The Sinners Club (20 page)

She bit her lip. “It was quite dreadful.”

“Why? You haven't told him the truth, and you have used him. If he can accept that and is still willing to help you, then what's wrong? You've got exactly what you wanted.”

“But it
hurt.”
She sank down onto the nearest chair. “And I hate myself for it. I felt as if I'd destroyed something vital in him, taken something precious and ruined it....” She raised her head. “I wanted to tell him everything.”

Simon came across and took her hands in his. “It's all right, love.”

“No, it isn't because he's right. I am a liar and a cheat, and I can't tell him because I can't bear to see the look of disgust on his face.”

“Oh dear, you really do care about him, don't you?”

She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “It serves me right, doesn't it? The only man I've ever wanted is the one I have to deceive.”

 

Much later that evening, Jack took the packet from Maddon and settled back to read the enclosed notes. He couldn't fault the speed and efficiency of the man. It appeared that the chambermaid had been willing not only to talk at length, but also to speculate wildly on the doings of the countess and her brother, and every guest they'd brought up to the suite.

It took some time to get used to the chambermaid's preference for going off at tangents and circling around issues, but eventually he managed it. Visitors to the suite were few, one notable absence being any appearance of the supposed physician Mary had intended to consult—a man who would definitely have come to the countess rather than the other way around. The maid speculated about that, and about the countess's pregnancy being less advanced than she should've been considering how long gossip said her husband had been dead.

“So the countess doesn't allow her maid to bathe her, and it is Mr. Picoult who laces her into her corset every morning?” Jack murmured. “Has she been sewn into her undergarments for the winter?”

He lowered the pages and stared blindly at the fire. There was a far simpler explanation. One that made a mockery of every single thing Mary Lennox had ever told him.

There was no child.

Jack realized he'd crumpled the letter up in his fist. He painstakingly smoothed it out and made himself finish reading. There was little else of importance, but he'd certainly gained a new perspective on the matter, just as Lady Westbrook had hinted.

He wanted to strangle Mary with his bare hands.

He wanted—

He closed his eyes. This was why he didn't get involved with anyone. Why hadn't she trusted him? It hurt too much, and this time he'd known that going in, known that she was too much like him, too dangerous....

And now he had the ability to destroy her.

Part of him wanted that. Shouldn't she suffer for hurting him, for letting him down in some unfathomable way that he didn't even want to think about because it was too damn painful? He drew in a deep, slow breath. He had to think. Using his intelligence had always allowed him to distance himself both from the unsettling horrors of war and the emotions of others.

It was, after all, the only thing he had left.

Mary Lennox's past held the key to this puzzle. It was useless asking George for help, so he'd have to rely on other sources. If he knew what George knew, he was suddenly in a position of power.

He rang the bell for Maddon, who never seemed to sleep.

“Do you have the direction of a Mr. Nicodemus Theale?”

“I believe I do, sir.”

“Would you be so good as to send an urgent message, and ask him to visit me here at his earliest opportunity?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He'd also ask Mr. McEwan to finally grant George the interview he'd been seeking so desperately, and make sure he was there to overhear every word. Whatever happened, it appeared that he would inherit the title of Earl of Storr whether the Picoults liked it or not. Mary and Simon would be his pensioners, and he would determine their fate. He was ashamed to say he found some bitter satisfaction in that.

Grabbing the brandy decanter from the sideboard, Jack made his way up to bed. On Friday, the Indian dance troupe was performing at the Sinners. He'd make damn sure that he was awake for that. It seemed the perfect opportunity to forget everything except what he was good at. Anonymous sex with strangers.

He drank straight out of the decanter and toasted his reflection in the mirror. He looked dangerous and wild, quite like his old self. But would that illusion be enough to allow him to survive?

 

Mary pulled on her oldest gown and grabbed a dark cloak and a shawl. It was no use; she had to speak to Jack. Had to explain what she'd done, and why, before someone else did it for her. Perhaps Jasper had confided in George at the end. They had been alone together for a little while. As the original idea had been Jasper's, why would he then betray her and Simon? It made no sense.

She sneaked out of the suite without waking Simon, and used the backstairs to bring her out at the rear of the hotel. A cold wind blew through the narrow passageway that led down to the mews and the lesser-used cobbled alleyways that ran behind the majestic London squares. She had an excellent sense of direction and was able to plot a more exact course to the Sinners Club than by following the main streets.

The stairs leading down to the basement and kitchen of the house were dark, but faint light shone through the barred lower windows. Mary hesitated. Should she attempt to enter the place without being seen? Thanks to Simon and his mother, she knew the internal layout of the building from top to bottom. Where was Jack likely to be at this hour? She turned to look up at the topmost windows but none of them were lit.

As she took a step toward the stairs, a hand grasped her elbow in a firm grip.

“Will you come with me, please, miss?”

She tried to pull away, but the unknown man who held her simply tightened his hold.

“Who are you?”

“I'm employed to keep the premises safe and secure.”

“Then unhand me! I have a perfect right to be here.”

“We'll let the owner decide that.” He turned her toward the front of the house, and Mary had no choice but to follow him. Security at the Sinners Club was obviously much better than it appeared. The butler who had admitted her earlier appeared in the hall and bowed.

“Do you wish to see Mr. Lennox, my lady? I will inquire if he is still receiving visitors.”

“Thank you.” Mary tried to look as if she always paid calls in the middle of the night without thought to her pregnant state or her consequence.

“May I suggest you wait for him in his office?”

She'd already heard the sound of voices and laughter behind some of the closed doors, and was more than willing to agree.

“That would be perfect.”

He escorted her down the hallway and left her in the study. The remains of a fire in the grate drew her, and she knelt down to warm her cold hands and feet. Her notion of finding Jack suddenly seemed as ridiculous as her certainty about her original plan to successfully deceive him.

The door opened again and she looked up.

“Mr. Lennox says he will see you if you wish to come upstairs.”

Mary nodded, and followed the butler up two flights of stairs to a landing, which contained three doors. He knocked on the first one, and opened it wide.

“Your visitor, Mr. Lennox.”

Was there a note of censure, or anxiety in the butler's voice? Mary glanced up as she murmured her thanks and went past him. Perhaps he didn't approve of late-night visitors. He didn't follow her in, just closed the door quietly behind her.

“My lady.”

Jack sat sprawled by the fire, an almost empty decanter of brandy in his hand. He'd shed his clothes and wore only a robe fastened with a tie at his waist. The dark blue silk only seemed to emphasize the glittering sapphire of his remarkable eyes.

“What do you want?”

His smile was brilliant as he carefully put down the decanter, his voice light.

She leaned against the door, her hands grasped together in the small of her back.

“I had to tell you something.”

“At this hour? It must have been very important.” He studied her, his gaze moving from her face, down to her bosom, and back again in an insulting way that made her stiffen. “Let me guess, you decided that you really did need to be fucked, and I was the obvious choice because God knows I'll fuck anything that moves.”

“Are you drunk?”

He winked at her. “Don't worry, I'll still be able to perform to your satisfaction.”

“I didn't come here for that.”

“I don't think I believe you.”

He slowly stood up and came toward her, the hardness of his expression so much at odds with his charming smile that she found herself wishing she could disappear through the solid oak door.

She raised her chin and met his gaze. “You asked me not to use you like that. I believe I agreed.”

“And when have you ever meant anything that comes out of your lying little mouth?”

She held on to her composure with all her strength. “I assume you've been talking to George. What did he tell you? Am I not to be allowed the privilege of defending myself? I thought we were allies.”

“I haven't seen George.”

“Then what's wrong?”

He grinned at her. “Whatever could possibly be wrong? I'm merely a little drunk. Does it offend you?”

Dammit, he might be smiling, but there was nothing pleasant behind it. How could she look into his face and have no idea what he was thinking? How could she tell him what she needed to?

“I have a confession to make.”

“Dear, dear, another one?”

“I lied to you about something very important.”

He reached forward and carefully placed his hand on her belly. The words froze in her throat.

“I know. Is that why you came back to London? To ask Mrs. Picoult to find you an abandoned pauper brat from the gutter to pass off as the earl's heir?”

“No, I never intended to—”

He moved his hand and covered her mouth. “I don't want to hear any more of your lies. You did it because you are an ambitious, grasping woman who used every weapon in her arsenal to get what she wanted.”

She tried to shake her head, but he didn't stop.

“And here's the most farcical part. If you'd only been honest with me, I would've understood. In your place I'd probably have done the same thing, but you couldn't trust me, could you?” He took his hand away and stepped back. “Now get out.”

Her legs were trembling and it was difficult to breathe. “That's not why I did it, if you will only let me explain.” Her breath hitched as he reached past her, and wrenched open the door.

“Get out. My solicitor will contact you when necessary.”

Her temper flared. “Why won't you listen to me!”

“Why should I?” His blue gaze was unflinching. “I try to avoid making the same mistakes, and you and your brother were definitely a mistake. My father denied me my birthright, and you have tried to do exactly the same. I thought—” He stopped and stared down at the floor before looking up and smiling. “It doesn't matter now, does it?”

“What?” She tried desperately to reach him, but he'd retreated behind his charming icy façade. “That if circumstances had been different, we might have come to care for each other? That I've come to care for you?”

She saw it then, the desolation behind the flippancy and reached out her hand. “Jack, please ...”

He shook his head, and shut the door in her face. She slammed her hand against the oak but it didn't move. For a moment, she rested her cheek against the wood and simply breathed. He didn't understand, and he didn't want to understand. She'd taken something from him that she'd lost herself—her place in society, her home, and her parents. Having experienced it, why hadn't she realized the enormity of that deception for Jack? She dashed away a tear. In her own desperate need to stay at Pinchbeck Hall, she'd deprived him of a home.

How would he ever find it in his heart to forgive her that?

“M
r. Nicodemus Theale to see you, sir.”

Jack raised his aching head and nodded at Maddon. “Please show him in.”

Maddon stepped aside to reveal a man of medium height with black curly hair and dark eyes, dressed in the modest garb of a city dweller. He was younger than Jack had anticipated and brimmed with quiet confidence.

“Mr. Theale. Please sit down.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Lennox.” His visitor sat and took out a notebook from his capacious pocket. “I assume you wish to know how I'm getting along with my investigation into Mary Lennox?”

“I'm not sure if I do.”

Mr. Theale went still. “You don't wish me to continue?”

Jack stared at him. Did he? Part of him wanted nothing to do with Mary and her past. Common sense told him he should know everything possible about his enemy. If he were protected against her lies, she would lose the power to hurt him.

He sighed. “Please excuse my indecision. I would be very interested in hearing what you've discovered.”

Mr. Theale opened his notebook. “She was not an easy woman to find, Mr. Lennox. I initially focused on identifying her mother, Catherine, first by scanning records of the deceased in the appropriate year. I found nothing.”

“I was told she was buried in a paupers' mass grave.”

“I have to assume that information is correct. After failing to discover her through those means, I turned my attention to financial matters, records of houses being bought and sold, fortunes won and lost, disasters on the exchange.”

“What relevance would such things have to Mary and her mother?”

“They were thrown out on the street, Mr. Lennox, and forced to seek shelter in a brothel. That indicates a catastrophe of quite epic proportions.”

Despite himself, Jack sat forward. “I suppose it does. Did you find anything?”

“Eventually, I did.” He flipped over a page. “A Mrs. Catherine Miller and her daughter, Mary, were evicted from their house in Hans Town due to arrears in the rent.”

“Did Mrs. Miller have a husband?”

“That still remains rather unclear. Her neighbors believed that she was a widow. She claimed to have been married to a captain in the Hussars who died in India.”

“I assume there is no record of him?”

“There is not. I did however, find out that the rent was paid by another man.”

“Her protector?”

“It would appear so. That man died suddenly that same year without providing for Mrs. Miller or her child. Eventually, when the rent stopped being paid, the house was repossessed by the family lawyers, the contents sold off, and Catherine and her child deposited on the streets.”

Despite himself, Jack could only imagine how terrifying that had been for the two unprotected females. “Did Mrs. Miller not ask for help from her own family?”

“I believe they disowned her years ago. If she did contact them, they ignored her plight.”

“Leading to her ending up in a brothel with her young daughter,” Jack murmured. “I assume that the gentleman who paid the bills was married?”

Mr. Theale consulted his notes. “I don't know that yet.”

“Titled?”

“I'm not sure. He used the name Desmond Norris. I'm currently trying to find out who exactly he is, and whether anyone in his family was aware of him keeping a mistress and having an illegitimate child.”

“You believe Mary is his child?”

“He bought the house two years before her birth and significantly increased the monthly sum he paid to Catherine after she delivered the child.”

“Which he wouldn't have done if he'd believed she'd cuckolded him.”

“Yes.” There was a great deal of sympathy on Mr. Theale's face. “It is astounding how many men never think to make a will to include their permanent mistresses or bastard children.”

“I don't think they
want
to acknowledge such things, let alone put them in their wills for their family to see.”

“I suppose that's true.” Mr. Theale sighed. “I'll have the information about Mary's father in the next day or so. From what I understand from talking to the neighbors and former staff, Mary had no idea that her parents weren't married, and was a happy and contented child.”

“Until she was thrown out on the street.” Jack studied his tightly laced fingers. “How did they end up at the Picoults? Was it blind chance?”

“I believe Catherine Miller knew Mrs. Audrey Picoult when she was employed as a nursemaid for Mary. Mrs. Miller was disappointed when Audrey left, and attempted to keep in touch with her despite her lover's disapproval.”

“Did Mrs. Miller intend to prostitute herself?”

“One must assume so, although I understand that she was already rather fragile. I believe Mary eventually stepped in to supplement their income.”

“She must have been terrified.”

“From all I've learned about Mary Lennox, sir, she is an extremely tenacious woman.”

“She certainly is.”

“Of course, you've met her, haven't you?”

“Many times. She is as beautiful as she is brave.” He pushed the image of her face away. “Do you have any idea how she met Jasper, the Earl of Storr?”

“I believe the earl patronized Mrs. Picoult's brothel.”

“I wonder why he didn't just set up a mistress?”

“I believe the earl's tastes were rather specific, sir.”

Jack swallowed hard. “So he invited Mary and Simon Picoult to live with him at Pinchbeck Hall.”

“That's correct. Mary was fourteen, and Simon two years older. Pinchbeck Hall has been their home since then.”

No wonder she was reluctant to give it up. Despite the price she'd had to pay, it had at least got her out of the brothel and back into the more leisurely existence she had assumed would be hers for the rest of her life. He could understand that after more than ten years of putting up with the elderly earl, she'd felt as if she deserved some form of compensation. But why hadn't marriage been enough? Why had she tried to pretend she carried the next heir?

“Do you wish me to continue my search for the name of Mary's real father, Mr. Lennox?”

Jack forced his attention back to the patiently waiting Mr. Theale. “Yes, I'd like that information, please, and as soon as possible.”

“Then I'll take my leave of you.” Mr. Theale rose and bowed. “Good day, Mr. Lennox.”

“Good day, and thank you, Mr. Theale.”

Jack remained in his chair and thought through Mr. Theale's information. He'd been right that Mary wasn't born in a brothel. She'd been summarily dispossessed both of her identity and her social status by the demise of her mother's protector. It was interesting that he'd grown up thinking he had nothing and was a nobody, while she'd been dreaming of her Season. He had to admit that his change in prospects had been remarkably easier to deal with than hers must have been.

Damnation, if he wasn't careful he'd be feeling sorry for her again, and that would never do.

There was a knock on the door and Maddon looked in, his expression concerned. “I'm sorry to bother you again, sir, but there is a Mr. Delornay here to see you.”

“That's quite all right. Please ask him to come in.”

Jack stood and came around the desk to shake hands with Christian Delornay, who was his usual beautiful, blond self. Since his marriage, he had even been known to smile occasionally, and was doing so now at Jack.

“It is delightful to see you again. I apologize for being unavailable in your hour of need.”

Jack waved the other man to a seat. “You are here now, and that is all that matters. I'm trying to find out about a family by the name of Picoult.”

Christian sat and crossed one elegant leg over the other. “So I heard. May I ask why?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

Jack waited but Christian didn't say anything else. That wasn't a surprise; he wasn't known for his open and confidential nature.

“Can I rely on your silence in this matter?”

“I give you my word that nothing you say to me will be repeated—except to my wife, from whom I am not allowed to keep secrets.”

Jack nodded. “I met Simon and Mary Picoult at Pinchbeck Hall in Lincolnshire. I was rather surprised to hear that the late Earl of Storr had married Mary and she was expecting his posthumous child.”

“Storr is the title you expected to inherit?” Christian whistled. “Oh dear.”

“When I attempted to discover more about them, I found that local opinion insisted Mary had been the earl's mistress for many years, and that she had forced the elderly sick man to marry her. The man who thought he had a chance of inheriting the title, George Mainwaring, was particularly violent in his hatred of Mary and eager to take her to court to challenge her marriage, and her right to any inheritance in the earl's new will.”

“So, they are a pair of charming tricksters. Why didn't you simply pay them off and send them on their way?”

“Because when I investigated further I discovered the marriage appeared to be legal and Mary was increasing.”

“What is the connection with the Picoult brothel?”

“Mary and her mother rented a room at the brothel after they were thrown out of their home. At first, Mary claimed that she and Simon were brother and sister, and gossip suggested the child was his, and not the earl's.”

“And were they lovers?”

“Yes.”

Christian sat back and studied Jack. “I still don't understand why you allowed this charade to continue for so long. You're not the kind of man who hesitates to act; in fact, you relish it.”

“I liked them.”

Christian raised his eyebrows. “What in God's name does that have to do with anything? They were trying to steal your inheritance!”

“The earl married Mary. In my eyes that made her claim just as legitimate as mine. If her child had proven to be a boy, he should've inherited the title.”

“Who'd have thought that you of all people had such a strong moral compass, Jack?” Christian marveled.

Jack glared at him. “Having been denied knowledge of my own inheritance for most of my life, do you really think I could deprive someone else of theirs?”

“Obviously not. But I still don't see how any information about the Picoult brothel can help you now—unless you've changed your mind and wish to discredit the pair after all?”

“I simply wish to know the truth. Why would the Earl of Storr choose to patronize a cheap brothel in Whitechapel?”

“Oh, Mrs. Picoult's isn't cheap.” Christian's smile had disappeared. “Her particular services are much in demand.”

“Because she provides young whores, the younger the better?”

“She does take them in young, but it is more than that. She caters to a particular type of client who craves unusual sex.”

“You do all that in the pleasure house, so why didn't the earl come to you?”

“Because we only offer such services on a regular Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday?” Jack frowned.

“Tuesday nights are when our clients gain the freedom to dress as they please and have the sex that they want with both men and women.”

“And Mrs. Picoult offers that all the time?”

“As well as other role-playing activities. I believe she has a schoolroom there for those who wish to re-create their pasts in a more highly erotic way. Her clientele is almost exclusively male.”

“Mary Lennox was fourteen when she first started working for that woman. She even prostituted her own son.”

“I can't say I'm surprised. It is a mainly male environment. He was probably quite in demand. I understand that it can get quite rough there, although Mrs. Picoult isn't the kind of woman to allow things to get out of control. I wonder where the late earl's tastes lay?”

Jack went cold as he remembered what he'd done to Simon, and Mary's obvious concern. Had he been abused at the brothel? Had Jack forced him back into re-creating sexual situations he'd hated?

“From your stricken expression I have to assume that you are more involved with your opponents than you would like.”

“Why didn't Mrs. Picoult tell me any of this when I asked her?”

“Why would she? The services she offers have to be kept quiet, you know that. Maybe she thought she was protecting her son and Mary Lennox.” Christian stood up. “If the earl did buy Mary's exclusive services from the brothel, he probably did her a favor. She wouldn't have survived long and her spirit would've been broken in such a masculine place. I'm sure Mrs. Picoult promoted the match.”

“She probably made a fortune out of it and, don't forget, she lost her son's earnings too.”

“That's true. I'm surprised she let him go at all.”

“I suspect Mary insisted on it.” Jack rose, too, and shook Christian's hand. “Thank you for your help. I suppose I really will have to go back and speak to Mrs. Picoult again.”

“Why?”

“To make sure I'm not missing anything.”

“For the case you intend to bring against Mary?”

“I'm not going to do that.”

“Then you are a better man than I am. If someone attempted to deprive me of my birthright, I'd be damned if I'd stand aside and let them.”

“They have nowhere else to go, and as the late earl's widow, Mary should receive her due from his will.”

Christian shook his head. “There is more to this than you are letting on. Is Mary Lennox as beautiful as I've heard?”