by Gaelen Foley
Her pulse pounded as Reese skimmed the second paper. “’Tis the same,” he confirmed a few moments later. “The rally was covered, but they made no mention of the attack on your coach. Not a word about His Lordship or yourself, ma’am. The report skips straight to the dragoons’ arrival.”
“It’s a miracle,” she breathed, slumping with relief.
“So it would seem, milady.” Reese folded the paper neatly and set it down before her. “Perhaps a certain high-placed friend stopped them from dragging your name into it,” he suggested with a shrewd look.
But she shook her head, puzzled. The Prince Regent had no success whatsoever in stopping the papers from lampooning him, so why would the journalists hesitate to throw mud at her as well? Especially when a whiff of salacious gossip helped them sell more papers.
Either they had somehow missed it, or something more mysterious was afoot. Jordan had seemed very sure it would not appear in the papers. Could he have had something to do with this, or was that just Jordan being right as usual?
Reese took off his spectacles. “Another thought, ma’am.”
“Yes?” She glanced at him worriedly.
He took a delicate tone. “Perhaps they’re holding it for the evening edition.”
“Oh.” Mara winced. “Perhaps you’re right.”
It was going to be a long day.
As soon as Jordan stepped into Dante House later that morning, he heard a commotion from upstairs: shouting, a loud bang like some large piece of furniture being upended, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
“Let me go!”
“Ah,” he murmured to himself. Drake’s up. He ran up the ornately carved wooden staircase to see if the others needed help with their returned agent, the supposed lunatic.
Striding down the upper hallway, he spotted Beau leaning idly by the wall across from one of the secure chambers, which had reinforced doors and iron bars on the windows. “I take it the laudanum’s worn off.”
“You could say that.”
“Let me out of here!” Drake roared from inside the room. “I swear I’ll kill you—”
“Calm down.” Max’s voice came from inside the chamber with him. “You’re not going to kill me, Drake. We’ve been friends since we were ten years old. Don’t you remember our school days up in Scotland—”
“I don’t know you, man! Why are you lying to me? You let me the hell out of here! This is an asylum, isn’t it? Why won’t you listen to me? I’m not mad!”
“Damn,” Jordan murmured, exchanging a grim glance with Beauchamp. He stepped toward the open door, leaning behind the butler to get a look into the room.
Poor Mr. Gray, with tray in hand, was standing uncertainly at the threshold of Drake’s chamber, attempting to bring the wild-eyed earl some food.
Drake paused in his agitated pacing to lob another missile across the chamber with deadly aim and admirable speed.
Max ducked, smiling as the pewter candlestick slammed against the wall behind him, leaving a fist-sized hole in the plaster. “Ha! You see that? You’ve still got your skills, my lad! At least the bastards couldn’t beat that out of you, could they? All your training. You may have forgotten us for now, but I know you’re still you in there. It’s going to be all right, Drake. Try to calm down. Why don’t you have some breakfast?”
“Stay away from me,” he warned, continuing to back away from Max. “You think I’m going to let you poison me?”
Jordan shook his head.
Drake, poor bastard, looked like hell. His coal black eyes were red-rimmed and full of quite tormented rage and confusion. Chest heaving with his efforts to attack anyone who got too close, he was flushed and sweaty, his black hair mussed, as though he had gone into this panic immediately upon waking.
He obviously did not know where he was—and did not look altogether sure of who he was, either.
“Don’t give him any utensils,” Beau muttered to the butler, who still did not dare venture into the room.
“Ah,” said Gray with a blanch. “Good thinking, my lord. A spoon?”
“I wouldn’t,” Jordan said with a meaningful look. “No glass dishes, either.”
The butler gulped. “Yes, sir.”
All of them, including Drake, were trained to use whatever availed as a weapon. The handle end of a spoon could easily serve as a shank. A shard of broken glass from a perfectly innocent china plate could cut an enemy’s throat or be plunged into his eye.
In short, it had been quite civil of Falkirk to warn them that Drake would not come back to them happily.
“If you don’t let me out of here, I’m going to—”
“Drake, this is where you belong! You’re one of us! Please, try to remember.”
“I belong with James. Where is he?” he demanded, his expression turning even more frantic. “Please, he’s an old man! If you say you are my friend, then let me go to him. He is in danger!”
“James wants you to stay with us, Drake. He drugged you and handed you over to us last night.”
“I don’t believe you! He wouldn’t do that to me!”
When he abruptly hurled another object at Max’s head, however, Virgil took command.
“That will do, sir!” the Highlander boomed, also inside the room with them. “If you cannot restrain yourself, then you will be restrained!”
Drake backed up a step at this threat, glaring at him.
“Now sit down and mind your manners, or you’re not going to get any food! Understand?”
“I’m not hungry,” Drake growled in defiance.
“Aye, then, no matter, Lord Westwood. Sooner or later, you will be.” Virgil dismissed the butler with a wave of his hand, then nodded to Max to leave the room.
He did so, then Virgil joined them in the hallway a moment later, pausing to lock the door.
“He’ll be secure in there?” Jordan asked.
Virgil nodded.
But Max could only shake his head. “He’s worse off than I thought.”
“You just keep him from hurting himself,” Virgil instructed their team leader. “Who knows what secrets about our foes are locked inside that head of his?”
Beau nodded. “Like what happened to his team? How did he get captured?”
“Beauchamp, stay here and send for us if he starts having another temper tantrum. You two, come down to the Pit, and we’ll go over your assignments.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, they repaired to the stone-carved meeting room in the Order’s covert lair dug into the limestone under Dante House.
“Rotherstone,” Virgil started, turning to Max as they took their places around the table, “you’re in charge of finding a way to help Drake get his memory back.”
Max nodded. “Once he settles down, I want to take him to his family estate, where he was born. The Dowager Countess of Westwood is still living there. If he’s ever going to remember anyone, surely he’ll remember his own mother.”
“Good. Falconridge,” Virgil continued, glancing at Jordan, “you’re going to have to take over the project Rotherstone was working on, in addition to your ongoing efforts to locate Dresden Bloodwell.”
“Yes, sir.” He knew that Max had been assigned to monitor Albert Carew, a leading dandy, who had just inherited his brother’s dukedom under rather mysterious circumstances.
Because of where and how the previous duke’s death had taken place, Promethean involvement was suspected.
“Here, you’ll need these.” Max slid his file on Albert across the table to Jordan. “Good riddance,” he muttered.
“Now, Falconridge, I’m not sure how much you already know about the case, but it’s not his brother’s death that rouses our suspicion,” Virgil said. “Ever since Albert became the new Duke of Holyfield, he’s been insinuating himself into the Prince Regent’s inner circle.”
“He’s quite the toady to the Regent,” Max agreed, “though, God knows, he’s intolerably arrogant to everyone else.”
&
nbsp; “Has the Regent been made privy to our suspicions about Albert?” Jordan asked.
“God, no. I’m afraid His Royal Highness is an open book. He knows who his Order agents are, and he’ll likely realize you’re there because something must be afoot; but he knows better than to ask. He’s familiar with how these things go, having been through similar threats to his security many times before. He trusts the Order. He’ll wait for us to tell him when the situation has been cleared. In the meantime, if he knew our suspicions about Albert, chances are, his own behavior would tip the blackguard off straightaway.”
“Aye, and if Albert were to realize we’re onto him, he’s likely to flee the country,” Virgil chimed in. “Then we’ll never find out what the Prometheans put him there to accomplish. That’s why I want you on this matter, Falconridge. Albert has already decided he despises Rotherstone, but you’ve got a way with people. You’ll have to overcome his wariness, make friends with him. Draw the bastard out. Win his trust. That would be ideal.”
“I’ll do my best. All I need is the opportunity. Is he a member at White’s?”
Max snorted. “Haven’t you seen him posing in the bay window there so the passersby can admire his clothes? Horse’s ass,” he muttered.
“Forget White’s,” Virgil said with an impatient wave of his hand. “More to the point, he’s not only a regular visitor to Carlton House but now has also joined the Regent’s weekly card game at Watier’s.”
“So I need to buy into that card game. How much is this going to cost me?”
“Ten thousand pounds.”
Jordan laughed. “That’s madness.”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of Prinny.”
“I take it you’ll introduce me?” Jordan asked Max.
“No,” Virgil interjected. “I don’t want Albert drawing that strong a connection between the two of you. Rotherstone leaving just as you’re coming in. It’ll instantly raise his suspicions. If Albert’s worming his way into Carlton House in order to aid the Prometheans, for whatever reason, he’s already going to be on his guard. You’ve got a better chance of winning his trust and figuring out what he’s up to if you join the Carlton House set from a completely different direction.” Virgil gave him a hard look. “You’ll use your contact with Lady Pierson as your cover.”
Jordan stared at him in shock. “Come again?”
“Lady Pierson,” his handler repeated with a no-nonsense look. “You were on very warm terms with her years ago, as I quite recall. These days she is the Regent’s bosom friend. She’s at Carlton House every week, as Max’s file notes. You will pursue her as your cover,” Virgil said. “That’s how you’ll gain access to the Carlton House set.”
Jordan was already shaking his head. “Sir, no, with all due respect. I am not dragging her into this. You cannot ask this of me.”
“What makes you think I’m asking?” Virgil’s bushy eyebrows drew together in a warning glower. “These are your orders, Falconridge. This is the best plan. You already have a connection, and no one in the palace will suspect her.”
Heart pounding, Jordan cast about for some way out of this. “But she’s thought to be the Regent’s mistress! Why would I be following her around?”
“Actually,” Max spoke up in a delicate tone, “all the Carlton House insiders know there’s nothing going on between her and the Regent. Virgil’s right, Jord. It is the best plan.”
“Well, I’m not doing it.” He rose from the table and started to walk away.
“You are not at liberty to refuse your orders, Falconridge!”
“When have I ever done that?” he bit out, swinging around to face them from a few feet away. He was shaking with cold fury. “How dare you ask this of me? You’re the one, Virgil, who advised me to stay away from her all those years ago! Now you stand there telling me to pursue her?”
“I’m only telling you to appear to pursue her,” he replied, without the slightest emotion on his face.
Exactly what Jordan had vowed never to become.
He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“Of course he does,” Max murmured.
He shot Max a suspicious look. His team leader met his gaze matter-of-factly but said nothing.
Fuming, Jordan walked away.
He stalked out of the cavelike meeting room and down the dark tunnel hewn into the limestone, going to stand on the small dock that gave access to the river from underneath the house.
Heart pounding, he folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the murky water. He shook his head to himself again in silent fury. This was beyond the pale.
The sound of slow, deliberate footfalls approaching down the short tunnel to the docks heralded Max’s arrival.
Jordan listened but did not turn around. “This was your idea, wasn’t it? It’s got Rotherstone written all over it.”
“I thought it might suit your sense of efficiency,” his brother warrior replied. “Kill two birds with one stone.”
He turned to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.” Max stared at him. “Stop lying to yourself. Damn it, man, I’ve watched you pine for this woman for twelve years. Now you have the chance to win her back and complete your mission.”
Jordan huffed in angry embarrassment, looking away, but his friend was not through.
“Listen to me. I’m speaking to you as a brother now. Half the men in London have their eye on her. She’s beautiful, available. If you don’t pursue her while you have the chance, and she becomes involved with someone else, how are you going to live with losing her again?”
Jordan absorbed this, but the prospect of putting his heart on the line again with her rattled him more than Max could know. “This is none of your damned business.”
“No, it’s very much my business, you see. Because it was your loyalty to me and Warrington that did this to you. You never complained, you never said it aloud. You never had to. I know you wanted to quit the Order to be with her. But you stuck by us, and this is the price you’ve paid. It’s not fair. Do you have any idea how guilty I feel, especially now that I have Daphne, and can finally grasp the full extent of what you gave up for us?”
Jordan stared at the ground, saying nothing.
“I was too young back then to understand what it meant that you had found her. You had found the one.” Max shook his head pensively. “You were always so much farther ahead of Warrington and me. That’s probably why you knew you couldn’t leave us to our own devices out there. We just wanted to tear up the enemy; but you knew what really mattered in life. At least you used to.”
Jordan looked at him.
“Now, you know I’m a man who always pays my debts,” Max continued. “That’s why, as your team leader, I fully support Virgil in making you do this—and yes, it was my idea. You’ve always been in love with Mara Bryce. But as detached from everything as you’ve become over the years, I figured you might need a nudge.”
“So this is your brilliant solution—you and Virgil want me to use her?”
“Use her? Jordan, your lady is frequenting the same circles as a suspected Promethean spy. I would think you’d want to be there personally to protect her.”
He eyed Max uneasily. But the conniving blackguard had a point. “Then, at least, let me tell her the truth.”
“You know that you can’t do that.”
“Why not? You told Daphne. Warrington told Kate. Why am I the only one who ever seems to play by the rules?”
“I didn’t tell Daphne anything until after I had married her. As for Kate, her grandfather was a member of the Prometheans. There were certain things she already knew. Moreover, Rohan didn’t fill in the gaps in her knowledge until she was already devoted to him. This is in stark contrast to you and Mara, who are barely on speaking terms at present.”
“We’re speaking,” he mumbled, dragging his hand wearily through his hair. “Yesterday, we reached
a sort of…preliminary truce.”
“Good, then you’re halfway there!” Max exclaimed with an encouraging smile that rather annoyed Jordan. “Anyway, telling her the truth wouldn’t stop her from going to Carlton House if I read her correctly. She’s already proved her loyalty to the Regent even in the face of adversity. What she sees in him, I cannot say, but I understand he is her child’s godfather.”
Jordan nodded. “That is true.”
“If you were to tell her there’s a spy in the Regent’s inner circle, you know it would only make her all the more determined to stand by His Royal Highness in a show of support. The less she knows, the safer she’ll be. Telling her would only jeopardize the mission and put her in greater danger.”
“I don’t know…” Arms folded across his chest, Jordan stared down at the water lapping against the shallow dock. “Haven’t I hurt her enough for the sake of the Order? I disappointed her twelve years ago, and now you want me to use her for my cover? Isn’t that adding insult to injury?”
“Fine, then! Refuse the task and let your beautiful Mara walk into danger alone every time she goes to Carlton House. Why should you be bothered to protect her? I’ll ask Beau to look after her instead. I’m sure once he lays eyes on her, he’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
“Ha. That pup,” Jordan muttered, not appreciating the ploy. “She’d make mincemeat of him.”
“Maybe so, but I daresay he’d enjoy it in the process.” Max watched him shrewdly for a long moment.
Jordan sighed.
“So, we can count on you, then?”
“You’re a bastard,” he informed him.
“Anything for a brother,” Max replied with a knowing smile. “You want my advice?” he asked over his shoulder as he began strolling away.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Treat her like gold this time. Don’t let her get away again, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable life.”
Well, he was probably right about that.
Jordan stood alone in the dim torchlight for a long moment after Max had gone. Hell, maybe the conniving fiend was right. Maybe he’d never find peace until Mara was truly his. He took a deep breath and exhaled it in judicious measure. Right. Best get moving, then.
