Chapter One

 

“Please.” The man’s voice cracked, the tip of his tongue nervously touching his lips as he laid his losing hand of cards on the table and accepted defeat.

Lady Serena Wellcott calmly laid her own cards down. The soft whick of the stiff paper meeting the table’s firm surface made her smile along with the sight of her quarry flinching in abject misery. “It was not your night. I believe this ends the game, sir.”

He shifted in his chair, trying to resummon his dignity. “I’ll write you an IOU and see that—“

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “That will not satisfy. Not this time.”

“The rules of polite society dictate that a gentleman’s IOU is always—“

She pulled out her black and emerald beaded reticule and retrieved a dozen small pieces of paper writs in his own handwriting and spread them out in front of her. Serena watched his show of bravado falter and fade at the staggering debt at her fingertips. “It’s a heart-stopping sum, is it not, Mr. Hill?”

“You…have all my markers?”

“And I’m calling you on them. Now.”

“Oh, god. I’m ruined,” he whispered.

“It seems so.” She sat back in her chair, primly organizing her paperwork. “But I’m prepared to offer you a solution to your woes, Mr. Hill.”

“A solution?” His head came up quickly; his eyes gleaming in the lamplight, anxious for any miraculous solution that would make his financial problems go away.

She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“The house in Bath, all its contents and furnishings, the stables and livestock, surrounding land and rents attached to the property. Sign it all over and I’ll tear up your markers and consider your debts erased.” Serena took a deep breath and simply waited for him to absorb what she’d said.

“B-Bath?” His jaw dropped open in shock. “Impossible! That estate has been in my family for generations.”

The tendril of sympathy she’d felt for him died instantly. “Liar. It’s been in your wife’s family for generations.”

He stiffened, his face going red. “The house is off the table. I’ve leveraged it to the hilt and—“

She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll deal with the creditors once you’ve done as I ask.”

“No! I’ll pay you what I can and then—“

She interrupted him again, this time by sweeping the pile of markers back into her purse. “You’ve mistaken this for a negotiation, Mr. Hill.” She lifted a silver bell from the table and rang it.

The door to the private gaming room opened behind her and two identical broad-shouldered muscled hulks wearing matching black suits and coats entered to stand behind their mistress. The door was closed and locked before they transformed into cold sentinels awaiting her next command.

“W-what is the meaning of this?” Mr. Hill demanded, his voice shaking.

“You cannot be that slow of wit, sir,” Serena protested, her tone mocking him. “You’ll write out the terms I’ve dictated and your intent to give me all that I’ve asked and you’ll sign it here. Then you’ll be at your solicitor’s door before the man’s had breakfast to make it perfectly legal and binding, delivering the deed into my hands before dinner.”

Hill’s eyes widened but he said nothing.

“Naturally, Jasper and Jack will be with you at all times for the process to guarantee a successful and flawless transfer of the assets. All of this is to be a confidential transaction in which you will never mention my name or repeat the story of this evening’s events to anyone for as long as you draw breath.”

The red color drained from his face but to his credit, Mr. Hill salvaged some of his wits. “And if I refuse to play along?”

The twins smiled in perfect unison behind her in a mirthless promise of pain and Serena sighed. “Then they’ll kill you. I’ve never given either of them limitations as to the methods they prefer and for that, the men have assured me that I am their favorite client.”

She gave Mr. Hill a chilling smile that underlined her words. “In truth, the boys enjoy their work, sir, so I leave the messy details to them. But no worries. I have requested that in your case, if the worst should come to pass, that they deliver your head in a hatbox to your family so that they’ll know to mourn your passing and to tidy up legal matters. You see? I am not completely heartless.”

It was all a blatant lie. The twins were muscled props and consummate actors who knew their brutish roles by heart. They hadn’t murdered so much as a spider in all the years she’d known them but it didn’t matter. She’d yet to meet a man who’d been willing to test their gory claims.

“You bloody bitch! You—“ He was on his feet but held in place by the presence of the dangerous brutes at her back. “I’ll be ruined! M-my wife…would never forgive me. Sh-she loves that house…”

“If your wife’s feelings were truly a priority, perhaps you’d not have leveraged the house and gambled against it in the first place,” Serena pointed out, the last of her patience draining away as she also stood from the table. “We have an agreement, Mr. Hill. The house and property in Bath delivered to me before I sit down to dinner.”

She calmly adjusted her bonnet to lower the black lace veil over her features and to collect what notes and money remained on the table into her purse.

Hill’s fury outweighed his intellect. “Fuck you, you icy whore!”

“Mr. Hill!” Serena gasped, conveying every inch the prim and proper Victorian lady. “Such vile language betrays your true nature!” She readjusted her black kid gloves. “I’ve done nothing to encourage your ruin. I was merely in a position to witness it. Now,” she held up her hand and with a slight wave signaled the twins to flank a sputtering and terrified Basil Hill, “I’m assisting you by providing an avenue for you to clear aside this Season’s debts quietly and honorably.”

“Honorably? By calling every marker I had and threatening my life if I don’t comply?”

“What threat? Death is inevitable, sir. Your life was already fairly worthless from where I’m standing. You’re a weak-willed excuse of a man, grinding away all that Providence had given you and gaily making a party of your failures.” She moved toward him, her voice dropping to a sensual growl. “Go ahead, Mr. Hill. Default on our deal. Do this world the favor and remove yourself from the skin of this earth and shuttle off to the card game in Hell that awaits you. And don’t worry. I sent the Devil a note with my regards and he’s more than happy to save you a seat at his table.”

She leaned forward ever so slowly only to spit in his face; abruptly stepping back so that the twins could restrain him from striking out at her.

“By dinner, gentlemen,” she said over her shoulder, exiting with an elegant turn of her bustled skirts and sailing out of the room to the sound of Mr. Hill breaking down into braying sobs while her henchmen silently stood by.

She stepped from the exclusive gambling house into the damp night air and then down the steps to her waiting carriage without breaking her stride. The ride through London’s streets gave her time to close her eyes and replay the scene with Hill until she was confident that no detail had been omitted.

By the time she arrived at her sumptuous London home, the fleeting rush of triumph had quieted to remind her that until the title to the Bath property was in hand, she should remain alert and prepared for anything.

“Good evening, your ladyship,” her butler greeted her as he took her fur trimmed cloak and hat. “Are you in for the evening, madam?”

“I am in, Mr. Quinn. I’ll have a note to go out and then lock the house.” Serena retreated up the stairs as the clocks in the house struck three in the morning, not sparing a single glance to the luxury around her. Her steps were quiet on the carpeted floors and by the time she reached the sanctuary of her rooms on the first floor, Serena felt the first pangs of exhaustion.

It had been a good night’s work but it had come after weeks of intense planning.

“You look done in,” Pepper commented as she met her inside the bedroom doorway. “Shall I run a bath to help you sleep?”

“I’ll forgo it.”

“And forgo any rest, I’ll warrant,” Pepper groused softly.

“I don’t need a nanny! I’ll sleep like the dead, now stop fussing.” Serena’s imperious tone was meaningless to her ladies maid. For seven years, Miss Pepper Collins had been her closest companion and sole confidant. She had no closer ally in the world than the little country beauty and Serena was grateful for her care.

Serena crossed to her desk and sat down to draft one quick message.

“It is accomplished.”

The note was sealed with a dollop of black wax and Serena pressed the brass circle with an engraved rose into the soft surface to make the mark of the Black Rose Society.

“Here, take this to Quinn and tell him to make sure that it cannot be traced back to this house.” She held up the sealed note for Pepper to take downstairs. “And then come back up and draw my bath.”

Pepper smiled sweetly at the rare victory and curtsied before leaving to tend to her errand.

“It is accomplished,” she repeated to the empty room, attempting to recall the fleeting joy she’d felt when Hills had wept.

But joy eluded her.

Mrs. Hill’s family holdings and lands were now secured from her wastrel of a husband’s grasp. No drunken impulse or lure of the cards would ever again threaten her future or that of her two daughters.

And the Black Rose would have a new member in Mrs. Hill and access to a lovely home in Bath or to any of the resources Mrs. Hill held on their behalf. It was the price of her services that any recipient would yield without question or hesitation to any future requests she made or from anyone bearing her signet ring.

Lady Serena Wellcott had founded the Black Rose Reading Society five years before with a clear understanding that a literary club would be overlooked by most of her peers and would provide a benign excuse for women to gather without scrutiny. For the Black Rose had nothing to do with literature and the discussion of books—and everything to do with revenge.

And power.

In the world as she knew it, women held almost no power. Legally one step above livestock, they held almost no sway beyond the domestic sphere and even there, Serena believed that their control over their own fates was an illusion.

A woman’s intellect, wit, and sexuality were the obvious tools of the game. Pepper returned and within moments had divested Serena of the layers of expensive silk and confining undergarments that she wore like armor. It was impossible not to sigh at the sweet relief of being able to take a deep breath unencumbered and to slide into her silk wrap.

“Did he cry?” the maid asked.

She nodded, smiling. “Like a toddler.”

“Brilliant,” Pepper sighed.

“You are an easy woman to please, Miss Prudence. You realize this?” Serena teased as she retied her dressing gown. “But then, aren’t we all?”

Pepper’s nose wrinkled at the use of her proper Christian name. “I’ll get your bath drawn. Wait here and try not to work.” Pepper left her at the vanity to brush her hair out and Serena disregarded the jibe.

Vengeance is an unforgiving mistress—and cares nothing for the clock.

Even so, she didn’t want to give Pepper the satisfaction of demonstrating her inability to avoid the pile of petitions and letters calling to her from her desk, so she deliberately picked up the brush and tended to her curls.

Something in her reflection stopped her hand mid-stroke and Serena leaned closer to study the woman peering back at her in the glass.

There.

There’s that wicked creature.

She smiled and the beauty in the mirror smiled unabashedly back. Her hair fell in long black curls that a gypsy would have envied and framed aristocratic features spoiled by pale blue eyes that appeared almost silver-grey. Lush porcelain lines and firm curves highlighted the powers of a woman in her prime at a mere twenty-four years of age and she well knew the nuances of every flutter of an eyelash or tilt of a chin to wield those powers to her advantage.

She deliberately slid back the silk of one sleeve to bare one shoulder and her breath caught in her throat.

There.

For she didn’t see Lady Serena Wellcott, an independent woman of wealth enjoying her life amidst the glittering world of the Ton and London’s elite while she pursued only the most proper entertainments and dabbled in a social cause here and there when it suited her.

She saw Raven Wells, bastard born and as wild as the fens. A child that had known nothing but betrayal and the twists of cruel games until she’d learned the truth of it at seventeen years of age to become the mistress of her own games.

Revenge wasn’t something a woman pursued on a lark or in a fleeting snit.

Raven had been taught by the best what it meant to be used and abandoned, her emotions regarded as meaningless and her worth measured only by how clever a pawn she could be.

“All ready for you,” Pepper’s announcement interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes. I’m ready, too.”