Who?
The question recalled what she had read about Francis Dashwood, the original founder of the Hellfire Club, whose lands in High Wycombe were not far away. She wondered whether the rumors of secret caves cut into the soft chalky stone beneath the old Medmenham Abbey were true. Subterranean chambers of stygian darkness, where the devils could play at will.
“It doesn’t matter whether Saybrook knows or not,” she whispered aloud. “I’ve always looked out for myself.”
A blaze of torchlight suddenly shone through the misted panes. “Welcome.” A masked figure stepped out of the fog to open the carriage door. Arianna didn’t recognize the voice. Likely it was a servant, paid well to keep silent about what went on within the walls of the manor house up ahead.
“This way, madam.” He led her along a gravel path and up a set of marble stairs. Taking hold of the brass knocker—a horned Satan with a monstrous erection—he rapped on the door and then retreated, leaving her standing alone in the gloom.
Several minutes ticked by before the iron-studded oak swung open.
“Ah, Lady W, I am delighted that you accepted the invitation.” Concord was dressed in scarlet trousers and matching jacket, the rich fabric giving a reddish gleam to his overbright eyes and oiled hair. A musky scent oozed from the combed curls, a mixture of sandalwood and some exotic sweetness that made her want to gag.
Forcing a smile instead, she replied, “I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity for the world.”
He raised his glass in salute. It held a crystal clear liquid that he quaffed in one gulp. “To a memorable evening,” he murmured. “Please help yourself to refreshments. I must have a word with the membership committee and our host about the coming ceremony. I shall join you shortly.”
“Of course, sir.” Arianna spotted Tipton and Gavin in one of the side alcoves. They were wearing white trousers and jackets, identical in cut to Concord’s clothing.
“But pray,” she added, “don’t let them keep you too long.”
Concord’s gaze flicked to her cleavage. “Just a few matters of business, and then we may move on to pleasure, Lady Wolcott.”
Arianna made her way to the far corner of the drawing room, where an array of drinks were set up on a gilded table festooned with bloodred candles. It was the one bright spot, aswirl with tongues of fire, licking up with silent laughter.
Insatiable, she thought, taking up a glass of burgundy wine. Men like Concord could never have enough.
The rest of the room was pooled in flickering shadows. She could dimly make out several other people standing together by the curtained windows, but the hooded robes they were wearing made it impossible to make out their identities. Whoever they were, they made no acknowledgment of her arrival.
Perhaps it was part of the ritual. She seemed to be the only one attired in evening finery. . . .
The soft swoosh of fabric suddenly intruded on her musings. Arianna felt a prickling of gooseflesh as a laugh sounded close to her ear.
“Nervous, my dear?” Lady Spencer was wearing a nun’s habit, fashioned out of coal-black cloth. A half-moon of white hung over her shoulders, reflecting the fire-gold glow of the candles up to her face. Even without the highlights, her eyes looked unnaturally bright.
“Perhaps just a little,” replied Arianna.
“It is only natural.” Two points of red glittered in the center of her dilated pupils. “You are about to enter a whole new world.”
“I—I am eager to experience a different life.”
“Yes, you appear to have an appetite for pleasure.”
Arianna answered with a little laugh.
“Speaking of which, your relative is a very delicious man.” A cat-in-the-cream-pot smile twitched on Lady Spencer’s lips as she drank deeply from a large fluted goblet. Her voice had an odd tempo to it—quick, yet strangely slurred. “That sour expression hides a feast of exotic flavors.”
“Indeed?” murmured Arianna.
“Oh, yes, his kisses are quite divine.” A wink hung for an instant on her kohl-rimmed lashes. “We had to put off a more intimate acquaintance for a bit longer, until he is fully healed. However, I am quite sure that his sword will prove magnificent when it’s unsheathed.”
Arianna took a small sip of her wine. “You don’t say?” A discussion of Saybrook’s sexual potential was the last thing she was looking for. Her concentration was all on Concord, and how she might coax some incriminating evidence out of him.
Lady Spencer did not take the hint and move away. “I confess, I am surprised you didn’t grab him for yourself. Don’t you find him attractive?”
How to answer? In her role as rapacious widow, eager for a taste of forbidden fruits, she must not stir any suspicions. “Oh, he has an undeniable physical allure. But there are . . . other complications. Family, you know.”
“Yet you aren’t closely related,” probed Lady Spencer. “The connection is only by marriage.”
“That is part of the problem.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper, knowing how much her erstwhile employer loved knowing other people’s secrets. “As the nominal head of the family, he wishes to manage my affairs, and I am heartily sick of having a man tell me what to do.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Lady Spencer with a knowing nod. “We are, after all, much smarter than they are. But never fear, Lady Wolcott. You’ll soon learn that it’s laughably easy to wrap men around your finger.”
Arianna looked up through her lashes. “I shall try to watch carefully and pick up a few tricks from you.” Flattery was a sure way to stay in the lady’s good graces. “Something tells me you have a wealth of experience in handling the opposite sex.”
“Men are primitive creatures. Most of the time they think with their cocks and not their brains. So you must use that knowledge to your advantage.” Lady Spencer took another thirsty gulp of her drink. “I like coaxing out their deepest, darkest secrets when their guard is down.”
Whatever was in the glass, observed Arianna, it appeared to be loosening the lady’s tongue. Her own senses sharpened. She, too, was experienced in using the same strategy. “I imagine you are very, very good at that.”
“Oh, I am, I am.” She sidled a little closer, her shoulder kissing up against Arianna. “Take Saybrook—I shall of course enjoy swiving the big, black devil. But I also intend to diddle some information out of him.”
“Really?” drawled Arianna. “But he seems like such a bore.”
A laugh gurgled in Lady Spencer’s throat. “What if I told you he’s in charge of a secret investigation for the government.”
“No!” exclaimed Arianna, exaggerating her disbelief. “Impossible.”
“Shhhh.” Lady Spencer touched a finger to her lips. “Oh, I assure you it’s true,” she whispered. “It happened at my house. The Prince Regent took ill, and they think he was poisoned.”
Arianna gasped.
“Yes, yes, take my word for it.” Lady Spencer paused to fan herself. “Lud, is it warm in here?”
“Quite.” Taking the lady’s arm, she led her deeper into the alcove and opened one of the brass-framed windows. “Surely the earl doesn’t suspect you of the crime,” she whispered, quickly steering the conversation back to the Prince.
“He’s been terribly closemouthed about the whole thing. But I shall soon be in a position to pump him for information.”
Two could play at that game, thought Arianna. Leaning in a little closer, she whispered, “One could hardly blame you if you chose to poison the Prince in a fit of jealousy.”
“Jealous of that fat turd?” Lady Spencer chuffed a laugh. “I was sleeping with him merely to coax him into using his influence for me.”
“In what?” probed Arianna.
Lady Spencer turned her flushed face to the wafting of cool air. “A lady has to look out for herself.”