A glance showed that Cockburn was watching her intently. “I fear you are boring Lady Arianna,” he murmured.
“Yes, you are,” she replied bluntly. “The Hellfire Club members seem to think their celebration of sexual perversion and mockery of morality is a mark of superior intellect.” It wasn’t very smart to bait one’s captors, but the truth was, she knew she was going to die, so what did it matter? Concord at least had paid for his sins. “I think it’s nothing more than infantile indulgence.”
She heard Cockburn suck in his breath. And then let it out in a low laugh. “We think alike, Lady Arianna,” he said softly. “I am not a member.”
“They indulge in naught but childish games,” agreed Gavin. He must have seen the skepticism on her face, for he went on to add, “It suited our purpose for me to join the Club, in order to keep a close eye on Concord, Kellton, and Lady Spencer. But while they played in the dark, so to speak, we turned their ignorance to our advantage.”
For a brief moment, Arianna was overcome with confusion. Perhaps it was the residue of the narcotic, but she felt her dizziness return. The chalky walls seemed to press in and then recede.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked haltingly. It was only one of the many questions now whirling like dervishes inside her head.
“Patience.” The marquess smiled. “You will soon be enlightened.”
His easy assurance heightened her confusion. She considered herself skilled at judging people and their motivations. But nothing was making any sense.
Gavin and Cockburn. She squeezed her eyes shut as their faces turned a bit fuzzy. Concord, Kellton, and Lady Spencer. The pieces of the puzzle no longer seemed to fit together as she and Saybrook had thought, yet try as she might, she could not discern a new pattern.
“You seem a trifle faint, Lady Arianna. Would you care for a sip of brandy?”
Her lids fluttered open in time for her to see Cockburn take a small silver flask from his pocket. “No,” she exclaimed, then hated herself for the half-hysterical squeak.
“It’s untainted, I assure you.” He uncorked it and took a swallow.
Arianna shook her head, unwilling to betray any further sign of weakness. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
Fear. Yes, she was afraid. Not that she had much to live for. Except for the chocolate recipes, she thought wryly, and perhaps . . .
Don’t be a fool—the earl would not mourn her passing.
“This way.” Gavin appeared impatient to continue their journey into the depths of the caverns.
The way sloped downward, and the rock beneath her bare toes turned damper. Shadows flickered wildly, and she was sure that she heard the echo of gurgling water somewhere deep in the darkness up ahead.
It felt as if she were trapped in the belly of the Beast.
“Watch your step—we are about to cross the Styx,” warned Gavin. Sure enough, the lantern beam swung down to illuminate a small subterranean stream, its eddying waters black as coal. “Do take care. The bridge is narrow.”
They crossed in silence, the still air growing more oppressive with every passing moment. Arianna felt her breathing turn shallow, half expecting fumes of sulfur and brimstone to flare up and fill her lungs.
“As you have seen, there are a number of catacombs down here,” remarked Gavin. “Where a number of wicked things have happened in the past. That is, if the rumors can be believed.”
A blade of light cut through the gloom, showing the entrance to another chamber. “Please, no ghost stories, Philip. Lady Arianna will think we are trying to frighten her.” Cockburn came up beside her and took her hand. His touch was moist and cold, reminding her of a dead fish. “We are here, my dear. Let us sit down and make ourselves comfortable.”
A wick flared to life, the fire-gold flame showing three straight-back chairs arranged around a small circular table in the center of the space. Several Turkey rugs lay scattered on the stone floor, but they did nothing to dispel the bone-deep chill.
“Please, have a seat, Lady Arianna,” urged Cockburn with a courtly bow as Gavin circled the chamber, lighting the four oil lamps affixed to iron brackets on the wall.
The scene had an air of utter unreality to it—like some demented, demonic dream run amuck. For an instant, Arianna was tempted to turn and run. But reason quickly reasserted control. The odds of escaping through the labyrinth of dark tunnels were too high to calculate.
Might as well wait and see if Chance offered a better deal. Besides, she was curious. About a number of things.
“Cozy, isn’t it?” said Gavin from within the spill of shadows.
The marquess shifted the lamp on the table and arranged the sheaf of papers into several neat piles. A plate of arrowroot biscuits and a pitcher filled with a clear liquid and lemon slices sat to one side. “You must be hungry and thirsty after your ordeal. Won’t you refresh yourself before we begin?”
The absurdity of his pleasantries made her head start to ache again. “I would rather dispense with the charade of civilized behavior, Lord Cockburn. You must have a reason for bringing me here. What is it?”
He released a heavy sigh as he brushed a speck of chalk from his elegant claret-colored coat. “This does not have to be unpleasant, Lady Arianna.”
And the Devil does not have to shrivel a man’s soul. It all comes down to choices.
She clenched her jaw, refusing to reply with aught but a stony stare.
Gavin fished a rolled length of chamois from his coat pocket and dropped it on the table. The muffled chink of metal sounded as it thudded against the wood. “I told you that she would not—”
A sharp look from Cockburn warned him to silence. With a shrug, he retreated a step and folded his arms across his chest.
“Forgive my colleague.” Cockburn sat and carefully pinched the pleats of his trousers into place, the very picture of gentlemanly refinement. “He forgets his manners at times.”
Arianna quelled the urge to laugh at the absurdity.
“How to begin . . .,” he said, fingering his smoothly shaven chin. “I knew your father quite well. A delightful man, and quite brilliant.” A rustle of wool. “Though not without his faults.”
“I’m aware of my father’s personality,” she replied. “Kindly get to the point.”
“Very well.” A pause. “The point is you, Lady Arianna.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
The marquess folded his hands on the table. “We have a business proposition for you.”
Business? The absurdity had now twisted into utter madness. “Wait—you still have not explained how you discovered my real identity.”
Cockburn and Gavin exchanged a quick look.
It was Gavin who answered, his tone nonchalant. “I met with your father when I was passing through Jamaica shortly before his unfortunate death. He pointed you out to me from afar.” A smile curled on his lips. “He was very proud of you, but very protective. He didn’t wish for you to be exposed to his old friends.”
How very like Papa, to think of shutting the barn door when the horses had long ago galloped away.
“So when I saw you in Lady Battell’s ballroom, I recognized you immediately,” continued Gavin. “And immediately thought that as a stroke of luck had brought us together, why not profit from it?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” she replied.
“Oh, come, there is no reason to play coy with us,” interjected Cockburn. “We worked with your father on a few deals in the past. Why not take his place, so to speak? We are putting together a business enterprise—a highly profitable one—that could make use of your talents.” He settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “Mathematical geniuses are, as you undoubtedly know, scarce as hen’s teeth. We had a perfect man for the job. He did an impressive job on the preliminary papers. But alas, we recently learned that the ship bringing him from Denmark for the next round of work foundered in a Baltic storm.