by Lauren Smith
“Ash, have a look.” Godric handed the Gazette to him as Ashton took a chair next to him.
He glanced down at the article they’d been discussing when he arrived. His temper soon flared.
“Hiding behind my fleet of ships, am I?” The growl that escaped him was completely unexpected. Struggling for calm, Ashton closed his eyes and counted to ten in Latin as he’d done all his life when quelling his temper. When he opened his eyes again, he was smiling. It mattered naught. His plan was set in motion, and soon Rosalind would be dealt with.
“Well, she does have it right about you three.” He checked the article again to recite the exact words. “‘Succumbing to the charms of Eros and taking wives.’”
Godric plucked the paper from Ashton’s hands. “I wish I knew who wrote this drivel. Probably some old bat on Upper Wimpole Street who can’t find a proper way into the ton, exercising her vengeance for not being among the elite few.” His slightly sarcastic tone hinted at his dislike of his own class.
Lucien swirled his glass of brandy and left his position by the window to take an empty chair by Cedric. Inspiration seemed to strike him.
“Why don’t we put our darling wives on it? It would certainly keep them busy and out of our affairs for a change if they were off solving a mystery.”
Cedric laughed. “I dare say they might even learn who she is, but there is no way Emily, Anne or Horatia would betray one of their own. And as hard as we try, there’s no stopping them when it comes to our affairs.”
Ashton nodded his agreement. But the problem that lay heavy upon his heart was the danger that one part of the League’s past presented to the women in their lives.
As if echoing Ashton’s trepidation, Godric crossed his arms, a grim look in his green eyes. “That reminds me, where do we stand on the Waverly matter?”
Ashton was seized with tension, every muscle knotting. Waverly always drew out dark memories and old fears, along with a tide of guilt.
There was a time that Hugo was merely an annoying privileged sod they’d met at Cambridge. But due to an old family vendetta, Waverly had attempted to kill their friend Charles, but another student had died that night instead. One who had been blameless and only trying to make peace. It was a moment that had changed all their lives.
Ashton’s palms twitched, as though he could feel the taint of that innocent man’s blood still coating his hands.
“He’s been seen at the docks where my fleet is, but I haven’t been able to ascertain what his intentions are at present. I suggest we all watch one another until Waverly’s next scheme reveals itself.”
Godric tried to hold back a scowl but failed. Patience had never been one of his virtues when he felt action could be taken.
Ashton reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a small pocket watch on a slender silver chain. It had been one hour since he’d given his instructions to the last of the banks regarding Rosalind’s credit. In less than half an hour, the men he’d met with would be sending in notices to Rosalind’s bank to demand their notes be cashed in for gold. The little Scottish hellion would pay for embarrassing him at the theater last month.
If only I could see her face the moment she realizes she’s ruined.
Of course, he wasn’t so cruel as to send her to debtors’ prison. The woman would get her fortune back in time, after he learned what secrets Hugo held within her business, after she learned he was not to be trifled with. Lady Melbourne deserved such a lesson for challenging him.
“Good God, Ash is grinning. That’s never a good sign,” Lucien muttered.
Ashton broke out of the almost gleeful thoughts he’d been having.
“Ash.” Godric’s tone was full of warning. “Care to share with us what is going on in that head of yours?”
Cedric, Lucien and Godric all leaned forward, as though afraid to be overheard despite the privacy of the club’s Bombay Room. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the hour, but it did not distract his friends’ rapt attention.
Ashton slipped his watch back into his coat pocket and met their stares.
“As of one hour ago, I set a plan in motion that will financially break Lady Melbourne. It will allow me to put a stop to her activities and therefore hurt Waverly.”
“She’s in league with him?” asked Cedric.
“All I know for certain is that he’s been using her ships to his own ends, and I want to stop him. He’s partnered with her in several companies, and I wish to gain access to her books as well as shipping manifests. But the only way I can review her companies is to have a claim on them myself. Therefore, I’ve bought up most of her debts—not that she had many. I will own her in all but name.”
A low whistle escaped Cedric’s lips. “Ash, our wives have invited her to tea this afternoon.”
For the first time in a long while, Ashton felt gleeful. “If only I were there to see her face when she learns the truth.” To see her beautiful gray eyes wide with shock, her lips parted as she sucked in a surprised breath… It would be almost as beautiful as having claimed her body in his bed. But since he could not have her body—one did not sleep with one’s enemies, after all—this would have to suffice.
It was several moments later when his friends finally broke the silence.
“It’s not because of the incident at the theater is it?” Lucien queried. “You’re wanting revenge because she got the upper hand in that alcove?” Cedric snickered, and Godric cursed under his breath. It was not the response Ashton had been expecting. In the past, this would have been normal for the League. They would have been congratulating him for such a victory.
“What?” Ash demanded hotly when the others remained silent.
Godric rubbed a hand through his dark hair. “What if Lady Melbourne takes this too personally and brings those wild brothers of hers down from Scotland? I still have nightmares about the last time I tangled with them. One of them broke a bloody chair over my back. I was left to pay for the damages to the tavern we fought in.”
“Three wild Scotsmen do not scare me.” Ashton had never lost a boxing match, and he had never lost a tavern brawl either. While Charles was the group’s true pugilist, Ashton’s skill was on par with his, though he fought only when necessary.
“No, one should scare you,” grumbled Godric. “Three should terrify you.”
“Isn’t anyone else worried that right now our wives are entertaining the victim of Ash’s scheme?” Cedric asked. “If they discover we knew about this, I’m liable to be spending the next month sleeping in my study rather than in bed with my wife.”
The murmurs of agreement from Godric and Lucien made Ashton scowl at the lot of them.
“I’m starting to believe Charles was right. You are all getting soft.”
Charles had once said that love and marriage were tearing the League apart, destroying its strength. At the time Ashton hadn’t been inclined to believe him, but of late…
A rap on the door made them all turn to the entrance of the Bombay Room. A young lad opened the door, his eyes wide and hands shaking a little with the letter he carried. Their reputation still held some in awe, at least.
“Excuse the intrusion, my lords. I have an urgent letter for Lord Lennox.” The boy’s face darted between them. He sensed he’d interrupted something and no doubt felt the invisible tension present in the room.
Ashton waved at the lad. “Bring it here.”
The boy practically threw it at Ashton and fled.
“At least someone still has the good sense to be afraid of us,” Godric sniggered.
The thin paper contained a short message from his youngest sister, Joanna.
Ashton,
You must come home at once. Our two tenant farms caught fire last night and are completely destroyed. Thankfully no one was hurt. The families are safe but without shelter. Please come home. The farmhouses will need to be rebuilt at once.
Yours,
Joanna
Ashton calmly folded the letter an
d tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat.
“Bad news?” Lucien inquired.
“It’s from my sister. She says my two tenant farmers’ houses burned down. I must go home at once.” He rose from his chair.
“What about Lady Melbourne?” Cedric asked.
“What about her?”
Cedric raised a brow. “You set her up for financial ruin and now you’re leaving London?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “If she decides to come grovel at my feet, please feel free to send her to my estate. I’ll be happy to entertain her apologies there.”
He swept his coat on and left the Bombay Room, leaving his friends behind.
If only it would come to that—Lady Melbourne on her knees, begging him for forgiveness, her gray eyes bright with pretty tears and her long dark hair swept back in a Grecian fashion. Those long curls caressing her neck…
Yes, Ashton had imagined the scene too often in the last week. How he’d tell Lady Melbourne that if she really wanted to appease him she could think of a few creative ways to make amends, behind closed doors. Not that he could trust her even in bed, and he’d certainly never coerce a woman to bed him, but such fantasies were worth exploring in his head.
Ashton departed Berkley’s and hailed a hackney. He would have his valet pack light so they could reach his estate quickly. Joanna’s note was troubling. While fires were common enough, the fact that both his tenants were miles apart was troubling.
I do not believe in such coincidences.
Once again he imagined a chessboard in his mind. A game was in play, the League versus Waverly, and the clock was ticking down to each move and countermove.
Chapter Two
Hands sliding up her outer thighs, raising her gown, warm breaths soft against her cheek, bright blue eyes aflame with wicked desires and the fall of pale-blond hair…
“Lady Melbourne?”
Rosalind Melbourne came back to herself. She was sitting in a cozy armchair in a sunny parlor with blue walls. Three sets of feminine eyes were focused on her, all a little concerned. A moment ago, she’d been listening to her hostesses talk about the latest scandals and political intrigues when the conversation had turned to marriages and the men in their lives. It was only natural for her thoughts to turn to Ashton when his friends had been mentioned. And that had led to memories from the last time she’d seen him…at the opera…when they’d both lost control.
I should never have allowed that man to kiss me, nor should I have touched him. It was a mistake.
She reached for the cup of tea nearest her on the table. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“It’s quite all right,” Lady Sheridan said, smiling again. “We’re so happy you’ve had a moment to meet with us.”
Rosalind smiled back at her. Anne was one of the few women in the ton she tolerated. Most of the simpering fools did not particularly like her either. As a Scottish lady having come from a crumbling castle with three wild brothers, bless them all, she’d had no chance of ever fitting in with normal London society, even when she’d married Lord Melbourne, God rest his soul. The man had been in his sixties when he’d asked for her hand.
That day was never far from her mind. Whenever her brothers hadn’t been around, she’d caught her father’s attention, and he’d taken his anger out on her. On that last night she’d run from Castle Kincade, almost blind with pain. She’d walked nearly two miles barefoot to the nearest village. Her father’s blows still burned her face and back.
She’d stumbled into a tavern in the village and fell into Lord Melbourne’s lap when she’d tripped over a loose floorboard. He’d taken one look at her face and with a scowl had said, “No one should treat a lady thus.”
He’d insisted on buying her dinner at the tavern. After he’d seen that she was warm and fed and wearing a new pair of boots he’d bought from a barmaid, he’d taken her straight to a blacksmith and married her that night.
Poor Henry. Such a sweet man.
After her marriage to Henry, she’d moved into her new London home, and he had died in his sleep only a year later. It had been a long time coming, but now she was the mistress of her own destiny. The dear man had tutored her in the ways of business strategies and banking. She’d always had a natural knack for it, but he had helped foster in her a confidence and knowledge that left her strong and able to stand on her own after his death. His companies had become her empire and would remain hers unless she remarried. Under English law, it would then transfer to her new husband, and she would become property herself.
My life wouldn’t be mine ever again.
She had no intention of letting that happen. Being a powerful widow was preferable to being a married slave.
“Lady Melbourne, I understand you have a number of shipping companies?” the Duchess of Essex queried before sipping her tea.
The duchess, who had insisted on being called Emily, was a lovely creature with violet eyes, auburn hair and a smile full of mischief and cunning.
“Yes, that is correct,” Rosalind replied. “I took over my late husband’s company and have been growing it by acquiring other shipping lines as they go on the market. Sea trade can be a risky endeavor, but it has proved fruitful so far.” She smiled a little, happy to be talking about business. It was one of her joys in life, the pursuit of companies, the acquisitions, the shipping. The mental challenges of running the companies that formed her fortune had always been vastly rewarding.
The other two ladies, Anne, Viscountess Sheridan, and Lady Rochester, who insisted on being called Horatia, exchanged glances. Rosalind wasn’t daft. The three women had been doing this from the moment she’d come inside the Sheridan household for tea. She suspected they’d invited her to Curzon Street for some purpose, and she wished they would simply come out and ask her whatever it was they were interested in.
“Do you do any business with Lord Lennox?” Horatia asked. Her cheeks had gone pink, betraying the direction Rosalind had feared the conversation was headed. Given their husbands’ close friendships with Lennox, she had been expecting this.
Rosalind sighed. “Lord Lennox…” The infernal baron had an uncanny way of coming up. It was he who had been on her mind moments ago. The man who’d ruthlessly kissed her in a theater alcove. He’d been out to punish her for her interference with his business, but that chastisement had turned to an attempt at passion, no doubt with the intent of leaving her alone and longing for him.
She had to fight hard to contain the little smile at that particular memory. She’d seen through his ploy and turned it against him, and he’d been defenseless against her. She remembered dropping her glove at his feet, a parting challenge before she’d left him to handle the problem of his stained trousers.
Lennox would no doubt be planning something to obtain his revenge; his ego would not allow otherwise. But these ladies were married to friends of his, so she would need to answer carefully.
“Well, our business interests, while shared, tend to put us in direct competition.” She hesitated to say more. It was possible that anything she told these three women would make its way back to him through their husbands. The secret behind her success came from the subtle balance of obtaining information from others and keeping it away from indiscreet ears.
On more than one occasion, she’d come across the jilted lovers left in Ashton’s wake—widows, daughters or unhappy wives of those he was in competition with. They had provided him with information over the course of an evening, often in bed, and he had used it to his advantage.
But he had also left a fair number of women who were willing to talk about him and his tactics as well. Rosalind had used that information to her own advantage and had been able to track his movements and strategies, even anticipate his business goals and outsmart him on more than one occasion.
Emily nudged Horatia’s elbow. Horatia spoke up.
“I’m sure you must think we are spies on behalf of our husbands, but I assure you that is
not the case.” Horatia set her teacup down. “The reason we are asking is to protect you, if we can.”
“Protect me?” Rosalind set her own cup down, a flicker of unease darting through her like a startled rabbit in the underbrush. “Whatever from?”
Emily cleared her throat. “What we mean to say is that we know Lord Lennox. We know what he’s capable of when he’s in a mood, that is. All of us admire your courage and your ability to compete among the men. And we don’t want Ashton, that is, Lord Lennox, to upset you simply because he has his trousers twisted. I adore the man, but like the rest, he can become harsh in his business matters where his pride is pricked. We only wish to protect you, Lady Melbourne. We ladies must stick together.”
“Well…” What did one say to that? Rosalind plucked at her rose-colored day gown and glanced away, feeling a tad awkward.
“Have you any way to know if your finances are protected?” Anne asked quietly. “Cedric, that is to say, my husband, once said Ashton will challenge a man by dealing a blow to his banking abilities, such as his credit and his debts.”
Rosalind felt her stomach drop out. These ladies were serious about Lennox. And she’d certainly pricked the man’s pride. She’d bought three companies out from under him in the last month and had wooed old trading partners of his to her lines. But surely he wouldn’t do something so drastic. But she had taken out credit lines to buy the last few companies, and her own bank was light in gold if any of her notes came due at this moment.
“But surely he wouldn’t…” She went over the numbers and scenarios in her head. She saw it. A vulnerability. What if…?
Suddenly the room was too hot, too closed. She needed air.
“Quick, Anne, open a window!” Horatia gasped.
Rosalind rushed from her seat following Anne, who opened a window facing the back gardens. She leaned against the sill, her hands digging into the wood as she sucked in the fresh spring air.
“There, there,” Anne soothed. “Breathe and you’ll be fine.”
