mind … that could as easily create a wondrous world as one so terrifying, it drove a man crazy; there was gaming for stakes that rapidly exhausted a moderate fortune; and there were the women.
He had assumed the women who participated in the orgies in the crypt were willing. Some of them were Society women whom he’d believed to be as eager for the sensual thrills as any of the men. He knew now that not all of them fell into that category; Stephen was not averse to blackmail. The other women were whores, paid more for their participation in one evening than they would make in a month on the streets. Drink and the strange herbal substances that were always in ample supply soon banished any inhibitions.
Until the night Stephen had brought Elizabeth to the crypt …
T he tall clock in the library struck two. The dog’s howling filled the night. Hugo swore and drank deeply from his recharged glass. For some reason, the brandy wasn’t taking effect. He was as far from oblivion as ever, and his thoughts were as raw. But perhaps it wasn’t surprising, with Elizabeth’s daughter asleep under his roof. And that damned mournful mongrel didn’t help either.
He went back to the pianoforte, trying to drown out the desolate sound by concentrating on his music. Abruptly, he stopped, listening, wondering what he’d heard. Some tiny sound from the hall. He shrugged. He hadn’t heard anything. How could he have over that racket?
And then miraculously the howling ceased. The silence filled his head and he could hear the sounds of the slumbering house, the creaks and shifts of the oak floors, the slight rattle of the casement in the night breeze.
He went into the hall. The door to the courtyard was unlatched. He could think of only one explanation. Presumably, Chloe was intending to smuggle the dog upstairs.
He opened the door. The sky was cloudless and the summer night was bright with stars shining down onto the deserted courtyard. He decided to wait in the hall for her. If he gave her a fright, she had only herself to blame. However, after fifteen minutes there was no sign of either his ward or the dog. And there was no sound from the stables either.
Curious now, he lit a lantern and went out into the courtyard, crossing to the stables where the miserable Dante had been confined. His footsteps were muffledby the littering straw and he lifted the latch on the stable door with exaggerated care. At first he could see nothing and held the lantern high. A puddle of golden light fell on a corner of an open stall. A small, white-clad figure was curled against the dog in the straw, her arm around his neck, her head resting on his flank.
“Hell and the devil,” Hugo muttered with a surge of irritation. She was sleeping like the dead. Dante cocked a benign eye at the intruder and his tail thumped in greeting. Obviously, he didn’t know at whose orders he was being made miserable.
Hugo set down the lantern and bent over Chloe. “Wake up,” he said, shaking her shoulder. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Chloe woke, blinking and bemused. “What … where … oh, I remember.” She sat up. “Since you won’t let Dante into the house, I had to come to him. I couldn’t let him go on howling like that.”
“I have never heard such nonsense,” he said. “Go up to bed at once.”
“Not without Dante,” she said flatly. “I haven’t slept a wink, it’s impossible with him howling. I can’t imagine anyone sleeping through it. And now I’m so tired, I’d as soon sleep here as anywhere.”
“You are not sleeping in a stable,” he stated, standing over her, rocking lightly on the balls of his feet, his hands on his hips.
Chloe regarded him steadily, assessing the strength of his determination, testing it against her own. He’d warned her against challenging him, but this time she had a master card up her sleeve. “Good night,” she said with a sweet smile, and lay down again.
“You stubborn little
He had assumed the women who participated in the orgies in the crypt were willing. Some of them were Society women whom he’d believed to be as eager for the sensual thrills as any of the men. He knew now that not all of them fell into that category; Stephen was not averse to blackmail. The other women were whores, paid more for their participation in one evening than they would make in a month on the streets. Drink and the strange herbal substances that were always in ample supply soon banished any inhibitions.
Until the night Stephen had brought Elizabeth to the crypt …
T he tall clock in the library struck two. The dog’s howling filled the night. Hugo swore and drank deeply from his recharged glass. For some reason, the brandy wasn’t taking effect. He was as far from oblivion as ever, and his thoughts were as raw. But perhaps it wasn’t surprising, with Elizabeth’s daughter asleep under his roof. And that damned mournful mongrel didn’t help either.
He went back to the pianoforte, trying to drown out the desolate sound by concentrating on his music. Abruptly, he stopped, listening, wondering what he’d heard. Some tiny sound from the hall. He shrugged. He hadn’t heard anything. How could he have over that racket?
And then miraculously the howling ceased. The silence filled his head and he could hear the sounds of the slumbering house, the creaks and shifts of the oak floors, the slight rattle of the casement in the night breeze.
He went into the hall. The door to the courtyard was unlatched. He could think of only one explanation. Presumably, Chloe was intending to smuggle the dog upstairs.
He opened the door. The sky was cloudless and the summer night was bright with stars shining down onto the deserted courtyard. He decided to wait in the hall for her. If he gave her a fright, she had only herself to blame. However, after fifteen minutes there was no sign of either his ward or the dog. And there was no sound from the stables either.
Curious now, he lit a lantern and went out into the courtyard, crossing to the stables where the miserable Dante had been confined. His footsteps were muffledby the littering straw and he lifted the latch on the stable door with exaggerated care. At first he could see nothing and held the lantern high. A puddle of golden light fell on a corner of an open stall. A small, white-clad figure was curled against the dog in the straw, her arm around his neck, her head resting on his flank.
“Hell and the devil,” Hugo muttered with a surge of irritation. She was sleeping like the dead. Dante cocked a benign eye at the intruder and his tail thumped in greeting. Obviously, he didn’t know at whose orders he was being made miserable.
Hugo set down the lantern and bent over Chloe. “Wake up,” he said, shaking her shoulder. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Chloe woke, blinking and bemused. “What … where … oh, I remember.” She sat up. “Since you won’t let Dante into the house, I had to come to him. I couldn’t let him go on howling like that.”
“I have never heard such nonsense,” he said. “Go up to bed at once.”
“Not without Dante,” she said flatly. “I haven’t slept a wink, it’s impossible with him howling. I can’t imagine anyone sleeping through it. And now I’m so tired, I’d as soon sleep here as anywhere.”
“You are not sleeping in a stable,” he stated, standing over her, rocking lightly on the balls of his feet, his hands on his hips.
Chloe regarded him steadily, assessing the strength of his determination, testing it against her own. He’d warned her against challenging him, but this time she had a master card up her sleeve. “Good night,” she said with a sweet smile, and lay down again.
“You stubborn little
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