The Wicked Beginning: The League of Rogues Book 13
Page 3
He nodded toward the window. “Who is that?”
Parr followed Godric’s gaze, and a shadow crossed his face.
“My niece,” was all he said.
Godric was tempted to inquire more, but he sensed Parr would refuse to say much on the matter.
“Please, let me see you out, Your Grace.” Parr waved a hand toward the front door.
As Godric left Parr’s home, he cast one more look back upon the grand old house and wondered why Parr had been so secretive about his niece. She was just a young woman, after all. A pretty young woman at that. Lucien was right—he needed a new mistress. That would distract him from thoughts of a young lady kneeling in the garden and conversing with butterflies.
Emily washed up before dinner. When she joined her uncle in the dining room, she found him in much better spirits.
“Did your meetings go well today?” she asked, though she didn’t expect a response. Her uncle usually did not share the details of his business with her.
“Actually, yes. My second meeting was with a wealthy duke. He gave me a banknote for ten thousand pounds.”
“That’s wonderful, Uncle!” Emily smiled, a wellspring of relief overflowing inside her. If he stayed in good spirits, she might be able to attend more balls during the Season.
“Tomorrow, you may go shopping. Order yourself a new gown. Just one, mind you, but something pretty for the balls we shall attend in a few weeks.”
Emily could scarcely keep her joy hidden. To have a new gown . . . The thought did not excite her for silly girlish reasons, the way she’d felt when her parents were still alive. No, it was the idea that she would look decent for her first ball that filled her with hope. She might yet stand a chance at winning a man’s heart.
“Now, eat your dinner,” her uncle grumbled. “The cook tells me you don’t eat enough. And don’t argue with me. I’m not on such hard times that I cannot afford to feed you.”
Emily swallowed her protest. He wasn’t wrong. She had been eating less to keep the stress on their food budget down.
She pulled her plate of roasted duck toward her and ate gratefully and without concern for once. Her uncle was a little more relaxed tonight. He spoke of the silver mine property he had purchased in Cornwall and how he believed it would change their lives for the better.
Later that night she dreamed of her parents again, but this time it wasn’t a goodbye. It was a strange dream of islands shrouded in stormy mists. They were lost to her, so very lost, but they were still together. That small comfort brought tears to Emily’s eyes even as she slept.
3
London- September 1820
Godric stared in numb disbelief at his bank records, then at the reports he’d just received from his hired man in Cornwall. His man had told him about all of the problems with the mine Parr supposedly had helped him to invest in and how Parr had never even sent a crew there to start mining. He also disclosed that it seemed as though the vein of silver had been dry a long time. The man had cautioned Godric to be wary of potential embezzlement by Parr, and his bank had just confirmed it. Parr had used the funds he’d been given to pay off other debts to other men, and none had gone toward the mining project. Parr had known all along that the mine was dry.
“You look unusually murderous. Something wrong?” Ashton Lennox asked.
Godric glanced up from the untidy stack of papers strewn across his desk in his office and glared at the blond-haired baron who lounged in the seat across from him. Ashton had the Morning Post open and was perusing the business section.
Godric grimaced. “I’d rather not tell you.” Ashton would be kind and try to withhold judgment about his foolishness, but Godric would still see the disappointment in his eyes for not having gone to him first.
Ashton lowered his paper and raised a brow at him.
“Oh, bloody hell, Ash. I made a bad investment, all right?”
His friend folded his paper and set it aside. “You have my attention.”
Ash was only older than him by a year, yet sometimes he felt like a schoolboy in his presence.
“I heard about a man named Parr, and I thought I would try my hand at investing.” He raised a hand to silence Ashton. “And no, I didn’t come to you, and yes, clearly that was a mistake.” Despite his embarrassment, it was easy to speak to Ashton—and the rest of the League. They were bound like brothers, bound by death, by blood, by life. A bond that went deeper than any might imagine.
“What did you invest in?” Ashton inquired.
“A silver mine.”
Ashton ran his fingers over his lips, his gaze distant. “Ah. Yes, silver mines can be a tricky business. High returns if successful, but impossible to know how large a deposit might be. You never truly know what will happen. It’s much safer to invest in the consols. . . unless you wanted to take a risk?”
“Not at ten thousand pounds I didn’t,” Godric muttered. He’d considered the consols briefly, but they were government backed consolidated annuities that were difficult to cash in. Reliable for investment, but with very little fiscal rewards.
“Right, well, what are you planning to do about it?”
“I’m not sure,” Godric said. “Could you lend me a few of your clever spies?” Godric was only half teasing. Ashton’s network of informants weren’t actually spies, but the distinction was at times a fine one. Ashton used them to stay abreast of things in London, and through them he maintained an edge in business that few could rival.
“I can put someone at your disposal. What do you need?”
“I want Parr’s residence watched. I want to know everything about him.”
“Very well. I’ll have a man sent to you this afternoon. Don’t forget—we all have that ball tonight.”
“I’m in no mood to dance with a bunch of silly debutantes,” Godric growled.
“Very well. But you know where we shall be if you have need of us.” Ashton rose from his chair and took his leave. Godric leaned back at his desk, still fuming. Albert Parr had played him for a fool, and he would make the man pay. Even if it meant calling him out on the field of honor.
Emily stepped into the grand ballroom, her uncle at her side, and she gasped in delight. The dance floor was a swirl of brilliant colors, and fine ladies and gentlemen swept past her in a blur like in a fairy tale.
“Let us find your sponsor, Mrs. Pratchet. She will see to it that you have at least a few dances,” her uncle said.
“Yes, Uncle.” Emily dutifully followed him into the crush of the crowd at the edge of the dance floor.
Mrs. Judith Pratchet, Emily’s sponsor, was an old childhood friend of her mother’s and a lovely woman inside and out. She had taken Emily under her wing immediately when Albert had contacted her. That first day she’d had tea at the Pratchet home, she’d almost wept at the relief of once again having female companionship.
“Ah, there she is!” Uncle Albert moved ahead of her, pushing his way toward a cluster of people. Emily was a bit too short to see over the heads of some of these towering men.
Mrs. Pratchet saw her uncle first and used her fan to beat the nearby men away so that Emily might approach. Mrs. Pratchet was still a stunning beauty, and she held court with her amused husband at her side.
“Emily, my dear, come here.” She waved for Emily to stand next to her. Her uncle gave her a curt nod and slipped back into the crowd.
“What a night this is. I swear everyone in London is here.” The matron laughed.
Emily smiled as she joined Mrs. Pratchet. “It is quite full,” she agreed, feeling very welcomed. Were all balls like this?
“Let me see your dance card, my dear.” Mrs. Pratchet removed the small card that was attached to Emily’s wrist. “Gentlemen, listen to me, please. Line up now,” she commanded. The young bucks around her rushed to obey her.
Mr. Pratchet leaned in to whisper to Emily. “She could marshal troops to rival the Duke of Wellington.”
Emily giggled. She had to agree.
The young men all took a turn signing Emily’s dance card. Once that was done, Emily was led onto the floor by a man named Avery Russell. He was a handsome young man with golden-red hair and a soft smile that put her right at ease. As they danced, he teased out her story, and soon she felt quite a kinship with the man, even though he had said little about himself.
“Heavens, you made me talk of myself too much, sir,” she said.
Avery chuckled. “My deepest apologies, Miss Parr. It is the hazard of my occupational interest to let others talk.”
She tried to ask him what that occupation was, but the next dance was already preparing to start. Avery handed her off to her next partner. She squinted at the illegible entry on the card.
“That’s me, I’m afraid.” A handsome blond-haired man grinned as he gently captured her hand and led her back to the floor. “The name’s Graham Humphrey. At your service.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Emily stared into his gray eyes. They were lit with mischief.
“Are you Mrs. Pratchet’s young darling for the Season? We’ve been hearing about you for the last month. You’ve caused quite a stir among the fashionable set.”
Emily was mystified. “Have I?” She wasn’t the sort of person to draw anyone’s attention. She was neither pretty nor rich enough.
“Oh yes.” Graham spun her in a circle and switched partners with another gentleman. It took them another minute before they were back together again, but he picked up right where he’d left off. “And I must say, you don’t disappoint. Your eyes are magnificent. Such a rare color, violet . . .”
Emily felt her face flush, but she couldn’t stop it. All too soon, the dance ended.
“Kent, your turn.” Graham gave Emily’s hand a gentle squeeze as she was given into the possession of another handsome man. Was this entire room filled with nothing but gorgeous men? She studied her card.
“Lord Kent?” she asked, her mind staggering. She had the Earl of Kent as a partner for this dance!
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parr.” Kent bowed and Emily curtsied, but she was so stunned to be dancing with an earl that she had trouble forming words as they began to dance.
“Are . . . are you acquainted with Mr. Humphrey?” she finally asked.
“Oh yes, indeed. I have the honor of calling that bounder a dear friend.” Kent’s eyes twinkled. Emily found herself laughing. She was having fun, true fun, after a year of feeling trapped and alone with her uncle and grieving the loss of her parents. Mrs. Pratchet had chosen these men for her well. Just as she and Lord Kent finished their dance, a dark-haired man with kind eyes approached them.
“Who is your charming partner, Kent?” he asked.
“Miss Emily Parr, allow me to introduce you to a truly good man, James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke.”
Emily quickly dipped into a curtsy. “My lord.”
“It is indeed a pleasure, Miss Parr. You have made many of my friends here tonight smile in ways they haven’t in years. Please tell me you have a dance open for me?”
She glanced down at her card, desperately hoping that one spot was still open. But not a single line was free.
“I’m so sorry. My sponsor filled it out when I arrived tonight. I have nothing free.”
Disappointment filled the man’s kind eyes. “Another time, perhaps?”
Emily nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course!” Would he remember? She prayed fervently that he would.
“I’ll make sure you have a dance with him,” Kent promised. “He’s the best of us, you know. If he were any more noble he’d wear a bloody halo.” Kent spoke with such an open fondness that Emily felt it too. She could see how good of a man Pembroke was, even though she didn’t know him at all.
“It seems like they’ve taken a brief break.” Emily noticed that the musicians at the back of the room had paused in their efforts. Kent led her back to Mrs. Pratchet, who stood beside a beautiful young woman who was a year or two older than Emily. She had lovely brown eyes and chestnut hair. Warmth exuded from her, easily pulling Emily into her orbit.
“Emily, this is Anne Chessley, the daughter of one of your mother’s dear friends.”
“Chessley!” Emily almost cried out. Her mother had spoken so often of this woman’s mother that Emily felt she knew her already.
“Emily.” Anne beamed at her. “So wonderful to finally meet you.”
“You two girls enjoy the break before your dance partners come and find you.” Mrs. Pratchet left them alone.
“My mother adored yours,” Anne said, a little shyly.
“And mine loved yours as well,” Emily replied.
Anne nodded to a strapping man in his fifties. “That’s my father over there.” The man was laughing heartily at something someone else had said. “I’m sorry about what happened to your parents,” Anne added seriously, and she reached out to squeeze one of Emily’s hands in friendship.
“Thank you.” Emily felt immediately bonded to this young woman, and she knew that this was rare.
“Is this your first Season?” Anne asked.
“Yes, I’m only eighteen.”
Anne’s expression became suddenly mischievous. “Ah, then let me educate you. This is my third Season. I know all the players to the game now. I see you danced with Lord Kent. He’s a gentleman, but be careful around his friend, Graham Humphrey. That man is a rake.” Anne tapped her chin and reached for Emily’s dance card. “Avery Russell? That man comes from a family of rakehells, but he doesn’t seem to be like the others. His mother, Jane, is lovely, however. Now, I believe I saw Lord Pembroke approach you.”
“You did.” Emily almost preened. “Lord Kent says he is a true gentleman.”
“To be certain.” Anne lowered her voice. “But he and Kent belong to something called the Wicked Earl’s Club.”
“The what?” Emily almost wanted to laugh because the name sounded so silly. Wicked men’s clubs? What would be next?
“Well, it’s a club with earls as members. I honestly don’t know much about it, except that it must be scandalous in nature. Why else would they call themselves wicked?”
“They dubbed themselves wicked?” Emily found that strangely delightful and not at all frightening. “They must like the idea of others seeing them that way. Perhaps to give them an air of mystery?”
Anne smiled. “I like you, Emily. You aren’t like the other ladies I’ve met, except for the Sheridan sisters. I wish they were here tonight. You would like them. The four of us, we’re different,” Anne declared with pride.
“I daresay that must be a good thing.”
“Most definitely,” Anne agreed.
Emily and Anne wandered past the groups of people. Then Anne halted, her face going red.
“What’s the matter?”
Anne swallowed and attempted to regain her composure. “They came.”
Emily searched the crowds to see who could cause such a reaction in her new friend. “Who?”
Anne pointed to a group of men who were half-hidden in shadow. “Them.”
There were four men in this cluster of intimidating masculinity. Emily was surprised that she had missed them in her cursory glance, but now she realized why they had gone unnoticed—because that was their intention. They stood just at the edge of the ballroom, where the lamplight began to fade into golden-hued shadows. Those in their immediate vicinity seemed not to notice them, yet they were given a wide berth by all. There was something about this group of men, all attractive yet almost frightening as well, as though they had a collective cloak of power about them.
“Who are they?” Emily asked in a soft voice. There was a strange sense of something hanging in the air tonight. It almost made her skin prickle with the invisible energy.
“That is the League of Rogues.” Anne pursed her l
ips as she studied the group. “One is missing, though.”
“The League?”
“Yes, they meet regularly at Berkeley’s, and they are without a doubt the most dangerous men you’ll ever meet. Do not introduce yourself to them if you can help it.”
Emily couldn’t deny a certain fascination. These were not the sort of men she would consider for marriage, of course, but handsome, dangerous men were always an amusing distraction for a few silly daydreams, and Emily was human enough to admit that she indulged in a daydream or two.
“Who are they, exactly?” she asked.
“On the left, the golden-haired one who’s a little shorter than his friends, that’s Charles Humphrey, the Earl of Lonsdale. You danced with his younger brother, Graham.”
“Yes, he and Graham look like brothers. What about him?”
Anne leaned in a little. “He is a master pugilist. It’s rumored that no man can best him in the ring, so he fights in underground matches.”
“Boxing?” Emily had never seen men box before. The thought frightened her, knowing that two men would hit each other so violently for sport. How could this smiling man be brutal enough for that? Emily turned her focus to the man next to him.
“And the taller man standing next to him?” This paler-haired man had a strong intensity to his gaze. Emily had a sense that he rarely smiled, because he was too busy taking in everything around him. Watching. Analyzing. Evaluating. His gaze touched on her briefly before slipping away to the others around her.
“That is Ashton Lennox, a baron. He is a master of business and investments. The red-haired man next to him is Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester. He is Avery Russell’s older brother. Remember that I warned you about the entire Russell family? Lucien is why.”