The Last Wicked Rogue

by Lauren Smith

  “I’m no stranger to boxing,” said Charles, trying to sound confident.

  Peter smiled. “You don’t have the build for it like he does. Not yet. And then there’s the new Marquess of Rochester, Lucien. He’ll find you a willing woman any night of the week. He’s slept with nearly all the daughters of the professors. I suppose that’s how he passes his classes,” Peter mused with a chuckle.

  “You’d think it would get him expelled.”

  Peter raised his glass. “Only if he ever gets caught.”

  A laugh escaped Charles as he pictured some young man sneaking into the beds of maidens, seducing information from them about their fathers’ exams. Not a bad idea, though he couldn’t do it. Most young ladies had laughed at him when he’d tried to court them before leaving for Cambridge. He’d quite given up on the whole endeavor as a bad idea. Women were unknowable.

  “Dinner tomorrow?” asked Peter. “We could all meet in the great hall. I think the others would like to meet you.”

  Peter, it seemed, knew and liked everyone he met. Charles envied his free spirit and open heart. If only he could have a life like that, with friends like that. With Peter’s help, he just might.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Do you mind if I invite a friend to drink with us now?” Peter asked suddenly. “I saw him this morning and told him I’d be coming here. He’s a good fellow—you’ll like him. He’s had a rough time of late. Even rougher than you. I can’t go into it, but he lost his father some time back, and it took him down a dark path. I thought maybe you could help each other.”

  “I don’t mind,” Charles said. He’d lost his own father only a few months ago. It might be nice to be around someone who understood that pain and loss.

  “Excellent. He’ll be here soon, I imagine. He is punctual, never late for anything. Mind you, he’s a bit of a stiff at times, always focused on the rules. I try to encourage him to step out of bounds whenever possible.”

  Charles laughed. “I fear I’m always out of bounds.” He hadn’t felt like he’d fit in a long time, especially not here. He was smaller than the other young men, shorter and thinner…weaker. His mother had insisted he would grow into himself over time, but he didn’t believe her.

  “Ah, here he is!” Peter stood and waved at someone who’d just entered the pub.

  Charles sat up eagerly, hoping that whoever this man was, he would be friends with him too.

  When Peter eased back down into his seat, Charles saw who was walking his way and his heart came to a stop.

  “Hugo Waverly, come and meet Charles Lonsdale…” Peter was still smiling, unaware that a rift was growing in the center of the pub, a rift that divided Charles from Hugo by miles of hatred and pain…

  The pub vanished as the dream changed. Water rushed up around his body in the dark. Moonlight danced off the waves as he and Hugo splashed in the shallows of the river Cam, struggling against each other.

  “Hugo! No!” Peter’s voice was close. Where was he?

  “Get out of here, Peter. This doesn’t concern you!” Hugo snarled like a wild animal.

  The cold water was up to Charles’s neck, his bound hands and feet keeping him helpless. All he could do was flail desperately as Hugo dragged him farther into the river. The water closed over his head and he screamed, sucking it into his lungs…

  Charles bolted upright in bed, screaming. The door burst open and Tom darted in.

  “My lord! It’s all right now. You’re safe. Breathe.” Tom set a lit candle by the bed and fetched a glass of water, putting it to Charles’s lips. Charles tried to push the water away. It was the last thing he wanted to taste right now.

  “Drink,” Tom ordered firmly. Charles, body shaking, obeyed, gulping down the cool liquid. It did calm him a little, but he couldn’t stop shaking, and his heart… Lord, it felt like his heart was going to punch right through his chest.

  “Another dream,” Tom muttered. He tried to fluff the pillows behind Charles’s back. “I wish I could stop them for you, my lord. Shame you never dream about food. At least then I might know what it all means. Cabbage for bad tidings, chocolate for good fortune…”

  “We were drinking ale,” Charles said, trying to remember the pub and not what came after.

  “Oh, that’s always a sign of trouble,” said Tom. “Now, if it had been wine, that would be a sign of good fortune—unless it was spilled, of course. That’s bad.”

  Listening to Tom talk about dreams was oddly comforting, like he was helping to fight them off. Good lad.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.” Charles’s voice was gravelly and it hurt to speak, but he felt he had to apologize. How many times had Tom run to him in the last year, helping him calm after each terrifying dream?

  “No problem, sir. I was fetching water for myself when I heard you.”

  That was a lie. Charles knew most of the house could hear him scream. He’d told them all to stay away, to just ignore him, but Tom didn’t listen. Tom always came down to check on him.

  “I’m fine, Tom. Go on, back to bed with you.” He waited until he was sure his valet had left before he lay back down, still shivering.

  It was a long time before he let his eyes close again, and once he did, he could see the water rise up around him, drowning him and stealing Peter away in the icy darkness.

  4

  “It’s far too cold for croquet!” Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, shouted at her husband. She curled a gloved hand over her swollen belly, which might hold the future heir to the Essex title, as she watched her husband, Godric, and his half brother, Jonathan St. Laurent, struggle to press the wickets into the hard ground of the small lawn in their back garden.

  “Nonsense, darling,” Godric grunted. “Just needs a bit of umph!” He slipped on the icy grass and landed on his backside. His brother burst out laughing but also lost his balance and fell down beside him. Emily covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Lord, what a pair.” A light voice came from beside her. Audrey, Jonathan’s new bride, was grinning beside Emily. The two had been friends for more than a year, and now they had the pleasure of being sisters by marriage.

  “It’s so wonderful to see how much Jonathan has changed since he settled down with you,” Emily said more softly. She’d seen the young man suffer in silence as he had adjusted to life as the son of a duke. He’d lived his entire life before as a servant, and Emily had feared he would never feel like he belonged to the life he was entitled to.

  “We have both changed,” Audrey confessed. “Everything is so different now. I grew up my whole life surrounded by my brother and his bachelor friends. All that has changed…because of you.”

  Emily rubbed her hand over her stomach, feeling a flutter of movement within. Charles had once said she would be the ruin of the League of Rogues. Perhaps she had been. They may not be the rogues they once were, but their bonds to one another were still unbroken. In truth, all she had done was dared them to open their hearts to love. But Charles had feared that vulnerability, and still did.

  “Audrey,” Emily said. “We have to do something about Charles. He’s growing more distant, and I am beginning to worry. I know he attends all the balls and dinners, but there is an emptiness to his gaze that frightens me. It’s as though he’s given up.” She had once vowed to find someone who would love him and wished to keep that promise, even if it meant crossing every ocean and traversing every continent to do so.

  “I’ve noticed as well,” Audrey said. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you, because I know I can trust you.”

  Emily turned away from her husband and Jonathan, who had abandoned the croquet wickets and were carefully climbing to their feet. “Yes?”

  “Well…it’s about Tom.”

  “Tom?” Emily did not immediately understand who Audrey was speaking of.

  “Charles’s valet.”

  “Oh! Mr. Linley.” She remembered now. Blond-haired, shy blue eyes that followed his master like a faithful spa
niel. “What about him?”

  “Her,” Audrey whispered.

  Emily blinked, not immediately processing Audrey’s words.

  “He…is a she.”

  Emily blinked again. “What? How can you be sure?”

  “How long have I been Lady Society?” she asked. Though the secret was out, it was still contained within the League and their wives. “I have spent years observing people far closer than you can imagine. There are a number of tells, from her eyes to the way she looks at Charles.”

  “Looks of longing do not mean Tom is a girl. I’ve seen men who fancy Charles before. Perhaps you are mistaking it for open admiration.”

  Audrey shook her head. “No, there is more to it than you realize. She uses face paint to make her seem more masculine. I was trained in the art of disguise and recognize the techniques she’s using.”

  “Audrey, I fear your time spent in those circles may have you seeing conspiracies everywhere.”

  “You don’t have to believe me. Watch when Charles arrives. There will be signs. I promise you.” Audrey was so earnest that Emily agreed.

  “I will watch. But honestly, I think you are mistaken.” She turned to her husband. “Godric, the others will be here soon, and your game, I fear, is a lost cause. Please come in and warm up.”

  Godric crossed the slick lawn and pulled his wife into an embrace, planting a slow kiss on her lips.

  “Warm enough for you, darling?”

  “Oh yes, quite so,” she replied, smiling up at him.

  “Good.” He led her inside with Jonathan and Audrey following behind.

  Godric’s butler, Simpkins, met them in the hall. “Your Grace, your guests have arrived,” the butler declared with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “As per your standing orders, I hid the best bottles of port, sherry, and scotch.”

  Godric smiled. “Thank you, Simpkins. Charles can’t be trusted with the new carpets.”

  “A wise precaution.” Simkins had yet to forgive Charles for the stains he’d left on the Arabian rug at the Essex country estate, or the Persian rug last spring. Or the bear-skin rug in the billiard room last month.

  Emily led the way into the drawing room, now full of men and women talking excitedly. She noted Lucien, the Marquess of Rochester, and his wife, Horatia; Cedric, Viscount Sheridan, and his wife, Anne; the baron, Ashton Lennox, and his wife, Rosalind; and then there was Charles, the Earl of Lonsdale, though he wasn’t alone.

  Tom Linley was once again his shadow. It was unusual to bring a valet into the drawing room of another man’s house like this, but Charles tended to make an exception with the young man. It seemed out of place, and yet…

  Was Audrey right? Was that tall, thin boy…not actually a boy?

  Emily moved deeper into the room as she made her greetings, and when she faced Tom and Charles she offered him a warm smile.

  “Charles, I’ve had the cook prepare a special luncheon for the staff. Would you allow me to steal your valet away so I might ask him something before he joins the others belowstairs?”

  Charles’s gray eyes glinted with mischief. “Trying to poach my best man for Godric? Tom’s an excellent lad, but far too loyal to leave, no matter what you offer.”

  Tom’s face paled, and Emily tried not to stare, lest anyone else in the room noticed her interest.

  “No one is poaching anyone, Charles. Don’t be silly.”

  Emily waited for Tom to follow her into the hall. She took a moment to watch the boy walk. There was a masculine gait there, to be sure, but there was also no mistaking the ever so slight sway of the hips.

  Good Lord. Audrey could be right.

  Perhaps Tom Linley was not Tom after all. But why the deception? She had a young sister to look after. Was it simply easier to find work as a man? Life in the lower classes for an unmarried woman with a child was difficult, even dangerous.

  “What can I help you with, Your Grace?” Linley asked, her eyes respectfully downcast.

  “Help with? Oh…I completely forgot. It’s nothing important, I assure you. Please, go and enjoy the luncheon with the rest of the staff.” She watched the valet depart, and her curiosity only intensified.

  That poor woman. Living a lie just to survive. It’s not right. I’m sure I can help her. I must.

  Lily finished the last bit of plum tart that Mrs. Fitzhugh had given her. She had taken her lunch with the rest of the Essex staff belowstairs and had a full belly. Given the size of the meals provided to the staff of the League houses, she couldn’t begin to imagine how much the League themselves ate. Lord, she would become the size of an elephant if she ever dined with them as a lady.

  “Mr. Linley?” Simpkins announced in the doorway of the staff dining room. “Your presence has been requested by Her Grace in the morning room. The gentlemen are playing billiards.”

  Lily went still. “Requested? Her Grace requested to speak with me?” That was twice in one day, and two times more than she wished to speak with any of the ladies upstairs. These were not ordinary women, and she had learned early on that she needed to avoid their watchful gazes to avoid detection.

  “Yes. Go on now.” Simpkins clapped his hands in a way only a butler could, and she knew she had to get upstairs quickly. She thanked the cook for her tart and rushed off. She found the morning room door and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Lily fixed her eyes on the floor as she entered. When she dared to glance up, she saw a parade of colorful skirts belonging to a number of young ladies as they moved about the room.

  “Mr. Linley, please come in and sit down,” the Duchess of Essex said.

  “I believe I should stand, Your Grace,” Lily answered, keeping her tone low as she faced the scrutiny of five grand ladies around her.

  “Sit. Please, I insist.” Lily moved to a chair about eight feet away from the others. She kept her eyes down, trying to figure out why she’d been called here.

  One of the women spoke up. “We don’t bite, you know.”

  “Nor will our gaze turn you into stone,” added another.

  Lily looked up, noting the expensive silks of their gowns, with lavish embroidery and beautiful embellishments that she once imagined wearing herself. When she looked upon the duchess, she was surprised by the warmth she found in the woman’s violet eyes. Lily was older by two years, yet the duchess carried a mature, knowledgeable expression in her eyes that told Lily she was wise beyond her years. It made Lily nervous, because wise people could often see what others could not.

  “So, you are not Mr. Linley, are you?” the duchess inquired, though it wasn’t really spoken as a question.

  Lily’s heart froze. Not long ago, Audrey had said she knew the secret Lily was keeping. Lily hadn’t been sure what she meant. It was certainly possible Audrey had seen through her disguise, yet it was equally possible she suspected something completely erroneous. Audrey was famous for her flights of fancy, after all.

  “I am…” Lily whispered hoarsely. Linley was her surname—that had never been a lie.

  “I mean to say that you are Miss Linley,” the duchess clarified. The steely resolve in her eyes made Lily squirm.

  “Please, you need not trouble yourself with denials. Your secret is quite safe with the ladies in this room,” the duchess reassured her. “You see, our husbands have their League of Rogues, but we…we are the Society of Rebellious Ladies. Do you know what it is we do?”

  Lily shook her head, too stunned to speak. It was all falling apart. There was no talking her way out of this. Hugo would kill her once he found out, and then Katherine would… Panic filled her, and she looked up from her chair, suddenly sick. She fled to the potted plant in the corner and wretched into it.

  “Heavens!” one of the women gasped. Lily, through her sick haze, heard the ladies gather around her. A cool hand touched the back of her neck, and she sank to her knees, her body tensing as she dry-heaved again.

  “There, there.” It was the voice of Anne Sheridan, the viscountess. “We
didn’t mean to upset you. We only wished to offer our aid. That’s what we do.”

  Lily closed her eyes, moaning as she leaned against the tall potted plant. “I don’t understand. What do you rebel against?”

  “This is a man’s world,” said Audrey, “and heaven knows it is hard for us to survive within it. You are living proof. We rebel against that.”

  “If anything, you have already proven yourself to be one of us,” added Emily. “It is no small or timid feat to do what you have done.”

  “Would you let us help you?” This came from Horatia, the Marchioness of Rochester.

  Lily lifted her head and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her coat. “Help me?”

  “Yes. We wish to help you find a husband,” said Audrey. “One who will take care of you and your little sister. Katherine is her name, isn’t it?”

  Someone to take care of her? These poor, naïve fools. They had no idea how impossible that was. Hugo had taken everything from her. Her only future was the one he allowed her to have.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “My life is more complicated than you realize,” she said. It was the closest she could come to admitting the truth.

  “I’m sure you’ve grown used to a certain amount of freedom disguised as a man, but you’re living a lie,” Horatia said. “And it can’t possibly last. With the right husband, you could be just as free and far more secure. You could be yourself.”

  “We won’t tell Charles, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Audrey said. “We will be clever about it. You can ask for certain nights off.”

  “He’s quite lenient with his staff,” added Emily. “I know he would allow it. Then you will be able to join us at our balls. We have already begun to craft a clever family history for you, one that will give you entrance to the ton.”

  “I have agreed to provide you a suitable dowry,” Rosalind said. She was a Scottish banker, a rarity in itself, and Lily had always admired her for that. But the thought of these ladies helping her when Hugo had sent her to ruin their lives… The nausea returned with renewed vigor. She had to play her part though.