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 from 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.
They’d fired shots over heads-more to distract and intimidate rather than harm. Six men wearing red cloaks, and two ladies-scrambling for their wraps-had dropped to their bellies like the snakes they were and covered their heads. One man was already writhing on the floor, fighting off the hellion who was intent on causing him serious bodily harm. Swindler, knowing it was Emma, was tempted to leave her to it, let her have her satisfaction, her triumph, but he needed to reassure himself that no harm had come to her. God, but she was glorious in her fury.
Grabbing the silk pooled on the floor, wishing he had something better for her, he draped it over her and gently tried to tug her off Rockberry. But she fought him, lost in the madness of whatever potion they’d given her, whatever horrors they’d inflicted on her. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, holding her as still as he could, he pulled her away and onto his lap.
When Rockberry made a motion to lunge for her, Claybourne planted his booted foot on the man’s chest and directed his pistol at his head. “I wouldn’t if I were you. You should know by my reputation that I have no problem killing lords. I’ve no objection to adding you to my list.”
Rockberry sank back down, his small excuse for manhood as shriveled as his soul.
Swindler rocked Emma while tears coursed down her cheeks and tremors cascaded through her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”
“He’s worse than his brother,” she sobbed.
“I know.” He hated to ask but he had to know. He buried his face in her hair, near her ear, and whispered, “Did he…did he hurt you?”
Shaking her head, she relaxed against him. “Frightened me more than anything. How could they?”
“They are warped, perverted. I can’t explain it.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Greystone’s driver and footman tying the hands of the men and ladies.
His gaze averted out of respect for Emma’s modesty, Greystone knelt before Swindler. “Christ, we’ve got three lords here. And one of those ladies is the daughter of a duke.”
Swindler nodded, not surprised by that discovery. Idle people searching for something to fill their lives. People of influence thinking that they couldn’t be touched. “We’ll take them to the back door of Scotland Yard. Sir David will decide how best to handle this matter. Bundle them up into their carriages. Warn their drivers that if they don’t cooperate they’ll answer to Scotland Yard.”
“Right.” Greystone cast a quick glance at Swindler before looking away. “How’s Emma?”
“Shaken, but brave.”
“She was a lioness, your Emma.”
His Emma. God, he hoped that was true, but he had no idea if she’d forgive him for what had happened tonight.
Emma would have been content to wear nothing except the silk. She simply wanted to get out of this hideous place as quickly as possible. But James insisted that they had time to find her clothes and get her properly dressed while Greystone’s driver went to fetch their coach.
Now they were alone inside it, his friends having decided to divide themselves among the other carriages and ensure that the blighters crammed inside them were properly delivered to Scotland Yard.
Leaning against James, Emma was exhausted from the draught and the ordeal. His arm was around her, his hand stroking her arm, so comforting. “However did you find me? How did you know where to look?”
He stiffened beside her, as though preparing himself for a blow. “We never left Greystone’s.”
She shook her head. “But, Eleanor…”
“She went to Cremorne Gardens, but Sir David and several men from Scotland Yard accompanied her. I can’t explain it, Emma. I just felt as though we were missing something. Rockberry was so forthcoming with information, and in spite of the horrors his brother had committed, the new Rockberry almost seemed to relish telling us what a monster his brother had been.” Shifting around, he cradled her chin and turned her face up until he could gaze into her eyes. “Forgive me, Emma, but I couldn’t tell you what I suspected. I knew that they’d give you some draught like they did Elisabeth, and it might cause you to say things that would have alerted them to the fact that we were in pursuit.”