by Golden Angel
“What happened to your hair?” Evie asked, pulling away from the hug to inspect Mary’s head. As Mary was the shortest of them and Evie the tallest, she had a decent view. Mary groaned.
“Mrs. Biggins,” Josie and Lily said simultaneously, smirking at each other.
“It really is rather pretty,” Evie said, inspecting Mary’s blonde locks up close. Her own hair was such a dark brown, it appeared black until compared to Lily’s shiny raven locks.
“I would have thought blonde would wash you out, but there is still enough red to prevent that.” Josie nodded thoughtfully, joining Evie in her close inspection. “Will it help you find a husband?”
“I should hope not.” Mary wrinkled her nose, stepping away from her friends. “If a man only wants me for the color of my hair, he is not the man for me.”
“Well, at least you are sensible about it,” Lily muttered, casting a glance Josie’s way. Josie had once turned herself apple red standing in the sun, trying to turn her hair lighter after a dramatic picnic gathering where Joseph danced with the very blonde Miss Sarah Winston. “I like your natural color best, though.”
“Why are we talking about my hair again instead of why Evie has called us together?” Mary asked, exasperated. “I want to know why she had me follow a rake last Season.”
“Yes, and I would like to know why you have had me hounding my contacts for information about the French and Russian delegations,” Lily said, moving to Mary’s desk to pick up what must be her correspondence. She was an inveterate pen pal to many influential and scholarly personages across Britain and the Continent.
Josie moved quickly to Mary’s bed, claiming a spot where she could comfortably lean against the headboard before realizing everyone was looking at her.
“What?”
“I am waiting to hear your complaint,” Evie said dryly, a wry smile lifting the edges of her lips. “Although I suppose you did not consider watching over my cousins to be a hardship.”
“Elijah was a bit of a trial, but they are used to me being around Camden Hall,” Josie said with an indifferent shrug that fooled none of them. Mary giggled.
Elijah was the eldest of Evie’s cousins and in Mary’s opinion, the most handsome. Not that she wanted to marry him. He was far too high-handed in her opinion and always traveling. Unlike her parents, Mary was a homebody and did not want a marriage where she was always left behind. She had already experienced quite enough of that in her life. He and Josie were always butting heads, which was likely why she had set her sights on Joseph instead.
Lily sat at Mary’s desk, her hand on her papers, so Mary joined Josie on the bed while Evie stood before them. Evie had been the last to join their group of friends after her Uncle Oliver brought her to live with him when she was fourteen. An orphan, she was the only young woman in a household of men. She had been half wild after spending several years on the streets of London before her uncle had managed to find her. Looking at her now, in her stunning green walking dress that matched her eyes exactly, it was hard to believe she was the same person, but then, Evie was even better at transformations than Josie.
“As you all know, my Uncle Oliver is the spymaster for England,” Evie began formally, causing all of them to sit up. They were some of the few who did know, and only because Evie had told them a secret they were all sworn to take to their graves. They also knew Evie inserted herself into his business as much as possible, to her uncle’s and cousins’ chagrin.
“So, this is spy stuff?” Josie asked, sounding excited. Evie sent her a repressive look, and she subsided. Mary’s heart was beginning to beat faster—with excitement or anxiety, she wasn’t sure.
“I had hoped to leave you all out of this as much as possible,” Evie confessed with a sigh, then scowled. “Unfortunately, there are undercurrents at work, and I have been unable to work my way through them. Someone is playing a very long game, and I cannot see their end goal, and neither can my uncle.” Evie often spoke as if she and her Uncle Oliver shared the same mind, although her uncle was often not entirely aware of what his niece was up to.
“Leave us out of what?” Lily did not seem to share Josie’s excitement or Mary’s anxieties. As always, Lily was calm and serious. Unlike Mary’s other two friends, Lily did not deviate in appearance or demeanor, whether she was at a ball, with her friends, or out on a country ride. “You cannot just write out marching orders and expect us to follow through for months on end. We are not soldiers.”
“I would make a terrible soldier.” Josie grinned, but it was fleeting before she too focused on Evie. “Where have you been? Your uncle said you were in France two months ago, then a week after that, he was cursing your name for an entire afternoon. When Elijah asked, your uncle said he had lost track of you.”
“He said that in front of you?” Mary was aghast. Oliver Stuart was notoriously tight-lipped, even to those who did not know he was England’s spymaster—which was almost everyone.
“No,” Josie admitted. She blinked, the very picture of sincere innocence. “I happened to have lost an earring just outside of Lord Camden’s office door when Elijah was in there with him. I could not help overhearing.” As the eldest and the heir to both Lord Camden’s titles, it was not surprising they’d been discussing such secrets.
They all snorted.
“I was in France,” Evie confirmed, picking up the thread of conversation. “I was on tour, enjoying myself for once when I received a letter from Uncle Oliver, asking me to pick up a package from one of his men. It should have been completely routine.” Her lips quirked, a strange light kindling in her eyes. “Although not all of it was bad.”
“What do you mean?” Lily leaned in curiously, but Evie shook her head as if coming back to herself.
“Never mind about that. The important thing is we stopped an assassination attempt on the Duke of York last month, thanks to the information I received.”
Mary gasped right along with her friends. The Duke was currently the third in line to the throne. If such an attempt had succeeded, it would have caused chaos among the royal family and Society at large.
“An assassination? And we haven’t heard a thing!” Josie sounded almost outraged, although news coming to the countryside was a bit slow.
Evie shook her head. “No one knows right now, outside of my uncle’s men and you three.” She paused for a moment. “Well, and the Duke of York, of course.”
“Why tell us?” Lily asked. It was a good question. Evie was often close-mouthed about her uncle’s business.
The young woman rubbed her hand across her face before meeting their gazes, her head turning slowly between her three best friends.
“I need your help.” She grimaced. “Right now, we have very little to go on. The information… my… uncle’s man provided was little more than hearsay. If soldiers hadn’t been after him, we likely would have dismissed it entirely.”
“Who is the man?” Mary asked, picking up on the little hesitation in Evie’s voice when she spoke of him. The sharp glance she received in response confirmed her suspicion.
“No one important.” Evie said the words too quickly, piquing her friends’ interest. She sighed. “His name was Anthony Browne, and yes, he was very handsome, and we may have had a... a moment. May I return to the danger to our country now?”
Her question sobered her friends. Mary felt a little prickle of guilt, but truthfully, who could blame her? What could she, Josie, and Lily do? Evie was the master swordsman and sharpshooter, the consummate actress, who could move through all levels of society without comment, and the restless thrill seeker. Still, she could listen to what Evie wanted and would try to do whatever Evie wished of her.
“Do you think it was the French or the Russians?” Lily asked slowly. She rubbed her ink-stained fingers together without appearing to realize she was doing so, as though they were already itching to pick up a quill to start writing.
“It could be either or something worse… treason.” Evie’s expres
sion was grim, and Mary’s chest tightened as her heart began to pound. Surely she could not suspect…
“The Marquess of Hartford… you asked me to watch him because he might be a traitor?” Mary was aghast. To her relief, Evie shook her head.
“No. Well, probably not. His name has come up in several instances but always tied to that secret society of his.” The one Mary had been able to learn next to nothing about. Evie leaned forward, lowering her voice, even though there was no one nearby to listen in. “I need all of you to be alert this Season. I need to know every bit of gossip you can ferret out, no matter how inconsequential, especially if it pertains to this secret society, the Russians, the French, or the Crown. We have no idea where the next threat is coming from.”
A chill went down Mary’s spine.
“Why us?” Josie asked, frowning. The other three looked at her, surprised. “I am more than willing to do my duty to my country, but how can we possibly learn anything your uncle’s men cannot?”
“She has a point,” Lily said and shrugged. “No one wants to talk to a debutante about anything clandestine.”
“They barely want to talk to us at all,” Mary murmured. Well, that was not entirely true. There were some debutantes everyone wanted to talk to, but they were the exception, not the rule. Mostly, the ladies with the largest contingents of gentlemen around them were either great beauties or had great dowries, their skill at conversation, or lack thereof, having little effect on the proceedings. “There is a great deal we can learn by listening, though.”
“Precisely.” Evie nodded firmly. “Mary managed to hear a bit about Hartford’s secret club.”
“Not very much, mostly that it exists. Everyone knows he is connected, but no one else knows anything about it. Or those that do, do not speak of it. Sometimes, I wonder if it is real or just a figment of gossip.” Mary tapped her finger against her lower lip as she thought aloud.
“Oh, it is real,” Evie said darkly. “And someone in it is connected to the Duke’s assassination attempt.”
Real. If Evie said it so conclusively, Mary had to believe her. A little part of her sighed with regret. If that ridiculous rumor was true, perhaps the others about Hartford were as well. The knowledge should have counteracted the man’s attractiveness, but Mary had remained just as intrigued by him than ever, if not more. She had spent an entire Season watching him from afar as Hartford courted Arabella until a mishap with Mary’s cousin, Thomas, ended in a wedding, then Hartford looked around the ton for a new possible bride.
Of course, he had not looked Mary’s way. She had not expected him to. She should not have wanted him to—he was a rake, a terrible prospect for a husband, and possibly connected to treason. Admittedly, she found it hard to believe he had anything to do with the assassination attempt, but sometimes, people were not what they seem. If only he were not so very beautiful, charming, and engaging… it had been very hard not to moon over him the same way Josie mooned over Joseph Stuart—longingly and from a calculated physical distance.
The few times Mary got close to Hartford after the first time when he had looked at her so intently, he had not given her a second glance, had never introduced himself. While part of her had understood it was because proper young virgins like herself were not supposed to make the acquaintance of wicked rakes, it had still been a lowering experience—especially since she couldn’t even think of the man without her skin tingling.
“Mary?” Evie’s voice interrupted her daydreaming, and Mary blushed a hot red at being caught out. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I will help again.” Mary nodded, doing her best to pretend she had been paying attention.
“Good. Your cousin’s wife, Arabella, by all accounts, is still friends with Hartford, despite her throwing him over for your cousin, Lord Hood. I want you to use that connection to learn more about him and his friendships this Season. Anything we can use to uncover this club and its members.” Evie frowned. “More about him as well. I do not think he is connected to the assassination attempt, but I want to cover all possibilities.”
Right. Of course. Wonderful.
Learn everything she could about the Marquess while trying to keep her reputation intact. Arabella would likely be happy to help, but given how impetuous she was, Mary was not sure her cousin’s wife could be trusted with secrets. Especially if she decided to spend more time with Hartford as a result. Thomas would have kittens.
But…
Treason.
Mary was not the type of person who could sit back and ignore a call to duty. She would just have to gird her loins and do her best.
Chapter 2
Rex
Another season, another search for a bride. Being a Marquess was a damned burden. Probably why he preferred to be called by the nickname his best friend Lucas had given him years ago, Rex, rather than his title. Hartford was his responsibility, but Rex was who he was.
Staring broodily out the window, Rex scowled. Perhaps he should bow to the inevitable and pick one out of the petticoat line.
Everything in him recoiled at the idea.
Although he did want the usual ton marriage—in that he did not expect to curb his excesses or his bedroom pleasures once he was wed—he did not want the usual ton bride. Being saddled for life with a dull cipher or prude sounded awful. There were many ways couples could avoid each other, even when both were active in Society, but why go to the effort when he did not have to? Putting forth the effort now for a short period of time to find a suitable spouse rather than having to do the pretty with someone he disliked for the rest of his life seemed like the wiser course.
Last year, he thought he’d had his bride locked up and well on the way to the parson’s mousetrap. Lady Arabella Windham had been perfect for his purposes—attractive, passionate, adventurous, and not at all emotionally engaged beyond a comfortable friendship. They could have had a great deal of fun together, but she had ended up with Lord Thomas Hood instead. She seemed to truly love the man, so perhaps it was for the best.
Rex would not have begrudged her lovers, once he had his heir, but Thomas Hood was a stuffed shirt, too prim and proper for the bedroom games half the ton played. If Arabella had married Rex, Hood would likely have had nothing to do with her. He was the type who would take wedding vows seriously, no matter the many who did not.
“Are you auditioning?”
The familiar voice of his boyhood friend, Lucas Beckett, the Earl of Devon, interrupted Rex’s contemplations. Frowning, he turned his head to see the earl coming up beside him, shirt untucked and half-laced, dark hair rumpled, and his customary charming smile on his face. Used to his friend’s antics, Rex was unmoved by that unassuming grin.
“Auditioning for what?”
“A play, perhaps?” Lucas’ grin widened, and he swept his hand in front of him, indicating the window. “A maudlin one, for sure. The brooding Marquess glares out at the moor from his lonely window…”
Snorting, Rex tilted his head. With the goings-on of the house party clearly audible, even here in the refuge of his office, he would hardly consider himself lonely. Catching his meaning, Lucas shrugged.
“Lonely in that you’ve hidden away in here instead of enjoying the delights to be had just down the hall.” A feminine shriek of pleasure echoed down that hall, punctuating Lucas’ words.
The Society of Sin’s annual gathering, always held at Hartford Manor the week before the Season proper began, was in full swing. Normally, Rex would be in the center of the activities, but Lucas was right. This year, he was feeling maudlin, introspective, and thwarted.
If only he could find a bride among the Society… but the ladies involved were either already married, had no interest in marrying, or were widows with no intention of wedding again. Occasionally, an agreement would be reached between eligible parties, but not often. None of the currently available ladies appealed to him, anyway. Not for marriage.
“How can I be lonely when you will not
leave me alone?” Rex asked, slapping his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
Lucas chuckled and leaned closer, batting his eyes in a fair approximation of a smitten lady. “Say the word, and we can be alone together.”
Shaking his head, Rex used his hand on Lucas’ shoulder to turn his friend around and gave him a hefty whack on his buttocks. Lucas hissed and rubbed the spot, stepping away. While he enjoyed the company of both sexes, a masochist he was not.
“You could not handle me,” Rex teased, but he felt his mood lightening, which had no doubt been Lucas’ purpose. “Very well, let us join the festivities.”
The Society of Sin was for those whose proclivities were deemed perverse by the rest of the ton. They did not cater to any one perversion, but rather delighted in them all. While Rex had no interest in Lucas or any other of the men, he was not daunted by their inclinations.
Unlike regular Society, the Society had a place for everyone, evidenced by the scene Rex and Lucas walked into the parlor.
The Earl of Conyngham had the Countess of Carlisle tied face down to an ottoman in the middle of the room, red welts crossing her buttocks, while he rogered her from behind. One of his friends, Viscount Boringdon, currently occupied her mouth, likely to quiet the shrieks Rex and Lucas had heard from his office.
Sprawled on the couch just beyond the trio, the Earl of Carlisle was watching the scene with hooded eyes while his lover, Mr. Rupert Collins, knelt before him, sucking the Earl’s cock. Lucas eyed the entire tableau with interest, which was no surprise. While Rex did not particularly enjoy sharing his lovers, Lucas reveled in it.
On the window seat, Ladies Abernathy and Weymouth were naked, sharing soft kisses and caresses, clearly enjoying the aftermath of their loving. On the chaise next to them, their husbands Lord Abernathy and Viscount Weymouth were doing the same, Abernathy curled almost protectively around Weymouth. That was one match the Society was responsible for.