Philip nodded. "George saved me and my whole family as well. Whatever you need, just let me know."
Miranda sighed and looked from one man to the other. "You may have ample cause to regret that offer."
Sebastian stared at her until she blushed. They stared at each other, and then he knew. At length he said, "There are very few things in the world I haven’t done at this point. I doubt you’ll shock me. But you can’t— George would never—"
"I’ll do anything to see us safe. And why pretend to virtue when it was snatched from me so brutally?"
"Because George will never forgive me, and even worse, you might not ever be able to forgive yourself if you do this."
Miranda tossed her hair back from her face. "With any luck George is never going to find out about this. As for the other, well, you leave me to make peace with myself. After all, I’m not the South Bank’s most consummate actress for nothing."
Alistair had begun to pace up and down in front of the parlour hearth, oblivious to the turn the conversation had taken as he worried over one thought like a dog with a bone.
"So that’s why Alexander went to Ireland, and to France these past couple of years? He’s been working for Castlereagh all along? Has he sold us out?" Alistair asked angrily.
Miranda shook her head. "I don’t think so. He didn’t know you at Eton, for one thing."
Sebastian interjected, "As I said, the messages and dispatches started after Waterloo. They were sent from England."
"Alexander and his wife stayed on the Continent, toured his old properties. Went to see if he could help, if there was anything left worth salvaging," Alistair said in relief. "It couldn’t have been them."
"George told me once it’s all gone in France. That the stones of all their chateaux were used to build walls, pigsties," Sebastian said quietly. "It’s like they never existed."
Philip nodded. "I remember Alexander went, and am sure he wasn’t in England for some time. Jonathan got lots of letters from them. He’s not the traitor to the Rakehells," Philip said firmly.
"Well someone surely is, and it isn’t any of us. We need names, dates, places, anything you can recall," Miranda said urgently, taking out paper and pen. "We’ve found his youngest brother. We need to locate Simon."
"I wasn’t even in the country for most of the war, but down in Australia. I’m not sure I’m going to be much help," Philip said modestly.
"You will be when we go see Castlereagh," Miranda said with a small smile.
"What?" he gasped.
"No more sneaking around in corners. We meet him head on. People like him thrive by being in the shadows. We need to expose him for what he really is. Appearance versus reality, gentlemen. The actor’s stock in trade."
"And you, what, think he’ll give us George’s other brother if we go see him? Miranda, you’re dreaming!" Philip argued.
Miranda’s gaze was steady. "I’m not just after his brothers. I want to make sure we are all out of this game at last, so George doesn’t have to be terrified that me and our children will never be safe. And I want to be certain that none of us have to keep looking over our shoulders for a knife in the back.
"I know what Castlereagh did to your friends Randall and Thomas, or tried to do. And all of us would have been killed at the theatre if it hadn't been for the storm machine being filled with water, and the most incredible good fortune. So it's time to end this, here and now."
The three men stared at her, but did not argue. Why dash the poor child’s hopes?
Sebastian was more than eager for a confrontation, at any rate. He had plotted his revenge for a long time, and now that it seemed to coincide with helping his best friend, he was happy to go ahead with it, even if it meant a hanging.
They talked for a time longer, sorting out the information already in their possession and outlining her plan over and over again in order to come up with every possible obstacle to it.
But Miranda warned, "We can’t tell him yet. There’s no sense in getting his hopes up. Alexander is safely at Brimley, is he not?"
"I don’t know," Philip said. "But it’s easy enough to find out."
"And there must be a reason why Castlereagh has been so twitchy, so desperate to separate me and George. He must think I know something, or am in danger of discovering it. Perhaps something to do with the Dorset connection? The Rakehell connection?"
Philip nodded. "If you and George consorted with the Rakehells, sooner or later he and Alexander would meet."
She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment pensively. "Or someone else in our wide circle of acquaintance? Friends, family? Simon has to be near, somehow. Philip, please find out if anyone new has come into the neighbourhood in Brimley. As soon as we finish with Castlereagh, we’re going to Somerset to visit my sister and her husband."
"What on earth are we going to say to Castlereagh?" Alistair said, completely at a loss.
"Don’t worry, Alistair. You’re dignity will remain intact. Though I’m not so sure about your sensibilities," she said with a most disconcerting smile.
"Sebastian and I will do the acting. Philip too if you care to. I know what a reformed man you are, and you always did have very particular tastes, according to your cousin. We’re going to need a change of clothes, some survey work in the neighbourhood, and a couple of interesting toys. The worm is turning, gentleman, and she's more dangerous than an angry asp."
"And more imperious that Cleopatra," Sebastian said with a grin.
Philip brought over several glasses of sherry. "To our success, one and all. And true freedom for Europe at last."
"Aye, to the Rakehell Revolution," Miranda toasted, before turning to their notes once more. "Castlereagh wants my arse, as the phrase goes, well, he's going to get it, and a whole lot more."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Miranda’s sense of irony was nothing if not refined. This was how it had all started, with her disguised as an orange wench. And this was very well how it could end, one way or the other.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, crammed her nipples back into her bodice with a slightly hysterical giggle, and got ready for the performance of her life.
She checked her bosom to make sure it was just about covered and sashayed up to the door of the elegant townhouse. Emma and Abigail were not far behind, with Liz and Becky slightly back from them but also dolled up to the nines.
"Bloody hell, we look like the Tottenham Tit Parade," Abigail said raucously.
Miranda didn’t mind the comment. It was after all their intention to get as much attention as possible, to distract everyone from what else was about to happen.
"I’m here to see milord Castlereagh, an’ it please ye," she said in her best imitation of a Cockney accent. "I got some information he’d want straight away, like."
The man gaped at her creamy flesh, not listening to a word she said. She repeated the request, and at last he dragged his eyes up to her lovely face.
"Well, Miss, I would like to help you, but he won’t—"
"Oh, I think he will, don’t you?" she purred, giggling all four of her globes before and behind and then tittering.
"But I can’t possibly let you all—"
"No, really, it’s all right. My friends will wait for me out here, if you promise to treat them proper-like." She flashed her most winning smile and fluttered her eyelashes coyly.
The guard was so dazzled, the women so brazen, that he suspected nothing, and let Miranda in. Like most men, he could not see the harm in a woman, especially one half naked.
She waltzed through the foyer behind the butler. She thanked the gaping footman who opened the door for her, and was pleased to see several other male staff were now heading outside to strike an acquaintance with the bevy of beauties on the front stoop.
Castlereagh gaped at the sight of the red-haired woman nearly spilling out of the top of her gown whose legs were exposed nearly to the knee.
"Good God, who are you? Who let you—"
>
"I’m Miranda Dane Lyons, George’s fiancee."
Castlereagh gaped. This was the woman who had turned the heads of half of London?
Miranda stared back at him briefly in turn. She saw the autocratic face of a man accustomed to command and to being obeyed without question. She would get no mercy here. But then, she would give none either.
"You ought to know appearances can be deceiving," she said, pushing the red wig back for a moment. "After all, your little gang of spies thrive on it."
Castlereagh looked both guilty and fascinated to see her.
As soon as the door had closed behind her, she had quietly locked it and now moved over toward the French windows to open them.
"So warm for this time of year, don’t you think?" she observed quietly. "And about to get even hotter."
Before he even had the chance to reply, her three companions swarmed in through the doors from the garden. Disguised as workmen, they had got into one of the other houses, locked the servants in the pantry, and come out through the window and into Castlereagh’s secret preserve via the garden.
"What is the meaning of this! Grant, what on earth—"
"You’re not dealing with Alistair now, you’re dealing with me," Miranda said in a harsh tone, pointing her pistol at him steadily.
"So the first thing you’re going to send a note around to Sidmouth and the other ministers on this list telling them to come here at once for an emergency meeting, or I’m going to redecorate the walls with your brains."
Castlereagh gasped in outrage. "You’ll never—"
She moved menacingly closer, until he was looking straight down the barrel. "I can make it look like suicide, believe me. Even if they ever do think it was murder, all they’ll have is a description of a red-headed prostitute. That should narrow it down to about ten thousand women, even assuming I came from London and remained here. So why don’t you save your expressions of protest and outrage, and tell me what I need to know."
"Which would be what exactly?"
"Don’t play games. I want to know where Simon D’Ambois is."
Castlereagh merely laughed.
The harsh braying sound grated on her ears. She nodded at Philip and Alistair. They both brought the walking sticks they carried down on his head with no small force, though not enough to render him unconscious. He would have howled in pain had Sebastian not stuffed a hankie in his mouth.
A none too clean one, Miranda noted with satisfaction. Let the man suffer the most outrageous indignities. It was no worse than he had done to her and her friends for goodness knew how long. Let him know what it felt like to go through all George, Sebastian and she had been through. Philip too.
"Pick up the pen and write. I promise, none of them will be harmed, but we need to speak with them."
He hesitated.
Miranda gave a cold smile. "Remember the Spanish Inquisition, gentlemen. So long as you don’t make him bleed—"
Castlereagh did as they asked without more ado.
When the six missives had been penned and sealed, she took them out and handed them to the footman to dispatch. Then she nodded to the men again, and they grappled Castlereagh up out of the chair and stripped him naked.
He struggled furiously all the while, but a good prod, cuff or clip with the walking sticks was enough to take the defiance out of him each time. As she had suspected, like all bullies, Castlereagh wasn’t really made of such stern stuff after all.
When they had done, they removed their rough outerwear. Miranda doffed her skirt to reveal the most shockingly lewd ensemble she could find in the communal wardrobe at The Three Bells. Now she was clad in only a black lace and velvet busk and a tiny pair of black knickers with a split crotch. All four men gaped. Three of them looked away, gulping. Castlereagh stared at her as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and shuddered.
Miranda smiled, enjoying the feeling of power. On her feet were a pair of boots with spurs, and she drew out a riding crop from one of them now. In her reticule she had placed a couple of oranges and a toy she had got from Emma. She took these out and laid them on a chair while Alistair cleared the top of the desk of anything that might fall or could be used as a weapon.
Then they spread-eagled Castlereagh on it, tying his arms and legs to the drawer handles and the ornamental brads so he looked like a sacrificial victim upon an altar of his own making.
"So here you are now, spread out on the altar of your own evil. How does it feel to be powerless, tied up? To know you’re going to be raped at any moment and that there’s not a thing you can do about it?" she demanded furiously. "That you’re going to be violated beyond anything you in your innocence could have ever imagined existed. And all because someone wanted to show you a display of their power?"
Castlereagh began to squirm in terror as Sebastian moved forward menacingly, and Philip dangled the walking stick in front of his nose.
"They didn’t use silk stockings on me. They used manacles which dug into my flesh. And they didn’t gag me. They let me scream, and laughed every time I did. I didn’t have a choice, Castlereagh. But I’m going to be fair and give you one.
"So it’s up to you. You can make all this stop right now, before it goes any further. Tell us where the secret files are. George’s people have been through all these," she said, pointing a finger at the neat and impressive rows of filing cabinets nestled along the wall, and next to a large cornice. "But what we're looking for isn't there, now is it.
"There have to be other files, therefore, and I get the feeling we are all running out of time. So let's get on it with it, shall we? Just tell me what I need to know. We really need to find Simon. And I also need an assurance from you that George is not going to be harmed ever again. He doesn’t know we’re here, and I think we ought to keep it that way, don’t you?"
Philip was thumping his left palm with the shaft of the walking stick. Castlereagh nodded, wide-eyed.
"So you’re going to give me your word as a gentleman that George is out of the spying game once and for all."
Castlereagh began to mumble a protest. Sebastian advanced on him menacingly now. "I might as well tell you, mate, I intend to get even for my rape too. How noble, letting me be buggered for my country. Letting me serve the king as a loyal subject by making me bend over, or ram my yard up the fundament of anyone you told me to. You’re a disgustingly poor excuse for a human being. You’re about to be shown up for exactly what you really are."
Castlereagh groaned. He knew then why they were all there, why Miranda’s breasts were practically thrusting into his face, why Sebastian was dressed in a Roman tunic with nothing on underneath.
Alistair nodded. "That’s right. You should be proud, Castlereagh. You taught your creatures well. Why kill someone when you can blackmail them, or ruin them? If you don’t tell us where Simon is, you’re going to be embroiled in a scandal which will make Prinny’s former antics as Regent look tame by comparison."
Castlereagh knew he was not exaggerating, but his own innate stubbornness and a refusal to accept defeat made him try to worm his way out of delivering what they had come for.
He mumbled against the gag, which she removed, though Philip stood warily by in case Castlereagh tried to scream.
"Grant, you’re an officer of the court. How can you let—"
Alistair waved away the absurd appeal to his honor and duty. "Save the pretty speeches. You’re wasting time. I’m also a loyal friend. We know who George’s youngest brother is. You ought to know that we Rakehells always stick together. And even if that were not reason enough, George is my friend. Sebastian and Miranda too. You’ve destroyed their innocence, ripped it away as assuredly as if you had raped them yourself. So now you’re going to pay. You give me those files or we’ll ensure what’s done here today sends you to the gallows."
"No one is going to punish me! I’m a government minister! I have a certain degree of latitude in my job which—"
"Stuff the latitude," Sebastian growl
ed, and probed Castlereagh with one skillful finger which brought him to the brink of both pleasure and pain.
Castlereagh gasped in horror and dismay, never dreaming... "No, no, please. You can’t!"
Miranda shrugged. "Why not? Go on, Philip, put the gag back in. And Sebastian can give him a taste of what Oxnard did to me."
Miranda tried to remain calm. While she deplored violence at the best of times, she knew Castlereagh would never give in willingly. She looked away as Sebastian got up on the desk.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6 Page 76
