Lord Rogue

by Tiffany Green

  Evie noticed Jeremy’s bored eyes brighten instantly with that little piece of information about Lord Montague. He straightened in his seat and gave his sister his full attention.

  Belle’s smile bloomed full across her lips. “It is a rare thing, I am afraid, Lady Montague.” As Phyllis’s lips started to edge down into a pout, Belle continued. “However, I may be able to assist you. My couturiere has a cousin who is nearly as talented and might be willing to go private.” Belle gave a sigh. “It will cost you a fortune, though.”

  Phyllis beamed and shifted in her seat with eagerness. “Money is of no concern. Please let me know when you are going back to France, Miss Harding. I would be very interested in meeting your couturiere’s cousin.”

  With a nod, Belle said, “Of course, Lady Montague.”

  Phyllis was about to say something when the door opened and Lord Montague walked in. Evie froze. Belle set her cup on the table between the chairs and caught her eye, conveying urgency and importance in this first meeting.

  Evie would not let her aunt down. She would not let the two Guardians held captive down. She would not let herself down.

  Jeremy could go hang.

  With a deep breath, Evie recalled the four months of training. It all came down to this one moment. If she failed, everything was lost. She had to succeed.

  Setting her teacup beside Belle’s, Evie turned back to Lord Montague as he neared. He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark wavy hair, streaked gray at the temples. His piercing blue eyes seemed to notice everything in the room at once, and his features were etched in deep concentration, as though he were running calculations through his head.

  Everyone rose as Lord Montague neared the sofa. “You didn’t tell me we were having guests today,” he told Phyllis as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. His voice was rich and deep, bordering on bass. Evie thought if he hadn’t decided to be the head of a horrible crime organization, he might have done well in opera.

  Phyllis gave a nervous laugh and subconsciously rubbed her swollen middle. “I hope you don’t mind, my lord, I ran into an old friend at the milliner’s.” She then gave her husband an over-bright smile. “Will you please make the acquaintance of Lady Evie Thornton, sister of Lord Ashton, and her aunt, Miss Arabella Harding?” She turned, her movements as stiff as her nervous smile. “Evie, Miss Harding, I present my husband Lord Montague.”

  Evie gave a bit of a start when his blue eyes turned to her. There was boiling anger just below the surface, as though some great plans of his had just been ruined. Evie dipped into a deep curtsey to hide how jarred she found his reaction. He moved to stand before her as she straightened, and Evie held out her hand, praying it wouldn’t betray her with a tremble.

  “Lady Evie.”

  His touch sent a shiver down her body, as though she had touched the cold, slick body of a snake, and he brought her hand up to his lips. Evie wanted nothing above jerking her hand away and running from the room. Instead, she let her eyes go soft and curled her lips up in just the right half smile. “Lord Montague,” she purred, just as Belle had taught her. “I am ever so delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  He straightened but kept her hand in his. His eyes no longer held anger, but something far more dangerous. Interest. “The delight is all mine, my lady.”

  Evie knew she would draw that reaction. Her dress had been specifically designed to reveal the fullness of her breasts and twenty-inch natural waist she now sported. Using Belle’s special tonic, her hair fell in thick long waves down her back, the sides drawn up with pearl and ruby combs. Large ruby teardrops fell from each ear and a matching ruby dangled from a gold chain, dipping just into the space between her breasts to draw the eye. Evie was glad she had chosen this ensemble today, knowing she looked her best.

  Giving Lord Montague a slow sultry smile produced just the effect Evie was hoping for. Hot passion sprang to his gaze and with that look came a promise. A promise he would act on the feelings she evoked. Evie prayed her pounding heart wouldn’t show how frightened she really was. Having Jeremy’s eyes bore into her back didn’t help matters, either. His words from last evening kept coming to mind, distracting her.

  Then Lord Montague released her hand and turned away from her to greet Belle. Although he glanced appreciatively at her aunt’s bosom as she dipped into a curtsey, his eyes didn’t hold the same amount of fire. Didn’t hold the same promise as when he looked at Evie.

  Lord Montague turned to Jeremy last and his eyes narrowed a fraction before he gave a clipped nod. So, the man didn’t trust his brother-in-law. Evie wondered if Jeremy had done something to arouse suspicion, and if so, what did Lord Montague suspect?

  Evie caught Belle’s glance and saw her aunt was thinking the same thing.

  What did this mean for Evie? Because she was in the same room as Jeremy, would that endanger the mission? Would Lord Montague now become suspicious of her? Surely, he would know about the broken betrothal. Curse Jeremy for his interference!

  “Time grows late, I am afraid, and we have to prepare for this evening,” Belle said, then thanked Lord and Lady Montague for tea.

  “Before you leave, I would like to extend an invitation,” Lord Montague said, his gaze straying to Evie’s bosom. “Dinner Tuesday.” He spoke as one who issued orders without the slightest thought for refusal.

  Evie didn’t know how to respond, but Belle spoke for them both. “Tuesday,” she tapped her lips with a finger as if considering the plans they had made. “My sincerest apologies, my lord, but I do believe we have already accepted Lady Crawford’s invitation.”

  The corner of Lord Montague’s right eye ticked and he slid Belle a hard glance. Then he pursed his lips and relaxed. “Do you have an evening free?”

  Belle acted as though she considered for a moment, and then she smiled. “Indeed. We had thought to go to the theater Thursday, but that can be changed, my lord.”

  “Thursday, then,” he said, turning back to Evie.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Jeremy turn to his sister with a raised brow. But Phyllis shrugged her shoulders and bowed her head.

  Evie wanted to break out into a triumphant smile. Jeremy would not get an invitation. She wouldn’t have to worry about him ruining her plans.

  Before she turned to leave, Lord Montague raised her hand and brought it to his lips. “So nice meeting you, Lady Evie. I look forward to Thursday.”

  “For me, as well, my lord,” Evie said in a throaty whisper and turned toward the door.

  As she stepped outside moments later, she glanced up at the darkening clouds building overhead and couldn’t stop the shiver of disquiet. Cold wind gusted, pulling at her dress and trying to tear her pretty ruby necklace away. Evie slapped a hand over the jewel and felt eyes on her.

  Two sets of eyes to be exact, one set hazel, the other set blue. And both followed her every move as a footman helped her up into the waiting Ashton coach.

  Twenty-three minutes later, Jeremy stormed into his house, tearing off his gloves. He thought he had gotten through to Evie last night, that after thinking things through, she would have given up on this foolish, dangerous plan. No such luck.

  And the way Montague looked at her… Jeremy swore out loud and peeled off his wet outer coat.

  “My lord, a young gentleman by the name of Mr. Myran Millman is here to see you.”

  Jeremy handed his dripping coat and gloves to Bentley. “Who?”

  “Millman. Myran Millman. He claims to be a cousin.”

  Jeremy started to shake his head, but stopped. His mother had a cousin named Millman. His mind searched and quickly recalled the name Myran Millman from several documents in his files. Damn. He really didn’t have time for this. He had to devise a plan for stopping the most stubborn and beautiful lady in all of England.

  “The young man is quite distressed and says it is urgent he meet with you.”

  Rubbing a hand down his face, Jeremy just managed to suppress a groan. “Give me a few minutes,
then send him into my study.”

  The butler inclined his head. “Very good, your lordship.”

  Having a distant cousin come to him on an urgent matter could only mean one thing in Jeremy’s estimation. The fellow needed money. With a sigh, he walked into his study and flipped open the box on his desk. Removing a cheroot, he lit a match and drew in a long pull.

  Just as Jeremy settled in his comfortable old chair, a scratch sounded at the door. “Enter,” he called.

  “Mr. Myran Millman,” Bentley announced, then turned to someone on the other side of the door. “You may enter, Mr. Millman.”

  A lean young man, probably in his early twenties, shuffled hesitantly into the room. He doffed his ancient, tattered hat and crushed it between his hands, then gave a slight bow. “Lord Fielding, sir, thank you for receiving me.”

  “That will be all, Bentley,” Jeremy said and waved the boy forward. “Take a seat, Mr. Millman, and tell me the nature of your visit.”

  Growing more nervous as the door shut, Millman inched to the desk and sat awkwardly on the edge of one of the red-brown leather chairs. Jeremy took another pull on the cheroot and studied the young fellow through the grey-white smoke. Millman’s clothes were near threadbare and he looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in weeks. The boy also seemed quite distressed, his troubled eyes darting around the room, and he kept squeezing the damp hat between his trembling hands. “What brings you to my door, Mr. Millman?”

  The question startled him. Millman turned his round, whiskey brown eyes to Jeremy, then dropped them to his lap. He swallowed hard.

  Must be terribly difficult to ask for money, Jeremy thought as he blew out a plume of smoke. He dashed out the cheroot and opened one of his locked drawers with the little brass filigree key he carried with him at all times. To the left were a stack of papers on top of a large ledger book and to the right was a hefty bag of gold coins and a block of pound notes.

  Counting out the notes, Jeremy removed fifty pounds from the block and slid the money across the polished mahogany towards Millman. “Here, take this,” he said softly.

  Whiskey eyes glanced up, widened on the money, then back down to his lap. Millman wagged his head from side to side. “While I appreciate the offer, Lord Fielding, I cannot accept your charity for nothing in return.” He took a deep breath and glanced up, his face resembling one of the the Meynell fox hounds Jeremy’s father owned years ago, the one most anxious for the next November hunt. “I would like to work for you.”

  Jeremy leaned back in his chair, not at all expecting that. Obviously, the boy had a good amount of pride and would prefer to work than take a handout. How could he refuse? “What can you do, Mr. Millman?”

  “Please, my lord, call me Myran.” He looked up timidly. “I can do anything you need me to.” He glanced around the room. “I am good with carving wood and can fix anything.” He raised his tattered hat. “That clock, for instance.” He nodded toward the hundred-year-old Flemish clock on the carved wooden table between the windows at the right side of the room. “The weights are out of balance.”

  Jeremy raised his brows, quite impressed. That old clock never kept good time. “All right, Myran, you’re hired.” He slid the money closer to the young man. “But take this as an advance payment for services. I insist.”

  The boy split into a toothy grin and shoved the notes into his shabby coat pocket. “Thank you, Lord Fielding, thank you so much.”

  As Jeremy inclined his head, a scratch sounded. “Enter.”

  Bentley came forth carrying a note on a silver tray. “My apologies for the interruption, my lord, but the messenger said to deliver this to you straight away.”

  Jeremy took the letter and, seeing the Guardian owl seal, broke the red wax. After unfolding the paper, he read two words: Meeting. Now. So many things raced through his mind in that instant. Had something happened to Evie? Did Montague suspect her? Was she taken?

  “Have my horse readied,” he told Bentley.

  The butler inclined his head. “Right away, my lord.”

  “Can I come, Lord Fielding?”

  Jeremy swung around, having forgotten all about Myran, then shook his head. “This is something I need to take care of myself.” He nodded toward the clock. “See if you can fix that, will you? I shouldn’t be gone long.” A thought occurred as he headed toward the door. “Tell Mrs. Fagan to feed you,” he said over his shoulder. “She makes the best custard tarts in the world.”

  With another toothy grin, Myran nodded. “Thank you, my lord!”

  When he leaped up into his saddle minutes later, Jeremy purposely went in the direction of Evie’s house and slowed his horse as he passed by. He just had to see if he could locate a clue as to whether or not the note had anything to do with her. Surely if she had been taken, the mansion would be abuzz with activity. But nothing stirred. No one left, no one entered.

  Clicking his tongue, he urged his horse toward the Guardian headquarters and dismounted just as Ghost arrived. “Know what this is about?” he asked.

  Ghost shook his head. “Got the feeling it is important, though.” They walked around the large square building with its Corinthian columns standing like stone sentinels and Ghost unlocked the side door. “After you,” he said.

  As was habit, Jeremy glanced around, just to be certain nothing was out of place or no one watched them. Seeing nothing to raise his suspicions, he moved through the door.

  Because it was dangerous to hold meetings during the hours the museum was open to the public, Jeremy took extra precautions to keep from being noticed. He kept to the shadows and slinked along the corridor toward the Egyptian exhibit. Very few people were in the museum at this late hour, but Jeremy noticed Lady Wimberley and her homely granddaughter moving past a rather ugly Buda display.

  Hurrying by the recently discovered Rosetta Stone, Jeremy arrived at the so-called false door along the far wall. Glancing around to make sure the room was empty, he stepped on the third tile from the right, then the two above, finally tapping the one just to the left. Once the correct sequence had been used, a small red-brown square of sandstone slid to the side at the left of the door and revealed a latch.

  Jeremy glanced over his shoulder and motioned Ghost forward after he engaged the latch. As the heavy stone wall slid open about ten inches and dust particles rained down, a cold gust of wind stirred his hair. Ghost rushed into the opening, disappearing down the steps. Hearing voices approaching the room, Jeremy quickly followed his friend and engaged the lever on the other side. The door settled back into place. With a sigh, he turned and followed Ghost down the dim stairs. Many people believed the museum haunted. Jeremy was convinced the odd sounds people claimed to hear were Guardians entering the secret door. The myth kept people away from the exhibit, especially when they walked through a cold spot before the door or saw phantom footprints in the dust that hadn’t been there minutes earlier. He recalled the reactions of some museum patrons through the years as he waited for them to leave the room and grinned with the memory.

  As soon as the password was given and the large iron door screeched open, Jeremy glanced around. He knew exactly who he was searching for, not bothering to deny it to himself. His pulse quickened when he noticed her empty chair. Then his blood turned to ice when he saw Belle speaking softly to Elder at one side of the room, her brows pressed together in concern.

  Storming toward the two, Jeremy halted before them, folding his arms. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  Belle turned to him, startled, and the low murmuring in the room stopped. Jeremy didn’t care. He was too angry to care. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones, could see it in the worry Belle tried to conceal. “Where is she?” he repeated, softer this time.

  Elder heaved a sigh and held out a bloody scrap of cloth. Jeremy swallowed. “What is that?”

  “Blade’s cravat. His valet found it this morning on his bed along with this note.” Elder handed over the scrap of paper with several blood smears
already turned brown. “Recognize the handwriting?”

  Jeremy unfolded the paper. The note read: Won’t be long now. We’re getting close… He lifted his head and handed the note back. “Lord Wesley wrote the note.”

  Elder nodded as though he had suspected as much, then glanced up and speared Jeremy a steely look. “You realize what this means?”

  He dropped his gaze back to the bloody cloth. It wasn’t merely sprinkled with blood, but had been saturated with it. And having the cravat show up at Blade’s own residence meant a great deal. “They have learned Blade’s identity,” Jeremy answered softly.

  “That’s right. I feel time is running out. We must find out where they are holding Blade and Dragon. We must find out now.”

  Hearing the vehemence in Elder’s voice, Jeremy swallowed hard. “What must I do?”

  “For the moment, nothing.”

  That brought Jeremy’s head up. “I don’t understand.” But then the light slowly dawned, and he slid his gaze to Belle and back. “Where is she?”

  Elder’s face turned dark. He held the bloody cloth up to Jeremy’s face. “She is trying to gather the information to save two lives. Damn it, Rogue, do not interfere. That is an order.”

  Jeremy felt as though he had been struck hard against the cheek. He turned and made his way back to the stairs. About ten steps up, he heard his name and turned.

  Ghost hurried up to him and spoke low. “She is to go with her brother Ashton to Lady Crandall’s gala this evening.”

  Jeremy placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said and rushed up the steps. By the time he reached the other side of the false door, a thought struck him. Crandall and Montague were friends, which made it likely that Montague would be there.

  Damn! He had to hurry.

  Chapter 7

  Evie smiled as she scribbled the name of the Earl of Wilshire’s second son, Lord Henry, onto the back of her fan. Before tonight, she hadn’t the need to remember the names of her dance partners, having had so few, and couldn’t say she was disappointed from all the attention. Instead of relying on her friends’ husbands to dance, scores of gentlemen sought the honor to pair up. She decided to believe her instant popularity had more to do with her new look rather than being seen talking with Jeremy a few times. Yet, the rake did hold the ton in the palm of his hand and could do no wrong in their eyes. Before she left for France, she received about one out of ten invitations to various galas and balls. Even less before she became friends with Megan. Now she was invited to them all.