My Lady Gambled (31 page)

The black attendant led them to a richly attired sitting room within Lord Rushborn’s mansion. When the attendant led them inside, Brynmore saw Hellion, an uncloaked Lord Rushborn and, peeking his sharp instincts immediately, he saw a robed figure like the one that had been beside Hellion that night at The Satyr Whip Club.

Brynmore finally asked the question to himself. Who was this? However, Hellion was in a self-proclaimed omnipotent frenzy that distracted Brynmore’s question. It seemed Hellion was riding a high on his own self-importance as he stalked around the room with his white cloak billowing and his voice vociferating. 

“Power, Lord Duneagan, power is what I offer you and your intimates! The power to touch Gods, to speak to them! You feel it, do you not? In the power of the blood!”

Brynmore opened his mouth to speak, unsure what he might say to the frenzied Hellion as he and Kit tried to stay out of Hellion’s lurching path, a path that kept Brynmore from getting any type of look at the hooded figure’s face. It was man though, he was sure the build was that of a man. Before he could say anything, Hellion continued. “It flows in me now, Lord Duneagan! Let me show you my power!”

Alarms struck Brynmore as he glanced at Lord Rushborn, sitting stooped in a chair. He was a very old man with rum-glazed eyes locked on Hellion in some crazed worshiping way. Brynmore immediately wondered if Hellion were drugging Lord Rushborn as he braced himself for Hellion’s newest power play.

“You came here tonight with an invitation that your patron implores me to meet him!” Hellion announced, with the crackling flourish that he were revealing world changing prophecies.

Brynmore tried not to rock back on his heels in astonishment as Kit reacted by going down on her knees bowing before Hellion’s still-agi- tated claims of irrepressible power around the room. Brynmore couldn’t believe the stroke of luck that fell into their plans so completely and because he was unsure how to act, he partially followed Kit’s lead by exclaiming, “Amazing!”

Hellion barely seemed to hear him, perched upon the deity-high he was emulating. “It is the Prince of Wales! He begs to see me!” Hellion proclaimed. “How can I know that if the gods do not speak to me?”

This was too good to be true, Brynmore thought, nearly afraid to follow it and take full advantage of it. He had come here tonight with what he believed would be a difficult task. That task was to make Hellion believe that the Prince of Wales, through his emissary Brynmore, was ordering Hellion’s presence before him. Now Hellion, riding higher in madness after his ceremony, was creating delusions that were eerie. It sent a shiver through Brynmore that some supernatural occurrence was actually happening.

Immediately he quelled that notion as ridiculous, it was simply coincidence and luck, not some power Hellion really had. Of course, he never believed in coincidence, but this time he would make an exception. Whatever was happening, without any reasons of why or how, he had to follow it.

“Then, my great lord,” Brynmore began — inwardly wincing at having to use such genuflections to Hellion’s ego as `my great lord — “You will be knowing I am to take you to him now.”

Brynmore held his breath. “Of course!” Hellion announced, then turned, finally stopping his agitated movements. “Where is Dame Baset, you were with her and she deserves not to miss this.” 

Brynmore was glad he had a ready answer for this one. It had been discussed. “Aye, you will be pleased to know she waits with the prince for you. Tis on her assurances I came here knowing you would grace the prince’s curiosity with your presence.”

“Excellent!” Hellion proclaimed. “We leave now for this momentous occasion. Lord Rushborn, my generous and faithful supporter and his son will accompany us for this historic event.”

Rushborn’s son? Brynmore had watched Hellion’s hand sweep to-ward the aloof hooded figure as he included the title, “Rushborn’s son.” Hellion swept from the room, Brynmore hesitated, bending as though to adjust his boot top, trying to catch a look at the hooded figures face, but he was unable to.

However, when Kit rose to follow beside him she whispered, “I saw glasses beneath the hood.”

Brynmore nodded, and on the way out of Rushborn’s mansion he signaled that the game was now afoot, to Harrison who was hidden and waiting for just that purpose. The Archangels first plan had been to try for what would soon be today, however they had further bogus planned meetings between the prince and Hellion if this one had failed to move Hellion into participating.

Brynmore sat uncomfortably in the elaborately adorned carriage with Hellion and Rushborn across from him and the mysterious Rushborn’s son conveniently beside him. That this “son” had picked the position he did to sit was too convenient, because Brynmore still could not obtain a good look at him. It was going to be a long excruciating ride in such close proximity to Hellion, but he was relieved to see that some of Hellion’s deity-aspiring adrenaline had worn off. He was also glad that, when he had told Hellion his pet would not be accompanying them because the prince had no interest in having her at the meeting, Hellion had accepted this easily. Kit had known that was the plan. Brynmore knew even as much as Kit wanted revenge on Hellion that after witness-ing the ceremony and the aftermath she was grateful not to be included. He had seen it in her eyes when he had roughly kissed her goodbye sending her on her way to their own carriage. Time for a brief second for her to whisper, “Be careful, love, I will be waiting for you.”

Aye, he thought of her now. He thought of their carriage ride earlier that now seemed a lifetime ago. The thought helped him endure the eerie close company of Hellion. Brynmore made certain his cloak was lying open and the ruby showed above his britches for Hellion to see. Added incentive, you bastard, Brynmore thought, to keep Hellion moving right where they wanted. It was going to be tricky as hell, however he believed completely in Drummond who predicted reactions and had so far pinned Hellion’s down in a way that was uncanny.

Hellion was so caught up in his deity manifestations that he was not questioning any of this but rather giving his own brand of future predict-ing credit for it. Brynmore knew Drummond would say one word about this, “Superb.”

Unfortunately, he still had an incredibly long carriage ride to get through with Hellion, meanwhile he had to maintain his fictitious persona. He would have to be the master at concocting conversation about things that did not exist. He admitted it was his weak point, especially with Hellion whom he could not fathom most times. Radford was the expert at flummoxing conversations. The man could wax poetic and believable on all types of things he never had knowledge of. Radford could create identities with entirely believable stories created out of thin air. Brynmore knew one thing in his own favor was he had admitted the trepidation of his skill for this phase of his plan. That was the way the Archangels were, one reason he believed they were so successful in the past. Not one of them hesitated or tried to hide their shortcomings.

They all knew from past experience that each others lives depended on them and they could not let false pride get in the way of that. He had told them his misgivings and Radford had spent several hours working with him. Then Harrison had also come along to lend a hand. It had helped. They had created a play for the life of this character he was acting out. He used it with Hellion and it was working as they talked. He was bloody well glad, because the things Hellion talked about were unnatural, alien concepts. Brynmore noticed that Hellion was also shrewd in his own way. Hellion asked him in what seemed innocent ways about his association with the prince, how that had come about. Always, Hellion’s pink eyes piercing his answers.

“The prince came to be interested in the idea of blood sex. He has voracious curiosity and tastes. It was just chance encounter at first. I’d been asked by one of his intimates to attend one of the prince’s indulgent and hedonist weekend parties he’s famous for.”

“I knew it was because of the blood,” Hellion said.

The more and more Brynmore talked, he noticed Hellion expressing to all, “I knew that.” Until Hellion said, “Your prince will be impressed with the way I can predict the future, his future, the future of all.”

Brynmore nodded, “I’m impressed. I dinna really accept before last night what power I was bringing to the prince.”

A wicked smile spread Hellion’s thin bloodless lips. “Power meets power and can only make the God of all Gods.”

The carriage began to slow and rattled to a halt. They had entered the city thirty minutes ago and Brynmore earlier explained to Hellion that the prince had a military procession to oversee in the streets of London. Afterward they would attend the prince at his private pavilion on the Thames river. Quickly, to distract Hellion from the carriage halting, Brynmore voiced something he had been saving for this moment. “You’ll not be able to bring Lord Rushborn or his son, nor any of yer servants inside when you meet the prince. His orders are a private meeting.”

“I knew that,” Hellion said distractedly, looking at the closed curtains on the windows as if he could see through them. “Why is this carriage stopped,” he demanded.

“Tis likely the soldiers procession I spoke of clogging the streets,” Brynmore offered.

“I will check, my lord.”

Brynmore flinched at Lord Rushborn’s son’s voice. It was on the side of his bad ear, but still he thought … The son’s hand opened the carriage door. “I’ll be looking with you. I’ve some influence,” Brynmore said, quickly following. “Wait here, Lord Hellion. I be apologizing for the inconvenience,” Brynmore added over his shoulder as he jumped down from the carriage and turned to shut the door.  

The second it was shut, Brynmore placed a small metal bar he had been carrying in his inner pocket through the door handles. He knew that the Archangels were doing the same to the other door. No one was getting out of the carriage now because with the doors barred, the windows were too small for a full-sized man like Hellion to fit through. Hellion was now a captive inside the carriage. Wasting no time, Brynmore leaped after Lord Rushborn’s son. The unknown quantity.

Brynmore grabbed the slightly shorter man from behind with one arm locked over his windpipe to forestall the man from yelling and warning anyone. His other hand grabbed the man’s arm wrenching it backward. Brynmore pushed the man forward a few paces away from the carriage as his peripheral vision caught the actions of other Archangels around the carriage.

This hilly street was not very crowded, picked for that purpose and the people around were more interested in the procession of brightly uniformed soldiers marching in the street below. No one paid much attention to Brynmore who shoved the man he clutched up against one of the avenue’s gas lantern poles used to light the streets at night.

Brynmore knew how critical time was, it seemed to be moving slowly, yet only a few seconds had passed when he reached upward and tore down the man’s hood. Even through the adrenalin rush, his thought noted and wondered about the man not struggling.

“Ash,” Brynmore hissed, tossing Ash around to face him, grabbing the collar of Ash’s robe and lifting as he shoved Ash’s body into the pole. Brynmore thrust his face into Ash’s. The only thing he could think of at this shocked moment flew with a rage from his mouth. “You let that young man die! Stood by and watched him bleed to death and told us nothing!” Each word Brynmore used was punctuated with a shove.

“He lives,” Ash blurted tersely. “I saved him and any others. There is no time for this if we do not continue acting now we will lose Hellion.”

Brynmore hissed in anger and he would admit to astounded confusion as his gaze swept back to the carriage. Harrison was up top now from where he had hidden shortly after the carriage pulled away from Rushborn’s estate. Harrison had knocked out the driver and taken up his task on top. Now he tied off the reins of the horses so if the carriage were moving they would gallop straight. Wyndham was helping Harrison lower the tied and gagged driver down from the driver’s seat. They all were trying to work swiftly, but also trying not to jostle the carriage as much as possible.

Saxon was at the boot of the carriage with Joelle beside him. They worked to lift a crate inside but needed his help. Saxon looked at him in confusion mouthing the name, “Ash.”

Brynmore let go of Ash, and hissed, “I will fucking kill you if you make one wrong move,” even as he was moving to the boot of the carriage.

“I will explain later,” Ash offered tightly moving to follow.  

Brynmore reached the crate, grabbing one end to lift it into the boot with Joelle and Saxon on its opposite end. They were extremely careful to let it down as gently as they were able, then at the same moment Brynmore heard Ash say loudly, “Lord Hellion, the procession should be only another few minutes, but the horses are restless.”

The partially opened crate met the bottom of the boot with only a small sway at about the same moment that Hellion complained, “This is inconvenient, find another way around now!”

“Yes, Lord Hellion, right away.”

Ash sprinted over to Brynmore. “Hurry we must get this carriage moving!”

Joelle sparked a flint and touched it to a fuse coming out of the crate as Saxon sprinted to the side of the carriage, raising his arm high. It was the signal for Harrison and Wyndham on the opposites sides of the horses to set them into galloping by sticking hat pins into the flanks of the leading two horses. The horses leapt forward into a headlong rushing gallop down the hill, while a rather impressive display of sparks lit the back of the carriage flying in every direction.

The five from around the carriage stood in the middle of the street watching as the carriage raced down the hill toward the procession. At the bottom of the hill on both sides of the street, Drummond, Gabriella, Chloe, Or‚lan, Nia, Radford and Kit spread out in different areas, began shouting, “Runaway carriage, get out of the way! Move! Move! Runaway carriage!”

It was an amazing site as people ran out of the way along with the soldiers. In the pandemonium, no one saw the block tossed beneath one of the careening carriage wheels so that at the bottom of the street, just one hundred yards from the podium where the Prince of Wales sat presiding over the procession, the carriage over turned on its side.