Insatiable, p.19
Insatiable, page 19
Mrs. Hickinbottom pursed her lips.
“Mama, shouldn’t we move on?” Delia asked in a soft voice. “You said I couldn’t be in Miss Shaughnessy’s company, that it would ruin me.”
“As if we’d want to be in your sour company either.” Kat hadn’t meant to say that, but the words had somehow pushed their way forth. She knew better than to allow her impulses free rein, but sometimes she couldn’t help it.
“Yes, yes, let us move on.” Mrs. Hickinbottom gave Kat a dark glare.
“Have a good evening, Mrs. Hickinbottom,” Sabrina said sweetly. “I’ll let Mrs. Brightly, who is a very dear friend of mine, know how highly we think of you. We’ll also be sure to give your best to Lady Wexford’s father, the Duke of Evesham.”
Mrs. Hickinbottom’s eyes widened just before she turned, dragging her daughter along with her.
“Let us depart,” Cass said succinctly. “Are you coming, Sabrina?”
“I should tell Con.” Sabrina gave Kat’s arm a squeeze before walking back toward the staircase hall.
Cass turned to Kat. “Are you all right?”
“I should not have said what I did, but they were obnoxious.”
“Yes, and hopefully the conversation was not overheard.” Cass looked about the library, where there were fewer than ten people gathered in pairs or small groups. It was hard to tell if they’d heard what was said.
“Mrs. Hickinbottom was rather loud,” Kat noted. “But hopefully everyone else was involved in their own conversations.” Honestly, Kat didn’t care about her reputation—what did she even need it for? The idea of becoming a hermit who could carry on a secret affair with Lucien was becoming more appealing by the moment.
“Yes, we will hope,” Cass muttered. “I’m glad Sabrina was with you.”
“Why, because I might have made things worse?”
Cass cast her a sideways glance as they moved toward the staircase hall. “No, because she’s a countess and Mrs. Hickinbottom being rude in her presence will reflect poorly on Mrs. Hickinbottom.”
“But it wouldn’t have if it had just been me?” Kat shook her head. “I will never understand Society.”
“Please talk more quietly,” Cass said. “Oh look, Sabrina has met Con on the landing there.” She gestured up the stairs.
Kat looked up to see that Con was frowning. Then he glanced toward Kat. The frown seemed to deepen. This wasn’t her fault!
Well, tonight wasn’t. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to think her actions a year ago hadn’t caused this problem. Perhaps she should become a hermit for everyone’s sakes. It wasn’t as if she was any good at any of this nonsense.
“I’m going out to the coach,” she announced to Cass.
“Wait.” Cass tried to reach for her, but Kat moved too quickly. “You can’t just—” She hurried after Kat.
The butler hastened to open the door for Kat before she bustled into the early March night. It was now drizzling, and the coach was nowhere to be seen, as there was a line of coaches of people coming and going. They should have sent a footman for it, of course, but Kat had simply barreled forward. “Don’t be so impulsive!” her mother would admonish. “You must learn to be patient.”
Hadn’t Kat told Lucien that she could be patient? She’d learned to be, just as she’d learned to not act on impulse. Mostly.
Kat turned to Cass. “We should go back inside until the coach is here.”
“Yes.” Cass came to her and put her arm around her waist to walk back into the house. “I understand you’re upset—and that you don’t want to be. I know you find all this annoying.”
“That is an apt description. I made a mistake a year ago. Must it continue to follow me?”
Cass pressed her lips together in a grim line. “Unfortunately, that is often the cost of mistakes.”
They encountered Sabrina in the entrance hall. She told them a footman had already been dispatched to fetch Cass’s coach. Con was also going to fetch their coach personally.
Kat must have missed seeing him dash out the door. She looked to Sabrina. “Will you please apologize to your husband for me?”
“There’s no need for that.”
“He frowned at me.”
Sabrina’s gaze widened with alarm. “What? Oh no, he was just concerned for you. Mrs. Hickinbottom was terrible.”
“He’s not worried I’ve caused problems for your family?”
“Not at all.” Sabrina waved her hand. “He will crush Mrs. Hickinbottom like an errant fly. Well, he would, but I told him we needn’t go to such extremes. I’d like to believe she’ll leave you alone now that she’s vented her spleen.”
Kat hoped so, but wasn’t sure she believed it. “How can you be sure that will happen?” Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to go out in Society at all.
Would that be so terrible?
“Because I’m going to maintain a positive outlook,” Sabrina said firmly. “You should too. In any case, we’re not sorry we’re leaving, are we?” She gave Kat a warm smile.
“Not in the slightest.”
The coach arrived a moment later, and they took their leave. At least the evening had been short.
Chapter 15
Between anticipating today’s meeting and continuing to think far too much about Kat, Lucien had barely slept last night. He’d been at the club particularly late, even for a Tuesday, but then he’d been spending even more time there. Especially in his office, where images of Kat filled his mind and tormented his body. Though it was torture, he liked being there where he’d last spent time with her. Because he had no idea when—or if—he’d ever see her like that again.
Of course he wouldn’t. They’d risked a great deal and managed to escape notice. He’d lived long enough to know that eventually, they’d get caught. The more their passion consumed them, the less careful they would be. And Lucien was already in danger of completely losing his wits where she was concerned. He knew Ruark’s house well and had mapped a dozen ways he could enter and find his way to Kat’s room while evading detection. That was madness, but it didn’t stop him from indulging his fantasies.
Those were all he had since he’d been avoiding seeing her and would continue to do so. It was for the best.
Except he’d just received a note from Cass inviting him to a family dinner on Sunday. Since Prudence and Bennett were back in town, she wanted to get everyone together. That more than likely included their father and would definitely include Kat. It would be the best and worst of times.
Lucien shook his head. He needed to clear his thoughts. The meeting would be happening today, and since it was now noon, he had to move into position to watch for their arrival. Who they would be was anyone’s guess. Dougal hadn’t been able to learn anything about a meeting, which wasn’t surprising to Lucien. He was no longer an official part of the Foreign Office.
Reynolds had hired a team of men who’d been watching over the club since Friday night. So far, no one had entered the club who wasn’t supposed to be there. Today, everyone was on high alert, watching carefully for who would enter and where. Lucien expected them to use the secret gate from Bury Street to the garden on the men’s side. From there, they could take the private door that opened into the back staircase, which would take them up to the second or top floor where the “meeting cupboard” was located.
Because of that, Dougal was stationed on the second floor, and Lucien planned to sit behind a row of shrubbery in the garden where he could watch the gate and the door. Reynolds was on the street with his eyes on the gate’s exterior. If anyone came in that way, Reynolds would shortly follow, just in case Lucien missed them. They weren’t leaving anything to chance.
Lucien stood from his chair behind the desk and left his office. He went out to the back terrace and down the stairs to the garden. As soon as he took his spot behind the shrubbery, he realized he should at least have grabbed a hat. The March wind was brisk and cold.
It was more than an hour before someone finally came through the gate. Lucien had allowed himself to fall into a half trance in which he peeled every piece of Kat’s clothing from her body and worshipped every inch of her until she writhed and moaned and begged him to deliver her arrival. So when the two men stepped through the gate, Lucien had to blink to make sure he was actually seeing something real.
One of them was Oliver Kent. Yes, this was most definitely real. Lucien’s gut clenched. Whoever showed up at this meeting had likely played a role in Giraud’s death. Lucien was sorry to see the man he’d long looked up to had been involved, even if he wasn’t surprised at this point. Especially since Kent had tasked Jess with determining if Dougal was working against the Foreign Office—which Dougal had specifically discovered was about whether he’d killed Giraud. To find out that Kent was involved would infuriate Dougal.
Lucien didn’t recognize the other man, however. He waited until they’d gone into the club, then dashed across the garden to follow them inside.
Standing at the base of the stairs, Lucien worked to take deep, quiet breaths to calm his racing heart. He heard a door shut above him in the staircase, then carefully began his ascent. When he reached the landing of the second floor, he opened the door slowly and peered into the corridor. Dougal emerged from a small room at the other end.
Lucien hurried forward, keeping his feet as quiet as possible. Dougal met him midway, near the door to the meeting room.
“Did you see them?” Lucien asked, keeping his voice low.
“I was able to peer around the doorjamb and make out two men,” Dougal whispered. “One of them looked like he could be Kent.”
“Because he is.”
Dougal’s lips pressed together in distaste. “The son of a bitch. Ready?”
Lucien responded with a nod. A breath later, Dougal pushed open the door. Two candles flickered on the table, and Kent was just lighting the sconce on the wall.
“What’s going on today, gentlemen?” Lucien asked affably. Dougal still looked mildly perturbed, or at least serious. Lucien was certain he was seething on the inside.
Kent turned from the sconce, appearing surprised. “Lucien, how did you know we were here?”
“It’s my club. I like to know everything that happens here.” Lucien didn’t add that it seemed for too long he hadn’t, and that he’d taken steps to rectify that shortcoming.
Kent smoothed his gray hair. He’d removed his hat and gloves and set them on the table. The other gentleman still wore his accessories, which Lucien found odd.
“This is Martin,” Kent said, gesturing to the other gentleman who was at least a few years younger than Kent, which put him in his middle or late fifties. “He works directly for Lord Castlereagh.”
Did he now? Lucien glanced toward Dougal to see if he recognized the man, but Dougal’s features were utterly impassive.
“Welcome to the Phoenix Club,” Lucien said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your attendance today?”
“We came here to discuss a few things and to see you, Lord Lucien.” Martin’s accent was East London, if Lucien had to guess, but the man tried to cover that. It was possible he’d risen from some lowly rank over the course of his career and had been obliged to cultivate his speech. Martin flicked a glance toward Dougal, but didn’t address him.
“Fallin, perhaps you’d give us a few minutes,” Kent said with a faint smile. He seemed a trifle nervous. Which made Lucien anxious.
“He stays,” Lucien said. “What do you want with me?” He addressed both Kent and the unknown Martin.
Kent grimaced. “This is rather delicate. I really would feel more comfortable if Fallin excused himself.”
“I’m going to tell him whatever you tell me,” Lucien said. “He’s a key component of the Phoenix Club, and I assume your errand today involves the club.”
“It does,” Martin said. He stepped toward Lucien, his thin lips tightly pressed together. The man was much shorter than Lucien, but that was often true since he was a towering six feet and four inches. Martin had to tip his head back to meet Lucien’s gaze. “I’ll get right to the point. We know you killed Giraud, but we won’t be punishing you for it since he was working against the cr—”
“That’s not true.” Outrage coupled with fear raced through Lucien prompting him to interrupt. “I barely knew the man.” Giraud conducted a few meetings at the club, passing information while posing as a member. Dougal knew him far better.
“You can’t know that,” Dougal said softly.
Lucien turned his head to see his friend staring at Martin with unconcealed menace. If he hadn’t known Dougal was his ally, he would be afraid.
“I can know that, and I do,” Martin responded.
Dougal stepped toward Martin. “Lucien wasn’t even near Bournemouth when Giraud was killed. I was, however.”
“But you had nothing to do with his death,” Kent broke in. “You’ve always maintained that you found him dead, and we’ve no reason to doubt that.”
“Except you did,” Dougal reminded him. “Or have you forgotten that you hired my wife to spy on me?”
“We resolved that you were innocent of any wrongdoing,” Kent muttered. He didn’t meet Dougal’s eyes, which also bothered Lucien. Something was wrong with Kent. Probably, this was just an incredibly uncomfortable situation for him—he’d known Lucien for years.
“You can’t believe I did that,” Lucien said. “My position with the Foreign Office doesn’t require that sort of…activity. I run this club, and that’s the extent of my occupation.”
Kent looked at Lucien now. “It’s not as if you can’t kill someone. You demonstrated that quite well in Spain. Furthermore, you could have hired someone to kill Giraud.”
Was he referring to when Max had killed the soldiers who’d murdered his betrothed, and Lucien had aided him? “I will always defend my brothers-in-arms,” Lucien said quietly, rage blistering his insides.
He would not apologize for what he’d done in Spain. Those men were barbarians. Yes, they should have been captured and tried for their crimes, but war didn’t always work that way, particularly when unimaginable loss and grief were involved.
Martin cleared his throat and looked to Lucien. “The Foreign Office has decided it is time for you to retire. Completely. You’ll ‘sell’ the Phoenix Club and walk away entirely.”
Lucien stared at the man, barely keeping his anger in check. “I will not,” he said softly, but with heat. Of all the things he might have suspected would happen at this meeting today, that was not one of them.
“You can’t make him do that,” Dougal said, looking between Martin and Kent, but settling on the latter.
“We can and we will. Lord Lucien has no choice but to do as he’s told. He is not a principal owner of the club.” Martin spoke in an utterly flat tone. “The Foreign Office will communicate the ‘buyer’ soon, and at that time, Lord Lucien will make the transaction public. Then he will go away, preferably far away from London.”
Lucien’s body had gone cold. It wasn’t enough to take his club, they wanted to banish him from his home? He shook his head. “I won’t do it. I’ll go public with the Foreign Office’s involvement and manipulation if I must.”
Kent reached out as if he was going to grasp Lucien’s arm, but ultimately decided to abandon the prospect, letting his hand fall to his side. “And how will that look—you turning on the Foreign Office? You will be the villain, Lucien. I’m afraid you have no choice. Since you do have some investment in the club, the Foreign Office will compensate you. It’s not as if you’ll walk away with nothing.”
That was precisely what he would be doing. The Phoenix Club was everything to Lucien—his work, his livelihood, his friends, his bloody family. They, especially Kent, who’d been more of a father figure to Lucien than his own father, couldn’t ask this of him.
Martin’s mouth curled into a slight but irritating smirk. “Not to mention, if you cause difficulty, only consider what your father will think.”
Lucien sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth. His father would make his life miserable—more than he already did. Was he aware of this current maneuver by the Foreign Office? Lucien sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. The answer would almost certainly devastate him.
There had to be another way around this. Dougal would help him determine the right course.
“I must be off,” Martin said, as if they’d just concluded a friendly meeting and not destroyed Lucien’s life. “We’ll send word regarding the transition.” He glanced toward Kent, then started toward the door.
Given the size of the room, either Lucien or Dougal—or both—would have to step aside to allow him to pass. Though they didn’t communicate, neither of them moved, which forced Martin to have to push between them. The door closed behind the officious bounder.
Again, as if they’d discussed their next move, Lucien and Dougal moved toward Kent in concert.
“What the bloody hell?” Dougal said furiously. “You know Lucien didn’t kill Giraud, nor did he have him assassinated. What would be his motive?”
Kent looked nervously toward Lucien. “He was trying to protect the Foreign Office and by extension, the crown. He’s already demonstrated that he’s not opposed to taking matters into his own hands rather than following established procedures.”
It seemed Kent was entirely aware of what had happened in Spain. And he was now using that to put the blame of Giraud’s death on Lucien.
“I didn’t do that with Giraud,” Lucien said, somehow maintaining his calm. He speared Kent with a dark stare. “What Max and I did in Spain was celebrated. We’ve been lauded as heroes. Wasn’t it just last spring that you supported his elevation to an earldom in recognition for his bravery?” Indeed, that was due to occur soon, according to Con.
“You were being considered for a title too. No small feat for a second son to earn his own peerage,” Kent said, his dark blue eyes turning glacial. “But I suspect that won’t be happening now.”
