Conspiring with a Rogue (15 page)

Drake squinted at the four men huddled around a nearby rock, all looking down at what appeared to be a large scrap of parchment. A map, perhaps? It was hard to tell for sure in the dark cave. Their one burning torch was not exactly positioned to offer him a perfect view of what they were doing. He curled his fingers around his own extinguished torch. It was going to be hard as hell to make his way out of this cave in pitch-blackness, which was exactly what he was going to have to do.

The shortest man in the group pointed at the paper. “The shipment he’s expecting this week will never make it.”

Cadogan nodded. “Good. Where will it go down?”

“
It should be around here,” Fitzroy—or Saint Stupid, as Drake liked to refer to Cadogan’s shadow—replied. “I can’t say for certain, though Captain Vianasti promised me the ship would sink when he was through with it.”

Drake forced himself to remain in his hiding place, though the anger pulsing in his veins made him long to jump up and pummel some of these fops’ faces. They were sinking someone’s ship. He did not need to know the
why
to know what they were doing was underhanded and wrong. He stilled, contemplating his ships and where they were on the sea. Damn them to hell―he had a ship coming into port this week,
two
in fact, and lately several of his ships had been sunk by mysterious pirates.

He touched the cool metal of the dagger he always carried tucked in his boot. Should he risk a confrontation? He withdrew his dagger and pushed himself upward. From behind him, a hand clamped on to his shoulder and shoved him back toward the dirt.

Something hard pressed into the back of his skull.

He’d felt the sharp-edged point of a pistol in his skull enough times to recognize it now— he would know the digging pain brought on by hard metal anywhere. His entire body tensed for a fight.

“
Move and you’ll die,” someone whispered in his ear.

Whitney was still amazed that she was actually standing inside the Sainted Order dressed as a demimondaine. But her amazement was quickly morphing to embarrassment at her naïveté in the face of such experienced women. The petite blonde named Mary gave Whitney a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Sex don’t kill you, Jezebel.”

A chorus of twitters surrounded Whitney from the other ladies preparing themselves to service the men of the Sainted Order. She was thankful for the scarf hiding her face. A blush as hot as a roaring fire spread from her neck to her cheeks. Gratefully, she was able to resist the urge to fan herself. “Mademoiselle, I imply no such thing,” Whitney responded, pleased with how French she sounded the more she spoke. Being French had been Caprice’s idea. Whitney had been hesitant to add any more layers of complication to her disguise, but Caprice was right. Being French was perfect.

Mary poured oil in her hands, then took Whitney’s arm and rubbed the slick, earthy-scented substance up the length of one arm and then the next. “I don’t follow you then. You did say your friend—what was her name?”

“
Lillian Lloyd.”

“
Yes. Lillian.”

Mary nodded. “You did say you thought this was the last place she’d ever been, correct?”

This conversation was impossibly aggravating. Mary had the brain of a hedgehog, and the other demireps had thus far been tight-lipped about anything they might know. “Non, mademoiselle. I said this was the last place she had been known to be coming. I didn’t imply she is dead.” Just the thought made Whitney ill.

“
Sorry. I can’t help you. I’ve only been here a week myself.” Mary stepped back and surveyed Whitney’s arms. “You’re done. You’re glistening quite nicely. Saint Lucifer always likes the new girl, the
virgin
, to shine like a diamond.”

“
Splendid,” Whitney replied, feeling as if she might toss her accounts. This club made her want to crawl out of her skin. She had to find out for sure whether Lillian had actually been here and then get out of this place before she found herself on her back in a bedroom with a man who wanted to claim her because she shimmered.

Sally had been right. This was a very dangerous idea to pose as a member of the demimonde. If she needed to come back here after tonight, she would have to think of another plan to gain admittance that did not put her in danger of being ravaged.

Harboring little hope, Whitney glanced around the circle of women. “None of you knew Lillian?” Several women simply gazed away, one shook her head, but another, a tall willowy redhead, held her gaze for a moment. “Did you know her?” Whitney asked, sensing the girl held something back.

“
No,” the girl clipped before shoving out of the room. The other women followed, except Mary. She eyed Whitney a moment, then took her hand.

“
Jezebel, I’m going to give you a piece of advice. If you want to stay here, you mustn’t ask questions of the women and most especially of the men. You’re here to pleasure, and you will be paid well to do it—better than you can make at any of the houses in Town. Did Madam not explain the rules to you?”

“
She did.” Caprice had spent an hour fretting over the exact details of all the rules, and Whitney had nodded and agreed to it all, knowing she would break every one of them.

“
Then follow them. From what I’ve heard, it’s dangerous not to.” Mary dropped Whitney’s hand and darted out of the room before Whitney could reply. She started after Mary, then stopped. Pestering the woman for information would be useless.

This was turning out to be much harder than she had imagined. She pressed her head against the cool stone, trying to order her thoughts. “Where to start?”

“
In the tunnels.” A voice came from behind her.

Startled, Whitney whirled around and faced the tall, willowy, red-head who had been the one person to meet her gaze moments ago. “She was here,” the girl whispered. “She was kind to me. The only one who was. She promised to help me, and then she simply disappeared.”

“
Thank you.” Whitney offered a tentative smile.

The girl did not smile back. “Don’t thank me. What I told you is to help Lillian.
Not you
. You, I don’t know. And my gut tells me you’re trouble, with your fake French accent. Mon dieu.” The woman fanned herself as she snickered.

Whitney ignored the poke at her bad accent. The ruse obviously did not bother this woman, or she wouldn’t have mentioned it. And Whitney couldn’t argue with the fact that she was trouble. She’d been a troublesome burden all her life. First to her mother, who had planned to leave them all, and after Mother had drowned in the river, Whitney had become a burden for her father and sister to bear as they tried to protect her from the secret she could not remember. Finally, she had been a burden to Drake. But she would not be trouble for Lillian. Well, not again, anyway. She wanted to find Lillian, so she pressed on. “What do you know of her?”

“
Nothing really. Lillian told me she’d discovered something awful that she needed to put a stop to. But I don’t know what. The last time I saw her, she was headed down to the wine cellar. We’re forbidden from going down there.”

Impulsively, Whitney reached out and hugged the girl to her. “Thank you,” she whispered fiercely, meaning it. This was her first lead to help her find Lillian. The girl tensed in her embrace, so Whitney released her and turned to go.

A cold hand gripped Whitney’s arm. “You only have an hour. Be careful and be quick.”

Whitney faced the girl. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the girl not to worry because she had no intentions of showing up to the circle, but she did not know this girl or what secrets she might reveal if forced.

This idea had been madness. She would get what information she could and then get out of here. “Don’t worry for me. I know how to take care of myself.”

“
Don’t we all?” The girl released Whitney’s arm and motioned for her to go.

Whitney dashed into the hall and froze. Blast! She had no idea where the cellar was.

The girl strolled into the corridor, an amused smile stretched across her face. “I see you are quite proficient at taking care of yourself.”

“
Oui. A dazzling ability, non?” Whitney offered with a self-deprecating laugh.

“
Blinding. Come.” The redhead grabbed Whitney’s hand and pulled her down the corridor.

“
I can’t let you risk your position here.”

“
I’m not risking anything.” The girl stopped in front of a door. “This leads to the cellar. When you’re finished, come up, turn right and go all the way down the corridor until you reach the baths. I’ll tell the other women you’re having first-night queasiness.”

“
Thank you, Miss…?”

“
Right now it’s Miss Carter. You can call me Beth. But if my plan goes right, you’ll soon be referring to me as Mrs. Sutherland, and I’ll be finished forever with the degrading job of earning a living on my back.”

Was it possible for a person’s heart to stop beating and yet the person live on? It had to be, because Whitney was sure her heart had stopped. Yet here she stood breathing and burning with sudden anger. This woman intended to try to seduce Drake into marriage. Even if it was because she was desperate, it simply could not be allowed to happen.

She’d not given up everything for him for some woman to trap him. And Drake, the honorable fool, would marry this woman if he thought he had to.

Whitney swallowed. “Is Mr. Sutherland one of the Saints?”

“
He will be shortly. Tonight is his induction. He’s going to have to finally bed a woman, and I mean for it to be me.”

“
And you think his bedding you will somehow lead to marriage?”

She nodded. “I’ve learned all I can about the man—a very rich American who doesn’t live by the dictates of English society. He won’t care that I have a past when his babe is in my belly. From all I’ve heard, he takes his honor and commitments very seriously. He came from the gutter, you know.”

Whitney nodded. She knew all about Drake’s miserable childhood, his shame of the way he had been forced to beg on the street for every little handout, his fear of turning out to be a vagabond like his father. Her heart pounded. She needed to somehow warn Drake away from this danger before he entered the circle. She slung open the door to the cellar without bothering to say a parting word. Time was a clock ticking toward doom. She had one precious hour to discover what she could about Lillian, steer Drake away from Beth, then escape the Sainted Order before it was too late to save herself.

“You’re a fool if you think that dagger will do you any good against four men with pistols.”

“Nice to see you, Rutherford,” Drake whispered as the tension left his body upon recognizing Rutherford’s voice. He squinted toward his friend who had moved to crouch beside him. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“Cadogan.” A man spoke above them cutting off Rutherford’s reply. “It’s an hour until induction. Do you want to meet the newest girl?”

“Of course. I have to make sure Madam Mills has sent me a woman who will suit our needs.” Cadogan strode out of the room with two of his cronies following.

Beside Drake, Rutherford growled until Drake elbowed his friend sharply in the side. The growling ceased immediately, but not soon enough. Fitzroy paused in gathering the paper laid out on the rock and gazed toward the barrels Drake and Rutherford crouched behind.

“Fitzroy, hurry up, man,” Lord Cadogan called sharply as he stuck his head back in the cave and held out his hand. “You can stay down here all bloody night if you please, but the map, I want.”