we need to save Brandon, and then we’ll see what we can do about you. I want you to be happy, love. You don’t need an heir—we’ve got stuffy old Charles to take care of that, and if it’s children you want, I’ve got babies to spare. Anytime you want to romp with them I’ll bring them down to visit.”
He finally turned to look at her, a wry grin on his mouth. “You’re kindness personified.”
“Don’t try that with me—I know you adore my children, and they adore you. At times it was my only assurance that you hadn’t turned into a cold-hearted fish. We can fix this, Neddie. You can have your happy ending, too.”
He wanted to use his poisonous tongue to blister her. But then, Miranda had always been immune to it, and he had no real desire to hurt her. “First things first,” he said. “We need to find Brandon.”
The Grand Master of the Heavenly Host was feeling well pleased with himself. To be sure, things hadn’t gone as smoothly as he might have hoped, but the missteps and danger put a certain piquant edge to the whole proceeding. Who would have thought the Carstairs woman would have been quite so persistent? He’d had her locked in a room, far away from the young girl chosen for the ritual, and so far no one had come looking. If they had, they would find nothing. Ever since the collapse of the north tunnel he’d had the main entrance closed off and another opened in the old stables. He could just imagine the complaints from his congregation, as he liked to think of them. The thought amused him. They would be wallowing in proverbial mud once they reached the caves—they could certainly withstand ancient manure.
They had already begun to gather. The ritual room was set, an altar erected with flowers and fruit and arcane symbols all around, as well as restraints and trays to catch the blood. He was hard with excitement. He’d never killed anyone before, and a young virgin was going to be particularly enjoyable.
The fools who made up the Heavenly Host would oooh and ahhh and commune in the spirit, wash in her blood, drink it if he insisted. They would do anything he wanted them to do once they drank the wine he’d doctored. He had no idea what the symbols that decorated the altar meant, but neither did any of them. They believed; he did not. That was the difference between power and obedience.
He would have no choice but to kill the much-too-curious Lady Carstairs, but he could enjoy the impromptu nature of the act. Perhaps he’d have one of his followers wield the knife, or perhaps snap her slender neck himself. That was part of his grand plan, after all.
It was gloriously simple. He wanted, craved, power. Power brought you everything you wanted—money, sex, control. And he knew just how to acquire it. By witnessing the deeds he had planned for later that evening, every one of the members would then be culpable. A member of the House of Commons, known for his rants that went counter to sound business practices, could hardly keep his head up when confronted with the knowledge that he’d participated in a ritual murder. A young earl couldn’t refuse to sponsor an admittance to an exclusive club or the suit of an unwelcome lover if threatened with exposure. He could have anything he wanted; he would be unstoppable, all by dint of a bit of blackmail.
He considered his choice of Brandon Rohan as executioner to be a particularly brilliant stroke. There was no way he could get someone like Viscount Rohan under his thumb. Rohan wasn’t interested in the little games the Heavenly Host enjoyed, and he was impervious to blackmail. But when it came to protecting his baby brother he would do anything. There would be no way in the world he would stand aside and let Brandon Rohan be tried and hanged for murder.
Indeed, it had seemed ridiculously easy. It hadn’t required much persuasion to keep Rohan’s addiction to opium alive, and his rapid consumption of alcohol was benefitted by the addition of certain substances that had been carefully preserved. Rye ergot gave visions approaching the beatific, or the horrific, depending on one’s frame of mind. If they came without warning the effects could be devastating.
He hadn’t counted on young Rohan having enough of his brother in him to almost destroy his careful plans. He had set