Dangerous Games of a Broken Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  The guard snickered. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the morning, Sir.” A note of satisfaction lurked beneath the feigned politeness. Ephraim did not blame him. Right now, he knew he sounded like a pompous prig. That was entirely the point.

  “Indeed, I rather think I have. Now, unless you wish to add to my lateness, I would ask that you let myself and my associate through.”

  “What names, Sir?”

  “Pardon?”

  The guard smirked. “What names? You could be any old fellow, for all I know, since you ain’t coming in the Lords’ entrance—I have to do my job, Sir.”

  Ephraim gasped in mock-disgust. “How dare you!”

  “Only following palace procedure, Sir.”

  “I am Ephraim Colborne, the Earl of Leeds. This is my associate, Lord Gillett, the Earl of Richmond’s son.” He cleared his throat in feigned annoyance. “Are you quite satisfied? Must I petition the Regent to gain entry?”

  The guard had the decency to look sheepish. “Of course, My Lord. Go right ahead.”

  Ephraim swept through the archway with Jasper in tow. They moved quickly across the New Palace Yard, in order to avoid any unwanted attention. As it happened, nobody seemed to pay them any mind. After all, they had made it past the guards. Their presence there had been validated.

  Don’t forget that you are actually permitted to be here, Ephraim reminded himself. He was an Earl, with a seat in the House of Lords. He rarely made the journey to sit in on parliamentary matters, but one of the seats did belong to him. Jasper, too.

  Westminster Hall loomed ahead. They strode towards it with as much speed as they could muster without looking suspect. Keeping their heads down and their collars up, they entered through the main doorway and slipped down a hallway to the immediate left. Fortunately, there did not seem to be too many people wandering the corridors of Westminster. Lunchtime had beckoned many away. Ephraim had timed it perfectly.

  A stuffy, stale scent filled his nostrils. The smell of dust and endless books, and stacks of papers moldering away at the back of eternal shelves. He had never cared for academia, not even as a young man. Frankly, the aroma brought back unwanted memories of bygone schooldays.

  “You say this man has offices in the Speaker’s House?” Jasper whispered. There was nobody nearby, but Ephraim presumed he was maintaining a clandestine approach.

  “Yes.”

  Jasper nodded. “This may be poor timing on my behalf, but I have never been to the Palace of Westminster before.”

  Ephraim shot him a look. “How can that be?”

  “My father is still the Earl of Richmond. I will not take his place until—”

  “I understand how peerage functions, Jasper,” Ephraim interjected sharply. “What I mean to say is, how can it be that you have never set foot in this building before? It is surely your father’s duty to orientate you?”

  Jasper shrugged. “I have asked. I suppose he is yet to find a suitable moment.”

  A groan escaped Ephraim’s lips. “Well, no matter. You are here now, and you are no less useful. Just follow my lead and… well, refrain from getting lost. I may never find you again.”

  With that, Ephraim pressed on down the hallway. Jasper’s footsteps echoed on the flagstones behind him in a manner that sounded much too loud. Still, there was nothing to be done about that. A moment later, Ephraim paused at a curved wooden doorway. It gave off a somewhat ecclesiastical ambiance, the lintel arching to a teardrop peak. He reached for the black, wrought iron handle and checked the corridor in either direction.

  Satisfied that the coast was clear, he turned the handle and ushered Jasper through. A cloistered walkway met them on the other side, the gabled archways stretching out towards a grassy square of reasonable size. A pathway traversed the length and breadth of the landscaped courtyard, whilst a small tower protruded from the very center. Bright sunlight glanced off the weathervane that turned slowly at the apex of the steeple. In the silence that followed, Ephraim could hear it squeaking on its mechanisms, whilst the sky above threatened rain. It had begun to drizzle an hour earlier, though stronger showers had held off.

  “Which way?” Jasper murmured.

  “That door there,” Ephraim instructed, pointing to a doorway that branched off to the right of the courtyard. The rising campaniles and spires of St. Stephen’s Chapel rose up beyond the lower structure of the long building that they were headed for. The latter divided their current courtyard with another one, which led right up to the Chapel itself.

  Not wasting any time, they opened the doorway from one courtyard and hurried across the wide hallway, before letting themselves out into the next courtyard. A few politicians and clerks wandered the ensuing square, whilst others sat in pensive thought. Ephraim and Jasper did neither. Keeping a casual pace, they walked over to the far-right corner of the courtyard and slipped through a narrow alleyway. It cut between St. Stephen’s and a grand hall which branched off to the left, giving them direct access to the Chapel gardens.

  “What if someone recognizes us?” Jasper whispered nervously.

  “Then we explain that we are here on business,” Ephraim replied. The younger man was starting to make him nervous. “I will tell any curious bystander that I have brought you here in order to do the job your father has neglected to.”

  Jasper was visibly chastened. “Sorry, My Lord.”

  In his previous visits to the Houses of Parliament, which were situated at the Palace of Westminster, Ephraim liked to come to the chapel gardens. They were peaceful and well-managed. Beautiful blooms of all colors and varieties sprang up from the neat flowerbeds, as precise pathways crisscrossed through the expanse of greenery. Naturally, being winter, there were fewer blooms than in the summer months. And yet, the gardens were no less beautiful.

  You have no time for this, he chided himself. You may view the gardens at your leisure another time, providing you are still alive to admire them. If your daughter’s life is not motivation enough, let this be another. Foolish man—this is a simple enough task, now get on with it.

  Taking one of the gravel pathways that led off to the left, Ephraim headed for the main entrance of the Speaker’s House. Crushed seashells crunched underfoot as he struggled to suppress his gathering nerves. Determined not to let them show, he fixed his gaze at the building ahead. The sandstone walls gleamed against the peeking strands of sunlight that glanced between rain-clouds.

  He had been here several times before, for the Speaker’s House was ordinarily used for means of entertainment. Several fine dinners and soirees had been held there, and Ephraim had always tried to be in attendance. Margaret was forever the belle of the ball, even now. Her beauty had faded very little over the years. Indeed, she loved such events. He was not overly fond, but he attended for her sake. He felt it was the least he could do.

  The memory of their last visit there made him suddenly melancholy. She had looked remarkable in a gown of peridot bombazine, hemmed with a striking shade of violet. She had worn a peridot choker at her throat that he had purchased for her, to match the fabric of her dress. He recalled the way tousled strands of her raven hair had trailed across her shoulder. In truth, he had never seen her look more beautiful than she had that evening.

  Everyone had wanted to speak with her, and he had stood proudly at her side as she charmed them all. His cheeks had ached from smiling when they came away at the end of the night. He had never known admiration like it.

  Upon their return home, she had taken off her gown and put her fine things away, slipping into a plain cotton shift. The mirage had shattered. She had let her hair loose and come to his chambers. No, I was mistaken. That was the moment… I had never seen her more beautiful than that moment.

  Shaking off his thoughts, he approached the Speaker’s House and stepped under the grand arch. A few guards loitered in the elegant foyer, but they barely acknowledged the presence of two more gentlemen in all their finery.

  Ephraim lifted his gaze to the rich mahogany
walls, peppered with the gilded frames of former nobles, their portraits painted in skillful oils. The woodwork was exquisite, with miniature friezes carved into the dark grain. Roses of gold and bronze ornamented countless surfaces, while delicate cornicing edged the ceiling and the boundary between wood and wall. Running along the center of certain façades, coats of arms served as decoration. He did not pause to look for his.

  Instead, they headed up the sweeping staircase towards the first floor. Gloomy light cast eerie shadows through the cross-hatched windows. With every step, Ephraim couldn’t help wondering if they were making a terrible, irrevocable mistake. If anyone discovered what they were up to, he stood to lose everything.

  Then again, if he did not continue, he stood to lose Adelaide. That was simply not an option. He had never intended to bring her into this treacherous web, but Lord Rowntree played a harsh game. Now, he had no choice but to continue.

  There is no going back now, Ephraim. All you can do is try and make it through this unscathed, whilst keeping Jasper’s reputation safe, too. How hard can that be? The sarcasm rippled through his mind. Regardless, he was perpetually glad to have Jasper at his side. A good man… a very good man.

  Not for the first time, he wondered why he had not sought a betrothal between Jasper and Adelaide. Jasper was an exemplary young man of excellent means and station. He had been their neighbor every season since he was a baby and resided off-season on an estate not too far from the Colborne’s in the North of England. Adelaide cared for him and he cared for her. It seemed like the perfect match.

  Ephraim reasoned there was some logical explanation behind the lack of betrothal, but his mind was too fraught to contemplate it. Even so, he was starting to wish he had insisted upon it. If he had, none of this would ever have happened.

  Well, you would still be in a rather large amount of debt through foolish speculation, but at least you would know Adelaide was in safe hands. Who knows, perhaps you would have listened to your wife’s advice if things had been different.

  “My Lord?” Jasper was staring at him.

  “What?”

  “You just stopped in the middle of the staircase.”

  Ephraim frowned. “Did I?”

  “Yes. If we stay here too long, I fear we may begin to draw suspicion.”

  “Of course. Quite right.” Shaking his head, Ephraim carried on up the staircase to the first-floor landing. He moved along the richly furnished hallway, admiring the tapestries and red velvet drapes, before stopping short of the main gallery. A single door stood to the right-hand side. The very door Ephraim needed.

  He delved into his satchel and took out a flat-cap, stowing his top-hat in the bag as he placed the alternative on his head. Jasper did the same. A moment later, Ephraim pulled out a handkerchief and tied it around his face, making sure it covered the bottom half. Again, Jasper followed suit. They turned to one another uncertainly.

  No going back now.

  Ephraim did not bother to knock. Gripping the handle tight, he pushed the door wide open and strode inside. A short, stout gentleman sat behind a desk. Two startled blue eyes stared back as the man sprang to his feet, skirting around the bureau with surprising agility. However, Jasper was quicker. The door clicked shut before the stout gentleman could reach it, with Jasper blocking any hope of an exit.

  I knew he would be useful, Ephraim thought. Indeed, he looked rather imposing.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the man rasped, his eyes bulging. “I demand you release me!”

  “First of all, you will lower your voice, or I will be forced to take drastic action,” Ephraim warned. “Now, sit down before you cause yourself an injury.” He had no idea if he sounded authoritative, but he hoped the message was clear.

  The stout gentleman gulped. “Who are you?”

  “We are friends of your dear acquaintance, Lord Rowntree.”

  The man’s cheeks reddened to a worrying scarlet. “L-Lord R-Rowntree?” he stammered.

  “Yes. Now sit, before you keel over.”

  This time, he did as he was told. “What does Lord Rowntree want?” he asked, as he returned to his chair.

  “A favor or two, nothing more.”

  The man trembled violently, to the point where Ephraim wished he could walk from the room and say no more about it.

  “There is no such thing.”

  “Come now, Mr. Sawyer, there is nothing to fear from us.”

  He gaped. “How do you know my name?”

  “Lord Rowntree,” Ephraim replied, struggling not to roll his eyes. The man might have been frightened, but there was no excuse for idiocy—especially not in parliament. Although, he reasoned many would argue that the place was filled with similar stupidity.

  “Ah yes, of course…”

  “Now, shall we get straight to business?” Ephraim suggested, taking a seat opposite.

  “What does Lord Rowntree want?”

  “Two favors, to be exact.”

  Mr. Sawyer gulped. “What are they?”

  “First of all, I will require all the details you hold for Mr. Palmer, the Right Honorable Member of Parliament for Bath. I mean absolutely everything,” Ephraim began. He could only begin to imagine what Lord Rowntree wanted to do with that information. Thus far, the villain had not let him in on the rest of the plan. “Secondly, I will require every scrap of information that you have on the Marquess of Tavistock. I trust that will not be too troublesome for you?”

  Mr. Sawyer shook violently. “When does Lord Rowntree desire these dossiers by?”

  Ephraim smiled. “Now.”

  “But—”

  “Do not try to argue, Mr. Sawyer. Lord Rowntree cannot have you running off to the rest of parliament, sounding the proverbial alarm.” A stony expression fell across Ephraim’s face. “And do not forget the unfortunate circumstance that Lord Rowntree hauled your sorry self out of. You have a wife, do you not?”

  Mr. Sawyer froze.

  “Ah, I am pleased to see that something is able to find its way into that addled mind of yours,” Ephraim continued, barely recognizing himself. “It must be all those years of brandy—two bottles a day sometimes, was it not?”

  “You would not hurt her.” He did not sound certain.

  “Lord Rowntree is a patient man, Mr. Sawyer. He has not asked you for any favors prior to this. Now, it is your turn to repay him.” Ephraim gritted his teeth. “You showed him disrespect when you sought to have him removed from the House of Lords. You already know how he felt about that. Regardless, he spared your life once. Do not make him reconsider his act of kindness.”

  Mr. Sawyer shuddered. “It was not kindness, it was an intentional act. He spared me so he could blackmail me.”

  “Perhaps you are cleverer than you appear.”

  “He would truly hurt my wife?” Mr. Sawyer’s lip trembled.

  Ephraim could hardly look at the man. “He will tell her how you have betrayed her first, and then he will exact his revenge.” He felt sick saying every single word. “Indeed, he has asked me to tell you that Bianca sends her regards. One misstep, and she will visit your wife directly.”

  Ephraim was not entirely sure who this Bianca was, but he had a feeling she was linked to the inference of Mr. Sawyer’s infidelity. Lord Rowntree had many ties to the brothels of the city, and it seemed that Mr. Sawyer had dabbled in the wrong one. Lord Rowntree had people working for him everywhere, gathering information for precisely this purpose. Blackmail.

  Tears tumbled from the poor man’s eyes, bringing Ephraim to the brink of despair. This was not in his nature. He had never raised his voice to anyone, and now he was responsible for another man’s tears. Hatred burned in his soul for Lord Rowntree.

  You will pay for this, one way or another, he promised silently. If it is the last thing I do, I will see you brought to justice. You have destroyed one too many lives. I will not let you destroy more.

  “I will be ruined,” Mr. Sawyer murmured.

  “Then you had be
st co-operate with us.”

  His face crumpled. “I will do as you ask. Might I have a moment to search the archives and gather the information you require?”

  “You may, but my associate will be watching your every move.”

  “I will do as you ask. I will do as you ask,” Mr. Sawyer whimpered. “But please, don’t hurt my wife.”

  “That all depends on you, Mr. Sawyer.” Ephraim saw himself reflected in the terrified eyes of the stout gentleman. It all depended on him, too. His home, his life, his reputation, his daughter—it all depended on him playing Lord Rowntree’s game. Never had he felt such an immediate bond to a complete stranger. Truly, he wished he could reach out and comfort the man.

  But that is not part of the plan.