Page 2 of Seduced

All he wanted was to sit in front of his fire with a glass of rather strong wine and drink himself to oblivion until he was woken by his exhausting—not to mention exhausted—valet to attend to business. He never went outside if he could help it. He had spent millions of pounds and hundreds of hours building his club and furnishing it with endless rooms and halls sprawling across London’s underbelly, and then making sure that everything worked to perfection, from thedens of pleasure to the card tables, from the enormous ballroom to the hot Turkish baths.

He hadn’t done all that so that he would end up having to go outside.

The plan was that he would spend his days in the Underworld, which was the name of his establishment. Within its walls, he had built his secret gentlemen’s club, the Hellion Club, affectionately dubbed by the ton ‘the Hell Club’. Death would take him one night as he sat by the roaring fire, lost in the sounds of pleasure and leisure coming faintly to him from the labyrinth of the Underworld’s rooms.

But it wouldn’t happen this way, would it?

Because these cats would be the death of him.

It was the cats that had started this whole thing. Even though Alexei had not yet met a feline he could resist, he now found himself wondering if the orange tabby that went by the name of Cerberus was worth all this.

Alexei spent two hours in the freezing sleet of London streets chasing down his cat—and the boy. Yes, that was what his life had been reduced to.

He couldn’t wait until this farce was over and he returned home to his club and his threatening notes in the small hours of the morning, disgusted with himself, with Cerberus, and with life in general.

Today had not started well.

There had been no time to sleep last night either, so he had simply ordered coffee and sat down to start work. The Underworld was a complicated place to run, and every bit of it needed constant attention, from the servants to the supply chain, from the water pumps to the fires in the numerous rooms.

He had been in a foul mood throughout the day, and once the evening rolled around once more and the patrons had begun to arrive, he was ready to murder someone.

And then,hecame. For a second night in a row.

Hewas a young boy of no more than nineteen—he barely had any hairs on his chin yet—nothing more than a green youth, no doubt hell-bent on gambling away his father’s money. Nothing special or interesting there. The club hosted dozens of such young men a night, and ruined most of them within a matter of weeks. But this young man was different: he was the reason Alexei had been obliged to go outside, searching for his cat, of all things.

And for that, the boy would pay.

At precisely ten o’ clock at night, Alexei had reluctantly left the coziness of his book-laden office, and had headed upstairs, to the card rooms. His blood was boiling for murder, and as he walked up, he spotted the young man already seated at his spot, his cheeks aglow with the excitement of a new game starting.

Alexei had felt himself wake up for the first time since last night, hatred burning through him like a fire. Finally, he would get to kill someone; it had been so long since something exciting had happened in this place.

But that was hours ago, before the young man had abducted his cat.

Now, the boy was well and truly a dead man.

After all, Alexei wasn’t known as ‘Lord Hades’ for nothing.

Alexei chuckled to himself as he remembered his unfortunate nickname, which he loathed even more than he loathed going outside, hunting down his cats, and then his laughter was cut short by the cold feel of a blade against his throat.

At once, he was still as a statue.

Someone was here to kill him.

“Alexei Mikailoff Perlin,” a rough, masculine voice listed all his names, as if to prove that he knew exactly who he was dealing with. Alexei would bet he didn’t. “Tell us where he is,” the voice hissed in his ear, “and you might be allowed to live.”

“Finally,” Alexei murmured, “something exciting.”

“You’re going to die tonight, Alexei Mikailoff Perlin,” the voice continued, coming from behind his head, next to the blade. The accent was northern—the man was definitely not a Londoner. An assassin, probably. Not very bright, possibly. Knew his name, that was for sure. “Or worse.”

“Worse, you say?” Alexei feigned interest.

“I shall drive my dagger across yer insides,” the assassin said, “until ye shout for mercy.”

“I don’t shout,” Alexei said.

“You will die tonight, Alexei Mikailoff Perlin,” the assassin repeated, dragging out his name with perverted pleasure, “unless you give us the Greek prince.”

“Well,” Alexei said with deadly calm. “Then as you said, I am going to die tonight.”

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