Moonspun Magic (10 page)

“Will you soon look like Flash, Rafael?”

“Don't be impertinent, Victoria.”

“Flash? What is this?”

Victoria giggled, and Rafael shook his head at her in mock reproof. “My valet, ma'am.”

“A former pickpocket, ma'am.”

“You two won't bore me, I see. Ah, here is the port. My dear, you shall try just a bit.”

Rafael kept his opinion to himself, but couldn't prevent his frown when Didier poured the rich port into Victoria's glass. Under his fascinated eye, Didier very calmly added water to her glass.

He already acts the doting husband, Lucia thought, quite pleased. The coming days stretched out pleasurably in her mind. This quite likely would be far more interesting than the best gothic novel.

Rafael left shortly after tea that evening. Before he took his leave, he said to Victoria, “I won't be able to visit the solicitor tomorrow. As I told you, I have business here, and it cannot be put off.”

“What sort of business is so urgent?”

“Victoria, don't pry.”

She looked quite ready to do so, but Lucia interrupted, saying to Rafael, “I shall expect you for dinner tomorrow evening, my boy. Don't worry about Victoria. I am taking her to my modiste.”

“Excellent. I'll bid you good night then, ladies. Ma'am, my profoundest thanks for your assistance.”

Lucia grinned at him. “Yes, my boy, my assistance. In all matters.”

“You terrify me.”

“I'll walk you to the door, Rafael,” said Victoria, still ready to probe his urgent business.

“No, Victoria,” he said shortly upon reaching the front door. “Mind your own business. All right?”

“Very well, but I don't want to.”

“I see that you don't.”

“Where did you get your evening wear? Surely it wasn't packed in that small valise of yours.”

“Didier is a fount of information.” He lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. “Don't worry, Victoria. Everything will work out, I promise you.”

She turned her face slightly and rested for a brief instant against his open palm. “You're very good to me,” she said.

Rafael felt a surge of protectiveness so great that he stepped away from her as if scalded.

“Good night,” he said, and was gone in the next instant.

Victoria cocked her head, wondering at his abruptness. Didier, with as many years in his dish as Lady Lucia, said gently, “Take yourself to bed now, miss. You will see the captain soon enough.”

As for the captain in question, he was walking as fast as he could toward his rooms on Courtney Street. He was thinking furiously that he much preferred feeling good honest lust for a beautiful woman, not this other thing that made him profoundly afraid.

I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.

—S
HAKESPEARE

“C
aptain Carstairs,” Lord Walton greeted Rafael as he shook his hand. “It's been a long time, sir, too long. Welcome home. Allow me to express the government's thanks on the excellent job you've done.”

Rafael merely nodded, and seated himself in a welcoming leather armchair in front of Lord Walton's mahogany desk. Lord Walton had aged, he thought. His hair was grayer now, thinner on top, and there were more lines of worry on his face. But the intelligence in his eyes was as formidable as ever. He waited until Lord Walton had finished Morgan's packet of information. He studied the office, admiring the drawings of racehorses clustered on one wall.

“They are Caverleigh Arabians,” Lord Walton said. “My grandson named that last one, the strong-shouldered bay. He's only seven and already racing mad.”

“They are quite excellent, sir,” Rafael said. He knew little of racehorses.

“Would you like a brandy?”

“No, I thank you, sir.” He made to rise.

“Actually, Captain, not quite yet. Please, relax. I wish to thank you on behalf of all Englishmen for your fine work over the years. Do not distress yourself that your usefulness is over. It is not. However, in this particular instance, you won't be required to disguise yourself and sneak in and out of difficult situations. I understand that you intend to go home to Cornwall.”

“Yes, that's right. I'm not the Baron Drago, as you well know. I intend to build my home in Cornwall, however.”

“That is what Morgan wrote to me.” Lord Walton paused a moment, then said, “The smugglers still abound there, you know, droves of them. I fear if their rate continues to soar, they will become a national institution.”

“Evidently the Bishop is still alive.”

“So I understand. However, smuggling doesn't particularly concern me today. It is something else, something a bit more insidious, a bit more evil, if you will.”

Rafael sat very still, waiting. He watched Lord Walton lightly rub his fingertips over his temples.

“We don't have a Bishop in this group. This man calls himself the Ram.”

Rafael laughed. “Ram? Good Lord, what pretentious nonsense.”

“I agree, but there you have it. Captain, have you heard of the Hellfire Club?”

“Yes, it was active in the last century, in the seventeen-seventies, perhaps eighties, I believe. A group of dissolute young noblemen bent on outdoing each other in wickedness and perversion. Satanism, as I recall, was their object, new and varied sorts of satanism, that and the raping of as many young virgins as the bounders could capture.”

“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, Didier. 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.”