His Wicked Secret (The League of Rogues Book 8) Read online

  His Wicked Secret

  The League of Rogues Book 8

  Lauren Smith

  Contents

  Copyright page

  Chapter 1

  Untitled

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  An Earl By Any Other Name

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Lauren Smith

  Copyright page

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Smith

  Excerpt from An Earl by Any Other Name

  Cover design by EDH Graphics

  The League of Rogues (R) is a Federally registered trademark owned by Lauren Smith.

  Lauren Smith supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-947206-36-6 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-947206-37-3 (Trade paperback)

  For Amanda who loved Audrey and Jonathan from the beginning. You make me smile every time you call them “Jaudrey.”

  1

  League Rule 17: Never let your title, or a lack of one, define who you are.

  Excerpt from the Quizzing Glass Gazette, September 9, 1821, the Lady Society column:

  Lady Society is quite frustrated with gentlemen as of late, especially those of a roguish nature. In particular, she is casting her disapproving eye on Mr. St. Laurent, the younger brother to the Duke of Essex. This gentleman has attempted a callous seduction of a young lady of the ton and then rebuffed her when she conveyed her interest. Mr. St. Laurent, you cannot play the cat to a mouse with a woman who is no longer in the game. It is over. Leave the lady be since you have no desire to marry her. Consider yourself warned.

  “Consider myself warned?” Jonathan St. Laurent stared at the paper he had stolen from Lucien, the Marquess of Rochester. The two were settled comfortably in a room at Berkley’s club, awaiting the arrival of their friends for their weekly drinks and cigars.

  The red-haired marquess chuckled. “You have brought the wrath of Lady Society herself down upon you. May God pity your soul.”

  “Indeed.” Jonathan read over the society column again, choking on every word. He hadn’t been playing any games. There was only one lady in all of London he could have claimed to have seduced, or made an attempt to: Miss Audrey Sheridan, the youngest sister of his friend Cedric, Viscount Sheridan.

  Jonathan had spent his entire life believing he was a servant, not knowing until last year that he was, in fact, the Duke of Essex’s half brother. He was learning his place in the beau monde, learning the ways of a gentleman, and doing his best to leave his life as a servant behind him. But trouble had found him. Trouble bearing the name of Audrey.

  She was a true hellion. A dark-haired beauty with a sharp tongue and a penchant for trouble. The last thing he needed was trouble. Nevertheless, from the moment he’d met her she’d been a constant presence in his mind.

  “Well, what do you plan to do?” Lucien inquired. His lips twisted up in an amused, sardonic smile as he sipped his brandy.

  “What can I do?” Jonathan crushed the paper in his hands. “I didn’t seduce her, not in any way that truly counts.”

  “By whose standards? Those of a gentleman, or those of the life you led before?”

  The words wounded Jonathan. “I have been nothing but a gentleman to her.”

  Lucien seemed to realize his words had hurt Jonathan and corrected himself. “I simply mean that a misunderstanding may have taken place. Ladies often have a very different view of seduction than we do, you know.”

  “There was not. At least none that I can see. And besides, I was ready to marry her. I was about to ask her this afternoon when I last saw her.”

  Earlier that afternoon he’d sought to propose to her, but she’d run from him before he could even ask his question. He’d been worried she was going to get into trouble, so he had followed her to a brothel, the Midnight Garden, which catered to high-society clientele. He’d found Audrey alone in a room with a handsome young man, and he’d lost control, tossing the man out of the room. He and Audrey had argued, and whenever they argued it always led to brief yet intense moments of passion.

  He’d never met a woman who set his blood on fire with just a smile or a laugh. Everything about her made the world glow in a way he’d never thought possible.

  But he hadn’t seduced her, not in the way the society column suggested. He’d given her a taste of what pleasure could be between a man and a woman who cared for each other, and when he held her in his arms, her body trembling with the aftershocks of release, he’d gotten lost in her soft brown eyes. The words of his proposal had lingered upon his lips, and just when he had summoned the courage to speak, she rallied her defiant spirit and pulled away from him. She’d abandoned him, and his heart had constricted with unimaginable pain, hurt and confused by her opposing reactions to him. One minute she was purring in his arms like a kitten, and the next she was spitting mad and leaving him feeling the deep gashes of her verbal claws.

  “Why didn’t you ask her?” Lucien asked. “You shouldn’t be afraid. I was nervous when I proposed to Horatia, and I ought not to have been.”

  Jonathan sighed. “But Horatia is so much more reasonable than her sister. Audrey is…” Words escaped him.

  “Wild? Untamable? A scamp of the highest order?” Lucien supplied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “Exactly,” Jonathan agreed. She was all those things and more. So much more.

  “Cedric will approve, you know. You need not worry about that. He trusts you more than he ever did me.” There was a soft, melancholy tone to his voice that caught Jonathan’s attention. The two men had come to blows over Horatia and eventually had ended up dueling on Christmas day. It was a miracle no one had died that day.

  While it comforted Jonathan to think Cedric wouldn’t object to his marrying Audrey, it was the lady herself who was causing him concern. He’d been warned by a footman in the Sheridan house that Audrey had her heart set on learning the art of espionage so that she might become a spy. Ridiculous. Could it be that which had driven a wedge between them? She had once shown interest in him, but now she seemed determined not to marry any man, and she was getting herself involved in more and more dangerous situations.

  The strong sting of Audrey’s rejection brought him back to Lucien’s words.

  “It isn’
t Cedric I’m concerned about. I was so convinced last year that Audrey wished for me to court her, but now…something has changed.” He cast his eyes about the room, seeking answers and knowing he would find none.

  Lucien lit a cigar and puffed on it slowly, thinking. “Sometimes women are convinced they want something, but once it’s within reach they grow frightened of actually obtaining it.”

  “But why?”

  “Lord, man, if I knew I would be sure to tell you.”

  Jonathan exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “If Lady Society is telling the truth, that Audrey doesn’t want me, then wouldn’t it be the gentlemanly thing to do to let her go?”

  Lucien’s set his cigar into a nearby tray and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he pressed his fingers together in contemplation. Then he gazed intently at Jonathan. Lucien was in his early thirties and had seen and done much in the world. Jonathan was a lad by comparison at only five and twenty years of age. He trusted whatever advice his friend could offer.

  “I think you shouldn’t let her go. She’s hurting. Something happened and she’s giving up. But you shouldn’t. Horatia was much the same with me. I said some foolish things, did even more foolish things, and rather than lash out, she retreated from me. There’s a chance Audrey is acting like her sister. I’ve seen how Audrey looks at you when she thinks no one is watching. There are stars in her eyes, my boy. And if you want her, then take her.”

  Jonathan’s smile was sad. He was too full of foolish hope, and he knew it. “Stars in her eyes?”

  “She acts frivolous when it comes to love, but she’s a true romantic. She’s the kind of woman who rescues kittens from the rain, who seeks to clothe and feed the helpless, and who crusades for what she believes in. She’s not unlike our Lady Society, I suppose.” He waved a hand toward the paper that Jonathan still held, and his lips twitched. “A woman like that deserves a champion who will fight at her side and who won’t betray her noble causes. If you are that man, then I say go after her at any cost.”

  Jonathan set the crumpled paper down on the table, smoothing out the pages as he thought back over every encounter he’d ever had with Audrey. From that first kiss in her bedchamber last Christmas to this afternoon in the brothel when she’d come apart in his arms as he touched her intimately for the first time. She had been angry, hurt, and cold afterward, but in those first moments as he’d taught her pleasure, he’d seen the girl who had looked at him with stars in her eyes.

  “I want to be her man. Her hero, her rogue, whatever she wants me to be.”

  Lucien smiled and retrieved his brandy. “There’s a good lad.” When Jonathan didn’t move, Lucien kicked him with one of his Hessian boots. “Well don’t just sit there—go after her before she gets into any more trouble.”

  Jonathan leapt out of his chair and waved a lad over who was waiting to serve.

  “Fetch my coat and have my horse brought around.”

  “Of course.” The boy darted off. Jonathan began to leave but stopped at the doorway.

  “You will tell the others I have an urgent matter to attend to?” he asked Lucien.

  “I will. No sense in telling them what you’re up to, not until the little scamp is properly leg-shackled, or willing to be at least. Cedric will insist on giving her away, so don’t do something foolish like run off to Gretna Green.”

  “Of course not. She’ll want a proper wedding, to have an excuse to buy a new dress if nothing else.” Jonathan tapped his fingers on the doorjamb, hesitating a moment longer, and then left the room. Yes, Audrey and her dresses—the woman was obsessed with fashion. A smile twisted up the corners of his lips as he decided that when they married, he would fill an entire room with just bonnets if she wished.

  Whatever you want, my heart, you shall have, if I can only convince you to say yes.

  He walked through the gallery of the club. Most of the chairs were filled with men reading, though a few of the older gentlemen were asleep. A good club provided refuge for men from the world, their wives, or anything else they might be avoiding. Jonathan wasn’t avoiding anything, but he was still new to society, and here at least he never felt like he was being judged. He liked the quiet companionship of Berkley’s, especially when his half brother and friends were there.

  He took the stairs down through the card room. It was a rather quiet night here. Only a few tables were busy with faro and whist, but Jonathan knew the stakes would be high. Cedric, Audrey’s older brother, had won a pair of Arabian horses earlier that year in this very room from a fellow who’d nearly killed Cedric and his wife in an act of vengeance.

  Jonathan wisely avoided those tables. He’d never been one to gamble, at least not with money. The flick of cards and the games of chance held no appeal to him. Though he now owned a small country estate and a townhouse in London as well as a decent fortune and a steady income given to him by his half brother, he couldn’t find it in himself to risk even small sums at the gaming tables. He had spent his entire life earning his way. The thought of tossing it all away by chance was utter madness.

  A voice brought him up short as he reached the hall. “Mr. St. Laurent!” A young man dressed in the livery of the Lonsdale estate was just entering the club’s front door. He recognized the lad as Tom Linley, valet to Charles Humphrey, the Earl of Lonsdale, another one of his friends. While most valets remained at their master’s house, Linley had become a companion to Charles as well, followed him about, running all sorts of errands and delivering messages when needed.

  “Tom?” Jonathan accepted his coat from the servant and walked over to Linley. The lad’s blue eyes were wide, and his brows were knit together with concern.

  “It’s fortunate I found you, sir. His lordship sent me to the club early to see you all. He’s at Tattersall’s, but he received a message from Miss Audrey Sheridan. I wouldn’t normally divulge the contents of a private letter—”

  “But you felt you had to tell someone?”

  “Not someone—you,” Linley insisted. “She—Miss Sheridan, that is—was supposed to ask his lordship to escort her to a disreputable club tonight, but in the letter she said she no longer needed him.” Linley shifted restlessly.

  “And you’re worried?” Jonathan slipped on his coat and riding gloves.

  “I’m worried she’ll go anyway. Pardon me for saying so, but you know what she’s like, Mr. St. Laurent. High-spirited and willful.”

  “All too well,” he said with a sigh. “You know where she was planning to go?”

  “I do.” Linley handed him a scrap paper with an address. “Be careful, my lord. It is a hellfire club, full of bad men they say. She can’t go in there alone.”

  A hellfire club? Was the woman mad? A knot of fear formed in his stomach. That was far more reckless than anything she had done so far. What on earth would she do that for?

  “You are quite right. Thank you, Tom.” Jonathan tried to remain outwardly calm despite his pounding heart as he patted the lad on the shoulder and left.

  It was very early in the evening, and any minute now the rest of his friends would be having drinks in the Bombay Room. The wives of all the married men were having a dinner, but Audrey was using tonight as an opportunity to escape.

  No doubt she thinks I won’t be around to discover she’s run off again. I shouldn’t be surprised, I really shouldn’t.

  But he had hoped that her encounter with him this afternoon would keep her from any more adventures, at least for a few days. Now he suspected it had only spurred her harder. He found his horse waiting for him, and he rode back to his house on Half Moon Street. His butler greeted him warmly, but when he saw Jonathan scowling, he sobered.

  “Anything I can do to help, sir?” Mr. Leigh asked.

  “Call a hackney. I need to get to the Temple Bar district at once.”

  “I will do that straightaway.” Mr. Leigh exited the house, and Jonathan headed up to his bedchamber. His valet, Louis, was polishing a set of boots. When Jonathan en
tered, he rose from the chair by the fire and bowed.

  “Evening, Louis. I need a shirt, waistcoat, and trousers. All black.”

  “All black?” the young man asked, tilting his head in puzzlement.

  “Yes.” He could see more questions on the man’s lips, but thankfully the valet didn’t speak further. Jonathan had no desire to tell anyone that he was infiltrating a hellfire club tonight. Though exactly how he’d accomplish that still wasn’t clear. He’d puzzle it out once he got there. He opened his dresser drawer and removed a pistol, a habit he’d taken up after several of his friends had ended up in perilous situations this past year. It would be wise to take that tonight in case he ran into trouble, which, given that Audrey was involved, was almost a certainty.

  Once dressed, he rushed downstairs and hopped into the waiting hackney. When the coach reached the Temple Bar district, he paid the driver and hurried past Twinning’s tea shop and the Lower Courts of Justice. He found the townhouse that matched the address Linley had given him and glanced around, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. He wouldn’t be able to gain entrance easily, not through the front door. The members of the club were likely to be prepared with secret passwords or other such nonsense to prevent outsiders from walking in.

  He slipped down the mews between the house and the building next door and found the servants’ entrance. That door, he wagered, would be unlocked. He curled his fingers around the handle and gently eased it open to reveal a kitchen. A plump cook with a greasy apron stirred a steaming pot with a large ladle, muttering to herself.