The Sinners Club (17 page)

“We won't be staying long, Mum. I told Mary we have enough coin to put up at a decent hotel, but she insisted on coming here first.”

“Did she now?” Mary stiffened as Simon's mother, Audrey, took a seat at the head of the table. “I would've thought you'd want to avoid all references to your past.”

She raised her eyes to meet Mrs. Picoult's cynical gray gaze. “I'm not ashamed of what I've done, or where I've lived. In truth, I owe my life to you.”

“You paid me back, love, many times over when you two caught that earl.”

“He married her, Mum, last year, not long before he died,” Simon interjected. “She's the Dowager Countess of Storr now.”

“So I heard. So, what are you both doing here, then?”

Mary drew in a deep breath. “Some charlatan is trying to deprive us of our home.”

“And who might that be?”

“The earl's nephew, John Lennox. He believes he's the heir to the title, and is prepared to do anything, even masquerade as his own secretary, to achieve his aim.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Picoult sat back. “And is it possible that he is right?”

“If I and my unborn child didn't exist, he would be the heir presumptive.”

“You're with child?” Mrs. Picoult's gaze flicked over Mary. “And it's the earl's? Knowing him, I find that difficult to believe. What if it's a girl?”

“Then John Lennox will inherit everything. If he doesn't contest Jasper's new will I'll be left with a pension, and Simon will have nothing.”

“That hardly seems fair, but when has the law ever favored anyone but the rich? They have a vested interest in keeping the power, the land, and the money to themselves.”

“Not if I can help it.” Mary drank her ale and finished her bread. “John Smith will never get the better of me.”

Ginny came to refill Mary's mug. “John Smith, you say? That's the name of the man who wanted to see you, Mum.”

“Jack came here?” Mary glared at Simon. “What a
remarkable
coincidence. He must be trying to discredit us even further by exposing our pasts.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he's as bad as George! He doesn't want anyone or anything to stand between him and claiming that damned title.”

Simon didn't look convinced, which somehow enraged her even more. “Just because you liked him doesn't mean that he isn't out to destroy us. The best thieves are always the most charming ones.”

“That's true.” Mrs. Picoult brought the pot to the table, spooned in a few tea leaves, and added some boiling water from the kettle sitting on the stove. “I gather that this Jack Smith might also be John Lennox?”

“Yes.”

“He's coming back after six, Mum,” Ginny added. “Will you see him?”

“Oh, I'll definitely see him.” Mrs. Picoult turned to Mary. “Now, what exactly do you want me to say?”

 

Jack glanced up at the façade of the Picoult brothel. Cracks of light showed through some of the windows, but for the most part, the house was shuttered close. He knocked on the door and then tried to open it. This time it was locked. He knocked again, and eventually an elderly man who bore the battered looks of an ex-boxer opened it and glowered menacingly at him.

“What do you want?”

Jack presented his card. “I'm here to see Mrs. Picoult. I believe she's expecting me.”

The man took the card and didn't attempt to read it. “I'll go and see.”

He shut the door in Jack's face. After what seemed like a long interval, he reappeared and held the door open wide. “You can come in.

“Thank you.” Jack stepped into the hallway, which was now illuminated by candlelight. Somewhere in the house he could hear the murmur of voices, laughter, and the regular
thump thump
of someone fornicating.

“Mrs. Picoult's in her study. Third door on the left.”

He followed Jack down the hall as if he suspected he'd try and deviate from his instructions, and then leaned past him to push the door open.

“Visitor for you, ma'm.”

“Thank you, Marshall.”

Jack stepped into the room, which was smaller than he had anticipated and dominated by a large desk. A fire burned in the grate. Tall windows covered by crimson velvet curtains gave the space a luxurious appearance it probably didn't merit in the harsher light of day.

“Mr. Smith?”

His attention was drawn back to the woman who sat behind the desk. Her red hair was tied back from her face in a tight bun, and her skin was sallow. Her unwelcoming expression reminded him forcibly of every schoolmaster he'd ever encountered in his misspent youth. She looked nothing like the owner of any cheap brothel he'd ever encountered before, and he'd been in a few.

“Mrs. Picoult.” He bowed. “I appreciate you seeing me.”

She gestured at the solitary chair placed in front of the desk. “How can I help you, Mr. Smith?”

“I represent the Honorable John Lennox. My employer is seeking information about Simon and Mary Picoult, whom I believe may have lived in this house.”

“I have a son called Simon. He no longer lives here. He found employment in Lincolnshire.”

Her tone was not encouraging.

“And your daughter?”

“In the kitchen. Do you want to see her?”

Jack almost leapt out of his chair. “Lady Storr is here?”

“Lady who? My daughter's name is Virginia, Mr. Smith. You met her when you called earlier today.”

“And what about Mary Picoult?”

She met his gaze head-on. “I don't know anyone with that name, sir.”

“I accept that she might not be a daughter of yours, but I believe she lived here for several years and left with your son. Have I been misinformed?”

She folded her hands and studied them. “It seems as if you have, Mr. Smith. May I ask what interest your employer has in these people?”

Jack shrugged. “I have no idea, Mrs. Picoult. I exist merely to serve his every whim.” He paused, but saw no sign of any softening on the stony face of his adversary. “May I be frank? I encountered Simon and Mary at Pinchbeck Hall, and then had to bring the information of the earl's late marriage back to my employer. He was obviously perturbed that his claim to the earldom had been usurped.”

“So, he asked you to dig up some dirt on his rivals by visiting the brothel where they grew up?” Mrs. Picoult's expression turned withering. “Does he hope to deprive the countess of her child even if it is a boy? To declare her an unfit mother?”

“I doubt that, Mrs. Picoult, he is merely—”

She spoke over him. “Why else would he send you sniffing around like a rat to do his work?”

Jack barely held on to his temper. “You grossly misjudge my employer. His interest is in helping the countess, not harming her.”

“So you say.”

“He's a good man, Mrs. Picoult.”

“Then he should come and visit me himself. I'd respect him more if he lowered himself to do that rather than sending you!”

For a second Jack was so furious that he contemplated revealing his true identity and then hastily discarded the idea. “You do not intend to help me at all, do you?”

“Why would I?”

“Because I wish no harm to your son, or to Mary.”

Mrs. Picoult stood up. “Which has no bearing on the discussion at all, does it? You aren't the one who wishes them harm or can affect anything. You are merely the hired help. Good night, Mr. Smith, and please don't bother to call again.”

Jack stared at her. “Where was Mary's mother buried?”

Her face went blank.

“I know that she came here with Mary, and died soon afterward.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your son.” Jack rose to his feet. “Please tell me.”

Mrs. Picoult crossed to the door and held it open. Marshall was already lurking outside. “Where are paupers usually buried, Mr. Smith? In unmarked pits, that's where. You'll learn no secrets from the dead. Now please leave, or I'll get Marshall to throw you out.”

Jack headed for the door. “I only hope your lack of help in this matter doesn't prevent your son and Mary from getting what is due to them. Good night, Mrs. Picoult. If you need to contact me, leave me a message at Thirty-two Cumberland Square, Mayfair.”

“The Sinners Club?”

“Indeed.”

“You have interesting friends, Mr. Smith.”

He bowed and walked out. When he regained his temper, he'd ask Adam to set a watch on the house just in case she had any contact with Simon, or any other person of interest in the case. He doubted anything would come of it, but it always paid to be cautious. As he traversed the dark streets, he had the distinct impression he was being followed. If Mrs. Picoult wanted to see where he lived, he had no issue with that. The Sinners Club was the perfect venue to keep her out, yet it also confirmed he'd given her his real place of abode.

Damn the woman for being so unforthcoming. His steps slowed as he reached a more respectable thoroughfare. But wouldn't he have done the same in her position? Protected his family? He couldn't really fault her for that, and she did have a point. Asking about Mary's true parentage had only led her to suspect that the aspiring “wicked” earl wanted to steal her child—something that hadn't even occurred to Jack.

Had it occurred to George Mainwaring?

Jack stopped again. Was it possible that Mrs. Picoult had somehow met with George and was conspiring against her own son? If money was involved, anything could happen. If he'd been offered enough, his own father would've sold him without a qualm. So much for family loyalty. Jack set off again. He'd set a watch on Mrs. Picoult and if there were the slightest hint that she was involved with George Mainwaring, he'd contact Mary and warn her. Mrs. Picoult's comments about his courage stung. She hadn't believed he wanted to help. But he did. For the first time in his life he was genuinely worried for someone who wasn't part of his family. It was an unsettling sensation and one he didn't want to examine too closely at all.

 

“Well, what did you think of him?”

Mrs. Picoult sat down at the kitchen table and accepted the mug of tea Simon slid across to her. They'd all gathered around the kitchen table waiting for her while she talked to Jack.

“He's a charming rogue.”

Mary nodded, her hands clasped tightly together on the scrubbed wooden table in front of her. “As I said. Did you send someone after him?”

“I did, although he told me quite openly that he was living at the Sinners Club. It never hurts to check.”

“What's the Sinners Club?” Simon asked. “Considering his sexual tastes, it sounds remarkably appropriate for Jack.”

“I've never been there, but I've been told by some of my clients that it has a rather exclusive membership comprised of men and women who have served their country in some unrecognized way.”

“As spies and exploiters?” Mary said. “That would suit Jack too.”

“It might also explain where he learned his remarkable sexual skills,” Simon added.

“It's not a brothel, or like the Delornay pleasure house. It's supposed to be a proper gentlemen's club. But I've heard that there are rooms where more unconventional behavior occurs too.”

Mary raised her gaze from her hands. “I wonder how one would get invited to such a place?”

Mrs. Picoult studied her. “I'm sure it could be arranged. What are you going to do?”

She smiled for the first time since she'd reached London. “I'm going to teach Jack Lennox a lesson he will never forget.”

L
eaning heavily on Simon's arm, Mary took a swift glance around the busy foyer of Grillons Hotel through her black lace veil. She recognized no one, but she was already the center of attention. A member of the staff rushed forward to greet them. Well aware of the number of eyes on her, Mary slowly raised her veil to reveal her beautiful face, causing an excited hum of whispers to cascade through the lobby like a rushing stream.

“Lady Storr, what a pleasure it is to meet you.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Featherstone.” She dabbed at her eyes with a small black handkerchief. “It is such a relief for me to be received with such
kindness.”

“Of course, my lady. I will do anything in my power to ensure that your stay here at Grillons is as perfect as I can make it.”

“You are so thoughtful.”

In his eagerness to settle the Dowager Countess safely in her suite, poor Mr. Featherstone almost tripped over his own feet. Mary went upstairs, her entourage behind her bearing her luggage, her lap dog, her jewelry case, her own monogrammed sheets, and everything else a pampered widow might need.

It took quite a while to persuade the besotted Mr. Featherstone to leave, but eventually Simon accomplished it and shut the door behind the man with a final flourish.

“If your aim was to make yourself the talk of the hotel, I believe you have accomplished it.”

“I hope so.” Mary patted the seat beside her. “I want you to call on Mr. McEwan's office and tell him to meet me here in the hotel.”

“Where you will stake your claim on the title for your future child?”

She took his hand. “Why do you sound so skeptical?”

He sighed. “Is it really worth it, Mary? I could skim off a considerable amount from the estate books without the next earl ever knowing. We could live quite happily on that for years, and travel to the Continent, and forget all about this damned country.”

“And let Jack Lennox get away with lying and stealing from us?”

“Why do you care about what he's done? If our positions were reversed, you would've done exactly the same. In fact you are doing the same! Your whole
position
is based on a lie.”

She pulled away from him. “But don't you see? He's no better than I am. That makes it even more vital that I beat him.”

“That's not quite true, is it? Behind his masquerade is an unavoidable truth. He is the rightful heir to the title.”

“Don't try and make me feel guilty. For all we know, he might be masquerading as John Lennox's son.” She spun around to face him. “I'm not doing this for myself!”

His face softened. “Please don't say you're doing it for me, love.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don't owe me a thing.”

“How can you say that? You protected me, you saved me, I—”

He stood and pulled her into his arms. “I did the best I could, and so did you. Neither of us owes the other anything.”

She dashed a tear away. “How can you say that?”

“Because it's true. I don't want to look back. I want to move forward. Can't you do the same?”

“Not yet.” She met his gaze. “I promise I'll think about that once I've dealt with Jack Lennox.”

“Does it occur to you that your anger is out of proportion to what he did? Why can't you simply admire him for outwitting you?”

“Because he lied to me, and I'd started to—” She clamped her lips together and glared at him.

“You'd started to like him. I can see why. I thought the two of you were mirror images of each other. It was fascinating.”

“I do not like him!”

He smiled in a particularly infuriating male way and kissed the top of her head. “I'll go and call on Mr. McEwan, then. What do you intend to do when I've accomplished that?”

“We're going to take the ton by storm.”

“How will that punish Jack?”

“Don't worry, that won't be the only thing we'll do. Your mother has given me plans of the Sinners Club and a way to meet with our adversary on our terms there as well.”

 

Jack sat at his ease beside one of the many fires in the Sinners Club reading the paper and toasting his toes. The club was quite busy, and he'd been idly listening to several strands of conversation as he read. He looked up as a shadow fell across his newspaper.

“Jack.”

“Adam, are you leaving?”

“In about an hour. I wanted to show you around the second floor before I left.” Adam was dressed for traveling, a heavy cloak over his arm.

“The second floor?” Jack put his paper away and stood. “I'm all yours.”

Adam left his baggage in the hallway and led the way up the staircase. “I gather Lord Westbrook was inspired by Madame Helene from the pleasure house. They knew each other in France long before she started up her business here. I believe he was one of her first financial backers.”

“There's a brothel here?”

“Not exactly.” Adam stood back to allow Jack to enter the large salon before him. “We hold certain events here for our members every week. There are also a number of available bedchambers for those who want to stay the night. We don't ask for details, or have any restrictions as to how many a bed will hold, or what sexes the members are. It's another way of offering our clients a safe place to be themselves.”

“So I could bring a whole tribe of men and women up here with me and no one would bat an eye?”

“As long as you were in your own chamber.”

“And what if I wanted everyone to have the opportunity to join in?”

“That's what our weekly events are for.”

Jack viewed the salon, which had gold silk wallpaper and elegant crystal chandeliers. “It doesn't look very busy, or much like a brothel. I think I'm disappointed.”

“On Friday night it will look rather different. There's a troup of dancers from the Indian continent coming to perform for us.”

“Men or women?”

“Both, I believe.” Adam continued, “They are considered quite scandalous.”

“By whom?”

“Everyone.” He mock-sighed. “I'm just sorry I shan't be here to see them.”

“I'll tell you all about it when you get back.”

Adam turned toward him. “Perhaps if you pick up any new tricks you can show them to me personally.”

Jack studied Adam's unremarkable face before reaching out to trace the line of his jaw. “In your bed?”

“That would probably be best.”

“You don't favor fornicating in public?”

A faint smile was Jack's reward. “I don't.”

“I never suspected you would be shy, and I never realized you liked men.”

“I like sex. The person's gender isn't important.”

“A man after my own heart. I strongly believe that we should experience every kind of copulation available to us.” He needed to move on from the Picoults, and fucking Adam would be a most satisfactory way of accomplishing that.

“I heard that about you.” Adam looked right into Jack's eyes. “That's why I finally had the courage to approach you. I don't want anything but sex.”

Jack's smile faltered. Was that what he'd become? A known whore who had no feelings and could be used simply for sex?

“Are you all right?” Adam touched his arm. “I hope I haven't offended you.”

“No, not at all.” Wasn't that the best way to conduct his life? To enjoy a good fuck and move on? To not allow anyone to get close to him and see beneath his charming facile shell? When he loved people, he hurt them and they abandoned him. “I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

“Good.”

Adam turned his head a fraction and nipped Jack's thumb before licking it into his mouth. Despite himself, Jack's cock twitched and lengthened. He pushed his thumb deep into Adam's mouth until the other man started sucking it.

“I wish that was my shaft,” Jack murmured. He imagined Simon and Adam both on their knees in front of him taking turns to suck him off. Mary would enjoy watching that, he was sure of it. Damnation, where had that thought come from?

He slowly withdrew his thumb from Adam's mouth.

“You probably have to leave.”

“Unfortunately I do.” Adam stepped back and gave Jack a glorious view of his thick cock trying to escape his tight buckskin breeches. “I do hope you are here when I return.”

“Oh, I will be.” He reached out and ran his finger down Adam's shaft. “How could I miss revealing this?”

“God.” Adam shuddered and pushed into Jack's waiting hand. “Now I have to get on a horse and ride all day thinking about what I'm missing.”

“It will help pass the time.”

“True, but I'll be blue-balled by the time I get there.”

“I could help with you with that.” Jack tightened his grip. “I'll be quick, I swear it.” He fell to his knees and started unbuttoning Adam's breeches as he spoke. The other man made no further protests as Jack expertly rearranged his clothing and drew his cock deep into his mouth in one smooth motion. He sucked hard, using all his skill. Adam's hand fisted in his hair driving him on, fucking his mouth with every thrust of his hips.

Jack used his teeth, and slid his hand down to cup Adam's balls, exploring the smooth skin of his taint and the tight pucker of his arse.

“God, yes, I—”

With a final shove, Adam started to climax, and Jack willingly swallowed every jet of come until he was done. With a smile, he rearranged Adam's clothing and stood up, wiping his hand over his mouth.

“I think that should do it.”

“I think it should.” Adam looked slightly dazed. “I really must go now.” He turned, and left Jack standing alone in the middle of the empty salon.

Jack's smile faded, and he sat down on the nearest seat and contemplated the silence. His cock was throbbing like a rotten tooth, and yet he didn't feel like attending to it, or have his normal sense of pleasurable relief after a sexual encounter. He felt... empty. Yes, that was it. He'd been unable to banish the thought of Mary Lennox watching him while he sucked Adam's cock. He'd wanted to do it for her, not for Adam. Had wanted her to reward him by letting him fuck her.

What in damnation was wrong with him?

He covered his face with his hands. If he couldn't lose himself in the physical act of fornication, how was he going to continue? Without Violet beside him, whom could he even ask for help? He slowly raised his head, and contemplated the unlit fire in the grate. Mary would understand how it felt to be used. He suspected Simon would too. Perhaps he had more in common with them than he'd ever imagined.

 

Mary contemplated her reflection in the mirror of her bedchamber. She couldn't have re-created the charming-widow-with-child effect more perfectly. She looked vulnerable, but quite beautiful. Every man who met her at the dinner party would be desperate to help her—especially after she'd spun her tale of woe....

She clasped a ruby necklace around her throat. How long would it take for word of her presence to get back to Jack? Not long, she hoped. And then they would see who was the winner in their private battle of wit and wills. Would he take issue with her publicly, and declare her a fake and a whore? She didn't think that was his style, but desperate men had been known to act out of character. When Jasper wanted something, he'd been prepared to do anything to achieve it. George was apparently the same.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Simon, clad in his new evening clothes. He looked remarkably handsome and rather anxious. Mary held up her hand.

“Please don't try and dissuade me again.”

He sighed. “I've given up. You are quite stubborn beneath those golden curls and sweet smile.”

“It's all an illusion, you know that.” One she'd become so familiar with that she doubted she'd recognize her true self anymore. What had happened to that vulnerable young girl? She was better off hidden away where she couldn't be hurt and used again. But sometimes maintaining the artifice was hard....

“I just want what we deserve.” She held Simon's gaze. “Jasper promised.”

“When did he ever mean what he said?”

“He married me, didn't he?”

“Only because he hates George. If he'd known about Jack, I'll wager he wouldn't have done a thing.”

“Don't say that.” She shivered.

“It's true. Don't forget that in many ways, I knew him better than you did. You only saw the kinder side of him because he doted on you like a daughter.”

“I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's in the past.” He held out his hand. “If you're determined on this course, the least I can do is support you through it.”

“Haven't you always?” She smiled at him as she took his hand. “This isn't your fight. If you want to go back to Pinchbeck Hall, or stay with your mother, I'm quite capable of carrying this off by myself.”

“I know you are, love. But I'm staying.” He kissed her fingers. “When have I ever let you down?”

“Are you sure?”

“Now you are being foolish. To watch you and Jack square off will be one of the most fascinating things I've ever witnessed in my life. Nothing would keep me away!”

 

Later that evening, in an effort to avoid the majority of the members of the Sinners Club, Jack decided to seek refuge in Adam's office. He'd received no further word from Mrs. Picoult, or any hint of Christian's return. Sitting around was not something he enjoyed. It gave him too much time to think. Despite his efforts to educate himself on the current state of politics, even the newspapers failed to excite him.