A Lady’s Luck: Devilish Lords #4

by Maggie Dallen

  Of course, all of this was speculation and rumor from their estate in the north. But then Alistair, the moment he’d taken over the lands, had developed an unforeseen interest in privateering, though no one seemed to know about it except for the Prince Regent himself. She could understand that being kept a secret, but his brother’s death had been shrouded in mystery. Not even his sister seemed to know all the details, and her grief was somewhat lacking. Unless this Marcus fellow had been a monster of an adolescent, it seemed rather odd that his death was so completely shrouded in mystery. Besides, there had been no body to bury.

  All of this was going through her mind when she spotted him, or rather, a man who looked almost like him. She squinted at the disheveled, broad-shouldered man who strode past in company with several darker-skinned men who looked as though they spent their time in the sun and not the gloomy, foggy docks of London. She stared in shock as the man who’d reminded her of Colefax smiled.

  Alistair did not smile. At least, not like that. This person grinned as though he were a jovial sort with no cares in the world. If the ruddy complexion and sudden length in hair did not make it clear that he was not her man—er, rather, the man she was seeking—that smile made it clear. She peered through the window, itching to close the distance to get a better look at this man who bore such a striking resemblance to Alistair. She had to get closer.

  “Where are you headed?” Rodrick mumbled.

  She glanced back to see that his eyes were half closed, a flask balancing in his slackened grip on his lap. She held back a sigh. This was her protection. “Nowhere,” she said. “I just wanted a better look.”

  She needn’t have lied, really, but should she want to slip out of the hired coach, it would be easier to wait a moment or two until he’d drifted off to sleep rather than explain herself. It was not as though he would stop her should she decide to pursue the stranger, but she was not certain it was worth the risk. Henri did have some sense of self-preservation and as much as she might be tempted to get a closer look, a part of her had a sneaking suspicion his resemblance was less based on reality and more about her inability to think about anything else but Alistair all week. Not that he’d made it easy to forget him.

  Shifting in her seat, she frowned while staring out the window as she thought about the room filled with flowers that awaited her. Not every bouquet she received was from the earl, but most were. He’d changed tactics, but she had no clue as to why.

  What did he have to gain by making a show of wooing her? More importantly, what sort of man courted a woman without seeing her? Despite the flowers and the gossip she heard whispered about his intentions toward her—that is, his aim to court her—she’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man since he’d hidden away in her carriage and kissed her.

  No, the memory of that night would not be complete without conjuring up that particular embrace. However, there had been no repeat performance, and no other attempt to seduce her. It was all for show. He seemed to wish the world to think he wanted her, when in reality it seemed he wanted nothing to do with her.

  She scowled at the man who had the audacity to resemble her…what? Her prey? Her…friend? No, of course not. Her rival, more like it, or her nemesis, perhaps.

  He was certainly not her lover. That much he’d made clear with his distance this week, and most especially not her suitor, despite what the ton was saying. Not that she wanted him as any of the above. She had no use for any man, least of all one who had no need of her.

  She should leave. The ornery thought was contrary to everything she’d been thinking, feeling, and doing for the past fortnight. It was the voice of sense, the voice of reason. It also told her she was being a ninny. She’d been pursuing some mystery, and why? What did she truly mean to do with the information? She shifted in her seat as uncomfortable thoughts bombarded her. Nothing. She would do nothing to hurt the man, nor his family. So, what then?

  Her stomach sank in disappointment as the night air lost the whiff of mystery and became the bleak, cold fog it had always been. She was wasting her time, fixating on some gentleman and his mysteries because she’d developed some silly infatuation. Fool. She was a bloody fool. She’d never been prone to lovesick nonsense before, but she recognized the symptoms when she saw it. She’d allowed her physical attraction and the temptation of a mystery to lure her into rash and ridiculous actions.

  Oh certainly, she’d had people followed before, but when, if ever, had she ever been so stupid as to follow a man herself? She straightened in her seat, tired of waiting on a man who wanted nothing to do with her and sickened by her own stupidity.

  She’d been watching the pub door for far too long. What was she waiting for? She had no idea. No, that wasn’t true, she’d been waiting for him. Not for any good reason except she wished to see him. And she wished it to be away from convention—not in a ballroom and not over dinner at some society soiree. No, she’d wanted to recapture the magic of their last meeting.

  “Fool,” she muttered aloud, making her brother sputter and stir in his sleep.

  She turned to look at him with a frown. What an idiot she’d been, bringing him as her chaperone and security. It would have been as safe to come alone. When she peeked back toward the tavern for one last glance, something caught her eye.

  No, nothing something…someone.

  It wasn’t Alistair, nor the man who seemed to resemble him. It was the admiral. The one who’d alerted her to the current danger on the docks and the one who’d unwittingly given an angle to her suspicions. After all, Alistair’s actions and his secrecy might have been linked to his privateering enterprise, but they seemed far more aligned to some sort of illegal venture such as piracy.

  The admiral’s talk of an alleged pirate ring in the London harbor had made her senses come alive—a sensation she knew better than to ignore. Her hunches rarely proved wrong. Right now, in this moment, that sensation was back in full force.

  She caught sight of the admiral and a crew of his men striding toward the docks. Why? What were they after? She wanted to ask the questions aloud, but who would answer? Not her sleeping brother, that much was certain. He’d be as likely to toss the contents of his stomach as come to her aid were she to wake him now. To her surprise, and her luck, the fearsome lot came to a stand near her coach. Not close enough for her to hear, but if she were to move a bit closer…

  Later she would tell herself she moved on instinct. That was somewhat true. Her feet seemed to take on a life of their own, and before she could quite convince herself this was yet another idiotic move in a decidedly stupid series of moves, she found herself outside the coach, hovering inches behind it.

  The admiral was speaking, and his tone was far less kind and genteel than it had been when they’d discussed his position the other week. “We find them,” he was saying to his men. “And we’ll find out what London bigwig they’ve got in their pockets.”

  She blinked. That was not what she was expecting.

  One of the men asked a question—a good one, at that. “Who are we looking for, sir?”

  The older man sneered. “You’ll know when you see him.” She arched her brows at the ridiculous answer, but the elderly man was not done. “All I know is, the Night Raider was seen coming into this harbor and it’s been seen off the shores for the past fortnight. Those pirates are here, I’d bet money on it, and if they’re showing their faces in a civilized place like this, it’d be for a pretty penny.”

  One of the men said something she couldn’t hear over the sound of a group of drunken men walking past them. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one had spotted her from the rear. Someone had. For a moment her attention was split between the admiral and his crew and the man who was now on the other side of the street, near the entrance to the pub where Alistair had been seen.

  His gaze met hers and his eyes were filled with laughter at the sight of her. She saw something else there, curiosity, perhaps. His gaze flitted from her to the men who were ga
thered around the admiral and then back again.

  Intelligence flickered in his eyes so vividly she could see it from where she stood. In that moment, he looked exactly like Alistair. The resemblance was uncanny, even though she knew this man was not him. For all his talents, not even Alistair could magically make his hair grow that quickly or his chest muscles broaden to that extent. Nor could he miraculously become a jolly fellow, which this man clearly was.

  So who was this? And what was his interest in her and in the military men who were stationed nearby on the lookout for pirates. She made no move to ask, and in the next heartbeat, she could not. The man disappeared around the corner. As she stood there gaping at the spot where the man had moments before stood, two things happened at once. The admiral’s men moved, apparently to canvas the area for something or someone they would intuitively know to be guilty. Someone worth a pretty penny, wasn’t that what he’d said?

  As she was thinking it, the unthinkable happened. Alistair exited the tavern. He was dressed like a pauper, not at all like the pristine, upstanding gentleman the ton knew and admired. He looked like…well, he looked like a pirate.

  It seemed as though her thoughts set up an alarm. Not literally, of course, but in an instant the admiral had spotted him as well. “Is that…?”

  She heard the other man start and then stop.

  “That’s the bloody Earl of Colefax,” his second-in-command said. The younger man did not have the admiral’s subtlety and the shout earned the attention of several passersby as well as the man in question himself.

  Henri watched as if she were in a box at the theater. She had to hand it to the earl, little flummoxed the man. He caught sight of the men who were now eyeing him with curiosity, but as she watched she shifted her own position so she was out of his view but could still watch. His lips twitched up in a smile that was a pale imitation of the other man’s amused grin. This was far more fitting for the mysterious and quiet man she’d come to know.

  And care about.

  She nearly rolled her eyes at her own lunacy. Now was not the time to crouch here and swoon. Really, there was never a good time to swoon, but this was most definitely not it. She watched in fascination as the men converged on her earl. The earl. On Alistair. He did not move let alone break into a run. If anything, he seemed to grow even more relaxed as though he were running into an acquaintance outside a ball, and not on a dark street near the docks.

  As the admiral and his men reached his side, the pieces of this particular puzzle came together with a click in her mind. Of course. She blinked once, and then twice as her mind wrapped around it and shuffled the pieces so the picture became stark and clear. She blinked once more at the scene before her, and she knew what she was going to do.

  Chapter Eight

  He’d waited in that awful pub for what felt like an eternity precisely to avoid this sort of interaction. Ah well. He reached into his upper pocket and fetched the cheroots his brother had given him before parting. He plucked out two as he watched that bloody Admiral Oliver Lonnegan and his men descend with a look that wavered between confusion and triumph.

  They had him. He stuck one of the blunted cheroot ends into his mouth as he held the other out to the admiral, who looked at it as though it might be a weapon. If he were to be confronted and interrogated, might as well be a gentleman about it. He supposed many a man would be panicking right about now, but he was an earl. Rightfully so or not, didn’t make much of a difference right about now.

  His brother hated the fact that the title put him above the law, but right about now he could hardly muster the same irate anger at the injustices of the world since it meant he was highly unlikely to see the walls of Newgate anytime soon.

  He struck a match when the admiral reached him and took the cigar from him. “My lord,” he said with a nod of his chin, as though this was merely a chance encounter on the streets of London, or as though he weren’t dressed down and exiting a pub that was even now filled with criminals and reprobates of the worst order.

  But Marcus wasn’t there, and neither was his crew. He let out a long exhale, smoke circling his head as he allowed his relief at his brother’s timely exit to take prominence over his own discomfort. So he’d been caught in an unpleasant position. It could have been worse. At least Marcus hadn’t been found out.

  “Might I ask what brings you to the docks, my lord?” The admiral’s tone was congenial, but Alistair did not miss the scrutiny in those wizened old eyes, nor the fact he had not called off his men.

  He met the old man’s look with one that had been known to make the most stalwart of noblemen cower. “I might ask you the same, Admiral. Surely a man of your rank is above nighttime raids on the docks, are you not?”

  He’d added a hint of condescension to his tone, not to anger the man, but to remind him of his place. It did not work. The older man stiffened, straightening to his full height, which very nearly matched Alistair’s. “I could say the same for you, my lord. This hardly seems the place for a man of your rank.”

  They stayed like that, staring at one another, and Alistair waited for the other man to blink. He did not. Hmph. Admiral Oliver Lonnegan was a formidable old man. Still, he had nothing on him—nothing of significance anyway. After all, an earl had the right to mingle with the lower classes in disguise if he so chose. Eccentricity was the right of the rich and titled, everyone knew that. But for military men? Even ones with a high rank and good name behind them, they did not share the same understanding from society at large when found out in their peculiarities.

  “Tell me, Admiral,” Alistair continued with the barest hint of a sneer. “Do you always join the night watchmen on their rounds, or is this a lark on your part?”

  The older man narrowed his eyes. “There have been rumors swirling about the docks,” he said, not answering the question, Alistair noted. “We’ve been tracking a crew of pirates who had the gall to come to the Port of London.”

  Alistair arched his brows, feigning shock. “Audacious rogues. What could they have been thinking?”

  The admiral narrowed his gaze, no longer trying to hide his suspicion. “Word has it that this particular crew is well connected.”

  He arched an imperious brow. “Well connected?”

  The older man grunted, some of his ill-concealed suspicion seeming to waver in the face of Alistair’s unconcerned, haughty air. “That’s right,” he said. “There’s been rumors that the pirates are being funded by some highborn, titled gentleman.”

  Alistair did not have to fake his snort of disdainful amusement. Highborn. Him? Rumors might be swirling about his involvement with Marcus and his crew, but at least the secrets surrounding his birth were still well hidden. Heaven help him if it became known that not only was the great and powerful Earl of Colefax a pirate conspirator, but a bastard to boot. Newgate might be his home if both secrets were to come to light.

  The silence between them grew and Alistair waited with a resigned sort of stoicism. He braced himself for the accusations, the questions. Surely the admiral hadn’t come over here with all his men simply to have a smoke and make small talk.

  The admiral finally opened his mouth. “See here, my lord—”

  “Why, Admiral!”

  Alistair froze at the voice that came from behind him—so familiar and yet so very shocking. The admiral’s eyes widened as his gaze fixed on someone yet unseen, standing behind Alistair. For his part, Alistair did not bother to turn around and look. He did not trust himself to. He did not know what she was up to, but it hardly mattered. If he were to see her now…well, only heaven knew if he would shake her or kiss her. What the bloody hell was she doing here?

  The ‘she’ in question came up beside him and slid her hand into the crook of his arm as though she belonged there. He did not pull away, but he did brace himself before looking down at her. Hell and damnation. She somehow managed to look impossibly lovely while shrouded in a dark, shapeless cloak with her hair twisted back in a simple chi
gnon. No, she was not merely lovely, she was luminous in the lamplight. She looked like an angel at his side—but the question was, had she been sent from heaven or hell?

  The admiral, God help him, sputtered and jerked back as though he’d seen a ghost. It seemed that for all their newfound friendship, he was not aware of the lady’s eccentricities. “Lady Henrietta, what are you doing here?”

  She looked up at him then, finally meeting his gaze. The smile she bestowed would have slain a weaker man. As it was, he was merely gutted, left to stand there and gawk as she turned his life on its head for the millionth time.

  “Lord Colefax was kind enough to escort me to the docks this evening,” she said simply.

  Alistair blinked down at her. What sort of nonsense was this? How did that explain anything? Before he could ask or even try and cover for her ridiculous lie, the admiral took a step forward. It seemed he’d recovered his wits because he bowed elegantly and kissed her hand—as if they were at a boring society ball and not standing amidst the squalor and stench of the docks.

  “My lady, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Alistair turned to glare at the man. How was this a pleasant surprise? To see a beautiful, genteel lady like Henri in the midst of this den of thieves was pleasant? He would bloody well kill her when this was all said and done.

  She simpered up at the other man, giving the grizzled old man a smile the likes of which Alistair had never seen on her before. It was simple and sweet yet innocent and beguiling. In short, it was everything Henri was not.

  “I am afraid I’ve not taken your warnings serious, Admiral,” she said. Alistair frowned down at her. What on earth was she on about?

  The Admiral’s arched brows were all for show. He had the air of a disappointed but loving father about him as he gave her a tolerant shake of his head. “Your heart is too big for your own good, my lady. A young woman like yourself could get into serious trouble in these parts.”