The Last Wicked Rogue Page 5

  “I cannot be seen at a ball among the ton, not when I am a servant.”

  “But you aren’t, are you? You speak and carry yourself as a lady, it’s because you are, aren’t you?”

  Lily hesitated and then nodded. “I was not born a servant. My parents were gentry, my uncle a baron in Cornwall. But after my parents died, I had to seek work since my father’s estate had dwindled to nothing.” It was the truth. There was no harm in sharing that.

  “Then you’re quite suited to a gentleman of the ton as a husband,” Anne insisted.

  “Please,” Emily insisted. “It’s not often we have a chance to help someone like this, and it would give us great joy.”

  Lily tried to think of a way to deny them, but she could not, not without raising further suspicions and having them uncover the truth.

  And the worst part was that their aid might help make Hugo’s plans easier. As soon as he learned of this, he would insist that she accept. He would find the irony too good to pass up, but he would insist on knowing about the offer first.

  “May I have some time to think upon it?” Lily asked.

  “Yes, certainly. Take your time, but I do hope you will consider it.” Emily helped Lily to her feet. “Are you well enough to return downstairs?”

  “Yes. Yes, Your Grace,” Lily lied and left the room, thanking them for their discretion. Once outside, she could hear the men in the billiard room. The sound of their laughter was oddly comforting.

  She tiptoed past the billiard room. The door was ajar, and she couldn’t resist peering around the frame to watch. Lamps illuminated the billiard tables, and curtains were partially drawn to protect the paintings from the rays of an overeager late-morning sun. Godric leaned over the table, lips pursed, green eyes intent as he took a shot. The other men jeered playfully when he only sank one ball. Their easy camaraderie was a force of magic in itself.

  How had these powerful and ambitious men, all so different from one another, become close friends? What had drawn them together? It was something she’d wanted to ask Charles a thousand times. Friendships were usually born out of wonderful moments, but whatever bound the League together was something dark and terrible, and it had to do with Hugo.

  Yet Hugo was the one seeking revenge, not the League. Why? Had they done him some wrong in the past? Something unforgivable?

  She saw Charles leaning against the frame of a tall window. The sunlight from the partially open curtains made his gold hair gleam in a halo. The golden strands were unrulier than it had been when they first met a year ago, yet it only added to his charm and sense of mischief.

  When he was with these five men, the shadows in his eyes faded away. The night terrors that woke him in the middle of the night eased for a time. Lily knew his true fear, the one that grew daily. The fear that all this would end, that the wives and coming children would drive the League apart bit by bit until Charles was the only man left.

  His deepest fear was losing everyone he loved, and she knew with dreadful certainty that his fear would come true. Sooner or later, Hugo would set his final plan into motion. The League would fall, and Charles would be the last one standing.

  Only then would Hugo kill Charles.

  5

  Something was afoot.

  Charles took his turn at the billiard table, aiming and taking a shot. All of his friends were in the room with him, happy, laughing about something he couldn’t begin to understand—married life. The rift was there, a widening gap between him and the rest of the League that made his stomach knot. How had it all happened so quickly? In the span of a year, he’d been cast out of their world as they all one by one settled down.

  And they can’t even see it…

  He tried to banish the wave of despair sweeping through him before he spoke. “What’s Em up to, eh?” he asked Godric.

  Godric leaned against his cue stick. “Em? Nothing, so far as I know. Why?”

  “She called on my lad Linley, and I wish to know why. Are you in need of a new valet?”

  Godric snorted. “Certainly not. Jeremy does excellent work. Besides, I wouldn’t dare take your friend away, not when it’s clear he worships you.”

  Charles chuckled. “He doesn’t worship me.”

  Godric and Cedric shared a look between them that made Charles’s hackles rise.

  “What?”

  “Well…” Cedric blushed a little. “Are you certain he doesn’t…have feelings for you?”

  Charles laughed. “Don’t be silly, Linley doesn’t—”

  Ashton cleared his throat, a stern expression on his face. “It’s not impossible, you know. And if it were the case, perhaps you ought to find the lad a new employer, one less likely to break the boy’s heart.”

  “Oh, come now. I wasn’t much different at his age around you lot. Hero worship and all that.” Charles refused to consider Linley’s behavior to be anything else. Tom was his only faithful companion left, now that his friends had married themselves off.

  Besides, they were wrong. Linley had a young lad’s admiration for him, that was all. As he’d said, he’d been there himself long ago, admiring Ashton, Lucien, Godric, and even Cedric as heroic figures. They were older than him by only one or two years, but as a young man at university, those years had seemed like a lifetime.

  As time went on and he grew closer to them, he realized they were men just like him. Fallible, lovable, but hardly the gods they had once seemed to be. And he was glad for the change. A man cannot be friends with a god.

  That was how Tom saw him, no doubt. He had given the lad a better job, a better place to stay, and a better situation for his young sister. He’d also been witness to the kind of adventures Charles often found himself in. Hero worship was only natural from such a perspective. But it wasn’t healthy.

  An idea struck him. Perhaps he could spend more time with Tom, get him to spend time with Charles the man, not Charles the savior. Show him how to carouse, drink, gamble, perhaps even help him find a lady to spend the night with. That would help the lad find his own footing and stop looking to Charles like a baby duckling that had imprinted on a dog. Yes, that was an excellent idea.

  “What if you let Emily do a bit of matchmaking for you? It would solve a few of your problems,” Ashton pressed. “If Linley really admires you, seeing you settle down might make him do the same. Teach him to grow up a bit.”

  Charles bristled, not liking the idea that anyone, especially Emily, would matchmake for him. He slapped his cue stick down on the table. “I’m quite done with the four of you trying to be the boy’s nanny. The lad is fine, and I’m not about to sack someone just because they admire me. And as for matchmaking, I’m resigned to living out my days as a bachelor, even if you all abandon me for it.”

  “Charles—” Cedric started to speak, but Charles refused to listen.

  He left the billiard room and bellowed for Tom. The lad bolted out of the servants’ quarters as if someone had fired a shot over his head.

  “My lord?”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Tom’s face clouded with worry. “We are?” Charles punched his shoulder the way he used to with his little brother, Graham—before things had changed between them. Now the two could barely be in a room together before it came to blows.

  “I’m in the mood for some sport. How about we go home and practice a bit.”

  “Certainly, sir. Boxing?”

  “I was thinking fencing. I have the sudden need to skewer something.”

  “I have no desire to be on the end of your skewer,” Tom muttered.

  Charles laughed as he and Tom left Godric’s house. The brisk London air curled around them as they waited for their horses to be brought around.

  Back at his home, Charles felt even more confident about his plan to show Tom how to live on the reckless side. Ashton and the others had done the same for him when he was younger. In that sense, he’d be passing on the tradition to the next generation.

  Charles and Tom ente
red the leisure room and he fetched two fencing foils. The blades were dulled with metal balls on the tips to prevent any actual harm.

  “Catch, lad.” He tossed a foil to his valet. The boy caught it and swished it in the air with dramatic flair.

  “You know your way around a fencing foil, I see?”

  Tom offered him a grin. “A little, sir.” He then assumed the en garde stance. Charles removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He approached Tom and raised his own foil. He waved it slightly in a circle, trying to distract Tom. Tom frowned in concentration, and before Charles could react, the boy lunged. The attack caught him off guard, and he stumbled back a step, foil bent against his chest.

  “A hit, sir,” Tom said, trying to hide a smile.

  “So, is that how you wish to play?” Charles recovered his footing and danced to the left, parrying the next blow from Tom’s foil.

  “The only way to play is to win, sir.”

  Charles grinned. “Quite right.”

  The next few exchanges were straight out of a textbook, as if each were studying the other to learn what they knew, so they could exploit a weakness later.

  “Who taught you how to fight?” Charles asked between parries.

  Tom countered Charles’s next thrust, falling back a little. “My uncle, sir. He died before my parents, but they say he never lost a match.”

  Their foils and arms crossed as they crushed into each other, each staring the other down only inches apart. There was a brief pause and a silent look between the two.

  “Very well then,” said Charles. “Let’s see if you can do him proud.”

  And then they began to fight in earnest.

  For almost half an hour, the two fought as though the devil were on their heels until they were both on the verge of collapse. Tom seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Charles recognized the gleam in his eyes. He’d carried it himself whenever he’d entered a ring and wasn’t quite sure he could defeat his opponent, but was dying to find out.

  They had scored two hits apiece thus far, and neither wanted to give up a third. But he could see that Tom was growing tired, and it was only a matter of time before his guard would drop.

  Tom was falling back now, strictly on the defensive. The fight had taken them close to a window, near a table and vase. As they passed it by, an errant swing from Tom tipped the vase over toward Charles, who, instinctively, tried to keep it from shattering on the ground by providing his foot as a cushion.

  It worked. The vase gave his toes a nasty sting and clattered safely onto the wood, and Tom landed a third blow directly onto Charles’s chest.

  “That’s three, sir,” Tom panted heavily. “Sorry about the vase.”

  Charles started to catch his own breath. “An accident, was it?”

  “I was getting tired, sir. I’m afraid I was a bit careless.”

  Or clever, thought Charles. “You got me. Well done, Tom. Well done indeed. Now show me a bit of mercy and let me fetch us some water.”

  Tom stepped back, setting the foil down, and he braced his hands on his hips, breathing hard. Charles pointed to a chair by the window facing the garden.

  “Sit. I’ll be back.” When Tom didn’t immediately move, Charles swatted his backside with his foil. “Now.”

  With a mutinous glare, Tom stomped over to the chair and plopped down. It was a relief to see Tom let go of his usual more rigid demeanor. Whoever had been his previous master had clearly damaged the boy’s trust. It’d taken ages for Charles to convince Tom he wouldn’t have his ears boxed just for making a simple mistake.

  Charles left the leisure room and hurried to the kitchens, where he found Mrs. Farrow and the scullery maid preparing for dinner.

  “My lord.” The cook wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron.

  “Please, don’t let me interrupt. I simply wanted a pitcher of water and some glasses.”

  The scullery maid rushed to fetch the pitcher and blushed as she handed it to him. The cook gave him two water goblets.

  “Thank you.” He started to leave, but the cook cleared her throat, grabbing his attention.

  “My lord…if I may…”

  “Yes?” Charles noticed a blush on Mrs. Farrow’s cheeks as she spoke.

  “The staff, we been meaning to speak to you…about Mr. Linley’s little sister.”

  “Katherine?”

  The cook and her maid exchanged glances. “You see, sir, the baby isn’t so much a baby anymore, and, well, we were thinking that she might need more looking after soon.”

  He cocked his head. “Looking after?”

  “Yes. We, the staff, have been taking turns the last year during our work shifts to keep an eye on the baby, but it’s time we had a little help. Could we hire someone to watch over her? It won’t be long before she needs schooling. Mr. Linley I’m sure could do it, but he spends much of his time with you, and the little one misses him something fierce. I’ve had to put the lass to bed more than once, and she keeps calling for her mama.”

  Charles tried to ignore the rush of guilt he felt, knowing he kept Tom from his sister so often. He’d been keeping Tom away from the only family he had left, just to entertain him when he was indulging in a fit of the blue devils. How utterly selfish of him.

  “Mrs. Farrow, you’re quite right. And Katherine’s not the only one. I’ve been meaning to do something for Davis’s situation as well. Now that his Mary is gone, God rest her soul, he’s been needing help with young Oliver. I’ll start the hunt for a nurse straightaway. She can help look after them both. And perhaps I’ll hire one who can double as a governess, I know that’s a bit unusual, but I believe in educating all children no matter their station.”

  The cook smiled in open relief. “Thank you, my lord. Davis and Tom will both appreciate it.”

  He nodded and ducked out of the kitchens, returning to the leisure room. Tom was lounging like a tomcat on the chair, one leg thrown over the arm. He bolted upright when Charles entered.

  “Rest easy, Tom. You’ve earned it.” Charles offered him a goblet and poured him a glass. Tom took it and drank quickly, looking away as though he was embarrassed about the situation. Oddly, Charles felt uncomfortable as well. He was used to being admired by women, but he’d never had anyone worship him as a hero before. It was unsettling. He was not a man one should try to be like. There were far better gentleman out there, like the Earl of Pembroke for one. James was a bloody saint compared to Charles.

  “Tom, we need to talk.”

  “We do, sir?” Tom’s eyes widened, and Charles couldn’t bring himself to ask what he ought to. Men didn’t simply go around discussing such delicate things like feelings. So he chose to broach the subject of Katherine instead.

  “It has come to my attention that Katherine is in need of a nurse. Given how much time you spend in my company, I’ve been remiss in providing for her, and I think—”

  “Oh, no, sir. You don’t need to provide for her. She’s my sister. She’s not your concern.” Tom leapt from the chair, but Charles gripped his shoulder and forced him back down.

  “Easy, boy, you’re doing a damned fine job caring for her, but it’s my fault you see so little of her. As of today, you will get more nights off to be with her. And I will be seeking out a nurse tomorrow to help with your sister and Davis’s boy. Kat’s growing older, and she needs looking after. Soon she’ll be running about the gardens on her own, dirtying her pinafore and climbing trees. You can’t be there every minute. She will need a proper governess in a few years.”

  Tom’s eyes shimmered, and he wiped at his nose with his sleeve. The display of emotion from the usually closed-off young man made Charles feel like a villain. He hadn’t meant to upset Tom, but he seemed to be doing a damned fine job of it.

  “Buck up, lad. I told you, you’re doing well. Far better than I did at your age.”

  Tom looked up at him with a hope and vulnerability that cut Charles to the core. It reminded him of himself when he’d been younger and ha
d lost so much. “What do you mean?”

  “My father died when I was eighteen. My brother, Graham, was three years younger, and my sister was just a few years older than your Katherine. My mother was devastated by my father’s death. For years I was holding my family together by a thread. Ella fell into my care, and I had no idea what to do with the girl.” He hated to think of the past; there was so much pain there waiting for him.

  Tom seemed more curious now. “What did you do?”

  “I did what I could, and the first step was admitting that I was only human. I hired a nurse to help my mother and a governess for Ella, and she has turned out splendid.”

  “But I cannot afford—”

  “Oh come now, Tom. Davis needs help as well, and I decided to treat Kat like my goddaughter when I took you on. I should take some responsibility for her.”

  More than once, he’d wondered if he hadn’t crossed paths with Tom’s mother at some point. The babe did favor him in looks in quite an eerie way. But Tom was so close-lipped about his past that Charles didn’t even know the woman’s name. He didn’t even know she’d had an uncle until half an hour ago. Was it possible he had bedded the woman once and fathered a child he hadn’t known about?

  But if that were the case, what he didn’t understand was why Tom’s mother had not come forward. Most women did when the father was titled and well-off. Charles was willing to own up to the idea of being a father, but without knowing more about Tom’s mother, it was hard to suggest the possibility.

  Or perhaps he was letting his worries about being a lifelong bachelor get to him. Kat might have been his daughter—in another life, with a woman he loved. The thought teased him with dreams of what might have been, and it made him unusually somber.

  “But why?” Tom asked. “Our children are not your responsibility, and you pay us well already.”

  “I had someone look after me when I needed it most. The least I can do is help someone else.” Actually, there had been four someones to look after him that night Hugo tried to murder him. He shivered and buried the memory but not the gratitude he felt. Godric, Lucien, Cedric, and Ashton had saved him from more than just the river that night. They had saved his soul.