Lady Rogue (23 page)

Alex would have liked to dispute that, but neither did he wish to begin another shouting match in the Downings’ drive. He put a hand on her shoulder, unwilling to explain that because of her secret, he was being forced to play pretty with his mistress. “Kit…”

She shrugged free. “Your stupidity is none of my affair, Everton.”

“Stupidity?” he queried carefully, angry.

Kit faced him. “You’re the one who turned away,” she said. “Not me.”

That much was true. And if he had possessed the ability to separate the wants of his body from the needs of his heart, he might very well have taken her as his mistress, Bonaparte’s spy or not. But the web was already too tangled, the decisions that should have been clear and easy becoming murkier and more confusing by the
moment. “Just honoring my father’s debt to your father.” He turned to climb into the phaeton. “And remember your promise to me, chit,” he continued, looking down at her angry, frustrated expression. “You’re not going anywhere until your father comes for you.”

“I always keep my word,” she spat, and turned on her heel.

He looked after her for a moment, then clucked to the team. “As do I, Miss Brantley,” he muttered.

By the time he reached Cale House again, Alex had managed to convince himself that dancing about Barbara Sinclair, and letting Kit Brantley sneak about London with but three days left before her departure, was idiocy. Allowing Barbara to reveal her little secret shouldn’t matter, because short of divine intervention, he would have to arrest Kit as a spy, anyway. It would make a sticky situation even worse, but he really didn’t give a damn. The game should have been well over by now, and he was swiftly running out of any sort of reasonable excuse to prolong it. And the unreasonable excuses were all ones he wouldn’t allow himself to examine too closely.

He turned in to the drive, then pulled Benvolio and Mercutio to an abrupt halt. A coach with a splendid crest emblazoned on the door stood at the foot of his front steps, a liveried groom in deep conversation with Conklin at the rear of the highly polished vehicle.

He should have realized it would happen sooner or later. His mind racing at nearly the same rate as his heart, he jumped to the ground as Conklin stepped forward to take the horses. Wenton was off for the day, and the front door was manned by one of the footmen, who looked flustered as he admitted his employer.

“My lord, he…the…His Grace…”

Alex nodded and pulled off his gloves. “Where is he?”

“In the drawing room, my lord. I didn’t know—”

“No worries, Timothy,” he said, nodding at his footman, and headed up the stairs.

The Duke of Furth stood in the middle of the drawing room gazing at the portrait above the mantel, much as his brother had done a little less than a fortnight ago. The older brother was taller than the younger, and more solidly built, but both possessed the same blond hair and sharp green eyes.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Alex greeted him, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Martin Brantley turned around. “Everton.” He nodded, and folded his arms over his chest. “What in blazes are you up to?”

Alex pursed his lips, shrugged, and strolled over to open the brandy decanter. “That’s a rare greeting,” he returned. “What brings you to London?”

“Hanshaw’s letter,” the duke answered, following him over and accepting a snifter. With his other hand he pulled a missive from his pocket and dropped it onto the liquor table. “Care to explain?”

Alex kept his eyes on the brandy he was pouring himself. “Reg is a telltale who jumps to conclusions,” he commented. “It will be handled. It always is.”

“Weapons are missing, Alexander. And Napoleon is on the loose. You had no right to keep it from me.”

“You shouldn’t stay so far from London, then.”

“Hm,” Furth grunted, and took a swallow. “Putting me at the head of this commission was a mad king’s decision. Not mine. And so was secrecy about the whole damned rigmarole—which is why I depend on you to keep me informed.”

“And I do,” Alex protested, cursing Hanshaw all over again. This deuced mess was complicated enough without Kit’s uncle appearing and demanding answers he wasn’t prepared yet to give. “When there’s something to report.”

“So you’ve learned nothing in the past two months?” Martin Brantley countered, lifting an eyebrow. “Rather lazy of you, Alexander.”

“I’ve learned a few things,” Alex admitted begrudgingly. “But I intend to be certain of my facts before I
give over anything to you, Your Grace. With all due respect.”

“Whatever that means,” the duke muttered. “‘Due respect.’ A disguise for blatant disrespect, if you ask me.” Furth looked at him closely, his eyes only a shade lighter than Kit’s and his own daughter’s, curious and intrigued. “You haven’t much time left.”

Alex nodded and slowly replaced the stopper in the decanter. “I know. Just a few more days. I need to figure this out first.”

“A friend of yours, then?”

“Something like that.” Alex motioned the duke to take a seat. When the older man refused, he leaned against the edge of the couch. “So what excuse do you give the masses for emerging from Furth?”

The duke gave a short smile. “Actually, you’ve provided me with that, as well.”

“Have I now? Do tell.”

“Yes. I believe your damned Irish cousin is courting my daughter,” the duke said. “And I also believe I’m quite upset about it and need to warn him off, publicly if possible. Where is the rascal?”

Alex stopped breathing. “Kit? I don’t know. Out somewhere.” Thank God they’d fought and she hadn’t returned home with him.

“Well, until I can encounter him somewhere more opportune, let him know that he is to stay away from Caroline.” His expression briefly became more serious. “I don’t know what his intentions are, and I don’t care. Caroline is to marry a title. So unless this Christian of yours is secretly nobility, he is to stay away from her. Is that clear?”

For a moment Alex just looked at him. “I’ll speak to him, yes,” he finally replied.

Furth nodded, took a final swallow of brandy, and set the snifter aside. “Good. That’ll do for now. As for the other, I can’t give you much time. Prince George has been bellowing at me for weeks for someone to hang. I sympathize with your desire to be certain of your facts, but there is a great deal at stake here.”

“I am aware of that,” Alex said stiffly. “You don’t need to remind me of my duty.”

“I know.” With a sigh, the duke turned for the door. “I’d best make a show of being the concerned, protective parent for a few days. It might even be with good reason. I do believe Hanshaw might be after Caroline.”

“Really?” Alex said absently, his mind on another tangle entirely. “I hadn’t noticed.”

The duke paused to look at him sideways. “Liar,” he said smoothly, giving a slight, surprising smile that reminded Alex of Kit, and left the room.

Alex sank into the nearest chair and took a deep breath. If he had been doing his duty as he should, he would have informed Furth that his younger brother was their weapons smuggler. And that his niece was at the least a spy for her father, and perhaps even for Bonaparte. He ran a hand through his hair. Damnation, this was becoming more complicated by the moment.

“T
hat is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard,” Alex growled under his breath. His eyes were on his hostess, who was animatedly laughing with London’s newest oddity, the Prussian baron Kurt Blanschauer. If Barbara was trying to make him jealous, she was sadly off target. The mule-faced buffoon was more likely to raise his bile than his ire.

Reg Hanshaw followed his gaze, then shrugged. “I got it straight from Wentworth,” he returned in a low voice. “Half of London is sailing over to Belgium to watch the fun. He offered to put me up at the house he’s taken there.”

“Going over to watch the fun,” Alex repeated cynically. “I wonder how much fun they would have standing a line and holding a musket while Boney’s army marched down their throats.” He shook his head. “They’ve whined about the bastard since before the Season began, and now they’re off to watch the fun.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you about it,” Lord Hanshaw grumbled. “Have you heard from Hanton or Hunt?”

“Hunt hasn’t seen a thing, and there’s no word yet from Hanton. The north country is my best guess, though. He won’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“‘He’?” Reg repeated, pouncing on the word. “You have a name?”

Alex took a drink to stall giving an answer. There were so many tangles that he was starting to forget which thread he was pulling. “Nearly. Give me another few days and I will.” He took another breath. “And, Reg, Kit doesn’t know about any of this. I’d like to keep it that way.” At least he could keep things from growing any worse.

“You don’t trust him?”

“I don’t want him to overhear something and go charging into battle.”

Reg nodded. “Of course. I don’t think it would take much encouragement, either. He’s already pestered me to get him a commission. I sent him to bite your ankle.”

So she knew about Reg, as well, damn her. “My thanks.” He nodded.

The baron gave a slight smile. “Whatever it takes to stay on your good side. Especially as I need to ask your assistance.”

“You have my attention.” Alex nodded, pleased to be on a safer topic.

“Furth’s in London. And yes, I know, it’s my fault. But as long as I’ve roused the lion, I was going to ask you to speak to him on my behalf.”

Alex nearly choked on his port. “You wish
me
to speak to Furth.”

“Well, yes. He’s always liked you. Just tell him what a noble, upright fellow I am, and how I have always upheld my position with dignity and respect.”

“Lie, you mean.” Alex grinned.

“Whatever it takes.”

“I’d like to help, Reg,” he said truthfully, “but considering Martin’s professed reason for being in town is to warn my cousin away from his daughter, my interference on your behalf might be both rather awkward and somewhat suspicious.”

The baron pursed his lips. “And poor Kit not knowing it’s a ruse? Must have frightened the poor lad half to death.” His expression became almost gleeful. “Though I can’t say I’m all that upset to hear Furth’s clearing out the competition.”

“Just hope you’re not next,” Alex commented dryly.

“Especially with no one else to speak for me. You’re my only titled crony with any sense in his skull.”

“There’s always Augustus,” the earl offered stiffly.

Reg shook his head. “He’s been completely unapproachable since the two of you had it out at the Society. Buried himself in his study with a case of brandy, and hasn’t come out except to piss and send his footmen for cigars.”

“Then you’re on your own, Reg,” Alex said, finding Hanshaw’s information less than interesting. Augustus frequently pushed the borders of his tolerance, but the other evening he had gone too far. “As a rule, I hardly recommend marriage even to my enemies, anyway.”

The baron was shaking his head again. “You only chose wrong. Caroline is…” He trailed off, his expression becoming disgustingly dreamy-eyed. “She’s wonderful. Her looks, her voice, the sound of her laughter, the face she makes when she’s trying not to smile, her delicate fingers, her—”

“Oh, good God,” Everton growled. “Spare me. While you’re standing here spewing out lovesick praises, Caroline is going about letting her parents know she’s taken by my Kit.” A moment later he realized he’d sounded rather possessive, but thankfully Reg didn’t seem to have noticed.

Hanshaw frowned and shook his head. “She’s only trying to keep my attention. Don’t you see? It’s all a carefully orchestrated plan. Compared to Kit, I’m very nearly the perfect choice.”

“I see,” Alex noted dryly, folding his arms. “Then what did you need me for, pray tell?”

“To make certain Furth sees.” Reg chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “But never you mind. I’ll find someone more in favor to do my bidding.” He glanced across the room, and paused. “And speaking of being in favor, I believe it’s your turn, Everton.”

Alex turned. Barbara Sinclair was speaking to Lady Crasten, and smiling directly at him. Gritting his teeth, he smiled back. “Excuse me, Reg.” He nodded, and
strolled over to her. “Barbara,” he murmured, leaning down to take her hand and bring it to his lips.

“Alex.” She smiled back warmly. “I wanted to thank you for the lovely brooch you sent over this morning.” She turned back to Jacqueline Crasten and leaned sideways into his chest. Gracefully, she flitted her fingers around the diamond-encrusted
B
pinned onto her chest. “It was far too generous of you.”

“It’s lovely, Everton,” Jacqueline agreed. “Must have set you back a small fortune.”

“’Twas nothing,” Alex returned, and wrapped his fingers around Lady Sinclair’s arm. “Allow me to admire it on you in private for a moment, won’t you, my dear?”

“On me, or off me?” Barbara answered so that Lady Crasten could hear and chuckle, then allowed herself to be led through the nearest door into the library. “Lovely, don’t you think?” she said, looking down at her chest.

“Indeed. I assume I’ll be getting the bill for it, then?”

“You did purchase it for me.”

At her affirmation he leaned back against the bookcase and folded his arms. “How much did I spend on you, then?”

“Don’t be a close-fist.”

“You’re the blackmailer,” he pointed out. “I merely wish to know what today’s price is.”

“Nine hundred pounds.”

“Good Lord, Barbara,” he exclaimed in mock alarm, “at this rate I’ll be penniless in a hundred years. Surely you can hurt me more than that.”

“I don’t wish to hurt you at all,” she replied, stepping forward to run her hand down his chest, and then lower. “I’m only protecting what’s mine. Everyone believes we’re still lovers,” she whispered, leaning into him and licking his chin. “We may as well be.”

It was more difficult to resist than he expected. He had borne Barbara some affection, for she could be witty and charming, and she was certainly a willing lover. Sparring with Kit and being denied for nearly a fortnight had left him drawn so tight, he was practically vibrating
with tension. Barbara’s wandering hands were having more of an effect than he wished. He grasped her fingers to hold them away from him. “No.”

“Are you afraid of upsetting that boy-thing you’re keeping? Perhaps she’d enjoy an evening off.”

“You do have a way with words, Barbara,” he returned, “but I believe as I’ve already spent nine hundred pounds on you, you will have to be satisfied with your lovely brooch this evening.”

“Oh, I’m certain you’ve spent at least that much on your toy. Don’t pout.”

As a matter of fact, Kit had apologized for spending ten pounds on female clothing. Nine hundred pounds for her would be an unbelievable fortune. “Once my cousin has left, Barbara,” he said softly, “you will have nothing to bargain with. I suggest you keep that in mind.” He reached out and touched the brooch. “I do like this—but the
B
doesn’t stand for Barbara.”

She stood glaring up at him until the door rattled and opened. Then, before he could react, she flung herself at him, twisted her arms behind his neck, and kissed him soundly. “Oh, Alex,” she said, chuckling and leaning away from him, “what a marvelous idea.”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering what devilment she was up to now, then looked up to see Viscount Mandilly shuffling his feet in the doorway. “Mandilly,” he intoned, pulling Barbara away from his neck and turning for the door.

“Ev…Everton, apologies,” Mandilly stuttered. “I…had no idea, of course.”

“Of course you did,” Alex responded, and returned to the drawing room.

He wandered about for another hour, exchanging greetings and mostly inane conversation with several of his cronies, and wondered whether Kit would have returned to Cale House yet, and whether she was still angry at him for being here. He was rather annoyed at himself, but appeasing Barbara seemed the least complicated way of delaying the explosion until Kit was safely away.

“Alex,” Reg whispered from his elbow, and he blinked.

“Hanshaw,” he acknowledged, turning to face his companion.

“What in God’s name were you thinking?” the baron said.

He looked upset, and Alex furrowed his brow, wondering which of his secrets and lies had been uncovered. “Beg pardon?”

“You’re marrying Barbara Sinclair?”

“
What?
”

“Since you returned from the library she’s been going about whispering that the two of you have news, but nothing you can announce yet. Are you drunk?”

Fury coursed through him, fast and hot. “She has gone too far,” he hissed, turning to find her. Her news that “couldn’t be announced yet” would be all over London by midmorning. And the first thought that crossed his mind was that Christine would hear it, and she would have another excuse not to trust him. “I’ll kill her.”

Hanshaw grabbed his arm. “Not here,” he muttered. “We’ll have to drag her into a dark alley somewhere.”

“That’s not funny, Reg,” he murmured darkly.

“I wasn’t joking. I know something’s been up between the two of you.” He raised a hand when Alex opened his mouth. “I also know it’s none of my bloody business. But you’re going to have to put a stop to it now, or it’ll be too late.”

Reg’s words gave him an unfortunate moment to consider what he was doing. Alex clenched his jaw. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you c—”

He drew a breath. Damn her, she’d likely been planning to trap him into marriage all along. That was the “more permanent arrangement” she’d mentioned when she’d first informed him that she knew about Kit. And unless he wished to let the entire house of cards fall down around him, including protecting Kit and stopping Stewart Brantley’s smuggled weapons, he would have
to let it go. For now. “Let her have her amusement,” he continued slowly. “She can’t very well force me into the chapel. It’ll be all the worse for her, later.”

“Alex, if you’re not careful…”

“I know.” She was a viscount’s widow, and jilting her would not make him popular with his peers. Which she had also counted on, no doubt. “It’s not as though she’s some debutante I’ve led astray. At the least I’ll weather the scandal better than she will.”

“Good Lord, Everton. I don’t understand why you’re willing to risk—”

Alex clasped Reg on the shoulder. “I’ll tell you someday soon, my friend,” he said solemnly. “I swear it.” He glanced around the room to see Barbara basking in a flurry of poorly disguised congratulations in the corner. When she met his gaze he nodded to her and flicked her a fencing salute, then strolled for the door. It was time he returned home. He had to find a way to explain something to a certain blond waif before she skewered him.

When Kit returned to Cale House from the Downings’ it was quite late, and she expected Everton to be in bed. Instead, he was seated on the top step of the main staircase, flipping restlessly through a farmer’s almanac. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, he looked up and set the thing aside.

“Did you burn out the library?” she asked, starting up the stairs toward him.

“I didn’t want to miss you,” he replied, remaining seated as she stopped a few steps below, putting them at eye level. He looked very ill at ease about something, an unusual enough expression for him that it sent a shiver of uneasiness down her spine.

“What is it?” They’d arrested her father, she decided. And he was going to arrest her next.

“You’re likely going to hear a rumor in the morning, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

His words didn’t calm her in the least. “What rumor?”

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his
hair, the gesture touchingly vulnerable. “That Barbara Sinclair and I are to be married.”

Her heart stopped. Everything stopped, until she had a moment to understand what he had said. “
What?
” It was none of her affair, none at all, but it felt as though her very life depended on his words.

“That’s exactly what I said when I heard it.” Surprisingly, he gave a small, amused smile. That slight expression eased the tightness in her chest just a little.

With a frown she motioned him to move over, and sat down beside him. “It’s late, Everton,” she managed in a fairly normal tone, concentrating on breathing, “so would you mind explaining this in a bit more detail for me?”

He nodded, the smile touching his sensuous mouth again. It might have been relief she saw fleetingly on his lean face, but in the poor lighting it was difficult to be certain. “Barbara knows you’re a female.”

“She does?” Kit queried faintly.

“She does,” he affirmed. “And she suggested that unless I…maintained the illusion of my relationship with her, she would start certain rumors about you and me.”

“Is that why you spent the night at her house before?”

“Exactly why. Only tonight, she and I had a disagreement over this charade, and the next thing I knew, she’d outflanked me by announcing that the two of us had certain news.”

“That bitch,” Kit exclaimed.

A short laugh burst from Alex’s lips. “My thoughts exactly, chit.”

She looked at him, and his eyes met and held hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.

“Because Barbara Sinclair is a problem of my making.” He reached out and gently touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “So how was your evening? Did you woo Ivy away from stodgy old Gerald?”