Till Dawn with the Devil (12 page)

Stephan took a threatening step toward her, and she braced herself for his fist or worse. Something in her expression seemed to stop him in his tracks. His dark eyes narrowed as he leashed his temper.

“You have no choice.” He backed out of the room. “Until Mackney and I can settle this business between us, you will remain in your bedchamber. No one, not even Henry or Lucy, may visit you.”

How lovely! Stephan was denying her access to anyone who might be willing to help her. “Are you planning to starve me into complying?”

“One of the servants will bring a tray to your room.” He removed the iron key from the keyhole. “Do not work yourself into hysterics, Sophia. You are marrying Mackney. You are behaving as if I had sentenced you to Newgate. By tomorrow night, all of this will be over and you will be Lady Mackney. Perhaps, in time, you will come to thank me for this night.”

Sophia bowed her head and remained silent. She felt the weight of her brother’s gaze before he sighed and closed the door. The clicking sound of the lock confirmed that Stephan intended to
keep her imprisoned in her bedchamber until he could hand her over to Lord Mackney.

Sophia never thought she could feel this way, but Stephan had done the impossible: She despised her brother.

Drained, Sophia drew her legs to her chest and rested her forehead against her knees. Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered a prayer to the heavens. Perhaps, when Stephan sobered, he would regret his harsh words and withdraw his consent to Lord Mackney.

Until then, Sophia was forced to wait.

Reign brought the bamboo-and-copper tube up to his mouth and blew. The sharp, two-inch steel spike shot out like a bullet and struck the small target mounted to the wall. Behind him, Hunter, Dare, and Vane jeered his efforts. Damn! He had missed the red center by half an inch. Again. None of his darts had hit the center circle.

“A lousy round,” he grumbled, handing the long tube to Vane. “Was it not you who suggested that we spend our evening playing Puff and Darts?”

Vane’s mother was trying her hand at matchmaking this season, much to her son’s chagrin. The twenty-seven-year-old earl was having too much fun to settle for one lady, and he was doing his best to spoil his mother’s efforts. Reign had contemplated joining Sin and his wife as they attended several balls this evening with the added benefit of possibly encountering Sophia. Instead Reign was sitting in the main room of Nox getting
utterly trounced by his three friends at a game he was beginning to loathe.

Vane chuckled. “Drink a pot of ale. It might improve your aim.”

“You wouldn’t be so cheerful if my aim was better,” Reign threatened, tempted to fire one of those darts into Vane’s backside.

Hunter handed Reign a pint pot. “Best to watch your arse, my friend,” the duke called out to Vane.

Vane raised the blowpipe without hesitation and blew. The bastard hit the center circle on his first attempt. “Why should I?” he asked, giving Hunter a cocky grin. “You seem up to the task.”

Vane shifted his hips in an exaggerated fashion as he turned to accept the small dart Dare was offering.

Reign watched with amusement as Hunter lunged for Vane and put him in a headlock long enough to slam his fist into the earl’s arm.

“Christ, Hunter!” Vane snarled. “The point went into my palm, you idiot.”

The duke gave Vane a loud kiss on the ear and released him. “Serves you right. You’re lucky I don’t feed those darts to you one by one.”

Sensing trouble, Berus started to make his way through a crowd made up of gamblers, merrymakers, drunken sailors, and a dozen of Madame Venna’s girls. Reign waved the man away. The steward bowed and moved away to handle another pressing task. Despite appearances, the two men were not about to come to blows. Vane had
a bad habit of provoking people to violence, but he usually walked away from these encounters unscathed.

“Good evening, gents!” Frost said, his arms open wide to encompass everyone, including a pretty blonde he had managed to steal from one of the gamblers. “What have I missed?”

Saint followed sedately behind him. Before he could approach their small group, another gentleman intercepted him and led the marquess away. He raised his hand in greeting, then signaled that he would be joining them later.

“Where have you been?” Hunter asked. Since he had changed his mind about feeding the two-inch darts to Vane, he had settled back into his chair. “Do not tell me that Sin talked you into attending Mrs. Burton’s ball.”

“Sin tends to get prickly whenever I am in close proximity to his marchioness.” He paused to whisper something in his companion’s ear. She nodded, and walked away to satisfy Frost’s request. “While poking at Sin does provide me with a certain amount of amusement, Saint and I decided to patronize one of the less discriminating hells in town.”

Reign sipped the ale one of the barmaids had placed in front of him. “Most of the
ton
would claim that Nox qualifies.”

“True,” Frost said, his intent gaze lingering on Reign. “However, I think we all would agree that the patrons at the Golden Stag are not picky on how they collect their winnings.”

The Golden Stag catered to anyone with a purse, and attracted the enterprising criminal class. It was common for a man to get his purse cut—or his throat—in such an establishment. The danger appealed to brash young noblemen ready to cut their teeth on the forbidden or try to win a fortune in an evening. Years before the Lords of Vice had opened the doors to Nox, they had been faithful patrons of the perilous hell. Reign’s interest in the Golden Stag had gradually waned, but it was apparent that Frost and Saint were still drawn to the darker sections of town.

The blonde returned with a pint pot for Frost. The earl rewarded her with a slow, thorough kiss on the mouth that promised the pretty wench he had other business with her as well.

“Now, where was I with my intriguing tale?”

Vane plucked the sharp darts from the target and tossed them on the table. He handed the blowpipe to Hunter so he could take his turn. “You and Saint were at the Golden Stag.”

“Right.”

Frost was staring at him again. Reign felt a tingling sensation go up his spine. Something had happened at the Golden Stag, and his friend seemed to believe that Reign, in particular, would be interested in his little tale.

“Are we playing a game, Frost?” Reign asked, keeping his voice casual.

“Not at all.” He kicked an empty bench to alter its angle and sat down. The blonde whore tumbled into his lap. “While I was there, I noticed
a certain young gent who was participating in some rather deep play over there.”

So they were playing a game, after all.

“Anyone I know?”

Frost held the pot up to his companion’s lips and allowed her to sip. “Ravenshaw and his cronies.”

Damn.

“Why should I care about Ravenshaw?”

Frost shrugged. “I do not expect you to care about young Ravenshaw’s heavy losses this evening. The Greek goddess Tyche makes fools of us all.”

Reign’s heart clenched as he thought of Sophia. Ravenshaw seemed determined to spend his way through his fortune. What would happen to Sophia if Ravenshaw could not settle his debts? Her wastrel brothers were worthless protectors for such a delicate beauty.

“A tragic tale, Frost,” Reign drawled. He paused when he realized that Dare, Hunter, and Vane had abandoned their game of Puff and Dart. “I suppose there is a point?”

Frost’s piercing turquoise eyes gleamed with unholy delight. “None, really. I am aware that you despise the young puppy, Reign. I thought you would be as amused as I by Ravenshaw’s not-so-original means to spare himself from his embarrassing predicament.”

Reign tensed. “Exactly how much did Ravenshaw lose at the tables this evening?”

Frost grinned at Reign like some dark angel
of death. “His losses are no longer a concern now that Lord Mackney has offered for the fair Lady Sophia.”

Frost took a moment to kiss his neglected companion.

Reign felt as if ice water had replaced the blood in his veins.

He shot up from his chair. “I will tear Ravenshaw apart if he hands Sophia over to that man.”

Hunter, Vane, and Dare appeared startled by the vehemence in Reign’s voice. Frost, on the other hand, was not surprised at all. His friend had known all along how Reign would react to the news. Reign could not decide if he should punch Frost for toying with him or thank him for tipping him off to Sophia’s disconcerting predicament.

Gratitude overrode Reign’s desire for vengeance.

“Reign, where are you going at this late hour?” Frost asked as he took his watch out of the pocket of his waistcoat and peered at its face. “I highly doubt Ravenshaw will marry Lady Sophia off to Mackney this morning. Such a gentle, wounded dove as his sister will have to be properly prepared. Who knows, Ravenshaw may decide to draw out Mackney’s anticipation by posting the banns. Besides, it is hardly your affair what Ravenshaw does with his sister.”

Frost was not really expecting an answer from Reign. He had merely sought out his friend
to deliver what he considered news that might be amusing.

Oh, Reign was interested in the news, but unlike Frost he was far from amused.

Now Reign had to decide if he was going to do something about it.

Sophia awoke to a soft knock at the door.

She sat up in the bed, momentarily puzzled why she was still attired in her dress. Then the events of the night before flickered in her brain like a magnificent summer lightning storm.

Stephan had locked her in her bedchamber.

“Milady, I have your breakfast,” a soft feminine voice said from the other side of the door.

Someone fumbled to fit the key into the keyhole, and there was a clank of metal as the mechanism tumbled into place. Sophia did not waste any time, hurrying toward the door that was opening before she reached it.

Her smile faded as she noticed that the young scullery maid was not alone. Arms crossed, Stephan was standing behind the servant.

“Planning to escape, dear sister?” He nodded to the maid. “Put the tray on the table and return to your kitchen duties.”

The maid sent Sophia an apologetic look. “Aye, milord.” With her arms burdened with the
tray, she walked into the room and headed for the small table.

Her brother had chosen wisely. The young girl was terrified and would follow his orders without question. “Where is Lucy?”

“Your beloved maid and confidante? Unlike you, dear Sophia, Lucy knows her place in this house.” Stephan did not enter her bedchamber. His body filled the doorway as if he expected her to fight her way past him. “She has been ordered to remain in her quarters. If she defies me, I will sack her without references.”

“Excuse me, milady,” the young maid said, slipping by her. Stephan stepped aside, and the servant disappeared down the hallway.

Sophia was disheartened, but she refused to show any weakness in front of her brother. Instead, she said, “You cannot keep me a prisoner forever, brother.”

Her brother had the audacity to appear amused. “As tempting as that sounds, you shall be free once Mackney secures a special license.” He reached for the latch.

“Wait!” Sophia said, seizing the edge of the door to prevent him from closing it. “Please, Stephan. There must be some other way.”

Her brother stared down at her, his face carefully blank. “Forgive me, Sophia. I take no pleasure in this.” He slowly closed the door, giving her a chance to release her hold.

The key turned, and she was alone again in her prison.

Sophia pressed her face against the door and cried.

Reign had only managed to sleep for a few hours when he knocked on Sin’s front door. Hembry, the Sinclair butler, opened the door. His forbidding expression indicated that he had been prepared to lecture the person who dared to call on the household at such an early hour. The lines on his face relaxed with recognition.

“Lord Rainecourt, it is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Forgive me for calling at such an ungodly hour, Hembry,” Reign said, stepping into the front hall. “Is Sin awake?”

“Lord and Lady Sinclair are in the morning room, my lord.”

The butler started up the stairs, assuming that whatever had brought Reign to the door so early was important enough to disturb his employer’s breakfast. Reign did not stand on ceremony and wait to be announced. He simply followed the butler.

Sin and his wife were sitting side by side when Hembry opened the door. Reign walked through the door while the butler remained at the threshold. “Milord and lady, Lord Rainecourt is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Hembry. I can see that for myself,” Sin said drily. “Set another plate for our friend.”

“Very good, milord.”

“Sin . . . Juliana, my apologies for intruding.”

“Nonsense, Reign,” Juliana said, looking quite charming in a light blue morning dress and lace cap. “You are always welcome.”

Sin stood and gestured for Reign to sit. “Good God, man, you look like hell. Has something happened?”

“Yes, and nothing good.”