Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

This time she did smile.

  ****

  The four met downstairs at dawn. Jared left the room early to give Ariana privacy for her morning ablutions. By the time she arrived downstairs, Bullen had gathered up their prisoner from the cellar, and Dexter had secured some bread and cheese for their breakfast from the cook, already preparing food in the kitchen.

  The air outside held a crisp chill, and Jared harbored a growing anticipation for his return to a much younger London than the one he had left. He should feel anxious because of the number of nasty rogues looking to see him dead, yet strangely, he buzzed with excitement. Admittedly, he loved his nineteenth-century life. More excitement here. Plus, he felt so much more useful here than he had in the future just managing his investments. Here he could truly make a difference in his tenants’ lives.

  Dexter had said they needed to stay at the Bear and Beagle until they could hire enough protection for Jared’s townhouse, but Jared refused to wait. He had to find that secret stash Six had hidden, so he could help Haverly’s tenants. He also wanted to check out the House of Lords while he had a chance and find the cavalry officers in Seven’s old unit to see if any knew of a reason Seven would be a target.

  His life had gone from staid and expected—though luxurious—to a wild, untamed roller coaster ride where anything goes. He now had three true friends with whom to share his marvelous ride. Well, two friends and a sweetheart. Through the long sleepless hours in his chair by the fire—silently groaning through his desire to climb into bed alongside the beautiful woman lying in it—he realized he had lost his heart to the vibrant, intelligent country chit who gave him back as good as he gave and cared not that he was a duke. She cared about plain Jared Langley.

  And he had to leave her behind if he returned to his century.

  Worse yet, he could not afford to stay and risk altering the future from whence he came. So, as dawn’s streaks broke the horizon, he made the decision to go to London, finish Seven’s business, and find his way back to the future as soon as possible.

  And keep my hands—and mouth—off Ariana.

  The trip to London was blessedly peaceful and without disruption. Jared’s arrival in the great city was anything but. None of the myriad historical references he had read over the years prepared him for the filth and stench of his favorite city on earth. Their destination was Knightsbridge, but the outlying areas were crowded with ramshackle wooden buildings built so close together they almost covered over their neighbors. A layer of black grime lay on everything, courtesy of the black coal-fire smoke that hung in the air and irritated the lungs. And no amount of anticipation could prepare one for the throat-gagging stench of human waste and vomit that flowed unabated through open trenches along the streets.

  Jared’s eyes watered and his stomach roiled both from stench and smoke, and he fought back bodily reflexes that would surely signal his unpreparedness for his surroundings. Without thinking, he blurted, “Good God! Does it always stink this bad?”

  Collins riding next to him blinked. “Smells like ’ome to me.”

  Dexter’s eyes narrowed on him. “The memory thing, right?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite.”

  None of his party appeared either surprised or overwhelmed by the ugly malodorous onslaught. They had obviously seen and smelled all this before.

  “You did not spend much time outside Mayfair or your clubs,” Bullen offered.

  Ariana ducked her head but not before he caught her wicked grin. He would not allow them to think him a wuss, so he threw his shoulders back, took a deep whiff, and fought back his gag reflex. Barely.

  “I just required a little reminder, that is all.” If he kept breathing deeply for effect, he would be leaving a little reminder by the side of the road.

  Blessedly, they reached the Bear and Beagle a short time later. Dexter climbed down to acquire their rooms and told Bullen to guard Collins.

  “Take Lady Ariana to her aunt’s townhouse and meet us back here,” Dexter ordered Jared. “After I pay for our rooms, Bullen and I will take Collins to the War Office and hire our Bow Street Runners. Then we set a trap tonight for the Frenchman.” He glared at Collins. “And you will show us where.”

  Jared bristled at the earl’s arrogant attitude, but he would be lucky to locate the aunt’s townhouse, so he declined to object too loudly.

  “Come along, Harry.” Jared motioned the wolfhound to his side.

  “No,” Dexter said quickly. “Better he stay with Bullen. His size attracts a lot of attention, and you need to deliver Ariana as quietly and surreptitiously as possible.”

  Damn the man! Jared should have thought of that. Why had he lost all his common sense of late? One look at the beauty mounted next to him and he knew why. Still, he hated that smug look on Dexter’s face.

  “You are enjoying the chance to order me about,” Jared ground out.

  “I am enjoying the bloody hell out of it,” Dexter proclaimed. “My pardon, Lady Ariana.”

  “No offense taken, Dex,” she said with a grin.

  Bullen stepped forward. “In this instance, I think Jared might be right. Harry’s ability to guard Lady Ariana would offset any unwanted attention he might bring.”

  “You’re right, Bullen. I had not thought of that,” Dexter agreed.

  “Had not thought of Harry guarding Ariana or of me being right?” Jared asked drily.

  “Both.” Dexter and Bullen laughed.

  Jared rolled his eyes and called the big wolfhound back. He and Ariana fought through the myriad of vehicles, fine and not, as they wound through the streets of London. His stallion Hammer and Ari’s mare Medusa were skittish at best in all the traffic, and they both had to work to keep their mounts in line. Harry easily paced alongside the horses, running interference with pedestrians and stray dogs alike.

  Jared was relieved to see Ari knew the way, for nothing looked quite familiar to him without the skyscrapers and highway markers. She had remained uncharacteristically quiet since they had left the inn that morning, so he just followed her lead.

  “Everything all right?” he finally asked when they had pushed past St. James Street and into the cleaner portion of London in this era.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” he mimicked.

  She gave him an arched look. “Are you mocking me, Your Grace?”

  “No. Well, yes. You don’t seem fine. You have said nothing since we left the inn. That’s not like you.” He grinned at her. “I do remember that.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “A jest, right?”

  “Right. And why am I suddenly Your Grace again? I have been Jared for a few days now.”

  She faced forward again. “Why will you not let me stay with you? And Dexter and Bullen?”

  He sighed. “You know why.”

  “I would be safer with the three of you.”

  “No! You’ll be better off with your aunt. The highwaymen won’t know where you are. One rogue is still roaming around out there who knows you’re not at Wakefield.”

  “Why would he care about me? He is after you.”

  Jared ignored that. “You can’t stay with us. We’re going after their leader, the Frenchman. You know that.”

  She pouted. “Right.”

  She said nothing more until they reached Mayfair, then showed him the alley that led to the mews behind her aunt’s townhouse.

  The stable looked deserted when they arrived. Harry, panting from following their horses through London, plopped down in a corner to wait. Jared dismounted and refused to deny himself the pleasure of lifting her off her mount though she still wore her sexy breeches. He enjoyed hearing her breath catch when his hands closed about her waist. The sound set his pulse to racing. The slightest touch of this little chit made him wild.

  Why had he not remembered his pledge to keep his hands to himself last night? What was it about this little slip of a girl that attracted him so?

  She smiled up at him as he set her gently on the ground.

  Onl
y everything.

  Her smile faded when he did not smile back. “Will I see you again?”

  “As I explained to you last night, Ari, I cannot make promises.”

  “What about Harry?”

  “You took care of him before. I thought you might again.” He looked down at Harry, lying at their feet, his tongue hanging partway out of his mouth in a sloppy doggy smile. “You will, won’t you? Care for Harry if I have to leave?”

  “Of course, I will.” She put a hand on his arm. “Will you at least come say goodbye if you decide to leave for a long while?”

  His gaze fell to her luscious sensual mouth, and he thought he could die happy with just one more of her kisses. All his good intentions flew right out of the stable. If he indeed returned to the twenty-first century, he would need a memory to tide him over for…well, forever.

  “Count on it.”

  Evidently, that was all she wanted, for she called Harry to her side—the traitor went happily to her without a backward glance—and headed up the garden path to the back of the townhouse.

  “Ari, wait!” Jared called softly and caught up to her.

  She tilted her head up to look at him, a soft smile on her lips.

  His hands moved as though on their own to gently cradle her cheeks. “You must lie low here in the townhouse and stay out of sight.”

  She frowned then. “But I can’t—”

  “You can,” he pressed. “Promise me. At least until we catch the highwaymen’s leader.”

  “All right. I will lie low as you ask.”

  He noted with some trepidation that she had not promised. He brushed a swift kiss across her lips. “Run inside now, before someone sees you dressed like that.”

  A moment later, she was gone, but his fingers still tingled from the softness of her cheeks.

  “See ’ere! Who are ye?” a gruff voice demanded from the shadows at the back of the stable. “And what are ye doin’ in me stables?”

  A moment later, a short, grizzled old man clad in blue and gold livery strutted out into the sunlight in the mews.

  “I was just seeing Lady Ariana to her aunt’s house,” Jared told him and handed over the reins to Ari’s mare.

  The stable master snatched the reins and eyed him warily. “Lady Ariana, ye say? I seen ye ride up wif a lad. Who are ye?”

  “Just a hired outrider,” Jared said and swiftly remounted.

  “Wait just a moment.” The stable master started forward. “Ye look familiar.”

  Not good.

  Jared wheeled Hammer about to keep the man back. “Lady Ariana is here. Check for yourself,” he said.

  An ear-piercing shriek erupted at the rear door of the townhouse followed by two more high-pitched squeals. Harry had evidently followed Ari inside. The stable master turned toward the ruckus, and Jared took advantage to canter out of the mews.

  A half hour and a few wrong turns later, he managed to locate the Reston townhouse on Grosvenor Square. Things looked markedly different in this era. Dexter would be apoplectic when he found out Jared had come here, but he had to try to find Six’s secret stash. He may never get another chance. His tenants were counting on him.

  At his own mews, two stable boys ran out and eyed him closely. The taller one finally exclaimed, “Yer Grace! We weren’t tol’ to expect ye.”

  “And as far as you’re concerned, I’m not here. Do you two understand?”

  Both lads’ eyes went wide, and Jared tossed them each a shilling. “This is a secret mission, so don’t tell anyone I am here.”

  Each deftly snatched their shilling from the air. “Yes, Yer Grace. Count on us.” The two boys beamed at him and then at each other.

  Jared slipped into the back garden, up onto the terrace and through the thankfully unlocked French doors and into the library. He had no clue who his London butler was and had not thought to ask Bullen. Just as well. His brother would have forbidden him to show up at his townhouse and would probably have tried to stop him.

  Too bad.

  Haverly desperately needed Six’s secret stash. If Jared could not locate it, he would make sure he met with Seven’s solicitor before leaving London and order the man to sell off some of the priceless paintings and vases Jared knew were here. To hell with gossip or what the ton might think. If Dexter was right, they were already gossiping about the Reston duke being in dun territory.

  If he could just give Haverly a leg up, Bullen could make the estate profitable again. If Seven really had been assassinated, one of his later ancestors had made a go of things for the estates were in excellent financial condition for both his father and grandfather before him. If Seven was well and truly gone, would that change the course of history leading to Jared? No, it could not. If Seven was gone, he had been gone for almost two hundred years, and things had gone on to progress smoothly to Jared’s time.

  So who was Eight? Seven had no children—that Jared knew of. Blast. He could not take time to worry about all that now. He went to the oversized Georgian desk—noting with a wry smile how new the desk looked—and began rummaging through drawers. The chill in the room made him consider lighting a fire. Glancing toward the fireplace, he froze. His father’s portrait no longer hung above the mantel. Instead, the portrait of a scowling Six glared down at him from above. Jared recognized the awful portrait from his own gallery at Haverly.

  He glared right back. “You old bastard! Where is the secret journal?” he growled, thinking of his unclaimed and virtually ignored brother Bullen. “Where is the damned stash?”

  He could have sworn the eyes gleamed for a second, and the arrogant gaze slid to the bookshelves on his right. Jared blinked, and the familiar scowl had returned. Fanciful. That is what he had come to. Had to be all this time travel business. He still hoped he would wake one of these mornings and find this adventure would all be a dream.

  Except for Ari. Dear God, could I truly go back to the future and never lay eyes on her again?

  Or worse yet, research her genealogy when he returned and find out whom she had indeed married. His gut twisted painfully at that. No time to belabor those thoughts now. He had to find the stash and get out.

  Clenching his jaw in frustration, he stomped over to the bookshelf. Maybe Six had glanced here. Maybe not. Either way, it was a place to begin his search.

  He grabbed the green-leather folding ladder and set it at the shelves where Six had stared, then tested it for the ability to hold his weight and wondered briefly where his family’s fortunes would be if his ancestors had relegated antiques like this one to the attic rather than the rubbish pile. Shaking off his notion, Jared focused on the books along the top shelf, found nothing, and moved to the next lower shelf. Halfway down and good and exasperated, he fought the urge to start flinging books to the floor, but that would bring the house down around his ears, and so far, he had been lucky. No one had entered the library to ask questions. Probably all the servants were belowstairs celebrating his continued absence.

  Growing more disgruntled along the way, he finally reached the bottom shelf. There on his knees, halfway down the line, he pulled out a leather-bound gilt-lettered volume titled Fanny Hill. Except the volume had a leather flap and a lock, not unlike that of a diary.

  You old lecher.

  Why the lock? To keep the servants from reading the book? No, most servants in this era were unable to read. So, if not to keep the book from being read, then…

  Jared scrambled to his feet and rummaged through the desk drawers once more, seeking any implement to pick the lock. He came up empty.

  The sun finally escaped its perpetual cloud cover and sent a shaft of light through the terrace doors. A slight glitter at the foot of a table alongside a chaise caught his eye. He knelt next to the small round table and picked up a lady’s hairpin.

  He glared at the portrait. I wonder how many of these you stripped out in this library?

  The hairpin pressed into the feeble lock and worked its charms. A moment later, Jared pulled the
flap back to open the book and discovered a hollowed-out square hidey-hole had been sliced into the pages of the book. The hidey-hole was not empty. Inside lay a small leather-bound book.

  Jared grinned. Six’s private journal.

  A half hour later, he found the clues to the stash. “You old sod,” he muttered.

  He had been over this library countless times in the future and had never found Six’s hidden stash. But then he never had the private journal to guide his search. Maybe the journal had been lost over the centuries before Jared’s time. As he laid the book on a side table to retrieve the stash, a folded parchment slipped from inside the back cover and fluttered to the carpet. Quickly surveying the document’s contents, he stilled.

  The parchment was a note addressed to Six—Edmund Bartholomew Langley—and signed by Alexandra, daughter to Conte Fabrese.

  Good Lord! Bullen’s mother.

  “This is your son, Giovanni Alexander Langley. I have sent him to you as I am to be married and cannot keep him” was all the note said. No please take care of him. No I am going to miss him. Just cannot keep him like he was faithful hunting hound.

  Poor Bullen.

  He could not worry about the missive now. He had to find the stash. He would worry about whether to tell Bullen later. Maybe just his full name and not the rest of the damned note. His brother deserved to know his real name, especially since that bastard Six had never told him.

  Following the journal’s guidance, Jared located the small trapdoor in the corner—only one foot square—beneath a full-size statue of Aphrodite that he had to muscle aside from its spot near the fireplace. What was it with these Regency peers and their erotic statuary? No skin mags were available in this era? Maybe the statue was meant to keep nosy maids out of Six’s library.

  Jared squatted down for a closer look. The trapdoor was a work of art and hardly detectable even when exposed. A tiny hole in the surface just big enough to hook in a quill pen allowed the door to be raised. Inside lay a square metal box almost the exact size of the hole, and he had the devil of a time prying the box free. A tiny padlock held the hasp on the box shut. Jared made quick work of the mechanism and pulled the lid wide.