Lord Libertine

“Really?” Gina tilted her head to one side. “What do they call you, then?”

“Lady Lace.” She tried not to notice Gina’s giggling as she stuffed a handkerchief in her reticule. “And I am not altogether certain Mr. Hunter is the sort of man one ought to introduce to one’s sisters.”

“I gathered as much,” Gina said. “But I think I would not care. He is far too handsome. And the others, as well.”

The slightly stubborn jut to Gina’s chin warned her that her sister would need better answers. Which of the Hunter brothers did she have her eye on? Or was it Lord Humphries? She supposed it did not matter—any of them could break her heart.

“Why are you hiding your name, Bella? I thought you did not give a whit for your reputation now that Cora is dead.”

“I do not care in the least, but I thought it better if no one knew where to find me. The last thing I want is for Mama to get word of what I’m doing. How ghastly it would be to have some man turn up on our doorstep asking for an audience.”

Gina sank onto the bed in feigned distress. “Oh! That would be dreadful, indeed. Awful even under the best circumstances. Mama is enough to frighten all but the most ardent suitors away.”

She smiled at Gina’s teasing. “And anyway, Gina, when we return to Belfast and our mourning ends, there is still a chance that you and Lilly will find husbands among the gentry.”

“You, too, Bella.”

“That is quite impossible. My face is now known in London. How could I tell my future husband that he could never take me beyond Belfast lest I be recognized as a…a…” She shrugged and gave a self-deprecating laugh as she pinched her cheeks to bring her color up. “I am not blameless. I have now kissed more men than any collective dozen of my friends.”

“As to that, Bella, was Mr. Hunter—the one who spoke to you—one of the men you kissed?”

Heat crept into her cheeks and she busied herself with fastening a jet necklace around her throat. “Really, Gina! I do not see what difference that would make.”

“Well, if you are not keeping track, someone should.”

“Yes, then. Which is all the more reason I wish to keep you and Lilly away.”

“Was he that dreadful?”

No! Lord, no. In point of fact, he’d been the best of the lot. “I fear that he would think you and Lilly are likewise…loose. He could have reason enough to believe that, since we were together. Would you really want to defend yourself against an ardent swain?”

“Yes, if he looked like Lord Humphries or any of the Hunter brothers. I am assuming, of course, that you have cleared them of any suspicion of having killed our Cora.”

“I, ah, of that group, I have only kissed Mr. Andrew Hunter.”

“And you have acquitted him?”

“Not entirely.”

Gina tilted her head to one side. “Not entirely? But how is that possible?”

“I…it was rather sudden and he turned away immediately afterward, so I fear I must do it again before I can eliminate him.”

The corners of Gina’s mouth twitched. “Ah. I see. Well, yes. I suppose you must. And then move on to the other Hunter brothers? And Lord Humphries?”

“Eventually,” she admitted. “If I do not find the murderer first.”

“But tonight?”

She swept up her cloak and turned toward the door. “Tonight I am not likely to see them. Remember, I am going where scoundrels and rakes go.”

Andrew leaned over Charlie’s shoulder. “Seen enough?”

“We’ve only just begun. Do you suppose it is all like this?”

“I haven’t a single notion, Charlie. This is my first visit, as well.” When they had arrived at Bethlehem Hospital and paid the keeper for entry, Andrew hadn’t known what to expect, though he gathered he would not find it entertaining. Thus far he’d been right.

They’d been led past cells where unfortunates were either cowering in corners or reciting nonsensical words in singsong voices. Here a man played in his own filth, and there a woman exposed her breasts and cackled. Yet another man screamed and shouted curses, pounding the door separating patients from visitors. And everywhere the odor of unwashed bodies and rancid food assailed them.

The keeper, their guide, told stories of how this one had been abandoned by a lover, or that one had lost his entire family in a fire and had fallen into deep melancholy. But how, Andrew wondered again, could such misery be entertaining? Was it all just a matter of taste?

As much as he wanted to leave, he also wanted to find out what purpose Dash had for this outing, because it was not like his friend to arrange something like this without a reason.

Charlie shrugged and echoed Andrew’s own thoughts. “I cannot see the purpose of this, Drew. It tickles none of my senses. I am not amused, entertained, titillated or curious. Surely there’s more?”

“Observation of human nature, I believe Dash said,” Andrew whispered.

“An’now, gents, ’ere we are at the commons, or the gallery as some calls it,” the keeper announced. “These ’uns is harmless. You can ’ave a bit o’ fun with them if you wants. Cost you extra, though.”

Another group of visitors had arrived before them and stood in a far corner, their laughter overriding the sound of shouts and curses. Andrew turned in the direction of their pointing fingers to find a group of men scrambling over what looked to be a hunk of nearly raw meat. The scene reminded him of a pack of dogs behind a butcher shop. This, he assumed, was what the keeper had meant by “a bit o’ fun.”

Dash, who had gone ahead with Henley, Jamie and Throckmorton, glanced over his shoulder to look at Andrew. Waiting for a reaction, no doubt. But Andrew had none to give him. Whatever response Dash had been looking for, he could muster neither outrage nor amusement. He’d seen enough in the war to make him numb to human suffering and to realize that there was no limit to man’s inhumanity. He turned back to the activities in the common room, trying to keep track of the shifting tableaus as they were incited by the “visitors.”

Money changed hands, and then one of the inmates approached a woman dressed in a mobcap and a low-cut dress. He whispered in her ear and she glanced at the group that had sent him. A manic smile exposed gaps where teeth should have been, and she began to hitch her skirts up around her hips. Lord! Were the visitors such immature idiots themselves that they derived pleasure from seeing an unfortunate expose herself?

But it did not stop at that. The payment had been for something else entirely. There, for all to see, the male inmate dropped his trousers and the pair of them began to copulate to the enthusiastic encouragement of the onlookers. On some base level, Andrew realized that watching such activities was arousing for a good many people—that it awakened a hunger, at the very least. He’d known courtesans and the owners of private clubs to arrange such performances. But here and now, at the expense of those who either did not comprehend their actions or appreciate that they were being made sport of, it seemed intrinsically wrong.

“Amazing, is it not, what one will do for money?” Dash asked. “I daresay we could make this lot do damn near anything we chose.”

Andrew blinked and turned to his friend. “For a crust of bread or a cut of meat?”

“Aye. Does it remind you of the war, Drew?”

This echo of his own thoughts caused the hair on the back of Andrew’s neck to prickle. Was this why Dash had brought him here? “The madness? Or the depravity?”

“Both. And the power. Bedlam is as close to Valle del Fuego as I’ve found since our return.”

That godforsaken village! “Why would you want to be reminded, Dash? God knows I’ve spent years trying to forget.”

“Aye, but there was something there—something lacking in London. Some tiny primal spark. You must feel it. Something so…so fundamental that it has no name.”

There was more Dash was trying to tell him, something he would not put into words and was pleading with Andrew to understand. “Uncivilized,” he admitted. “Not altogether comfortable.”

“Precisely!” Dash’s expression was somber. “It pulls at one, does it not?”

Andrew glanced again at the copulating couple. Yes, it pulled at him, that urge to shed everything civilized. This was the part of Bedlam that appealed to Dash—primeval man, stripped of morality, propriety and law.

A chill crept down his spine, and his throat clogged with the heavy atmosphere. He wanted to feel again. Anything. To have some part of him awakened to ordinary senses. What would that take? The pull grew stronger, almost impossible to resist. He wanted it, craved it, and yet the last shred of decency he possessed resisted. He spun back down the passageway. “I need a drink.”