But Davien knew that it was in the very depths of those tunnels that the most carnal and lewd activities were held. From orgies, to the more degenerate practices of live sacrifice, the Order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe might consider themselves to be just another gentleman’s club, but in truth, it was a shrine to immorality. Davien had never stepped over the threshold of White’s to see two men in a torrid embrace, but it was commonplace in the caves of the Abbey.
In spite of these activities, the select few who were approached to become members of the Hellfire were sworn to secrecy, and whoever disobeyed this sacred law was forever cast out of polite society, for many of the men who took part in the proceedings were also active in Parliament and in good standing with the King George. Thus, it was imperative that confidentiality within the Order was upheld and reputations were secure. Any slight was taken as the greatest deception.
Sir Francis sat back in his chair and drank from his glass of brandy with an air of nonchalance, although his expression was serious when he said, “You know, Blackburn, I’ve always thought of you as the son I never had.” Davien forced himself not to stiffen as Dashwood continued. “It’s for this reason alone that I’m willing to overlook your current reluctance to participate in our proceedings. However, I entertain every hope that you will continue to use our services, even though it appears that you have taken on a mistress.”
Davien flexed his right hand, which was still under the table. With his left, he toyed with the glass of brandy that he had yet to consume. “I see you’ve been keeping a steady eye on my affairs.” He’d already known it, of course, but it was best to let Dashwood imagine that he retained all the power.
The baron smiled tolerantly. “Come now, Blackburn. You know that any affiliate of our organization is watched carefully, especially when there is unease amid the other members. It’s nothing personal, and if you wish to enjoy the delights of a mistress, that is your priority, of course. Although I should hate to think that we might not keep you invested in our establishment.” Tapping his finger on his glass expectantly, he lifted a brow.
Davien snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with the Order, I assure you. I only wished to consider some . . . outward pursuits as well.”
Sir Francis was silent as he took a long draught from his brandy. “That comforts me, my boy.” Davien clenched his fist. “Since you are not completely lost to us, shall we expect you to attend our spring initiation ceremony in six weeks? We are preparing some rather . . . favorable inductees for member review.”
Four times a year, at the beginning of each season, a series of women, and men, were paraded naked before the Order in a ‘rite of passage’ initiation. The ones that were chosen would service the members of the Club until the next initiation, where they had the choice of remaining within the walls of the Abbey—or be cast out.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
With a sly smile curving Dashwood’s mouth, Davien finished off the brandy in one, scorching gulp, before he set his glass down. After a brief murmur of farewell, he exited the sanctuary.
~ ~ ~
Cosette was convinced that Davien’s coachman was either mute, or didn’t speak English. Or else the duke had managed to cast a spell over him where he only did his bidding. Whatever it was, it was impossible to get the man to understand that she wanted either a horse saddled, or to be taken into town by coach. Even though it was a particularly fair day in London, she didn’t care to make another mad race into the heart of the city.
As she tried once more to pick up a saddle and throw it over one of the black stallion’s backs, he moved to block her way. “Don’t you understand?” She stamped her foot in frustration. “I need to find Charlotte!”
“Do you not trust in my abilities to locate her?”
Cosette’s head spun around to see Davien, leaning against a nearby stall. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but if it had been any time at all, she was going to be furious if he’d allowed this ridiculous exchange with his coachman to continue. She set her hands on her hips. “What have you done thus far?”
She was met with silence.
“Exactly what I thought,” she mumbled. She glared at Quinn one last time, and then exited the stables.
Davien was waiting for her the moment she entered the foyer. With a single blink, she asked, “Did you fly in here? Or is displacement another one of your many gifts?”
He shrugged.
“I guess that answers my question.” She started for the library, where he followed at a discreet distance. She took her bonnet off and set it on a nearby table. “Tell me again why you don’t like being this—” She waved her hand at him. “—aswang creature. It doesn’t seem to be without its perks.”
He lifted an arm and leaned against a nearby bookcase. The action made him seem almost—human. Until he opened his mouth and allowed a pair of fangs to drop down from his upper teeth. Along with that unholy glow coming from his eyes, she had to wince.
“I see your point.” She tried not to let her lips twitch at her own play on words.
“You seem to be enjoying my suffering a little too much,” Davien murmured, his face having returned to normal.
“Not at all,” Cosette said, a bit too sweetly.
“I may just push you in that pond the next time you decide to take a midnight swim,” he murmured in return.
She gasped. “Don’t you dare!”
For a moment, it was almost as if the light banter between them would flourish into something . . . more.
But then he had to open his mouth and ruin it all. “You’re not to leave this manor, Cosette.”
“And why not? I think we already know that I have nowhere else to go. I was merely going to do some discreet checking into Charlotte’s disappearance, maybe even return to the workhouse to see if she’s returned.”
“She hasn’t,” Davien returned evenly.
