Moonspun Magic

  “That’s right. What we have in Cornwall is a revival of the Hellfire Club, with this Ram as its leader. It’s still a small group, not more than ten men as its members. Unlike their predecessors, they eschew the more outrageous trappings and perversions of satanism, and get on with the ravishing of young virgins. To be honest about it, Captain, we would not be at all interested in this group were it not for the rape of Viscount Bainbridge’s daughter. He, I will tell you, is active in the ministry and is so very enraged he can scarcely see straight. I promised him that I would ask you to look into it.”

  “A viscount’s daughter? That wouldn’t seem very intelligent of them.”

  “Not at all. Evidently it was a mistake. They kept calling her by another name—Mally or something like that—and this Ram fellow fed her some drug to shut her up when she began screaming her head off. When she came to her senses, she was clothed again, and was propped up against an oak tree some four miles from her aunt’s house near St. Austell.”

  “So the daughter was visiting a relative and wasn’t known in the area?”

  “Exactly right. We also know that this group of idiots dress their role—black robes and hoods, the girl said. They also drew numbers for the order to rape her. The Ram directed it all with evidently superb orderliness. Would you see what you can discover about this group, Captain? Find out who this damned Ram is?”

  “I assume that this Hellfire group has raped other girls?”

  “Yes, I had a man down there for two months poking about. The normal procedure is to pay a father a goodly amount for his young daughter’s virginity. That way, there can be no complaints.”

  “That is truly quite disgusting.”

  “Indeed. Unfortunately, my man didn’t accomplish a great deal, just learned the group’s method of operating. He also made up a list of some local young men who appeared to him prime candidates for this kind of wickedness.”

  Rafael grinned for the first time. “Actually, I could name you the young men on that list right now. The point is to prove it, then make certain they stop their activities.”

  “Exactly. And as a local young man from a fine family, you already have entrée into every circle in the area. I would appreciate it, Captain, if you would look into the matter. Find out who this Ram is and notify me. I promised Viscount Bainbridge I would provide him the Ram’s name. He wants to kill the fellow in a duel. I agreed. A man should have the right to protect his family, and if that fails, he should have the right to avenge the wrong done him.”

  “Would it be possible for me to speak with the viscount’s daughter?”

  Lord Walton shook his head decisively. “The girl has been shamed. To speak with you, a stranger, of what happened to her would be impossible for her. All the information comes from the girl’s mother.”

  “A pity,” said Rafael. “Does she recall where she was taken?”

  “A house near St. Austell, off in some wooded area, she thinks. She was out walking her aunt’s dogs, had outstripped her groom, and was nabbed. She didn’t see anyone’s face, just heard voices.”

  “Any other name besides Ram?”

  “I don’t know, my boy. Bainbridge refuses to make the girl speak of it again. I suppose I do understand his feelings. Will you undertake this for us, Captain?”

  “Were there any incidents involving other sorts of crimes? Murder? Robbery?”

  “Not that I know of. If they hadn’t mistaken Bainbridge’s daughter, we wouldn’t now be involved. It is most distasteful that a man would sell his daughter’s virginity, but not against the law. Well, Captain?”

  “Why not?” Rafael said, and stood. He shook Lord Walton’s hand and added, “Morgan is coming home as well.”

  “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, he is coming home because of his wife’s health. She’s dying, you see.”

  “No, I didn’t know. Morgan and I never spoke of personal matters.”

  “Morgan is a private man and one of great talent. Well, there is naught we can do about it, Captain. You will keep in touch with me about this affair?”

  “Certainly.”

  The two men parted amicably. Lord Walton wandered to the window in his office and stared down at the street below. Carstairs was a young man to admire. If he managed to uncover the identity of the Ram, there just might be a title in it for him. He watched Carstairs stride across the street, tall and strong, a ladies’ man indeed, he thought, remembering the report he’d received on just how Carstairs had managed to discover a woman spy in the West Indies. Although the report was one of Morgan’s gems of emotionless dryness, much like the man himself, it had still been clear that the woman had told Carstairs all her secrets in his bed. This Hellfire Club business was another matter entirely, though. He wished Carstairs luck.

  As for Rafael, the moment he left the War Ministry, his step lightened and he shucked off his fatigue. He didn’t question why, merely enjoyed the feeling of anticipation.

  He felt more than anticipation when he first saw Victoria standing in Lady Lucia’s drawing room. My God, he thought, staring at her, she is exquisite. Her gown was new, of course, and suited her to perfection. It was a pale blue satin slip over a net frock. It was cut low over her bosom, with short sleeves decorated with small knots of blue ribbon. The skirt was trimmed with a flounce of blond lace and more judiciously placed knots of blue ribbon. Her breasts looked very white against the blue satin. Her hair, sparkling with red and deep brown highlights in the candlelight, was fashioned in a braided coronet atop her head with soft looping wisps framing her face and trailing down her neck. She looked elegant and not at all sixteen years old.

  “Rafael, I’m so glad you’re here.” She gave him a mock curtsy and twirled about. “Do you like my gown? Aunt Lucia positively snarled at the woman until she agreed to alter this one for her immediately.” She twirled about again, laughing and saying over her shoulder, “Aunt Lucia ordered the woman to take off the rows of grape blossoms and cockleshells, but the lace is nice, don’t you agree?”

  “You look fine,” he said finally. “You don’t look at all fussy. I’m glad there are no cockleshells.” He nodded toward Lucia, saw that the old lady was smiling benignly at him, realized what she must be thinking, and drew himself up.

  He didn’t look again at Victoria, but seated himself beside Lucia and engaged her in vacuous conversation.

  “It didn’t rain today.”

  “No, my boy, it didn’t. There were several hopeful-looking clouds, however.”

  “You did not overtire yourself, ma’am?”

  “It was fatiguing to rid the gown of the cockleshells.”

  He ground his teeth, aware that Victoria was looking at him like a wounded doe. “Victoria looks lovely.”

  “Indeed she does.”

  “Rafael,” Victoria blurted out, “what did you do today?”

  “Stop twitching about,” he said shortly. “Ladies are to appear calm and not at all nosey.”

  Victoria eyed him closely. He was behaving oddly. “Whatever is wrong with you? Didn’t your business go well? Did you suffer reverses? Isn’t that what it is called?”

  He grinned at that. “No, no reverses. I shan’t tell you, Victoria. Search your mind for other conversation.”

  “Very well. Will you take me riding tomorrow afternoon? In the park, so I may see all the fancy people? Aunt Lucia tells me it’s the thing to do.”

  “Aunt Lucia?”

  “I insisted, Captain,” said Lucia. “Now, we need to discuss what to do about Victoria’s come-out.”

  “Come-out? But she’s here for a short time only, ma’am. Surely you can’t mean to—”

  “Ah, Didier. Is dinner ready?”

  “Indeed, my lady. Cook has outdone himself. I venture to say it is because Miss Victoria slipped into the kitchen this afternoon when she smelled his baking scones. He is French, you know,” he continued to Rafael, “and like all his countrymen, prone to flattery.”

  “I didn’t really flatter him, Did
ier. The scones were delicious.”

  “It is the result that is important, my dear. Now, let’s see what Louis has concocted for our pleasure.”

  Louis had prepared the most incredible vol-au-vent of lobster that had ever caressed Rafael’s taste buds. The wine sauce was so delicate that it defied description. Conversation consisted primarily of praising Louis as the three of them made their way through the fillets of turbot à la créme, the French green beans, the salmi of grouse and the hare, boned and larded, with mushrooms. It wasn’t until John, the footman, had removed the apricot blancmange that Lucia, drawing a deep, very sated breath, mentioned the Earl of Rothermere and his impending visit to town. “Do you by any chance know him, Rafael? Philip Hawksbury.”

  “Hawk?” Rafael said, utterly surprised.

  “You know him, do you?”

  “Yes, certainly, we met in Portugal, when I . . .” He broke off, realizing he’d nearly given himself away. He retrenched quickly under Victoria’s wide-eyed look. “I was sort of in the army,” he said. “I had heard that Hawk sold out.”

  “Yes, his brother died and he was the heir. He did his duty.”

  “It’s been a long time,” said Rafael, swirling the delicate white wine in his glass.

  “He’s married.”

  “Hawk, married? Good heavens, I remember him saying that . . . well, never mind. Who is she, ma’am?”

  “Her name is Frances, she’s a Scot, and a vivacious, entertaining girl. They have two children, a boy and a girl. Philip’s father will also accompany them, I understand. He is the Marquess of Chandos, you know.”

  “Philip?” said Victoria.

  “Philip or Hawk, my dear. I’ll never forget the time Frances and Hawk’s former mistress . . . well, I suppose that tale isn’t at all appropriate for Victoria’s unwed ears.”

  Victoria, leaning forward, her elbows on the table and her chin propped up on her hands, gasped, “What, ma’am? Oh, do tell me. Former mistress? What happened?”

  “Victoria,” Rafael said in the same paternal voice of his father, “you will be quiet now.”

  “But, Rafael, whatever was his wife doing with his mistress?”

  “Former mistress.”

  “It still seems odd to me. It doesn’t seem at all proper to me that a gentleman would do that sort of thing after he is married.” Her eyes lowered instantly, her thoughts so clearly written on her face that Rafael wanted only to wipe Damien and his atrocious behavior from her mind.

  “Some men aren’t honorable,” he said. And some wives, he thought, are such cold, frigid creatures that the husbands in question are forced to mistresses. He wondered about Hawk’s wife. Two children. Good heavens. He realized with a start that he was twenty-seven years old. He simply hadn’t thought about a wife and children during the past five years. He looked at Victoria, and felt that ill-disguised fear. Fate, he thought. Minding his own business, doing nothing at all untoward, only to have himself firmly captured by a little ragamuffin who had become a damned beauty.

  “I should say they wouldn’t be, to do such a thing,” Lucia was saying. “Honorable, that is.”

  “Well, no more of that, ma’am. Victoria, tomorrow morning I shall see your solicitor. And if it pleases you, we will ride in the park in the afternoon so you can show off your fine new plumage.”

  “And show you off as well,” she said, admiration plain in her eyes even though her voice was teasing.

  As she had the previous evening after tea, Victoria walked with him to the front door.

  “You will take care, won’t you, Rafael?”

  “Take care? Is your solicitor rabid?”

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I’m just afraid.”

  Once again, he touched his fingers to her cheek. “Don’t be, Victoria.”

  ***

  At precisely ten o’clock the following morning, Rafael entered the office of Mr. Abner Westover.

  A black-coated clerk looked up as he came into the office and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet. “My lord. You’re back again? Is something wrong?”

  Rafael paused deliberately, knowing full well that the clerk thought him his brother. So, Damien had come to London as quickly as all that, had he? And immediately he’d come to the solicitor. Rafael wasn’t really surprised; it suited his own plans.

  “I wish to see Mr. Westover,” he said easily.

  “Certainly, my lord. Just a moment, if you please.”

  Rafael stared around the outer office, noting the musty smell and the very few small windows. He shuddered, thinking of Victoria coming here.

  “My lord, welcome. You bring good news, I hope?”

  “Mr. Westover,” Rafael said, nodding as the man beamed him a fulsome, yet worried smile.

  “Has the young lady, Miss Abermarle, been found as yet, my lord? The thought of ransom, it’s infamous. Do you have need of more funds?”

  Rafael felt anger surge through him. How could his twin resort to such a thing? Well, if he’d tried to ravish Victoria, nothing was beyond him. So he’d gotten more money from Victoria’s estate, had he? For her ransom, curse him to hell.

  “No, I have no more need of funds,” he said. “What I should like to have you tell me—again, if you please—are the exact terms of Miss Abermarle’s inheritance.”

  “But the young lady—”

  “She is safe now. I recovered her.” That, at least, was the truth.

  “Thank God,” said Mr. Westover. “The terms of her inheritance, my lord? I thought you understood that—”

  “Again, if you please, Mr. Westover.”

  “Certainly,” Abner Westover said, his voice a bit uncertain at his lordship’s behavior. He looked briefly at his clerk whose chin quivered in excitement, and said abruptly, “Come into my office, my lord.”

  Dignified, Rafael thought as he seated himself comfortably in a leather chair across from Mr. Westover. He watched the narrow-shouldered man search with prissy deliberation through a pile of folders on his desktop. “Ah, here it is.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Mr. Westover carefully placed a pair of spectacles on his nose. “As I told you, my lord, I’m concerned with your, er, use of Miss Abermarle’s funds. As I have indicated, the principal wasn’t to be touched—the interest, invested in the funds, providing sufficient money to provide for her upkeep. However, I have grown gravely concerned during the past six months, as I have written to you, that—”

  “Mr. Westover,” Rafael interrupted smoothly, “I understand your concern. No more of the principal will be touched. How much is in the trust for Miss Abermarle?”

  If Mr. Westover was surprised at the baron’s strange lapse of memory, he gave no sign of it, saying only, “Thirty-five thousand pounds, my lord. It was, of course, nearly fifty thousand pounds, until you removed the fifteen thousand for the ransom demand.”

  “I see,” said Rafael, so furious with his brother that he could scarce think straight. Victoria was an heiress. But she wouldn’t be for much longer if Damien remained her guardian.

  “When does the money come to Miss Abermarle?”

  “Upon her twenty-fifth birthday or upon her marriage.” Mr. Westover fussed with some papers, not looking up. “Of course, any gentleman applying for her hand must have your permission as her guardian.”

  Rafael could well imagine that no gentleman, no matter how innocuous or well-placed, would ever gain Damien’s permission to marry Victoria. He knew he couldn’t ask how his brother happened to become Victoria’s guardian. That would be going too far, even for Mr. Westover.

  “Can you tell me how you managed to save Miss Abermarle?”

  “Of course,” said Rafael. “Smugglers had taken her. It was a relatively easy matter to retrieve her.” It was at least the truth, Rafael thought. “Incidentally, Mr. Westover, the fifteen thousand pounds weren’t needed. The funds will be returned to Miss Abermarle’s trust.”

  “Excellent, my lord. I had thought that . . . Well, never min
d now. I will say only that you have relieved my mind greatly.”

  But Rafael knew what the man had wanted to say. He was honest, and distressed at Damien’s misuse of his young client’s inheritance. What the devil should he do now? he wondered, rising. He shook Mr. Westover’s hand and took his leave. He was deep in thought when he suddenly heard a man shout, “Good God. As I live and breathe. It’s the infamous pirate.”

  Rafael jerked about to see Philip Hawksbury, Earl of Rothermere, standing across the street, waving at him.

  “Hawk,” he said, grinning. They met in the middle of the street, shaking hands vigorously, to the raised ire of a hackney driver.

  “Come along, old fellow,” said Hawk, clapping Rafael on his back. “Lord, what a long time it’s been. What are you doing in London? Where are you staying?”

  Rafael said, “Haven’t you seen Lucia?”

  Hawk looked dumbfounded. “How do you know Lucia? No, Frances and I are at Hawksbury House. We are dining with her this evening. But how do you know Lucia?”

  “There is much to tell you, Hawk. Let’s go to Cribb’s Parlor and I’ll fill you in.”

  The two gentlemen found a table in the corner of the taproom and ordered ale. “I can’t wait to meet your wife, Hawk. So you’ve been properly caged?”

  “True enough,” agreed Hawk easily. “Now, Rafael, tell me all about what you’ve been doing. And how you know Lucia.”

  Rafael sat back in his chair and told him everything; there was no reason not to. After all, Hawk knew all about Rafael’s work for the government. Since Victoria was staying with Lucia, there was no excuse not to tell him of her. Nor did he spare the details of his brother’s infamy. Hawk was very intelligent and Rafael rather hoped to get his opinion on how to proceed. “So, when you yelled at me, I had just left Victoria’s solicitor. And that, my friend, is how things sit at this moment.”

  “Fascinating, Rafael. As I recall, your presence always relieved tedium. So it continues. And you’ve got the young lady at Lucia’s. A pity about your brother. But wait—Lyon is married. It’s almost too much to take in, all your news. Frances and I met Diana, of course.”