Chapter Four
The crush of silk and lace made Julius’s temples throb. He hated balls. Hated being swallowed up in a crowd. Cut off from easy access to the exits. They were stifling affairs, tedious, and, in general, a waste of his time. This one, a birthday celebration for Lord Wicking’s wife, was no exception.
But this ball he couldn’t avoid. Liverpool had sent for him and when the prime minister requested his presence, he had no choice but to attend.
Two girls barely out of their leading strings strolled past, whispering like mad. One shot a coy glance over her shoulder, and Julius huffed. Not bloody likely. What could a chit fresh from her debut know of the world that could interest him? Sheltered, smug, sanctimonious, the lot of them.
Besides, words weren’t what he wanted from a woman and conversation was all that society girls had to offer. His body still burned from holding Amanda, and he needed a woman to release the tension. After this meeting, it was time to pay a visit to his favorite club. The one that didn’t tolerate artifice but only sought to provide pleasure. The doxies who worked at The Black Rose understood the harsher realities of life. It wasn’t pretty, and Julius wished that no woman had knowledge of its cruelties. But at least he had something in common with those women. An understanding that parties and afternoon teas were of no consequence.
Amanda understood that.
Julius grabbed another drink and downed the punch in one swallow. He tugged at his collar. There wasn’t nearly enough alcohol in the drink.
Because of her imprisonment, Amanda would understand him better than most. Understand him in a way that not even his closest friends could.
It was also the one reason why he could never have her. Not as he wanted. A person wouldn’t consent to being tied up, not if her freedom had previously been stripped.
He remembered the feel of the strings of her stays that morning. The pleasure in lacing her tight. Binding her in such a small way. An itch developed between his shoulder blades just thinking of it.
The band struck up a waltz, and a girl was shoved into his path by her mama. Julius neatly sidestepped the coquette and continued his circuitous route around the room. Liverpool stood with a group of men, laughing uproariously. Catching his eye, Julius nodded and headed out of the ballroom, finding an unoccupied study that he claimed for his own. He opened the window and dragged a chair near it to enjoy the fresh air as he waited.
He didn’t wait long.
Liverpool shut the door soundly behind him. “Glad you could make it.”
Julius nodded. It wasn’t as though he’d had a choice.
The prime minister strode to the desk and plucked a cigar from a humidor like he owned the place. He walked over to a candelabra on the sideboard and lit up. “I wanted to speak with you about Ashworth.”
“Oh?” Julius crossed one leg over the other. “Has another painting come to light?”
Liverpool settled in behind the desk. “No, thank God. Although the original painting will be discovered tomorrow in Gentleman Jack’s hanging over the ring. A harmless prank by one of the boys who caught sight of the mark in the back rooms of that establishment. That should take away the blackmailer’s leverage.”
“His embarrassment will be well-deserved.” Julius looked out to the dark night sky. The stars were faded, their lights dimmed from smoke. “Then what seems to be the problem?”
Liverpool puffed on the cigar, his cheeks hollowing. “Mrs. Westmont has disappeared.”
Julius dug his fingers into the armrests. Liverpool had been known to make people disappear. But if that were the case, there would be no need to display Ashworth’s painting. And if Liverpool were behind the disappearance, it wasn’t something he would likely discuss with Julius.
“When?” he asked.
“Between midnight and three this morning.”
Julius raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very defined timeframe.”
Liverpool shrugged. “The men I had on her made their rounds every three hours. They saw her in her bed at midnight. She was gone when they came by for their next sweep. Along with her housekeeper, butler, and groom.”
“Did she fear prosecution? Retribution?” A blackmailer played a dangerous game. She would have been wise to take precautions.
“Perhaps.” Liverpool eyed him through a haze of smoke. “Or perhaps she returned to her employers.”
Julius considered the man. Was he suggesting a blackmailing ring? “Have other gentlemen been extorted?”
“Yes.” Liverpool lifted the lid on an inkwell and tapped the cigar’s ashes into the bowl. “But that’s not unusual in itself. People will always seek to control powerful men. But a pattern seems to have developed over the past year. Certain members of the House of Lords have changed their votes most unexpectedly. I believe there is more to it than a group of people seeking to line their pockets. They’re looking to control the government.”
Julius rose and paced the room. “A crime ring with the intent to infiltrate the House of Lords?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ambitious.”
Liverpool sucked in another lungful of smoke and blew out a line of rings. “Yes,” he agreed. “Since the Treaty of Paris has been signed, I don’t believe the threat comes from across the channel. I think it internal.”
Placing his hands on the back of the settee, Julius leaned forward. “You wish me to investigate?”
Liverpool rose and tossed the cigar out the window. “I need you to find Mrs. Westmont. You are my retrieval expert, after all. And when you find her, find out who she works for. The security of England depends upon it.”
Not too grave a task then. Julius pressed his lips tight. “I’ll look into it.”
“Good.” Liverpool held out his hand, and Julius grasped it.
“I might need help,” Julius warned.
“Yes, I assumed you’d pull in your friends for aid.” The man strolled to the door. “But keep this quiet. No one other than the men who have already worked for the Crown. And Rothchild?”
Liverpool stared at him, his hand on the door’s latch. “It wouldn’t do to have my investigator succumb to blackmail. You’d do well to avoid your more unsavory haunts.”
Julius kept his face impassive. It wasn’t a heavily-guarded secret that he was a member of The Black Rose. Nor that he liked practicing his ropework on the women there. He wasn’t ashamed of his proclivities. And he damn sure wasn’t going to be told where he could or could not visit. “The unsavory haunts might be just the places I need to go in order to uncover a ring of blackmailers.”
“Indeed.” Liverpool drummed his fingers over the top of the brass door handle, his gaze never wavering. After several seconds, he nodded. “If you get caught up in it, the disgrace will be your own. The government won’t be taken down with you.”
“I never thought otherwise.”
Julius let the other man exit before following him out. Collecting his greatcoat, he strode from the home.
He stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the night sky, breathing deeply. The tension in his shoulders eased as it always did when he escaped into the fresh air, but that crawling feeling, like ants skittering over his skin, remained. A feeling that was only relieved in one way.
It had been over two months since he’d enjoyed the pleasures The Black Rose had to offer. Over two months since a cable of hemp had slid through his fingers. There had been only one woman he’d fantasized binding of late. One face he’d visualized in the dead of night as he took himself in hand. But Amanda would detest a rope prison as much as he. She could never partner in his rope play. His fantasies would remain in his head.
But, by God’s teeth, he could imagine the thick rope crossing Amanda’s creamy skin. The positions he could restrain her in, making her open, wanting. His cock thickened, and Julius pressed on his silk pantaloons.
Damn, tight pants. Another reason to dislike the necessity of attending balls.
He should focus on the task at hand, not the woman he would be a right bastard if he bedded. He had his work cut out for him. He and his friends were trained as spies, not investigators, two different skill-sets. And with Marcus gone, their group of five was down a man.
He needed to clear his head if he was going to find the Widow Westmont. Needed to remove Miss Wilcox from his mind for good. Replace the fantasy of her with the reality of a willing woman.
The Black Rose awaited, along with the room he considered a second home. Thick beams, strong enough to hold a person’s weight. Lengths of rope hanging on the walls. And the accommodating proprietress, Madame Sable, who was always happy to find him an eager partner.
Climbing into his carriage, he directed the driver to Edward Street. His heart wasn’t in it, but the sooner he enjoyed another woman, the sooner he could rid himself of thoughts of his friend’s sister-in-law. Laying his head on the seat back, he watched London roll by through the open window.
The carriage stopped in a tidy street where well-painted signs hung over businesses’ doors and cheerful planter boxes lined the windows. If the residents knew of the Venus club nestled within their street, they ignored it.
Julius climbed the steps with as much eagerness as if going to see his tailor for a five-hour fitting. He handed his greatcoat and hat to the footman and entered the sitting room. Decorated in rich reds and golds, the room dazzled beneath the crystal chandelier. Julius blinked and looked for the owner. Madame Sable usually held court in this room, accepting praise and presents from the grateful members.
Tonight, she was nowhere to be seen. Of course. Julius slapped his palm against his thigh. That would be his luck.
One of the club’s girls, and a regular partner for Julius, stepped close and slid her hand up his arm. “Bonsoir, mon chou. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that handsome face.”
He forced a smile. “Lucy. I hope you’ve been well?”
She shrugged, her gown slipping off her shoulder. “I’ve been lonely, with no one to amuse me.”
A pretty request if he’d ever heard one. “Care to join me in the Amethyst room?”
Lucy bounced on her toes. “I thought you’d never ask.” She linked her arm through his and drew him through the sitting room and down the back hall.
His usual room was empty. It was larger than most of the other chambers and had high ceilings, the only things that made it tolerable when the door closed behind him. That, and the ropes lining the walls, available for his use.
Lucy slipped out of her gown, wearing nothing underneath. She was an attractive woman, plump in all the right places, with a tapered waist and long legs.
Julius felt nothing.
“Which rope would you prefer?” he asked.
She pointed to a thick braid with a rougher fiber.
Julius took it off the wall and uncoiled its length. He didn’t usually like the jute. It caused more pain than the hemp or cotton ones. And was nothing like the silk ropes he kept with him at home. But Lucy had tried them all and she liked the bite of pain. He nodded towards the center of the room, ignoring the big bed in the corner. A bed was too soft to match his mood.
Lucy stood under a ceiling beam and positioned her arms behind her in a pose they’d used many times. With more speed than artistry, Julius wove the rope around her wrists and arms. He waited for the familiar prickle. The one that dug under his skin and sent blood pounding to his cock whenever he saw rope cross a woman’s body.
And remained waiting.
He tossed the end of the rope over the beam. It swung back and forth, as limp as his member. It wasn’t working. He didn’t want Lucy; he wanted Amanda. And damn if he could trick his body with a couple of restraints.
Yanking the tail end of the rope back over the beam, he began untying the woman. “My apologies. I have to go.”
“But we were just beginning.” Lucy shook out her hands.
Julius coiled the rope and hung it on the wall. “I know. Another night.”
Leaving her open-mouthed, Julius fled through the club. It used to be a haven. The one building he looked forward to entering. Tonight, it felt more like a tomb.
He told his driver to take him to Montague’s, and the carriage bumped across London. They rattled to a halt, and Julius jumped down before the footman could open the door. He handed his coat and gloves to a waiting Carter and trudged up the steps to the second floor. Pausing outside Amanda’s door, he pressed his hands on the frame and rested his forehead against the wood.
He wanted inside. Inside her room. Inside her head. Inside her body. But they wouldn’t be compatible. Amanda needed a milksop for a lover, someone who’d hold her hand, let her call the shots. Let her be in control. The need to control the environment for a former prisoner could be overwhelming.
His gut churned at the thought of the pale fop who would be fortunate enough to bed her. Nails digging into the wood frame, Julius took a deep breath. Another. When she did take a lover, Julius would most likely never know.
He pushed away from the door in disgust. Fuck controlling his environment, he needed to control himself. And that started with leaving Miss Wilcox to sleep in peace.
His boot scuffed the hallway floor. Loosening his cravat with one hand, he pushed into his room. He stirred the fire with an iron then went to his window and slid it open. Only when he was leaning halfway out did his mind catch up with his vision.
He whipped his head around. All the curtains on his four-poster bed were drawn. He never slept with the curtains down, never untied them from their posts. The servants knew this. Had Carter already hired a new chamber maid who’d closed them after changing the sheets?
On silent feet, he crept to the bed. Grasping the velvet drape, he flung it back, allowing the moonlight to stream over the counterpane.
And over the naked woman lying beneath.
“What in the devil are you doing here?” His heart pounded. He wished he could say it was from anger.
Amanda propped herself up on her elbows, the sheet sliding down to drape over her breasts. The white silk clung to her nipples like a drowning sailor to a lifeline. Her dark hair lay in loose curls over her shoulders and spilled to the pillow below. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “I’ve come here to seduce you.”