Notorious Pleasures (12 page)

“Griffin,” she murmured, her hands clutching at his black domino, unsure of what to do. He pulled her close—so close she felt the muscles of his legs through her skirts. His fingers were in her hair, skimming over her throat, brushing lightly at the tops of her breasts.

She should push him away. What she wanted instead was to take his hand and press those long fingers into her bodice. To guide him until he stroked the puckered tips of her naked breasts. She thought she might very well expire from sheer ecstasy if he touched her there.

A loud
bang!
made her start and break the kiss. The night sky lit for a moment, as bright as day, illuminating his masked face and his mouth, wet and tempting. He pulled back from her, still holding her shoulders and stared at her as if transfixed. Lord knew what her own expression looked like.

Behind them the cheers of the spectators rose.

Hero tried to speak and found she had to swallow before her mouth could form the words. “We need to get back.”

He didn’t reply, merely caught her hand and turned, striding back up the path. She stumbled behind him, her limbs uncoordinated, her thoughts dazed. Another starburst exploded overhead, green, purple, and red flakes floating to earth. The path was widening; they were nearly to the clearing where the spectators stood.

Reading pulled her suddenly into a dark nook off the side of the path. He turned to face her and yanked her into his arms. Her entire being thrilled as he breathed a foul curse and then captured her mouth again. He devoured her as if she were a sweetmeat and he a man who had gone without bread for far too long. He licked across her lips, biting at the corner of her mouth, groaning somewhere deep in his chest. She opened her mouth eagerly this time, having learned what he—what
she—
wanted.

Another cheer went up.

He tore his head away from hers, muttering, “You taste like ambrosia, and I am a madman.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, and she had the strange feeling he was as confused as she.

He blinked, cursed, and, taking her hand again, led her into the clearing.

The gathered crowd all had their faces tilted upward, watching the display overhead. Hero followed Reading without thought, feeling quite shattered as they wound in and out of the bodies until they found their own party.

“There you are,” Phoebe exclaimed as Hero made her side. She clapped and squealed as spinning wheels appeared over their heads. She leaned closer to Hero and shouted, “But what has happened to Lord Mandeville?”

Hero shook her head, her brain stuttering to life. She shouted back, “He went for refreshments and I lost him.”

She heard Reading grunt. His lips were grim and she hastily looked away.

“Oh, look!” Phoebe cried.

Bombs burst and turned, sparkling, into a green-and-gold-winged serpent. The fiery creature twisted and then melted into a glowing white shower of sparks.

“It’s fantastic,” Lady Margaret breathed.

It was. It was the most fantastic fireworks display she’d ever seen—and yet she felt curiously unaffected. Hero was conscious only of Reading’s bulk, on the far side of Phoebe. There seemed to be an invisible line between them now, an awareness drawn taut by sensuality and basic sin.

Dear Lord, what had she done?

She touched her mouth with shaking fingers. She’d committed an act of horrible betrayal. She knew that. She was aware of the ramifications and of regret. The possibility of far greater sin and guilt. Of the fact that her very soul was in peril.

And she did not care.

She was in a fever, wanting only to taste his mouth again, to feel his hard body against hers. To find out if his bare skin was as hot without any clothes. To discover his naked chest. To lie with him entirely nude.

She gasped, winded, unable to catch her breath. She’d never thought herself a creature of physical want. Had never experienced this longing before with any other man. It was as if she were the dormant black powder and he a flame that set her alight. Suddenly everything was vivid, clear, and burning. The very night sky rejoiced as if to celebrate her awakening.

Her facade had cracked. She realized with shock that she was as mortal as anyone else, as fallible as the most fallen woman.

And it did not matter. If he but crooked a finger, she would turn and follow him back into those dim paths. Would twine herself about him and lift her face for his kiss again.

Hero shivered and wrapped her arms about herself.

“Are you cold?” His voice was deep and much too near.

She shook her head, a bit too violently, and backed a step away from him, putting prudent space between them. He frowned and opened his mouth.

“Ah, here you are,” came Mandeville’s voice from her other side.

She turned and smiled up at him, in near-panicked relief. Mandeville was normalcy. Mandeville was sanity.

Some of what she was feeling must have shone in her eyes.

Mandeville bent closer so she could hear over the cracks and pops. “I’m sorry to have lost you. I hope it caused you no worry?”

She shook her head, still smiling like a fool, unable to speak.

“What were you thinking?” Reading growled close, and at first she thought he accused her. Then she looked up and saw the murderous expression he shot at Mandeville. “It’s not safe for a lady alone here.”

Mandeville’s head reared back. “How dare you?”

Reading made a grimace of disgust, turned on his heel, and strode to the edge of the clearing.

Mandeville looked uncertainly at Hero. “I’m sorry…”

Dear God, she could not take an apology from him now. Hero laid a hand on his sleeve. “Please, don’t worry yourself.”

“But I should,” Mandeville said slowly. “My brother is right: I should never have lost you in the maze of paths. It was not well done of me. Please forgive me, Hero.”

He hardly ever used her given name without her title. Hero felt sudden tears spring to her eyes. This man was so good, so right, and she was a fool to let bright, sparkling physical lust endanger her happiness with him.

She squeezed the arm under her hand. “It’s done now and no true harm came of it. Please. Let’s talk of it no more.”

He seemed to search her face for a moment, even as purple and red lights showered above.

“Very well,” he said at last. “It seems I am to marry a very wise lady indeed.”

Her lips trembled as she gazed up at him, knowing she did not deserve his praise. This was the man she’d chosen to marry. The decision was made, the contracts drawn up and signed. This would be a good marriage, one of respect and common goals attained between the two of them.

And yet she could not help but turn her head slightly and glance at Reading. He stood apart, his face upturned to the sky as sparkling flames reflected in his eyes.

“Can’t do that, m’lord,” the cheerful voice of Deedle, his valet-cum-secretary-cum-jack-of-all-trades, replied. “You told me to wake you if she went out, an’ keep at it no matter ’ow you might complain until you stood up by yerself, and ’ere I am awaking you.”

Griffin sighed and cracked an eyelid. The sight that met his gaze was not a pretty one. Deedle was only a bit past five and twenty by his own reckoning, but he’d lost both upper front teeth in that time. It didn’t seem to bother him, though, judging by the wide smile that split his face. He wore a wig—one that Griffin had cast off—badly in need of curling and powdering. His muddy brown eyes were tiny and spaced too near, peering down a great angular nose that took up so much of his face that his small mouth and smaller chin seemed to have given up completely and retreated down his neck in defeat.

Deedle grinned at Griffin’s open eye and stuck his tongue through the gap in his teeth—a rather unfortunate habit of his. “Like some coffee, m’lord?”

“God, yes.” Griffin squinted at the window. True the sun seemed to be high in the sky, but they’d been out until well past midnight last night. He remembered that sweet kiss he’d shared with Lady Hero—and how she wouldn’t look him in the eye afterward. He winced. “Are you sure she’s moving?”

“The lad I got on watch came running to tell me not ten minutes ago,” Deedle replied. “The lady must like the mornings, eh?”

“But not keeping her promises.” He sat up, the sheets falling away from his nude chest, and scratched his chin as he contemplated the fair Lady Hero. She was attempting to avoid him. Had his kiss frightened her that much? “You’re certain she’s headed to St. Giles?”

“She’s got that big footman and she’s taking the carriage. Bit early for morning social calls.” Deedle squinted and shrugged. “Stands to reason that’s where she’s headed, don’t it?”

Griffin sighed. Yes, it did stand to reason.

He climbed wearily from the bed and began splashing in the basin of water. “Have we heard from Nick Barnes?”

Deedle laid out the razor, strop, and towels. “No.”

“Damn.” Griffin frowned. Nick usually sent word first thing in the morning. Griffin would have to see if Nick was sleeping in—or if something more ominous had happened. But first he must deal with the lovely Lady Hero—and the consequences of last night’s impulse.

Fifteen minutes later, Griffin ran down the steps of his rented town house. It wasn’t in the most fashionable part of the West End of London, but he’d long ago decided that lodgings separate from Thomas were essential for familial accord.

Rambler was waiting at the bottom of the steps, his head held by a young groom. Griffin patted the gelding’s glossy neck before swinging into the saddle and throwing the boy a shilling.

The day was sunny, and Rambler made good time, weaving through the London traffic. Griffin found Lady Hero’s carriage not twenty minutes later, stalled behind a herd of pigs.

Lady Hero’s coachman merely nodded as Griffin waved at him and entered the carriage.

“Good morning,” he said as he sat.

“Go away,” she replied.

He clapped a hand over his heart. “Such cruelty from such a fair lady.”

She wouldn’t even look at him. She stared fixedly out the window, her profile remote and reserved. Only the faint spots of pink on her cheekbones gave lie to her serenity. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, yes.” He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankle, grappling with a wholly foreign surge of guilt. Outside, a chorus of squealing rose alarmingly. “I
should
be abed, still dreaming, but it’s not my fault you decided to rise early and sneak off to St. Giles without me.”

She pursed her lips irritably. “This isn’t wise.”

He noted that she didn’t deny her destination. “Have you told your brother or Thomas about your jaunts to St. Giles?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

She closed her eyes as if pained. “You know we can’t do this.”

Had he hurt her so much? He cleared his throat, feeling uncharacteristically diffident. “About last night…”

She held up her palm, her face averted. “Don’t.”

He opened his mouth, but she was as still as a graven image. She seemed to have retreated somewhere deep inside herself.

Damnation!
His mouth snapped shut. He turned to look out the window as the carriage began rolling forward. He’d well and truly mucked this up. If he had it to do over, he’d… what? He sure as hell wouldn’t take back that kiss.

Griffin sighed and laid his head against the squabs. That kiss had been quite spectacular. He remembered her mouth soft and yielding, her breasts pressed against his chest, and the hard beat of his own heart. He’d been aroused, naturally, but oddly the part that stuck in his mind wasn’t the eroticism of their embrace, but the sweetness. It had felt… right—as wrong as that was.

And as truly foolish as it was to have kissed his brother’s fiancée, he’d do it all over again if Lady Hero gave even the slightest sign of acquiescence.

Griffin cracked an eyelid and snorted under his breath. The lady was showing no such signs this morning. She sat ramrod straight in her seat—surely an uncomfortable pose as the carriage swayed—and her face was still averted. She gave every indication of loathing him.

Well, that was for the best, wasn’t it?

Griffin sighed. “Why have you decided to go back to St. Giles so soon?”

“Mr. Templeton has agreed to meet me at the site of the new home,” she said.

He raised his brows, waiting for more explanation, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Fine, two could play at that game. He tilted his hat over his eyes and settled back to regain some of the sleep he’d lost this morning.

The carriage shuddering to a stop woke Griffin some time later. He watched lazily as Lady Hero got up and left the carriage without a word to him. His lips twitched. That certainly put him in his place. He could stay in the carriage and await her return, but curiosity got the better of him. Griffin followed her out of the carriage, looking around.

They were in St. Giles, not far from his still, actually. The carriage was stopped at the end of a narrow lane, too wide to pass through. Griffin saw Lady Hero walking determinedly down the lane with her footman, George. Griffin jogged to catch up. By the time he made her side, she was already in conversation with Jonathan. The architect was all in black, a huge roll of papers under one arm. He turned to greet Griffin, but Lady Hero continued talking.

“… as you can see. Now we’re worried that the children will have to stay in their wretched temporary home for the winter. Can you give us any hope, Mr. Templeton?”

She drew breath and Griffin took advantage of the pause by sticking his hand out to his friend. “Good morning, Jonathan. How are you today?”

“Quite well, my lord, quite well indeed,” the architect replied, beaming. He glanced at Lady Hero and blinked at her gimlet stare. “Er… now, then, as to the progress of the foundling home, my lady. As you can see, the former architect barely laid the foundations. I’ve had a chance to inspect the site, and I’m afraid I’ve discovered several distressing points.”

Lady Hero frowned. “Yes?”

Jonathan nodded, pushing his spectacles up onto his forehead. “Most of the foundation is sound, but in places it has already settled and will need to be dug up, shored, and rebuilt. Further, the papers you sent me indicated that special stone, wood, et cetera were bought and stored here. I’m afraid I cannot find them.”

“Stolen?” Griffin asked.

“Yes, my lord, or perhaps never truly bought in the first place.” Jonathan looked troubled. “In any case, the materials will have to be purchased before further construction is done.”

Griffin glanced at Lady Hero and saw that she was biting her lip. “I… I will have to see about obtaining the monies necessary to purchase material. Last time it took weeks for the stone to be shipped.”

“Ah.” Mr. Templeton rocked back on his heels. “Here I think I have good news, then. I know of a supplier of fine granite who has some already sitting in his warehouse here in London. I have no doubt that he has enough to meet our needs. It isn’t the Italian marble that the original plans called for, but the granite stone is pretty enough. Cheaper, too. I believe I can persuade him to extend you the credit on the stone.”

Lady Hero seemed to relax. “Wonderful, Mr. Templeton! I shall rely upon you to arrange for the granite to be bought and moved here. Now, perhaps you can show me the problems you spoke of.”

Griffin sat on the stone foundation of Lady Hero’s home and waited for her to complete her tour with Jonathan. He tilted his head back, feeling the sun on his face. He’d have to take her home after this and then return again to St. Giles to consult with Nick about what to do with the Vicar. Griffin rubbed the back of his neck wearily. He couldn’t remain indefinitely in London guarding the still. Perhaps the Vicar could be bought off somehow. Except that Griffin balked at giving the man money. The only other means of eliminating the crime lord was assassination.

Griffin chuckled in disgust. He hadn’t sunk quite that low yet.

“My lord!”

He glanced up to see a footman trotting toward him.

Griffin straightened. “What is it?”

“There’s a lad at the carriage asking after you. Said to tell you that Nick sent him.”

Lady Hero had returned with Jonathan by this time. She looked at Griffin for the first time that day. “What is it?”

“A matter of business.” He glanced at Jonathan. “Are you done here?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then let’s go.” He took her arm and walked rapidly toward the carriage. He hated to take her along, but he couldn’t very well let her wander alone in St. Giles. “Damnation.”

She arched her eyebrow at him but kept pace with his stride. The youth waiting beside the carriage was one of Nick’s crew. He doffed his hat at the sight of Lady Hero, his eyes widening. He’d probably never seen an aristocratic lady in his life.

“What is it?” Griffin demanded.

The lad jumped, tearing his gaze from Lady Hero. “Nick wants to talk to you, m’lord. Quick like, if’n you can.”

Griffin nodded. “Hop on the back of the carriage.”

He gave the coachman directions and then helped Lady Hero in before pounding on the roof.

She watched him as he threw himself on the squabs. “How did your messenger find you?”

“I sent word where I’d be,” he said absently.

Thankfully she didn’t ask any more questions. The carriage was already pulling up in front of the distillery’s wall.

“Stay here,” he ordered her before leaping from the carriage.

Griffin strode through the gate. Nick was in the courtyard.

“In here.” Nick jerked his head toward the distillery, leading the way.

Inside, the fires illuminated the cavernous building like something out of Hades. A small knot of his men was gathered over something that lay on the warehouse floor. As Griffin drew nearer, he saw it was a man.

Or what was left of a man.

The body was tangled, the limbs at angles the joints weren’t meant to bear naturally. Griffin took one look at the face and glanced away.

“Tommy Reese,” Nick said, and spat into the straw. “Went out for a tankard of beer yesterday afternoon and was thrown over the wall just ’alf an hour ago, lookin’ like that.”

Griffin fisted his hands. He remembered Tommy; he couldn’t have been more than twenty. “Did he say anything?”

Nick shook his head. “Already dead.” He glanced sharply at the silent men and gestured Griffin to the side. “Tortured, I’m thinkin’, m’lord.”

“No doubt.” Griffin grimaced. “Was Reese party to any particular secret of our business?”

“Nah, just started.”

“Then the Vicar did this as a warning.”

“And to scare the men.” Nick lowered his voice. “Already two ’ave run off. Couldn’t stop them, though I told the buggers right enough they’d be safer in here.”

“Fuck.” Griffin rolled his head on his shoulders to stretch his neck, then swiveled to the men. “Well, this is first shot. From now on, no one goes out at night, and during the day you go in pairs. Is that clear?”

The men nodded, though none would meet his eyes.

Griffin smiled widely, though he felt more like howling. “And your pay has just doubled, right? Any man still here by tomorrow gets a fistful of coins. You go out tonight and you’ll get that instead.” He jerked his chin at the corpse.

One by one, he stared at each man until they all met his eyes and nodded.

Finally, Griffin jerked his chin. “Get on with it.”

The men went back to work. No one smiled or looked particularly cheerful, but at least they weren’t whispering mutiny among themselves anymore. Nick pulled two of the men aside and gave them instructions in low tones. A moment more and the two men had lifted Reese’s poor body between them and taken it out to the courtyard. Griffin turned back to watch broodingly as the stills were stoked.

“My God,” came a feminine voice behind Griffin.