Ashton stood in a private drawing room at his estate with the fire crackling in the hearth behind him. Before him stood his five closest friends. They had been through so much this past year, and yet in some ways it felt like only the beginning.Godric leaned on a cane, his leg still giving him a bit of a limp. Lucien toyed with a slip of red silk. Cedric and Jonathan were pouring glasses of brandy for the others. Charles leaned against the wall by the door, his gaze pensive.In his hand Charles held the small gold decoder device that he'd found in his room. Rosalind had confirmed that it was the one her father had sent. The key to unlocking Hugo's letters had been under their noses all along. Charles toyed with the device as he met Ashton's gaze, impatient to get started."What is with the cloak-and-dagger gathering?" Lucien asked. "Has there been a development regarding Waverly?"Ashton removed a single letter from his waistcoat and held it up. Every man's eyes fixed on the few p
BOOK FIVE: His Wicked EmbraceLeague Rule Number 11:A man should remember from time to time to be a gentleman, even if he thinks he may have forgotten how.Excerpt from the Quizzing Glass Gazette, April 28, 1821, the Lady Society column:Lady Society is quite curious about a certain gentleman named Mr. Lawrence Russell. His elder brother, the Marquess of Rochester, is quite infamous indeed as a member of the League of Rogues, but as for Mr. Russell himselfthe rumors abound.Lady Society would like very much to know if he wishes to be married, or will he continue as his brother had and resist matrimony at all odds? If it is the former, Lady Society will endeavor to find him a suitable bride; if it is the latter, Lady Society sees his determined bachelordom as a challenge. A rogue you may be, Mr. Russell, but Lady Society believes you might yet make a good husband. Now who to marry you to?"You belong to me now." The whispered words echoed in Zehra Darzi's head as she jo
Lawrence Russell despised the White House in Soho. It was one of the less reputable brothels in London, and it had a dark side that made even a seasoned rogue such as himself shudder in revulsion. His tastes ran more toward the Midnight Garden, which catered less to hired pleasure workers and more toward matching aristocratic ladies and gentlemen with similar needs.When I seduce a woman, it is out of mutual desire, not a monetary transaction. No mistress he'd ever had demanded fine clothes or jewelsthey'd only begged him never to leave their beds. He'd been quite happy to oblige for as long as he could.He stared around at the crowd in the dimly lit card room. The tables had been pushed back half a dozen feet to make room for a small stage, large enough to accommodate a person in the chair that had been placed in the center. The room was filled with men, smoke drifting lazily from lit cigars as they talked and drank. There were quite a few faces he recognized. Thankfully, none who
Lawrence didn't want to participate in this dreadful slave auction. But if the lady went home with one of these men, they would force her to do things she didn't want, and he couldn't stand the thought of that. When he'd been only seventeen, not yet truly a man, he'd ventured into a brothel much like this. He'd thought himself a virile and entitled lad, eager to see himself pleasured for as much as his coin purse would allow. His head had been filled with images of eager maids feeding him berries on a lounge, willingly submitting to his overtures, and everyone partaking in a night none would soon forget.Instead, he'd watched women selling themselves to survive. It wasn't hard to see the desperation in the performances of those who didn't want to be there, or the emptiness of those who had given up and knew no other life. What was worse were the men who treated them no better than cattle. That night he'd watched a woman, boldly announced by the haggard proprietor as working her ve
Lawrence skidded to a halt as he reached the pavement. A number of Bow Street Runners were still on the steps of the White House."Bloody hell." He waited, watching the men for what felt like an eternity before they joined the others inside the brothel."About time." He walked briskly down the street, trying to look inconspicuous, which was difficult at midnight. He found a coach ready to take on passengers and waved for the man to come down the alley to him. Then he slipped back into the alley to find Zehra. She was waiting right where he'd left her. When he got close enough to reach for her hand, he noticed she was trembling. "You must be freezing." He removed his coat and slid it over her shoulders before she could protest. "This way. I found a coach. We must move quickly if we are to get inside without being seen." He slipped her arm in his and led her to the coach. Before they climbed inside, he caught her chin and tilted it up to his. "Understand, you don't have to come with
Zehra sipped her wine, even though her belly quivered with an ache born of days with little to no food. She fought to ignore the beating headache rising in her head by examining the bedchamber of her rescuer. His tall four-poster bed with a dark-green coverlet looked inviting, perhaps too much so. He had a shaving stand, complete with a washbasin, and a chest of drawers. A tall bookcase stood against one wall, and it was filled with books, some old, others quite new. She carried her wine glass with her as she approached the shelf. "Who are you, Lawrence Russell?" she whispered, reading the gilded spines on the shelves. Gothic novels, poetry, sciences, art, philosophy. He was well-read, it seemed. Surely a man who was well-read was less likely to be a cruel man. At least, she hoped so.He claimed he had bought her to protect her from other men. But she had learned the hard truth of late that she could trust no onenot strangers, not even friends. Her parents lay dead because they'd tr
Avery Russell stepped into the chaos of the White House, his eyes taking in the Bow Street Runners and the local magistrate, a man named John Dearborn, as they took statements from several brothel patrons. Three men were restrained by iron shackles and seated at a card table in the main gaming room."Russell." One of the Runners, a man called Sam Cady, nodded and spoke to Avery as he came over. "We've put a stop to the auction. Unfortunately, the madam threw her account books into the fire, destroying the names of the men who paid to attend. All of the ladies have been placed in an adjoining room, but""But what?"Cady shrugged his large shoulders and nodded toward the restrained group of men. "One of the gentlemen here swears another man bought a slave, the first one to be sold. He and the girl aren't here.""Someone got away?" Avery's hands curled into fists as he thought of some poor woman being carried away to a place where no one would find her, where she would be abused and d
Lawrence woke to the chiming of the grandfather clock in the corridor outside his bedroom.Half past seven. It was still early, and they had gone to bed in the wee hours of the morning. He shifted, feeling the welcome weight of Zehra in his arms. Her head rested on his chest, and their legs were entwined. Her chemise had ridden up, and he had one hand on her left thigh. She had one hand in his hair, as though she'd fallen asleep stroking her fingers through the strands. A smile twisted his lips. She liked his hairjust as he liked hers. He wondered if she was genuinely at ease with him, or if it was something she'd done unconsciously during her sleep. Either way, he liked that she was touching him. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to feel she could be around him, even touch him without fear. I want to be a man she can trust. He carefully moved his hand from her thigh and reached up to stroke his palm over the dark coiling locks that tumbled down her back. She didn't stir as