Rogue’s Holiday

by Walker, Regan

  “However did you become His Majesty’s spy?”

  “I come by it honestly. My father and my brothers have all undertaken intelligence work for the Crown, that is, in between their lives as shipmasters. In fact, the latter work was key in the assignments we accepted early on.”

  “A family of spies…” she muttered. “So that is how you earned the baronetcy?”

  “A reward bestowed by a generous sovereign. My brother, Martin, was also made a baronet for his work in France during Napoleon’s reign.”

  “And what do you know of the man who abducted me?”

  “By his surname, I assume he is somehow related to one of the conspirators who was hanged. When I first arrived at the Pavilion, he sent me a threatening message but it was unsigned.”

  She visibly shivered.

  Concerned for her, he squeezed her hands to remind her he was here to guard her. “What is it?”

  “I was just remembering his cold, dark eyes. The man was dreadful. He said he intends to deal with you, too.” Her blue eyes clouded. “You must be careful. He means to harm you.”

  “Don’t worry. I will be on my guard. I carry my pistols with me and Jack is very good with a blade.”

  She stared at him a moment as if trying to understand. “Do you know why he took me? He said only it was the company I keep, meaning you.”

  “He and his men have been following me for some time. They would have seen me with you and were obviously keen observers. In all our banter, Chastity Reynolds, you quite failed to discern my tender feelings for you. But the villain did not. He meant to hurt me through you, and would have struck a devastating blow had he succeeded.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at their joined hands. He hoped she now realized how much he cared for her, how much he loved her. She looked up. “Will he return to Brighton, do you think?”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it. His business with me is unfinished but he no longer has lodgings near North Street. Jack and I saw to that. Two of his men are in the king’s custody. They told us their leader expects to meet them in a riverside tavern in a week’s time. Jack and I will be there.”

  “Oh, do be careful, won’t you?” Her blue eyes looked up expectantly. Perhaps she did care for him more than a little.

  “I will. And that reminds me, were there four of them?”

  “At the Pavilion, yes. The leader was different than the others. They were lecherous, but his speech was more refined and his manner cold, even arrogant. Remember the Russian serf at the ball?”

  Robbie nodded. As a spy, he had taken in all those attending the ball and remembered the Russian serf.

  “That was him. But when he brought me here, he was attired as a gentleman, though he retained the beard. I don’t think it was his.”

  “He is clever enough to have at least that much of a disguise. But you have given me the look of the man, his height and his general demeanor.”

  She chewed her lower lip as if in concentration. “The man who drove the carriage to London was the one named Augie, or at least that’s the name by which the leader called him. And there is one other thing I noticed that might help you.”

  “What?” Robbie would be happy for anything that would identify the man.

  “The leader wears fine black boots that bear my father’s insignia, a stylized ‘R’ on the base of the outside shaft. It is the mark of the Reynolds design and highly coveted. He could have purchased them in London, of course. A few bootmakers have them for purposes of taking orders. But he also could have acquired them in or near Northampton.”

  “That will help, thank you.”

  She rose and retrieved his musketeer cloak from a chair. Handing it to him, she said, “You cannot know what having this meant to me. It was the only barrier between the lust of his men and me. At night, it kept me warm when I would have shivered.”

  He accepted the cloak and pulled her down to sit beside him. “I hope it reminded you of me, that I would come for you.”

  “It did.” She slipped her hand from his. “I must return to Aunt Agatha. She will be terrified for me.”

  “I agree. But I cannot be the one to take you. Our returning to Brighton together after your absence would have tongues wagging, unless you are willing to announce our engagement.”

  “Definitely not.”

  He chuckled. “Very well then, as long as you resist, I have an idea. The Countess of Claremont owes me a favor. Since they are such good friends, I believe I could persuade her to pay a visit to Lady Sanborn. Your return in her carriage would provide the perfect excuse for your absence.”

  “Do you think she would do that for me?”

  “There is only one way to find out.”

  Later that evening, Chastity watched from the window as Sir Robert brought his curricle to a stop in front of Willow House. Her gaze lingered on his lithe form, his broad chest and his handsome face beneath his top hat. He had come to her rescue, winning her admiration, yet, for all that, he was a rogue, experienced and worldly. Could he ever be a man she could trust with her heart?

  She had said goodbye to Miss Abby, who only let her go when she had learned of the plan to restore Chastity to Brighton, hopefully with her reputation intact. In deference to that reputation, Miss Abby had agreed with Sir Robert that she should not spend a night in Willow House. As a result, their departure had been from the rear of the house, Chastity covered in Sir Robert’s musketeer cloak.

  While she had waited for him to call for her, she had reflected on her life. Living in the shadow of her beautiful mother and sisters, her expectations for love had been meager. In truth, she had not believed to ever find it after the young man she had wanted turned out to be unworthy of her trust. Still, when she thought of the women of Willow House, she had to be grateful. She had so much more to live for. One of them might become the mistress of a great man, treasured at first but then discarded, like the parade of women who amused the king. Few could look forward to a legitimate marriage and children. If she were willing to change her intention for the future to live alone, she could.

  Emma had come to tell her Sir Robert awaited her. She thanked the maid and followed her down the servants’ stairs to see his warm smile. “Good evening!” he said, holding out his hand. He appeared tired and worn but happy.

  “And to you.”

  They walked to his curricle and he helped her to climb in. His touch gave her confidence to face Muriel, Countess of Claremont, a woman Miss Abby had told her was respected by all of London.

  Above them, the twilight sky was cast in shades of dark gray. She wore the blue gown Miss Abby had given her and hoped it would not rain, as the curricle would afford them little protection from a downpour even with the hood up. She wanted to look like a lady when she met the countess. Emma had fixed her hair so that it was restored to good taste and, for that, she’d been grateful.

  Sir Robert snapped the reins and the grays stretched out away from Willow House. He was attired as a gentleman in an olive-green velvet coat, gray waistcoat and breeches. The green of his coat brought out the green in his hazel eyes. His cravat was simply tied but impeccable, a shock of white against his tanned face. He had shaved and trimmed his side-whiskers. And his boots were polished to a high gloss. Was it for her or the countess he had taken such pains with his appearance?

  When she asked about the vicomte, he told her his uncle had stayed behind to see about his collection of knives. “I’ll return to him later. He awaits me at Grillon’s Hotel.”

  “Grillon’s?”

  “I do not wish to stay at my family’s house. There would be too many questions.” With an amused expression, he added, “Besides, I have such fond memories of the place, you know, particularly the lobby.” He laughed then and she realized he was trying to take her mind off the past few days.

  “Ah, yes, the lobby,” she said, lifting her eyes skyward.

  Some minutes later, the curricle came to a stop in front of an imposing four-story house w
ith tall columns and rows of windows on each floor. He handed her down from the curricle, and Chastity stood in awe, taking in the impressive edifice and the gardens she could just glimpse through the iron fence. Would the countess welcome her? Or, would she consider her a pale image of the woman she had imagined Sir Robert would meet in Brighton. The elderly countess might have preferred Rose.

  “So this is Claremont House,” she said gazing up at the mansion.

  “Indeed, it is,” said Sir Robert. “The home of the dowager countess or, as I call her, The Grand Countess. The two of you remind me of each other, you know. Both formidable women.”

  She didn’t know what to make of that. She had never thought of herself as such. Willful and independent, yes, even impudent. But hardly formidable. Still, since she was certain he had meant it as a compliment, she returned him a smile. “To be compared to your Grand Countess is high praise, indeed.”

  A waiting groom took the reins of Sir Robert’s grays and he opened the gate and escorted her to the front door. She was glad he was beside her; she wouldn’t want to meet the countess alone.

  At the sound of the brass knocker, the door opened and an aged butler greeted them, taking Sir Robert’s hat. “Welcome. I delivered your message to Lady Claremont, Sir Robert. She is expecting you and Miss Reynolds.”

  “Thank you, Cruthers.”

  Chastity had only begun to look around the grand entry hall with its magnificent chandelier and gilded staircase winding to the second story, when the butler beckoned them to follow him.

  The parlor they entered was fashionably decorated yet understated in pastel colors and ivory. The silk brocade drapes were a beautiful shade of pink and the Axminster carpet featured a geometric design with pink roses. The room was feminine yet somehow regal in effect.

  From one of the ivory sofas, a silver-haired woman wearing a pearl-gray gown rose and smiled at them. Chastity kept her head enough to curtsey before one dubbed The Grand Countess.

  “Good morning, Sir Robert. And this young lady must be Chastity Reynolds, great-niece of my dear friend.” The countess lifted the quizzing glass that hung around her neck and peered through it at Chastity.

  She tried not to fidget and forced herself to remain calm. “Yes, my lady,” she said, inwardly quaking at the countess’ careful examination of her person. She had not cowered before the men who had taken her captive, but she felt like doing so now before this grand lady. She feared she would be judged and found wanting.

  The countess gestured them to the sofas and asked the butler to see that tea was served. “I have heard much about you from Agatha, Miss Reynolds, which is why I asked Sir Robert to call upon you in Brighton. I am so glad he did.”

  A knowing look passed between the countess and Sir Robert, which produced a smile on his face. “You remain wily as ever, Lady Claremont.”

  “Now,” said the countess, ignoring Sir Robert’s comment, “why are you two together in London and to what do I owe this visit?”

  Chastity glanced at Sir Robert, hoping he would explain. She couldn’t bring herself to describe her abduction or the night she’d spent in London as a captive and the day in a bordello. Though she remained a virgin, few would believe it.

  “My lady,” Sir Robert began, “you know of my recent work for the Crown.” He did not look at Chastity as he said this, nor did he elaborate.

  “Yes, that dangerous spy business you engaged in that brought those traitors to justice. I know of it.”

  “What you don’t know is that some of the brigands connected with the Cato Street conspirators have learned my identity and are bent on revenge. They followed me to Brighton. Not to put too fine a point on it, but they have me in their sights. My uncle, the vicomte de Saintonge, whom you have met, and I, have been trying to ferret them out but with no success. We did not anticipate that a part of their revenge would be aimed at Miss Reynolds, with whom I have recently been keeping company.”

  The countess smiled and shifted her gaze to Chastity, a pleased expression on her face.

  He was a spy who served the king, a shipmaster from a fine family and a close enough friend of The Grand Countess that he could tease her. No longer could Chastity think of him as The Rogue. Though rogue he might be when it came to women, in truth, he was so much more.

  A footman entered with a tray on which was set a pot of tea, three cups and a plate of sweetmeats. Chastity accepted a cup of tea, glad for something to hold in her hands.

  “What has transpired in the last few days,” Sir Robert said, as the footman departed, “has not, in the smallest degree, been brought about by any action of Miss Reynolds.”

  Chastity sipped the hot tea, which she found soothing. Beside her, Sir Robert took a drink from his own cup, then set it down.

  “And what, exactly, has transpired, Sir Robert?” asked the countess. “Do get to the point.”

  Sir Robert then explained Chastity’s kidnapping, how she ended up at Willow House and his concern for her reputation were he to escort her back to Brighton.

  “The villain took you to Abigail Darkin’s house?” the countess asked Chastity. “How very fortunate for you, my dear.”

  Chastity nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

  “You know her?” asked Sir Robert, a perplexed expression on his handsome face.

  “I know of her. She is well thought of by the ladies, including me, who have benefitted from the girls she has placed in service.”

  “I had no idea,” said Sir Robert.

  “Nor should you,” said the countess, shaking her head. “Moreover, I will expect you to treat them no differently now than you did before.”

  “Of course.”

  The countess set down her cup. “I begin to see what is needed here. I agree, you cannot very well return Chastity to Brighton. But I can, accompanied by the explanation she has been visiting the dear friend of her great-aunt, yes?”

  “Exactly,” said Sir Robert. He took Chastity’s hand and gave her a fond look. “You should be aware that I have asked Miss Reynolds to marry me.”

  “Told, not asked,” corrected Chastity. “And I have not accepted.”

  The countess chuckled, which was remarkable given her straight posture and refined manner. “These men are all alike, my dear. They get a notion in their heads of the women they would have to wife and expect us to fall in with their plans straightaway. Though you could hardly do better than Sir Robert, the choice is yours. I, for one, am pleased he has come up to scratch.”

  Chastity was taken aback. Did the countess approve his desire to marry her?

  The countess leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “He is the last of the Powell brothers to marry. His mother and I were near to giving up hope. You, my dear, may be an answer to prayer.” Facing Sir Robert, she said, “Leave this dear child in my care. I have been thinking of paying Agatha a visit anyway. I will send a message to let her know she may expect us tomorrow at teatime.”

  Robbie bowed before the two women. “You have my eternal gratitude, Countess.” Rising, he said, “I will leave Miss Reynolds’ portmanteau with Cruthers.” He had kept the small valise Abby had packed for Chastity in the curricle, not wishing to appear presumptuous, though he had harbored few doubts about the countess accepting the task of returning Chastity to Brighton. Muriel loved a challenge.

  As he was about to take his leave, Chastity stepped close to ask, “Will you remain in London then?”

  “I must. This is not yet finished and the villain remains in the city.”

  Knowing she was in good hands, he kissed her on her forehead and took his leave. The Grand Countess would have outriders as well as an armed coachman to guard the women. Too, he did not think the leader of the brigands, the man he knew only as Ings, would return to Brighton anytime soon, not when he planned to meet his men at The Prospect in a few days’ time. The question was, did the leader foresee Robbie discovering his Brighton lodgings and thus obtaining the information concerning the tavern meeting? If he were very cl
ever, he might have anticipated a spy would do just that. In which case, Robbie would be expected.

  When he returned to the suite of rooms he and his uncle would share at Grillon’s, Jack was honing his knives. Six blades of different sizes were laid across the table. Jack’s shifted his gaze to Robbie as he took a seat across from him.

  “Did the countess accept her mission?” Jack inquired.

  “She did. Now we can turn to the task at hand. And, for that, I am thinking I might call in a few friends.”

  Jack paused in his polishing. “Which friends might those be?”

  “Well, it occurred to me that since the villain thinks to meet his men at The Prospect, and that is a favorite haunt of the Powell Shipping crews, why not enlist a few to our cause? One of the ships is certain to be in port. It might even be my own.”

  “Do you really think we need them when there are two of us and we are better armed?”

  “It’s merely a contingency. You see, I’ve been thinking he set this up from the beginning to lure me to him. Oh, he meant to hurt Chastity, I’ve no doubt about that, but he must have known I’d track the two he left in Brighton to their nest. It was an easy way for him to dispense with the two he didn’t need while pointing me to the place he wanted to be found.”

  Jack began hiding his knives on his person. Two went into sheaths inside his boots; one went into a loop inside the back of his breeches; one he slipped down inside his shirt along his forearm; and two lodged at his hips.

  Robbie watched, fascinated. “Do you always carry so many knives?”

  “Pas toujours. But since you told me we were being followed about Brighton, yes. Now, as for these troublesome pests who would lurk in the shadows and seek to ruin young ladies of good breeding, I say let’s away with them and quickly.” Jack swept his index finger across his throat. “Comme ça.”

  Robbie had to laugh. “There are times, Jack, when you quite amaze me.”

  “Those devils interfere with our vacances, non? And they would hurt the lovely virago?”

  “They did, though, thank God, not as badly as they intended. I shall send a message to Tiller who will ascertain the whereabouts of the crew. It might be that the leader of the brigands has yet more men of which we know naught.”