PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  Another snort from the far wall, but all the women had seemed by mutual agreement to ignore Wilberforce. He had been allowed into the club as their escort and then promptly forgotten.

  Although Cerise’s gaze had flown towards him many times that evening, Netta had noticed. Usually with scorn or disdain, but that was her friend’s main manner of flirting.

  “Why wait a week?” Cerise draped her arm on the seatback and gave Lady Walpole a tight smile. “I find if I don’t switch up my lovers every two days I become quite dull.”

  Wilberforce didn’t smother a laugh at that. His corner of the room remained decidedly silent.

  “How did you enjoy the play?” Netta asked Catherine. A silly part of her hoped John’s grandmother was impressed by her performance. John might not care what his grandmother thought, but family ties were stronger than even he could imagine, and Netta desired her approval.

  “I was impressed with what just the two of you could do.” Catherine gripped the nob of her walking stick with bent fingers. “And all the costume changes you made…” She shook her head. “Changing your outfits that quickly is an artform in and of itself.”

  Praise at changing her clothes wasn’t exactly what Netta sought, but she’d take it. “I’m afraid in our haste to change costumes, Cerise and I left your backstage quite a mess, Mary. Clothing is strewn everywhere.” Netta placed her wineglass down and rose. “I’d best go see to it.”

  At the hint of anything as dull as cleaning, most of the women stood and drifted out of the room. “I believe I’ll go see if anyone is using the archery range,” Lady Walpole said.

  “But I want to dance,” her friend said.

  The crowd left before Netta heard the resolution to that disagreement. Only Cerise, Mary, Catherine, and herself remained. And Wilberforce, of course.

  Cerise held out her hand and Netta pulled her to her feet. Dark shadows were emerging under her friend’s eyes and her shoulders drooped.

  “Go get yourself a cup of coffee and put your feet up somewhere,” Netta told her. “I’ll take care of the costumes.”

  Cerise faux-shuddered. “And face more questions about the bed sport of actresses? No, I thank you. I’ll stay away from the crowds.”

  “I am sorry about that,” Mary said. “Some people have damned fool ideas. I don’t think she meant to give offense.”

  “And only a little was taken.” Cerise pressed her hand to her lower back and stretched.

  “There are places in the club that are private where you could rest in peace.” Netta turned her friend’s shoulders and pushed her towards the door. “Mary, would you show her that lovely spot in the gardens by the gazebo? I believe she can rest there unmolested.” She turned to Wilberforce. “But you should accompany her to be sure.”

  The man looked eager, uncomfortable, and nauseous all at the same time. “I’m supposed to be watching both of you.”

  “And I’ll come find you as soon as I tidy up. Go on.” She gave her friend another small push, and Cerise glared back at her over her shoulder.

  Netta pursed her lips and blew her friend an air kiss.

  Wilberforce stood and walked stiffly to Cerise, presenting his arm. With obvious reluctance, she took it.

  “Two cups of coffee and one romantic, I mean to say private, place to rest, coming up.” Mary winked at Netta and led Cerise and Wil from the room.

  “Can I get you anything, Catherine?” Netta asked. “I can help you to another room first.”

  “No, thank you, dear.” Catherine settled back and closed her eyes. “I’ll just rest for a bit myself.”

  Netta nodded and headed for the stage. She folded the costumes and stacked them in a large chest. The silence of the room was only broken by her footsteps. The time after a performance, when the crowds were gone and the stage empty, was usually what Netta liked best. But tonight her nerves didn’t calm. She handled the costumes more roughly than they deserved, her thoughts on John.

  The game had surely started by now. Was he winning? Would he keep his temper and allow Sudworth to leave with only his pride harmed? And what of his friends? Was she only hours away from being free from the threat?

  She blew out a breath. Waiting while others acted wasn’t her style. She found she didn’t care for it.

  A board creaked.

  Netta paused, shifting her weight, but not hearing the sound again. She looked to Catherine. The woman’s face was hidden by the wingback and her dark gown almost matched the black fabric of the chair. She was almost as invisible as she was silent. The noise hadn’t come from her.

  Shrugging, Netta moved for the long red wig hanging off a nail, and a board creaked again.

  She whirled around, and the knife the man held at waist-height pressed into her bodice.

  “Who are you?”

  He stepped closer, digging the tip of the blade into the fabric. “Don’t ask stupid questions.” He twisted his wrist, and Netta gasped at the sharp sting to her abdomen. “One of the men working here was kind enough to tell me about the exit off the stage, and that’s where we’re going.” He jerked his head to the side door. “Move.”

  A pale oval peeked at them from behind the wingback, and Netta gave her head a quick shake no.

  Catherine couldn’t make a sound. A man like this wouldn’t hesitate to hurt an old woman, not if it saved his own neck. Netta didn’t know what she’d do if she were responsible for getting John’s grandmother killed.

  “No?” the ruffian said, mocking, mistaking her head gesture. He twisted the blade again, and Netta fell a step back with a cry.

  He followed, keeping up the pressure.

  “No. I mean yes. Yes, I’ll go with you.” She’d go with him until they were further down the hall, away from the immediate threat to Catherine. Then she’d scream and fight and hope those burly servants of the club were useful for something more than serving drinks and looking pretty.

  She turned, the relief at having the knife no longer pressed into her belly quickly evaporating when she felt the point at her side. She looked around as she glided out of the backstage area, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon or a distraction.

  Nothing readily presented itself.

  The back hall was dim, lit only by one gas lamp by the far door. The door that exited onto a back alley. One she couldn’t leave from, not if she expected to live.

  “How did you find me?” Perhaps if she flung herself into one of the rooms they passed she’d have time to lock the door before he followed.

  “We’ve been watching you since the masquerade ball.”

  She pretended to stumble. “There’s a pebble in my slipper.” She braced a hand on the wall and made to bend down, “If I could just—”

  He knocked her arm off the wall, and she stumbled in earnest. He straightened her shoulders and pushed her down the hall. “Deal with it.”

  “Why does Sudworth want me?” She hated the tremor in her voice. But it made no sense. “I am past the age of consent. He and my father can no longer force me to marry. What good am I to him?” Even as she said it, she knew her words were foolish. To a man such as Sudworth, a woman made helpless in his presence offered a great deal.

  A broom leaned next to the exit door. She set her shoulders. When he opened the door, she would grab it and crush his bloody windpipe with the tip of the handle.

  “You broke a contract of his.” He prodded her with the blade again. “He doesn’t take kindly to interferences in his business matters.”

  Netta clenched her hand. She wasn’t a business matter. Her sister wasn’t a business matter. And she would make him pay for thinking of them as nothing more than property.

  Five steps away. Her palms tingled. She could do this.

  “There’s also the matter of my missing brother.” The ruffian removed the blade from her back.

  Netta frowned, the focus she had on the broom breaking. “What? Who’s your brother?” she a
sked, turning to look over her shoulder.

  It was too quick. He’d already started to bring his arm down. She had time only to loose a startled shriek before the thick handle of the blade struck her temple.

  She crumpled to the floor, the back of her hand smacking the bristles of the broom. Her finger twitched, her fuzzy mind thinking to stick to her plan, pull the broom towards her. She fought against the blackness, but it closed tight about her, wrapping her in its senseless embrace.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A trickle of sweat rolled from John’s nape down under his collar. He rolled the dice, gritting his teeth as they tumbled over the table.

  Deuce-aces. Sodding hell.

  Sudworth grinned broadly. “It doesn’t appear to be your night, Summerset.”

  Elsbeth, the charming woman they’d employed to entice Sudworth, settled on the man’s lap and clapped her hands. “You win again!”

  Sudworth slid his hand up her side and gave her breast a squeeze, but didn’t take his eyes off John.

  They were in an upper room of The Black Rose, the rest of the club empty. Three cut-throats, ostensibly Sudworth’s servants, held up the back wall, one of them cleaning his nails with his knife. Sutton had brought them drinks when the game began and then disappeared.

  “My luck will change.” John grabbed the onyx nob of his walking stick leaning on the table and ground the tip into the carpet. “It’s bound to.”

  “Now you sound like your brother.” Sudworth plucked up a die and rolled it over his knuckles.

  John gritted his teeth. The night was not going as planned. First, the man who’d partnered with Elsbeth in the humiliation scene had been late to work. Giving Sudworth much too much time to examine the altered documents John had delivered to him.

  To the credit of John’s forgery skills, Sudworth hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss. He also hadn’t seemed overly impressed with the bait John had dangled. He’d been inattentive during Elsbeth’s scene, had shown no interest in engaging with her further, and seemed eager to leave The Black Rose.

  Until John had proposed a game of hazards.

  And Sudworth had been beating the odds all night. John was almost afraid to propose his wager for fear of losing.

  He squeezed the nob of his walking stick. Almost. Precautions had been taken.

  Sudworth shoved Elsbeth off his lap, ignoring her glare. He tossed up the die and snatched it from the air. “Well, amusing as this has been, I have places to be, people to do.” He scooped up the blunt John had lost.

  “And here I thought you were a real gambler.” John smoothed his cravat down his chest. “I still have money to waste. Why not be the fortunate beneficiary of it?”

  “Do you?” Sudworth placed the dice in a wooden cup and knocked them about. “Until you earn back your deed, your finances aren’t in the best of shape.”

  “Breaking into the Dutch embassy wasn’t an end to my service?” John faked a yawn. “What a surprise.”

  Sudworth barked a laugh. “You do amuse me, Summerset. One more job, I think.”

  There was never just one more job. “And this one? Am I to steal the king’s crown?”

  “Nothing so dramatic.” He jerked his head at one of his men. The ruffian pushed off the wall and escorted Elsbeth from the room. “All I want is for you to blow up the Dutch ambassador’s residence.”

  John stilled. “Your definition of dramatic seems to differ from mine. What has the man done to you?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “And yet you want him dead.” Thank heavens this charade ended tonight. There was no way to fake destroying a building.

  Sudworth shrugged. “The man doesn’t have to be at home.”

  John’s mind flew. First an attempt to malign Sir Raffles’s reputation. Second, a stolen document and map of apparent trading routes from the Dutch embassy. Now, an outright attack on Holland’s interests.

  Trading routes…. “Everything is money to you. All of this will somehow increase your profits.”

  Sudworth picked up his glass of Scotch whisky and took a sip. “You wound me. You don’t believe I want justice against Raffles?”

  John didn’t even bother to respond to that absurdity. “Raffles is working on a treaty with the Dutch. Trying to stabilize the region of the West Indies. If the ambassador is attacked, relations between the two countries will be strained. The treaty might fail.”

  “And the British Empire might lose some of the territory it’s stolen,” Sudworth said.

  John snorted. “Don’t play that game with me. I know you care nothing about the morality of our politics.” He tapped his thumb on the walking stick. “But you do care about freedom for your trade routes. And if you’re worried a stronger government presence in the area will stop what you’re shipping, it must not be legal.”

  Sudworth narrowed his eyes. “As I said, I have to leave. I don’t have time for your guessing games.”

  “Not even for the chance to win fifty thousand pounds?” John swallowed past the lump in his throat. He would have to sell off many of his properties if he lost. He would have next to nothing. But he needed a number high enough to pique the man’s interest. “I propose one more game. Winner take all.”

  Sudworth’s eyebrows shot up. “Fifty thousand for my deed?”

  “My brother’s estate, while large, is in need of many repairs. It is a fair bet.” He forced his shoulders to relax. “But if you are afraid of losing, I understand.”

  Sutton slipped through the door and gave John a nod. He shuffled to the side table and poured himself a drink. A large one. The nod told John their mission had been successful; the whisky said it hadn’t been easy.

  “Besides, soon that fifty thousand will be all you have to live upon.” John leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think you can afford not to play.”

  One of his ruffians pushed off the wall, not liking John’s tone, but Sudworth held up a hand. “Explain.”

  John pretended to examine his ring. “Your scheme has been thwarted. Your associates have been taken in for questioning. Liverpool is aware of everything.”

  Sudworth’s shoulders inched towards his ears. “I doubt he knows everything. Even you don’t understand my motives.”

  “Slaves.” Sutton’s knuckles whitened around his glass. “The English have been trying to eliminate slavery around the world, and the effort is cutting into his profits.”

  “His trading ships carry slaves?” John’s blood ran cold. That trade was a stain on human civilization. England’s efforts reflected the best of their country. The noose was tightening, slowly but surely, on slavers. Creating chaos between nations would only make it easier for arseholes like Sudworth to evade prosecution.

  Sutton nodded. “Dunkeld has learned much from the men he picked up.” He turned his narrow-eyed gaze on Sudworth. “But the night is young, and there is much more your friends are eager to tell.”

  Sudworth slammed his glass onto the table, amber liquid sloshing over the rim.

  “What?” John chuckled. “You didn’t think you would get away with it, did you? That I would be so desperate for my mines that I would betray my country? You did? How droll.”

  Sudworth and his men tensed. Sutton tensed. Everyone in the room was as stiff as blocks of marble.

  John stretched languidly. “Even now Liverpool is sending people to arrest you. Your legal fees to fight the charges will be immense. And my friends are ensuring that your other investments are soon to take a turn for the worse. You want to make this bet.”

  “I don’t know that I believe you.” Sudworth leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “My investments are many and varied. It will be hard to take me down. Besides, what evidence is there of any wrongdoing on my part? You planted a letter. You stole from the Dutch embassy. What have I done?”

  The bastard smirked, and John’s fingers itched to smack the expression off his face.

  �
�In fact, with the information I can provide to Liverpool in service to our country, I just might earn myself a medal,” Sudworth said. “I’m aware of many plots against the nation, have learned of many criminal enterprises. I think the prime minister would be happy to trade for that information.”

  John flapped his hand dismissively, but inside he burned. Liverpool had made such deals before. Information for liberty. The prime minister’s first concern was the smooth management of the nation, and sometimes that meant letting Justice hide her eyes.

  “Does that mean you no longer wish to play?” John loosed a dramatic sigh. “And here I thought you were a man after my own heart, one who relished a bit of risk-taking.”

  “How right you are.” Sudworth waved two fingers, and one of his men sauntered over. “We are men of similar interests.”

  “Don’t play with him, John.” Robert strode into the room, and John blinked, trying to hide his surprise.

  What in the bloody hell was his brother doing here?

  Robert rested his hand on the back of John’s chair. “The man cheats. And I finally figured out how.”

  “Well, of course he cheats.” John pushed from the table and stood, not liking the way the hand of one of Sudworth’s men drifted towards his inner pocket. He positioned himself between his brother and the rest of the room. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still intend to win.”

  He lowered his voice. “What are you doing here?”

  Robert tugged at his scarf, exposing the bottom edge of his scar. “Wil sent me a note. Said you might need me.”

  John clenched his fist. Damned Wilberforce. Just as interfering as Netta when it came to attempting family reconciliations.

  “Is Robert joining us?” Sudworth shook the cup of dice. “Good. I enjoy beating him almost as much as I do you, Summerset.”

  “For the deed, I’ll play.” John turned, knocking his walking stick to the floor. He squatted and smoothly uncapped the nob, removing the dice he’d specially ordered and tucking them up his sleeve. He replaced the nob and stood. “I’ll play, but we’ll use a fresh pair of dice.” He nodded to Sutton, who took a clean pair from a drawer in a bureau.