My Lady Gambled (14 page)

Lady Maddie Birmingham sighed with an over-fond light in her eyes. “We will miss him greatly. Your father, Rolston Montoya, was an extraordinary man, so different from any of the English men I’ve ever known.”

Kit was a bit surprised. If she were younger and less experienced than she was now, she might have missed the undercurrent. Yet it was obvious to her that Lady Birmingham had, had a crush on her robust father. Kit quelled the urge to discover if it were more. That was not her purpose for coming here. It was odd to think about one’s parents in that way. Kit shook off the odd feeling and turned the conversation back to her interests.

She found herself lying smoothly. It was a testament to the fact of how far she had come and how serious she was. “There are several people my father spoke about that I would like to contact while I’m here. Unfortunately, London is so large.”

“Oh, just tell me their names, dear. I am certain I will know the names.” Maddie looked particularly proud and eager to showcase her London social standing, with her in-the-know knowledge.

Kit felt the tiny rush of moving forward in her goals, as she asked, “One is Lord Brynmore Duneagan. Do you know of him?” Kit held her breath.

“Oh yes of course, dear, I know Lord Duneagan. I will tell you at one time I thought my oldest daughter Matilda had Lord Duneagan’s eye. But the man will simply not give our society events enough chances. I lament that fact to him on the few times I see him attending.” 

Kit could see that Lady Birmingham intended to relate the tale of the missed courtship, so she interjected quickly. “And, Lord Duneagan has a residence here in London then?”

“Oh yes, some smaller bachelor’s place you know. Fashionable though. Only a few blocks from our famous Mayfair on Newburg Place. Really, Mayfair is the place to be in London,” Maddie informed Kit, while patting Kit’s hand.

Kit stood outside the three-storied mansion on Mayfair not far from Lord Duneagan’s residence. With a surge of intuition, Kit felt certain that it was owned by the one she sought. She could have contacted Brynmore, but she did not trust that he wouldn’t try to turn her away again, as he had done so easily in Paris. Needless to say, she was a different woman now, even from such a short time ago. Revenge did that. It enraged determination. So,she was going to bypass Brynmore and go for these nameless friends that he had spoken of. Although, it had not actually been hard to guess, once Lady Birmingham informed her that Lady Joelle Zurka was a guest at the home of Lord Duneagan’s long time friend, the Duke of Kittridge.

“I could be wrong,” Kit muttered, approaching the mansion at a steady walk. She was arriving unasked and unannounced. Quite unac-ceptable and more so if she was mistaken. “But I have never met a duke before.”

It seemed that the butler who answered the door was unperturbed that a lone woman should arrive upon the doorstep without a calling card or any invitation, asking to see the Duke of Kittridge. In fact, the butler solicitously invited her inside to wait in the foyer, while he went to inform his master of her presence. Kit knew all these actions were uncommon by London society’s strict rules of etiquette. It depicted the duke to be perhaps relaxed and slightly more malleable. Much more like the society in America, Kit thought, where a single woman could move about by herself more freely without ravaging her reputation.

The butler returned shortly, his face nonplussed, with an invitation to the duke’s study and Kit was feeling optimistic when she went through the opened doorway. The butler stood aside for her and waited for her to enter, then he closed the door behind her. Kit did not bother with digesting the decor of the room other than it appeared richly attired with a warm feeling. Her concentration centered entirely on the distinguished, quite handsome silver-haired gentlemen that sat behind a large mahogany desk. The duke had the look of a duke, but more, he was a man’s man as her father use to say.

“Kit Montoya,” Lord Kittridge said. “I have been expecting you.”

Kit felt like rocking back on her heels in surprise, yet she managed not to, while she felt the satisfaction of having guessed right. This was the leader. His attractive arrogance showcased it admirably. She knew its presence from her father, who had the same quality. 

Bull’s-eye, as her American ranch hands would claim. “And you, Lord Kittridge, are exactly what I anticipated,” Kit said, walking further into the room.

Lord Kittridge nodded his head slightly at her parry. “You, however, can only be guessing,” he said. Then, before she could attempt a retort, he intervened, saying, “Please sit, my dear.”

When Kit came to one of the ornately tufted chairs before his desk, the duke stood until she had seated herself. Once seated, she smoothed the brown silk skirts of her gown, peeking out from the edges of the cloak she still wore.

“As I was saying, Miss Montoya, I had decided, with recent private events spurring me on, that when you appeared I would not try to, shall we say, sidestep you. Your appearance here shows your determination and were I not to invite you into the fold, as it were, I can readily see stumbling over you at every inopportune moment.”

Kit nodded her head in agreement to Lord Kittridge’s statement. The excitement rising in her was a hardened one. The duke was correct. She would continue to try to destroy The Order and its leaders with or without his, Brynmore’s, or their friends associations.

“The fold?” she asked, with leading keenness.

Lord Kittridge leaned his elbow on his desk, then two fingers to his fuller bottom lip as he gazed at her with piercing intent in his charcoal gray eyes. This was not a man to trifle with, Kit realized, stifling a shiver up her spine. There was an edge to him, once again of the type she had seen in her father. She had better get used to it at any rate, because Lord Kittridge was the first of many dangerous people her goals would lead her to encounter.

“Former spies, Miss Montoya. The monarch’s own. Six of us, Brynmore included.”

Kit was unsure what her thoughts about these friends of Brynmore’s might be. As accomplished as Brynmore, surely. But, spies? She had hit the jackpot. It caused her to sit straighter in her chair, since it also occurred to her what would be Lord Kittridge’s next parry in trying to eliminate her. For once, she was thankful for being her father’s daughter. For learning so much about powerful men at his knee that she could intellectually hold her own in the presence of what she was certain she would discover was Lord Kittridge’s extraordinary mind. However, she did allow him the lead before the fall, and entrapment, by letting him expound without interrupting him.

“So you can see, all of your concerns about The Order of the Satyr and your brother’s whereabouts will be well met and dealt with by professionals. I can assure that I would keep you informed and I will put finding your brother on the top of my priorities.”

“My brother is dead.” Kit allowed no muscles to move in her facial expression as she stared at Lord Kittridge. She also noted on some level that this revelation did not surprise him. 

“I see,” Lord Kittridge murmured. “So your intentions have changed.”

Kit gripped her gloved fingers together. “They have and I come bearing leverage of something quite weighty that you will want to see—if we come to an agreement.”

“Proof of your brother’s death?” Lord Kittridge half asked, half astutely stated.

“Proof of his and many others. However, the proof that their’s was murder, as you and I know it was, might or might not be proven in an expert’s hands, which I’m sure you have access to.”

Drummond looked at Kit Montoya. He could easily tell that her proof of the many murders The Order had committed was irrelevant. It was the truth but it would be impossible to prove who did the murders without straight confessions. The fact that a person or people within The Order had committed murders was heinous. The murderers themselves, one of many reasons to destroy The Order and in some form eliminate its major leaders. Nevertheless, the fact of the murders themselves and proof thereof, would not be the nail in the coffin that destroyed The Order.

Lawful men would attempt that route, to try to prove the murders and hang those guilty. He also entertained the idea, until he realized that it was worthless and he was grateful that he and his companions had no hesitation about being unlawful. Drummond knew he could tell Miss Montoya all this. Take away the leverage that she perceived she had. He could try to dissuade her with words, with threats. However, after meeting her, seeing her, reading her, he now had the information about her he needed. Because he knew, this side of kidnapping her and locking her up, she was not going to stop doing everything in her power to eradicate The Order.

And, that was exactly what he needed.

A woman who was unknown to The Order’s participants, with an impetus to shed most of her self preservation instincts for the higher goal of destroying The Order. The personal sacrifices this woman would have to make would be unthinkable to most women and he regretted the need for them. Be that as it may, he also knew Kit Montoya would do so with or without the Archangels collaborations. What price was revenge worth? What value could be placed upon allowing The Order to continue its merry, murderous, and perverted way? High! As high as the goals of men.

“I will not dissuade you, Miss Montoya, but offer to use you.”

Kit’s fine eyebrows arched as she gazed at him through steady, but dark and dusky blue irises. A thought occurred to him that this American woman’s entire social upbringing might bring many surprising qualities, far different than the normal English ladies with whom he was more accustomed.

“I want them destroyed, Lord Kittridge. Use me,” Kit answered succinctly.

Brynmore watched Drummond’s fingers tap the small table beside his chair. There had been extra chairs brought into the Kittridge library to accommodate all eleven people gathered, which included the six Archangels and their five women.

Brynmore had arrived from St. Petersburg last night after finding and doing surveillance on The Orders former, from all appearances, money man, Lord Incubus, who was now living under another fictitious name and title, Lord Markus Zurfoff. It seemed Incubus-Remior-Zurkoff had picked up the identity of a Russian count this time and he was keeping a subdued public persona at the moment, almost sedate.

Through observing him, Brynmore had come to the opinion that Incubus was hiding and that meant to Brynmore that Incubus was afraid of something. The logical conclusion was that Incubus was afraid of Hellion’s wrath. Deadly wrath, Brynmore wagered and he hoped the blackguard Incubus strangled on his terror.

Still, he was glad to be back in England, at the center of the investigation again. It appeared events were on the move. He had already ribbed each of his male companions for their inability to keep their women out of this, before they had gathered in the library. He did not take a chair, but stood leaning against the end of a bookcase, whose size reached well over his head to the ceiling. The ladies were all dressed in somber, businesslike attire, leaving behind the lace and bouffant frills along with no intimate cuddling, hand holding or lap snuggling with their men. They were deadly serious about this and he was glad to see it. Yet, for some reason, he had a strange, odd-man-out, feeling. They were all couples, he realized and since Saxon’s return with his new lady, Joelle, making them a couple, they had never been gathered like this. Brynmore shifted his shoulder against the end of the bookcase, his single status seemed to glare at him.

What he did not understand was why this nagged him now, with so many dangerous adventures hovering. However, gazes between couples and looks where one knew, they were reading each other’s thoughts all pushed his mind to think of Kit. Brynmore held back his growl of irritation. Kit, who was married, married and mentally stomped upon by that worthless husband of hers. But at least, Brynmore thought, he had been able to keep Kit out of this, unlike the weaker showing of his friends.

“Patience is going to be our code name for this mission.” Drummond suddenly said, breaking the quiet, but expectant waiting. “We have found our prey, gathered information. Large amounts of intelligence coming from Yojo, the half angel, half devil. He is the former, or perhaps not former cohort of The Order and its leaders.” Drummond paused, tapping his fingers again, looking around the room at them. “Nonetheless, we have not reached one tenth of the information we need to devise a plan. I will, however, tell you several things our future plans will have. There will be no authorities involved, save perhaps one and then only for the express purpose of enlightening authorities who protect the population that a mass murderer was among us.”

Drummond paused again and with the first overt showing of affection in the room, he clasped his wife’s, Gabriella’s hand, who sat beside him, then he continued. “This plan will involve no assassinations. We, my friends, are going to stretch ourselves to move beyond that which is no longer appropriate in our lives.”

There were quiet murmurs of agreement around the room and Brynmore saw Chloe’s hand reach to Harrison’s shoulder. Harrison stood with his head bowed. There was an undercurrent of something Brynmore could feel but could not quite identify. Then, he remembered the last meeting he had attended with Harrison, where Harrison had been so stoic, as stoic as Harrison had been, before Chloe came into his life.

Brynmore realized suddenly how much they all had changed. Each man had fallen in love and found the woman they could barely dream existed. He was happy for them all. The snide unaffected by love part of him, however, began to wonder if these men still had what it took to get a dangerous mission such as this accomplished.

“Also,” Drummond continued. “As we have all individually agreed upon, Radford will stay part of this mission.” Drummond turned his gaze to Radford. “I will need your mind extensively for this, Radford, if we are to accomplish our goal.”

Radford nodded without words, quite unusual for him and the feeling of change once again swamped Brynmore for a moment. Brynmore disliked seeing his friend so subdued and he vowed to do all in his power to help Radford feel part of the Archangels as he always had been. Going blind or not, the man was an asset they could not do without and as far as friendship went there was no question in that.