by Lauren Smith
Audrey bit her lip and tugged her arm, but Jonathan was adamant. She was not going to stay here where it was dangerous. Without letting her speak another word, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Ignoring the pounding of her fists against his back, he carried her out of Fives Court. She screeched like a little hellcat, spitting and clawing and drawing all manner of bad attention to the both of them.
“I’ll get you for this!” she vowed.
“I’m sure you’ll try, darling.” He smacked her bottom in playful punishment as he headed for a waiting coach.
“Curzon Street, please,” Jonathan told the driver and then opened the coach door and tossed Audrey inside. It was going to be a long ride, and he’d have to guard his loins from her little booted feet.
Chapter Four
Ashes drifted across the fields like snow. The sight was eerie in the middle of a sunny English afternoon. The ruins of his tenant farmer’s home were nothing more than blackened cinders and smoldering beams. It cast a strange contrast to the bright flowers in the field nearby and the contented bleating of sheep that dotted the roadside. A watchful sheepdog sat with them, his tail wagging in the dust. Several village children peered over the top of a waist-high stone fence along one side of the road, staring bleakly at the place that had once been someone’s home.
Ashton rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and loosened his cravat as he studied the ruins.
“How did the fire start, Mr. Higgins?”
The farmer stared in bleak anguish at the destroyed remains of his home.
“I don’t rightly know, my lord.” The man scrubbed at his eyes as though to hide any evidence of fresh tears. The Higgins family had lived on this land and in that house for seventy-five years. And now it was gone. Mr. Maple and his family on the neighboring farm had suffered an eerily similar fate. Ashton knew what the man must be feeling. A sense of loss and shame at not being able to provide a roof for his children and wife. There was only one thing to do be done.
Ashton clapped a hand on Higgins’s shoulder. “You and your family will be settled into quarters at Lennox House until we have new homes built for you and the Maple family.”
The farmer paled. “No, my lord! We couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense. I won’t hear a word against it.” Caring for his tenants was a matter he took seriously, and his prosperous financial situation would have a good purpose in rebuilding the homes. He would not allow them to go without shelter. It was a gentleman’s duty to see to the well-being of his lands and his tenants.
“Thank you, my lord,” Higgins said, glancing down as he did so.
“Let’s return to the manor house, and I’ll see that your family is settled in.”
He and Higgins mounted their horses and followed the dirt road home. Behind them came a wagon with the children, pulled by two plow horses. A young woman stood on the front steps of the grand old Lennox House. A breeze tugged at the skirts of her pale-blue day gown. Long blond hair that matched his own was coiled on the top of her head in the fashion of the day. No bonnet, of course. His little sister Joanna detested the things.
“Ashton!” She rushed down the steps as he slid off his gelding and handed the reins to a waiting groom.
“Joanna.” He smiled and opened his arms. She hastened to embrace him. It never failed to puzzle him that not one man in England had tried to court her since her come-out. She was lovely, if a bit shy, but exceedingly intelligent and formidable at conversation. He’d settled a large dowry on her, hoping to tempt some of the braver bucks to come calling, but none had. Perhaps what he saw as virtues in her were not considered desirable traits by other men. They were fools if that was the case.
“Thank you for your coming home so quickly. Mother and I have been frantic for the tenants. We’ve assumed you might wish to bring them here until the new homes could be built.” Joanna saw Higgins and his passel of children standing hesitantly a few yards away. “Mr. Higgins, please come in. Your wife and children will be settled as well, and we’ve prepared new rooms for everyone.”
Ashton watched his sister with pride as she escorted the weary and stressed farmer along with his excited brood into their home. Following them at a distance, he paused at the grand stairs. Joanna would make a fine head of a household someday, if only he could find a man to marry her. If Jonathan St. Laurent hadn’t already taken an interest in Audrey, Ashton would have been tempted to turn the younger man’s attentions to his sister. He wanted a man he could trust to love and care for Joanna, not some buck fresh from university who was looking to run wild in London.
A cool voice interrupted his thoughts. “So, you’ve returned.”
His mother, Regina Lennox, stood at the top of the stairs. Still lovely for a woman her age, she made an impressive sight in a cranberry-red gown.
“I was summoned. Therefore, I returned.” He smacked his hands against his thighs, sending a cloud of dust in the air before coming up the stairs to join her.
“At least you care enough about the farmers to return.” Judgment lay heavy in Regina’s tone. It pricked his heart, but he shut down any emotions before they could show on his face.
“Don’t start, Mother. I am not in the mood.”
“As you wish.”
As a boy he had adored his mother, and she had doted on him and his siblings. Yet after he was sent away to Eton, their father had burned through their fortune at the gaming tables. His mother had suffered from their fall from society when her friends turned their backs on her and she was invited to fewer and fewer dinners and balls. For a woman like his mother, who thrived on human company, she felt increasingly trapped and alone. And all of this had worsened when their father was run over by a carriage while leaving a gambling hell. He’d died and left their lives in utter shambles.
Ashton had come home and done everything in his power to put the family back into a good position. But his mother hadn’t responded to his actions with joy. Rather, she’d told him that his need for money and power had made him just like his father.
The words had cut deep, and the coldness he’d felt from her since that day had left him wounded and angry. Even the memory left a bitter taste in his mouth. Needless to say, family dinners at Lennox House were damned awkward—when he bothered to come home for them.
Regina continued as if their previous exchange hadn’t happened. “We are having guests tonight for dinner. The Mertons will be here at seven. It would be good for you to attend.”
Ashton paused at the top of the stairs, meeting his mother’s eyes. For a long moment neither of them moved, the silent challenge hanging in the air.
“Merton still has an unmarried daughter, does he not?”
Regina’s eyes narrowed. “He does.”
“Ah, therein lies the problem. I have no intention of dining with a family you seek to ally with by marriage.” Ashton tugged his cravat free of his neck as he waited for his mother’s inevitable outburst.
“Not everything is about alliances, child. Sometimes it’s about love and affection. Heavens, I knew you had too much of Edmund in you, but I had hoped there might be a bit of me in you somewhere as well.” Hurt and anger flashed in her eyes, surprising Ashton. But he’d spent too many years suffering her callous remarks about his cold heart and ruthless soul to be affected by her now.
“I’m a coldhearted bastard, Mother. Isn’t that what you called me? That isn’t about to change,” he replied, his tone frosty. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to wash off this ash and see to some matters in my study. Charles and Jonathan will arrive tonight, so please have the housekeeper prepare two rooms in the south wing.”
His mother said nothing, but he knew she would do as he asked. She may have disliked her eldest son, but she was always a warm and gracious hostess, even to the League.
Ashton strode to his chamber and started stripping off his clothes. His shoulder, the one that had taken a bullet last Christmas, still twinged with the occasional phantom pain. The musc
les protested as he stretched the arm a few times. He stared into the mirror, startled by his face, which was still dusted with ash from the fire. Lines bracketed his mouth, and a weariness shadowed his eyes. He looked…like his father, with a pale, ghostly cast to his cheeks and a haunted expression in his eyes. The dark thought made him splash cold water on his face, wiping away the remnants of his personal nightmare. The last thing he ever wished was to be like the man who’d destroyed his family’s world.
He didn’t turn away as his valet slipped into the room.
“A hot bath is ready for you in your dressing room, my lord.”
“Thank you, Lowell. How are the Higgins and Maple families settling in?”
Lowell, a young man of his midtwenties, grinned. “Well, my lord. The children are running about the kitchens, and Mrs. Gibbs can’t make plum tarts fast enough to keep them fed.”
A smile curved Ashton’s lips as he headed for the dressing room to bathe. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Mrs. Gibbs adored children, and the two tenant families would keep her happily occupied for some time. Lennox House rarely entertained guests. Their nearest neighbors, the Mertons, were the only guests to attend the infrequent house parties for dinner. Ashton spent all of his time in London or at the estates of his friends, preferring to avoid his mother except when business necessitated his return.
Sometimes he stayed at the bachelor residence of his younger brother, Rafe, or the estate of his older sister, Thomasina, who was married to Lord Reddington. Reddington was a good man, and Thomasina was utterly in love with him. They already had three children who were quite delightful whenever they visited.
Ashton hadn’t ever given much thought to having a child, but if they were anything like Thomasina’s brood, he’d be a proud father someday.
Ashton stepped into the hot water and sank into it chest deep, sighing. His head dropped back to rest on the lip of the tub, and he tried not to think of the future, marriage or babies. If he never married, the estate would pass on to Rafe, but Rafe had no head for business. He preferred living life to excess and was not particularly gifted at learning how to earn what he lost at the gambling hells. Their mother had no delusions about Rafe or his behavior, which put all the more pressure on Ashton to be the one to settle down and have the required heir and a spare.
Lord… Godric, Lucien and Cedric had found it easy enough to manage their wives. But Ashton couldn’t imagine being leg-shackled to a woman he couldn’t completely trust to do as he told her. It wasn’t that he wanted a woman he could control, but more that he needed someone who would trust him without question in difficult times.
And he wanted someone sweet to take to bed each night, a woman who would purr and sigh as he made love to her, even if they were a bit rough at times. He wanted a strong but gentle woman who enjoyed passion. He’d slept with plenty of women, sometimes in the conquest of his business affairs, but none had satisfied him. There had always been something lacking.
He raised one hand out of the hot water, letting the drops splash back into the tub, rippling outward as he thought about what he truly desired. He wanted a certain fire in a kiss that burned him like an all-consuming blaze. Ashton wanted to be with a woman and completely lose himself inside her. Truth be told, there had only been one woman who had affected him in that way, and she was the last woman on earth he could ever trust.
The Scottish hellion he couldn’t seem to stay away from, not since the moment he realized she was to be his competition.
Rosalind Melbourne was too cunning, too untrustworthy, far too much his equal in ruthless business tactics for him to ever trust her, in his bed or out. Yet when he had kissed her, he’d nearly lost his mind and his control. Something about her, the mutual struggle for power and pleasure, drove him insane with lust. If he ever bedded her, neither of them would be able to walk for days afterward. They’d most likely break a bed in the process, the thought of which he enjoyed immensely.
A slow smile twisted his lips as he thought of what it would be like to call that wild lass his.
She’d likely smother me after I fell asleep and flee to Scotland by dawn.
But not before he bedded Rosalind properly…many times and in many ways.
Yes, that would be a bloody good night.
*****
Sir Hugo Waverly reclined in a seat at the back of the card room in Boodle’s Club, watching the evening unfold with little real interest. His mind was on more important matters. A cloud of cigar smoke hung at the base of the chandeliers like dark clouds, casting shifting shadows among the lights from the candles. Men threw cards upon the tables, gathering and losing fortunes over hasty gambles. But Hugo was not a betting man.
If I cannot secure my odds, I will not play.
The door to the card room opened, and a man Hugo knew entered. It was one of his most trusted men, Daniel Sheffield. With Daniel’s help, Hugo ran the most efficient and effective spy ring in the country, which, sadly, was not saying much. Spycraft as a whole in England was woefully amateurish, and it left his country vulnerable. It also made those who took the game seriously, such as Sheffield and himself, indispensible. They’d saved the Crown from more than one foreign war, and yet they would never be given credit for their actions.
But there was more to life than accolades. He was well compensated, both financially and through the power and influence his position afforded. He could blackmail just about anyone to do anything he required. If a man couldn’t be bought, he could be threatened, and that was enough for Hugo.
One step below the Crown. It was the closest a non-royal such as himself could ever be to ruling England.
Hugo made no sign that he noticed Daniel’s entrance. Daniel toyed with his pocket watch, lingered by a table where men were playing faro, and with a discreet glance, waited for Hugo to nod slightly before he approached.
Daniel took a full minute to make his way through the room. He paused to collect a drink from a passing waiter, then meandered over to Hugo’s table and chose a chair not close but not too far either. Tucked under one arm was the Quizzing Glass Gazette, and he slowly lifted it up to peruse the articles.
Lady Society’s gossip column was clearly visible from where Hugo sat, and he scowled at the name. What drivel! If he could be bothered to find out who the woman was, she would have an accident that rendered her incapable of writing ever again. He was tired of her endless parade of articles that painted the League of Rogues as heroes. They weren’t men to be admired or feared; they were fools. Dangerous fools. Fools he would destroy in good time.
The creak of wood told him that Sheffield had shifted his chair an inch closer. When Hugo ever so discreetly peeled his own paper aside, he saw Sheffield’s hand gently rolling a glass of brandy.
“Fair weather today, but I saw a chance of clouds,” Sheffield observed.
Hugo stiffened. That meant a situation he was having monitored was not going according to plan.
“What sort of clouds?” he asked.
Sheffield set his glass down on the table, and beneath it was a carefully folded note. “Black.” Hugo laid his paper down and let it cover the surface by Sheffield’s glass. Then he carefully nudged Sheffield’s drink aside and covered the note.
“The lady I’ve recently become interested in,” Sheffield added quietly, “has decided to visit friends in the country.”
That would be Rosalind Melbourne. So, the Scottish raven had taken flight to the country? That was worrisome. She preferred to stay in town, and he preferred that as well. It made it easier for him to keep an eye on her affairs. So far he’d been fortunate enough to manipulate her into taking him on as a business partner, then coaxing her into disrupting Ashton Lennox’s shipping companies.
“Which friends is the lady visiting?”
“The baron’s.” Sheffield took his half-empty glass from the table and drank.
Lennox? That was not good. Hugo wanted her and Lennox to remain at odds. If they were ever to form an allian
ce, half of his current schemes could easily unravel. The logistics of altering those plans with reliable substitutions would be bothersome to say the least.
He would need to find a way to entice Lady Melbourne back to London where he could keep a close eye on her.
“Hmm. Well, we can deal with that soon. Did the baron suffer any losses today?”
“He did. Two tenant houses burned down last night. It will keep him occupied and away from London.”
“Excellent.” That was just as he intended. He and Sheffield were arranging the transport of some agents to France, but Lennox had been keeping a close eye on Waverly’s actions of late. Too close. And Lennox and his men had a tendency to stumble into his missions and wreck them. It would be just like them to be responsible for a war because they refused to keep to themselves. So Sheffield had seen to a decent distraction to draw Lennox away from London for a time.
Sheffield cleared his throat. “One more matter to attend to,” he whispered, with a slight nod at the paper he’d tucked under the glass. “Urgent.”
Hugo slid his paper back toward his lip, deftly grasping the note Sheffield handed him. He noted the red wax seal—Scottish in design. The seal was one he recognized. Kincade. That conjured up some old memories.
Ten years ago he’d been a young man just entering the service of His Majesty. England had recently signed an act that united Scotland and England, but already there were separatist rumblings. Hugo’s job had been to suss out the leaders of the movement before it could gain popularity. And he had, a loose alliance of Scottish landowners who called themselves the Anti-Unionists.
Over the span of a year, all but one of its nine leaders had been dealt with in a series of accidents. Only one man remained, Montgomery Kincade—Rosalind Melbourne’s father.
The wily bastard had betrayed his compatriots for a hefty sum and to have his own life spared. It would have been prudent to take care of Kincade as well, but the man was cunning and had protected his interests well. He had warned Hugo that if he should die under accidental or suspicious circumstances, a collection of letters that Hugo had foolishly written would be exposed.
