A Dark and Brooding Gentleman (20 page)

‘It was not supposed to be like that.’ Bullford shook his head. ‘We did not think for a minute that Miss Allardyce would not accept the bribe. There are not many women who would have walked away from two thousand pounds. We had made no provision for it. Charles, m’father’s footman, made the threat out of desperation. They were just empty words uttered on the spot. We never would have hurt Sir Henry.’

‘But you did hurt him. When Miss Allardyce visited him that day he had been beaten.’

‘I swear upon my very life, Hunter, that no harm
came to her father by our hands. Charles did not understand Miss Allardyce’s sudden change of heart when she emerged from the visit that day, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and start asking questions.’

‘So you continued to torture her with threats to her father’s safety?’

‘I am sorry, Hunter, truly I am. But I needed the ring.’

‘Why was acquiring the ring your responsibility?’

Bullford shook his head. ‘I cannot tell you, Hunter. I am sworn to secrecy on pain of death.’

‘I know all about the Order of the Wolf, so start talking, Bullford.’

Bullford’s eyes widened; he made to step back farther, but there was nowhere left to go. He shrank against the library wall and looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

‘Let me guess,’ said Hunter. ‘Part of your initiation ceremony?’

Bullford nodded and something of the fight went out of him. ‘My father brought me into the society close to the end of last year.’

‘Just after my father’s death, if I am not mistaken.’

Bullford nodded again. ‘My initiation is not complete until I have passed the task I have been set. I cannot become a full member until I bring them the ring.’

‘And Miss Allardyce?’

‘It was not my idea, please believe me, Hunter. They made me do it, but I swear she is unharmed.’ ‘Where is she being held?’

‘Cannot tell you, old man.’ The sweat was glistening on Bullford’s temple and upper lip and chin.

Hunter experienced the urge to pistol whip Bullford’s
face and probably would have, had he not learned his father’s final harsh lesson.

Instead, he leaned over Bullford and said, ‘Ten months ago I learned that in the end there is always a reckoning for one’s actions. Your task is the reason for Miss Allardyce’s predicament; it was
your
task and thus
your
responsibility. You may not have envisaged the way she would be used, but you went along with it readily enough. And do not delude yourself for a minute that you are but a bystander swept along with events. This is no game, James. Do you honestly think I will let you play with the life of the woman I love and walk away scot-free?

‘The Order was established by men of integrity to recruit men of integrity who would be the moral compass when those around were lost. It is a great responsibility and the tasks set were meant to test a man’s mettle. So I give you the chance, Bullford, that I never had. Will you put right your mistake? For I tell you now, you
will
take responsibility for your actions this night, one way or another.

‘Do you possess the integrity to join the Order in truth? If you do not, I swear by the responsibility given to me by my father, and the responsibility that a man has for the woman he loves, that you will die.’

Hunter touched the muzzle of the pistol to Bullford’s forehead. ‘Where is Miss Allardyce?’

He saw Bullford’s Adam’s apple bob nervously. ‘You are right, Hunter. I knew it was wicked work and I said nothing. She is in the cellar of Obsidian House. In this I will do right, at least. And if they take my life for so doing, then it is just recompense for all that I did to Miss Allardyce.’

‘Your first decision worthy of the Order, Bullford, but do you have what it takes to become a member, I wonder?’ said Hunter slowly as he lowered the pistol. ‘Let us save Miss Allardyce and see if we cannot both complete the initiation tasks set us by our fathers in the process.’

Bullford’s brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You will take the ring to Obsidian House.’

‘That will allow me to join the Order, but how will it help you or Miss Allardyce?’ Bullford’s puzzlement increased.

‘Because I will be wearing the ring when you present it,’ replied Hunter with a cold smile.

‘A
fternoon, sirs.’ The footman nodded as Hunter and Bullford slipped into the hallway of Obsidian House.

‘Afternoon,’ murmured Bullford in reply, then steered Hunter down a corridor and into the first room that was out of sight. There, the two of them pulled the black robes they had brought with them on over their clothes.

‘You are sure this will work?’ whispered Bullford. ‘As sure as I can be,’ said Hunter. ‘You know what to do …’

Bullford nodded and wiped away the sweat that was glimmering on his face.

Hunter checked his pocket watch, then gave a nod.

They lifted the hoods to cover their heads and slipped out into the corridor to merge amidst the other robed and hooded men walking towards the ceremonial chamber.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed three and Phoebe knew the deadline had passed.

Two hooded men had brought her up from the cellar and tied her to a St Andrew’s cross in the centre of a large shadowed hall. High on the wall facing her hung a larger version of Hunter’s ring, a great silver-crafted wolf’s head. And as the creature’s emerald eyes glinted in the flickering wall-candles a stream of black-cowled men filed into the hall to encircle her.

Phoebe strained against the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the wood of the cross, but the knots were tight and secure. A wave of panic swept over her at the ever-growing circle, but she was determined to reveal nothing of her fear.

A man appeared by her side. He pushed the hood back and there was the Marquis of Willaston, Bullford’s father. The scent of sweet tobacco and sandalwood hit her and she knew that he was the gentleman from the carriage even before he opened his mouth to speak quiet words that were for her ears only.

‘It seems you were right, Miss Allardyce. Hunter does not care whether you live or die. He does not deem your life worthy of one paltry ring.’

She closed her eyes. Sebastian was an honourable man. He would not break the oath he had sworn to his dying father. Now that she had seen these hooded men, so many of them, all garbed in their ‘monk’ robes, now that she knew that even Bullford, who was supposed to be Sebastian’s friend, was one of them, and had seen the great silver wolf’s head on the wall, she understood that the ring was in some way a part of all this, too. So much so, they were prepared to kill for it. But to Sebastian, who had guarded it so close to his heart for all of the time since his father’s death, that small piece of silver with its tiny emerald chips meant something different.

He felt he had failed and disappointed his father and there were no means to prove himself a better son, no way to win his father’s love or forgiveness. Death had robbed him of that chance. And, worse than that, Sebastian had carried the guilt for that death all of these months, as surely as he had carried the ring. To break his oath would be to fail his father in the final test. Keeping this faith was the one thing left he could do for his father. Sebastian would not give them the ring, not even to save her life.

Phoebe closed her eyes all the tighter and would not let the tears fall. She understood, yet the realisation broke apart her shattered heart and ground the fragments to dust. Despair wrapped its dark tendrils around her and grew until there was no more light; it no longer mattered that the men would kill her.

‘I’ll wager that your affection for him has waned, Miss Allardyce, now that you know the truth of him.’

She opened her eyes and looked up to meet the Marquis’s gaze. ‘I love him.’ The words were quiet and certain.

The Marquis looked at her with a strange expression. ‘Do you not know what we mean to do with you?’

‘I know,’ she said in that same calm voice.

He slid a knife from the scabbard that hung from his belt and showed it to her. ‘And are you not afraid?’

She slowly shook her head. ‘I have nothing left to fear.’ It was the truth, for, inside, Phoebe was already dead.

The last of the black-hooded men entered the hall. As the door thudded shut and the footsteps of the footmen echoed away down the corridor, the Marquis sheathed
the knife again. He smiled at Phoebe and turned to face the men gathered in the circle around them.

‘Welcome, brothers,’ he intoned. ‘We are gathered here on the matter of the master’s ring and the fact that it lies in the hands of one who is not a member. Our latest novice has failed in his task to retrieve the ring and thus we must take matters into our own hands and act for the good of the Order. Remember that whatever takes place here today is a sacrifice we must make for the greater good.’ He glanced meaningfully towards Phoebe. ‘And thus—’

One of the black-robed figures stepped into the circle and pulled back his hood to reveal himself as Bullford. ‘I have not failed in my task, master. I have brought the ring as you required.’

A sudden murmur of voices passed around the circle.

The Marquis gaped at his son. ‘You have the ring?’

There was a silence as all of the black-hooded figures turned to face Bullford.

‘I do, master.’

‘Then bring it to me, boy!’ the Marquis bellowed.

Bullford glanced round to his right-hand side and the black-garbed figure stepped into the circle to stand by Bullford’s side. He slipped back his hood and the breath caught in Phoebe’s throat, for there stood Sebastian, his face pale, his hair black as night and his eyes green and more deadly than she had ever seen.

A gasp went round the circle, and an even louder one when he lifted the black sleeve to reveal his right hand—there on his third finger, for all to see, was the wolf’s-head ring.

‘Good lord!’ exclaimed the Marquis. ‘What treachery is this?’

‘What treachery, indeed, Willaston?’ demanded Sebastian.

‘Seize him!’ shouted the Marquis.

‘On whose authority do you act, sir?’ said Sebastian. ‘You are not master here. Perhaps you have not noticed, sir, but the ring is upon
my
finger.’

‘You are not even a member of our Order!’

‘On the contrary, Willaston, I claim my birthright to be not only member, but master.’

‘You cannot just claim membership. You must be proposed by one of the office bearers. And have your name written in the book.’

‘My name is in the book, written there by my father’s own hand.’

‘Your father is dead!’

‘And I am his successor, named by him. I am the master here, by blood, and birthright and will. I have my father’s decree here for any who wish to read it.’ Phoebe watched as he pulled out a letter and held it aloft. ‘Do any contest my right?’ His voice rang out as his eyes roved around the circle waiting for a challenge, but there was not one sound to break the silence.

The Marquis held his hands out in petition to the circle. ‘What is wrong with you? Tell him he is wrong. Will you just stand there and let him trick his way in here and take over?’

‘Edward always meant to bring him in,’ someone said.

‘He was wild!’ said the Marquis. ‘He was young,’ came the reply. ‘And not that much worse than your own boy.’

‘He is the rightful Hunter,’ said another. ‘He is a damned usurper!’ cried the Marquis.

‘You are the usurper,’ called one of the figures at the far end. And when the Marquis stared in the direction of the voice no one moved. It was as if they were closing ranks against him.

Even Bullford stepped back to resume his place within the circle.

‘James?’ The Marquis stared at Bullford with shock and anger and hurt.

Sebastian walked forwards to stand before the Marquis. ‘You have forgotten the aims of this society and bent the rules to suit your own selfish desires. You have threatened the innocent, and blackmailed and terrorised a woman whose very honour this society should have fought to protect.’ He gestured towards Phoebe, his eyes meeting hers briefly across the floor before he turned back to the Marquis. ‘As master, I strip you of your office, sir.’

The Marquis gave a hard laugh. ‘That is all you can do. You cannot throw me out. Membership is for life. Once one knows our secrets he is either a member—’

‘Or dead,’ finished Sebastian.

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘I would not stoop to your level. I mean to rule this Order as my forebears intended and uphold the very values for which it was founded. All that is rotten will be cut away and the Order’s integrity restored.’ Sebastian held out his hand to the Marquis, as if he were showing him the ring.

Phoebe watched as the Marquis’s face flushed puce. He stood there for a moment with such a look of murder upon his face that she feared for Sebastian’s safety and then, to her amazement, the Marquis got down on his knees and kissed the ring.

Hunter longed for nothing more than to go to Phoebe, to cut her down from that awful cross, but he knew that he must first ensure the loyalty of all the members; without that he doubted that either of them would leave the hall alive. His heart tightened as he met her eyes and he could only hope that she understood. He stood there and the first man pushed back his hood, dropped to his knees and vowed his allegiance with his lips upon the ring. The circle began to slowly rotate as each dark figure in turn followed suit.

The swearing ceremony was only half-completed when he heard Phoebe cry out. The circle gave a collective gasp and stopped. Hunter looked up to see Willaston standing behind Phoebe, one hand gripping her hair, wrenching her head back, while the other held a ceremonial knife pressed against her throat. Everything in that moment seemed to slow. Hunter felt his gaze narrow and sharpen. He could hear the call of outraged voices. He could hear the beat of his own heart and that of the woman he loved.

‘She knows our secrets,’ shouted Willaston. ‘And as a woman she cannot be admitted to our order. Therefore Miss Allardyce must die. Unless you wish to tell everyone here how you mean to bend the rules for your own fancy piece, Hunter.’

Hunter’s words were like ice. ‘The rule states that no
man
may know of our existence and live. Miss Allardyce, as you have just said, is a woman, and she is no fancy piece but the woman who will be my wife.’ Hunter turned so that he was facing the Marquis and Phoebe squarely across the chamber. His eyes gauged the distance that separated him from them. Thirty feet of clear space. He could feel Phoebe’s gaze, but he did
not allow himself look at her. Instead, he kept his focus on Willaston.

‘Release her or I will kill you, sir,’ Hunter growled.

Willaston was panting heavily; his face was flushed and sweating.

Hunter saw the tiny flicker in the older man’s eyes that preceded the movement of his hand. In the space of one heartbeat Hunter had drawn the pistol from his pocket and fired.

There was the flash of the powder in the pan and an almighty deafening roar and through the blue smoke Hunter watched the knife fall away to clatter on the floor. And Willaston crumpled in its wake, a red stain spreading over the arm that had held the knife.

Hunter was across the distance in seconds, grabbing the ceremonial knife and cutting the ropes that bound Phoebe. Relief surged through him and his love was all the fiercer for it. He pulled her into his arms and clutched her to him.

‘Phoebe,’ he whispered. ‘My love.’

‘Sebastian.’ She clung to him, pressing her face against his chest.

‘I am taking you home.’

‘No.’

Hunter’s heart gave a lurch. And then she looked up into his eyes and he saw the love that was there.

‘Not until you finish what must be done here,’ she said.

And Hunter wanted to weep for love of her. There had never been a woman like Phoebe Allardyce and there never would be. She had sacrificed her own heart and all chance of happiness for him. She would have given her life for him. She was his heart, his life, his
very existence. And their love for each other would burn bright beyond the aeons of time.

He kissed her and, with Phoebe by his side, completed all that his father had asked of him.

The house in Grosvenor Street had been decked in flowers and greenery. The vases in every room were brimful and overflowing. Great garlands festooned the banisters and mirrors and mantels. Outside the sky was a cloudless powder blue and the sun shone in glorious splendour. The events in Obsidian House seemed far in the past, although only two weeks had elapsed.

Phoebe stood before the full-length looking glass in her bedchamber and stared at the woman who looked back with eyes sparkling with such happiness. She looked radiant dressed in Mrs Hunter’s gift. The bodice of the new ivory gown seemed to shimmer in a haze of tiny pearls and iridescent beads. Its neckline was square and cut low enough to hint at the swell of her breasts. Its skirt was of smooth Parisian silk that dropped away to hang perfectly and from beneath which peeped the toes of new ivory silk slippers. Her hair had been caught up in a cascade of curls and threaded with fresh cream roses. And on her arms she wore a new pair of long ivory silk gloves.

‘You look quite, quite lovely, my dear girl.’ Mrs Hunter dabbed a little tear from the corner of her eye. ‘I am so glad to be gaining you as a daughter.’

‘And I, you as a mother,’ said Phoebe and smiled warmly at the woman who had helped her so much.

‘You are almost ready to go down to Sebastian, but for one last thing he bade me give to you.’

Mrs Hunter took out a small cream-leather box and pressed it into Phoebe’s hands. Within the box was a gold heart-shaped locket with a wolf’s head engraved upon it, and when Phoebe opened the locket, there, inside, were two tiny portraits, one of Sebastian and the other of herself.

Mrs Hunter’s fingers moved to touch her own dress where her oval locket lay beneath. ‘Such things are precious, Phoebe,’ she said as she fastened the locket around Phoebe’s neck. And the little golden heart lay above the gentle thud of Phoebe’s own.

‘Quite perfect.’ Mrs Hunter smiled.

Phoebe felt the tears well in her eyes.

‘Why, whatever is the matter, my dear?’ she asked gently.

Phoebe shook her head. ‘I was just thinking of my papa and how much I would give that he could be here this day to see me married.’