Seducing the Ruthless Rogue (24 page)

“Mikala, may I speak to you a moment?” the Duke of Hawkescliffe asked his wife.

“Certainly,” she said.
 
“Pardon me for just a moment.”
 

The two disappeared into the parlor and closed the door.
 
Cassie could hear raised voices coming from inside the room.
 
Mack hated her, there was certainly no surprise there, but now she had caused a rift between the duchess and her husband.
 
And all because of a silly party.
 
The yelling seemed to have stopped, thank goodness.
 
A few minutes later the door to the parlor opened and Mikala and the duke stepped out.
 
Their lips were swollen and their eyes sparkled.
 

“Are you ready to go?” Mikala asked, her voice huskier than normal.

“Go?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.
 
My dear, we are finding you a dress, because you are most definitely coming to the party now.”

Chapter 13

The women were settled comfortably in the Hawkescliffe coach and traveling to the dressmaker before Cassie broached the subject.
 

“Your Grace…”

“Mikala or Kala,” the duchess said, smiling.
 
The carriage lurched slightly and Mikala placed a hand on her flat stomach.

“Do we need to stop?”

“No, just lower the windows,” she instructed.

“Perhaps we should switch places.
 
There was a lady that I rode with in a post chaise once, and she became ill if her back was towards the horses, otherwise, she felt fine.”

“I’ll try anything,” Mikala said.
 
The two switched places, and within a few minutes the duchess relaxed considerably.
 
“That
is
better, thank you.”

“Mikala, we don’t have to do this.
 
It was never my intention to cause any problem between you and your husband.”

“Cassie, first of all, leave my husband to me.
 
We have our fair share of arguments, but we always make up.
 
Second, you are not getting out of attending this party now.
 
Finally, you are going to be the most beautiful woman there,” Mikala’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Director McKenzie can be quite irritating, can’t he?” Cassie hedged.

“Mack is an entity to himself,” Mikala bluntly replied.

“Oh?”

Mikala threw back her head and laughed.
 
“You are interested in Mack, aren’t you?”

“Like I said, he can be quite irritating.”

“He seemed fairly upset that you were out and about after being shot, what, a week ago?”

“He and Chang are like old women, mothering me and trying to keep me at home when I feel perfectly fine.”

“How did Mack come to know about your accident?”
 
Mikala could not hide the curiosity in her voice.

“He was there.”

“What?” Mikala exclaimed.

“I had been sitting in a park, and he came upon me.
 
When I stood to leave, someone shot me.
 
He knocked me down to the ground and then went after the person, but it was too late.
 
They had already disappeared.”

“Hmmm…”
 
There was a pregnant pause before she continued, “the dressmaker is just ahead.”
 
The carriage came to a halt, and it swayed gently as the tiger jumped down from the back.
 
The young man ran around and opened the door for the two women, both of whom thanked him.
 
“You will love Mrs. Brown.
 
No, Mrs. Garrett.
 
I keep forgetting her name has changed.
 
She was a war widow and came back to open a dress store to feed herself and her children.
 
I don’t know what would have become of her family if it had not been for my sister-in-law, my aunt, and myself.
 
I think the first couple of years we were almost her sole clients.”

“Lady Hawkescliffe, how are you?”

“Wonderful, Mrs. Garrett.
 
And you?”

“So very happy,” the woman gushed.
 

“I am so glad to hear it.
 
Now, Mrs. Garrett, this is Miss Cassie Graham.
 
I am hosting a party next week.
 
There will be food, music, and dancing on a small scale.
 
I have promised Miss Graham that she will be the most beautiful woman there.”

“Trying to catch a young man’s eye, are we?”

“No,” Cassie shook her head, chuckling.

“Ah, in denial.
 
Very well then.
 
Would you ladies like tea?”

“That would be wonderful,” Mikala said as she took a seat on the divan in the outer room.
 
“Come sit by me.”
 

Cassie walked over and joined her as if in a bit of a stupor.
 
Fashion plates and bolts of fabric covered every surface.
 
She had never before seen so many colors in all her life.
 
Cassie removed her gloves and let her fingers trail lightly over the fabrics, taking in their various textures.

“Decadent, isn’t it?” Mikala asked, a smile on her face.

“Yes,” Cassie whispered.
 
She sat next to Mikala, who patted her leg reassuringly.
 
“This is too much.
 
I can’t let you do this.”

“You certainly can, and you will enjoy every moment.” Mikala winked at her.

Mrs. Garrett entered the room carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits.
 
She sat it on a low table in front of the women.
 
“Well, ladies, are we ready to set a new standard for women in London?”

“Absolutely,” Mikala agreed, delighted.

“I think I should be frightened,” Cassie said.

***

Mack was angry, and he had no way of dispelling it.
 
The hired hack had splintered several spokes when it hit a hole in the street forcing him and Chang to walk several blocks before finding another.
 
Once he had seen Cassie’s guardian home, he felt he had wasted most of the day.
 
And that was just on top of how well his day had gone so far, what with his meeting with Liverpool and then the exchange of words he’d had with Gabe.

He found himself standing in front of the office of
The Times
.
 
Mack stood at the base of the steps and looked up at the building.
 
He took a deep breath then released it, hoping to ease his muscles before going inside.
 
He entered a world of controlled chaos.
 
There were men everywhere.
 
Some were scribbling on scraps of paper, while others were folding papers.
 
Then there were others manning the presses.
 
A general hum sounded throughout the building, making the building itself seem alive.

“I’m looking for the editor,” Mack said to the first man he came to.
 
At the same time a man went running past him, rushing out of the building.
 

“What did you say?”
 
The man he had spoken to looked back at him expectantly.
 

“I’m looking for the editor, Mr. Walter.”

“Owner, not the editor,” the man replied. “His office is back there,” he nodded behind him to the bowels of the building.
 

“Thank you,” Mack said.
 
He made his way to the back of the building, attempting to catch a glimpse of what the men wrote as he passed.
 
Unfortunately, he could make nothing out that would be of use.
 
A name would jump out at him here and there, but nothing more.
 
Most of them seemed to be translating scratch marks similar to what he had seen in Cassie’s journal into the King’s English.
 
He came up to a harried little man who had a pair of spectacles propped on his head.
 
As most of the men in the office, he wore only a vest over his shirt.
 
The man had his head down and appeared to be desperately shuffling through the papers on his desk.
 
“Excuse me.”

“What is it?” the man asked without ever looking up.

“I need to speak to Mr. Walter.”

“Did you make an appointment?”

“No.”

The man paused, retrieved a pencil that was tucked behind his ear, and pulled several large sheets of paper in front of him.
 
“When would you like to see him?”

“Now.”

“Mr. Walter is a busy man, and he cannot see you now.
 
The earliest he can see you is tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.”

“I don’t think you understand, I aim to see Mr. Walter.”

“And you are?”

“Stuart McKenzie, Director of the War Office.”

The man pulled his spectacles down so that he could get a good look at Mack.
 
“I’ll let Mr. Walter know you are here, but I cannot guarantee that he will see you.”
 
The man disappeared behind a door marked “Proprietor”.
 
Mack stood and crossed his arms, waiting for the bespectacled man to return.
 
When he did, he looked down his nose at Mack.
 
“Mr. Walter said to return tomorrow at three.”

“Well, you tried didn’t ye?”

“Yes,” the man said, shocked.

“And now I believe I will,” Mack said pushing easily past the man.

“You can’t go in there!”

Mack slipped inside the office and locked the door.
 
“I’m sorry to bother ye, Mr. Walter, but tomorrow afternoon does not fit my schedule.”

“Now see here,” the man blustered.

“No, Mr. Walter, you see here,” Mack let the man’s name roll off his tongue, his burr even more pronounced, “I have questions, and I want answers.
 
Who is C. E. Jones?”

“I do not reveal the name of any of my contributors,” Mr. Walter said.

“I am here on behalf of…”

“Yes?” Mr. Walter waited anxiously.

Mack planted his hands on the man’s desk and studied him.
 
There was a gleam in the owner’s eyes.
 
He had not a clue who had sent Mack asking questions, and he was anxious to know.
 
“C. E. Jones.
 
How can I find him?”

“I’ve never met him,” the other man answered.

“I find that hard to believe, Walter.”

“Believe what you would like, Director McKenzie, it is the truth.
 
I have never seen Mr. Jones.
 
All of our correspondence is sent between one of my newsboys.
 
I deposit money straight into his account at the Bank of England.”

“What is the name on the account?”

“I don’t think I should tell you,” Walter told McKenzie.

“The name on the account,” Mack gritted out between his teeth.

“C. E. Jones-Graham.”

Mack looked closely at the man behind the desk.
 
“Did I hear you correctly?
 
Did you say Graham?”

“That is correct.”

Mack’s mind worked furiously.
 
She’s not.
 
It is just a coincidence.
 
But he could not forget the way she had quickly gathered the papers on her desk and shoved them in the drawer.
 
And there was the journal that had the undecipherable marks that he had questioned her about at the demonstration.
 
Marks that were similar to those out in that large room at several of the desks he had passed.
 
“Would the name of the boy you communicate between be Alfred, by any chance.”

“You know who C. E. Jones is, don’t you, Director McKenzie?”
 
The man sat forward in his chair, eager to know his contributor’s true identity.

Mack refused to say anything, angry at himself for giving himself away as he had.

“When you find Jones, tell him to keep up the good work.
 
Any reporter who has received as many threats as he has is close enough to the truth that it is making people uncomfortable.”

“Threats?
 
What kind?”

“Everything from forcing him out of society to death threats.
 
It seems many of the people believe it is a member of the
ton
spying on them.”

“That is interesting.
 
I will not take anymore of your time.
 
Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Walter.”

“Director McKenzie.”

Mack left the building even more irritated than before.
 
C. E. Jones-Graham could only be one person.
 
He felt as if he were being watched and knew that Walter had sent someone to follow him, which meant that there was no way he could seek out Cassie now and demand the truth from her.
 
In fact, he doubted he would be able to see her anytime soon.
 
Walter would have several people watching him, because the man wanted to know who his contributor was as much as the rest of London did.
 
Mack hated this feeling of his every move being monitored.