The service that followed was not a black mass, but a strange mixture of pagan and blasphemous Christian, both portentous and self-mocking. Speaking in Latin and French as well as English, Mace's voice rose and fell in a rhythm that wove a potent spell of mystery.

As the smoke thickened, Lucien began to grow lightheaded. He guessed that the burning herbs included narcotics such as belladonna and henbane. The pungent blend produced a receptive state where it was easy to believe that mystical powers were being invoked. He forced himself to take rigorous mental notes, for analysis kept him detached. He preferred it that way; sacrilege had never been his style.

At the climax of the ritual, Mace cried, "Thou art one of us!" He dipped his fingers into a black chalice, then sprinkled brimstone-scented brandy over Lucien in a parody of baptism. "Within the fellowship of Hellions, our new member will be known by the mystical name of Lucifer."

"Welcome, Lucifer!" the monks chanted.

Mace turned and flung a handful of powder onto the altar fire. Violet flames shot up toward the ceiling while clouds of smoke swirled in all directions. Above the altar the smoke thickened into a menacing shape, as if the devil had come to call. The air in the chapel became electric with tension.

Mace raised his arms and barked an unintelligible phrase. The diabolical figure began to dissolve, and with it the tension that had gripped the onlookers.

Lucien admitted to himself that the smoky apparition had been a good effect. Given a bit of time, he didn't doubt that he could reproduce it himself. Apparently, Mace was using his technical skills for something more than obscene toys.

Mace lowered his arms, the exalted glow fading from his eyes. "Come, brothers, and let us feast."

A monk pushed aside a black drapery in the corner, revealing a passage that led into a banqueting hall. Instantly the solemn atmosphere was replaced by a cheerful babble of voices as the Hellions streamed into the hall and sprawled on the Roman-style couches that lined the walls.

As Lucien hesitated, Mace gestured toward the head of the room. "Come sit beside me, Lucifer." He settled onto his own couch. "What do you think of the service?"

"Impressive," Lucien said truthfully as he reclined on the leather squabs. "It's certainly not as simple as the devil-worship of the Hellfire Club. It must have taken considerable study to weave together such a unique blend of classical, Christian, and pagan customs."

"I knew you would be capable of appreciating the multiple levels of meaning. Not all of our members are as learned." Amusement showed in his eyes. "Certainly one must give the devil his due, but Satanism is too banal, a mere reversal of Christian customs. It's far more intriguing to invent one's own religion."

He was describing his research when a bevy of serving girls swirled into the hall, garbed in translucent silk costumes that revealed every enticing curve and cleft. Only their faces were invisible, concealed behind elaborate feather masks.

Nunfield had taken the couch on the other side of Lucien. As the serving girls entered, he said, "Tonight's theme is Turkish. Personally, I like it when the tarts dress as nuns-the habits leave so much to the imagination. But many of our brethren prefer the obvious." He beckoned to a server carrying a jug. The woman leaned forward and poured wine into their goblets, her lush breasts swaying behind the veils that floated above her torso.

"Lovely creatures, aren't they?" Appreciatively, Mace caressed a round buttock. The woman gave a throaty chuckle and rubbed against his hand. "Roderick is in charge of arranging for the girls, and he has excellent taste."

"Are they professionals?" Lucien asked, unsurprised to learn that Roderick was chief pimp.

"Most are, but not all." Mace gave a satyr's smile. "Some are women of the highest rank, the sort one might meet in the queen's drawing room. That is why they are masked. If you had a sister, you might find her here. Or a wife."

Lucien suppressed a surge of distaste. "A tantalizing thought. What a pity that I have neither."

Mace raised his goblet "To debauchery!" After a challenging glance, he drained his cup with one swallow. Lucien did likewise. When in Rome...

Another serving girl arrived bearing a platter of steaming sausages that had been shaped to resemble phalluses. Lucien took one and bit off the end. The things he did for his country.

The feast rapidly degenerated into a latter-day version of a Roman orgy. Whenever possible, the food was formed into suggestive shapes, and wine and spirits flowed freely.

As the night progressed, giggling serving girls were pulled onto the couches. Some of the couples, including Nunfield and a busty brunette, engaged right there; others rose and stumbled off toward the private chambers that lined an adjacent hallway. After Mace disappeared with one of the women, Lucien rose and surreptiously slipped away into the gardens, feeling that he couldn't bear another minute of the fetid atmosphere.

The chilly air was refreshing, though he still felt dizzy from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Matching Mace drink for drink was enough to strain even the hardest head.

He wandered through the moonlit paths, automatically noting the layout in case the knowledge might someday prove useful. When he climbed a stone staircase to the top of the wall, he discovered that the castle was not on an island. The water that he had crossed was a moon-silvered river that curled halfway around the hill. The castle itself was probably a remnant of Norman times that had been rebuilt by-the Hellions.

The gardens were beautifully laid out, though the obscene statues rapidly became tedious. Once he turned a sharp corner and walked into a marble Venus who was bending to remove a thorn from her foot. She had been placed in midpath so that any newcomer would collide with her naked buttocks.

He found that he was not the only wanderer when he came across Lord Ives contemplating a statue of Zeus raping a swan. Lucien gestured toward the figures. "Call me a puritan, but I can't imagine becoming aroused by a swan. Unless I was a swan too, of course."

The young man grinned. "Leda would have been safe from me as well. Those Greek gods were a randy lot."

The men fell in together and continued along the path. Lucien said, "Taking a break to regain your strength before the next encounter?"

Ives hesitated, then gave an embarrassed laugh. "I was considering going home early, actually. You'll probably think I'm foolish, but I didn't really enjoy myself with the girl I chose. I kept thinking I'd rather be with Cleo."

"I don't think you're foolish." Lucien thought of Jane, who had more sensuality in one teasing glance than all of the underdressed serving girls put together. "Passion without emotion might satisfy the body, but the pleasure is gone as quickly as it came, leaving emptiness."

"That's it exactly. I'm glad I'm not the only one who feels that way." Ives grimaced. "If Cleo learned that I had bedded another woman, she'd leave me. She's not a Cyprian, you know. There are other men who would be willing to pay more for her favors, but she chose me because she preferred my company."

"If you feel strongly about the girl, perhaps you should drop out of the Hellions."

Ives nodded as if the suggestion confirmed his own thoughts. "I think you're right. It's foolish to risk losing something valuable for the sake of a few minutes' pleasure with a female whose name I won't remember in the morning."

Deciding to do some research, Lucien asked, "Do the Hellions take the rituals seriously?"

"Perhaps Mace does a bit-he's a pagan at heart-but it's really only for amusement. Most of us joined for the entertainment and the girls."

Their meanderings had brought them back to the chapel, where the sounds of carousal had faded. In the west the moon was setting. "When and how do people go home?" Lucien asked.

"Most sleep off their excesses here, but I'm going to leave now. Would you like to go back to London in my curricle?"

Lucien hesitated, tempted, then shook his head. "That would be uncivil for my first time. I'll stay until the others leave."

The men said their farewells and Lucien reentered the banqueting hall. After the freshness of the night, the rank, overheated atmosphere was choking. Sleeping bodies littered the couches and floor, male and female tangled together. In one corner, Westley lay on his back giggling while a nude woman trickled wine into his mouth. No one else seemed to be awake.

Lucien was looking for a quiet spot to sleep away the rest of the night when Nunfield emerged from one of the private rooms, moving with the exaggerated care of the extremely drunk. Clinging to his arm was a lusty-looking wench wearing a half-mask of pheasant feathers and not much else.

"Lucifer! I've been looking for you." Nunfield hic-cuped. "You've got to go with Lola. She's 'ceptionally skilled."

"Thank you, darling," she purred, her eyes gleaming behind the slits of the mask. "I do aim to please." She stretched out a sinuous hand and caught Lucien's wrist.

"Come with me and I'll try to live up to Nunny's recommendation."

Lucien was looking for a way to refuse when he saw the sharpness of Nunfield's gaze. To decline would be conspicuous, so he must appear to go along with the suggestion. Once he was alone with the woman, he would disengage as he had done at Chiswick's house. Donning the facade of drunkenness, he said with heavy gallantry, "It will be my pleasure, Madame Lola." He offered his arm and almost overbalanced in the process.

Deftly she caught his elbow and guided him toward a private chamber. He felt Nunfield's gaze boring into his back as they crossed the hall, picking their way around slumbering bodies.

The chamber contained a chaise wide enough for two. Lola tossed aside her mask and pushed Lucien down so that he was sitting on the edge. Then she straddled his lap and wrapped herself around him for a fevered kiss. As Nunfield had said, she was exceptionally skilled. Yet he sensed that under her extravagant display of passion was a nature as cold and calculating as that of a reptile.

Feeling repelled, he broke away and said Wearily, "A pity I didn't meet you earlier, Lola, before I used up all my energy." He gave a hiccup for good measure. "Sorry. Sh... should have drunk less."

He was about to remove her from his lap when she ran a hand down his torso. The unprincipled brigand attached to his body began to harden under the expert manipulation of her fingers.

She gave a crow of satisfaction. "Don't worry, mate, there's life in the old lad yet. Lola will take care of everything." From the flinty light in her eyes, he guessed that she secretly despised men and enjoyed seeing them helpless in the throes of lust. Most men would not notice or care about her private opinions, for her blatantly carnal behavior was the stuff of male fantasies. But not of his. Oh, God, not his. He wanted to walk out, yet he knew he should maintain his rakish role.

While he teetered between duty and inclination, Lola pressed him back across the chaise. Then she lifted the hem of his monk's robe and attacked the buttons of his trousers. When her heated mouth closed over him, raw desire surged through his veins, paralyzing his judgment and will. It had been a long time, too long, since he had lain with a woman, and his body would no longer be denied.

Lola's ministrations brought him to culmination in a matter of minutes, yet there was nothing satisfying about the physical release. No sooner had his ravening hunger been appeased then desolation overwhelmed him.

What was he doing here with a vulgar tart? Why did he think his hidden schemes were necessary to his country? Britain had survived centuries without him and would endure long after he was gone. He was a fool to think his actions could ever make a difference; his life's work was as futile as cold ashes.

He tried to counter his despair by invoking the memories of friends and family, but he instantly stopped, feeling too soiled to be worthy of the recollections. What would Jane think if she saw him now? His stomach churned at the thought, leaving the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.

To continue such thoughts would lead to madness. Painfully, he clamped down on his emotions, forcing them back into the hidden chamber that had saved him time and time again.

When a semblance of sanity had returned, he opened his eyes. Lola was sprawled on the chaise beside him, looking sleepy and pleased with herself. Though he couldn't bring himself to touch her, he made the sort of remarks a man was expected to make under such circumstances, thanking the woman who had served him and flattering her skill. Her report to Mace and Nunfield should be unexceptionable, and that was what mattered. Wasn't it?

As soon as he decently could, he got the hell away from the tawdry woman and the sordid room. A pity that he could not escape his own tarnished spirit so easily.

Chapter 16.

It was midafternoon by the time Lucien finally returned home, and he was sick to death of pretending to be a libertine. His first action was to take a long, hot bath, as if he could scrub away the spiritual pollution of the Hellion orgy.

Though he would have preferred a quiet evening at home, tinkering with some new mechanical device, it was the night of Lady Graham's salon, so he must venture forth. He consoled himself with the thought that a dose of witty conversation would dispel his depression even if he didn't find any clues to the whereabouts of Cassie James.

When he entered Lady Graham's substantial town house, his hostess greeted him with a fond smile. "Lucien, what a pleasant surprise. I've missed your wicked sense of humor."

He gave her a light kiss. "It's been too long. I can't imagine what I was doing that seemed so important that it left no time for enjoyment."

Lady Graham gave him a shrewd glance. "Very likely it really was important, and absolutely not the sort of thing you'll talk about. Come and meet some of my other guests. There's a good turnout tonight. You're acquainted with many of the people here, but I guarantee you'll see some interesting new faces. My bluestocking friend Lady Jane Travers, for example, I've known her since my come-out thirty years ago. She doesn't choose to move in fashionable circles so you've probably never met her. She has a very droll sense of humor and strong opinions about how the government should be run. Look for a redheaded woman who is six feet tall."

"She sounds like a veritable Amazon. No doubt she is a proponent of the theories of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin?"

Lady Graham's brows arched. "Of course, any intelligent woman is. And you agree, you radical in dandy's clothing. You once spent a whole evening arguing for female rights against some dreadful Tory, so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes."

He laughed. "I should have known you'd remember that." As his hostess guided him to the drawing room, he asked casually, "Does the actress Cassie James ever attend your salons?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind if she did," Lady Graham replied. "I saw her at the Marlowe in some Gypsy piece-a very talented girl. We'll be hearing more of her." Noticing a young man who was at loose ends, she beckoned him over. "Mr. Haines, there's someone here I'd like you to meet."

After introducing the two men, Lady Graham abandoned Lucien while she went to greet another guest. Mr. Haines proved to be an aspiring poet who was keen on discussing the merit of Byron's new epic poem, The Corsair. Since Lucien hadn't read it and had a low opinion of Byron's self-aggrandizing poetry, their conversation was a short one.

Lucien spent the next hour working his way through the main drawing room, listening more than he talked. The topics of conversation were varied, ranging from heated discussions of Czar Alexander's politics to the imminent success of the peace negotiations and Miss Austen's latest satiric novel.

He enjoyed the talk, but his oblique inquiries about Cassie James bore no fruit. Everyone had heard of the actress and a number of guests had seen her perform; however, no one claimed any personal acquaintance.

Investigation was usually a tedious, unproductive business, so he accepted his lack of success philosophically and moved into the adjacent salon, which was smaller but equally crowded. As he did, Lady Graham materialized at his elbow. "Let me introduce you to Lady Jane, who's over there in the corner. She's interested in the theater, so she might be acquainted with that actress you asked about."

Lucien easily picked out Lady Jane, for she stood half a head taller than the group clustered around her. Her red hair had faded to auburn and was streaked with silver, but she was still a handsome woman.

Standing half-concealed at her side was a younger woman in a gray gown. She was easy to overlook, for her eyes were cast down and she had the colorless manner of a poor relation. Next to Lady Jane she appeared short, though she must be above average height. He would not have noticed her at all except that her stillness was noteworthy in a room full of animated people.

The young woman stepped back and turned slightly to avoid being hit by an enthusiastically waved hand. She had a lovely profile, pure as a Greek coin___ Lucien stopped dead in his tracks. No, it wasn't possible, not again. "That girl beside your friend," he said tightly. "I believe I've met her before. Who is she?"

"What girl?" Lady Graham halted also and followed the direction of his glance. "Oh, you mean Lady Kathryn Travers, Jane's niece. Not really a girl, of course. She must be all of twenty-four and quite on the shelf. A pleasant young woman, though she never has anything to say for herself. Her parents are dead, so she lives with Jane now."

Pure, scalding rage burned through his veins. He had thought he was beyond surprise where she was concerned, but once again the little witch had caught him off guard. Her new role surpassed even her own deceitful standards. It was the ultimate effrontery: a shameless actress masquerading as a proper young lady. Not only that, but as a member of the aristocracy!

As always, her acting was pitch perfect. If he hadn't known her so well-hadn't held her in his arms and kissed her lying lips-he might have been fooled, for her present demeanor was so reserved that she seemed like a stranger. Yet her face was undeniably that of Emmie and Sally and Jane and Cassie James.

He had a fleeting image of her lying beside him, half-naked and with passion-hazed eyes. He had believed in her then, but no longer. This time he would not be gullible.

In a voice showing only mild interest, he said, "Of. course, Lady Kathryn Travers. I wasn't sure I recognized her at first. Such a quiet young woman. But a fine mind under her shyness."

"I'm surprised you ever had the opportunity to meet her," Lady Graham commented. "As I'm sure you know, the family is an old one, but the male Traverses have always been known for wildness, and none of them ever had a penny to bless himself with. There was no money to give Lady Kathryn a London come-out, and her present life with Jane is very quiet."

"Nonetheless, I have had the pleasure of making her acquaintance." With a glittering, dangerous smile, he started cutting through the crowd. "And I can't tell you how much I look forward to renewing it."

When they reached the group in the corner, Lady Graham said, "Jane, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Lord Strathmore. Lucien, Lady Jane Travers."

When Lucien's name was pronounced, Lady Kathryn's head swung around and her slim body stiffened. Only someone watching as closely as he would have noticed, for her face was without expression.

Lucien bowed over Lady Jane's hand and said all that was proper. She was almost as tall as he, and her gray eyes were shrewdly capable. "A pleasure, Lord Strathmore," she said. "You've given some noteworthy speeches in the Lords. Have you ever considered taking a government office?"

"Never," he said promptly. "It's much easier to point out what is wrong than to make it right."

Lady Graham laughed, then continued, "Of course you already know Lady Kathryn Travers."

Genially he said, "It's been too long, Lady Kathryn."

Her brow furrowed. "Have we met, Lord Strathmore?"

Resisting the temptation to compliment her on an artful display of perplexity, he gave an elaborate sigh of regret. "How lowering to discover that you don't remember an occasion that is graven on my memory. We were having such a fascinating discussion when we were interrupted."

She made the mistake of looking directly at him. Though she had been able to school her face, she could not quite conceal the tension in her eyes, or the rapid pulse beating in her throat. A lesser woman would have taken flight.

Glancing at the older women, he said smoothly, "I was much taken by Lady Kathryn's exposition of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin's theories. Her thoughts on the education of women were most intriguing. In fact, I'm considering introducing a bill in the Lords to address some of the inequities Lady Kathryn raised, so I must talk with her again. If you'll excuse us?"

Not waiting for a reply, he caught Kathryn's elbow with an iron grip and drew her across the crowded room. If he recalled rightly, there was a study at the back of the house where he should be able to wring her neck in complete peace and privacy.

As he marched his reluctant companion into the empty corridor, she tried to resist, saying, "Lord Strathmore, it's hardly proper for me to go off alone with a stranger."

He gave her a hard stare. "I don't know what we are to each other, but we are definitely not strangers." When she looked like protesting again, he said in a dulcet tone, "Shall I raise my voice and tell the room how lovely your naked breasts are? Or the sound you made when I kissed the tattoo on the inside of your thigh?"

She stopped dead and flushed violently. Then her face turned white and her resistance collapsed.

He towed her into the dimly lit study and slammed the door behind them. When he let her go, Kathryn immediately retreated to the far side of the study, rubbing her elbow and watching him as warily as if he were a fugitive from a lunatic asylum.

"Is Lady Jane your accomplice or another victim of your lies?" He lit a taper from the low-burning lamp and used it to ignite the branches of candles set about the room; he wanted to be able to see every nuance of expression on her deceitful face. "I wouldn't put it beyond your powers to convince an innocent woman that you are a relative she didn't know she had."

He blew out the taper with a sharp puff of air. "You even appropriated her name. I've been thinking of you as Jane ever since you insisted that the name was genuine. However, I must admit that Kathryn suits you better than any of the other things you've been calling yourself."