London's Most Wanted Rake

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘You don’t need me to tell you anything. You’ve got it all worked out.’ Perhaps he could avoid telling Nick and Jocelyn anything deeper, anything more complicated.

  ‘I disagree, there’s plenty more to tell.’ Nick urged quietly. ‘She’s beautiful, she’s sensual, she’s the kind of woman every man in a room dreams about, but that won’t sustain a man like you for seven years, most of those years in absentia.’

  ‘Wait—a man like me? What is that precisely?’ Channing felt his hackles rise.

  Nick leaned forward. ‘You are surrounded by beautiful women all the time. You don’t need to go to Paris if that’s all it was.’

  Channing studied his drink. Friends were damnable creatures. Sometimes they understood you better than you understood yourself. ‘If you know it, what do you want me to say?’

  ‘She’s the one, isn’t she? If we are to back you, and by extension her, with our reputations, I need you to say it. A woman accused unofficially of murder is no small thing to tackle.’ Jocelyn’s words came fast and urgent. Channing sensed a mounting frustration in Jocelyn’s tone. His friend was tired of him dancing around the issue. Well, he was tired of it, too. But to stop dancing would require certain painful admissions he didn’t want to make. Channing’s answer came out sharper than intended.

  ‘It hardly matters if she is, she won’t have me if that’s what you’re asking. I asked her yesterday over breakfast.’ His anger, perhaps years of it, was breaking loose. ‘I can save her from this latest scandal, I can help her expose Seymour, but in the end she won’t have me. If you’re asking if I plan to marry her, the answer is no, she won’t allow it.’

  Channing pushed both hands through his hair, his head resting in his hands. He’d never spoken those thoughts out loud to anyone. The future seemed that much more bleak with the words uttered, the futile reality that much more tangible now that he named it. The man who could have anyone couldn’t have her and there was nothing he could do, there’d never been anything he could do when it came to her.

  He looked at Jocelyn and Nick, helplessness threatening to swamp him, and the years fell away. They were not grown men, two of them with wives, the other with a successful business and a notorious reputation in the bedroom. They were just close friends, simple boys again. Channing would have given anything in that moment to be a young buck again and drinking in London with Jocelyn and later Nick beside him. His throat was tight and it was hard to get words out. ‘Have you ever felt like no matter what you did, you were going to lose something and you couldn’t do a thing about it?’

  There was silence before Nick spoke. ‘Yes,’ Nick said quietly. ‘I thought I was going to lose Annorah. After all, why would she want me? I had nothing to offer that a decent man should have, no money, no estate.’ Nick paused. ‘I thought nothing would matter again if I lost her.’

  Channing reached across the table and gripped his friend’s hand. ‘But you didn’t lose her.’ There was more he’d liked to have said, but emotions were too close to the surface. He’d never guessed. Nick had always seemed in control of everything, able to organise and command any situation, even surrounded by angry husbands.

  ‘Are you sure there’s no hope?’ Jocelyn asked.

  Channing shook his head. ‘There’s never been any hope for us. It’s never been the right time. When I met her, she was married. Now, she’s wedded to her freedom. She’s fought so hard for it she’s reluctant to give it up, reluctant to attach anyone else to her scandals.’

  ‘Reluctant to attach you to her scandals.’ Nick cocked his head. ‘That sounds fairly hopeful to me. Have you thought about why she doesn’t want to risk dragging you down? She cares for you, Channing. You can’t give up yet.’ Nick winked. ‘Not now when our ladies are involved.’

  It seemed the fates were determined to make him cry in White’s that day. Emotion swamped Channing a second time. His friends had not deserted him and it was a novel recognition. He had spent so much time looking out for others, it was somewhat odd to have others look out for him. He took a moment to compose himself. ‘What do we plan to do?’

  Jocelyn sat back in his chair. ‘For starters, the ladies will make the rounds. They’ll put in a judicious word here and there to quell the rumours.’

  ‘Good.’ Channing nodded. ‘That will buy us time to co-ordinate with Alina’s solicitors and start the hunt for records of the syndicate’s business dealings or any aliases Seymour used. We should see results within the week.’

  Jocelyn gave him a thoughtful look. ‘A word of caution though, I can’t guarantee we’ll find what we’re looking for. If not, things may get rough. If I were you, I’d think hard about what my next steps need to be.’ As heir to an earldom, Jocelyn was more cognizant of social standing than Nicholas. He was a lord. He had to think before he acted. A title offered social standing, but it also limited freedom in ways others might not comprehend. Channing nodded, appreciative of the perspective. His own family name was old and prestigious. He’d not bring scandal to it. He was also overcome. It was somewhat overwhelming to be on the other end of assistance. ‘Thank you.’ Was all he could manage.

  * * *

  ‘This is not what we hoped for.’ Hugo Sefton’s eyes blazed as he spoke to the group assembled about the meeting table. This was going to go badly, if Sefton’s anger was any gauge. Roland Seymour shifted in his seat. Who would have thought so much trouble would have come from the comtesse?

  ‘It’s been a week and the rumours have all but died,’ Sefton raged. ‘They were supposed to be fanned to a fevered pitch by now. Since when has the ton been uninterested in claims of spousal murder?’

  ‘Since Deveril’s friends decided to get involved. They are not without influence.’ Eagleton shot a disgruntled glare Seymour’s direction. ‘You neglected to tell us the truth about Deveril’s involvement and now we have a whole handful of peers rallying to the comtesse’s side. The rumours were supposed to alienate her from any assistance, but they’ve done just the opposite—’

  ‘That’s only the beginning,’ Sefton interrupted. ‘I received a letter today from a firm of solicitors, Birnbaum and Banks, requesting a meeting to discuss some of our financial dealings with the comtesse. They’re not the comtesse’s solicitors. They’re Deveril’s and they’re not going to limit the discussion to her deed.’

  ‘Which was a false statement of property,’ Seymour put in. ‘Everyone keeps forgetting she’s the one with the lies here.’

  Sefton, the group’s accountant, grimaced. ‘Don’t be naïve. They will bring up the Marlisses’ contract, too. The false deed is just the bait to make the meeting seem harmless. They know something. If they’ve established a trail, they could press charges regarding our intent to defraud.’

  ‘She could press charges,’ Eagleton corrected.

  Sefton shook his head. ‘I’m in no mood to have you mincing pronouns with me. All right, she can press charges. If there’s a trail nothing will stop her.’

  Eagleton fixed the room with a cold stare. ‘Nothing but a moving vehicle in the middle of a very busy street.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Seymour sat forward in his chair, somewhat surprised to find an ally in Eagleton. He’d half expected the syndicate to ‘let’ him take the fall for this disaster. It would be easy enough to distance themselves from him. He’d spent most of the meeting trying to figure out how to blackmail the members into having to support him.

  ‘I’m suggesting that the best way to deal with Alina Marliss at this point is to silence her,’ Eagleton said plainly. ‘She has not taken our hints. The rumours were merely a warning of what could happen if she continued to pursue this course of action. She’s had a week,’ Eagleton reasoned with the group. ‘Her answer to us has not been to retreat, but to amass an army against us.’

  He stopped here and glared at Seymour. ‘I’m not suggesting this for your
benefit alone. It’s what we all need if we’re to come through this. Not one of us has any desire for prison or transportation. Are we in agreement?’ He waited for the group to give their consensus. When he had it, he continued. ‘Anderson, do you still have your contacts on the docks? Farley, do you still have your hired men in St Giles? Excellent. Here’s what we are going to do. We must plan carefully, we’ll only get one shot. If we miss, Deveril will be suspicious. Listen carefully, timing will be everything.’

  Seymour was glad to listen. Within a few days, his problems were about to be solved. The next time the comtesse went shopping would be the last time.

  Chapter Twenty

  It hit Alina all at once: She was starting to feel safe. Cassandra Eisley looped an arm through hers and pulled her into a shop with an exclamation of, ‘Oh look, what an adorable hat!’ The middle of a shopping trip was the oddest of places for such a realisation, but there it was none the less.

  It had been a week since Channing’s friends had taken up her cause. Change had come within days. The scandal sheets stopped speculating about her character and she’d been to every social event of merit. The last had been at the insistence of Annorah and Cassandra, who had argued she needed to make her presence known. Nothing would be accomplished if people thought she’d crept off to lick her wounds. She’d been surrounded by Channing’s minions at each occasion. Society would see that she had their backing.

  Alina smiled, watching Cassandra try on the hat, turning her head this way and that in the mirror. ‘Do you think Jocelyn will like it?’ she asked as if there was any question.

  ‘I think Jocelyn would like you no matter what you wore,’ Alina answered honestly. One could not be in the same room as Jocelyn and Cassandra without seeing the great affection they had for each other.

  Cassandra gave a cheeky smile. ‘That’s probably true.’ She reached for another hat. ‘What about this one? You should try it, it’s just your colour.’

  Alina tried the hat to please her. Feeling safe wasn’t only about the rumours having died down or knowing that the men were busy delving into Seymour’s affairs. It was also about the way she’d been welcomed into the fold. The wives of Channing’s friends had taken her in wholeheartedly, attending events with her, taking her on calls with them and inviting her on personal errands like this shopping trip. When it had come to making their position clear, no one could say the attention had been pro forma. To anyone looking in from the outside the attention would appear to be quite genuine.

  Maybe it was. That was one of the more dangerous thoughts she’d had this week. Maybe the ladies really did like her. Maybe she really could belong with a group like this. It wasn’t as if she was low-born or had no breeding at all. Why shouldn’t such friendships be within her grasp?

  Just when she’d let herself believe such a thing was possible all the impossible reasons surfaced. The rumours would always be there, would always follow her. There was always the chance even worse would leak out. Heaven help the ladies if they knew what her marriage had been like, of the lurid things she’d been forced to do, or the things she’d done in the name of freedom. They would not want such a soiled creature in their association, not when it came to being a wife. She’d be tolerable as a mistress, someone they didn’t have to see. Quite perfect even—a worldly, widowed woman. But that would put an end to all this. No one went on shopping trips with their husbands’ friend’s mistress.

  Besides, Channing hadn’t spoken of marriage again. It was a ridiculous leap of logic. They were together until this episode with Seymour was finished. Familiar association with these fine ladies would end then, too. Alina took off the hat and set it aside, sadness unexpectedly swamping her. In August she would be alone again.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ Cassandra asked. ‘I’m going to get this one.’ She paused. ‘Oh, my dear, what’s wrong? Has something upset you?’

  When had she become so transparent? Alina smiled in an attempt to recover. ‘I’m fine, just a little peckish. Perhaps we might get something to eat?’

  The excuse was enough to allay Cassandra and Annorah’s worries and they set off for a place a few blocks down the street, Cassandra swinging her hatbox in her hand. It was a busy time of day, the pavements crowded with shoppers. There were people they knew along the way and they stopped a few times to exchange conversation with acquaintances.

  As they neared the tea shop, a commotion broke out ahead of them. A man darted through the crowd, a package in his hand, followed by a shopkeeper brandishing a broom and yelling, ‘Stop him! Thief!’ The man was too fast, the shopkeeper too portly. The man barrelled towards them, head down, giving the appearance of a charging bull. Cassandra gave a little scream and pushed Annorah towards the wall of a shop out of the way, but the man collided directly with Alina. The force of the collision sent her reeling into the street, gasping and off balance.

  Alina staggered. Oh lord, she couldn’t breathe! In her panic, she tripped on the hem of her dress and fell. She managed to get to her hands and knees, her world spinning as she tried to focus, tried to breathe. She was going to die, right here in the street, suffocated by her own inability to draw a single breath. What was wrong with her? She wanted to cry, but that required air. She managed a short gasp and then another, each short breath reminding her of the air she lacked. The world continued to spin, black spots forming before her eyes. She was aware of a rumble in the distance like thunder, and the rise of screaming voices, but they were of no help to her.

  Annorah’s voice cut across the others. ‘Alina! Get up!’ She wanted to, she really did. She just couldn’t. The rumbling was growing louder. She managed a glance down the street with her spotty vision and froze. A wagon was racing towards her, pulled by an enormous draughthorse. Crawl! her brain commanded. Worry about breathing later, crawl now. Crawl back to Cassandra and Annorah. Somehow she dragged herself a few feet, maybe it was only a few inches, the effort taking all her will. In the periphery of her vision she caught the blur of a flying object whiz past. She heard the cry of a startled horse. The horse shied, veering towards the left-hand side of the street.

  It was Cassandra who ran forward, hauling her to her feet and shouting orders. She got an arm about her. Breathing was a little easier. ‘You’re all right, I’ve got you. Annorah’s sent for Channing. He’ll be here soon,’ she murmured. ‘You’ve had the wind knocked out of you, but it will be better soon.’

  It was better; she was panting now instead of gasping. Alina tried to slow her breathing. Her gaze strayed to the street where a bright-pink striped box lay crushed, its ribbon ripped and smudged with dirt, its contents trampled. ‘Your hat!’ Alina cried.

  Cassandra hugged her. ‘Silly girl, better my hat than you. Channing would have had my hide if anything happened to you.’ She gave a tremulous laugh. Her nerves were getting the best of her now that the crisis had passed. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I only knew I had to stop that wagon.’ Cassandra burst into tears.

  The enormity of the near-accident swamped Alina then. She’d almost been the crushed hat box. If it hadn’t been for Cassandra’s quick thinking, it would have been her.

  * * *

  She was shaking by the time Channing arrived. He shouldered his way through the crowd that had formed around them, looking like a thunderous blond Apollo in his concern with Nick and Jocelyn behind him.

  Channing took charge immediately, clearing the pavement of onlookers and wrapping her in his coat. ‘Can you walk? The carriage isn’t far.’ His arm was tight about her.

  ‘I’m fine, really. I’m just a bit mussed.’ She tried for a laugh, but it came out reedy and shrill.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ Channing scolded.

  ‘Where are the others?’ Alina tried to look around.

  ‘Don’t worry about them. They’re coming. Jocelyn wants to ask questions.’

  ‘Cassandr
a threw her hat box at the horse. Her new hat is ruined.’ She was babbling when they reached the carriage.

  ‘Shh. Never mind about that, Jocelyn will buy her a new one.’ Channing bundled her into the carriage and gave the driver directions before climbing in beside her. He pulled her close and dropped a kiss on top of her head. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said, feeling a little lightheaded from shock and adrenaline. ‘I was thinking the same thing.’ This is what she got for believing she was safe. If a random wagon in a street could end a life so precipitously, was anyone really safe?

  * * *

  Channing insisted on going to Argosy House and calling the family physician in spite of her protests to the contrary. She was fine, nothing a good bath and clean clothes couldn’t fix.

  ‘Cassandra and Annorah will want to see you and assure themselves you are all right,’ Channing had answered her protests with a smile. Secretly, she thought he wanted to assure himself. He had even carried her upstairs to a spare room before turning her over to the doctor, another gesture that was entirely unnecessary.

  * * *

  ‘Let him fuss,’ Annorah said later when they came to call. ‘No doubt Channing feels guilty he wasn’t there to protect you.’

  ‘There was no way he could have known. It was an accident. He can’t be with me always,’ Alina argued, letting Annorah pick up a brush and comb out her hair.

  ‘Well, there’s no reasoning with a man in love.’ Annorah smiled at her in the mirror.

  Alina smiled back, not wanting to argue. She couldn’t very well tell Annorah that she was wrong. Channing Deveril wasn’t in love with her—even if he was, she couldn’t allow it.