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ChapterOne
Jonas Thacker hesitated on the threshold of the Perdition Club with his hat in his hands and his stomach tied in knots. Through these doors lay a den of iniquity; a place he would never enter unless it were absolutely necessary. The unassuming building on Jermyn Street had once been a residence and still appeared as one on the outside. The respectable folk going about their business in St. James seemed unaware of what took place within these walls, though rumors abounded. Such talk was dismissed as unfounded, as those who paid a hefty sum to patronize the club were tight-lipped about its inner workings.
Jonas’ social standing and connections as the son of a viscount had gained him easy entry, though he had not been keen to lose such a considerable sum of money to such a dissolute place. Yet, certain circumstances had prompted him to do the unthinkable and enter the viper’s pit that was Perdition. The man Jonas sought was a member of this club and spent most evenings here. Whenever Jonas had tried to call upon him at his bachelor’s rooms, the man’s valet declared that the gentleman was ‘indisposed.’ Upon arriving in London, Jonas had heard that the man had been sighted at several balls and soirées the past few weeks. Determined to seek out his old school friend, Jonas had accepted several invitations in hopes that he might encounter his quarry there. No such luck.
His appearance in London had undoubtedly made the rounds, so the man Jonas sought must know he had arrived in town. Was he avoiding Jonas?
Left with no other choice, Jonas had decided that in order to catch a pig one must wallow in the mud. So, here he was, wallowing. As he stepped into the gaming room, Jonas squinted to adjust to the dim lighting. His skin prickled with awareness, and he felt as if dozens of eyes had fallen upon him. A swift inspection told him this was not the case. The patrons of the club were intent upon their cards. Footmen moved about with decanters and glasses, preoccupied with their work. Men and women in scanty attire wove through the crowd, seeking intimate company. Not a single person seemed to have noticed his entrance.
It’s all in your head,he told himself.
All his life, Jonas had worked his hardest to avoid detection. It was fortunate that he was a second son with an elder brother who had already married and sired two boys. Jonas was unlikely to inherit the viscountcy, which was just fine with him. From his clothing to the style of his hair to his quiet demeanor, everything about Jonas had been meticulously cultivated to portray an air of blandness. He had few friends and most people thought of him as a pleasant enough party guest, because he did not steal much attention for himself and was always polite. For his own reasons, this was the way he liked things.
Stepping into a place like Perdition made him feel marked, as if every eye that settled upon him might see his secret. If he could consort with gamblers and prostitutes, he must belong here. Surely, he was not as gentlemanly and unassuming as he appeared, and everyone would be able to see it.
No, they would not; because, even standing in a place like this, Jonas would not lose hold of his carefully cultivated veneer. He had come to Perdition for a reason and would not be put off, even if the sight of barely clothed men draping themselves over the laps of various guests made his throat clench and his cock twitch.
“Mr. Thacker!” boomed a voice over the din of laughter and conversation. “Welcome to Perdition!”
Jonas found himself accosted by a well-dressed man with dark hair and blue eyes. The swing in his step and the breadth of his smile were far too casual and open. He did not move like the men of Jonas’ circles—stiff and formal.
Caesar Potts, who had approved Jonas’ membership, was part owner of Perdition. Despite his fine clothing, he looked perfectly at home within these walls. Though, now that Jonas allowed himself to really inspect his surroundings, he found the place as grand as any fine London townhouse.
“Mr. Potts,” Jonas replied.
“Couldn’t wait to get your first taste of Perdition, eh?” Potts quipped, clapping a hand on Jonas’ shoulder.
Jonas flinched under the touch. He had only applied for membership last night, and his appearance here the very next day must make him appear eager.
“Indeed,” he replied with a tight smile, trying to hide his discomfort.
From the little he had glimpsed thus far, it was clear that Perdition could be ruined if word spread about what went on here. Despite its respectable location, the club offered access to vices that could see half the men in this room gaoled, pilloried, or cast out of society. But he could not risk Potts finding out that he was averse to this environment, else he might be tossed bodily down the front steps and have his membership revoked. Better to pretend as if he were here because he truly wanted to be.
Potts guided Jonas deeper into the gaming room, sweeping a welcoming hand in a wide arc like a circus ringmaster. “Here, you will find whatever delights tempt your senses. Drink, games, women … men.”
Jonas found he could not meet Potts’ gaze. One of those things definitely tempted him, but Jonas could never admit it. He would not give in to the baser urges rushing through his veins.
“So it would seem,” he said, forcing his tense muscles to relax.
“A man of few words, I see,” Potts remarked. “No matter. We are all friends here, so you shall come to feel comfortable amongst us soon enough. Since it is your first visit as a member, I thought I might offer you a tour. Aside from this room, there are other places where a man might indulge his passions in private. Of course, we do not mind if he does so publicly, as well.”
Potts delivered those last words with a chuckle, jerking his head toward a shadowy alcove in one corner of the room. Jonas nearly choked on air as he distinguished writhing limbs and undulating bodies: a man and woman in the throes of sexual congress. The woman’s gown had been yanked down to expose her breasts, her skirts pushed up to her hips. The man behind her had unbuttoned his breeches, and slammed into her with frenzied strokes, his teeth gritted around sounds of ecstasy. From a table near the alcove, two men watched with interest. One man’s chest heaved with panting breaths as his companion slipped a hand into his breeches and began to stroke.
Dear God, what sort of cesspool had Jonas found himself in?
“Thacker?” Potts prodded. “The tour?”
Jonas blinked and tore his gaze from the rutting couple and their onlookers. “Erm … I appreciate the offer, but I think I would prefer to find my own way.”
Potts clapped Jonas’ shoulder and then dropped his hand. “Have it your way. Enjoy yourself, Thacker.”
With that, Jonas was alone again, drowning in a sea of sin and debauchery. Rather than goggle at the prostitutes and their customers, he weaved through the room while inspecting the gaming tables. If his quarry were in attendance, he would likely be found squandering his fortune over cards. Though, at the sight of the handsome, svelte mollies plying their trade throughout the room, Jonas supposed he might be in one of the private places Potts had mentioned.
For reasons Jonas did not wish to examine, such a thought made his gut twist with irritation. The last thing he wanted was to find his old companion in some dark room, undressed and about his favorite form of entertainment. No matter how tempting such entertainment might be, Jonas was stronger than his urges and always in control. He would find who he had come to speak with and take his leave. If he were lucky, he would never have to set foot in this club again.
Jonas faltered mid-step, finding the object of his search seated at a table toward the back of the room. The game appeared intense, and the players scowled at their cards and eyed one another with suspicion. The hair on the back of Jonas’ neck stood on end as his gaze was drawn to the man whose presence overshadowed his companions like the sun casting its rays over dark shadows. The man who had the power to destroy Jonas with nothing more than a glance and a few words.
Derek Dryden.
