Her Wicked Proposal: The League of Rogues, Book 3 (8 page)

Cedric sighed in disappointment. “You are very determined this evening, aren’t you?” He moved his face back, his unseeing eyes aimed several inches to the left of her face.

“I am when you tease me with a tale of Arab slave traders, horses and harems.”

“Very well, I shall satisfy your curiosity. But know this, you will satisfy me when I come to you with my own desires.”

Anne said nothing, forcing herself to regain control before any unbidden images of Cedric and his desires took hold of her focus.

“It was a warm evening in March of last year. Ashton and I were at Berkeley’s for the night playing cards with a friend…”

Chapter Seven

London, March 1820

Cigar smoke hung in hazy clouds near the ceiling of Berkeley’s dimly lit card room. The majority of the men lounging in chairs about the card tables were in their mid to late thirties. The young sensible bucks of marrying age were enslaved at the dances of Almack’s that evening. Only the most dangerous of men were left free to prowl tonight and seek their pleasures without worry of crossing the paths of society mamas and their marriage-minded daughters. Cedric, Ashton, and their friend James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke, chose a table near the main fireplace to play a few games of whist before heading to a pleasure haunt in a few hours.

Ashton spread the deck of cards out and shuffled them while Cedric and James flagged down a club servant to bring three glasses of port.

“Thank God Letty did not expect me to accompany her to Almack’s,” James confessed to Cedric. James blew out a sigh of relief. Cedric chuckled at the relieved expression in the earl’s eyes.

“Not a lover of the quadrilles, Pembroke?” Ashton asked.

James laughed. “When a man reaches twenty-eight, he shouldn’t have to suffer escorting his sister to such events. I argue that it is a matter of principle to excuse myself from such abominable dances and pointless flirtations.”

“Isn’t your mother expecting you to choose a bride soon?” Cedric asked.

“Yes, but I don’t want to marry just any chit. Any woman at Almack’s tonight is not a woman I want to marry.”

Cedric snorted. “Then my sisters are safe! What a relief that is.”

“I would not wish to be there either,” Ashton mused. “In fact, I feel quite guilty because I forced my brother into taking Joanna tonight. Rafe was not pleased, but when Thomasina and I pushed on him, he caved.”

“It’s been a few years since Joanna came out, hasn’t it?” James asked, sipping his brandy.

“Yes, bless her heart, she’ll be twenty-two in a month and no man has come around asking for her. I can’t understand why. I’ve been most encouraging to any man who has even so much as asked for her to pass the salt at dinner engagements. But it’s no use, not one man has shown he’s even remotely interested.” Ashton sighed and thumbed through his cards.

Cedric was only half listening to this—talk of marriage and sisters always put him on edge. He didn’t like thinking of his own sisters marrying. Ashton’s older sister, Thomasina, was already married with a passel of children, but Joanna was the baby of Ashton’s family and her brother was apparently determined to see her wed.

“What? No suitors?” James exclaimed in surprise. “Joanna is such a lovely girl!”

Ashton shrugged. “Thomasina believes that she’s too likeable, as a companion, not a woman. She has many men who admire her wit and humor, yet none of them so much as send a bouquet of flowers. Damned if I can figure out why. She has a sizeable dowry, and I’ve not hidden that fact from any man.”

“Men are fools,” Cedric announced grimly.

“So how is Letty?” Ashton inquired as he began to deal the deck between the three of them.

“Spoiled is what. Last week she told me that a genteel lady ought to own at least a dozen pairs of gloves. I dared to ask what was the use of so many gloves in the spring and she fairly bit my head off. She used some French words I’ve never even heard of…” James remarked with pensive amusement.

Cedric chuckled. “The fascination with fashion I once believed to be restricted to the fairer sex, but unfortunately I’ve seen far too many dandies prowling the streets who were arrested by the splendid sight of themselves reflected in a shop’s window glass. A bunch of popinjays, the lot of them.” Cedric sipped his port as he eyed one such colorfully dressed dandy who was chatting with a foreign-looking gentleman who had just entered the room.

“I say, Pembroke, do you know that man there?” Cedric gestured to the foreigner.

“Freddy Poncenby?” James asked, shooting a scathing glance over his shoulder at the dandy who was waving his arms excitedly as he spoke. Poncenby was not a favorite of any gentleman at their table. He was a tad too cowardly, and there was a touch of weasel in him that Cedric didn’t trust.

“No, the other gentleman.”

“Oh! Why that’s Samir Al Zahrani. He’s from Nejd in Arabia.”

“Al Zahrani?” Cedric eyed the man curiously. He was tall with deeply olive skin and a harsh but handsome face and form. Dark brows swept over a pair of black eyes that scanned the room with a militaristic precision that stirred Cedric’s curiosity.

“I heard he is a wealthy merchant, which given the power struggles and political upheavals in that part of the world is quite a feat.”

“A merchant of what?”

James, a seasoned rake who had little occasion to act self-conscious of delicate matters, actually looked flustered.

“That depends on who you ask. Most people will tell you he deals in textiles, but I’ve heard that he runs another far more lucrative business on the side. Slave based.” James uttered this last in a soft tone. Ashton and Cedric exchanged surprised looks.

“Slaves?” Ashton’s tone was heavy with disapproval. Parliament had outlawed the slave trade over a decade before, though slavery was sadly still legal abroad, though not on English soil. As William Cowper had once said, “Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs receive our air, that moment they are free. They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That’s noble, and bespeaks a nation proud.”

Sadly, not all within the nation held such nobility.

“Yes. I heard he has recently begun to offer his ‘wares’ at various brothels in London. But that isn’t nearly as frightening as the rumors that he’s come here to take our own English roses back to Nejd with him to fill his markets there. Rumor has it such a prize would be worth ten times what he makes elsewhere.”

“What?” Cedric sat up straight in his chair. “That’s nonsense, Pembroke. Someone would know if our ladies started vanishing, and that would raise an alarm.” He slapped his cards down, momentarily losing interest in the game.

“It would be an act of war,” Ashton agreed.

“It is the truth, I tell you. I heard several members of the House speaking about it last week. Out of session, of course. His father is a foreign emissary and a powerful merchant in his own right. If he did try such a bold move, he might even get away. It might take too long to rally the navy to chase him down. I’ve been keeping Letty on a short leash ever since that man made his presence known in London.” James looked entirely too serious, as though he’d been giving the matter a great deal of thought.

Ashton leaned back in his chair and placed his cards face down on the table. “Be at ease, Pembroke. No doubt if such things were on his mind, he’s been warned off by those very men you spoke of. Nothing like shining a light to chase away the shadows. And should Letty go missing and you need a fleet of ships, you’ll have mine to hunt the man down.”

“Thank you, Lennox,” James replied.

“I think I should like to meet this man.”

“Cedric…” Ashton warned. “We have enough enemies at the moment.”

Cedric grinned. “Who said anything of enemies? Let’s invite him to play whist.” Cedric did love to play with fire, even at the risk of being burned. Cedric called out to Freddy and the foreigner. “Freddy, won’t you and your friend join us for cards? We’re about to indulge in a high-stakes game.”

The foppish Freddy Poncenby, a man of only twenty-two, fairly ran to their table in excitement, the mysterious Samir Al Zahrani on his heels. A pair of tall, dark-haired men flanked the trader on either side. Guards, Cedric assumed.

“I say, gents, what a top-notch idea! Have you met Mr. Samir Al Zahrani? Mr. Al Zahrani, this is Cedric Sheridan, Viscount Sheridan, James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke and Ashton Lennox, Baron Lennox.”

“It is a pleasure, gentlemen.” Al Zahrani’s voice was a rich baritone, heavily accented, but his English was beyond reproach.

Cedric and the others rose from their card table and greeted him. Then with a little jerk of his head, Cedric indicated a door behind them.

“What do you say we move to a private room?”

With murmurs of agreement, the group moved to an enclosed chamber and closed the door. There would be no way they could be watched or overheard.

“Have a seat,” Cedric offered with a devilish grin. When Ashton met his gaze he rolled his eyes, no doubt realizing the night was not going to end as peaceably as it had begun.

“Do you ever play whist, Mr. Al Zahrani?” Cedric eyed his target with a knowing smile. The idea of cleaning out a slave trader’s pockets made his body tense with anticipation. He detested slavery, and if robbing this fellow blind put a dent his pockets, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I have played a few times,” Al Zahrani answered as he took his seat next to Freddy. Ashton quickly collected the cards and reshuffled them before dealing them out.

The five men played three hands. Cedric played carelessly at first, losing two hands early on. As the game progressed, port was consumed liberally by all except Al Zahrani, who did not wish to indulge.

“I say, Al Zahrani, you wouldn’t happen to have heard of a horse called Firestorm? I believe that’s his English name,” Cedric asked, his voice smooth and relaxed thanks to the port. Firestorm was a purebred Arabian stallion who was worth a fortune and rumored never to have left Arabia. Nor was the horse permitted to be bred with any foreign breed. No Englishman had been able to get his hands on any of his offspring.

“Firestorm? Indeed I have, Lord Sheridan. That horse belongs to my father. I have two mares that are one and three years old that were sired by him.”

“Do you really?” Cedric sighed wistfully. “I would kill to see such a fine bit of horseflesh.”

“I have them here in England, should you care to see them. It would be an honor.” Al Zahrani offered this with an air of smug pride in his dark eyes. It was obvious he was the sort who loved to flaunt his possession of something others coveted.

“I just might,” Cedric mused and resumed playing his hand.

After six more hands, James and Freddy declined to continue but remained to watch Ashton, Cedric and Al Zahrani play for increasingly higher stakes. Cedric was flushed with the alcohol of the port and the excitement of the plan he was about to set in motion.

“I wager eight hundred pounds I can win this hand. No man ever beats me when I’m on a streak.” Cedric slurred a little as he downed the last of his port and grinned at Al Zahrani. The Arab watched him speculatively, then gave a dark smile that Cedric ignored entirely.

“The thing about a streak is that it must inevitably end, my friend. Let us make a wager on something more valuable. How would my pair of mares suit you?” Al Zahrani tossed out casually.

Cedric pretended to consider the offer. “And my forfeit? Perhaps I send you my mistress for the duration of your stay in London? Lovely little bit of flesh she is. Knows her place, too. She’ll treat you well on her back, like any woman should.” He waited, seeing if Al Zahrani would take the bait.

“One of your women?” Al Zahrani, brooding, stroked the back of his cards, which lay on the table. He studied Cedric, as if realizing what was truly being insinuated by his offer. “While that intrigues me, I sense it would be no great loss to you.”

With a huff Cedric reached for his drink again. “Two women then? I suppose I could find another quickly enough.”

“Alas, no. If anything you are only proving my point. Clearly my horses are worth more than a dozen of your English women.”

“Well then, what would satisfy you?”

“I engage in a special sort of trade…and I would have great use of you as a servant in my house, to guard my precious wares.”

“A viscount as a servant? Good God, man, you are bold! Just what is it that I would be guarding and for how long?” As he spoke, Al Zahrani’s guards shifted on their feet by the door, making sure no one could enter or leave.

“You would be positioned as a guard for my female wares. Of course, you would need to be rendered harmless in order to ensure the females go untouched.”

Cedric smirked. “Some sort of chastity belt, I take it?”

“I am afraid we are a little more…permanent with our solution to the problem.”

Cedric heard a round of gulps from the other men at the table.

“You’d make me a eunuch, is that what you’re saying? I mean, I do understand, women aren’t nearly as valuable as a good horse, but still, a man’s parts are
his
parts.”

It was a bluff. Al Zahrani had to be counting on him backing down from such a wild proposition. Cedric felt a flash of panic at the thought of castration, for a number of reasons. As the last male heir to the title in his family, he had a duty to bear a son. And the thought of never again being able to bed a woman was a bleak notion. Despite his bluster aimed at luring Al Zahrani into this bet, he valued the company of a good woman more than a hundred of the finest horses.

“Do not tell me that you are afraid to lose? I thought Englishmen were fearless.” Al Zahrani was still smiling, but darkness reflected in his eyes.

“Me, afraid? Why, that’s absurd. I merely hesitate, as any decent man would when threatened with slavery and the removal of his manhood,” Cedric retorted. There was a murmur of agreement from his friends. Poncenby noticeably cupped his hands over his groin.

“You do realize there is no slavery on English soil?” Ashton interjected. Cedric shot him a look.
Damn it, man, don’t interfere
.

“It would not be slavery, and you would not be on English soil. As a matter of honor, you would willingly leave with me to my home country, and once there remain under my employ indefinitely.”

Which was just a fancy way of saying the same thing.

“Well? Shall we agree to the terms and finish the hand?” Al Zahrani asked.

Cedric slanted his cards up from the table, eyeing his hand. “I’m not entirely sure my freedom is worth a pair of horses…” Cedric said.

“I can promise you, Lord Sheridan, the horses are worth the freedom of a hundred men, and even one viscount.” Still, the man had that inherent smugness.

“Cedric, be wise about this,” Ashton said softly.