Mastering a Sinner (9 page)

“I would not use that power to extract information from you. That would be underhanded and contrary to everything I believe in.”

“What do you believe?”

She held his gaze. “That if you choose to submit to me, to
trust
me with your person, I cannot and will not betray that trust.”

There was a note of sincerity in her answer that made him want to look away from her dark gaze. Instead, he shrugged.

“That sounds rather melodramatic, my lady. It is, after all, only sex and I’ve already told you that I don’t trust you.”

Her smile widened, which infuriated him. “Oh, Mr. Maclean, you amuse me greatly.”

“In what way?”

“There’s no need to stiffen up.”

“I’m asking a perfectly reasonable question.”

“You think that you don’t trust me.”

“I know I don’t.”

“Yet you just let me strip you half-naked over my desk in the middle of the working day.” She refused to drop her gaze. “You are already my slave, Mr. Maclean. You just won’t admit it yet.”

“This conversation is ended.” He bowed. “Good afternoon, Lady Theale.”

“Mr. Maclean.” She inclined her head a regal inch. “When you’ve gotten over your surfeit of masculine pride, please remember to be naked in my room at midnight on Friday.”

He made an inelegant sound and walked out, his cock and arse throbbing with every indignant stride, his mind again in turmoil. By the time he reached his office, he was sure of one thing. He’d learned rather more than he’d bargained for on a Wednesday morning. Some of it was helpful, and much of it too confusing for him to wish to deal with. But that was the problem with Diana Theale. There were moments when he was with her that everything seemed so obvious and clear that he couldn’t imagine what he had to argue about.

And then she would say something provoking and upset all his certainties about himself and his world and his sexual needs. He slammed down into his chair and regretted it immediately as his arse protested. If he could live his life naked and tied up with Lady Theale, he’d be a happy man . . .

That traitorous thought had him ringing the bell for Maddon and immersing himself in his work. Then he needed to see if Nicodemus had found out the information he’d requested about Harry’s lover.

Even as he thought about the matter, there was a knock on the door and one of the footmen delivered him a note in Nicodemus’s distinctive spiky black handwriting. Having checked that he at least looked respectable, even if he didn’t feel it, Alistair put on his coat and hat and went out to do battle.

“You are Harry’s brother?”

Sir Ronald Fairbanks studied Alistair’s calling card as if it might grow horns. He was a dark, heavyset man with a moustache and hard gray eyes. Alistair guessed him to be in his forties.

“Yes, Sir Ronald, I am.”

“You work for a living?”

“Someone has to support the family, sir.”

He’d been ushered into Sir Ronald’s study after a lengthy wait in the hall, but he had expected that. He didn’t have the necessary credentials to attract Sir Ronald’s attention, and was probably only being seen out of curiosity.

“And what can I do for you, Mr. Maclean?”

“As you are acquainted with my brother, Harry, I wondered if you had seen him recently?”

Sir Ronald looked down at the calling card again. “I understood from your brother that the two of you were estranged. Is that not the case?”

“If by estranged, you mean that every time I am unable to do what my brother demands of me he disappears in a huff, then I suppose we are. I do, however, consider him a part of my family and under my care.”

Sir Ronald sat down behind his desk. “I saw him two nights ago. He came here in something of a state.”

“Did he mention what was wrong?”

“Only that he was horribly in debt and had no means to pay his creditors.” Sir Ronald’s smile was sharp. “Nothing I haven’t heard from him before.”

“I apologize in advance for the personal nature of this question, sir, but did you give him money to settle his debts?”

“I did not.” Sir Ronald snorted. “He had the audacity to suggest that as I had taken him to the gambling den in question, I was somehow responsible for the debt he had incurred.”

“That sounds remarkably like him. How did he react to your refusal to help him?”

“He told me to go to the devil and stormed out. I haven’t seen him since.”

Alistair glanced longingly at one of the chairs. His hip was paining him, but he hadn’t been invited to sit down. He doubted the invitation would be extended at this point in the uncomfortable conversation.

“He hasn’t been seen at his lodgings for two days either.”

Sir Ronald pocketed Alistair’s card. “I wonder where he went? I gave him a guinea that I had in my pocket.” He chuckled. “I made him grovel on the floor for it.”

Alistair looked away from his companion’s gloating smile. “I have no idea where he is, sir. I must confess to being slightly concerned. If you do hear from him, would you be so kind as to contact me at my place of business?”

“I will certainly do that, Mr. Maclean. In fact, if he turns up I might well bring him along to one of your jolly end-of-the-month events on the second floor.”

“I believe those are restricted to our members, sir.” Alistair made no attempt to sound regretful. “After Harry repudiated Mr. Fisher, his membership of the club was revoked.”

“Oh, pity that.” Sir Ronald didn’t extend his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Maclean.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” Alistair bowed, turned on his heel, and left the study, none the wiser as to his brother’s whereabouts, but with a deep and unswerving loathing for Sir Ronald Fairbanks. If the man had introduced Harry to the dark play of the Demon Club, he was in some part to blame for what had transpired.

Alistair put on his hat and tilted the brim against the breeze, sweeping down the wide modern street where the banker had built his ostentatious new house. But Harry would probably have found his own way to the club eventually. He had a nose for trouble....

There were no hackney cabs around, so Alistair decided to walk down to the busier street below. A woman dressed in a blue pelisse and bonnet waited to cross the road at the lower end of the street, reminding Alistair of his shared hackney cab ride with the gun-wielding Charlotte.

If he’d had any brains, he would’ve asked Lady Malinda what her friend Charlotte looked like. Even if he went to the pleasure house and stared at all the female employees, he doubted he’d know which one she was. He was also fairly certain that such behavior would have him thrown out on his ear.

A reluctant chuckle escaped him. If Harry had indeed escaped to Scotland, perhaps he was in the right place. A few weeks of their mother’s bracing company and sharp wit might be just the thing to set him on a new course. Or make him run even further. Fiona Maclean was a wonderful woman, but all her softness had been bled out of her over the years of dealing with her infuriating husband. She had no time for dreamers, or revolutionaries, or rakes, which meant her loyalty was to Alistair rather than his younger brother and always had been.

He stopped on the curb to avoid a carriage and considered what to do next. A letter to his mother might confirm his brother’s whereabouts eventually and was probably worth the expense and the effort. He had nowhere left in London to try, and Nicodemus had been unsuccessful in finding any further clues as well.

As he turned the final corner into the square where the Sinners Club was, his thoughts turned to Diana Theale. It was far easier to think rationally when she wasn’t standing over him, ordering him out of his clothes and making him hard for her . . . If she wasn’t at the Sinners to involve him in his brother’s tangled affairs, why was she there? There had to be a reason. Despite everything, he still intended to find out exactly what it was.

Lady Westbrook had indicated that she and Lady Benedict had investigated their new secretary. If that was the case, where was the information? He would have to look harder, and if he was questioned, he was sure he could come up with some excuse. He might reluctantly admit that he appeared to be under Lady Theale’s spell in the bedroom, but his mind was perfectly capable of analytical thinking and swift action outside of it. With that resolve firmly in mind, he spent the remainder of his walk mentally composing the necessary letter to his mother and ignoring the thought of whether he’d be on his knees to Lady Theale on Friday night.

If she was lying to him . . .

His thoughts stuttered to a stop, and he stared out of the window at the seething swell of population on the London street.

Then God help them both.

9

“I
just don’t understand it. I’ve been through all the records I can find about the origins of the Sinners and there is nothing, not a scrap of evidence, to suggest anything untoward ever happened.”

Charlotte set down her glass. “Then perhaps there isn’t anything left to find.”

“There
must
be.” Diana scowled at her friend. “The very fact that there is nothing, is suspicious in itself.”

“I suppose that’s true. Mayhap you need to forget about your fears and simply ask?”

“That’s what Nico said too. But I can’t. I need some scrap of evidence to support my claim, or they can simply ignore me.”

“Have you thought about going to the newspapers?”

“And speaking to a
journalist?
”

“Why not?”

Diana shuddered. “I have no wish for my entire life to become breakfast fodder for the whole of London. I’m scandalous enough as it is, and not accepted by polite society.”

“So, what do you have to lose?”

“I want to live quietly and respectably. I want”—Diana flung her arms wide—“to be boring and conventional and to sink into comfortable obscurity.”

“Whilst continuing to wield a whip over a man such as Mr. Maclean.” Charlotte had the audacity to laugh. “You couldn’t be boring if you tried, Di.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She looked up at her friend. “Have you given any more thought to speaking to Mr. Maclean?”

“Alistair Maclean?” Charlotte shrugged. “He has nothing to tell me.”

“When I peeked into his office, I noticed he had written a letter to his mother in Scotland and left it for Maddon on his desk. Do you think it’s possible that Harry has gone up there?”

“If he has, he still won’t avoid the Demon Club. They’ll simply wait until he thinks it’s all blown over and then pounce when he returns to England.”

“Then your quest for vengeance is temporarily stalled?”

Charlotte grinned. “I suppose it is. But there is a delightful sense that Harry Maclean will get what he deserves in the end.”

“Are you sure about that? Mr. Delornay told me that the Demons is renowned for its shady dealings. Even Elizabeth warned me away from the place. Have you actually been there?”

“No, but my client has, and he says it will be just the thing to bring Harry to his knees.”

“Do I know this client?”

Charlotte fixed her with an intimidating stare. “I thought we agreed that I wouldn’t tell you anything more about this matter while you are involved with the ever-so upright and moral Mr. Alistair Maclean.”

“That’s right, we did. I forgot.” Diana faked a remorseful sigh.

“Fibber, you just want to know everything, you always have.” Charlotte glanced at the clock. “Are you expecting Mr. Maclean tonight?”

“Yes, I am. I think.”

“You’re still not sure of him?”

“He’s not sure of himself. He resists his nature at every turn and makes things far more difficult than necessary.” She considered her reluctant lover. “It’s rather like taming a wild stallion.”

“So enjoyable and well worth the ride.”

Diana laughed, kissed her friend, and climbed off her bed. “I need to go and change.”

“Have a good night, my love.”

“I think I will.”

She shut Charlotte’s door and headed back to one of the guest rooms where she kept some of the more outrageous clothing she’d worn when she serviced clients at the pleasure house. She chose a tightly fitting deep red velvet dress with a tiny slip of a bodice that barely covered her nipples and left her petticoats and stays off. Piling her hair up on top of her head in a loose bun, she allowed two black ringlets to fall on either side of her face to brush her cheeks. A judicious use of cosmetics and she was ready to go and find out if Mr. Maclean awaited her.

If he had decided to stay away, she would be disappointed. She loved the way he struggled to obey her, his arrogant male certainty and his need to be in control at war with his nature.

Ah, good. He was there. Naked and kneeling in place, his eyes lowered to the floor, his hands coming up to link behind his head. She let out a silent breath and walked around him. His cock was already hard. Reaching out, she nudged his shaft with the toe of her velvet slipper.

“I like that you are always ready to fuck for me, Mr. Maclean. I have come to expect it of you now.”

He didn’t say anything, although his throat worked as she rubbed her shoe against his tender flesh. Turning to the wall that contained all the implements she needed to tame her wild stallion, she took her time selecting what she needed and then went back to him.

“Stand up.”

He obeyed, again favoring his left side, his beautiful green eyes flicking over her.

“Lower your gaze. I did not give you permission to look at me.”

“But you look beautiful in that gown, my lady.”

His soft murmur made her want to smile. “Thank you.” She buckled the leather collar around his throat and attached the long supple leash that fell to the floor. “Keep still.”

She picked up the cock harness from the bed and the small phallus.

He grimaced. “Do you have to use that on me?”

“Do you wish me to gag you?”

He bit his lip, his whole body now tense.

“I make the decisions about what you will endure, Mr. Maclean—unless you would prefer me to leave your arse open to the other guests to fondle and touch and
probe?
”

He shivered as she coated the leather phallus in oil and eased it inside him. “You will wear this until you are comfortable with it and think no more of being touched there than you do of being flogged or fucked.”

“You haven’t done any of those things to me yet, my lady, so how would I know?”

At his deliberately provocative challenge, she grabbed hold of the leash, jerked his head toward her, and slapped his cheek. His reaction was instantaneous as he grabbed hold of her wrist and yanked her hard against him.

“Let go of me
immediately,
Mr. Maclean, or God help me, I will walk out of this room and send twenty men in to fuck you senseless.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“You are hurting me.”

His hand fell away, and with a curse, he dropped down to his knees.

“I’m sorry, I
never
want to hurt you, I—”

She held her wrist and stared down at him before turning to the door.

“Don’t go, my lady. God—
please,
don’t, I’ll do anything you want to make this up to you, I swear.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, Mr. Maclean.” She kept her back to him and her hand on the door latch.

“Please. Flog me, use me, make me bleed for daring to touch you without permission. I deserve it.”

Diana took a long, slow breath and turned around, keeping her back to the door. He immediately averted his anguished gaze to the floor.

She shook her head. “I think I’ve been a fool.”

“No!”

He crawled toward her on all fours and bent his head to kiss her feet. “Don’t leave me.”

“You don’t understand. The failure is mine, not yours.” She drew an unsteady breath. “I thought I could master you, but maybe I’m not strong enough. Maybe you do need someone who will beat you into submission, but I’m not that person.”

He didn’t say anything, and she bent to touch his beautiful auburn hair. “Good-bye, Mr. Maclean. I can’t play this game anymore.”

He tried to catch her skirts, but she skillfully avoided him and ran down the corridor and up into the attics to one of the empty rooms set aside for visiting servants. She flung herself facedown and realized she was already weeping. She’d been a fool. It was obvious that he only wanted a superficial relationship where he controlled everything. God, he’d practically told her that to her face, but no, she had to want more, to have him submit to her entirely. To trust her with
everything
.

But why should he? He wasn’t a fool. Perhaps he could tell that she wasn’t being honest with him about her appearance at the Sinners. Or perhaps it was even simpler than that. At some level, he knew she couldn’t control him; he’d shown her that tonight. He was too big, too strong, and too defiant . . .

A knock at the door had her wiping her eyes and sitting bolt-upright on the bed. Christian put his head around the door.

“Are you all right?”

She dashed away the few remaining tears. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He remained in the doorway, observing her with his usual cool precision. “Donal asked me what to do about Mr. Scott. Apparently, he’s refusing to leave your room until you return to give him your permission.”

“That man is so contrary!” She punched the pillow. “Tell him to leave and not to bother coming back.”

Christian raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your job?”

“He doesn’t respect me, he doesn’t . . .” She glared at her former employer. “You own this place. Order him to leave.”

“Yes, my lady.” He pretended to bow. “I’m quite willing to act on your behalf, but I have to mention that it isn’t like you to back down from a challenge.”

She practically bared her teeth at him. “He defies me at every turn, he challenges me—he”—she ran out of breath and simply glared at him—“I don’t know what to do. I want him so
badly
and yet . . .”

“May I make a suggestion?”

Diana looked at him. “If it is a helpful one.”

He flicked a card at her. “An old acquaintance of ours is in Town with his family this month. I suggest you write to him for his suggestions as to how to resolve this matter. I don’t know of a better man to advise you.”

Diana read the name and address on the card and stared at Christian in awe. “You are a genius.”

He bowed again. “Please remember to tell my wife that. I’ll get rid of Mr. Scott for you.” He searched her face. “You are welcome to stay here tonight, but you will have to return to the Sinners at some point.”

“I know.” Diana sighed. “But one thing I can rely on is that Mr. ‘Scott’ will never allow our disagreement to influence his behavior at work.”

 

“Sir Ronald Fairbanks is an extremely wealthy man, Mr. Maclean. There is no danger of him losing his money anytime soon.” Nicodemus flipped over a page in his notebook and stared at Alistair. “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t like the man?”

“In my opinion, he is an unscrupulous bastard with the morals of an alley cat.”

Alistair forced himself to concentrate. He hadn’t slept at all the previous night and downed far too much of a bottle of whisky. “Just the sort of man my brother seems to prefer.”

“From what I’ve learned about your sibling, Mr. Maclean, he doesn’t mind what sex his current lovers are, just that the person is wealthy enough to support him.”

“Which Sir Ronald is.” Alistair frowned. “Having met the man, I would agree with your assessment of him. He didn’t seem too friendly toward my brother either. I wonder if they have fallen out?”

“It’s highly likely. Your brother tends to bleed his lovers dry. Sir Ronald is not going to allow that to happen.”

“Harry will have to return to London at some point.”

“I agree.” Nicodemus stowed his notebook in his capacious pocket. “I hear the Demon Club are eagerly awaiting him.”

“Well, I hope he comes back soon then.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe they are demanding a settling of his account by the end of the month.”

“Oh dear, that’s not good at all.” Nicodemus stuck his pencil behind his ear. “Be careful, Mr. Maclean. The Demon Club has a tendency to spread their net wide if the original offender isn’t available. An acquaintance of mine who defaulted on a loan had his daughter abducted and her virginity was auctioned off at the place to recover the debt.” His expression sobered. “She never recovered from the experience and drowned herself in the Thames.”

He nodded and left the room, leaving Alistair staring into space.

After reviewing what Nicodemus had told him, he considered what he would do if Harry didn’t return and they came for
him
at the end of the month. Surely Harry knew what would happen if he refused to pay up? Alistair rubbed his temple. Of course he did. He’d damn well signaled his intention of not returning by putting Alistair’s name on the voucher.

Would Harry really want his brother to suffer the indignities of the Demon Club on his behalf?

“Yes.” Alistair spoke out loud into the silence of his office. “Of course he bloody well would.”

Harry would consider it Alistair’s just reward for refusing to bail him out again. His brother’s logic was rarely sound, and always totally self-motivated.

With a groan, Alistair buried his face in his hands. He was sick of Harry. Sick of being the responsible older brother who sacrificed everything for his family and got nothing in return. And what had his benevolence got him? A threat from the Demons, a brother who despised him, and a lover who . . .

He didn’t want to think about that. Somewhere deep inside him, he was ashamed of his behavior toward Lady Theale. She’d blamed herself, but he knew at his core that he had fought her off with every weapon at his disposal, determined to keep her out, to stop himself from giving in to her too easily. And he’d achieved his aim. She’d told him to go and now . . .

The clock chimed eight times, and he realized he’d missed dinner. Had Maddon even come in to remind him to eat? He glanced down at the pile of work awaiting his attention. He might as well get on with it. He had nothing else in his life . . .