The Last Wicked Rogue Read online

  “Safe from what?” Davis’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in danger?”

  Lily nodded. She could be almost entirely honest with him on this point. “Her father. He won’t hesitate to use her or put her in harm’s way if it’s to his advantage.”

  Davis was quiet a long moment, then nodded to himself as he came to a decision.

  “You’re a good lad…er, lass, and his lordship is a better man with you watching over him. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

  She was overcome with relief and fell back to sit on her bed. “Thank you, Davis.”

  “Now, you’ve been up all night with Lonsdale and his brother. Rest. I’ll take Katherine when she wakes.”

  Lily thanked him and collapsed onto her bed. She had sealed the crack, but too many knew her secret. Everything could fall apart at any moment. She might not be able to remain Tom Linley for much longer. And that would make Hugo question her continued usefulness.

  She would have to tell Hugo that Lady Essex desired to see her come out as a lady. It would fit into his current designs for using her easily enough. But she dreaded the idea of letting Charles see her as a woman again. Not because of what she would have to do, but because of how he made her feel. Like she was wanted, cared about. It was a dangerous reminder of how easy it would be to fall in love with him.

  Lady Essex smiled at Lily as they met in the drawing room. Lily was still in her valet disguise, and she stood in front of the lovely young duchess the way that would be expected of Tom Linley.

  “How are you?” the duchess asked.

  “Fine, Your Grace,” Lily replied. This morning she had received an encrypted note from her master, informing her to take Emily’s help, but to proceed with caution. No doubt he had concerns of his involvement being exposed, but he recognized this as an opportunity too good to miss. If he had any true fears, however, he would have arranged to meet with her first.

  “Please, no need to pretend. No one is here but the two of us.” Emily had sent away her servants after tea had been served.

  Lily had examined the nooks and crannies of the room with a sweeping gaze before she agreed to sit down. The duchess poured tea and handed her a cup. Emily’s violet eyes were sharp with intelligence, but they softened as she gave her a warm smile.

  “Have you thought over my offer?”

  Lily took a sip of tea before slowly nodding. “Yes, Your Grace. I think I would like to do it.”

  Emily clasped her hands together. “Oh, this is splendid. I was hoping you would agree. I have already been making preparations, you see.”

  “Preparations?” Lily almost squeaked the word and cleared her throat. “What sort of preparations?”

  “I have dreamed up your background.” The duchess produced a small bit of paper and handed it to Lily. “And I have a seamstress waiting just outside.”

  Lily could only stare as the duchess went to the door and opened it. She poked her head into the hall, speaking to someone. A young woman entered, in her early twenties, with kind eyes and a manner that put Lily at ease.

  “This is Everly. She’s a wonderful modiste and most discreet,” Emily promised. “I adore Madame Ella, but when I saw Everly’s designs when she arrived in London a few weeks ago, I knew I wanted to hire her. Now I have a good reason to.”

  Lily stared at Everly and Everly stared back, sizing her up. “Well, come now. Let’s see what we are working with. Surely not a boy’s figure under all that.”

  Lily came forward, like she was drifting through a curious dream as Everly turned her around removed her coat. “Remove your waistcoat as well. Are you bound?” Everly nodded at Lily’s bosom.

  “I am.”

  “Do you happen to know your size, in inches? That way we won’t need to unbind you.”

  Lily gave Everly her measurements and then kept still while the woman worked, examining her from head to foot.

  “How many dresses?” she asked the duchess.

  “At least a dozen to start, as well as all the necessities. Boots, cloak, riding habit, gloves, reticules.”

  “Understood, Your Grace.” Everly flashed Lily a smile and exited the room. Lily snatched up her waistcoat and quickly drew it back on. She felt oddly naked without it, as though her disguise was no longer complete.

  “Now.” Emily nodded at the paper Lily had set aside. “Let’s review your history, shall we?”

  Lily examined the sheet. “My name is Lily Wycliff?”

  Emily grinned. “I do actually have a distant Wycliff cousin. It is much easier to sell a lie when it’s concealed within a truth, don’t you think?”

  Lily felt a chill. Hugo often said the same thing. “Yes, it is.” She looked over the next few lines.

  “I’m a widow? With a daughter?”

  “Yes. That part will be more difficult. But it’s necessary for your daughter’s sake. Does she have any middle names? Something she could go by? We can’t have anyone hearing the name Katherine and make the connection as to who you are.”

  “Yes, of course. Sophia, that’s her middle name.”

  “Sophia Wycliff,” Emily repeated the name.

  Lily read the rest of the notes. She was the widow of a man named Aaron Wycliff. “And we are second cousins?”

  “By marriage. Aaron was a second cousin of mine that I met as a girl. Now, after his death, you are coming to stay with me.”

  “Stay with you?” Lily handed back the note she had been given. She had learned under Hugo’s employ to quickly memorize anything given to her.

  “Yes. I believe you should move into my residence and bring Sophia with you.” The duchess had seamlessly transitioned to calling Katherine by her middle name.

  “But Lord Lonsdale will be expecting me to—”

  “I’ve already thought of that. You shall tell him an aunt of yours has taken ill and likely will die soon. Request a few weeks off. He will give them to you.”

  Emily had thought of everything. “And His Grace won’t mind my being here?”

  “Godric? Heavens, no.” The duchess touched her rounded belly. “He will likely be relieved if I tell him that you will be here to help me through the delivery. After Lord Rochester and his wife had an early birth, well, it’s left my husband somewhat shaken.”

  Lily had been there the night Charles helped deliver Lord Rochester’s child when it arrived almost a month early. He had been a hero to her, though she’d never been able to tell him that.

  She thought back to the night she had lain in her small room above the gambling hell with only a tavern maid to help her bring Katherine into the world.

  She’d managed to survive her escape from Hugo, despite having no money and no references, by finding work down below and a room she could afford above a gambling hell. It had been far from easy, and even the barmaid with her now had marveled at her resilience. She lay there on the bed, bleeding and exhausted, holding the babe in her arms, wondering if now she could finally rest.

  Then Hugo entered the room. She hadn’t seen him since the day he had stolen her innocence, yet somehow he had found her. She hadn’t known then that he was a spymaster and had her movements followed for the last nine months.

  He waved the tavern wench out of the room. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I know how you must feel about me, but I am not without compassion. I had hoped to make this moment easier for you, if it were within my power.”

  She choked on her tongue, clutching the tiny baby to her chest, fear screaming inside her hard enough to make her bones rattle. “I…” Why was he being…amicable? It didn’t fit with the way he’d stolen her innocence nine months ago.

  “So, tell me, do I have a son?” Hugo held out his hands, his face reflecting an unexpected look of hope that stunned her. Lily stared at him, her body frozen, hands locked around the wool blanket that swaddled her newborn child.

  “Not a son…” she whispered.

  Hugo’s interest dampened, and h
is lips wilted into a frown. “A girl? That is unfortunate.”

  His meaning was clear. He had a son, but he’d hoped for a spare, and a girl was not useful to him. All the better. It meant he wouldn’t want her.

  “I have nothing you want, Sir Hugo. Please leave. She’s mine.” Lily would not let this man have anything to do with her child.

  He placed one hand on the headboard of the small bed and leaned over her.

  “That’s not up to you. She’s mine if I wish her to be. No court would deny me. Do you understand?”

  Lily closed her eyes. She hadn’t even named the child yet, and already she was to be taken away from her?

  “Please…I must keep her.” She swallowed her humiliation and begged Hugo for mercy.

  “Perhaps. You see, you were wrong a moment before. You do have something I want.” His tone was less cold and more curious now.

  “I’ll give you anything,” she replied instantly. She would do anything for her child.

  “I have been watching you, you see. You are resourceful, in your own limited fashion. You understand what it takes to survive, the sacrifices and compromises required for survival.” He looked around at her meager surroundings. “You might consider your conditions poor, but if I were to thrust ten other women into the same conditions, I’d wager none would have made it this far. I can use someone like you.” Hugo stood, appraising her in a far different way than the night he’d stolen her virtue. “Yes. You could be most useful.”

  He turned and left for the door. “You may keep the child…for now. I will come for you both in a few months.” He stopped and turned back to her. “Do not delude yourself into believing you can flee. Do as I say, and I will see to it you and the child are compensated.”

  Lily clutched her child the rest of the night, too terrified to sleep.

  “Lily?” Emily cleared her throat, jerking Lily away from her thoughts of the past.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Call me Emily. If we are to be cousins, then you must play the part.”

  “Of course, Emily.” Lily still couldn’t believe that the duchess was helping her. A bitter taste filled her mouth, and her palms moistened with sweat. Lord, how was she going to survive this?

  Emily touched her arm in concern. “Are you all right? You’ve grown very pale.”

  “It’s simply the stress of the situation, Your Grace. I mean, Emily.”

  “Oh, then you must sit.” Emily tried to tug her into a chair, but Lily shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I must return to Lonsdale and make my plans to leave.”

  “Then do try to come tomorrow. Do you have a dress to wear? I can’t have you appear here as Tom every day.”

  “I do.” Lily had some dresses at her old room above the gambling hell.

  “Then come tomorrow, assuming Charles agrees to give you time away.” Emily gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “We will help you, Lily. I promise. There are many wonderful young gentlemen who will be most excited to meet you.”

  “Thank you.” Lily collected her cap and secured it on her head. “You’ve been most kind.”

  Emily followed her to the door. “Of course. We rebellious ladies must stick together, after all.”

  As Lily exited the Essex household, she wished desperately that she was more like Emily and the others. But she could never be one of them. She was unworthy of their warmth and generosity. Someday they would know who she really was, and they would curse her name.

  9

  “How are you feeling?” Charles carried a tray of food into the guest bedchamber for Graham. His younger brother sat up in bed, his face still a messy mix of blue and purple bruises. One eye was almost swollen shut.

  Graham winced as he reached for the toast on the tray Charles placed on his lap. “I feel like the devil himself trod all over me with his cloven hooves.”

  “Eat, even if it hurts. Food will help you heal.” Charles pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and watched as Graham ate. It’d been so long since he and Graham had talked, let alone been in the same room like this.

  Graham paused in his breakfast to look at him. “You don’t have to stay and watch me eat.”

  “I know. I suppose I am just glad you came to me.” He didn’t have the courage to confess how much it meant to him that his brother had sought him out.

  “I didn’t plan on coming here,” Graham said a bit gruffly. “But I knew I couldn’t go home to Mother and Ella.” Graham put his hand to his chest in obvious pain. Charles understood Graham’s concerns. Charles had lived in this home for the last ten years. It was a bachelor residence, but a large one. He hadn’t wanted his mother and sister under the same roof because he often brought ladies home for a night. It was deuced uncomfortable to come down for breakfast after a tumble in bed, only to find your mother scowling at you over a cup of tea. If Graham had shown up at their mother’s house in his condition, it would have been disastrous.

  “No, I suppose you couldn’t. Mother would have had a fit. Then she’d want to storm the Lewis Street tunnels herself. And Ella…”

  “Would’ve been terribly upset,” Graham finished.

  “Yes.” Charles’s little sister was not good at handling difficult news. She was a tiny fae-like woman with a soft heart much too big for her. She had been often ill as a child, and while it hadn’t done any overt damage, it had made her more delicate. If she were to see Graham injured, it would destroy her.

  “Charles,” Graham said, his eyes downcast. “What are we going to do about Phillip?”

  “I’m going to handle it. I will find him if he’s still there.”

  Graham’s eyes went wide with terror. “But you can’t go down there. You’ll get killed.”

  Charles stood and walked over to the window, bracing one hand on the frame. “I’ve been down there before. I know my way.”

  “What?”

  Charles couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “I…have been known to box in the rings down there from time to time.”

  He turned at the sudden sound of dishes clattering as Graham shoved the tray aside to try to get out of bed. He made it to his feet, but he had to lean against the bedpost for support. His face was ashen.

  “Why… Why would you fight down there? You have Fives Court. Why would you seek out a place like that?”

  Why? Because I feel alive only when there are risks involved, when there is a chance to truly get hurt. Because I deserve to hurt. I deserve it.

  “Charles…” Graham spoke his name softly. It reminded Charles so much of when they were boys, before he had ruined everything between them.

  “Don’t worry yourself. I always win. They haven’t found a man yet who could beat me.” His falsely cheerful boast made his brother frown.

  “I’m going to put aside the part where it is clear you want to get yourself killed. You truly believe you could explore the tunnels and find Phillip?”

  “Yes.” Charles pointed at the bed. “Eat and rest. I’ll take care of everything.” It was midday, so the tunnels would be empty and quiet, aside for the occasional thief or fighter waiting for night to fall.

  “Don’t go alone. Please. I cannot lose you as well.” Graham grabbed his sleeve, jerking him to a stop.

  “I’ll take someone with me,” he promised. Graham released him, and Charles left the bedchamber. He was in the hall putting on his greatcoat when Tom arrived through the service entrance.

  “My lord, I need to speak with you.” The young lad’s voice was breathless, as though he’d been running.

  “No time, Tom, I’m off for the day. Won’t be back for a few hours, if not longer.” There was no way he would take the boy with him. He could fight, it was true, but this required someone experienced with danger. Ashton, perhaps, or Cedric. Not the whole League, of course. That would attract too much attention.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid my aunt has fallen ill. Aunt Miriam needs me.”

  Charles froze. “You’ve never mentioned an au
nt before.” Then again, he’d only learned of Tom’s uncle yesterday.

  Tom’s gaze fell. “She was my mother’s sister. They quarreled a lot when I was a boy. Now that she is dying, she has summoned me to make amends. I’m sorry to leave you on such short notice, my lord.”

  Part of Charles wanted to make Tom stay, but that would be selfish. “You will come back, of course?”

  A strange mixture of emotions crossed Tom’s face, too fast for Charles to decipher. “Oh, yes, sir. Davis has agreed to see to your needs until I return.”

  Charles nodded. “Go on then, but write me when you reach your aunt. I want to know you arrived safely. And I expect you to return as soon as possible.”

  The tension in Tom’s face eased. “Thank you, my lord. I will.”

  Charles wanted to say something more, but there was no time. He turned his back on Tom and closed the door behind himself as he left.

  He walked down the street and up the steps to Ashton’s door, never more relieved that most of the League lived so close to each other when they were in London. He tapped the knocker. When the butler answered, Charles was shown inside immediately, another one of the benefits of the League’s close-knit relationship. So long as the gentleman in question was home, they would be shown inside with none of the usual pretense of having to pay formal calls. Charles waited in the drawing room. But when the door opened, he instead saw Rosalind, Ashton’s fiery Scottish wife.

  “Charles?” Rosalind came over to him. “What’s the matter? The butler said you seemed ill.”

  “Ill with concern, perhaps,” he murmured, catching sight of his pale face in the wall mirror, Rosalind now beside him. When he’d first met her, he hadn’t wanted to trust her love for Ashton, going so far as to try to bribe her to leave, but he’d been wrong about her. She loved Ashton as fiercely as he loved her.