A Good Rake is Hard to Find

by Manda Collins

  He would have gone on, but a footman appeared beside their table at that moment looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  “What is it, Ned?” Freddy asked, grateful for the interruption.

  “My apologies, my lord,” the young man said with a grimace, “but there is a situation at the door that demands your attention.”

  “The door?” Mainwaring echoed.

  “The last time I saw a ‘situation at the door,’” Trent said with a raised brow, “was when Pinky Byng’s mistress showed up to throw his parting gift back in his face. I told him that garnets were too cheap for that one, but he didn’t listen.”

  “I can assure you it’s nothing like that,” Freddy said with a laugh. “I always manage to make my mistresses think it’s their idea to break it off with me rather than the other way around. Cheaper that way, my being a younger son and all.”

  Even so, he had a bad feeling about this. Some sixth sense told him that someone causing a scene at the door of Brooks’s was not going to bring glad tidings of great joy.

  And when he reached the door, followed close behind by Trent and Mainwaring who were not willing to miss such a diversion, he knew he was right.

  “I might have known I’d find the three of you together,” Miss Leonora Craven said, her generous red lips tight with annoyance. “Though you needn’t have brought your little friends with you to the door for protection, Lord Frederick. I’ve no intention of harming your person no matter how you might deserve it for getting my brother killed.”

  Keenly aware of the curious glances they were getting from the club members who stood on the steps just behind her, Freddy turned to Ned. “I realize that ladies are not allowed in the club, Ned, but is there some small anteroom where we might be private for a few moments?”

  It would do Leonora’s reputation little good to be seen going into a room alone with the three of them, but then again, if her reputation was her first concern, she’d not have come to St. James Street at all.

  “Of course, my lord.” Ned ushered them to a door just off the hallway. “I’ll bring some tea for the lady.”

  He didn’t think Leonora would be there long enough for tea, but Freddy agreed, then shepherded her into the small sitting room, surprised, as he always was, by how tiny she seemed considering how large her personality could be.

  The chamber was outfitted with a few club chairs, a settee, and a low table. Leonora stalked into the room, her dark head held high, while Freddy followed and took a place before the fire. Trent and Mainwaring, perhaps sensing that this was a private matter, had slipped away with Ned.

  “Well, Nora,” he said, once the door closed behind them, “you’ve got me here and made a hash of your reputation in the process. I hope it will be worth it.”

  Her green eyes flashed with anger, and Freddy couldn’t help but notice the shadows beneath them. Her dark hair was just as glossy as ever, and framed her heart-shaped face in a halo of loose curls, one caressing her cheek like a kiss. But she looked thinner than the last time he’d seen her. The day she’d broken off their engagement and sent him on a reckless tear that ended with his leaving England for the freedoms of the Continent.

  He’d expected their first meeting to be difficult, but to his surprise, much of the resentment he’d felt had dissipated in the years since they’d parted. It was true that she had not been particularly kind in breaking things off between them. Indeed, she’d never told him the true reason for it. Had tried to fob him off with some silly tale of being afraid of giving up control of her own life. It was something that had not once come up between them, so when she declared it to be why she was ending what had up to that point been a perfectly agreeable connection, he had been dumbfounded. And hurt that she would dismiss him without any more explanation than that.

  Even so, in the intervening years, he’d had a great deal of time to think. And he’d come to realize that whatever her true reason for breaking things off, it had been something serious. Something that was more important to her than her own happiness. For they had been happy before she ended things.

  And though he was not yet sanguine about what had happened, he was no longer consumed with bitterness over it.

  Which did not mean he wasn’t annoyed that she’d sought him out in Brooks’s without a care for either of their reputations. It was the sort of reckless gesture he’d have been prone to in his wilder days, but now he was trying to mend his reputation. Having a woman pursue him to St. James Street was not going to help things.

  Leonora, however, obviously did not care.

  “You know as well as I do that my reputation is able to withstand more than that of the usual society lady thanks to my writing,” she responded, waving off his concerns. “And besides that, in this instance, I wished to make a scene. I relish it, in fact.”

  “To what purpose?” Freddy demanded, growing tired of her taunts. “My reputation is already not what it should be. So if you’re thinking to ruin me, you’re missing the mark.”

  “Of course I know that,” Leonora said, her eyes bright with emotion. “But I’m not all that concerned with such things at present. I want only justice for my brother. And I wish to know what you plan to do to make your cousin, to whom you introduced my impressionable brother, pay for Jonny’s death.”

  Ah. That’s where all this came from.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Craven,” he said with stiff formality, despite the fact that he and his friends had been discussing this very matter only moments ago.

  “Oh, give over, my lord,” she said sharply. “You know as well as I do that Jonathan’s death was no accident. He was murdered by that vicious club and I can prove it.”

  Two

  Seeking Freddy out in his club had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as she faced the whey-faced footman at the entrance to Brooks’s, Leonora Craven, famous poetess, thought that she might better have waited to call on him at home in the morning. She was known for boldness in most things, but this might have been a bit too much.

  When Freddy arrived, however, flanked by Mainwaring and Trent, looking not one bit the worse for wear since her brother’s death, her anger crowded out any misgivings she might have. If nothing else her little stunt would cause talk, and the more talk there was about Lord Frederick “Freddy” Lisle, the better. It would make his entry into the Lords of Anarchy that much more believable.

  At the moment, he looked dangerous enough to belong to the infamous driving club. His blue eyes flashed with anger and his finely chiseled jaw was clenched so tightly she thought he might lose a few teeth. His burnished light brown curls were mussed, but she knew from their time together that they were merely reverting to their natural state. She’d spent enough time with her fingers tangled in them to know their tendency to untidiness.

  Blinking, she threw off the memory and realized he was talking.

  “Do not be so loud,” he hissed, looking to make sure the door was indeed closed. “If you go about making accusations like that you might find yourself with more to worry about than a damaged reputation. My cousin isn’t exactly known for his forgiving nature.”

  “I don’t care who hears me,” Leonora said hotly. “If those men are responsible for Jonny’s death then they deserve to have it known. And if you hadn’t introduced my brother to those ruffians he’d still be alive now.”

  Ned, the footman, returned just then with the tea tray, which was also laden with biscuits and a few sandwiches. Despite her boldness, she kept silent while he left the tray.

  Silently she took a seat and poured two steaming cups. One for herself and one for Frederick. To her surprise, her hands shook as she passed his cup. Clearly she was more rattled to be in his presence again than she’d expected.

  Or it might be her recent lack of sleep. She’d not known the comfort of a full night’s rest in weeks. Not since Jonny had been killed.

  Not remarking on her obvious agitation, Freddy sipped from his cup then spoke. “What makes you thi
nk that Sir Gerard and his lot killed Jonny?”

  His voice had lost its anger, and to Nora’s dismay she felt tears welling up at the gentleness there. So long as she could keep her anger at the forefront of her mind, she could keep her finer feelings at bay, but kindness—especially from Freddy—made her feel exposed. Still, she was able to steel herself against the emotions after a few deep breaths. She had to remain calm for Jonny’s sake.

  “Last week I received a letter,” she said, paying close attention to her teacup rather than risking a glance at Freddy. “It was from Jonny. He’d had it sent by his solicitor in the event of his death.”

  She felt stillness fall over the little room. “What did it say?” he asked, his voice calm despite the waves of curiosity she sensed emanating from him.

  “That he thought the club had found him out,” Leonora said baldly. “That he’d hidden some important documents in the safe in his rooms. Documents that would make it clear just what the Lords of Anarchy were up to.”

  Freddy frowned. “Found him out about what?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Leonora said with a shake of her head. “He didn’t explain. And when I looked in the safe in his bedchamber it was open, but empty.”

  “So either the documents were never there at all, or someone got into his bedchamber before you did,” Freddy stated, his full attention on her.

  “Or maybe he changed his mind,” she offered. “Perhaps whatever it was about was resolved but he forgot to tell his solicitor not to send the letter.”

  “That’s not like him,” Freddy said. “You know how meticulous your brother is … was.”

  Leonora winced at the switch from present to past tense. “I know he was. It was just a possibility. I don’t want to believe the worst.”

  “I don’t suppose you could have misunderstood his letter?” Freddy asked with more diffidence than she’d have expected from him. “Perhaps misread something? Or jumped to the wrong conclusion?”

  But she’d gone over the note again and again. She was convinced it was just as it seemed.

  “I’m a poet,” she stated. “Words are my livelihood. I know how to read, and to read between the lines. I didn’t misunderstand.” Opening her reticule, she removed a folded paper and handed it to him. “See for yourself if you wish.”

  He reached for the document, and when their hands touched, Leonora fought to keep her response from showing. The current of attraction between them hadn’t dissolved along with the dissolution of their betrothal. It was discomfiting, but she would endure it. For Jonny’s sake.

  Apparently unaffected by her touch, Freddy scanned the letter. As he bowed his head to read, his hair glinted in the firelight. Leonora was reminded of just how handsome he was. Her sister was quite fond of pointing that out to her when bemoaning the fact that Leonora had let such a fine catch slip through her fingers. She herself only considered the matter in the dark of night when her bed seemed to mock her with its emptiness. Now was hardly the time for such reflections, however.

  Oblivious to her thoughts, Freddy handed the letter back to her. “I suppose you think it was Sir Gerard and his cronies who stole the documents?”

  “Who else could it have been?” Leonora asked, frustrated by the question. “They’re the only ones who had any reason to want them. What they implicated the club in I have no idea, but it was obviously enough to prompt my brother to fear for his life.”

  “True enough,” Freddy agreed, stretching his long legs out before him, his brow furrowed in thought. “And who’s to say that Jonny didn’t trust the wrong club member with his suspicions. It’s very possible that whoever he confided in told Gerard.”

  But Leonora balked at the idea. “It’s possible, I suppose. But it doesn’t make much sense. Why would he leave that letter for me, otherwise? If he could trust someone in the club, there would be no need to rely on me. And we both know what Jonny thought of my involvement in anything having to do with what he considered men’s business. He sent that letter to me because I was the only one he knew he could trust.”

  “He doubtless thought you’d come to me,” Freddy said with a shrug. And perhaps seeing her stiffen, he held out a staying hand. “Now, don’t get your back up. I am not saying you should have done, but that Jonny would certainly expect you to. I don’t think he ever really believed that we were serious about breaking things off between us.”

  “Silly clod,” she said with affection. “He was always more romantic than either I or Helen was.”

  “I think he fell in love five times the first week we were up at Oxford,” Freddy said with a grin. “I think he was always in search of the perfect woman.”

  “Much to the dismay of whoever happened to be on his arm at the time.” Leonora shook her head at the memory.

  For a moment it was as if they’d never been apart. There was an easy give and take to their interactions that Leonora found just as seductive as Freddy’s good looks. She’d always thought him handsome. And that had only increased with time. When he’d left for France, he’d still been a boy. But now, with his wide shoulders and solid strength, he was a man. And she felt the pull of an attraction so fierce now it left her almost breathless.

  “So, if he was hoping you’d come to me for help with this matter,” Freddy said, apparently unfazed by the current between them, “then is it possible that there were no documents? That he was trying to lead us on a wild-goose chase simply to throw us together?”

  But Leonora shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s not as if he planned his own death to bring us together. Someone wanted him silenced. And it was someone in that club. I’m sure of it.”

  “It would have to be,” Freddy said, rising to pace before the fireplace. “No one else was closely involved in the race from London to Dartford. And they’re the only ones who had reason to want him dead.”

  Leonora nodded, relieved they were in agreement. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense,” she said. “He might possibly have crashed on his own. It happens. But the involvement of the letter and the missing documents say otherwise.”

  “If it weren’t,” Freddy said, “there would be no reason to get rid of him.” Then, as if hearing his own words, he winced. “I did not mean that as crudely as it sounded.”

  But Leonora shook her head. “I’ve been thinking of it in very similar terms. After all, the way Jonny died was very much akin to a coachman tossing a parcel of refuse onto the side of the road.”

  Jonathan had been thrown from his curricle during a race to which he’d challenged the club’s leader. Since Jonny had been in the lead at the time, and had been on a particularly deserted stretch of the Dover Road, no one had seen the accident that killed him. Or at least, no one admitted to seeing him. The number of blows on her brother’s body, especially his head, and the absence of his curricle, which the first men on the scene had claimed must have been stolen, sparked Leonora’s suspicions immediately. With no way to see what sort of damage had been done to the vehicle, it was impossible to know just how the accident had happened. Or if it had been an accident at all.

  She closed her eyes as she thought about how terrifying her brother’s last moments must have been, and when she opened them, it was to see Freddy kneeling beside her chair.

  “I am sorry, Nora,” he said softly, taking her gloved hand in his. “I don’t think I’ve been able to truly convey my sympathies to you. I know how much you loved him. In spite of his disapproval of your stance on the rights of women.”

  Freddy, she reflected, was one of the few people who knew about her brother’s distaste for her rabble-rousing as he called it. And he knew how much Jonathan’s dislike for her stance had hurt her. Whereas as children they’d been quite close, once Nora began to speak out about how unjust women’s lot was under the law, a distance had sprung up between brother and sister that had never been fully reversed before he died.

  That uneasiness between them was something she’d regret for the rest of her life.


  “I know you loved him, too,” she whispered, clinging to Freddy’s hand despite her earlier frustration with him. One of the most unbearable aspects of Jonathan’s loss had been the inability to speak about her sorrow with someone who understood how things had truly been between them.

  Her sister, Helen, was also devastated by Jonny’s death, but she was busy with her own family now and had been unaware of how things stood between her siblings.

  “And that you had no idea what would happen when you introduced him to your cousin. How can you have?” They’d been fresh out of university and eager for every adventure. And neither Jonathan nor his friends could have imagined how getting involved with Sir Gerard Fincher would change things.

  “Jon was always one to go his own way,” Freddy said gravely. “For all that we were friends, the rest of us were never as interested in driving and coaching as he was. We were poor competition for him, so he went to a place where he didn’t have to hold back. Where he could push his horses to the limit with the fastest rig he could get. It wasn’t enough to drive well for Jon. He had to be the best and the fastest. And for that he needed competition. Something none of us was able to offer him.”

  “I suppose,” she said sadly. She supposed she could understand it to a degree. After all, she enjoyed spending time with her fellow poets. She didn’t befriend them exclusively, but there was a certain level of conversation that could only be had with others who thought as deeply as she did about words and rhythm and meter and meaning. And as for competition, she supposed it was something akin to her annoyance when one of her more sophisticated poems was published alongside the amateurish rhymes of a man with more influence than talent.

  “But it’s difficult not to be angry with him for risking his life,” she said, appreciating the sympathy in Freddy’s blue eyes. And the strength of him there beside her. As if it were possible for her to gain fortitude from his mere proximity.