A Regency Duo

by Carole Mortimer

  Freddie’s head sloped to the side. He was out cold, of that she was certain, but he wasn’t dead. At least not yet. Which meant she had time to get to Bosworth and Georgiana and have them come back and help her fetch him.

  The approaching sound of footsteps came her way.

  Eliza stood, then stiffened.

  “Thank the good Lord,” her butler Bosworth said, stepping from the shadows. “I was worried sick about you, my lady.”

  At least it wasn’t another kidnapper. “We must help this man.” She peered down at Freddie, but hadn’t wanted to give his identity away. “He’s been stabbed and is in need of a doctor.”

  “If your pretty little head is contemplating taking that beast to Haven House, you had better dispel the notion immediately.”

  “We can’t just leave him.”

  Bosworth expelled a long breath. “It may not be my place to speak so freely, but your father did request I look after you. And with that in mind, I must say the funds he left to run Haven House cannot afford to take on adults. We’re stretched to the gills as it is with the children you rescue. Feeding and caring for drunks who are not worth their salt is out of the question.”

  Freddie hadn’t even had the faintest hints of liquor on his breath. “He’s not drunk.” She really did not want to leave him in this filthy alley, his wound bleeding out. “I can’t abandon him.”

  “You must.”

  She had to tell Bosworth the truth. “He’s Prince Frederick.”

  “Then all the more reason to leave him be.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Bosworth grabbed her arm. “Look, if we take in the prince, we could be accused of stabbing him. Then what will happen to us and to Haven House?”

  “Freddie would never lie like that.”

  Bosworth furrowed his brow. “Oh, I see. It’s Freddie, now is it? What have you been playing at, my lady?”

  She couldn’t tell the man her secrets. Especially since they were Freddie’s as well and she hadn’t a clue if he’d want them revealed, even if it meant dying instead.

  She bent and double-checked her wrappings covering Freddie’s wound. As she also checked to see if he was still breathing, the sound of a carriage rolling to a stop filtered to her ears.

  Bosworth stepped away, then returned. “That’s one of the king’s own carriages, Eliza. We have to go. Now.”

  She reached into the basket, remembering the calling card the baker had found with Little Charlie when the child’s mother had dropped him at the shop’s door. It was no surprise Charlie came with the card. She and Georgie had often left the small bits of rag inscribed with the name Haven House and its address, in various places around The Wharf. Most went unnoticed, but occasionally they would do their job and reach a young woman in need.

  Eliza pushed the basket toward Bosworth, then she slipped the card inside Freddie’s glove.

  If when he came too, and if he continued to need her help, he’d find his way to Haven House.

  ***

  Freddie’s ribs ached like hell. As did his head, which more than likely meant he’d lost a fair amount of blood.

  If only his father could know of the sacrifices he and his brothers made for the Crown but informing the king that his precious heirs were hunting down the realm’s most notorious killer and anti-monarchist, by their own hands, wouldn’t do. They were royal princes, for God’s sake. At least, that was what their father would say. But with the man’s illness increasing by the hour, his father no longer had good sense.

  And that pained Freddie even more than did the gaping wound slashed across his chest.

  If only the criminal he’d been hunting hadn’t gotten away.

  Bastard.

  A hint of violet lifted from his shirt. He’d never forget that fragrance or that voice or the sprite in that stubborn but innocent spirit.

  Eliza.

  What the hell was Lady Eliza doing down here at The Wharf? Hadn’t he been clear to the woman in his ruthless rejection of her that her trips to this place had to stop.

  Ruthless. God, but he was a bastard. He should never have let her go.

  He leaned back and took in another breath, enjoyed Eliza’s scent. Not a single day had gone by in all two years, that he hadn’t thought about her. In fact, he thought about her more now, than before.

  And now she was lost to him. Even had a child of her own. Though he hadn’t ever heard of her marrying.

  Oh, God, but he prayed she hadn’t fallen for another cad. One who had taken advantage of her.

  This was all his fault.

  What was she thinking traipsing about at night with her child in a basket? Maybe the rogue lived down here. If that were the case, her situation would be doubly horrible.

  And now she might have been seen with him. What if his enemy had witnessed him pulling her into the alley?

  He cringed, and not just from the pain in his chest, but because of the realization Eliza was in even more danger than she could possibly have known wandering West Landon, home to the Crown’s most notorious murderer. Five peers dead in twenty-four months. Adding a lady to that count wasn’t what he desired.

  “For the love of Heaven,” his brother Edward called as he stormed through the alley, the sound of his stomping bootheels ringing out like a hammer smashing stone. “I’ve been looking up and down every last bloody street for you.”

  Crouching, Edward reached for his shirt. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Freddie, you’ve been stabbed.”

  “It’s bad, Eddie. It’s reopened my war wound.” He’d secretly gone to war two years ago aiding the British coalition fighting with Austria against Napoleon. But three weeks in and he’d ended up on the wrong end of a bayonet, the damn injury forcing him to return home a failure, once again having nothing of success to show to his father. He might have left in secrecy, but he had high hopes of returning victorious and finally winning his father’s approval. He hadn’t even told his older brother. “Don’t tell Kit. He’ll kill me. He can’t know about the past. Just tonight.”

  Edward felt around Freddie’s chest. “By the looks of it, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Kit.”

  He was going to die. Reaching out, he grabbed Edward’s coat. “Promise me, when I’m gone, you’ll tell father I really did try to be the son he wanted.”

  His brother didn’t comment. “I’ve got to get you up.” Edward secured him under the arms. “This might hurt a tad.” He hoisted him.

  “Bloody hell!” Freddie screamed. “That was not a tad.”

  “Sorry, but it was the best I could do.”

  A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, sent a punch of pain through his body.

  Harry.

  A second hand slapped him, this time on the back.

  Vic.

  He bit his lip. Did his brothers not realize he’d been injured? “Please tell me you didn’t also bring the other three.”

  Eddie sneered. “Nope. Just the twins.”

  “Good, because I’d hate to have to kill all my brothers. Now get your fucking hands off me, so I can catch a decent breath.”

  “Easy, now, Freddie,” Harry said, the oldest of the family twins by minutes. “If you kill us, then you’d be left with just the boring Baines. And I know you. You’d never survive with just Alex, Leo and Kit.”

  Harry was right, though at the moment he doubted he was going to survive regardless. The wound in his chest was festering.

  His vision blurred.

  He slumped into Eddie’s arms and gasped as a wave of nausea rolled over his senses.

  Eddie cursed. “Just a few feet more, Freddie.”

  A few more feet be damned, his legs were giving out now, and he hadn’t even the strength to voice that truth.

  “Best if we carry him,” Vic ordered.

  His brothers lifted him on the instant, the motion sending a whiff of violet to his nose.

  Damn Eliza. He did not need her scent lingering on his clothes, making him think more about
her than about his wound or his mission. The latter being the deadliest of those ramifications.

  But like it or not, he was half way to Hell and all he could smell was that sweet perfume of hers.

  If he survived his injuries, he was going to have to pay the Lady Eliza a visit.

  And teach her a damn good lesson on how to stay away from danger. Obviously, he wasn’t clear about that two years back.

  And once he’d get that out of the way, he’d teach her the pleasurable consequences of having enticed Countavia’s most scandalous prince.

  Chapter 3

  Freddie cracked his eyes open and stared at the painted ceiling, the scene of pudgy smirking cherubs doing nothing for the pain filtering through his body. Then again, it wasn’t up to angels to save sinners. God granted redemption only if those needing it had earned it.

  And as of late, his scandalous soul couldn’t be further away from the Lord’s graces. Hell, he didn’t even deserve the Devil’s wrath at the moment, but judging by his recent mishaps, he doubted Satan paid attention to things the way God had.

  If only he hadn’t let that miscreant killer at The Wharf get away.

  He pushed himself up from the mattress and promptly banged the back of his skull against the headboard, his body failing to get into a good sitting position.

  “Bloody broken ribs,” he muttered.

  “Easy there, brother. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  Of all his brothers, only Kit could be that sarcastic.

  Clenching the sheets between his fingers, Freddie glanced to his left. “The injury is not a reflection of my fighting skills.”

  “I’ve never doubted your skills,” Kit said from behind the page of newspaper. He looked out of place in the petite side chair, his long, muscled legs pinched between the seat’s dainty white-washed arms.

  “Those chairs are hell.”

  Kit flipped down the edge of the page and snickered. “If mother ever heard you say as much...”

  “I know, she’d have my mouth washed out with soap and then crack me over the shoulders with that spare rung she keeps in the Royal Design Shop.” He may be twenty and six, but when it came to the queen and her control over the palace furnishings, not even the Good Lord was safe.

  He stared at Kit. The man was not his usual tidy self with the cuffs of his shirt rolled up and his waistcoat wrinkled to the point it looked as if slept in. Even his black velvet trousers were in need of a dusting off. But probing the man wouldn’t get Freddie anywhere. Kit was as rigid as a straight stick when it came to discussing emotions.

  And despite not caring to see his brother in such a state, he had no choice but to the let the situation stand.

  Rustling the paper, Kit folded the news and tossed it onto the bed. “Did you make any progress?”

  “Other than two broken ribs and a slash the size of the Nile running down my chest, no. But thank you for asking.” For once he just wished his brother would put family before king and country.

  Kit’s lips tightened. “I suppose I do deserve that, but in case you hadn’t noticed, your wound is nowhere near the size of the Nile, you’ve slept quite comfortably without any disturbance for two days, and during those forty-eight hours, I have been the sole person to tend to you.”

  No, he hadn’t been aware of that single but highly important fact. Which also explained a lot, specifically about his brother’s appearance. Tension eased from his muscles. “I’m not myself at the moment.”

  “Understandable.” Kit clasped his hands. “But that does not change the fact that someone is killing the realm’s top peers.”

  He thought back to the scuffle he’d had behind The Pig and The Bear. The bastard who’d stabbed him was a formidable opponent, a man with muscle and meat on his bones, not the usual scoundrel who teetered from pub to pub. Their enemy was a man determined not to be caught. The beast knew how to use his physical might to evade being captured, and he had brains, which made him even more dangerous. “I did get a decent look at the dagger the culprit used. It bore an emerald-encrusted snake design etched into the hilt.” He paused. “I don’t think we’re dealing with the typical criminal. The man has money and skill, though I came away with the impression his fighting talents were more on par with something properly learned, perhaps at university, rather than on the streets. I’d wager he was formally trained.”

  “Are you saying he’s one of us?”

  “Maybe not a royal, though God knows father does have a good number of cousins who’d love to see him pushed off the throne, but only because they covet it themselves. So with that in mind, I’m confident family members can be stricken from the list of possible anti-monarchists. They just don’t agree with father’s new Constitution.”

  “True,” Kit said. “Which does help narrow the list some, though not enough.”

  “Maybe you should gently suggest to father he hold back on new policies for the time being.” The king had been granting the people of Countavia many freedoms over the last three years of his reign, and while the new policies didn’t please everyone, they were needed for the country.

  “I’ll see what can be done, but it’s not easy telling a dying man he cannot fulfill his end of life wishes.” Kit raked his hands through his hair, brushed away a few of the black strands that had fallen by his eyes.

  The torment that graced his brother’s face reminded Freddie how lucky he was being seventh in line to the throne. His shoulders never had to bear the weight of a country and his soul never had to worry about filling a dead monarch’s shoes. And while his father was very much also his king, the man was far more his parent than anything else. The same could not be said for the relationship Kit shared with the man. Parental love played very little in the dynamics between monarch and heir. “Even dying, father will put Countavia first. I know he will.”

  “You’re probably right,” Kit said. “But I’m going to have to be careful with my choice of words unless I give us away. And God knows father will not appreciate what we’re doing to hunt down this murdering bastard.” Kit tapped the toe of his boot against the room’s wood floor. “If family is crossed off the possible suspect list, then that leaves a peer or a well-educated merchant or someone of a similar class, based on your observation.”

  The notion hammered Freddie’s brain. There were many members of parliament, as well as wealthy land owners who at one time or another held a grudge against the monarchy. Countavia didn’t need a king to be successful. Any one of those so called free thinkers could be anti-monarchists and one of them could be the killer he and his brothers were hunting.

  He tossed off the blanket and sheets, the scent of sun-kissed cotton wafting under his nose. An unwashed man with a festering wound, lying in bed for two days, didn’t smell this good. “Has Osbourne been in?”

  “Only when Edward first brought you up. Why?”

  “The sheets are clean.”

  A smirk crossed Kit’s face. “I know. I changed them myself, which was no easy task as you were practically out cold. And I washed you down.”

  “Bloody hell, Christopher. You know how I hate it when you change up on me. This whole business of cold crown prince one minute, loving brother the next, is damn unnerving.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He waved his hand in frustration. His brothers meant the world to him and he was one lucky bastard to have them. “We should look into the jeweled dagger and see where that leads.”

  Kit stretched. “I agree. I’ll see what Arianna can find out. If the killer is repeatedly using the same weapon, and if he is a member of the Ton, then there might be a chance he could be among Ari’s patrons.”

  The Countess of Montgrieve had sacrificed a lot for the kingdom, especially for him and his brothers. “I will never understand how you got the woman to agree to your miserable scheme. It’s unfair what you’ve done to her.”

  Kit snickered. “You make it sound as if I’ve saddled her with a horrible life when in fact she’s we
althy, well-protected, and is an elite member of the royal inner circle. I’ve given her everything.”

  “While ruining her reputation.” Just because the woman was illegitimate didn’t mean she deserved to act as a brothel mistress for the sake of the Crown.

  “She freely agreed to participate in our operation,” Kit said. “And for the record, the brothel was her idea, not mine. Never once did I force her to do anything.”

  “On the surface, no, we are all innocent where Ari is concerned. But who the hell are we fooling? All seven of us are guilty of destroying the Countess of Montgrieve’s reputation.”

  A grimace crossed Kit’s face. “When this is all finished,” he bit out, “I will make amends and see to it Arianna’s reputation is restored. There are plenty of honorable peers who would kill to marry a woman of her beauty and wealth.”

  Still, Freddie didn’t like the idea of ruining Ari, even if her reputation could be restored later. “What if she truly is one of us? I mean…what if the rumors are true?” His father clammed up every time he or one of his brothers mentioned Arianna’s lineage. And while he did understand his father never agreeing to having had an affair that produced an illegitimate daughter, for their mother’s sake, the man did not have to deny it when solely in their company. And yet he continued to do so, leaving the truth hidden.

  Kit leaned back in the chair and drummed his fingers on the arm. “I think we may never know. But regardless, Ari will always be taken care of. Even after father dies I will personally see to it her allowance and inheritance remain as they are today.”

  At least there was that.

  He inched his legs off the bed. “Since I know best what the dagger looks like, I’ll talk with her.”

  “You are in no position to go trekking about while still recovering.” Kit was out of his seat in a dash. He tugged the bedcoverings up.

  Freddie pushed them down again. “I’m not an invalid. Making a few inquiries is not going to kill me, besides, I can breathe fine which means the blade missed my lungs. Other than the broken ribs, I’m only suffering an annoying cut.”