Thorne held up his whisky in a toast.
Ben had no choice but to reach for his own glass. “Cheers.”
It was only his second serving of alcohol thus far; he’d managed to appear like he was drinking more than he actually was. The more the other men indulged, the less they would notice his minimal participation in the various forms of depravity Bollinger had made available to his guests this eve. As Ben set up another billiards game, his vision briefly wavered.
His period of abstinence had affected his ability to hold his drink. Luckily, the wave of dizziness passed, and his mind cleared once more. He couldn’t help but see the irony of it: abandoning his vices had made him more susceptible to their effects. In trying to become a better man, he’d made his present mission more difficult.
The memory of Bea’s visit flashed in his head. His chest knotted as he recalled the doubt in his sister’s eyes, the resignation and anger. Even if he had been able to tell her that his recent behavior was just a ploy, would she have believed him? He’d broken her trust too many times. Caused her pain for which he could never make amends. He’d deserved her parting shot.
“It was my fault for thinking better of you, Hadleigh,” she’d said bitterly. “A leopard never changes its spots.”
Perhaps there was no escaping his past. Perhaps redemption was a mere illusion.
Yet for Livy, his love and duchess-to-be, he had to try to wipe his slate clean.
Edgecombe sauntered in. “Still at the billiards, fellows?”
The earl had lost his cravat, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His face bore traces of rouge from the two French prostitutes he’d taken upstairs.
“Bed sport isn’t a m-man’s only choice of entertainment,” Thorne said.
“While the two of you play with your own balls, I prefer,” Edgecombe drawled, “to delegate the task.”
The risqué quip drew appreciative guffaws, and Ben found himself laughing along.
Rising from the divan where he’d been nursing a bottle of brandy, Bollinger stumbled over.
“Speaking of tasks, I’ve been thinking.” His words were slurred. “I should take Hadleigh with me on my errand tomorrow night.”
Seeing the significant looks exchanged, Ben felt a surge of euphoria.
At last, news of Fong. My plan is coming to fruition.
Giddy with success, he strove to keep his wits about him.
“Have you heard from Fong?” he asked. “Is a shipment arriving?”
“Yes. And the fellows and I think you’re ready to help,” Bollinger said.
“You have to earn your keep along with the rest of us, Your Grace,” Edgecombe said with a smirk. “If you want Longmere’s cut, then you’ll be taking over his position on the route.”
“There’s a route?” Ben asked.
“It’s all very hush-hush.” Thorne’s gaze glittered with illicit thrill. “We had to solve a r-riddle to figure out where to pick up the Devil’s Bliss.”
“You’ll see for yourself tomorrow night,” Edgecombe said.
He gave Ben a slap on the back. Ben pitched forward, catching himself against the billiards table, his vision swimming. He felt as if he’d suddenly plunged underwater, the voices and faces around him growing blurry and indistinct. At the same time, he was oddly content to float there, listening to the ebb and flow.
“You all right?” someone asked.
“Old boy has lost his touch...”
Laughter…were they laughing at him? He frowned, trying to think.
Not supposed to look weak. Have to stay strong—about to bring down Fong at last…
“Just need some air,” he managed.
He staggered from the billiards room. In the hallway, the walls seemed to curve around him, and he found himself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Of him being foxed from two drams of whisky. He couldn’t remember spirits making him feel this way before. So free of care, the world bathed in a rosy glow. It was almost like how he felt when he was with Livy…
…or when I had that first hit of opium.
The realization jolted him. Gave him enough presence of mind to lurch over to the lavatory. Inside, he went to the looking glass, gripping the edges of the water basin.
Darkened pupils. Flushed cheeks. The rush of euphoria.
Holy hell...I’ve been drugged.
At that moment, his legs gave out, and he was sucked into a terrifying quicksand of exultant torpor. The harder he tried to fight it, the more ensnared he became. Time floated, he floated, suspended in a fuzzy kaleidoscope of color and shapes. Something slapped his cheek. His awareness sharpened on an object in front of his face.
A glittering pendulum of gold mesh swung from a chain. The peacock feathers swirling around the globe stirred a distant memory. Behind it, a masked face blurred in and out of his vision, accompanied by a muffled voice.
“Do you remember this vinaigrette? I gave its twin to Arabella. You left her no choice but to seek the freedom within when you locked her up. It was your fault that she took the drug during her pregnancy and died…
“Do you like your first taste of the Devil’s Bliss? You always thought you were better than the rest of us, but now you’ll see who truly holds the power. By the by, Arabella’s babe was mine. And now you shall pay for taking them both away…”
The voice grew distant, and Ben couldn’t fight the darkness any longer. As he succumbed to the airless depths, his last thought was of Livy.
Forgive me, little queen. I love you…
35
“Where do you think they are headed?” Livy said, peering ahead anxiously.
She was on the driver’s perch with Hawker, who kept his good eye trained on the unmarked carriage several lengths ahead.
“’Ard to tell,” he said. “We’ll keep on ’em.”
While Charlie had stayed at the villain’s lair to look for the cache of Devil’s Bliss—without which they had no evidence—she had sent Hawker along with the Angels to find Ben. The group had arrived at Bollinger’s townhouse in time to see two burly footmen load Ben into a carriage and take off at a rapid clip.
