The King's League Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  “Lost?” She frowned, hard, before realizing what he meant. Her heart suddenly quailed within her, making her realize that Lord Watt might have been taken in by the rumors which could very well explain his shock upon seeing her. “Yes, I have heard of the rumors, Lord Watt. They are entirely false.”

  Silence descended on them once more. Lord Watt did nothing but look at her, as though he wanted to make himself believe that she truly was present, that she truly was standing in front of him—and it was all Daisy could do to hold his gaze. Her heart was beating quicker and quicker, her breathing becoming a little ragged as an air of anticipation began to sweep around her—although what she was anticipating, she could not say. Lord Watt dropped his head and rubbed at his forehead with his hand, letting out such a long and pronounced breath that Daisy felt as though she could almost feel his torment through it.

  “I am sorry,” she said, not quite certain what she was specifically apologizing for. “I know there has been a good deal of trouble, and we have been split apart, but I—”

  “Please, do not trouble yourself.” The hardness had returned to Lord Watt’s voice, as he lifted his head again, his eyes a little narrowed. “We are nothing more than acquaintances now, Miss Williams, which is clearly what you have desired for some time. I will not speak of the past nor beg of you to discuss certain matters with me.” His smile was tight, and no light entered his eyes. “We will greet each other and perhaps pass the dullest of conversation now and again, but there is nothing more between us, Miss Williams.” Bowing, he made to move past her, only to stop and turn back towards her. “Although I will not pretend that I am not glad to know that those rumors have come to nothing,” he finished, not quite looking at her. “Good evening, Miss Williams.”

  “Good evening,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the chill that had suddenly caught her. The air seemed to be a little more clammy now, the color fading from all around her. Her heart was pounding, but her stomach was roiling with anxiety. It had been a shock to see Lord Watt again, but the coldness that had filled his final few words had chilled her completely. There was a dull pain there, deep within her heart. It was beginning to spread further through her, growing in intensity as she continued to watch Lord Watt walk away from her. A part of her was desperate for him to turn around, desperate for him to look back at her, so that he might acknowledge her again. The way he had left her made her feel as though there was never to be anything between them again, not even an ounce of friendship. What there had once been was gone for good, it seemed, and until this very moment, Daisy had not known that she had cared. She had not known that she wanted him to return to her, wanted him to acknowledge her again. And yet his parting from her seemed to tear her apart, limb from limb.

  “Daisy?”

  She was pulled from her unexpected agony by the sound of her sister’s voice, cheerful and delighted in a way that was so opposed to what she felt. Turning slowly, feeling as though everything within her was weak and tired, Daisy forced herself to smile wanly as Susanna approached with an older lady walking beside her. This evening would continue regardless of what she felt. She could not allow anyone to know of her feelings for Lord Watt, of her confusion and her struggle, even though it had come upon her so quickly. Daisy forced herself to remember her task at hand, forced herself to recall what she was meant to be doing. This was all an act; she was just playing a part. The ton had to believe that she was seeking a husband and eager to wander through all of society in search of the perfect match. And that meant greeting anyone her sister thought important.

  Her thoughts on Lord Watt would have to wait to be considered until another time.

  Chapter Six

  “Watt? You look quite tormented.”

  Matthew tried his utmost to rearrange his face into a picture of boredom but failed completely. His brows remained furrowed, his lips pulled tight, and he was certain that the sorrow would not leave his eyes no matter what he attempted.

  “What is it that makes your expression so?” Lord Monteforte asked, coming to stand beside Matthew as he looked out across the street from his drawing room window. “Or is it the thoughts in your mind that trouble you so?”

  Matthew wanted to find some simple explanation, to tell Lord Monteforte that he was troubled by one of the current situations that the League was dealing with at present, but he was not the kind of man to lie, and so the words stuck in his throat. In the end, he simply cleared his throat gruffly and gave Lord Monteforte a small shrug.

  “I see,” Lord Monteforte answered quietly, as a look of concern filled his features. “Then I am sorry indeed for whatever it is that you are struggling with, old boy.” He glanced behind him, as though reminding Matthew of the other gentlemen that were contained within, although some had already left. “You have friends here.”

  “I know,” Matthew answered, speaking for the very first time since Lord Monteforte had come to join him at the window. “But some things will bring only more pain if they are spoken aloud.” He turned his head to stare back out of the window and, after a few moments, he felt Lord Monteforte’s presence disappear. Another troubled sigh left his lips, as wretchedness filled him. And all because of one Miss Williams.

  It had been three days since he had seen her last. Three days since that torturous dinner party, where he had been forced to sit and smile and laugh and pretend that everything was just as he wanted it to be. Of course, he had felt nothing more than pain, aware of Miss Williams’ presence, feeling it fill the room as well as filling his heart. Quite how he had made it through the rest of the evening, Matthew had not been sure, but evidently he had managed it without giving anyone else present a hint of how he truly felt. It had not been until his return home in his carriage that he had finally allowed himself to behave in accordance with his emotions. He had sat back, his head against the squabs, as his expression contorted with agony, pain blossoming within him all over again, like a rose covered in thorns. And the pain had not left him since.

  Yes, he had told her that there was nothing between them any longer, that there was not even an ounce of friendship shared, but that was not the true desire of his heart. He had wanted to take her hand, to hold it close and to pull her tight against him, to beg her to tell him what had occurred to push her so far from him and, in return, cry for her forgiveness for his own lack of determination in pursuing her in her absence.

  But he had not. And he would not. It was quite apparent to him now that things were at an end. Miss Williams had returned to society to find herself a suitable match, and she had not even considered him. That spoke the truth of her heart to him, even if her lips did not.

  It is time to set her aside.

  The determination in his heart was there, but his heart and spirit rebelled against it. He did not want to set her aside; he did not want to turn away from her completely. It was as though he felt, despite everything, there might be a small sliver of hope for him yet, that she might turn around and beg for him to return to her, so that they might somehow find a way to continue what had once been started between them – but he knew that to be foolishness indeed. And yet, he could not rid himself of such a feeling.

  A footman drew near, and Matthew, seeing him out of the corner of his eye, turned at once and forced himself back to the present, leaving aside his thoughts of Miss Williams.

  “Yes?”

  The footman inclined his head. “Lord Templeton wishes to speak to you, my lord.”

  Matthew frowned. “Lord Templeton?” he repeated, a little confused given that he had thought the man had already gone from his house. “He is still here?”

  The footman nodded. “Ensconced in the library, my lord. I apologize, I thought you were still aware of—”

  “There is nothing for you to apologize for,” Matthew interrupted, with a tight smile. “Thank you. I will go at once.”

  Frowning slightly, Matthew excused himself from the other gentlemen who remained, havin
g just concluded the meeting of the League, and assured them that they were welcome to remain for as long as they wished, as well as to drink as much of his fine brandy as they wished. This was met with chuckles and murmurs of appreciation, making Matthew realize that what Lord Monteforte had said was quite correct. He did indeed have friends here.

  Walking to the library, Matthew felt a sudden sense of nervousness fill him. It was very odd indeed for Lord Templeton to be ensconced somewhere within Matthew’s house and asking to meet with him privately, especially after Lord Templeton was, in fact, meant to be less than involved with the League now. Their meeting of the League had not been a lengthy one, and very little had been said about the case involving the death of Lord Harrogate. Very little had been achieved thus far. There was no news from America, and certainly nothing of note had been brought to light about them.

  As for the other two gentlemen, the only thing that had become clear was that both Lord Stevenson and Lord Fitzherbert had returned to society. The suggestion was now that the gentlemen of the League ensure that both Lord Stevenson and Lord Fitzherbert were brought into closer acquaintance with some, so that they might then use that association to discover more if required. It would be a slow process, but Matthew was determined to discover the truth.

  Of course, he would try to befriend both gentlemen also, but the thought of doing so when he had seen Miss Williams blush and smile in the direction of Lord Fitzherbert had quite stolen his eagerness away. It almost pained him to have to do so, fearing that Lord Fitzherbert might then start speaking of his acquaintance with Miss Williams and of his desire to court her, which Matthew would have to then deal with inwardly by showing no outward expression other than acknowledgement. It would be very difficult indeed, which was why he had not made any attempt to befriend Lord Fitzherbert as yet.

  “Ah, thank you for coming, Lord Watt.”

  Matthew allowed a small, wry smile to touch his lips as he looked across the room to see Lord Templeton sitting beside the hearth, where a small fire had been set in order to warm the room. It had been a fairly bright and sunny day, and with the afternoon only now fading to evening, Matthew did not think a fire was required – but evidently, Lord Templeton felt the need for it, and Matthew would not begrudge him that.

  “I came at once,” he answered, as though he were in Lord Templeton’s home and had come in answer to a summons that had been sent by messenger. “It sounded quite urgent.”

  Lord Templeton chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth. “You think me rude sitting here and sending one of your own footmen to seek you out.” He shrugged, reaching for his glass of whiskey that was sitting on the table just to his right. “Mayhap you are right, but I did not think you would mind.”

  “I do not,” Matthew said firmly, sitting down opposite. “You are always welcome to remain here.” He gave the older man a small smile, whilst a flurry of interest combined with anxiety settled in his stomach. “Is there something troubling you?”

  Lord Templeton shook his head, before lifting his glass to his lips and throwing it back quickly. “No, indeed not,” he said, smacking his lips together. “Nothing wrong at all. It is only to inform you that I have sent another to seek out Lord Fitzherbert and Lord Stevenson. I thought you ought to know so that you might work alongside them.”

  Matthew’s brows buried low on his forehead almost at once, his worry beginning to rise almost at once. “Another?” he said, trying to work out which of the gentlemen in the League it might be. “I do not understand.”

  “They are quite green, of course,” Lord Templeton continued, waving a hand as though speaking of someone’s lack of experience was quite understandable in the present circumstance. “They are quite determined to seek out the truth, but I think they will need a good deal of guidance as to how they are to go about finding the truth.”

  “I-I do not understand,” Matthew interrupted, rubbing his forehead before dropping his hand to look steadily back at Lord Templeton. “You have sent someone inexperienced in the art of interrogation towards Lord Fitzherbert and Lord Stevenson in the hope that they will be able to do more than someone such as I am able to do?”

  Lord Templeton considered this for a moment, then nodded. “I think they will manage to make better progress than anyone here, yes,” he admitted, quite calmly. “And before you ask, they are not a part of the League as yet. They should very much like to be, but this, I think, will prove to both myself and to you whether or not they ought to be permitted to join.”

  Matthew stared at Lord Templeton, his breath hitching in his chest in surprise. It was quite unlike Lord Templeton to behave in such a strange fashion, for to involve someone who was not even a part of the League was quite inexplicable and entirely unheard of. He wanted to throw questions at Lord Templeton, to demand to know what he had been thinking of when it came to doing such a thing, but instead, he simply stared at the fellow and tried to make sense of what he heard.

  “I will leave you to discover them, of course,” Lord Templeton said, with a small grin that left Matthew feeling nothing more than irritation. “No, you need not begin to question me as to their identity and the like, for I shall not give it. I fear that you will then go to them at once and demand that they give up this foolish scheme and I shall not have you do so.” He chuckled and rose slowly to his feet. “Not that I think they would accept your instruction anyway.” His sharp eyes landed on Matthew’s dismayed expression and, instead of expressing sorrow or telling him all that he needed to know, Lord Templeton simply chuckled.

  “You look astonished and a little angry, Lord Watt, and I quite understand both emotions,” he said, putting one hand on Matthew’s shoulder as he began to make his way past. “Do believe me when I tell you that this is for the best.”

  “The best?” Matthew repeated, the words flying furiously from his mouth as he rose angrily to his feet. “You think that it is both wise and agreeable to invite someone who is unknown to both the League and to myself into such a precarious situation as this? Lord Harrogate’s murder has been the shame that the League has carried for a long time, the shame that has been burdening both our hearts and minds for many months. And now, when we are able to start investigating it, you have involved someone without any consideration for the opinions or the wisdom of others?” He narrowed his eyes, feeling angry beyond measure that Lord Templeton had not only done such a thing but was now behaving in this way, where he evidently felt some sort of pride in what he had done—for there was certainly no regret in his eyes. Instead, there lingered some sort of gentle understanding, some kind of quiet reassurance that all would come aright.

  “You are quite right to be angry,” Lord Templeton answered softly. “But keep it within you for a little while longer before you permit yourself to express it.” The older man’s lips tugged into a thin line, his eyes becoming clear and determined. “Once you have seen them, once you know why they have involved themselves in this way, you will have full understanding, Lord Watt, I assure you.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “And you will understand why I have been forced to keep this secret from the rest of the League and why I have chosen to tell only you. It is best if Lord Fitzherbert and Lord Stevenson have not even the slightest inkling that they are known to any of the other gentlemen of the League.” Reaching out, he grasped Matthew’s shoulder hard, with more strength than Matthew had expected. “Keep your anger quiet until tomorrow night, Lord Watt.”

  “Tomorrow night?” Matthew repeated, feeling the anger fade out of him as Lord Templeton’s gaze quenched his fury somewhat. “What is happening then?”

  Lord Templeton smiled quietly. “It is Lord and Lady Frederickson’s ball, is it not?”

  Matthew nodded, suddenly remembering that he was to attend. “It is.”

  “You are going?”

  “Yes, of course.” He knew that, most likely, Lord Fitzherbert and Lord Stevenson would be present, which meant that he would have to grasp the opportunity to begin a new acquaintance wi
th one of them at least. Perhaps Lord Stevenson would be best to begin with.

  Lord Templeton nodded slowly, a slight frown flickering between his brows. “Very good. Very good. Then you must make your way to the alcove by the card room at midnight precisely.”

  Matthew blinked in surprise, a little taken aback by the apparent mysterious nature of this meeting. “Is that necessary?”

  Lord Templeton lifted one shoulder. “How else am I to ensure that you meet?”

  Matthew wanted to point out that Lord and Lady Frederickson’s townhouse had a good many rooms within it and that surely one such as the study, drawing room, or parlor might be best for such a meeting, but instead he said nothing and simply nodded. There was no need to argue over such an insignificant detail.

  “Good,” Lord Templeton said firmly, as though he could see into Matthew’s mind and could understand just what he was thinking. “Then I will ensure that they know to meet you there also, at that particular time. You will have much to discuss, I am quite sure.” This was said with just the faintest hint of a smile across Lord Templeton’s lips, but Matthew did not return it. He did not appreciate the mirth that Lord Templeton seemed to find in this present situation and certainly did not like the feeling of being manipulated in this particular way, but it seemed there was nothing for it. Lord Templeton was to have his way, for whatever reason, and Matthew would do as he asked. He would sit on his anger until tomorrow evening in the apparent belief that it would fade away from him the very moment he set eyes on whomever Lord Templeton had been working with.

  “I do not think I will be present tomorrow evening, however,” Lord Templeton murmured, turning around and making his way towards the door. “I am a little more weary of late. Although I shall look forward to seeing you afterwards.”