“Enjoy your evenings, lads,” the thief called as he turned and left, winding his way through the alleys and streets of the docklands.
Brandon stuck to the shadows and followed. He’d had special boots made with soft bottoms so that his feet wouldn’t clack on the stone. The man never looked back, never started or gave even the slightest indication he knew he was being followed.
Brandon smiled.
Technically, Ewan was only one of Brandon’s five partners. The other four, however, were the daughters of the founder of Carrington Shipping. For their safety he’d kept them completely in the dark. He winced a bit.
He’d intercepted Ewan on his way to protect his cousins and drawn him into the web of spies. He’d told Ewan it was for the girls’ good. That Ewan was helping to protect them another way. But the truth was, they’d been in danger anyway. Scrubbing his face, he recalled that at that time, he’d been more motivated by his own needs than theirs. And they’d suffered for his choice.
He’d only just managed to rescue them when their scum of an uncle had tried to steal them away.
The idea made his gut churn. Because it made him feel like he was as bad as his father. Hurting other people for his own gain. Of course, his father had been dead within a year of being outed as a French spy.
He left his son with the consequences of his actions and the burden of righting their family name. An endeavor he’d been working five years to correct. And he was so close.
He was fortunate that the king hadn’t stripped all his lands and holdings, but he’d taken enough.
Brandon had one property in the country, with its lands and income. Eight others had been seized by the crown, a payment for the betrayal.
That one property was their northern holdings, where he was likely expected to live out his life. King George hadn’t been specific in that regard.
But to be safe, Brandon had come to London under an assumed name, John Smith, and joined forces with a powerful merchant. A man who’d known his father before the betrayal and had offered Brandon an opportunity.
Help me restore my business and I’ll help you restore your name. That was what Lucas Carrington had said. And Brandon argued with himself, in intercepting Ewan, he’d been keeping that promise to Lucas.
But guilt still niggled at the back of his mind.
Ewan was in danger and so were the Carrington sisters.
Ewan could take care of himself. In fact, he’d travelled from Scotland to London and gone undercover, infiltrating the thieves in a way that neither Brandon nor Lucas Carrington had been able to.
But the girls…
Women, actually.
The sisters still faced an immense amount of danger. This ring of thieves swirled about their business and even their uncle had been in cahoots with the criminals. But he worried for Emily the most. Her eldest sister, Eliza, was as tough as a woman could be. The next oldest, Isabella, had just wed a duke. And then there was the youngest, Abigail, who was full of spirit. But Emily was a kinder, gentler woman than any of her sisters and it made her more vulnerable.
Even thinking her name caused an ache deep in his chest. Never had he seen a more beautiful and enchanting woman in his life. The moment he’d held her in his arms, he’d realized his mistake.
Her thick, full, brown hair was usually piled atop her head, accentuating her large, warm brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.
As a man of seven and twenty years, he’d had his share of experience. He was a duke after all, even if he was an exiled one, and he knew women found him pleasing to look at.
But the first time he’d seen Emily, the air had rushed from his lungs.
Part of keeping the Carrington sisters out of trouble had been to watch them from afar. He was cold but he wasn’t cruel and so he’d kept his word and kept an eye on them as he’d promised Lucas.
Which meant he’d seen her far more often than she’d ever seen him.
He knew she was kind, caring, gracious, and…stunning.
And now he wanted a woman he couldn’t touch. Because it would bring danger to her door. Worse still, he’d taken actions that had increased that danger for her and her family. Because he had his own goals.
He didn’t like it, but he’d come too far to change his mind now. He was so close to reaching his goal and then…then perhaps he could see the sins against the Carrington sisters, against Emily, righted.
He needed to see this investigation through.
And courting a woman would endanger her, distract him, and most likely ruin his chances to clear his name.
At least that’s what he’d been telling himself for the past few months. Then, he’d held her in his arms. She’d looked up at him, her pretty pink lips parted, her eyes curious, her hands gripping him as though he were the only thing standing between her and danger and he’d…
Brandon stopped as the thief slipped into a doorway. Two knocks rang out into the dark of the night.
“Password,” a gruff voice asked.
“Crown the king,” the other man replied with a chuckle.
Brandon heard the bolt slide back, the door creak open.
He slipped past the door and Brandon moved closer. A single grimy window was next to the entrance and he ducked under it, peeking through the wavy glass.
Six men sat around a table, money piled in the middle as they counted.
He was working on the petty thieves now. He’d spent three weeks tailing the higher echelon but had yet to figure out who they reported to. They were smart and careful. He had, however, identified two lords actively involved in selling the king’s goods. He’d left Ewan to investigate them from the inside. He had moved his efforts to the small street crimes. He hoped they’d be more liable to make mistakes and lead him to whomever ran this operation.
“How much do we have for Maestro?”
Another man grunted his finger moving as he counted, then answered. “Not enough.”
Each of the men added from their own personal pile to the one in the middle. “Maestro had Malcolm done. Stabbed ‘im right in the back, all because he didn’t deliver that niece of his.”
“Well,” another said around a cigar. “Maestro was right on that account. Now that line of business has been cut off, hasn’t it?”
“Still,” another one said. “Makes a man nervous. Don’t deliver one week and—” He ran his finger across his throat.
Another leaned forward. “He’s a tough man to be certain, but we all eat thanks to him.”
A large man scratched his chin. “Think we might up our standing if we brought ‘im one of those girls.”
“I’m not touching a duke’s wife,” the one with the cigar added. “No way.”
“Agreed and not the one married to a marquess, either.”
The one who’d suggested kidnapping to begin with nodded. “Smart. But there are two who don’t got no ‘usbands. What about one of them?”
Brandon’s stomach dropped. Emily was in danger.
“Let me think on it more,” the cigar-biter answered. “In the meantime, we need to get this money to Maestro.” He pulled out a box from under the table and placed all the money in the middle then snapped the wooden lid shut. After standing, he crossed the room and donned his coat. “We’ll plan for tomorrow night gents, but I can’t be late for the drop.”
Brandon shrunk into the shadows as the door opened again. The man stepped out, the tip of his cigar leading the way.
For a moment, Brandon hesitated. Would they act tomorrow night, or would they simply make their plan tomorrow? Did he run to Emily’s side now or finish the job he’d started here tonight?
Then he clenched his teeth. She was pushing him from his path already and they’d only met the once. He had to focus. And so, squaring his shoulders, he set off into the night after the lit cigar. He’d warn the Duke of Devonhall about the threat to Emily and Abigail just as soon as he’d followed the money.
He had time, he reasoned. They didn’t even have
a plan yet.
But when he thought of some man hurting Emily…
Still. This was what he’d come to do. Capture this ring of thieves and restore his name with the crown. He’d sacrificed so much to get here, and he would not stray from the path now.
He’d made so many compromises already.
Clenching his fists at his sides, he moved silently through the night.
Emily stared out the window. The sun shone for the first time in what felt like weeks.
Her sisters were all still asleep.
Isabella and Eliza were up late at their husbands’ gaming hell. They’d hoped to meet their rescuer from a few months’ prior. The one who’d held her in his arms and stolen her breath. The one who’d continued to hold her nightly in her dreams.
Eliza had seen him on two other occasions, and he’d introduced himself as Dishonor. Odd choice, considering he’d rescued them. To Emily, he might be the most honorable man she knew.
She sighed as her chin rested on her hand as she leaned on the sill. Of course, he’d sought out Eliza. Her eldest sister was so brave.
“There you are,” Abigail called from behind her as she swept in with a flurry of skirts. “At least the sun is out today.”
Emily didn’t bother to point out that her sister’s two thoughts were completely unrelated. “It is. It’s lovely.”
“Are you as bored as I am?” Abigail tossed herself into a chair. “When we lived in Cheapside and had no money, I thought that might be the worst our lives could get. But this…” She gestured around the room. “This might be worse.”
Emily surveyed the walls that Abigail has just referred to. Large mahogany trim decorated the tall ceilings as it gleamed with fresh polish.
Delicately carved furniture decorated the room and a roaring fire crackled merrily in the hearth. “Darling.” She gave her younger sister an indulgent smile. “How could this be worse than what we left?”
Abigail pshed. “At least our financial struggle held an air of excitement. Bash has trapped us in this house for weeks. Boring.”
Emily pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Abigail tended toward the dramatic. “The house has at least twenty rooms—”
“That’s not the point,” Abigail huffed. “We’re prisoners.”
Emily shrugged. It was difficult to deny that. Their uncle had been murdered, which should have been the end of their problems; but really, it was just the beginning. Uncle Malcolm had been working for some band of outlaws and one of them had attempted to marry Eliza.
So now, they stayed in Bash’s house…where it was safe. “Try to understand. It’s only temporary.”
“Temporary? For how much longer? It’s been weeks.” She shook her head. “I’m tired of doing nothing. I want to have fun. We’re heiresses now. We should be finding husbands. And dancing. That would keep us safe. We don’t even have to grieve like Avery.”
Avery was Malcolm’s daughter, their cousin, and she’d become yet another charge of their brother-in-law. No wonder the man kept them in the house. He’d gone from a bachelor to having a whole passel of women to care for.
“Dancing will keep us safe?” Emily said in her best teasing voice even as she turned back to the street. Her cheeks heated as she thought of the man she’d like to court her.
The one who only went by a secret name. A smile spread across her lips. She was the mousy sister, the quiet one, the nice one. How funny that the first man she’d ever wanted in that way was the most mysterious of them all.
Perhaps…she might surprise everyone yet and do something exciting or interesting.
“You know that’s not what I meant. Let’s go shopping. We can leave before anyone even wakes. Please, Em? I’ll perish without a bit of fun.”
“Bash and Dylan are investigating as much as they can. And Eliza and Isabella are at the Den of Sins to try and get Dishonor to visit again. Surely they’ll come up with answers soon.”
Her younger sister snorted. “You don’t understand. Not all of us are content with embroidery for a pastime. I need excitement.”
“Everyone is working very hard to keep us safe. The least we can do is stay home.”
“You don’t understand as you’re content with mundane activities…” She started again.
Emily stopped listening as hurt turned her mouth down.
She knew they saw her that way. Sometimes she looked at herself that way too. Abigail had personality, Eliza was brave and strong, Isabella resilient and so self-possessed. What was Emily? ‘Kind’ they said. Boring, they meant.
Her role had always been one of support. Convincing Abigail to stay home was the perfect example. But that didn’t mean she didn’t crave excitement too. Or a handsome, dashing hero. Or a chance to be as valued as her sisters. To know that she’d made real changes to make her future better.
She wished Dishonor had found her and passed information to her instead of Eliza. Even he seemed to know who the brave sister was. And she wished she’d gone to a secret gaming hell and been a dealer like Isabella had done.
She wished she was anywhere but here.
Most of all, however, she wished to see Dishonor again.
And in her heart of hearts, she wished that he would kiss her.
Chapter Two
It had taken a full day to follow that box.
Brandon rubbed his aching eyes. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours at least.
But the money had finally arrived at its final destination.
And following the trail had been eye-opening.
All over London were drop points. The airlock of a townhome, the space between two fences, a missing stone on the side of a building. The box had changed hands four times. A man dropped it in one point, then an hour later, another retrieved it and moved it to its next destination.
And finally, it had arrived here. A polished townhouse with a brick façade and black wrought-iron fence in Mayfair that overlooked a lovely common full of trees and shrubs.
One hundred twenty-three Hill Street. The address was emblazoned on a shiny brass plaque next to the door.
And a smart-looking butler retrieved the box with his untarnished white gloves. As Brandon watched, ten more boxes arrived. All identical.
This was the man he’d been searching for. Maestro.
Of course, he didn’t know Maestro’s real identity but…he’d find out soon enough.
For a brief moment, he considered ringing the bell. Announce himself, not under his alias, but his real name, The Duke of Winston.
Then he looked down at himself.
A day and half of no rest and skulking in the shadows had not done much for his appearance.
He knew where to find the man now, and so he took out his notebook and beneath the location of each drop box, he added the address. Then he circled it. Then, he circled it again.
Finally, he slipped into the shadows. He had another stop to make before he could finally go to bed, The Den of Sins.
A gaming hell back on the other side of town. Tucked into the mean streets of the East End, the place made its owners a small fortune, including the Duke of Devonhall and Marquess of Milton. These men who could help him in more ways than one.
Devonhall was Emily’s guardian. He’d keep her safe.
His insides twisted again at the idea of not guarding her himself. But he’d clear his name first. That was essential. And the two men could help him with that as well.
They had connections with the crown. Could get him an audience.
He rubbed his head trying to remember exactly what the men fencing goods had said last night. How imminent was the danger?
Sick dread began to pool in his stomach. Or was that exhaustion?
Leaving Hill Street, he flagged down a hack and called out the address on the other side of town. The driver gave him a skeptical glance, his eyes trailing over Brandon’s shabby appearance until Brandon flashed his pouch of coins.
Brandon climbed in the carriage and they star
ted off, weaving through the busy streets. As the carriage rocked, he drifted off to sleep, succumbing to the heaviness that pulled at his eyelids. They popped open again when they reached the Den of Sins, and he peeled himself off the seat, then paid the driver.
As he entered the establishment, dark red curtains covered many of the doors, making the room feel even smaller than it was.
Men’s voices rang in the air.
He recognized Isabella at one of the tables. She was dressed as a man and dealing cards. He quirked a brow. A duchess dealing cards?
But he remembered playing at her table once, she had an uncanny ability to win.
Her eyes met his and he jolted. He’d never realized how like Emily’s they were. It stabbed him to think that he hadn’t come sooner. What if Emily were in danger right this moment?
What if those men meant they’d try to steal her tonight?
Eliza stepped out from behind a curtain, her husband and her brother-in-law close behind.
He ran a quick hand through his hair. It was very likely a mess.
“You finally showed,” Bash growled trying to get around Eliza. For a slip of a woman, she did a remarkable job of holding him back.
“We have questions,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring fiercely. “About you, your partner…”
He stood up straighter. This was not a public conversation. “I’m sure you have questions. I am sincerely hoping to answer them in a carriage as we travel to Decadence’s home. There is a danger to Emily and Abigail, and I’d feel better if we were there or en route rather than here. Just in case.”
Menace scrubbed his scalp with his hand. “I told you he’d surface when there was a threat.”
Brandon raised his brows. An ally? Potentially.
Decadence narrowed his gaze, his dark eyes flashing. A large man, and a duke, he was a formidable opponent when he chose to be. “How do we know this isn’t a trap?”
Dishonor winced. Decadence was definitely not an ally. And his gut began to churn. He’d had to follow that money. He was so close to outing these criminals. But he had the feeling that he should have come sooner. That time was running out…
Duke of Dishonor: Lords of Scandal Page 2
