Dark Angel: Gentlemen of the Order - Book 4 Read online

  Dark Angel

  Gentlemen of the Order - Book 4

  Adele Clee

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Thank you!

  Copyright

  Books by Adele Clee

  Chapter 1

  Dante D’Angelo might be slightly drunk, but he was not stupid. He was used to the fervent gazes of women caressing his masculine form as he sauntered through the ballrooms of the ton, yet the golden-haired snoop dressed in midnight blue silk watched his movements as if stalking prey.

  No, those inquisitive eyes—he’d wager they were ice blue, cold and frigidly formal—had no interest in devouring his muscular physique. She didn’t flash a coy grin. An invitation to slip into a dark room, slip into something warm and wet so he might banish his demons temporarily. So what did she want? And how was it he knew every woman in attendance tonight, every woman except her?

  As an enquiry agent for the Order, a group of men who helped the weak and needy, those without funds or connections, those persecuted by the wicked, it was his business to know every person of quality. As the grandson of the deceased Earl of Deighton, he’d been fed on a hearty diet of genealogy.

  A man must know his allies and his enemies, boy!

  And yet he did not know her.

  Intrigued beyond measure, and with a need to rid himself of the depressing ennui consuming him of late, he decided to play a game with this stranger. Lure her into Lucifer’s lair, see if she could withstand the heat.

  Excitement thumped in his chest. Hell. It made a change from the need to murder every man breathing.

  Dante swallowed his champagne and placed the empty flute on a passing footman’s tray. Now, where amid Babington’s crush of a party might a man find a little privacy? With the house having the most extensive garden in Great Russell Street, outdoors was the obvious choice. And it was a little early in the evening to stumble upon couples fornicating in nature. A little cold, too.

  Not too cold or too early for him. Not too cold or too early for the lady who grabbed his wrist as he strode towards the terrace doors.

  “Dante, how dashing you—”

  “Not tonight, Charlotte.” He did not make eye contact.

  “But you said—”

  “Not tonight. I’m here on business.” It wasn’t a lie. And now the woman who occasionally warmed his bed knew to cross him off her long list of lovers. Had he bothered to glance back, he would find she had already set her sights on his replacement.

  Dante descended the terrace steps, took a moment to warm his hands against the flames roaring in the brazier before stealing deep into the shadows. Through the arched arbour lay an evergreen jungle of dense foliage and high topiary hedges. If one knew where to look, one might find a secluded seat hidden amid the lush greenery. A perfect place to hide and wait.

  He did not wait long.

  The hesitant patter of footsteps on the path were those of a woman, though he prayed Charlotte hadn’t followed him outside, intent on seduction.

  He almost chuckled when he heard a swish of silk and a disappointed sigh. The moment he saw the halo of golden curls, he knew the stranger lacked sense when it came to her penchant for spying.

  “Do you know me, madam?” Dante stepped out from the verdure.

  The stranger gasped, sending a puff of white mist into the chilly night air. “Heavens above! Did you have to do that? I might have died of apoplexy.”

  “When a lady wanders through the darkness alone, she should be prepared for surprises. But I ask you again. Do you know me, madam?”

  She seemed flustered by the question. “Know you? Well, yes and no.”

  Dante couldn’t help but smile. “Your mother lied when she told you men find indecisive women attractive.”

  “And you’re vain if you think every woman seeks to capture your attention. I spoke the truth. Both answers are correct.” She stepped closer, close enough for him to notice the pretty little mole sitting proudly above her bow-shaped lips. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we have never met.”

  “No, I would have remembered the determined set of your chin.” He would have remembered the teasing, heart-shaped mole on the swell of her breasts, too.

  “But I know who you are, sir. You’re the Dark Angel. That’s the moniker given to you by your colleagues at the Order—Mr Cole, Mr Sloane and Mr Ashwood. And while Mr Ashwood should be addressed as Lord Hawkridge, he despises the fact he inherited a title.”

  Cursed saints!

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d attracted the attention of an obsessed debutante, though why she’d risked her reputation to attend this bawdy soiree was anyone’s guess. Perhaps he should tell her why his friends chose the fitting moniker. Warn her not to dance with the devil.

  “I am the Dark Angel. But make no mistake, I possess neither temperance nor virtue. Angel is merely a reference to my surname. It is the dark element you should fear.”

  Most women would quiver upon hearing his menacing undertone.

  Not this one.

  “Fear is a construct of the mind, sir.”

  Dante feared nothing except for failing to find the fiend who murdered his parents. “Either you have no experience of pain, or you’ve suffered so greatly you’re indifferent to the emotion.”

  Her watery smile said the latter was true.

  He decided to press harder, elicit a reaction.

  “The fault lies with your mother. Did she not alert you to the dangers of attending a party hosted by a disreputable rake?” He glanced at the daring silk gown hugging her hips like a glove. “Did she not tell you a virgin maid should wear white, so those of us seeking a bed partner for the evening know who to avoid?”

  “How could she? She’s dead.” The sharply spoken words sliced through his conscience. “My mother died many years ago.”

  “Mine too,” he said, unnerved by the instant connection. “Though I doubt they met the same grisly end.” To banish the horrific image of his mother’s blood-soaked body, he focused on the maiden’s breasts, lush and bountiful, large enough to fill his hands.

  She glanced down. “Did I forget to remove the label?”

  “The label?”

  “The label informing you of my virginity.”

  He snorted. “Love, I can read your body like I read a book. Every movement tells a story. In your lavish gown, you’re the heroine who wants to appear confident and worldly-wise. Yet from the stiff way you walk I know you’ve never parted your legs, never gripped a man between your soft thighs, never climaxed beneath the skilled strum of his fingers.”

  She should have gasped and blushed, gathered her skirts and darted back to the ballroom, but she arched a challenging brow. “So, you’re a reader who skims the pages and misses vital parts of the story.”

  “You’re saying I’m wrong?”

  This was quickly becoming a rather interesting conversation.

  She sneered. “Not entirely. While I know what it’s like to have a man’s filthy paws maul my flesh, to feel the disgusting weight of him pressing down upon me, squeezing the last breath from my lungs, I am proud to say I’m still intact. But
while the bruises heal, Mr D’Angelo, the harrowing memories remain.”

  Damn. He didn’t like the graphic vision bombarding his mind—an ugly beast of an abuser marring her porcelain skin. He didn’t like that she might understand why nightmares plagued him, why he was scared to sleep, why he walked and walked and walked until he was too tired to stand.

  “I admire your candour, Miss—”

  “Sands.”

  What a shame she wasn’t a widow or some ageing lord’s wife. They might spend a pleasurable night keeping their demons at bay. He would make her come so many times she would never see the filthy devil’s face again. Would fill his mind with the sound of her pleasure, try to remember her passionate cries, not his mother’s haunting howls.

  “Now we’re acquainted, Miss Sands, might you explain why you’ve been watching me all evening? And if you are a virgin maid attending a party for the debauched, please tell me you brought a chaperone.”

  She peeked over her shoulder as if about to confess a government secret. “I am here in a professional capacity, sir, and do not need a chaperone.”

  “Damnation! Don’t tell me you’ve sold your virginity to the highest bidder.”

  Babington enjoyed playing depraved games. Though if the bids were still open, Dante would pay a king’s ransom for the pleasure of bedding this intriguing maiden. Once would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

  “Sold my virginity? Don’t be ridiculous! I work for Lucius Daventry and Damian Wycliff. I’m an enquiry agent for the Order. I’m here tonight because I’ve been assigned to the widow Emery’s case and am merely following a lead.”

  Dante froze.

  An enquiry agent for the Order? The woman was a few cards shy of a full deck. There were ways to get his attention without making absurd declarations. Yet, his disappointment at not winning a coveted place in Miss Sands’ bed proved equally puzzling.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing, madam, but I work as an agent for the Order. I have been assigned to the widow Emery’s case.” Dante firmed his jaw, for he did not appreciate being treated like a dolt. Though how she knew such personal details was a mystery. “If you know I catch liars and thieves, why invent such a ludicrous tale?”

  Miss Sands frowned. “Surely Mr Daventry told you of his project.”

  “Project? What project?” As the master of the Order, Lucius Daventry kept many secrets, but never those that might hinder a case.

  “Mr Wycliff wishes to help ladies who find themselves alone and destitute. Mr Daventry is his partner in a new venture, for he believes a woman’s insight might be invaluable when solving cases. I live in Mr Wycliff’s house for waifs and strays on Howland Street and am employed by Mr Daventry as an agent.”

  It was Dante’s turn to frown. What the hell was Daventry thinking? Employing an innocent to catch cutthroats and villains? She looked as if she might hurt her fingers snapping open her fan.

  He considered this delicate creature, with her smooth skin and magnificent breasts. “But you’re no older than twenty. What could you know about chasing criminals through the rookeries?”

  Miss Sands gave a disgruntled huff. “I am three-and-twenty and have survived in the rookeries these last six months. Have you ever lived amongst harlots and murderers, Mr D’Angelo? No, of course not. You own an impressive townhouse on the eastern side of Fitzroy Square.”

  Dante was about to speak, but Miss Sands continued berating him.

  “Have you ever trusted someone implicitly, only to have him abuse his position in the most diabolical fashion? Have you ever wandered through stench-filled alleys worried you might not find a bed for the night? Discovered gainful employment means spending most of the evening on your back? No, of course not. You’re a man. A man of wealth and means and the strength to murder anyone who steps in your way.”

  Anger bubbled in Dante’s chest. “I know horror, Miss Sands. I know what it’s like to be a victim of one’s circumstances.” He’d had everything precious ripped from him in one fell swoop.

  The sudden flash of pity in her eyes said she knew a thieving blackguard had slaughtered his parents when he was a child.

  Damn it all!

  Had Daventry told her?

  “You’re plagued by nightmares.” She spoke as if she were a silent visitor to his bedchamber and had witnessed his restless writhing. “And yet you’re an extremely skilled agent with an ability to think logically. What I’m trying to say is we all have our weaknesses, Mr D’Angelo.”

  They fell silent, the hum of music and laughter in the distance reminding him this was a party, not a night to resurrect ghosts. Despite the fact he planned to conclude the evening with a few hours of rampant bed sport, he was here in a professional capacity, too.

  “Then let us not dwell on the past, Miss Sands. Let us focus on the reason we’ve been assigned the same damn case.”

  He was more than interested to know what she had discovered, although he doubted she knew how an incident of fraud related to the murder of his parents. Did Lucius Daventry know? Was that why he’d hired this woman to interfere?

  Dante gestured to the cushioned bench tucked away amid the shrubbery. “Would you care to sit? Perhaps it might be easier if we work together tonight, for our goal is one and the same.”

  Her wary gaze flicked over his black shirt and coat. “Your suggestion makes perfect sense, sir, but it causes a minor problem. While you’re an extremely competent agent, and most certainly a man who takes command of every situation, this is my first case. If you fail to solve it, you will be assigned another. Should I fail to provide any evidence of a crime, I might find myself mopping up ale at the Bull in the Barn.”

  Standing before him dressed in sumptuous silk, he could not imagine her scrubbing floors in a tavern. Judging by her eloquent speech and dignified deportment, she’d been raised in a respectable household. And yet now she had no option but to chase blackguards for a living. Why?

  His heart softened—just for a few fleeting seconds.

  “Then, in light of this being your first case, and the fact I’m feeling benevolent, you may present our findings to Daventry.”

  Her grateful smile had an odd effect on him. A strange shiver rippled across his shoulders, which he quickly attributed to the chill in the air.

  “It would help my cause tremendously.” She caught herself. “Oh, but you must let me take the lead. I couldn’t lie to Mr Daventry, couldn’t make a false claim.”

  Devil take it. The women Dante entertained would lie and cheat and kick a starving child from the pavement to get ahead. Miss Sands wished only to be rewarded for her own honest achievements. Impressive.

  “Very well. You take the lead.” Dante was interested to know if they shared similar suspicions about the widow’s case. “Perhaps we should sit, and you can explain what brought you here this evening, tell me what evidence you hope to find.”

  Having been rescued from the rookeries, she could explain how she could afford an extravagant gown, how she’d secured an invitation to a notorious ball. As a man of integrity, Lucius Daventry would never send a virgin to a party for degenerates.

  “We can barter, Mr D’Angelo. One of my secrets for one of yours. Though I warn you, I have many.”

  He might have laughed and offered a witty retort were it not for the brisk patter of approaching footsteps echoing from the shadows.

  “Damnation. Someone is coming.”

  He wasn’t sure why he captured the hand of a woman who had no need to protect her reputation. He wasn’t sure why he dragged her into a shady corner amid the overgrown shrubbery and high hedges and insist she hide. He knew exactly why he pressed her back against the greenery, why he shrouded her body, why he stood so close their energies collided.

  “Don’t move. We’ll soon be rid of them.”

  Miss Sands inhaled deeply but struggled to find her voice. She placed her hands on his chest, a means for him to maintain some distance, not for her to explore the muscular contours.r />
  “Quick, there’s a seat here, love,” came the masculine voice so thick with lust it dripped like treacle. “It’s too far from the house for your husband to come looking.”

  “Hurry, Frederick.” The woman’s desperate plea said she would be astride the lucky devil in seconds.

  Feeling surprisingly aroused by his virgin’s peony scent and gasps for air, Dante focused on Miss Sands only to find she had squeezed her eyes shut and looked almost pained.

  “I’m in a lush green meadow, yes, a meadow,” she whispered, pushing at his chest as if preparing to mount an escape. “There is space, space, so much space.”

  “Hush. If we’re seen together, people will assume we’re lovers. Gossip spreads like wildfire.”

  Not that he cared, but Daventry would be annoyed to find his first female enquiry agent was the talk of the ton. That said, in an attempt to gather evidence, Miss Sands would need to rummage about in Babington’s bedchamber. Posing as rampant lovers might give them a reasonable excuse if caught inspecting the gentleman’s smalls.

  Dante turned, ready to accost the newcomers.

  The couple dropped onto the cushioned bench and the gentleman set about freeing his lover’s breasts from her bodice. Passion consumed them to the point neither heard Miss Sands’ mumbled mantra. Neither knew she gripped Dante’s coat as one clutched the mast of a sinking ship. Neither knew the effort it took to stand firm.

  “Oh, quickly, Frederick.” The woman fumbled with the buttons on the man’s velvet breeches. “I need you inside me else I shall simply die.”

  Dante expected Miss Sands to gasp at the crude comment, but she did not. Having lived in the stews, she must have witnessed lewd displays in the back alleys.