Emily Baker (17 page)

She nodded and gulped a breath. “There may be other people there, but I didn’t see anyone. She made mention of some men who help her with the . . . girls.”

“Confirmation,” Liam stated in a flat tone.

“Aye.” Garrett’s jaw tensed. “You did very well, Maura. You got far more information than we did. We saw no one else either.”

“What now?”

The men locked gazes for a quick heartbeat. “We wait for the rest of the men Sean and Liam sent for. We will need force on our side.”

“But surely it would be better to get the girls out now before anyone else arrives. Before anything could happen to them. Before any—”

Sean made a strangled noise and paced away.

“We know how you feel.” Garrett squeezed her shoulders gently. “But rushing in without adequate people and a solid plan not only will leave us open to unknown circumstances, but in all probability will not save the very people we are trying to help.”

He spoke with firm conviction, with the voice of experience, as though he’d been on many other rescues. Her mind whirled. Who was this man? Who were the men who seemed so willing to follow him?

“When we return to the coach you will have to give us detailed sketches of the interior. And tell us everything you saw, from doorways to furniture. You will remember more than you realize once you’ve had some rest.”

“Come on then; Mrs. Doyle did us a kindness in packing us a luncheon,” Sean called. “Food and rest are in order. We will all need our strength.”

The casual tone returned to his voice, but his hand gripped the coach wheel so tight his knuckles were white.

She sighed. There was something going on between the three men, something unsaid just beneath the surface.

They continued down the path in silence, questions vibrating in her mind.

Hours later, as darkness thickened and began to pour from the depths of the woods around the lodge, Maura was no closer to the truth about the men whose company she kept. She hoped they were closer to resolution for the young women inside that awful place. As twilight fell the woods were suddenly full of redstarts. Garrett’s friends gathered around the coach they had pulled off the road and into a small wooded copse, to watch and wait.

In addition to Garrett’s friends arriving, a number of carriages and coaches passed them by, following the rutted path into the woods. Fine carriages and coaches, equipage she recognized from Freddie’s circle of peers and her own neighborhood. She prayed Freddie and Percy were not among the group arriving for this evening’s hedonistic entertainments at the lodge.

Garrett walked over to the coach where she sat as the time for them to begin the rescue surely came nearer. Sean was a pace behind.

Garrett’s gaze locked with hers. “Maura, you must stay here.”

It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t quite an order either. It was a request, almost a plea. She appreciated the subtle respect.

“We will bring anyone we free to you. Be ready. I am leaving Seamus behind to tend the horses and carriages. You may need to be ready to vacate this area in a hurry.”

She nodded. A knot of mingled tension and fear tightened in her stomach. He was tense enough; she had no desire to add any further concern to the assault on the lodge he had organized.

“Good.” He gave her a small smile and turned his attention elsewhere.

“Garrett.” She touched his arm. He turned back to her immediately. “Please be careful.”

A slow smile tilted his mouth. He leaned in toward her and brushed her lips with a quick kiss. “Aye, we will all be careful.”

“Take this, just in case.” Sean stepped forward. The haunted look still loomed in his eyes. In fact, it had grown with each carriage that passed them by.

Cold metal pressed into her hands. She looked down to find a small and lethal-looking pistol in her lap. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin as the knot in her stomach tightened still further.

“Oh . . . I . . .”

“You will probably not need it.” Garrett explained Sean’s gift. “Take it for my peace of mind if for nothing else.”

“I do not even know how to use such a thing.”

He smiled again. “Point it at anyone who menaces you and pull that little lever if they come too close. I’ll hear you.”

She nodded again.

“I will be back soon.” He closed the coach door. “Lock this.” His tone was low and deadly serious.

She did as he asked.

As he turned from her she heard the clear, high song of the redstart close to the coach. And then in the distance a repeat, and again farther on.

Fear shivered over her again. It had begun.

 

 

Garrett made his way into the darkness with the distant whispering of trees and bracken for company along with the men he’d spent so much time with. The moon was hidden by overhanging branches. Well enough. They would be invisible in their approach. The men inside were probably not expecting anything to disturb their fun. If this place had been in operation for as long as various reports had given them to believe, they would be expecting to be undisturbed and well secreted away. So much the better.

Sean was at his side, his face hidden in shadow, but Garrett could feel the tension pouring from him. It had crossed his mind a couple of times to tell Sean to stay behind with Maura instead of Seamus, but he hadn’t wanted a mutiny on his hands. The man was far more affected than he wanted to admit. His caring for Jane Fuller was like a beacon in the darkness. It might cause him to take unhealthy risks.

Garrett recognized the depth of his friend’s involvement and fear because he would feel much the same if Maura was in danger. At least if he kept Sean close, he stood a better chance at keeping him safe. Left with Maura and the coach he’d be just as likely to tear off on his own.

“Sean.”

“Aye.” Sean’s voice was tough and determined.

“We will get her out safely.”

“Aye, that we will.” More promise than agreement.

Although he’d held himself together with admirable restraint during the intelligence-gathering mission preceding this rescue attempt, Sean’s fear for Jane was plain.

Within moments they reached the outer grounds of the lodge, surely the country haunt of the Devil’s Club. Garrett blew out the call of the redstart. This was the signal to surround the perimeter of the building and for a smaller group to surround the stables and cut off that avenue of escape. It would do them little good to scare the vultures from their nest within only to have them scatter to the winds.

His men moved with quiet, practiced stealth, spreading into the welcoming darkness to encircle their quarry.

He glanced at Sean again. A haunted, angry gaze stared back at him.

“All of those coaches—”

“Aye.”

“They are animals. No better.” Raw hatred and contempt laced Sean’s voice. “Taking women for no reason save to serve their own debauchery. Jane could very well be in there.”

“Aye, lad.” He placed a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Steady.”

“She does not deserve any of this.”

“None of them do. We will get her out. We will get them all out.”

“I know we have a plan, Garrett. I know it up here.” Sean tapped his forehead. “But my gut is another matter.”

“Your gut and mine as well. Stay with me. We await but one more call.”

They moved forward, closer and closer to the building. Although light glowed from the edges of the windows, all of them appeared to be heavily curtained to keep out prying eyes. More evidence they had arrived at the right place. What sort of hunting lodge possessed such in the midst of the country where prying eyes would be few and very far between and first light welcomed a new day’s hunt.

“Garrett.” Sean spoke low enough so that he wasn’t sure he’d heard him at all.

“Aye.”

“What if we are wrong? What if Jane is not in there. What if she never was?”

“Then we will free whoever is confined here and keep looking for her elsewhere.”

“Aye.”

Creeping up toward the windows, he and Sean both took up a position that would allow them to peer inside. A quick glance between the edge of the curtain and the window ledge at first showed nothing.

Then as Garrett’s eyes grew accustomed to the candlelight blazing within he could make out a large room, empty of guests and sparsely furnished just as Maura had described. There was a long table in the middle of the room and chairs scattered about, but they were not drawn up to the table. This was not a dining table.

“
Diabhal,
” Sean whispered through his clenched jaw.

Garrett’s gut churned, and he could imagine the thoughts going through Sean’s head. This table, complete with leather straps, appeared to be the area wherein the Devil’s Club members would complete their
sacrifices.
Daniel McTavish’s limited investigations into the actions and the purposes of the Devil’s Club had provided rumors of a group of men engaged in monthly high sacrifices—young, virginal females used and abused by as many men as cared to take part in the act.

Sean’s explanation to Liam when the gruesome details first surfaced echoed back to Garrett, and their friend had sought a reason for such depravity.

“I would think that would be fairly obvious.” Sean had spoken in a hollow tone that day. “They enjoy the idea of taking unsuspecting, innocent young women and subjecting them to their debauched ideas of pleasure. It’s not the sex, it is the power.”

He’d allowed Sean the truth of his point that day. But deep in his gut he couldn’t sway the feeling, the certainty, that there was another, more evil, purpose. He’d spent the evening playing cards opposite Jameson that night in Maura’s town house. He’d watched the man’s face as he played. Watched him in his discourse with young Stanhope and his feckless friend, Percival Masters. Each bit of conversation, whether jest or serious point, seemed carefully constructed to build on the last, to gain from these young men exactly what he wanted from them.

Jameson intended to drag them to this club. His question from that night remained, why? Aside from whatever pleasure he might derive from bringing new converts to the altar of his perverted pursuits, what plans did Jameson have for Stanhope, Longford, and Masters?

Were they among the night’s company? Was Jameson? His gut churned harder.

There was more here than just depravity.

But what?

Perhaps they would gain an answer once their rescue began. Where was that last call? When would they begin?

“Excellent, truly excellent.” Harold Jameson, entrepreneur, statesman, puppeteer, surveyed his image in the heavy gilt mirror with burgeoning satisfaction.

Tall and slender, wearing the best clothes fashion could imagine and coin could purchase, he made a fine figure of a man. No one would know to look at him that he was the bastard son of a marquess. No one would even suspect that he seethed with anger over the whims of fate that made him a bastard, without prospects or status, especially within the bosom of his family.

He was the eldest son; as such, he should be the one with the financial backing, with the lands and the recognition that would enable him to manipulate through position and respect alone what he now accomplished through his own hard-won and unending machinations.

No matter. His trials had made him the man he was. He smiled at himself, watching the familiar sparkle light his pale hazel eyes. He smoothed his hair into place.

He deserved the power he carefully maneuvered over lesser men. He’d been careful and calculating in his moves across the grand chessboard of life, gathering allies, foiling enemies. His fascination with new experiences, with the pleasures to be had from women and supplied to other men, had certainly aided him in gaining his present position.

And there were no little bastards littering the landscape in a pale string of rejection behind Harold Jameson. He knew better than to beget some unwanted chattel to envy and steal everything he wanted from life. He’d learned early on how to take his pleasure and leave no lingering traces.

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder as the scrawny servant woman who managed this place in his absence presented herself. He caught back an impatient sigh at her interruption and spoke with the warm cordiality she was used to.

“What is it, Enid?”

She bobbed a grotesque mockery of a curtsey. “I just wanted to let ye know, jest to bring to yer attention.”

She wrung her hands over her apron. She was a repugnant little woman, colorless and without imagination, only too ready to treasure her position in his household. He in turn treasured her loyalty and her ability to keep to herself out in the wild and lonely countryside. She might annoy him with her appearance, but her service was above reproach.

“Yes? Come, Enid, do not dawdle; what is it you wish?”

“Well, sir, there were some travelers as stopped here earlier today. They had a broken wheel and needed to make repairs. I couldn’t turn ’em away.”

He frowned at her, more concerned about her apparent worry over the situation than about any stray travelers stopping at a lodge for help.

“And?”

She twisted the apron again. “That’s all, sir. I jest wanted ye ta know.”

“Indeed.” He studied her in silence for a moment. Thin nondescript hair, scrawny whipcord leanness, dull complexion—there was naught to recommend her outwardly. However she was steady in her temperament and as reliable as a rock. Her nervousness over this incident was such that she needed to bring it to his attention before the evening’s festivities began? That alone was unsettling.

“Are you sure there is nothing else, Enid?”

He took a step toward her and caught her bony chin in his hand. She didn’t flinch from his touch. He’d never been anything but good to her. Although she held full knowledge of the activities that took place beneath the roof, she didn’t fear him in the least. Another quality he appreciated in her.

“Aye, sir, they did nothing but repair their wheel.”

“But it worried you?”

“Aye.” She looked up at him with the placid eyes of a devoted mongrel. “There’s not many coaches that come by this way by accident.”

Indeed, she was quite correct. The lodge was quite a bit off the beaten path. It was one of the reasons he purchased this land ten years ago and had taken the time to build according to his own specifications. Never leave anything to chance that can be addressed through intelligence and thorough consideration.

He pondered her a moment longer in silence. She waited patiently, certain he would address whatever needed addressing.

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know, sir. They gave very little information aside from the fact they’d thrown a wheel. There was a gentleman and his wife and two servants.”

“Ahh.” He pondered that a moment longer, glad he had taken the time to question her. The presence of the woman in the party helped set his mind at rest. Any law enforcement officials checking into the situation here would not have included a woman in their midst.

He knew there were groups attempting to locate his current prize, but those too would not have included a woman.

Still . . . he released his hold of Enid’s chin.

“Send Bart to me,” he told her, requesting the man who headed his own small security detail.

“Aye, sir.” Relief lit her pale features as she bobbed another curtsey to him and disappeared back into the dimly lit hallway.

Moments later Bart Cargill muscled his way into the room. There was truly no other way to describe it. The man was one large muscle from his beefy-looking feet up to his thick neck. Arms like tree branches hung at his sides. Here was another example of the type of loyalty Harold so prized. Bart wasn’t the smartest man Harold could have chosen to guard his back from all comers, but the man was loyal to a fault and had proven his worth over and over again in the depths of Dublin’s seamier streets and alleyways.

Harold really had no need of intelligent, second-guessing individuals in his employ. He required people who would do his bidding without question and respond always with loyalty uppermost in their hearts and souls. He’d surrounded himself through the years with just those types of people. They had been ridiculously easy to find and recruit into his service.

“Evening, sir.” Bart offered respectfully.

“Good evening, Bart. Thank you for arriving so quickly. Our dear Enid has informed me we had some . . . unexpected guests this afternoon.”

“Here, sir? At the lodge?”

“Yes.” Not quick, but loyal and that was all that mattered.

“Who?” Bart bristled, his fists clenching and unclenching, as though ready to do battle with whomever might be lurking in the shadows of Harold’s room.

Harold stifled a chuckle. “That is a very good question. Enid is not sure who they were. The entire incident may turn out to be nothing more than what she claims. Three men and a woman stopped here this afternoon, requiring repairs to a coach wheel. They were not here long, just long enough to upset our Enid. And you know she does not upset easily.”

“Aye, she’s a good woman.” Bart nodded emphatically. He had developed somewhat of a tenderness for Enid over the years, which Harold found both disgusting and endearing at one and the same time. He held back a shudder.

“Indeed, she is. My concern is the possibility that they were not what they seemed. I would like you to have your men check the grounds and keep themselves alert for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Ye think they’ll be back, sir?”

Harold pondered that a moment. “No, no I do not. But I also think it never hurts to be prepared for all outcomes. I have anticipated this particular evening for some time and I do not want it interrupted if we can avoid it. Have your men check the grounds, then come back to me with a report.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll do that right away.”

“Thank you, Bart. You may remain for the festivities when you have completed your duties.”

“Oh, thank ye, sir. Thank ye very much.” Bart’s small dark eyes and eager smile reflected his anticipation. The man was very easy to please. He was a voyeur. Allow him to stay and watch the occasional party festivities and he remained grateful in the extreme, loyal to a fault.

Deflowering Admiral Fuller’s daughter should prove a very entertaining evening to be sure. With young Lord Stanhope earmarked to be the guilty party, Harold would have not only the baron but also his grandfather and the admiral falling neatly under his control very shortly.

He would also have the pleasure from the coming tender night of sexual education that would make proud, opinionated Miss Fuller into a more amenable and thoroughly educated bride for Stanhope. Perhaps then, with Stanhope otherwise engaged and Mrs. Maura Fitzgerald newly without protection, Harold Jameson could engage Mrs. Fitzgerald to be his mistress for a time. That particular scheme would offer multiple satisfactions of its own.

He’d watched Stanhope and his puling adoration of her, watched her carefully manipulate Stanhope into withdrawing from the first night of pleasures he’d offered. He could only imagine the ordinary, carefully respectful sexual relations they engaged in on a regular basis. Staid and boring, like Clancare’s heir.

But Maura Fitzgerald was an earthy beauty who demanded fuller, more satisfying sexual pleasuring. He could read her needs in the bewitching glow of her stormy gray gaze, feel what she could offer in the frankly sensual aura that surrounded her and beckoned men into her web. She was a woman begging for his personal tutelage.

And he would be only too happy to be the man to introduce one such as her to the variety of pleasures and possibilities he’d learned and engaged in over the years. He might not keep her long—it was not his habit or his want to tie himself to any woman—but he would enjoy schooling her thoroughly for as long as he chose before bestowing her on some half-wit, only too glad to take his leavings.

“Yes, indeed.” He smiled at himself again. And now as Bart spent his time securing the outer grounds before his guests arrived, it was time to stop in and pay a short visit to his prize.

Miss Jane Fuller herself.

Would this extra month spent in sweet Enid’s care, wondering about her fate, have taken any of the starch out of Jane Fuller? He dearly hoped not. It would be all that much more entertaining to watch her degradation if she was still just as full of herself as she had been the last time he’d visited with her.

On their initial meeting he had wondered at the admiral’s choice in allowing such a beauty to retain a spirit and intelligence that would make her a difficult sale on the marriage market. But now, after acquainting himself with her and anticipating the coming evening, he was thankful for the admiral’s mistake.

Harold stopped in the hallway before Jane Fuller’s assigned room. There was silence from within. Apparently she hadn’t broken down into a fit of weeping as so many virginal females did at this point before the proceedings. Good. That promised a more interesting evening.

He turned the key in the lock, twisted the knob, and let himself into her room.

She faced him standing. She was a young woman with long golden curls shimmering over her shoulders, spilling about her slender frame. She was petite, invitingly so. The whisper-thin muslin gown he’d provided her did more than hint at her womanly charms—if anything, it enhanced them.

Her small stature did not diminish her curves. She possessed full, high, well-rounded breasts, a tiny waist, and lushly curved hips. If it weren’t for her usability as a pawn in his grand chessboard he would have been more than willing to have her for his own before his guests.

But sometimes a man had to override his own needs and desires in the short term to focus on long-term outcomes and desires. Now was, regrettably, one of those times.

She had obviously turned as he entered the room, evidenced by the gentle swing of the white muslin above her small, bared feet. He liked the idea that she faced him so boldly; he liked it even more that she must have been pacing the room in fear and anticipation before he entered. It made her more human, more conquerable.

He thought back to the kiss he had pressed on her in a moonlit garden. It had been sweet and surprising, especially when he’d ended up in the fountain. But for that fool Talbot he’d have taught her a lesson in compliance that night that would have spared her this night’s humiliation.

Her eyes widened as she realized his interested gaze rested on the region where her thighs joined. She sat on the one chair available, gathering the folds of the gown about her as though to hide herself from him.

What a treasure she was.

“Jameson, this will avail you nothing.” Her tone was tense with dislike and a pulsing undercurrent of fear. Oh, but he did enjoy the initiation of virgins with a little bit of the spitfire in them.

“Indeed?” He closed the door behind him and watched her eyes widen ever so slightly as it clicked shut.

“I do not know what you plan in regard to my father, but he will agree to nothing, and neither will I.” Her chin lifted over the last statement and her eyes flashed blue fire at him.

Ah, a spitfire indeed. Desire kindled low in his belly. Perhaps he would sample her after all, just a small taste without the actual deflowering, to let her know what lay in store—a little teaser to whet her fear.

“Really? I would beg to disagree with you, but then it is not my reputation that is at stake.” He walked across the room, enjoying the sound of his booted feet against the bare floorboards.

She paled but didn’t move from her seat. The muslin gown, clutched against her sides, dipped low over her breasts and fluttered with her rapid breathing. Did she have any idea of the beauteous image she presented, practically begging for the lessons he could give her? Any man, no matter how principled and proud, would be hard-pressed not to take advantage of the temptation she presented.

She was an excellent choice, truly one of his better selections if only for her beauty. The political advantages she offered by her birth would prove a bonus. Stanhope would be well-blessed with a pleasing woman and the handsome brats he could get upon her.
He will owe me a great debt.

He stopped beside her, his eyes delving into the depths of her natural cleavage for a delicious moment before he took her chin in his fist. Unlike his stalwart Enid, she flinched at his touch. “You are quite lovely, Jane. I have always thought as much. But then I imagine you know that.”