Her Wicked Proposal: The League of Rogues, Book 3 (10 page)

“I haven’t, because you won’t let me! You are constantly throwing it in my face, and your friends as well, reminding us of how worthless you think you’ve become. I do not wish to marry a man who has rebuilt his life around pity. It’s infuriating, Cedric!” Anne jabbed a finger in his chest. Cedric couldn’t help but grin at her fury.

“What could you possibly find so humorous?” she sputtered.

“You called me Cedr—” He was jerked down and Anne’s mouth fastened fiercely on his, with a thrust of her tongue and a powerful hunger laced in the rhythm of her lips.

When she finally released him she poked him hard in the chest again.

“
Never
think that I do not desire you! And if you even
think
to cry off, I shall tell everyone in Mayfair that you’ve compromised me and you’ll have no choice but to marry me. Emily will have Godric drag your body into St. George’s by your feet if he has to!”

She spun on her heel and left, the dazed viscount smiling like a lad.

She desires me!

Chapter Eight

The White House in Soho Square was filled with the sounds of the rich and elegant seeking their pleasure. It was a night for devilry and revelry. The young bucks who’d been trapped at balls, parties and sandwiched in the crowds at Almack’s since the beginning of the season in January were finally able to escape to less reputable locations and enjoy themselves freely in ways they could not with the eligible ladies under the watchful eyes of their mothers.

Even a few ladies who’d borne their husbands the required heirs were taking the night to slip away from their cold marriage beds, along with some adventurous widows scattered throughout the expensively furnished rooms of the most famous pleasure haunt in London.

Samir Al Zahrani exited the Skeleton Room, one of the more macabre themed areas within the establishment, his soul blackened with greed. The English provided him a perfect market to carry on his trade, both legal and otherwise, with discretion and near anonymity.

Even his father, one of the emissaries visiting London, was unaware of the full extent of Samir’s business affairs. Willfully blind, was perhaps more accurate. His father was a man of honor and would have tried to stop him, but Samir knew his father was an old fool who did not recognize opportunity when it presented itself. While his father’s business struggled, Samir’s thrived, and soon he would surpass his father in both wealth and influence.

He moved through the house, admiring the array of mirrors and the other unusual additions to the mansion that entranced and enthralled its well-paying guests. His purse was fat with coins and banknotes from his most recent sale of exotic women to furnish the house. No slaves in England? Perhaps officially. But those who thought as he did had their quaint little ways around such naïve ideals, and to avoid unwanted scrutiny.

New inventory was in constant demand in the cleaner pleasure haunts. Wealthy men did not want to bed weary and worn middle-aged women. That was where he came in. Samir Al Zahrani traveled the world buying and sometimes stealing rare and exotic women, and occasionally men, to sell to the highest-paying customers. Such as the operators of the White House.

But Samir’s business had little to do with his presence in England today. He’d lost a pair of his most precious assets here a year ago. Two mares sired by his father’s famous Arabian racer, the one the English called Firestorm.

Samir had been cheated in a card game by a damned Englishman, Sheridan. He would pay for his arrogance and trickery. Samir had vowed to kill the viscount and take back his mares. But revenge would take time, so Samir had soothed his wounded pride for a time in France before coming back.

He’d considered hiring a few local lowlifes to murder Viscount Sheridan and make it look like a robbery. His own private guards could have handled such a thing, but this required more care. The last thing he needed was for Sheridan’s death to be traced back to him or his country. That would be bad for business. Tonight, he’d left his guards at home and ventured the streets alone.

As he was on his way out of Soho Square, a coach rattled past him and stopped, blocking his path. The muted glow of the street lamps did not seem to penetrate the darkness that cloaked the black coach in his path. Samir felt his hackles rise, like a dog sensing a threat yet unseen. Perhaps he should have brought his guards after all…

“Get out of my way!” he snarled up at the driver perched on the coach’s front, but the driver remained silent. The door of the coach opened and a well-manicured hand slid out from the inky depths, inviting Samir to come inside.

“You are Al Zahrani, the Arabian merchant, are you not?” The voice was thick with its arrogant presumption of being correct.

“Fortune favors you tonight. I am Al Zahrani,” Samir growled. Did this Englishman just think the first dark-skinned man he passed by was the one he sought? He had survived battles in deserts beneath a sun so hot as to kill any man from this wet country. He did not fear one smug English aristocrat.

“We have a common enemy, you and I.” The hand beckoned him again, but Samir hesitated.

“And what enemy would that be?”

“The man who stole your mares. Viscount Sheridan.” The voice spoke Sheridan’s name with such loathing that Samir smiled. His inquiries had reached the right people, it seemed.

“You too wish this man dead?”

“Someday. But first I want him to suffer, to be humiliated, to never know peace up until the moment of my choosing,” the voice from the coach said. “Come into my coach and we will talk.”

So, he’d met an ally—a dangerous one, but an ally nonetheless.
The enemy of my enemy
… Samir hesitated, then reassured himself that his curved blade still rested in the silk lining of his British-style coat. He stepped forward into the carriage.

It was almost pitch-black, but Samir could make out the tall form of another man across from him. A pale face with hair so dark it melted into the coach’s grim interior gave the impression of a disembodied face gazing back at Samir.

“How long have you been back in London? Did you arrive with your father, Ramiz Al Zahrani?” the man asked. Samir had the distinct impression this man knew the answer to his own question. It was a test of honesty.

“Four days. How do you know my father?”

The man waved his hand. “I know quite a bit about him. A well-respected gentleman, welcomed in all London circles. He’s a credit to his country.”

Samir detected no falsity to that declaration, which begged the question why a man who valued his father would be here now talking to him about murder and revenge?

“And have you sought word of Sheridan since you arrived?” the man asked.

“I have been busy selling my wares.”

“That is a matter which you and I will speak more of soon. I think that your business interests and mine might just find common ground.”

He sensed the man was not referring to his legal facade.

“You have an interest in my business?” Samir’s laugh was cold.

“I most certainly do. As I understand, you seek to take some of our stock back to your country. My sources’ opinions vary as to the why of the matter—some say it’s because of the exotic price they would fetch, others the prestige it would bring and how it might play in terms of power and influence. One acquaintance is convinced a wager is involved somehow.”

Samir smiled. The man didn’t just want him to know that he had information, he wanted him to know he had a number of people supplying him with it. It was an indirect means of laying out his credentials. Spymaster, perhaps? But Samir had his own means of learning about people. Answering a single question could speak volumes. “And what do
you
think?”

“The why is irrelevant to me,” the man said simply. “I am here to help supply you with some produce. Say, Viscount Sheridan?”

Samir held his breath. Was this man serious? “You are suggesting I kidnap a viscount on English soil? That would be impossible.”

The Englishman chuckled softly. “That is
exactly
what I’m suggesting, and it is my experience that few things are impossible, only difficult. If you want to succeed and escape the law, you need only to ask.”

“He’s still the same arrogant bastard he was. I believe I can handle him on my own.”

The Englishman shook his head. He might have been smiling. “Much has changed since you’ve been gone. Did you even know that Sheridan has gone blind?”

The man shared this bit of news with such delight that Samir had no remaining doubt that this man wanted Sheridan dead as well.

“Blind? I had not heard. That should make matters easier, however, not more difficult.”

“Then you do not know the company he keeps. As long as Sheridan is in London, your quest for revenge will indeed be impossible. You also don’t realize how little time you have. Next week he marries a wealthy heiress, the daughter of a recently deceased baron.”

“And what has this to do with me?” Samir demanded.

“His bride has fine English-bred stallions that Sheridan intends to breed with the mares he stole from you.”

Samir clenched his fists. His mares were meant for breeding only to other Arabians.

“And what is it you propose to do?” Samir asked through gritted teeth.

“Sheridan marries in five days. I have a man employed at the Sheridan house, and I have learned that Sheridan intends to honeymoon in Brighton. This is where he is keeping your horses. Conveniently, this would also keep him far from those who would protect him.”

“What do you want from me in this plan of yours?”

“You have control of a ship?” They both knew that he meant Samir’s slave ship.

“Yes. I have the services of a ship. The captain has orders from me to dock when and where I tell him.”

“Excellent. Here is my plan.”

Samir leaned forward to listen to the Englishman, a satisfied smile on his lips. Viscount Sheridan and his lovely bride would soon be begging for death, long before Samir would grant them such a mercy.

* * * * *

Hugo Waverly watched Samir Al Zahrani exit his private coach and continue on his way. A minute later, the coach door opened again and Daniel Sheffield ducked inside, seating himself across from Hugo.

Daniel was his best man. The quickest, quietest, and deadliest of all the spies Hugo was in charge of for His Majesty. The man was only in his midtwenties, yet he’d been on more missions than any spy in England.

Daniel swept off his hat. “Well, my lord? Did he take the bait?”

Settling back in his coach, he lifted his cane and rapped on the roof, signaling to his driver to return home. Then he set the cane across his lap, staring at the wolf-head handle. It was not his favorite cane, that one had been stolen long ago…by Sheridan. He and Essex had attacked Hugo and stolen the cane as a sort of college prank. The devils. Sheridan had dared to keep it as a trophy, a way of mocking Hugo whenever he had the chance.

“He’ll do as I directed and abduct Sheridan and his bride. He’ll set sail from Brighton, and that’s when we shall have the might of His Majesty’s navy ready to sink the ship.”

Daniel nodded. “And during their valiant effort to sink a known slaver ship, they’ll have killed Sheridan and his wife, not knowing the two were hostage on board.”

“Exactly.” Hugo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Daniel understood the delicate nature of dealing with Samir Al Zahrani. His father, Ramiz, was truly a good man, one who would be horrified to discover his son was conducting such a trade under his very nose. Yet it was Ramiz’s influence with the throne that kept his son safe from any obvious recriminations. Samir couldn’t be brought to trial for his part in the slave trade, a practice Hugo detested on every level.

So why not let the foolish man believe Hugo was on his side, then strike when the man had done Hugo’s dark deeds for him? But if Samir were to die in a tragic accident when his ship was sunk after ignoring orders to stop and present his cargo for inspection…well…that would be a pity. A smile curved his lips.

“Two birds and one stone. Or cannonball, rather,” Daniel added. “What is my next assignment, my lord?”

“Watch Samir and watch Sheridan. Both are hotheaded fools. We need to make sure one does not incite the other to act before the time is right. The kidnapping needs to occur during their honeymoon at Brighton, not before. Sheridan has too many friends protecting him here.”

Daniel nodded, no doubt remembering Hugo’s last two plans unraveling due to this fact.

“I’ll arrange the naval interference. The HMS
Ranger
should be docking there around the time we need Samir’s vessel to be sunk.”

Lifting his wolf-headed cane again, Hugo rapped the roof twice to stop the coach. It rocked to a halt on Curzon Street…where Sheridan lived. Daniel put his hat back on and slipped out of the vehicle like a wraith in the night.

If only you knew how closely you are being watched. How closely
all
you rogues are being watched.
Inside every house he had a man watching, waiting, feeding him information. When the time was right the men would act, snuffing out any rogues who were left, one by one.

But that was the end game. Now he would enjoy the middle game, his one vice in life in an otherwise unshakeable career of service to his country.

I will avenge you, Peter. They will pay for the night they let you die. They will pay. Then you can rest. And maybe I can as well.

It was a vow carved into his heart, and he would see it through at any cost.

Chapter Nine

Cedric fingered the stack of cards Ashton had abandoned on the table. “You know, Ash, you are not my favorite friend at the moment.”

Ashton chuckled. “You wound me, Cedric.”

Cedric huffed and listened to the sounds of feminine chatter. Emily and Horatia were with Anne, all three ladies whispering by the small fire in the hearth. He could hear the logs pop and snap. While the spring was relatively warm, today had been cooler than most.

“What has Ash done to deserve your displeasure?” Jonathan asked, the newest to their League. His blond hair and green eyes, not to mention the familial resemblance to his older brother Godric, made him nothing short of a young Adonis. He was more reserved when out among the
ton
at social gatherings than the other members of the League. Having lived most of his life as a servant, he was still unsure of himself when it came to the upper class and trying to act as one of their equals. He hadn’t been aware that he was Godric’s half brother until last September.

“The scoundrel abandoned me at Anne’s house. I had no carriage, no servants, no way to get home.” Cedric reached out in Ashton’s direction. “Let me find your face so I can draw your cork until you bleed.”

Ashton chuckled. His chair creaked as he no doubt wanted to avoid Cedric’s grasp.

“Jonathan, catch him and hold him still so I can get a decent blow to his jaw,” Cedric commanded, but Jonathan merely laughed.

“I wouldn’t dare get in the way of your fists. You might miss him and hit me.”

“So, villain, why did you leave me?” Cedric asked Ashton more seriously.

“Because I thought you and Anne should have some time alone. I hadn’t intended to leave you alone at her house, but when I went down to check on our coach, a runner delivered me a note from one of my business contacts. I assumed Anne would be able to see you home and to Godric’s tonight without issue. Was I right?”

“Of course you were. That’s what I dislike about you. You are
always
right. But come now, what was this business matter that sent you flying from Anne’s home with such urgency?”

Ashton’s voice darkened. “I’ve been running into stone walls with my usual merchants who buy my shipping services. Today I found out the source of those walls.”

“Was it a business competitor?” Jonathan speculated.

“It is
always
a business competitor with Ashton,” Lucien cut in as he, Godric and Charles joined them in the evening room and drew up chairs around the lacquered card table.

“Though normally you are not this affected by the tactics of your competitors,” Godric noted thoughtfully.

“Yes, well, that’s because up till now all of my competitors have been men. This latest adversary happens to be a lady,” Ashton declared with a mixture of irritation and exasperation.

“A woman? I should have known!” Charles sniggered like a schoolboy who’d pulled the best prank he’d ever conceived. “Better not be another banker’s daughter. You’re becoming too predictable, old man.”

“Careful, pup!” Ashton’s sharp tone drew the attention of the three ladies, who turned their heads in the direction of the rogues. In response, the rogues dropped their heads and drew in closer to better shield their conversation from the women.

“Who is this most aggravating lady?” Lucien asked. “Do I know her? Have I bedded her?”

“I don’t believe you have, Lucien, which leaves a very short list of possibilities, I know.” Ashton’s tone was heavy with wry amusement. “It is Lady Rosalind Melbourne, the widow of the late Lord Melbourne, a distant cousin to the prime minister.”

“Rosalind Melbourne… I know that name from somewhere.” Godric pondered and then his face lit up. “Rosalind is the sister to those three Scots I tangled with in Edinburgh some years ago.” He laughed heartily and smacked the table. “What a row that was. Broke half the furniture in that alehouse as I recall.”

“Those brutes are Lady Melbourne’s brothers?” Charles’s eyes went wide in astonishment. “One of them actually landed a blow on me, which I’ve not let happen since.”

Cedric cut in. “Hold on, what Scotsmen? I’ve never heard of this.”

Jonathan smacked his knee and chuckled. “That’s probably because they beat my brother to a pulp and their tempers make him look like a bloody angel. What were their names again, Godric?” Jonathan shot a devious grin at his brother.

“Brock, Brodie and Aiden Kincade. Barbarians, the lot of them. I heard their father passed away last year. Left them a castle somewhere up in the Highlands.”

“And what of Rosalind? Is she a barbarian like her brothers?” As always, Lucien focused on the woman in the story. He was a reformed rake, but still a rake.

“Lady Melbourne is…refined to a degree, but she’s also ruthless,” Ashton said. “She’s taking business from me, and I don’t care for it.”

“Finally, there is someone out there to make Ashton angry. I thought nothing ever affected you,” Cedric said.

“Is she fair?” Jonathan asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Ashton admitted. “But she doesn’t seem to use it to her advantage, not that I have seen.”

“Then seduce the woman. She’s a widow, isn’t she? Should be easy,” Lucien suggested. Suddenly something struck Lucien in the back of the head and glanced off Cedric.

“Who threw that pillow?” Lucien demanded, turning around. “Horatia, behave yourself!”

“Why should I when you clearly aren’t?” came her reply down by the fireplace. It was clear she’d been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

“What was that for?” Godric asked.

Lucien harrumphed before turning back to his friends. “Horatia tends to chuck pillows at me when she’s angry. I figure it could be worse, she could throw vases. So I keep the house well stocked with all sorts of soft projectiles to appease her vigilante needs to strike at me at will.”

“You deserve it, Lucien,” Horatia said over-loudly. “Suggesting seduction like that. How awful!”

“I’m sure I do, darling,” Lucien called back over his shoulder. Another pillow smacked soundly into Jonathan.

“Why the devil did you duck, Lucien?” Jonathan muttered. “You’re the cad, not I. I’m not up to taking a beating from your wife. You know, Cedric, I do believe I like your other sister better. At least she doesn’t throw things whenever she fancies.”

“Ha! Jonathan, you’ve never seen Audrey on days when she can’t find the right bonnet,” said Cedric. “Good God, the little sprite can tear down an entire house trying to find what she’s looking for.” The memory brought a smile to his lips. He missed her terribly. Hopefully she and Lucien’s mother would return from their trip to the Continent soon.

Jonathan tossed the pillow over his shoulder, and it landed on the snoozing foxhound, Penelope. The dog let out a yip of surprise, then sniffed the pillow with suspicion.

Cedric cleared his throat. “Speaking of Audrey, I thought I should have a word with you, Jonathan. I promised her that I would have a husband waiting for her when she returned from her European tour.”

“You, er…mean she wants to marry me?” Jonathan’s voice rose up in the way a man’s voice only could when threatened with marriage.

“She mentioned an
interest
in you. You do not have to accept, and I intend to have other prospects ready as well. I only want you to consider it if you know you could be a good husband to her.”

“I am flattered, of course…” Jonathan managed. “But I shall have to think on it.”

“No rush. She won’t be back until June.” Cedric wished he could have seen Jonathan’s face. He could almost picture the young man’s terror. Jonathan was as much of a rogue as his brother, but he did not have the same desire to pursue ladies of quality, at least not with any sense of permanence in mind.

“Cedric, permit me a question?” Godric asked in a low tone to prevent being overheard by the ladies.

“Ask away, old boy.”

“Is Anne aware that you marked her during your…private dinner this evening?”

Cedric’s face flushed. Dear God, he hadn’t thought that everyone would see his rough love bites. He no longer thought much about what was visible and what wasn’t.

“Are they that noticeable?” Cedric asked.

“It appears that either she fell on her fork or you had a nice couple of nibbles on her neck.” Lucien’s tone dripped with devious amusement. “Your lack of sight is making you a sloppy seducer, Cedric. I’ve never known you to leave a woman so clearly tumbled.”

“I didn’t tumble her…”
At least not fully,
he silently amended.

“So she did fall on her fork then?” Lucien supplied.

Cedric groaned, slapping his palm over his forehead in resignation.

“If she doesn’t notice the marks, then I’m sure Emily and Horatia won’t mention it,” Godric attempted to reassure him. “Well, probably.”

Ashton returned to a safer topic. “So things are going well between you?”

Cedric hesitated, too ashamed to admit how off balance he felt around his future wife. Seduction had never been a problem before. Now, though, he questioned his every move and wondered if he was moving things too fast or not fast enough.

“I am not sure if marriage is what she wants.
I
desire it, as foolish as that sounds, but she tries to keep her distance, as though she fears I’ll wound her.” Cedric let out his breath in a long sigh. “I cannot see how. I’m only capable of hurting myself these days.”

“She may fear a wound of the heart, rather than that of the body,” Godric suggested. “Emily fought me off in part because she believed that if she fell in love, I would eventually cease to want her and would move on to the next challenge. With any other woman I might have, but not Emily.”

“A wound of the heart?” Cedric repeated curiously. “I suppose that would explain her guarded exterior. Is there no way I can convince her that I would not throw her over for another woman? I mean, I’ve had my fun as a rake, but my life has changed, and marriage is a serious business. I would not enter into that particular contract so lightly with just anyone.”

“We know that, Cedric, but Anne does not. You must find a way to prove yourself. With women, actions speak loudest,” Ashton advised. “A thousand delightful promises won’t matter against one that she wished you’d kept and failed to. Do not assure her with words, show her that she is yours and you are hers and that no one shall come between you.”

Cedric rested his hands on the lacquered table, feeling the cool surface beneath his fingers. “How on earth am I supposed to do that?”

“That is what you will have to figure out for yourself.”

“You know, Ashton, one of these days a woman will so completely tie you up in emotional and physical knots that you’ll be begging for
my
advice and I will gloatingly tell you to figure it out for yourself,” Cedric said with a dark chuckle.

“Don’t be silly, Ashton is far too composed and rational to fall prey to feminine wiles,” Lucien teased.

Ashton cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Of course. No woman will ever get the upper hand with me.”

Cedric chuckled. “Now you’ve doomed yourself.”

Anne was listening to Emily and Horatia share various wedding stories to amuse her.

“Godric was so nervous he told me he ruined three neck cloths on the way to the church. His valet almost wept.” Emily shot a glance in her husband’s direction and blushed when she saw him gazing back. Godric’s face was a picture of love and devotion and it warmed her deep inside to see it.

“Lucien had to endure an hour-long lecture from his mother before she would even let him go into the church. Apparently she had wanted her firstborn child’s marriage to be normal. Instead, he was marrying me within a week of nearly dying from a duel. She was most upset she couldn’t have a normal wedding ceremony. When Lucien finally got inside, Charles told me that Lucien was ready to fall on his knees and beg my eternal forgiveness. He didn’t need it, of course, but I did so love to tease him about it after the wedding.” Horatia clutched a pillow in her lap, an extra weapon to throw should Lucien voice his rakish advice too loudly again. Someone had to keep the reformed man in line.

“Have either of you met this Rosalind Melbourne?” Emily asked. Horatia shook her head but Anne nodded.

“She is Lord Melbourne’s widow. I hear she is quite the businesswoman, but she tends to avoid most social events. She is Scottish and doesn’t always feel welcome in London circles, I think. Which is a pity. She is a lovely woman, and quite friendly.”

Emily straightened in her seat. “You have met her personally, Anne? Could you arrange for me to meet her?”

“I suppose. Why the sudden interest in Lady Melbourne?”

Emily smiled. “I’ve never seen Ashton’s feathers ruffled before. And a woman capable of doing that to a man like him intrigues me. Ashton certainly needs his feathers ruffled.”

“I could certainly agree with that. Even when he was wounded from that gunshot, he maintained a disturbing level of civility while your husband tried to stem the flow of his blood. Lord Lennox’s self-control is unnatural.”

“So you will introduce me to this Lady Melbourne?” Emily was almost vibrating with energy.

“Of course. I believe she likes to attend the opera. We could arrange for all of us to go and I will introduce you if she is there.”

“Oh, I do love the opera.” Horatia smiled, her warm eyes so much like her brother’s, lit with joy at the prospect of an evening of musical delight.

“Lady Rochester,” Anne began.

“Anne, please call me Horatia. We are to be sisters soon. I want no titles to stand between us.”

Anne shyly corrected herself. “Horatia.”

As an only child, she’d never known the joy of having siblings. To be openly claimed by Cedric’s family now that her father was gone strangely made her want to weep. “Does your brother enjoy the opera as well?”

Anne knew so little of Cedric. Truly knew him, that is. She knew his mannerisms, his way of charming those around him, and what was officially recorded about him. She’d made it the purpose of her first season out to know him, but as a man he was still a mystery. What color did he favor, what was his favorite dinner dish? Did he enjoy the opera? There was much that she wished to know, and her eagerness for this surprised her.