A Regency Duo

by Carole Mortimer

  “That’s too bad.” Ari flopped into the chair behind her desk and huffed. “We could use a list of those men because one of them could be our killer.”

  Archie wasn’t the sort to do justice if it diminished his perceived high-standing among his inner circle. But Eliza had known for years her brother had kept a diary that detailed the meetings of the knighthood, and those accounts just might contain the information Freddie and Ari needed. And she knew exactly where that damn book was hidden. “Maybe if I spend some time working with these sketches and their files, I might remember something.”

  Eliza hated compromising whatever trust Ari had suddenly placed in her, but if she didn’t find a way to slip out of Montgrieve House, undetected, so she could go retrieve’s Archie’s diary, Freddie’s mission could be compromised for good. What if the knighthood had decided to go quiet for a while? The group could be resort to working even further underground, recruiting a new generation of anti-monarchists, and then strike when all defenses were down and relaxed.

  No, she had to take the opportunity when it presented itself. She rubbed her arms. “Is there a shawl I can borrow? I’m a bit chilled this morning.”

  “Of course, I’ll have one of the girls fetch you one.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose. I can get it myself.”

  Ari shrugged. “There’s a small armoire in the main drawing room. You’ll find an assortment of shawls inside.”

  “Perfect.” Eliza smiled and left the office.

  She headed straight for the front door and back to Haven House.

  Chapter 10

  “Don’t even think about moving,” Kit said, his face stern as he took over half the bed, fitted tailcoat still on and walking stick barely out of his fingers.

  Being watched by his Pitbull of a brother was never this bad. “Eliza could be in danger,” Freddie said. “In fact, she is in danger.”

  “You are not going to fetch her. Vic and Harry are on it.”

  “But it should be me.”

  Kit crossed his long legs and reclined back.

  “Boots on a bed are bad luck.” Freddie nudged his chin toward Kit’s polished short black dress boots, their laces firmly tied.

  “Did you have boots on the bed last night when Lady Eliza was found frolicking with you?”

  “She did no such thing.”

  “Then I don’t believe boots factor into your pull on bad luck, brother.”

  And to think just this morning it was a beautiful, enticing creature he’d had in his bed. Now it was just him and Kit. “There is a chair, over there.” He pointed across the room.

  “Not happening. Ari already made the mistake of trusting one of you, I won’t make the same error.”

  He’d die if he couldn’t get to Eliza. “Where do you think she’s gone off to?”

  “Probably to fetch that infuriating brother of hers. I looked him up last night, did a check of the peerage lists in the palace library and was surprised to learn the Lords Littlefield have always been staunch supporters of the Crown, up until this latest generation. Archibald is somewhat of a rebel.”

  That didn’t shock him considering the things Eliza had mentioned about the man. “But if Archie is a problem, then that alone could put his sister in great danger.”

  Vic and Harry showed up at the door, one looking more disgusted than the other. “No luck,” Harry commented as he entered the bedroom and flung his black top hat onto a chair. “And that miscreant Littlefield is missing as well. Left his wife in a state of tears.”

  “He’s up to something,” Freddie said, balling his fists.

  “Probably running for his life,” Vic added.

  He really should be out there searching for Eliza. “Any word on Meyock?”

  “No,” Harry said. “And the desk in his town house has been emptied, so I suspect he’s on the run, as well.”

  “Or sizing up another throat to slit.” A million thoughts flickered through Freddie’s head, one more frightening than the last. If Meyock was their man, then last night’s debacle might have cost Eliza her neck. Literally. And he was all to blame. His father was right, he wasn’t worth anything. “I can’t stay put. I’m going to look for Eliza.”

  Kit grabbed his leg. “You are not leaving this room.”

  He glared at his brother. “Stop me and Meyock will be the least of your worries.”

  Edward stormed through the open doors. “Now, boys, cool your claws.” He walked up to the bed, his coat tails swinging in his wake, grabbed Kit’s hand and freed Freddie. “Go do what you must, but do so knowing you’re on your own.”

  Freddie slid off the mattress, but not before eyeing Kit. The man’s steely gaze was one of pure anger. And rightfully so. But still, he needed to do what was right and this time it was not about him, not about the Crown, and not about his brothers.

  ***

  Eliza tiptoed into the drawing room and held her breath, her gaze focused on the far corner. Her beautiful but well-worn Aubusson carpet sat rolled up, it’s off-white fringe flattened by Archie’s hand.

  With Haven House empty of its usual residents and their giggling voices, her brother’s plundering of the secret compartment in the drawing room’s floor echoed like thunder as he lifted the metal grate and slid it across the now bare wood planks.

  “It’s not in there,” she said, resting her shoulder against the doorjamb.

  Archie jumped and then sprung up. “What did you do with my diary?”

  “It’s in a safe place. I moved it ages ago, the minute I realized it might be useful to me one day.”

  “That’s not fair. It belongs to me.”

  “Just like Haven House belongs to me, and yet, you had no problem selling it out from under me.”

  Archie combed his blond hair with his fingers, his hand shaking. “That was different.”

  “How so?” She really was curious as to how the man could have one set of values for himself and another for her.

  “My future depended on your marriage to Meyock. My life depended on it. Now all I have is that damn book to keep me safe.”

  She strolled into the room and took a seat on the blue sofa. “For the life of me, Archie, I really can’t understand why you hate me so. You were nasty to me even when we were children. Why?”

  “Maybe you should tell her the truth, Lord Littlefield.” Meyock surprised them both, based on the shocked look crossing Archie’s face.

  Eliza turned her gaze away from her brother. “How did you get in?” The doors, both the front and the kitchen entrances, had been locked, of that she was certain.

  “I have many talents,” Meyock boasted. “Assembling an entire generation of anti-monarchists, cultivating their thoughts, and mind-washing them into seeing things my way aren’t the only ones. A good manipulator must also know the how-tos of mundane tasks, such as lock picking.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you hope to achieve here, Kenneth,” she said, refusing to refer to him by his title. Her respect was not something he’d yet earned. “But I doubt there is little here of value to you.”

  Meyock pulled out a dagger from under his coat sleeve and brandished the weapon about. “I can’t marry you now, Eliza. And although I made certain my name never appeared in the gossip rags this morning, it is known you were to be my wife. The posted banns at church alone are going to humiliate me.”

  “And you expect me to pay you for that?”

  Meyock, with his gray hair and cold stare, approached her. “Haven House is still to be sold. And when that deal goes through, I will take the profits.”

  No one was going to sell Haven House out from under her.

  “The house is no longer on the market, I’m afraid,” Freddie said from the doorway, a pistol in his hand.

  Archie ran up to him. “Shoot him. Now.”

  Freddie didn’t comment.

  “Tell your story, Archibald,” Meyock said. “Or I’ll tell it for you.”

  “Don’t believe a word he says, Lizzie.�
� Archie wipe his brow, beads of sweat now dripping down his face. “It’s just a pack of suspected rumors, nothing more.”

  She turned to Meyock. “My brother should be of no concern of yours, Kenneth. Leave here and we’ll forget all of this.”

  “Maybe you will and maybe that pitiful brother of yours will, but Prince Frederick won’t.” He turned to Freddie. “Isn’t that right, Your Royal Highness?”

  Freddie inched into the drawing room. “A pistol is quicker than a blade.”

  Meyock smirked, his eyes going as black as the wool of his coat. “But a blade has more chances of succeeding. A pistol only has one shot.”

  In a flash, Kenneth was on her, his arm wrapped tightly about her waist. He brought his dagger to her neck.

  “Let Lady Eliza go,” Freddie said.

  “Sorry, but I won’t even consider that until Lord Littlefield tells his story.” He motioned his chin toward Archie, then toward the sofa.

  Her brother scooted across the room and sat.

  “Now start from the beginning.” Meyock’s dagger pressed into her throat. “And tell them both the truth.”

  Archie swallowed. “Some people have said I was born on the same night as a maid’s son and that Lord and Lady Littlefield had lost their boy and the maid who had given birth to a live son, died in delivering the child.”

  She’d never heard such sordid lies. “That’s not true, Archie. I never heard our parents mention anything like that.”

  Freddie inched closer to her.

  Meyock stepped back. “Easy there, Prince. I will kill her. I have the know how to do so and the experience.”

  Eliza swore she’d heard Freddie curse. He stopped in his tracks, but kept his pistol aimed at Meyock. Which could very well be her own head considering how close together she and Kenneth were standing.

  “Go on, Littlefield,” Meyock ordered.

  “At university, those rumors started up again, thanks to this bastard.” Archie pointed to Meyock. “It was all because of that stupid society I joined. I just wanted to belong to something. Something not associated with my damn title, as I don’t even know if it is rightfully mine or not.”

  “I’m sure you are a Littlefield,” Freddie said. “But I’m more curious as to why Meyock here has stirred up these rumors again?”

  The smell of whiskey fanned her face. It was one thing being held captive by a sordid soul like Meyock, but adding drink into the mix made it a hundred times more dangerous. What if the man’s hand slipped?

  She’d lose her neck, that’s what. “I’ll give you the funds that support Haven House. Will that settle the matter?”

  Meyock tightened his hold around her waist. “No. It’s not enough. I dig up stories like Lord Littlefield’s to keep my organization financially solvent, but I need many stories to accomplish my ultimate goal. And I want a promise I will not be hunted anymore. While I am far from being innocent, I did not kill Lord Blue. In truth, I don’t know who murdered the Prime Minister.”

  “But you founded the anti-monarchist movement that did produce Blue’s killer,” Freddie said. “I can’t let that go.”

  “Not even for the woman you love?”

  Freddie laughed. “Love? Eliza? I think you have heard one too many rumors, sir.”

  Her heart sank. He’d been lying to her all along. Maybe Freddie even knew about Archie and his damn club. What if that was the case? What if he was just using her? Maybe even set her up, hoping she’d show up at Montgrieve House last night? So many thoughts flitted through her head. And not one of them was in Freddie’s favor. Nor Archie’s, but at least her brother had an excuse, though he should have told her his fears years ago. Or in the least, when their parents died, and he was only left with just her. Stupid men. All of them.

  The sound of the back door slamming, echoed through the room.

  Meyock pressed his dagger into Eliza’s neck, this time drawing blood.

  Archie gasped.

  Freddie aimed his pistol and fired. He missed Meyock, but only by a hair. And the mishap didn’t stop him. The gun was out of his hand in a flash, his feet running.

  Eliza didn’t know what slammed her first, Freddie’s elbow or Meyock’s fist, but whatever one had won out, it was enough to send her to the floor, her mind spinning.

  Archie came to her side and pulled her into the corner, safe from scuffling feet and moving body parts.

  The sound of flesh punching flesh resonated at her ears.

  “I’ll stop the bleeding,” Archie said, ripping strips of his shirt and holding it tight at her neck. “Don’t die on me, Lizzie. Please don’t.”

  Her vision blurred.

  Her hearing faded.

  “Lady Eliza?” Bosworth’s voice faintly touched her ears, but only for a second and then she was out, her last thought belonging to Freddie and that damn comfortable bed he owned.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later…

  Freddie sat at the breakfast table, his father at the head, his mother already finished eating and off to redesign one of the palace’s cottages. She even dragged his brothers with her, save for Kit and Edward who remained at the table with him.

  “I hear you have gone to war,” King Bertram said, glaring at him.

  He eyed Kit and Eddie, but neither of the two looked up at him, both lost to their newspapers. “Sorry, Papa, but you’ve heard wrong.”

  “That’s not the account the British told your brothers.”

  “They are mistaken.”

  “Said you fought well.”

  “It’s not true.”

  King Bertram toyed with the eggs on his plate, the clatter of sterling silver clinking against china echoing through the air. “I once went to war, and like you, never told my father. Of course, I hadn’t sailed off for the Continent, which if you do decide to have another go at that in the future, I would appreciate knowing beforehand. Your mother would kill me if something had happened to you.” The man paused, took a deep breath. “And I would be devastated.”

  Those words were the most endearing sentence his father had ever said to him. “Understood.”

  “As for my own war story,” the king continued, “it was only a small battle on the border between Countavia and the Northern Territories.”

  He hadn’t heard this tale of his father’s before. The man simply didn’t speak much of things other than the kingdom’s current politics, mention of his younger days almost non-existent.

  “I was injured,” the king added. “Just a nick of the knee that came on the last day of fighting. The headlines labeled me a hero, when in fact I was not. I tripped and had the good fortune of shooting my enemy because my rifle had gone off in the fall. It did bring the man down and cause him and his small cluster of soldiers to retreat. But it was all on accident.”

  “Still, you saved Countavia.” He enjoyed listening to his father speak. It made him feel more like family than just a prince in a long line of royals who lived solely for their country and nothing else.

  “What was your injury?” King Bertram asked.

  “I was bayonetted.”

  “Nasty weapons, those things are.”

  “I survived. Though the incident did not send troops retreating.”

  The king stood. “You did more than I did. And for that, Countavia thanks you. As do I.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Kit put down his paper, as did Eddie. “He has a woman, father.”

  “Really?”

  “She isn’t a royal, though,” Eddie added.

  King Bertram stared at Freddie. “Does she make you happy?”

  “I don’t know. Yet. Though I suppose she could.”

  His father looked away and fidgeted with one of the gold buttons on his waistcoat, then gazed back to Freddie. “Charlotte and I were fortunate. We made a good match, though it was arranged. However, I don’t suggest arranged marriages. They might not always work.”

  “Thank you for the advice.” He wasn’t sure he wasn
’t going to kill Kit and Eddie for having revealed his little secret about Eliza. Though to be fair, probably nothing would come of the relationship since Lizzie hadn’t even called for him these past two weeks. “I don’t think marriage is something needing to be discussed at this point, Papa.”

  “Why not?”

  Kit let out a deep breath. “The dull-witted fool refuses to call on the woman.”

  “Is that so?” King Bertram was not easing up this morning.

  What the bloody hell had gotten into his father? And his brothers, for that matter.

  “I am not suited for her.”

  His father returned to his seat and reached for Freddie’s arm. “You are a prince of Countavia. That alone makes you worthy by legal statute. But on a personal level, you are my son. And I know your heart, Frederick. You are far worthier than any of us. Don’t ever second guess yourself.” The king looked at Kit and Eddie. “These two on the other hand, could use your guidance. The one with his dratted like of cards and other with the misconception that I am dying. Do you know Kit had me in my grave twice this year, so far? Twice! Both times the comment earned him a swat of that chair rung, by your mother, but I stopped the woman, God bless her soul.”

  It took ever last bit of restraint to stifle his laugh. But in the end Freddie could not contain himself.

  “Oh, just get it out, Freddie,” Edward said, giggling himself.

  Kit followed.

  As did the king.

  A minute later, his father said, “Go get the woman who owns your heart, Freddie. Make her happy. You deserve it.”

  He didn’t need to be told a second time.

  ***

  Eliza lounged in bed, her neck still a bit sore from where that blasted Meyock had cut her. Too bad he hadn’t turned out to be the killer Freddie was hunting, though he was a member of the beast’s club. Hopefully some information from Archie’s diary will prove useful to the prince and his brothers.

  She turned over and stared out the window.