Lord of Mischief

by Sasha Cottman

  Eve straightened her back and confidently stepped forward. Coming to a halt just in front of him, she cleared her throat.

  “Freddie.”

  He had forgotten how beautiful she was, how the mere sight of her stirred his soul to life. How he had come so close to winning the greatest prize of his life, only to throw it away in a moment of rash selfishness.

  If he hadn’t been so damn foolish, right now he would be able to pull her into his arms and she would let him kiss her. Eve would be his; they would have a future.

  Instead, she was little more than a stranger. A stranger who still held his heart.

  “Tea?” he finally managed, offering her the cup.

  She took it, and to his surprise took a seat on an upturned box next to the steps. He watched for a moment, unsure of himself, then decided he had better follow suit. He sat on the edge of the nearby step and took a tentative sip of his tea.

  “Beautiful morning to be out. This must be the first real day of sunshine we have had in weeks,” she said. Eve closed her eyes and leant back against the grey, stone wall of the church. She lifted her cup to her lips and slowly sipped her hot tea.

  Freddie watched with endless fascination as the sunlight shone on her face. She was so unlike the other young women of London high society. She was comfortable sitting in the sun in the tiny, shabby garden of one of the capital’s poorest churches.

  He tore his gaze away and stared at the nearby garden beds, reminding himself to do something about digging up the soil, and making a bigger herb garden for the kitchen.

  “Nice tea. The honey seems to have a particular spice to it. Who made it?”

  He stirred from his musings and chanced another look at Eve. “I did. I like to put a sprinkle or two of ground cinnamon into the honey. It adds an interesting tone.”

  She chuckled softly. “Does it now? You sound like a true connoisseur of the art of tea-making. I would never have thought you to be a man capable of brewing a good pot of tea.”

  He saw the glint of humor in her eyes. The Eve he once knew, the girl full of life and laughter, was still there. He hadn’t crushed her completely.

  “I’ve had to learn to make do. I expect you know, as does the rest of London, that my father has cut me off,” he replied.

  “Yes. I am aware he has done so. He was very angry with you the last time I saw him at Rosemount Abbey. He didn’t take kindly to you throwing me over. Nor, for that matter, did I.”

  Freddie sucked in a deep breath. He had been such a selfish, self-centered blackguard in tossing her aside to win his seat on the Bachelor Board. Now when he thought about the Bachelor Board, the mere memory of that den of sickening corruption made his stomach turn.

  “I must confess to being a little more than surprised to discover you are working at the soup kitchen. It doesn’t strike me as somewhere you would find yourself very comfortable,” Eve continued.

  Eve was right in one regard. A simple church on the edge of London’s biggest slum was not the place you would normally expect to find the son of a viscount. Yet, she was wrong in thinking Freddie didn’t belong here.

  Among the people of the parish he had found meaning in his life. In the words and kind actions of Hattie and Will he had also found some forgiveness for his misdeeds.

  The gulf between him and Eve however, was still as wide as the sea.

  The final note from Osmont Firebrace sat in his pocket. Every morning when he rose, he pulled it out and reread it. It reminded him of why he was living this new life, and that he had much to atone for in the world. It was also a bitter reminder of the love he had lost.

  “Why have you come?” he asked.

  When she looked at him, he caught a wariness in her eyes. Of course, she didn’t trust him, and after what he had done it was little wonder.

  “I came here today because I wanted to see you. I need to understand what you did to me and why you did it. Only then can I begin to move on with my life. But the first thing I should be asking however, is why are you here and not home in Peterborough trying to curry favor with your parents?”

  He drained his cup of tea and set it down on the step next to him. There were many different versions of the truth he could give her. How much of the truth she was willing to hear was something he would have to take a risk on.

  “I am here because I have done many things over the past few months, especially during the Bachelor Board challenges, of which I am deeply ashamed. I am not here simply because I was cut off by my father. I have caused the people closest to me great pain and brought shame upon my family. I also treated you far worse than the lowest rakehell would ever do. If you are asking what I should tell you of that last day at Rosemount Abbey, what would you have me say?”

  She rose from the upturned box and stood before him, her cup of tea cradled in her hands. He saw the stiffness of her posture, the tightness of her shoulders. His heart went out to her. It was obvious it had taken a great deal for her to see him this morning to seek out the truth.

  “I want to know it all. Leave nothing out. No matter how horrid it is, you have to tell me. You have smashed my heart to a thousand pieces already—there is nothing left for you to break,” said Eve.

  Freddie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the note from Osmont. It was only fair she got to read it, having lived through the execution of its cold and clear instructions. Without a word, he handed the note to Eve.

  She opened the paper, and he held his breath as she slowly read the words. When she was finished, she folded the note back up and stuffed it into her reticule. “Thank you for the tea. It was delicious. Please tell Hattie I had to leave. My carriage is outside waiting.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the garden.

  Freddie finished his work at the church. He didn’t bother with the new recipe for the apple pasty, deciding it would have to wait until the next day when hopefully his mind had settled. He barely spoke to any of the parishioners as he served them their food.

  Hattie offered for him to leave earlier than usual. “I’m sorry. I should have given you prior warning Eve may visit this week. I didn’t realize it would rattle you so much,” she said.

  “It is not your fault; Eve and I were bound to meet one another at some point. But yes, I think it best that I go home,” he replied.

  Freddie’s mind was singularly focused during the walk home to Grosvenor Square. Had he made a grave mistake in giving Eve the note from Osmont Firebrace? Her face as she had read the note had shown no emotion. He had expected tears, or at least a mouthful of Eve-quality abuse, but she had given nothing away.

  Upon reaching home, he let himself in through the kitchen door. Zeus welcomed him with a cheerfully wagging tail and what Freddie surmised to be the remains of one of his mother’s hand-embroidered cushions from the upstairs sitting room. The dead cushion was added to the growing list of items the dog had chewed or slobbered to death over the past few weeks. Even after his father eventually returned him to funds, he would be poorer than a church mouse. It would take months to replace all the damaged and broken household items.

  He had done everything he thought possible to keep Zeus below the stairs during the day, but the dog was far smarter than his awkward lopsided face gave away. It was a pity his father had taken some of the household keys home, leaving Freddie unable to ensure Zeus stayed out of particular rooms in the house.

  He opened the bag of dog meat he had bought at the market that morning and deposited it into Zeus’s bowl. Claws scattered on the stone floor as Zeus pushed Freddie to one side in his haste to get to the food.

  “Steady on, boy,” Freddie muttered.

  While Zeus wolfed down his dinner, Freddie pulled some small logs from the fireside stack and arranged them over the embers of the fire he had lit earlier that morning. Using the set of bellows, he managed to give enough air to the fire to soon have a small flame licking at the edge of the wood. He brushed the wood dust from his hands, then h
ung the kettle over the flames.

  In a short while he had hot water, and he settled down at the kitchen table to drink a cup of tea. He lifted the lid of the honey jar and scooped a spoonful of honey in. He was about to grate a small piece of cinnamon into his cup when he remembered Eve’s words.

  You have smashed my heart to a thousand pieces.

  He put the stick of cinnamon down on the table and stared at it.

  His mother’s fine things could be replaced. Even his well-chewed boots could be repaired, but there was nothing he could do to undo what he had done to Eve. He would be forever the man who had crushed her heart. Another of his firsts that held no honor.

  And now she was ready to move on and find love with someone else. He should be glad she was over him, that he was simply a cautionary tale in her past.

  Someone else.

  Someone else who would hold her in his arms and kiss those wickedly soft lips. Another man who would know the soul-deep sound she made when she came to completion. Another who would …

  “Damn.”

  He had been naïve to think Eve would never visit St John’s. His one place of sanctuary from his misdeeds was a sanctuary no more. Every day he would be looking up from the kitchen table waiting to see if she reappeared in the doorway. She had never truly left him. His erotic dreams of her continued every night. He had worked hard to put another face to the woman he dreamed of making love to, but Eve steadfastly refused to give up her hold on him. Night after night he saw her beneath him, her lips parted as she gave a soft cry as he claimed her love.

  Seeing her in the flesh this morning had only reinforced her grip. He knew it was more than lust. The whole time she had been in the garden at St John’s he had wanted to reach out and take her in his arms. To hold her and beg for forgiveness. To offer whatever it would take to have her gift him with her smile once more.

  “Yes, well you made doubly sure she will never give you a minute of her time again,” he muttered.

  He wondered how many times she would read Osmont’s note. Had she torn it into a thousand pieces like he had done with her heart? Or was it already a small pile of cold ashes in her bedroom fireplace? He prayed she had destroyed it the instant she returned home. The last thing he wished was for her to sit and stare at that damned piece of paper, mulling over all that had been so cruelly taken from her.

  Not for the first time since he fled into the woods at Rosemount Abbey did Freddie rue his fateful decision. There had been far too many if only moments for him to have made any headway in the war with his conscience.

  He picked up the cinnamon stick and broke off a small piece, stirring it into his tea. The damage was done. At least Eve would now know the whole truth of what had happened at Rosemount Abbey: that she had not in any way been the one at fault. He would have to accept that small grace and move on.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Eve was proud of herself. She didn’t cry in the carriage on the way home to Dover Street. She made it through dinner with her parents and still managed to smile. By the time she, Francis, and Caroline headed out to a late evening party she was positively beaming.

  From the moment she had left Freddie sitting alone in the garden at St John’s, an old biblical quote from the book of John had been rolling around in her head.

  Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

  Her uncle Hugh, the Bishop of London, would be proud of her. She had had a life-changing revelation in the middle of a church garden.

  The note had not contained the heartbreak she had so feared when Freddie first handed it to her. It had given her the gift of knowledge she so desperately craved. She understood why Freddie had ended their relationship. She should be thanking him for having spared her the rest of her life with him.

  Yet, for all her self-reassurance, she could not escape the undeniable fact Freddie’s unexpected honesty had cut her to the core. Damn you, Freddie Rosemount. You couldn’t make it simple, could you?

  After a restless night, she rose early the following morning. She was dressed and ready to leave the house long before anyone else from the family had come into the breakfast room. She downed a hurried cup of coffee and half a piece of toast before calling for the family town carriage. She had considered walking, but the streets that led to St Giles passed by Will and Hattie’s house, and she couldn’t risk bumping into either of them.

  Her mother would have a fit when she discovered Eve had left home without a maid or footman. Eve was in too much of a hurry this morning to bother with the niceties; she had to see Freddie.

  She cursed him for his honesty. It would have made things so much easier if he had simply lied to her or kept the whole of the truth to himself. Instead, he had opened a Pandora’s box of questions, all of which she badly needed answered.

  After reaching St John’s Parish, she made her way in through the garden gate. She found Freddie in the kitchen, busy washing potatoes.

  “Good morning.”

  He looked up. She quickly stifled her enjoyment at the look of shock on his face.

  I don’t expect you ever thought to see me again.

  “Eve?”

  She pulled the note he had given her the previous day from her reticule and waved it in front of her. “I think it is time you and I had an honest conversation about the Bachelor Board. After what you did to me, I would suggest you owe me that much.”

  He stopped washing the potatoes and wiped his hands on his apron. His movements were slow, guarded. She sensed he was trying to control his emotions. “Very well. Though I must say I am surprised to see you here today. After you read that note, I didn’t expect to see you again. I did half expect to see Francis, mind you.”

  They stepped back out into the garden and resumed the same seats as the previous morning. When Freddie offered to make Eve another cup of tea, she waved him away. “If I don’t throttle you after we have talked, then perhaps you can make me a cup of tea. I understand the what of Osmont Firebrace’s letter, but I don’t under the why. I thought perhaps you might be able to shed some light on the subject,” she said.

  He nodded. “Yes, of course. I should have expected you would have questions. Where to begin? Well, firstly can I say it was never my intention for things to end the way they did. I didn’t set out to hurt you. You played the game brilliantly. Even before we left for Rosemount Abbey, I was well ahead of Mewburton and Embry.”

  She ignored the remark about the other players. She couldn’t care less about the result of the game.

  “You always knew that the aim of the game was to secure a seat on the Bachelor Board. What you didn’t know, was that the Bachelor Board is a secret society of men who hold great power in London. The reason why someone like me would want to join, is because as a second son I will never inherit a title or lands from my father. I will be gifted a small living, nothing more. The Bachelor Board offered me a priceless opportunity to be something more than merely my father’s second son.”

  His words made sense. A position among men of power and influence was one worth winning. But the one thing that had kept her up most of the previous night was the question of why the game included having to break the heart of a woman who loved you. All the rest of the challenges were foolish pranks; breaking someone’s heart spoke of an evil agenda. “Why the need for you to break my heart? What could that possibly achieve?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “It achieved exactly what it was meant to. It showed them I would do anything to gain a seat on the Bachelor Board—that I had no scruples. It was only after I returned to London that I began to discover the price of your broken heart was only a down payment on what they wanted from me. Even if I had possessed the money to buy my way onto the board, they would have had me in their web. Suffice to say, Osmont Firebrace is an evil man who enjoys destroying the lives of others. The price to join the board is far more than simply money. As the gatekeeper to the board, he demands not just your dignity, but your very soul.”
/>   “And you decided you were not prepared to pay that?”

  “Yes, but too late to realize I had already paid a heavy price by jilting you. I just wish I could do something to stop the likes of Osmont from continuing with their twisted corruption of young men. I am certain I am not the first, nor the last, man they will ruin.”

  Eve got to her feet and began to pace up and down the garden path. She was oddly proud of Freddie. He was now looking beyond himself and thinking of how he could set a better future for others. When she walked back to where he sat, she stopped. “What about Will? Have you considered talking to my brother? He might be able to give you some advice in your quest to bring down Osmont. He may tell you to leave it well enough alone but knowing him, I doubt it. At least this way you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what you could have done about saving other men from a fate similar to yours,” she said.

  Freddie met her gaze. It was so typical of their relationship, that while Eve was thinking clearly about trying to deal with the Bachelor Board, his own mind was focused on wanting to pull her into his arms.

  He rose from the step. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to check on the soup.”

  Freddie walked back inside the kitchen, his heart racing. Dealing with Osmont Firebrace was something he hadn’t truly considered until now, but Eve’s words rang true. What if he could do something to stop Osmont?

  He walked over to the large pot of soup, simmering over a low heat. He picked up a wooden spoon and was about to plunge it into the liquid when he stopped.

  Osmont and his cronies could wait.

  Of more pressing urgency was the matter of Eve. She was waiting for him outside in the garden. He had broken her heart, and she claimed to want to move on with her life, yet she was here.

  Was there a remote chance he had not burnt all his bridges with her?

  “She is here. Don’t waste this opportunity,” he whispered as he began to stir the soup.

  She may never come here again, never be alone with him again. This may be the only chance he would ever get to speak the words his heart was demanding of him.