The Last Wicked Rogue

by Lauren Smith

  “Come on, then,” he said, and they headed to the door.

  “I can come?”

  “Yes. Because you caused this, Charles, you should see the consequences.” His father’s voice was cold and heavy. Charles looked down at his boots glumly as he followed his father to the horses.

  They rode to a field at the edge of town, where Baltus was waiting for them. He wasn’t alone. A young man, perhaps three years older than Charles, was there with him.

  “My son, Hugo, wanted to see me kill you, Lonsdale,” Baltus boasted.

  Charles stared at the young man. His dark eyes were almost black as he looked upon his father with pride, smiling. The pair were like a dark mirrored reflection of how Charles felt about his own father, but where they were filled with confidence, Charles felt only fear and doubt.

  Guy opened a box containing two pistols. “Choose your weapon.” Baltus took one and loaded it.

  “Twenty paces?” Baltus growled.

  “Agreed.” The two men turned back-to-back and paced away from each other. Charles moved out of the way. Baltus’s son did the same. Charles’s heart thudded against his ribs as he counted the paces with his father. He curled his hands into fists and prayed for it to be over.

  Please let Father survive.

  When his father stopped and turned, he looked to Charles, a calm confidence in his eyes.

  “Be strong, Charles.”

  Baltus and Guy lowered their weapons at each other. The air thundered with the sound of two gunshots. Charles blinked in a daze as he stared at his father as the smoke cleared.

  “No!” But the cry didn’t come from Guy’s lips, but Baltus’s son. “Father!” Hugo rushed to Baltus as he sagged and crumpled to the ground.

  Guy lowered his weapon and watched as Baltus took in a few ragged breaths, crimson blossoming on his lips as his lungs filled with blood. Charles couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. He’d never seen a man die before, had never seen blood like this before. His vision swam, but he stayed rooted to the ground. Hugo dragged his father into his arms, tears streaking down his face. It made Charles feel like he was watching something he should not.

  Hugo held him as he died, and the young man murmured soft, comforting words over and over long after the light had left his father’s eyes. Guy approached them and knelt down. He whispered something to Hugo, and when the young man violently shook his head, Guy pressed a bag of coins into his hand.

  After a moment of hesitation, the young man took the coins and gripped the pouch so tightly Charles thought he’d squeeze the coins into solid metal. The young man looked directly at them. Pure hatred loomed there, so clear and black that it filled his face. But the rage was not directed at Guy. It was at Charles.

  Because I started this. I challenged his father. Had I said nothing, none of this would have happened. I killed him…

  When Guy reached Charles, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come home now.”

  Charles didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear to see that young man cradling the body of his father, and he couldn’t look at his own father. Some part of the light inside Guy died the moment he killed Baltus.

  Nothing would ever be the same again. And it was all his fault.

  12

  “Good God,” someone muttered. Lucien, perhaps.

  Charles held his breath, unable to focus, waiting for his friends to judge him, knowing he would deserve it if any of them walked out of this room. An inner torment twisted sharply inside him, because part of him wanted them to. At least then he’d know he was right all along, that he didn’t deserve them.

  “I have regretted that decision every day of my life,” he said at last. “And I will understand if any of you wish to leave.”

  “Leave?” Jonathan spoke up. “Why would we leave?”

  Charles finally managed to look at the faces of his friends. There was no derision there, no disgust, no outrage. Only understanding.

  “You challenged a man who beat his wife,” Godric said slowly. “That is not something to be ashamed of.”

  “There are other ways to handle men like him,” Charles countered.

  “Sometimes I wonder,” Cedric said. “But you didn’t kill him, your father did.”

  “No, I killed him. If I had kept my temper, none of this would have happened.” Charles expected Cedric at least to understand the horror of his sin. But Cedric merely stroked his chin, his face pensive.

  Ashton spoke next. “So, that night at Cambridge. He saw you and those feelings of hatred resurfaced?”

  Charles nodded. “He followed me to my room, and when I fell asleep, he bound my hands and wrists and dragged me to the river. But Peter caught up with us.”

  Peter Maltby, the boy who was a friend to both him and Hugo. A loyal man with a heart of gold. The men in this room knew what had happened next. They’d all been there, drawn by his screams. And Peter’s.

  Lucien steepled his fingers. “Charles, no one here is leaving you. Ever. We are blood brothers.”

  “He’s right,” Godric said. “We began down this road with you and will follow you to the end, no matter how dark a place it might lead.”

  “Things are different now,” Charles said. “You all have families…” He had to make them understand the danger they all faced. It wasn’t just their lives—the lives of anyone who touched them were at risk.

  “You forget the women we’ve married are far from helpless.”

  “Certainly not mine,” Jonathan chuckled.

  “Nor mine,” Godric laughed.

  Ashton placed a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Charles, rest easy. We will not desert you in your hour of need.”

  A lump formed in Charles’s throat. How could he ever deserve these as men friends?

  Ashton stood before the room, like a general addressing his troops. “And now we come to the other reason I’ve called you here. I’ve given you all assignments. What have you been able to discover?”

  Lucien spoke up first. “I’ve been working with Avery. Ever since Hugo tried to have him killed in France, he’s had to keep his distance at the Foreign Office. Officially, the two have called the incident in France a misunderstanding. Unofficially, they both know the score. Hugo has had him reassigned to Scotland, but Avery is not without his supporters. He has compiled a list of men he believes are under Hugo’s direct control, and I’m having them followed to see if any come near our homes or our families.”

  “I’ve been checking into his financial position,” Ashton said. “Most of his wealth is tied up in investments with the Crown and is unfortunately secure.” That meant he couldn’t be financially ruined like most other men.

  “Godric and I have been making inquiries with gentlemen who have crossed paths with Hugo in the past and suffered for it. We might have some legal cause of action if we could convince the other men to stand with us,” Cedric offered hopefully, and Godric nodded.

  “That would be ideal, but I fear it won’t be enough,” Ashton sighed. “Hugo’s position protects him in ways we cannot assail legally. As I feared, the solution available to us won’t be honorable.”

  “It’s not as if Hugo has shown a damned ounce of honor toward us,” growled Cedric. “Why should we be honorable toward him? Hit below the belt, I say.”

  “We’re supposed to be better than that,” said Charles, much to his own surprise. The others looked to him, and he suddenly felt on the spot as to what to say. “I mean, if it were just us, I would say we should not stoop to his level, no matter the cost. But…it has never been just us, has it? At every turn Hugo has shown that anyone associated with us is also at risk.”

  “Then you agree we must do whatever is necessary?” asked Ashton.

  With a touch of reluctance, Charles nodded, as did the others.

  “Good.” Ashton turned to the room. “I know you’re all wondering what it is I have planned. The truth is, I am still weighing options. I cannot say more, for reasons that will become clear in the near futu
re. For now, I must ask you all to trust me.”

  Godric huffed. “Of course we trust you. It’s damned unsettling not to know what we’re trusting you with.”

  “Other than our lives,” Lucien added.

  “But we do trust you,” said Cedric. “Take the time you need.”

  Ashton nodded. “Thank you. Now, with that settled, and with Phillip resting and Graham keeping watch over him, I believe we are all due to attend the ball at the Sandersons’ tonight.”

  Jonathan and Cedric both groaned, and Lucien muttered something about damned debutantes.

  “A ball? Ash, you must be joking,” Cedric said. “We’re talking about taking one of the most powerful men in England down, and you’re talking about dancing?”

  Ashton smiled darkly. “You know me better than that, Cedric. I never go to balls simply to dance. They are hives of information. I have reason to believe that a man in Hugo’s employ will be there, a man I am certain is having doubts about his employment. I want to see if I can convince him to turn to our side, or at least provide us with something useful. The ball provides a perfect cover to meet with him.”

  “And while you’re off playing the hero, the rest of us will be dancing.” Lucien crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.

  “Now, now, I need you all to act as distractions, and I think dancing would do us all a bit of good.” Ashton cut in over the dramatic sounds of the men bemoaning their fates as dance partners. “Besides, I’m told Godric is going to be escorting Mrs. Wycliff, and I’d rather like to meet her.”

  Lucien sat up an open interest. “As in Aaron Wycliff? I knew the fellow. Didn’t know that he’d married. Wonder who the lady is.” Though he was happily married, he prided himself on knowing every lady in London by name or at the least by reputation.

  “Emily’s cousin, by marriage,” Godric explained to the others. “Aaron Wycliff was Emily’s second cousin, but she was apparently quite fond of him. He died a little over a year ago and left his wife a widow and mother to a little girl. Emily invited her to stay with us now that she is out of mourning.” Godric glared at Charles. “Which means she’s not for you. She is a sweet creature who needs a decent husband to care for her and her daughter.”

  Charles huffed. “If she’s hunting for a second husband, I’ll be sure to keep my distance. A wife is the last thing I need.”

  “Ash, how do you know about Mrs. Wycliff?” Godric demanded. “She only arrived a few hours ago, and I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Hugo has his spies, and I have mine. I thought it best to keep ears to the ground as it were, on all fronts.”

  “You have spies in our households?” Cedric asked.

  Ashton smiled. “I told you to trust me. Think of them more as willing accomplices who wish to remain anonymous. It’s important to stay ahead of Hugo and make sure he can’t hurt anyone we care about. After the incident with Gordon last Christmas, I realized it was only fitting to make sure I did as well.”

  There were a few grumbles, but Ash turned the focus back to the ball. “Dancing it is, then. Unless there any objections?”

  Lucien huffed. “I always object to dancing, unless it’s with my wife, and she’s still recovering from Evan’s birth.” Jonathan and Cedric both chuckled at his gloomy reaction.

  “A quadrille or two won’t kill you,” Ashton reminded Lucien.

  Charles walked his friends to the door. After they left, he headed upstairs to check on Phillip and his brother. Phillip was asleep in bed. Graham was in a chair, also asleep, or so he thought. When he moved to close the door, Graham spoke up.

  “Charles?”

  “Yes?” He slipped inside the darkened bedchamber.

  “Thank you for saving him. He’s my closest friend, and I…” Graham swallowed audibly. Charles wished he could have spared his brother this pain swirling inside his head. He’d felt it too often himself in the past.

  “I wish we’d found him sooner.” Charles was afraid the injuries would be too much for Phillip, but there was still hope he would pull through. Phillip had always been a tough bastard. He’d lost his parents to scarlet fever at a young age, and he’d always been alone. It had made him a damned strong fellow.

  Graham stifled a yawn. “Are you going out? I thought I heard a footman say something in the hall just now.”

  “I had planned on it, yes, but I’m happy to stay if you need me.”

  “No, you should go. I’ll watch over Phillip.” He lifted a book up from his lap. “I have plenty of reading to fill my hours.”

  Charles let out a breath. Graham was still keeping his distance, it seemed, but he was relieved his brother was speaking to him again. “Very well. If you need me, I’ll be at Lord Sanderson’s.”

  Graham nodded and returned to his book.

  Charles slipped out of the room and went upstairs to dress. He would humor Ashton and attend this ball, but afterward, he needed to find a quiet place to sit and think.

  Two hours later, Charles was at the Sanderson residence. He straightened his coat and faced the Palladian house before him. It was a freestanding home, not built wall-to-wall against its neighbors like most houses were these days. Lights illuminated the windows facing the street, and strains of music escaped the doors. A footman met him at the top of the stairs and collected his hat and coat.

  Charles lingered just inside the doorway a moment, listening to the songs and sounds of gaiety. There was an odd melancholy that he experienced at times like this. It was as though he were the long-forgotten ruler of a shadow realm, doomed to never feel the sunlight upon his skin or the breeze ruffle his hair. It was a foolish thing to think, perhaps, but he felt it so strongly in that moment that his breath was trapped in his lungs, making him light-headed.

  He drew in a deep breath, painted a smile on his face, and entered the ballroom. Light bathed the room, and dancers swirled past him in fluttering colors like the wings of parrots from a tropical paradise. He’d once seen a dozen parrots in a gentleman’s hothouse garden, and the experience here was not dissimilar. There was something life-affirming about it all.

  Charles felt a little better now. Perhaps a dance or two with a pretty girl would raise his spirits. His gaze swept the room as he searched for familiar faces. He saw Miss Breckton, a lovely young lady who was most excellent company, so long as one did not talk politics. Her father was a vocal lord in the House of Lords. There were the attractive but shy wallflower twins, Amelia and Augusta Pepperidge. He’d always loved the idea of being in the company of twins, but right now he had only one woman on his mind, a woman he was quite convinced he’d never see again.

  Charles caught a glimpse of his friends now. Ashton was on the edge of the ring of spectators, Rosalind at his side, smiling widely. Ash was no doubt waiting for the opportune moment to meet with Hugo’s man. Deeper in the room, Cedric and Anne were already twirling in a dance, along with Jonathan and Audrey, though it seemed those two were fighting over who should lead whom. Godric stood near the refreshments with Emily, who had one hand resting on her belly.

  It was unusual to see a woman with child in public so close to when the babe was due, but Emily had always been unconventional, and the Sandersons adored her. Here she could breach any etiquette rule she damned well liked. Lucien was with them, as was Horatia, who leaned against his side. That meant their new son was under the care of a nursemaid for the evening. She seemed quite content to talk to friends at the moment rather than dance. Charles smiled, pleased that Horatia was looking so well. He’d helped bring her son, Evan, in to the world. The babe had almost not made it because he’d come a month too soon. Thankfully, he was strong like his parents and was adjusting quite well, and he was now a healthy little tyke.

  Everyone he cared about was in this room tonight, all laughter and smiles upon their faces. This was a moment that he could have dwelt in forever. If he could have trapped it all within a glass and kept it preserved for centuries he would have. The darkness and worries of the future were nowher
e to be found here tonight. There was only dancing in the company of friends.

  If Hugo was gone, perhaps it would always be like this. Days in the sun and nights beneath the chandeliers, dancing wild and free. No more looking over their shoulders with concern. Despair suddenly rose up within him.

  Ashton might have felt confident he could outwit Hugo, but Charles was not so certain. And if tonight did not go as planned, then what? If Ashton’s plans fell apart, Charles knew what he would have to do. He would do whatever he had to in order to protect them all. If it meant facing Hugo alone like a lamb to the slaughter, then so be it. He would give his life for them all. He could not ask them to do the same.

  “Charles! Glad to see you old boy!” He turned to see which man had called his name, only to have his heart stutter to a stop.

  There by the tall veranda doors was a woman in a blue gown the color of midnight, with silver netting over her skirts like a blanket of stars. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in soft waves and bound with ribbons in a Grecian fashion. He struggled to breathe.

  It was her. His angel from Lewis Street, the one who’d kissed him as though it had been her dying wish and then had vanished like a ghost. Of all the places he thought to find her, he had never once imagined it would be here.

  13

  Charles’s heart began to race as he started walking toward the woman in the midnight-blue dress, like a man lost in a most exquisite dream.

  She’d told him her name was Lily, but had that been the truth? He tried to think of all the ladies who might be acquainted with Lord Sanderson, and yet he knew of no woman like her. A haunting vision, a woman built by God just for him. The crowd thinned as he moved through it, ignoring every call of his name as he tried to catch sight of the woman again. When he reached the veranda, she was gone.

  Vanished again, as though she had slipped into another realm through a beam of moonlight. Charles opened the veranda door, shivering as he walked out onto the terrace overlooking the gardens. The tall hedges that formed a labyrinth were covered in frost, and the moon rose high above him as he stepped down onto the garden path. Had she come out here? He kept his steps light as he traversed the winding path.