by Henke, Shirl
TEXAS VISCOUNT
By
SHIRL HENKE
Previously published by Leisure Books
Copyright 2004 by Shirl Henke
All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means without the written permission of the publisher.
* * * *
Other electronic works by Shirl Henke:
* * * *
A FIRE IN THE BLOOD
* * * *
“Billie Jo and the Valentine Crow”
* * * *
BROKEN VOWS
* * * *
McCRORY’S LADY
* * * *
The Blackthorne Trilogy:
LOVE A REBEL…LOVE A ROGUE
WICKED ANGEL
WANTON ANGEL
* * * *
House of Torres Books:
PARADISE & MORE
RETURN TO PARADISE
* * * *
The Cheyenne Books:
SUNDANCER
THE ENDLESS SKY
CAPTURE THE SUN
* * * *
The Texas Trilogy:
CACTUS FLOWER
MOON FLOWER
NIGHT FLOWER
* * * *
“Surprise Package
The American Lords:
YANKEE EARL
REBEL BARON
TEXAS VISCOUNT
Chapter One
“Captain Cantrell, sir, you are out of uniform!” Theodore Roosevelt bellowed at the man standing buck naked beside the bed wherein a young woman with tangled dark hair huddled beneath the scant cover of a rumpled sheet.
Joshua Cantrell, whose sole accoutrement was the six-shooter clasped in his hand, quickly lowered the weapon as two burly Secret Service Agents trained their Colt Army specials on the Texan. TR dismissed them with a wave of his hand, leaving the trio alone in the garishly opulent room.
It was difficult to decide whose face was the redder, Cantrell’s or that of his former commanding officer. Certainly Cece, Josh's companion of the evening, felt no embarrassment, but then Cece had been employed at the Trail Ride Saloon and Bordello far too long to be bothered by anything less than a full-fledged longhorn stampede. Besides, she hadn't the faintest idea that the solidly squat man squinting fiercely through pince-nez eyeglasses was the President of the United States, sworn in only weeks earlier after the assassination of William McKinley.
“Well, since I was already at attention when you came bustin' in, Colonel, should I get dressed now?” Josh drawled with as much sangfroid as he could muster, considering the circumstances.
“First, please ask the young lady to leave,” Roosevelt snapped, turning his head to allow Cece privacy to slip from the bed and don the purple satin robe tossed on the floor beside her corset...and a welter of Cantrell’s own clothing.
Roosevelt's face was definitely the redder of the two. The whore looked at Josh for confirmation before complying. “I owe you one, darlin’ ” he said with a wink, fishing his wallet from his jeans and stuffing a wad of bills into the deep cleavage between her breasts as she belted the robe. With the Yankee intruder still staring steadfastly at a gas-lamp fixture on the wall, Cece flounced out the door, slamming it loudly in her wake, all the while cursing in Spanish.
Josh yanked on the well-worn pair of jeans and a cotton shirt while his former Rough Rider commanding officer paced. The colonel had always had way too much nervous energy, to Josh's way of thinking. As he slid on his hand-tooled leather boots, he asked, “To what do I owe the honor, Mr. President?”
The frank bafflement in young Cantrell's voice broke into Roosevelt's tumbling thoughts. He snorted. “Still doesn't sound right. Call me Colonel. I'm used to that.”
“I reckon it was pretty sudden, taking over when that madman shot President McKinley, but after being ‘Your Excellency’ the governor of New York, I can't imagine you didn't figure to be president eventually.”
“Eventually. Not last month—and certainly not under such horrific circumstances. You see those guards I'm saddled with?” He gestured to the closed door outside which his protectors lurked. “Damn nuisance. I'd rather take care of myself.” He opened his jacket, revealing a Smith & Wesson hammerless .38 caliber revolver tucked neatly inside his suit pocket.
“Maybe those new Treasury fellows aren't such a bad idea, all things considered. There are safer places for you to be than in Fort Worth on a Saturday night, Colonel—not that I'm not glad to see you,” Josh added. “Just surprised.”
“And inconvenienced. My apologies for the young lady,” TR replied dryly.
“You and I both know Cece isn't a lady, and you said ‘for’ not ‘to.’ Your Yankee Puritanism's still showing, sir.” Josh's grin was decidedly impenitent. This was not the first time his commander, a staunch Episcopalian and family man, had found his subordinate's morals wanting. “What can you expect, Colonel? I grew up in a place just like this. It's sorta homey to me.”
“You might have had the misfortune to have been raised by soiled doves, but by Jove, man, you're a viscount now! You simply must learn to conduct yourself with decorum.”
Ignoring the less-than-flattering comment about his upbringing—something he permitted from only a few men—Josh asked, “How the hell did you find out about that title business?”
“I have my ways. Springy's father was a long-time friend of your great-uncle's. He's informed me the old gentleman's beside himself over your refusal.”
“Just because some passel of papers came from this Earl Hamilton—”
“Hambleton,” TR corrected. “His title is Earl of Hambleton. Viscount Wesley is the courtesy title you'll assume.”
“With all due respect, Colonel, I'm not assumin' anything,” Josh replied stubbornly. “I'm no viscount. I'm a Texan.”
“Lord Hambleton is the head of the Cantrell family, and you are his great-nephew and sole surviving heir. You have a duty to go to England. Good heavens, man, can't you see what an opportunity this is for you? You never knew your parents. Now you have a living kinsman who's searched for you for over twenty years.”
“I haven't done too bad without any help these past twenty years,” Josh replied with a hint of defiance in his voice.
Roosevelt gave a rueful chuckle. “Yes, I know. While I lost my shirt in the cattle business in the Dakotas, you made a fortune here in Texas. Your prominence in Texas politics was what finally enabled the earl's agents to locate you. You could've been a governor yourself if you'd wanted it.”
“My time in the legislature plumb cured me of political ambition,” Josh replied dryly. “As to this nobility business, Cantrell's not that unusual a name. I can't rightly be sure it's even my own. Gertie and her girls may have picked it out when my mother died.”
“Then how do you explain that ring?” TR asked, eyeing the distinctive gold and onyx signet Josh had worn ever since he was big enough to fit it on his finger. “That is the Hambleton family crest.”
“Maybe one of Gertie's girls took it in trade and kept it for me,” Josh replied.
“I'd never have believed it. You're afraid—afraid that you won't measure up. By Jove, that's it!”
Josh bristled. “I measured up by making my first million dollars in the cattle business before I turned twenty-seven. And you, of all men, should know I'm not afraid of anything.”
“Of Spanish bullets, no. I'd never question your courage under fire, Captain. But you're afraid of meeting an eighty-year-old man. Your great-uncle's investigation was quite thorough. You're his heir.”
“What if I am? Why should I go gallivanting across the Atlantic? Remember how seasick I was just crossing to Cuba? I have a business to run here in Fort Worth, a right big business. And, come to think of it, why do y
ou care whether or not I become this count or viscount or whatever the hell I'm supposed to be? Seems to me, being president would give you more important things to worry about.”
“Well, ahem...” Roosevelt cleared his throat and resumed pacing. “Perhaps this discussion calls for a bit of libation.” He stalked quickly to the door and opened it, addressing the two large men waiting deferentially in the hallway. “Fetch up a pail of cold beer, if you please, Mr. Shane...or”—he turned to Josh— “would you prefer something stronger? What was the name of that frightful stuff you brought to training camp in San Antonio?”
“Who Shot John.”
“Beg pardon?” TR said, blinking through his thick lenses.
“It's a brand of bourbon. The bartender knows,” Josh said to the agent.
“Fetch it along. I'm sure the establishment will accommodate,” Roosevelt commanded. The guard nodded and closed the door.
“Considering how abstemious you normally are, this must be good,” Josh said grimly. “I know your Brit buddy Cecil Spring Rice is involved. How about that Anglophile secretary of state, John Hay?”
TR threw back his head and filled the room with booming laughter, revealing the set of incredibly large white teeth that had been the delight of editorial cartoonists for over a decade. “For one who purports to care nothing about what happens beyond your vast self-contained kingdom of Texas, you do know a considerable amount about Washington politics.”
“Someone's got to watch the hencoop so the Repub—er, the foxes don't steal the chickens,” Josh replied with a grin.
Roosevelt shook his head reprovingly. “Alas, ever the benighted Democrat.”
“You didn't come here to convert me, Colonel. You know better.”
TR sighed and resumed pacing. “No, I did not. Your political leanings are regrettable, but you may still serve your country in a unique way”
“What way?” Cantrell asked suspiciously His instincts were humming. And he didn't much fancy the tune.
“Are you aware that Great Britain and Japan are presently negotiating a treaty? No, I thought not,” he replied before Josh could even shake his head.
“But I can see the advantages of an alliance for both sides—and for America,” Josh interjected just as a discreet knock sounded. He opened the door and accepted the bottle from the agent with thanks, then twisted the cork and took a long thirsty pull. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he went on, “It's the Czar's interest in China that's got your back up.”
“Most astute, Captain. Yes, since the Russians have almost finished the Trans-Siberian Railroad, they can move troops from Moscow to Vladivostok rather more quickly than anyone in London or Tokyo would desire. They have always had designs on controlling the whole of the eastern Asiatic continent, which would menace British India, not to mention Hong Kong. And our own newly acquired Philippine Islands.”
“Also play the devil with the other powers' China trade, wouldn't it?” Josh asked rhetorically. “The Japanese could provide a counterbalance to Russia...if you can control them.” He slouched back in an overstuffed chair and took another pull on the whiskey bottle, studying Roosevelt closely. When he offered to pour a glass of the amber liquid, the colonel declined as Cantrell knew he would. Nothing stronger than beer or wine had ever passed his lips in the decade Josh had known Teddy, a nickname he knew the colonel detested.
“We can control the Japanese. I went to Harvard with an excellent chap, Kentaro Kaneko. He's highly placed at their court. I know what their objectives are in the Far East, and right now they coincide with ours—and with Britain's.”
“What's that have to do with me?” The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end now. He knew something was afoot, to bring Roosevelt halfway across the country, in secret, only weeks after he'd assumed office.
“A cabal of Russians in London is contriving to disrupt the negotiations between the British and the Japanese. There's even been an attempt to assassinate the Japanese minister, Hayashi. All hushed up, but if another is made...well, it will break the deal.”
“So, let that prime minister, Salisbury, handle it. He's the galoot in charge over there.”
Roosevelt gave a toothy grin. “You always did love playing as though you had no more brains than a balloon, but I saw through you in Cuba. That's why you're the perfect man for this job.”
“What job?” Josh sat forward in his chair and set the whiskey bottle on the table.
Roosevelt fixed Cantrell with a steady gaze, made more penetrating by the thick lenses of his glasses. “A member of the royal family may be implicated. King Edward's brother Leopold's second son, George Clarence, a ne'er-do-well if ever there was one.”
“From what I've read, the Wettins never had a shortage of those,” Josh said dryly. “How's Georgie tied to the Russians?”
“He has a Russian mistress.”
Josh whistled low.
“Yes, a pretty kettle of fish, isn't it? No sooner has this Jack the Ripper nonsense died down after the king's nincompoop son Albert Victor died, than they are faced with one of Edward's nephews possibly involved in high treason. Very touchy”
“Why rope and drag me into this fracas? I'm an outsider. There's nothing I can do. Hell, Colonel, I barely speak English, according to your Harvard friends. I sure as shootin' don't speak Russian.”
TR smirked. “Ah, but you do speak Spanish.”
“What in blue blazes has that got to do with anything?” Josh's head was beginning to spin, and it wasn't from the whiskey.
“You're considerably smarter than you let on. Just play the part of a ripsnortin' cowpuncher to the hilt. You possess a rare talent for espionage. Remember how you posed as a Spanish soldier and slipped into Santiago to assess their troop strength?”
Josh was forced to smile reluctantly. “I had to hold my arm across my left side the whole while so they couldn't see the bullet hole in the uniform. I was damn lucky my border Spanish was good enough to fool those drunk guardsmen. So now you want me to be a spy for the British.”
It was not a question. Roosevelt didn't treat it as such. ‘‘And for the United States. Since the late war, we have a great deal at stake in the Pacific. I know you've never been one to shirk when duty calls.”
Cantrell knew he was fighting a losing battle. Teddy was about to charge up another hill, and the devil take any man that got in his way. He sighed in resignation, but before he could negotiate some conditions, the president bucked him off another horse. “Lord Hambleton is your only living kinsman. He's eighty and in failing health, else he'd have made the journey here to Texas to convince you to become his heir. Springy says he's a grand old fellow. I think you should give this whole viscount thing a chance as well, Josh. There's nothing to be afraid of.”
Cantrell stiffened. “I'm not afraid of any old man—I don't care if he eats a steer for breakfast every morning, hide and all. All right, I'll try to catch your assassins.”
“Bully! Then let me fill you in on the details Secretary Hay's received from the British ambassador...”
Joshua Cantrell, soon to be the seventh Viscount Wesley and heir to the Earl of Hambleton, took a deep drink of whiskey and thought things over as Roosevelt talked. He had agreed to go to England. However, he had not agreed to remain there after the job was done.
* * * *
“Sabrina, you simply must help me! This is the best position I've ever had. I should hate so to lose it,” Edmund Whistledown implored his cousin. The cadaverously thin young man wrung his hands, ready to go down on his knees if necessary.
Miss Sabrina Edgewater sat primly on the edge of the well-worn Chippendale chair in her modest sitting room. She'd wanted to have all the furniture re-upholstered but could not afford it on her modest income. And now here came dear, hapless Edmund, once again in trouble, begging her for money which she could ill spare.
“I saw him staring at this wretched suit the day he took me on as a clerk. And the tailor won't release my new clothing unles
s I pay him, and I can't do that until Friday next when his lordship pays me. Crikey, Lord Hambleton will dismiss me without references if I appear in his office with frayed cuffs another day!”
Sabrina sighed as her young cousin suppressed tears. He'd always been an emotional child, thin and frail, picked upon by the other boys in school. After his parents died when he was seven, he had come to live with her family. She was fourteen then and had immediately become his self-appointed protector. As the eldest daughter of Squire Edgewater's large brood, she possessed, her father was fond of saying, the presence of a drill sergeant. Stern discipline worked well with her own wildly rebellious brothers, but she'd sensed immediately that the orphaned Edmund required a gentler hand.
She'd been redeeming him from tribulation ever since. Trouble seemed to follow her twenty-year-old cousin as naturally as mongrels chased a butcher wagon. Sighing, Sabrina asked, “How much will the tailor require for your suit?”
“Five pounds,” he whispered in trepidation.
She sprang to her feet. “Five pounds! What did he make it of—wool or gold?”
“Well, you see, it isn't just the suit...I required a whole new wardrobe. The roof on my flat leaks, and during that storm last week every stitch I own—including my shoes—was utterly ruined.” He paused a beat. “I'll lose my position, Coz.”
“Very well, but I shall have to write a bank draft for such a large sum.”
He brightened visibly, then immediately grew despondent once more. “Oh, but I have an assignment at eleven. That's why I'm supposed to be in good form. Lord Hambleton's dispatched me to meet the ship from America bearing his heir. I'd barely have time to change and be there if I can't pay the tailor immediately. See, his lordship's coach is outside.” He gestured through the shabby drapes to a handsome landau bearing the Hambleton crest.