found in the same condition. I just…cannot imagine why they take the patch of skin from the forehead. What can they want with such a trophy?”
“Who can say, when this must come from the workings of a demented mind.”
“Several demented minds, I would think. I know we were drugged, but there must have been those who were not—at least not to the degree we were. This was not the first time I’ve been drugged. Two weeks ago—before you asked for my help—I went to a Black Mass where sulfur was added to the wine. I had a suspicious loss of memory the next day. Last night, again, I hadn’t had much to drink.”
“Who gave you the wine last night?”
“Henley, though I do not know where he got it. Before…I cannot recall. But I was with all the same people both times, Wycliffe. Last night, because of the robes, I did not know anyone beyond my own party. But the ceremonies were nothing alike. The one before was like so many others. Salacious. Brazen. Scandalous. But I cannot recall worse crimes than drunkenness and adultery that night. Last night, I suspect much worse occurred. And with another body…”
Wycliffe was silent for a few moments before he nodded and sighed deeply. He tapped his finger against the side of his coffee cup as he thought. “If you are concerned about your complicity in last night’s events, unless you woke covered in blood, do not be. I saw the body. Whoever inflicted the damage was drenched in it. Being there, being drugged, does not make you guilty.”
Andrew released a long-held breath.
“So, if the rumors are true, we have until tomorrow night to find and stop these curs,” Wycliffe said.
Andrew’s stomach turned. “Tell Miss O’Rourke what you are doing, and that you haven’t given up on her sister’s case. Put her out of the path of danger and I will do anything you ask. Anything.”
Wycliffe gave him a sympathetic glance, then looked away. “I wish I could, Hunter. Unfortunately, she may be our only means to solving this mess. She can identify the killer in a way that none of us can. And if they should discover who she is and what she is doing, so much the better. They will come for her, and we will be ready.”
Andrew crumpled the newspaper and stood, containing his rage with difficulty. “You’d sacrifice her to solve this, wouldn’t you?”
“To my shame, yes. It has to stop, no matter what the cost.”
The cost wouldn’t be Bella. He’d damn well see to that.
Angelo’s was overflowing this late in the afternoon and Andrew had managed to work off some of his frustration and all the effects of the brew from last night, though he’d been sluggish and fuzzy-headed until he found his concentration. He’d won all but the first bout with the club champion.
He’d been about to go home, bathe, meet Bella at Belmonde’s, and persuade her in any way necessary to stay home until Saturday, when Daschel found him and begged him to stay for a quick match. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Dash threw his jacket to Henley and blunted the tip of his rapier with a small cork ball. He had never liked using the academy’s blunt swords.
After saluting with the blade to his forehead, Dash took the offensive as he launched into conversation—his usual tactic to distract and disadvantage his opponent. “I see you are none the worse for wear today. You have an inhuman capacity, Hunter.”
“How did you fare?” he asked as he parried Dash’s advance.
Andrew parried. “You seem to have recovered quickly enough.”
“Not until half an hour ago. And you? What do you recall of the festivities?”
“Beyond the comely wench standing on the altar, nothing.”
“Ah, yes. I do recall her.” Dash chortled. “Quite a sight, was she not? I conceived that she looked remarkably similar to your Lady Lace.”
Andrew blinked, disconcerted by the thought that others might have noted that resemblance. Could the girl have been chosen for just such a reason? Dash used the brief advantage to press the cork against Andrew’s heart.
“Hit,” Andrew acknowledged, dropping the tip of his blade and rubbing the spot. Dash had made contact rather more vigorously than necessary. “Did you take me home last night?”
“Me? Though I’d love to take credit for it, I must admit that I have no idea how I got home.” He turned to Henley on the sidelines. “Was it you, Henley?”
But Henley spread his arms wide and shook his head as if to disavow any knowledge of the event. Andrew studied his face and wondered if the man knew more than he was telling. “Who else was there?” he asked.
Dash saluted again and assumed the en garde position. “Damned if I know. Must’ve been Throckmorton who got us home.”
Highly unlikely. Throckmorton had been stumbling even before they left the Lion and Bear. He’d been showing more ill-effects from the wine than the rest. Andrew brought his blade up and saluted Dash. “Notice anything unusual this morning, Dash?”
His friend grinned. “Aside from the foul taste in my mouth and the thundering headache? No.”
“You, Henley?”
“Nothing. I barely recall arriving at the warehouse.”
Andrew suspected that was a lie. He lunged at Dash and caught him off guard, quickly scoring a hit to his sword arm. Dash acknowledged the hit and stepped back, rubbing his shoulder as if Andrew had actually injured him.
“Well,” Dash drawled, “whatever happened, it must have been interesting to have started so conspicuously.”
“Damn, what’s the point if we cannot remember? I can stay at home and drink myself insensible. I was hoping for something different. Something exciting, or at least something that would stir my blood. All I’ve found is more of the same.”
“We shall have to see what we can do about that. Are you certain you are ready for it?”
Andrew nodded as Dash advanced on him, forcing him backward, and it was all he could do to fend off the blows. The cork popped off the tip of Dash’s blade, but he was so intent on his advance that he seemed not to notice. He and Dash scored hits simultaneously.
Dash threw off the side of Andrew’s blade with the back of his arm and looked shocked when a slash of red appeared on Andrew’s right bicep. Andrew gritted his teeth against the sharp ripping pain, his sword clattering to the wooden floor.
“Good God!” Dash’s eyes widened as Andrew gripped his arm over the cut. “Bring the medic kit,” he yelled to Henley.
A moment later, Andrew had been bandaged by an attendant and told to rest the arm for a month to prevent permanent damage to the muscle. Henley held his jacket for him as they made their way to the nearby livery where they’d left their horses.
“Thank God you are not opposed to a little blood,” Dash said. “I will find a way to make this up to you. Henley, here, would have passed out had it been him.”
“You know damn well that is not true, Dash. I hold my own with the best of them. Why last—”
“Come now, Henley. I was jesting.”
Andrew would have liked to hear the end of that sentence. His arm was beginning to tingle by the time he mounted and looked down at his friends. “This will not put me off my game, Dash. If you hear of anything…”
“You will be the first to know. I swear it, Drew. No more games.”
He nodded as he reined into the street. His arm was the least of his problems. The suspicion that Dash and Henley were somehow involved in this grew. Had his first instinct been right? Was Dash Wycliffe’s covert agent? Or was he involved with the dark rituals?
Bella’s pulse quickened at the now-familiar sounds of gambling. Belmonde’s.
Biddle took her wrap. “Mr. Hunter has not yet arrived, miss. Perhaps you would like to await him in a private salon?”
Heat infused her cheeks. “No, I shall just look around, Mr. Biddle. Perhaps I will see someone I know.”
“As you wish, miss.” He gave her just enough of a bow to avoid insulting her.
She was wondering if this was the sort of veiled disapproval she would have to deal with for the rest of her life, when Lord Humphries intercepted her midway across the main salon.
“Well met, my dear Lady Lace. Bella, is it not?”
She hesitated. She did not mind Andrew using the familiar form of address, but hearing it from Lord Humphries assumed a familiarity they did not share. Was this yet another indication of her lowered status? First Biddle and now Lord Humprhies reminding her of her “place?” “Yes, it is. But I would prefer not to be addressed as such in public.”
He took her arm and led her toward the punch bowl. “Ah, a reputation to protect? Very well. I can be most discreet, my dear.”
She was still trying to decide if there had been a hint of something salacious in his assurance when he handed her a cup of rum punch. “Thank you,” she said.
“Are you meeting Mr. Hunter here tonight?”
“I expect to see him at some point this evening,” she allowed.
“I gather you and he have…er, reached an understanding?”
“Not the sort you are hinting at, Lord Humphries.”
“Egads! Still unattached? That is a piece of good news. Call me Dash, as I expect we shall soon be better acquainted.”
She arched an eyebrow, hoping that would discourage him, but he only chuckled in amusement.
“Our last chat was cut short when Hunter arrived. I hope we shall not be so importuned this evening. Come, sit with me.”
The other thing that had been interrupted that night was a kiss. She still had not excluded Lord Humphries as a suspect. Oh, but the mere thought of kissing anyone after she’d known Andrew’s kiss was loathsome. A bit reluctantly she took Lord Humphries’s arm and allowed him to lead her to one of the alcoves. When he began to draw the curtain, she stopped him.
“Please, sir, I do not like surprises. I want to see anyone coming this time.”
He laughed. “Oh, I am sure you do, Bella. But come. Drink up and I shall fetch you another.”
She merely smiled and took a judicious sip of the rum punch. She was not about to allow Lord Humphries to get her drunk. “Are you trying to seduce me, my lord?”
His grin was really quite charming. “Alas, I am too transparent by half. But since you are not obligated to Hunter, I must assume that you are open to other offers.”
“That would depend upon the offer.”
“That would depend upon you, my dear.” He took a sip from his own cup and settled on the bench beside her. “It is not often that someone of your…caliber comes along. Beauty, charm, wit, intelligence and confidence in your own self-worth make you rather irresistible. So it might make more sense for me to ask you how much you are willing to yield.”
She liked the way he put the question to her. It assumed nothing but hinted at much. “That remains to be seen, sir.”
“I never assumed you would come easily, Bella. Or cheap.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” she said. “At last I have found a man who understands.”
He beamed. “Then I am right? Excellent. I sense that you come from quality. Tell me about yourself, m’dear.”
“As you have previously guessed, sir, I am new to London. I am yet getting my bearings and
finding my way though the maze of society here.”
“Was it so provincial where you came from?”
Oh, dear. She had not meant to give so much away. If only she knew how much Cora had told her suitor. “Is not everywhere provincial when compared to London?” she quipped.
“Indeed. Then your family did not go about much in society?”
She glanced down into her cup, marveling at how well she had learned to lie. “Not often. After all, in our reduced circumstances, we were hardly able to afford the necessities for the season.”
“There are more than you? How glorious to think of more like you waiting to be discovered. How many more, Bella? I could pray you have a plethora of sisters. And are they virgin, like you?”
Virgin? She swallowed hard. As wrong as his assumption about her was, it was still insulting to be asked such a question. Ah, but if she truly were from a family fallen on hard times and with no money for dowries, perhaps she would be looking for protectors for her sisters. If she had sisters. She fiddled with the mauve ribbon that trimmed her neckline. “I fear I have given you the wrong impression, Lord Humphries. When I said ‘we,’ I meant my mother, father and brother. I do not have sisters.”
He looked crestfallen and sighed theatrically. “And here I had got my hopes up. You mustn’t tease like that, my dear. But tell me, does your father not object to your activities?”
“He passed on several years ago.”
“But your brother—”
“Is gone in service to the crown. He is in His Majesty’s Navy.”
“What a great pity that you have no male family to see after your needs.”
Or her safety. “But I am a boring topic, Lord Humphries. Pray, tell me about you.”
“Ah, a sad tale, that.” He paused to finish his punch. “I was an only child. My mother and father both passed on whilst I was posted on the peninsula. By the time I had word of their illness—rancid food, I believe—it was already too late to go to them. We were difficult to reach, you see. I am not certain Hunter would have allowed me to go, in any event. Those were…difficult days.” His dark eyes took on a far-away look. “Amazing how fragile the human creature is. How, and the many different ways, they accept the moment of death…”
Lord Libertine Page 19
