Rake's Reward Page 18

  “Cecily,” he murmured, his voice husky, feathering kisses on her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. “Cecily, my love.” The arms that had clasped her knees now clasped him, and her legs were outstretched, tangled with his as he turned her towards him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for them to sink down against the bank, their lips still joined, for him to brace himself above her on his elbows, for her arms to cradle him. Her boy’s clothes gave him unparalleled access to her body, gave her unparalleled freedom to move. Dimly he realized why women didn’t dress this way; they would be safe from no man. He doubted, though, that many would fill out a pair of breeches as enticingly as Cecily did. Or, for that matter, a soft white shirt.

  The hand that had been stroking her arm, her shoulder, hesitated, moved to her waist, and then upwards, towards more dangerous territory. Cecily made a little sound in her throat, of protest, of acquiescence, and his hand stilled. This was new to her. She was responding like this for him. Just for him. Her innocent, untutored kisses told him that; her gasps held surprise as well as pleasure. For a man who had long had his choice of women this was new, infinitely sweet, infinitely precious. She had never had a lover before, and he, holding her, felt as if he never had, either.

  And because that was so, this wasn’t the place for this. He had reformed, indeed. When he finally made her his own, it would be as his wife, on their wedding night. The prospect of being caught in parson’s mousetrap no longer appalled him, not if it were Cecily who caught him.

  She opened her eyes, and the sweet trust he saw there gave him the strength to stop. “We have to stop, sweeting,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

  She licked her lips, an unintentionally provocative gesture. “Why?” she asked, her voice as husky as his.

  “Because this isn’t the place.” He set himself to smoothing the curls that had tumbled about her face. “It’s getting late,” he went on, his voice very gentle. “Someone may come along and see us.”

  “Oh, heavens!” She sat bolt upright, her hands flying to her hair, her cheeks stained that golden rosy color he liked so much. “I must look a sight.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Oh, please don’t fun me.”

  “I’m not funning,” he said, and his voice was so serious that she at last looked at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Sweeting, I would not see you hurt.”

  “I won’t be.”

  “No.” He rose and held out his hand to her. Not if he could help it. “You’d best be getting home.”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding a little dazed.

  He caught her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Cecily. There are things I can’t say to you, things I can’t tell you yet. But I promise I will, someday. Will you trust me?”

  She reached up and briefly touched his lips. “Always.”

  Always. Trust, so easily given. He felt blessed, and burdened. In his world, trust was a precious commodity. “Thank you, sweeting. Now—”

  “Alex.” She stopped, as he would have helped her mount Dancer, placing her hand on his arm. “You will be careful?”

  “I promise, Cecily. And it will all be over soon.” He cupped his hands for her to step in, and tossed her into the saddle. She moved Dancer away as he mounted Azrael, walking the great horse over to her. “Soon,” he said again, and the words were a vow.

  “Soon,” she agreed, giving him her dazzling smile, promising him a future he had never before dared believe might be his, as they rode together out of the park. She had become very precious to him, and it was a feeling he’d never experienced before. Love? He doubted it. Love existed only in poems, or romances. Whatever it was, though, it was powerful, and it held out the promise of a happiness long denied him. Soon he would claim her as his own, but not yet. He had other things to do first.

  That thought made his smile fade, and his lips tucked back in a frown. What lay ahead of him could very well be ugly, and he wanted none of it to touch Cecily. She had to be protected, and the only way he could do that was to catch the man who was a menace both to him and to her. He’d get him. He’d find the man who was behind the conspiracy, of that he was certain. And then he would be free to reach out for happiness.

  Diana ran up the stairs late that afternoon, hugging her secret to herself as she flew into her room. At any other time, she might have shared her news with Cecily, but not now. He had said not to, had said Cecily might be hurt, implying that he had been the one to break the engagement, and not the other way around. It wasn’t fair, the way he’d been treated by Cecily and their father! The injustice of it burned in Diana’s breast, intensifying her feelings. That, and the fact that he was so very handsome and sophisticated.

  Diana sat at her dressing table, carelessly pushing aside the crystal perfume bottles and silver brushes, so that she could look at herself. He’d called her beautiful. From him, that meant something. Diana was no fool, for all that she sometimes appeared silly; she knew she’d made a good catch. He’d noticed her, said she was the one he’d cared about all along, and so she was more than willing to meet him whenever she could. The clandestine nature of these meetings only added to their excitement.

  That, and what he’d implied he had to do. Some secret mission to do with the government, with which she could help. That, too, was something she wanted to share with Cecily, but he’d warned her against it. She was, she thought, really in love, for the first time in her life. For him, she would do anything. No sacrifice was too great, if it would help him. She rather fancied herself in the rôle of tragic heroine, though she didn’t really think it would come to that. All he asked of her now was that they keep their love a secret, and that, for now, she was willing to do. Soon, he had promised her, they would be able to tell the world.

  Diana smiled at her reflection, a silly, fatuous smile. The smile of a woman in love, she thought. Soon. She couldn’t wait.

  Joe Driver was a troubled man. Born though he had been in low circumstances, he was possessed of a brain both quick and agile, and of a strong sense of self-preservation. He knew his Jenny’s Miss Cecily wasn’t just anyone, but was Lady Cecily Randall, the daughter of a duke, of all things. And that worried him. Wasn’t much went on in Whitechapel he didn’t learn about sooner or later, and he knew a man named Randall had been searching for a sharpshooter some time back. As of last night, he also knew what the sharpshooter, one Bob Grundy by name, had been hired to do. The man might be a good shot, but he didn’t have the brains of a louse. Imagine blabbing to anyone who would listen what some fine gennulman had paid him to do, instead of keeping his trap shut.

  It was what Grundy claimed the job was for, and the coincidence of the name Randall, that worried Joe. Who was this Randall, if not someone connected to Lady Cecily? Joe found it hard to believe she was involved, but, if she was, she might be in danger. Someone should know, he’d thought. He’d have to tell someone.

  Joe had his ways of learning what he needed, and so now he stood in Piccadilly, outside the house where St. Clair lodged. He’d never paid a visit to a gennulman before, and he twisted his cap in his hands, swallowing hard. In Whitechapel, Joe knew how to deal with people. The Quality was different, though. For the first time in many a year, Joe was, quite frankly, scared.

  Parsons, his face wooden, opened the door to him, and then left him waiting, still twisting his cap. In a few moments he was back, and somewhat to Joe’s surprise, gestured him in, leading him to a sitting room that, to Joe’s eyes, looked opulent and comfortable. Quality sure knew how to live, he thought, but his rising bitterness at the inequities of life was checked by the sight of St. Clair, rising to greet him, his hand outstretched.

  “Mr. Driver,” Alex said politely, none of his surprise at this unexpected visit showing. “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s more what I can do for yer, me lord,” Joe said as he sat in the chair Alex indicated.

  “Indeed. May I offer you some refreshment? Brandy, perhaps?”

  “Now t
hat would be fine.” He took the glass Alex held out to him and took a long swallow, smacking his lips appreciatively. “Fine stuff, this. Smuggled in through Devon?”

  Alex’s lips twitched. “I daresay. What is the problem, Mr. Driver?”

  “Well, it’s like this, sir.” Joe set the glass firmly down on the table, his self-assurance returned at Alex’s reception of him. “There’s been a man name o’ Randall, going around the stews, askin’ for a man to do a job.”

  “Indeed. Parsons! I want Parsons to hear this, too,” he explained, as Parsons came into the room. “Mr. Driver was just telling me about our friend Mr. Randall.”

  Parsons drew a straight chair over. “Really, sir?”

  “Yeah. Came to me, he could be connected with Miss Cecily.”

  “We don’t believe so,” Alex said, after a startled moment. So Cecily’s real identity was known in Whitechapel. Dangerous, that, unless Driver stayed on her side.

  “Yer know of him, then?”

  “We know something of him, yes. But we’ve been hoping to learn more.”

  “Might be I can help.” Joe drained his glass, and Parsons silently rose to refill it. “This Randall found what he was looking for. Weren’t hard, after all, plenty of people to do anything for that kind of blunt. Man picked a looby, though.”

  Alex, sitting with his legs crossed, looked perfectly at ease. “You know who it is, then?”

  “Yeah. Fellow name o’ Bob Grundy. Good shooter, but a fool. Been blabbin’ to everyone about how he’s been hired to shoot the Prime Minister.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alex went still. “God’s teeth. You’re sure of this?”

  Joe put up his chin. “Yer callin’ Joe Driver a liar?”

  “No, of course not.” Alex stroked his upper lip. “A plot to assassinate Liverpool. Of course. The government would fall, and the way things are now—it would mean revolution. Almost anyone could take power if he tried hard enough.”

  “With accomplices to stir things up in the rest of the country,” Parsons said.

  “Yes. When is this supposed to happen, Mr. Driver?”

  “Thursday sennight, sir. Heard Liverpool is supposed to attend some sort o’ do at Carlton House.”

  “There’s no danger to the Regent, is there?” Alex said, sharply. Carlton House was the Prince Regent’s residence.

  “Not so’s I’ve heard. Anyway, anyone gets rid o’ that fat flawn would be doing the country a favor.”

  Alex’s lips twitched. “A most seditious statement, Mr. Driver. Tell me. What does this Randall look like?”

  “Short, fat, balding on top, crooked nose,” Joe replied promptly.

  “Our man, sir,” Parsons said.

  “Indeed. You’d know him if you saw him again?”

  “Sure I would, or my name’s not Joe Driver.”

  “Good. You’ve done well coming to me with this.”

  “And Jenny’s Miss Cecily ain’t in no trouble?”

  “No.” Alex shook his head. “Parsons. It might be worthwhile to see if Mr. Driver could identify Randall any further.”

  “You mean, bring him to Edge—”

  “That’s precisely what I mean.” Alex gave Parsons a look. “Would you be willing, Mr. Driver?”

  “Aye, and what’s in it for me?” Joe said, unexpectedly truculent. “I didn’t bargain for this, me lord.”

  “So I see.” Alex’s eyes were chilly, and Joe shifted uneasily under the steady gaze. “I should have realized you’d want some sort of reward.”

  “Not for what I come here to tell yer, no. But what’s goin’ to happen to my Jenny if anything happens to me? You tell me that.”

  “Ah. I see.” Alex’s gaze softened. “You’ll be in no danger, Mr. Driver. We merely need you to identify Randall for us. And you will be rewarded, I promise you that. Perhaps we can find some way for you to keep Jenny with you.”

  Joe’s eyes brightened. “Happens I’ve always wanted a tavern of my own. Jenny could be with me, then.”

  “Indeed. Well, we’ll see what we can do.”

  “Now that’s what I call fair, me lord. Yer a right ‘un. Not like some o’ the Quality.”

  “Indeed.” Alex’s lips twitched again. “Parsons.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take Mr. Driver there directly.”

  “Good.” Alex rose, holding out his hand. “Thank you for coming to me with this, sir. Be assured I won’t forget it.”

  “Weren’t nothin’, me lord,” Joe said, twisting his cap in his hands again. “Anything I can do for Miss Cecily.”

  “Indeed.” Alex at last let himself smile as Joe, escorted by Parsons, at last left the room. Of all unlikely allies! And all because Cecily had chosen to befriend a child living in an orphanage. Life surely took some strange twists sometimes.

  His smile faded, however, as he sank back into his chair, stroking his upper lip again. So. The plan was to assassinate the Prime Minister at the reception to be held at Carlton House for Princess Charlotte and her new husband, The Prince of Coburg, and then, presumably, seize the government. Now that they knew that, they could prevent that part of the plot from meeting with success. They still, however, had little evidence against Edgewater. How, Alex wondered, were they going to catch him?

  Monday evening, and a ball at the Pembrokes’. Alex quietly closed the door of the study behind him, leaving behind Bainbridge, Lord Sidmouth, the Home Minister, and Lord Liverpool. It wasn’t the first time he’d transacted government business at a social event. Now he was returning to the ball, his duty done for the night.

  The clamor below rose to meet him as he set off down the stairs, music vying with conversation and the chaos of guests arriving and departing. Three more days, and it would be over. The conspirators would make their move, only to be arrested. And, at last, Alex would be free, to pursue his own life.

  Three more days. He stopped at the door to the ballroom, instinctively searching for the one person who meant anything to him. Three more days, and he could claim her. He could do so now, were it not for his innate caution. His work was finished. Plans had been made, and other men now had taken over. Outside the home of each conspirator waited men in the service of the government, to serve arrest warrants. For all, that is, but Edgewater. Incredible though it seemed, there was still little evidence to link him to the plot. They would have to wait until he made his move before they could arrest him. In just three more days.

  There she was. Unaware that he was smiling broadly, Alex went headlong into the maelstrom, going towards the girl in the gown of gold tissue. Cecily. Just now she was dancing a country dance with Lord Danbury, at whom she was smiling in such a way that he might have been jealous, had he not known better. Danbury might have a tendre for Cecily, but it wasn’t returned. Cecily did not behave in such a way, keeping more than one man dangling after her. She was straightforward and honest, different from the people he had known over the past years. It wasn’t easy, this business of giving one’s heart over to another person’s keeping, but at last he could do it, knowing the gift would not be rejected. She was a girl one could trust. A person he, at last, could trust.

  The music ended, and he briefly lost sight of Cecily. If he remembered correctly, the next dance would be a waltz. Having met with Liverpool immediately upon his arrival, he hadn’t had a chance to sign Cecily’s dance card, but he was certain she’d kept this waltz for him; she had promised as much this afternoon, when they had met in the park and chatted about the night’s entertainment. He was looking forward to it. It would be the first chance he’d had to speak with her in relative privacy in several days.

  A space at last opened before him, and he began to progress across the room, where Cecily sat with her mother and sister. Halfway there, however, he stopped. For there, bowing over Cecily’s hand, was Edgewater.

  The waltz would be next. When she had met Alex in the park that afternoon, he had mentioned this very dance, and she had decided to keep it open for him. Unfortunately, t
hough, she hadn’t been able to. Cecily’s dance card always filled quickly. Now she gazed down at it in dismay. Written in for the waltz, in a careless scrawl, was the name of the one man she least wanted to see.

  “Good evening, your Grace. Lady Cecily, Lady Diana.” Edgewater bent over the duchess’s hand, and she and Diana beamed at him. Cecily’s own smile felt stiff. “And may I say, Lady Cecily, how charming you look.” Edgewater’s gaze traveled slowly over her, and Cecily tried not to fidget. She knew he had to have noticed the curls that had come loose, in spite of her best efforts. Alex didn’t seem to care about such things.

  As if thinking about him had conjured him up, there he was. Alex. She didn’t know when she had begun calling him by name in her mind; perhaps it had been since that morning by the Serpentine, the last time they had been alone, when he had kissed her, and almost— Her face flamed.

  “Good evening, your Grace,” Alex said, bowing over the duchess’s hand, as Edgewater had, and then Cecily’s. Her smile broadened. “Good evening, Lady Cecily.” The tone of his voice managed to invest the words with the warmth of a caress. “You look lovely tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Cecily’s voice was prim, but her eyes sparkled as they met his. For a moment all was forgotten as she gazed at him—her mother, her sister, her former fiancé—all but the truth that suddenly shone, clear and strong, before her. It was as if a veil of gauze had been lifted from her eyes, and she saw Alex differently. Saw herself, too, with such crystal clarity it left her momentarily stunned. Of course. No wonder she had been so attracted to him, even when engaged to someone else; no wonder he had made her feel things she had not known she could feel. The thing she had begun to think might never occur had already happened to her. She loved him, had loved him, perhaps since that first meeting in Hyde Park. And, she thought, looking at his eyes, a warm, sunlit sea of blue, she suspected he felt the same.