A Ravishing Night With The Mysterious Earl (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  “Lord Burhill?” he said.

  Simon rubbed his weary eyes. “That is I.”

  “Do you remember me, Sir?”

  Simon squinted through the gloom. “I believe we have met, but I cannot recall your name. I apologize, Sir. As you can likely see, I am not exactly in my right mind.”

  The gentleman nodded. “My name is Andrew Livington, and I am the Duke of Cowden.” He paused. “I have been told that you are well acquainted with my daughter, Lady Jemima?”

  Simon scrambled to his feet and hurried to the bars. “Is she with you? I must speak with her. I must tell her that I am not guilty of these crimes that have been laid against me. I must assure her of my innocence.”

  “She is not with me, Sir. However, it is your crimes that have brought me to this gaol,” the Duke replied, his tone soothing. “My daughter tells me that you are innocent. As such, I wish to look into your eyes, and have you tell me the truth of what has happened. Are you responsible for the contraband that was found aboard your ship?”

  He shook his head. “I am not, Your Grace. I swear to you upon all I hold dear, that I had nothing to do with it. I did not even know such items were amongst my cargo. If I had, I would have done everything within my power to seek out the culprit.”

  “Do you know who might have loaded those items?”

  Simon paused, for he had thought about this a great deal since he had been thrown in this cell. After a moment or two, he nodded. “Yes, I believe that I do.”

  “Do you have his name?”

  “Captain Henry James McMorrow,” Simon replied, without hesitation. He did not have enough evidence to implicate Peter, but he was certain, now, that his former friend was the man responsible for this. “He was the only other person with access to the cargo hold, and he is the only man who would have known where he could hide such items. He must have had the contraband loaded onto my ship in secret, whilst I was otherwise engaged. You see, he also had access to the inventories, which means he would have been able to alter them, however he needed to, to account for any extra crates.”

  “You are sure of this?”

  Simon gripped the bars until his knuckles whitened. “It has to be him.”

  “Very well, then I shall look into it on your behalf.” The Duke hesitated. “First, I must ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Do you love my daughter?”

  A sad smile edged onto Simon’s lips. “More than my own life.”

  “And you swear you did not know who she truly was?”

  He shook his head. “That was a recent revelation, upon our arrival into England. She told me her name was Miss Jemima Barton, but I do not love her any less for having lied. I am certain she had her reasons, though I do not know what they may be, as I have not been able to speak with her. If I had known, I would have returned her and come to you directly, to declare my affections.”

  “Do you desire to marry her?”

  “I do, Your Grace.”

  “Even though she deceived you?” The Duke eyed him curiously.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The Duke sighed heavily. “Very well, then. I cannot promise you anything, for she is betrothed to another, but that is a discussion for another day. For now, I will leave you, and return if I am able to trace this Captain.”

  “You have my gratitude, Sir.” Simon bowed his head. “And please, when you see Lady Jemima again, tell her that I am thinking of her. And tell her that I love her still, despite her deception.”

  “I will, boy.” The Duke walked away, bearing Simon’s last hope upon his shoulders.

  * * *

  After visiting the gaol, Andrew found himself walking towards the grand façade of the Westport Dock Office. He did not know how he might find this Captain, but he had reason to believe that the port officials could tell him where cargo was bought and sold. There, he hoped he might find Captain McMorrow, and confront him directly.

  He approached one of the desks, to find a nervous young gentleman standing behind it.

  “Good day to you, Sir,” the gentleman said. “How may I assist you?”

  “I was wondering if you might be able to inform me of the place where cargo is purchased and sold? I am particularly interested in private auctions, if such things exist?”

  The gentleman nodded. “If you go to the warehouse at the very end of the wharf, you will find the main point of auction. As for private auctions, I am afraid I do not know of such things.”

  “Thank you, that will do well enough for now.” Wasting no time, Andrew exited the Dock Office and headed for the auction warehouse. He reasoned that someone there would know where he could locate the private auctions, as they seemed to be somewhat underhand.

  Ten minutes later, he entered the vast warehouse. The hubbub of the crowd swelled in his ears, overwhelmingly loud. Upon a dais, on the far side of the room, crates were being brought up, whilst a gentleman called out the lots and peered into the throng for bidders.

  Scanning the nearest people, he fixed his gaze on a somewhat shady-looking individual, with a scar raked across his left eye. Taking a breath, he strode towards the man, putting on an air of confidence—the kind of demeanor that depicted the sort of men who would attend a private auction.

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  The scarred man glanced at him. “Aye?”

  “Do you know of any private auctions around here, where I might be able to acquire…certain goods?”

  The man smiled. “Aye, I know of a place.”

  “Might you direct me towards it?”

  “It’ll cost ye.”

  Andrew took out a small purse of coins, that he always carried about his person. “Would this do?”

  “Aye, I’d say it would.” He took the purse and removed a coin, pressing it between his decaying teeth. “There’s a private auction in one of them fancy houses, behind the Dock Office. Number four, Wheatsheaf Row. Nice place. Can’t miss it.”

  Andrew smiled. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Aye, thank you.”

  Turning on his heel, Andrew raced away from the warehouse and rushed back along the wharf to the Dock Office. Scanning the names of the nearby streets, he wandered for what seemed like forever, before finally catching sight of the street he wanted. Slowing his pace, he counted down the houses, until he came to number four. Sure enough, it was a pleasant property, built in the same style as the Dock Office. It stood three floors tall, with wide bay windows and whitewashed walls.

  Steeling himself, he mounted the steps and entered the half-open door. A few servants stood in the elegant entrance hall, bowing to him as he walked by. Evidently, he looked as though he belonged, which served him rather well.

  Pressing on, he followed the sound of clamoring voices into a large hall at the back of the ground floor. Slipping in, unseen, he assessed the sight before him. It appeared to be a smaller, more refined version of the warehouse, with gentlemen standing around with numbered paddles, and another fellow on a stage at the far end, calling out lots as crates were placed beside him.

  Andrew tapped the closest gentleman on the arm. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you might point me in the direction of Captain McMorrow? I have urgent business with him, that cannot wait.”

  The gentleman frowned, before turning back into the room. After a few moments, he gestured to a fellow standing close to the stage. He stood out, as he was one of the only individuals without a numbered paddle. He had a mane of red hair, and bright blue eyes, that suggested he might be of Irish heritage.

  “Lot number fourteen. One crate of American pistols. The seller is Henry McMorrow, should you have any enquiries as to the workings of these weapons,” the auctioneer bellowed across the room, taking Andrew by surprise.

  So, they did not confiscate everything? It was all the evidence that Andrew needed, to acquire the assistance of the port officials. Realizing he was on borrowed time, he sl
ipped back out of the room and hurried from the building, sprinting with all his might towards the Dock Office.

  He burst through the grand doors, heaving in ragged breaths. A few individuals stared at him in shock, but he did not care. Scouring the entrance hall for someone in a uniform, he spied a cluster of officials standing together in casual conversation.

  “You there!” he cried.

  “Sir?” They turned in alarm.

  “There is a private auction occurring, at this very moment, at number four, Wheatsheaf Row. There is a man there, by the name of Captain Henry James McMorrow, who is responsible for the acquisition of contraband. An innocent gentleman is currently in prison for that crime, but he is not the culprit. Captain McMorrow is the true criminal. He is selling that contraband, as we speak. I urge you, apprehend him before an innocent man is sentenced for a crime he did not commit.”

  The port officials looked at one another in confusion. “You are sure of this?”

  Andrew nodded, clutching at his chest. “I have just been there. I have seen it for myself. They are in the process of selling a crate of American pistols, which were acquired by Captain McMorrow. He must have hidden some crates from the previous officials, so he could sell them on without fear of being discovered.”

  “We will attend to it, Sir,” one of them said firmly.

  Andrew smiled. “See that you do.”

  He watched as they thundered out of the Dock Office, their boots pounding on the marble floor. Part of him desired to follow them and watch as they apprehended the true criminal. However, he had exhausted himself from the run, for he was not as young as he once was. Instead, he would have to wait until the officials returned, hopefully with that wretched creature in custody.

  Chapter 36

  Peter sat in the library of Cowden Manor, reading at his leisure.

  He had cornered Lady Jemima in here, blocking her exit, though she had not spoken a word since she had descended from her chambers. He did not mind that so much. He would be able to make her talk, once they were married. Indeed, she would not be rid of him, at any time of day, once that joyful occasion had taken place.

  He looked up as the door opened, and the Duke stepped inside. Behind him came two gentlemen in uniform, bearing the emblem of the Westport docks. Peter frowned in alarm, for he had thought the Duke to be in Borrowdale, on business.

  “I should like to speak with you, Lord Beaurgant,” the Duke said coldly. “Jemima, might you give us a moment?”

  She shook her head. “No, I should like to stay.”

  The Duke nodded. “As you wish. In truth, it may be better if you are here, for this concerns you, as well.”

  “It does?” She sounded as worried as Peter felt.

  “Yes, it does,” he replied, turning back to Peter. “This may come as a surprise to you, Lord Beaurgant, but I have not been in Borrowdale. In fact, I have been in Westport, investigating the incarceration of one Lord Burhill.”

  Peter blanched. “I do not see what my cousin’s criminal activities have to do with me.” He was determined not to show a single fragment of guilt upon his face, for there was no way that the Duke could know the truth. And, if he suspected anything, Peter knew he could simply pin the crimes on Henry McMorrow. He did not owe that man any loyalty.

  “It is interesting to me, that you should refer to them as your cousin’s criminal activities, when you know perfectly well that they are yours.” The Duke smiled. “You might like to know that Captain McMorrow was arrested yesterday, for the crime of selling and acquiring illegal goods. At first, he insisted that he was not responsible, even though he had been caught red-handed, auctioning off contraband that should have been confiscated.”

  Lady Jemima leaned forwards in her chair. “Can this be true?” she gasped.

  The Duke nodded. “It is, and there is more. You see, Captain McMorrow quickly changed his tune, once the threat of being hanged was introduced. He explained, rather quickly, that you hired his services to siphon cargo from Lord Burhill’s ship. Not only that, but you enlisted him to load certain quantities of contraband onto the ship, to be sold at private auction upon his return to England. From what he has told the authorities, this has been going on for some time. Ever since Lord Burhill began these endeavors, in fact.”

  “That is nonsense!” Peter snapped, his stomach churning in terror.

  “What is more, you decided to frame Lord Burhill, because he fell in love with my daughter. You wanted to punish him for stealing your bride. Did you not, Lord Beaurgant?”

  Peter scowled. “I did no such thing. This is simply Captain McMorrow trying to shift the blame towards me.”

  “That will be for the magistrate to decide,” the Duke replied, turning to the two men behind him. “You may arrest him.”

  Peter leapt up, his head whipping around as he tried to find an exit. Sprinting for the window, he threw it open and tried to clamber over the lip, into the garden below. He was halfway out, when the port officers grasped him about the waist and pulled him back into the room. Wrestling him into submission, one of them produced a pair of iron manacles, and clapped them around his wrists before he could struggle further.

  “You have the wrong person,” Peter snarled. “I am not the one responsible for this. This is Captain McMorrow’s doing.”

  “No, it is both your doing,” Lady Jemima shot back. “I saw the Captain aid you, when you dragged me from that ship. He struck Lord Burhill in the face, in order to allow you time to tear me away. You have been collaborating, all this time. Otherwise, how would you have even known of Captain McMorrow?”

  Peter froze. “Shut your mouth, you evil wench. You know nothing about it.”

  “You will not speak to my daughter in such a crude manner!” the Duke barked, his eyes burning with fury.

  “That is all she deserves, after what she has done,” Peter spat. “Do you think her pure, Your Grace? Do you think she is honorable still? Do you think she endured such a voyage without being brought to ruination? I would have married her regardless, but now, you have consigned her to the life of an eternal spinster. And I, for one, am glad of it!”

  “You will rot in gaol for this, Lord Beaurgant,” she retorted viciously. “Captain McMorrow knows the extent of your crimes, and that will see you imprisoned, where you can never cause harm again.”

  Peter smirked. “I will be free by the week’s end, Lady Jemima. You will see.”

  As the officers dragged him away, clad in irons, he cast one searing look back at the Duke and his daughter, hatred boiling in his heart. He had come so close to triumph, only to have it snatched away at the last moment. This was all Simon’s fault. Peter did not know how he had managed it, but he had evidently found a way to appeal to the weakness of the Duke. And now, everything he had built had come crumbling down.

  Even if he gained his freedom, which he knew he might, given his position in society, he had lost so much. He refused to show it on his face, but it felt as though his innards had been torn from his abdomen. In the space of ten minutes, he had lost his bride, his future wealth, and his reputation.

  And, for the first time in his life, he did not know if he could fix it.

  * * *

  Jemima waited anxiously on the front steps of Cowden Manor, her eyes turned towards the horizon. It had been two days since Lord Beaurgant’s arrest, and she had received word, just that morning, that Simon was on his way to visit her. He had been duly released, after the revelation of his innocence. She could hardly contain herself, for there was so much she needed to say.

  She turned as a shadow darkened the doorway. “Father…”

  He stood beside her on the step. “You will catch your death if you wait out here.”

  “I cannot wait inside. I am too anxious.” Her father had broken the betrothal between herself and Lord Beaurgant, given what had happened. In doing so, he had paved her way towards marrying Simon, though that discussion was yet to be had. Truthfully, she did not know if he would still
have her, after the lies she had told. If she had been honest, perhaps she could have spared him from being framed.

  “You really do care for him, do you not?”

  She nodded. “I do, Father.” Shyly, she cast him a side glance. “I am sorry for the trouble I caused you. I did not consider your feelings when I ran away, and I will forever be sorry for that. I was overwhelmed with panic, and I did not know what else to do. All I knew was that I could not be married to that awful gentleman. I could not see another way out, but that does not change the suffering I caused you and Mother. I am sorry, so very sorry.”