His Wicked Seduction (The League of Rogues Book 2)

by Lauren Smith

  “Ash!” Godric ran in his direction, glancing about for signs of the shooter, but the man had vanished. He hadn’t returned to the Garden house, nor had he gone in any direction they could see.

  “Should we go after him?” Godric asked. “I didn’t see which way he went.”

  “Nor did I. Must have had an escape route planned.”

  “Clever bastard,” Godric said. “Why did he shoot at you?”

  Ash shrugged, wincing. “He saw me peer around the edge of the bush and reacted. I think he fired because he recognized me.”

  “Good thing he missed.”

  Ashton stumbled and gripped Godric by the sleeve for support. “He…he didn’t actually.” Blood began to flow freely down his left arm. The pair quickly ducked back inside the Midnight Garden.

  “What? Ash, you’re bleeding! Hell man, why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot?” Godric’s face turned white as marble.

  “Pardon me if my mind is a bit fogged with pain at the moment,” Ashton replied sarcastically. “Hurts like the very devil too. Do you mind if we get out of here before I lose any more blood?”

  “Right, of course. Come on.” His friend gripped him by his good arm and helped him over to the door leading back into the Garden’s house.

  The owner of the Midnight Garden, Madame Chanson ran over to them. “Did I hear a gunshot?” she asked in a panic.

  “Yes. It seems the man we were looking for didn’t wish to be found.”

  “Should I contact the Bow Street Runners?”

  “He’s already long gone, I’m afraid, and there’s your anonymity to consider. Could you summon my carriage immediately? And have a doctor sent to my residence quickly.” Godric gripped Ashton’s right arm firmly to keep his wounded friend on his feet. As he spoke, he removed his cravat and tied a makeshift tourniquet.

  Godric’s carriage pulled up and he helped Ashton inside. The bullet, whatever sinister path it had taken, had left a nasty wound in Ashton’s arm.

  “My home isn’t far, we can wait for the doctor there. Emily can fuss over you until then.”

  “You’d subject me to your wife’s fussing?” Ashton gave a pained chuckle as he clamped his right hand over his wound.

  “Of course I would.”

  “Have I wronged you somehow? Why would you let Emily tend to me? I might lose my entire arm in her desire to play nursemaid.”

  “I fear more what Emily would do to me if she’s not allowed to help.”

  Ashton groaned in pain and his vision blurred. Godric shouted for the coachman to go faster.

  “Stay awake, Ash,” Godric barked as Ashton gave in to the temptation to close his eyes for a moment.

  “Trying to,” Ashton muttered. “In all of the times we’ve gotten into scrapes, I’ve never been shot. You hear of soldiers speak of it with some degree of pride and bravado. The experience, I’ve decided, is highly overrated.” His frowned down at his bound arm. “Perhaps you ought to distract me?”

  “That I can do. So I spent all of last night trying to seduce my wife into telling me how she and her companions escaped their room last night and into the drawing room without us seeing them. But despite my best efforts, she disclosed nothing. What are your theories?”

  Ashton gritted his teeth, trying to formulate an answer.

  “I would say that they convinced one of the servants to let them out and they snuck down to the dining room while we were still in the drawing room. Once we went upstairs they moved once again and waited there for us.”

  “That is what I assumed as well. Though I still cannot figure out how Emily embroidered that phrase Never Challenge a Woman so quickly. I know she hasn’t been doing any needlepoint.” Ashton smiled but his expression changed into a wince as the carriage rolled to a stop at Essex House. A footman was at the carriage door. He opened it and helped Godric take Ashton out and up to the house door.

  “Thank you, Timmons. We’re expecting a doctor. Have him brought in immediately.”

  Godric threw Ashton’s good arm around his shoulders and helped his friend get inside.

  Emily was waiting at the top of the stairs and with a panicked cry she rushed down to help them.

  “What happened to him?” she asked.

  Godric motioned for her to open the door to the drawing room. Emily did, then called for a maid to bring some water and cloths.

  “Lay him on the couch, Godric.” Emily indicated a blue and gold brocaded bit of furniture. She hastened to help Ashton sit down. He took a deep shaky breath that made Godric and Emily share a look of concern.

  “We’ve sent for a doctor,” Godric told her.

  “That’s all well and good, if he doesn’t bleed out before then,” Emily snapped.

  Godric took hold of Ashton’s shoulders and looked his friend in the eye.

  “Do you plan on bleeding out, Ash?” he asked, partially in jest. Ash shook his head in a wobbly sort of way.

  “No, Your Grace.” He chuckled. The blood loss was making him feel a little silly, not because he was losing much of it, but because the sight of blood sometimes made him lightheaded. Besides, his friend bickering with his wife was far too amusing.

  “See? He’ll be fine, darling.” Godric wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side.

  “Don’t you darling me, Godric. If he dares to die in my drawing room, I’ll revive him only to kill him again myself!” Emily helped remove the old binding on his arm and then peeled off Ashton’s coat. “Followed shortly by yourself.”

  The maid returned with cloths and a bowl of water. Emily made short work of removing Ashton’s shirt, then used a thick strip of cloth to make a fresh tourniquet. Godric helped her, taking note of the wound’s condition.

  “Looks like it went clean through. No bone damage that I can see,” Godric said, but Emily was too busy cooing to Ashton as she placed a wet cloth to his forehead.

  Ashton stared up at her, admiring the way she tended to him. Godric was a lucky man. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever be so lucky. He’d always viewed relationships with the intent of what he might gain in the way of business and it had won him many partnerships in bed, but never love. Perhaps he was becoming a sentimental fool.

  It’s just the blood loss, nothing more. A man faces death and he starts thinking all sorts of wild things.

  “How did this happen?” Emily asked.

  “Ash and I were at the Midnight Garden, hoping to catch the men Lucien overheard last night. They said they would meet there this morning. The hired man caught sight of Ash spying on him and shot him before fleeing. We didn’t even have a chance to give chase.”

  “Did you see who it was?” Emily stroked Ashton’s pale blond hair back from his face. He leaned in to her gentle touch with a soft sigh.

  “No one I recognized, though the reverse may not be true.”

  Emily shut her eyes. “Do you still believe Waverly is behind this?”

  He nodded. “Many dislike us, a few despise us, but only Waverly has ever proclaimed to want us dead.”

  Emily was silent a long time. She sat down next to Ashton, keeping the cool cloth to his head.

  Ashton held an important part in Emily’s heart. He’d championed her cause to Godric, and had been the first to see that she and Godric were in love with each other. Without his cool head and warm heart, the pair might never have believed enough in their love for each other.

  Ashton began to close his eyes and Emily slapped him forcefully across the cheek.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep, Ashton!”

  His stunned gaze at the assault seemed to amuse Godric. It took quite a lot to shock Ashton.

  “You slapped me?” he asked, shocked by Emily’s behavior.

  “And I’ll do it again if you shut your eyes,” Emily threatened.

  Ashton had
the gall to let out a hoarse chuckle. “Now I know how Charles must feel on a daily basis. Still, I’m sure the benefits more than compensate for it.”

  Despite her concern, Emily smiled. No doubt if Ashton had enough energy to tease her, he wasn’t dead yet.

  A footman appeared at the drawing room door, informing them they had a visitor.

  “That will be the doctor.” Emily guessed as she jumped up and ran towards the door. But it wasn’t. It was Anne Chessely, Baron Chessely’s daughter and one of Emily’s closest friends.

  “Anne?” Emily said in disappointment.

  The crestfallen look on Anne’s face wasn’t hard to miss, even from where Godric stood. “Should I go? I would not wish to intrude.” Anne chewed her bottom lip, looking doubtful as Emily ushered her inside.

  “No, please come in. I was just expecting someone else.” Emily attempted to hide the truth, but Anne was too clever by half.

  “Was that blood outside in the snow on the steps? I see it here too.” Anne pointed to a trail of droplets leading towards the drawing room.

  “Er, what?”

  “That is blood.” Anne abandoned her muff and bent down to dip a finger into the nearest splotch. Her gloved fingertip came back bright red.

  “Emily, you didn’t kill Godric did you? I mean, I’m sure you had a good reason, but it’s foolish to leave a blood trail.” Anne’s gaze swept the hall, seeking the truth.

  “Murder? Heavens no, Anne. Wherever do you come up with such nonsense?” Emily tried to lead her away to another room, but Anne, who was fairly strong for a woman, pulled free and opened the drawing room door.

  Emily froze behind her, fearing Anne would faint as she took in the scene of Godric tending to a half-naked Ashton. A bloody shirt lay on the ground near his feet.

  “Oh my…” Anne exhaled in shock.

  Ashton turned his head in her direction, bright blue eyes now dim with pain.

  “Miss Chessely, I do beg your pardon for my lack of proper attire. As you can see I was shot this morning. Hurts something dreadful,” Ashton finished in a breathless apology. “So, if you don’t mind, some privacy would be appreciated.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Lennox, it is I who intruded.” Anne backed up so quickly that she trod over Emily’s toes. Emily squeaked and jumped out of the way.

  “Sorry,” Anne muttered as she retreated into the hall, away from Ashton and all that blood. “What happened to Lord Lennox? Did he fight in a duel?” she asked in a scandalized whisper.

  “Don’t be silly. He’s too levelheaded for that. No, this is a much longer story I’m afraid. Would you care to come to the morning room for some tea?” Emily offered.

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Just then the footman, Timmons, came in through the front door, with a doctor in tow. The two men went straight to the drawing room and shut the door. Emily breathed a sigh of relief.

  “That was who I was expecting when you came,” Emily explained as she and Anne entered the morning room. “I’m sure the wound isn’t that serious. At least it didn’t appear to be once Godric got it cleaned up.” She glanced back at the way the doctor had gone. The blood had panicked her, but now she was sure Ashton would be fine. If he had the breath enough to tease her and speak to Anne, the man was not ready for the next world yet. Didn’t Lady Society in her articles always say that no bullet could kill a rogue?

  A maid brought them a tray of tea and Emily quickly narrated the disturbing events of the previous night as well as this morning’s close call with Ashton. Emily always felt free to speak with Anne, especially in matters concerning her husband and the League.

  It had been Anne who had first told her, or rather warned her, about the League of Rogues. Anne was acquainted with Cedric and knew about the others only through reputation since she and the League both avoided the social events of the season like the plague.

  Cedric had courted Anne briefly, the year before Emily’s abduction. He’d had no success in seducing her and sadly had abandoned the endeavor entirely. Emily thought it a pity, but Anne didn’t want to marry. She was content to live with her father and breed Thoroughbred horses for racing. She kept her fortune and her land this way, but she was also lonely. At least, Emily suspected she was.

  “So, where are the other rogues?” Anne asked as she sipped her tea.

  “Charles, Jonathan, Ashton and Godric are all still in London. But Cedric and Lucien are on their way to Lucien’s estate in Kent. But you must tell no one of this.”

  A flicker of emotion passed over Anne’s face so briefly that Emily thought she might have imagined it. Was it possible that Anne felt something for Cedric after all? She’d never indicated anything but mild irritation at his attempts to woo her. But the moment he’d stopped calling on her, Anne had started showing up at the Essex doorstep with surprising frequency. Anne never asked after Cedric, at least not directly, but she did ask where the other League members were each time she came over.

  “Will you and your father be spending the holidays in London?” Emily asked.

  “Yes. I wish we weren’t though. The snow is much prettier in the country this time of year and I usually like to take a ride on Christmas morning.”

  Emily sighed wistfully. “That sounds lovely. It is a pity that Cedric will be in Kent. I might have persuaded him to take us out on the town in his curricle with his pair of Arabian mares.”

  At the mention of Cedric’s Arabians, Anne’s eyes brightened.

  “Is it true that he won them in a wager from a sheikh?”

  “Has he not told you the story himself?” Emily was genuinely surprised. She knew that part of Cedric’s purpose in courting Anne was to achieve his desire of breeding his mares with Anne’s stallions.

  “I’d only heard the rumors from the papers.” Anne looked put out at this.

  “When you next see him, I’ll have him tell you. I could never do the story justice.” That was certainly the truth. At the time Cedric had told her the story, she’d been fairly distracted by Godric and the rest of the League, what with being their prisoner at the time.

  “If we weren’t so worried for his safety right now, I would insist you and I go to Kent. But as it is, Godric is one minute away from locking me in a blasted tower for my own safety.”

  “I imagine Lord Sheridan was not fond of going to Kent?” Anne asked astutely.

  Emily nodded. She was surprised Cedric hadn’t fought harder to stay in London, at least by Godric’s account. Cedric was incredibly brave and it must have killed him to turn his back on a fight, especially where Waverly was involved.

  When the ladies had finished their tea, Anne rose and started for the door.

  “Anne, would you and your father like to come to dinner this evening? I know it’s short notice. I promise to have my hall cleaned of blood by then,” Emily jested.

  Her friend smiled and gave a little nod. “My father and I would be delighted. See you tonight.”

  Anne departed and Emily turned her attention back towards the drawing room. She squared her shoulders and walked in, eager to check on Ashton and her husband.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Russell family estate in northern Kent, four miles east of the village of Hexby, was in an uproar. Jane, the Marchioness of Rochester, was on the verge of strangling her second youngest child, one Linus Winston Russell. Despite her own knowledge that she had birthed that troublesome boy twenty-one years before, sometimes she swore he hadn’t matured past the age of eight.

  The young man in question was balanced precariously on a rickety ladder in the entryway of Rochester Hall. He held a sprig of what Lady Rochester feared was mistletoe. That child was in for a thrashing when she got hold of him. She’d found his handiwork all over the house. Every single doorway, window, and alcove was adorned with that dreaded poisonous plant. The chaos and impropriety that
would ensue from his little prank could bring down the very stones of Rochester Hall.

  Lord knew, her brood were wicked enough that they didn’t need the help of mistletoe. It was in their blood, and sadly, not a trait taken from her husband’s side.

  Linus, having a full head of red hair like all of her children, was at the moment wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow before he resumed reaching for the upper doorjamb to affix the mistletoe. The forest green waistcoat and buff breeches he wore were well tailored to him—the body of a man, her baby boy no longer.

  Lady Rochester blinked back a rebellious tear. How had her child grown up so fast? Hadn’t it been yesterday that he’d put a frog in Lysandra’s bed and tacks on Lucien’s study chair? It had to be the holidays bringing up all this silly emotion. She stormed down the stairs to deal with her youngest’s antics.

  “Linus Winston Bartholomew Russell!” She bellowed the name in such an imperious tone that Linus dropped the mistletoe with a cry of alarm and scrambled to steady himself on the now wobbling ladder.

  “Mama?” He hesitantly turned to face her as she glared up at him from the ground, her foot tapping with anger.

  “Get down here at once,” she barked.

  Linus practically fell off the ladder, his boots smacking loudly on the marble floor.

  “Just what do you think you’re up to?” she demanded.

  “Nothing.” He tried to nonchalantly kick the mistletoe under a cabinet with a booted toe. As if she wouldn’t notice!

  Lady Rochester grabbed him by the ear. She was two seconds away from hauling him up to the old nursery when the knocker on the front door clanked four times. Linus grinned at his apparent reprieve and tugged free of his mother’s hold.

  “I’m not done with you yet. There will be a reckoning.” She gave him one of her death glares before her face transformed into a heartwarming smile suitable for guests. She waved off the butler, who was advancing towards the entryway. “I’ll answer it, Mr. Jenkins.” She opened the door to find a welcome surprise. Her eldest child, Lucien, was there as well as his close friend, Viscount Sheridan, and his two sisters.