The Caress of a Commander [retail]

by Linda Rae Sande

  The Caress of a Commander

  Linda Rae Sande

  Contents

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  1. A Gambler Considers the Odds

  2. Brothers Enjoy a Brandy on Their Last Day at Sea

  3. Homecoming

  4. Marriage on the Mind

  5. In Search of a Missing Woman

  6. A Shopping Trip Yields Clothes and Curiosity

  7. A Man of Business Minds His Own

  8. A Stepmother Explains a Few Things

  9. The First Soirée

  10. A Father and Son Discuss a Woman

  11. Trading Places

  12. An Earl Heads to Oxfordshire

  13. Lady Jane Meets An Earl ... Or Does She?

  14. Lady Lucida is Saved from an Amorous Potted Palm

  15. Welcome to Oxfordshire

  16. A Commoner Crashes a Ball

  17. A Man Finds a Woman

  18. A Father and Son Discuss Love

  19. A Secret Revealed

  20. Taking Stock of a Poor Situation

  21. Conflicted Thoughts

  22. Curiosity Over a Chit

  23. A Morning Changes Everything

  24. An Aunt and an Uncle Wonder About a Niece

  25. An Evening at the Theatre, Part One

  26. An Evening at the Theatre, Part Two

  27. A Marchioness Seduces Her Husband

  28. A Position with a Pirate?

  29. A Brother Visits a Sister

  30. A Marquess Confronts a Viscount

  31. Tea Time

  32. A Stepmother Warns of Trouble Ahead

  33. Brothers Speak of Bastards

  34. A Walk in the Garden

  35. A Niece Confides in an Aunt

  36. Musical Chairs at a Musicale

  37. A Brother and Sister Share Their Tales

  38. A Game of Horsey

  39. Making an Impression Before Dinner

  40. An Aunt is Put to the Test

  41. Dinner and a Proposal

  42. A Bastard Makes His Case During the Intermission

  43. One More Day

  44. A House Tour

  45. A House to Call Their Own

  46. A Trip to Bampton

  47. Fishing for Advice

  48. A Bedchamber to Call His Own

  49. A Heart to Heart to Mend a Broken Heart

  50. An Earl and Countess Contemplate the Future

  Excerpt

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  The Caress of a Commander

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 Linda Rae Sande

  V1.2

  Cover photographs © Period Images and © iStockPhoto.com

  Cover art by KGee Designs. All rights reserved - used with permission.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  http://www.lindaraesande.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9964433-2-6

  Created with Vellum

  To those who served in the armed forces,

  then and now—thank you for your service.

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  The Daughters of the Aristocracy

  The Kiss of a Viscount

  The Grace of a Duke

  The Seduction of an Earl

  The Sons of the Aristocracy

  Tuesday Nights

  The Widowed Countess

  My Fair Groom

  The Sisters of the Aristocracy

  The Story of a Baron

  The Passion of a Marquess

  The Desire of a Lady

  The Brothers of the Aristocracy

  The Love of a Rake

  The Caress of a Commander

  The Epiphany of an Explorer

  The Widows of the Aristocracy

  The Gossip of a Earl

  The Enigma of a Widow

  The Cousins of the Aristocracy

  The Promise of a Gentleman

  The Pride of a Gentleman

  Chapter 1

  A Gambler Considers the Odds

  Early in 1810

  The markers were spread out on the top of a large mahogany desk, spread out so their numbers were more impressive—or depressing—to anyone who dared a glance. “What the hell is going on?” Maxwell Higgins, Earl of Greenley, asked with a hint of menace as he regarded the man who stood before him. Sober for the first time in several days, Greenley felt a dull throbbing in the back of his skull that made it hard for him to concentrate. “Who bought those?” he added, realizing the markers had been held by several different gaming hells scattered around London. Swallowing hard, he realized he might be in some kind of trouble, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure how his gambling markers would have him escorted from Brook’s—in the middle of a game of hazard—to Whitehall. He still held the dice in one hand!

  Although it was his first visit to the Foreign Office, he never expected to be confronted by evidence of his gambling in one of the offices located therein. Especially the office of Matthew Fitzsimmons, Viscount Chamberlain.

  “The Crown,” Matthew, replied in answer to the earl’s query as to who had purchased the markers. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Does the number surprise you?” he asked, giving the earl his most stern expression.

  In all honesty, the markers didn’t amount to much. A few hundred pounds, perhaps. It was the amount of money the earl lost on a regular basis in the form of large denomination coins and pound notes that had the viscount concerned.

  Greenley sighed before shaking his head. “I suppose not,” he replied. “But, why? I could easily pay these off—”

  “But you didn’t. How much do you suppose you have lost this past year?” Alex Bradley asked, his posture much like the viscount’s. “In the form of cash?”

  The earl turned to look at the other person in the office, as if noticing him for the first time.

  “Who is this?” Greenley asked of Viscount Chamberlain, his tone suggesting he had no patience for the proceedings.

  “Alex Bradley,” Matthew replied with a hint of impatience. “He’s our agent on this operation.”

  Although Alex was considerably younger than Matthew, he had more experience working in the field, his assignments taking him away from London for months at a time. For this particular assignment, Alex had agreed to take on the persona of a traveling gentleman who enjoyed card games. It was his intention to follow the money once it left English shores and determine where it was going, with whom, and how it was spent.

  “Operation?” The earl shook his head, wondering why he had been escorted to the Foreign Office at three in the afternoon on a rather brilliant day. A drink had just been delivered to his table by one of the footmen at exactly the moment Matthew Fitzsimmons appeared and requested a moment of his time. Before he knew it, he was stuffed into a smelly hackney and on his way to Whitehall. He remembered thinking he could have been enjoying a day of sailing, or a trip to his hunting lodge, or a ride in Hyde Park.

  Or finishing his game of hazard!

  Truth be told, he wouldn’t have been doing any of those other things no matter the weather. Ever since the
death of his wife shortly after the stillbirth of their fifth child, Maxwell Higgins had taken solace in alcohol and gambling. Although he didn’t usually do either to excess, even he had noticed his nights ending later in the morning and his losses mounting. He rarely gambled on credit, making sure to bring banknotes and a few guineas with him to the higher-end gaming hells he preferred.

  His opponents had at one time been familiar gentlemen, fellow members of the House of Lords at Parliament. The past few months had featured new opponents, however. Men he had never seen before. They all seemed to be gentlemen—well-dressed and well-spoken—some claiming to have moved to London from more rural locations or visiting the capital on business. Their manner of speech implied they were British. Now that he was in Viscount Chamberlain’s office in Whitehall, the Earl of Greenley suddenly wondered if there was more to his opponents than he realized.

  “British money has gone missing,” Matthew stated with an arched eyebrow. “Thousands. Hundreds of pounds every night. Bank notes and coins get spent in the form of lost bets, but they don’t end up back in circulation or in accounts at the banks.”

  Greenley frowned. “So? Maybe people are saving their money in their mattresses,” he countered.

  “Or maybe it’s being taken to the Continent,” the viscount replied, his impatience with the earl apparent. “To France. Used to fund spy networks, or buy ammunition, or pay for Napoleon’s latest palatial house.”

  Sighing, Greenley shook his head. “What has this got to do with me?” he asked in exasperation.

  As if on cue, Alex stepped forward. “You’ve been identified as an easy mark. You play with guineas and pound notes. You lose far more than you win. You’re an easy target for someone looking to leave a gaming hell with a good deal of cash.”

  The earl swallowed, realizing that Alex Bradley was describing exactly what had been happening lately. Greenley glanced at Viscount Chamberlain, knowing the man had been working in the Foreign Office since before he inherited the Chamberlain viscountcy. “Are you charging me with a crime?” he asked, sotto voce.

  “No,” Matthew replied with a shake of his head. “We are, however, appealing to your sense of patriotism in the hopes you’ll assist us with our mission.”

  Suddenly intrigued, Greenley straightened in his chair. “What do I have to do?” he asked carefully, his eyes flitting between the viscount and the agent.

  “Gamble. With men you don’t recognize, or perhaps with those that you do but don’t know well. Lose just as you usually do...” At this, Greenley’s frown changed to a scowl. “... And simply provide us with the amount you lost and the name or description or the name of the man who won most of it if you know it. We’ll take it from there.” He didn’t add that there would be other agents watching the gaming—watching and reporting back to him.

  His expression appearing a bit dubious, the earl regarded the viscount for a moment. “What’s in it for me?” he countered, not especially impressed with their plans for him.

  “Money to gamble.”

  The earl jerked his attention back to Alex. “How much?”

  The agent had to suppress the urge to sigh. Even though giving money to a man who was addicted to gambling with the hope he would use it to gamble was a sure bet, his operation still had a budget. “We’ll start with fifty pounds a night for three nights a week and see how it goes,” Alex replied, trying hard not to wince as he said the words. His annual salary wasn’t even as much as what would be spent in a month on this operation!

  He studied the earl’s reaction as he made the comment, and he wasn’t disappointed when he saw Greenley’s eyebrow arch in appreciation. “You can supplement your bets with your own funds, of course, but we won’t be reimbursing you for any losses you incur,” Alex warned. “Nor will we be buying any of your markers.”

  Greenley nodded his understanding. “If I don’t agree?”

  Alex traded a glance with Matthew. “The Crown will attempt to collect on these markers, which means you’ll have to pay them off,” he replied with a nod toward the markers spread out on the mahogany desk. “If you do, you’re free to gamble away with the understanding there won’t be anyone coming along to bail you out should your losses mount up again.”

  The earl dared a sideways glance at the viscount. “And if they don’t succeed in collecting?” Although his coffers were still rather healthy, they were far lighter than they had been when he inherited the Greenley earldom from his father. Still, he was fairly sure he had the funds necessary to dispatch the markers and still see to his regular expenses. There wouldn’t be any funds to use for gambling, however. At least, not until the next harvest. He would be back to having to use markers in the meantime should his losses continue.

  Matthew sighed. “Debtor’s prison,” he stated with a nod.

  Greenley frowned, about to accuse the viscount of blackmail. He was an earl, for God’s sake! He had to still himself, though. In his rather sober state, his reasoning was far more logical than usual. If the Crown made good on the threat, there would be repercussions. Even if he did agree to the scheme, there was a chance his continued gambling could draw more attention to him and to his heirs. “What about my family?” he wondered aloud. His sons were nearing their majorities, one daughter had made her come-out, and another would do so in a few years.

  “Your sons are free to continue their lives in London or in Staffordshire at your estate there,” Matthew replied with a shrug. “I would recommend you send Lady Beatrice to live with a relative. She would do well to have protection since you aren’t home much to provide it,” he said quietly, referring to the earl’s youngest child.

  Tamping down the sudden anger he felt at the insult, Greenley had to admit the viscount had a good point. “I will not send Barbara away, though,” he stated firmly. “She’s... she sees to the household. Pendleton House needs her,” he said, referring to his mansion near Grosvenor Square.

  Ever since his wife’s death, he had avoided spending much time at the house, preferring to stay at his club or in a series of high-end gaming hells during the afternoons and nights. At least he made it to his own bed in the early morning hours, although there were times he wondered how he got there. His drinking had increased with his gambling, he knew. “Besides, Barbara has made her come-out and might land a husband during the upcoming Season,” he added with a hint of hope in his voice.

  Although the idea of his oldest daughter marrying and moving out of his house held little appeal, it wouldn’t be fair to keep her there if she had an opportunity for an advantageous marriage. If he sent her to Staffordshire, he rather doubted she would find a husband worthy of her. He could imagine her arguing with him on the matter, wondering how he would be able to manage without her.

  At least, he hoped she might. He hadn’t spoken with her much lately.

  “Anything else I should know?” Greenley asked, wishing the throbbing in the back of his head would cease.

  Alex exchanged glances with Matthew again. “Depending on how much you lose and who pays witness to it, you may become the on dit in London,” Matthew warned. “The gossips love to remark on those they think might be headed for a fall.” He paused a moment. “And you cannot tell a soul you’ve agreed to do this.”

  Greenley nodded his understanding. If the Crown was going to fund his gambling from now on, he wouldn’t have to touch his coffers. A deal, to be sure. A deal with the devil, perhaps. “I’ll do it then,” he finally stated. “When do I start?”

  Alex allowed a wan smile. “Tonight, if you’d like. Just remember, though, you have a limit,” he added with an arched eyebrow.

  Sighing, Greenley gave a shrug. “Understood.”

  When told she would be moving to Staffordshire to live with her aunt, Lady Beatrice took the news in stride, especially when her father assured her she could return to London when it was time for her come-out in a few years.

  Lady Barbara, on the other hand, wasn’t as happy to learn she would be staying in L
ondon. Although she was fine with seeing to the running of the Pendleton House staff and grounds, she no longer had the support of friends she had met while attending finishing school. Most were young matrons now, married and mistresses of their own households. Some even had children. Others had moved to their family’s estates in other parts of England.

  Besides the lack of close friends with whom to confide, she found the subtle change in her father’s behavior rather alarming. Ever since her mother’s death, Greenley seemed to avoid spending time at Pendleton House. His already late nights grew later, his drunkenness more frequent. Rumors of his excessive gambling reached her by way of whispers behind gloved hands. When she asked him about it directly, Greenley told her she had nothing to worry about. “Besides, I am not allowed to tell,” he would say. “But rest assured, all is well.”

  Except all is not well, Barbara thought. She couldn’t help but notice the stares of other ladies when she paid calls or visited the local lending library. When she shopped, she was sure clerks were watching her, thinking she would steal their wares since they seemed to doubt she had the funds to pay for them.

  When the butler pulled her aside to ask if staff salaries would be paid on time that year, her alarm only increased, although when she spoke with her father on the matter—during one of his rare sober days—he promptly came up with enough money to cover salaries as well as provide modest bonuses for everyone on the staff. He even gave her fifty pounds with instructions she should purchase a new wardrobe. But when she wondered aloud how much he planned for her dowry, the earl merely shrugged and said the amount was negotiable.

  More concerned than ever, Barbara realized she needed a way out, an escape plan that would allow her to exit Pendleton House and the scandal surrounding her father. With the Season about to start—Easter was mere weeks away—she turned to the only man for whom she had ever felt the least bit of affection. He wasn’t an ideal solution. He wasn’t a man she had ever imagined marrying. He might be the son of a marquess, but he had plans for a career in the British Navy, plans that would keep him away from England for years at a time.