Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(2)

All of which had given her far too much time to contemplate her own death and what torture would precede it.

She might be terrified and alone, but she wasn’t about to surrender to the Lords’ plans without a fight. As far as she could see she had nothing to lose and quite possibly her life to gain.

So she raised her voice and said clearly and loudly, “You have made a mistake. I am not the Duchess of Kyle.”

The Wolf turned to the Dionysus and spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and smoky. “Your men kidnapped the wrong woman.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the Dionysus snapped at him. “We captured her three days after her wedding to Kyle.”

“Yes, returning home to London from the wedding,” Iris said. “The Duke of Kyle married a young woman named Alf, not me. Why would I leave the duke if I’d just married him?”

The Dionysus rounded on the Fox, making the other man cringe. “You told me that you saw her marry Kyle.”

The Wolf chuckled darkly.

“She lies!” cried the Fox, and he leaped toward her, his arm raised.

The Wolf lunged, seized the Fox’s right arm, twisted it up behind his back, and slammed the other man to his knees.

Iris stared and felt a tremble shake her body. She’d never seen a man move so swiftly.

Nor so brutally.

The Wolf bent over his prey, both men panting, their naked bodies sweating. The snout of the Wolf mask pressed against the Fox’s vulnerable bent neck. “Don’t. Touch. What. Is. Mine.”

“Let him go,” the Dionysus barked.

The Wolf didn’t move.

The Dionysus’s hands curled into fists. “Obey me.”

The Wolf finally turned his mask from the Fox’s neck to look at the Dionysus. “You have the wrong woman—a corrupt sacrifice, one not worthy of the revel. I want her.”

“Take care,” murmured the Dionysus. “You are new to our society.”

The Wolf tilted his head. “Not so new as all that.”

“Perhaps newly rejoined, then,” the Dionysus replied. “You still do not know our ways.”

“I know that as the host, I have the right to claim her,” growled the Wolf. “She is forfeit to me.”

The Dionysus tilted his head as if considering. “Only by my leave.”

The Wolf abruptly threw wide his arms, releasing the Fox and gracefully standing again. “Then by your leave,” he said, his words holding an edge of mockery.

The firelight gleamed off his muscled chest and strong arms. He stood with an easy air of command.

What would make a man with such natural power join this gruesome society?

The other members of the Lords of Chaos didn’t seem happy at the thought of having their principal entertainment for the evening snatched out from under their noses. The masked men around her muttered and shifted, a restless miasma of danger hovering in the night air.

Any spark could set them off, Iris suddenly realized.

“Well?” the Wolf asked the Dionysus.

“You can’t let her go,” the Fox said to his leader, getting to his feet. There were red marks beginning to bruise on his pale skin. “Why the bloody hell are you listening to him? She’s ours. Let us take our fill of her and—”

The Wolf struck him on the side of the head—a terrible blow that made the Fox fly backward.

“Mine,” growled the Wolf. He looked at the Dionysus again. “Do you lead the Lords or not?”

“I think it more than evident that I lead the Lords,” the Dionysus drawled, even as the muttering of the crowd grew louder. “And I think I need not prove my mettle by giving you this woman.”

Iris swallowed. They were fighting over her like feral dogs over a scrap of meat. Was it better if the Wolf claimed her? She didn’t know.

The Wolf stood between Iris and the Dionysus, and she saw the muscles in his legs and buttocks tense. She wondered if the Dionysus noticed that the other man was readying for battle.

“However,” the Dionysus continued, “I can grant her to you as an act of … charity. Enjoy her in whatever way you see fit, but take care that her heart no longer beats when next the sun rises.”

Iris sucked in a breath at the sudden death sentence. The Dionysus had ordered her murder as casually as he would step on a beetle.

“My word,” the Wolf bit out, and Iris’s fearful glance flew to him.

Dear God, these men were monsters.

The Dionysus tilted his head. “Your word—heard by all.”

A low growl came from behind the wolf mask. He bent and gripped Iris’s bound wrists and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled after him as he strode through the mass of angry masked men. The crowd jostled against her, shoving her from all sides with bare arms and elbows until the Wolf finally pulled her free.

She had been brought to this place hooded, and for the first time she saw that it was a ruined church or cathedral. Stones and broken arches loomed in the dark, and she tripped more than once over weed-covered rubble. The spring night was chilly away from the fires, but the man in the wolf mask, striding naked in the gloom, seemed unaffected by the elements. He continued his pace until they reached a dirt road and several waiting carriages.

He walked up to one and without preamble opened the door and shoved her inside. “Wait here. Don’t scream or try to escape. You won’t like my response.”