Lord of Fire (7 page)

Lucien’s world.

The smell of frankincense filled her nostrils. Candles burned everywhere amid the serenely dripping stalactites. She struggled for clarity against the shock of the grotesque, orgiastic scene that sprawled out in the vast cavern below her, like a Hieronymous Bosch painting come to life. The mesmerizing music wove its snakelike spell over her, lulling her senses, numbing her astonished mind.

One thing, at least, was clear, she thought. This was no costume ball.

“Come on,” Orpheus said eagerly, leading the way down the steps chiseled out of the porous limestone, descending into a vast subterranean cavern that seethed with a throng of robed people who all were facing, as in homage, the huge carving in the limestone of a hideous, fanged dragon. Every scale was intricately carved; the monster was posed in a reptilian crouch. Braziers of red-glowing coals gleamed in the carved hollows of its eyes. The open mouth alone was as tall as a man, and from its black recesses, a bubbling
hot springs flowed into the great cave. The steam from the naturally heated water puffed in spirals through the dragon’s nostrils, as though, at any moment, it might breathe a blast of fire. The
hot springs ran down a shallow four-foot channel into a crystalline pool like the one at
Bath. It was adorned with tiled mosaics and free-standing Corinthian columns that might well have been put there by the ancient Romans.

Alice
had never seen so much naked flesh in her life. Perhaps it was due to her passion for art, particularly for portraiture, but she was surprised at how quickly her shock and moral indignation evaporated in sheer artistic interest. Though many people sported in the waters nude, most were still clothed, their identities shadowed by their hooded brown robes. Some wore masks for extra anonymity, but all appeared engrossed in the drama unfolding on the stagelike platform that was hewn into the serpent’s back, cleverly carved to resemble a saddle. The chief feature on the stage was a stone altar, behind which a pale young man stood, his priestly robes draping his tall, lanky frame. Holding up his hands at his sides, he chanted in some unknown language—probably nonsense—with a clear, reedy voice. The people answered at regular intervals in a mockery of a church service.
Alice shuddered uneasily.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Orpheus immediately began pushing his way into the thick of the swaying crowd. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“I have to find Lady Glenwood,” she yelled over the thunderous beat of the drums. “Do you know her?”

“No names, chit!” Scowling at her, he glanced about as though to make sure no one had heard, then lowered his head close to hers. She noticed abruptly that he did not seem at all drunk anymore. “Never speak anyone’s real name here,” he said sharply. “God, you are new, aren’t you? No, I don’t know the woman. Now, just follow me and don’t talk to anyone, or you’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble.”

Chastened,
Alice obeyed and filed after Orpheus as he moved through the crowd, which she estimated to be over a hundred people. She searched the sea of faces around her for Caro while Orpheus chose a position in the middle of the crowd. They stopped and turned toward the stage. The reedy voice of the pale young man carried louder. The people answered in unison; she did not understand their words but could feel their anticipation building. Pronouncing a few more bizarre incantations, the pale man turned once more to the people, holding out his arms. The speed of his incomprehensible words and the pitch of his nasally tenor rose steadily with excitement. “Vee-nee-ay mil-sit dren-sa-il
Draco
!”

Cymbals clashed at the sound of the name. Fires flared in the braziers on the ends of the stage as the priest’s assistants doused the coals with lamp oil. The choir and drones fell silent, but the drums continued more softly and all around her the people began a low chanting:
“Draco, Draco.”

A pair of doors flew open at the end of the stage.
Alice stared, riveted, as a tall, powerful figure swept out of the open doors and stalked across the stage, his face concealed by the deep hood of his robe, which was of black silk. It billowed out behind him with each determined stride as he prowled to the center of the stage with the grace of a massive black leopard. The sheen of the material reflected the flickering fires that seemed to caress him as he passed. The robe hung open down the front, revealing his black trousers and boots and his loose, white shirt with a deep, fringed V that partly bared his bronzed, sculpted chest.
Alice gazed at him in wonder. Draco stopped and turned toward the crowd. White lace cuffs dripped below the sleeves of his robe as he stretched forth his large, murderously elegant hands. She could not tear her gaze away.

Though his eyes and the upper half of his face were shrouded by his hood, she stared in fascination at his square, chiseled jaw and strong chin. Then he spoke, and his deep, mesmerizing voice rolled over the crowd in natural command, filling the cavern.
“Brothers and sisters!”

The people roared in adoration.

“Tonight we come together to welcome two new initiates into our most vile and ignominious company.” The throng cheered wildly at his insults; a small, mocking smile flitted briefly over his beguiling lips. “They have been tested—and tasted—by the Elders, as you all have,” he purred, “and they have been found worthy. Initiates, come forward and receive the final rite.” He pulled back his hood, unveiling a face of burning, satanic, male beauty.

Alice
held her breath, enthralled, feeling the resounding slam of some fateful premonition.
Lucien Knight.
One look erased any lingering doubt in her mind who he was. He had the bold, patrician features of a dashing adventurer and silver eyes that glittered like diamonds. The glossy jet of his hair set off his sun-bronzed complexion and the wicked, white gleam of his smile.

Then she gasped as two naked women crawled up onto the stage and went to him on their hands and knees.
Oh, God, don’t let that be Caro.
The women crouched at his feet, and
Alice nearly fainted with relief to realize neither was her sister-in-law. “Draco” laid a hand on each one’s head and began making incantations over them in the same incoherent language the pale young man had used. The women moaned, caressing him all the while.
Alice watched their hands travel over his hard, lean body as if they could not get enough of him, and the writhing sensuality of the Grotto began to penetrate her naive awareness. She could not stop staring in fascination at Caro’s beautiful, evil lover.
No wonder they called him Lord Lucifer,
she thought.
He was made for temptation.

Concluding his prayer a moment later, he leaned down and kissed each woman gently on the forehead. They sought his mouth, but with a cruel, delicious little smile, he denied them; then the pale young man wrapped the women in white robes and led them away. Draco’s faithful began growing restless.
Alice glanced in rising uneasiness as the people all around her began mingling into pairs and more exotic combinations. Here and there, they were embracing, kissing, beginning to slither out of their brown robes. The service seemed to be drawing to a close.

Orpheus suddenly grabbed her arm, startling her. “Give us a kiss, blue eyes.” He grunted, a bead of sweat trickling down his round, ruddy face.

She jerked back. “Let go of me!”

“What are you, a virgin?”

“Get away from me!”

They struggled for a moment and he tried again to kiss her, but
Alice shoved him away as hard as she could. Muttering a rude epithet, Orpheus angrily withdrew and moved off into the crowd, leaving her alone.

Shaken,
Alice brushed a few strands of her hair back, her hand trembling slightly, then glanced around and stood on tiptoe, trying to spy Caro. She began making her way through the crowd, looking for the prodigal baroness everywhere. The pipers started up again on their drones, making dizzying, undulant music that seemed to coil and twist through her body. With every step, she heard various languages being spoken in the crowd. She realized there were people there from all over
Europe—and they were beginning to let loose the fullness of their depravity. The robes were coming off. The great pool was filling up with laughing nymphs and satyrs, as were the small, dark lovers’ nooks carved into the cave walls. Erotic wonders bloomed around her like otherworldly flowers. She saw a masked lady flogging a man who was tied to one of the Corinthian columns, his hands bound above his head; each time she struck his bare back with her riding whip, his body jerked and he cried out with pleasure while other people watched. A few steps farther on, she saw two women locked in a passionate kiss. She stared at them as she passed by, amazed and entirely confused. On every hand, people were doing things to one another that she never could have imagined. She was so overwhelmed by it all that she knew she would have to try to absorb it later. For now, she could only focus on her task—finding Caro, bringing her home to Harry.

The thought of her nephew cleared her head and bolstered her determination. For his sake, she began pushing her way more aggressively through the crowd, ignoring the sex acts, both natural and unnatural, and the score of obscene propositions that strangers made to her as she passed, until at last she came to the edge of the great pool.

The steam rising from the hot spring dampened the tendrils of her hair around her face as she searched the swimmers’ faces in the dim half-light, but after a couple of minutes, her heart sank as she realized her sister-in-law was not among them. She pressed her hand to her forehead.
Oh, God, what if she is off somewhere making love with Lucien Knight?
She glanced at the stage. The fair-haired man was still there, but “Draco” had disappeared.

Alice
scowled and dropped her hand to her side again, longing to be spared the unthinkable prospect of having to interrupt her sister-in-law’s liaison with her demon lover. No matter, she told herself. She would throw Caro’s clothes on her and march her home by her ear, if necessary. Resolved to search the nooks and crannies that lined the cave,
Alice pivoted—and crashed right into a man’s bare, muscled chest.

Right at her eye level, his loose white shirt hung open, revealing a deep V of velvety skin. At this close range, she could see every sculpted ridge of his stomach, every hard plane of his magnificent chest; could practically taste the salty, vibrant sheen of sweat that glowed on his skin. Her heart leaped into her throat with instant recognition; her wits scattered like chickens with a fox in the henhouse.

Oh,
no, she thought, choking on her gasp.

Slowly lifting her gaze,
Alice tilted her head back and looked into the silvery, mocking eyes of Lucien Knight.

 

CHAPTER
THREE

Moments earlier, Lucien had been sauntering through the crowd, watching everything, his senses on full alert behind his air of nonchalance. He had a staff of five roguish young agents-in-training who assisted him in the operation. Four of them each worked a quadrant of the Grotto, while Talbert, the fifth, used his flair for showmanship and flummery to play their “priest.” Six ravishing courtesans were on Lucien’s payroll, as well, and each one knew her duty—to ply the foreign agents with wine, offer her favors, and seduce information out of them. Blending easily into the crowd, the lads and the girls alike would learn all they could and report back to him at the end of the night. For his part, Lucien strolled freely through the Grotto, overseeing everything and staying sharply attuned for any hint of information regarding his enemies.

A man, however, could not be all business. The unbridled sexuality all around him made his blood hot. He needed a woman, and soon. Not Caro—he had bored of her at some indefinable moment during the long carriage ride from
London to

Revell Court

. He had been considering one of his obedient new initiates—or both, perhaps—when he had noticed the girl.

She still had all her clothes on. That was the first thing that had snagged his attention. It didn’t seem quite right. With her hood hiding her face, it was impossible to tell who she was, yet somehow he instantly knew that she didn’t belong.

But that was impossible,
he thought. He knew everyone and everything that happened in the Grotto. His control was absolute. No mere chit could have breached his security.