The Naked Viscount (21 page)

“What a well-behaved pet you have, sir. When you tire of her, let me know, hmm? I'll be happy to take her.” Lord Griffin's voice was disgustingly unctuous and male. She'd like to kick the toad in a very sensitive location—wearing spurs. It would be a cold day in hell before she had anything to do with him.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Did Edmund's words have a slight glaze of ice? Good.

They moved away, into a small room that held a large punch bowl and not much else. At the moment, it was deserted.

“That man is a pig,” Jane hissed. “A revolting, odious, repulsive, repugnant worm.”

A corner of Edmund's mouth turned up. He did have a very nice mouth. The mask rather emphasized his lips. “I guess you don't like him.”

“Of course I don't like him. How dare he talk that way about me?”

Edmund pulled her a little closer as a man dressed in flowing robes and a turban, leading a woman by a gold leash, passed through. The woman's clothes were so gauzy Jane could see the freckle on her oversized arse.

“He didn't know who you were,” Edmund whispered. “He thought you were a whore.”

She glared at him. “He shouldn't talk that way about any female. And he had a woman standing right next to him. Did he think she was deaf? I can't imagine she was flattered to have that oaf make salacious insinuations about me.”

“She
is
a whore, Jane. This is all a business arrangement to her. As long as she gets paid, she doesn't care what Griffin does. If he's busy with someone else, she earns her fee for less work.”

She wasn't an idiot; she knew the woman was a whore, and she knew whores got paid to do certain things with gentlemen. But now that she'd done those things—or at least some of those things—herself, her understanding had changed. “So she gets paid for doing what I did last night?”

He stiffened, and his mouth turned sharply down. “No. It is not the same at all.” Another couple passed through the room. “And this is not the place for this conversation.”

“How is it different?” Jane looked at him. He could be anyone with that mask on. She looked away. “Have you been with whores?”

“I am not a monk”—he snorted—“notwithstanding my current garb, but what a man does with a whore…” He shrugged. “The physical act may look the same, but it isn't—just as the man we saw outside looked like a woman, but wasn't. Now can we please concentrate on the problem at hand? If we linger here any longer, we will cause talk.”

Two couples came in together then and stopped by the punch bowl. They were laughing—and staring at Edmund and Jane.

Edmund grinned and whispered, “We'd better give them something to see.”

“What do you—oh.”

He caught her chin with his free hand and tipped it up. Then his mouth covered hers, his tongue slipping past her lips to plunge deep. She couldn't help it—she sagged against him. His hand left her chin to slide down her back and grasp her bottom, bringing her tight against him.

“Huzzah! Have another cup of punch, Albert, ladies, and let's watch the show.” That was a man's voice.

Jane stiffened. He was talking about her and Edmund, of course.

A woman with the rough accents of the street laughed. “Do ye suppose they'll take the robes off?”

“It would certainly improve the entertainment, wouldn't it, Betty…Bessy…oh, hell.”

“Just call her Breasty, Rafe. That's why you chose her, ain't it?”

Edmund put his tongue back in his own mouth and whispered, “Remember, we are acting a part tonight. Just keep your head down and don't speak.”

“All right.” She couldn't resist a quick glance to see who the idiots were—Sir Raphael Flindon and Mr. Albert Isley. In normal company, they were rather bland. Sir Raphael was thin and spotty and had a marked tendency to swallow his words; Mr. Isley was portly and chinless. Here they were dressed rather spectacularly in matching red velvet tunics and green tights. The “ladies” wore Grecian style draperies that ended at their knees—and silver sashes tied around their waists and their escorts' wrists.

Sir Raphael grinned at Edmund and Jane. “Have some punch, Brother Mystery—and here's a glass for your lady.” He sniggered. “If that is a lady in there. Rather hard to tell; would have thought a different costume would've been much more, er, decorative.”

“How about you give us a peek, sir?” Mr. Isley said, reaching toward Jane. She stepped quickly behind Edmund. She did not want to be touched by the disgusting snake—and she certainly didn't want her identity revealed.

“My apologies, but the lady is very shy—and I'm extremely possessive.” Edmund smiled, but there was a clear threat in his tone and stance. Mr. Isley and Sir Raphael stepped back.

“All right, then.” Mr. Isley cleared his throat. “No offense meant, of course. Merely trying to be pleasant. Do as you will.” He cleared his throat again. “Believe we'll go see what's what in Bacchus's temple. What do you say, Rafe?”

“Splendid. Excellent idea. Come along, girls.” He shot Edmund a wary look as he and the others left the room.

Edmund sniffed his drink, took a sip—and put both glasses back on the table. “I think we'll skip the punch. It's mostly gin.” He put his right hand over Jane's where it rested on his arm. “Let's start searching for that statue.”

They stepped into a room with wine-colored wallpaper and a wine-colored carpet—obviously the temple of Bacchus. A statue of the god graced a fountain in the center of the chamber, pouring wine from a large jug to fill a pool at his feet. A riotous crowd held their glasses under the stream or dipped them in the basin. Sir Raphael, Mr. Isley, and their female companions had apparently finished their punch and were now enjoying the fountain.

As Jane watched, one gentleman in a toga leaned over backward to catch the wine flowing from Bacchus's jug in his mouth. His companions hooted with laughter, and then pushed him. He landed with a splash.

“Damn it, Clarden!” The man shook his head like a wet dog, spattering wine everywhere. “I borrowed this bloody toga from Genland. He's going to have my arse.”

“Genland's wanted your arse for years, Dattling.”

Everyone laughed but Dattling, who roared, scrambled out of the fountain, and flung himself at Clarden. The two crashed to the floor and started hitting each other as the spectators took bets on who would be the victor.

Jane flinched at the sound of fist meeting flesh. “Shouldn't someone stop them from hurting each other?”

Edmund shrugged. “They're too drunk to do much damage. They'll forget why they're fighting in a moment and be best of friends again.”

Just then Dattling hauled Clarden up and threw him into the fountain. Clarden whipped around, grabbed Dattling, and pulled him in after him. One of the women laughed and jumped in to join them—naked except for the red leash around her wrist.

The crowd cheered and more people shed their costumes to wallow in the wine.

“I'm suddenly not at all thirsty, are you?”

Jane looked at the bodies splashing in the fountain. “No, I can't say that I am.”

“Let's look for Pan here while everyone is otherwise engaged.”

They strolled the room's perimeter, being certain to stay outside the range of wine drops, but, besides a sad little ficus tree, they found nothing.

“Blast. I was hoping we'd find the statue immediately and leave before the gathering got much more out of control.” The fountain frolickers were now spitting mouthfuls of wine at each other.

“Perhaps things are more sedate in the other rooms.”

Edmund gave her a long look. “You're kidding, right? The farther in one goes, the worse it becomes, if this is like any other gathering of its ilk.”

“And you've been to many of these gatherings?”

“Not when I could avoid them. Come along.”

The strains of a waltz enveloped them as they crossed the threshold into the next room. An orchestra played at the far end and couples crowded the dance floor, but what they were doing…the Almack patronesses would have a collective apoplexy if they witnessed this ballroom behavior. A few were waltzing, but their bodies were pressed so tightly together it was amazing they didn't trip over each other. Most ignored the music altogether. Two women—not Lady Lenden and Lady Tarkington, surely?—were kissing each other while a knot of men encouraged them, and off to their right, two men and two women were—Jane couldn't quite figure out what they were doing, but whatever it was, they were all pressed very closely together.

She glanced at Edmund. Was he titillated by what he saw? She couldn't tell. His hood and his mask hid his expression.

“Coming through.” A man with his shirttail hanging out and his fall partly unbuttoned dragged a woman with rouged nipples past them. They disappeared behind a red velvet curtain just a few steps to Jane's right.

“Where do you suppose that leads?” she asked.

“It's probably just an alcove. I imagine Griffin has a number of secluded places for men who have difficulty—” Edmund stopped and cleared his throat. “Who prefer privacy for amorous matters.”

“Oh.” She looked at the curtain again. “Do you suppose Pan might be back there?”

“It's possible. We'll look in a moment.”

There were increasingly enthusiastic grunts and groans emanating from the alcove.

“Perhaps we should wait somewhere else.”

“Oh, no—that's Paddington. He'll be done in just a second.” Edmund cleared his throat again. “He's known to be rather quick about these things.”

“How do you—”

“Ah!”
A roar erupted from behind the curtain.

“Quick and loud.” Edmund's voice sounded tight.

Jane put her hand on his arm. “Are you all—”

The curtain billowed, and Paddington emerged with his companion. “You've got quite the nimble tongue, you know,” he said. “I—” He looked over and saw them standing there. He grinned and jerked his head toward the alcove, his hands being busy with his shirttail and fall. “It's all yours. Do enjoy yourselves.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A little warm-up before the ceremony, eh?”

“Quite.” Edmund nodded and swept Jane behind the curtain. He would like to enjoy himself. Hell, watching everyone else, listening to that fool, Paddington—his cock throbbed and his bollocks felt like rocks.

“What did he mean about ‘the ceremony'?” Jane asked.

“I don't know.” But he had a bad feeling about it. He'd wondered why Bantle had snickered when he'd given him the robes. He took a deep breath. He needed to think with his brain, not his cock.

But the deep breath had brought Jane's scent into his lungs. It was shadowy in the alcove; private. Surely he could take a moment for a brief kiss.

He touched his lips to hers. She made a small sound and put a hand on his chest. He wrapped his arms around—

“Eep.” She twisted as her arm moved with his.

“Sorry.” He brought his hands back to his sides. There were definite disadvantages to being chained together. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped back and stopped abruptly. “Something's poking into my, er, hip.” She looked behind her. “It's Pan!”

“It is? Let's see.” He moved next to Jane. Yes, it was indeed one of Clarence's lascivious statues. Thank God! They could get the last puzzle piece and get out of here before this ceremony, whatever it was, occurred. He felt quite certain they did not want to be present for that event.

“You'll have to twist Pan's penis,” Jane said. “I'm right-handed.”

Another disadvantage to being handcuffed. Well, they'd be done with that very shortly. He grabbed the god's member, twisted it, reached inside, and…Damn.

“There's nothing here.”

“What do you mean there's nothing there? There has to be something there.” Jane snatched the penis from Edmund and peered inside. “Maybe your fingers are just too thick.” She raised her right hand to probe the member's interior and dragged the chain and Edmund's left hand up with it. “Oh, bother. Here, you hold it.”

Edmund took the penis back, and she stuck her fingers into it. Blast, Edmund was right. There was nothing there. Perhaps the paper had been left behind in Pan's body. She knelt down and looked there, too, fishing around in the cavity as far as she could reach. “I suppose it could have fallen farther in. The whole statue is hollow.”

“If it has, the only way to get it out is to break the god open.”

“Hmm.” It would make a bit of noise, but the orchestra, not to mention the guests, were loud, and in any event they needed that last piece of the sketch. Doing nothing was not an option.

She gave Pan a trial shove to see how easy it would be to upend him. It was very easy, perhaps because the god was unbalanced, having parted company with his manly member. Her tentative push sent him toppling backward. He shattered on the marble floor the second after the orchestra played its last note. The sound was startlingly loud.

“Oops.”

Edmund sighed. “Never mind, it can't be helped now. Do you see the paper?”

Jane looked carefully over the floor. Lord Griffin had equipped the alcove with a wall sconce, but some of the shattered Pan had slid beyond the circle of candlelight. There wasn't room in the alcove to push past the now-empty pedestal, especially with her right hand chained to Edmund. “No, but maybe it's in the shadows.” She needed some way to extend her reach. If only she had a pole or…“Here, give me the penis.”

Edmund handed her the lonely member and she used it to push the bits of plaster around. “I don't see anything, do you?” She looked up at him. “Could someone have got to this Pan before us?”

Edmund frowned. “I don't think so. How would they have known where to look? I don't believe we left them any clues.”

She tried to brush her robe off with her left hand. “The first Pan was shattered and the second we put back the way it was, but the third one…Do you suppose someone found its incomplete body in the Harley Street gallery closet?”

“Doubtful, though I suppose it's possible.” Edmund straightened her hood and tugged it down so it concealed more of her face. “Still, I don't see how they would realize its significance. There was a lot of rubbish in that closet. Why focus on a broken Pan?”

“True.” But the sketch was missing…or was it? Perhaps it had never been here. “Clarence drew a group of Pans in the clue, and Mama said he'd made a lot of them.”

“Hmm.” Edmund looked back at the mess on the floor. “So you think this is the wrong Pan?”

“I think it must be.” She certainly hoped it was. “We need to keep looking.”

Edmund's mouth drew into a tight, thin line. “I'd hoped we were done.”

“Well, we're not. Come on.” She pushed the curtain aside and stepped out of the alcove—right into Mr. Paddington's obnoxiously knowing gaze.

“Got a little carried away, did you?”

Thanks to the robe and mask, her blushes were invisible. Edmund didn't dignify Paddington's observation with a reply, but took her arm and headed for the next room.

“I'd be happy to take a turn when he's done with you, mistress,” Paddington yelled after them. “I'm as lusty a man as you'll find.”

“Lusty?” the woman with him said. “Aye. Lusty and hasty.”

The people standing around them erupted into laughter.

“What are you complaining about?” Paddington said. “You don't have to wait, do you?”

The woman snorted. “Ye nodcock, I'm
still
waiting.”

Motton wanted to go back and shove Paddington's teeth down his throat, but he couldn't allow himself that luxury. One would think the ridicule the coxcomb was being forced to swallow would prove almost as indigestible, but the man was such a blockhead, he probably didn't comprehend the insults.

He guided Jane into the next room and stopped. Oh, Lord, this was the orgy room. Couples were engaged in various forms of sexual congress on the many chaise longues scattered throughout the chamber. A quick glance didn't reveal any especially peculiar practices, but the night was still young.

“No one will make us do that, will they?” Jane asked in a small voice. She stepped closer so she was almost pressed against him.

“No.” Though could he swear to that? “We'll leave. There must be another way to find the missing paper.”

Jane shook her head, but her voice sounded less certain. “N—no. We need to—”

“Oh, good, there you are.” A portly, balding man in a robe and mask like theirs grabbed their elbows. “I heard we had two initiates here tonight, but I haven't had time to find you.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Ate something that didn't agree with me, don't you know. Been just about glued to the jakes. Most inconvenient to be in the convenience so much.” He let go of Jane to cover his mouth. A nasty smelling belch emerged…unless the source of the miasma was the orifice at the other end of his person. “Best get you settled now, before I have to run out again. Come along.”

He didn't give them an opportunity to decline, but hustled them through a door, up a flight of stairs, and around a corner. He stopped at a set of double doors. “Here you go. You may as well wait in the ceremonial chamber—that way I won't have to go looking for you when it's time.”

“When will it be time?” Motton asked. Best to know how long they had before they needed to flee.

“At midnight, of course.” The man hauled his watch out of his pocket. “Which would be in about twenty minutes.” He pulled the doors open. “Just don't forget to—” He slapped his hand over his mouth again and his face assumed a distinctly green cast. He gave them a frantic wave and bolted.

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Poor man.” She frowned and glanced at Edmund. “I wonder what we weren't supposed to forget to do?”

“I have no idea.” He turned to survey the ceremonial chamber. “Ah!” He blinked. “I have some good news and some bad news.” His voice sounded slightly strangled.

“What?” Jane finally turned as well. “Oh!”

The room was designed like an amphitheater, seats rising to their right and descending to their left. At the bottom was a small stage, and on the stage sat the casket from Clarence's drawing.

But that was not the only notable thing about the chamber—not at all. There were at least a hundred, probably more, randy Pans on display. They were everywhere—marching along the walls on both sides of the room, standing guard at the doors, crowding around the stage. “No wonder Cleopatra thought Clarence had become obsessed,” Jane said. “How will we ever find the right one?”

Edmund was fishing in his pocket. “We can just smash them all. We've got twenty minutes.” He pulled out the key to the handcuffs, and then checked his watch. “Fifteen to be safe. I want to be out of here before anyone else arrives.” He freed Jane's wrist. “You take that side of the room, and I'll take this.”

“No, wait.” She put a hand on his arm as he unlocked the cuffs from his wrist. “If we do that, they'll know we were here.”

“They'll know we were here anyway. Our digestively challenged guide will tell them.”

“Not if he's still in the”—Jane blushed and waved her hand vaguely—“you know, when the ceremony begins.”

“Perhaps, but we still need the sketch and we don't have time to carefully unscrew and rescrew all these damn penises.”

“We don't have time to search through the debris breaking them will produce, either.”

Edmund blew out a short, annoyed-sounding breath. “So what do you suggest?”

“I'm thinking.”

Edmund rolled his eyes, and then consulted his watch again. “Think fast. You've got about three minutes while I check to see if there's another exit to this room.” He hefted the handcuffs. “Then I'm going to start an extreme form of castration.” He strode across the room to a smaller, single door half hidden by a phalanx of Pans.

Jane rubbed her forehead. She had to ignore the mental ticking of Edmund's watch, marking off the seconds until he started separating the gods from their jolly genitals.

Clarence had been so careful in his other clues to provide a clear way to find the next Pan—he'd drawn the
Magnolia grandiflora
so they could locate the statue in Lord Palmerson's garden, and then he'd included Cleopatra's painting to point them toward the Harley Street gallery. He must have given them a way to find the right Pan in this instance as well. He knew the room was full of the gods—he'd sketched a crowd of them.

He'd also included that casket on the stage. He must have had a reason to do so. She would begin there. She started down the incline.

Edmund stepped back into the room. “One minute before I start swinging this chain.”

“Then spend that minute helping me.” She walked around the casket, running her hand along its sides. There were no griffins or Saturns—Clarence must have added those for the sketch.

Edmund grumbled, but joined her on the stage. “Half a minute now.”

“Oh, do be quiet.” Clarence had fabricated the markings on the side of the casket, but he wouldn't have invented everything, would he? What would have been the point of that? He wanted them to find the rest of the sketch.

Mama often droned on about seeing like an artist—choosing a subject, studying it, noticing all its details, how the light played over its surface…

She paused and looked out over the rows of seats. Clarence had painted the view from one side of the casket, but this wasn't it. This was the view of the participants. The audience would see something else.

There was only one other choice.

She turned around. A group of Pans stared at her. One of them was smiling.

“Time's up,” Edmund said. “Let's go.” He swung the chain as if to get a feel for it. “We'll start with these—”

Jane grabbed his arm. “Wait. I know where the sketch is.”

“You do?”

“I think I do.” She grabbed the smiling Pan's penis and unscrewed it.
Dear God, please let the sketch be here.
If it wasn't, she'd have to give up and help Edmund break open as many gods as they could. She lifted the massive member free.

“That's it!” Edmund plucked a scrap of paper out of the penis and put it in his pocket. “Well done. Now let's put this organ back and get out of here before—damn.”

Jane had heard the door open, too. Edmund's hands immediately joined hers on Pan's penis, helping her finish screwing it in place, but making it look as if he were showing her how to stroke a man's member—
his
member.

“Like this, mon amour.” He was using his high, thin, faintly French voice again. “From the base to the tip, firmly—ah!” He turned, making a show of being surprised. She looked as well—it was their earlier guide, back from the convenience. “Yes? What is it, monsieur?”

“Getting the lady ready, are you? Good, good. I'll be sure to be first in line—after you, of course.” He covered his mouth and belched. “Ahem. Assuming I don't have to run off.”

First in line?
Did he mean…? Jane's stomach lurched.
She
would have to run off to the convenience in just a moment.

“Of course.” Edmund consulted his watch. “But it's not yet time, is it?”

“Oh, no. You've got five minutes at least. I just wanted to remind you, because, what with all my, er, issues, I think I forgot to tell you that you can put your clothes in the bin behind the stage.”

“Ah. The bin.” Edmund nodded calmly as if he knew exactly what the man was talking about and wasn't disturbed about it in the slightest. Jane clenched her fists and breathed through her nose. She was
not
going to swoon. At least, she hoped she wasn't, but the thought of shedding her clothes and doing something that might involve this unpleasant, ill gentleman and penises…She bit her lip to keep her moan from escaping.

“Yes. You'll see it if you just look behind that statue there.” The man grinned. “Unless you've already come naked under those robes? Some do, but it's a bit cold out, especially for the ladies.” He nodded at Jane. “Don't worry—if you've brought any finery, you'll get it back later.”

Jane looked up at Edmund. Could he tell how desperate she felt?

“Bon. The lady, she must get ready.” Edmund gestured toward the door. “If you would be so kind?”

The man laughed. “Of course. They're all shy at first, but once they get a swallow or two of the devil's brew, there's no stopping them, eh?” The man headed for the door. “Don't dally, though.” He looked at his watch again. “The servants will be bringing in the brew any moment now.”

“Ah. We will hurry, then. Thank you.”

The man closed the door behind him, and Edmund grabbed Jane's hand. There was no way in hell he was going to let her get caught in this obscene situation. “Come on. That door leads to some servants' stairs and from there to an alley. We should be able to find Jem and the coach quickly and be free of this place.”

Jane picked up her hem in her other hand and hurried to keep pace with him. “Do you think we'll run into the men bringing up the drink?” He could hear the tension in her voice.

“I hope not, but if we do, they'll probably be burdened with jugs or casks. We should be able to slip by them easily.” He paused before opening the door. “If there is any need to fight, stay out of the way. If you must, use the knife I gave you.”

Jane nodded. Good. He hoped she would be sensible. He opened the door and ushered her through it.