The Rogue's Last Scandal: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 3)

by Alina K. Field

  Sirena looked from Charley to Gracie and her face lit. “I knew it,” she whispered.

  “Sir Henry is a magistrate investigating your, er, disappearance,” he said loudly enough for the servant in the hall to hear. “He’s brought a piece of evidence. Will you have a look at it?”

  “Evidence?” Gracie’s voice cracked.

  “Perhaps it’s moot now,” Laughlin said. “Since you are now found, Miss Kingsley.”

  Her face contorted. “Can you arrest Lord Kingsley, Sir Henry?”

  Laughlin’s face softened. “Not for murder, it would seem, and thankfully. I am glad to find you alive and looking well.”

  Gracie pressed a hand to her throat. “I suppose the Kingsleys are untouchable, as great lords are.”

  “Not untouchable, my dear,” Lord Bakeley said. “But sometimes, justice comes outside the law.”

  Chapter 16

  Outside the law. That concept, she could grasp. Justice had come for her outside the law once before, but that had been in a part of a wild country almost without laws. Perhaps England was not so different from Mexico or the high seas. A man’s secret sins could be repaid in secret.

  Charley’s firm hand on hers transmitted courage. His muscled forearm filled her with strength. She questioned it, doubted it, searched it for falsehood, and could find none. Here was a rock, something certain, some strength that wouldn’t waver.

  She blinked hard. For her to have found a safe harbor was itself a kind of retribution to the Kingsleys. And if she could take Papa’s money from their grasp...

  The dress unfurled for her to view, muddied and smeared with another shade of brown. Charley’s eyes glittered but his lips did not move into a smile.

  “Yes. It is mine.” It was the dress Mrs. Windle had removed from her. She had thought they would have burned it. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was buried in the Kingsleys’ garden.” The magistrate’s shrewd eyes surveyed her.

  “I did not bury it,” she said.

  “I did not think you did.”

  He would ask her who did. Or what happened. Or whose blood had soaked the dress. She ran through the possible stories. She would look like a liar, and then she would be unsupported. Perhaps her defense against Carvelle would land her in jail. She was not nobility. She had no protection.

  A lie once told must be clung to, no matter the soul-sucking it caused.

  Charley shifted her to his other side, his arm draped loosely around her. She found his touch did not sting.

  “The blood is Gregory Carvelle’s,” she said. “Lord Kingsley sent his servants away and allowed him to access my bedchamber. I would not...”

  “You defended your person,” the magistrate said. “Yes. We questioned all the servants. They had all been from home. His lordship had organized an evening outing for all of the staff.”

  No. That was not right. “There was at least one maid on duty to lock me into my room.”

  “I was given to understand by the butler and housekeeper that we spoke to everyone.”

  “No. The maid is an elderly servant. She and her husband share a room above the stables, I had heard.” She’d seen Lady Kingsley abuse the woman quite harshly on several occasions. She supposed the woman had nowhere else to go.

  He took down their names in a small notebook and tucked it away. “Forgive me for asking, Miss Kingsley, were you yourself injured in any way. I see a bruise here.” He touched his jaw.

  “That is from Lord Kingsley before he used the cane on my back. Carvelle bruised me here.” She showed him her wrist.

  “We have not been able to locate Gregory Carvelle as yet. Were his wounds—”

  “Not fatal,” Charley said. “He visited McCollum’s bank this morning in the company of Lord Kingsley.”

  “To steal as much of my money as they could get the banker to yield.”

  Laughlin frowned. “I see.”

  Charley told him about the attacks at the solicitor’s office and on the way back from the bank, but he made no mention of the fake ransom note.

  Which pricked her suspicions.

  Although, perhaps it was wise not to mention it. They need not complicate an official investigation any more than was needed for her to get her money. These men were Charley’s friends, yet she sensed his reluctance to tell them everything.

  She understood that. He was a spy—secrets and lies came naturally to such as him.

  She searched her heart and found it did not matter. She did not think he would betray the heart of a true allegiance, to, for example, his family, or honor, or someone he loved.

  Could he ever love her? In spite of her words to him the night before, she did dream of having a love like her parents had.

  She shook off the thought. No husband would want her after the wedding night.

  The man they called Kincaid, roused himself. “If you’ll come with me, Laughlin, I’ll fill you in on where we have searched for Carvelle.”

  Laughlin packaged up the dress and followed him out. Penderbrook went with them.

  She opened her mouth to protest that she would like to know also, and said, “Where are they going?”

  Charley leaned close. “I’ll tell you everything, but all it amounts to is the names of London inns where Carvelle might have been staying and the streets where he allegedly had lodgings. It’s basically of no use. His lair now will be one we’re unfamiliar with."

  “Let us speak of the happy news, then,” Lady Sirena said. “Do share the details with Perry and me, James.”

  Lord Bakeley smiled. “You and Perry and Paulette shall have a new sister. Charley and Miss Kingsley have become engaged.”

  That brought a round of well-wishing and questioning, and planning on the part of the ladies.

  “With a special license you can be married tomorrow, as we were,” Lady Sirena said.

  She felt herself wobble. Charley’s hand slid to her waist and steadied her.

  Lady Perry smiled. “And we can host another ball—”

  “No balls,” Charley said.

  His vehemence halted both ladies.

  “You don’t mean to go to Scotland like Bink and Paulette?” Lady Perry asked.

  “No flights to Scotland, either.” He squeezed her hip, sending a ripple of sensation through her, and released her. “Gracie is not of age. She’ll need her guardian’s permission to marry. That means we’ll have to wait for Father, and be damned discreet about getting a license if we don’t want Kingsley’s solicitors taking legal action to challenge us. Which means—”

  “No official announcements.” Lord Bakeley said. “No articles planted in the scandal sheets. Can you trust the banker?”

  A knock at the library door brought a footman and a whispered conversation with Lord Bakeley.

  He closed the door and turned to them, eyes gleaming.

  “Well?” his lady asked.

  “Lord Kingsley is in the drawing room.”

  Chapter 17

  Graciela’s heart pounded, a great weight like an anchor thrashing inside her head.

  “I will see him alone,” Lord Bakeley said.

  “No,” Charley said and “No,” she said at the same time.

  Charley came and smoothed his hands over her forearms. He opened his mouth, but seemed unable to speak. “You wish to confront him,” he said finally.

  She nodded, words suddenly failing her also.

  “We shall all go,” Lady Sirena said. “Miss Kingsley is under our protection. We shall put you between Perry and me and he will see that you have family.”

  “Paulette will regret missing this.” Mr. Gibson had come to stand with them.

  Charley chafed her hands. “We won’t mention family or marriage plans yet. We’ll tell him as little as possible, only that we’re keeping you safe, here, under our roof. What say you?”

  “Yes.” Yes. She would accept their protection, for herself, and her servants and for Reina. For now.

  Next to Charley and hi
s brothers, Lord Kingsley did not look so tall, so grand, or so powerful.

  She glimpsed him through the door, the side of his face stiffened into the mask that hid angry rage.

  In the hallway, Lady Sirena turned her around, taking both of Graciela’s hands. “Deep breaths. Head up. Shoulders back. You’re a lady among ladies, and no matter the power he thinks he has, you’re with us now, and you’ve nothing to fear.”

  She shook her head. “I am not afraid. I am angry.”

  “Anger is good,” Lady Perry said. “As long as it sharpens you. We shall outfox this fox.”

  She wondered how many foxes this lady had dealt with.

  When she entered the drawing room between the elegant Lady Sirena and the taller Lady Perry, Kingsley’s refined mask slipped revealing the beast within. His eyes bulged and a boiling red seeped from the knot of his neck cloth up to his forehead. His chest puffed under the fashionable waistcoat her father’s money had paid for.

  A memory flashed—Papa’s tense face as they outran a pirate ship. Papa had not worried so much nor fought so hard to buy this fat lord new coats.

  He took a step toward her, and was matched by Mr. Gibson and Charley. Lord Bakeley, the lord of this house until his father returned, stepped between Lord Kingsley and her. The threat was not idle, and even Lord Kingsley could see it. Their refined society was not so far advanced. The three Everly men could heft Kingsley’s great weight out the front door and onto the cobblestones of the square like her father’s men combating a boarding party.

  Worse, for Kingsley, they could continue tying him up in scandal sheets and magistrates and gossip, for surely the gossip had started.

  How strange these English lords were—aside from Shaldon’s sons, words and legal documents meant more to most of them than a fist. Perhaps that was why Papa had left this land.

  Kingsley fixed his lips into a tight smile. “You have found her then, Bakeley. I am glad to see she is safe.”

  Liar.

  “She is,” Bakeley said.

  “Very well, then. If you’ll have a servant gather her things, I’ll take her off your hands.”

  Lord Bakeley drew himself even taller. “We’ve heard some unsettling stories.”

  Kingsley’s eyes flashed again and quickly shuttered. “The scandal sheet, you mean. Lies and nonsense. Probably planted by her.” He jerked his head toward Graciela.

  “How would I possibly know how to do such a thing?” she said. “I lived like a prisoner in your home.”

  Kingsley’s gaze stayed fixed on Lord Bakeley. She glanced to Charley who gave his head one quick shake and turned away, plucking at some imaginary lint on his coat.

  “It was likely a busybody neighbor, or one of their servants.” Charley had rocked back on his heels, looking careless, feckless, one would say, almost drunk. “Heard a scream in the night, or some such,” he drawled. “Sent a note over to some fellow for an extra quid. It did sell well, I believe. It’s all the fellows at White’s could blabber about. Had a full page of wagers in the betting book.” He laughed, like a fool, like he had nary a care in the world, like her life was not strung in the balance here.

  Anger spiked in her until she remembered, he was acting, grandly, consummately, convincingly, and that sent her heart into a flurry. What should she believe of this man?

  “You could not imagine,” Charley said in that same languorous tone. “Bets on the lady’s identity. Bets on the identity of her guardian. Bets on whether she was dead, and if so, where her body would be—”

  “Enough, Charley,” Lord Bakeley said. “There are ladies present.”

  Charley straightened, as if snapped back to reality. He bowed toward the ladies. “Oh, I do beg pardon.”

  “Yes, well, this girl is alive, and I’m taking her home with me, with or without her things.”

  “Tell us, my lord,” Mr. Gibson said, “What happened to the child who traveled with her?”

  Kingsley’s glare bounced quickly off Mr. Gibson. His face blanched and colored again.

  Ah. Here was the next rumor to be planted, that Lord Kingsley had done away with the child under Captain Kingsley’s care. “How should I know? Here now, Bakeley, I won’t be accused like this. Hand over the chit. She is coming with me.”

  “I think we must have that answer,” Bakeley said.

  “I’ve given it. She was there one moment, and the next, those two black servants had left and taken her with them. I don’t know where they went. Back to the West Indies, for all I know. Now, I’ll have the girl.”

  He took a step toward her, and her blood rose, the threat transparent even with Lord Bakeley as an obstacle. Mr. Gibson drew nearer to her guardian, while Charley closed in behind him.

  “Oh my,” Lady Sirena whispered. “A piece of work, he is that.”

  The air in the room crackled like the lightning was coming. This would come to a fight, and Papa’s knife was upstairs in that pretty blue bedchamber.

  But she had these three men as her weapon, and the two ladies as her fellow warriors.

  “I think not,” Lord Bakeley said. “We are happy to have her as our guest until she wishes to leave.”

  “Yes, well, I am not happy for her to be your guest, and I am her guardian. She is coming with me.”

  “Oh, I say,” Charley said from behind, startling Kingsley. “Isn’t Father her guardian also?”

  “He is,” Lord Bakeley said.

  “He is not. Farnsworth is her guardian, and he is out of the country.”

  “Well, I distinctly remember Father saying he was stepping up to replace Farnsworth in his absence.” Charley had moved to Lord Kingsley’s side and managed to make his bored tone sound threatening. “A damned bother, I’d say, all these beautiful young ladies to look after.”

  Lord Kingsley looked at him then, for the first time, but all he would see was that bored, drunken, careless rogue. Charley’s eyes sparkled with an awareness that perhaps only she could see.

  “I do wish to stay here with Lord and Lady Bakeley,” Graciela said, “and with Lord Shaldon. My father always spoke so highly of him and his accomplishments.” She was putting it on thickly, but surely Papa would have spoken thus, if they’d had more time together before he sailed.

  “Shaldon is not here. You are coming with me.”

  “I am not.”

  “She is not.”

  The voice boomed from the doorway and she turned to see a tall, elegant man, his hair laced with a few sprinklings of silver at his ears. He was dark like Lord Bakeley, but his strong jaw and straight nose were like those of all three of the Everly sons.

  Or rather, theirs were like his.

  “Th-thank you.” Her tongue stuck in her dry mouth. She swallowed and curtsied.

  “Kingsley.” The gaze Charley’s father turned on Lord Kingsley was as hard and as cruel as the other man’s, and the sight of it rattled her.

  “Here, now, Shaldon—”

  “No.” Lord Shaldon shook his head. “Gather all of Miss Kingsley’s things and send them here. She is staying with me.” He waved a hand. “Hire a flock of solicitors if you wish to challenge me. You may sell your wife’s new jewels to pay for them, as you are not going to have a farthing more from Miss Kingsley’s account.”

  A pallor descended upon Lord Kingsley. “I am her guardian.”

  “As am I.”

  “Farnsworth—”

  “Will return soon. And, as he keeps a bachelor establishment, he will not likely want to take charge of Miss Kingsley’s person himself. I’ve no doubt my daughters will enjoy her company.”

  “We most certainly do, Father,” Lady Sirena said.

  From behind Kingsley’s shoulder, Charley was smiling. The bored lord had vanished. This was Charley himself, as she knew him. She smiled back, and Lord Kingsley saw it.

  “You,” he said. “You troublesome chit. You think you have outsmarted...” He took a raspy breath. “We have tried to make you respectable, to introduce you into society as your
father wished, to arrange a marriage for you, as your father wished.”

  “To Gregory Carvelle? My father wished no such thing.”

  “Did you think we’d get you a duke or an earl or even one of their sons? How hard it was, trying to make you respectable, considering your mother’s blood, your foul temperament, and the baggage you brought with you. Where is that child, Graciela? If I find her, you will come back.”

  Her blood spiked setting her cheeks on fire. “You threaten the child in my care?”

  Kingsley’s eyes narrowed.

  He knew now that Reina was here.

  She struggled to breathe. Charley stepped into the breach “I dare say a small child is easier to control than an almost grown woman, eh, Kingsley?”

  For that, Charley drew another glare.

  “I dare say those beatings were easier to effect on a little one.”

  Kingsley lunged at Charley. Mr. Gibson grabbed him, locking his arms.

  “You whoreson rakehell, don’t tell me you’ve dipped your wick in this—”

  “Enough.” Charley’s fist crashed into Kingsley’s jaw.

  Hell broke loose. She tried to go to his aid, but a strong hand held her back. “Let the boys handle it,” Lord Shaldon said.

  The three brothers carried him out of the room with loud clomps, much shouting, and terrible oaths. Soon, a door slammed, and the three returned. Lord Bakeley and Mr. Gibson were unfazed. Charley’s neck cloth was askew.

  He came directly to her, took her hand from his father’s, and pulled her into his arms.

  His heart pounded against her ear, and where his hand touched her back, she felt only his strength.

  “Are you all right, Gracie?”

  When she tried to speak her throat clogged with moisture. She had to break free to nod.

  Everyone stood watching them, including Lord Shaldon, whose expression she could not read. It was not the kind greeting gaze, nor the thunderous glare, either. There was a glint of assessment, a hint of pleasure, even humor.