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  “I see,” James murmured, though he looked puzzled.

  “I’m grateful you do.” Darius smiled.

  “Well, Godspeed. You will return in time for the wedding, I hope.”

  Darius closed his eyes and held in a sigh. “James, with your mother gone to London, if I remove myself from Norfield Park, that will leave Kira unchaperoned in a home with two bachelors.”

  Understanding widened James’s eyes. “Indeed. How good of you to think of that. Hmm…” James paused, casting an absent gaze to the ceiling in thought. “Perhaps your sister might stay with a neighbor.”

  “Like Mrs. Baycliffe?”

  James quickly grasped his sarcasm. “Perhaps not. And your business cannot wait until after the wedding?”

  Originally, Darius had thought so. He had planned to have Kira safely married and adjusting to a new life in a new town before he pursued Lord Vance. But Mrs. Baycliffe, Lady Becker, and the others had proven his assumptions incorrect. Kira wanted and deserved to be respected.

  Darius felt confident in who he was and where he belonged. The years in Persia had not affected him as they had Kira. His sister needed acceptance, and he knew well she would find none until Lord Vance had been proven a liar. Somehow, he would accomplish just that. Punishing Vance would be his wedding gift to her.

  “My business cannot wait.” He smiled wanly. “And I would take Kira with me, but I will be quite busy and not often at home…”

  “Oh, no. She will need friends in London.” With a frown, James ruminated on the matter and set his book in his lap. “It would seem I must go as well.”

  Darius nodded slowly. That wasn’t his choice, certainly. He wanted Kira far away when he dealt with the vile Vance. But without another chaperone at Norfield Park, she could not remain here, not without sparking even more nasty gossip.

  “Indeed, it does.”

  “What reason shall we give your sister for this sudden trip?” James scratched his chin in thought.

  “Indicate a desire to introduce her around the ton.” Kira would not like the request, but if James made it, she would comply.

  “Capital idea!”

  Not really, Darius thought, but it would have to do. “I had hoped to leave two days hence. Will that be possible?”

  James shrugged. “Most likely, but I shall have to speak with Gavin.”

  “Why?” Darius did not want the duke involved.

  “If we introduce your sister into society as a pending part of the family, I daresay Gavin will insist upon coming as well.”

  James was right. Even better, his grace would not like this decision, but he would come along to preserve his family’s name in society. In fact, his presence by Kira’s side could only be of benefit to her in Cropthorne’s lofty circles. Darius smiled. The haughty duke and his aunt had not wanted to introduce Kira to their country neighbors, and now she would be meeting the London set. Life sometimes delivered delicious ironies.

  “Let me know what his grace says.”

  James smiled. “Of course. I’m hopeful he will agree.”

  He would. Still, a part of Darius wished his grace would remain in the country, far away from his sister. If not, he could only hope London’s social whirl would prevent the duke from spending so much time with Kira and enable him to find another target for the growing lust in his eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  On the final day of April, Darius arrived in London, Kira, Mr. Howland, and Cropthorne in tow. Immediately, he left the strained threesome, intent on following Lord Vance.

  Four hours later, he was greatly confused.

  Darius caught up with Vance at the club he frequented, a dark establishment not at all selective about their clientele. The rooms reeked of stale smoke and liquor and shady dealings. Only the bare light necessary to read a hand of cards existed in the place, and only in areas where squatted tables sat for such a purpose. Corners everywhere were dark, ripe for mischief.

  After belting back a few drinks, Vance, dressed every inch a dandy from his lace-edged linen shirt, to his outrageous blue-green silken waistcoat, strutted through the club as if he were a king. Darius wanted to punch the cad so desperately for the destruction of his sister’s reputation that he grabbed the side of his trousers in his fist to keep it as his side.

  Not long after arriving, Vance left and headed to the shadowy streets about The Strand. Darius trailed behind, watchful, waiting for any clue to prove the man was a liar.

  Prostitutes with their skirts partly tucked up in announcement of their profession walked the streets, many calling out to Darius with crude suggestions. Grimacing, he moved on, following Vance, who finally ducked down a narrow alley several blocks above the Thames.

  The viscount looked over his shoulder, and Darius stooped behind the corner of an abandoned building. Apparently satisfied with what he didn’t see, Vance knocked twice on a door, handed someone money, then walked inside. Curious, Darius crept down the alley, to the door, and knocked twice as well.

  The door opened. A burly, bald man wearing a dingy white shirt scrutinized him. Darius frowned at the delay, scanning the crowd of men for Vance.

  “`at `e’ll be two shillings,” barked the attendant.

  Darius handed over his money, feeling the big man’s eyes on him again. Uneasy, he looked elsewhere.

  “Welcome to The Temple.”

  The Temple? Darius frowned and wandered away from the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as he skirted the perimeter of the vast space, an abandoned warehouse that had been converted to…whatever this was. He spotted Vance in the middle of the room, holding a drink and laughing as he stood amongst a group of young men, all dressed with flair.

  Movement on a small stage at the front of the room caught Darius’s attention. A man of slight build dressed as a young girl in white lace stood in the middle and cleared his throat. The crowd roared, whistling and shouting lewd suggestions. Darius scowled. What manner of place was this?

  The man began to sing in an off-key falsetto, to the rapture of the crowd. Darius took the opportunity to turn back and study his prey.

  But Lord Vance retreated to the back of the warehouse, striding beside a tall man with dark hair and wide shoulders.

  “Fancy Lord Vance, do you?” asked a young dandy who sidled up beside him until they stood shoulder to shoulder. Before Darius could answer, the buck continued, “We all do. There isn’t a soul here who wouldn’t give a fortune to spend an hour locked away with the pretty rogue.”

  Vance disappeared through a door, and Darius turned to his unwanted companion to find the dandy sizing him up. The covetous tone of voice, the searching, hungry eyes all sent a warning through his head.

  He’d entered a haven of sodomites.

  “Of course, you should have no trouble finding companionship.” The dandy smiled flirtatiously. “You foreign men are so exotic and have a brooding quality I simply adore. I’ll wager you are quite moody and all the more vigorous for it.” The dark-haired buck straightened the black velvet collar of his gold-tinged coat and eased closer.

  Darius scowled. “Is there an exit back there?”

  “To the outside? No, merely private rooms.” Heaving a sigh, the uranian rolled his eyes. “Still interested in Vance?” He sighed. “Of course. Everyone wants him, as if he’s the only appealing man alive.”

  With a smart click of his heels, the dandy departed. Frowning, Darius ducked his head and headed to the darkened corner of Vance’s disappearance, one thought reverberating in his head: if Vance preferred men, why had he proposed to Kira? Had he, at one point, thought his image as an upstanding peer would be maintained if he took a wife? Had Vance later developed cold feet and turned Kira loose to suffer humiliation?

  Twenty minutes later, Vance emerged again, alone this time. He wore a smile. Darius’s gaze followed him as he strode through the room, over to a cluster of men, including the dandy he’d spoken to.

  With animated hand gestures the young man related som
ething to Vance. Then he pointed Darius’s way.

  With a curse, Darius dropped his gaze to the floor and backed into a shadowed corner. When he looked up a moment later, Vance shrugged and left the group behind. With determination pounding inside him, Darius followed.

  The night had already been full of surprises. He wondered what more might be in store.

  Whistling, Vance strode confidently up Newcastle Street, toward the theaters of Drury Lane. The area was filled with well-dressed crowds since the Theater Royal had just concluded the evening’s entertainment.

  With a swagger, the viscount turned away from the throng, down a narrow walkway behind the theater. Dark and isolation abounded. From a distance, a dog barked, the sound echoing in the stillness. Vance looked behind him once, pale face watchful. Darius tucked himself into the night shadows.

  A creak broke the quiet moments later as Vance opened a door, spilling a trickle of light onto the dark scrap of land behind the building. Darius waited two minutes, then followed.

  He opened the door to a dimly lit house, made darker by wallpaper in a midnight blue. The sights and sounds of the place told him immediately the house was a brothel. Resting above a roaring fireplace was a picture of a naked woman reclining on a mound of pillows, her nipples almost covered by her white blond hair. Nearby, a handful of scantily clad women sauntered or lounged, eyeing the male patrons. Perfume and sweat and the barely definable smell of sex hung in the air.

  If Vance had a sexual predilection for men and had just assuaged his appetite, why had the dastard come here now?

  Darius scanned the small crowd until he spotted Vance’s retreating form. He escorted a woman with pale blond hair up a set of stairs and down a corridor.

  Discreetly, he began to follow.

  A fragile hand upon his arm stayed him. “Are ye lookin’ fer somethin’ in particular, me fine gent?”

  He glanced down into a woman’s young but worn face. She was not more than twenty, he guessed, though he was hard-pressed to tell beneath her artificially black hair and garish makeup. She had few curves, but her thin, boldly cut dress displayed most of her pale bosom.

  Frowning, he looked toward Vance, who held a door open for the woman he escorted.

  “Who is she?” Darius asked.

  The whore’s gaze flitted across the room to the large painting of the naked, fruit-eating woman. “Mrs. Linde, the owner.” The dark-haired woman snickered. “Ain’t none of us wot believes she’s ever been wed proper-like. Still, she don’t see many customers, only a few particular ones.”

  Was Vance a particular customer? Did he enjoy women too?

  “The man with Mrs. Linde, do you see him with her often?”

  She nodded impatiently, her lank hair brushing her scrawny shoulders. “Aye, and what of it? Are ye here for a good tumble or to ask busybody-like questions?”

  It wasn’t wise to admit the truth, Darius knew, so he smiled. “I’m very intrigued by the owner.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll save ye the trouble of askin’ now. Mrs. Linde don’t take customers she don’t know and the tuft betwixt her legs don’t match that on her head, I hear. You want to know anythin’ else and it’ll cost ye.”

  “Can you take me upstairs?”

  “Aye.” The lightskirt smiled, a sultry moue on her face. “I’ll treat ye right, me fine gent.”

  Darius followed her up the gold-carpeted stairs. Her door was a mere two away from Mrs. Linde’s. Once inside the woman’s room, his gaze was assaulted by red walls and bedding, accented in black. It was as tawdry a room as he’d ever seen. The scents of old perfume, tinged with the stench of male sweat, nearly gagged him.

  Grimacing, he tossed a few coins her way. The whore quickly scooped them up and tucked them away in a hidden pocket within her skirt.

  With that, she plopped down onto the bed, released three of the buttons at her bodice, and raised her skirt to her waist. With a wiggle and a bounce, her breasts sprang free, and she exposed the dark mound between her legs.

  Quickly, he looked away.

  “Wot?” she demanded. “Ye want me on top? On all fours?”

  Darius enjoyed sex as well as the next man, but he had more important matters to tend to now than partaking of her brash favors.

  “Where is the toilet?” He could think of no other way to escape the room without rousing her suspicion.

  The woman sighed, but did nothing to cover herself. “Across the hall, second door to your left.”

  He nodded his thanks and retreated. As he slipped out of the room, he sighed and cast his gaze down the corridor. The upstairs was all but devoid of activity, everyone presumably busy behind a closed door. Below, the buzz of muted conversation and clinking glasses urged him to snoop quickly.

  Darius crept toward Mrs. Linde’s door. Satisfaction infused him when he found it a few inches ajar.

  Immediately, he heard Mrs. Linde laugh. Drawn by the sound, and curious about the cause, he peeked inside. Despite his earlier observations, Darius half expected to find Vance rucked up under the woman’s skirts—wasn’t that the reason most men came to a brothel? Again, Vance deviated from the predictable.

  The viscount and the Madame were doing nothing more lascivious than conversing, and in low tones Darius could not hear. Then Mrs. Linde handed Lord Vance a healthy stack of bills.

  As the fair-haired dandy pocketed the money, he lifted Mrs. Linde’s hand and brushed a kiss across the back. Darius frowned, perplexed by the exchange. Men visiting a brothel paid money for the pleasure therein, not the other way around. Why on earth would Mrs. Linde give Lord Vance money?

  The viscount released the Madame’s hand, and together they made their way to the door. Knowing he must not be spotted, Darius furiously glanced around for a place to hide. He finally darted to the water closet across the hall and ducked inside. Very glad he’d had the foresight to wear nothing but black, Darius cracked the door and strained to hear any of their conversation.

  “I want something exquisite,” Mrs. Linde said in a surprisingly cultured voice. “You understand that, I hope.”

  “Most certainly.”

  “And I do not want to wait long for it.”

  “When have I ever disappointed you, Amelia?”

  Mrs. Linde opened her door wide and smiled, displaying a surprising youthful beauty. “Rarely, I must admit, you rogue. I shall be waiting.”

  With a nod, Lord Vance exited the room.

  Mind whirling to understand the brief conversation, Darius watched the viscount stride down the corridor to the stairs. Mrs. Linde followed shortly behind.

  After they’d gone, Darius raced across the hall until he came upon the dark-haired whore’s room. He flung the door open to find her in the immodest position in which he’d left her.

  “Yer back. I was beginnin’ to think ye was lost in there.”

  He withdrew more coins and tossed them to her. “You never saw me here, and I never asked any questions. Do we understand each other?”

  She shrugged. “If you say.”

  “Dress yourself.”

  Slowly, the whore buttoned her bodice and arranged her skirts. “I suppose I’ll say yer the kind of gent wot just likes to look, if Mrs. Linde asks.”

  Darius grimaced. Were there such men?

  “If you discover anything else about the man, Lord Vance, or his reason for coming here, contact me.”

  She took the calling card he held out to her, showing his father’s London address. “Would there be blunt in it fer me?”

  “Indeed. Just find out why he comes here.”

  * * * *

  Deprived of Norfield Park’s music room now that they were in London, Kira ambled into a drawing room in Cropthorne’s town house and stopped. Decorated in deep blue trimmed in gold, the room held everything the finest, from the Rococo-style moldings around the door to the ormolu decoration on the marble chimneypiece. The carpet, made up of blues and grays, perfectly matched the plush blue velvet-covered chairs all
around. The vast arched ceiling depicted various gardens in painted ovals aligned in straight rows. Never had she imagined that so much detail would go into one of the family rooms. At home, their space was comfortable, and she missed the bay window that overlooked her side garden, but this… was magnificent.

  Focusing on her task at hand, Kira made her way to the writing desk along the far wall, bathed in golden mid-morning light. She peered up at a portrait of a frowning woman, likely one of Gavin’s ancestors, she thought with a smile. Then she touched a waiting quill on the ornate desk.

  She sighed. Her father should be told of her pending marriage, but even if he was still in Ceylon, the letter would not reach him before the nuptials. Still, she felt the urge to inform him as best she could.

  Sitting down to the desk, she searched for a piece of blank parchment. In seconds, she had a crisp page before her and a fresh quill in her hand.

  The white page glared back at her. How could she tell her father that she didn’t marry the kind of well-placed man he foolishly vowed her beauty would snare? In truth, Kira suspected her father only wanted to see her wed well as a subtle revenge against his bigoted older brother.

  Her father’s rivalry aside, Kira was not discontented to be wedding a man without great fortune. Indeed, James’s good name was an opulent wealth for her in the midst of this scandal. But she could not deny a trace of disappointment in marrying a man she did not love.

  She liked James, certainly. He had offered to help her recover her reputation after Lord Vance’s lies, though she could provide him nothing of value in return. Even more, James was kind and well-meaning, gentle, a good listener. Kira frowned, puzzled. So why had she not confided in him?

  Not certain she knew the answer, Kira dated the page and jotted the news of her upcoming wedding, omitting references to Lord Vance. When her father returned to England from indulging his latest case of wanderlust, she would hope the worst scandal was behind her.

  While deep in her thoughts, Kira felt a hand touch her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her chair. With a start and a gasp, she glanced behind her, finding Gavin there.