by Mary Brendan
‘I have engaged you, sir, in the hope that you will deal with any dangers facing the doxy. If you find the task onerous or beyond your capabilities, you have only to say and I will employ another mercenary.’
‘In which case you will certainly need to delay while you find someone willing to take on the job and infiltrate the Collins gang.’ Luke’s lips slanted in a subtle smile as the older man brooded on those salient points, like a bulldog chewing a wasp.
‘The woman is being paid handsomely for her trouble...as are you,’ His Grace sourly reminded.
‘Indeed, and I have promised Miss Peake she will be back in town by next week spending her earnings. I would not want to be arranging her funeral instead.’
‘Well, tell the chit she might have a bonus if she agrees to expeditiously get this over with.’ Thornley gave the major a dour glance. ‘No doubt you expect a similar favour even though you have already negotiated a princely sum for yourself.’
Luke gave an easy shrug. ‘If you want to offer an inducement to accelerate matters, I will, of course, accept it. But the risks remain the same and I would urge you to think carefully before pelting headlong into this. If Collins smells a rat, you might gain nothing and tempt the gang to persecute you and your daughter. Her welfare is paramount, is it not?’
‘It is!’ Wolfson’s last remark had touched a nerve. The Duke of Thornley adored his daughter. He knew she got bored in Devon confined to the house. But Thornley was loath to let her out much, even with her maid, to enjoy the local markets and emporiums because of the gang of ruffians infesting the area. ‘If the blackguard smells a rat it will be because Wellington has overdone your praises. I’m paying you to ensure that Collins suspects nothing.’ His Grace thumped down his brandy glass on the desktop, shoving himself to his feet. ‘You forget yourself, sirrah, to be lecturing me!’
‘I was under the impression you would welcome such advice,’ Luke said mildly. ‘In fact, I thought you summoned me here for that very reason.’ Their combatant gazes tangled, but Luke could see the duke was not going to back down and admit his mistake. ‘Jeremiah Collins kidnapped, then returned a young dandy to his family on payment of a hefty ransom some six months ago.’ Luke shot the duke a glance and saw him redden. ‘You knew about that...got your inspiration from it, I take it.’
‘Of course I knew,’ His Grace blustered, smarting under the mild accusation of stealing an idea from the very person he wanted to see strung up. ‘My friend, Squire Smalley, sits at Devizes. The matter had been hushed up to prevent local folk panicking, but obviously not well enough if you managed to find out about it.’
A half-smile tilted Luke’s moulded mouth. ‘Like you, sir, I have friends in high places,’ he said quietly.
‘Around these parts...and in London, too, for that matter... I am high places.’ The arrogant statement had barely quit the Duke of Thornley’s lips before he regretted it, but Wolfson had too much to say for himself and needed slapping down. ‘You are either with me, Major, or against me. Let me know which.’
‘My apologies—it seems we are at odds over this. I couldn’t in all conscience proceed knowing I’ve no faith in the scheme as it stands. I’ve not gathered enough intelligence to safeguard Miss Peake. And in truth I’d sooner not get any woman involved in such peril.’ Luke gave a small bow. ‘I will have my lawyer return to you the deposit you’ve paid and deem the contract void. I’ll bid you good evening.’
Luke cursed beneath his breath as he strode for the door without a backward glance. He was willing to forgo his fee; he’d not liked the sound of the job from the start and had only agreed to travel to Devon and discuss it with Thornley as a favour to the Iron Duke.
A mission where a knife might be slipped between one’s ribs was par for the course in Luke’s line of work, but Becky was unlikely to have encountered anything more perilous than an admirer lying in wait for her on an unlit path at Vauxhall Gardens. Luke preferred working alone. He’d discovered a woman accomplice was needed only after he’d turned up in Devon and Thornley had described explicit details of his plan. Still Luke had bitten back a refusal to get involved out of deference to his old army commander. Over many years the Duke of Wellington had not only been a colleague, but a good friend to Luke, despite the disparity in their ages and status.
Within an hour of concluding his first meeting with Alfred Morland, Luke had contemplated returning to Thornley Heights to express his regrets to the duke and bow out. Then his mistress had unexpectedly shown up, having pursued him to Devon. He’d been both enraged and astonished at Becky’s audacity, but had realised that with her love of money and excitement Becky would jump at the chance to get involved in an intrigue. The complication of finding a woman to employ, willing to risk abduction by a gang of smugglers, had been removed; Luke had realised he’d find no better candidate.
Becky was a competent actress; in fact, had she stayed in London rather than tracking him a hundred miles, she would have been treading the boards in Haymarket as Desdemona. Thankfully, Luke had no further need to be anxious whether his mistress would measure up to the job of impersonating a duke’s daughter. He wished he’d never mentioned anything about it to her as she’d boasted from the start that she’d make him a fine accomplice. She’d be disappointed to be sent back to town earlier than expected. But sent back she certainly would be now, because her following him had been the final straw as far as Luke was concerned.
As Luke proceeded rapidly towards the huge oaken doors set at the end of a quiet marble hallway the butler materialised to hand him his coat. Before he could quit the house a young woman called his name, causing him to pivot about.
Lady Joan Morland hastened down the last few stairs, causing the ancient manservant to raise a disapproving eyebrow at his master’s eldest child.
‘Has Papa persuaded you to get our scheme quickly over with?’ Joan whispered once at Luke’s side. Joan knew her father would be annoyed to find her apprehending his business associate to grill him for information. But as the business concerned her Joan was of the opinion she was entitled to know about it.
‘No...he has not,’ Luke replied after a moment’s consideration. ‘We’ve failed to agree on some matters so somebody else will take over my role if your father decides to carry on with the plan.’ He bowed and proceeded to the door.
Joan looked crestfallen to hear the news and trotted after Luke. ‘That’s a shame—that odious man is becoming a terrible nuisance. He has beaten up two of our estate workers because they informed against him supplying a dreadful batch of brandy that was so strong it killed people. Now everybody is too scared to even mention his name in the village. But we are not! He’ll not browbeat us into putting up with his rampage.’
‘Has Collins ever seen you?’ Luke asked.
Joan shook her head. ‘Not as far as I’m aware. I don’t go out much... Papa doesn’t like it. But I’m not frightened of such as Collins! I’ve told Papa he won’t keep me indoors, hiding away.’ Joan sighed. ‘Really I’d like to move back to London where it’s gay and there’s lots to do.’
Luke allowed a slight smile. She might be young—still a teenager, her father had told him—but she had pluck.
‘Collins’s luck will run out. I imagine the authorities must be closing in on him and will apprehend him quite soon.’
‘People in these parts have been saying that for over a year and still he carries on as he pleases.’ Joan dismissed the notion of an early arrest. ‘A Lieutenant Brown of the coast blockade was found clubbed in a lane, close to death,’ Joan said. ‘I think we all know who is responsible for that! And even more kegs of brandy have washed ashore this week...so my maid told me...’
Luke gave an answering grimace that conveyed he wasn’t happy to hear the news, but wasn’t surprised by it. ‘I have to be going now,’ he said, bowing politely and giving the young woman a smile.
Lady Joan was trying to prick his conscience and tempt him to again become embroiled in her father’s harebrained plot to lure Collins into the open so he might be caught. But in Luke’s opinion the duke, being self-opinionated and arrogant, was underestimating the wily intelligence of his foe. Collins was no fool and Luke knew he and the Duke of Thornley would never see eye to eye on how to go about things. Without full control, but with the responsibility of the mission’s outcome squarely on his shoulders, Luke couldn’t carry on. Besides he had pressing matters elsewhere to deal with.
He wasn’t looking forward to his meeting with Drew Rockleigh. But the matter that was threatening their friendship had to be dealt with before he returned to the metropolis.
Chapter Three
‘Are we travelling back to London later today?’
‘You are...’ Luke said with a smile. Turning to the mirror above the fireplace in the inn’s private parlour, he began deftly folding his neckcloth while meeting Becky’s gaze in the glass.
‘It’s too bad of the duke to cancel this escapade.’ Becky bit into her toast with an irritated little sigh. ‘He should allow me my fee. I want a new hat.’ Becky watched Luke’s broad back as he shrugged into his tailcoat.
‘He didn’t cancel it. I did. And I’ll give you some spending cash, sweet, don’t worry.’ He wasn’t the only mercenary in the room, Luke realised, suppressing laughter in his throat. But he preferred mistresses who were content with sensual satisfaction plus a generous allowance that allowed them to shop freely, without demanding more of his time and freedom than he was prepared to give. Unfortunately, Becky had been pushing the boundaries of her role. Their last few visits to the opera had seen her becoming tediously jealous, watching his movements around other women. He knew it was time to end their relationship and would do so when he returned to town. He blamed himself, in part, for her stalking him. He’d told her his destination, if nothing else about what business was taking him to the West Country. But he’d never imagined that she’d have the outrageous cheek to come and check up on him.
‘Will you return to Eaton Square soon?’ Becky knew Luke was still reining in his anger over her unexpected appearance, so sounded quite meek.
She had never set foot inside Luke’s Mayfair mansion. As his mistress she’d never be invited to do so and to pay an impromptu visit would be tantamount to professional suicide. No distinguished fellow would pursue a liaison with a courtesan who proved to be an embarrassment to him and his family. Of course, Becky was aware that Luke had few living relatives to upset. He was an only child and his paternal grandfather had outlived both of his parents, but that was the extent of Becky’s knowledge of her lover’s history. And she knew better than to chivvy for more details of his past.
Becky liked a challenge and had boasted to her friends that she could hook the ‘soldier of fortune’ as he was nicknamed. And she had. He’d taken her under his protection and set her up in Marylebone almost five months ago. She’d no wish to see their affair come to an end. Luke Wolfson’s rakish reputation and his gypsy-dark good looks were irresistible to Becky. But she was a seasoned paramour and recognised the signs of a man preparing to bed hop. She’d noticed him responding to a flirtatious redhead at Vauxhall in that quietly amused way of his. But Becky wasn’t too bothered about her, or any demi-rep who had a yen for Luke Wolfson. It was another, serious, rival who had her rattled.
‘The London Season will soon be underway...’ Becky tried another tack to discover Luke’s plans as he’d grimaced his indecision in answer to her earlier question.
‘What of it?’ Luke asked, turning from the mirror.
‘Will you stay permanently in town for the Season?’ Luke had a vast acreage in Essex. Becky guessed he had a chère amie in the countryside to keep him company on his long absences from her bed. But a fat-ankled milkmaid didn’t bother her, either.
‘Perhaps... Why do you ask?’
‘Harriet Ponting has arrived in town with her mother.’
‘And?’ Luke’s expression remained impassive as he straightened his shirt cuffs.
‘Oh, you know what’s expected of you!’ Becky cried, covering her pretty features with her palms. ‘Her mama has been spreading rumours for ages that you are ready to pay court again to her eldest daughter.’
‘Is that right?’ Luke murmured distantly, with an expression that Becky, peeking behind her fingers at him, recognised. He was letting her know that any marriage plans he had were none of her concern and he was displeased that she’d raised the topic.
‘I’m going to settle the shot... Pack your things, sweet, we’re leaving...’
Becky watched him exit the room, a sulky twist to her lips. In her opinion it was her concern. She might not be genteel, like Harriet, but she had plenty to offer a gentleman as his wife. Becky wanted to join the number of other ambitious courtesans who had dragged themselves up by their bootstraps to marry rich and influential men and bear them legitimate heirs. Harriet Ponting had already turned Luke down once and didn’t deserve another chance at being Luke’s wife, Becky thought.
* * *
‘Oh, it’s too much to bear!’
‘Now, now, calm yourself, my dear,’ Peter Jackson soothed his wife. He drew her closer to him beneath the tree so they might get some better shelter from the driving rain.
Fiona had huddled with the Beresford sisters beneath the dripping skeleton of another oak, but as a loud clap of thunder sounded she glanced up warily, through rain-clumped lashes, at groaning overhead branches.
‘Perhaps we might be safer out in the open,’ Fiona said, pulling the hood of her cloak further forward to protect her face.
‘But we will look like drowned rats,’ Ruth and Valerie Beresford chorused, shrinking back to the bole of the tree.
‘Better that than get struck by lightning,’ Fiona pointed out.
She suddenly made a dash towards the coach, which was tilting precariously to one side. The driver and groom were making a valiant attempt to repair the broken front axle, while hampered by the violent elements. The storm had seemed to spring up from nowhere just as they hit a particularly isolated stretch of road. Toby Williams put down his hammer as Fiona stopped by his side. Wearily the coach driver pushed to his feet and patted at the nearest horse, murmuring comfortingly to the sodden beast. The team had bowed their heads beneath an onslaught that was sending rivulets of water dripping down their flanks and manes.
‘It’s no use, miss, I’ll have to return to the Fallow Buck and get help. It’s beyond my skill to get this accursed thing again up and running.’ The driver indicated his young apprentice. ‘Bert here will stay by you all. He can take my blunderbuss for protection. I think you will all be safe enough in the coach—it’s stuck firm in the mud so shouldn’t tip over. You can’t remain out in the open or you’ll catch your deaths—’
‘Do you think Bert might need the blunderbuss?’ Fiona interrupted, suppressing her alarm. The lad had not looked too happy on hearing he was about to be abandoned by his senior and put in charge of protecting the coach’s drenched, vexed passengers. Never had Fiona felt quite so out of her depth amongst these country folk and the eerie alien environment they inhabited. She’d only rarely in her life travelled outside London and its bustling, clamorous streets. Then it had been to stay with friends who lived in a quaint cottage in a Hertfordshire village. She wondered if in these parts ferocious animals living in the woods might prey on them, so asked the driver though fearful of his answer.
‘Well...you never know, better to be safe than sorry,’ Toby Williams prevaricated. He knew very well that any predatory vermin were human, not animal. The Collins gang infested the area from Kent to Cornwall, all along the coast. That group of marauding criminals would think it their lucky day if they stumbled across a party of defenceless people. Jeremiah Collins would relieve them all of their valuables, and the ladies of their
virtue, if what Toby had heard about the vile blackguard was accurate.
What really worried Toby though was that his apprentice, Bert, might be relieved of his life. The lad was only eighteen, but already had a wife and child relying on him. Collins was suspected of murdering a Revenue Man in Rye, but he was a wily individual and had been on the run, keeping one step ahead of the law for more than a year.
It was said that Jem Collins felt he had nothing to lose. He knew the noose awaited him and so was on a spree to create havoc and rake in as much profit as he could before judgement day came, as it must in the end.
‘I’ll tell the others to return to the coach,’ Fiona spluttered through the icy rain pounding her face. As she bolted back towards the copse it ran through her mind that the little group would be bitterly disappointed—as was she—to hear the vehicle couldn’t be repaired so they could get quickly under way.
* * *
‘Shall we keep our spirits up by playing a game? We could sing a song?’ Fiona suggested in desperation as the weather outside continued to batter and shake the coach. Despite the drumming of the rain on the roof Fiona could hear Valerie Beresford snuffling in one corner of the vehicle. In the other, Mrs Jackson was crying with more abandon while her husband patted alternately at her hands and her shoulders to try to quieten her.
‘Well...this is an adventure...’ Ruth Beresford said and gave Fiona a nervous grin.
‘Indeed...and one I’d sooner not have experienced.’ Fiona sighed wryly. She was determined to keep buoyant. She was the youngest woman in the party so should be the strongest, mentally and physically, she’d reasoned. She lifted a corner of the leather blind at the window and peered at poor Bert marching forlornly to and fro, the blunderbuss up in readiness to be aimed. It was getting dark and Fiona feared that before too long nightfall would overcome them, hampering their rescue team and also throwing her companions further into the doldrums.
