A Regency Duo

by Carole Mortimer

“That is not just a cut.”

  “You can’t keep me down.”

  A long breath escaped Kit, though his features softened. “All right. But at least give yourself one more night. Come morning, I don’t give a fuck what you do. But tonight, you are staying in. On my orders.”

  He hated when Kit got all high-handed, acted as if being crown prince gave him the right to control every aspect of their lives. “Tomorrow might be too late. Another peer could be dead by then.”

  Kit stepped back, his blue-eyed gaze glaring. “Need I fetch mother?”

  God, no. If an off comment about a chair could earn him a whack with that damn rung, imagine what would happen if he had to divulge to Her Majesty that her saintly sons were hunting a serial killer. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Care to call my bluff?”

  He bunched the edge of the sheet into a ball. “Fine. But I’ll give in only for tonight.”

  Kit nodded then reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a crumpled rectangle of rag. “There was this, inside your glove. Edward found it.” He handed over the calling card, a faint trace of violet lifting from the stock. “What were you doing with a calling card from an orphanage?”

  He hadn’t realized Kit was familiar with Haven House. “How do you know it’s an orphanage? Have you been there?”

  “It says so on the bottom of the card.”

  He glanced down. “Right.” He couldn’t tell Kit about Eliza. “I’m not sure why I had it. I don’t remember anything about it, so perhaps I had a lapse in memory. I did crack my head a time or two during the scuffle.”

  Kit looked concerned, almost as if he hadn’t believed him. “I think it’s still worth investigating as the place has, as of yesterday, been brought to my attention. Something about illegal adoptions or some sort of corrupt goings on happening there. Maybe our man is associated with it. Check it out.”

  Eliza was too kind to be associated with a murdering bastard. Though he did suppose anyone could be bought or made to do nefarious deeds under the right circumstances. In the least, it would give him cover for that visit to her he had planned on taking. “I doubt anything will pan out, but I’ll go over in the morning before my talk with Ari.” He prayed to God his detached attitude sounded convincing.

  “Good,” Kit said. “If nothing else, you can find out if the place needs shutting down or further investigating.”

  “Will do.” He lied. No way was he going to turn Eliza over for crimes he knew she wasn’t capable of committing. Something seriously wrong had to be going on in the woman’s life if she was resorting to dubious behavior.

  He needed to find out what the hell she was up to.

  ***

  Eliza paced the library of Haven House, her eyes glued to the pink flowers embroidered on her silk slippers. Archie was infuriating this evening and giving in to the man was the last thing she cared to do. Egotistical earls did not deserve her cooperation.

  “You do realize this is for the best, Lizzie,” Archie said, his boot-clad feet propped up on her desk.

  She needn’t look at her brother to know how he’d sat as he never failed to make himself at home in her house, boots on the table and all. Of course he’d never dare consider doing the same in his own home. Littlefield Hall was his masterpiece, a showstopper to display his fortune and perceived good taste, to the Ton. Though he wouldn’t even have the house or the money, if it hadn’t been for their late father’s good sense, as the Hall had come quite close to losing its entailment thanks to debt brought on by previous titled generations. And as for Archie’s apparent good taste, that was due strictly to his wife Hannah’s credit.

  She stopped at the desk and raised her nose high, a feat not easily accomplished thanks to the stench of horse emitting from the manure caked on the soles of Archibald’s boots. “You cannot make me marry Meyock.”

  “I most certainly can and will. The man has asked for your hand in marriage and I’ve agreed to give it.”

  “It’s amazing how you so freely give of something you don’t even own.”

  Archie slid his legs off the desk, a trail of muck marring up everything from the leather blotter to her beautiful pink and green Aubusson carpet.

  She sighed. The man was a buffoon, at best, and at this late juncture in life, there was no hope of him ever improving. “You’re a twenty-eight-year-old child, Archibald.”

  He jumped to his feet, the gusto of his move crashing his chair to the floor. He leaned forward. “Here me well, sister, for I am no child, but a man with authority. I do own you in that I own the family name and title. And this little establishment you run is an embarrassment to both. And I will tolerate it no more. The Earl Meyock and I are of the same mind, so come your wedding day, Haven House will fall to new owners. The sale has already been agreed upon.”

  Her nostrils flared, of that she was certain because she heard her breath blow out like a stoked bull’s.

  Archie was not going to win so easily.

  Squaring her shoulders, Eliza stood on the tips of her toes and met her brother head on. “Archibald Lancelot Littlefield, here me well. Haven House is not yours to sell. Nor are its coffers yours to raid. Make that move and I swear upon father’s grave I will destroy you. Regardless of the cost to myself.”

  Archie remained standing but said nothing.

  “And,” she added, jabbing her finger at her brother’s green velvet-clad chest, “you can relay my sentiments to Meyock. If you prefer not to, then I will tell him myself.”

  “Cross that line, Eliza, and I will disown you.”

  As if that would be so terrible.

  “Without me,” Archie continued, “the process by which Haven House conducts its business, might be questioned by the courts.”

  He had her there, the bastard. Haven House broke all the rules when it came to the illegitimate and abandoned children it housed. By Countavian Law, citizens under the age of ten who had no willing parent or legal guardian to take responsibility over them, belonged to the Royal Children’s Bureau. But between a lack of funds and noted deplorable living conditions, the RCB did little to truly aid the orphans it oversaw.

  There was a need for Haven House.

  But Archie was right. Parliament turned a blind eye to her business because of her lineage, and if Archie disowned her, Haven House couldn’t exist as it did today. She hadn’t the funds to file for legal guardianship of all her little guests.

  The sound of voices—specifically those of happy, giggling children—floated in from the hall and distracted her.

  Eliza turned away, glad for the chance to clear her head of the anger now brewing toward her brother.

  Bosworth, dressed in his typical black tails and neatly tied cravat, appeared at the open library doors. “Miss Hampton has brought the children back from their daily walk.” The butler kept a stiff upper lip in the earl’s presence.

  And for that, Eliza was thankful, because Bosworth would defend her to the death. And if anyone was going to get the satisfaction of throttling Archie, it was going to be she.

  “Thank you. I’ll join them in the drawing room in a minute.”

  Bosworth offered a slight bow, then left the room, but not before tossing Archie one of his icy, gray-eyed glares.

  She had a mind to do the same but looking at her arrogant brother at the moment would only serve to rile her up more. And considering her hands were already balled into tight fists, Archie’s nose probably wouldn’t survive her turning to lay eyes on him once more. “I trust you know where the front door is, My Lord.”

  She continued staring toward the hallway.

  “We’re not finished, sister.” Archie rounded the desk and grabbed his walking stick which he’d earlier left leaning against the sofa. “In one week’s time you will be the new Lady Meyock. Banns have been posted in the parish and a special license has been obtained thanks to my connections at the Registry Office.” He raked her with his disgusted gaze. “Make certain you wear something appropriate
for the occasion.”

  Archie twirled his walking stick, then headed out of the library.

  If she hadn’t been so angry, she’d have kicked him square in the arse. But her legs were too stiff with fury to move.

  Her best friend Georgiana came to the door, a bouquet of half-wilted wildflowers in her hands. “Is everything all right?”

  “In Archie’s dandy world, it is. Though I can’t say the same for reality. The prat is at it again and this time he’s gone too far.”

  Georgie raised one blond eyebrow, but remained calm. “Dare I ask what he’s done now?”

  “For starters, the man has riled me up. He can be so infuriating at times.” Eliza grabbed a small vase off the corner of the desk and held it out for Georgie to deposit the flowers the children picked from the park, daily. “He has agreed to marry me off to that puritanical Earl Meyock and sell Haven House.”

  Georgie gasped as she shoved the daisies into the glass container, several white petals falling to the floor. “But what about the children?”

  Haven House had seven orphans under its care at present, three boys and four girls, all within the age range of infant up to six years. “It won’t be easy placing them with good families in such short time, but I have no choice. I’m to wed Meyock in one week.”

  “And if you don’t agree to your brother’s terms?”

  “He’s threatened to bring down Haven House.”

  Georgie returned the vase to Eliza’s desk. “I’ll do all I can to help, as I’m sure Bosworth will too, but you’re right, it won’t be an easy task.”

  “Do you think that great-aunt of yours, the one with the magnificent country house and with no heirs save for you, would mind playing host to you and our brood for a bit?” She pursed her lips.

  “I know that look, Eliza. And it reeks of mischief. All-out, no good mischief.”

  “I know. And I don’t have a firm plan yet, but in the interim, I need the children safe. Plus, if I fail, I’m hoping with your aunt’s connections, maybe you and she could place the children in proper homes and not have to rush their adoptions.”

  “I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.” Georgie picked a stray string from the skirt of her green gown. “Besides, I do love spending time with Auntie Grace. And I know she’ll do anything for me. But are you sure you’ll be all right on your own? I’ll need to borrow the carriages, and Bosworth, at least for the trip out as I couldn’t manage all the children on my own for the ride over.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” She wasn’t sure that would truly be the case, but she did know one thing—two could play at Archie’s game. He and Meyock might have thought they’d arranged her future, but neither of them realized she had a will stronger than both of theirs put together.

  She would do anything to save the children she’d rescued. Even resort to blackmail by using that damn diary of Archie’s she’d discovered hidden in the drawing room last month. Thank goodness she had the sense to hide it away in a new place her brother would never think of looking in.

  She sighed. Resorting to such low tactics was not her style. Her parents had raised her better than that.

  A whiff of manure smacked her nose as she glanced at her beautiful, but now smudged carpet.

  Propriety be damned.

  She was not going to lose Haven House.

  Chapter 4

  Freddie stepped down from the carriage, the silver-topped walking stick gripped in his palm bearing the brunt of his weight. Every move hurt liked hell, but at least he was alive and, on the mend, though a little less protest from his ribs and wound would be welcomed.

  He surveyed the well-kept but modest limestone entrance to Haven House. With its black painted door, two matching Ionic columns with detailed capitals, and black wrought iron fencing that adorned both the walk and small set of steps, the house was undistinguishable from the others gracing the tree-lined street. It simply blended in.

  Which was a characteristic he hadn’t considered when thinking of his feisty Eliza.

  But at least this was a more reputable part of Landon. And it was far safer with its upper middle-class residents than the waterfront’s mercenaries and pirates.

  He sauntered up to the door, grabbed the brass ring dangling from the mouth of the lion head ornament, and knocked.

  As his hand released the ring, a burst of aroma of fresh baked butter cookies emitted from the house’s open windows. The delicious smell tempted his nose.

  Eliza obviously had the good sense to employ a decent cook. The smell of those inviting treats reminded him of the rare moments spent with his governess sneaking into the kitchens at Baine Palace, the two of them raiding the endless rows of jars searching for cookies. What he’d give to have back just one of those carefree moments now.

  The door creaked open and promptly returned him to the present. Freddie sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if it was from nerves over suddenly questioning his abilities after losing his first real lead on the killer in the alley, or from the sight of the woman in her pale blue velvet dress, a cascade of violets embroidered down the front making her appear as fresh as a breath of spring air on this cold, fall morning. He sided with the latter.

  “Freddie?”

  “Lady Eliza.” He tipped his head, thinking it best to keep things formal. For now.

  “I guess you found my calling card.” Eliza wiped her fingers down the front of her gown.

  “I did.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  God, but she could most definitely help him, though he doubted she’d agree with the acts of which he was thinking. Which was why he needed to clear his head. And fast. Shifting focus, he wondered why she was opening the door herself. Where the heck was the bloody butler?

  “Freddie?”

  Right. He needed to find his tongue. “I’m here to inquire about Charles.”

  One finely arched brown eyebrow rose on Eliza’s brow.

  He glanced down at the tattered calling card clenched in his glove-covered fingers and flipped the damn thing over. “Forgive me, I meant Little Charlie.” He raised his gaze.

  “Oh…” A look of concern etched Eliza’s face as she reached for the blue ribbon at her waist and toyed with one partially frayed end. “Are you his father?”

  “For God’s sake, no.” Hadn’t she known who she’d slept with? “I thought you were Charlie’s mother?”

  Eliza gave up a laugh, a bit of annoyance carried in her tone. “No. The boy is here because this is an orphanage. I was rescuing him the other night. But I’m glad to know you think so highly of me. I did tell you, back in the alley, I hadn’t married.”

  So she had. “Why would you think I was the father?”

  “You were stabbed.”

  Realization sunk in. “No. A woman did not do the deed, though I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

  “Me?”

  He couldn’t well tell her that he’d missed her, that he should never have tossed away their friendship, that he was more than right for having done what he’d done to protect her, though maybe not the way he’d done it. No. He couldn’t tell her any of that. At least not this very second. And he certainly couldn’t tell her he had feelings for her. Very strong feelings that hadn’t ebbed an ounce since the night she’d climbed out the damn window of his bedroom. “I know I didn’t leave things well between us. And for that, I am sorry.”

  “Well, at least you’ve come round. Two years too late.” She started to close the door.

  He stuck out his arm. “May I come in?”

  “For what? I certainly don’t want the hem of my gown back. Consider the wrappings that obviously saved your life, a gift.”

  “I’d like to discuss Little Charlie.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to inquire about becoming the boy’s benefactor.” He prayed she’d accept the idea.

  “Forgive me, but it isn’t every morning that an arrogant prince, who ha
s no ties to me whatsoever according to polite society, shows up at the door bearing money. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  Damn her for being wise. “I do. But I promise if any of this gets out, I will not let anyone paint you in a bad manner.” He needed to give her at least a bit of the truth. “I know you have no reason to trust me after I so horribly dismissed you, but that doesn’t mean I have to make the same mistake twice. I’m here because I want to repay you for saving my life.”

  “I think you must have me confused with someone else as the only lives I save are children’s. Very small, children. And while I do agree brain-wise you think like a ten-year-old, I would be a horrible person if I were to take advantage of that fact.”

  He really did care to repay her for saving his life. “Please, Eliza. Just give me a few minutes of your time.”

  “I really am busy at the moment.”

  A second whiff of cookies came his way.

  Eliza glanced down the hall, then turned back. “Though I suppose a minute or two won’t kill me.”

  Oh, crap, did she really have to say those specific words? A minute or two with him could very well kill her if anyone saw him here today. Which he prayed they hadn’t. He entered and removed his coat, but didn’t know what to do next as still no butler had surfaced.

  “If you don’t mind,” Eliza said, “I need to fetch a batch of cookies from the oven.” She closed the door.

  “Isn’t that Cook’s job?” He draped his coat over his arm and followed Eliza down the hall, her dainty slipper-clad feet scurrying over the black and white marble-tiled floor.

  “Cook is off today.”

  “And the butler?”

  “Bosworth is on a trip.”

  A house could not run without a proper staff. And yet, here was his Eliza, seeming to be happy about baking cookies and doing all the work herself. To say she was incredible was an understatement.

  “Do you bake often?” He needed something to say and it certainly couldn’t be I’ve missed you, love.

  “Yes. One dozen cookies, daily.”

  That was a rather large batch to make for one woman and an infant who probably couldn’t yet eat solid foods. How many children did she house here?