My Lady Gambled (28 page)

The hunting horns sounded, breaking into her thoughts, bringing her reverie and, she noticed, Ash’s to an end. They stepped forward to glance down at the party gathering for the foxhunt. Brynmore was down there. There were so many people, not many would get close to the prince, who would not participate in the hunt but merely preside over it. 

Brynmore would though, as part of the plan, he would be near enough to say a few words to Prince Charles, while Dame Baset watched from further away. That was the entire point of this first foray to use, and then set up Dame Baset. She needed to see Brynmore speak to the prince. It was why, when Brynmore had sent his first message to Dame Baset, he had not requested a meeting and further information on how to gain entrance to The Order. Instead, Brynmore had sent her an invitation to join him at this gathering for the Prince of Wales.

Actually, Brynmore had worded it more like a command that Dame Baset attend him. Brynmore had said he knew what he was doing and Kit laughed and replied that she knew he knew what he was doing, and she would come to his command anytime. That nearly landed them in bed, which they had not done since the night at The Satyr Whip Club. Only, it was as if there were an unspoken agreement between them that they both wanted to wait, until they could be themselves. The thought between them, believing how powerful that would be.

“There he goes,” Ash muttered.

“Where is she?” Kit asked.

“Over there by the flags,” Ash responded. “She is watching Brynmore all the way.”

“Now, won’t she just run back to Hellion and tell him this!” Kit’s half smile was curling in satisfaction.

“I believe she will,” Ash said, then he glanced at her pointedly. “It is likely you will have to attend one of the cult ceremonies.”

Kit tried not to feel uncomfortable. She wondered how detailed Ash’s knowledge was of her and Brynmore’s visit to The Satyr Whip Club. They probably all knew, she silently chided herself. And, she determined, she was just going to have to ignore that fact. Including having to do it again at a cult ceremony.

Kit sidestepped Ash’s leading question. “It feels more profitable now that the action is in place. I am glad Baco and Cernno were dealt with so quickly and efficiently. I do not think Hellion or Dame Baset have any idea that those two rattlesnakes are in prison and never getting out.”

Ash raised an eyebrow to her colorful American phrasing. “Likely to be hung one day, protesting the entire way that they had nothing to do with it. Really brilliant. How could they explain why they were there and running away from the spot, where two rifles were found in near vicinity of the shots.”

Kit smirked. “And, they dare not mention Hellion, his cult, or try to seek help from any of them. Not that there is any.”

“When all is said and done that is a plan that should go into the books. Unfortunately, it will become more difficult. Dame Baset will be a little harder—and Hellion … hmm, well, that is going to be tricky. Yet as brilliant as Drummond’s overall plan is—and the first capture of Baco and Cernno was spectacular—the amazing part is once these malcontents start dropping in the gaol one after another in such a short amount of time, all trying to kill the prince, authorities are going to notice and start nosing around, connecting them together into a larger conspiracy.”

“And, the remnants of this perverted, murderous cult will never rise again,” Kit stated with satisfaction.

“I hope that is true for you and for all of England,” Ash said, with encouraging vehemence.

Kit was surprised at the emotion Ash showed. It was as if he gave her a glance into his real feelings and it made her think there was more to Ash and his first feigned nonchalance. She let it pass, believing that she understood him just enough to realize that he would close inward if she expanded this conversation. Instead, she changed subjects to their next victim.

“Once we give Dame Baset enough time to tell Hellion that it seems Brynmore is on intimate footing with the prince and she gives us a set-in-stone entrance with a date into the cult, then we can get rid of her too.”

Ash nodded as they both turned to look over the balcony railing. They watched Brynmore bowing to the prince, then doing an about-face and strolling back to Dame Baset’s side.

Several hours later, Brynmore grimaced as he paced the small con-fines of the library-study in his London townhouse. He had just arrived back from his assignation with Dame Baset at the prince’s foxhunt. Really, what he wanted to do was shudder in distaste. He felt …

Brynmore turned in his pacing. Bloody hell, he felt dirty and not at all in the enjoyable lusty sense. Dame Baset had been all over him and, according to plan, he was compelled to be all over her in the carriage ride to and from the fox hunt. It had been mild to begin with going to the hunt. But after! He felt like he was unwashed with Dame Baset’s touch and scent covering him. He was surprised at how difficult this was, at how much it affected him. So much for the fallacies that men had no taste in these matters. It thoroughly disgusted him and …

Kit rushed into the room, breaking Brynmore’s disturbing thoughts. He knew that she had been upstairs when he arrived. Now with his mind still in turmoil, he backed up quickly making sure a chair was between them, stopping her from coming closer.

“Well?” she asked. Filling the room with her rush of interest, intensity, excitement and anxiousness.

“Aye, she was impressed,” Brynmore said, rasping some of the words as he tried to clear his dry throat. “We have entrance to The Order and supposedly in a rare occurrence, Hellion is to speak to us after about the price. Well… ,” Brynmore coughed, still trying to gain his footing. “She called it an investment, but we both know tis something they want to hold over us—if Yojo is right.” 

Kit started around the chair. “That is wonderful and I think Hellion might be edging to ask you for a connection with the prince. I do not think blackmail but that was Incubus’s style.”

Brynmore moved around the chair away from Kit’s advance. She had been talking, but suddenly she seemed to realize. “Brynmore, what is wrong?”

She stopped trying to get closer to him, thankfully, as his hand raised to his mouth and he rubbed his lips. Abruptly, he realized the gesture he had used numerous times to wipe away Dame Baset’s rouge. Of course, it had to be gone by now. Helplessly, he muttered, “She was all over me. I need to bathe, rid myself of her scent, and change clothes.”

Brynmore felt like everything slammed to a halt. A wall fell, stopping all in it tracks, and what was on the other side, the next breath was forever changed. Kit’s eyes were wide as she said nothing and he stepped around her to leave. Maybe, if she had tried to stop him, that suffocating feeling of change might have eased or fallen away. He did not blame her that she could find no words. Neither could he.

Kit knew the moment that Brynmore told her of Dame Baset’s physical demands that he had been forced to have relations with her. In that moment, suddenly, she realized that she loved him. It was a stupid time for it to reveal itself as fact to her, she thought.

“Oh yes,” she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs toward the bedchambers. “Brynmore had to fuck that awful woman and now you realize that you love him!”

It was his reaction. She could feel it seeping inside her, she was so closely connected with him. When had that happened? They still barely knew each other, beside some nerve shattering sex. They could not know each other now because they were not acting like themselves, they were enacting these characters they had conjured for the downfall of The Order. The rest of the time they were in the thick of planning revenge or justice, no one acted like themselves during such tense, strange times.

The fact was she did know him on a deeper level and she understood right now that he was feeling molested—battered. There were many things she might have done, discovering she was in love, if the situation were different, silly, joyful, and unthinking things that a woman in love might do. She held that back. She would do those things someday, she promised herself. Now she quietly entered Brynmore’s bedchamber and moved silently to the large brass bath before the fire where Brynmore reclined. He was unmoving, staring at the fire, with steam rising around him.

Kit knelt at the head of the tub behind Brynmore’s head with her gown softly rustling. Brynmore must have heard the sound because his head began to turn, but before he could turn very far, Kit clasped her arms around his shoulders from behind for a hug. Her cheek lay along the dampness of his cheek and hair as his hand rose and clasped over her hands locked together. 

She wanted to tell him that she loved him … “Bry, it is all right. It will be all right,” she murmured, tightening her embrace, while rubbing her cheek along his.

Brynmore’s broad hairy chest lifted with a sigh. “That you can even touch me means …” His pause said more than his words. “It’s better.”

His head was bowed and Kit moved her lips to his ear and whispered, “Tell me, Bry. Tell me all of it. It will help.”

The sound he made was sharp, a rude laugh that cut off before it started. “Help? It tis—was disgusting.”

But then, he kept talking, telling her what he had done. How he had kept his hard-edged seduction intact, controlling his dislike, through rapier flirtations. How he had kissed and fondled, touching breasts and cunt. Always with an edge of controlled roughness. Biting Dame Baset’s neck, rolling her beneath him, trying not to but knowing he had to.

“So I fucked her like an animal. There, on the carriage seat. Yer going to hate me, but I had to divorce myself from what lay beneath me and the only thing I could do was think of you, wanting you.”

“No,” Kit cried softly. “I do not hate you.” She tried to turn their thoughts to take away the sting even as she gulped, she tried to make it more practical. “Did you draw blood? Keep with the plan you started?”

“Aye,” Brynmore huffed. “Aye, I did on her some. She was thrilled.”

Brynmore turned his body with his large hand clasping her nape. Looking directly at her, he blurted hoarsely, “I didn’t come, Kit. I didn’t give her my seed. I just pretended. She couldn’t tell, she was heaving and panting too much in the aftermath.”

Lord, she was a fool, the biggest idiot. She never listened to her own reasoning, timing. Timing! “I love you!” Kit exclaimed and she leapt from her knees to embrace him.

“Kit?” Brynmore questioned.

“Do not say anything,” Kit begged him. “Not now. Just believe it.”

Brynmore tugged and skirts, gown, and all, she was in the tub with him. Water sloshed up over the sides, as Brynmore asked with desperation marking his voice, “Will ye kiss me?”

Kit grappled her hands around his neck, pulling with her body laden in drenched material, but sliding into the water. “Yes!” she whooped fiercely, pressing her lips passionately to his. 

Harrison slipped out of the bushes in Vauxhall Gardens where he had concealed himself, waiting for the elaborately dressed, rotund wom-an. It was near midnight, the woman never saw him coming, He slipped the cloth filled with chloroform over her mouth and her nose, his other forearm latched her waist. She tried to struggle, but within seconds her hefty weight went lax in his arms. Dame Baset was petite of height, but heavy and Harrison welcomed Ash’s help as he arrived to grasp Dame Baset’s legs.

Chloe slipped alongside them carrying the bow and quiver of arrows, while both men quickly lugged Dame Baset in the direction of their intent.

“The prince is going to get irritated at these close attempts to shoot, skewer, or blow him up,” Ash muttered.

Harrison shrugged and remained silent. He thought as long as the prince stayed alive, let him be irritated. Chloe had thoughts too. “Some say he has the madness disease of his father. Let us ask Buddha’s divine help that he does not become too excited and start seeing assassination attempts everywhere and in innocent people.”

“Buddha?” Ash asked, with mild incredulousness in his voice.

Harrison smirked at Ash, while watching Chloe patted Ash’s arm, saying, “It is all right, Buddha believes in you.”

Harrison was interested to see that Ash did not condescend to Chloe with a highbrow look or words, he merely muttered, “I hope so.”

“Someone’s coming,” Harrison said abruptly, halting their forward motions. Chloe tilted her head, Ash tilted his, then Ash’s mouth opened to protest that he could hear nothing and that Harrison just imagined it. However, Chloe held her hand up to him accompanied by a quiet, shushing sound.

Ash hesitated a moment, then he acquiesced nodding. Dame Baset was heavy and Harrison knew Ash did not want to waste time, standing, hidden behind bushes. Then, the sounds that had been there all along became clearer, laughter and conversation. Two patrons of Vauxhall Gardens nightlife strolled by their hidden spot. Two men, obviously enamored. Harrison waited with patience. Chloe did the same beside them, while Ash looked irritated. Harrison knew Ash’s thoughts, urging the two men on, hoping with irritation they did not stop to continue or consummate their rendezvous. Harrison knew what would be, would be, and no silent urging was going to change that.

Luckily, the two men only kissed and moved on, so soon they were on their way to the designated position where they would drop Dame Baset. Harrison hated to admit it, however, he was becoming more amazed. After years of intricate stalking and killing of men, to discover the ease one could have employed to remove those men by other means was startling. Of course there were too many variables to count and he had to admit that employing less hands-on lethal means would not have worked for most of his targets in the past.

Still, it was eye opening to work in this new venue. How easy it was to make something appear clearly what it was not. Of course he knew that in his covert dealings in the past he had used that theory minimally in all degrees of his profession as an assassin for the monarchy. Though he had to admit, never to this amplified and grandiose affect. He would have to give Drummond his due, he was a master among men.