Shameless (6 page)

B
enedick looked at her for a long moment, marshalling his thoughts. “I would ask how you even know of the existence of that organization, but I assume you learned of it from your protégés. As far as I know the Heavenly Host has been disbanded for almost ten years. And even if they did still exist they’re hardly any of your concern, unless you now wish to rescue bored aristocrats from their sexual indulgences.”

She was unfazed. “They’ve reconvened. Apparently there was some outrageous contretemps ten years ago that caused most of them to lose interest, but in the last three years they’ve re-formed and are far worse than they ever were before.”

Most women of the ton had no knowledge of what went on with the Heavenly Host, not unless they were part of it. A surprisingly large number of outrageous sisters and wives of the original participants had joined in, lessening the need for paid compan
ionship. He himself had attended a gathering of the Host when he was in his early twenties, more out of curiosity than anything else, and found their playacting tedious.

“Perhaps you’d care to elaborate. How are they
specifically
different from the past?” He was hoping to make her blush again. The last one had stained her smooth cheeks. He wanted to see if it could travel down the neckline of her tasteless dress.

But he’d underestimated her. “According to my resources, the Heavenly Host has always had a history of consensuality. Everyone must be agreeable to whatever depraved acts are committed.”

“What sort of depraved acts?” he asked in his sweetest voice.

“The sort of act you were about to perform with Violet Highstreet,” she said, unruffled.

“In truth, she was the one who was going to perform it. I was simply the happy recipient….”

She’d done a good job of keeping her color down until that point; he gave her credit, but her cheeks flamed once more. He decided to press his point. “So
fellatio,
which is the technical term for it, is one of the acts performed at gatherings of the Heavenly Host? I regret to inform you, Lady Carstairs, but that same act is performed in almost every bedroom in this city.”

“And street corner and alleyway.”

“Yes, well we know your opinion of that, and I’m not about to argue with you. So is your mission to stamp out oral pleasuring, or something else? Be
cause I can assure you that convincing people to refrain from it is unlikely….”

“Would you stop!” she cried, her sangfroid finally showing cracks. “I didn’t come here to talk about…about…”

“Fellatio,” he supplied helpfully.

“
That
. It’s the Heavenly Host that needs to be stopped. Their new mandate is total depravity, the kind that knows no limits.”

“Such as?”

“Such as binding people so that they have no recourse. They are forced to receive the attentions of someone and are unable to move, and occasionally even to speak, but must simply endure.”

He laughed. “You’ll find that in any whore’s bag of tricks, Lady Carstairs, and even in the best bedrooms, as well. You misunderstand the game. Trust me—it can be quite…stimulating.”

“They rape women.”

His amusement faded. “Don’t be absurd. The women who attend the gatherings are there willingly and always have been. The ones who participate in rough play agree to it and are well compensated.”

“Rough play?” she echoed. “Is that what you call it when a woman is whipped until she bleeds, whose face is scarred so badly she won’t go out in public? Is that what you call it when young girls are brought in to satisfy the base urges of the foulest men on the face of the earth?”

“No,”
he snapped. She was no longer such a charming diversion. “The Heavenly Host has always
had an edict against using children, and that wouldn’t have changed. People have always believed horror stories about them, when in fact they harm no one. They’re just a group of spoiled aristocrats enjoying being wicked. Their gatherings are not about innocence.”

“True enough. They’re about innocence de spoiled.”

He waved her piety away. “As for the woman who was scarred, I’m certain that was an accident and deeply regretted. And I expect that the woman was well compensated for the fact that her future earning power is greatly diminished. That has always been the way of the Host, and I can’t believe things have changed that much.”

“The girl was raped, whipped and slashed with a knife. When she escaped she tried to report it to the police, but they simply handed her back to her tormenters. She hasn’t been seen since.”

His eyes narrowed. “And how do you know all this?”

“Her sister has joined us.”

“And you’re trying to convince me that someone has done away with the woman? I don’t believe it,” he said flatly.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It happens to be true. Aileen would never have abandoned Betsey on the streets if she had any choice. And now they’re working toward their most horrifying act of all.”

Bloody Christ,
he thought irritably. The world had always had ridiculous theories about the essentially harmless activities of the Heavenly Host, and
it was no wonder someone like Charity Carstairs believed them.

“Pray do not tell me they’re planning an orgy.” He did his best to sound bored. “That’s de rigueur for the Host. I’ve even participated in them when I was a guest at their gatherings. Quite entertaining the first time or two, but it pales after a while. You never know whose bum you’re stroking, a high-priced courtesan or your father’s best friend.” He shuddered delicately.

“I’m delighted you find this is amusing,” she said. “And, indeed, why shouldn’t you? No one will ever miss the girls they take, and as long as you’re not a part of it then no blame falls on you. But in fact if you do nothing you’re just as much to blame as the men who stand around and let them.”

“Let them do what, exactly, Lady Carstairs?”

She took a deep breath. “They intend to summon the devil on the night of the full moon.”

He laughed, unimpressed. “They’ve tried that before. His Wickedness always fails to respond to the invitation, no matter how politely phrased.”

“This time they’re planning to sacrifice a virgin to ensure success.”

For a moment there was silence in the room. He noticed that in her nervousness she’d eaten all the cakes, and he would have ordered more if he didn’t feel slightly ill. “Absurd! They wouldn’t.”

“They would. A number of young girls have gone missing over the last few weeks, though it’s unlikely any of them were still unmolested.”

“I hate to disillusion you, Lady Carstairs, but there are any number of ravenous creatures out there who would have taken those girls. Depravity is not the sole possession of the Heavenly Host. These young women may have even left on their own.”

“You may make all the excuses you want, Lord Rohan. One of those girls is destined for horror, and we have no idea where they’re keeping her. The full moon is only six days away, and we’re running out of time.”

“And just how does that involve me?” he inquired coldly. The woman was clearly deranged. There was no way that members of society would descend to such heinous acts. “If you think I’m going to accuse my childhood friends of such depravity then you’ve miscalculated. It’s none of my concern.”

“And what if I can convince the police to raid their gathering and arrest those childhood friends?”

“I doubt you’ll be able to. But in case they’re unwise enough to listen to your ridiculous accusations, then I would say that those childhood friends deserve what’s coming to them. I am not, nor have I ever been, my brother’s keeper.”

“Even if one of the organizers is, in fact, your own brother?”

He’d been about to ring for Richmond to see her out, having tired of all this. But something stayed his hand, and his gaze sharpened. “What are you raving about now, Lady Carstairs?”

But she wasn’t raving. She was sounding much too logical and calm, despite the absurdity of her
charges. “Your brother, Lord Brandon Rohan, lately Lieutenant of her majesty’s arm and newly returned from the Afghan wars, has been instrumental in the rebirth of the Heavenly Host. No one knows exactly who is in charge, who sets the evil path they’ve embarked upon, but your brother participates, quite willingly. Sooner or later this will all blow up in their faces, at least if I have anything to say about it, and I warn you right now, I’m a very stubborn woman. I don’t give up. I would think your brother has suffered enough.”

He looked at her blankly, his mind awhirl. As appalling as the idea was, it made sense. Brandon had seldom been home, and his actions had been secretive in the extreme. He was thin and hollow-eyed, and instead of healing, his limp was becoming more pronounced as he burned the candle at both ends. It was possible.

“How did you come by this information?” he snapped suddenly.

“I told you. One of the girls escaped and joined us. She was the one who told us what was going on, and since then we’ve all been finding out anything we can. They wear masks and hoods, she said, but for obvious reasons your brother stands out. The demimask fails to cover the scarred side of his face, and he has a lame leg. She’s recognized a few others, but not the leader of the organization, the one who orders everything. And now she’s disappeared, leaving her little sister behind, and I very much fear she’s dead.”

He’d been dismissing everything she’d said earlier
as arrant nonsense, but now he was concentrating, allowing for the possibility that she wasn’t a deranged zealot after all. Indeed, she didn’t look like one. With her fierce blue eyes and determined chin, her soft, rose-colored lips set in a hard line, she looked angry and sensible, a modern-day Boadicea ready to take on the decadent Romans. She was a Viking, a warrior, everything abhorrent in the weaker sex.

Except that he’d never been fool enough to consider women to be the weaker sex. He’d been surrounded by strong women all his life, his mother and sister included, and he knew when to duck and run.

Now wasn’t the time. “All right,” he said. “What is it you want me to do?”

M
elisande blinked. She’d come expecting the battle, expecting abject failure in the end, but she’d come anyway. She’d run out of options. “Next?” she said blankly then cleared her throat. “We need to come up with a plan.”

Viscount Rohan was looking at her with half-closed lids that hid the expression in his eyes. Just as well, she thought. He was much too handsome a man, but all those damned Rohans were gorgeous. Even the youngest, Brandon Rohan, had a savage beauty only emphasized by the sad ruin of half his face.

Not that she’d ever been distracted by a handsome face. Her husband had been fifty-three years older than she was, and dying when she’d married him. Her one foolish mistake of a lover had possessed only ordinary attractiveness, nothing like the bone-melting grace of Benedick Rohan’s stern profile. If she were still a green girl she could dream about
a man like him. But she wasn’t. She was a grown woman, with no use for men ever again, and totally impervious to his male beauty.

“I would have thought you’d have a plan already in place,” he said, his low voice sending a momentary shiver down her spine.

She was about to reach for a cake, realized she’d eaten them all and had to make do with another cup of tepid tea. “If I had a plan I could have implemented it myself,” she said, keeping a caustic note in her voice. “I assumed this was a fool’s errand, but I always was one to fight for lost causes.”

“Tilting at windmills, Lady Carstairs? And you expect me to be your Sancho Panza. I’m not sure I care for a reenactment of
Don Quixote.
It ends badly.”

“
Life
ends badly. And you never struck me as particularly optimistic.”

“Never struck you as particularly optimistic?” he echoed. “Do we have an acquaintance that I’ve forgotten?”

“You would hardly remember every chit making her curtsey each year. I made my debut the year you were married. I remember your wife. She was very beautiful.”

“Which one?”

She’d forgotten he’d been widowed twice. And there was some ancient scandal concerning another woman, but no one would tell her the details. Not that she’d asked, of course. At least, not more than a couple of times.

Before she could answer he went on. “Never mind. It hardly matters. So you’ve come here to dump this incipient disaster in my lap, with no plan, no idea how to forestall it. My brother is my main concern. I could simply have him forcibly removed to one of the remote family estates so he wouldn’t be able to participate. That solves my problem even if it doesn’t address yours.”

“Then you believe me?” She was still astonished by that fact.

“At least partially. It’s just the sort of thing my brother would get involved with, and he’s been particularly secretive. I expect some of your concerns are simply fiction. I know a great deal about the history of the Heavenly Host—after all it was formed by my great-grandfather’s cousin, and kept alive through the offices of my grandfather and father.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Melisande muttered.

“But the Heavenly Host are far from the nightmare creatures you’re talking about. They started out as a group of bored intellectuals, curious about the relationship between God and the devil, and curious to taste all the forbidden fruit of human desire. But there were rules. No children. No unwilling innocents, though I gather they paid highly for the participation of willing virgins. And no coercion. Their motto is ‘do what thou wilt,’ and agreement is part of that. Not ‘do what is forced upon you.’”

“I appreciate the history lesson. Things have changed.”

He was already regretting his agreement to help
her; she could see that. She went on. “If you could see what they did to poor Aileen…”

But she’d underestimated him. “There’s no need. I believe you. Since you haven’t got a plan I expect we’d best come up with one.” As if by magic the stiff but charming majordomo appeared with a fresh pot of tea and another plate of cakes. “If you wouldn’t mind pouring me a fresh cup I’ll consider what we need.”

She was already in the midst of doing so, for herself, as well. “We need to identify the other members of the organization, including the leader.”

She half expected him to sneer, but he merely nodded. “Finding other members should be relatively easy. There are certain likely ones, including Lord and Lady Elsmere. We find one…we can follow them to the others.”

“What about your brother? Wouldn’t he tell you about it?”

“My brother is the least likely person to answer my questions.”

“You don’t get on? But you’re so charming—I would have thought everyone loved you.”

“Sarcasm is not a becoming trait, Lady Carstairs.”

“I’m not interested in what is becoming or not.”

“Clearly,” he said dryly. “I expect Winston Elsmere would be our best line of attack. And by the greatest good luck they’re holding a party tonight. The guest list is supposed to be small—a mere thirty or so. I declined their invitation, but they should be more than happy to welcome us anyway. Supper is
optional, and the dancing starts at ten. I’ll pick you up at half past nine.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not going to their party! For one thing, I wasn’t invited.”

“That hardly matters. If you come as my guest you’ll be welcomed. There’s an excellent chance that at least two or three members of the Host will be in attendance. Once we identify them we can go from there.”

“I don’t want to attend a party!” she protested. “I keep out of society.”

“You don’t have a choice. Not if you want to stop the Host.”

“I want more than that,” she said, trying to keep her passion in check. “I want to smash their entire wicked organization. I want to expose them to such shame they don’t dare meet ever again.”

“Then we’re agreed,” he said, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t agreed to anything.

She reached for another cake. “Some women might like masterful males. Personally I find them tedious in the extreme.”

But he didn’t rise to the bait. “Then you’ll simply have to be bored. Do you have anything more—” he waved an elegant hand “—more festive? That gown looks like it belongs to a Quaker.”

She didn’t blush. “I might have something older. From my season, perhaps.”

“Lovely,” he said wearily. “I have a choice between a hopeless dowd and someone ten years out
of date. I’m not sure my consequence will survive such a blow.”

“You’ll manage.” She reached for another cake. “So first step is to identify the members. What next?”

“Let’s see how far we get with step one,” he said and passed the plate to her.

She eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then took it with an air of defiance. He raised an eyebrow, though she wasn’t sure if it was for her defiance or the fact that she took another cake, but she didn’t care. He was the one who ordered extra cakes.

A moment later the majordomo reappeared. “Richmond, have my carriage brought out. Lady Carstairs needs to be returned to her house.”

“I can walk,” she protested, swallowing the last bit of cake.

“From my house? Alone? I do realize you don’t care about your reputation, but I have mine to think of. Either take my carriage or I’ll walk you home, but since there’s a cold rain I prefer the carriage.”

She had little choice. And besides, it did look awful outside, the rain running down the windows in icy sheets. “There’s no need for you to accompany me,” she said haughtily.

“I had no intention of doing so, though my mother would be appalled. Since I now have to change my previous, far more convivial plans for tonight, I shall have to come up with an alternative.” He gave her a slow, assessing look. “I’ll simply have to look elsewhere for feminine companionship.”

She wanted to arch a brow and say, not with me, just to prove how little she cared, but he’d already given her a major set-down, and she didn’t want to give him another chance. “I’m certain you’ll manage,” she said. “If we accomplish our goal early in the evening, then you can take me home and go on to whatever institution has replaced the White Pearl to slake your…your…”

“My thirst?” he offered in an innocent tone. “I’m afraid their cellar is of indifferent quality. Or were you perhaps talking about some other desire I need taken care of?”

Two could play at that game. She smiled back at him, her gaze limpid. “I’m certain you’ll manage to take care of whatever needs you might have. You are, after all, a wealthy man.” She rose. “As delightful as this has been, I’d best return home and see if we can find something presentable for me to wear.”

He rose as well, punctilious as ever. “I am in a positive terror of anticipation.” His eyes slid over her, slowly, assessingly, and she had the odd notion that it felt like a physical touch. She wanted to shake it off. “One more thing, Lady Carstairs,” he said, and his voice had lost that taunting edge. “You are not to come here unaccompanied again. In fact, you are not to come here at all. I refuse to be trapped into compromising you—I have far more convivial plans for my future.”

“As do I, Lord Rohan,” she said in an even voice. “Point well taken. I’ll be ready by half past nine.”

“If you’re punctual you’ll be the first woman in my acquaintance to manage it.”

“That’s simply because women put off having to be with you for as long as possible,” she said in her sweetest voice. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“My lady.” She left, but, before the butler could close the door behind her, she heard his soft chuckle. Benedick sank back down in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He must be very bored, indeed, if he found he was looking forward to an evening in Charity Carstairs’s company. He didn’t believe the
faradiddle
she was coming up with, not for a moment, but it was clear she thought it was gospel truth. And he hadn’t anything better to do tonight. The Elsmeres were bores, but he knew others among his friends would be there, and if his recent visitor wanted to play at being a detective then he had no problem encouraging her. She tried so very hard to be calm and matter-of-fact, and it was so very easy to trip her up. He would take her to the Elsmeres, make the proper inquiries and see how wicked he could be before she cried off. Her concerns about the Heavenly Host and its nefarious activities were just one more fairy tale. The group had disbanded shortly after a horrendous gathering at the edge of the Lake District, where his sodding son of a bitch brother-in-law had dared to bring his sister. The repercussions had been so scandalous that no one had even dared to suggest resurrecting the group of tiresome little sybarites.

At least, he was relatively sure he would have
heard if they did. Except that he hadn’t been in town for years, not since Barbara had taken to bedding every one of his acquaintance, and not, of course, for the following year of mourning. And if they had re-formed, wouldn’t Brandon be more than likely to have been one of them?

No, he refused to consider the possibility. But in the meantime, Charity Carstairs, with her sweetly curved body, her soft mouth, her stern blue eyes would provide quite a delightful diversion.

He heard Richmond clear his throat, and he glanced up at him. “Did you put the box of cakes in the carriage?”

“I did, my lord. Shall I ask Cook to bake more?”

He considered it for a moment. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth. Except when it came to a certain crusading female. “It might be wise to keep a supply on hand, Richmond. We’ll be seeing more of Lady Carstairs, I suspect.”

“Very good, my lord,” Richmond murmured.

And oddly enough, Benedick was quite sure he meant it.

Rohan’s coach was the epitome of elegance, and Melisande sat back against the leather squabs with a sigh. She could more than afford such an equipage, but luxury always seemed a bit obscene when contrasted with the life the gaggle had led. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it when it was forced upon her.

He really was the most annoying man.

She’d tried to come up with any other alternative—going to one of the Wicked Rohans was the last thing she’d wanted to do. In fact, she’d set out this afternoon without the proper companions because she was afraid she’d lose her nerve. She hadn’t really expected him to agree, but she could think of nothing else and she simply couldn’t give up.

The ride to King Street was short, and she didn’t notice the box on the seat opposite her until they’d almost arrived. She reached out for it, looking at the card on the top. Written in a heavy scrawl, it was addressed to her. No note, no signature, but she knew it was from Rohan. She untied the string and opened it, and an unbidden laugh came from the back of her throat.

It was a box of the tiny cakes she’d eaten as she’d drank his tea. Curse his black soul, he’d noticed her inability to resist them, and if she had any sense, she’d leave them in the carriage as a message.

That was the last thing she was going to do. There were gestures and there were gestures, and Mollie Biscuits, while an excellent cook, had yet to achieve the perfection of these little masterpieces. She was going to take the box inside and she was going to eat every single one and be damned to the consequences.

Emma was waiting for her, a troubled expression on her face. “Melisande, where were you?”

Melisande handed her the box, pulled off her bonnet and gloves and tossed them on the table. The girls who were learning to be housemaids were newcomers and not adept at showing up promptly when
someone arrived, though Betsey, the youngest, was the most eager to please. The last batch had already secured positions and were well on their way to new lives, and sooner or later the new batch would prove ready, but right then Melisande had more important things to worry about. “At Rohan’s,” she said. “He’ll help.”

Emma said nothing for a moment, and Melisande paused to look at her more carefully, a sudden, dreadful suspicion coming to her. “You didn’t want me to go… Was there a reason?”

“I just think the Rohans are not the best choice to help disband the Heavenly Host,” Emma said carefully. “Particularly since rumor has it that they helped found it.”

“And I think that makes Viscount Rohan a particularly good choice. He knows the workings of the organization, knows most of the members, even if he himself is not a current participant.” She brushed an errant crumb off her dull gray skirt.