To Tame a Rogue

by Aston, Alexa

  She let go of him, feeling as if she were adrift at sea with no anchor. As she passed her father, he latched on to her elbow and spun her around.

  “I think it’s time you paid me a visit, Daughter.”

  “What?” Confusion filled her.

  “Brandon!” her father barked.

  A very thin man rushed to them from the middle of the room. “Yes, Sir William?”

  “Take my daughter to my house. Have her write a brief note to her butler, informing him she’ll be staying with me for a few days.”

  Fear filled her. Why would her father want her to do that?

  “Is that necessary?” Burke asked.

  Her father studied Burke a long moment. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.

  “I believe it is. I think you care for her. A great deal.”

  Burke shrugged. “We enjoy our private time together. I’ve had better, though.”

  His words stunned her but she knew he tried to defuse the situation.

  “Gemma will stay with me until you carry out your next set of orders.”

  “And what are those?” Burke asked, his tone openly defiant.

  “You’re to kill Prime Minister Spencer Perceval.”

  Hearing her father issue such an order chilled her blood. She’d never been close to him. And now she understood she’d never really known him.

  Burke laughed. “It’s going to take me a while to cozy up to Jane Perceval. Last I heard, she was the mother of thirteen of Perceval’s brats. She may be too tired to play my games.”

  “Sex isn’t the weapon you’ll use this time, Nicholson,” Sir William said. “You’re to find whatever means you can to reach the prime minister and rid England of him.”

  Burke shook his head. “The only way I could get close to the man is in public. Would you have me walk up and assassinate the head of the British government in broad daylight?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “I want this war to end as much as anyone in this room. What I didn’t sign up for, though, is a suicide mission.”

  “You will eliminate England’s prime minister, Nicholson.”

  “And if I don’t?” Burke challenged.

  “Then I’ll have Gemma killed as you watch. Just as you watched her husband die a slow, agonizing death.”

  A cry broke from her lips. “You would kill me, Father? What madness has descended upon you, plotting to kill Perceval and your own daughter in one breath?”

  He tightened his fingers, deliberately hurting her. “Your lover has a choice, Gemma. Kill Perceval or see you killed. And then he, too, will meet an excruciating death. As he should have in Spain.”

  “What do you know of that?” Burke challenged.

  “Everything. You were betrayed by one of your recruits, Nicholson. Actually, one of Smythe’s recruits. I’m afraid my daughter’s husband wasn’t much of a spy.”

  “What do you mean?” she demanded.

  “Smythe met several times with a man local authorities had under surveillance as they tried to break the network Wellington formed. One chance meeting didn’t mean much, but after two more, they knew the man had been recruited by Smythe. Your idiotic husband, Gemma, never caught on to the fact that his recruit was being watched. Ultimately, the authorities found it easy to persuade the man and have him betray his new friends.”

  Her father glanced back to Burke. “In the end, it was strictly about the money. Smythe’s recruit was convinced to hand you over for a handful of coins. That’s why you and Smythe were captured and tortured.”

  Gemma’s eyes whipped to Burke and she saw him take in the words, knowing how he had agonized, believing himself to be the one responsible for Rob’s death. Though she was glad Burke’s conscience would finally be eased, hatred flared within her for the man who had fathered her.

  Turning back to the stranger who held her, she accused, “You were responsible for Rob’s death.”

  He shrugged. “Not directly. I learned of it from my associates. I heard Smythe held out much longer than anyone would have expected.”

  “You are a liar. A traitor.” Gemma slapped him.

  He returned her slap with a fist, knocking her to the ground before lifting her and shaking her like a rag doll. By now, both Carpenter and Melton held Burke back as he tried to lunge at her father.

  “Enough of this. Our meeting is concluded,” Sir William said. “I’ll take you home with me, Gemma. You’ll stay until Nicholson has rid of us Perceval.” Turning to Burke, he said, “I’ll give you two days to accomplish the task. If not, you’ll be responsible for your lover’s death.”

  She knew even if Burke did as they asked, she would never be free. She was aware of their circle of deceit. Her father would never let her or Burke live.

  Gemma met his eye and saw he knew the same truth. Either way, they were dead.

  Her father released her and she saw the thin fellow now held a gun on her.

  “Go quietly, Gemma,” her father urged. “Brandon will be right behind us. He won’t hesitate to put a hole in you if you give us any trouble.”

  Her father exited the room and she followed him, sensing Brandon close on her heels. They went to a carriage waiting in front of Burke’s townhouse and boarded it. Hampton, Melton, and Carpenter joined them. One by one, each conspirator was dropped off until it was only her and the monster whose blood ran through her.

  She remained silent as they arrived at her childhood home. He led her not to her old bedchamber but to another wing, rarely used. Her father removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Shoving her into the dark chamber, she fell to her hands and knees and heard the door close behind her and the key turn in the lock.

  It would do no good to look for a way to escape now. She would wait until morning to get the lay of the land. She felt her way about the room until she located a bed and crawled upon it. Gemma curled into a ball, terror her only companion.

  *

  They had control of him.

  Because they had Gemma.

  Burke cursed the fact that Gemma had come to warn him, trying to save his life. Instead, it might cost her her own.

  The only consolation was that he’d been relieved of the heavy burden of guilt he’d carried around regarding The Don’s death. Knowing he wasn’t responsible for betraying his friend and colleague—and Gemma also learning that truth—was the only good thing to come from tonight’s disaster.

  He needed to push aside the hopeless feelings that seized him and figure out how to bring these traitors to justice.

  And get Gemma back. Alive.

  He had no guarantee that she wasn’t already dead, though he doubted her bastard of a father would have her killed so quickly. Barton was shrewd enough to know that without Gemma they held no power over Burke. If he learned she was dead, he could go rogue. Turn them in to the authorities. No, Sir William Barton would keep his daughter nearby, dangling her life before Burke in order for him to dance to their tune.

  Two days. That’s what he had. He better spring into action.

  Burke went to the stables and didn’t bother rousing a groom. He saddled his own horse and rode swiftly to Mrs. Crawford’s. No vehicle sat outside her residence. He located Jones, whose anger was obvious as the agent confronted him, his hands balled into fists.

  “Where did you meet tonight, Nicholson? What are you keeping from us?”

  “I received a message shortly before midnight that the meeting would be held at my townhouse instead of Mrs. Crawford’s place. Apparently, everyone knew of the change in venue except me. I had no time to get word to you.” He paused. “Especially since Lady Covington came to tell me I was marked for death.”

  “When?”

  “That was my first question. She overheard Hampton and Melton discussing my next assignment tonight. Assassinating the prime minister.”

  Jones whistled low.

  “If I was captured after the fact, I would be off their hands. If I somehow escap
ed detection, I was a loose end to be severed.” His throat grew thick. “Gemma didn’t make it out before the conspirators arrived. I tried to pretend we’d had a tryst and that she was on her way home but that attempt was foiled when her father showed up.”

  “Sir William Barton?” Jones asked, his astonishment evident.

  “Yes. Barton is our mystery man,” Burke confirmed.

  “He’s rumored to be in line to take Sir Paxton’s place. No wonder they ordered you to murder Paxton. It would put their man at the highest level of the War Office.”

  He nodded grimly. “I want you to ride at once and bring Morris back to my place.”

  “What if they’re watching it?”

  “I doubt it. Barton took Gemma and is holding her hostage. They think to control me by using her as a bargaining chip.”

  Pity sprang into Jones’ eyes. “Lady Covington is strong, Nicholson. Resourceful. You must focus on the mission.”

  He ignored the agent’s praise of Gemma and said, “Fetch Morris now. Bring him back before dawn. We have plans to make.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “I have an idea. It’s a risk but I believe it’s worth taking. Gather any agents still on the scene now. I want to address them.”

  Jones did as he asked and they met a block away.

  Burke named the fifth man who’d been anonymous until tonight. He saw the surprise his announcement brought.

  “We need eyes on all five men at all times. Outside their homes. Following their movements. The situation is even more grave because Sir William Barton has taken his own daughter, Lady Covington, as a hostage. He thinks to manipulate me because I have feelings for her. He took her to his London residence after tonight’s meeting. Watch for any sign of her, as well.”

  After a moment, he added, “They’ve ordered me to assassinate Prime Minister Perceval sometime in the next two days.”

  Even among seasoned agents, the collective gasp was audible.

  “You see how high the stakes are. See to your jobs.”

  Jones said, “I’ll make the assignments so that we are watching all of them and then ride to Sir Paxton.”

  “I’ll see you when you return. Hopefully, I’ll have good news,” Burke said.

  He mounted his horse and rode back to Selina Crawford’s house. The courtesan was the key to his plan.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Burke saw the street was still empty and decided speaking to Selina Crawford was worth the risk. The stakes had grown too high. He would threaten or cajole or whatever it took to see that she cooperated. Over the course of the Season, he’d searched the houses of each man on Morris’ list of suspects and found nothing. Unless the proof lay hidden at Sir William Barton’s residence, a place he’d never been, the most logical place for any incriminating documents to be would be at Mrs. Crawford’s place.

  He rapped hard on the door for several minutes before a sleepy-eyed butler answered. This confirmed that Hampton wasn’t here—and had no plans to call tonight.

  “I must speak with Mrs. Crawford immediately. It’s a private matter of utmost concern to her.”

  Doubt filled the butler’s eyes but he was a servant and Burke his better, who now glared at the butler haughtily.

  “Wait here, sir.”

  The butler vanished up the stairs and returned several minutes later.

  “Mrs. Crawford will see you now. If you’ll follow me.”

  Surprisingly, the man led him upstairs and to a door, where he knocked gently and said, “You may enter. Mrs. Crawford is waiting for you inside.”

  Opening the door, he entered a bedchamber. Candles had been lit. Selina Crawford stood next to the bed in a night rail that left little to the imagination.

  He crossed the room and bowed. “Mrs. Crawford.”

  “Oh, I thought we were past that, Burke. I’m to be Selina,” she urged, her tone seductive.

  “I assume you aren’t expecting Hampton tonight.”

  “No. He told me he had something to occupy him this evening. He will come to me tomorrow night at eleven.” She smiled. “Do you think we should risk a romp now?”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” he said curtly. “I’m here to save your life.”

  His words startled her. “What do you mean?”

  “You are part of a conspiracy against the crown, Selina,” Burke told her.

  Her face reddened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get out.”

  “You better hear me out—if you don’t want to hang.”

  He waited, watching her ponder his words.

  “Go on,” she finally said.

  “Your protector, Lord Hampton, has used your house as a meeting place for a band of traitors.”

  She started. “What? No. Hampton has a new business venture he’s involved in. His wife is nosy and he wishes to keep word of this away from her. He tells me the profits will be great and that I will have a share in them.”

  “The profits come from filthy French money. Hampton and his rebels are behind the death of Sir Paxton Morris.”

  “But . . . that was a heart attack.”

  He saw doubt begin to creep in and pounced. “It was made to look as if he died from a heart attack. In truth, Morris was given a large dose of foxglove. That’s what killed him.”

  Selina grabbed on to the bedpost and swayed. “No, it can’t be.”

  “It is. A group of men, some of whom work in the War Office, have met several times under your roof. In the eyes of the law, you are as guilty as they are, Selina. You’ll no longer have this fine house. The baubles you’ve collected from your various lovers. You’ll be arrested and tried for treason.” He paused and then added, “And don’t think the crown will hesitate merely because you are a woman. Patriotism runs high in England, especially when it comes to Napoleon. Too many have lost loved ones in this lengthy war. A noose will fit around your neck as well as a man’s. It’ll be pulled taut and you’ll hang from it as it slowly chokes the life out of you. People will jeer—and cheer—to see you suffer.”

  Selina released the bedpost and gripped his arms, clinging to him as if her life depended upon him.

  And it did.

  Wild panic filled her eyes. “I swear, Burke, I didn’t know. My life with Hampton has been strictly upstairs. I don’t venture below when he comes. I’ve never seen who attends his meetings or know what’s been discussed. You have to believe me.”

  “I do,” he said after a moment. “But a court of law won’t.”

  “But I haven’t done anything wrong,” she protested.

  “You have—but you can do something right now to save yourself.”

  “Anything. I’ll do anything you ask,” she pleaded.

  He pulled her fingers from him and set her back a pace. “I am a crown agent, leading the investigation into this group of traitors. I need physical evidence of their wrongdoing. I’ve searched and have found none. Would Hampton leave anything here?”

  “Yes!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Come with me.”

  Selina led him to the library where he’d first met with the five men. She came to stand next to a small desk in a corner.

  “When Hampton and I first became involved and he spoke of the enterprise he wished to invest in, he explained how he needed to keep some papers here so Lady Hampton wouldn’t find them. I offered him use of this desk. It’s not as if I receive invitations and sit at it so I may reply to them. I am a pariah in Polite Society.”

  Burke tried to open a drawer and found it locked.

  “I gave Hampton the key,” she said apologetically.

  “Fetch a hairpin,” he ordered.

  She left and returned with one, handing it to him. He inserted it and jiggled the pin against the lock, working it slowly until the mechanism finally gave. Opening the drawer, he saw a few scattered pages and retrieved them, placing them atop the desk. He checked every drawer and found something that looked like a ledger. He sat at the desk and opened
it, skimming the contents as he turned several pages. Names. Dates. Transactions. Everything that would solidify the case against the five men and others.

  “This is exactly what I’ve needed,” he said as he closed the book. He gathered the loose pages and slipped them inside it and stood.

  “But . . . you can’t take it,” she said, hysteria causing her voice to rise. “I don’t know when Hampton looks at it. He could do so tomorrow evening when he comes.”

  Burke gave her a long look. “Lord Hampton won’t be coming, Selina. By this time tomorrow, he will be in the custody of the crown.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’ll keep your name out of the court proceedings but the authorities will need to know where I found this. The scandal will rock London society. I fear your association with Hampton will prevent you from obtaining another protector. Those days are over.”

  Selina nodded. “I understand.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I will go home to Somerset. I have a man who writes to me from there, a few times a year. We were childhood sweethearts and both poorer than church mice. He loved me—but I thought I wanted more. This life I’ve led has brought me enough money to retire upon comfortably.”

  “And your sweetheart?” Burke asked softly.

  She shook her head sadly. “He never wed.” She sighed. “I wonder if he would take me back.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “I do.”

  “My advice is to return to him. If he still feels the same, I’m sure he’ll want to be with you. It would be best to go elsewhere, though. Make a fresh start.”

  Selina wiped her tears away. She took Burke’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Thank you.”

  With that, he left. Hoping Selina Crawford would find happiness.

  And that he might do the same with Gemma.

  *

  Gemma awoke with a start. Rough hands pulled at her and she tried to strike back, finding her wrists being restrained. She looked up and saw the gaunt man who’d held the pistol on her. Brandon. That was his name. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and balled it, forcing it into her mouth. Panic seized her as she feared she might swallow it and choke to death. She pushed against it with her tongue, only moving it a bit because her mouth was so dry.