Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman

by Ginny Hartman

  Elenore pasted a smile on her face as she entered. “Sorry it took so long, my lord. Tabitha had a hard time locating the honey.”

  “It's no bother at all,” came the earl's circumstantially cordial response. Apparently, the lady's unexpected visit had buoyed his mood.

  Chapter 21

  Friday, June 10, 1814

  Devon sat waiting for Pierce at his favorite corner table at White's, methodically drumming his fingers against the wood in his impatience. He was growing restless, feeling useless since he had commanded his father to return to Surrey under threat of making his financial situation known to his sister and brother-in-law, if he didn't do as Devon instructed. Fortunately, the likelihood of the duke finding out about the dire straits Lord Brattondale was in, due to his gambling, was enough to embarrass him, sending him straight back to Westbrooke Hall where he couldn't get himself into any further trouble. Hopefully.

  Though he was grateful his father wasn't in London, he had to admit his life was rather boring without the task of constantly keeping alert to his whereabouts. Instead, he tried to spend his time scouting out prospective ladies for marriage, but everyone he met he couldn't help but compare to Sister Genevieve. He didn't want to court somebody that was eager to become a countess or somebody with a large dowry just because he needed the money. He didn't want to court a proper lady raised with impeccable breeding. No, the only lady he was interested in courting was a wild and carefree chit with a sharp tongue, who also happened to be completely and totally married to the Lord.

  He pushed back from the table and rose to his feet, irritated with himself for thinking of and wanting what he couldn't have. He had already very nearly resorted to begging Sister Genevieve to reconsider her devotion to being a nun and be with him instead, but she had made it perfectly clear that nothing would stand in her way of sailing to America. Devon made his way over to the infamous betting books, hoping that he could find something to distract him from the vexing nun.

  Scanning the pages filled with a plethora of bets, ranging from the practical to the absurd, he was grateful to note that his father wasn't mentioned anywhere on its pages.

  “What bet are you placing tonight?”

  Devon turned to face Pierce, who had finally decided to show up, the betting book all but forgotten. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming.”

  Pierce laughed. “I'm still what they consider fashionably late. I had a hard time getting away from your sister.”

  The two began making their way back to the table. “Frankly, I do not want to hear about what my sister did to make you late. Some things a brother does not want to know.”

  Pierce ordered a drink from the server, before turning his attention back to Devon. “I wish I could give such a shocking excuse, but unfortunately my evening wasn't that delightful. Hope is pretty apprehensive about the upcoming birth of the baby. I think she fears I'll be gone when her time comes and she'll have no way of contacting me. It's getting harder and harder for me to slip away.”

  “I could have come to your home. I have nothing better to be doing,” Devon pointed out.

  “And why is that?”

  Devon shrugged but didn't respond. In the last few weeks, his life had been painfully dull. Without having to masquerade as Black Lightening and with no real interest in the marriage mart, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, though explaining that to Pierce didn't sound that appealing. He changed the subject instead. “Where's Lord Martineau these days? I thought he might come with you tonight.”

  “I guess you haven't heard that he recently wed.”

  “Really, to whom?”

  “The former Lady Felicity Pemberton. Nobody has seen him much since he wed, including myself. Though knowing Elliot the way I do, I'm not surprised.” Pierce's eyebrows wagged suggestively, as he grinned knowingly.

  It was silly of Devon to feel jealous, but he did. He wanted to be the one happily wed and enjoying his love's company not sulking around London trying to find something to give his life meaning. He wondered if there was a polite excuse he could come up with to get out of spending the evening with Pierce. He really wasn't in the mood to keep up a jovial pretense. He had to try and figure out what he was going to do about Sister Genevieve's passage to America. He knew he needed to keep his word to her, but with his brother-in-law already gone, he had no connections to anyone who could aide her. He knew it would be simple enough to purchase her fare, but he had also promised her safe passage with trustworthy people who would ensure her journey was comfortable and safe, and now he couldn't provide that. He was starting to feel useless. First, he couldn't keep his father from gambling away their much needed funds, nor could he manage to retrieve said funds, and secondly, he couldn't keep his end of the bargain he had made with Sister Genevieve.

  He was just about to tell Pierce he wasn't feeling well and needed to leave, when he felt somebody come up behind him. Before he could turn and see who it was, he heard them say, “Well if it isn't Lord Bridgerton.”

  Devon turned and beheld a stoic Lord Grayson. He wondered if it took him much effort to keep so little emotion showing on his face or if he was naturally so impassive. He rose in greeting, but Lord Grayson didn't seem concerned with formalities. Instead he ignored his gesture completely and sat in the empty chair between Pierce and Devon, acting as if he had been an invited guest.

  All but ignoring the duke, he turned to Devon, “I thought you weren't a gambling man.”

  Confused, Devon answered, “I'm not.”

  “Funny that I should find you at White's then and with a notorious gambler at that.”

  Pierce leaned forward and interjected himself into the conversation. “I don't gamble, at least not enough to be considered notorious.”

  Lord Grayson guffawed rudely. “What about your infamous wager that won you the hand of Lord Brattondale's daughter? Or have you already forgotten about the romantic way your marriage started?”

  Devon was surprised by the man's boldness. His eyes flickered to Pierce, waiting to see how he'd respond. His expression was fierce, and his black eyes looked dangerous. Lord Grayson was a fool to mess with the duke.

  Finally, Pierce spoke. His voice was low and angry as he said, “If you ever speak a single derogatory word regarding my wife, myself, or my marriage again, you'll regret the day you were born. Did you come here tonight seeking a death sentence or is there some other important matter that brought you? If so, I suggest you get on with it before I change my mind and act on my impulse to teach you a lesson right now.”

  Lord Grayson turned his attention back to Devon, oddly unconcerned with the duke's threats. “How has your father been? I haven't seen him in some time.”

  Devon's hackles instantly went up at the mention of his father. The only possible reason for Lord Grayson to be concerned with him was because he was interested in winning more of his money. Devon was sure many people were beginning to view his father as an easy target. “He's fine. Just spending some time at his estate,” he replied tersely.

  “Well, I was hoping to invite the two of you to a dinner party. I have a good friend who has recently introduced me to some very promising investments and thought that both of you may very well benefit from the knowledge he has agreed to share. It'll be an exclusive gathering,” he added, hoping it would up the appeal, then as an afterthought turned towards Pierce. “I suppose you may come as well.”

  Pierce snarled, “I don't waste my time on shady investments.”

  Lord Grayson turned back to Devon, ignoring the insult. “I'll send you a formal invite. Do you think you can commit to attending?”

  Truthfully, Devon didn't have much of a desire to attend, agreeing with Pierce's sentiments, but slowly an idea starting forming in his head. “I think I will take you up on the offer.”

  Lord Grayson graced him with a rare smile. “Very well.” He rose from the table, his purpose for being there fulfilled. “Expect a formal invite to arrive shortly. Good evening.” He
nodded cordially at Devon, then stiffly in Pierce's direction, before leaving.

  Pierce waited until the man was out of earshot before speaking. “I do not like that man at all. I think it's unwise of you to associate with him in anyway, especially regarding finances. I advise you not to go to his dinner party.”

  “Truthfully, I don't care much for him myself, but I will admit some curiosity in his friend's investments.”

  “I had no idea you were so interested in that sort of thing, but since you are, I would be more than happy to give you some advice. I have several diverse investments that are performing exceptionally well right now, and there's nothing illegal about them either.”

  “Do you think Lord Grayson is involved in something illegal?” Devon asked curiously.

  Pierce shrugged. “I couldn't say, but from what I do know of the man, he's not one to be trusted. I'm not one to beg, but I'll resort to begging if it'll keep you from associating with that man.”

  Devon was thoughtful for a moment, pondering on how much he should reveal to Pierce. He truly did like and respect his brother-in-law and didn't want to do anything that would disappoint him, but there was no way he was going to pass up an opportunity to gain access to Lord Grayson's home to search for his father's money, or at the very least, gain some insight into what he could have done with the money he had won from his father. “I agree with you, he's an unsavory character, and I promise to be careful in my dealings with him. I suppose I could always decline the invitation.” Though he suggested it to appease Pierce, he knew he wouldn't do it.

  “Very good.” Pierce breathed a sigh of relief and Devon knew he had successfully pacified him.

  ***

  Lord Grayson slipped out of White's into the dark night. The black carriage waiting for him on the curb blended in perfectly with the obsidian sky. As soon as he slid inside the carriage, the man asked, “Were you successful in your mission?”

  “But of course, he's agreed to come.”

  “And what of his father?”

  “He's currently spending time at his estate in Surrey, but Lord Bridgerton assured me he would extend the invite and encourage him to come.” It surprised him at how well the lies were beginning to slip off of his tongue, but he rationalized to himself that it was just a slight exaggeration of the truth, not a full-blown lie and the man didn't need to know the difference. Besides, he was confident that even if Lord Brattondale didn't attend, Lord Bridgerton could be coaxed into giving him the information he needed.

  “What did you say to lure them to your house?”

  “I promised them a friend would be in attendance with some valuable investment knowledge.”

  “And what happens when they show up and there's no such person or information?”

  “Who cares? All you told me I had to do was get them there and get the information you seek. I'm sure I'll come up with some valid excuse once they've arrived as to why my so called friend couldn't attend.”

  “Very well. I see you have this all under control. Get me the information I need and do not disappoint me or this will be the end of our little agreement.”

  Lord Grayson couldn't resist asking, “And if I do what you ask?”

  The man smiled wickedly. “Then I'll continue to keep your secret safe from your wife. It's as simple as that.”

  “Of course,” Lord Grayson replied cautiously. If there was one thing he knew for a fact, it was that nothing was ever that simple with the man. He had a sinking feeling that the man had a plan brewing and that Lord Grayson would find himself a central figure to his plan, a plan he was sure would be dangerous and foolhardy.

  Chapter 22

  Sunday, June 19, 1814

  Devon smiled as he approached the stables at Westbrooke Hall. He always loved returning home and seeing the familiar brick dwelling, but today he was particularly excited to return. Since receiving Lord Grayson's dinner party invitation, he had felt a renewed purpose in his life, if only short term. He was convinced that the money he had won from his father would either still be at his house somewhere or he had used it to invest in his friend's investment. Either way he was hoping to garner some new information on where the money had gone.

  But the real reason for his excitement was getting to see Sister Genevieve again. When he had left Westbrooke Hall after she had refused to consider his offer, he had planned on not seeing her again, but this gave him the perfect excuse. He dismounted Calvin, then handed him over to the stable boy, before sauntering off towards home.

  Entering the house, Clarence greeted him, not appearing the least bit surprised by his presence. He stood in the hall momentarily debating on what he should do first. His greatest desire was to see Sister Genevieve, but his growling stomach was becoming quite bothersome. He made the decision to go to the kitchen and fetch a bite to eat before attempting to find her.

  Walking into the kitchen, his only regret was not informing Tabitha of his visit beforehand so she could have a gooseberry pie waiting for him. The absence of the delicious aroma was noticeable, but not for long, as he became distracted by the scene in front of him. Standing at the butcher block in the center of the room was Sister Genevieve, and she was covered in flour, as Tabitha was busy instructing her to knead the dough that was sitting on the counter in front of her. Sister Genevieve laughed as she repeatedly punched her small fist into the dough.

  Devon couldn't resist joining in the laughter. Stepping further into the kitchen he said, “Take it easy on that poor dough. We want it to be edible.”

  Tabitha and Sister Genevieve startled at his presence. Tabitha began wiping her thick hands on her apron while Sister Genevieve stared at Devon speechless.

  “You startled my old heart. How come you didn't let me know you were coming? I would have had a pie waiting.” Tabitha gently scolded.

  “Please accept my apologies. I should have known better. I am, however, starving. Do you have anything I might be able to eat?”

  “But of course, I'll fix you up a plate right now. Just have a seat.” Tabitha scurried to the other side of the kitchen, as always anxious to please him.

  Devon did as she instructed, sitting in the stool directly opposite where Sister Genevieve was sitting. She continued to stare at him, her mouth parted slightly as if she wished to speak, though no words came out.

  Devon smiled at her, enjoying the way she looked with flour smudged across her nose, hiding some of her freckles. “How are you doing Sister Genevieve?”

  “I wasn't expecting you to...that is I hadn't thought I'd see you again. Are you here because you have word for me?” she tried to inquire coyly.

  Just then Tabitha returned and placed a plate of various meats and cheeses in front of him. “Thank you, Tabitha. I think I will take this to the library to eat. If anyone needs me, that's where I will be.” Devon rose and grabbed his plate and walked out of the kitchen. He hoped that Sister Genevieve could take the hint and would meet him there shortly so he could discuss things with her in private.

  Making himself comfortable on the couch in the library, he eagerly began ingesting his food. He was amazed at how much of an appetite he could work up during the three hour drive from London.

  He had just finished stuffing the last bit of cheese into his mouth, when he heard the door open. Looking up he saw Sister Genevieve smiling down at him.

  “Yes?” he asked beyond the food still in his mouth.

  “For a man that doesn't like to read, you spend a fair amount of time in the library.”

  Devon hurried and swallowed his bite of food. “I never said I don't like reading, just that I don't do it very often. Besides, I figured it would be a good place for us to talk uninterrupted, since no one ever seems to come in here much.”

  Sister Genevieve nodded then walked over to sit in a chair across from the couch. “Have you come to tell me you've arranged my passage to America?”

  Devon's face fell. “Not exactly, but there is something else of great import I need to discuss with
you.”

  “Devon,” she said impatiently. “We had a bargain and I'm beginning to think you don't mean to keep your end. I'm growing impatient. I would never have agreed to come here and care for your father if you hadn't agreed to assist me.”

  “I know. You must believe me when I tell you that I'm not intentionally putting it off. Some complications arose, and it's just taking me a bit longer to figure everything out.” He leaned back in the corner of the couch and absently began rubbing the scar on his arm.

  Sister Genevieve shot up. “I'm sorry I forgot to inquire about your arm. Is everything well? Has it healed up nicely?”

  Devon's arm was just fine, thanks to her, but the thought of her soft hands on his bare skin tempted him into saying, “I think you better take a look at it, just to be safe.”

  She came over and sat on the couch next to him and instructed him to remove his shirt, although he noticed she couldn't do it without blushing furiously. After all they had been through together, it was refreshing to see that his naked torso still affected her so.

  Once his shirt was removed, she leaned in close to take a look. She moved her hand gently over the raised, red scar and Devon shivered in response to her touch. He knew that she had noticed but was grateful when she refrained from mentioning it. It felt so good to feel her hands on his skin but the temptation to take her into his arms was too great. He finally broke the silence by asking, “How does it look?”