“The fact that wearetogether makes my argument even more compelling. I will only marry a man who treats me like a true partner: not just a warm body in bed, a conversationalist at the supper table, or a mama for his children.” She drew a breath and drove in the stakes, establishing the boundaries in their relationship. The fences she would not allow him to cross. “I believe in beginning as one intends to carry on. If you won’t include me in your present plans, then I will have to reconsider our future.”
“You’re issuing me anultimatum?” The muscle bulged in his jaw.
“I’m being honest. If we can’t come to a compromise now, how will we deal with other problems in our marriage? I don’t want a relationship that works only during the good times.”
I don’t want to end up like Mama.Her throat constricted.I won’t entrust my happiness and future to someone, only to have him smash it to smithereens.
Wick had contemplated her in brooding silence. He’d remained quiet for so long that wings of anxiety had beat in her breast. What if he decided that she wasn’t worth the trouble? What if he simply called everything off?
It’s better in the long run to know now,her inner voice said.The pain will be easier to bear.
Only she didn’t think the painwouldbe easy to bear. Not now, not later, not ever. Because she knew there wouldn’t be another man for her.
Then why are you being so dashed difficult?Since arriving in London, she’d been digging her heels in more frequently. Insisting on talking to his partners, clashing with Garrity—arguing over a gift, for heaven’s sake. There’d been other tiffs as well, and she knew full well she’d been at fault. To top things off, now she’d given him an ultimatum.
She couldn’t seem to stop herself. It was a compulsion, this need to preserve her independence…
Wick had turned on his heel with an abruptness that lodged her heart in her throat. With clawing panic, she’d wondered if she’d finally pushed him too far.
As his hand closed on the door handle, she managed, “Where are you going?”
“To make arrangements for this evening,” he snarled. “I have to figure out the security—and our damned disguises.”
Before she could fully digest that he’d included her in his plans, he’d stalked out.
Which brought them to the present moment and her desire to smooth things over with her lover, who she knew was acting against his own better judgement. In fact, she was amazed that he’d capitulated to her wishes…and was determined to prove to him that working together was the key to success.
The carriage came to a stop. She parted the curtain, peering out. The street was jammed with businesses, taverns, and houses of ill-repute.
“We’re in Covent Garden, not Mayfair,” she said with a frown.
“I have a stop to make first.” He put on his hat, not bothering with his mask or cloak. “I’ll be a few minutes so stay put here—and don’t argue for once, all right?”
Deciding to pick her battles, she nodded. He alighted, giving instructions to the guards riding up top to keep a sharp lookout. Then she watched him enter a shady-looking tavern called “The Golden Buck.”
A half-hour passed before he returned. He tapped the ceiling with his walking stick, and the carriage once again rolled off. Beatrice thought she smelled something on his breath…ale?
“Have you beendrinking?” She didn’t hide her disapproval.
“I can hold my spirits,” he said curtly.
“Yes, but why would you imbibe at this critical juncture?”
“Because if you want a fellow to talk, you share a tankard with him.” Before she could ask who he’d talked to and why, he said, “Staff of Dionysus.”
“What in heavens does that mean?”
“On a literal level, it refers to the walking stick that the God of Wine used to turn grapes into wine. On a symbolic level, I’m guessing it alludes to a man’s cock,” Wick said sardonically. “On the level that we’re most interested in, it is the password for getting into the Hellfire Club.”
Her jaw slackened. “But how…”
“I told you I was making arrangements this afternoon. The most critical one being ascertaining the password for entry. One of my contacts runs The Golden Buck, and he overheard two of his regular patrons—young rakehells—celebrating gaining entrée into the “H. C.,” which he gathered from their drunken toasts was some sort of a club. He said the rakehells’ habit was to stop at his tavern the first Saturday evening of the month on their way to the club.”
“How did you manage to get the password from them?” Bea asked, amazed.
He shrugged. “After a few rounds on me, they were foxed. They would have told me the combination to the safe holding the Crown Jewels if they knew it. Hopefully the information they provided will get us into the club tonight.”
“How extraordinarily clever of you,” she said with admiration.
