Emily Baker (18 page)

She glared up at him, wide blue eyes filled with dislike and fear. “Am I supposed to be flattered by your interest? I assure you, I am not.”

He chuckled and stepped closer still, enjoying the stiffening in her posture as she forced herself not to flee his advance. She wanted to run. He could smell her fear and it was intoxicating. Only her will alone held her in her seat.

“You should be, my dear. But overall it matters very little to me if you are flattered or not. You are lovely. Soft. Virginal. All the things I prize in a woman. Your feelings are of little consequence.”

“I will never agree to anything you ask.” She flung her defiance at him.

He stepped closer still, placing a booted foot firmly between her own much smaller, bare feet. She nearly jumped. He shifted his weight, and the pressure of his leg pushed her knees apart. “Your agreement matters even less.”

He slid his fingers into the silky mass of her hair and pulled, tilting her head back so that she looked up at him like a supplicant. The long column of her neck sloped downward to the fullness of her breasts. “Your willingness matters not at all.”

With that he bent and took her mouth with his, swallowing her protest as he plundered her. His free hand slid beneath the thin muslin to weigh and fondle the soft resilient flesh of her breasts as his knee wedged tight against her stomach to stop her from fleeing his assault.

She gasped as he knocked the wind out of her. He took advantage of the weakness to thrust his tongue deep into her mouth to possess her more fully. She struggled against him, her protest futile as he fondled and tasted her.

It would be all too easy to bend her to his will and be the first man to thrust himself into her tight, untried body. What a pleasure it would be to impale her and watch her face as he enjoyed her to the tempo of his body’s needs heedless of her protests.

He pinched her nipples to hardened points, deliberately bruising her so that when the next man touched her there, when Stanhope took her, she would be reminded of this moment through the haze of her degradation, deflowered for all to see.

“Ahh. Very nice, very nice indeed. Your body is every bit as soft and tempting as I suspected. But I haven’t the time or the inclination to fully initiate you into the world of fleshy delights. More’s the pity.”

His taunts came thick with his desire for her, but he restrained himself as he straightened his waistcoat and put a bit of distance between himself and the disheveled maiden he’d so thoroughly and pleasurably explored.

“I have chosen another to be the recipient of your virginity. But rest assured, my dear, I shall be there, with a host of others, cheering him on and sampling what little delights come our way. Perhaps he will share when he is done with you.”

“You are a fiend.” She defied him still, but her tone was shaky as the words rasped from her.

She pressed her hand against her kiss-ravaged mouth. Tears glittered in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Oh, but he did admire that. Even when threatened with multiple rape she managed not to break down into wailing and weeping. It gave her promise for the future. He had chosen very well.

“As much as I have enjoyed our time together, I am certain my guests are as anxious for tonight’s entertainment to begin as you are.”

“A vile fiend,” she repeated, anger shaking in her voice. “It does not matter what you plan. You can attack my body, but you will never hurt me.”

“Ah, a lovely sentiment. I truly admire your spirit. But they are empty words, my dear.” He unlocked the door as he smiled at her. “Trust me in this, if in nothing else. We will plunder your delights very thoroughly, and nothing you can do will prevent it. When you have lain beneath twenty men, served their needs, we will talk again about what may or may not hurt you.”

He chuckled to himself as her eyes widened and fear showed clearly on her lovely features.

With that promise ringing in her ears he closed the door and locked it behind him. Now to get his report from Bart, and then the evenings festivities could truly begin. He rubbed his hands together. There was nothing he liked better than the culmination of his plans. This particular plan had proceeded thus far with added bonuses in the way of personality and possibilities.

It was going to be a very good night.

He ducked his head into the parlor where the men involved in tonight’s delightful proceedings were relaxing over a brandy and anticipating their pleasures as only young men could.

“Jameson.” A chorus of greetings rang out.

“Hello, gentlemen. I am sorry to have delayed myself for so long from your company. I hope you will forgive me for just a few more moments.”

“Not a problem at all, old man. We have waited this long, and you must have heard that old adage about anticipation whetting the appetite?” Percy Masters sniggered at his own joke and elbowed young Stanhope, who appeared to be caught between his friend’s humor and his own uncertainty about just what he’d gotten himself into. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to get the new baron to attend this party and finally fall in with his plans. Thank goodness they were away from town and there really was no place for Baron Stanhope to retreat. The young man was essentially trapped by his own curiosity and inability to say no to his friend.

A true pleasure indeed.

“Jameson, if things are not turning out as you’d intended, perhaps we could wait for another—”

“Not at all, not at all.” Harold interrupted before Stanhope could finish his ridiculous attempt to end the evening prematurely. He couldn’t afford to have this man unsettling the others and destroying his plans when they were so very close to fruition. “Do not fret yourself. It is merely my own attention to details that has your waiting here. Enjoy the brandy and anticipation. I shall return for you in a thrice.”

With that he closed the salon doors behind him. Anticipation had been exactly the right note to hit in order to get Masters started. He could already hear that young man launching into his own exploits in the boudoir and his plans for the evening.

Nauseating, but necessary.

Now, where was Bart?

As the front door swung open, Garrett’s men blended into the darkened scenery. With bated breath they waited and watched in the shadows. In a moment a large silhouette filled the light spilling from the open doorway.

Garrett held his breath and could feel Sean doing the same beside him as the large bulk bled out into the darkness followed by a host of smaller but equally lethal-looking shapes.

So Jameson had brought additional forces beyond the two Maura had warned them about to guard his iniquitous den—not really surprising given the people who assembled inside. He thought quickly. If they took out this force of men now, they would no doubt tip their hand to the men inside. There was no knowing if the troop that had exited the building was the entire security force or if there were more men inside.

Better to wait and blend quietly. His men knew better than most how to become part of rock, bush, and tree. Garrett forced his tense muscles to relax as he touched a hand to Sean’s shoulder in silent communication. He could almost hear Sean’s unspoken rejection of his plan and then in a moment the acceptance that was part of his respect for Garrett’s leadership and authority.

Garrett tilted his chin down and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing and opening his ears to wait for the search.

 

 

Harold Jameson paced across the foyer, anxious to be about his business. He forced himself to take even breaths as he crossed to the unpretentious bar taking up one corner of the room where his plan would unfold. It blended into the background almost as if it weren’t there. Exactly as he’d planned. There was nothing to distract his guests from their pursuits. Nothing in the slightest. It all worked to the good. The liquor and the sparse accommodations would focus their attention on the purpose of their celebration. Their mutual presence and the masks he would distribute would free them from individual responsibility as they turned into a lustful mob ready to be led as he directed.

He stopped before the large hearth which hissed and crackled with a satisfying fire. Heat poured over his legs. Behind this massive stone edifice lay the escape route he’d built in anticipation of unexpected guests. Should anything untoward happen he would be out of the building and far away before anyone was the wiser. He patted the stone tigers decorating the massive hearth. One quick twist of the wrist and freedom and safety would beckon. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not tonight.

He poured himself a short dram of whiskey and knocked it back without giving the appropriate respect it deserved. It burned its way down his throat and into his stomach without remorse. In moments a warm flood of exhilaration flooded through him. Much better.

Heavy footsteps interrupted his reverie.

“There ye are, sir.” Bart, at last.

“Your report?”

“There’s nothin’ out there as shouldn’t be, sir. We checked the entire grounds. There’s not so much stirring as a few blades a grass and the tree leaves.”

“Excellent, Bart.” He patted the hearth one last time and stepped away. Secure.

“Let us begin.”

“Enough, Garrett, we cannot wait any longer.” Sean’s urgent whisper carried barely restrained panic. The redstart’s call from behind the house sounded at last.

“Let’s go. Remember the plan, Sean.”

“I won’t forget. I have got to get Jane out of there. Before . . . before . . . I kill Harold Jameson with my bare hands.”

“Let’s go, lad.”

He repeated the call of the redstart and heard it answer back. The men around the other side of the building would begin pouring in through the rear door as they entered through the front.

Between the two sets of men they ought to be able to stop anyone from exiting, save the girls, and bring Harold Jameson to an immediate stop. What happened afterwards to the young lordlings and upstarts who were willing to go along with Jameson’s plans was another matter—one to be sorted out another day.

They opened the front door on silent hinges. Inside there was an almost palpable sense of anticipation. As they proceeded into the darkened building, light spilled from beneath a pair of pocket doors to one side. Voices could be heard within.

“—present our lovely sacrifice of the evening.”

A chorus of aroused male appreciation could be heard in response.

“Diahbal,”
Sean cursed.

Garrett held a finger to his lips as they inched toward the door.

“Aye, she is lovely indeed, is she not gentleman? And a true virgin. Waiting to be awoken to the full blossom of her womanhood. Untried and untested by any man. Until tonight.”

Dear lord, the man was a showman! He touted this young woman like a gypsy at a carnival. Garrett’s anger kindled higher.

“She shimmers with untapped sexuality, just waiting to find fulfillment with the aid of your manly rods. Tonight we will give her the education a jewel like she deserves, eh?”

More appreciative murmurs could be heard.

Garrett and Sean had reached the door. With a nod they edged the doors open far enough to be able to judge the room and its occupants.

Inside were approximately twenty young men in masks. Arousal and anticipation, layered with the strong scent of heavy drinking, hung tight in the air. He could not pick out Daniel or Lord Stanhope from the ranks, but he was certain they were both there.

Strapped to the table in the center of the room like some living human feast was a young woman dressed only in the sheerest of nightgowns. She was small and perfectly proportioned, her arms stretched over her head, legs spread, her body open to the view of every man’s hungry gaze.

Jameson stood at her head in his glory, his hands slowly fondling her helpless form as she shivered and strained to escape his touch despite her bonds. She was gagged and masked, whimpering beneath his deliberate invasions. Blond curls scattered in wild array around her.

“Jane.” Anger seethed from Sean in hot waves.

“See how responsive she is?” Jameson crooned as he pawed her. “I assure you, she will be well compensated for this night. She will play her part in our games well.”

Sean started forward.

“Focus on the enemy.” Garrett managed to edge the words between his teeth. He could well identify with what Sean was feeling. If anyone were to touch Maura that way . . .

He forced his thoughts to examine the situation. Aside from the young men in attendance and Jameson, there was a large brute of a man standing off to the right. From his sheer bulk he had to be the silhouette they’d seen just then leading the search of the grounds before this shameful fiasco began.

There didn’t appear to be any other guards in attendance. That meant the rest of the force searching the grounds was somewhere else in the house. He could only hope the contingent of his own men he’d sent to the rear of the building were making short work of the lot of them.

“The man with the longest straw won the first go at her. Step forward and claim your prize before your envious fellows. She will accommodate any or all of us afterward. Plus you all have your room keys for the private delights that await you there.”

Jameson unlaced Jane Fuller’s gown, displaying her more fully to the gaping, lascivious gazes of his guests. “Let the games commence.”

They were out of time. Garrett pushed to his feet. Sean was there ahead of him.

“Stop!” With a roar of anger Sean burst through the doors. “Release her immediately or by God you will answer to me.”

Stunned, the masked young gentlemen turned toward the door, horror and guilt warring openly in their partially hidden expressions.

“Bart, protect!” Jameson’s short order set the huge bulwark of a man into action. He moved surprisingly fast for a big man. In two great strides he was at the doors, swinging two giant fists at once. Before Sean could duck he was clubbed harshly with once massive blow that sent him sailing into the opposite corner of the room.

Shielded from view by the doors, other guards rushed to join the brawl as Garrett’s men surged through the doors behind him. Garrett pushed forward past the dismayed gentlemen who moments before had been intent only on their own enjoyment at the expense of one very helpless young woman. Daniel Mac-Tavish quickly pulled off his mask and stepped forward to release Miss Fuller from her bonds.

Garrett almost reached his side when a great hand grabbed him from behind and yanked him backward with enough force to lift him completely off the ground. He sailed into another fist and landed hard on the ground. Blackness and stars enveloped him.

Chaos reigned around Garrett as men shouted and his head spun. He fought to hold on to lucidity. He couldn’t fail Sean, couldn’t fail that poor lass. The room swirled around him as he scrambled to get to his feet.

“Bart, come!” Jameson shouted in the distance. The big man’s feet shook the floor as he rushed to do his master’s bidding.

Garrett struggled to stand upright and focus in the direction of Jameson’s shout. His vision blurred for a moment, and he could see only a flash of sheer nightgown and a flurry of limbs.

When his gaze cleared he could make out the struggling form of Jane Fuller tossed over the massive shoulder of Jameson’s giant. The bodyguard ducked his head beneath the mantelpiece and disappeared into the massive fireplace. There was no sign of Jameson. In a moment, the blazing fire took up the space the giant had filled just before.

He shook his head as nausea rushed over him.

“No!” Sean swayed to his feet, looking equally as confused. “Jane!”

Daniel also stood, looking dazed as he rubbed his skull.

Garrett signaled Liam, stepped forward, and took Daniel by the arm to lead him from the room. The two of them would organize a thorough inside and outside search of the rooms Maura had described and free the prisoners before they too could be whisked away.

Sean pushed forward, elbowing the cream of Dublin society out of his way as he headed to the hearth. These young men were no threat to anyone; they stood looking shamed and defeated, wishing themselves anywhere but there while the rest of Jameson’s guards were subdued.

Let them suffer the writhing of their own consciences for a while, if they were sincerely sorrowful and not just sorry their fun had been spoiled or they had been caught. The Green Dragon would deal with each of them in turn, when other matters were less pressing.

Sean reached the mantle. He pounded a fist against the massive stone. “Open, damnation. Open!”

“There’s some sort of trigger on the side.” A lone voice among the group of shamed young men spoke up into the sudden silence. With a quiet dignity at odds with the rest of his fellows, one young man stepped forward. With a heavy sigh he removed the dark mask covering his own features.

“What did you see?” There was no quarter in Sean’s voice as he turned on Stanhope.

“I am not quite sure. This is Harold Jameson’s lodge. I am sorry I ever came here.”

“As well you all should be.” Garrett stepped in before Sean could throttle the young baron.

Bashing Stanhope, while satisfying, would not get them the information they needed. “What did you see?”

Stanhope’s brows knit together as he turned and walked to the hearth. He ran his fingers over the carved stone. “He pushed something or twisted something and caused the hearth to swing open like a door. They disappeared with that poor woman into what looked like a tunnel.”

Sean’s gaze met Garrett’s filled with renewed fear for Jane Fuller. Garrett focused his attention back on Stanhope.

“Help my man get this open again.”

“But, I—”

“You know more than you give yourself credit for. We have got to follow them for that girl’s sake. We are losing precious time.”

“Aye.” Stanhope swallowed hard as he avoided Sean’s gaze.

“Now.” Sean grated the word out with enough menace to incinerate any lingering hesitation on Stanhope’s part.

They went to work probing the mantle with Stanhope providing everything he could remember about Jameson’s actions.

Garrett turned to the waiting room.

“Remove your masks.” Some had already stripped away the offending dominoes. The rest did as he directed without complaint.

“Know now that I am the Green Dragon. I have marked each and every one of your faces. I know who you are. I know who your families are. I know where to find you. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, conspiring to debauch an innocent girl.”

He let that sink in for a moment as their faces paled and many feet shifted restlessly against the barren wood floor.

“You will leave this place and never speak of it again. If anything that happened here tonight becomes common knowledge or if any of you ever engage in such activities as you intended here, I will know and I will come for you when you least expect me. If you are tempted to stray, imagine that young woman you were so set to exploit was your sister.”

He ran his gaze over the lot of them, letting them mark the seriousness of his intent. “Do you mark my words and know them for the truth?”

“Aye.” Many heads nodded as one. “Jameson said she was a prostitiute. That this was a game.”

“Jameson lied to you. You are all fools. Make haste and get out of my sight.” Garrett enjoyed the small satisfaction of watching them scramble all too eagerly out of his presence.

He blew out a long breath. There were times when he felt so very much older than most of the men who might be considered his contemporaries.

He turned his attention to what was left of his men. They had successfully bound the guards and gathered them into a misshapen cluster.

“There are a number of young women still here in the house. I’m not sure how many. See who you can find and free. Use care with them—they may have been poorly used and may not react well to men in masks.”

With nods of understanding, they turned to leave.

“There was another woman here,” he called after them. “An old crone who worked here. See if you can find her as well.

“Aye.” They filed out of the room.

“Here!” Sean’s voice rang with renewed urgency.

Garrett turned back toward the hearth to see Sean’s fingers pressed against the stone. The stone gave beneath the pressure of his fingers.

“This has to be it, but nothing is happening!”

He hurried to Sean’s side as Stanhope stood aside. “I told you he twisted it. Or turned it. Damnation, I wish I knew.”

Garrett placed his hand over Sean’s, feeling the pressure points that gave into the carved stone. He ran his gaze over the intricate carving, then gritting his teeth, he twisted the points with his and Sean’s fingers still pressed hard against the stone. With a harsh grating sound that filled the silent room, the stone swiveled.

In a moment the hearth, complete with the still blazing fire, swung inward, groaning against its massive hinges. A rush of cool damp air passed over them.

“Yes!” Stanhope was excited. “You got it right! I knew there was a twist or something. I knew—”

Sean’s gaze snapped to him, and Stanhope trailed into immediate silence. Sean stepped into the passage. “Mark my words, boy-o: keep this evening silent, even in your memory.”

Stanhope nodded, his hair swinging forward, disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration.

“I do mark your words, sir. Let me come with you. Surely you can use another pair of hands.”

There was no time for lengthy discourse. He was right. The more hands willing to help, the better. What better way for the baron to learn the consequences of thoughtless actions than by working to rectify them?

“Come then.” Garrett followed Sean toward the cold, dark tunnel. It was impossible to see the way. Jameson must have taken whatever lantern or candle was there for his flight. Once the hearth closed they would be pitched into total darkness.

“If you fall behind, we will not wait and we will not come back for you.” Threat as well as promise filled the words Sean grated to the younger man as he joined them.

Stanhope nodded. “I will keep pace.”

“We have wasted enough time already.”

In quick strides, Garrett grabbed a single ladder-back chair near the hearth and broke it against the stone. He handed a wooden leg to Sean, then one to Stanhope before lighting his own in the hearth fire. Each man followed his lead. With that they plunged the darkened confines of the passageway.

Stale air passed over them as they hurried into the tunnel. The sides were close and the ceiling low. They had to bend in order to fit. He could only imagine this would have been an impediment to Jameson’s giant bodyguard, especially burdened with a less than cooperative Miss Fuller.

“They are so far ahead.” Despair twisted Sean’s worry.

“Liam and Daniel have already begun the search from the woods. We will find her.”

He didn’t put voice to his main concern. He knew Sean’s thoughts were already there anyway. Having failed at his ploy to enlist the sons of Dublin society to ensure Jane’s disappearance remained a secret, Jameson’s next best course would be to get rid of her and disappear. They quickened their pace.