The Bargain Bride (39 page)

All the Royce descendants were invaluable to the government, in necessarily secret service to their country. They'd be burned as witches or warlocks if anyone suspected their hidden talent, or ostracized as charlatans. Mind readers? The devil! Truth knowers? Bosh. So they worked behind the scenes, disguising their gift as wisdom, wit, and uncanny luck.

Uncle Royce advised the courts. Harry used to run a spy network. Rex worked with Bow Street after he was wounded in the Peninsular War, after Daniel left the army. Together Rex and Daniel had been the dreaded Inquisitors, the intelligence officers in charge of gathering information from captured enemy officers. Daniel's size alone intimidated their prisoners. Their unfailing results terrified everyone else, even their superiors. Since only a select few could know of the family trait, the War Office let stand the rumors that the Inquisitors were torturers, immoral brutes. They were despised by friend and foe alike, despite the countless English lives they saved. Daniel had constant rashes.

He came home when his father died, relieved to have an excuse to leave the army and his ugly but important employment. The life of a country squire, or a town buck, was just as filled with falsehoods, though, and boredom to boot. Then came the guilt over leaving Rex to serve the country by himself, until the fool got shot.

Daniel had sworn to look after his cousin and best friend. He'd failed. He'd lied, which was the worst thing a Royce relative could do. When Rex turned into a morose, hermitlike cripple, Daniel turned into a libertine, a wastrel, a gambler, a drunk. He threw himself into whatever debauchery London offered, along with its other dregs and demimondaines. So what if his new companions lied and cheated? Their haunts were usually too dark for anyone to notice Daniel's spots, and half his neighbors itched just as badly, from lice or fleas or bed-bugs. Women were paid to please, and Daniel paid them more not to pretend any tender feelings or passion. His size and reputation protected him from the dangers of the night, and his mighty fists protected him from anyone stupid enough to try in the shadows.

Then Rex came to London as a favor to his father and got involved with solving crimes. The clunch almost got himself killed again for his efforts, but he actually liked working with Bow Street's investigators. Rex tried to drag Daniel out of the gambling dens and into his detective work, but Daniel was having none of it. Damn, did they think the suspects were going to confess when they knew they'd be hanged or deported? No, the scum told lies on top of lies, and Daniel got more rashes.

Even Harry, the earl's illegitimate son, tried to enlist Daniel in his sanctioned skullduggery, uncovering blackmailers and traitors and revolutionaries in the government. Were there no honest politicians?

Both of his cousins wanted Daniel to continue their work in Parliament of the police precincts. Uncle Royce offered him a magistrate's position, so he could use his gift in the courts. England needed him, they all said. He should be working, they all said, for the good of king and country.

Daniel had said no. He was not interested in their noble missions, their self-righteous sacrifices, not when he could enjoy a redheaded wench and a bottle of wine. He'd served his country; he'd done his share. So no, he would not mingle among the gentlemen who ruled the kingdom, to listen for their lies. No, he would not preside over the courts where bewigged barristers spewed pre varications to save their clients. No, he would not sit at some battered desk to hear scurvy felons falsely plead their innocence. No, he would not need a tin of talcum powder on his posterior every day.

“No chance of saying no to my mother,” he told Miss White, his voice full of regret and resignation. He might be brave, and full of brawn if not brains, but she was his mother. She was also Lady Cora Stamfield, née Royce, daughter of the former earl, sister to the current Lord Royce, widow of one of the largest landholders in the eastern shires. Formidable in her own right, she ran Stamfield Manor and the rest of the parish, as well. Mostly, though, for years now she'd asked for nothing from Daniel but his happiness. She was not one for rants and recriminations, only steadfast love and loyalty to her only son. He knew she worried while he was with the army, and more so while he wallowed in London's pleasures. Sowing his oats, she'd called it, and she waited for him to reap his harvest and come home. He hadn't, except for short visits. So how could he refuse her request to join her and Susanna at Royce House?

“Now she remembers I am the man of the family, when she thinks she needs me.”

Daniel wouldn't be the head of the household if the earl came to Town, nor would his presence be required. Mother was staying at the earl's mansion in Mayfair, after all, and Lord and Lady Royce held enough power in London to oversee seven debutante balls. But the earl and his countess were recently reunited and enjoying their life in the country. Rex, Viscount Rexford, that is, had enough countenance and connections to aid Lady Cora and Susanna, too, but he was the proud father of twins, with another child due soon. He would never leave his beloved Amanda and their brood to take over escort duties. Even Harry would have done in a pinch, now that he was recognized in polite society. The former master spy, though, was also deliriously happily wed, traveling on honeymoon, showing off his beautiful bride to relatives, inspecting his new estate, and awaiting his first child.

“Like rabbits, that's what they both are,” Daniel said as he pulled on his scuffed boots. “And curse them all for not being here when I need them. I'd rather face the blasted French cannons on my own than the
ton
without a friend at my back.”

Miss White made a soft sound of commiseration, or protest at being ignored. She was here, wasn't she?

Daniel sat beside her on the bed, gathering her close. “I am sorry, puss. I know you'd stand by me, but it will never do. You wouldn't be welcome at Royce House, you know. You're a beauty, my pet, but not of their elevated, rarefied world. No more than I am, but I have no choice. You'll be happier here.” He looked around at the comfortable rooms he'd taken over from Harry, above McCann's Club. No one cared what time he came or went, in what condition, or with which companion. The service was excellent, the food ample, and the company undemanding. He'd miss it, the freedom, the camaraderie, the easy acceptance of who and what he was, with no demands that he become anything else. But his mother wanted him to reside with the family, likely to be at their beck and call. “I'll miss you most of all, my dear, but you'll do. You already rule the kitchens here, so you won't go hungry, and Harry will return soon and take you up again.”

He gave Miss White one last kiss on the top of her silky head, then stood and brushed her white cat hairs off his coat. That was the least he could do for his beloved mother—present a neat appearance on this first day. She'd be disappointed in him soon enough. Like everyone else in the family already was.