7
Benedick looked at her for a long moment, marshalling his thoughts. “I would ask how you even know of the existence of that organization, but I assume you learned of it from your protégés. As far as I know the Heavenly Host has been disbanded for almost ten years. And even if they did still exist they’re hardly any of your concern, unless you now wish to rescue bored aristocrats from their sexual indulgences.”
She was unfazed. “They’ve reconvened. Apparently there was some outrageous contretemps ten years ago that caused most of them to lose interest, but in the last three years they’ve re-formed and are far worse than they ever were before.”
Most women of the ton had no knowledge of what went on with the Heavenly Host, not unless they were part of it. A surprisingly large number of outrageous sisters and wives of the original participants had joined in, lessening the need for paid companionship. He himself had attended a gathering of the Host when he was in his early twenties, more out of curiosity than anything else, and found their playacting tedious.
“Perhaps you’d care to elaborate. How are they specifically different from the past?” He was hoping to make her blush again. The last one had stained her smooth cheeks. He wanted to see if it could travel down the neckline of her tasteless dress.
But he’d underestimated her. “According to my resources, the Heavenly Host has always had a history of consensuality. Everyone must be agreeable to whatever depraved acts are committed.”
“What sort of depraved acts?” he asked in his sweetest voice.
“The sort of act you were about to perform with Violet Highstreet,” she said, unruffled.
“In truth, she was the one who was going to perform it. I was simply the happy recipient….”
She’d done a good job of keeping her color down until that point; he gave her credit, but her cheeks flamed once more. He decided to press his point. “So fellatio, which is the technical term for it, is one of the acts performed at gatherings of the Heavenly Host? I regret to inform you, Lady Carstairs, but that same act is performed in almost every bedroom in this city.”
“And street corner and alleyway.”
“Yes, well we know your opinion of that, and I’m not about to argue with you. So is your mission to stamp out oral pleasuring, or something else? Because I can assure you that convincing people to refrain from it is unlikely….”
“Would you stop!” she cried, her sangfroid finally showing cracks. “I didn’t come here to talk about…about…”
“Fellatio,” he supplied helpfully.
“That. It’s the Heavenly Host that needs to be stopped. Their new mandate is total depravity, the kind that knows no limits.”
“Such as?”
“Such as binding people so that they have no recourse. They are forced to receive the attentions of someone and are unable to move, and occasionally even to speak, but must simply endure.”
He laughed. “You’ll find that in any whore’s bag of tricks, Lady Carstairs, and even in the best bedrooms, as well. You misunderstand the game. Trust me—it can be quite…stimulating.”
“They rape women.”
His amusement faded. “Don’t be absurd. The women who attend the gatherings are there willingly and always have been. The ones who participate in rough play agree to it and are well compensated.”
“Rough play?” she echoed. “Is that what you call it when a woman is whipped until she bleeds, whose face is scarred so badly she won’t go out in public? Is that what you call it when young girls are brought in to satisfy the base urges of the foulest men on the face of the earth?”
“No,” he snapped. She was no longer such a charming diversion. “The Heavenly Host has always had an edict against using children, and that wouldn’t have changed. People have always believed horror stories about them, when in fact they harm no one. They’re just a group of spoiled aristocrats enjoying being wicked. Their gatherings are not about innocence.”
“True enough. They’re about innocence de spoiled.”
He waved her piety away. “As for the woman who was scarred, I’m certain that was an accident and deeply regretted. And I expect that the woman was well compensated for the fact that her future earning power is greatly diminished. That has always been the way of the Host, and I can’t believe things have changed that much.”
“The girl was raped, whipped and slashed with a knife. When she escaped she tried to report it to the police, but they simply handed her back to her tormenters. She hasn’t been seen since.”
His eyes narrowed. “And how do you know all this?”
“Her sister has joined us.”
“And you’re trying to convince me that someone has done away with the woman? I don’t believe it,” he said flatly.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It happens to be true. Aileen would never have abandoned Betsey on the streets if she had any choice. And now they’re working toward their most horrifying act of all.”
Bloody Christ, he thought irritably. The world had always had ridiculous theories about the essentially harmless activities of the Heavenly Host, and it was no wonder someone like Charity Carstairs believed them.
“Pray do not tell me they’re planning an orgy.” He did his best to sound bored. “That’s de rigueur for the Host. I’ve even participated in them when I was a guest at their gatherings. Quite entertaining the first time or two, but it pales after a while. You never know whose bum you’re stroking, a high-priced courtesan or your father’s best friend.” He shuddered delicately.
“I’m delighted you find this is amusing,” she said. “And, indeed, why shouldn’t you? No one will ever miss the girls they take, and as long as you’re not a part of it then no blame falls on you. But in fact if you do nothing you’re just as much to blame as the men who stand around and let them.”
“Let them do what, exactly, Lady Carstairs?”
She took a deep breath. “They intend to summon the devil on the night of the full moon.”
He laughed, unimpressed. “They’ve tried that before. His Wickedness always fails to respond to the invitation, no matter how politely phrased.”
“This time they’re planning to sacrifice a virgin to ensure success.”
For a moment there was silence in the room. He noticed that in her nervousness she’d eaten all the cakes, and he would have ordered more if he didn’t feel slightly ill. “Absurd! They wouldn’t.”
“They would. A number of young girls have gone missing over the last few weeks, though it’s unlikely any of them were still unmolested.”
“I hate to disillusion you, Lady Carstairs, but there are any number of ravenous creatures out there who would have taken those girls. Depravity is not the sole possession of the Heavenly Host. These young women may have even left on their own.”
“You may make all the excuses you want, Lord Rohan. One of those girls is destined for horror, and we have no idea where they’re keeping her. The full moon is only six days away, and we’re running out of time.”
“And just how does that involve me?” he inquired coldly. The woman was clearly deranged. There was no way that members of society would descend to such heinous acts. “If you think I’m going to accuse my childhood friends of such depravity then you’ve miscalculated. It’s none of my concern.”
“And what if I can convince the police to raid their gathering and arrest those childhood friends?”
“I doubt you’ll be able to. But in case they’re unwise enough to listen to your ridiculous accusations, then I would say that those childhood friends deserve what’s coming to them. I am not, nor have I ever been, my brother’s keeper.”
“Even if one of the organizers is, in fact, your own brother?”
He’d been about to ring for Richmond to see her out, having tired of all this. But something stayed his hand, and his gaze sharpened. “What are you raving about now, Lady Carstairs?”
But she wasn’t raving. She was sounding much too logical and calm, despite the absurdity of her charges. “Your brother, Lord Brandon Rohan, lately Lieutenant of her majesty’s arm and newly returned from the Afghan wars, has been instrumental in the rebirth of the Heavenly Host. No one knows exactly who is in charge, who sets the evil path they’ve embarked upon, but your brother participates, quite willingly. Sooner or later this will all blow up in their faces, at least if I have anything to say about it, and I warn you right now, I’m a very stubborn woman. I don’t give up. I would think your brother has suffered enough.”
He looked at her blankly, his mind awhirl. As appalling as the idea was, it made sense. Brandon had seldom been home, and his actions had been secretive in the extreme. He was thin and hollow-eyed, and instead of healing, his limp was becoming more pronounced as he burned the candle at both ends. It was possible.
“How did you come by this information?” he snapped suddenly.
“I told you. One of the girls escaped and joined us. She was the one who told us what was going on, and since then we’ve all been finding out anything we can. They wear masks and hoods, she said, but for obvious reasons your brother stands out. The demimask fails to cover the scarred side of his face, and he has a lame leg. She’s recognized a few others, but not the leader of the organization, the one who orders everything. And now she’s disappeared, leaving her little sister behind, and I very much fear she’s dead.”
He’d been dismissing everything she’d said earlier as arrant nonsense, but now he was concentrating, allowing for the possibility that she wasn’t a deranged zealot after all. Indeed, she didn’t look like one. With her fierce blue eyes and determined chin, her soft, rose-colored lips set in a hard line, she looked angry and sensible, a modern-day Boadicea ready to take on the decadent Romans. She was a Viking, a warrior, everything abhorrent in the weaker sex.
Except that he’d never been fool enough to consider women to be the weaker sex. He’d been surrounded by strong women all his life, his mother and sister included, and he knew when to duck and run.
Now wasn’t the time. “All right,” he said. “What is it you want me to do?”