"One odd thing-the housekeeper said that the girl's name was Emmie Brown, not Kitty."

Surprised, Lucien said, "Could it be two different girls?"

"No, Emmie Brown was unquestionably the chambermaid you talked to, and there is no other Kitty employed in the household."

Lucien shrugged. "Perhaps Kitty is a childhood nickname that the girl blurted out because she was upset."

It was a plausible explanation. Yet as he drove back to London, more than once he found himself wondering about the girl with two names. It gave her an air of mystery, and he did not like mysteries.

Chapter 4

The next step in Lucien's campaign to become accepted by the Hellions took place the evening after his return to London, when he visited a tavern called the Crown and Vulture, site of the group's monthly carouse. Roderick Harford had invited him to come and said that his brother, Lord Mace, would be there.

A cold rain was falling, and Lucien was glad to enter the smoky warmth of the tavern. The taproom at the front was full of roughly dressed working men. After one look at Lucien's expensive clothing, the bartender jerked a thumb over his shoulder "Yer fine friends are that way."

As Lucien walked down the hall to the back of the building, a roar of laughter met him. The Hellions were in a good mood.

He paused in the doorway to survey the room. It was his first visit to the Crown and Vulture. Lit by a fire and a handful of candles, it was a welcoming scene on a wintry night. About two dozen men lounged around the tables, tankards in their hands. Most were young, but several older men were also present.

There was also one woman, a saucy barmaid who was trading quips with her customers. Tall and voluptuous, she had a heavily painted face and an untidy mass of garish red curls rioting from beneath her cap. Her amazing figure was further emphasized by the apron tied around a remarkably slim waist.

What held the men enthralled, however, was her quick cockney tongue. When a youth asked reproachfully, "Why have you taken an instant dislike to me?" she replied tartly, "It saves time."

A burst of laughter rang out. After it died down, another youth declaimed, "You've won my heart, darling Sally. Come away with me tonight and we'll ride to Gretna Green."

"Go all that way on a bony nag?" She waggled her lush hips suggestively. "I can find me a better ride here in London."

The double entendre produced more hilarity. When it quieted, her suitor said with an exaggerated leer, "You'll find no better rider than me, Sally."

"Be off with you, lad," she scoffed. "You don't know a thing about riding, and I can prove it."

"How?" he asked indignantly.

She tilted her pitcher and splashed more drink into his tankard. "By pointing out that if the world was a sensible place, all men would ride sidesaddle."

Her comment brought the house down. Even Lucien laughed out loud. Having won the encounter, the wench strolled from the room, swaying provocatively. She had an earthy sensuality that would catch the attention of any man.

"So Lucifer has deigned to call. My brother said that you might," a deep voice drawled. "You should feel quite at home amongst the denizens of hell."

Lucien glanced to his right and saw Lord Mace lounging in a corner from which he could watch everything that went on in the room. As tall and lean as his younger brother, Mace was a compelling figure with dark hair and lightless eyes.

Taking Mace's comment as an invitation, Lucien ambled over to the empty seat next to him. "I'll do my best."

He started to say more, then stopped, arrested by an unexpected sight. Behind Mace stood a wooden perch, and on it was a huge hooded bird that moved restively from one foot to the other. "Who is your feathered friend?"

Mace's thin lips stretched into a smile. "That's George, the vulture this place is named for. The tavern owner used to be an actor, and he rents the bird out whenever a theater needs one." He glanced affectionately at the vulture. "Lends a nice touch, don't you think?"

"Definitely atmospheric," Lucien agreed.

Sally appeared with a full pitcher in one hand and a tankard in the other. She plunked the tankard in front of Lucien. "Here you go, my 'andsome lad. Enjoy your devil's punch."

Then she undulated away. Her eyes had been averted, and her face was obscured by her garish hair, but the fleeting glimpse he had of her features showed that she was so heavily painted that she might be trying to cover up smallpox scars. Not that it mattered; few men would bother to look as far as her face.

The tankard proved to contain mulled ale with a hefty dose of spirits added. "I see why this is called devil's punch," he observed. "It burns like the fires of hell."

"After two tankards, you'll be able to recite scripture backward," Mace said with sardonic humor.

"Or I'll think I can, which comes to much the same thing." Lucien nodded toward the barmaid. "Does she ever attend your ceremonies? She looks like a lively piece."

Mace's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about our rituals?"

"Rumor says that the Hellions dress as medieval monks. After a ceremony, each 'monk' chooses a partner from among a group of 'nuns' enlisted from the ranks of London's better prostitutes. It's said that some of the nuns are actually society ladies out for a lark." Lucien gave a wicked chuckle. "I heard that once a monk and nun were appalled to rip off their robes and discover that they were husband and wife."

Mace's heavy brows drew together. "You're well informed."

"When half your members drink like fish, you can hardly expect secrecy." Lucien gave a faint smile. "I thought your group sounded amusing. Life has been getting dull lately, which is why I accepted your brother's invitation."

"We do our best to stave off boredom." Mace studied Lucien's face, frank skepticism in his eyes. "Roderick said that you were interested in joining us. I was surprised. You give the impression of being too fastidious, too much the dandy, to want to be part of a group dedicated to dissipation."

"I enjoy contrasts. I also enjoy intrigue." Lucien made a minute adjustment to his cuff. "Most of all, I enjoy confounding people's expectations."

Mace smiled faintly. "Then we have something in common."

"We have other mutual interests, I think. I've heard that you're interested in mechanical toys." When Mace nodded again, Lucien pulled a cone-shaped silver object from his pocket. "Have you ever seen anything like this? Look through the small end."

Mace raised the cone to his eye and peered inside, then sucked his breath in. "Fascinating. It holds some kind of lens that breaks the world into a number of identical images?"

"Exactly." Lucien drew a second one from his pocket and looked through it. The room immediately splintered into multiple images. "I know a natural philosopher who is interested in insects. He once told me that dragonflies have faceted eyes and must see this way. It sounded intriguing, so I decided to try to reproduce the effect. A lens grinder made these lenses to my specifications, and I had them mounted. For lack of a better name, I call it a dragonfly lens."

He blinked when his casual sweep of the room brought Sally into view. A dozen pairs of lush breasts swayed before him, and a dozen slim waists. The effect was rather overpowering.

"Do you make other mechanical curiosities?" Mace asked.

Lucien lowered the dragonfly lens, reducing Sally to singularity again. "I design and build the mechanisms myself, but I have a silversmith make the exteriors."

"I do the same." Mace gave a small, secretive smile. "Over the years I have created a collection of mechanical devices that is utterly unique. Perhaps I'll show them to you some day."

When he tried to return the dragonfly lens, Lucien waved it away. "Keep it if you like. I had several made."

"Thank you." Mace regarded Lucien thoughtfully. "Would like to attend the next time we have a ritual?"

Success. "I'd be delighted."

Mace raised the lens again and studied Sally. "A rather overblown female. The girl who is usually here is more to my taste-slimmer, less vulgar."

"That's another thing we have in common."

A man approached to talk to Mace, so Lucien relinquished his seat. Tankard in hand, he surveyed his companions. Most of the Hellions reminded him of boisterous university students, more wild than wicked. Across the room a very drunk youth unbuttoned his breeches and said brashly, "See what I have for you, Sally?"

After one bored glance, she retorted, "I've seen better." In the howls of laughter that followed, the beet-faced young man buttoned himself while the barmaid sauntered from the room.

Lucien grinned, then turned his attention to the older Hellions, who included some of London's most notorious rakes. Several were sitting together, so he joined them when Sir James Westley beckoned.

"Glad to see you, Strathmore. Wanted to say how much I enjoyed the visit to Bourne Castle." The stout baronet gave a slight hiccup, then chased it with a mouthful of punch. "Good of you to arrange it with Candover. I've seen him give setdowns that would fell an elephant, but he was a very amiable host."

His neighbor was Lord Nunfield, a cousin of Mace and Roderick Harford who shared the same lanky build. In a bored drawl he said, "You're fortunate to have a friend who lives in such good hunting country, Strathmore." His mouth curled into a characteristic sneer. "I understand that you and Candover have been the closest of friends since school days."