Wicked Deception (Regency Sinners 4)

by Carole Mortimer

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

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  About The Author

  Other books by Carole Mortimer

  Regency Sinner 4

  Wicked Deception

  By

  Carole Mortimer

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Copyright © 2017 Carole Mortimer

  Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper Designs

  Editor: Linda Ingmanson

  Formatter: Matthew Mortimer

  ISBN: 978-1-910597-58-3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  DEDICATIONS

  My husband, Peter

  Chapter 1

  Late August, 1815

  Gentleman John Jackson’s Boxing Saloon

  London, England

  “What are you doing here?” Maximillian Smythe, the Earl of Carlton, glared at the gentleman stepping into the boxing ring with him. Both men were stripped to the waist and wearing boxing gloves, as was required of them by the owner of the boxing saloon, Gentleman Jack. Maxim’s bared torso revealed the many scars upon his skin, most especially the long and disfiguring scar that began at his lower back and circumvented his waist to stop just short of his navel. “Where is Devil?”

  Dominik Sinclair, the Duke of Stonewell, gave a tight and humorless smile. “I advised he step aside after seeing the damage you have already inflicted upon Wolf and Dante this past week.” Nik quirked a challenging brow. “You have some objection to fighting me in his stead?”

  “None at all.” Maxim needed an outlet for his present aggressive and agitated state of mind, and he had no preference which of his seven friends, known collectively in Society as The Sinners, chose to meet his challenge.

  The other man nodded, and the two began the fight.

  Within minutes, Maxim realized the two of them were equally matched, and that Nik had some aggression of his own to vent.

  By the end of the fifth round, both men were bloody and bruised and breathing hard, their upper bodies covered in a sheen of perspiration. Nik also sported the beginnings of a black eye, and Maxim’s bottom lip was swollen and bleeding.

  “Shall we call it a draw and be done with it?” Nik prompted as they stood outside the ring, toweling down and drinking water before commencing the next round.

  Maxim was tempted to resume the fight, his bad mood by no means appeased. But he was wise enough to know he and Nik would only continue to knock the hell out of each other, with neither the winner. Besides, he had no real wish to cause his friend harm.

  Nik was not the target of his anger. That was directed toward the female traitor who had passed on information that had enabled Napoleon to escape Elba earlier this year to once again wreak death and havoc across the Continent before his eventual surrender at Waterloo.

  The deposed emperor was now safely on his way to a second incarceration, this time on the remote island of St. Helena, where he would hopefully remain for the rest of his life. But the search for the English traitor, known to be a woman, continued. Many soldiers had died during Napoleon’s months of escape, and someone must be brought to account for those deaths.

  As secret agents working for the Crown these past ten years, the eight gentlemen referred to as The Sinners were the perfect choice to carry out such a mission.

  Maxim nodded abruptly as he thrust forward a gloved hand. “Draw.”

  Nik returned the gesture, the two gloves meeting as an end to the fight.

  “Which of the ladies’ names did you choose?” the duke prompted as the two men finished drying themselves off before dressing.

  “Does it matter?” Maxim saw no reason to pretend he did not understand the question, the eight Sinners having several weeks ago all chosen a woman’s name from Stonewell’s top hat for them to pursue and prove innocent or guilty.

  Nik straightened his snowy-white cuff beneath his black superfine. “Perhaps you would care to exchange names with me?”

  None of the other seven Sinners knew whom Nik had chosen on the night the eight men had picked those names from his top hat.

  The three Sinners who had already pursued their lady of choice, and proven her innocence, had subsequently married the lady. Maxim knew there was absolutely no possibility that would happen to him and the woman he was to investigate.

  “Perhaps.” Maxim nodded cautiously.

  Nik reached into his waistcoat to bring out a scrap of paper similar to the one currently burning a hole in the pocket of Maxim’s own waistcoat. The other man handed it over.

  Maxim unfolded the paper, brows rising to his hairline as he read the name. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” his friend confirmed harshly.

  He handed the paper back to Nik. “I believe I shall be traveling to my estate in Cornwall in the very near future after all.” The necessity of which was the true demon he had been fighting against this past week.

  Nik nodded, his mouth a thin and uncompromising line. “Prinny has suggested you might use the guise of checking into the continuing problem of smuggling in the area as the reason for your visit. The last magistrate in the area was your late father, and Prinny has little faith in the gentleman who has taken his place.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Sir Walter Turner.”

  Maxim’s brows rose. “Is that not a little like putting a fox in charge of the henhouse?” He knew Turner of old, and was aware he and his family had been actively involved in the smuggling in Cornwall for several centuries.

  “No doubt,” Nik drawled.

  Maxim now had a legitimate and open reason for visiting Cornwall, rather than the clandestine investigation of the possible female traitor.

  Unfortunately, it was not a reason that would endear him to any of the Turner family.

  The same family to whom the lady he was to investigate belonged.

  Chapter 2

  Early September 1815

  Treganon House, Cornwall, England

  “What are you doing here?”

  The question was the same as the one Maxim had put to Stonewell almost a week ago. The same week it had taken for him to travel to Cornwall and for all the bruises and cuts to heal from their boxing match. But this time, the question was spoken contemptuously by the beautiful young woman who had just entered and now looked across the elegantly appointed green salon at him with such haughty disdain.

  A few inches over five feet tall, she wore her reddish brown hair fashionably arranged at her crown, with loose tendrils at her temples and nape. Her complexion was creamily smooth. Her clear green eyes met his gaze unflinchingly, with high cheekbones either side of a small, retroussé nose, her full lips a perfect bow above a pointed and determined chin. She wore a fashionable day gown of the same emerald green as her eyes, the low neckline revealing the generous swell of her breasts. Maxim believed he could also smell lilies and lemons, the same perfume she had favored six years ago.


  The same French perfume that she should not have been able to purchase since trade between England and France had not yet been resumed.

  She was also a woman Maxim had every reason to mistrust and dislike. Emotions she made no secret she reciprocated in regard to himself.

  Nevertheless, he answered her with his usual calm politeness. “I believe Treganon House is still my home.”

  “One of them,” the lady acknowledged scornfully. “And one you have not seen fit to visit for many years.”

  It was true Maxim had avoided this estate in Cornwall for the past five years, preferring to remain at the principal Carlton estate in Derbyshire when not away fighting the French or staying at Carlton Hall in London.

  It was also a fact the years of his absence coincided with the amount of time this woman, Lady Heather Smythe, now Dowager Countess of Carlton, had been married to his father.

  Maxim gave an abrupt inclination of his head. “I have decided it is time I corrected that omission.”

  “Why?”

  Maxim allowed very little to get under his skin enough to cause him annoyance. But this woman… This woman could do it without even trying, and he believed she was without a doubt currently trying to annoy him. Very much so. “I have a younger brother who, as I am unmarried, also happens to be my heir. It is time I made his acquaintance.”

  Green eyes widened incredulously. “You could have met Ralph any number of times these past five years. Or even at your father’s funeral. If you had chosen to attend.”

  Maxim’s eyes narrowed at the obvious reproof. “I was otherwise occupied at the time.”

  Heather snorted. “That would seem to be a usual occurrence as far as you are concerned. Leastwise,” she continued firmly as Maxim would have spoken, “you have not seen Ralph since he was a newborn baby. He obviously does not remember that meeting and consequently does not know you.”

  He nodded tersely. “Then it is time he did.”

  “Ralph left yesterday on a visit with my parents.” Heather felt satisfaction in being able to inform Maxim of that fact.

  How dare he simply arrive here without so much as sending word ahead of his visit?

  He dared because he was arrogance personified. Maxim always did exactly as he pleased, she acknowledged inwardly. Whenever he pleased, and to hell with the inconvenience it might cause other people or what it might cause her.

  “Then I will wait here until he returns.”

  Heather’s irritation deepened. “We have not settled on a date as yet for when that will be.”

  Carlton shrugged. “I have no pressing engagements that require my presence in London or anywhere else.”

  Heather’s eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at the man, who, despite being ten years senior to her age of five and twenty, was, in fact, her stepson, Maximillian Smythe, and the Earl of Carlton since the death of her husband, James, eighteen months ago.

  Several inches over six feet tall, Maxim wore his dark-blond hair fashionably overlong. His eyes were a cold and icy gray in a harshly hewn face that could be handsome when he smiled, but the lack of laughter lines beside his eyes and mouth said that he rarely, if ever, did. Wide shoulders, muscular chest, narrow waist, and powerful thighs and legs were clothed in a fashionable blue superfine, gray waistcoat and pantaloons, with black Hessians molded perfectly to his tautly muscled calves.

  This gentleman might not have visited Treganon House for many years, but Heather had certainly heard all the gossip about him when she and James attended the London Season together. Maxim was rarely in London during the Season, usually off fighting in one battle or another against Napoleon. But even so, his private life remained a closed book none in Society dared open. Unsurprising when he was known for being remote and cold, with a sharp edge to his tongue. Only when in the company of his seven closest friends, The Sinners, did he appear relaxed and at his ease. He and those other gentlemen were also very close friends with the Prince Regent.

  As a friend of Prinny, a man known to disapprove of the smuggling that had long been rife in Cornwall, Maxim could not have arrived at a more inconvenient time. Not that Heather considered there would ever be a convenient time for Maxim to visit this Carlton family estate in Cornwall, where she and her young son had resided alone since the death of her husband.

  But tonight was the beginning of a new moon; moreover, the clouds were low and heavy. It was a perfect night for the clandestine nocturnal activities that Cornwall had enjoyed for centuries and would no doubt continue to enjoy for many more years to come. Indeed, smuggling was recognized by the locals as a profitable way for them to earn a living. The Revenue men were far less enthusiastic and would arrest and send before the magistrate any smugglers they managed to capture.

  For the five years before James’s death, Heather had appealed to her husband on behalf of those captured, usually with a positive result. James had insisted he was required to deport the occasional miscreant or be subject to investigation by the Crown. Since Heather’s father had taken over as magistrate here, none had been deported. Which might, Heather now realized, have caused some curiosity in London as to why they had not.

  Heather’s immediate family had begun to enjoy the monetary benefits of smuggling during the last century when their tin mine had stopped producing. It had become more difficult this century, with the introduction of those Revenue men. But the remote coves and caves, like the ones beneath the rocky tor where Treganon House stood, were difficult to patrol and perfect for bringing ashore and storing illegal goods such as brandy, gin, tea, rum, and tobacco, ready for distribution when those Revenue men were occupied elsewhere.

  Such a delivery was expected late tonight. Which was the reason Heather had sent Ralph to stay with her parents yesterday. Their home was ten miles along the coast, and her son would be safer with her parents when Heather was to be involved in receipt of the illegal shipment.

  She arched red-brown brows. “So you intend for this to be a lengthy visit?”

  Carlton shrugged broad shoulders. “Does it matter how long I remain here?”

  Yes, it matters, damn it!

  Not only was having Maxim here inconvenient to her and her family, but she also had no wish for him to spend more time with her son than necessary. Ralph was only recently showing signs of recovering from the loss of his Papa, whom he had loved very much. Maxim’s physical likeness to his father was sure to bring a return of the loss her son had felt for so many months.

  On a personal level, Heather had no wish to spend so much as a second more in Maxim’s company than she needed to. His cold and arrogant manner said he was not the same warm and sensual man she had once known, even though his handsome appearance remained as alluring. Maxim had almost been the ruin of her family once. She did not intend for that to happen a second time.

  Heather maintained what she hoped was a calm expression. “It is only that I had thought I might join Ralph tomorrow with the intention of also spending several weeks with my family.”

  “In that case, I am surprised you did not go with him yesterday.”

  Heather bit back her irritation. “His nursemaid accompanied him, and I had several things in need of my attention which delayed my own departure.”

  “Indeed?” he drawled skeptically.

  “Yes,” she snapped, having no intention, as his question obviously expected, of telling him what those things were.

  Carlton’s mouth quirked with derision. “And how are your parents and two disreputable brothers?”

  Heather took exception to the description, considering Maxim had been friends with those same two brothers during his youth, to the extent she knew he had even gone down to the cove with them a few times when ships foundered on the rocks, and the cargo washed ashore for the taking. No doubt this more arrogant and aristocratic Maxim, and now a close friend of the Prince Regent, preferred to forget the misdemeanors of his own youth.

  “They are all well enough, thank you,” she answered him f
rostily.

  He gave an inclination of his head. “It has been a long and tedious journey, so perhaps you would care to offer me refreshment while my bedchamber is being prepared?”

  She bristled at his high-handed manner. “Coombe mentioned your instruction regarding the bedchamber when he came to inform me of your arrival.”

  Maxim raised an arrogant brow. “Do you have a problem with my staying here?”

  Heather had a problem with Maxim being here in Cornwall at all. At the same time, she accepted he was perfectly within his rights to expect to stay in what was, after all, his property. “Perhaps it would be for the best if I were to remove my own and Ralph’s things to the Dower House now that you have decided to make Treganon House one of your own homes.”

  She had become complacent, Heather realized, as the years passed and no visit from Maxim occurred. She had grown accustomed to thinking of Treganon as her home and not his, even more so since she had been widowed. But she should have removed herself to the Dower House eighteen months ago, after her husband died, rather than find herself placed in the awkward position of having no choice but to move herself and Ralph now the new earl had decided to take up residence here.

  “No need,” Carlton dismissed. “I doubt I will visit again, and the upheaval would not be good for Ralph.”

  Which once again brought into question why Maxim was here at all. Heather did not for a moment believe it was solely to do with acquainting himself with her son. Maxim could have done that any number of times during the years she and James had spent six months in London for the Season before returning to Cornwall for the summer and early winter. He never had. Indeed, he and James had barely spoken to each other when they did chance to meet at some Society event or another on the rare occasions they all happened to be in London.

  Could Maxim’s real reason for being here possibly have something to do with the smuggling in the area?