Page 11 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

One could have appointments with the Lord of the Underworld? As easily as that? Surely, matters could not be so simple.

Isla thought swiftly. “Not exactly. But I must speak with him. It is of the utmost urgency. A question of life and death. And it concerns a business affair of great interest to him as well.”

Just like the footman, the man gave her a scrutinising glance. “Certainly. If you would follow me, sir.”

Isla stumbled after him, scarcely believing her success.

She was being taken to a meeting with the Lord of the Underworld.

And it had been shockingly easy.

Holborn led her through a series of corridors, rooms and doors. Steps up and down, then further down, then along corridors again, then further down. It was an underground maze.

Surely, they were no longer in the same building, which had been an unassuming, narrow red brick house from the outside. Judging from the distance they’d been walking, they might have gone underground, the distance of at least five, if not six houses.

The decoration changed, as well. The light became dimmer as the corridors were more sparsely lit, and it appeared unfurnished.

Just when she was about to ask him when they would finally arrive, Holborn finally stopped in front of an unassuming wooden door.

He nodded at her.

Isla knocked on the door gingerly.

There was no reply .

She went inside.

The room was dark. There was only a single candle lit, standing on a little coffee table by the door, and next to it, a chair.

“Lady Isla Rothvale,” a chilling, hollow, disembodied voice said from the depths of the room, as if belonging to a spectre. “Welcome.”

Isla squinted into the darkness. He had been anticipating her.

That was strange.

Her heart was hammering painfully, and she moistened her dry lips before she said, “Who are you? And more importantly, where are you?”

“Sit down,” the same voice said. “If you please.”

Isla dropped into the chair. “How did you know my name?”

“I know everything, Lady Isla.” Isla imagined a shadow moving at the other end of the room. Was there a desk, perhaps? Another chair? He was there, that was for sure. “I know that you have been looking for me these past few days. And I am intrigued.” Isla leaned forward to catch his voice better.

“The sister of the Home Secretary personally wants to have a rendezvous with me.” He sounded amused. “And her brother does not know a thing. Behold me intrigued. How could I not acquiesce?”

Isla gripped her fingers tightly in her lap. “How did you know?”

“Knowing these things is part of my business. ”

Of course. He must have spies everywhere. Even in Algie’s office? The thought was unsettling.

“Can’t you light more candles? I don’t particularly like talking to shadows. Besides, it’s somewhat cowardly of you hiding in the darkness, so I can’t see you, while you can very well see me.”

He laughed quietly, a sound that sent shivers running up and down her spine. “It would be most imprudent of me to show my face to the sister of the Home Secretary. Wynthorpe is trying his best to capture me and see me swing—again—but I will not give him that satisfaction.”

“How…how did you manage to survive that?” She couldn’t help it. She had to ask.

He chuckled. “The devil’s luck, no doubt. I dropped, then the entire contraption gave way. I was unconscious, and the physicians brought me back.”

The hangman must have lent a helping hand, Isla supposed. She rubbed her neck.

“Charming outfit, Lady Isla, by the by.”

She felt heat rising to her cheeks, which annoyed her. She raised her chin. “I have come here on business.”

“I am intrigued,” the voice drawled. “In what kind of business capacity may I be of assistance?”

She leaned forward, imagining that she saw a figure moving in the shadows, but she couldn’t make out anything specific. “They say you know everyone and if not, that you can find anyone.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“A man called Jem Fawe.”

“There are hundreds of Jem Fawes in England.” That’s what Algie had said, too .

“He is about thirty, but that is all I know. I don’t know what he looks like. I suppose he would have dark hair and eyes, since he is half Romani.”

“That is not much to go by, Lady Isla.”

Isla squinted at the right corner of the room, for the voice suddenly came from there. It appeared he was pacing as he talked.

“In short, you are unable to help me.”

“I didn’t say that.” The voice came from the other corner of the room. “If I agree to help you, it is guaranteed that I will find him. It all depends on one thing, though.”

“What?”

“How high you are willing to pay for my service.” The voice had shifted and somehow seemed closer. The little hairs on Isla’s arms stood on end.

“How—how much would it cost?” She shifted restlessly in her seat.

“I don’t take money for services like this.” He paused. “But I demand payment for services rendered in a different form.”

“What do you mean?”

“A pact.”

It sounded sinister. Isla shivered. “As in, a pact with the devil,” she retorted.

He laughed softly, and the sound made her want to jump up and run out of the room, but she gripped the edge of the stool and forced herself to remain.

“I wouldn’t exactly ask for your soul, tempting though it may be.”

“What then?”

“I would ask for three things.”

“That seems a tad unfair, considering that my request consists of only one thing.”

“It is how I conduct my dealings,” the voice replied lazily.

“Very well. What three things would those be?”

“Your first waltz.”

Isla blinked. “I beg your pardon. Did you say you wanted my first waltz?”

“You heard correctly.”

She knitted her brows together. “What do you mean, ‘first waltz’? Where? When? How? I’ve already waltzed, so it wouldn’t be my first waltz.”

“It would be your first waltz at an occasion that I would determine.”

“You wish to dance with me?” she asked, incredulous. “At Almack’s? Or the Argyll rooms?” That Lucian Night wanted to dance a waltz with her in public, as part of the repayment for him to help her find Jem, was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard.

“Even if it were at Almack’s or the Argyll rooms, you’d be required to comply.”

Her mouth dropped. He really did mean it. Well, what of it? She’d waltzed with many men. She might as well waltz with Lucian Night.

She shrugged. “Very well. What else?”

“Excellent.” She could hear the smile in his voice and for a fraction of a second wondered what she’d just agreed to. “The second point in the agreement would be another ‘first’.”

“I am all agog as to what that could be,” she muttered.

“I want your first kiss.”

Isla’s mouth dropped. Then she snapped it shut. “Certainly not.”

“As anticipated, this is the point where the lady draws a boundary. Then our pact will come to naught, and this business discussion is superfluous. I wish you a nice evening.”

Was he mad? Or thoroughly depraved? The scoundrel was clearly enjoying himself.

One thing was certain: he was a rogue. Heat shot into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed angrily.

“I came here, willing to negotiate and pay handsomely for hiring your services to help me find a person. I am insulted to find that you make light of the situation by trifling with my request by suggesting such an outrageous—” she drew circles in the air with her hands “—as you call it, pact. I call it an impertinence, and that is putting it mildly.”

“I am not trifling, Lady Isla, and neither am I making light of the situation.” His voice had turned frosty.

Isla dropped back into her chair. “You are being serious.”

“I am indeed.”

“But—but why?” He could have asked for all sorts of things: money, her family heirlooms, jewellery, a pardon for one of his cronies, even intelligence from Algie’s office.

But he wanted a waltz and a kiss? She rubbed her cheek.

It would indeed be her first kiss, since she hadn’t yet kissed a man, aside from pecking quick kisses on Algie’s cheek—but that didn’t count.

She didn’t much like the notion that her first kiss would go to a scoundrel and rogue.

“What is your third request?” she retorted coolly.

She had a presentiment as soon as she uttered his words.

If he wanted a first waltz, followed by her first kiss, which was a heightening of stakes, that logically meant that the stakes would escalate dramatically to something profoundly shocking, and all that was left was that he’d ask for?—

“Your first night.”

Ha. “I knew it!” It escaped her before she could help herself.

“Your wedding night, to be precise,” he clarified, as if she hadn’t already known.

“I believe you mistake yourself for a medieval lord enforcing droit de seigneur .” Isla’s voice came out scornfully. Really. The gall of the man! She found herself more annoyed than shocked, though she should have been terribly shocked.

“What would you have me say?” his voice was amused. “I am known for my shocking contracts. I am the Lord of the Underworld, after all.”

“Lord of Rogues would be more accurate,” Isla muttered.

But she had the nagging suspicion that that was the aim of the entire conversation: to shock her and frighten her thoroughly. Why? To get her to back out? Once again, why?

“It is quite futile. My husband will have something to say on the matter as well, and I daresay he won’t appreciate having a stranger in our bedroom on our wedding night.”

“You’re to be married to that dimwit lord, aren’t you? Linwood. He is of course a nuisance, but nothing that can’t be taken care of.”

Isla shook her head. “He isn’t that much of a dimwit. I daresay he has the intelligence of this entire establishment put together. He is fleecing you even as we speak.”

“Ah yes. Word regarding his ‘luck’ in gaming has gone round. Yet another reason why the man is a thorn in my eye.”

Isla narrowed her eyes. “If you hurt him, our entire contract is null and void.”

“Do you love him?” The question was shot at her so unexpectedly that it caught Isla off guard.

She began to stutter.