The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (3 page)

Lewes turned. “Innkeeper, a bottle of wine for my carriage.”

Henry let out the breath he’d held.

“Come along, Arrow, no need to be coy. I’ve still got a soft spot for you.”

Henry gulped. Hell.

Given what he knew of Lewes, Henry had no choice but to go along with the duke or risk exposure for perversion. Although society considered Lewes a ladies man, what wasn’t widely known was that he dabbled in petticoats and
trousers
. He was a man of many and varied tastes.

As he followed Lewes outside, Henry glanced about. The moon had grown fuller with the passage into night but a shiver shook him. Lewes was known as a generous patron, and it was not as if Henry hadn’t partnered with him before. But . . . when crossed, Lewes could be vicious with his fists. Lewes had almost killed a friend of Henry’s once with his demands.

Henry climbed into the carriage and, as it lurched forward, the duke dragged him into his lap and kissed him brutally. Henry twisted his head away as teeth scraped his lip.

Lewes grabbed his hair and tugged. “You and Archer left
London
.”

Henry swallowed and tasted blood in his mouth. “Yes, Your Grace. I went into service.”

Lewes relaxed his grip, allowing Henry to scamper away. “And Archer?”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t know where he went.”

Lewes struck him, knocking his head against the squabs hard. As the Duke of Lewes squeezed Henry’s throat, he cursed his bad luck.

“You’ll tell me.”

Henry wrapped both hands around Lewes’ wrist and dug his fingers in. Lewes gasped and relaxed his grip enough so Henry could breathe. But his eyes glazed with desire. He was the sort of gent who enjoyed pain but, unlike some of his class, he preferred to be the recipient except when thwarted. Archer had known how far to push Lewes. Which most likely was why Lewes appeared incensed that his favorite entertainment had disappeared into thin air.

“If you don’t deliver Archer up to me, you’ll do my bidding in his place.”

Even years after living outside the Hunt Club, the thought of those types of pleasures terrified his nights. He couldn’t go back to that again.

Summoning up bravado he didn’t feel, Henry scowled. “I left that life behind.”

“The only behind in your future is mine.”

Henry crossed his arms over his chest, feigning boredom. “You cannot make me fuck you. I refuse.”

Lewes flexed his fingers. The impatient gesture warned Henry to tread carefully. Given what Henry knew of the Duke of Lewes, he may have passed the point of being reasonable about what the duke viewed as his unnatural passion for being bent over. If Henry didn’t accede to the man’s wishes, he’d loosen his frustration through violence.

Archer had refused Lewes once, sickened by the cruelty Lewes demanded. His reward: a battered face, barely recognizable, and weeks spent abed to recover. Only Lewes’ coin had kept the bawd from tossing Archer onto the street to die.

In the end, Henry and Archer had chosen to save themselves. They’d escaped the Hunt Club together and never looked back.

Chapter Three

If there ever was a day when Nathan needed to see a friendly face then that day had surely come. For starters, he’d been woken late by the shrill whining of his wife demanding another rise in her quarterly allowance. Given that Nathan had been fast asleep, dreaming of frolicking with Stackpool amid the old ruin, he was less than happy with the interruption.

Then his children had arrived, disappointed that Stackpool had forgotten their early morning lesson and frustrated by their inability to find him. Nathan had shooed them away, but only after promising to send him a whole hour earlier that afternoon, even if Stackpool hadn’t finished his duties.

But those duties had never been started today because Stackpool hadn’t come. He glanced over at his steward’s unoccupied chamber and heaved a heavy sigh. Given his meticulous attention to duty, Nathan was worried. It was not like him to be late or absent from the manor without sending word. When Mr. Stackpool arrived, he would have some explaining to do because the time was approaching eleven.

A knock sounded at the door. “Come,” he called, hoping to see Stackpool on the other side. Yet when his butler rounded the solid wood door his heart fell to his boots.

“I’ve made considerable inquiries, Your Grace, and as near as I can tell Mr. Stackpool has not been seen since he dined last evening. According to Cook, he went out.”

Nathan paced. “Out where?”

The butler grimaced. “I am led to believe that he left to meet with a sweetheart in the village.”

Nathan stopped as his chest squeezed painfully, and then resumed pacing. Despite his disappointment, he should have accepted the signs. Many a man appeared attractive to him, yet not all matched his inclinations. Like most, Stackpool had his mind set on the safest path. Nathan should be happy he’d be spared a life of discontent.

The butler cleared his throat. “I imagine Mr. Stackpool will return soon. He’s left his possessions behind.”

Hope soared in Nathan’s breast and he did his best to hide his relief. Even if Nathan could never have him the way he wanted, at least he’d not be deprived of Stackpool’s services and expertise. Already the stress of his burdens seemed heavier without Stackpool’s steadying presence.

“Thank you, Peters. You may go.”

He turned for his desk and sat, and as soon as Peters closed the door, he slipped out the note from Lewes and read it.
Come Friday
. Like hell he would. He would visit tonight and catch Lewes unawares. No doubt the bastard had already taken up residence in his hunting box, and no doubt the kind of company he kept would prefer to be unobserved.

Nathan’s lips twisted into a pleased smile, whatever the journal contained could hang him, but what Nathan knew too could take Lewes and his contemporaries with him. If he were difficult about the diary, Nathan would threaten exposure but, just to be safe, he penned a note to an older and powerful acquaintance, Fletcher Banning, Duke of Staines, to outline his plan.
Staines
, a man more devious than Lewes and half of
London
altogether, would know how to act if the time came.

Nathan collected a key from the very back of his desk drawer and tucked it securely in his pocket. The key to Lewes’ hunting box. A key Lewes had likely forgotten Nathan still possessed. But before he departed his chamber, he entered his steward’s office and brushed his hand over the back of Stackpool’s chair. He missed the softly spoken ‘good luck’ Stackpool often uttered when Nathan was faced with a difficult battle.

Tonight, he would need all the luck he could get.

~ * ~

Nathan pulled his greatcoat higher up his chest, annoyed he’d forgotten to replace his white cravat for black. “Keep quiet and be prepared to leave swiftly when I return.”

His coachman nodded but his expression, faintly visible in the moonlight, appeared worried. “Aye, Your Grace. We’ll be waiting.”

Nathan set off on foot for the distant house, the only habitable dwelling for miles. Thankful for his misspent youth, he navigated the distance easily enough and approached the house from the rear. Raucous laughter rang out and he stilled, glancing about the gardens and at the house windows to check he remained unobserved. The laughter rang out again and he eased closer once he’d determined the sound came from within.

Lights blazed in the east windows and Nathan pressed his back to the wall and listened. Inside, it appeared Lewes had invited his cronies to visit but Nathan sensed he wouldn’t like their games. As he shuffled along the wall, he caught a rough word now and again.

From what he could tell the group was engaged in something scandalous, something obscene, and reluctantly Nathan peeked in the window.

A puff of putrid smoke filled his nostrils and he quickly covered his mouth before he coughed. Once he regained control over his senses, he risked another peek. As he suspected, Lewes had brought some of his cronies with him, men Nathan stored in his memory for later reference. By the look of them, they had some poor bastard on his knees.

The man took a fist to his ribs and the groan reached Nathan’s ears. The man, missing the lower half of his attire, slumped to the ground. Nathan winced as another man fell upon him. He turned away. Although he engaged in similar activities with men, he’d never once forced a man to bend over for him. He’d always enjoyed cooperative partners, no matter the urgency of his need. What occurred within these walls was beyond Nathan’s experience. It sickened him.

Unfortunately, with so many fellows within the house, he feared he’d never be able to make use of the front door key. Frustrated, he crept along to another window, one darker than the rest. Unfortunately, he couldn’t open it.

The voices inside rose to a chant and then wild applause broke out.

“I say we keep him,” said one. “Lewes has a chamber upstairs fitted with manacles. We can truss him up for more comfortable pleasure.”

Nathan winced.

After a long debate, silence fell.

When Nathan crept back to the open window and risked another peek, he saw the group leaving through the opposite door. Reconciled that this may be his only choice, he listened very carefully, then wedged his fingers under the window and lifted. The pane slid up silently. Nathan hauled himself inside, slid the pane closed and ducked behind the curtain. The room stank with the sickly sweet smelling smoke and Nathan recognized the stench as opium.

Astounded that Lewes had developed a taste for the white smoke, he reopened the window and gasped for cleaner air. He wouldn’t be able to remain long within the house or else he could become befuddled. He’d have to be quick.

The man on the ground moaned and Nathan risked a peek.

A younger man’s bottom faced Nathan, but the pale skin was marked with the brands of torture. Red, angry stripes crisscrossed white skin and Nathan’s fists closed. Despite the risks, he couldn’t leave this man here. Not once he’d seen his plight.

Nathan listened carefully, but heard no sign that the others would return. He took another two paces closer to the man on the ground and froze, unable to believe his eyes.

Chapter Four

A deep voice growled in Henry’s ear and then all movement ceased. After a short pause the heavy weight pressing on his back shifted and he could breathe again. Voices rose behind him.

It was over, but for how long.

If he had the strength, he would get off the floor. Henry usually had more dignity than this. But not today. If he had heeded his initial instincts, he would have run from the Duke of Lewes the first chance he’d found. But he’d been arrogant and foolish. He had no one to blame but himself for his predicament.

He needed to leave.

He needed to be left alone long enough to formulate a plan, to acquire the ability to think without the ever-present stink of opium clouding his mind.

The deep voices rose in heated debate and then a raucous laugh filled the air.

“I say we keep him,” said one. “Lewes has a chamber upstairs fitted with manacles. We can truss him up for more comfortable pleasure.”

Henry whimpered and the group laughed again. He cringed, waiting for hands to touch him. Nothing. The voices discussed their comfort at length, but then moved away, their intent unclear over the scuffle of boots.