PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  His mind whirled. He wouldn’t accept the loss. He had spent his life figuring his way out of sticky situations. All he needed was a plan.

  “Go home,” he told Robert. “Until I recover your deed, I don’t want to see your face.” John stood and went to the brass urn in the corner of the room. He plucked an ebony walking stick from the pile and buffed the round nob against his sleeve. And without sparing another glance at his brother, he strode from the room and out of his townhouse.

  His regular driver took him to Sudworth’s home. When John gave the butler his card, it was only a moment before he was shown into the man’s study.

  “Lord Summerset.” The smile Sudworth gave him was pleasant, but he remained seated behind his desk, and John recognized the insult. “What a surprise this visit is. How might I be of service?”

  Without waiting for an invitation, John took the seat across from the desk. He draped his left leg over the armrest and lounged back. “Let’s not play games, Sudworth. My visit can hardly be a surprise. You know you have something of mine.”

  Sudworth pulled a thick cigar from a wooden box on his desk. He drew the cylinder under his nose, inhaling deeply. “Do I? I know I recently acquired a lovely little estate in Shropshire, but I do believe that belonged to your brother.” He pulled a candle from the corner of his desk and lit the cigar, his cheeks hollowing. “You’re not going to try to claim it was part of your entail, are you?”

  Wouldn’t that have been lovely. How much more profitable would his metallurgy business be if he’d had control over all the resources? All the times he’d overpaid his brother for the raw ore out of a sense of fraternal duty had been poorly compensated.

  “I make no such claims,” John said. “I am here to discuss terms. I’d like to purchase the property.”

  A cat, pure white excepting one golden patch over its eye, meowed loudly from the door and trotted into the room, heading for the desk. It jumped onto Sudworth’s lap and butted its head into his hand.

  Sudworth scratched the animal’s chin. “I’m certain you would. The mining operation on the property is quite valuable.”

  “Only to me.” John pointed his toe, letting the emeralds on his boot catch the light. “I am the only person in England who uses chromite because I hold letters patent on my process of steel manufacture. The mine is useless to you.”

  The cat batted at the cigar, and Sudworth teased the animal with it, bringing it into reach then pulling it away from its paw. “You are an interesting man, Summerset. I’ve heard much about you these past months.”

  John’s foot paused a moment before continuing its swing. “I personally leave the on dit to women, but to each his own.” He curled his lip as the cat stretched out on Sudworth’s abdomen, and the man cooed softly to it. “I didn’t take you for an animal lover.”

  “It takes a cold man not to appreciate the intelligence of cats.” Sudworth kicked his legs up on his desk, making a flatter bed for the animal. “Delilah here has had me wrapped around her paw since I found her hunting mice in a back alley.” He looked up. “You wouldn’t be in the market for a kitten? I have eight I’m trying to find homes for. Good homes, mind you. You don’t have a dog, do you?”

  John blinked. He looked over his shoulder. No one stood there laughing at the joke. He swung back around. Sudworth was serious.

  “No dog, and I don’t want a cat.” Well, not another one.

  Sudworth shrugged. “Your loss.” He smirked. “That seems to be the theme of the day. How badly do you want the deed back?”

  “I’ll give you twenty thousand pounds.” It was worth ten times that, but he knew to start low when bidding.

  Sudworth chuckled. “That’s sweet.” There was a scratch at the door, and Sudworth bellowed, “Come.”

  A girl in a starched and pressed maid’s uniform crept in, holding a tray of tea. “Cook said you’d want this, sir.”

  He nodded to his desk, and the girl skittered forwards, depositing her burden.

  “Pour for me.” His voice was hard, mocking, and John remembered something else he’d heard about Sudworth. They were both members of The Black Rose, and Sudworth’s tastes ran towards younger women. If John recalled correctly, Sudworth’s predilection was in humiliating proper misses.

  At The Black Rose, it was a game that the doxies played along with.

  The maid’s hand shook, and a splash of tea hit the desk.

  But perhaps it was a game Sudworth took too far.

  The man waved the girl from the room and took a large swallow of tea. When the door clicked shut, he focused back on John.

  “I don’t want money,” he said. “I’ll ask again. How badly do you want the deed?”

  John gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

  Sudworth tipped a bit of tea into the saucer and held it out for the cat to lap up. “There’s a job. One I think you are peculiarly qualified to perform.”

  John hesitated. “As an earl, you mean?”

  “No, as someone who has performed delicate tasks for the Crown.” Sudworth put the cat on the floor and dropped his feet, sitting up straight. “You and your friends have done admirable work. Your career need not be over.”

  John dug his nails into the wood of the armrest. “I’m an earl. I have no career.” Perhaps the man was digging. Perhaps he wasn’t certain of John’s past.

  Sudworth chuckled. “Come now. There shall be no pretense between us. You were one of the Crown’s top spies. I’m sure you miss the adventure. I know I would.”

  John’s eye twitched. “And I’m to work for you now, is it? In exchange for the deed?” Bloody hell, had Sudworth engineered Robert’s loss at hazard in order to get Summerset into this spot? His estimation of the man rose along with his ire.

  “Do you know Stamford Raffles?” Sudworth asked.

  John nodded. “I know of him. Prinny made him a Knight Bachelor just last year.”

  “Correct. He also got away with a bit of embezzlement when he was lieutenant-governor of Java. Managed to shift the blame to a chap in the East India Company.” Sudworth pursed his plump lips and blew a neat circle of smoke. “I’d like to see him get his comeuppance.”

  “How?” John tired of the misdirection. As someone who excelled at gaining other people’s confidences under false circumstance, he could recognize the talent in others. So far, Sudworth’s story stank as badly as a pile of shit.

  Plugging his mouth with the cigar, the man reached for a leather folio and removed a folded document. He slid it across the desk towards John. “This letter was never entered into evidence. There was no formal trial, of course, but I know the Home Office maintained a file on him, with witness statements and ledgers.”

  John picked up the paper. It bore a wax seal, broken, and held the faintest traces of age. He flipped it open and quickly read the letter. “This is his signature?”

  Sudworth nodded. “If the Home Office had that letter during the inquiry, he would have faced trial. I want them to see it now.”

  John tossed the paper on the desk. “Send it to Liverpool. Hell, a low-level magistrate will do.”

  “The letter came into my hands through…unusual methods. I can’t deliver it without exposing myself to scrutiny.”

  “Which you’d rather not do.” John folded his hands across his abdomen.

  “Which I’d rather not do,” he agreed. “I want you to place this letter in Raffle’s file at the Home Office, with no one the wiser.”

  “The case has been closed. No one will see it.”

  Sudworth stubbed his cigar out. “It will be reopened. That I can see to. Will you do it?”

  John tapped his thumb against his stomach. “I add a letter to a file and you give me my brother’s deed?”

  Sudworth chuckled. “Give away a hundred-thousand-pound investment for such a trifling? I hardly think so. That is just the first job. But your next task will be as simple. And you are helping bring a criminal to ju
stice. What say you?”

  “The property isn’t worth such a sum of money to you.” Only John’s smelts could use the ore to such a profitable purpose.

  “No, but it is to you.”

  And that was the hell of it. Sudworth had him by the ballocks, and the man knew it. He picked up the letter again. “Just add this to the evidence file?”

  Sudworth stood, smiling. “As simple as that.” He plucked a walking stick from the wall by the door and tucked it under his arm. The nob was ivory, carved in the shape of an elephant’s head. Large sapphires formed the eyes, and John had to admit to a tug of cane-envy.

  “It is past time for my afternoon stroll,” Sudworth said. “Do I have your agreement?”

  John rose, sliding the letter into his pocket. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Placing the letter into the file would be child’s play. Finding out what Sudworth was up to would be more of a challenge. But discover it he would.

  He rolled to the balls of his feet. Finally, a job worthy of his skills. And when he learned Sudworth’s scheme, he’d have leverage over the man. Enough so to reclaim the deed, he hoped.

  And if that didn’t work, he’d resort to less honorable means. He kept the smile from his face as he brushed past Sudworth and out of his house. The first inklings of an idea were forming in his mind.

  Sudworth liked to gamble, and for once, John was eager to indulge the vice.

  Chapter Five

  Netta peered around the corner, the morning pastry hot in her hand. The hallway remained empty. On the balls of her feet, she stole down the corridor.

  What a strange household this was. A longcase clock she’d passed had told her it was twenty past nine in the morning. Not an hour she usually liked to see, but the pangs in her stomach had driven her from bed.

  She took a bite of the iced bun. But aside from the cook, who’d been easy enough to sneak past to retrieve her breakfast, no one else seemed to have risen. She could well imagine the earl sleeping until past noon, but were even his servants allowed to luxuriate in their beds? If she—

  “There you are,” came a voice from directly behind her.

  “Gah!” She jumped, and a wedge of the roll clogged her throat. Bending at the waist, she coughed, a spray of crumbs misting from her mouth with each heave.

  A strong hand smacked between her shoulder blades. “Good Lord, must you be putting food in your mouth at all turns?”

  She rolled her gaze up to glare, her wheezing slowing. She straightened and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Must you be slinking about at all times? With the size of those ‘eels, you’d think you might make more of a sound.”

  Summerset lifted his foot to examine his boot. “They’re only an inch high today.”

  And the earl still stood a foot above her. Netta was only a mite over five feet, to be sure, a fact most annoying, especially as her younger sister had already grown taller, but she didn’t appreciate how she had to crane her neck to look at the man.

  “Come.” He cupped her elbow and waved her through to his study. “At least sit whilst you break your fast.”

  Lifting her chin and the hem of her wrapper, she marched into his private room. She found the seat which looked altogether the most comfortable, the one behind his desk, and sank into it.

  Summerset pressed his lips flat and shook his head.

  She took another bite of breakfast. “Where are me clothes? Fine as this night dress is, I should be on me way.”

  “I didn’t bring you into my home just to throw you out at the first chance.” He cocked a hip on the side of his desk and examined her. “How do you feel? Does your head still ail you?”

  “Nup.” Swallowing, she wiped her hands on the sleeves of the wrapper, earning a frown from the earl. She bit the inside of her cheek. It was too easy ruffling the man’s feathers. “I feel fine.”

  “I’ll call the doctor back to look at your side, at least.”

  Her pulse kicked up a beat. “Where are my clothes?” His eagerness to keep her in his house put her nerves on edge. Yes, he seemed harmless and kind, in his own strange way, but he was a man. She should have been more on guard.

  He leaned forwards and placed his finger under her chin. He raised it and turned her face one way then the other. “Without all that muck on your face, you are passably attractive. I wonder….”

  She jerked her head back. She knew it. All men were the same. “A large coat will do. I don’t mind walking ‘ome in a night rail.”

  “Dramatic as that would be, it’s hardly necessary,” he said. “Your clothes, such as they are, were laundered. You can leave whenever you wish. However, I have a proposition for you.”

  The muscles of her back pulled tight. Of course. She should have expected it. Even for a woman who was only passably attractive, men like him would see an opportunity to take advantage.

  At least he proposed it as a question. In the position she was in, he could just have easily assumed he could take what he wanted without asking.

  “No, thank’ee. I’ll take me clothes and be gone.”

  He drew his eyebrows together. The small wrinkle on his brow was the only flaw on his otherwise perfect face. A more handsome man Netta had never seen, but his heart was as corrupt as the rest of them.

  “You haven’t heard my proposition. How can you refuse it when you don’t know what it is?”

  She snorted. “I know your type. Your propositions are all the same.”

  His eyes flew wide. “Ah. You misunderstand. My proposal is not of an amorous nature.”

  “No?”

  He chuckled. “Certainly not.”

  She should have been relieved, but her shoulder blades drew back even tighter. “Why not? Wot’s wrong with me?”

  He sighed. “If you are going to become vexed when men both make improper suggestions and don’t make improper suggestions, you must spend most of your life in a state of offense. You also make it most difficult to hold a conversation. Could we perhaps proceed without reproofs for roughly five minutes? I believe you’ll find my proposition most profitable.”

  Well, profit was a word she definitely did not take offense to. “I’m listening.”

  “Good.” The earl pressed his palm flat on the desk and leaned his weight upon it. “I might have need of someone like you in the future. A woman with loose enough morals to engage in a deception and an adequate talent to make it believable.”

  There he went again. “Adequate?” she gritted out between her teeth.

  “Of course, I’d prefer someone more skilled.” He drummed his long, tapered fingers on the desk, a thick bank of gold wrapped around his thumb clinking dully against the wood. “But beggars can’t be choosers. How old are you, Netta?”

  “Old enough.”

  He tilted his head, those devilish eyes raking her form.

  A slight shiver hardened her nipples.

  “When you dressed as poor Ned, you appeared quite young.” He angled forwards, and the scent of oranges overlaid with something darker, spicier, teased her nose.

  She shifted on her seat. Didn’t matter how good a man smelled. This was business. She wouldn’t allow for distractions. “Face paint and dirt. Given me height and round face, appearing younger is easy.”

  She turned the tables and examined him. It was no hardship. His form was long and lean. The tailoring of his jacket was exquisite, molding to his wide shoulders and nipping down to emphasize his trim waist. But it was the quality of the materials that caught her eye. Mostly. She wasn’t dead, after all, and a handsome man sitting mere feet away was wont to pique her interest like any other woman’s. But money beat out handsome every day of the week.

  “Wot’s your racket?” Was that how he’d earned his wealth? Through dishonest activities? She couldn’t deny that a small nip of disappointment stung her breast. She might engage in a bit of larceny now and then, but it was necessary.

  She pressed her
lips tight. She couldn’t develop qualms now. If she was to succeed in her dream of taking her sister and herself to America, she should encourage disreputable behavior on Summerset’s part if it increased the profit on hers.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me. Do I look like a knave?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  He smirked. “I do like you, Netta Pickle. I believe we’ll work rather well together.”

  “If we work together.” She drew her knees up to her chin, hooking her heels on the edge of the chair. “Wots. The. Racket?”

  “I might have need of a distraction.” Standing, he plucked up a carved mahogany paperweight. He tossed it up and down. “There’s a man.”

  She snorted. “There always is.”

  Summerset continued on as though she hadn’t interrupted. “He has a weakness for proper, young misses. And most men I know are easily distracted by a pair of lovely violet eyes.” He tossed the wooden ball to her, and she snatched if from the air. “Truly, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen eyes such an extraordinary color as yours. They are sure to lure in any man.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched. “The impressive set of breasts will also help.”

  Netta looked down. She didn’t know if she would call them impressive. They were rounder than the fashion, but then so was the rest of her body. She liked her sweets too much. But the men of her acquaintance had never had any complaints.

  “Truly, how old are you, Netta? I can’t involve a child in my games.”

  “Three and twenty.” For once, honesty served her well. “And you still ‘aven’t told me the game. Or me payment.”

  “The details aren’t important.” One edge of his full lips curled up. “Namely because I don’t know them as yet. As to your fee, what would you say to four thousand pounds?” He threw out the number like it was an invitation to tea. Casually. As though such a sum were nothing.

  Netta blinked. And blinked again. It was an incredible amount of money. More than she could hope to see in twenty years, even had she intended to include petty theft to her acting wages on a permanent basis.