“What did this Lennox character want with my mother?”
“He wished to give her a message from his grandmother in France.”
“And?”
“He was unsure if your mother would wish to hear from an old acquaintance who had suffered through the years of the revolution with her. He thought she might not wish to reawaken such harsh memories.”
Christian sat back. “Then he doesn't know my mother very well. She is the strongest woman I have ever metâapart from Elizabeth.” He paused. “Although she does not talk of those days very much.”
At Richard's puzzled look, Christian continued, “Her whole family was imprisoned in the Bastille. She watched them all being taken away to the guillotine.”
“How horrifying for her.”
“That's not the worst of it.” Christian held his gaze. “Her father sold her to the guards to save her life. I suspect she would have preferred to die with her loved ones.” He swallowed hard. “God knows how she survived such treatment, but she did.”
“Then perhaps she might not want to speak to Lennox after all.”
“I don't know. The only thing I can do is ask her. She is currently at Knowles House with Philip. I'll go and see her tonight.”
“If you think it wise.” Richard hesitated. “I hardly know Lennox. I'd hate to upset Helene over this.”
“You know her well enough to understand that my mother would rather make up her own mind than have any of us dare to make the decision for her. I'll ask her and she'll decide. Come and see me tomorrow and I'll give you her answer.”
Richard rose. “Thank you, Christian. I appreciate it.”
His half brother considered him, his head angled to one side. “If you hardly know Lennox, why are you even bothering yourself with him?”
Richard shrugged. “A favor for an old friend?”
Christian smiled. “Did I mention that I'd heard some rumors about you recently?”
“About me?”
“Yes, that perhaps your past was more exciting than we had been led to believe.”
Richard kept his expression benign. “Would you object if I brought Lennox and his twin brother to the pleasure house as guests?”
“Not at all. The more the merrier. Are you hoping to make Lennox more than just a passing acquaintance?”
“I don't bed men, Christian.”
“Is that so?” Christian stood and retreated behind his desk. “That's not quite what I've heard.”
Ignoring Christian's soft laughter, Richard forced himself not to respond and turned toward the door.
It was true that when in France, Richard had seduced anyone he'd been told to, but how would Christian have discovered that? Mentally Richard forced the issue to one side. As manager of the pleasure house, Christian was privy to a thousand indiscretions and secrets, and however he might tease Richard, he would never betray his confidences.
Richard contemplated his options. Should he meet up with Adam Fisher and Jack Lennox at the Sinners' Club or spend a quiet evening at home in his lodgings? He didn't want to be present when Christian spoke to Helene, so he intended to avoid the Knowles town house at all costs.
Christian's words about his dull existence echoed in his mind. An evening with a book in front of the fire suddenly seemed unappealing. He'd go home, change into his evening attire, and meet Adam and the mysterious Jack Lennox at the Sinners' Club.
Â
“Ambrose?”
Ambrose looked up from his newspaper to see his employer entering the kitchen, and went to stand. “Mr. Delornay.”
Christian waved him back to his seat and helped himself to the pot of coffee at Ambrose's elbow.
“I've just been talking to Richard, and he intends to bring a couple of guests with him to the pleasure houseâa Mr. Jack Lennox and his twin brother.”
“I met Mr. Lennox last night. He came in with Lord Keyes. He seemed quite amiable.”
“And his tastes?”
Ambrose regarded Christian carefully. “His sexual tastes?”
“Naturally, I don't care what the man eats.”
“He found the main floor too dull. I sent him to Marie-Claude on the second level. You will have to ask her how he fared up there.” Ambrose sipped his own coffee. “Why are you so interested in Mr. Lennox?”
Christian's smile was deceptively sweet. “Because Richard is.”
“You think your brother is enamored?”
“Don't look so surprised, Ambrose. You of all men know that a person's sexual tastes can be quite complicated.”
“But Mr. Ross is . . .”
“Not quite what he seems.” Christian lowered his voice.
“I've heard that my esteemed brother was involved in some extremely secret missions in France during the war.”
“And who told you that?”
“One of his companions blurted it out last week while I was watching him being fucked.”
“It seems rather unlikely.”
“That someone would share something like that with me, or that dear, safe, boring Richard could be involved in anything at all?” Christian put his cup down on the table. “It did occur to me that the information had been given to me deliberately, but then for what purpose? I have nothing to do with Richard's life.”
“Except that Richard wants you to allow the Lennox twins into the pleasure house. To be quite honest, in my experience, anyone who arrives with Lord Keyes is likely to be mixed up in something dangerous.”
“And Keyes is a friend of Richard's,” Christian said. “It might even be more complicated than that. Richard wants me to introduce Jack Lennox to my mother.”
“And at one time your mother was involved in a lot of dangerous activities in France.”
“She still is.” Christian groaned. “Which is why I'd like you to help me keep an eye on the Lennox brothers.”
“I'll do that.” Ambrose picked up his newspaper. “Is there anything else?”
“There is one more thing.” Christian hesitated. “Is Emily bothering you?”
Ambrose slowly lowered the paper and stared at Christian. “Of course not.”
“Are you sure? Because if she was
bothering
you, I could ask her not to come here.”
“It would seem unfair for her to be the only member of the family who is excluded from the pleasure house,” Ambrose said carefully.
“But as she cannot go upstairs, she spends her whole time in the kitchen with you.”
Ambrose met Christian's gaze. “And you'd rather she didn't? Am I not considered fit company for her?”
“That isn't what I meant and you know it. She is my half sister, but you are my best friend. I don't wish to see you hurt.”
“Why would I be hurt?”
“Because you care for her.”
A spark of anger ignited low in Ambrose's gut. “Certainly I care for her. I've known her for years. She is like part of my family.”
Christian reached across and patted his hand. “There is no need to be so defensive. I'm not trying to pry. I just want you to know that if you wish to talk about anything, I am more than willing to listen.”
Ambrose dropped his gaze to their hands, noticing the contrast between the whiteness of his employer's skin and the darkness of his own. “There is nothing to talk about. Your family has my complete loyalty. You know I would do nothing to disgrace you or yours.”
Christian sighed. “I never thought you would, but I'm here if you need me, and so is Elizabeth. She is very fond of you, you know.” After a final squeeze of Ambrose's hand, Christian stood up and left the kitchen, leaving Ambrose staring at the floor.
Was it really so obvious that he cared for Emily Ross? He'd tried so hard to suppress his feelings, to force them down, to treat her as he treated the rest of the Delornay-Ross family. Or was it that Emily's recent impatience with him had finally drawn the attention of her brothers? That was more likely the case. Emily had never been good at concealing her emotions.
Ambrose opened the newspaper and stared unseeingly at the print. She claimed that she loved him, and that she would never love another man. But how could he believe her? She was the daughter of a peer of the realm and he was . . . God, he didn't even know what or who he was. Only that he was so far below her that the idea of her actually returning his secret passion was ridiculous.
He closed the paper and began to fold it carefully into a neat square. Despite the confusion of his feelings, he didn't want Christian to stop Emily coming to the kitchen. He lived for the sight of her. He groaned. And how pitiful was that? He was pining like some love-struck swain from a bad play.
Ambrose looked up at the closed kitchen door. He would have to find a way to extricate himself from this situation without hurting Emily or losing his friendship with Christian. Unfortunately, he just couldn't think of a single way to do it without destroying somethingâprobably himself.
3
R
ichard paused at the door into the members' dining room and let his narrowed gaze travel across the assembled diners. The lighting was low and not helped by the dark wainscoting and thick curtains. He finally spotted Adam near the window and made his way through the closely packed tables to his friend's side.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Richard bowed. “May I join you?”
Jack Lennox looked up at him and smiled. “Mr. Ross! What a delightful surprise. Mr. Fisher said that you might drop by.”
Richard pulled out a chair and sat down. “Your brother hasn't accompanied you out this evening, Mr. Lennox?”
“Alas, Vincent is still suffering from the indignities of our sea voyage.” Jack winced. “He is not a good sailor.”
“I can only sympathize,” Adam replied. “I don't travel very well myself. Even the motion of a carriage makes me nauseous.”
Richard shuddered. “Yes, I remember that about you now, my friend. I hope never to have to travel in your company again.”
All the men laughed, and Jack poured Richard a glass of red wine that already stood open on the table. Richard realized he was beginning to wonder about the mythical twin brother no one had actually seen. The dinner menu at the club tended to be rather limited, but Richard didn't mind. He'd rather eat a good steak and kidney pie than some of the more fanciful creations his father's chef put on the table.
“May I ask how the Sinners' Club acquired such an interesting name?” Jack Lennox inquired as he finished his first glass of wine.
Richard and Adam exchanged glances; then Richard smiled. “I'm not quite sure. I believe it was Lord Keyes's father's idea. He was one of the founding members of the club, and Keyes is the current membership secretary.”
“I wonder if I would stand a chance of gaining membership?” Jack mused. “I have certainly sinned. How is membership decided?”
“On an individual basis by a committee, I believe,” Richard said. “You need two established members to put your name forward for consideration.”
Adam smiled at Richard. “I'm sure that if you wished to apply, we would be more than willing to support your application, Mr. Lennox.”
“That would be very kind of you.” Jack nodded to them both. “I will certainly consider it.”
The three of them sat back as the waiter delivered their food, and the succulent smell of roast beef and steak and kidney pudding rose from their plates.
“Ah.” Jack Lennox inhaled slowly. “I've missed this.”
“A plate of roast beef?” Richard inquired. “I thought the French believe English cuisine to be fit only for dogs.”
Jack Lennox met his gaze, a challenge flashing in his blue eyes. “But I
am
English, Mr. Ross.”
Richard refused to look away. “Oh, yes, that's right. I had quite forgotten.”
He returned his attention to his plate, listening to Adam talk about the weather and the appalling state of the roof on his father's country houseâinnocuous subjects that would lull most men into a false sense of security. Adam had always been good at that. His unremarkable features allowed him the ability to change his appearance at will and play any character. The mild-mannered English squire was, of course, his specialty, and he was playing that role to the hilt for Jack Lennox.
After their plates were removed, Adam stood and bowed. “Will you excuse me for a minute, gentlemen? I must speak to Lord Brookstone about the bill he is proposing to take before the House next month.”
Richard filled his glass with some of the excellent port that Keyes insisted be kept at the club, and eyed his fellow diner. Jack Lennox wore a dark blue coat that brought out the blue in his eyes, and a black waistcoat and trousers. Although his attire wasn't particularly fashionable, it fitted him like a glove. Briefly, Richard wondered who his tailor was.
“I assume you don't have an answer for me yet, Mr. Ross?” Richard raised his gaze from Jack Lennox's waistcoat to find Jack staring expectantly at him.
“Not yet, Mr. Lennox. These things take time.”
“I know that.” He sipped at his port. “I must say that the pleasure house proved worthy of its reputation.”
“I'm glad to hear it. I'll pass on your compliments to Mr. Delornay.”
“Who is your half brother, I understand.”
“That is correct.”
“You have the same father, Lord Philip Knowles.”
“Also correct.” Richard paused. “Have you been researching my family tree, Mr. Lennox? It certainly is an interesting one, but I cannot see why you bothered.”
Jack shrugged; the gesture far more French than English. “I am interested in you, Mr. Ross, and it pays to be careful.”
“And why do I interest you?”
“Because you seem quite different from the rest of your family; far moreâhow do you say it? Conventional.”
There it was again, the assumption that he was a boring, dull man. Richard sat forward. “All families have their black sheep, Mr. Lennox.”
“But you are whiter than white.”
“You don't know me well enough to make that assumption.”
His companion inclined his head a bare inch. “That is true, sir, but I doubt I am mistaken. I'm considered an excellent judge of character. Please excuse me while I visit the necessary.”
The smile he gave Richard was almost pitying. Richard watched him walk through to the back of the club and remained in his seat, fuming. Lennox didn't know him at all! No one in London did apart from a select few members of the Sinners' Club. How juvenile was it that Richard wanted to run after Jack Lennox and tell him just how dangerous and unconventional he really was? Something about the man unsettled him. Richard wasn't sure if it was his resemblance to Violet or his brazen effrontery.
He realized that he needed to use the necessary himself and followed Jack Lennox's path to the facilities at the back of the house. There was no sign of his dining companion as he completed his business, readjusted his clothing, and turned back toward the comforting low hum of conversation in the dining room.
Just as he reached the end of the quiet corridor that connected to the deserted hallway, someone stepped in front of him.
“Did you come after me to prove a point, Mr. Ross?” Jack Lennox inquired.
“No, I came to take a piss.” Richard glared at his nemesis. “I have nothing to prove to you.” He tried to push past, but for a slender shorter man, Jack Lennox held his ground pretty well.
“Are you sure about that? You seem a little angry.” Richard shoved Lennox back against the wall and held him there with one arm across his throat.
“I'm not angry, Lennox.” He deliberately licked his lips. “What is it you really want from me? Are you that desperate for a man that you think to goad me into touching you?”
Lennox slowly exhaled. “As it seems to have worked, then yes.”
Richard simply stared into the other man's eyes as a forbidden lick of pure lust flowered in his loins. He wanted to slide his hand between their two bodies and see if Lennox spoke the truth, if he was aroused, or even half-aroused, as Richard knew his own cock already was.
“I don't let men fuck me.”
“Ever?”
A few salacious memories danced behind Richard's eyes and he struggled to concentrate. On occasion, Violet had liked having more than one man in her bed, and it had seemed a shame to waste the opportunity to explore another facet of his sexuality.
Jack groaned and Richard realized that he had slowly allowed his whole body to rest against Jack's. There was no doubt that Jack was aroused. Richard could feel the heat of his cock pulsing through the fabric of his trousers.
Without releasing his grip on Jack's throat, Richard carefully brought his mouth down toward the other man's. He reveled in hearing the hitch in Jack's breathing and inhaled the heady scent of the port they'd both shared. He flicked out his tongue and traced the seam of Jack's lips. The kick of Jack's cock against his was unexpectedly stimulating. He forced himself to step back.
“Good night, Mr. Lennox.”
Jack opened his eyes wide. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Ross?”
“I haven't finished my dinner yet.”
“I'm sure I could satisfy any appetite you have.”
Richard smiled. “I'm sure you could, but perhaps I prefer something less invigorating. I wouldn't want to upset my delicate digestion.”
To his surprise, Jack Lennox grinned at him. “You prefer one of your oh-so-dull English puddings, perhaps?”
Richard found himself smiling back. There was something about the way Jack Lennox took rejection that impressed him. “Indeed. Will you join me? Adam will be wondering if we have deserted him.”
As he followed Jack back to the dining room, Richard heard a slight noise behind him. When he looked back over his shoulder, he saw Lord Keyes standing in the doorway of his office, his expression amused. Richard kept walking. He had no intention of adding to Keyes's enjoyment by acknowledging him or asking the other man exactly what he had seen.
Â
Emily read the letter again and still couldn't make much sense of it. Why would an old employee of the family wish to speak to her and not to her father? The note also suggested that their meeting should be private as it concerned her late mother. Emily paused to consider the badly written signature scrawled at the bottom of the letter and squinted hard at it.
“Oh my.”
She held the letter closer to the light and read it again. “Thomas Smith, Esquire.” Gentleman? If it was the man she was thinking of, he certainly hadn't styled himself that way before. In truth, he'd been a gardener at her parents' country estate. She tried to picture him but could only remember a dark-haired, thickset man with a strong country accent.
She shivered and put the letter down. Should she meet him? What could he possibly have to say to her that he didn't wish her father to hear? Her father never spoke of her mother, and she'd learned long ago not to ask questions. She sighed. Curiosity had always been her besetting sin, but she wasn't quite stupid enough to agree to meet the man without someone accompanying her.
Would her maid be enough protection? In her mind, Thomas Smith had always seemed rather large and threatening, but she had just been a child. Emily folded the letter and put it in her reticule. Perhaps she could ask Seamus Kelly from the pleasure house to accompany her, or maybe Ambrose would come.
Ambrose was avoiding her, and it was all her own fault. She'd tried to push him into a declaration of love, and like most men, he'd retreated in the opposite direction with all the speed and desperation of a runaway horse. Perhaps by asking for his help with the mysterious letter writer, she could put things right between them again.
She rose to her feet and headed for the door. Helene and her father had retired to his study to speak to Christian, who had arrived unexpectedly just after dinner. It would be a simple matter for her to slip out of the house and go and find Ambroseâif he wanted to be found.
She hated the fact that she was even second-guessing herself in this manner. Where had her courage gone? She'd always loved visiting the pleasure house, sitting with Ambrose in the kitchen, watching as he managed the staff with such calm competency. She couldn't remember when her shy admiration for him had turned to love. She refused to let
anyone
, even Ambrose, tell her that she was mistaken in her own feelings.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she paused. There was no one in the hallway or the drawing room and the light still shone under the door of her father's study. It was easy enough for Emily to find her maid and escape through the back entrance of the house. She reckoned she could return before her parents even noticed she had gone. Helene's other less respectable residence was not that far away, and Emily was used to walking there.
As she walked, she considered what she would say to Ambrose, how she would present him with a smiling face and calm demeanor to rival his own. He would have no cause to describe her as a spoiled child denied a special treat ever again.
With that thought firmly in mind, she descended into the basement of the pleasure house, her maid trailing uncomplainingly behind her. To her delight, Ambrose was sitting at the kitchen table eating his dinner and reading from a book propped up against a tankard of ale. Before he noticed her, she had the opportunity to study his graceful figure, the quiet strength of his features, and the sense of calm that always surrounded him. How could she not think him beautiful?
“Miss Ross.” He stood up hastily, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I wasn't expecting you this evening.”
She forced a smile. “Please don't mind me. Carry on with your dinner. I'll just sit quietly until you are ready to talk to me.”