by Clee, Adele
Dauntless
Gentlemen of the Order - Book 1
Adele Clee
Contents
Books by Adele Clee
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Thank you!
Books by Adele Clee
More titles by Adele Clee
To Save a Sinner
A Curse of the Heart
What Every Lord Wants
The Secret To Your Surrender
A Simple Case of Seduction
Lost Ladies of London
The Mysterious Miss Flint
The Deceptive Lady Darby
The Scandalous Lady Sandford
The Daring Miss Darcy
Avenging Lords
At Last the Rogue Returns
A Wicked Wager
Valentine’s Vow
A Gentleman’s Curse
Scandalous Sons
And the Widow Wore Scarlet
The Mark of a Rogue
When Scandal Came to Town
The Mystery of Mr Daventry
Gentlemen of the Order
Dauntless
Raven
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any manner without the author’s permission. Distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement.
Dauntless
Copyright © 2020 Adele Clee
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-9162774-3-4
Cover by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs
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Chapter 1
Hart Street, London
Premises of the Gentlemen of the Order
“And so I said, ‘Madam, must you make that god-awful racket? Are you in desperate need of a physician, or do you wish to let the entire street hear of your pleasure?’”
Noah Ashwood almost choked on his coffee. “I thought you preferred them lively in bed.” The men’s morning banter brought relief from the stringent attitude needed when investigating criminal cases.
D’Angelo laughed as he reclined on the sofa. “Lively, yes, but not wailing like a banshee. It puts a man off his stroke.”
“If you have to concentrate on your stroke,” Sloane drawled, “you should find another bed partner.”
“Choose a woman who stimulates your mind,” Finlay Cole said, glancing over the top of his newspaper. “The poets say it makes for an enlightening experience.”
“Enlightening?” D’Angelo snorted. “I seek satisfaction, not spiritual instruction.”
Noah shook his head. He believed his friend enjoyed acting the rakish rogue. “If you cared for the woman, you would celebrate her howling.”
“Blessed saints! Are you suggesting I find a lover who stirs my emotions?” D’Angelo’s shocked expression led to fits of laughter until a loud knock on the door disturbed their revelry.
“Enter!”
Mrs Gunning marched into the drawing room. She was a large, steady woman of sixty who prided herself on running an efficient house. She focused her gaze on Noah. “There’s a lady arrived, sir. A prospective client. She said she needs to hire an agent.”
At twenty-eight, Noah wasn’t the oldest of the four men who helped victims of crimes. Nor did his lineage give him a right of entitlement. He was but the nephew of a baron. Still, they had fallen into natural roles, and Noah had no issue accepting responsibility.
“You explained there’s no fee? Gave no assurances?” Noah sat forward in the chair. “Explained we take clients on an individual basis?”
Their services could not be bought. The Gentlemen of the Order did not assist wealthy members of the ton find solutions to their petty problems. They helped the weak, the needy, those without funds or connections.
Mrs Gunning glanced at the open door before whispering, “I did, sir. The lady seemed confident you would hear her case.”
“Me?” But he had just finished a lengthy investigation into the blackmail of a bank clerk. One of his colleagues could conduct the interview. D’Angelo needed a distraction, needed to focus on something other than his troublesome lover. “Did the lady present my calling card?”
“No, sir, not exactly.” Mrs Gunning toyed with the keys on her chatelaine. “She said she needed a fearless gentleman. Dauntless, she said. I presumed she meant you, sir.”
“Dauntless?” How odd. Did the lady know of his moniker? “She used that precise word?”
“Yes, sir.”
Curse the saints!
Noah believed in omens and fate, believed one’s destiny was written. All one had to do was follow the signs. His friends had called him Dauntless since the night he’d stormed into Lady Redford’s ballroom, marched onto the dance floor and threw a punch that put his uncle on his arse. The same night he chased two knife-wielding thugs into a dark alley and brought both fiends to their knees.
“The lady practically asked for you by name,” Cole agreed, offering an arrogant grin. “That makes it your case.”
Noah huffed. “We have yet to determine the nature of her dilemma.” He turned to the housekeeper employed to put female clients at ease, to play chaperone and ensure the servants behaved. “Perhaps you should show the lady into the drawing room. Let her choose which one of us is to hear her desperate tale.” Yes. Let fate decide.
D’Angelo’s brown eyes widened. “Would you care to wager on the outcome? I’ll lay odds she’ll pick Sloane.”
“No wagers,” Noah countered. They were professional men, not dissolute rakes looking for ways to banish the boredom. “No. Show her in, Mrs Gunning.”
“Right away, sir.”
The housekeeper hurried from the room and returned seconds later with their potential client in tow.
Noah had witnessed the grand entrance of many women out to command attention. Most knew the importance of first impressions. Most knew how to alter the energy in the room with a charming smile and a coy tilt of the chin.
Not this one.
The lady ambled behind Mrs Gunning, dragging her feet and mumbling like a bedlamite as she wrote in a small brown notebook. The men all stood, and still, she considered the words she’d just scrawled with her neat little pencil.
“That’s it!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Prussic acid.”
Noah cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“Prussic acid. A poison that might kill a man in seconds.” The young woman removed her spectacles and pushed them into the reticule dangling at her elbow. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” She looked up. “Good morning.”
A moment of stunned silence ensued before Noah said, “Good morning” and then made the necessary introductions.
Experience led him to expect an older woman—one looking for her runaway husband or light-fingered maid—not a young woman with porcelain skin and eyes of cornflower blue, eyes that sparkled with excitement at the mention of a deadly p
oison. Interesting. He waited for a faint blush to touch her cheeks, waited to witness a certain bashfulness upon meeting four unconventional men.
But this lady was out to defy all expectations.
“My name is Miss Dunn,” she said, slipping her book and pencil into her reticule before studying them through keen, intelligent eyes. “Forgive me for staring. One rarely sees gentlemen with facial hair these days. I thought it was considered unfashionable.”
Occasionally they all sported a short, neatly trimmed beard. Today, only Sloane and D’Angelo were clean-shaven.
Noah drew his hand along his bristly jaw. “Fops and dandies care about fashion, Miss Dunn.”
“And you’re keen to ensure everyone knows you’re a virile male.” She seemed comfortable making the personal comment. “I mean, masculinity is important to you.”
“Indeed.” The need to rattle her steely composure forced Noah to add, “A virile male is what you requested, is it not? A man willing to confront thugs in a dark alley?”
Intriguing blue eyes scanned him from head to toe. “I hoped to hire an agent who is not intimidated by a lady of independent means, sir.” She raised her dainty chin. “Men are quick to dismiss a woman with ambition.”
Yes, men tended to avoid the forthright types. And yet this woman had Noah’s undivided attention. His analytical mind scrambled to find the reason why.
Miss Dunn had many feminine attributes to recommend her. Her slender figure and shapely breasts were encased in a plain blue pelisse. He imagined cupping her delicate face, her pink lips parting, those long lashes fluttering with pleasure. The contrast of sensible and sensual seemed to encapsulate her character.
“We could spend all day discussing the failings of a patriarchal society,” he said, eager to put this puzzling woman from his mind, “yet I presume you’re here on more pressing matters.”
That said, she did not seem overly distressed.
“Pressing matters that leave me confounded, sir.”
Noah inclined his head and gestured to his friends. “Then you’re in luck, Miss Dunn. Any one of us can hear your case.”
She frowned in curious enquiry. “Forgive me, Mr Ashwood, are you inviting me to choose an agent?”
“Indeed. We all possess a wealth of experience. We are all fearless men.” And for some unfathomable reason, he was beyond desperate to learn of her preference.
“I see.” Her gaze drifted to Evan Sloane, the man they called Valiant for his courage and flowing mane of light brown hair.
“Mr Sloane recently solved the case of a child abducted from the street and held captive for ten days,” Noah said. “A crime that left Bow Street baffled.”
Miss Dunn’s hand shot to her breast. “Goodness. I trust you found the child alive.”
“Starving and frightened,” Sloane said soberly, “but relatively unharmed. I carried his limp body from a filthy fleapit in Southwark.”
Sloane was every woman’s hero.
The lady’s sigh carried the depth of her compassion. “What a tremendous relief.”
“And Mr D’Angelo found a runaway husband who faked his death and left his wife and five children destitute,” Noah continued. “He was living in luxury with his mistress in Salisbury.”
“Oh, the deceitful devil. Some men have no concept of responsibility, Mr D’Angelo.” Miss Dunn spoke as if she had experience of wastrels. She considered the lothario, the man they called Dark Angel. “I trust you pointed out the error of his ways. Pray he felt more than the sharp edge of your tongue.”
D’Angelo inclined his head and gave a mischievous grin. “The rogue received his comeuppance.”
“Excellent.”
So, Miss Dunn wasn’t opposed to a man using violence when necessary. Fascinating. Most women abhorred such savagery.
Noah cleared his throat. “Mr Cole’s case involved the murder of a maid in an alley near Seven Dials.” He waited for Miss Dunn’s horrified gasp—it didn’t come.
The lady raised her gloved hand. “Let me guess. The poor woman was killed by her employer. She was with child and planned to reveal all, no doubt.”
Miss Dunn did not scare easily. She wasn’t meek or fragile. So what wickedness forced her to seek their counsel?
“I cannot comment at present.” Cole pushed his hand through his black hair, part of the reason for his moniker Raven. “But I believe that an intelligent woman’s intuition is rarely wrong.”
Sly devil!
For men who were relishing the prospect of a few days’ rest and recuperation, they had soon changed their tune.
“And I recently solved a crime at—”
“Forgive me, Mr Ashwood,” Miss Dunn implored. “I do not mean to sound rude, but I have already determined your merits and cannot bear to hear another sad tale.”
Determined his merits?
What the blazes?
A desire to discover what Miss Dunn had learned of his character during the brief meeting burned in Noah’s veins. In the space of a few minutes, he had gone from hoping one of his friends took the case, to praying the lady picked him.
“My investigation involved greed, Miss Dunn. Nothing to tug on the heartstrings.” And yet he couldn’t help but feel somewhat inadequate. “Now, we’re busy men. Perhaps you might make your choice and take a seat in the study across the hall where you may explain your problem in private. Unless you wish to hear an extensive list of our credentials.”
“No, Mr Ashwood.” Miss Dunn smiled with the self-assurance of a duchess. “That won’t be necessary. I made my choice the moment I entered the drawing room.”
From the deep inhalations and amused grins of his colleagues, they were as eager as he to learn of her choice.
On first impressions, she might pick D’Angelo, the one with a kind face and a devilish twinkle in his eye. Most women thought they had the skills to tame him. Sloane had the look of a biblical hero who might throw himself into a pit of vipers and leave unscathed. Cole’s firm jaw and rugged countenance marked him as a man who got the job done, no matter the cost.
“Then put us out of our misery, Miss Dunn, so we can return to reading our newspapers and drinking our coffee.”
“Certainly. I want to explain my story to you, Mr Ashwood.”
“Me?” A rush of masculine pride filled Noah’s chest. He resisted the urge to punch the air and taunt his friends. “Then allow me to show you to the study.”
Noah ignored the men’s smirks and escorted the lady from the room. Later would come the barrage of questions and the playful banter bordering on ridicule.
“Please sit, Miss Dunn.” He followed her into the study and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Shall I have Mrs Gunning arrange tea?”
“Do not put your housekeeper to any trouble.” Miss Dunn scanned the walnut bookcases before her gaze came to rest on the trio of crystal decanters on the side table. “May I take something stronger? I’ve hardly slept a wink, and a little restorative would not go amiss.”
He couldn’t help but smile as he closed the door.
“Sherry?” he said, though expected her to ask for brandy.
“Sherry is perfect.” She sat, removed her gloves, took the book from her reticule and squinted at a page while he poured her a drink. “Will you not join me, sir?” she said, closing her book and accepting the dainty glass.
Their fingers brushed briefly. With any other client, the action might have gone unnoticed. But he was as captivated by the ink stains on her elegant fingers as he was by the sudden spark of awareness.
“I never partake during the day.” Noah flicked his coat-tails and dropped into the chair behind the mahogany desk. “Absorbing various elements of a tale requires my complete concentration.”
“What must you think of me?” Her light laugh suggested she didn’t give a damn what he thought. “Drinking sherry at this hour?”
“It’s my job to listen, not judge.”
Her inquisitive blue eyes drifted to the sapphire pin in
his neckcloth and the monogram buttons on his coat. “Gentlemen of your ilk rarely work for a living.”
“I do not work for a living, Miss Dunn.” He had inherited his father’s wealth and holdings despite his uncle’s efforts to prove him illegitimate. “I work for the pleasure that comes from righting injustices.”
“A noble pursuit.”
“A necessary pursuit.”
“I would not disagree.” Her shoulders relaxed as she sipped the sherry.
“Miss Dunn, before we begin, may I ask why you chose me?” Devil take it. He sounded like a timid wallflower eager to know why the most eligible man in the room had asked her to dance. “You made your decision rather quickly. If I’m to take your case, I would prefer you were happy with your choice.”
The lady studied him with a level of scrutiny he found unnerving. “I chose you for several reasons, sir.”
“May I hear them?” Or would she persist in being vague?
“All of them? Even those that might cause mild embarrassment?”
“Madam, there is no shame in having an opinion.”
“Oh, I am not speaking of myself, Mr Ashwood. I fear you might experience some discomfort.”
“Me?” He drew back and laughed. “Nothing you could say or do could make me blush, Miss Dunn.” Did she think him a prude? Hell, he had stripped naked to the waist in Green Park and wrestled with Lord Packham. Had pleasured a woman in a theatre box during the second act of Don Quixote. “Do not make allowances on my account.”
“Very well.” She cocked her head and stared at him. “The best way to judge a person’s character is to observe how others react around them, is it not?”
