The Secrets of Shadows

by Waite, Tabetha

  He could see the indecision on her face, the lovely battle between morality, self-preservation, and rational thought. In the end, she lifted those tempting dark eyes to his and lifted her chin. “You stay on your side.”

  He placed a hand over his heart. “My dear, Cosette, you wound me. I would never take advantage of a woman without her complete consent.” He leaned forward and breathed in her scent, the very essence of her that would be warming his bed. “And it will come. Very soon. On that, you have my word.”

  Chapter 8

  Cosette awoke several hours later in Davien’s bed. When she realized that he wasn’t there, she gave a sigh of relief. To his credit, he hadn’t laid a single hand on her all night—at least none that she was aware of. Then again, she’d shot him a threatening look before lying down, pulling the covers up to her chin and scooting as close to the edge as possible. She’d heard him chuckle as the bed dipped with his weight, and although she had felt his warmth surround her as he slipped beneath the sheets, he remained true to his word.

  Now, in the bright light of morning, she found herself wondering where he was, if he might just appear and demand that the time had come to take care of his needs.

  A thought that wasn’t as repugnant as it should have been.

  She threw the blankets off, and stomped to her chamber. The only reason she should be wondering about Davien, is if he’d done as promised and set out to learn of Charlotte’s whereabouts. Any further thought was a waste of time.

  She refused to think that she truly did owe her life to him after last night—where she’d nearly met her demise at the bottom of a pool of water.

  Cosette shuddered at the recollection, before pushing it aside.

  She didn’t have time to live in the past, even if the locket she wore around her neck was a constant memory of what could have been.

  After washing with the bowl of warm water that had been waiting for her, Cosette dressed in a peach-colored day dress. Thankfully, the stays laced up the front and didn’t require the assistance of a ladies’ maid, but considering there wasn’t a servant to be found at Shadowlawn, it would have been a rather difficult task to achieve anyway. Thankfully, she had dressed herself for years and had come rather adept at it. She would certainly never ask the duke for his assistance, for he might very well give it, but only to remove her attire.

  She went downstairs and surreptitiously checked all of the places that she thought Blackburn might be lurking, but when each room she entered was empty, even the library, she stood in the foyer with her hands on her hips, looking about with a frown.

  Surely he hadn’t left without telling her?

  Her scowl increased. Well, if he could come and go when he chose, then so could she. Cosette recalled seeing a fur-lined cloak in her wardrobe, so she went back upstairs and pulled the velvet plum garment free, along with a matching bonnet. As she threw it across her shoulders, tying the bonnet around her chin, she was enveloped in warmth. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes without warning. For years, she had prayed for such simple comforts as shutting out the cold.

  Now, thanks to Blackburn, her long-held wishes had been granted.

  But after what he’d told her last night—after the crude way he’d spoken to her about his past and what he had become—how could she possibly move past that?

  Cosette shook her head. Perhaps if she found Charlotte, she wouldn’t have to.

  She headed toward the stables where she knew at least one servant could be located.

  ~ ~ ~

  Davien had been summoned.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave Cosette this morning, but when the leader of the Hellfire Club sent a request to meet, you had no choice but to answer, especially if that meant keeping her safe. Sir Francis Dashwood was one of the most licentious libertines that ever walked the face of the earth, and if Davien was considered a demon, then the baron was the devil himself.

  But if Davien had his way, it wouldn’t be long before he brought all of it crashing down upon that particular deviant’s head. While Davien’s own succubus continued to elude him, at least he could have the satisfaction of knowing that the man responsible for his father’s demise that fateful night in Rome would meet with a fitting end.

  Peace wasn’t the only reason he’d returned to England, for vengeance was just as sweet.

  Davien crossed the countryside as the wolf, resuming human form only when he crossed the Thames. He strode up the narrow stairs of the former Abbey two at a time, the other members of the Order giving him a mere passing glance as he passed them by.

  They all knew why he was here.

  As his eyes penetrated the dim glow of the interior, he heard the moans of sex as it wafted through the corridors all around him, causing the beast within him to hunger so uncontrollably that he was nearly shaking with need. It was a constant battle to keep it at bay, for ever since he was cursed all those years ago, he had been a slave to his physical desires. Not only had he been damned as a mortal creature, one that grew old, yet condemned to his own personal hell, but the gratification to be found from these primal urges never fully diminished. When he finally gave in to his body’s demands, he was left with an empty, hollow feeling, for nothing seemed to truly calm the monster within.

  Except when he thought of Cosette, and finally the beast settled.

  “Good to see you, Brother.” Davien knew the snidely, familiar voice, even though the man was covered in a white shroud that concealed his face. It was John Montagu, the Earl of Sandwich, and arguably, one of Sir Frances Dashwood’s co-founders of the Club. If one discounted Davien’s father, of course. “We feared you had been lost to us.”

  “I was merely detained,” Davien replied smoothly. “Even I can take my cock in hand now and then and convince myself it was a good time.”

  As the earl laughed, Sir Francis took that moment to join them. Tonight he was clad in red and referred to as Eminence, for he was the current Abbot of ceremonies until the next one was crowned. “Our group has much to offer a man with healthy appetites. I thought I should remind you of that fact, Blackburn.”

  Davien thought back to all the rituals he had been actively involved with in recent months. It effectively turned his stomach.

  As Sir Francis murmured a few words to Montagu, the other lord sauntered off with a bow, leaving the two men alone. Dashwood removed his hood to expose his face. “Have a drink with me.” He led Davien over to a table near the middle of the dining area. This far away from the depths of the catacombs, their association almost appeared respectable, as if they were merely two gentlemen sharing a beverage.

  But Davien knew that it was in the very depths of those tunnels that the most carnal and lewd activities were held. From orgies, to the more degenerate practices of live sacrifice, the Order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe might consider themselves to be just another gentleman’s club, but in truth, it was a shrine to immorality. Davien had never stepped over the threshold of White’s to see two men in a torrid embrace, but it was commonplace in the caves of the Abbey.

  In spite of these activities, the select few who were approached to become members of the Hellfire were sworn to secrecy, and whoever disobeyed this sacred law was forever cast out of polite society, for many of the men who took part in the proceedings were also active in Parliament and in good standing with the King George. Thus, it was imperative that confidentiality within the Order was upheld and reputations were secure. Any slight was taken as the greatest deception.

  Sir Francis sat back in his chair and drank from his glass of brandy with an air of nonchalance, although his expression was serious when he said, “You know, Blackburn, I’ve always thought of you as the son I never had.” Davien forced himself not to stiffen as Dashwood continued. “It’s for this reason alone that I’m willing to overlook your current reluctance to participate in our p
roceedings. However, I entertain every hope that you will continue to use our services, even though it appears that you have taken on a mistress.”

  Davien flexed his right hand, which was still under the table. With his left, he toyed with the glass of brandy that he had yet to consume. “I see you’ve been keeping a steady eye on my affairs.” He’d already known it, of course, but it was best to let Dashwood imagine that he retained all the power.

  The baron smiled tolerantly. “Come now, Blackburn. You know that any affiliate of our organization is watched carefully, especially when there is unease amid the other members. It’s nothing personal, and if you wish to enjoy the delights of a mistress, that is your priority, of course. Although I should hate to think that we might not keep you invested in our establishment.” Tapping his finger on his glass expectantly, he lifted a brow.

  Davien snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with the Order, I assure you. I only wished to consider some . . . outward pursuits as well.”

  Sir Francis was silent as he took a long draught from his brandy. “That comforts me, my boy.” Davien clenched his fist. “Since you are not completely lost to us, shall we expect you to attend our spring initiation ceremony in six weeks? We are preparing some rather . . . favorable inductees for member review.”

  Four times a year, at the beginning of each season, a series of women, and men, were paraded naked before the Order in a ‘rite of passage’ initiation. The ones that were chosen would service the members of the Club until the next initiation, where they had the choice of remaining within the walls of the Abbey—or be cast out.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  With a sly smile curving Dashwood’s mouth, Davien finished off the brandy in one, scorching gulp, before he set his glass down. After a brief murmur of farewell, he exited the sanctuary.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cosette was convinced that Davien’s coachman was either mute, or didn’t speak English. Or else the duke had managed to cast a spell over him where he only did his bidding. Whatever it was, it was impossible to get the man to understand that she wanted either a horse saddled, or to be taken into town by coach. Even though it was a particularly fair day in London, she didn’t care to make another mad race into the heart of the city.

  As she tried once more to pick up a saddle and throw it over one of the black stallion’s backs, he moved to block her way. “Don’t you understand?” She stamped her foot in frustration. “I need to find Charlotte!”

  “Do you not trust in my abilities to locate her?”

  Cosette’s head spun around to see Davien, leaning against a nearby stall. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but if it had been any time at all, she was going to be furious if he’d allowed this ridiculous exchange with his coachman to continue. She set her hands on her hips. “What have you done thus far?”

  She was met with silence.

  “Exactly what I thought,” she mumbled. She glared at Quinn one last time, and then exited the stables.

  Davien was waiting for her the moment she entered the foyer. With a single blink, she asked, “Did you fly in here? Or is displacement another one of your many gifts?”

  He shrugged.

  “I guess that answers my question.” She started for the library, where he followed at a discreet distance. She took her bonnet off and set it on a nearby table. “Tell me again why you don’t like being this—” She waved her hand at him. “—aswang creature. It doesn’t seem to be without its perks.”

  He lifted an arm and leaned against a nearby bookcase. The action made him seem almost—human. Until he opened his mouth and allowed a pair of fangs to drop down from his upper teeth. Along with that unholy glow coming from his eyes, she had to wince.

  “I see your point.” She tried not to let her lips twitch at her own play on words.

  “You seem to be enjoying my suffering a little too much,” Davien murmured, his face having returned to normal.

  “Not at all,” Cosette said, a bit too sweetly.

  “I may just push you in that pond the next time you decide to take a midnight swim,” he murmured in return.

  She gasped. “Don’t you dare!”

  For a moment, it was almost as if the light banter between them would flourish into something . . . more.

  But then he had to open his mouth and ruin it all. “You’re not to leave this manor, Cosette.”

  “And why not? I think we already know that I have nowhere else to go. I was merely going to do some discreet checking into Charlotte’s disappearance, maybe even return to the workhouse to see if she’s returned.”

  “She hasn’t,” Davien returned evenly.

  She pursed her lips and then said, “I thought you hadn’t looked into the matter yet.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She sighed heavily. “But it was implied outside just now.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he countered. “I just didn’t reply.”

  Cosette felt the start of a headache. “Would you please stop speaking in circles and tell me what you know? Or if there is, in fact, anything to tell?”

  “Since you’ve put it so eloquently . . .” He chuckled when she shot him a look meant to do physical harm. “The only thing I know is that she hasn’t been seen at The Lion’s Share, or at Perpetual Hope.” He paused, as if what he intended to say next wouldn’t be pleasant. She braced herself for the worst. “I’ve also perused the papers for news of any unclaimed bodies, but thus far, no one matches her description.” She was about to offer a relieved sigh, when he added, “But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

  Cosette clenched her fists and set them on the table. “I don’t know why you won’t let me leave Shadowlawn. It’s not as if I’m in danger. I survived for years on the streets without anyone to watch out for me. Charlotte is my friend. I have other places I can look—”

  “No.” He turned on his heel, prepared to put an abrupt end to their conversation and her request.

  She wasn’t so easily dissuaded. She stood up and ran after him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “Please, Davien. I can’t stay here . . . trapped within these walls day after day. I’ll go mad.”

  His words were so quiet that she almost didn’t hear them. “If something happened to you, it would be the death of me, and my work here is not finished.” He tilted his head to the side, where she saw the firm set of his jaw. “There is evil beyond these walls that you are unaware of. I can’t fully protect you if you leave.”

  She bit her lip, feeling her freedom slipping away. “Then come with me.” She didn’t care if she had to beg at this point. She just needed . . . space, and helping him look for Charlotte would give her the room to breathe, and the courage she needed to survive living with an overwhelming man like Blackburn for however long he deemed it necessary that she remain at his side.

  “We leave at midnight.” She could have wept at his stoic words. “By then the ale is taking full effect and the patrons of the East End are more willing to talk.” His eyes shifted to hers, and she could have sworn she saw the beast he claimed to live within. “You are not to leave my side.”

  She nodded. “Agreed.” In truth, she didn’t want to. While a part of Cosette was fearful of what lay inside of Davien, she also knew that with him she was safe.

  “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  With that, he departed.

  Chapter 9

  Cosette remained in the library the rest of the afternoon. She knew that Davien would remain true to his word and wouldn’t reappear until that evening, so she took off her cloak and hung it over the back of the chair. She went over and pulled Calmet’s book off the shelf where it had originally been and brought it over to the table. If she couldn’t cure her blackouts, the least she could do was try and find a way to break his curse. Surely there was som
ething he was missing.

  She just had to find out what.

  But after nearly four hours of thorough research, she was still at a dead end. Either she was looking in the wrong place, or there truly was no help for his current . . . affliction. Cosette hated to think that was the case. No matter how ill-tempered Blackburn could be, no one deserved to suffer for their misdeeds until the point they wished for death.

  Cosette rubbed her eyes as the clock struck eight. She didn’t think there was any point in changing her dress for dinner if she was going to have to wear something different to scrounge around London in a few hours. However, the moment she walked into the dining room, she reconsidered the state of her wrinkled gown.

  Davien looked absolutely resplendent.

  He was standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the evening sky beyond, like a true dark prince observing the riches of his estate. He was dressed entirely in black, wearing only a shirt, trousers, and boots. The muscles beneath his snug fitting trousers rippled with his every movement, while his open shirt exposed a clear triangle of his upper body. She imagined that she could see the crisp, dark hairs that curled across his chest, and smell his woodsy cologne water, even from across the room.

  The picture he presented quite literally took her breath away.

  “. . . to eat?”

  Cosette opened her eyes to look at Davien, who stood right in front of her. She hadn’t even realized she’d closed them. “Pardon?”

  His mouth quirked up at the corner. “You seem distracted. Is there any particular reason that might be?”

  “Not at all,” she answered quickly. Too quickly if his growing smile was any indication. She gestured to the trays of food that were waiting on the table. “Shall we?”