The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (38 page)

Langdon looked at Sophia, reluctant understanding in his eyes. “Once he is safely
behind bars, you will have the opportunity to voice everything you’ve ever wanted
to tell the Bishop. Is that enough?”

“It will have to be,” Sophia replied.

Nicholas’s mount spooked at a drunken reveler, dancing nervously sideways. He tightened
Guinevere’s reins and murmured gently to the mare, settling her. “Despite Mouse’s
connection to the Bishop, he had no clue where his headquarters were. We searched
his secret warehouse for a clue to the location, to no avail. How did you find it?”

He and Langdon had ridden through the backstreets of London to Drury Lane. A host
of Young Corinthian agents did the same, coming in twos and fours from wherever it
was that spies came from.

Langdon pointed down Blackmore Street and turned his horse. “It was not easy. Members
of the Kingsmen gang are not eager to give up information concerning the Bishop. And
he prefers to stay unpredictable. The man spends no more than a night holed up in
one of his establishments before moving to another. Luckily, we finally found a member
of the Kingsmen who valued his life more than his boss’s.”

“You threatened injury?” Nicholas asked. He’d learned enough details of his brother’s
secret life that evening to make him wonder what more could be lurking behind Langdon’s
calm façade. He hoped there was
much more; it made him less perfect—and far more like Nicholas.

“No, Nicholas. We are not in the business of killing,” Langdon answered, clearly disappointed
that the thought had entered his brother’s mind.

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders. “Rather less exciting than I’d hoped.”

Langdon smiled for the first time that night. “Well, most of it is, and this informant
was no exception. He had quite a history with the Runners, including burglary, assault,
even murder—though there was not enough proof to charge him on that count. Still,
when the Corinthians were brought in to interrogate him, he cracked. Gave us the location
of the Bishop’s headquarters as long as we kept him off a ship bound for New South
Wales.”

“So you let him go?” Nicholas pressed, trying to see the honor in such an act.

Langdon’s horse tossed his head. “It’s a balancing act, Nicholas,” his brother told
him, patting the horse on the neck. “As you should well know, nothing in life is ever
all right or all wrong. There are the gray spaces in between, where one has to figure
out for themself the best course of action that will lead to the most positive outcome.”

“Sounds tricky,” Nicholas replied, mindful of the parallels between the situation
Langdon referred to and his relationship with Sophia.

Langdon nodded. “You have no idea just how tricky. The Corinthians test me as a man
on every level. It makes me a better person—and, eventually, will make me a better
husband to Sophia.”

Nicholas had never known his brother to be anything but honest and forthright. So
was he imagining the subtle comments and references? Or was Langdon implying
that he suspected something between his fiancée and his brother?

If the evening had revealed anything to Nicholas, it was that he did not know Langdon
nearly as well as he’d always believed.

He looked at his brother and waited for him to do the same before speaking. “Is that
right?”

“Of course,” Langdon answered, no detectable emotion on his face. “I imagine that
in every marriage there are times when the other does something you thought could
never be forgiven. My work with the Corinthians has taught me to think before acting,
to consider all of the information, including the effects the issue will have on others.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Nicholas asked, hardly able to stand his and
Sophia’s secret any longer. “Because if you are, I wish that you would simply spit
it out rather than wrapping it in—”

Langdon raised a finger to his lips. Two men on horseback appeared in the roadway.
They came slowly toward the brothers, prompting Nicholas to reach for the knife tucked
into his boot.

“My lord, the men are in place,” the man on the dappled gray reported to Langdon.

Nicholas loosened his grip on the knife. “Are we close?”

They’d been riding the back alleys of Drury Lane for nearly the entire length of the
theatre district, leaving Nicholas to wonder where they were going.

“The Bishop owns the Gloriana Theatre. According to our man, he will be there. It
is the last building on the Lane,” Langdon answered. He clucked his horse into a walk
and gestured for the men to follow.

“Bloody hell,” Nicholas murmured, unsure of whether he should be thankful that he
and Sophia had not encountered the Bishop when they’d visited the theatre, or
angry that they had come so close and still not discovered him there.

“What was that?” Langdon asked.

Nicholas brought his horse even with his brother’s. “Nothing. Now, what is the plan?”
he asked, genuinely curious … and thankful for the distraction.

One of the Corinthians cleared his throat. “Sir, do you think it’s a wise decision
to allow Mr. Bourne inside the theatre? The Bishop is never without at least two of
his men, and there is the cast and crew to take into consideration as well.”

“Cast and crew?” Nicholas repeated, confused.

“There is a dress rehearsal for the troupe’s upcoming play tonight,” Langdon explained.
“Hopefully, the hour is late enough—or early enough, as is the case—that they have
finished and are gone by now. If not, then yes, there will be the cast and crew to
contend with—though I highly doubt any of them will stand with the Bishop. We have
no proof that anyone connected to the theatre knows anything more of the man than
that he is a magistrate.”

Nicholas pictured the interior of the theatre as well as the back of the stage. There
were many places to hide a young boy, especially given the added benefit of a busy
rehearsal.

“As to your question, Damon,” Langdon continued, turning his head to look at the young
man. “My brother, with very little help, managed to track down two of the most vile
men to walk the earth. And while it was necessary for him to ask for our help, that
only proves to me that he is smart, as well as capable. So yes, I do think it’s a
wise decision—and one that I will stand by should any other choose to foolishly ask.”

Damon cleared his throat, but wisely followed up with silence rather than words.

“Here we are,” Langdon announced, pointing to a
hitching post outside a darkened butcher shop. “Leave the horses. We will walk the
rest of the way.”

The men halted their mounts in a line, each dismounting with silent ease.

“How will we get inside?” Nicholas asked, looping his leather reins about the post.

Langdon finished tethering his horse and pulled a pocket watch from his vest. “Do
you recall Topper, the man who gave us the Bishop’s whereabouts?”

Nicholas nodded as he completed the knot.

“He should be waiting for us at the back door of the theatre,” Langdon offered, returning
the watch to his pocket. “The Bishop knows nothing of your ties to the Corinthians.
So, with any luck, he believes that only you will be coming for Mouse—he won’t expect
an entire unit of trained spies.”

“I’m afraid luck is not often on my side, brother,” Nicholas answered dryly, the weight
of Mouse’s welfare heavy on his shoulders.

The two Corinthians stepped back from their horses and Langdon gestured for them to
fall into line. “Not to worry. It is always on mine.”

29

The Gloriana Theatre
D
RURY
L
ANE

He did not enjoy
Romeo and Juliet
, the Bishop reflected as he examined a playbill for the upcoming production. Never
had, and most likely never would. He wondered if Shakespeare’s plays were often performed
in America—a question he planned on soon being able to answer for himself.

He looked at Mouse, who sat across from him in the tidy theatre office on Drury Lane.
The boy’s feet dangled from the high seat of the battered wood chair as he fidgeted
with his hands.

“Do you know, Mouse, in America there is plenty of opportunity for all—even a young
boy such as yourself.”

Mouse looked at the Bishop as if he’d spoken in Latin. “What do I care about America?
There’s Indians there who cut off your scalp and wear it like a prize. And that’s
only if you make it across the ocean—which most do not.”

The Bishop smiled at the boy. “I have a sound ship, Mouse. One fit to transport everything
you saw in the warehouse—and more. And I have a mind to bring you with me.”

“So you’re not going to kill me?” Mouse asked disbelievingly.

“No, I don’t think so,” the Bishop answered, nearly as surprised as Mouse. “You have
grown on me. Besides, I will need help setting up my business in America. And I believe
you might make a good partner.”

The boy slid forward in the chair until his feet rested on the floor. “What do you
want with America, anyway? Just take your money and get out of London. Mr. Bourne
won’t follow you. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Oh, Mouse, if it were only that easy,” the Bishop replied, a loud crash reverberating
in the back of the house downstairs.

Both startled at the noise, the Bishop’s gaze sliding toward the closed door.

“Who practices plays in the dead of night?” Mouse asked, looking down at the floorboards
as if he could see the actors below.

The Bishop stood up from his chair and leaned over his desk, pulling the window curtains
open and staring out at the dark street. No one was there.

“America, sir?”

The Bishop returned to his seat. “Yes, America. You see, one way or another, word
is going to get out that I’ve kept the choicest pieces of the organization’s plunder
for myself. And that will not please my boss. Not at all. But an ocean between us
should keep me safe.”

Another crash ripped through the theatre, this time followed by yelling and several
grunts of pain.

“I believe your Mr. Bourne has come for you,” the Bishop told Mouse, standing again.

Mouse jumped up from his chair and moved toward the office door. “He’s no match for
the boys. You’ve got to call them off before somebody gets hurt.”

“It’s as I told you in the park, Mouse,” the Bishop answered, opening the top desk
drawer and removing a thick-handled, wickedly sharp knife, “even I cannot predict
what others will do. If Mr. Bourne chooses to
come for you, he must go through Paddy and the boys first. It is only fair.”

Heavy footfalls sounded in the hall, then Paddy’s deep, Irish brogue yelled out, only
to be cut off mid-sentence.

The Bishop pointed the knife at Mouse, gesturing for him to move back. “Stay behind
me, Mouse, and no harm will come to you.”

Someone threw themselves against the door, their weight rattling the hinges. Another
battering followed, and another, until the upper right panel of the door gave way.

“Stay behind me. Do you hear?” the Bishop yelled at Mouse as he backed up toward the
wall.

A second panel was crushed to pieces, then one more charge from whomever stood on
the opposite side and the door fell into the office, nearly hitting the Bishop before
it landed at his feet.

“Stay back,” the Bishop ordered, but Mr. Bourne charged over the threshold and came
straight for him, then continued on past. The Bishop swung around in time to see the
man lunge across the desk and grab for what looked to be the bottom of a small boot
at the open window.

He didn’t see
Mouse
!

Suddenly the room filled with men and the Bishop was shoved against the wall, one
man holding his wrists together as another tied them with a length of rope to restrain
him.

Bourne roared and slammed his fist on the desktop.

“We have him, Nicholas,” another man assured him, physically turning Mr. Bourne until
he was looking straight at the Bishop.

“Is the boy dead?” the Bishop asked, the rope beginning to cut at his wrists. “Tell
me.”